It was Ludovoco — who I’d last seen as we fled the palace, who had felt the need to deliver the King’s declaration of war with his own hands all those days ago. And it was only then, seeing how very close he stood behind Panchessa’s shoulder, exactly as he had at the royal court in Pasaeda, that it occurred to me to wonder what part one militant commander of the Crown Guard might have played in the events of recent weeks.
Could Ludovoco have taken the notion of defending the Crown a leap too far? Or have forgotten his duties altogether in favour of a personal agenda? If Panchessa was ill, unstable, distressed by the death of one son and by the other raising an army against him, it wouldn’t have been difficult to manipulate him.
As the toll of Ludovoco’s words died away, I recognised someone else amongst the shadowed figures who I now realised must be the King’s generals and advisors. Near Ludovoco stood Ondeges, captain of Altapasaeda’s Palace Guard — and unlike Ludovoco, he didn’t look happy to be there. In fact, he seemed every bit as discomforted by his colleague’s words as Mounteban and Estrada did. I thought of what Gailus had said, that Ondeges had been our advocate in the royal camp, and seeing the anxiety in his face I could readily believe it.
But it was Ludovoco who stood at the King’s side. It was Ludovoco who had the gall to pronounce in his place. And even as I thought it, Panchessa raised a hand to silence his errant commander — but that was all he did. Ludovoco had dared to speak on behalf of his king, and his punishment was not flogging but hand-waving.
“Castilio Mounteban,” Panchessa said, “we have heard of you. A felon with notions of grandeur.”
I’d never known Mounteban to let an insult go, not from anyone. Yet it was with perfect serenity that he replied, “Just so, your highness. Whatever has happened in Altapasaeda, whatever has been done, it was my crime, committed for my own ends. Being a simple thief, I thought I could steal a city from under a king’s nose and get away with it.”
Had Mounteban really just described himself as a simple thief? It was like hearing a mountain lion claim to be a toothless old mouser. What was his angle here? I couldn’t believe that Mounteban would do anything without one, but I was struggling to see what he imagined he could gain here.
“And now,” said Panchessa, “with my armies at the gates, you see the error of your ways?”
“Exactly,” said Mounteban. “I was a fool.”
To Mounteban’s and my surprise both, Panchessa stood up then, started with slow steps to cross the space between them. Was it my imagination or did he limp a little? He was dressed in a heavy robe, but within its loose, concealing folds I felt sure he was carrying his weight wrongly.
Panchessa stopped halfway, just far enough away that Mounteban couldn’t possibly reach him before Ludovoco or someone else from the King’s faction intervened. “A fool?” he said. “Is that what you are, Castilio Mounteban? Or, better yet, tell me this: do you also take me for an imbecile?”
Mounteban flinched as if stung. “I don’t understand, your highness.”
“I saw how you looked at the woman there,” said Panchessa, pointing towards Estrada. “I saw it from the moment you entered this room. Do you think you’re the first man to try and throw his life away over love?”
Mounteban’s face purpled. His obsession with Estrada was old news to me, but I’d never heard it phrased quite so bluntly. For a moment, I thought he really would try to charge the King and strangle him with his bare hands. Ludovoco, tensed in the background, already had his sword half free of its scabbard.
Perhaps Mounteban really might have lunged then; maybe Ludovoco would have cut him down just on the off-chance. I never got to find out. For there came a sound from my left that froze both of them in place. I couldn’t identify it first, except to say that it was chilling as the blackest winter’s night, knife-sharp, and from its first note it made me shudder down to my boots.
I realised, finally, what I was hearing. Kalyxis was laughing.
All eyes were on her now, and Panchessa’s in particular were snagged upon her face as though by invisible chains. Kalyxis’s laughter choked away to nothing, like poison bubbling into a drain. “Love?” she said. “What could you possibly understand of love?”
“Kalyxis,” said Panchessa, pronouncing the word as if it were the name of some particularly malignant disease, “you have no part in these proceedings; you were allowed here because I wish to talk with your grandson. If you dare to speak before your king, it had best be with good reason.”
Kalyxis offered him the peculiar smile that I’d come to associate with her, the one that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the slit lips of a snake. “Oh, you’re right,” she said, “I care nothing for Altapasaeda, nothing for your petty squabbling. Let me tell you, Panchessa, before these gathered witnesses, why I’m here.”
She paused — and it struck me, as it should have from the first note of that terrible laughter, that whatever she was about to say, it meant trouble for every one of us.
As usual, my ability to spot approaching danger was only exceeded by my knack for underestimating it.
“Panchessa,” Kalyxis said, “when I was a young girl, freshly married to a man of good and upstanding birth, you came to my land and you raped me.”
The room went silent — deathly silent, as though all the air had been sucked from it. Certainly, I found I could no longer breathe at all. Panchessa took a step towards Kalyxis, another — and from the shadows at the back of the chamber, I heard a soft hiss, as Ludovoco’s sword finally left its scabbard.
Mounteban, realising himself caught now between Panchessa and Kalyxis and his own anger suddenly irrelevant to the proceedings, hurriedly stepped aside. Kalyxis moved to fill the gap and glared at Panchessa defiantly. She was almost his equal in height, but seeing them so close together she seemed taller, as though her presence detracted from his.
“It was no rape,” said Panchessa darkly.
Kalyxis paid him not the slightest notice. “By the time I realised I was with child,” she continued, “it was too late. I begged the wise-woman of my husband’s tribe to help me, but it had gone too far. The herbs she gave me made me sick for a week, but in the end my belly was still swelling. I couldn’t hide the truth from my husband anymore; he spat on me, called me a whore and sent me back to my own tribe. So my child was born there… born a bastard. I named him Moaradrid, which means ‘birthed in hate’ in the old tongue of Shoan.” Kalyxis’s smile had vanished as she spoke; now it returned, more pitiless than ever: “I’m sure you’ve heard the name,” she said.
Even from a distance, I could see that Panchessa was shaking; faint tremors ran up his arms and legs. Was it anger? Was it palsy? His fingers twitched spasmodically, perhaps imagining themselves around Kalyxis’s throat. “You birthed a mad dog,” he said. “Or if he wasn’t born mad, you made him that way, spitting your venom in his ear.”
“My son was a good and a brave man, who fought to free his land from tyranny. But he was born from bad blood, under bad stars. It should be you dead now and not him.”
“If he’d been any true son of mine,” Panchessa said, “I would be dead, and he’d be sitting on my throne… not feeding fish with his marrow at the bottom of the sea.”
For the first time I could see that something had barbed beneath Kalyxis’s surface calm. There’d been hate in her face from the moment she’d set eyes on Panchessa, but it had been controlled, like a serpent kept in a basket. Now it was free, and in control of every muscle of her face. “You wish to negotiate, do you, King Panchessa? Well, here are my conditions. You’ll declare the land of Shoan a free territory, to be ruled by its own people, and never again pillaged under the name of taxation. And you’ll agree for this boy, Malekrin, who is your grandson and the blood of your blood, to rule in your stead when the time comes.”