Although as regent he assumed all the powers of the incapacitated king, his regency was a temporary measure. It would last only until a valid successor could be found. Since Boudain had no children, that successor would have to come from elsewhere in the family, and would have to be determined by studying genealogies and other documents.
He reckoned setting the wheels in motion to prevent that should be his first order of business. After all he had done to get power, there was no way he was going to step aside for the first inbred aristocrat who could open a vein and spill some blue blood on the ground. However, he remained open to the possibility that there might be an eligible candidate who would be happy to occupy the throne while allowing Amaury to continue his machinations behind the scenes. The last thing he needed was to install an idle fop and find out they had ideas of their own—as he had discovered with the current, and soon to be former, king.
One way or the other, the king’s cousins were going to be a problem. Off the top of his head, there was no clear successor. While this gave the Prince Bishop the freedom to choose, it was likely that those who were shut out would raise arms in rebellion. He would love to unleash the Order on them, but his forces had been crippled by casualties since the dragon problem arose. There were enough brothers and sisters to carry out the day-to-day activities he had in mind for them, but not until he had fully unlocked the Cup’s potential would he be able to wield them to full effect. Hopefully that matter would be soon settled.
So many problems—so many balls to keep in the air.
He stood and walked to the window of his office, massaging his temples as he went. The garden below was empty, but even its serene setting was not enough to quell his growing agitation. One task at a time, he told himself. The Order, the king, the dragons, the successors. That didn’t even take into account the usual running of the kingdom. If he didn’t find a way to make the Cup’s effect permanent, he would end up drinking from it constantly, like one of the drunks who littered the city streets.
If that was what he had to do, then that was what he would do, but he didn’t like it. Soon enough, people would realise what the Cup did and would covet it for themselves. Pulling the strings from the shadows was starting to look like a much more attractive option again.
He returned to his desk and wrote instructions for the court genealogists to draw up a list of potential successors for Boudain. That could be compiled quickly, and he could have his agents investigate each one to help him identify which might be potential candidates, and which potential threats.
That done, he signed documents to provide the funds to pay Luther for the mercenaries he had hired for the Order. He didn’t like bringing in people he hadn’t had time to screen for the qualities he wanted, but for the time being, he needed to replace the dead to give the Order the appearance of being an effective force.
Anyone who was any use had been sent out with the new marshall, Vachon, to deal with the dragon crisis once and for all. That left only a couple of dozen novices at the Priory who could shape any magic. If the sentiment in the city turned bad again—which Amaury fully expected it would—the Priory could easily be overrun and its occupants slaughtered. If he lost them, he would have to restart the Order from scratch, which would set them back years.
A stack of outstanding execution warrants were sitting on the corner of his desk, waiting for his signature. Chief amongst them were the king’s former privy councillors, Canet, Marchant, and Renaud. Amaury drummed his fingers on his desk as he considered them. To kill them off now might be too great a shock, and hint that there were mala fides involved in the king’s incapacitation, which at present was not suspected—a state of affairs he wished to continue. He didn’t like the idea of letting the three men draw breath any longer than was absolutely necessary, but having them discreetly killed at a later time might make more sense. There had been enough upheaval already, without starting a campaign against the king’s supporters.
The people he’d chosen as replacements for the privy council needed to be briefed on their duties—another task to add to his ever-growing list. He felt a flutter of panic. What had he gotten himself into? For a moment, he wondered if there was any way out of it, if he could undo what he had done to the king and put him back on his throne. Get everything back to the way it was, where he could plan and wield influence from the shadows.
He took a deep breath. The Cup would see him through. If he could make its effects permanent, all his problems would be easily dealt with. If. One problem at a time. Just deal with one problem at a time, and all would be well. The results would be worth it, and when the day finally came that Mirabay’s authority was questioned, the people would thank him. If he wasn’t pulled from the palace and burned at the stake first.
CHAPTER 4
Gill stared across the grassland and distant forest in the direction of Mirabay. He, Solène, and Pharadon had taken a short break from their frenzied pursuit of the person who had stolen the Cup from the Temple of the Enlightened to allow Solène to work her magic to refresh their horses. Gill was tempted to ask for a dose of whatever it was she did for himself, but could see how tired she already was, and how much of a strain it seemed to be placing on her.
He was tired also, and hoped the mug of coffee he had brewed over the small, hastily built fire would invigorate him a little. The coffee had been stolen from Vachon’s supplies before they’d departed the temple. Between dragons and the Prince Bishop’s henchmen, the past weeks had exacted a toll on Gill’s body, and age dictated that it was taking far longer to recover than once it had.
Raising his gaze to the sky, Guillot tried to search Pharadon out. He had headed out in dragon form to see if he could locate their quarry. It was bizarre to be allied with a dragon, equal parts terrifying and intriguing. Pharadon had lived during times that had drifted from history into legend. That he had proved to be anything but the mindless beast of terror described by the stories that had been passed down from that time was a jarring concept that was going to take a while to get used to.
“Do you think we’ll catch her?” Solène said.
Gill shrugged. The reality was, they had to. The alternative was not one he could bear thinking about. If Amaury managed to get the unused Cup—what Pharadon referred to as a vessel of enlightenment—he would be able to tap into a level of power that no person had been able to wield in nearly a thousand years. Back then, many people had been capable of wielding powerful magic, a fact that kept them all in check.
If Amaury became that powerful, there wasn’t a person alive who could stop him. Solène might be able to, if what was said about her was true, but at times she seemed afraid of her ability, and was particularly opposed to the idea of using it as a weapon, even in a good cause.
“I hope so.” A growing speck in the sky caught his attention. “Looks like our new friend is on his way back. I hope he’s got good news.”
Solène followed his gaze before returning her attention to the horses. She looked even more tired than she had only moments before, and Gill worried. Unless Pharadon had the thief clutched in his talons, they had plenty of hard riding ahead of them, and very possibly a hard fight at the end of it. If Solène kept working herself to the limit, she’d be lucky to last that long.