And the person behind was clearly one who was intent on surviving a long time as well.
Though a lantern burned behind the screen, no silhouette presented itself. Not only would it hide his patron’s identity, but the padded screen and all the tapestries would help mute and disguise his voice. He is not someone who can chance discovery, and may only be an agent of some more powerful master. Junel knew immediately that it was no one associated with the westron lords, since they neither understood subtlety nor the need for it.
“You honor me by accepting my invitation.” The voice, which came in a whisper, betrayed little more than the speaker’s gender. “You have our sympathies over the tragedies you have suffered. How are you recovering?”
“My flesh heals, but my heart is slower to mend.”
“Yes, those things that wound the soul are slow to heal. But these are times that require drastic remedies.”
Junel nodded. “Your wise advice shall be remembered.”
“We hope it shall be acted upon. We hope you will be able to help us steer events in a way that precludes great suffering for all.”
Junel’s eyes narrowed. “It would be my pleasure.” Either the speaker would want him to cease his relations with the inland lords or expand them. Having another player enter the contest could make his goal much easier, or it could complicate things.
“You have the failing of youth, Count Aerynnor, for you name as a pleasure something that will be difficult and offer freely that which should be valued highly.” A mild note of disdain made it through the whisper. “Or you seek to beguile us with false innocence.”
“It had best be the latter, or I should not be the person with whom you desire an alliance.”
“Very true. We shall proceed from that assumption. There are lords of the western provinces who are not pleased with the Prince’s policies. They believe the Komyr Dynasty has outlived its usefulness. They would prefer to see it ended, with one of their number taking control. You are well aware of this.”
Junel made no reply.
“There are three among the westrons who most desire the Dragon Throne. The duchess of Gnourn would be the most capable but, sadly, the fruit of her loins show a penchant for idiocy and dissolution. While she might have the strength of character and quickness of mind to take the throne, her dynasty would die with her.
“Count Linel Vroan of Ixun is likewise older. He has two grown sons and two daughters, and his new wife, the Helosundian, has just given him another daughter. He might be seen as more sympathetic to Helosundian issues and thereby favored by the Keru-though their loyalty to Cyron is unshakable. He has standing in the nation and is known to many because he fought beside the Prince’s older brother and was a chief mourner at his funeral.”
Junel smiled. “Known is not the same as beloved.”
“True. Would that rumors of his first wife’s death were stripped of such ugly suspicion. In that case he might be a tolerable choice.”
The man behind the screen cleared his throat, then continued. “Finally, we have Count Donlit Turcol of Jomir. Young and dynamic, even charismatic, he could win the people. Alas, he has no children by his wife, a scattering of bastards by his many mistresses, and does not appear to want to rein in his sexual proclivities.”
“You see no other candidates in the west?”
“It matters not what we see, but what you see, Count Aerynnor. Have we missed someone?”
“The duchess’ fourth son, Nerot, has been underestimated.” Junel leaned back in his chair. “While in Gnourn I played him at chess. He plays the fop to amuse his mother and distract the court, but I am not so easily distracted.”
“But is he not frail?”
“A broken leg never healed properly, true, but it has not affected his mind.” Junel shrugged. “I am not saying he would be the sort of prince who could face down Pyrust, but he would not ruin Nalenyr.”
Silence came from behind the screen, then the whispering began anew. “It pleases us to have this news. Perhaps if one of Vroan’s daughters was married to Nerot, the prospect of a grandchild on the throne would strengthen the alliance.”
“I was under the impression that both of his daughters were married. Isn’t one Count Turcol’s wife?”
“True on both counts, but life is uncertain. If one were widowed, an opportunity might present itself.”
And in the civil war, the three Scior heirs between Nerot and the throne might meet with accidents.
Junel frowned. “The question for you is this. Do you mean to have me believe you did not know about Nerot, or do you merely wish to ascertain that I do?”
“Immaterial, for now we both know the possibilities he provides. And your mind is racing ahead, so we shall anticipate you. With our knowledge of the people of the interior, we could aid or end their plans. We have reached out to you because you have already gained their trust, and are already facilitating their activities. You have made yourself into the lever that will allow them to shift the Komyr Dynasty from power. This makes you critical to our plans.”
Junel nodded. “I’m pleased you believe I will be of use to you. Shall I surmise you wish to learn what my cooperation will cost?”
“Is it gold? Or were you thinking that one of the widowed daughters of Vroan would come happily to your bed, positioning you as her consort when she ascended to the throne?”
That latter idea sent a jolt through Junel because he had never considered it. He had been trained in the way of the shadow, to be a spy and assassin, with loyalty to the House of Jaeshi and Prince Pyrust that superseded loyalty to blood. Indeed, his whole family had been accused of treason and slaughtered. He’d betrayed them to his masters and their murders provided him with the perfect reason for fleeing south.
Never in his life had Junel had any ambition other than to become as good at vrilri as possible-perhaps even becoming a Mystic, as was the Mother of Shadows. He’d never even entertained the idea of supplanting her-though such an honor was one he would have willingly accepted. But here, now, he found himself wondering what it would be like to become more than the Prince’s agent-to become his equal. It could happen, and he could influence events to guarantee it.
“Gold is always welcome but, as you have noted, there are scant few candidates who could sustain a dynasty. I am not a puppet, but by no means am I a puppet master. I understand power well enough to flow with it, and to know that moving against it is ruin.”
A richer note entered the whisper. “This we hoped might be your reply. Rest assured, gold beyond dreams of avarice shall be yours. What more remains in your future shall depend on your conduct. If predictions of your intelligence prove true, a new dynasty may rise from the graves of the Aerynnor family. With the proper alliances in place, you might even find yourself on the Hawk Throne, on your way to becoming Emperor.”
“A dizzying height.”
“But one attainable, nonetheless.”
And you have gone a step too far. To tempt him with being a Naleni prince-consort was within the bounds of reason. Imagining that he could inspire a nation stepped well beyond it. It seemed more likely that once he had ascended, anti-Desei sentiment among the Naleni would be mustered to unseat him. His birth would forever be his weakness.
So when I reach the throne, I’ll simply have to cede it all to Prince Pyrust. Junel kept his face impassive, then nodded-certain his hidden patron had been watching through the screen.
“What would you have of me, my lord?”
“We would have you continue your negotiations with the westrons. Unify them. Court Nerot and, if possible, acquaint yourself with Turcol’s widow. That will be enough to start.”
“Do you want reports?”
“If necessary, another meeting like this shall be arranged. We have other sources of information that should be sufficient.” The hidden man paused for a moment. “We urge you to be very careful. Betrayal would be unfortunate and the consequences regrettable.”