Treason, page 3
part #1 of Treason and Truth Series
Cornelia stilled. Her sister had taken her own life. It wasn’t something she wanted to talk about or even acknowledge. Her wed-brother, Lord Scanlon, hadn’t invited them to Aelia’s funeral. He’d seen to everything before he informed them and used Princess Ella’s death, which had occurred around the same time, to excuse his actions. So, to her, Aelia was forever elsewhere in the empire, not with their ancestors.
Landis realised he’d said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m not myself.”
“I know. We’ve got to be there for our nearsons now, Festus, like never before.”
“I asked Simkins if it would help if we had them to stay for a couple of days, but he thought not. He was right, I think. Adeone will need them close now.”
“I wasn’t meaning that,” clarified Cornelia. “We need to be available to them if they want to talk. Arkyn’s a year older than the twins and will soon be starting to take up duties. It’ll only be a couple of years before he’ll be touring the empire doing provincial reviews. He and Ira were close, Festus.”
“He’s close to Adeone as well.”
“Yes, but not in the same way,” explained Cornelia. “He feels the expectations more with Adeone. He doesn’t want to disappoint him. Ira told me he fears the future. He’ll do what he has to without complaint but he will need someone to talk to.”
“I know. As will Tain and Adeone, for that matter.” He whispered, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Cornelia.”
“You’d cope for our children, as Adeone will cope for his.”
“How many have we got again?”
“Five, as you well know.”
“Hmm. I might like a couple more.”
She gave him a well-practised look, leaned down and kissed him gently. He responded immediately, then stopped just as suddenly. Carefully, Cornelia pushed his dark hair away from his forehead. Fourteen years of marriage and she knew him better than almost anyone else. He needed to acknowledge his emotion before he could work through it.
After a moment, she disentangled herself and poured him a whiskey. Turning back, she noticed his glazed eyes and smiled sadly to herself. It wasn’t an evening for laughter or conversation. She put the drink on the table next to his hand and sat at a small desk, pulling out a sheet of paper. As she was sealing the letter, Landis asked who she was writing to.
“Feronia.”
“It won’t get to her before the news. Ifor will tell her…”
“I know, but I like writing to my wed-sister. Don’t worry, I obviously sent your love.”
Landis grimaced. He loved his sister and wished she lived closer than the Low Plains, but there was a difference between that and admitting it.
“I don’t have to send the letter.”
“Yes, you do. I should contact her myself. She and Ira were close as girls.” He swallowed. “Why do I feel so ripped apart by this?”
“Because you loved your cousin and know what her family must be going through. You’ll be better when you’ve seen Adeone at least.” Changing the subject, she asked, “What was that with Sergeant Jenner earlier?”
“Oh, I was sacking him. The King arrived in Oedran without guards and there were none waiting for him. Pursuit is a quick mount and Adeone an excellent horseman, but they shouldn’t have been as far behind as Simkins said. At the very least, if Jenner had realised that His Majesty was outstripping them to such a degree, he should have alerted Marsh to get guards to him at the Garth Gate, but, apparently, he didn’t think about that. He left the King exposed. I can’t allow that as Defender.”
“Good. Who will you promote?” enquired Cornelia.
“No-one for the moment. I’ll need to talk over the options with His Majesty and there will be less pressure on the King’s Guard now, so it can wait a short time. They’ll all know there’s a vacancy and will be vying for my attention. I’ll get the contenders thoroughly checked. It should keep Fitz quiet. Though he’s at Macarian House, so it’ll be his sergeants doing the work.”
“I’m glad he’s there. It’ll be a weight off Adeone. You know he doesn’t trust any other guard the same way.”
“Neither do I,” admitted Landis. “I’m not going to interfere. Though at some point, in the not-too-distant future, Fitz will have to retire. He’s been with them since 1169.”
“Maybe don’t say that to His Majesty.”
“Would you mind if I invited the King for dinner soon?”
“I’d prefer it if you invited Adeone. Make sure he realises he’s always welcome, that we can make it private and that I still don’t need warning.”
Chapter 5
PROMOTION
Tretaldai, Week 12 – 24th Lowal, 17th Lowis 1209
Oedran – Macarian House
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Wynfeld awoke to a thumping headache and heart. The subdued atmosphere of the kitchen suited his mood as he sat peeling potatoes, losing himself in memories. He’d see his aunt when he could and then start the lonely march to Garth and his regiment. He’d helped clear lunch away when Simkins informed him the King wanted to see him.
Again, he walked through the house in a dream; memories assailing him at every turn. Beside him, Simkins tried to lay out the rules for an audience with their King: answer all questions honestly, agree when required, never disagree, don’t answer back or ask questions, stick to the subjects raised and don’t comment on personal matters, however tempting. Their King would direct the conversation. All Wynfeld had to do was follow the path.
He entered the study to another jolt of the familiar: the desk in front of the square-paned window to his right, the comfortable chairs around the fireplace to his left. The last time he’d been in this room, Lord Macaria had been sacking him and for a moment he felt like that young groom again, not the seasoned sergeant he’d become.
His King exclaimed, “By Alcis you look rough!” as a greeting.
“Sorry, sir; got slightly drunk last night.”
“Wish I could have joined you,” remarked Adeone when they were alone. “Now, after everything that happened, I’d like to offer you a commission in Oedran. I’ve spoken to your captain already.”
Wynfeld blinked. “What does Captain Sharparu say, sir?” Even after the events of the previous day, he hadn’t expected a promotion.
“If you really want to know, Wynfeld, he said he’d be sorry to see you leave but he always had the feeling that you would end up being his commanding officer. Something about every good sergeant he’s ever had ending up promoted. For some strange reason, he normally finds out when they’re on leave and have come to Oedran. I told him to take it as a compliment. Now, I can understand that you might like some time to think about it. So, tell me, Prince Tain mentioned they’d bumped into you before you reached the gardens. What was the little rascal up to?”
Wynfeld tried to form the correct words. “It wasn’t anything nefarious, Sire.”
He could feel his King taking the measure of him in a way he hadn’t done the day before. There was a look in his eye, a certain set to his head, a stillness that was difficult to pinpoint.
After a couple of moments, his King observed, “I don’t believe you’d tell me if it were. Do you mind explaining why?”
“Not at all, Sire. I don’t think harmless fun should be used against lads who have the kind of responsibility my Princes do.”
Adeone gave a short nod of approval. It was a pleasant change to find someone who wouldn’t tell him what his sons were up to. The more he knew, the more he had to do something about. They had to be boys before they were men.
Wynfeld, who’d tried not to see the telltale worry lines on his King’s face, made up his mind; Simkins could keep his rules. He took his future career well and truly in both hands. “Do you mind if I mention something, Sire?”
“I’ll know when I hear it.”
“Prince Arkyn is looking too highly strung, sir.”
For several moments, Adeone considered Wynfeld gravely. The sergeant had literally marched from one side of the empire to the other for Ira because he’d heard she was ill; he’d not expected to see her, to become embroiled as he had in the events of the moment.
With that in mind, the King said, “Will you accept the commission?”
Remembering Ira’s last request, Wynfeld saw he had no choice. If the commission was in Oedran, he’d be able to keep an eye on her family more easily. “Yes, Sire. I would like to, very much.”
“Right. Please kneel.” Adeone took Wynfeld’s oath before saying, “Sit down. Everything I am about to tell you will go no further than this room. To answer your comment about His Highness, I’ll shortly be sending your Princes to the Rex Dallin for their health and their safety. Their mother’s death changed more than they can possibly understand. Their lives are in greater danger now than ever before.”
“Sir, I don’t mean to disagree or question you, but the idea that anyone could wish to harm Their Highnesses must be wrong.”
“Is it? Maybe you have been out of Oedran for too long. I’m going to take your mind back to 1204; the year my father died. My brother turned alunan-age – taking over the full duties of the Justiciar of the Empire – and declared that he was dropping the title ‘Prince’. Shortly after my coronation, he made a couple of comments. They were nothing in themselves, but the look in his eye and the way he said them worried me. It has since come to my attention that he is planning to kill me. More importantly, though, he is planning to kill your Princes as well. I think, however, he’ll dispose of me first.”
Half incredulous, the new Captain Wynfeld protested, “Sire—”
“I assure you, this is all true. Lord Scanlon may only be twenty-four, but he wants absolute power. To get that, he must murder my family and myself. I can’t see him allowing Prince Tain to take over as Justiciar of the Empire; he, himself, would lose too much power.” Adeone paused to collect his thoughts. “I, this will sound odd but I had a dream the other night…” He explained two dreams, saw Wynfeld’s confusion and continued hurriedly, “However, Captain, the fact remains that Lord Scanlon wants us dead and our ashes cast to the winds. He has become more dictatorial recently. He doesn’t notice his daughter or care for her. The Queen brought Lady Elantha into our nursery because of that.” Adeone paused. “That’s by the by though. The officer you are replacing is going with Their Highnesses. He’s overseen your new regiment for years, but there’s no-one I trust more with my sons’ safety.”
“It’s not a new commission then, Sire?”
Adeone smiled to himself. “No. You’ve become my chief spy. You’ll be overseeing the intelligence regiment, in charge of making sure that plots don’t succeed and that I know what’s happening in the empire; especially if people don’t want to me know it. Tangentially, you’ll be protecting Their Highnesses and Lady Elantha, though guarding is carried out by my guard or the Palace Guard. You will never be off duty. If you’re in the city, keep your eyes and ears open. I understand you are on leave for another week and a half. Report to General Paturn, at the barracks, when your leave ends… and, Captain… Thank you for all you did yesterday. I will never forget it.”
The two men looked at each other, somehow acknowledging shared grief in the glance, before Wynfeld saluted and left.
* * *
Once outside the study, he took a deep breath but never got as far as letting it out before a small hand grabbed his sleeve and started pulling him along the landing.
“Where are we going, my prince?”
“The nursery.”
As they reached the door, a well-worn officer stepped out and barred their way.
“Fitz, let him pass!” wailed Prince Tain.
“Your Highness, I’m sorry, but the King’s orders are to let no-one in today, especially if they have any bladed weapons and this gentleman has quite a few.”
Tain sighed but he’d learnt to respect Fitz. “He’s just been with father.”
“Then I’ll let him pass, but he must leave the weapons here.”
Wynfeld turned to Tain. “If those are your father’s orders, we must abide by them, sir.” With a swift movement, he drew his sword and passed it over, took out the two daggers from the back of his tunic and the one from the front, before removing a knife from his boot. As he handed it over, Fitz, with raised eyebrows, asked,
“Any more? Wrist knives, maybe? How about a sheathed blade hidden between your shoulder blades, just in case?”
Tain was smiling; laughing at the rituals of an adult world.
To keep the smile, Wynfeld theatrically patted himself down all over before turning to Fitz. “Nope, that’s it, sir. I should try the shoulder blade idea.”
“What is your name?”
“Wynfeld, sir.”
“What does it matter?” groused Tain. “Come on.”
As Tain dragged Wynfeld past Fitz, he raised his eyebrows, amused.
Once in the privacy of the nursery, Tain asked, “What did you tell father we were doing in the grounds?”
“I didn’t tell him anything, Your Highness.”
“You didn’t?” cried Tain, incredulously.
“No. Whatever you and Prince Arkyn were doing was your own business; it wasn’t harming anything other than, possibly, your appetite for dinner.”
Tain let out a whoop of joy.
“Tain, have some propriety. Think what it looks like!” snapped Arkyn entering.
Tain’s face fell as though he’d been hit, his eyes filled with tears and he ran from the room. As he left, he choked, “Don’t you ever feel anything?”
Arkyn let him go, dispassionately, it seemed. “I’m sorry about that, Sergeant, but my brother has to learn that there are modes of behaviour that people expect from us.”
“Forgive me, sir, but if they expect anything other than the normal highs and lows of grief, then they are inconsiderate fools. If you can’t act naturally at home, in the privacy of your rooms, then the world has turned very harsh.”
“The world is always harsh to us.”
“Not as harsh as you are to yourself, I think.” The words were out before Wynfeld could stop them.
“You’d better explain that comment,” ordered Arkyn, turning into a figure of authority.
Wynfeld realised once again that times had changed. When he’d last been in the house, Prince Arkyn hadn’t been born. Oedran had altered from the city of his youth, but he recognised the tone of authority easily. Prince Arkyn would become a senior officer in the army, above even the General, within a year and had a steadiness of gaze unusual in a fourteen-year-old.
“Very good, sir. Since I saw you yesterday, I’ve thought you are on a tightrope. All your nerves are strung out trying to contain your feelings. In the last two years, you have lost a sister and now your mother. You are trying to be the one who doesn’t fall to pieces, bottling up everything you feel to get through the day; thinking your father isn’t, therefore, having to worry about you as well. Sir, forgive me, but he is worried, exceedingly worried. You are looking strained, and that will never go unnoticed in a warm and loving family. By hiding your feelings, you are storing up trouble. If you’re not careful, soon you will break.” Wynfeld had been watching Prince Arkyn’s face change from hard determination into apprehension. “I’m being too presumptuous, I’m afraid.”
“No, I asked you to explain. Is he really worried?”
“Yes. I remember His Majesty as a young man. He has lost more joy of life than age and grief can account for.”
“Everyone expects me to cry but I can’t,” admitted Arkyn, almost whispering; he had become a child once more.
“Then what do you need to do?” Wynfeld matched his voice.
“Talk to mother…”
“Ah.” Wynfeld considered for a moment. Being careful didn’t have to mean being remote. His Prince was glancing into the corners of the room, as though he wanted somewhere to hide, somewhere to retreat from expectation. For a brief moment, he considered fetching his aunt, but instinctively realised his Prince wouldn’t confide in her and he clearly needed to talk to someone.
“I am more than willing to listen. I can never presume to fill her place… but I would like to listen, not only for your sake, but for hers as well.”
Arkyn could never explain why, in that moment, he trusted Wynfeld so completely. He stood realising that everyone left in his life would expect him to fulfil his role, not be himself. His father never showed any expectation but they both knew it was there. Arkyn had to become a man who could be king, Tain a man who could be justiciar; it was written in their lineage and in their birth. Their mother had made the weight of that fade away and Arkyn would miss that even though he couldn’t explain the realisation. It was a nugget of understanding, ephemeral and fleeting, the shape of an idea. Maria would have listened but he was getting too old to run to her. He felt brittle, fragile, friable, as though the slightest thing would make him shatter. After a moment of contemplation, he poured two glasses of water. Holding something would help. He glanced around the cluttered room for somewhere to sit. Oddly, he didn’t want to sit in a comfortable chair; he wanted the presence of something solid, so he settled himself with his back against a trunk and motioned to Wynfeld to find himself somewhere to sit as well.
Wynfeld considered carefully and decided it might be easier for Arkyn to talk if he didn’t have to look at anyone; he settled himself beside his Prince and waited for a few moments before saying,
“Your mother and I used to play in here as children.”
Arkyn rolled the glass in his hands. “I wish we were anywhere else.”
“Why?”
“Because then she would be with us still… I know that’s stupid but… How did you get to know her?”
“I grew up here as well. Your grandfather was very forbearing. My parents couldn’t afford to raise me, so Aunt Maria took me in. Your mother and I were the only children in the house. It was easier for my aunt to keep an eye on us together. That dwindled when I started working. Then I was outside in the stables mainly and it was just when out riding that we talked.”
