“Leodan was never exactly a jewel in his father’s eye,” Maeander said, grinning.
Gridulan, he claimed, thought his son weak. But a son is a son; Gridulan had no other. He could not be denied. This is why Gridulan did the best he could to harden Leodan, even as he watched Thaddeus from the corner of his eye. He wanted his son to have a strong chancellor, but he had reason to fear Thaddeus’s gifts. Thaddeus was an Agnate, after all. He could trace his lineage back to Edifus himself. He might, in certain circumstances, make a legitimate claim to the throne. This became a greater threat-from the old king’s perspective-when Thaddeus wed a young woman, Dorling, also from an Agnate family. They had a boy child their first year together, a full two years before Aleera would give birth to Aliver. So there was strong Thaddeus, an officer in the Marah, with a young wife and child, with a fine lineage and the adoration of the populace and support of the governors-who saw the chancellor as a shrewd advocate for their causes. In short, Thaddeus had become a threat that Gridulan could not ignore, even if Leodan was oblivious to it.
“Guess what he did about it,” Maeander urged. “Have you any idea?”
Rialus did not, although it took him some moments to convince Maeander of this.
“I’ll have to tell you, then,” the Mein went on. “Gridulan conspired with one of his companions. At the king’s bidding, this companion acquired a rare poison, the kind used by leaguemen. Deadly stuff. He personally saw to it that Dorling consumed a dose of it in her tea. Her child-still nursing-was poisoned through his mother’s milk. Both died.”
“They were killed at the king’s order?” Rialus asked.
“Just so.”
At the time nobody knew what to make of the deaths. Some suspected murder, but no fingers were pointed-not in the right direction, at least. Gridulan was the first to offer Thaddeus condolences. Leodan was beside himself with grief. Thaddeus himself bore his suffering admirably, but he was never the same man afterward. Gridulan had chosen well. He managed to snuff out Thaddeus’s ambition while leaving the man alive to aid his son. Leodan did not find out about the murders until some years later, after his father died and he read his private logs. But what was he to do with the knowledge that his own father had killed his best friend’s wife and child all in order to protect him?
“Perhaps a strong man would have confessed everything to his friend,” Maeander said, shrugging, for he did not seem certain of this point. “Perhaps. In any event, Leodan kept his mouth shut. He told nobody, only meting out punishment against his father’s companion, the one who had administered the poison. Have you any idea who this person was?”
Maeander did not wait for Rialus to answer this time. “That’s right,” he said. “Your beloved father, Rethus, set the poison into play! That is why you are here before me now, a miserable governor of a miserable province. You are being punished-as was your father before you-for loyalty to Gridulan. Family secrets run deep, Rialus. I can tell by the perplexity on your face that I have both delivered surprises to you and answered old questions at the same time.”
It took Rialus a moment to gather his wits enough to ask, “How do you know all this?”
Maeander looked to one side and spit out an olive pit. “My brother has a great many friends in positions to know such things. The league, for example, watches all of this with interest, glad to offer bits and pieces of information to help us stir the pot. Believe me, Rialus, the story I just told you is true. A few months ago my brother shared the information with Thaddeus Clegg himself. The news made quite an impression on him. Because of it I think it fair to say he is no longer entirely on Leodan’s side. Think of the life Thaddeus has led since Dorling and his son died. Think of the love he showered on Leodan’s children instead. Think of how he supported the king when he faced the death-by natural causes, of course-of his own wife. Think how it would feel to discover that all of it was based on a lie, on murder, on betrayal. In his place, would you not want to see the Akarans punished? Revenge is the easiest of emotions to understand and to manipulate. Don’t you agree?”
Rialus did, although he desperately wanted time and solitude to digest all that Maeander had just revealed.
“In any event,” Maeander said, returning to the issue that had started the digression, “I will not kill you for your blunders, but I am afraid you will have to pay for them. I have promised Cathgergen to the Numrek. When they arrive, you will hand the fortress over to them. I trust you will not anger their chieftain, Calrach; from what I have seen of him he is not of a forgiving nature.”
“You do not mean…”
Maeander looked affronted. “Are you protesting? You would not have me give them Tahalian, would you? There is no other way. The fortress is theirs to rest and regroup in. If you like, you can let the army put up a defense, and then afterward you may escape to whatever fate awaits you. Do not look at me like that. Neptos, I have never known a man to so resemble a rat and in so many different ways.” For a moment actual anger flared in Maeander’s voice, but he harnessed it and spoke coolly. “You may now go on breathing, but true rewards come to those who serve us more effectively.”
“You have doomed me,” Rialus said.
“I have not doomed you. If you are doomed, the seeds of it were planted before ever I knew you. That is how it is with us all. That is all I have for you.”
Rialus managed to speak only after Maeander turned to leave. “You forget that I-I am the governor of this fortress.” Maeander fixed a bemused stare on him. Rialus changed tack, moving away from the suggestion of threat inherent in that declaration. “Perhaps I can yet prove myself.”
“Ah, are you as treacherous as your father? How would you prove yourself?”
“If what I have to offer pleases you, I must have your guarantee that I’ll be rewarded. I can give you the royal family-their heads, I mean.”
“I already have agents prepared to pounce on the king. They might have killed him already. Word of it may already be on the way to Hanish.”
“No, no…I know that,” Rialus said. He almost felt like smiling, knowing that in all likelihood he had thrown himself just the lifeline he needed. “I do not mean the king. The line of Akaran does not begin and end with Leodan.”
CHAPTER
Corinn Akaran understood that there was much she did not know about the world, many names and family lineages and historical events that refused to stick in her memory. No matter. Very little of it had any bearing on her everyday life. What she believed was of significance was that she was King Leodan’s eldest daughter, the beautiful one at that. She did not stand to inherit control of her father’s realm-that went to Aliver-but this suited her as well. She found nothing enticing about the prospect of juggling such a complicated array of concerns. Better to stand just to the side and wield her influence within the sphere of courtly intrigue. She was sure that this would prove more interesting. The world might have been a large thing in fact, but the part of it she occupied was smaller, and in that smaller world few people were better placed than she to look toward the future with sublime optimism.
She did, however, harbor a secret that none of those close to her would have guessed at. Though by nature a jovial person with an affinity for fine clothes, gossip, and youthful romantic musings, she bore an awareness of death with her. It was a cloud that hung in the back of her mind, always near, there to threaten when she raised her eyes to take in larger things. Her mother had died when she was ten. Since then the curse of mortality had never been far from her mind. Aleera Akaran had faded from life as the spring gave way to summer. She was eaten from the inside by an illness that began as a backache and became an insatiable leech sucking the life from her.
Corinn remembered the last moments she spent with her mother in excruciating detail. In dreams she often sat beside her bed again, her palms clasped around the wan skin and bones of the woman’s hands. Her body was so ravaged it seemed to have half melted into her mattress. Because the weather had been warm, she had often lain uncovered, her bare legs stretching out from beneath her frock, her feet and toes seeming unnaturally large now that they were the first thing Corinn saw on entering the room. Her weeks being bed bound made Aleera so feeble that she could not reach her window stool without her daughter’s help. Her feet no longer knew how to find the floor. Corinn would stand supporting her mother’s frail weight as with each step her heel drew circles in the air, as might a child who was taking her first steps.