“What do you mean? Not truly.”
“Yes, truly. What do you think happened to the first Larexes, or old Saqualian? Choked on a fish bone? It is well known in Nabban that his mistress poisoned his oyster stew.” She paused. “In fact, even poor, brave Lector Ranessin died an unnatural death, and I should know, since I was in the Sancellan that night.”
“But Ranessin was killed by Pryrates!”
“It was still a removal for political reasons.” Her mouth twisted. “My father’s reasons, although I pray he did not know how that cursed priest planned to do it. No, my beloved man, power struggles in Nabban are nearly always deadly.” She showed him a smile, although it came with difficulty. “It’s a good thing I’m the one going. It’s also fitting that I’ll be going there on a ship named after my mother, since it was she and my Nabbanai relatives who taught me these things.”
“How did your mother teach you all this? She died when you were only a child.”
“And that taught me that life is precarious. But it was her inner court and my relatives there—especially a few rare bitches among her ladies-in-waiting—who taught me how things are done in Nabban.”
Which is all the more reason I should not go back to that treacherous place, though I must, she thought. But I shall miss my kind-hearted husband so painfully while we are apart. And almost without realizing it, she reached out and took Simon’s strong, familiar hand and squeezed it as though she would never let go.
“Your visitors have all been sent away,” announced Lord Chancellor Pasevalles. “But Osric, Duke of Falshire and Wentmouth is waiting, and you will want to see him. He brings news of who shall attend you on your journey, my queen.”
Miri shared a wordless look of resignation with Simon; neither of them loved Duke Osric, who was doggedly old-fashioned in his ideas and relentlessly humorless. He also had a tendency to hand all the most valuable plums of office to members of his own large, greedy clan. Still, compared to many of the most powerful Erkynlandish nobles, Osric was fairly sensible and hard-working, and he was also Lillia’s and Morgan’s grandfather, which made him family. “By all means,” Simon said, with a creditable appearance of cheer. “Usher him in, please.”
Osric, in company with his clerks as well as half a dozen Erkynguardsmen, strode into the audience room. Thinking about the tangle of Nabbanai politics suddenly made Miriamele wonder which way their own Erkynguard would turn if something happened to the king. Her husband was fantastically popular with them, and they liked bluff Lord Constable Osric as well, but she doubted they felt quite the same about her.
Could I hold this kingdom together, my own grandfather’s empire, without Simon? Or would they push Morgan onto the throne too early?
It was not a pleasant thought.
Osric strode to the throne and dropped to a knee, still agile and strong though he was older than Miri or Simon. The rest of his retinue did the same, eyes firmly fixed on the floor. “Majesties,” said the duke, “may God give you health.”
“Rise, good Wentmouth,” Miri said. “It is good to see you.”
“And you. But are you certain you must make this journey, Majesty?” Osric asked her. “I fear for your safety, I must confess. Nabban is a dangerous place just now.”
She ignored the squeeze Simon gave her hand. “The journey must be made. But with good, strong Erkynlandish soldiers to protect me, I will feel quite safe. Are all the arrangements made?”
“The Princess Hylissa waits, and the boat that will take you to her is ready. All else has been prepared. A long company of the Queen’s Erkynguard will accompany you—as well as the women and others of the queen’s household, of course.”
“And who will command my guard?” she asked.
“Chancellor Pasevalles and I have decided that the night captain, Sir Jurgen of Sturmstad, will be the best choice.”
“I know him but only a little. Is he the dark one?”
“He is very dark of hair and beard, yes. He is of Rimmersgard blood, but his grandfather was Perdruinese, I think,” Osric said. “Still, he was born and raised an Erkynlander and he fought with me at the Ymstrecca. A good, solid man.”
“You will have no cause to complain of Sir Jurgen, Your Majesties,” Pasevalles said. “He is as devoted as I am to seeing the queen safely through her visit to Nabban.”
“So it is all accomplished, then?” But as Miriamele said it, she had a sudden swipe of misgiving, a cold reluctance that she had not felt for years.
“You leave the day after tomorrow, Majesty—St. Endrian’s Day—as you wished. Escritor Auxis and his party will accompany you on the Hylissa, so you will have no lack of company and conversation,” Pasevalles said.
Osric bowed again. “And now, my lady, I must leave you and the king to finish the last preparations. I will see you on St. Endrian’s!”
“May I have a few more words with Your Majesties about arrangements in Nabban?” Pasevalles asked after Osric was gone.
“She will be well guarded, yes?” Simon asked. “And not just by the duke’s men.”
“Absolutely, Majesty. The queen will take many of the Erkynguard with her, some of our best men. Osric has already arranged it.”
“Then am I needed for this discussion?” he asked. “I have a prior engagement.”
Miri could see the unhappiness in Simon’s long face. “What prior engagement could you possibly have?” she asked.
He looked evasive. “Nothing—nothing important. Just some things to be seen to.”
Miriamele felt sure he did not want to hear her making plans for Nabban, that it made him sad. “Go then with God’s grace, my husband, and do your ‘nothing important.’”
When Simon had gone, Pasevalles said, “I did not wish to talk of this in front of the others—excepting the king, of course—but I wanted to give to you a name that might prove useful if you find yourself in any difficulty.”
“Difficulty?” It came out mockingly, though she had meant it to be light and teasing. “In our beloved southern duchy? Yours and my dear ancestral home?”
He could not manage a smile, but he nodded. “Please, Majesty. You know as well as I do that Nabban is a bear pit covered with pretty ribbons. And matters there, I suspect, are worse than anyone is letting on.”
She was afraid of just that but did not show it in her face. “And so, Lord Pasevalles . . . ?”
“I have already reminded you of Count Froye, our ambassador there, but should you find yourself in a truly bad situation, I want you to remember the name of a friend of mine, a very able and sensible man—Viscount Matreu.”
“Matreu? That sounds like an island name.”
“He is the son of old Count Millatin of Spenit. Matreu’s mother came from an old island family. But all that is of little import. Matreu is a good man who has given me much useful information over recent years and done me more than a few favors.”
“But Spenit is such a long journey from the capital!”
“Matreu lives most of the year in Nabban. If you need him, you have only to send a messenger and he will attend you, I promise.”
“I will remember it, Lord Pasevalles, and my thanks.” She looked on him for a moment with real fondness. “It is always good to have a secret ally.”
“In Nabban, Majesty, you must have as many as you can find, if only to make up for all the secret enemies.”
She took a sharp breath. “You are usually the mildest and most cautious of courtiers, Pasevalles. Do you really think things there are so bad?”
“I saw my family cheated of their land and name, Majesty.” A hard edge was in his voice that she had not heard before. “I saw my mother humbled and treated like a servant. I left that country with only my shoes and the clothes on my back.” His smile was twisted. “And that was in better times.”
“Then I hear you, and I am grateful for your concern,” she said. “I know that those old days were bad ones for you, loyal Pasevalles. We are lucky that your road brought you to us.”
He bowed. “I deserve no credit, my queen. I think only of the High Throne.” He rose, then kissed her hand. “I will pray for your safety every night, Majesty.”
“Pray for Nabban,” she said. “If Nabban is preserved, I’m sure I will be too.”
She was trying to play jackbones with Aedonita and Aedonita’s sister, Elyweld, but Elyweld was too young and spoiled everything by grabbing the bones when it wasn’t even her turn.
“Stop it or I’ll tell my grandmother on you.” Lillia gave Elyweld a little shake, meant only to underline the seriousness of the threat, but Aedonita’s sister was a blower of the lowest variety and immediately began to shriek as if she’d been slapped.
“Here, what’s this?” Countess Rhona looked up from her conversation with the queen. “Why can’t you three play nicely?”
“Lillia hurt me!” said Elyweld.