“I didn’t mean it literally,” Savin said, resuming his determined march. “I’ll see what I can do. Coudray!”
The junior officer pushed through the crowd and fell in beside his master; they set off to get things organised. Gill realised the king was standing beside him.
“Are they coming here to kill me, do you reckon?” Boudain said.
“I expect so, Sire.” Gill had never been one to dress things up to suit the audience.
Boudain laughed. “And my cousin, Savin? What do you think of him? And all the men who are suddenly so eager to serve me?”
“I’ve always felt the best people to rely on in a time of crisis are the ones who were most reluctant to get involved,” Gill said. “It’s the ones who are too eager to please that you need to look out for. Still, they’ve much to gain if you reclaim the throne. So long as they believe that, they’ll fight for you.”
“When I regain my throne,” Boudain said. “I appreciate your candour, though. While you may not trust men who seem too eager to please, I don’t trust those who tell me what they think I want to hear. It’s men like you I want around me now.”
“There are men better able than I—”
“I won’t hear any more of that, Villerauvais,” Boudain said. “You were long considered the best, and in recent weeks you’ve proved that you still are. That you’re no friend to the Prince Bishop is just about your best-known quality, which puts us in the same boat, so to speak. If he wins, we’re both dead.”
Gill nodded. There was no arguing that point.
“I know my father did wrong by you,” Boudain said, “but I assure you, I’m not my father. You’ve already done this kingdom great service in slaying the dragons, and I’d like to be able to grant you lands and titles, and tell you to go and enjoy your rewards, but I can’t. I have need of you yet. The Prince Bishop must be stopped, and Mirabaya will need the best of her sons and daughters to steer her back to safety. Can I count on you?”
“You already know you can,” Gill said. He was determined to see Amaury dead and couldn’t ask for a more powerful ally than the king. Underneath it all, he knew none of that mattered. The king had asked. He didn’t have it in him to say no.
A group of riders led by Savin approached them with two spare horses. Dal Coudray threw Gill a belt and scabbard containing a sword. Gill gave a nod of thanks and drew it enough to take a look at the blade. It wouldn’t win any prizes for craftsmanship, but the hilt was tight and the steel looked good. It would do until he could find something better. He strapped it on and felt fully clothed for the first time in days.
Boudain and Gill mounted. Escorted by Savin’s honour guard, they rode through a small gap in the picket. A group carrying a number of banners broke away from the front of the waiting army and started toward them. Gill couldn’t make out any of the banners, and was unlikely to recognise any of the sigils even if he could. There was a time when he might have, but that had long since passed—being able to identify his peers didn’t seem like a necessary skill anymore.
Gill couldn’t guess what was coming next, and he reckoned none of the others could either. He was impressed by the king, though. This was a high-pressure moment and came soon after his body and mind had been subjected to tremendous abuse. None of this showed on his face—he looked as carefree as a man riding out for a picnic.
Curious to see if the young king would be able to maintain his sangfroid as the confrontation developed, Gill kept his horse close beside Boudain’s. He held his reins in a casual fashion, with his right hand conveniently close to the pommel of his sword. There was just enough tension in the air to make him think he’d soon be getting another look at its munitions-grade blade.
The king didn’t wave or greet the approaching riders; he simply drew his horse to a halt when they were within earshot. An awkward silence descended, until eventually, one of the opposing noblemen, all of whom were bedecked in three-quarter armour, spoke. For Gill, the fact that they were already in their armour said more than anything that would come out of this man’s mouth.
“I’m glad to see you well, your Highness.”
“I’m glad to be well, Cousin Aubin.”
There was no warmth in either voice.
“No greeting for me, Cousin Chabris?” the king said, a slight, ironic smile on his lips.
The man next to Aubin, the younger of the two, and about the same age as the king, blushed and doffed his hat, but said nothing.
The king shrugged. “What brings you both here?”
Aubin glanced at Chabris. “We sought to parlay with Lord Savin.”
“What good fortune that you find your king here, then. You may camp your men in that pasture,” Boudain said, gesturing to an open area south of the village. “I’ll need a complete manifest of your troop numbers and supplies, by sundown.”
Neither Aubin nor Chabris said anything and the awkward silence returned.
“So,” Boudain said, after he had allowed the discomfort to draw out. “You didn’t come here to rally to my banner. Why, then?”
Aubin opened his mouth to speak, but the king cut him off.
“You must have heard I was here, and most likely also that I was very ill. You put your differences aside and rode here to make sure Savin couldn’t use me as a figurehead to build a more powerful army. Or to make sure I didn’t get the chance to heal. Perhaps both?”
Chabris flushed from shame, but Aubin’s face twisted spitefully. “You’re bewitched,” he said. “Possessed by a sorceress. You have no legitimate claim to the throne. Not any longer.”
“That’s quite an interesting appreciation you have of the law, there, Cousin Aubin,” the king said. “Completely wrong, of course, but it goes to show your spying seems to have improved since that day you got caught peeping at the ladies swimming in the lake at the summer palace.”
“You can try all you like to embarrass me, Boudain, but it won’t change a damned thing.”
Gill raised an eyebrow at the use of the king’s given name, and moved his hand a little closer to his sword. Any semblance of respectful discourse was now far behind them.
“There was no magic cast on me but to undo that which had been done by my enemies. Transfer your troops to my authority and return to your estates, and I promise to forget this conversation happened,” the king said calmly.
“You’ve had magic done to you,” Aubin said. “You’re not my king, or anyone else’s, Boudain. Not anymore.” He looked to the Count of Savin, who sat on his horse next to the king. “My Lord Savin, I make now the offer we came to deliver. Join your forces to ours and ride with us against this tyrannical warlock.”
“Who’d be king?” Gill said.
Everyone looked at him and he felt suddenly self-conscious.
“If you win,” Gill repeated, “who’d be king?”
“Well,” Aubin said. “I’m of the senior branch.”
“But through the female line,” Boudain said. “Savin is the senior by age, and dear Chabris is senior through the male line. How many civil wars do you plan on fighting to untangle that mess?”
“We all have the best interests of the realm at heart,” Aubin said.
Boudain barked out a laugh. “Then assign your troops to my command and return home. You have until sunset to make your decision. After that, your names go on my list next to the Prince Bishop’s.” He turned his horse and started back toward the village.
Gill moved immediately to follow his king, but Count Savin hesitated and the honour guard remained with him. Faced with a larger army, the rewards of supporting the king through this trial instantly became less likely, but switching sides didn’t necessarily offer any better position. Gill knew as well as anyone how nobles—particularly those with a claim to the throne—operated. He could see the gears turning over in Savin’s head. He knew as well as Gill did that even in the best-case scenario, only one of the cousins would live to see the end of this civil war. He was just trying to work out the likelihood of that being him.