Viktor glared at her, but didn’t have the energy for any more objections. Heather made herself keep smiling. It tore her heart to see him so down and defenseless. She brought the spoon carefully over to Viktor’s mouth, and he gulped the thick chalky stuff down. He swallowed hard, and pulled a face.
“That tastes so vile it must be doing me good. Well, where’s my sweetie? A good nurse always has a nice sweetie for afterward, to take the nasty taste away.”
Heather leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. Viktor smiled at her ruefully.
“Sorry, love. The spirit is willing, but it’s not in charge anymore. I’m tired. I’m always tired, these days.”
Heather smiled comfortingly, and nodded. She didn’t dare say anything for fear her voice would betray her. She carefully recorked the bottle and put it and the spoon back on the table. Then she leaned forward, took firm hold of his legs, and lifted them up onto the bed. He leaned backward, and she helped lower him the rest of the way. She pulled the heavy covers up over him, and his head sank exhaustedly back onto the pillow. Heather let her hand rest on his forehead for a moment. His skin was hot and dry to the touch.
“I never thought I’d die this way,” said Viktor quietly. “A battle that went wrong, or a dagger in the back … that was something I’d grown used to. I could cope with that. But dying in bed, by inches … I’m scared, Heather.”
“Don’t be, my love. I’m here.”
Viktor sighed, and closed his eyes. “I’m tired, Heather. Very tired. I think I’ll sleep for a while. Are the guards and wards in place?”
“Yes, darling. Don’t you worry about anything; you’re perfectly safe here. Rest easy.”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and he murmured something indistinct. She straightened up, and saw that his eyes were already closed and his face was slack. She stood by the bed for a while, watching his shallow breathing, then she turned and tiptoed out of the bedchamber. She shut the door quietly behind her, and sighed wearily. Her shoulders slumped. Being constantly cheerful and encouraging was hard work. She leaned back against the closed door with her eyes shut, gathering her strength. The Lady Emma Hellstrom looked up from her sewing, and smiled at her.
“Heather, my dear, you look tired enough to drop. Come over here and sit with me before you fall down.”
Heather opened her eyes and smiled at Emma, and pushed herself away from the door. “He’s settled now. I think he’ll sleep for a while. I hope so, anyway.”
“Still no improvement?”
“Worse, if anything. I’ve tried him on every medicine the surgeons have come up with, and none of them have made a blind bit of difference. He’s so weak now, he can’t even walk unaided. Oh Emma, it breaks my heart to see him this way.”
The Lady Emma patted Heather comfortingly on the arm as she sat down beside her. “You must be strong, my dear. You have to be strong enough for both of you.”
“I know, Emma. You think he’s going to die, don’t you?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“He’s not going to die. I won’t let him. I swear, if I ever get my hands on the bastards who’ve done this to him …”
“You still think it’s poison?”
“It has to be!”
“I don’t see how it can be, Heather. I mean, Argent tastes everything before Viktor even touches it.”
“I know, I know.” Heather’s tiny hands curled into fists, and frustration and anger made her face ugly. “Whoever it is, they’ve been very clever. When I find out who’s responsible, I’ll see to it that they die by inches.”
“I’ll help hold him down,” promised Emma. Heather smiled fondly at her.
When they’d first met, Heather had wondered what Sir Gawaine had ever seen in his wife. The Lady Emma was a plump, mousy woman in her early forties. Whatever beauty she might once have had in her youth had faded away into plain, unremarkable features and a more than comfortably padded body. At first, Heather had seen her as just another victim for her wit, someone else to take out the day’s frustrations on, but right from the beginning Emma had made a point of answering Heather in kind, and the two women quickly developed a surprisingly strong attachment for each other. As Viktor and Gawaine spent most of their time together, it was hardly surprising that Heather and Emma found themselves often in each other’s company, and their early friendship had long since hardened into an unbreakable bond.
“Tell me,” said Emma, “have you seen Viktor’s double yet? What’s he like?”
“Physically, he’s so like Viktor it’s frightening,” said Heather. “He even sounds like him, most of the time. But I don’t like him. He’s an arrogant sort, like all actors—full of himself and forgetful of his proper place. But he’ll do the job well enough. And afterward …”
She smiled grimly, and Emma chuckled. “My dear Heather, if you followed through on every one of your dire threats, we’d have to build another cemetery. You can’t kill everyone you don’t like, or soon we’d have no one left to talk to.”
Heather shook her head. “I’m right this time, Emma, and you know it. The actor has to die. We can’t risk his telling anyone about his part in our little conspiracy, can we? It’s not as if he was the only one marked for death. Once Viktor is king, he can’t allow anyone in a position of power to have undue influence over him. Argent is a tradesman; we can bargain with him. But Roderik …” Heather pursed her lips thoughtfully. “He forgets his place too often, the nasty little man. Just because he has some Blood, he thinks he’s as good as my Viktor. Sometimes he even seems to think that he’s in charge of this conspiracy, and Viktor is only there to follow his orders. We can’t have that, can we? No, once my Viktor is safely on the throne, there are going to be quite a few surprised faces at Court …”
The two women laughed quietly together, the gentle happy sound at odds with the grim delight in their faces.
Jordan was getting ready for bed when the dog reappeared. He’d just finished drawing back the bedclothes and laying out a tastefully embroidered nightgown, when something cold and wet nudged the back of his leg. He jumped, startled and looked down to see the bloodhound standing at his side, waiting patiently to be noticed. It stared up at him with its perpetually mournful face, and wagged its tail. Jordan took his hand away from his sword, and grinned at the dog. He knelt down beside it, and the bloodhound made a determined effort to lick his whole face spotlessly clean. Jordan laughed, and halfheartedly tried to fend the dog off.
“So you’re back again, are you?” he said cheerfully. “Where have you been hiding yourself? Under the bed?”
The dog laid down and rolled over on its back so Jordan could rub its stomach. He did so, and wondered what to do next. He’d never had a dog of his own. He’d had his horse for several years, but the two of them had quickly established a policy of live and let live, and had rarely strayed from it. Jordan supposed he ought to feed the dog, but he wasn’t entirely sure what bloodhounds ate, or where in the suite to look for it. And then he frowned, as he remembered Gawaine saying the dog definitely wasn’t Viktor’s. The prince hated dogs. Having met the prince, Jordan wasn’t in the least surprised. The dog had to belong to somebody, though; it was too well groomed to be a stray. Perhaps it had just wandered into his room by mistake, and couldn’t get out. He ought to call the guards outside his door and have them remove the dog, but it was a friendly animal, and Jordan felt in need of a little friendly support.
There was a knock at the main door, and Jordan looked up sharply. He wasn’t supposed to have any visitors. The guards were under strict orders to turn everyone away until morning. Jordan hesitated, and whoever was outside knocked again. It was a loud, arrogant, demanding knock. Jordan decided he’d better answer it. The caller didn’t sound as though he was going to go away, and it might just be important. He looked around for the dog, to get it out of sight, and found it had disappeared again. Clever animal. It wouldn’t do for Prince Viktor to be seen being friendly with a dog. It wouldn’t be in character. Jordan walked quickly out of the bedroom and over to the main door, and pulled it open. The Regent, Count William Howerd, stood waiting impatiently before him, still dressed in his formal robes. Jordan shot a quick glare at the two guards for not having warned him who it was. They stared determinedly straight ahead, avoiding his eyes. Jordan supposed he couldn’t blame them. It was the Regent, after all.
“Well?” said Count William. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Of course, sir Regent,” said Jordan quickly. “My rooms are yours.”
He stepped back out of the way, and the Regent swept in. He looked around the room distastefully, his gaze implying he’d seen more tastefully furnished slums. Jordan shut the door, and moved hesitantly forward to greet the Regent. He wasn’t quite sure what to do for the best. Private audiences with the Regent hadn’t been covered in any of his briefings.
“Would you … care for a drink, sir Regent?”
“Not at this hour, Viktor.”
“Then what can I do for you?” Jordan suddenly decided he was being too polite. He was, after all, a prince of the Realm whose rest had been disturbed. He deliberately turned his back on the Regent, and walked unhurriedly over to the nearest chair. He sank down into it, and draped one leg idly over the arm of the chair. The Regent gave him a hard look. Jordan smiled blandly back.
“I am here to see you on a matter of some importance, Viktor,” said the Regent coldly.
“I should hope so, at this hour,” said Jordan. “Well, out with it, man. We haven’t got all night. What’s so important it couldn’t wait till morning, when my advisers could be present?”
“You were at the Court this morning,” said the Regent slowly. “You were there when I proclaimed the Rite of Transference. No matter what you or your advisers may believe, I assure you, it wasn’t a move I made lightly, nor was it intended as a threat to you or your brothers’ position. I’ve never made any secret of my feelings toward you or your family, but I’ve never allowed my personal feelings to influence my duties as Regent.
“Redhart needs a king. You saw what the steward uncovered at Court; the Unreal is loose in the Castle and growing stronger all the time. Only the king can put a stop to this, by drawing on the Stone; the rest of us are helpless. Viktor, any king is better than none. I’m not blind to the practicalities of the situation. If anyone other than a prince of the line is declared king, a civil war is all but inevitable. People are already choosing sides. They seem to have forgotten the horrors and bloodshed that such wars mean. Hundreds of thousands would die—not just guards and men-at-arms, but ordinary men, women and children, too. Farms would be burned, towns gutted, rivers poisoned. I don’t want that. And I’m hoping you don’t.”
“I’ll do anything I can to avoid a civil war,” said Jordan carefully, “but you must understand that I may not have much say in the matter. If my brothers start raising armies, it will be impossible for me to stay neutral. They wouldn’t allow it.”
“Yes,” said Count William. “I understand.” He sighed suddenly, and shook his head. “It’s late and I’m tired, so I’ll come straight to the point. You always used to be the most reasonable of the princes, so I’m going to appeal to your sense of honor, to your duty to the kingdom. Do you have the crown and the seal?”
Jordan looked at the Regent blankly, while his mind worked furiously. By asking that question, the Regent was openly declaring that he didn’t have the crown or the seal, and he had no idea of who did have them. And by that very openness, he was also declaring the weakness of his position, and his need for allies. He was asking Jordan to work with him.
“I don’t have the crown or the seal,” said Jordan finally. “And as far as I can tell, neither of my brothers have found them either.”
The Regent waited, but Jordan said nothing more. The silence stretched on, pregnant and uncomfortable with hidden meanings, until the Regent nodded reluctantly. “I see. Thank you for being so frank with me. In return, I’ll be honest with you. You won’t have heard yet, but open fighting has broken out between Lewis and Dominic’s troops. My guards are doing their best to restore order, but there’s a limit to what they can do. Particularly since they’ve been spread so thin trying to contain the Unreal. Viktor, it seems to me that you’re bound to be drawn into the conflict sooner or later. If I were you, I’d start preparing against magical attacks. Your protective wards here are excellent, but they have their limitations, as I’m sure you’re aware. I’ll just say one more thing, and then I’ll leave. Your time in exile seems to have mellowed you somewhat. I’m glad to see it. But as Regent for the kingdom, I can’t stand by and allow civil war to break out in Redhart. I will do everything in my power to support whoever eventually produces the crown and seal. And if that means having to order your brothers’ deaths, or yours, I’ll do it. For the sake of the kingdom, Viktor; don’t stand against me.”
He turned suddenly and left, pulling the door quietly shut behind him. Jordan heaved a long sigh of relief. He’d been getting in over his head and he knew it. He was in no position to commit Prince Viktor to anything. He’d better talk to his advisers quickly, and let them decide what to do about the Regent’s warnings. He felt better almost immediately, now that he’d shifted the burden onto somebody else. He started for the door, and then stopped suddenly. He couldn’t go running to Count Roderik in the middle of the night; he was a prince. It would look very strange, not to mention suspicious. He’d be better off sending one of the guards with a message. Jordan froze suddenly as from behind him came a low, animal growl. He spun around, and saw that the bloodhound was back, and staring fixedly at an empty corner of the room. The dog stood stiff-leggedly, its head stretched out toward the corner, and growled ferociously. Jordan’s hackles rose, and a cold hand clutched at his heart. He couldn’t see anything in the corner, but when he was a child his grandmother had told him that dogs could often see ghosts where people couldn’t. And Castle Midnight was supposed to be full of ghosts …
“Easy, boy,” he said quietly to the dog. “What is it? What can you see?”