How Far
Chapter 18
Early morning sunlight filled the countess's suite with a hazy golden glow.
Or maybe that was just all the yellow. Guy hadn't truly appreciated the combination of yellow toile, yellow and white striped wall coverings, and yellow floral rugs until he'd spent half his nights here. The others nights they spent in his room, a haven of masculine simplicity in comparison.
They'd been married three weeks and in Grand Chokmah for the last nine days.
After their brief but blissful week at the royal island retreat, they'd arrived in Malkuth's capital for an official diplomatic visit. In addition to being formally presented to the Imperial Court as Prince Consort to the Crown Princess of Kimlasca-Lanvaldear, Guy had the honor of then presenting his wife as the new Countess Gardios, both to the court and to his household.
The staff of House Gardios in immaculate livery, from the head housekeeper Palmira all the way down to Geoff, the youngest footman, had bowed or curtsied in turn as they were introduced to the new countess. Natalia's many visits in the past meant they were all familiar with each other already, but the ceremony was conducted nonetheless, and it was important for her transition from visiting royalty to lady of the house be as marked and clear as possible. Some of the staff stumbled in remembering to use their lord's new title as well, but this was a small, quickly remedied hiccup.
Upon their engagement, he had explained to the staff that he would understand if any of them felt they had to leave. They had applied to work for a nobleman of their own country, not the prince and princess of another. Anyone finding discomfort with the new arrangement would be given a final bonus for their service and a letter of recommendation with no ill will.
No one took his offer. He had proven himself to be a fair and generous employer, and he had earned their loyalty whatever title appeared before his name.
On the diplomatic side, the changes were more obvious. While Guy kept his title, as was his birthright, his seat in the House of Lords would remain vacant, and he lost all voting privileges. It would be a conflict of interest, and he recognized that. His first duty was to his new kingdom now.
Besides, no longer needing to sit in on legislative sessions was a something of a blessing. He wouldn't miss the endless pontificating, that was for sure.
The light outside became brighter, and the shades of yellow began to distinguish themselves. His wife's blonde hair became separate from the yellow pillowcase and her creamy shoulder. She stirred slightly, and his arm curled around her from behind. As she stretched and let dreams fade into another night, his hand covered hers, his thumb rubbing her wedding band.
"Good morning," she murmured, the thickness of sleep in her voice. She shifted, rolled over, and curled into him, eyes remaining closed as if this had been but a pause in her rest.
"Good morning," he answered.
"Must we go today?"
"Afraid so."
"Hmm." He thought she'd go back to sleep, but one eye opened and looked at him. "I may have overdone it with the yellow."
"Nah, it's fine. It's like sleeping in a butter dish."
"Very well." The eye closed again, as did the conversation.
Then he groaned. "Damn. That was my one chance to get you to change it, wasn't it?"
Eyes still closed, she smiled, and her lips lightly touched his. "Afraid so."
-x-x-x-
After a late breakfast, Guy accompanied Natalia to the palace for a trade meeting. It was to have taken place earlier in their visit, but Mayor Rose from Engeve had been delayed due to weather.
This was Natalia's matter to negotiate, but she'd reassured Guy that his feedback was welcome.
The emperor, however, had other ideas.
"You know, Gailardia, Waldo is a good lad and all, but he just doesn't have the same… rapport with my darlings that you do," he said a bit too gleefully.
Waldo, the young page of no more than ten years, looked sheepishly down at his shoes. He clutched five leashes—two in one hand, three in the other—as the rappigs struggled for freedom, or to surge toward Guy. Guy wasn't sure which.
So rather than being replaced by another unlucky lord, Guy had been replaced by a little kid.
"Oh, see how they've missed you, Gailardia, as have we all," Peony continued, so plainly relishing every moment of having his dutiful rappig-walker back, if only temporarily. "Luke has been especially melancholy lately."
Natalia clucked and shook her head with sympathy for the poor creature, while Guy fought an urge to let his eyes roll clear across the floor.
Okay, so it was true that Luke was the most temperamental of the animals. Nephry, on the other hand, was the most docile, and therefore Guy's favorite. He died a little inside at the realization that he even had a favorite, and at what was practically an admission of actually bonding with any of the emperor's ridiculous pets.
"But take care to be gentle with Nephry," the emperor was saying. "She's in a delicate condition right now, and none of the brutes will claim responsibility." He placed a hand alongside his mouth and added in a stage whisper, "I'm sure it's Jade. Naughty, naughty Jade."
How many rappigs came in a litter, anyway? It was almost like a riddle. If they multiplied like their rabbit namesakes, Guy could be trapped walking generations of them until the end of his days. If marrying a princess and moving to another continent hadn't gotten him out of this job, nothing would.
He sighed and took the leashes from young Waldo, who looked relieved. He gathered all five leashes in one hand with the deftness of one used to this indignity. Natalia patted them all on their pink little heads, then patted Guy's head for good measure, her lips twitching with wifely amusement.
Luke sniffed at the ground, then Guy's boots, verifying that this was no illusion. Satisfied that Guy had truly returned to them, Luke rubbed his snout against Guy's leg, which led to the emperor letting out a shout of laughter.
"See?"
Before he could be made a fool any longer, Guy bowed to the emperor, looked back helplessly at Natalia, and let the exuberant animals lead him toward the doors.
Truth be told, as humiliating as Peony liked to make the situation appear, Guy didn't mind rappig duty on days like today. The weather was sunny yet mild, and as they entered the palace gardens, he knew fresh morning air was preferable to a stuffy conference room. Everything about them was green and inviting, hedges meticulously trimmed by uniformed gardeners, topiaries shaped into spheres, spirals, and pyramids. Flowers popped in every color, fountains burbled happily around them, and statues of nameless maidens or majestic animals regarded them from marble pedestals.
Once in the center of the garden, Guy released his charges from their restraints. Jade and Saphir sprinted away from him, and each other, to separate sides of the circular space—since Gelda's passing last year, the two hadn't gotten along as well. Luke's movements were more reluctant until Aslan prodded him into playing; then it was as if Guy didn't exist. Nephry nosed her way off the stone path to inspect a patch of striated tulips, and Guy followed her, stretching out on the pristine grass and folding an arm behind his head.
The tulips were deemed either acceptable or uninteresting, and Nephry returned to rest her weary head on Guy's belly. "Good girl," he said, scratching her ears.
In the quiet, this would be a good time to contemplate all they'd learned this past week, which, as it turned out, was not as much as they would have hoped. While Guy and Natalia had escaped reality and duty for a few days, lolling about on a sparkling white beach and splashing in cerulean waves as if they had no cares at all, the investigation into Malcolm Laskey's whereabouts had continued. It was too much to hope it would all be over and settled by the time they made it to the capital; Laskey proved to be as elusive as ever.
"It turns out," Jade had said, directing the meeting to the annoyance of the Malkuth intelligence minister, "that Malcolm Laskey is a common pseudonym in Chesedonia, mostly used for not-quite-legal dealings as well as… illicit encounters. The inns' registry books on both sides of the border list that name on several pages, and no one can provide a consistent physical description of the man."
Guy had mentally kicked himself for not thinking of that. Of course, he had been brash—or foolish—enough to use a combination of his own name and his mother's, an alias that anyone could have seen through at any time, had they paid attention. That was the benefit of hiding among the servants: no one ever looked too closely at the help.
They were dealing with someone more clever, someone who knew exactly how to cover his tracks. Or her tracks. They couldn't assume anything.
The Kimlascan report detailing further interrogation of Hector Rowan shed no light on the malefactor's identity. Rowan admitted that he had been contracted through an unnamed middleman on behalf of "Malcolm Laskey" and was not given specific instructions until the morning of the assault. He also claimed to have no knowledge of the arrow incident near the marsh, as he had not even arrived in Baticul until the day before the tournament. So far, his alibi had been corroborated by the ferry's passenger log.
What had been the intention of the coliseum attack? All theories aside, Rowan claimed he was directed to pose as Luke, third in line for the Kimlascan throne, and to draw Guy out in combat, thus proving that Guy was still a threat to the royal family. Supposedly, Guy had found a way to smuggle in his own sword for the exhibition and was planning his first strike to look like an accident.
With his lack of experience and ambitious bluster, Rowan had not questioned his contractor or his instructions beyond the surface. He had been given compelling evidence of the Cecille family's previous transgressions against the crown, and, despite the truth now known, the public records of twenty-some years ago were damning.
Lying here in the grass, Guy tried to turn over every bit of information they had, scant as it was: every movement he'd made, who could have followed them that day on his bi-wheeled machine, who could have gotten past the coliseum guards, who had reason to want him eliminated. Some clue had to be there. There had to be a thread to follow. An enemy of his family… of his mother… someone insisting on bringing that all to light again…. To cause another war? To seek personal revenge?
With the warmth of the sun on his face and a tranquil breeze in his hair, Guy was lulled into sleep.
Rather than his subconscious continuing to puzzle out the answer, he dreamt of frolicking rappigs.
-x-x-x-
For their past week in the capital, Guy and Natalia had been making the appointed rounds, meeting those in positions of importance—or positions the holders felt to be important—and engaging in the polite, politic talk of those who pretended to be interested in each other for the sake of international harmony. These dinners and galas had their pluses, as the meals were delicious and the alcohol flowed like the city's aqueducts, but on the whole it was work, diplomatic duty, and they returned home mutually drained. Even with those in whom the prince and princess had genuine interest, the sheer number of these events forced them to paste on an expression of bland pleasantness in order to survive redundant conversations with a sea of faces that eventually blended together.
And in the grand tradition of all married couples, they had quickly perfected their silent distress signal, catching the other's eye with raised brows and a slight head tilt whenever they found themselves cornered by someone particularly dogged about their pet issue.
In contrast, this evening's dinner would be more relaxed and informal. Lord Hallivand, Count Merrick, and his wife Frieda had invited the royal couple to their home, no doubt aware that their guests could use a reprieve from ceremony and scrutiny.
"You'll like Merrick," Guy had told Natalia as they'd left the house, their carriage preceded by a discreet accompaniment of guards. "He's one of the few in the House of Lords willing to listen to reason, and he's had my back more times than I can remember."
"I'll be glad to finally get to know them better," she answered. Any introductions in the past had been brief amid the swirl and pomp of Imperial festivities, too many people to greet and too little time to speak at length with any of them. "It was a shame they couldn't make the wedding, though I certainly understand why."
House Merrick was one of the oldest homes in Grand Chokmah, consistent with the style of the other stately manors, all clean white stone, bordered by manicured green lawns and burbling blue canals. The necessity of planning the city around water lent a unique beauty to these homes; where one might have seen a lack of imagination in the similarity of design, the architecture was meant to enhance the natural surroundings, making the buildings appear to float among all the blue like low-lying clouds.
Inside the house was another story. Where the new House Gardios was waiting to be filled with tradition, House Merrick exuded the gravitas of generations. Dark wood lined the floors, showing in patches beneath rugs in deep jewel tones. Antique furniture in rich mahogany cast imposing shadows, and ornate mirrors reflected light from crystal chandeliers to keep the rooms from feeling oppressive, even when the heavy brocade drapes were closed. Intricately woven tapestries depicted scenes of hunting, riding, and fishing, the pastimes of ancestors likewise immortalized in paint, marble, and bronze.
Not for the first time, a rush of envy flooded through Guy. All of this family history in one place, passed down, tangible, while his had been burned, sunken, destroyed, gone forever. No matter how many years went by, he'd never not be angry that so much of his legacy was taken from him.
For the sake of his wife and his hosts, he forced the feeling away. They were creating a new legacy. He had to remember that.
"Welcome, Your Highnesses." Hallivand Merrick greeted them as an unobtrusive butler whisked away their evening wraps. Two royal guards took silent places on either side of the door; the other two remained stationed outside. "It is an honor and a pleasure, to be sure." Merrick was a few years older than Guy, with a queue of ink-black hair and bushy brows over ice-blue eyes that would have been scary on a less jovial face.
"We are indeed honored," Frieda Merrick added as she entered the hall from the parlor, a tiny bundle in her arms. Her wavy chestnut hair was pinned up and away from her face to showcase her vibrant green eyes, and there was a soft roundness to her usually slight figure due to her recent condition. "I'm so sorry we missed the wedding, but this little fellow had other ideas."
On cue, the infant made a whimpering sound as if protesting any assignation of blame. Tobias Bramwell Merrick hadn't meant to cause his mother such a difficult labor and delivery, but now, five weeks later, color had returned to her cheeks, and she wore an expression that was tired yet content.
"There's no need to apologize," Natalia said, clasping the hand Frieda offered her. "We're just glad to see you doing well."
"Yes, you look wonderful, Frieda," Guy added, "but then you always do."
"Oh, you must stop," the countess replied, her cheeks flushing more brightly.
Merrick folded his arms and feigned offense. "Come on, Gardios, you've got your own woman now. Though how she puts up with you, I can't begin to imagine."
"It is a trial, I must confess," Natalia said, her eyes slanting toward Guy.
He, in turn, held up his hands in sheepish surrender, letting everyone have a good laugh at his expense.
Already this was an appreciated change from the stuffy events they'd attended this week.
"Would you like to hold Toby, Your Highness?" Frieda asked, and from Natalia's delighted grin, Guy knew she'd been barely restraining herself.
"Oh, may I?" she answered, and the baby was placed into her waiting arms. "And, please, it's Natalia. Any friends of Guy's…."
"I, however, will only answer to 'Your Highness'," Guy joked, "and, please, refrain from looking directly at me."
Merrick groaned, Frieda offered a genteel chuckle, and Natalia ignored him to snuggle the infant instead.
"I suppose that's better than what we call you in the House," Merrick said.
"And what's that?" Natalia asked, not looking up from the baby's pink face. "Ooh, you are a sweetie, aren't you, Toby?" she cooed gently. "Yes, what a little lovey you are." Ordinarily Guy would have been enchanted by the pair of them, but Merrick's opening had him on guard.
"Seven."
The look Guy had shot at Merrick failed to arrive in time.
"Seven," Natalia repeated distractedly. She bounced the baby lightly in her arms. "I'm afraid I don't get it."
This time the look landed, and Merrick cleared his throat. "Well, it's because… he's often the seventh to vote."
It was a better explanation than, "Because he's lucky", and was infinitely preferable to the truth. Guy didn't want to begin his marriage by keeping secrets from his wife, but the humiliation was not worth revealing. Anything else he'd tell her; this would be buried with him.
"Oh." Natalia's tone suggested that she regretted asking almost as much as Guy had regretted her asking.
"That is a terrible story, dear," Frieda added, then to Natalia she said, "I promise his dinner conversation will only improve from here."
"Never make a promise you can't keep," her husband replied. "Though I'll promise the quality of the dinner itself will make the conversation more palatable."
As a matter of coincidence or not, repeated mentions of dinner were not lost on a squirmy baby at this hour. The sweet pink face Natalia had praised turned the red of inexpressible outrage, pinching and wrinkling in preparation for a mighty squall. "Oh, no, what have I done wrong?" Natalia asked when her soothing cuddles proved fruitless.
"Nothing, nothing," Frieda reassured her. "He's either ready to eat or as weary of his father's humor as the rest of us."
The cries had barely started when a young woman materialized to take the baby from Natalia. She clasped Toby to her, his head pressed to her heart, and let the ruffles of her uniform take the brunt of his indignation. With a silent curtsy, the nursemaid disappeared as quickly as she'd arrived to tend to the young lord.
Likewise had the butler apparated at their host's side with a wordless signal that the dinner service was to begin. As invisible as a servant's gestures were meant to be, Guy never could help noticing. "I'm also ready to eat, but it's sadly unacceptable for me to express it in such a way," Merrick said.
"Though rarely does that stop you," Frieda said with a wistful look in the direction of her departed son.
"Rarely does it," he agreed, and he offered his arm to Natalia. "Your Highness, if I may?"
"You may," she said, laying a hand on his sleeve with a gracious smile.
Guy bowed and presented his arm to the hostess. "And, Frieda, I would be most delighted to accompany you."
Frieda replied with a charmed giggle of her own. "It's not every day a prince offers to escort me. I suppose I must take advantage of this opportunity while I can."
Dinner proved to be as pleasant as anticipated, a continuation of the friendly chatter and easy rapport the four had established, and a relaxing journey through courses of jellied consommé with cream, butter-poached lobster medallions with truffles, and roasted lamb with rosemary and onion pudding. Not at all missed was the haste of the more rigid social functions, where plates were changed aggressively to ensure the least disruption and the greatest time remaining for any following activities such as dancing, musicales, or, worst of all, political posturing.
Guy watched with a private grin as Natalia artfully avoided any mushrooms on her plate, something he'd seen her do for years. When her eyes met his and she raised her brows in curiosity, he mirrored her expression and turned to compliment Frieda on the menu.
"Shall we take our dessert in my parlor, Natalia?" Frieda suggested when the last of the plates were removed. "I have some brandy as well, if you like."
"That sounds marvelous," Natalia said brightly. Unobtrusive footmen were at the ready behind the ladies' chairs. "You'll not be too lonely without us, I hope," she added as she stood and linked arms with her new friend.
"We'll drown our sorrows in plenty of whiskey," Merrick answered.
"If you hear any manly sobbing, please leave us to our abject desolation," Guy added.
Natalia sighed and cast an exasperated look at Frieda. "Are they always like this?"
"Always. Hence the brandy."
-x-x-x-
As promised, there was good whiskey to be had in Merrick's study, a dark, cozy room Guy had found himself drinking in many times before. Two arch-backed chairs were situated before a prepared fireplace, and Guy took his usual seat, leaning back and running his fingers over the crushed velvet upholstery. He accepted a crystal tumbler with one hand and waved away Merrick's offer of a cigar with the other. Merrick always offered, and Guy always refused, not one for smoking. Out of respect for his guest, Merrick refrained as well. On a previous occasion, he'd explained that his father had instilled the whiskey-and-cigars expectation in him, and he carried on out of tradition.
Guy had adopted this display of hospitality for his own study. Knowing little about cigars, he took a recommendation from the shop and kept an expensive box on hand for guests who, like he, always refused. This made him wonder how many noblemen just bought the one box to be offered and refused over and over like a bit of courtesy theater.
"So is it too soon to ask how you're enjoying married life?" Merrick asked, settling into the other chair and crossing a leg over the opposite knee. "At this stage, it's all good, isn't it?"
"Definitely have no complaints," Guy answered. Maybe he was luckier than others, marrying into royalty, but as this week had proven, that was going to present its own unique challenges. The wedding and honeymoon were a break from reality, not a rehearsal for it. "I want to thank you and Frieda for being so nice to Natalia. I know it can't be easy to have the Kimlascan princess here."
"I like her," Merrick replied. "Her father I have no use for, but we're supposed to focus on the future, not the past," His tone and smile were wry, directed at himself as much as the king. "Though I'm not good at that."
"Tobias Bramwell." Guy had made the connection right away but hadn't felt it was his place to mention it when they were supposed to be engaging in a carefree evening.
"Noticed that, did you?"
"He's a cute kid. And I don't think naming him after your brother means you're dwelling on the past."
"Dwelling, no, but remembering."
"We all need to remember, Hal."
Merrick took a deep drink from his glass and contemplated the fire. "You didn't know Bram, but he was the typical younger son. The spare. No one had to read our Scores at birth to know exactly the roles meant for us. The title was to be mine, so he found his place in the military." The wryness in his tone turned bitter now. "My parents treated him like an item on a checklist, but he was my little brother, following me around and trying to do everything I was doing, annoying me like mad. Until one day… he wasn't."
Bramwell Merrick had served under General Frings at Rugnica Plains. According to the general, Bramwell had died in battle before the land was lowered, but his body was never recovered. Guy feared that Van had used Bramwell in creating his puppet replica army, but he couldn't know for sure, and he'd never mention the suspicion to Merrick. He remembered the shock and disgust upon discovering Van had used Marybelle's form for his own ends, the pain of having to watch his sister die again. If there had been a replica of Bramwell, he might have been sacrificed at the Tower of Rem as well.
Better to believe Bramwell's death had been quick and that the body had fallen beneath the surface when the continent had been shaken by earthquakes, rather than to have suffered Van's grotesque bastardization to promulgate a false war.
"We're already talking of having another child," Merrick continued after a long moment of silence. Each of them had lapsed into reveries of those lost. "And I'm terrified of condemning my second son to the same fate. War has always been a plague on this planet, and it's only a matter of time—"
"No, it's not. We're going to do everything in our power to prevent that," Guy said strongly. "I'm never going through that hell again. Natalia knows, too. Peace isn't a word that she throws around because it's politically expedient. She means it." He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. "After everything that happened to my family, do you think I would have married her if I didn't believe that?"
A smirk twisted Merrick's lips. "How I miss your contributions on the House floor. Logic needs its champion."
"Change is slow. We know that."
Merrick nodded. "And I trust you, so… yes, I like Natalia. She seems like someone we can work with—intelligent, open-minded. The new Engeve deal isn't the best I've ever seen, but it should pass."
"What's wrong with it? Natalia said it was satisfactory for all."
"There you have it." Merrick took the final sip from his glass and made a dismissive gesture with his free hand. "It's neither here nor there, and with you straddling titles, I don't know how much House business I can discuss with you, anyway." He set the glass down on a mahogany table, its feet carved like a griffon's claws, and looked like he was about to say something else. Instead he reached for the cigar box again.
"What?" Guy asked.
Merrick retrieved a slim cigar and used a guillotine cutter to snip the end. "I don't know if I should say, but if it were me, I'd want to know." Without lighting the foot, he placed the cigar between his lips and savored the taste.
"Don't hold back on my account. I've said I don't mind."
"Frieda hates the smell. This is good enough."
Guy had never even liked the taste, but everyone had their thing. "All right. So anyway…?"
"Anyway." Merrick removed the cigar and held it between his fingers. He was always one to prefer having something in his hand when he talked. In the House, it was a pen, perfect for punctuating counterarguments. "There's been some chatter around Taman's lately."
Taman's was Guy's club, where those with the oldest titles went to relax, drink, play cards, and gossip like old women. Guy didn't attend much, putting in the occasional appearance more for show than anything else. After a day of House business, he preferred the sanctuary of his workshop to a crowded club. "What sort of chatter?" He imagined little of it was flattering. He loved his wife and had no regrets about marrying her, but it made him a natural target of disdain among the obstructionists.
"Chatter isn't the right word, or not a comprehensive one, in any case." Merrick relied on the imitation of smoking again to fill the time as he sought careful words. "Someone's been asking questions, and they haven't been subtle about it."
Meanwhile, Merrick was being too subtle in where he was going with this, and Guy had no patience for equivocation. "Hal."
"Apparently there's been a Kimlascan intelligence officer roaming about. He didn't identify himself as such, but given his queries, that was the consensus."
Guy had almost forgotten. It had been his idea for the king to seek answers about Malcolm Laskey among the more adversarial nobles. "Oh, that. You heard what happened in Baticul. I'm sure it's just a measure for our protection while we're here." Fine, so that was a bit of equivocation on his part, but sensitive matters required discretion.
"If I thought that were all, I wouldn't bring it up," Merrick said, his tone and expression now sober as stone. "But they've been asking about you."