Crown of Three (18 page)

Nynus paced out the dimensions of his former cell a single time, returning to face the captain.

“You may be right,” he said. “Then again, you may not. Until we have the sister, we cannot be sure. Take them to the Vault of Heaven. We will keep them there until the family is reunited.”

“There is no sister!” Captain Ossilius ran clenched fingers through his gray hair. He was a tall man, towering over Nynus. Gulph almost expected the captain to strike the young king.

“You forget your place, Captain Ossilius,” Nynus intoned.

“These children are innocent! Show them a little mercy! You of all people know the horror of imprisonment.”

Gulph couldn't take his eyes off the wailing boys. “Nynus,” he said, touching the king's arm, “don't you think you should—?”

Nynus threw Gulph aside and lunged for Ossilius, grabbing his captain's badge and ripping it from his uniform. The legionnaires gasped. Ossilius didn't flinch.

“My mother will hear of this,” said Nynus.

The crown tilted on his head. Nynus nudged it back into place, his pale face flushing slightly. The threat he'd made was absurd, coming from the mouth of a king.

Then again, given what Gulph knew of the Dowager Queen Magritt, perhaps it wasn't.

Captain Ossilius stood impassively, his face an unmoving mask, as Nynus summoned more men from his Legion. At the king's command, the captain's wrists were locked in iron manacles; more manacles hobbled his ankles.

You can't do that!
thought Gulph, balling his hands into fists.

But of course, Nynus could.

As Nynus gave the order to take Ossilius to the Vault of Heaven, the captain's eyes found Gulph's, and held them. Startled by the intensity of his gaze, Gulph looked away.

Does he know?

As soon as Captain Ossilius had been led away, Nynus returned to his throne. His white face was furious. He gnawed at his fingernails. His heels beat a tattoo against the ancient foot rest. The soldiers, still holding the sobbing twins, shifted uneasily on their feet, looking to Gulph in the hope he might know what to do next.

“King Nynus,” said Gulph. “Shall I . . . ?”

“Take them away,” said Nynus with a listless wave of his hand. “Take them to the Vault of Heaven. Do not trouble me further today.”

The legionnaires looked relieved to be making their exit. When they'd gone, Gulph approached the throne. His mouth was dry. Nynus's behavior was so unpredictable these days. There was no telling how he might respond to even the most innocent request.

What Gulph was about to ask was far from innocent.

“Will you permit me to escort the prisoners?” he said, licking his lips. “It would be a great honor. They are such a valuable prize.”

Nynus said nothing, merely waved his hand again. Good enough. Gulph hurried after the legionnaires, catching them in the corridor beyond the throne room.

“There's been a mistake,” he said, trying desperately to make himself sound authoritative. “These are not the children we seek. They're to be released into my custody at once.”

“I'm not sure,” said the first legionnaires.

“We should check,” said the second.

“Certainly you may check,” said Gulph. “By all means return to the king and tell him you doubt the word of his chief courtier.”

The soldiers stared first at each other, then back at Gulph. In perfect unison, their shoulders slumped.

“Take them,” said the first legionnaire.

“I'm not going back in there,” muttered the second.

The legionnaires left, leaving the whimpering twins alone with Gulph. They stared at him fearfully, their blistered hands clutched to their chests.

“You're safe now,” Gulph said gently. “But you have to keep quiet, and we have to move fast. Do you understand?”

The boys nodded dumbly.

Gulph led them through the maze of narrow service corridors that ran parallel to the main castle passageways, hoping they wouldn't meet anyone along the way. Luck was with them, and soon they were at one of the outer doors. Directly opposite, across a busy courtyard, the main castle gate stood open.

Gulph watched as an endless stream of horse-drawn carts trundled through the gate. Those leaving the castle were piled high with sacks and barrels. The previous day, Gulph had overheard the kitchen staff discussing the campaign being fought by the king's soldiers against rebel landowners in Ritherlee; he guessed this supply train was meant for them.

The Thousand Year War
, he thought as he watched the long line of vehicles trundling out of the castle.
Has it really lasted as long as they say?

The arriving carts were empty. Many were damaged, hacked by swords or studded with arrows. The horses pulling them looked weary and were foamed with sweat.

Everything's going out.
Gulph looked at the tired, hungry faces of the Toronian citizens who'd gathered to watch the parade.
And nothing's coming in.

“Go through the gate with them,” he said to the boys, picking out a line of smiths and farriers walking alongside one of the departing wagons. Several young boys—their short aprons marking them out as apprentice blacksmiths—hurried behind them. “After that, you'll have to find your own way. I'm sorry. I wish there was more I could do.”

“You done lots, sir,” said one of the twins.

“Thank you,” said the other.

Gulph held his breath as they made their escape, scuttling behind the smiths in the shadow of a hay cart. When he could see them no longer, he returned to the castle keep. He'd thought he would feel relieved, but he didn't.

Glancing up, he saw a window, high above. A woman stood there, looking down.

Magritt.

Gulph hurried inside. Had she been looking at him? Had she seen what he'd done?

  •  •  •  

Gulph spent the rest of the day waiting for a gloved hand to clamp down on his shoulder, and for a soldier from the King's Legion to march him first before the king, then back to the Vault of Heaven. Perhaps he would be put in a cell with Captain Ossilius. They would have a lot to talk about.

But nothing happened. Gulph busied himself with his duties; as chief courtier he was expected to make three security inspections a day (though never actually to make any changes to the watch), to cast his eye over the many letters that came in and out of the keep (though not actually to answer any of them), and to attend to the king whenever required. His responsibilities were vague at best, and Gulph had most of the day to himself. So one afternoon, once he had filed the unanswered letters in the castle scroll room, Gulph had rummaged through the moldering parchments, eager to find whatever he could about his fate. Finally, he'd opened a gossamer-thin scroll to reveal the prophecy written down in a faded hand. A possible future outlined in ink and paper . . . Was it really true? For now, all he could do was wait until Magritt and Nynus decided what to do with him. It was as if, now that they'd elevated him to court, they didn't know what his role should be.

Or as if they were simply biding their time.

Waiting for the chance to get rid of me.

At nightfall, Gulph made his usual circuit of the castle grounds. When he'd finished, he kept walking. The sky was black as velvet, the stars crisp and clean. Directly overhead, brightest of all, shone three stars in a perfect triangular constellation. The prophecy constellation. One green star, one red, one gold. Gulph walked with his head tilted back, fascinated by the blazing trio.

Which star am I
?

The packed earth under his feet turned to smooth stone. Bringing his gaze from the heavens, he looked down at the Royal Mausoleum. This great stone building had been constructed on the very edge of the vast chasm separating Idilliam from Isur. Thick pillars jutted at an angle from the canyon wall, supporting a circular platform on which the main structure stood. Its walls were solid granite; its roof was domed. Between carved pillars was set a heavy iron door.

Nearby was the Idilliam Bridge, a huge finger of rock extending from the city wall and stretching all the way across the chasm. The bridge was the only way in and out of the city. When he'd built the mausoleum, Brutan must have known the building would be the first thing visitors would see as they crossed the great span of stone to enter the royal capital.

So vain
, Gulph thought.

A flock of crows was circling the mausoleum. Every so often, one of the birds landed on the roof to pick at what was lying there. Gulph didn't want to look, but he couldn't help himself.

The thing on the roof was Brutan's body.

Gulph watched as the crows pecked at the old king's corpse. It had been Nynus's decision to pin the body to the roof instead of placing it inside. That had been three days ago; already Brutan's remains were rich with stink and squirming with maggots.

Gulph's dinner surged up from his stomach. He turned aside, convinced he was going to throw up. Somehow he kept it down. As he straightened, the thing he'd been dreading all day finally happened.

“Here you are, Gulph.” A hand closed on his shoulder. “I've been looking for you everywhere. Where have you been?”

Swallowing down bile, Gulph turned to face Nynus.

“I've being doing my duty, Your Majesty,” he said.

Grinning, Nynus slapped his arm. “We're friends, aren't we? Call me Nynus!”

“Yes, Nynus.”

Nynus plucked a napkin from a pouch at his belt and handed it to Gulph. “Here. You look a little green. Must be the stench from that animal on the roof!”

“Thank you, Nynus.” Gulph pressed the napkin to his mouth, grateful for the chance to hide his expression. “What can I do for you?”

“You can listen—that's what you can do. I've had the most wonderful idea, and I simply had to tell someone.” Nynus walked to the edge of the chasm and spread his arms. “This! This is the future!”

Gulph stared at Nynus's back.
Just one push. That's all it would take
. Given Nynus's cruel treatment of the two boys, it was what he deserved. And it would be so easy. After all, when you've killed one king, what difference does another one make?

Gulph took a deliberate step back, shocked by his own thoughts.

“The future?” he said. “I don't understand.”

“This chasm is our greatest asset. It keeps our enemies at bay. Even now, Isur is filled with rebel traitors plotting to bring me down. And that's only one small part of it. The western baronies have fallen to some warlord they call The Hammer; the feuding families of the Isle of Bones have finally united, and say they want to break away from Toronia; and barbarian tribes are massing in the foothills of the Unpassable Mountains. Traitors, the lot of them.”

“The Thousand Year War continues,” agreed Gulph, unsure of where this was going.

“Then there's Ritherlee. Today I heard from my spies that Lord Vicerin's army has called in the laborers from the fields and handed them swords instead of plowshares. His army is doubled in size; soon it will march on Idilliam itself.”

“Idilliam is well defended.”

“Not well enough.”

“What about the chasm?” Gulph glanced at the abyss into which he'd so nearly pushed his brother.

“It's effective. Better than an ordinary moat—there's no water to swim across!” Nynus laughed—a little shrieking sound that rasped against Gulph's ears. “But it isn't perfect.”

“What's the problem?”

Nynus pointed past the mausoleum, past the swooping crows, past the rotting remains of his murdered father. Pointed straight at the Idilliam Bridge.

“That.”

“The bridge?” Gulph couldn't believe what he was hearing. “What are you saying, Nynus?”

“I'm saying it has to go.”

“Go? You mean . . . destroy it?”

“Yes.”

Gulph stared at the ribbon of rock connecting Idilliam to Isur and beyond. He'd looked out on the Idilliam Bridge from the Black Cell, yearning for the clear passage it promised from the royal city, out to the rest of the kingdom. It was the single, vital route by which supplies were brought into the city. By destroying it, Nynus would instantly place Idilliam under siege.

Before long, the city would starve.

And I will be trapped here with Nynus and Magritt.

Nynus spun around, laughing. In that moment, his pale face bright under the light of the prophecy stars, he looked utterly insane.

R
itherlee was overwhelming. If Tarlan had been a bird, he'd have swooped in drunken delight, basking in the heat of the sun, inhaling the myriad scents of flower and herb, and gazing down on field after field of windblown crops. It was warm and rich and vibrant, truly a land of plenty.

“It's so different from Yalasti,” he said in Theeta's ear. “Different from . . . from anything I've ever seen!”