“Even for the emperor of Crotheny?”
“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but even an emperor is simply a man. I serve that man, and all he represents, and if you should ask me to throw my body into a hole in one of these dikes to plug it and keep the sea out, I’d do it, then let the saints judge me as they might. But still, in all—I love the sealord, but I do not trust him over my head, if you know what I mean.”
“I do,” Muriele said quietly. “The Reiksbaurgs began this, and my husband’s people finished it. Beneath these waters, they found the most fertile soil in all the world. But don’t allow yourself to be fooled; we pay a tithe to the saints of the waves, of marsh, and river. And sometimes they take their own tithe. It is, as you say, an uneasy arrangement.”
Neil nodded. “And so what did you mean, Majesty, when you asked me what I thought?”
“Do you agree with my husband? Is going to Cal Azroth what we ought to do?”
Neil considered his words carefully before answering. “The lords of Hansa are a treacherous lot,” he finally said. “They fight from the smoke, always behind masks. They pay Weihand raiders for Lierish scalps, and do not call that war. They are dabblers in shinecraft, despite all their pretense to be a holy, churchish nation. That man I fought was your man, through and through, I do believe it. And yet he would have killed you.”
“These are all statements of fact, more or less,” Muriele noted. “What do you think?”
“I think if Hansa believed that by striking at the king’s family they could weaken the kingdom, they would do it. But, to be honest, this retreat to the countryside makes me uneasy.”
“Why?”
“I am not altogether certain. It feels … wrong. Why try to slay you, rather than the king himself ? And how can you be safe in any place when we don’t even know how your man was turned against you? If ’twere shinecraft, I might be turned against you just as easily. I would throw myself on my sword before doing you harm, but I’ll wager that knight I slew would have sworn the same thing.”
“Perhaps. Sir Neil, in some things you are wise beyond your years, but in the ways of the court you are yet naïve. It takes no shinecraft to corrupt a man, not even a Craftsman. The magicks of greed, fear, and envy are quite enough to work most of the evil you will ever see at court.
“As to why me, rather than the king, I admit to puzzlement there, as well.”
“Maybe …” Neil frowned to himself a moment. “What if all your enemy desired was to separate you from the king? To divide your family?”
Something about what the knight was saying seemed very right. “Go on,” she said.
“If I were the king, suddenly deprived of children and— wife—I would feel the weaker. Like a wagon missing a wheel.”
“My husband still has his mistresses. And his brother.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. But—what if it were they who wanted you out of the way?”
Muriele stared at the young man, suddenly realizing she did not have a measure of him at all. “By the saints, Sir Neil,” she murmured. “It was purest libel for me to call you naïve. Accept my apologies, I beg you.”
“I know nothing, Your Majesty,” Neil said slowly, “but I follow the lady Erren’s advice to the end of the path. In my mind, I must think everyone in the world your enemy. The lady Erren included. Myself included. And if I think like that, everything seems suspicious. And if I think like that, saints willing, I will not long stand surprised when your true foes raise their hands again. Instead, I will slaughter them where they stand.”
The passion in his voice sent a shiver through her. Sometimes, at court, one forgot that there were real people in the world, genuine people. This young man was such a one, still. He was genuine, he was dangerous, and, saints willing, he was hers.
“Thank you, Sir Neil, for your opinion. I find it worth considering.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty, for listening to my concerns.”
Lesbeth tossed back her auburn hair and stared off across the western bay, and the great white teeth of Thornrath that marked it from the periwinkle sea beyond. She could just make out the white sails of a merchantman, near the horizon. A gull wheeled overhead, no doubt eyeing the remains of the baked hen, Donchest cheese, and honey cakes still spread on the picnic cloth.
“A beautiful day,” her brother Robert said, sipping from the last half of their second bottle of wine. They sat together on the westernmost prominence of Ynis, a grassy spur littered with the crumbled ruins of an old tower.
“It is,” Lesbeth replied, flashing him a smile she didn’t quite feel. Robert had been … brittle since he learned of her betrothal. She’d accepted his invitation to picnic, in hopes of healing that. But she hadn’t dreamed he would bring her here of all places. Robert was spiteful, yes, but usually not to her.
Just concentrate on the sea and sky, she told herself. Concentrate on the beauty.
But Robert seemed determined not to let her.
“Do you remember how we came up here as children?” he asked. “We used to pretend the tower there was our own castle.”
“Those were excellent days,” Lesbeth said, around the lump in her throat.
“I knew you, then,” Robert said. “Or thought I did. I always fancied I knew your least thought, and you mine.” He swallowed another mouthful of wine. “Then.”
Lesbeth reached for his hand and took his fingers in hers. “Robert, I am sorry. I should have asked your permission to marry. I know that. And I’m asking now.”
An odd look crossed Robert’s face, but he shook his head. “You asked Wilm’s. He’s the eldest.”
Lesbeth squeezed his hand. “I know I caused you pain, Robert. It’s only that I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“How can that be?” he asked.
She drew a deep breath. “It is as you say. Once we were so close, one of us could not blink without the other knowing. And now, somehow—”
“You don’t know me anymore,” he finished for her. “We have grown separate. Ever since that day when Rose—”
“Please, stop!” Lesbeth closed her eyes against the terrible memory, willing it away.
“As you wish,” he said. “But we never spoke of—”
“Nor shall we. I cannot.”
He nodded, and a look of resignation crossed his face.
“Besides,” she went on. “I know you believe my prince Cheiso insulted you—”
“I do not believe he did,” Robert said. “I am certain of it.”
“Please, Robert. He did not mean to give offense.”
Robert smiled and held his hands up. “Perhaps he didn’t,” he allowed. “And so where is he now? I should think he would have come to ask permission—if not from me, then at least from Wilm. Why did he leave you to do it?”
“He will arrive within a nineday or two,” Lesbeth replied. “He had matters pressing him. He asked me to wait, so we might travel together, but I was impatient. I wanted to share my news.” She turned her head to the side. “Please, Robert. Be happy for me. You are my brother, and I do love you, but after—”
“After we killed Rose?” he said bluntly.
Lesbeth nodded silently, unable to go on.
“It was an accident,” he reminded her.