The Scrivener's Tale #1

TEN

Florentyna had just finished hearing ‘matters’, as they were called. It was a duty that Empress Valentyna had instituted during her reign alongside Cailech, taking the view that ordinary people with very ordinary conflicts often needed some formal system of intervention in their disputes.
‘If we’re going to run a successful union   of realms then something as fundamental as rights of possession shouldn’t just be for the entitled,’ Valentyna was famously quoted.
And so began what was known colloquially as the Court of Hearts. It met each neap tide and Valentyna initiated a trend that ensured the sovereign, or her senior representative, would attend to mediate. To her credit, historical records showed that Empress Valentyna made the effort, often rearranging her formal schedules to be present for at least one session per moon cycle and the people adored her for it; and especially for recognising the need for everyone’s conflicts to be given a fair hearing, no matter how inconsequential. The empress organised for each party to have a court advocate, paid for by the Crown. This generosity was based on the premise that whatever the empress, or her representative, decided in each ‘matter’ was accepted without further debate or claim.
It was a successful experiment and a highly popular one, soon picked up and duplicated in a number of other realms by rulers who saw it as a sign of a progressive nation. Valentyna presided over her petty sessions well into her elder years and one of her deathbed wishes was that the Court of Hearts be continued and taken seriously by her heirs. These days it had grown into a strong court capable of passing minor civil laws.
Even so, Florentyna was growing tired of the Court of Hearts being her most important task. She’d been at the Gathering of Crowns the previous summer; it wasn’t her first, but she was still waiting for the senior rulers to take her presence seriously. While people were always interested in discussing strategic union   through marriage, few held quite the same enthusiasm for what she had to say. It infuriated her but Reynard, her chancellor, had soothed her silent rage.
‘Bide your time, majesty. One day they will be falling upon your every word, but for now show your appreciation to King Alred of Grentchen, to the Princes Kerrich and Isgar and their respective realms, and even to the Queen Dowager of Jaspay Seth.’
‘We are wealthy, powerful and quite capable of crippling trade on many of their routes if I choose to flex this region’s collective muscle,’ she’d growled. Reynard had nodded his agreement, his expression filled with sympathy for her gripe. It only fuelled her irritation more. ‘What’s more, King Alred was being polite simply because he knew my father. The two princes you mention were certainly pleasant, but only because they took time to appreciate the low cut of my neckline and besides they need Morgravia’s support as both the realms they stand to inherit are impoverished.’ She hadn’t finished. ‘As for the dowager, she was simply conversing with the only other woman in the room. Her son, the king, didn’t bother to attend. Her conversation seemed to be about lace or marriage!’ She groaned. ‘People only ever want to speak to my elder male counsellors about state issues!’
‘And yet each of those four, whom you speak of with disdain, swam against the tide and while others ignored you — or spoke to your counsellors — that quartet paid you the sort of attention a queen of your standing and wealth demands. Reward them. Alred’s lands are fertile and his mountains rich with silver. The two princes may be poor now but you have no idea what they’re capable of; Kerrich in particular is wily and knows his waterways are rivers of gold because very soon other realms are going to need them for their booming trade. But both are good men of sound values with strong ambitions. As for the dowager, while it might have seemed she was holding forth on subjects that were of little interest to you, don’t for a moment believe she wasn’t testing you. She is mother to one of the most eligible kings, who happens to be monarch of one of the richest kingdoms. And while he is but a young man now, showing little interest in marriage or anything but sating his more basic desires, that will change. I’m sure she alluded to that while you both spoke. I would quietly caution you never to underestimate the power of a woman’s influence or strength, especially a queen.’ He had tapped her hand in a fatherly fashion. ‘I never do,’ he added and smiled affectionately.
Good old Reynard. He’d always managed to say the right thing at the right time to gently show her the errors of her ways and make her feel ten years old again. This occasion was no exception. She was wrong to ignore anyone who might strengthen Morgravia.
And it was true she’d taken a dislike to the young King of Gyntredea, mainly because he’d ignored her. Nevertheless, it had profoundly irritated her that before Reynard disappeared, it was to him that most of the dignitaries cleaved, probably believing her incapable. And now they cleaved to Burrage, who had inherited the role of chancellor, doing a fine job of it and very much a man in the mould of his predecessor — and someone who was formerly in awe of her father, the old king.
And so, on this day’s Court of Hearts, when an elderly man calling himself Pel was shown in — escorted by a bewildered Burrage, who went so far as to shrug before saying, ‘He has requested a few moments of your time, majesty, saying it concerns a matter he can’t explain but needs to share the facts about’ — her interest had been piqued.
Pel looked harmless but two strapping soldiers flanked him.
‘Should I be scared of you, Master Pel?’ she asked.
Pel had already struggled to his knees to bow as low as possible. He seemed reluctant to so much as lift his head to her. ‘Oh no, my queen,’ he said, his voice muffled . ‘I have been searched twice. I swear I come only with information.’
‘He says it’s about Chancellor Reynard,’ Burrage whispered.
This caught her attention fully. She waved a hand at the soldiers, who picked him up, set him back on his feet. She heard both his knees sigh their protest as he straightened.
‘Can I offer you a chair, Master Pel?’ she asked gently.
He slowly shook his head. ‘Thank you, no. Majesty, may I speak privately, please?’
She stared at the newcomer, who gazed at her in earnest. She wanted the information he had brought.
‘Clear the court, please, Burrage,’ she finally said.
‘But your majesty, we have —’
She glanced at him and he promptly covered his lips with a finger as though silencing himself. ‘At once, my queen,’ he said and went about his business, apologising to other petitioners for the delay, until only he, Florentyna, the soldiers and their charge were left in the petty sessions hall.
‘Do we need guards still, Burrage?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid I will insist upon that,’ he said.
‘Then perhaps we can ask them to retreat a way so Master Pel doesn’t have to feel like a prisoner.’
Burrage nodded at the men, who moved far enough that Pel could speak without being heard, but not so far that they couldn’t cut him down within three strides if he threatened the queen. Florentyna thought the man looked far too weak and weary to be doing much more than sitting down.
She stood, slightly lifted her gown to avoid tripping, and glided gently down the three stairs, not at all threatened by Pel even though Burrage instantly stepped between them and the two soldiers reached to their sides. She lifted a hand to calm everyone.
‘Master Pel, where have you arrived from?’
‘From the west, majesty. I am curate for the parish of Stowell-in-the-Marsh. I assist Rural Dean Flek. My home is Harpers Riding, where the parish tithe barn is located.’
‘I see,’ she said, wondering what this might have to do with Reynard.
‘And you’ve ridden here to tell us about Chancellor Reynard, I gather?’
‘I rode a day and a night without stopping, your majesty. An event occurred two days ago in our tithe barn.’ She nodded but he didn’t notice, barely paused to take breath. ‘There was a stranger, you see. He looked harmless. Confused actually. I thought he’d slept off a night on the liquor in our barn.’
‘And?’ Burrage encouraged. ‘What struck you as so odd that you have come this far to tell us of it?’
‘He was naked, which was curious, but not so disturbing that I was frightened. He seemed bewildered and I suggested he gather his wits, put on his clothes and be on his way before I returned, because Dean Flek is a stickler for the rules, your majesty. His tithe barn is the most successful and well run in the region.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ she said, remaining patient. ‘And what happened next?’
‘I returned. It would have been within one bell’s period and I thought no more about the man, fully expecting him to be gone.’
‘But he wasn’t, I’m guessing,’ Florentyna said. ‘Was it Chancellor Reynard? Do you know him?’
‘I don’t know him to speak with but he once passed through our region and accompanied Dean Flek on a tour which included the tithe barn. I was introduced to Chancellor Reynard and although we shared but a few words, he was a most charming man. He would not remember me but he is not someone you forget.’
‘No,’ she agreed, desperate to hurry the story but knowing she mustn’t interrupt his thoughts.
‘The stranger was not Chancellor Reynard. He was …’
‘Was what? Come on, Pel, spit it out,’ Burrage urged, no longer as patient as his queen.
Pel looked up and regarded them both with eyes that Florentyna felt looked haunted. ‘He was gone but he’d left behind Dean Flek.’ He cleared his throat. ‘He’d killed him.’
‘Rural Dean Flek is dead?’ they repeated together, both looking mystified.
He nodded. ‘Forgive me, your majesty, but I believe I am still in shock.’
She inclined her head, concerned. ‘Burrage, a small cup of brintas, please,’ she said, signalling Pel. It was brought immediately and the older man swallowed the slightly spiced wine. It appeared to revive him although he refused more after only two small sips.
‘Thank you, your majesty,’ he said, slightly breathlessly. ‘I feel somehow responsible for Dean Flek’s death because I didn’t take notice of the threat. Now, on reflection, I can see how confused and troubled the killer was. I thought he was drunk but he could well have been sick or addled in the mind somehow.’
‘You’re sure the stranger killed him?’ Burrage asked.
Pel shook his head. ‘I didn’t see it happen so no, I am not certain. However, who else could have done this? And the stranger was acting so peculiar that I suppose it now makes sense that he was somehow out of his mind and capable of seeing threats where they may not have been. I thought it was liquor but it was madness. Dean Flek’s throat was slashed from ear to ear.’ He checked himself in front of the queen. ‘It was vicious. No-one of sound mind would do such a thing, surely? What’s more, Dean Flek was a stickler for time. He kept to the same rituals, but he was early in arriving at the tithe barn.’
‘The newcomer was naked, I think you remarked,’ Florentyna said.
‘That’s the strangest part, your majesty, and why we are taking such caution with whom we share this. There were no clothes. The man had obviously arrived naked — I don’t know how; that’s another mystery. You see, I closed and locked the barn the previous evening. Master Flek had been with me and we’d been working inside it. It had been locked while we worked, I might add. Master Flek is very strict about these things.’
‘So how did the man get inside?’ Florentyna asked.
Pel shrugged. ‘I can’t explain it. The tithe barn is locked securely from the outside. And that lock had not been tampered with. There is no other way into the barn. There are no windows either. The stranger was inside when I unlocked it. I left it open for him to leave. Obviously, Dean Flek broke his rules of the past thirty summers and arrived early, came upon him and the stranger killed him. But why not me? The man had me at his mercy if murder was on his mind.’
‘Well, you do come to us with a conundrum, Master Pel,’ Burrage said. ‘I’d like you to show her majesty what you did find. I think she may be interested to see it.’
Florentyna frowned as she watched Pel reach inside his cloak.
‘I found this beside some sheaves of barley, your majesty. It must have slipped down. It does not belong to us and certainly was not part of a payment tithe.’ He unrolled a length of soft linen. ‘The stranger was holding it when we first met.’
Florentyna gasped as she saw a swan feather quill she recognised. ‘It’s Chancellor Reynard’s!’ she said. ‘I gave it to him. It should have the royal sigil etched into the shaft.’
‘Indeed it does and it’s why I had to come to the palace. I became terrified that the killer was connected with the royal household, but Chancellor Burrage told me it belonged to Chancellor Reynard.’ He reverently handed the quill to Burrage, who passed it to Florentyna. She saw a speck of blood on the pristine white feather and felt her eyes misting. What had happened to Reynard and who was the naked stranger who carried this quill?
‘I can’t say I know your stranger, Master Pel,’ she said, ‘but I think we should make every effort to establish who he is because of this quill. Burrage, will you see to it that Dean Flek’s corpse is brought to Pearlis immediately?’
Burrage nodded gravely.
‘Er, your majesty, I’ve brought him with me. His family lives in Pearlis.’
‘I’ll have the body put in the chapel,’ Burrage murmured.
She nodded. ‘I can’t imagine viewing it will reveal much, but we should certainly assure ourselves that no possible clue is ignored. We will have Dean Flek’s body delivered to his brother for burial and offer all help.’
Burrage continued. ‘Was there anything else, Pel, that this man might have said that we should know about?’
‘He was confused. I thought him drunk, as I mentioned, but I smelled no liquor on him. I know he was frightened and very unsure of where he was or why he was in the barn.’
‘Drugged, do you think?’ Florentyna offered.
Pel looked uncertain. ‘He spoke clearly, didn’t slur. Didn’t strike me as violent or aggressive. He just seemed disoriented and genuinely scared. He asked me where he was and when I told him he looked baffled, as though he’d never heard of Morgravia or Briavel before.’
Both of them stared at Pel, astonished. ‘Did he say where he was from?’
‘He did, your majesty, but for the life of me I can’t remember. I must be honest; I do recall not knowing the two places he mentioned. Neither was from the empire. As you can appreciate, in the church we are well versed with the towns and villages of our lands.’
‘Of course,’ Burrage said. ‘Perhaps it was a tiny hamlet, though, or —’
‘I concede that, Master Burrage. But why did he look so bewildered when I mentioned Morgravia and Briavel? In fact, he admitted that he was lost.’ Pel frowned. ‘I’ve been thinking about that conversation a great deal, trying to remember it in case it can give me a clue to this stranger. And he said the oddest thing.’ They both leaned forward. ‘He said he was under a spell. That “she”, and I don’t know to whom he referred, had brought him to this world from another.’ Pel’s voice had gradually lowered to a whisper even though they were alone. ‘He spoke of magic,’ he said, sounding frightened.
Florentyna and Burrage stared at Pel as though he’d just begun talking in tongues.
‘From another world,’ Florentyna repeated, remembering another stranger with a warning. Neither man responded. ‘Did you believe him, Master Pel?’
He looked surprised to be asked such a question. ‘At the time I just wanted him to be gone from the barn, my queen, for Master Flek gets deeply irritated if his security is breached. I didn’t want a scene.’ He gave a mirthless groan of a laugh. ‘I was certainly left with one though. I have no idea why he should kill an innocent. I don’t know why I found a scrivener’s quill with the royal sigil on it, and I don’t understand talk about other worlds and magic. I am a simple man; you must forgive me for passing this problem on to the Crown. I didn’t know what else to do but to tell you everything I could and return your quill. Oh, I believe his name may have been Gabriel.’
Florentyna listened and nodded. The name could be a lie, of course. ‘We’re grateful that you came, Master Pel. I’m sorry for your loss,’ she said. ‘Now, please, let us find you a bed in which to rest and some food. You may return home when you are ready.’
‘Thank you, your majesty, you’re very kind. I hope the Crown finds him and I will be glad to bear witness against him.’
She nodded and watched the elderly man leave, escorted by Burrage to the door. Florentyna turned away, biting her lip in worry. The talk of magic had prompted a reminder of the man called Fynch, who had told Florentyna of the imminent arrival of a stranger — a magic bearer. She took a deep, steadying breath. She had to speak with Fynch again.
Pel’s sinister tale also deepened the mystery surrounding her former chancellor’s disappearance.
She wished Darcelle would be a friend and confidante, but it seemed that since the marriage proposal her sister was becoming increasingly bored with life as the spare heir and not especially interested in Florentyna’s needs. Darcelle wanted a crown of her own and her new husband-to-be would provide it. And then she would likely consider herself Florentyna’s equal. Despite her love for Darcelle, Florentyna knew they had grown apart, especially since the announcement of marriage and particularly with her choice of husband. But Florentyna had refused to dwell on King Tamas and her sister being wed. She would be happy for them, and Cipres was a long way from Morgravia.
Along with Reynard’s disappearance, Florentyna was feeling increasingly isolated, to the point where the only trustworthy companions she could call upon were Burrage, in his seventh decade, and Felyx, her champion, who quietly resented his ‘nursemaid’ role.
‘Do you need company?’ Burrage whispered, interrupting her thoughts as she began to walk away.
‘Just want to clear my head,’ she assured. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘In the grove?’
She found a smile. He knew her too well.
‘Felyx will accompany you,’ he said, walking to the chamber door. She wanted to be truly alone but knew that was about as likely as two moons appearing tonight. She sighed quietly as she watched Burrage whisper to someone outside the door.
Soon enough, Burrage returned with her nursemaid. Between them they shared one hundred and fourteen summers. Florentyna could use some male company of her own age, as these men always felt the need to advise and counsel, rather than simply listen and let her reach her own conclusion. And there was so much to consider in Pel’s curious tale.
Florentyna wished now that she hadn’t treated Master Fynch with such indifference. She had allowed others to sway her attitude toward a man she had inherently trusted. There was something about his eyes — so bright and amused, and yet she’d had the impression that the wisdom of centuries lurked behind them. Had he thrown open a window onto something she could not yet see, but was out there?
Magic had been openly accepted as a fact of life in her great-grandfather’s time. It could hardly die out, could it, even though she’d read the history tomes that said people had tried to stamp it out by burning so-called witches?
Felyx quietly followed her from the throne room. He was a senior, trusted man from the Royal Blades, a special unit of soldiers set up originally by Cailech to guard his queen.
‘Chancellor Burrage says I must return you by midday, your majesty,’ Felyx said, catching up with her and interrupting her gloomy thoughts as she left the palace to emerge into the sunlight of the bailey. It helped a little to feel the warmth, thin though it was today. Felyx’s sword clanged at his side and his leathers creaked. She was used to it, but today the sounds only added to her annoyance.
‘Does he?’ she said, although it didn’t come out as a polite question. More of a sneer.
Courtiers, soldiers, maids and pages all began bowing as she approached and stayed bent in her wake, but Florentyna uncharacteristically acknowledged no-one. Felyx caught the gate as it carelessly swung back on him then closed it quietly. He was used to this route. It was the queen’s most regular one when she chose to escape. She stomped ahead toward the private grove planted by Cailech for his beloved Valentyna.
Gone was the usual cacophony of the great palace known as Stoneheart — apart from the soft ‘clank’ of Felyx behind her. The noise of people and their daily work was replaced by birdsong and the rustle of trees swaying in the gentle breeze. The comforting, regular gurgle of water ran in a stream that traced a narrow path nearby.
‘I’m going to the pool,’ she said, somewhat unnecessarily. ‘I would like to be alone.’
‘Yes, of course, majesty. I’ll do a sweep of the grove to ensure all is well. And when I return I will wait for you here,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ Florentyna whispered and was already moving away from Felyx before he’d finished speaking. She threaded her way through the grove of majestic belaqua, with their huge gnarled limbs and fabulously bright-green heart-shaped leaves, and immediately her burden — whatever it was — felt lighter. She moved to her favourite spot: overlooking a tiny rock pool, away from the foaming rush of the stream that cut through the grove and moved on its busy journey to join the River Tague. That river began in the Razor Mountains and flowed south to separate Morgravia from Briavel.
Before she sank down beside the pool, she snapped a leaf from a low branch and stroked its velvety length, marvelling that its underside could be so rough and hairy. She crushed its tip and let the lemony oil perfume her fingers as she brought the leaf close to her face to inhale the heady scent. Emperor Cailech must have been quite a romantic at heart. There was a tale that he’d hunted all the nine kingdoms to get the most beautiful tree to plant for his Valentyna.
People anticipated a gorgeous flowering tree and yet what he brought home was a strange, dark-looking row of deciduous saplings that were little more than twigs. But they grew fast and they grew strong. They yielded no voluptuous blooms but he was said to have joked that the leaves represented the union   of Valentyna and himself: ‘the rough north joining with the smooth south’. Then his romantic side had shown itself and jongleurs sang of his claim that each leaf was akin to one of his heartbeats; and each leaf-fall left a carpet of green hearts on the grove’s floor that represented a year of heartbeats of his life given in love to his queen. Florentyna had adored the story since she was a little girl and came to the grove because she knew Valentyna had loved this place too.
She wanted love of that nature in her life … a strong, romantic man who would bind himself to her. She’d never said this to anyone — not even Darcelle — but Florentyna, even as a princess, had never desired a ‘prince’ with his own realm. She didn’t even need a king, even though she was sure Reynard, and now Burrage, had constantly considered options that might offer the right alliance. She already presided over a powerful region — it didn’t need to be broadened by marrying another powerful heir or king. It needed to be cared for, nurtured, protected … just like she did. And what she didn’t have was anyone who loved her. It was a pathetic-sounding whine, even for her private thoughts, and she shook her head free of it.
She tossed her leaf into the water and watched it float, drifting gently to the edge, barely disturbing the surface, where she noticed her reflection, caught sight of the droop of her expression. Is this how she appeared to her courtiers, her people? Looking at her image, she saw sadness staring back at her. Just as she was about to dive into self-pity again, she could swear the face of a wolf appeared in the reflection, snarled at her and just as quickly disappeared.
Florentyna sat back, astonished. The beast she’d seen in that flash was magnificent and of such a curious colouring, like cinder toffee. It had possessed glowing, deep yellow eyes; instinctively, she felt it was female.
She shivered, despite her soft wrap of gleaver wool.
When her mother passed away from the shaking fevers that had swept the empire, she and her sister had been put into the temporary care of Twillie — the oldest member of the palace, she was sure. Twillie had been her mother’s servant since childhood and, despite her own mourning, had ferociously and happily embraced her role of caring for the girls. Twillie already knew that while the baby, Darcelle, could be quietened with soothing songs or sticks of sugar, the only way her sister would be still was to listen to the old stories. And Twillie had a wealth of them. She was from Tolton Heath in the far northeast of Briavel, one of the villages that dared live close to the border of the Wild.
The people of this area were full of tall tales of magic and mystery, and Florentyna loved Twillie’s stories. She learned about giants and small-folk, of dragons that once flew the land, and especially about the dragon king, who was so old he no longer remembered his own name. One story told of how a boy from Morgravia had braved the dragon king and flown on its back. The dragon king and boy had cleaved so close in heart and mind that the child straddled the realms of men and beast as a king himself. According to Twillie, he became the conduit and protector of their empire.
It was a fantastic story that fed Florentyna’s imagination. She listened wide-eyed to other tales — of brave men who fought the gilgerbeasts and feisty women who rode the unicorns of old. She trembled at the stories of ogres who roamed the caves beneath the Razors, of great sea serpents who sank ships, and of demons who created havoc to lighten the boredom of their eternal, ethereal lives.
Florentyna knew them all by heart and had argued heatedly with her father, even though she was only eight summers, that they were legend, not myth. These people and creatures had existed. As she grew older, she kept her thoughts to herself in this regard for fear of being considered blasphemous in a world that now ignored its former awe and, indeed, fear of magic. Everyone she knew sneered at the notion that magic existed. Florentyna had often wanted to ask them why, then, did the zealous Zerque Stalkers ever exist if not to stamp out magic? Why, even in more recent times, in the reign of King Magnus, were they still burning women accused of witchery? Granted, history told her that Magnus had done much to stop inquisitors, but Confessor Lymbert had still had ‘fun’ in his dungeon with poor wretches accused of being witches. The last victim recorded was a girl younger than herself. Florentyna knew her only by the single name of Myrren. What a terrible trial she had endured before her burning.
King Magnus died not long after Myrren, and his son, Prince Celimus, ascended the throne. This was a very muddled time as the two great realms of Morgravia and Briavel endeavoured to stop their age-old enmity through the oldest form of strategic alliance. Prince Celimus of Morgravia was to marry Princess Valentyna of Briavel and everyone hoped for the promised peace, but the Razor Kingdom was becoming bolder, and its daring — some said far-sighted — ruler began to believe he would make the better emperor. He also believed he would make the better husband and it seemed Valentyna agreed. When they united the realms, they destroyed the inquisitions and any form of witch hunting. Belief in magic gradually declined and spiritual devotion intensified.
Pearlis Cathedral never lacked for pilgrims, but Florentyna always felt sad that they no longer believed in the power of the creatures which featured so strongly in that cathedral. Florentyna adored the notion that each person was born to one and that it would be their protector. She was born to the dragon, like the royals before her … only those with royal lineage could be allied to the dragon. Did that mean the legendary boy who became the king of the beasts was born to the dragon? How else could he defy it, stare it down, make it his, ride it, love it as his own? She blinked. Had the boy of legend been royal, then? A royal bastard, perhaps?
Perhaps what she loved most about the Cailech and Valentyna story was the vague whiff of magic that seemed to surround them. Historians coldly recorded that King Celimus had died of poisoning and that his chancellor, Jessom, had been murdered, but there were anomalies in the history that were deliberately vague. Florentyna was a gifted student of history, but it did not worry her to have these gaps in the family records because she filled them with her own idea that magic, which seemed to abound in her ancestors’ time, had its part to play in their lives. In fact, it fired her romantic notion that Cailech, who had once been considered little more than a barbaric tribesman — and liked nothing more than to dine on his enemies — had employed magic to win his queen. Even the history books attested, in a roundabout fashion, to a personality change once Cailech left the Razors and headed south into Briavel and met Queen Valentyna.
Florentyna smiled thinking about her romantic forebears. When the vision of the wolf came to mind again, she told herself she’d imagined it; of course she had, for when she tentatively leaned over the pool she saw only her dark hair, sensibly pulled back and plaited behind the familiar oval face. She wore no earrings, no necklace, no bracelets or finery, no colour on her cheeks or lips. For a queen she was singularly unadorned. Even her gowns were neat, practical — although like her famous ancestor, Valentyna, she really preferred riding gear — and she had convinced herself she looked best in neutral hues. She left all the frippery to Darcelle. Her sister was the beautiful one — which Florentyna had been told so often as they grew up. Darcelle was the one with the gregarious personality and plenty of suitors; the one who really cared about the family’s jewellery and gold vaults, the latest fashions, the best silks.
Everyone knew this. Even the king.
Their father had loved them both deeply, but had admitted that he was glad she was the one who would wear the crown. He thought he’d been saying this privately to Chancellor Reynard, but Florentyna had been in the solar, just outside his main salon.
She’d been permitted in by the king’s secretary, who knew he could leave the princess while he ran an errand.
‘Does his majesty know you’re coming?’ he’d asked kindly.
‘I want to surprise him,’ she had replied in a conspiratorial tone. ‘He doesn’t know Darcelle and I are back from our trip to Argorn yet and I have a special gift for him.’
‘Oh, then if you don’t mind waiting, your highness,’ he’d murmured, ‘I’m sure the chancellor won’t be long with your father. Welcome home, highness.’
‘I’m happy to wait, Kilryck,’ she had assured him, giving him a smile as he’d left.
However, the door had been open and she could hear the two men. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Their voices carried. As she heard her name spoken she frowned, moved closer to listen.
‘… Darcelle has it all,’ her father’s deep voice said. ‘Looks, personality, desire to be loved. She will be fine. She will be rich and happy as long as everyone dotes on her and looks after her. And in this she is fortunate too, for her elder sister indulges her. Darcelle will not have to inherit a crown to wear one.’
Reynard had always held a soft spot for Florentyna and she mentally hugged him for his sharp reply. ‘And you think Florentyna will?’
‘It’s not like that, Reynard,’ her father admonished. ‘But you know as well as I that my elder daughter is a plainer, more serious girl and genuinely more suited to rule. She’s sensible and intelligent, well read and took her studies seriously. She’s done everything right. A sovereign can’t expect to be loved as Darcelle is … a sovereign must earn the love that comes with mutual respect. You hear me wrong if you think I criticise Florentyna. She makes me proud and, if not for her intensely romantic nature, I think she’s perfect to rule after I’m gone.’
‘And yet your praise sounds somehow damning,’ Reynard had said sadly. He could get away with it, although her father would tolerate no-one else chastising him so. She heard Reynard continue. ‘Your majesty, forgive me, but Florentyna is poorer emotionally for your attitude. The only reason you think your elder daughter is plainer is because Queen Saria has made her so over the past decade. She was an absolutely beautiful child, as I’m sure you recall, and while that beauty doesn’t necessarily follow into adulthood, I think you’re only seeing the Florentyna she has been shaped to be rather than the one you knew. The beautiful girl with the wide smile and ready affection is still there. It’s just been …’ She heard a pause as Reynard searched for the right word. ‘Well, damn it, my king, it’s been all but coerced out of her.’
She heard her father sigh then, heard his soft footsteps and she knew he’d be walking over to the window to look out beyond Stoneheart’s huge bailey. ‘They’ve had a difficult relationship, it’s true.’
‘Except Queen Saria was the adult in that relationship, sire. She came into your daughter’s life when Florentyna was just nine and possessed loving memories of her own mother. Your new wife, dare I say, majesty, was not a good friend to the child at a time when Florentyna most needed one to guide her out of mourning and back into life. Florentyna has remained grief-stricken and I have to say it — isolated.’ The king must have swung around and glared, because Reynard suddenly sounded defensive. ‘You know it’s true. Oh, she hides it well, because she knows her place, her role, and because she knows you demand it of her. She’s been groomed as second heir since her first breath. But look at her dress and lack of adornment. Her mother has been dead more than a decade, but you wouldn’t know it. One could be forgiven for thinking Florentyna’s mother died a few moons back.’
‘Stop, Reynard,’ her father said.
But Reynard didn’t stop. He obviously knew how hard he could push his king. ‘Meanwhile, your second queen was a role model to the cherubic baby. Darcelle was an infant and easily moulded and Queen Saria has lavished her attention and care on her. She has taught Darcelle brilliantly and look how the girl has blossomed, but Queen Saria has left Florentyna to essentially raise herself in all things feminine. It is fair to say, and we all know it, my king, that the queen dislikes Princess Florentyna. There’s no reason for it, other than that she loved her mother so deeply and resembles you and your forebears so keenly but she is a lonely, lonely young woman in a palace full of people.’
Florentyna had felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment, but mostly pain.
She did love her little sister, but she also knew Darcelle was easily impressed, deeply selfish and desperately keen to wear a crown. And while Darcelle made all the right noises toward her as a sister, Florentyna knew that Saria — even from a distance — still enjoyed enormous influence over Darcelle and poisoned her mind as often as she could against Florentyna.
Florentyna stared into the pool, stung by thoughts and memories. Even when her moonblood had arrived, with all of its strange ache and uncertainty, it wasn’t Saria who helped, but dear Reynard, for even Twillie had become too old and hadn’t been nearby. She’d sobbed in his arms that frightening night, claiming that she was dying. Reynard had carried her, stained and weeping to his rooms and summoned Keely, one of the gentlest, prettiest, most sweet-tempered servants in the palace. And Keely had been left with Florentyna to explain that she was now in a position to bring life into the world. Reynard had quickly appointed Keely as head maid to the princess and, with only a decade separating them, they had become firm friends.
Saria noticed that Florentyna was becoming far too confident and independent. She blamed Keely, having watched Florentyna beginning to blossom under the woman’s care. And when Reynard had been away with her father, the queen had cornered Keely and suggested she do a ‘tour’, as she had called it, to the leper colony on the Isle of Trey. This was another of Cailech’s innovations, encouraging his palace staff to show they were not above such things even though they were employed at Stoneheart and enjoyed many benefits as a result.
Keely was quickly pressed into service and even though she went quietly and indeed graciously, it was obvious to Florentyna that Reynard would not have permitted such a close aide to the royal family to be away for so long. Then Keely had become ill; not for a moment did Florentyna believe it to be leprosy, for the talk was simply that Keely was coughing a great deal, but that was irrelevant to Saria, who gleefully and instantly forbade Keely returning to Stoneheart. She was to remain on the island as, according to Saria, she had contracted the suppurating sores of the leper.
Florentyna’s blood boiled even now at the memory of it, but she’d been a child and helpless. Her father was distracted on his return and even Reynard would not involve himself in domestic spats despite his disapproval of what had occurred. So Florentyna’s life had again turned inward. Some had even begun calling her fey because of her reticence.
She smiled, allowing herself a rare moment of malicious joy as she recalled the moment when she realised what her father’s death signified. It had nothing to do with wearing a crown, or ruling, or wealth or status. It wasn’t about being the most revered person in the empire or the most powerful. It was quite simply about being in a position to give one particular command.
The king’s death was unexpected and traumatic. Pearlis had slipped into shock as quietly as her father had slid from his horse two mornings previously in the bailey soon after mounting up. What had been dismissed as indigestion had been his heart weakening. The king had been immediately confined to his bed and his physics prodded, poked and generally shook their heads at his worsening condition while his breath became laboured and then shallow. His complexion had lost its grey pallor and turned waxy pale. The queen, accompanied by Darcelle, was called back from her sojourn to the famed spa at Tyntar, north of Pearlis, and was at her husband’s side that same night, cooing and soothing in a way that made Florentyna feel ill.
As far as Florentyna was concerned, Saria, a widow of a distant cousin on her mother’s side, had deliberately set about catching the king’s attention and had done so through slyness, cunning and manipulation. Saria was still relatively young at thirty-five summers, still capable of bearing a son. She had been all smiles and friendliness in the early days of their courtship, but once the banns had been called and the echoes of the wedding bells had stopped resounding, Florentyna saw a different and far more ugly side to the new queen she now bowed to.
At the king’s bedside, both she and the queen had locked gazes over the sick man. Florentyna remembered well that sudden shift of awareness as the pendulum of power seemed to swing from the queen’s side of the bed to hers. And she could all but smell Saria’s fear on the other side. Her father was still young by the standard of the day. No-one had counted on him having a weakness of the heart, least of all Saria.
And in that moment Florentyna had realised that Saria was petrified. Florentyna did not want her father to die, but she privately revelled in the uncertainty and terror reflected in the look her stepmother levelled at her as understanding dawned of how life might be about to change for both of them.
To Saria’s despair her husband had suddenly awoken from the stupor he’d drifted into in an unnaturally alert state; it was a bad sign. The king spoke briefly to each of his loved ones separately, and then in front of those gathered, he had taken a deep, sad-sounding breath and closed his eyes. Saria had begun to shriek immediately.
Here was Florentyna’s defining moment, as Reynard had later remarked. She stepped up to Saria when she could bear the woman’s histrionics no more and delivered a stinging smack across one cheek, ignoring Darcelle’s shriek of indignation.
‘Hold yourself together!’ she’d demanded of her elder. Saria was tall in her heels but Florentyna was taller … without them. She used that height now to intimidate the woman who had been the bane of her life for years. ‘Quiet yourself, woman! A hush for the dead, I beg you. Let my father’s soul travel to Shar in peace.’
Saria had whimpered and clasped a hand to her shocked face, covering the reddening cheek that bore the mark of Florentyna’s fingers. She had become mute, humiliated in front of her audience. Florentyna saw the woman glance at Darcelle but ignored both.
Into the difficult silence the chancellor spoke gravely. ‘The king is dead!’ he announced at a sombre nod from the head physician. ‘Long live Queen Florentyna!’
Florentyna had taken their low bows, working hard to control her breathing, to hold her own tears in for just a while longer. And when each had straightened she’d looked to her sister. ‘Master Burrage, would you please see to it that Princess Darcelle is taken to her chambers.’ She helped her weeping sister to her feet and kissed her head. ‘Go now, dear one. Grieve for our father in private. I will take care of everything and I will see you when I have made the necessary arrangements.’
Darcelle had looked at her with red, watering eyes before turning toward the woman she considered her mother. Florentyna had not given her sister a chance to speak. Until that moment Florentyna didn’t know she was going to do anything so swift or decisive, but there was an echo of insincerity in Darcelle’s tears that struck a false note.
‘And, Master Burrage?’
‘Yes, your majesty,’ he said, according her the title that had the still stunned Saria looking from courtier to courtier in bewilderment.
‘Would you please have someone escort the dowager to the chapel, where I’m sure she will want to grieve for my father.’ Florentyna turned to Saria. ‘I will have staff wait upon you in the chapel, where I presume you will keep the day and night vigil over your husband’s body. From there I will make arrangements for you to be moved to a quiet place for your mourning.’
Saria’s mouth moved but no words were formed.
Florentyna masked her sense of satisfaction by looking away as people began to react. ‘A quiet word, Chancellor Reynard,’ she said softly for his hearing and withdrew to the mantelpiece, as far from the deathbed as possible. She heard people moving behind her and when she glanced back as Reynard approached, she saw her sister and her stepmother being aided from the king’s bedchamber.
Reynard drew next to her, staring deeply into her dark green eyes, scattered with warm brown flecks. ‘Bravo, Queen Florentyna. I have never felt more proud,’ he whispered and bowed again.
She did not smile but a felt a spike of pleasure thrill through her all the same. ‘My sister is to be kept apart from our stepmother for the time being. And the dowager, as she is now to be formally addressed, is to be kept under invisible guard. I do not give her permission to leave the palace yet. She is to be kept at the side of my father’s body until she has fulfilled her vigil as is required … on her knees, as is also required.’
He’d nodded and she had seen his fierce pride in her actions.
Reynard had then touched a finger to his lips momentarily. ‘I’m not certain, your majesty, that the dowager is aware of Morgravia’s custom that a wife who outlives her husband must go into mourning for eighteen moons,’ he’d whispered.
‘No, I suspect not. So Chancellor Reynard, will you make immediate arrangements for her to be removed to Rittylworth Monastery, where she can begin her official mourning as soon as she completes her vigil.’
She remembered how Reynard had permitted himself a tiny smile. ‘I will make those arrangements.’
‘See to it our most reliable guards escort the dowager to her new abode, won’t you, Reynard? Select a team who will remain at Rittylworth as her guard but also our eyes. She is dangerous; I have no doubt about that.’
‘You are wise, Queen Florentyna. The dowager will be gone from the palace by tomorrow night.’
Florentyna emerged from her memories at the snap of a twig behind her. ‘Is that you, Felyx?’ she asked without turning.
‘Yes, your majesty.’
‘I’m fine. Just a few moments longer, please.’
She heard him retreat and shifted her thoughts to the present. Saria was now unhappily, but securely, entrenched at Rittylworth Monastery. She had nearly completed the period of mourning and Florentyna knew that as soon as she could, the dowager would rush east into Briavel, back to the stronghold of her family’s lands at Tamar, northeast of its capital. And from there, Florentyna had no doubt, her vicious stepmother would be out of her black robes and plotting. Not for a heartbeat did Florentyna imagine that Saria would allow her to rule easily. Observers had confirmed that Saria believed a crown had been stolen from her, was even whispering that Florentyna had the healthy king poisoned. It was such abhorrent talk and yet Florentyna knew not to be surprised by it.
‘Above all, my queen,’ Reynard had advised, ‘keep Darcelle close and keep her happy. If Saria is going to make any sort of move against you, she will use Darcelle as her secret weapon.’
Not long after, the strange little man called Fynch had appeared and Reynard had granted him an audience with Florentyna.
‘Saria is the least of your concerns, your majesty,’ Fynch had said calmly, as though reading her mind, his bright eyes fixing her to the chair in the solar, where she’d greeted him.
She recalled that conversation now.
‘You are saying that the empire is under threat from a foe we don’t know about and can’t see,’ she’d repeated, working to keep an even tone in her voice.
‘That’s my belief,’ he’d said softly. ‘I have waited for the signs.’
‘Signs?’
‘Majesty, I am a man with strong spiritual beliefs. I pay attention to … well, shall I call them nuances within the invisible world surrounding our own.’ She’d flashed a glance at Reynard. Fynch had seen it but didn’t appear to react at her obvious cynicism, and had deliberately turned it back upon her. ‘Isn’t it true, your majesty, that you believe strongly in the ethereal?’
‘My beliefs are not —’
‘Your beliefs are everything. You must lead your people and they will follow. Cailech and Valentyna believed in the spiritual world, feared and admired it, paid homage to it … in their own way.’
‘What do you know of my forebears, Master Fynch?’ she’d bristled.
‘Like you, my queen, I am a student of history. And I have lived more than most.’
There was something cryptic in his words.
Just when she’d thought he’d finished, he added, ‘If you believe that magic exists, your majesty — and I suspect that you do — then you must also believe it can be put to the work of good or to evil. I believe that an evil magic is loose again.’ He shrugged, as if to say he had nothing more to offer.
‘Why should we trust this information, Master Fynch?’ she’d asked, feeling the weight of his scrutiny.
‘Simply because I can speak only the truth to you, your majesty. If I was interested in mischief-making I’m sure there are far more dramatic and indeed easier ways to win your attention. I know it is difficult to place your trust in a stranger but — and this will be even more difficult for you to accept — I am no stranger to Stoneheart or to your family.’
She’d cut him a glance of surprise before she looked at Reynard. ‘And why do you trust him so, chancellor?’
‘Queen Florentyna, I have nothing other than my ability to judge character upon which to base my trust. I have never been more sure of someone — other than yourself — than I am of this man who stands before you.’
‘You’re basing your trust on instinct?’
‘What else is there, majesty?’ Fynch cut in. ‘I mean, when logic fails and other sensibilities are removed. We can learn much from the animal realm. Beasts act only upon instinct and rarely make mistakes.’
‘Master Fynch, I am mindful of your care for the Crown, but unless you can convince me of your pedigree to be even able to counsel me on such matters …’ She’d shaken her head. ‘I don’t know who you are or how you might know such things about my family’s history.’ Florentyna had then fixed him with a hard gaze. ‘Every Crown has its enemies —’
‘Not like this one, your majesty,’ he’d had the gall to quietly interrupt.
Her lips had thinned. It was very difficult for her because Reynard, whom she trusted without question, had a plea in his expression. ‘Nevertheless,’ she’d continued, ‘I want proof. Bring it to me and I will sit down with you, Master Fynch.’
‘What sort of proof, your majesty?’ he had persisted, frowning.
‘I don’t know. That’s your problem. I’m afraid until there is something real that I can see or touch or even understand, Master Fynch, I shall leave it to Chancellor Reynard to use his instincts and to keep me briefed.’ She’d stood. ‘Good day, gentlemen,’ and she had swept from the room, feeling fractionally hollow for having dismissed him.
Master Fynch began to haunt her thoughts; his warning invaded her dreams; his name resonated deep in her recollections … back to her childhood to the legend of a boy called Fynch, who rode with a dragon and was friends with an emperor.
And the chancellor had been absent since that meeting, leaving his day-to-day duties to Burrage. It was strange. Reynard had been at her side since she’d begun her reign and now he’d left her without a word. She’d assumed at first that he was attending to imperial matters but it was not at all like him. And then when he had not appeared and could not be found, a sinister pall had laid itself over his disappearance. Privately, Florentyna was certain that Reynard believed in Fynch and was angry at her for not trusting him also. Had he gone off on some journey of discovery of his own — or even with Fynch — to bring her proof of the threat that she had demanded?
When Florentyna had finally broached with Darcelle the subject of the stranger and his claim, her sister had tossed her golden hair and looked at Florentyna as though she’d gone soft in her mind. Darcelle had ridiculed Fynch as a luna-fool.
‘He probably howls at the night sky when the tides are high,’ she gibed. She’d not let the chancellor off lightly either, taking the opportunity to tell Florentyna exactly what she thought of the interfering old man.
‘I’m glad he’s finally given you some space to breathe. I know you’re very close to him, Florentyna, but perhaps you don’t see his oily ways as clearly as others do.’
Florentyna blinked, stung. Her trait was not to react too quickly to criticism so she held her tongue, but Darcelle didn’t pause to even take a breath.
‘You should banish both, dear sister. Neither is good for you. Everything is well for our land, especially now that I’ve strengthened our ties with Tamas. I’m the one you should be grateful to. Not silly old men scared of their own shadows and preaching doom and gloom. In fact, I live in your shadow and yet I’m the one doing the work of a queen. I attend the formal occasions that you should, I charm at parties, I deliver your messages in the most eloquent of ways and now I make your realm safe for you.’
Darcelle had clearly forgotten herself but behind this stupidity Florentyna could hear Saria; it was obvious her sister had paid a visit to her stepmother recently. Darcelle loved the role she played for the Crown; it not only gave her purpose but it employed her strengths, showed off her talents. It was beyond belief that Darcelle would complain or consider herself ‘used’ by the Crown. No, it took a far more devious and malicious mind to come up with that slant.
She’d needed Reynard’s counsel but the chancellor had not been seen again and neither had Master Fynch. Had she offended her senior aide or had he met some terrible end? It was a mystery that was increasingly making her feel anxious and she’d begun to convince herself that if she could see a dead body she’d have a better time accepting his wordless disappearance. And what kept returning to her was that something in Master Fynch’s gaze had told her he had come as a friend, that he was telling her the truth.