And then she answered, “It really is all right, Father. I expected you to do something like this. How else are we going to make sure Lanius stays loyal to us?”
Grus’ mouth fell open. What he’d told Lanius proved true after all. He didn’t bother looking over at his wife. Estrilda couldn’t have been more surprised than he was. “Are you sure, dear?” she asked.
“I’m pretty sure, Mother,” Sosia said. “I’m going to marry someone, and better Lanius than some count three times my age who gets drunk all the time and sings songs about sheep when he’s feeling jolly.”
Now Grus did catch Estrilda’s eye. She wouldn’t meet his, not for long. Throwing her hands in the air, she said, “All right. I give up. Let the match go forward. I only wanted what was best for you, sweetheart, and to be sure you knew your own mind.”
“I usually do,” Sosia said.
“Well.” Even Grus sounded a little dazed. He tried to make the best of it. “As long as that’s settled.”
“Yes, Father. Yes, Mother. Is there anything else?” Sosia waited while Grus and Estrilda both shook their heads. Estrilda looked as dazed as Grus felt. Not Sosia. Sosia knew her own mind perfectly well. Grus wondered if she’d decided she was going to marry Lanius before Grus came to the same conclusion. As he retreated in what he hoped was well-concealed disorder, he decided he wouldn’t have been a bit surprised.
Lanius found himself looking forward to his wedding day. That surprised him. No matter what Grus said, Lanius remained convinced he could have more fun with a string of compliant, pretty serving girls than with a single, solitary wife. A wife—especially a wife who was also the daughter of the man who’d usurped his power, if not all of his throne—seemed more likely to prove an encumbrance than an advantage.
And yet… However much Lanius resented Grus, he had trouble resenting Sosia. Whenever he saw her in the palace, she was unfailingly polite and pleasant. She never had a great deal to say, but what she did say proved she had a head on her shoulders. Things could, he decided, have been worse.
And wedding Sosia would settle his life. Up till then, he’d known nothing but disruption since his father died. King Scolopax had despised him. Arch-Hallow Bucco had reckoned him—still did reckon him—a bastard. His own mother had coddled and patronized him. And then Queen Certhia, too, was whisked from the palace, and Grus took her place. Lanius didn’t know exactly what Grus thought of him. He suspected Grus wanted to think of him as little as possible.
He minded less than he’d thought he would. At fifteen, he was content—even eager—to be left alone. He had his books. Now he had the moncats. If he had a wife, too, he wouldn’t need to worry about chasing the maidservants—not that some of them required much chasing.
Besides, he couldn’t do anything about getting married. However little Grus had to do with him, the former commodore who’d promoted himself to king made that very clear. Lanius decided to make the best of it.
His wedding day—appointed by King Lanius—dawned cool and rainy. Servants decked him in the snow-white shirt and midnight breeches bridegrooms wore. He being king, his wedding shirt was of silk, and shot through with silver threads. His breeches were spun from the finest, softest wool in Avornis. A grinning young man fastened to them a codpiece whose extravagance was likelier to frighten a new bride than intrigue her.
“Too much,” Lanius said. “Take out some of the padding.”
But the servant shook his head. In some matters, not even kings were masters of their fate. The man said, “Not today, Your Majesty. Today you’ve got to show yourself off.”
“That’s not me,” Lanius said. “By the gods, the stallions who go out to stud would have trouble matching what you’ve put in there.”
“It’s custom,” the servant declared. Against custom, the gods themselves protested in vain.
Sosia was dressed all in red, to symbolize the loss of her maidenhead that would follow the wedding ceremony—would, in fact, for all practical purposes be a part of it. Lanius got a glimpse of her as she climbed into one carriage and he into another for the short journey to the cathedral.
One of Lanius’ earliest memories was of priests lined up shoulder to shoulder behind Arch-Hallow Bucco to keep his father and mother and him from worshiping at the cathedral. Now soldiers—or were they Grus’ marines?—surrounded the place to make sure nothing happened to him. Lanius would have been happier about that had the men been there to obey his orders and not his fellow king’s.
He couldn’t do anything about it, though. He got out of the carriage in the square in front of the cathedral. The square was the second largest in the city of Avornis, smaller only than the one in front of the royal palace. He’d come through it more times than he could count, once Bucco finally condescended to let him pay his respects to the gods. It seemed different now. He needed a moment to figure out why—no ordinary worshipers streaming into the cathedral. The wedding party would have the place to itself.
Even so, royal bodyguards formed up around Lanius. At their head marched Lepturus. “Congratulations, Your Majesty,” he said in tones likelier to be used for condolences.
“It won’t be so bad,” Lanius said. They walked on for a few paces before he added, “And it could be a lot worse.” He laid a hand on the back of his neck to show what he meant. To Lepturus, if to no one else left in the palace these days, he could say what he meant.
“Yes, Your Majesty, that’s so,” Lepturus allowed. “You could have gone to the block. For that matter, so could I. I’m still a little surprised I haven’t.”
“If you suggest it to Grus, I’m sure he could make the necessary arrangements,” Lanius murmured.
“Heh,” Lepturus said. But Lanius noticed that he didn’t disagree.
When they came to the entrance into the cathedral, one of Grus’ henchmen—a river-galley captain named Nicator—strode up with enough marines to outnumber Lanius’ bodyguards about two to one. He nodded to Grus and said, “We’ll take care of him from here on out.”
Lepturus bristled. “Who says? Nobody told me about that.”
“Not my worry,” Nicator replied with a shrug. “Your boys can clear out now.” The warning behind his words was, If they don’t clear out, we’ll clear them.
No less than Lepturus himself, the bodyguards looked furious. More than a few of them had served not just Lanius but his father, King Mergus. By their expressions, they feared Nicator’s men were getting them out of the way as a first step toward putting Lanius out of the way. Lanius didn’t believe that. Grus had too many other simpler, less public ways of disposing of him; he didn’t need to do it in a setting like this. “It’s all right, boys,” Lanius said.
Lepturus’ scowl said he didn’t think it was all right. He glared at Nicator and said, “I’m coming with His Majesty.” And you’ll have to kill me to stop me, the forward thrust of his body warned.
“I want Lepturus with me,” Lanius said.
He waited for Nicator to argue. But the naval officer only nodded and said, “That’s fine, Your Majesty. He’s on my list. Even if he wasn’t, we’d fix things. I know he’s been guarding you since you were tiny.” Nicator nodded again, this time to Lepturus. “Come right ahead, Marshal.”
Anticlimax. Maybe Lepturus really had been worrying over nothing. Maybe. Any which way, he and Lanius went forward, escorted by Grus’ marines and by this fellow who’d been at Grus’ side longer than Lanius had been alive.