“What charges have been leveled against this sage?” the prince asked.
“None,” Rodian returned. “No legal claim has been made against Journeyor Hygeorht. As I stated, Highness, I felt it necessary to inform the royal family before I executed my duty. The guild has no authority to—”
“Siweard,” someone breathed out too sharply.
All eyes turned toward the doors, though no one had heard them open, except perhaps Chuillyon, who stood nearest to Duchess Reine Faunier-Âreskynna in the doorway.
Rodian tensed at the duchess’s—the princess’s—slip in using his given name, for their relationship was ... complex. When her husband, Prince Freädherich, had been lost in the bay, she had been in the small sailing skiff with him. Unable to sail the vessel and unable to swim, she’d drifted in a frantic state until found, and then became the prime suspect in the loss of a royal heir. Rodian had convinced the High Advocate of her innocence, and no charges were made. She’d been grateful to him, as had the family itself, and tried to show it in small ways.
Duchess Reine’s eyes were wide, and her smooth brow was creased in shock, anger, or both. Rodian had never seen her in such a state of undress. Normally, she wore high boots and a split skirt over breeches, so she that could ride and move with ease. And unless dressed otherwise for a formal affair, she always carried the traditional horse saber of her people, if not a horse bow, as well. She was now covered only in a silk dressing gown tied at the waist, with her thick chestnut hair hanging loose over her shoulders.
“Leäf,” she said, and turned to her brother-in-law. “What is going on?”
Then she appeared to notice Chuillyon for the first time. She started slightly and stared up at him, as if both surprised and glad to see him. Before Rodian could ponder why, a white-robed elf entered.
That one stiffened at the sight of Chuillyon. Only then did Rodian wonder why Chuillyon wasn’t dressed in his own white robe.
“Master Chuillyon, what are ... ?” the newcomer sputtered, and then said more softly to the duchess, “Highness, he cannot be here.”
Reine turned her confusion back to Chuillyon. “What is he talking about?”
“Shèmitrian frets too much,” said the old elf, smiling at her. “He would do better to remember that I assigned him to you.”
The younger elf lost his voice and appeared more than uncomfortable. Reine looked twice between the two elves, clearly confused.
“But you’ve returned,” she went on. “Shèmitrian no longer needs to stand in for you.”
Chuillyon’s smile faded, and the duchess looked him over, taking in his attire.
Rodian had never understood what white robes meant among sages. He knew of no order for that color, though perhaps the colors were different among the Lhoin’na sages. But it was plain to see that the old one had lost not only his position as royal counselor; he no longer wore a sage’s robe of any color.
“Chuillyon is here at my request,” Leäfrich cut in, though he appeared as distressed as the duchess was about the old elf. “We were in a private conference when Captain Rodian arrived.”
The prince turned slightly toward his sister-in-law. “There was no reason for you to be disturbed, sister. I can attend to this matter.”
Rodian remained silent but watchful. Reine, still clinging to Chuillyon’s sleeve, fixed upon Leäfrich for a long moment, and then she turned her head aside.
“Shèmitrian, wait outside,” she said. “Tristan, take him out and close the doors.”
“My lady, please,” the young elf urged. “Master Chuillyon cannot—”
“Now!” Reine commanded.
As Tristan moved to obey, Shèmitrian backed up in shock. The captain herded him out and shut the doors, and the duchess lifted her head.
“Gentlemen ... you had best tell me what is happening.”
It was not a request, even to her to brother-in-law, the prince.
Rodian always respected her strength, though as a sister only by marriage, he wondered at the influence she had among the royal family. Before, during, and after the inquest into her husband’s disappearance, the Âreskynna had stood by her as if she were beyond question or reproach. But the duchess, too, had more than once placed the whims of the guild above Rodian’s authority and oath of service.
“The Premin Council has incarcerated Journeyor Hygeorht,” he said before the prince could speak.
Reine’s eyes widened, and she glanced at Chuillyon.
“You still have not explained what you mean by ‘incarcerated,’ ” Prince Leäfrich cut in. “The guild long ago refurbished what was once the catacombs and prison to make their archive.”
Rodian grew more suspicious. Everything Leäfrich said seemed to downplay the seriousness of the council’s actions.
“She is confined to her room,” he explained.
“Just her room?” Leäfrich returned. “Has such punitive action never taken place before for initiates who break rules?”
There was that calm, annoyed, dismissive tone again. Rodian felt his first wave of true dislike for the prince.
“She is a journeyor, not an initiate,” he returned, “and therefore holds a rank of a kind. Illegal confinement—imprisonment—is the issue, not the setting or her standing. Unless a formal charge is made against her, it is my duty to end confinement against her will. If a charge is made, then only I have the authority to hold her until the High Advocate makes pretrial assessment. In either case, the guild has overstepped the law ... again.”
“Were you not asked to close the portcullis and place your men at the guild tonight?” the prince asked.
“Yes, Highness,” Rodian answered, trying to regain some calm. “That is also why I came. I wished to make certain the king and queen had been informed.”
“Of course we have heard,” Leäfrich snapped at him. “The guild’s founding branch is important to our nation. I personally approved the council’s action.”
Rodian grew still and cold. He’d hoped this wasn’t so, for it meant the royal family once more bent the law—no, broke it this time—where the guild and Wynn Hygeorht were concerned. He found himself in a very dangerous position.
“Do you know why my men were called in?” he asked. “If any mere interlopers were expelled, the guild’s castle is highly defensible unto itself.”
“Premin Sykion has greater concerns,” the prince returned. “I did not delve deeper, as I trust her judgment ... as should you, Captain.”
Rodian’s anger rose again. He glanced at the duchess, wondering on how many sides he was now boxed in. Reine’s expression betrayed no surprise at what her brother-in-law said.
She’d known everything.
“Captain ...” she began, stepping closer. “Siweard ... if your men stand guard at the guild, can you not watch over the journeyor yourself? Certainly her own room is more comfortable than a cell at the city guard’s barracks.”
Rodian tried not to swallow too hard, too visibly.
“This is not the first time Wynn Hygeorht has given the council concern,” Reine went on, her voice hardening briefly before softening again. “I’m certain they would not infringe upon her rights ... if you watch over her in her own room.”
Watching over Wynn Hygeorht was not the point; assisting in her incarceration without formal charges would make him and his men complicit. Rodian saw that he would find no support here, and this left him with the worst choice.
To protect a citizen’s rights and uphold the law and his oath, he would have to go against the royal family itself. They could do nothing to him openly, but his action would fulfill what most thought of a post in the Shyldfälches: the dead end of a military career.
“Both of you will agree with the captain,” Chuillyon interjected for the first time. “To protect Journeyor Hygeorht, as he would any citizen, he has the only authority to oversee her confinement ... and, should the Premin Council not file charges in reasonable time, to determine when it ends.”