Fire in the Blood, page 63
Raedra smiled to imagine Varauna in the company of veteran soldiers and powerful war wizards—no one able was exempt from duty, and the noblewoman had been there to bury an arrow in the eye of a shade battling into the gatehouse.
Auspicious, the overswords all said.
The arrow that launched a thousand “ready swords,” Varauna crowed.
For sixteen days, no one sat upon the Dragon Throne. For once, Raedra didn’t worry about what the nobles would do or wouldn’t—there was too much at stake. For every ambitious upstart, there was an elder who shortened their leash. For every calculating old wyrm, there were a dozen young things with their patriotism on their sleeves to encircle them. If there were further traitors in their midst, they heeded the example of Pheonard Crownsilver and decided now was not the time to strike after all. Raedra’s orders were followed as though she were regent again—many stemming from Baerovus’s observations. Brother and sister might well have shared the throne for sixteen days.
To the north, in Arabel, war wizards sealed the portal in the Forgotten Keep, cutting Shade’s path off. Without access to Netheril, the siege of Arabel was finally broken.
Then at dawn, on the Feast of the Moon, the celebration of the dead, the army of the Western Marches rode down from Arabel and crushed what remained of Shade against the walls of Suzail.
Not a single Shadovar soldier was spared.
“Between the Army of the Western Marches and the ones we’ve recruited,” Oversword Greatgaunt said, “we should be well-positioned to liberate Marsember without too much trouble. More so if the Army of the Purple Dragon can return.” But then there were the reports of Shade marching toward Myth Drannor—the war wasn’t over yet, and Cormyr’s aid might still be needed.
Erzoured had gained a measure of the public’s respect, for everyone had expected the Baron Boldtree to use this moment of crisis and the army at his back to claim the crown. But Erzoured was too canny for that, Raedra thought, and instead claimed the prize she could not block him from: his army’s admiration. He was a hero, for once, though still in his heart of hearts, she didn’t doubt he was a blackguard.
“He can be tolerable,” Maranth allowed. “If he’s trying. If there are people to remind him.”
Trying or not, Raedra had to admit she was a little relieved. In that moment, there were not Obarskyrs to spare, and she didn’t need people worrying about the thinness of the royal line, about who would succeed whom, when they would leap so quickly to unclaimed bastards and Silver families. She would never trust Erzoured completely—no one could be that foolish and live—but the moment’s respite she gained from him soaking up the adoration of the common folk was a boon.
And then there was Aubrin.
“I know about my father,” she said, perched opposite him in her sitting area. They had buried Irvel that morning. Ganrahast stood behind her. Constancia Crownsilver stood behind Aubrin. He didn’t blink. “About Havilar,” she went on.
“What about her?” he asked in a conversational way.
Raedra frowned. “She raised him.”
Constancia looked to her cousin, alarmed. Brin’s eyes stayed locked with Raedra’s. “Where did you hear that?”
“He told us what happened. And then she admitted to it.” She saw the fear that lit his eyes. “She’s put me in a very difficult position here.”
Brin swallowed. “What are you going to do?”
“The law says she should be executed. You know that.”
“You can’t.”
“I might have to.”
Brin cursed and looked away. “You can’t. Because I did it. She’s lying for me. I brought him back.”
“Aubrin,” Constancia warned.
“The king was very clear about what happened to him,” Ganrahast said. “You were not in the room when he returned.”
“I stepped out,” Brin said calmly. “Call a trial if you don’t believe me. But who are your witnesses? A dead man, a tiefling, and a noble of the realm and purported Obarskyr. Whose testimony will ring truest?”
“Are you mad?” Raedra asked. “Are you trying to get your head lopped off?”
“Which is fairer?” Brin returned, a tremor in his voice. “To hold me responsible for all of this or to take it out on Havilar, who was only trying to make things right for me, when she couldn’t possibly understand how to make that happen? The laws might make Cormyr what it is, but that’s for good or ill, and I don’t see how killing someone who was just trying to help the person she loved without the slightest malice intended helps the kingdom. I did it. It’s my fault. Call your Dragons.”
For a long moment, Raedra and Brin stared at each other, and Raedra wondered whether he was expecting her to call his bluff, or take up Orbyn in her own hands. Either, she thought, so long as you don’t harm her. Oh, Aubrin, you are an odd one.
“I’m inclined to agree with all of that,” she said. “And I think it evident that … you were unaware of the larger situation and my father’s personal wishes. No one outside this room, apart from Havilar, knows what happened. I would be pleased to keep it that way. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad you brought him home again—for my own sake as much as Cormyr’s. The gods only know what would have happened if he hadn’t ridden against the Purple Dragon, as it were.”
“You would have been all right,” Brin said.
“We don’t know that,” Raedra said, “and we don’t need to.” She hesitated. “The marriage—”
“Raedra—”
“I don’t care what’s happening between you and her,” she pressed on. “I am not marrying you. I am not marrying anyone who has so clearly muddled his past and his present. You have reasons for every step you’ve taken—and all of them are sensible on their own, even the nonsense with the silk—but together … they are a man who I don’t want for a husband or a partner. Consider our engagement dissolved. You’re free,” she added.
“You needn’t put it like that,” Brin said.
“I shall put it however I wish. Much as I’d like to say that is all,” Raedra went on, “if you are not marrying me, then we need to return to the matter of the legitimization. I intend to advocate it be ratified.”
“Ye gods!” Brin cried. “How is that better?”
“It’s better,” Raedra said, “because at this moment there is entirely too much to worry about, without having to address the fact that there are only three living Obarskyrs.”
“A fourth is not going to fix that.”
“It improves it. I’ll take what I can get. This isn’t a point I intend to negotiate—”
“You will trap me here.”
“If I need to.”
“There’s a problem, Your Royal Highness,” Constancia interrupted. Raedra raised an eyebrow, and the knight straightened. “I wasn’t going to say anything. But that was before … before this business about the late king and everything else. You see, in the battle in the tunnels, Aubrin was … struck by one of the traps. Mortally. He died. And I’m afraid I cannot keep it a secret any longer—I brought him back.”
Raedra doubted she’d ever heard anyone lie so clumsily, but then she wondered if the Tormish paladin had ever lied in her life, Crownsilver or not. Brin gaped at Constancia as though she’d sprouted horns of her own.
“That seems a skill beyond you, lady knight,” Ganrahast said.
“An artifact,” she amended. “From the Crownsilver vaults. Aubrin is … my charge. I couldn’t let anything happen to him. But the law is the law.”
“And now his place in the succession is delayed,” Raedra said. “How convenient.”
“It is a bit,” Brin pointed out. “I’m no barrier to you, this way.”
“The throne hasn’t been decided.”
“Please,” Brin said. “It’s yours. And it will be a boon to everyone if there’s no chance at all that some new Pheonard can rise up and try to use me to displace you. I’m not meant to be king.” He smiled at her. “You, on the other hand …”
“You’re still getting legitimized, whether you like it or not,” Raedra said, standing. “I suppose you’re going to leave now?”
Brin nodded, but he said, “I don’t know. Everything’s … it’s all a mess right now.”
“Try being forthright,” she said. “Fight your breeding.” She hesitated. “Good luck.”
“If things had been different—” he began.
“Spare me,” Raedra said. “If she hadn’t come back, she would have still been in your heart. And I find I have to agree with my father. She’s a charming young woman. She deserves someone who prizes her.” Whether or not that was Aubrin remained to be seen, but since there was no chance at all that Havilar would remain in Raedra’s sphere, it was hardly her business.
“Well done,” Ganrahast said, as they walked to the Royal Court, trailed by a pair of highknights and preceded by a pair of Purple Dragons. “Almost a pity that couldn’t have been worked out sooner.”
“It wouldn’t have worked before the siege,” Raedra said. She could regret each action in turn, but to look at the whole, any piece resolved more quickly, more neatly, might have meant Suzail’s defeat: if Brin had been on Calantar’s Way, if they had married on time, if Irvel had returned safely and gone back to Saerloon, if Irvel had died in the Hullack … there would have been no one in Suzail to ride out like a madman against the Purple Dragon, to break Marsheena’s spell of fear and release Suzail to fight as it must. And Irvel wouldn’t have gotten to say good-bye to his family.
“Should he be needed,” Ganrahast said, “we can always collect him.”
“I’m counting on it,” Raedra said. “But let’s try not to need him.”
In the chamber off to the side of the Royal Court, Baerovus was waiting for his sister. Baerovus and several nobles. Raedra’s temper lit to see her brother cornered against the wall, avoiding the eyes of Lord Huntcrown and his cronies.
“My lord, the Dragon Throne has sat empty long enough,” Lord Huntcrown cajoled. “Surely you see the need to step up.”
“I suppose,” Baerovus said, still looking at the carpet.
“You don’t need a coronation, of course,” Lord Ambershield said. “But it would soothe your subjects—a proper one this time. In the court.”
“Must I?” Baerovus said. He looked around. “You are standing very close.”
“It could be done by the end of the tenday,” the High Chatelaine said, ignoring Baerovus’s discomfort, and some old, almost discarded part of Raedra wanted to shove him out of the way and pull Baerovus into the tunnels where he could recover. She had been prepared to sit down with her brother and discuss what should come next. But watching him here, flinching away from these vultures, Raedra knew that the conversation wasn’t needed. Her pulse hammered, but she held herself very straight and very still.
“Rover.” Baerovus looked up at his sister, and all the nobles crowding him jumped at the sound of her voice. Good, she thought. “You abdicated,” she said gently.
Realization lit the prince’s face. “I did.” He turned back to the lords. “I abdicated. That means, according to law, my claim to the throne loses primacy. I come after everyone else.”
“You didn’t abdicate, Your Majesty,” Lord Huntcrown protested. “You deferred to your father’s superior claim.”
“But that’s not what I said,” Baerovus pointed out. “I said I abdicated. And rules are rules.” He grinned at Raedra. “I’m not the king.”
“Your Highness, don’t strongarm him,” Huntcrown said. “He doesn’t know what he’s giving up.”
Raedra narrowed her eyes. “My brother is not a simpleton, Lord Huntcrown. In fact, he is very well versed in the law.” She reached out a hand to Baerovus, and her brother moved to stand beside her. “He will make a fine advisor.”
“So you mean to take the throne,” Lord Huntcrown said.
Raedra smiled at the High Chatelaine. “By the end of the tenday, from the sound of things. I am the next in line after all. Unless,” she said, her tone light, “you wish to start a civil war, Lord Huntcrown.”
“Perish the thought,” he said. Then, “Your Majesty.”
“Good,” Raedra said. “Then my lord, please excuse our brevity, there’s quite a lot to do.” The excess of nobles were ushered from the little room, the proper advisors sent for. There were other funerals—other brave souls who had not survived the siege and deserved a hero’s rest. The pages returned with stewards and …
And the Dowager Queen Ospra still looked as weary as a person could be, but she stepped into the room, all grace and charm. Grief might have burned something vital from her, but Ospra Goldfeather had not become a jewel of the court by sitting idly by. She curtsied to her daughter, a true smile on her face, and Raedra was so grateful to have her mother on her side.
The hairs on Raedra’s neck stood on end.
The ghost stood behind Ospra, her legs vanishing into a settee as if she didn’t even notice it was there. Her scowl had softened, but not left.
Raedra inclined her head to the Steel Regent, the notice of one sovereign to another. Alusair’s scowl quirked into a wry sort of smile. She nodded to her great-great-grandniece, and despite herself, Raedra felt as if that alone crowned her, as the ghost vanished from her sight.
IN THE GARDEN behind the tallhouse, Farideh wouldn’t look at Dahl. “So are you ending it?”
“Gods’ books—no,” Dahl said. They sat together on the little stone bench beneath the arbor, the air around them grown cold with winter. “I’m just wondering if it would be better for you to wait for me. For me to go to Harrowdale alone. I’m asking what you think.”
She gave a short laugh. “I think it sounds like you’re ending it. How long is it to get to Harrowdale and back?”
Months, he thought, and dreaded it. “I’m not ending it, all right? I just … You were right. This is dangerous. Strange and dangerous. Maybe I was being a little flippant about it before. And then you turned into a burning angel and commanded the souls of the damned to tear apart some sellswords.”
“That is the second time in my life I’ve used that spell,” she said hotly. “I hate it. If I’d had another option—”
“Hey, hey. I’m not saying you shouldn’t have.” That was a lie. He couldn’t get the memory, the echo of the fear that hit him right in the stomach as she changed, out of his thoughts. What should she have done instead? he thought. He still didn’t have an answer.
He took her hand in his, as much to reassure himself as to reassure her. “I’m not saying you can’t come. I’m only saying you were right. This is a lot to worry about—a lot I don’t know if my family ought to be brought into. And I don’t know how much control you have over that.”
Farideh still wouldn’t look at him. “So what would I do? Stay here?”
“I haven’t thought through that part,” Dahl admitted. He could hardly ask her to stay in Suzail, now that her family had no ties left to bind them there. “What do you want to do?”
Farideh pursed her mouth and shook her head. “I wanted …” She trailed off into a terrible silence. “I don’t want to go where I’m not wanted.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?” She looked at him then, and it nearly tore his heart. “What do you want from me? You can’t just bring up leaving me behind, as if it’s the same if I stay or go. You said it didn’t matter, and now … now it matters, now you’re afraid I’m … what? That I’m going to set your mother on fire?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dahl said. But she did hit you with that magical missile, he thought. An accident—whatever had happened with Ilstan was still a mystery, and with the war wizard’s body still missing …
How can you even think of leaving her? Dahl asked himself. But then he thought of the burning angel, the ravenous souls of the damned—how have you not run already? There wasn’t a doubt in his heart that if a soul said a word about Farideh being a tiefling, he would defend her to the last. But if they said anything about her being a Chosen of Asmodeus?
“You should go,” Farideh said, even though her hands still knotted around his. “You have to pack and … what do I tell the others?”
He pulled her closer. “I want to make sure that you’re ready for this. That’s what I’m asking. That’s what I want you to think about. I love you. I just want this to be easy.” He bent to kiss her, and she turned her cheek to him.
“It’s not going to be easy,” she said. “You know that.”
There’s another answer, Dahl thought, even though he wasn’t sure he ought to believe that. He kissed her and left the tallhouse, ostensibly to pack his things, to settle his plans with Vescaras and make certain the Harpers would not suffer at his absence. But instead he went to the Temple of Oghma and lay upon the floor before the idol.
The answer did not lie in the peace of Oghma. After uncountable hours of chasing the god’s attention, trying not to beg for answers, Dahl sat up. He crossed his legs and rested his head in his hands.
He never gave you answers, Dahl reminded himself. You figured out the answers. You have to figure this one out too. That, alone, brought the faint warmth of the god’s presence, and Dahl sighed.
She warned you, he thought looking up at the idol of Oghma. She told you she was a Chosen of Asmodeus and you didn’t ask what that meant. You didn’t want to know.
But you love her, and that is true. He loved her beyond all reason, and the very idea of never seeing Farideh again was so unbearable he rejected it out of hand. Everything that happened in the tunnels didn’t change the fact he loved her.
It makes it harder, he amended. But it doesn’t change it.
So there are two paths, he reasoned. Either you accept that she is bound like this, that she has a god’s notice she wishes were gone. You stay and you stand by her and you accept what that means. Or you decide it’s all too much and you let her go—you can’t ask her to stay with you if you won’t stay with her. It was that simple after all.
