The tapping grew a little duller as it moved away from her, then began moving back. She could hear his breath now, and suddenly, another whispered word, though still she could not make out what it was.
She backed farther away, trembling, realizing that she was growing light-headed because she hadn’t breathed. She kept her hands against the walls, guiding by them, and when she thought she had gone far enough, she quickened her pace, feeling more panicked than ever, because she didn’t know if he was still in the room, or in the tunnels with her.
She found the doorway to the Hall of Doves, looked in, confirmed that no one was there, and burst into it, then pushed the panel closed behind her, and ran.
After a few moments she slowed to a walk, but being in the common halls didn’t make her feel any safer, even where they were well-lit and populated by servants. Her enemy had an unknown face, and anyone in the castle might wear it. Worse—and this was just starting to sink in—if the person in her room had really come to kill her, this was no mere attempt at murder. It was an attempt at a coup. Which meant she needed help, now, and help she could trust.
She was still considering who might be trusted when she nearly collided with Leovigild Ackenzal. She yelped and jumped back. For his part, the composer looked extremely flustered and then tried to get down on one knee. He was having trouble doing so, and she remembered the last time she had seen him he had been on crutches.
The hero of Broogh.
“Never mind that,” she said, calming her own anxiousness. “What are you doing in the halls at this hour, Fralet Ackenzal?”
“Majesty? I was just exercising my leg.”
His face showed no signs of deceit, so she made a quick decision.
“Come with me,” she commanded. “Are you armed?”
“A-armed?” he stuttered.
“No, I suppose you aren’t. Ah, well. Come along anyway.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
She moved away quickly, then had to slow her pace so he could keep up with her, and she wondered why she wanted him with her. He was all but a stranger—why should she trust him? But she remembered the day he had played for her, the absolute earnestness of it, and somehow felt he could do her no harm. She rarely trusted her feelings, but at this point she had no choice but to do so.
He hobbled silently after her, clearly puzzled but unwilling to ask any questions.
“How is my commission coming along?” she asked, largely to break the strained silence.
“Very well, Majesty.” A note of excitement entered his voice, which even under these circumstances was charming. She was struck by how much he resembled Neil MeqVren—Neil was passionate and excitable, a true knight with nothing cynical in him. This composer was like that, too, though his passion was of an entirely different nature. But they were both—authentic.
She desperately wished Neil were here now, but she had been right to send him after Anne. He was the only one she could trust with Anne’s location.
“You will be done with it soon, I hope,” she said. “I’ve already arranged for a performance and an accompanying banquet in the Candle Grove, about three weeks hence.”
“Three weeks? Well, yes, it’s nearly done. But I’ll need to start rehearsing immediately.”
“Just let me know what you need.”
“I’ve wanted to talk to you about something, actually,” he said.
“In regards to what?”
“The size of the ensemble, Majesty.”
“Make it whatever size you wish,” she replied.
“What I’m hoping for is a bit unusual,” he said, a little uncertainly. “I—the composition I’m working on—I think it would be best done by thirty pieces.”
She stopped and glanced curiously at him. “That’s rather large, isn’t it?” she asked.
“There has never been an ensemble of its size,” he said.
He made it sound very important, and all of a sudden she was struck by the ridiculousness of the whole situation. Here she was in fear of her life and her kingdom, and she somehow found herself discussing how many musicians she ought to engage.
But her heart had slowed to its normal pace, and she felt almost eerily calm.
“Then why should ours be so large?” she asked.
“Because there has never been a piece written like this,” he replied.
She stopped for a moment to study him, to see if there was any pride or haughtiness to be found in that statement. If it was there, it did not show.
“I’ve no objection to a large ensemble,” she said finally. “Even the largest.”
“The Church might, Majesty.”
“On what grounds?”
He grinned, looking suddenly very boyish. “On the grounds that it’s never been done before, Majesty.”
She felt a wry smile twitch her lips. “Make it as large as you want,” she said. “Larger, even.”
“Thank you, Majesty.”
She nodded.
“Majesty?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“Is something wrong?”
She closed her eyes, then opened them and began walking again. “Yes, Fralet Ackenzal, something is very wrong. There is someone in my suite, someone I did not invite there.”
“You think— I mean, Majesty, do you believe it was an assassin?”
“I can’t think what else it might be.”
He paled. “That’s— Well, shouldn’t we call a guard, Majesty?”
“Unfortunately,” she replied, “I don’t trust most of the guards.”
“How can that be? How can a queen not trust her guards?”
“Are you that naive, Fralet Ackenzal? Do you know how many kings and queens have died at the hands of their own servants?”
“But I’ve heard the royal guards of Eslen—the Craftsmen?—that they are incorruptible.”
“In the past few months, on different occasions, two of them have tried to kill me.”
“Oh.”
“They were bewitched, as it turns out, by some sort of encrotacnia, and they are now supposed to be protected against such shinecrafting. Nevertheless, I find it hard to put faith in them, since they killed two of my daughters.”
“I can understand that, Your Majesty. I’m sorry.”
“Beyond that there is the fact that one of them was stationed outside my door. It follows that he either let the assassin in, he is the assassin, or he’s dead.”
“Oh, saints.”
“Precisely.”
“And so—ah—I’m your bodyguard at the moment?”
She smiled at him. “Indeed you are.”
“Majesty, I wouldn’t be much use to you if you were attacked.”
“But you are the hero of Broogh, Fralet Ackenzal. Surely the mere sight of you would frighten off most attackers.”
“I think that rather unlikely,” Ackenzal opined. “But I will protect you as best I can, Majesty. It’s just—if you think there is a coup in progress, you ought to find better help and more of it.”
“I know,” she said. “And that’s what we’re going to do. But I don’t like it.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m going to have to apologize.”
Fail de Liery waved her apology away.
“You were right,” he said. “I went beyond my bounds, and more to the point, beyond my heart. Sometimes when more than one duty calls, it’s difficult to decide which to follow. Glorien de Liery is my liege, but William was my emperor and you are my empress—and my beloved niece. It is I who owe you an apology—and my allegiance, if you will still have it.”
She wanted to hug him right then and there, but at the moment they were queen and subject, and she did not want to spoil that moment.
“Now, tell me why you’re here, Majesty,” Fail said. “You look as if the dead are calling your name.”
He listened as she explained.
When she was done, he nodded grimly.
“You’ll have to come with us,” he said at last. “Even if the Craftsmen are loyal, they won’t let a party of armed men into the royal suites.”