Grapnel shrugged. “I have no answer to that, your Highness, but you haven’t time to ponder it here in Kendra.”
The Key of the Scepter shone dully in the sun of a new day. Orkid held it up by its chain, admiring its solid and functional beauty.
“The key to all power,” he murmured softly. His free hand clasped it tightly. “The power to dissolve a kingdom, and to create it anew.”
He closed his eyes, reminding himself to remain patient. So many decades of planning were now reaching their culmination, it was difficult for him to resist the temptation to force events to a faster pace.
But history will not be rushed. My people have waited this long, they can wait a few years more.
He unclasped his hand, noticing then the dried blood on his palm from the Key. He grunted, surprised he had not noticed it before. After all, he had himself removed it from Berayma’s gory neck after the body had been removed. He wiped his hand on a cloth, and was about to clean the Key itself but changed his mind.
Areava wants it, and so she will have it, stain and all. This will be a sign for her, if she is clever enough to read it.
He put the Key back into the pocket behind his waistband. When he had first handled it, he had half expected to feel its power, its influence, but there had been nothing. He patted the waistband over the Key and wondered again about its significance. During the Slaver War he had witnessed Usharna using the combined keys to wield great magic—calling storms to protect Kendra’s harbor, bringing confusion to the enemy’s armies—but always at such great cost to herself that it had taken years, maybe decades, from her life. He had always assumed that the power stemmed from the chief Key, the one he now possessed, but in his hand it was nothing more than a pretty golden trinket. Alone, was it nothing more than a symbol, then? He wished he had been able to convince Usharna to forget tradition and leave all the Keys with Berayma instead of scattering them among her children. It would have made so many things easier.
He put it out of his mind. There was still much to be done, and little Lynan, poor orphan and dupe, was still free. Everything about the plan had worked until the prince had escaped in the company of Kumul. Orkid was much more afraid of Kumul than Lynan. The constable was respected by too many people in the kingdom, and his reputation as a soldier was second only to that of Elynd Chisal.
At least the Royal Guards would give him short shrift in their present mood. They would do anything to revenge Berayma, and to prove their loyalty to Areava.
He smiled grimly to himself. It struck him as ironic how Areava had become, in one sense, a new Key of Power. Orkid allowed himself a small smile. She was one key he would never surrender.
Usharna had given Primate Giros Northam possession of the palace’s west wing. Although not an enthusiastic adherent of any faith, Usharna appreciated the benign effect the priests had on much of the population of Kendra. The god they worshiped was a distant entity, long ago evolved from some primitive spirit of the sky, unlike many of those deities worshiped in some of the kingdom’s outlying and less civilized provinces. The actual name of this god was known only to the primate and his chosen successor, and the religion it inspired had as its main objective the easing of poverty and the bringing of comfort, which had conveniently made it a valuable ally in Usharna’s long struggle to destroy slavery in her realms, the same struggle that had cost the lives of her last two husbands. Besides, Usharna could not be sure the priests were wrong about the existence of their god, and if it indeed existed, it would do no harm to cooperate with its acolytes.
Northam had turned the square in the west wing into a cool garden, an oasis of peace apart from the normal bustle of the palace. The largest of the rooms had been turned into the royal chapel, and the others had been set aside for the library, the refectory, and priests’ cells.
Areava and Olio met Primate Northam in his private office, but as soon as the main business of arranging Berayma’s funeral was over, the three walked into the garden and sat under a large summer tree, its drooping branches protecting them from the climbing sun.
“It is a matter of whom to trust,” Areava told Northam. “I was not taken into my mother’s confidence as much as Berayma. I don’t know who her closest confidants were, nor whom she turned to besides Orkid for advice. There is so much to be done, and I’m not sure on whom to rely.”
“You trust no one?” Northam asked, a little surprised.
Areava laughed lightly. “Olio and Orkid, I trust. And you, of course.”
Northam nodded. “Perhaps I can offer some help, even though I was never a member of the court circle, as such.” He glanced up at Olio. “You are right to place your faith in your brother. He is, I think, an upright man with a good heart.”
Olio smiled and bowed mockingly to the primate. “You are generous.”
“As for any others…” Northam paused to collect his thoughts. “I have had very little to do with the chancellor, but I know he was trusted implicitly by your mother. Xella Povis, from the city, I always found honorable—”
He stopped when he saw the look exchanged between Areava and Olio. “There is something wrong?”
Areava quickly shook her head. “No. I, too, have always felt the merchant could be trusted.”
“And I,” Olio agreed firmly, casting a glance at his sister that Northam could not interpret.
The primate mentally shrugged and went on. “I know one or two magickers from the theurgia that are worthy officials. Prelate Fanhow is honest enough but tends to the bureaucratic.”
“And among the Twenty Houses?” Areava asked, swallowing her pride.
“Good and bad, as you’d expect. Many of the older members of the Houses became… accustomed… to your mother; I think you can expect their good will and devotion to carry on to her successors, for a while, at least. As for the younger members, much will depend on how you include them in your administration. I would expect some to be ambitious, which may be to your advantage, but keep a close eye on them.”
Areava seemed to ready herself to ask another question, but said nothing.
“What ails you, your Majesty?” Northam asked gently.
“I need to know that I am secure,” she said. “There is much to be done, but my actions will be circumscribed if I’m worrying about what is happening behind my back.”
“The burden of every ruler, surely,” Northam said.
“My mother had no internal enemies.”
Northam laughed. “Not for the last years of her reign. But the first ten were fraught with danger for her. Intrigues within the Twenty Houses; enemies without plotting with enemies within; and the Slavers, of course. Usharna persevered, and was at times quite ruthless, until everyone grew to recognize her undeniable ability as queen. From this, and not from her inheritance of the throne, came her right to rule.”
Areava nodded. With her whole heart and mind she wished nothing more than to serve the kingdom, but was depressed by the thought that she would have to prove her ability over a period of years or even decades.
Northam gently tapped her hand. “My chief advice is this. Reconvene the executive council. Your mother did something similar in her earliest years. Place in the council all those who wield some influence or power: representatives of the Twenty Houses, the merchants and army, the theurgia, your chief officials. Let them know they are there to provide advice, not share your rule. Make sure some of those on the council are those you believe may be against you, for then you can keep a closer eye on them. After a few years, when you are surer about your path and when you have bound to you those who are truly loyal to the kingdom, you consult the council on fewer and fewer occasions until membership is nothing more than honorary, an award you distribute to those closest to you.”