THE DUCAL PALACE
‘So how does this work?’ Brasti asked as we led the carriage down the wide cobbled Avenue of Remembrance towards the Ducal Palace.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, how exactly does her Ladyship over there go from uptight bitch to Queen of the world?’
I glanced back at the carriage containing Valiana and the Duke’s man to make sure neither they nor the carriage driver was paying attention. ‘I’m not exactly sure. I think it has to do with the Council of Dukes having the power to select a Regent …’
‘No,’ Kest said, ‘that’s only if there’s an heir under the age of thirteen. This is about the Regia Maniferecto De’egro.’
‘The what now?’ Brasti said.
‘It’s in Auld Tongue: “Regia”, meaning “rule”, “Maniferecto”, meaning “governing law” and “De’egro”, meaning “of the Gods”.’
‘Ah well, that clears it all up then.’
‘You should have read more and drank less during our training, Brasti.’
‘We can’t all be walking encyclopaedias, Kest.’
‘I imagine it suits a Magister more to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of law than it does to have one pertaining only to ales.’
Brasti smiled. ‘Now see, that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve solved more cases with beer than you have with your arcane knowledge of laws nobody cares about.’
Feltock snorted. ‘Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears, is this how you Greatcoats solve the world’s problems, then? No wonder everything is fucked.’
Kest ignored him. ‘Well, this law is one you’ll probably want to learn, and it’s easy enough to remember: the Regia Maniferecto De’egro, or Godly Edict of Lawful Rule is exactly seven lines long. It states that the Gods demand that only a King or Queen may rule, not a council. It further states that the Gods imbue the line of Kings with favoured blood and the prosperity of the kingdom is tied to the quality of the blood of the ruler.’
‘What shit,’ Brasti said. ‘Blood is blood, so long as it’s red.’
‘Nevertheless, the Maniferecto – and I suspect the Dukes – disagree.’
‘So what would the Gods feel about this situation then?’ I asked, assuming they thought nothing of it at all. Most of these ancient texts were notoriously light on useful judicial details.
‘Surprisingly,’ Kest said, glancing back at the carriage, ‘the Maniferecto does indeed address this, in the seventh and final line. Paraphrasing, it states that royal blood never dies but re-manifests itself according to the will of the Gods,’
‘Well, that’s useful,’ Brasti snorted.
‘I wasn’t finished. According to the will of the Gods as witnessed by those of “worthy blood”.’
Shit. ‘And “worthy blood” here would mean—’
Kest nodded. ‘The Dukes.’
‘Well, isn’t this just wonderfully convenient for everybody then?’ Brasti said, a little too loudly for my comfort. ‘The fucking Dukes murder the King and then, according to this arcane bloody law written by some in-the-pocket cleric, the same people who killed the King suddenly have the magical power to see where the royal blood lies next. Thank the Saints I became a Greatcoat to fight for such far-seeing laws!’
‘It’s not that simple, though, is it?’ Feltock said, rubbing his chin. ‘I mean, if it were just as easy as that I reckon the Dukes would have picked one of themselves right quick, wouldn’t they?’
‘You’re right: it’s not as easy as that. You were one of the Duke of Pertine’s generals. Do you think he’d have sat back while another man no more noble than he took power? Hells, you work for Patriana now – how do you think the Duchess of Hervor would feel?’
Feltock took a swig from the wineskin. ‘The Duchess isn’t always the most sharing of individuals. I suppose you’re right. So then why allow my mistress to take power?’
‘Because she’s an idiot,’ Brasti said lightly.
Feltock’s hand dropped to the knife at his belt. ‘You’ll hold your tongue, boy. I don’t expect you to love the Lady, but you speak of her with respect.’
Brasti threw his hands up in a gesture of mocking submission. ‘You’re right, you’re right,’ he said obligingly. ‘Given her parentage, she’s practically a fucking Saint.’
‘This is getting us nowhere,’ Kest said to me.
‘Why,’ Feltock threw back, ‘’cause I’m just a stupid old army man, too soft in the head for your grand Greatcoat thinking?’
‘Feltock,’ I said, ‘not to give offence to her Ladyship, but the reality is that she’s young, inexperienced, guileless and completely malleable. If the Duke of Rijou is truly her father then the other Dukes likely see her as easily controlled. Rijou himself cares nothing for the world outside of his domain, so he’s unlikely to seek to use her to expand his own influence, and his region is completely dependent on trade, so he’ll want to keep the other Dukes content. Valiana will be as happy as a child with a new puppy, with a lovely throne and pretty clothes, and all the while the Dukes will have free run in their lands.’
‘Well now, I’m glad you’re not intending to give offence.’
‘If you want to see offence, watch what the Dukes regularly do with the young daughters of the peasants on their land,’ Kest said. ‘Or what happens to families when every strong back is suddenly conscripted to build a Duke’s petty temple or statue, or to fight an unnecessary border-war so that the Duke can call himself a warrior.’
Feltock locked eyes with him. ‘I’m not stupid. I know what can happen when a bad seed takes the Ducal seat.’
‘If that’s what you think then you are stupid,’ Kest said quietly. ‘A Duke who treats his people with anything less than an iron fist soon finds his fellow Lords coming to call with Knights at their backs, the length and breadth of their honour defined by how quickly they split a peasant’s head open when their own Duke commands it.’
‘So then what now?’ Brasti interrupted. ‘We go to a ceremony and that’s the end of it?’
‘No, but it’s certainly the beginning,’ Kest replied. ‘She needs Patents of Lineage, which must be signed by all the Dukes or else there could be questions of legitimacy later on. Nobody, not even the Dukes, want a civil war.’
‘They’ll bring a mage in to test her with a Heart’s Trial too, I’d guess,’ I added.
‘Test what now?’ Feltock asked. I could see him tensing up. ‘They’ll not put irons nor spells against my Lady.’
‘It’s not what you think,’ I said. ‘It’s just a ritual by which the mage can apparently test the content of her heart. Is she telling the truth about being the daughter of Jillard and Patriana? Does she hold any ill will towards the Dukes? Does she have evil in her heart? Does she plan anything nefarious—?’
‘My Lady may be difficult at times, but there’s nothing evil nor conniving in her.’
Kest looked at him wearily. ‘Exactly – and that’s why the Dukes will accept her, and why she’ll make a perfect tool for the Dukes to use to ruin this country for ever.’
Then Kest looked back at me. I didn’t need any Heart’s Trial to know exactly what he was thinking.