Or is it a yearning? Do you wish to wield that sword again? Do you need to feel its weight in your hands as its edge hacks more flesh, bringing you further glory?
Janessa blinked away such thoughts as she stared out of the chamber window. Nordaine saw to her gown, tightening the ribbons of her bodice very gently, taking pains not to pull too hard around her belly. Below the bodice a skirt billowed outward in an attempt to hide the fact that Janessa was thickening at the middle. The dress could do little about her bosom, which threatened to pop out over the top of her neckline, but a well-placed scarf would suffice to hide it. Fortunate, then, that it was the start of winter, the air colder, the nights growing longer.
The door to her chamber opened and Kaira stood waiting.
‘They are ready, Majesty,’ she said.
Janessa just nodded. A bond had formed between the two of them and they had grown closer still after Dravos’ attempt to … how could she describe it?
To control you. To take over your mind. To remove you from the game altogether and place his master on your throne.
Whatever had been his intention, he was gone now. His body and those of his men had been spirited away by Odaka, and most likely thrown in the Storway with the rest of the city’s filth. How she would explain his disappearance had played on her mind, though she felt she owed the Bankers League no explanation. The man might have been their representative but he had come with his own agenda at the behest of his ambitious master. Once Janessa had rid the Free States of Amon Tugha she would have revenge for the attempt to ensorcell her. Kalhim Han Rolyr Mehelli of the White Moon Trading Company would not escape the consequences of his actions.
Janessa made her way to the dining hall, Kaira walking ahead of her, Merrick behind. He had been silent since his duel in the gardens and she had thought it best not to press him on it. Despite the man’s defeat she still trusted he would do his best to defend her. Despite the dedication of her bodyguards, it had been weeks since Janessa felt truly safe. Though she knew her guardians would lay down their lives for her, it did little to calm her nerves.
She had been so determined all those weeks ago. On the day of her coronation she had stood looking out at her city and vowed to be a strong, a courageous ruler. Now, with the child inside her, with not just her own life at stake, that courage seemed a distant thing.
As she entered the great feast hall, Janessa was struck at how empty it was. Where once had sat courtiers, aldermen, stewards, magistrates and other men and women of state, there were now just three figures. The table looked ridiculous with so few people at it — and all sitting as far from one another as they could manage.
Janessa couldn’t blame the sycophants of court for deserting the palace. They didn’t have to be there. They didn’t have to stand by while the city fell. Better that they should run anyway — they were useless to her.
The three rose to their feet as she entered, bowing as she approached the table. After taking her seat she bestowed a gracious smile on each of them.
Seneschal Rogan produced a smile in return, never letting his mask slip. Baroness Magrida was equally proficient at affecting the proper airs, though it looked as though her face might crack from the effort. Chancellor Durket looked suitably uncomfortable, and whether he was still in shock from the recent attack on Janessa, or whether he was as eager to flee this place as the rest of her court, it was difficult to say.
As they sat, servants carrying platters appeared and the first course — a meagre bowl of honeyed oats — was placed before each of them. Durket looked down at the paltry fare with a disconsolate look, but as Janessa took up a silver spoon and began to eat, he did likewise.
‘I trust your Majesty is well?’ said Rogan.
Janessa noted he hadn’t touched the food before him. She smiled as though everything were perfectly normal — as though the enemy wasn’t almost at the gate, as though assassins weren’t trying to kill her, as though foreign powers weren’t trying to usurp her throne.
‘Of course, Seneschal,’ she replied.
Though he said nothing further, she knew he was after something. Did he know what had happened? Only Odaka, Durket and her Sentinels knew about Dravos. They had taken great pains to ensure the incident remained a secret, but she conceded it was Rogan’s job to discover things others would rather stay hidden.
Janessa turned her attention back to the bowl in front of her. Despite being almost drowned in honey the oats tasted bitter, but Janessa ate though her appetite was lacking.
She had no real desire to converse with her dinner guests, but it was far preferable to the uncomfortable quiet that descended over the table once they had finished the porridge. She looked up at the Baroness, who was dabbing her mouth with a napkin.
‘So your son, Lord Magrida, will not be joining us?’ Janessa asked, instantly regretting her question. How would Isabelle take to her showing interest in Leon? Hopefully not as a sign Janessa was interested in his hand.
‘He is unwell,’ the Baroness replied with a smile. ‘Though if he were here to sample the food on offer I doubt he’d feel much better.’
‘Many people within this city will not be eating at all this evening, Baroness. We should be more grateful for what we have.’
‘Of course,’ Isabelle replied. If her feathers had been ruffled by the rebuke she didn’t show it. ‘It’s only fitting that we should suffer along with the masses.’
Her insincerity was barely masked.
‘We are far from the brink of starvation,’ Janessa replied.
‘Quite so,’ Isabelle said. ‘And some of us need to keep our strength up.’
What did she mean by that? Surely she couldn’t know …
‘I … I’m quite sure …’
Isabelle smiled. ‘I meant that with the trouble to come, you will need to have your wits about you. Facing the northern hordes in a weakened condition would not serve you well, Majesty.’
‘Indeed. But I am sure I will be strong enough to face what is coming.’
‘I envy you your confidence. If only we could be so certain of victory.’
‘If you are afraid of defeat, Baroness, I can see to it that you are conveyed far from Steelhaven before the Khurtas arrive. You and your son.’
Still Baroness Magrida sat and smiled. ‘I wouldn’t hear of it, my dear.’ My dear? ‘Leon and I are determined to see this through. To offer you any and all support.’
And what support would that be? Your son lounging around in his bed all day leering at the housemaids or you following me through the corridors with your judgemental eye?
‘We are most grateful for it, Baroness,’ she replied, raising her glass of water in a mock toast.
Isabelle raised her wine in return and took a sip, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on Janessa.
As the next course arrived — chicken stuffed with lemons on a bed of turnip — Odaka entered the room. Silently he took his place to the right hand of Janessa.
‘Apologies for my tardiness, Majesty.’ With that he glanced towards Seneschal Rogan, who ignored the look, though Janessa was sure he noticed.
‘Of course, Odaka. I am sure there is much to which you must attend.’
The tall warrior didn’t answer, merely gazed at Rogan, who looked up from picking at his chicken.
‘Anything we need concern ourselves with?’ the Seneschal asked.
‘You know it was.’ Odaka continued to glare across the huge dining table.
Rogan looked back calmly. There was no love lost between these two, but then Janessa had known that for a long time; not least because she could sense Rogan manoeuvring himself for power.
Before her father’s death she had only trusted Odaka, and Rogan had been all but invisible. Now with King Cael gone it seemed the Seneschal of the Inquisition was trying to make himself invaluable within Janessa’s court. Whether she valued him or not, she felt she needed all the advisors she could muster in such trying times, and so far Rogan had not seen her wrong.