Treason, page 4
part #1 of Treason and Truth Series
“She liked to ride. Always said it reminded her of old friends… It must have been of you, thinking about it.”
“No, sir. She used to ride with other ladies often. Lady Leila Ryson, the Rale sisters and others. They liked the Wynwood best.”
“She used to take us to the meadows beyond the Wynwood when we couldn’t get away to Ceardlann easily. I’ll miss that.”
“There’s nothing wrong in missing what has made us happy.”
Arkyn took a sip of water. “Isn’t there? We’re taught to avoid feelings.”
“So are soldiers, but it doesn’t always mean you shouldn’t feel.”
“What does it mean then?” asked Arkyn, perplexed.
“Well, it means not letting them rule you all the time, picking the moments to let yourself feel carefully. You can still feel. You must still let yourself feel, otherwise everything becomes twisted up inside and that is destructive. That’s why I didn’t think anything of Prince Tain’s enthusiasm. Grief comes in waves. There isn’t a time for it to be over. There isn’t a moment you can say ‘enough’. There isn’t even a moment when you can say ‘I should be feeling this’. It is normal to be numb, to be angry but it’s also normal to forget in fleeting moments.”
Arkyn considered that. “When Ella died mother didn’t smile for months. When grandfather died, father was quiet and distant for so long. I tried to help but… Well, Uncle Lachlan told me just before he died that people must work things out before they can be themselves again.”
“In many ways, he was right,” replied Wynfeld carefully. “It takes everyone a different amount of time. There’s nothing wrong with that, my prince.”
Arkyn swallowed. “Father…” he trailed off before saying, “I wish I could turn back time to when I was eight. Grandfather, Uncle Lachlan… they were both alive… We were happy.”
Wynfeld’s heart went out to Arkyn. “It’s been a tough few years for your family.”
“It feels like it won’t end and I can’t say that to father. I feel like… Well, like everyone I love dies.”
“I can understand why, but it’s not your fault, any of it. Your grandfather was elderly and had lived a hard life, sir. Your great-uncle, well, sometimes deaths are sudden. Your sister’s death was an accident, a tragic accident from what I heard and when I heard, even I wept for her. Your mother—”
“Did you weep for her?” asked Arkyn bitterly.
“Yes, and then I got very drunk,” answered Wynfeld honestly. “My aunt had to put me to bed last night and she’ll not let me forget it for years, I think.”
“How is she?”
Wynfeld looked sideways at him. “Very emotional in her own way. She loved your mother dearly.”
Arkyn blinked hard. “I know. When Ella died, Maria was the only one my mother would let near her.”
“That must have been difficult,” said Wynfeld.
“She didn’t want me, us, to see her distressed but we heard her. Father wasn’t here, Uncle Festus couldn’t calm her, only Maria could and I felt so useless. I always feel useless. I can’t… I want to hide. I want to run away and hide and never come back.”
“Facing what you are, I can understand that,” admitted Wynfeld without thinking.
“I can’t though, can I?”
“Probably not. Someone would find you. It doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be able to get time to yourself if you want it.”
“With Tain around, that’s easier said than done.”
“His Highness does seem to love life.”
“Yes. It’s not that I don’t…”
As Arkyn continued talking, Wynfeld felt the stress slowly ebbing away. He simply listened and answered, prompted and let silences mature. They didn’t notice when Maria put her head around the door, didn’t know that she kept Tain and Elantha busy elsewhere. Three hours later, long-held-back tears pricked at Arkyn’s eyelids. Slowly, they began to flow. By the time evening arrived, the tears had dried and Arkyn had curled up asleep. Wynfeld left the room to find Maria.
Between them, they got Arkyn into bed without waking him. As they left, Adeone was coming along the landing.
“Maria, how are they?”
“As well as can be expected, Sire.”
Adeone nodded. “Captain, what are you doing here?”
Before Wynfeld could reply, Tain appeared.
“I asked him here, father.”
“Why?” queried Adeone suspiciously.
“To see what he’d told you, sir.”
“Being inquisitive isn’t always a good trait.”
Tain’s face dropped. “No, sir.”
“Moreover, I doubt, having experienced Wynfeld’s honesty, one that will get you very far. Did it get you anywhere?”
“No, sir.” Tain grinned. “Arkyn might have had more luck though.”
Adeone’s brow creased. “We’ll see. Captain, I’d like a word.”
* * *
Wynfeld followed his King to the study with some trepidation. Had he pushed the chance acquaintance too far, presumed too much? If it had been the Palace, would he have made the same offer to Prince Arkyn? Should he have left the talking to other people? Whether he had been right or not, it now didn’t matter. He couldn’t change what had been and, as they entered the study and the door closed behind them, he remembered the ease with which people could confide in virtual strangers and yet not tell their nearest and dearest their thoughts.
“Captain, what did Prince Tain mean?” demanded Adeone.
“I sat with Prince Arkyn and listened to him talk for the afternoon, Sire. He needed to get things off his chest.”
“Anything I should know about?”
“Sire, it was in confidence.”
“Captain!” Adeone’s tone lost all hint of reasonableness and tolerance.
Wynfeld’s gaze fixed forward. “No, Sire, nothing that could be harmful.”
“Thank Alcis for that.” Relief poured off the King in waves and he sank onto a chair, obviously exhausted.
A knock at the door heralded the arrival of a sleep-tousled Arkyn, who’d been woken by Tain fretting that he’d got Wynfeld into trouble. He glanced at the captain before saying, “Sire, Wynfeld was listening to me. I needed to talk so badly.”
Adeone studied his son. The youth had returned to his face. He turned to Wynfeld but the captain had gone. Somehow, Adeone reflected, he was pleased. His new captain apparently had tact and understanding. Crossing to Arkyn, he pulled his son into a hug before sitting with him for the evening, just the two of them.
* * *
Wynfeld entered the kitchens in search of sustenance. By the time he’d polished off a plateful of food his aunt had arrived. She clipped him around the head, as though he was still eleven.
“So then, Captain…”
“I was going to tell you, Aunt Maria,” said Wynfeld hastily.
“Hmm. Well, congratulations. Where’s your commission?”
“Oedran, so I’ll be calling round to see you more often.”
“That won’t be hard, will it? This is the first time I’ve seen you in fifteen years.”
“Isn’t absence meant to make the heart grow fonder? … Ow!” Wynfeld winced, reflecting that his aunt could give the army lessons on inflicting pain.
Chapter 6
ADEONE
Late Evening
Macarian House – Study
HAVING TUCKED ARKYN UP IN BED, Adeone returned to the study. An unfinished letter to an old friend in Terasia lay on his desk. Instead of finishing it, he sank into a comfortable chair by the fire, watching the flames without seeing them, watching them burn down until the dying embers of the fire represented his heart; the warmth was there but there was no spark to give it meaning, no flame burning brightly to give him drive and direction, nothing to make him feel alive. Even the evening drew to a close outside the windows. He didn’t know what time it was and didn’t care. The world had changed the previous day; there was a hole in his heart and grief strangled his other senses. He heard the distant sounds of the house – the tread of feet, a voice talking softly, another answering – but he couldn’t connect to them. The aromas of his study pervaded his senses – the worn leather of chairs, the wood’s polish, the wax from candles burned away – yet they were distant, not part of him.
He’d stayed awake all through the previous night. He didn’t want to sleep; as soon as he did, he’d forget; sleep would take him to the darkest reaches, where memory and dreaming had no place. He’d driven himself too hard, fighting the knowledge that Ira wouldn’t recover. He couldn’t fight it now; it was proven beyond doubt. For the moment, he had nothing left to challenge, nothing to match himself against. Even as his mind denied it, his body knew it and was waiting for him to accept it. It would reclaim what he’d been denying it for months: rest. In rest was time to think, to remember, to despair. He couldn’t give in to his body’s demands. He had to get through the days ahead, the years ahead. He needed to survive until Arkyn was twenty and could claim the empire, else Scanlon would try to take it under the title of Protector, and he was unlikely to protect anything, certainly not his nephew’s life.
Adeone recalled the talk with his elder son that evening. Arkyn had been shocked when Adeone had told him that he was sending him to the Rex Dallin. Then, when Adeone had explained why and had finally told his son that his uncle wanted him dead, the shock was replaced by understanding, more quickly than he expected. He realised Arkyn had grown considerably in the last two years – height and personality had become defined – and he wanted to tell Ira how proud he was of their son. Crushing reality hit him. He’d never tell Ira. She had gone. She had left him, left their sons. Curled into the chair, foetal like, he succumbed to his grief.
Half an hour later, the embers of the fire lit his face where tears washed his cheeks. Dimly, he registered someone had entered the room. Paralyzed by grief, he didn’t care if they saw a broken man.
Retreating from the study with felted house shoes muffling his tread, Kadeem was glad he hadn’t clomped his way into the King’s grief; as a footman, his evening duties included checking the study was tidy, candles replaced, hearth swept and laid ready again. With no reply to his quiet knock, he hadn’t expected the King to be sitting by the dying fire. It wasn’t up to him to break into such a moment of loss. Closing the door softly behind him, he entered the adjacent room. A few moments later, satisfied he should have prevented anyone else blundering in, he hurried through the candlelit house to find Simkins in the King’s bedchamber.
“Sir, His Majesty may need you. He is in a bad way.”
“Thank you, Kadeem. Where is the King?”
“In the study, staring into the embers of the fire and crying, silently; just crying.”
“You didn’t see that. Is that understood?” ordered Simkins sharply but muted.
“It was understood, sir, as soon as I didn’t see it. I’ve put a notice on the door so His Majesty isn’t interrupted. I hope that was right.”
Adeone’s drawn face, sunken cheeks and dull eyes revealed the depth of his grief; dark rings hollowed his eyes and drew them back into their sockets. Simkins cursed. He should never have let Adeone get himself into such a state. Some of it was inevitable – the King would always push himself too far – but he was meant to prevent a collapse like this.
“Sire…”
Adeone stared at the embers, but there had been a flicker deep in the hollowed eyes.
“You should be in bed, sir,” whispered Simkins.
Adeone shook his head.
Simkins left the study and closed the door gently behind him. A couple of minutes would make little difference. Seeing Kadeem standing nervously a short way down the landing, he crooked an eyebrow.
“I thought you might need a runner, sir.”
“Which you are not.” Simkins enunciated each word, most of his mind working out what to do.
“No, sir, but I thought it might be better if I were not, if you see what I mean.”
“Discreetly fetch the King’s Physician.”
Finding the medical man reading in the library, Kadeem murmured, “Doctor, can you go to the study, please?”
Chapa looked up, worried by the tone. “What’s happened, lad?”
“Simkins just asked me to fetch you, sir. I’m too lowly to know anything else.”
Chapa chortled to himself; Kadeem might be the newest member of the King’s household but had already proved himself more than a match for seasoned servants.
Kadeem likewise considered the doctor. He had a reputation for being a bit of a character. He had once been described as a smile so well wrapped up you only saw the smirk as he watched the world go by. Written across his face was the laughter of the years, his hair was never neat: it was fine, wispy, and unkempt – simply enhancing his eccentric attitude to his serious job. His blue eyes seemed to make a mockery out of everything but the most serious of situations. It sometimes fooled people into thinking he didn’t care; he did very deeply, just not soberly. He always maintained, if you couldn’t laugh at yourself, there were plenty of other people all too willing to laugh at you.
“I’d better go and see what he wants, hadn’t I?”
“Who, Doctor?”
“Oh, himself, the King.” The doctor chuckled in appreciation of the look of shock on Kadeem’s young face. He modified his words to console the young man. “I should, of course, have said ‘himself and the King’. Forgive me, lad, the mind at my age wanders and if it doesn’t wander, it leaves completely. Are you to escort me?”
“I don’t know, sir. Is it normal?”
“What is normality but a state in other peoples’ minds? You’d better come; just in case. I might get lost.”
“What can I do for the lad, Simkins?” asked Chapa as they reached the study door.
Simkins sighed. “He is the King.”
“Yes, I know. I was at his accession and coronation – birth too, come to that. After all that, it’s a bit hard to miss.” His voice turned from jovial to serious. “How is he?”
“Not good, and he won’t retire.”
“Of course he won’t! Never did know what was good for him. He got that trait off his mother. Tain will be the same, as I dare say will Arkyn, given half a chance and I hope I live to see it.”
“Doc, you’re not yet sixty and fit as a fiddle.”
“Really? Oh, it feels like more. Must be my job.”
“Just come on in. Thank you, Kadeem. Wait here, please.”
Once in the study, Simkins muttered, “Will you please not shock new members of staff quite so soon, Chapa? Whatever their background.”
“He’ll be fine. William’s taught him well.”
“I know.” Simkins motioned to where Adeone was sitting. The tears had ceased, but the dull, blank staring had not.
Chapa shook his head and slipped a vial carefully into his belt pouch, before passing the rest of his kit to Simkins. Moving over so he was in front of Adeone, he knelt, examining his wayward patient – concern splayed across his kindly features.
“Sire, you need to retire. See, Simkins is so worried about you, he fetched me.”
“No need,” replied Adeone so quietly the doctor almost missed it.
“I dare say there wasn’t. It would be just like Simkins to get me out of your nice, cosy library for nothing. Did you know you even have a book on beetles in there?”
“Yes.”
Which was more than the doctor did. He tried another tack. “If you’re not careful, sir, I’ll send for Lady Amara.”
“Below the belt, doc.”
“What else did you expect? Seriously though, you’re worrying everybody.”
“Am I?” enquired Adeone, beginning to take notice.
“Everyone who knows, aye. You need to sleep.”
“I’m afraid to, cousin.” The King’s reply was so low that Simkins standing a couple of feet away couldn’t hear it.
Chapa murmured, “Forcing yourself to keep awake will make the bill heavier. Please, go to bed, Adeone. Make my life easy for a change.”
In a fit of pique, Adeone shook his head.
“Then I’ll get a drink for both of us. It might stop people worrying; if they know I’m here, should you need me.” Getting to his feet, Chapa retrieved the vial. It contained a potent sleeping draught, which he stirred into Adeone’s goblet unseen.
It took a few minutes to work, but, once it had, the doctor, Simkins and Kadeem carried him to his room and made him comfortable.
When the three were alone, Simkins turned to Chapa. “He’ll have your guts for that little trick.”
“Let him try. They are quite happily attached to the rest of me. Anyway, his health is my concern and he isn’t too healthy.”
Simkins remembered Kadeem was there. “Off you go. Say anything about this and I’ll have your guts, attached to you or not. Worse still, I’ll have a word with your father.”
Kadeem inclined his head slightly. “He always likes seeing you, sir. Goodnight.”
Chapter 7
MORNING
Imperadai, Week 12 – 25th Lowal, 18th Lowis 1209
Macarian House – King’s Bedchamber
THE BLACKNESS STIRRED; light filtering behind Adeone’s eyelids. He’d been talking to the doctor; how had he got to bed? He struggled against the light, but the day wanted acknowledgement. He blinked awake. His eyes met Simkins’ as his manservant turned from arranging the curtains into neat drapes. Adeone groaned as realisation dawned.
“Please tell me I didn’t fall for the sleeping draught in the wine trick.”
Simkins weighed up all possible answers. “Yes, Sire, you did: quite spectacularly. Would you like to talk to Doctor Chapa today?”
“I’ll have a word with him, to keep up appearances.”
“Now, sir? He’s been outside all night,” added Simkins without emphasis, but his eyes held a glint of anticipation, if not amusement.
