“We have some time to work in then. That’s good. Gentlemen, unless anyone has a further point to raise, I think this meeting is over. Venuzzi, I take it your people are all in place?”
The steward nodded. “You shall know what he has for breakfast before he has it himself.”
“Excellent.” Fournier rose. “Gentlemen, good night. I suggest we do not all depart at once. Such things get noticed.”
In ones and twos they took their leave, until only Aras and Willem were left. The older officer rose and set a hand on Aras’s shoulder. “You have your doubts about our little conspiracy, do you not, Aras?”
“Perhaps. Is it wrong to wish for victory, no matter who leads us to it?”
“No. Not at all. But we are the leaders of our country. We must think beyond the present crisis, look to the future.”
“Then we are becoming politicians rather than soldiers.”
“For the moment. Don’t be too hard on yourself. And do not forget whose side you are on. This Corfe is a shooting star, blazing bright today, forgotten tomorrow. We will be here long after his glory-hunting has taken him to his grave.” Willem slapped the younger man’s shoulder, and left.
Aras remained alone in the empty room, listening to the late-night revellers below, the clatter of carts and waggons in the cobbled streets beyond. He was remembering. Remembering the sight of the Merduk heavy cavalry charging uphill into the maw of cannon, the Fimbrian pikes skewering screaming horses, men shrieking and snarling in a storm of slaughter. That was how the great issues of this world were ultimately decided: in a welter of killing. The man who could impose his own will upon the fuming chaos of battle would ultimately prevail. Before the King’s Battle Aras had thought himself ambitious, a leader of men. He was no longer so sure. The responsibilities of command were too awesome.
“What will it be?” he said aloud to the firelight, the glowing candles.
Either way, he would end up betraying something.
FIVE
His wooden heels clicked on the floor like the castanets entertainers danced to. She had tried to make him don shoes, but he seemed fascinated by the sight of his timbre toes tapping on marble. Many times he sagged or slipped and she had to steady him. When she did, the pain speared into her ribs, making her breath come short. He had struck her there with his new knee as she held him down in the midst of Golophin’s magicking. But there was no time for trivialities like that. Hebrion had a king again. With her help he was stalking and staggering up and down the Royal chambers like an unsteady lion pacing its cage.
And I have a husband, the thought came to her unbidden. Or will have. A man half human, and the other half-what?
“Unbelievable,” King Abeleyn of Hebrion muttered. “Golophin has really surpassed himself this time. But why wood? Old Mercado got himself a silver face. Couldn’t I have been given limbs of steel or iron?”
“He was in a hurry,” Isolla told him. “They vote on the regency today. There was nothing else available.”
“Ah, yes. My noble cousins, flapping around me like gore-crows looking for a beakful of the Royal carcase. What a shock it’ll be when I walk in on the dastards! For I will walk in, Isolla. And in full mail too.”
“Don’t overdo things. We don’t want you looking like an apparition.”
Abeleyn grinned, the same grin that had quickened her heart as a girl. He was still boyish when he smiled despite the grey of his hair and the scars on his face. “Golophin may have had to fix my legs, Issy, but the rest of me is still flesh and blood. How do you feel about marrying a carpenter’s bench?”
“I’m not a romantic heroine in some ballad, Abeleyn. Folk with our blood marry out of policy. I’ll wear your ring, and both Astarac and Hebrion will be the better off for it.”
“You haven’t changed. Still the sober little girl with the world on her shoulders. Give us a kiss.”
“Abeleyn!”
He tried to embrace her and pull her face towards his, but his wooden feet slipped on the stone floor and he went down with a clack and crash, pulling her with him. They landed in a billow of her brocade and silks, and Abeleyn roared with laughter. He kept his grip, and kissed her full on the mouth, one hand cradling the hollow of her neck. She felt the colour flame into her face as she pulled away.
“That put the roses into your cheeks!” he chortled. “By God Issy, you grew up well. That’s a fine figure you’ve got lurking under those skirts.”
“That’s enough, my lord. You’ll injure yourself. This is unbecoming.”
“I’m alive, Isolla. Alive. Let me forget Royal dignity for a while and taste the world.” His hand brushed her naked collarbone, drifted lower and caressed the swell of one breast where the stiff robe pushed it upwards. A jolt ran through her that dried up the words in her mouth. No-one had ever touched her in that way. She wanted it to stop. She wanted it to go on.
“Well sire, I see you are feeling better,” a deep, musical voice said.
They disentangled themselves at once and Isolla helped the King to his feet. Golophin stood by the door with his arms folded, a crooked smile on his face.
“Golophin, you old goat!” Abeleyn cried. “Your timing is as inept as ever.”
“My apologies, lad. Isolla, get him to the bed. You’ve excited him enough for one morning.”
Isolla had nothing to say. Abeleyn leaned heavily on her as she helped him back to the large four-poster. Only a two-poster now. The other two were grafted on to the King’s stumps.
“My people have to see me,” Abeleyn said earnestly. “I can’t sit around in here like an ageing spinster. Issy has given me the bare bones of it. Now you tell me, Golophin. It’s written all over your face. What’s been going on?”
On his own visage, as the humour faded, pain and exhaustion added an instant fifteen years to his age.
“You can probably guess.” Golophin poured all three of them wine from the decanter by the King’s bed and drained half his own glass in a single swallow.
“It’s been only a few weeks, but your mistress Jemilla-”
“Ex-mistress,” Abeleyn said quickly, glancing at Isolla. A warmth crept about her heart. She found herself taking the King’s hand in her own. It was dry and hot but it returned her pressure.
“Ex-mistress,” Golophin corrected himself. “She’s proven herself quite the little intriguer. As we speak Hebrion’s nobles gather in the old Inceptine abbey and squabble over the regency of the kingdom.”
Abeleyn said nothing for a moment. He was staring at his wooden legs. Finally he looked up. “Urbino, I’m thinking. The dry old fart. She’ll find it easy to manage him, and he’ll wield the most clout.”
“Bravo, sire. He’s the leading candidate.”
“I knew Jemilla was ambitious, but I underrated her.”
“A formidable woman,” Golophin agreed.
“When is the vote?”
“This afternoon, at the sixth hour.”
“Then it would seem I do not have much time. Golophin, call for a valet. I must have decent clothes. And a bath.”
The old wizard approached his King and set a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Are you sure you are up to this, lad? Even if Urbino is voted the regency today, all you have to do is make an appearance at any time and he’ll have to give it up. It might be better if you rested a while.”
“No. Thousands of my people died to put me back on the throne. I’ll not let one scheming bitch and her dried-up puppet take it from me. Get some servants in here, Golophin. And I want to speak to Rovero and Mercado. We shall have a little military daemonstration this afternoon, I think. Time to put these bastard conspirators in their place.”
Golophin bowed deeply. “At once, sire. Let me locate a couple of the more discreet palace servants. If we can keep your recovery quiet until this afternoon, then the impact will be all the greater.” He left noiselessly.