Firebrand
Page 51
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
He discarded those counselors instead, and replaced them with advisors of his own choosing. Laren, who had practically overseen the raising of him, was one such. She’d made captain on her own merit, but he ensured she stood by his side as one of his most important advisors. Not every king or queen before him had thought so much of their Green Rider captains to have done so, but he knew well they were more than just simple messengers.
He left the gallery behind and started down the corridor that led to the royal apartments. Finder the Second and Jasper trotted at his heels. Normally the dogs spent the night in the kennels, but ever since the aureas slee’s attack, he’d kept them with him in the queen’s apartments. They were good watchdogs and, if he or Estora were threatened, vicious defenders, despite their small size. His Weapons were excellent, and he knew the queen’s apartments were now warded against further magical intrusions, but he was determined to protect his unborn children and their mother in every capacity possible.
When he reached the door to his own rooms, Ellen asked, “Will you be guarding the queen again tonight?”
He paused. “Do you object?”
“No, Your Majesty. We are pleased you’ve taken an active role in her safety.”
He tried to fathom if there was more behind her words, but like all Weapons, she was well-trained in keeping a neutral expression. Sometimes he wished he could be a Weapon himself, for their duties were clear, black and white, and devoid of entanglements of the heart. It must be simpler, but was it really? For all their stoicism, their stony facades, they were still flesh and blood and surely not immune to human emotion. No, theirs was discipline, a mastery over their passions and desires, and in this he wished he could emulate them.
“I am just going to retrieve my sword,” he said, “then will spend the duration in the queen’s sitting room.”
“Very good, sire. We will be outside if you require us.”
We indicated Ellen and Willis immediately outside his and Estora’s rooms, and whoever relieved them at third watch.
Inside, Jasper sniffed the edge of a bookcase and sneezed. Finder yawned, waiting to see what interesting thing was going to happen next. Zachary removed his longcoat and tossed it over his chair. He could hear his valet snoring in the parlor—he’d probably tried to wait up for his master, but failed. Zachary did not awaken him, but as he had since the attack of the aureas slee, he retrieved his sword from its display. On impulse, he also grabbed a plain, wooden chest that rested on a shelf. With these items in hand, he and his terriers crossed through the passage that led to the queen’s sitting room.
Embers glowed in the fireplace, and a lamp dimly glowed on the table before the sofa, but Estora was nowhere to be seen. He glanced into her bed chamber and made out her sleeping form beneath her blankets, her steady breathing. He returned to the sitting room and set aside the game chest and sword to throw a fresh log on the fire and stir the embers. Shortly, flames greedily attacked the log. Pleased, he sat on the sofa and drew the blanket over his lap that Estora had been using during the day to keep warm. It smelled lightly of lavender, of her. He kept the sword bared at his side, and snapped his fingers at the dogs to lie down by the fire. It did not take much to convince them.
He thought to pick up Estora’s book of sonnets to read, but love poems did not appeal to him. They were overwrought with sentiments that were . . . that were unobtainable. Instead, he stared into the fire. Ordinarily, if he was awake in the night, it was because he was working late in his study, going over petitions and correspondence, and more recently, examining maps of the north marking the known movements of Second Empire. He was always busy, always with some problem for him to solve. These nights he kept vigil in Estora’s sitting room, however, were silent.
At first he’d brought his own books to read to keep his restless mind satisfied, but tonight he stared into the dance of flames too tired for much else. He’d resisted the silence because it permitted unpleasant memories to surface, memories of betrayal and violation, and tonight was no different.
Betrayal had become too familiar an unwanted companion since his ascension to the throne. There’d been his brother, of course, but there’d been little love between the two of them to begin with. No, Amilton’s betrayal had not been the knife twisted in his back that had been the betrayal of advisors he had chosen and trusted.
He reached across the table and opened the wooden chest he’d brought, which contained his game of Intrigue. He laid out the board and started setting up the markers, which were crudely carved wooden figures in red and blue, the paint worn and chipped from use. He held the green in reserve. The set had belonged to his great grandfather and was passed down to him.
As he considered the markers in their starting positions on the board, he acknowledged that time eased the pain, that the betrayal was not nearly as visceral as when it had happened, but he remained angry, angry that he lost three experienced, hardworking men because they had simply not trusted him the way he had trusted them. When his survival was in question after the assassin’s arrow, they took matters into their own hands and violated royal law by forcing his marriage to Estora while he lay fevered and insensible.
He punished them for their transgressions. Master Mender Destarion had been reassigned to an outpost in the northern wilds where he must suffer hardship and privation. General Harborough had been stripped of his rank and sent to stand before a military tribunal, but unable to endure the dishonor, he ended his life prior to sentencing by hanging himself in his cell. Colin Dovekey had been sent to Breaker Island, home of the Black Shields and the academy, and was summarily executed for treason.
He left the gallery behind and started down the corridor that led to the royal apartments. Finder the Second and Jasper trotted at his heels. Normally the dogs spent the night in the kennels, but ever since the aureas slee’s attack, he’d kept them with him in the queen’s apartments. They were good watchdogs and, if he or Estora were threatened, vicious defenders, despite their small size. His Weapons were excellent, and he knew the queen’s apartments were now warded against further magical intrusions, but he was determined to protect his unborn children and their mother in every capacity possible.
When he reached the door to his own rooms, Ellen asked, “Will you be guarding the queen again tonight?”
He paused. “Do you object?”
“No, Your Majesty. We are pleased you’ve taken an active role in her safety.”
He tried to fathom if there was more behind her words, but like all Weapons, she was well-trained in keeping a neutral expression. Sometimes he wished he could be a Weapon himself, for their duties were clear, black and white, and devoid of entanglements of the heart. It must be simpler, but was it really? For all their stoicism, their stony facades, they were still flesh and blood and surely not immune to human emotion. No, theirs was discipline, a mastery over their passions and desires, and in this he wished he could emulate them.
“I am just going to retrieve my sword,” he said, “then will spend the duration in the queen’s sitting room.”
“Very good, sire. We will be outside if you require us.”
We indicated Ellen and Willis immediately outside his and Estora’s rooms, and whoever relieved them at third watch.
Inside, Jasper sniffed the edge of a bookcase and sneezed. Finder yawned, waiting to see what interesting thing was going to happen next. Zachary removed his longcoat and tossed it over his chair. He could hear his valet snoring in the parlor—he’d probably tried to wait up for his master, but failed. Zachary did not awaken him, but as he had since the attack of the aureas slee, he retrieved his sword from its display. On impulse, he also grabbed a plain, wooden chest that rested on a shelf. With these items in hand, he and his terriers crossed through the passage that led to the queen’s sitting room.
Embers glowed in the fireplace, and a lamp dimly glowed on the table before the sofa, but Estora was nowhere to be seen. He glanced into her bed chamber and made out her sleeping form beneath her blankets, her steady breathing. He returned to the sitting room and set aside the game chest and sword to throw a fresh log on the fire and stir the embers. Shortly, flames greedily attacked the log. Pleased, he sat on the sofa and drew the blanket over his lap that Estora had been using during the day to keep warm. It smelled lightly of lavender, of her. He kept the sword bared at his side, and snapped his fingers at the dogs to lie down by the fire. It did not take much to convince them.
He thought to pick up Estora’s book of sonnets to read, but love poems did not appeal to him. They were overwrought with sentiments that were . . . that were unobtainable. Instead, he stared into the fire. Ordinarily, if he was awake in the night, it was because he was working late in his study, going over petitions and correspondence, and more recently, examining maps of the north marking the known movements of Second Empire. He was always busy, always with some problem for him to solve. These nights he kept vigil in Estora’s sitting room, however, were silent.
At first he’d brought his own books to read to keep his restless mind satisfied, but tonight he stared into the dance of flames too tired for much else. He’d resisted the silence because it permitted unpleasant memories to surface, memories of betrayal and violation, and tonight was no different.
Betrayal had become too familiar an unwanted companion since his ascension to the throne. There’d been his brother, of course, but there’d been little love between the two of them to begin with. No, Amilton’s betrayal had not been the knife twisted in his back that had been the betrayal of advisors he had chosen and trusted.
He reached across the table and opened the wooden chest he’d brought, which contained his game of Intrigue. He laid out the board and started setting up the markers, which were crudely carved wooden figures in red and blue, the paint worn and chipped from use. He held the green in reserve. The set had belonged to his great grandfather and was passed down to him.
As he considered the markers in their starting positions on the board, he acknowledged that time eased the pain, that the betrayal was not nearly as visceral as when it had happened, but he remained angry, angry that he lost three experienced, hardworking men because they had simply not trusted him the way he had trusted them. When his survival was in question after the assassin’s arrow, they took matters into their own hands and violated royal law by forcing his marriage to Estora while he lay fevered and insensible.
He punished them for their transgressions. Master Mender Destarion had been reassigned to an outpost in the northern wilds where he must suffer hardship and privation. General Harborough had been stripped of his rank and sent to stand before a military tribunal, but unable to endure the dishonor, he ended his life prior to sentencing by hanging himself in his cell. Colin Dovekey had been sent to Breaker Island, home of the Black Shields and the academy, and was summarily executed for treason.
