“You can’t mean that Areava or Olio were involved in the assassination of Berayma?” Lynan declared. He glanced up at Kumul, seeking his support, but the constable’s face was unreadable.
Grapnel shrugged. “I’m not a magicker, Prince Lynan. I can’t see into the minds of others. All I know is that the conspiracy, to work effectively, must be wider than simply Orkid and this Dejanus, and the conspirators must place either Areava or Olio on the throne. A kingdom must have a ruler the people will accept, or there will soon be no kingdom.”
“Areava… ?” Lynan said aloud, but more to himself than the others. “But she couldn’t kill Berayma.”
“There are some who love power more than anything else in the world, your Highness,” Kumul said darkly.
For a while no one said anything. Finally, Grapnel sighed and stood up. “You must stay here tonight. Tomorrow morning I will go out and see what is happening. We will be in a better position then to determine what to do next.”
Grapnel got some rags and vinegar to clean Kumul’s wound, then gave his guests rugs and blankets to put on the floor before the fire. The four tried to rest during the night, far too much had happened, too much was at stake, for any of them to find sleep at first. They talked for a while, but the conversation soon died of its own accord.
Lynan, cocooned by the silence, tried to make sense of what had happened to him over the last few days. From being the invisible son of a distant mother and deceased soldier, he had suddenly become a recognized heir and prince of Kendra, the greatest kingdom known to history, then prey to the scheming of royal assassins, and finally—probably— made an outlaw in his own land.
It seemed so unfair that everything that happened to him occurred without his determination or agreement. He was a small, storm-tossed boat trying to keep afloat in political waters for which he had no map or compass. He was adrift, in danger of sinking, and without the means or wherewithal to do anything about it.
A new feeling sparked in him then, and he recognized it as anger. Not the flaring emotion that came with loss of temper, but a revolt against the huge injustices heaped upon him by a world that did not care if he lived or died. It was anger as foundation, the beginnings of something solid upon which he might start building his own life according to his own terms, and he held on to it as if it was a life raft. Even as the thought occurred to him, he was struck by its irony. Before he could do anything for himself, he had find a way out of his present predicament, and for that he was again relying upon the actions and motivations of other people.
How could he ever repay their loyalty? he asked himself, and the answer came almost immediately. By winning back his birthright.
Chapter 12
“It’s not your sympathy I want,” Areava said evenly. The man standing in front of her desk, bedecked in all the finery of his office as magicker prelate, the chief representative of all the theurgia, swallowed hard. Edaytor Fanhow’s first audience with the new queen was not going at all well. Instead of being ushered into the throne room, as he had expected, he had instead been taken to her new private chamber, the very room in which Berayma had been murdered if the amount of dried blood on the floor was any indication. There were two guards standing on either side of the desk and another pair near the doorway. Fanhow had thought that offering condolences on the tragic and barbarous death of Berayma would soften the cold stare the queen had regarded him with since he had first entered the room. He glanced up to Olio for some sign of empathy, but the prince’s face was set as hard as stone.
“What I want from you is help to find my brother, the outlaw Prince Lynan,” Areava continued. “Can you provide that help?”
Edaytor spread his hands. His cloak billowed out behind him, and he now desperately wished he had dressed less formally when Areava’s messenger had come for him in the hour before dawn. “It isn’t that simple, your Majesty. Our arts are dependent on so many conditions, so many nuances—”
“Yes or no, Prelate,” Areava interrupted. “I haven’t the time for explanations. Is there a way that one of your magickers can track down Lynan’s movements since last night, or find him for me now?”
Edaytor was about to spread his hands again but stopped himself just in time. “I cannot answer it so simply. I will have to consult my colleagues, the maleficum of each of the five theurgia. I know of no way this can be done without a good deal of preparation. However, new incantations and pathways are being discovered all the time.”
Areava looked down at her hands, knotted together on the desk. She had never felt this tired before in her life. There was so much to be done in the next few hours, and so few people she felt she could rely upon to help. Orkid and Olio would offer whatever assistance they could, but she knew it would still not be enough. Who among the leading citizens, the chief bureaucrats, the merchants and traders, the generals and admirals, the Twenty Houses, and yes—the theurgia—could she trust?
“Consult with your colleagues, then, Prelate,” she said at last. “But come back to me with an answer before noon today.”
Olio nodded to Edaytor, and he got the hint. “Of course, Your Majesty. Right away. Before noon.” He scurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.
Areava sighed deeply and rested back in her chair. “Useless. Absolutely useless. How did he make magicker prelate? I’ve met novices with greater wit than he has.”
“That is exactly why he is p-p-prelate,” Olio answered, without any trace of irony. “Why p-p-place someone with real authority over m-m-magic in a p-p-position where they will not be able to p-p-practice their arts? B-b-by all accounts Fanhow was a m-m-mediocre stargazer with a p-p-penchant for administration. No one ran against him for office, and he was voted in unanimously.”
“Stargazer? He was a member of the Theurgia of Stars?” Areava asked. “So was this woman Lynan escaped with…” She scrabbled among the papers on her desk for Dejanus’ note which held the woman’s name.
“When Fanhow made p-p-prelate, Jenrosa Alucar was five years old. I doubt he holds any loyalty to her, or even to his old theurgia.”
Areava nodded tiredly. “You are right, of course.”
“You are exhausted,” Olio observed. “You m-m-must rest at some point.”
“Yes, but not this point. We must secure the throne.” She glanced up at her brother. “And that means securing Lynan. While he is alive, the conspiracy still lives.”
Olio’s mouth tightened. He could find no reply to Orkid’s accusations, but what he had come to accept in the middle of the night, however begrudgingly, seemed increasingly absurd to him in the light of a new day.
Before he could answer, the doors to the study opened to let in the chancellor. Areava looked up sharply. “What news?”
“None yet, your Majesty. Dejanus is supervising the Royal Guards as they scour the city, but there are so many places to hide. Who knows how long your brother and his fellow traitors have been planning this operation? They could have a dozen bolt-holes prepared.” He set a thin, leather-bound book in front of her on the desk. “The list you asked for.”
“What list?” Olio asked curiously.
“Of those who may have some reason to be involved in a plot to overthrow Berayma,” Areava answered for the chancellor, and opened the book.
Olio looked over her shoulder and scanned the first page.
He stood back, shocked. “Orkid, you can’t be serious! These are p-p-people who have been loyal to the throne and the kingdom all their lives!”