“I believe so, sir,” Alca replied. “There are wards against truth spells, but those are also likely to reveal themselves.”
“All right, then,” Grus said. “Let’s get on with it.” He wanted to find out as soon as he could, before whoever’d come so close to killing him tried again.
When Lepturus came at a servant’s request, the guards commander asked, “You all right? Some funny stories are going through the palace.”
“And well they might.” Grus briefly explained what had happened, finishing, “I am… interested in getting to the bottom of this, you understand.”
“I should hope so,” Lepturus said. “I’ll tell you straight out, Commodore—I didn’t do it, and I don’t know who did. I don’t love you, but you haven’t done anything to make me want you dead.” He scowled. “I don’t like a lot of the thoughts I’m thinking.”
“I’m thinking them, too, and I don’t like them, either.” Grus nodded to the marshal. Face full of thunderclouds, Lepturus left. Alca emerged from behind the arras. “Well?” Grus demanded.
“He spoke the truth,” the witch answered. Grus nodded. He’d thought so, too. He sent out another servant to ask Queen Certhia to see him.
One look at her face when she saw him hale told him everything he needed to know, even without Alca’s help. He asked a short, sad question—“Why?”
“To keep you from stealing the throne from my son,” she said. “Your men are everywhere in the city. Even a blind beggar could tell what you were up to, and I’m not blind. I’m not sorry I did it. I’m only sorry it didn’t work.”
Maybe she didn’t know what sort of sending her wizard had used. Maybe. Grus said, “You’re wrong. I meant no such thing.” Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe. He went on, “But now, I’m afraid, you’ve forced my hand.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lanius had seen his mother exiled from the palace before. She’d come back in triumph after Arch-Hallow Bucco sent her away. Somehow, he didn’t think the same thing would happen this time. He glared at Grus. “You have your nerve, Commodore, asking me to come talk with you after what you’ve done.”
“Your Majesty, I know you’re going to be angry at me,” Grus said.
“Do you?” Lanius was just learning how to use sarcasm, which made him enjoy it all the more.
He might have been shooting arrows at a boulder, though, for all the effect he had on the naval officer. “Your Majesty, I’m sorry I sent your mother to the Maze,” Grus said. “By the gods, I am. My life would’ve been easier if we’d managed to get along. But she tried to kill me, and she came too close to doing it. What was I supposed to do, leave her here to take another stab at it?”
He sounded reasonable. He sounded sincere. And Lanius knew perfectly well that his mother had tried to kill Commodore Grus. That didn’t make him like Grus any better, even if it did mean he understood why Grus had done what he’d done. Lanius said, “Will you get rid of me now, for fear of what I might do to you one day?”
Grus’ face froze. Something in Lanius froze, too. He hadn’t imagined Grus would really dare do any such thing. Slowly, the commodore said, “I don’t want to do that, Your Majesty. I don’t want to do that at all. Everybody in Avornis cares about the dynasty.”
“But if you think I’m dangerous enough, you will.” Lanius had to force the words out through lips stiff with fear.
And Grus nodded. “If I have to, I will, yes. I don’t want your blood on my hands, but I don’t want my blood on your hands, either. I think you can understand that.”
The worst of it was, Lanius could understand it. Had he stood in Grus’ sandals, he would have thought about how best to get rid of himself. How could he have done otherwise? The King of Avornis—even if not of age, even if not trusted with the reins of government—was and always would be a menace to any mere protector simply by virtue of his office and the tradition and power that went with it.
“I think I may have found a way around the problem, though,” Grus said. “I just might have.” He eyed Lanius with what looked to the king like wry amusement; Lepturus had sent him more than a few such glances. “It keeps you breathing, too, which I hope you’ll appreciate.”
“I’ve heard ideas I like less,” Lanius answered, which made Grus chuckle. Lanius went on, “What is this way of yours?”
“I’m going to have myself crowned King of Avornis,” Grus said.
Rage ripped through Lanius. He’d never imagined he could be so furious. Having his mother exiled had frightened him as well as angered him. This was pure, raw fury. “You would dare?” he whispered in a deadly voice. “You dare speak of the dynasty in one breath, and then use the next to cast me down?”
“Who said anything about casting you down?” Grus said. “I don’t intend to do anything of the sort. You’ve got all those ancestors who wore the crown. The people are used to having somebody from your family on the throne. That’s fine with me. You’ll keep on being King of Avornis. But I’ll be King of Avornis, too.”
“That’s… very strange,” Lanius said. “I’ve never heard of anything like it. I don’t think anyone else has, either.”
“So what?” Grus said cheerfully. “The other choice is leaving you shorter by a head. If that’s what you want, I can arrange it.” He folded his arms across his chest and waited.
Lanius almost told him to do his worst—almost, but not quite. Just in time, he realized Grus was neither joking nor bluffing. If he said something like, I can’t live with the humiliation, he would, very shortly after that, stop living. He didn’t want to, and so shook his head.
“Good,” Grus said. “I don’t want to kill you, Your Majesty. I didn’t want to send your mother away, either, but she didn’t leave me with a whole lot of choice.”
Can I believe that? Lanius wondered. He had to believe it. Grus was letting him live. If the commodore—the commodore who was promoting himself to wear a crown—wanted him dead, dead he would be. He asked, “If we’re both going to be King of Avornis, who will rule the kingdom?”
Grus jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “I will. You can wear the crown and the fancy robes. But I’ll say who does what. I’ve heard you like to read old books and play around in the archives. Is that so?”
“Yes,” Lanius answered. “That is so.” He remembered playing with Marila in the archives, and how much he’d enjoyed that. But it wasn’t what Grus meant, and he also loved going through old documents.
“Good,” the commodore—the usurper—said again. “You can do that to your heart’s content. If you find anything interesting, you can write a book of your own. As long as you don’t jog my elbow, you can do whatever you please. If you do—but I already talked about that.”
“So you did,” Lanius said. “I suppose I ought to count myself lucky.” He’d intended that for sarcasm, too, but it came out sounding different. He knew a good deal about Avornan history. The kingdom had known its share of usurpers, including the founder of his own dynasty. They hadn’t gone out of their way to try to mollify the kings they overthrew. On the contrary— they’d gotten rid of them as fast as they could, and often as bloodily as they could.
Grus nodded now, to show he knew that, too. “Yes, Your Majesty, I suppose you should,” he replied.
Lanius had never felt the lure of great power—he didn’t want to take the throne so he could tell people what to do. He’d thought that, as King of Avornis, he was more likely to be able to do the things he wanted—like reading old books and playing around in the archives. Once he came of age, who would presume to tell him he couldn’t?