Baron Haunder had been heard of no more. Only Shadow.
The royal breeder was gathering up the papers--the schedules and the genealogies and the lists. The audience was almost over then, and Shadow wondered who came next. Perhaps now he would discover what unsavory matter had provoked the king's choice of the cabinet for this day's session. He walked across and sat himself quietly in his high-winged chair.
"...progress in pairing SaltSkimmer and RockEater?" the king asked.
Shadow knew one secret which the king did not. Any word spoken at that royal desk was clearly audible in Shadow's chair at the far end of the hall. It was another of the clever tricks built into that room, a brilliant use of freak acoustics stemming from the curves of the walls. Perhaps it had been an accident and some long-dead Shadow had discovered it and suggested putting a seat for himself in that exact spot. More likely it had been deliberate and the kings had once known of it. Aurolron certainly did not, and if he ever discovered that he had been overheard there for five kilodays, then there would be a new Shadow within the hour.
The conversation about pairing droned on.
What sort of a man had he been, King Shadow wondered, when he had been a man and not merely a shadow? Not like that dashing young trooper the prince had chosen, that was certain. Not handsome, even then, when he had had hair. A politician, an impoverished noble with a minor title and a real need for a favorable marriage, a schemer. He had lacked looks and charm to win such a marriage by romance--women had never liked him. To be honest, he had been planning a little blackmail as soon as he found the right key. A great collector of gossip, a fair manipulator, he would have worked his way up in the murky world of court politics quite well, given a little more time. One day he would have found a suitable heiress with a suitable secret, and then he would have proposed and been accepted.
Five kilodays! Any decent king would now retire him with a better title and an estate and marry off one of the royal wards on him, some supple maiden aged about six, with firm little conical breasts.
Once he had recovered from the initial shock of being appointed Shadow, he had rather fancied himself as chief of the secret police. If the king never flew, then Shadow's duty must be to become familiar with the palace jungle and know what stirred in the undergrowth.
Wrong! He had quickly discovered that there was already a chief of the secret police: the king himself. His knowledge and the extent of his spy network had astounded Shadow. Two assassination attempts had been made on Aurolron early in his reign, but none since. Would-be conspirators were invariably outconspired by their intended victim and died to the dirge of their own screams and the savory smell of themselves cooking. Shadow was merely the last possible line of defense, the human shield, and his longevity had been due to Aurolron's skill, not his--the dangers had never reached so near.
Little white spider.
The royal breeder and his deputy retired at last, bowing. They did not even glance at Shadow as they opened the door and went out.
He got a clear view of the anteroom through the doors, and he knew at once who was next. The equerry came in, stepped around the chair, and bowed.
"Your Majesty, His Royal Highness Prince Jarkadon awaits your pleasure."
Shadow turned his head. In the prisms hidden in the wings of the chair he could see the king at the far end of the room, and he saw the royal nod. The king did know of those spy holes; indeed, it had been he who pointed them out to Shadow. Any visitor would believe himself unobserved when he was beside the king's desk--if Shadow was in his chair, as he usually was, out of sight and mind. But the visitor would not be unobserved, so no silent overpowering could succeed.
Jarkadon stepped in, jauntily dressed in green and blue, a flaxen-haired, blue-eyed younger version of the king. He paused for a moment as the doors were closed behind him, and he eyed Shadow thoughtfully as one might eye a watchdog or a drawbridge. Shadow decided he was tense and trying not to show it. Then he walked around the chair and bowed toward the king.
He was nasty. Jarkadon had been a nasty child, and now he was a nastier adult. His father could still handle him, but he would be serious trouble for Vindax when he succeeded. Shadow trusted him even less than the king, if that were possible.
Queen Mayala, now, was a human being. Too nice a person for her position and hopelessly ground down by her husband, but basically decent. She never failed to give Shadow a smile when they met, and no one else did that. Yes, he could have liked Mayala were she not queen; her recent deterioration pained him.
Vindax was headstrong, too inclined to clash with his father in ferocious arguments that he must inevitably lose. He was smart, and charming when he chose to be. He was not truly trustworthy--none of them were--but certainly a better prospect for future king than Jarkadon would ever be.
Shadow made himself comfortable and prepared to enjoy a juicy royal outburst. The court was agog with a new scandal--and here was the prime suspect.
No! Jarkadon was going through a full ritual approach, with bowing and gestures, which was a mockery when father and son were alone, an impudence almost. But it was a petitioner's ritual, meaning that he had asked for this meeting. Curious! Aurolron took ceremony seriously and did not interrupt, although he frowned. Then the prince had reached the desk.
"What was all that for?" the king snapped, pointedly not inviting his son to sit.
"I come to crave a boon, sire," Jarkadon said. "Did I make any mistakes?"
"You have three minutes."
The prince nodded inquiringly toward the back of Shadow's chair.
"He can't hear," the king snapped. "What do you want?"
"My birthright," Jarkadon said.
Shadow wondered if he had heard correctly. Perhaps the king did also, for there was a long pause.
"Sit down."
"Thank you, Father." The little bastard was always cocky, but his impudent manner was even more marked than usual. He was being given the famous royal stare and not wilting at all.
"Talk," the king said.
"Well," Jarkadon said, leaning back. "It began with Mother, of course, and her curious reluctance to let her favorite son visit Ninar Foan. She thought she was being subtle, but it was obvious. I even mentioned one day that you had changed your mind, and she dropped two kilodays in front of my eyes--and put on three when I confessed I was lying."
"You little bastard," the king said quietly, and the prince chuckled.
"Hardly me, Father! But it made me curious. When you sent a courier off with news of the impending visit, I decided to have a chat with him as soon as he got back. He seemed to take a long time returning, so I investigated the aerie and found a bird wearing Foan's anklet. Of course the courier would have exchanged mounts."
"Of course," the king said.
"But the rider was nowhere to be found. Sir Jion Paslo? If Vindax can associate with commoners, I assumed I could. But he had vanished. I was told he had gone to Hollinfar, a very dull place, from all accounts, given over to sheep raising and similar obscene practices."
"You found him, though."
"Yes," the prince said. "The fourth cell on the right as you pass the thumbscrews."
Never, in five kilodays, had anyone spoken to the king like that, and his response was ominous. "The jailors you bribed are now in the third and fifth cells, respectively."
Jarkadon merely shrugged. "An occupational hazard of the corrupt. Yes, I did talk with poor Jion--implying that I might secure his release, of course. I gather that the resemblance is incredible."