She let Danyel emerge first at the palace, waiting until her escort was in place before she stepped out of the carriage. She wore her usual neat clothing over sensible shoes and was well aware that next to her more flamboyant son she looked like a sparrow next to a peacock.
People tended not to shoot at sparrows.
“Mother, why didn’t you wear your crown?” Danyel asked her as they stepped carefully over the shattered remains of the palace gate.
“Everyone who needs to know who I am, knows.” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she stopped in the outer courtyard and glanced over at a group of Mecadian soldiers-prisoners now-huddled next to the smoking ruin of what had probably been a stable.
“Wallace.”
“Majesty?”
“Make sure they let their mothers know they survived.”
“Yes, Majesty. And the ones who didn’t survive?”
“Well, they’ll hardly be able to write home now, will they?”
General Palatat met them outside King Giorge’s throne room in front of the enormous brass-bound doors. “The door’s been spelled, Majesty, we can’t break it down. But they’re still in there-King Giorge, Queen Fleya, both princes, both princesses.”
“Personal guards?”
“They died out here, Majesty, covering the royal family’s retreat.”
“All of them?” She glanced over at the liveried bodies piled out of the way. “My, that was short-sighted.”
“Yes, Majesty. One of the princesses has been talking through the keyhole. She says her brothers want to negotiate a surrender but they’ll only speak to you. Royal to royal as it were.”
“They could speak to me,” Danyel muttered.
His mother ignored him. “Do you think the princes will negotiate in good faith?”
“They are considered to be honorable men,” the general told her. “They will do what they feel is right regardless of the consequences.”
“They take after their father then.” The queen stared at the door to the throne room. The smart thing for King Giorge to have done would have been to get his family out of the country when it became obvious he’d lost-which would have been about half an hour after the first battle had been joined. Arrabel assumed he’d refused to leave his people or some such nonsense. “Well, tell them I’m here.”
At the general’s signal, one of the Queen’s Tabards banged on the door with a spear butt.
“Is she there?” Interestingly, the girl sounded more annoyed than distressed.
“I am.”
“There’s a secret exit at the end of the hall, by a statue of my father. Do you see it?”
“The statue?” There were ankles on a plinth and rather a lot of rubble. A bit of the rubble seemed to be wearing a stone crown. “No but I can see where it was.”
“My brothers will come out, stripped to their breeches so you can see they’re weaponless. You approach them alone and they’ll give you our father’s terms of surrender.”
“I’m to approach alone?” A raised hand cut off the general’s protest. “At two to one odds?”
“We know you have archers with you. You always have archers with you!”
“True enough. Very well, given that I have archers, I will meet you at the end of the hall.” She sighed and smoothed a wrinkle out of her skirt. “Wallace?”
“Yes, Majesty?”
“Am I getting predictable?
“Only in the best of all possible ways, Majesty.”
Arrabel glanced over at him and when he bowed, she smiled but before she could compliment his answer, a section of the wall at the end of the hall slid back and a half-naked young man emerged. And then a second.
Both princes were in their mid-twenties, not quite two years apart in age, and, given that very little was left to the imagination, in obviously fine condition. Muscles rippled everywhere muscles could ripple. One wore his golden hair loose, the other tied his darker hair back, but except for that they could have been twins. That she had an appreciation for handsome men was no secret so she suspected Giorge had sent out his sons because he expected they’d get better terms.
“Mother, I could take them.”
“Not now dear, Mother’s going to go negotiate.” She walked purposefully forward and stopped a body length and an equal distance from both princes. “Well?”
The blond cocked his head, gray eyes narrowed. “You don’t look like I imagined.”
“Is there any reason I should?”
Before he could respond, the brunet charged at her, screaming.
At least one, maybe two of the arrows passed so close she felt the breeze. As the prince hit the floor, she rolled her eyes. “That was stupid.”
“No,” the other prince snarled. “That was a sacrifice. Your archers cannot save you now; my brother’s death has disarmed them. For what you have done to my people, I will kill you with my bare hands and yes, I expect to die just after but…” He stopped and stared in astonishment at the half dozen arrows suddenly protruding from his chest, one of them adorned with a small piece of fabric. “But…”
“My archers can reload, aim, and fire in under seven seconds,” Arrabel told him as he dropped heavily to his knees. “Never pause to gloat, dear,” she added, patting his cheek as he sagged back.
“Mother! Are you all right?”
“Of course I am.”
“But what if he’d grabbed you and used you as a shield?” Danyel grabbed her arm to illustrate and a long, thin knife slid out from under her neat, lace-trimmed cuff, scoring a line along the enamel on his vanbrace.
“Then I’d have dealt with it myself,” she said, pulling free of his slackened grip. “Although I’m just as glad I didn’t have to.” The knife disappeared. “I’m quite fond of this dress and I’d hate to have gotten blood all over it. And speaking of this dress…” she turned to face her archers, brandishing the hole in her full skirt. “Who took the shot that went through here?”
A very pale young man stumbled forward and dropped to one knee. He was shaking so hard it sounded as though he was tapping his bow against the floor.
“Conner Burd isn’t it? Your mother runs a small dairy on the outside of the capital.”
The young archer managed part of a nod.
“Let that be a lesson to you all, if my life is in danger, don’t worry about my clothing and don’t feel you’re redundant just because another five arrows are heading for the target. Those arrows could miss. Good shot, Conner. General Palatat.”
“Majesty!”
“Stop trying to break through the door and go through the wall.”
“Majesty?”
“No one ever thinks to have a wizard spell more than the door. Get a few strapping young men up here with sledgehammers and go through the wall.” Her tone suggested she’d better not have to repeat herself a third time.
The queen was not the first to step through the breach in the wall. The queen was the sixteenth to enter, after fourteen soldiers, General Palatat, and her son. The first soldier through the breech took a tapestry pole to the back of the head.
The throne room was empty except for the royal family. King Giorge sat slumped in his throne, head on his chest. Queen Fleya sat at his feet, sobbing. One of the princesses, her hair a mass of tangled mahogany curls and showing just a little too much cleavage for the situation, stood snarling by her father’s side, the tapestry pole having been taken away from her with only minor damage. The other princess, blond hair neatly tied back, arms folded over her sensible cardigan, stood just behind her sister, frowning slightly.
“You can’t touch him now,” Queen Fleya cried as Arrabel approached the throne. “He’s gone beyond your control!”
Arrabel cocked her head and studied the king, his lips and eyelids were a pale blue-green. “Took poison, has he?”
Eyes red with weeping, Fleya’s lip curled. “He knew he could expect no mercy!”