Sovereign

'Your Highness?'

Olio sighed and turned. It was the fat man with the funny clothes again. Olio had wanted to see his sister, but everyone kept on telling him she was too busy to see him. He asked for his mother or Berayma then, but apparently they were very busy too. 'And what of Lynan?' he asked one official. 'I suppose he's busy as well!' The official had not answered that one, which Olio found strange. Instead, the only one who could come and see him was… now what was his name again…?

'Do you remember me, your Highness? I am Prelate Edaytor Fanhow.'

Ah, yes, that's right. 'Hello, Prelate. That's a strange name.'

'My name is Edaytor. Prelate is my title.'

Olio blinked at him. He did not want to admit he was getting confused.

'You can call me Edaytor,' the fat man continued.

'I can call you anything I like,' Olio said haughtily.

'That is true.'

'I am a prince.'

'That is true, too.'

'My mother is queen of Grenda Lear.'

He heard Edaytor take in a deep breath. 'Are you so sure of that?'

Olio raised his eyebrows. 'Of course I'm sure. I'm her son, aren't I?'

'When was the last time you saw your mother?'

Olio's forehead creased in thought. 'Oh, a long time ago. She is very busy. She is queen after all.'

'Would you like to step out onto the gallery?'

Olio shrugged.

Edaytor stepped out first. 'It is a beautiful day.'

'There is a kestrel flying over the harbour.'

Edaytor searched the sky for a moment before finding it. 'I see it.'

'The kestrel is the badge of my family,' Olio said. 'See?' He pinched out the kestrel emblem sewn into his shirt.

'It is a wonderful badge. It is the most famous badge in all of Grenda Lear.'

'It means I am a Rosetheme,' Olio added.

'You are Olio Rosetheme, prince of Grenda Lear.'

Olio frowned. 'Yes. Yes I am.'

'And do you remember what the Rosetheme family has that no other family has?'

'The crown,' he said immediately.

Edaytor laughed. It was a nice sound, and for the first time Olio decided that maybe he would like this man.

'I mean other than the crown. Even greater symbols of royal authority, filled with magik and power.'

Olio creased his forehead in thought again. He was silent for a long time. 'Can you give me a clue?'

'There are four of them.'

Olio's eyes lit up. 'Oh, I know! I know! The Keys of Power! Mother wears them on chains around her neck.'

Edaytor nodded, and licked his lips. 'Can you tell me what the four Keys are?'

'Whew,' Olio gushed.

'I know it's a hard question.'

'There's one for fighting. It's got a sword. That's my favourite. There's one with a sceptre. That's the most important Key. There's one with a circle. That's the most boring one. And there's one with…'

'Yes?'

'It has…' Olio shook his head as if he could loosen the answer from his brain. 'It has…' He glared at his feet, mouthing a word that would not come. He started to blush with anger.

'That's very good,' Edaytor said hurriedly. 'Three out of four. Do you want me to tell you what is on the fourth Key?'

'No,' Olio said, unconvincingly feigning disinterest.

'Well, I'll tell you anyway. The fourth Key has a heart on it.'

Olio slumped then, as if his whole body had been under great tension. 'Yes,' he said weakly. 'I remember now. The Key of the Heart.' He looked up at Edaytor, and the prelate saw something of the old Olio flicker across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Olio looked past Edaytor. 'The kestrel is gone,' he said flatly. 'I don't expect we'll see it again today.'

A message had come from Aman for Orkid, carried by pigeon. He did not open it until his office was empty, his clerks and secretaries all gone. The small scroll of paper had only a dozen words on it.

Amemun convinced Southern Chetts.

You love the queen; Aman can still reign.

Orkid stood up heavily and let the message burn over a candle flame. The meaning behind the words of his brother, King Marin, were plain enough, and they both frightened and exulted him.

The first part of the message meant his friend Amemun had made contact with the fierce Southern Chetts and somehow persuaded them to side with the Kingdom against their northern cousins on the Oceans of Grass. Orkid had never doubted that Grenda Lear would defeat Lynan and his allies in the long run, but forcing the rebel Chetts to protect their southern border would hasten the inevitable.

The second part of the message was equally clear. The grand plan—to have Marin's son Sendarus wed Areava and produce heirs to the throne of Grenda Lear with Amanite blood—had collapsed tragically with the death of Sendarus and his daughter. Some other way must be found to ensure the blood of Aman shared the throne of Grenda Lear. Marin was saying that way must now be found through Orkid himself.

How did he know my feelings towards Areava? he wondered with something like alarm. Were they that obvious?

Then Orkid remembered those long conversations with Amemun when he had escorted Sendarus to Usharna's court for the first time. Amemun had plied him with questions about Areava, had helped Orkid finalise the last details of the grand plan.

And then reported everything back to Marin, of course. I did not have to say the words to Amemun; he always knew how to read my mind.

He sat down again. He could never marry Areava. The council would not allow it, and the Twenty Houses would pull even further away from supporting the throne, and he would not do that to her. And yet…

His own thoughts flagged his divided loyalty, something else Amemun had probably guessed at. He remembered the old teacher telling him that although Orkid's years in Kendra had not blunted his love for Aman, they had given him time to learn to love its rulers. He had not denied it then, and would not deny it now. He would do almost anything to be able to express his feelings to Areava in the hope—the desperate hope—that she might return them. That was the problem with Marin's suggestion. Areava regarded Orkid as a friend, a trusted advisor, her mother's contemporary and confidant, and not as a potential lover. He was honest to himself about that much, at least.

Could he turn her around, make her fall in love with him? It was a question he had been secretly asking himself for several years, ever since Areava had first blossomed into womanhood. At the time he wondered if his response to her had been nothing more than a reflection of his love for her mother, the unattainable Usharna, but as Areava continued to grow and develop so had his feelings towards her. He had been ashamed of those feelings when she married his nephew, Sendarus, and now that shame had turned to guilt because Sendarus's death had given him the chance with Areava he so desperately wanted. And now he had Marin's sanction as well.

He realised that in a terrible way he did not want this chance, did not want to pursue the matter to the point where the queen might spurn him. He had never been afraid of the assassin's knife, but he was afraid of Areava's rejection. But now a combination of desire and duty urged him on, and he knew that even if he could resist desire, he had never in his life been able to resist duty.

Constable Dejanus finished the evening rounds of the palace. He stood in the great courtyard watching a single window high in the east wing. He could see the silhouette of a dark figure through the glass, fluttering with the candlelight.

One arrow would do it, he said to himself. Straight through the window and into the bastard's black heart.