The Charnel Prince (35 page)

Silly girl
, Anne thought angrily.
Can’t she see there’s no sincere love in him? He’s just a boy, playing games
.

But why should Austra’s foolishness bother her? After all, if he was focused on Austra, perhaps he’d leave
her
alone. That certainly would be for the best.

Still, Austra was her friend, and she had to watch out for her. So she pulled herself to her feet using the rail. There was no renewal of her nausea. She felt well, at least physically.

“Ah, she’s alive after all,” Cazio said, glancing in her direction. Austra jumped guiltily, and her blush deepened. Anne suddenly wondered if things had gone farther than a bit of hand-touching. While she was sick and asleep, perhaps?

She wouldn’t have to ask. Austra would volunteer any information eventually. Or—maybe not. There had been a time when they shared everything, but they had grown apart. Anne knew it was her own fault, for hiding things from Austra. Perhaps Austra was getting her revenge.

“Do you feel better?” Austra asked. “You were missing from your bed, and I couldn’t find you at all. I thought you had fallen overboard. Finally I saw you sleeping here, and brought a blanket to keep you warm.”

“That was kind of you,” Anne said. “I felt less sick out here. And altogether better now.”

“That’s good,” Cazio said. “You’ve been a bit of a bore.”

“Which makes our company perfectly matched,” Anne replied.

Cazio opened his mouth to answer, but something behind her got his attention, and his brow furrowed. She turned to see what it was.

When she saw it was Captain Malconio, her jaw tightened.

“Well,” he said. “You seem to be feeling better. The dead have risen.”

“Not all of them,” Anne said coldly. “Some remain quite dead.” Malconio’s eyes flashed something that might have been anger or chagrin, it was hard to tell.

“Casnara, I’m sorry that you lost a friend back there. But I was never hired to fight a battle, only to give you passage.” He leveled his gaze at Cazio, and her uncertainty about his mood vanished. Malconio was angry, and he had been before she ever said anything.

“In fact,” the captain went on, “I was never let in on the fact that there was danger of any sort involved.”

“Of course not,” Cazio retorted. “I know better than to rely upon either honor or bravery from you, Malconio.”

Malconio snorted. “And I know as well not to rely on sense, judgment, or gratitude from you. Or from your friends, I see. If we had delayed casting off another instant, my ship would have been overrun. Even if we hadn’t all been killed, we would have been trapped in dock for twice ninedays, settling the legalities. As far as I can see, I’ve saved all your lives, and now I’m wondering why I shouldn’t throw you overboard.”

“Because,” Cazio said, “If you try, I will acquaint Caspator with your gullet.”

“You’re making my decision easier, Cazio.”

“Ah, by Diuvo stop it, you two,” z’Acatto rasped, limping around the base of the mainsail. “Neither of you could lay a hand on the other, and you know it, so spare us all your childish threats.”

Malconio nodded his head toward the swordmaster. “How have you put up with him all of these years?”

“By staying drunk,” z’Acatto grunted. “But if I’d had the both of you around, I’d have had to find stronger drink. Which reminds me—is there any of that Gallean stuff left?”

“You already know each other?” Austra asked, her gaze switching from z’Acatto to the captain to Cazio.

“Hardly,” z’Acatto said. “But they are brothers.”

“Brothers?” Austra gasped.

Austra’s surprise mirrored Anne’s own, but she could see the resemblance now.

“No brother of mine would abandon the family honor,” Cazio said evenly.

“In what way have I abandoned the family honor?” Malconio asked. “By leaving that rotting hulk of a house to you?”

“You sold off the country estate to buy a ship,” Cazio said. “Land that’s been in our family since the Hegemony held sway. You sold it for
this
.” He flapped the back of his hand at the ship.

“There was no profit to be gained in the land, Cazio, nor had there been in a generation. I had no mind to laze around Avella and pick swordfights for a living, either—that role you most adequately filled. I’ve done well as a merchant. I own four vessels, and soon enough I’ll have my own estates, built by my own hands. You cling to the Chiovattio past, brother. I represent our future.”

“That’s a pretty speech,” Cazio allowed. “Do you practice it in front of a looking glass?”

Malconio started to reply, rolled his eyes, placed his hands on his hips, and smiled sardonically at Anne.

“Marry him and make his life miserable, won’t you?” he said.

Anne drew herself up. “You presume far too much,” she said, “even in jest. You are like your brother in that, if in nothing else.”

“Thank Diuvo that’s the extent of it.”

“You should be so lucky as to be like your brother,” Austra exploded. “He’s a valiant fighter. We would be dead ten times over if it weren’t for him.”

“And if it weren’t for
me
,” Malconio said, “you would be dead only one time, which, I think, would suffice.”

Cazio lifted his finger and seemed about to add something, but his brother waved him off, “Z’Acatto’s right—this is useless. I should have known better than to take my brother on ship, much less his friends, but now I have. What’s done is done, so, to the heart of the matter—who were those men that were pursuing you?”

“I thought your business with us was limited to our passage,” Anne said. “Why this sudden curiosity about our enemies?”

“For two reasons, casnara. The first is that I am now connected in their minds with
you
. I have an enemy I never sought to offend. The second is that we are presently being followed by a rather fast ship, and I very much suspect that it contains your friends from the docks at z’Espino.”

“MAJESTY?” MURIELE LOOKED UP. It was the young man-at-arms whom Sir Fail had stationed in her antechamber.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Someone is knocking for admittance.”

Muriele rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t heard.

“See who it is.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

He vanished into her receiving room while she stared nervously at the concealed door. Though it seemed clear enough now that the assassin had entered through the front, she wasn’t as sure he had left that way. The door was invisible, if one did not know it was there, but given sufficient time and the knowledge that it existed, the latch could certainly be found.

Until she could be sure he wasn’t still there, hiding in the walls, she would never be comfortable being wholly alone.

The man-at-arms returned. “It is the praifec Hespero, Majesty,” he announced.

“Is he alone?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Very well.” She sighed. “Admit him.”

A moment later the dark-gowned praifec entered her chambers and bowed. “Majesty,” he said.

Muriele had always felt there was something missing about the praifec, but she had never been able to say what it was. He was a man of intelligence, certainly, and even of passion when it came to matters of state and religion. He was well-spoken to the point of being glib. And yet somehow—even in his most impassioned argument—it seemed to her that he wasn’t entirely present, that there was some basic quality that he was counterfeiting, that he didn’t actually have. When she focused on any particular quality of his, however, it seemed genuine.

It could be, she decided, that she simply didn’t like him, and what was missing was merely her acceptance of him.

“To what do I owe this visit, praifec?” she asked.

“To my natural concern for your well-being,” he replied.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Please explain,” she directed.

“I should think it should be evident,” Hespero said. “Suddenly, in the middle of the night, Sir Fail and his guard sweep into the royal apartments. His Majesty, King Charles, is brought in, also under Lierish guard. The Craftsmen become agitated, and the entire castle is thrown into a state of disarray.”

Muriele shrugged. “Someone tried to kill me, Praifec,” she said. “Under such circumstances, disarray is only natural. What would you have me do?”

“Someone tried to kill you?” His surprise seemed as genuine as his concern.

“Unless their true intent was to slaughter my guard and then my young maid, I would have to conclude so,” Muriele said.

“This is terrible. How was it done?”

She smiled grimly. “As when the churchmen killed my daughters, no one seems to know.”

The praifec’s mouth opened in a little
o
, then closed before he began speaking again. “Majesty, if you are implying that the Church had any hand in this, I forgive you. Clearly the stress has clouded your judgment.”

“Nevertheless, this has the same stink about it,” Muriele replied.

“Brother Desmond and his men were renegades,” Hespero reminded her. “Worse, they were heretics practicing the forbidden arts.”

“In afterthought, yes,” Muriele agreed. “But I took the liberty of checking the rolls of the monastery d’Ef and discovered that he—and his men—were trusted members of the Church until just before his death.”

“Actually, I think he was probably considered less than sanctified when he murdered the fratrex of his order,” Hespero said sarcastically. “The possibility of evil exists everywhere, even within the Church. I do not deny that. The murders of your children—and the methods used to accomplish them—have served to reawaken us to that simple but neglected truth. We have begun the most serious investigation of our various orders since the days of the Hegemony, a search which starts with the Fratrex Prismo himself and descends to the humblest frater and most rural sacritor. If you have any evidence at all that tonight’s attempt on your life was connected with any man of the Church, I am compelled to ask you what it is.”

“There is none,” Muriele admitted.

“I see,” the praifec returned. “Then what
is
known?”

“That someone killed the guard at my chamber door with a knife. That he then entered my apartments and slew my maid in the same fashion.”

“But you escaped.”

“I was not here,” Muriele replied.

“That was very fortunate,” the praifec said.

“Yes, it was,” she said wearily. “Praifec, why are
you
here?”

Both eyebrows lifted in surprise. “To offer my support and my council.”

“What council would that be?”

“Majesty, I must speak plainly. Though I now see your actions were spurred by fear and desperation—and were therefore perhaps in some way justified—they have created pandemonium. Rumors are abundant. Some say that this is some sort of Lierish coup, that you are being forced—or worse, have chosen—to take the kingdom by force.”

“May I remind you, Praifec, that the kingdom is already mine?”

“It is not, Majesty,” the praifec said, with what seemed excessive gentleness. “It is your son’s, and he is a Dare, not a de Liery. You have no claim to the throne at all.”

“Fair enough,” Muriele replied. “Let me be candid, as well. Somehow, an assassin walked by or around the vaunted Craftsmen, entered my chambers, killed my maid, and would have killed me if I had had the bad fortune to be here. Since Cal Azroth, I have found it difficult to place full faith in the royal guard, and now I find it impossible. I trust Fail de Liery, and I trust his men. I do not trust anyone else in this castle, nor should I as you well may know. So I am protecting my life and the life of my son, and my son’s throne as best I can. If you can think of a better way, please share it.”

Hespero rubbed his forehead and sighed. “You are not a fool, Majesty. You must understand the repercussions of this. Whatever you are actually doing, if Hansa perceives that you are installing some sort of Lierish regency here, they will send armies. I and the praifec of Hansa have been working tirelessly to prevent this war. If you continue down this path, we will fail.”

She spread her hands. “Then tell me what to do, Praifec.”

He was silent for a moment. Then, hesitantly, he cleared his throat. “Well, there is a precedent here,” he said at last.

“What precedent do you refer to?”

“Three hundred years ago, Liery ruled most of Crotheny, but controlled only the western part—the east was in relative chaos, until it was ceded to Virgenya.”

“Yes. The lords of Liery hadn’t the strength to control it, and considered it preferable to have it under Virgenyan control than Hansan.”

“Yes,” the praifec agreed, “the animosity between Liery and Hansa runs very deep, to the days of the Hegemony, perhaps to before, when they were warring tribes. In any event, while the Church recognized the legal cession and the marriage that concluded it—the first in the series of Lierish and Virgenyan alliances of which you are the most immediate example—Hansa was the stronger nation, and prepared to take eastern Crotheny by force. Or retake it, as they might put it, since it was originally tribes from Hansa that broke the hold of the Hegemony in this region.”