“Before any of you leave, I need to have your word that you will speak to no one about this,” Amaury said. “The kingdom is in a state of high anxiety, and the news that the king has fallen ill will only exacerbate that. Royal Physician, consult and employ only your most trusted colleagues and tell them no more than they need to know. I will need them all to remain here until we’ve weathered this storm.”
“You have my word,” the physician said, nodding again, clearly impressed at being involved in such important matters.
Amaury turned to the king’s secretary. “I need you to fetch my secretary immediately. After that, bring the chancellor, Commander Canet of the Watch, and General…” Forgetting the man’s name, he snapped his fingers in an effort to bring it to mind.
“Marchant?” the secretary supplied.
“Yes, General Marchant. That should do for now.” The man departed and Amaury turned to the guards. “No one is to come in here without my say-so. Understand?”
They both nodded.
“Good,” Amaury said. “Back to duty.” Once they were gone, he returned his attention to the physician. He’d forgotten this man’s name as well, not that that was important when he seemed to prefer the use of his official title.
“Is His Highness’s condition likely to deteriorate further?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” the physician said. “It’s usually the initial attack of apoplexy that causes the injury. After that, it’s simply a matter of care and rest to ensure the best recovery. I wouldn’t expect another attack.”
“That’s encouraging news. I can keep watch over him while you ready your team. Once again, I must emphasise how important secrecy is.”
“I completely understand. I’ll get to work. Try to keep him calm and comfortable while I’m gone. I’ll return as quickly as possible.”
“Your dedication to His Highness is admirable,” Amaury said.
The physician nodded and left Amaury alone with the king. Amaury looked at him, arms akimbo.
“Well, Boudain, I’ll wager this isn’t how you saw your evening going. I’m afraid I don’t hold out the same hopes for your recovery that the royal physician does.” He tipped Boudain out of his chair. The king thudded to the floor with a grunt. Amaury dragged him out from behind the desk, where he would be easily seen by the advisors when they arrived. As an afterthought, he placed a cushion under the king’s head, and arranged his limbs in a way that made it look as though he had taken some care with the man. That done, Amaury seated himself in the king’s chair. He placed the regency decree on the table before him and leaned back to wait for his secretary, who was no doubt at that moment making haste toward him.
Amaury had not intended any of what had happened over the last hour, but if he played his cards right, it could all work out very well for him. The gods, it seemed, continued to smile on him.
CHAPTER 47
So much gold, Solène thought as she surveyed the main chamber. It was everywhere. All the reliefs were covered in gold leaf. The jewels were abundant, and anything not jewelled or covered in gold was painted in bright, vibrant colours.
Most art Solène had seen depicted violence of some sort—bannerets in field armour, battles, depictions of legendary fights against mythical beasts. There was none of that here. Dragons featured prominently on every wall, and she was coming to believe that the enlightened had worshipped them. She supposed that so powerful a creature might have seemed godlike to people long ago. She shuddered when she thought of the reality of them, all fangs and claws and flame.
She was standing in a vast space with a vaulted ceiling, the craftsmanship of which easily rivalled that of the cathedral in Mirabay. It was all the more impressive considering how old it was. In the centre of the room, the stone-flagged floor gave way to a circular opening that revealed the soil below. In the middle of this stood an oddly shaped chunk of rock. It was about Solène’s height, rough and jagged, and very definitely the focal point of all the energy swirling about in the temple. This was the node. She walked closer, wondering if the rock was an ancient marker for a natural phenomenon, or if the boulder was, in itself, the node. Perhaps something about the stone caused the energy to accumulate here. Swirls of something in the rock reminded Solène of Telastrian steel. She knew the steel possessed magical properties, so perhaps that had something to do with it. She was tempted to touch the stone, but considering how much energy revolved around it, decided it was better not to. She reckoned she had used up her allowance of luck for one day.
She walked around, taking it all in. There was a huge amount of inscription mixed into the reliefs, but she could not understand it. The temptation to try to read the meaningless scrawl was growing, but she was still intimidated by the raw energy surrounding her. She had never been in a place before where the Fount was so strong she could feel it without having to open her mind to it. She stared at the reliefs, trying to imagine their meaning, and remembered the haunting whisper. She thought of the torrent of energy that had overwhelmed her, how it had felt as though it was consuming her. But it hadn’t. She still lived, and now, a short time after waking up, she felt none the worse for the experience.
Quite the opposite, in fact. She felt light on her feet. Rested, well-fed, and ready for anything. What had happened to her? And what, for that matter, had happened to this place? The drab stone walls of the antechamber had been magically transformed while she slept. Her interaction with the Fount seemed to have caused it somehow, and it was both frightening and exciting to wonder if any similar change had taken place in her.
There were two more ramps leading down into this chamber, one on each side of the room, but the far wall was solid, and completely covered in decoration. Sitting just before it was what Solène took to be an altar. She did a double take when she saw what was on it. The Cup.
She knew it couldn’t be the same one, but it looked identical in every respect. She walked over to it, and studied it closely, but didn’t dare pick it up. In every respect, it seemed the same, but some instinctive sense within her said there was a subtle difference. She walked around the altar so as to view it from every angle. Small and pot-shaped, made from Telastrian steel—but steel that was dull, not shined up to the usual mirror sheen of the blades that were more usually made from it. Why was this one different from the Cup that Gill, and now the Prince Bishop, had? There was far more power in it than in the one Solène had used on Gill and the Order’s dragon hunters. That wasn’t to say Gill’s didn’t have power. It did. Plenty, but it wasn’t on a scale to match this one.
This one was all raw energy. An incorrectly delivered spell that drew on this Cup would be catastrophic, and not just for the person on the receiving end. The uncontrolled energy could devastate a wide area around it, likely leaving only the Cup itself intact, sitting in the crater its use had created.
The altar was carved with depictions of Cups in use, much like the sculpture in the chamber beneath the ruins of Gill’s house, although judging by how many dragons were depicted in the reliefs, she doubted these rituals were intended to facilitate dragon slaying. There were noticeable differences to the method Solène herself had used. Instead of taking a droplet from the Cup, the participants in this ceremony seemed to be drinking fully from it, draining it.
She circled the altar again, this time focussing on the carvings, and stopped in shock when she saw one depicting a human figure administering a draught from a Cup to a dragon. She stood, dumbfounded, staring at it. Had they been able to exert some kind of control over the dragons? If their magic was so strong, it seemed like a reasonable theory. If dragons were to continue being a problem, the frieze offered an exciting prospect for a more effective way to deal with them—one that wouldn’t put lives at risk.