Her mother eyed her closely. “Are you sorry you asked?”
“No. Who found him?”
“What?”
“Who found him?”
“One of the servants, I believe.”
“When?”
“Kalyi-”
“When?”
“I don’t remember. The next morning I think.”
“Had he been alone all night?”
“Actually, no. The duke of Orvinti was here and the two of them spoke well into the evening. Your father killed himself sometime after the duke retired for the night.”
“You’re certain the duke had gone?”
“Yes, Kalyi. I’m certain. One of the servants brought wine to your father after the duke left him.”
“Do you know what Father and the duke talked about?”
“No, I don’t.” Her mother stood. “And I don’t see the point of all this. Your father died by his own hand. I’m sorry if that disturbs you, but it’s the truth. He learned from the surgeon that he was dying, and rather than face a long, slow death, he chose to end his life that night. Why is it so hard for you to accept that?”
“I told you. It means that he was afraid, and I know that Father wasn’t afraid of anything.”
“Each of us is afraid of something, Kalyi. Anyone who claims to have no fear is either a fool or a liar. You father was no different. He might not have been afraid of death, but he was afraid of appearing weak. And rather than spend his last days weakened by an illness the healers couldn’t cure, he chose to die while he was still strong and able to make such a choice. Is that so difficult to fathom?”
“Yes. All that you say may be true for other men, but not for Father. He was king, and he was brave.” Kalyi felt as though she might cry, which was the last thing she wanted to do. She was queen now, and she was trying to show her mother that she was mature enough to speak of such things. But her mother seemed not to care about any of this. She should have been as eager to know the truth as Kalyi was. Yet she seemed more than happy to just accept that he was gone, without asking any questions.
“Did you love Father?”
Her mother looked away, color draining from her face. “What kind of question is that? I was his queen.”
“Sometimes kings and queens don’t love each other.”
“Who told you that?”
“I’ve been learning history, Mother. I know that Aneira has seen more than its share of court bastards, and I know what that means.”
“I think we’ve spoken of this enough for one day,” her mother said.
“That’s why you don’t care about this. You didn’t love him.”
“You’re talking nonsense!”
But Kalyi could see her mother trembling.
“Well, you don’t have to talk about this with me if you don’t want to. I’m going to find out why he died, no matter how long it takes. I’ll even talk to the surgeon if I have to.” She started toward the door. Then stopped turning to face her mother again. “Father wasn’t a coward, and he wouldn’t have violated Ean’s doctrines without a good reason. That’s not the kind of man he was.”
She started to turn again.
“You want to know what kind of man he was?” her mother demanded. “You want to know why I’m so certain that he killed himself because he was dying?”
Kalyi didn’t answer. She was afraid to.
“You’re free to talk to the surgeon, child. But it won’t do you any good, because this isn’t the same surgeon who told your father that he was dying. That man is dead as well. Your father had him garroted before taking his own life. That’s the kind of man your father was. He was proud, and vengeful, and he cared little for Ean’s doctrines.”
There were tears on her mother’s face to match her own. For a long time they stood staring at each other, holding themselves perfectly still.
Then her mother whispered Kalyi’s name and took a faltering step toward her, her arms outstretched. But Kalyi ran from the room, choking back a sob.
She nearly collided with Nurse, who called her name as well, but Kalyi didn’t stop for her. Instead she darted to the nearest of the towers, and made her way up to the ramparts at the very top. To her relief, there were no soldiers atop this tower, and she sat on the stone, her back against the wall, and cried until her chest hurt and her eyes burned.
That’s the kind of man your father was. . There had been no love in her mother’s tone, no sense of loss, no indication of any kind that she missed Kalyi’s father even a bit. Kalyi had asked Chofya if she loved the king, and she had believed when she did that she wanted a truthful answer. But she had expected reassurance from her mother that, yes, of course she had loved him. Certainly she hadn’t expected this.
He was proud, and vengeful. .
“No,” Kalyi whispered, the word lost amidst the wind and snapping of the banners flying above her.
He couldn’t have been those things. He was Carden of Solkara, son of Tomaz the Ninth, heir to the Solkaran Supremacy. He was king. He was her father.
Your father had him garroted. .
That was how Solkarans dealt with their enemies. Garroting. Her tutors had never taught her that. Perhaps they were forbidden to tell her. But she had heard talk of it in the castle, mostly among the older children, the boys who found the idea of it exciting. Even hearing such talk, however, she had never given it much thought before now. Her house, the royal house of Aneira, had its own special way of killing. Was it that common, then? Did Eandi nobles kill with such frequency that each house had its own favorite method? How many times had her father ordered his men to murder? Had he ever pulled the killing wire taut himself? He had sent men into battle, to kill and be killed. She knew that, just as she knew that Ean’s doctrines said all killing was sinful in the eyes of the God. In which case, all kings violated Ean’s teachings. Someday, when she was queen, she might have to as well.
Surely her mother knew all this. Yet she condemned her father for it, using it to prove that he was a bad man. Kalyi shook her head. It made no sense. Could her mother have hated him that much? The very idea of it brought fresh tears to her eyes.
She didn’t know how long she cried, or when sleep overcame her, but the next thing she knew someone was touching her shoulder gently, and speaking her name.
Kalyi opened her eyes to a darkened sky and the torch-lit face of Nurse. Her brow was furrowed with concern, her pale eyes intent on Kalyi’s face. There were two soldiers standing just behind her.
“What happened?” Kalyi asked.
Nurse smiled, her relief palpable. “You fell asleep, Your Highness.”
“What’s the time?”
“Just past twilight bells. You gave us all quite a fright. Particularly your mother.”
It all came back in a rush.
“It’s Mother’s fault that I’m up here.”
“Your mother feels terrible, Your Highness. She didn’t mean to make you cry, and she certainly didn’t want you running from her.”
“Then she shouldn’t have said what she did.” She felt her cheeks suddenly burning. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”
“She told me nothing, Your Highness. Only that you were dismayed when you left her, and that much I could tell for myself when I saw you in the corridor. When I told her that none of us had seen you since, she became frightened.” Nurse held out a hand. “Let me take you to her.”
“No,” Kalyi said quickly.
“But, Your Highness, the air grows cold, and it’s been hours since you last ate.”
Kalyi realized she was shivering, and at the mention of food, her stomach growled loudly. “I’ll go with you,” she said, climbing to her feet. “But I don’t want to see Mother.”
“But, Your Highness-”
“I don’t wish to discuss it, Nurse. I’ll take my meal in my bedchamber. If Mother asks, tell her I’m too tired to eat in the hall.”
Nurse frowned, brushing a wisp of silver hair off her face. “Very well.” She gestured toward the tower stairs. “After you, Your Highness.”