Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately.
Chapter Nineteen: Treachery
The lady of Trebond's horse was well known by all the palace guards, fortunately, since she didn't seem to be in the mood for stopping and conversing when she cantered through the gates that night; indeed, she barely stopped for a kind word to the young hostler's lad who took her horse.
She didn't bother with stopping at her own chambers, or at her brother's, heading straight for the Royal Apartments.
She gave a cursory knock, and was answered by a frightened looking servant girl, whose eyes widened still further at the sight of her.
"Is his Highness here?"
She nodded, giving a barely perceptible, "Yes'm."
"Let me in."
The girl hesitated, and Alanna sighed in annoyance.
"Let me in, please."
A voice called from within the chambers. "Send them away, Miriam."
"Jon?" she called, ignoring the girl as she pushed open the door. "Jonathan?"
The room was dark, only the embers from the fire casting any light over the two men seated in front of it, several bottles of the sort that held strong alcohol on the table between them.
One got to his feet, somewhat unsteadily. "Alanna?"
"Are you alright, Jon?"
He sank down again, and Alanna came close enough to see that the other man was none other than King Roald of Tortall, snoring as he sprawled in the heavy brocade chair, the wetness of tears on his cheeks and the stink of wine and spirits on his breath.
"She – Alanna she just –" He buried his face in his hands, and Alanna placed a consolatory hand on his shoulder. She looked up, and saw the sickly gleam of a few candles coming though a partially closed door.
***
Queen Lianne looked surprisingly peaceful and unharmed in the candlelight, for one who had died of a head injury. Her black hair had been washed and artfully arranged to disguise the injury and the traces of blood that remained.
Sinking to a knee, as protocol demanded, she bit her lip, forcing back the tears that threatened.
It's my fault. She thought. I could have gotten something – anything! – to prove to Jon and his father that Roger was dangerous. And now the queen's dead, and no one but he and I know he as good as killed her with his own hands. Jon'll never forgive me for this.
Rising, she walked out of the room, and took Jon by the hand, leading him to the door. As they passed the servant girl who had first opened the door to her, Alanna spoke. "Arrange for temporary sleeping quarters for his Majesty – he can't stay here. I'll be back soon with some men to move him there. Ensure – ensure the queen's body is not disturbed."
Fortunately, Jon's apartments weren't far from his parents, so Alanna had no trouble supporting him as they made their way there. Opening the door with some difficulty, Alanna led him through the sitting room; pushing aside heavy velvet drapes to dump Jon on the bed fully clothed, then pulling off his boots.
"Get some rest, Jon."
He didn't need the advice – he was already asleep.
Alanna went to the door adjoining his and Douglass's rooms.
"Douglass?"
He blinked. "Alanna. We weren't expecting you back yet. Did you want something?"
She sighed. "Come and help me shift the king, would you?"
He looked at her, raising his eyebrows. "Just us? I don't think that's possible."
"I'm stronger than I look."
"I know you are – I've taken lessons from you, haven't I? We should get Gary."
She shrugged. "Whatever suits you."
Fifteen minutes later, they had gotten Gary, and where figuring out the best way to move the admittedly portly king without waking him.
"Not that it'd be hard." Gary commented. "If he's drunk, once uncle's asleep he'll stay asleep, come famine, war, or some blasted immortal from a child's story."
Alanna frowned. "How about this – Douglass, you take his head, I'll take his feet, and Gary can hold him up in the middle, since he's the strongest."
The two men made general gestures of assent, and Alanna walked to the end of the couch, bending to heave her monarch's dirty boots onto her shoulder. Douglass reached for his head, and, as they lifted him off the couch, Gary ducked down to ease the burden.
"Which way?" Gary asked.
"Not far, I hope?" Douglass added.
They dumped the king on the bed which, as it so happened, was in the apartments just down the hall – some soft pink affair that looked as though it had belonged to some princess who was eternally ten years old, Alanna had commented, and Gary had pointed out that Princess Alexandria, who had been the last inhabitant of the rooms, had been betrothed to a Carthaki emperor at ten and had died at just eleven, a few months before she was to go and live in Carthak, from falling though thin ice that had cracked beneath the sled carrying her, the current sweeping her away under the ice.
Alanna made a face. "What possessed you to think that I wanted to know that?"
He shrugged. "I just thought you might, considering your comment."
"Well, I didn't."
He shrugged.
"I'm going to bed."
***
Despite her protests, Alanna had left Shannyn at Malorie's Peak to come back with the carriage and her luggage – she had packed for a rather longer stay, after all. So, waking up the next morning, she discovered that she had neither maid, nor very many dresses.
Dragging on a pale lavender gown – the only dress she had in mourning colours, she hunted through her dresser for a brush. Finally coming up with a small ivory comb, she shrugged and began to pull it through her hair.
The door opened.
"Hello Thom."
Her twin blinked in surprise. "How'd you know it was me?"
She shrugged, not turning round. "The only people I know who'd just walk straight in without knocking are you, Rhia, Tat, or Shannyn, and you're the only one here."
He came to sit beside her, looking unusually glum.
"It was him, wasn't it?"
"What was him?" She asked casually, at the same time using her Gift to scry to any magical or physical spies. Thom took the hint and casually flicked balls of purple fire at the wall, as she relaxed, realising that there was no one there.
"Roger." He said.
"Yes," she agreed. "It was Roger. Not only was the ground around where the queen slipped covered in the residue of his Gift, but he winked at me when I saw him in the pavilion after Jon and I got back."
Thom nodded. "This is really serious Alanna. We have to stop him soon – he's already killed one member of the royal family."
She sighed angrily. "I know. But he's as slippery as a fish, and there's not one bit of evidence I've been able to get against him since I supposedly joined his forces."
"Do you think he suspects you're not loyal to him? That might explain why he's told you so little and why you haven't met anyone else with him."
She shook her head. "No, I think he's just like that by nature – he doesn't trust anyone. That'd eventually be what brought him down in the end if he was king, but it'll be to late for us if that ever does happen."
Her comb snagged on a knot. "Ow!"
Thom smiled in spite of himself. "Here."
She handed him the comb. "Just like when we were little. It'd be nice to be nine years old again, sometimes. None of this worrying about treacherous dukes and political alliances and everything."
"Mmm." He said. "True, but would you really want Maude running after again telling you to 'get back here right now young lady and put your dress back on,' because you'd decided you wanted to go for a swim?"
She grinned. "True. But it was awfully funny to see her give up and just stand there trying to yell while she was puffing and red as a beetroot."
"Your were a mean child."
"I was not! I was just – high spirited."
Thom snorted, and muttered something that sounded like it referred to her free spirit and the nether region of his atonomy.
"What was that Thom?" Alanna asked in a falsely sweet voice.
"Nothing."
"You really shouldn't speak like that in front of a lady."
He mimed looking around. "What lady? I don't see any ladies."
Alanna rolled her eyes. "I'm not even going to deign to respond to that."
***
Grey storm clouds – the first sign of the impending autumn and winter – scudded across the sky, sending a spattering of rain down upon Corus. People muttered superstitiously – a few claimed that even the sky wept for their beloved queen.
Queen Lianne's body lay in it's open coffin in the chapel of the black god within the palace grounds, nobles filing in for her funeral.
"Are feeling alright, your Highness?"
Jon turned at the sound of Alanna's voice. Of course, in a public place, she had to call him 'your highness,' rather than Jon.
He nodded, swallowing rather hard. "I'm fine."
She looked at him, concern in her eyes. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, of course I'm sure – not really."
She smiled wryly. "Life is shit, Jon. I sympathise."
"Thanks. Sit with me?"
"Isn't that against protocol?"
He shrugged. "Probably, if I could be bothered remembering. But right now I'm so distraught I can't –"
She sighed, taking his arm. "Alright."
The duke walked up behind Jon. "Cousin, are you alright?"
Jon nodded. "I think so."
The duke sighed, false sympathy radiating from him. "Ah, me, the loss of a parent is a terrible thing. My deepest condolences – aunt Lianne was a wonderful person."
He looked at Alanna over Jon's bowed head, giving her a slight smile, and mouthed 'soon.'
***
Despite the fact the official mourning period was not yet over, the foreign dignities that came to court to express their condolences to King Roald and his son had to be properly received, and it was at one of these many receptions that Duke Roger sought her out.
"I think that it is time, my lady, for you to meet my court. I will be holding a meeting one-day hence, shortly after the midday meal. I will escort you there myself. Will you be in your rooms?"
It was an order, not a question.
Alanna looked up at him. "Of course, my lord."
He smiled. "Good."
She caught Thom looking at them, saw him close his eyes.
The duke left her by the refreshment tables, and Alanna leaned back against a pilar, sipping at a goblet of wine. Thom?
Yes?
Did you find anything out?
Yes – he trusts you now, mostly. He thinks you would've protested more if you weren't loyal to him about not knowing the location yourself.
Anything else?
I got a vague idea of where it is – I can have the king, Jon, and my lord Provost –
Don't forget sir Myles.
– and sir Myles, in that area, and then use the link between our Gifts to scry for you without Duke Roger knowing …
Are you sure?
Yes. As far as I know, we two are the only nobles, possibly the only people in Tortall, to have this aspect to our Gift. Anyway, as I was saying, we'll hide in one of the little hidden things that are behind every room in the palace …
Every room? Even mine?
Yes, even yours. Stop interrupting. And then, after the meeting starts, Jon and his Majesty will have their proof, we'll have witnesses – the Provost and sir Myles, since the king and Jon couldn't really testify, and hopefully by the time the mourning period's over, Roger and his ilk will have had their ashes scattered from Traitor's hill.
Where did you get such a bloodthirsty streak?
You're my sister.
***
King Roald hadn't been to keen on leaving his rooms to go gallivanting off to spy on people for at a moment's notice, and it had take a combination of being bullied by his son, the Provost, sir Myles, and his brother-in-law, who had walked in and become an impromptu member of the group, and, in the end, Jon giving up and telling him that it was they only way to avenge the queen's death.
Thom was waiting for them in the small, private passage that led from the king's chamber to all the other rooms in the palace – supposedly built for the use of the king's spies when the palace was first built, but it wasn't unheard of for an unscrupulous king to use it to visit his mistress privately in times past.
They ended up in one of the oldest sections of the palace, looking out on a corridor that was only slightly less dusty than the passage they were in.
Jon looked over at Thom. "Well?"
Thom looked back up at his tall friend. "Just a minute."
He closed his eyes. Alanna?
We're coming now. You might want to put that scrying spell – and some shields – up now.
I'll do that.
He opened his eyes again, looking at Jon.
"She's coming. We just have to wait for them to get closer to where this meeting will be taking place before we can move."
Jon nodded.
***
Alanna took a deep breath, trying to calm her fast beating heart, and smiled up at Duke Roger.
"This way."
He pushed open the door.
Those waiting within rose at the sight of them, and Duke Roger smoothly detached his arm from Alanna's as Delia of Eldorne sank down before him in a deep curtsey.
"My Lord."
"Delia," he said, extending his hand for her to kiss.
"I believe you know lady Alanna, my newest recruit."
Delia smiled at her tightly. "We knew each other at the convent."
Alanna smiled back, seating herself. "A pleasure to see you again Delia."
Duke Roger continued. "And of course you know my former squire, Alex. But I don't believe you've meet Ralon of Malven …"
Alanna raised an eyebrow at the ugly brute leering at her. "No – I don't believe I have."
Roger sat. "Now – down to business. Although I have already taken the first step – my aunt is in her tomb now – we must be patient. It would be suspicious for all three members of the immediate royal family to die too closely together. My uncle might have some sort of 'accident,' such as the one I engineered in the case of the late queen, due to grief clouding his judgement, but my cousin is another matter. However, I do feel that within the next two years I shall have the crown, and then all of you will be rewarded amply. You have, on the whole, done well so far, and you must continue to do so. Should any of you let slip, and lead us to be discovered, rest assured, you will be severely punished. Alex," The young man looked up. "You must be more careful to maintain your friendship with my cousin – our goal will be made more difficult for all if you do not continue in your position now.
Alex nodded.
"Alanna," he said. "Well done. I might increase your own tasks now that you have proved you can perform the present ones well. However, you must abandon this – hesitation – regarding my cousin's suit. There is only so long a man can put up with that sort of thing before he gets bored with it, and, as I'm sure you have heard before, the closest secrets are the sort a man tells in the bedchamber."
Alanna smiled, feeling sick. "If that is your wish, your Grace."
He laughed. "Do not be so hesitant, my lady. There are many ladies at court that envy you your position, and not only because my cousin is heir to the crown."
His gaze alighted on Delia. "And you, my consort. You, have done brilliantly. You must keep it up."
Ralon didn't appear to be able to keep silent any longer. "What about me, your grace. What more may I do for you."
The smile dropped from the duke's face. "It is more a question of what have you done for me, Malven. You have been nothing but a liability since I took you on. I believe, young Malven, that you have outlived any purpose you might once have had."
Ralon swallowed. "What – what do you mean, my lord?"
The duke raised his hand. "What I mean, Malven, is that it is time to dispose of you." A ball of orange fire condensed in his hand, and he threw it at Ralon. Alanna swallowed as the man screamed, hands outstretched like claws, and crumbled to a pile of ash.
The duke looked at her. She composed her face, and looked back at him. He smiled slightly, evidently pleased by what he saw. "You are all dismissed."
***
On the twenty-eight of August, in the twenty-second year of the reign of Roald of Conte, King of Tortall, Roger, Duke of Conte, was arrested for one count of regicide, two counts of attempted regicide, treason, and the murder of a fellow noble, one Ralon of Malven.
His accomplices, lady Delia of Eldorne and Sir Alexander of Tirragen were arrested that same day, for treason.
