*
The Ducal Palace was like everything else in Rijou, built on three levels of increasing decay. The foundation had been formed hundreds of years ago when the men and women of Rijou had fought like iron bears against aggressors from the north, south and east. They had carved and carried indomitable eidenstone from quarries miles away in order to build a foundation and walls that would never be shattered by enemy forces. The foundation itself continued outside the palace, forming a promenade on which all major civic ceremonies took place. The promenade was known as the Rock of Rijou – the summoning place where the city would gather if ever they had to fight again to protect their homes.
Above this noble foundation sat hundreds of years of corruption. Seven Ducal families had taken their turns tearing down and rebuilding the overblown palace ballrooms and chambers, filling the palace with secret passageways and hidden alcoves, dungeon cells and rooms specially designed for torturing enemies: it was a harsh scab marring the hard-tanned skin of an otherwise great people.
But like any whore, Rijou’s Ducal Palace disliked revealing the lines and scars of its history, and so the current Duke squandered city monies to gild the vast chambers and hallways with precious metals and swathe it in rich fabric. Like many forms of lunacy it was somewhat ingenious in its manifestation. The Ducal Ballroom was built in several tiers. The Gemstone Tier at the top held the Duke’s table, the Golden Tier seated favoured nobles, the Silver was for those nobles who pleased the Duke too little. The military, tradesmen and musicians were to be found on the Oaken Tier, along with the dance floor, and below that the Iron Tier housed the kitchens and other utilitarian rooms behind great doors.
The ballroom and lighting were elegantly designed so that, while everyone could see the levels above them, giving impetus to elevate themselves in the Duke’s good graces, none could see the levels below, and thus could only imagine what might await them there should they fail to please their Lord. The Duke and his special guests shone like gemstones, to be admired by those beneath, but they needed never see the lower orders beneath them – and the Duke no doubt considered this stunningly idiotic arrangement a show of confidence that none would dare attack him.
‘I could kill him in seventeen steps,’ Kest remarked as he broke off a crust of bread.
‘Reckon I could kill him in one with my bow,’ Brasti said as we watched men in elaborate gold livery serve the main course on the levels above.
Feltock whispered angrily, ‘Reckon you’ll get us killed in no steps at all if you don’t shut your traps, fools.’
I looked around at the other peons on the Iron Tier. For the most part, everyone consigned to this level was working: fetching food and drink, moving empty dishes into the cleaning rooms, bringing brushes and pans to sweep up broken dishes. The only people eating with us were other bodyguards or nobles’ attendants not deemed well-groomed enough to sit behind their masters. The fact that all the horribly uncomfortable tables and chairs on our tier were made entirely out of rough iron rods – despite the huge cost – told me everything I needed to know about the Duke.
‘It’s starting,’ Kest noted.
The Duke rose from his gilded seat. His dark red velvet robes didn’t conceal his strong physique. Golden band encircled his waist and arms and on his head he wore a simple crown, not much more than a flattened loop of gold, really, but embedded at the front was the largest diamond I’d ever seen.
‘Must tip forward a great deal,’ Brasti observed.
‘Shh …’
‘My Lords and Ladies,’ the Duke’s voice boomed out.
‘Good acoustics, too,’ Kest said.
‘Would you stop encouraging him?’
‘My friends!’ the Duke continued, a smile across his face, then, ‘No, not just friends: my family. As we assemble here on the eve of Ganath Kalila, our most blessed celebration, in which we rebind the ties that make Rijou a true family, my heart is full!’
A great deal of cheering ensued. Unsurprisingly, the cheers were more muted the further down the tiers I looked.
‘My heart is full and my soul soars, not only because today my beautiful daughter is brought into my life—’ And here he revealed Valiana, dazzling in deep purple, with softly-coloured lilac gemstones woven in her hair, as she rose to the oohs and ahhs of the assembled crowd.
‘I say, my joy is not only that I am rejoined by a daughter, but that she has been so well protected by both Ducal guardsmen and brave Trattari, who have risked their lives to bring her to us safely.’
There was a gasp from the crowd. That may have been the first nice thing said about us by a noble in – well, possibly for ever.
‘Well, that was nice, really,’ said Brasti.
‘Yes, but why?’ I wondered.
‘And this, the love and devotion of such disparate moral characters for my daughter show all of us …’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘There it is.’
‘… further, shows to all of us, men, Saints and Gods alike, that Valiana is and will be the glory that unifies all our peoples. From the noblest family to the basest criminal …’
‘See, now I’m not sure if he really likes us at all,’ Brasti said.
‘Shut up now. This is where it happens.’
‘… all of our people will come to love, to admire and, above all else, to need Valiana to lead us into the future. She has passed her Heart’s Trial and, with no stain or malice in her soul, she will bring us together: one people, united and free, under the benevolent rule of the Princess Valiana!’
A roaring cheer emanated from the Golden Tier; no doubt these favoured nobles had already been well-briefed about their imminent enthusiasm. From the Silver Tier there were some muted sounds, and I thought I could distinguish some cries of shock, even anger. From the Oaken Tier there was confusion, followed by rampant cheering and clapping, not because they understood what was going on, but because they understood that they had better start expressing their pleasure at the announcement. I doubt anyone cared what sounds came from the Iron Tier.
‘I can take her out before the guardsmen get in the way,’ Kest said. Then he turned to Brasti. ‘But I can’t get the Duke as well. They’ll have me by then. Can you get there and kill him before they catch you?’
Brasti looked at him, then at the stairs that joined the levels.
‘I—’
Feltock had his dinner knife in his hand and was ready to launch himself at Kest.
‘Saints, all of you, shut up and sit down,’ I said.
‘This is it, Falcio,’ Kest said to me urgently. ‘This is how they’re going to destroy everything the King worked for. Tell me why not – give me one reason – one good reason – why I shouldn’t stop this storm before it begins?’
I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him hard so that his nose was an inch from mine. I locked eyes with him. ‘Because. We’re. Not. Fucking. Assassins.’
‘I should have the lot of you killed, you damnable treachers!’ Feltock growled.
‘Now, now; the Duke’s all for unity – he said so,’ Brasti said. ‘Let’s not spoil the party.’
‘On your fucking honour – whatever that’s worth. On your fucking honour you swear to me you won’t hurt that girl, or I vow, Greatcoats or not, I’ll take the lot of you down seven hells with me.’
I turned to Feltock. ‘I am Falcio val Mond. I am the First Cantor of the Greatcoats. I swear neither I nor any of mine shall lay arms against Valiana, be she a Princess, a Queen or simply the foolish, half-witted girl I’ve grown accustomed to.’
Kest’s eyes never left mine.
‘I want to hear it from him,’ Feltock said, pointing his knife at Kest.
‘It is as he says,’ Kest spoke softly. ‘For so long as Falcio is alive and First Cantor of the Greatcoats, I will not raise arms against your mistress.’
Feltock put his knife down.
‘Well then, I suppose that’s as settled as things are likely to get,’ Brasti said cheerfully. ‘Oh, and look, they’re about to start the dancing.’ With that he bounded off and up the stairs to the Oaken Tier. Having no desire to sit in the company of Kest and Feltock, I joined him.