CHAPTER 41
When Amaury arrived at the palace, he saw even more protestors gathered than there had been when he left the city, and their mood was anything but improved. They pelted Amaury’s unmarked carriage with rotting castoffs from the local market. Adding to the Prince Bishop’s displeasure was the fact that he had been summoned by the king—a message had been waiting for him when he returned to his house from the Order’s former campsite. He was tired and cranky, and dealing with the king was the last thing he wanted to do, but he had no choice.
Before heeding his master’s call, Amaury had sent word to Luther, asking to find him some mercenaries who could be suborned into the Order, at least on a temporary basis. Amaury was no longer willing to rely on royal troops—he needed his own people at the Priory.
He swept through the corridors of the palace to his office, ostensibly to collect some documents before attending on the king but actually to gather his thoughts. He realised he was nervous. He tried to excuse it as a symptom of fatigue, but the truth was that he had been stretched perilously thin since the first dragon had appeared. He knew he couldn’t continue like that for much longer. The Cup might help, he thought.
Until news of Vachon’s victory over the dragons arrived, he had no arguments to make in the Order’s favour. He would just have to improvise. The sooner Solène found the temple—and the answers he sought—the better.
All the usual suspects were gathered in the king’s private audience chamber, as Amaury had suspected they would be. Not one of them would miss the opportunity to take advantage of Amaury’s difficulties.
“Highness,” Amaury said with a curt bow when he entered.
“You’ve seen the crowds gathered outside the palace gates?” the king said.
So much for small talk, Amaury thought.
“I have, Highness. A little larger than I had expected, but this isn’t really anything to be surprised about. As we speak, the Order is on its way to kill the dragons sighted near the seigneury of Venne.”
“The moment has passed for a success to pull this back from the brink,” Boudain said. “There have been flare-ups of violence throughout the city, directed not just against members of the Order, but also against the City Watch, royal officials, and other citizens.” The king looked directly at Amaury. “There’s an easy way to stop it all.”
“Which is?” the Prince Bishop said, already knowing the answer.
“We disband the Order.”
“Highness, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You mistake me, Prince Bishop. I’m not asking for your counsel. I’m giving you a command. The Order is to be disbanded immediately. I’ve had the relevant decrees drawn up, signed, and sealed.” He slid some pages across the table.
Amaury blanched. “I … That’s just not possible, Highness. Things have developed too far. You can’t just shut it down now.”
“I can, and I have,” the king said.
Amaury scanned the faces of the others in the room, every one of them puffed up with self-importance and self-righteousness. He knew exactly what was going to happen. The Order would be destroyed and he’d be made a scapegoat. They’d throw him to the flames, and walk away blameless. He felt his temper flare.
“You can’t,” he said, more hotly than he intended. “You knew what you were getting into, and agreed to it. Wholeheartedly.”
“I admit I agreed to your plans, but that was in the early days of my rule, when I was naive and overly reliant on my counsellors. I can’t be blamed for failing to see bad advice at that point in my reign. I can only be blamed if I continue to act on it.”
The king’s words all but confirmed Amaury’s fears. He had to be clever now, make it appear as though he remained a diligent, loyal servant of the Crown even as he moved to protect himself. Forcing a smile, he took the papers from the king’s desk and placed them carefully into his purple leather folder.
“It is my privilege to serve, Highness. I will see to it your decrees are carried out.”
“Excellent. There may be a time for your Order, Amaury, but that is clearly not now. I need the people’s support more than I need sorcerers to help fight my wars. You can’t defend a throne if you no longer sit on it.”
“A wise outlook, Highness.”
“If you feel the Order’s members are likely to cause problems, I can have the City Watch ready to move and arrest them,” Commander Canet said.
He was always one to try and stick his beak in for attention. Amaury didn’t do him the dignity of addressing him directly.
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Highness. As the matter is pressing, if I might be dismissed?”
The king waved his hand. Amaury refused to meet the gazes of his rivals as he left.
In the hall, with the door to the king’s office closed firmly behind him, he took a moment to settle his thoughts. That he hadn’t been arrested yet was a positive. It gave him time and freedom to do what he needed to do. The king probably thought it best to allow him to start the process of shutting down the Order, lulling him into a false sense of security before throwing him to the wolves. Amaury had already orchestrated the death of one king. Doing so again, particularly in an unsettled time like this, would be no trouble at all.
Hurrying to his office, he prepared several letters. Once he’d given them to his secretary to hand-deliver, he would retire to the Priory, where he could hole up until what needed to be done was done. The first message was to Luther—he needed those mercenaries, and more, as quickly as possible. They should be sent straight to the Priory, where they could be inducted and armed.
For the second letter he used a special ink that would be revealed only if heated carefully. He kept a supply of everyday missives written in ordinary ink—letters detailing the mundane, day-to-day matters of state. Selecting one, he wrote his message in invisible ink between the existing lines. There was likely some magical approach that would work better, but there hadn’t been the time or resources to devote to such specific matters.
His hand shook—he was more nervous than he liked to admit, even to himself. In times of crisis, he had always been able to lurk in the shadows and take advantage of the fact that eyes were always directed elsewhere. Now, he was in danger of being dragged into the spotlight. He had no idea how to operate under such circumstances, and that frightened him.
There was no direct heir to place on the throne for a tidy replacement as there had been with the previous king. Boudain had half a dozen cousins with more or less equal claims, and that would mean civil war. He could choose the winner by putting the backing of the Order behind them. Once the people knew the Order had saved them from dragons, their opinions would change quickly. He and the Order could easily deliver the throne to the strongest contender—but what sense was there in starting over with an unknown royal? Was not he, himself, the best candidate?
He had previously dismissed the idea, but he had been down this road once already, and removing a king was too stressful an act to be repeated every few years. He already wielded much of the authority of state; he had his own private military force that was paid for out of the king’s coffers. All he needed to do was remove the other advisors, which would be easy enough. The quick promotion of some senior nobles would make them happy without causing him to cede any real power. Several nobles were already in his pocket; he could count on their support if he pulled the coup off successfully.