Fey 02 - Changeling (55 page)

Enford looked up, the surprise clear on his too-thin face.
 
"Sire?"

"I gave you an order, Lord Enford.
 
I expect you to carry it out."
 
Nicholas's tone was imperial.
 
It was a tone he had never used, a tone his father had used only rarely, a tone he had learned from his grandfather — a cold harsh man who had never had time for anything but his Kingdom.
 

Nicholas would have time for Arianna.

But he had to be cold and harsh to get through this next few days.

Enford frowned, peered at Nicholas as if he didn't recognize him, then scuttled from the room.
 
Nicholas kept his grip tight upon the chair arms.
 
He held himself rigidly, holding his body in place, his emotions at bay.
 
He would get through this afternoon.
 
Then he would get through the next day and the next until Arianna was safe.

Until the Isle was safe.

And he would do it through the strength of his own will.

The doors opened and Lord Stowe entered.
 
He bowed, revealing the bald spot on the top of his head.
 
Since Nicholas's father had died, Stowe's brown hair had turned grayer — not the light silver of a distinguished man, but the gray of a man who worried too much.
 
He stood, clasped his hands in front of his robe and walked to Nicholas's side.

"Enford says you wish to start early," he said.

"I have pressing matters," Nicholas said.

Stowe nodded, as if that were enough.
 
He was cleaned up from his ride the day before, but his features were still haggard.
 
He looked as if he had not slept much, if at all, since he had returned.

The doors opened again.
 
Lord Fesler came through, leaning on a cane.
 
In the last week, his hands had started to shake, and fine webbing lines appeared on his face.
 
The age Nicholas had never been able to determine was becoming clear.
 
Fesler had been a contemporary of Nicholas's grandfather, although most forgot that.
 
His work as a lord had been relatively routine until the Fey arrived.
 
Then the stress had seemed almost too much for him.
 
This week had to be especially hard.

Lord Miller followed him.
 
Miller was still wearing his riding clothes.
 
His boots trailed mud onto the clean floor.
 
Miller was the youngest lord and, until Nicholas's ascension, had not taken his duties very seriously.
 
It still looked as if the perks of lordship interested Miller more than being lord itself.

He bowed to Nicholas, and Fesler did as well, barely bending at the waist, as if his back pained him.
 

"Forgive me, Sire," Miller said.
 
"Enford said you wanted to meet now.
 
I was planning to change."

"I don't ask formality of my lords," Nicholas said. At least not now.
 
Protocol was the last thing on his mind.

Miller looked around for a moment, and, seeing no chairs, took his place beside Stowe.
  
Stowe glanced at Fesler.

"Sire," Stowe said.
 
"May we get a chair for Lord Fesler?
 
His joints have grown swollen and sore in the last few days."

"By all means," Nicholas said.
 
"There are chairs in the back room.
 
Take one."

He stressed the word "one."
 
He wanted his lords uncomfortable for this meeting.
 
He wanted them to forget young Nicholas whom they had teased and Nicholas the tragic king whose wife was murdered at his coronation.
 
He wanted them to think of him as King.
 
So much King that they would forget that anyone had ever come before him.
 

Now that he was concentrating on his grandfather, his grandfather's words were coming back to him.
 
When you become King, boy, everything will rest on you.
 
If you do not remember this, you will lose all you have gained.
 
You will harm Blue Isle more than you will help it.

Nicholas didn't know if his father had lived by these words.
 
He doubted it.
 
Although he wasn't certain.
 
His father had become a different man after the Fey arrived.
 
His response to the invasion had been confusion, and he had allowed Nicholas's wishes to supersede his at the marriage with Jewel, but Nicholas was no longer certain that was a mistake.
 
If the marriage failed, it could have been blamed on Nicholas's youth, not on the King's bad decision making.

Stowe disappeared into the back.
 
He spoke to the guards there, and then he and a guard emerged.
 
The guard carried a chair and placed it near the stairs.
 
Fesler sat in it, then sighed softly, as if just standing had been too much for him.
 
He set his cane across his lap, and held it, flush against his stomach, as if he were going to use it as a weapon.

The doors opened again.
 
This time Lord Canter entered wearing a robe finer than the one Nicholas wore.
 
Canter's hair was cut perfectly square, ending below his chin in a fashion that had just begun before the Fey arrived, and had been adopted by some of the fighting men.
 
Canter's cut was always precise as if he had his man trim it every day.
 
His robe rustled as he moved, the gold embroidery adding sound as well as weight, and his slippers shuffled across the floor.
 
His hands were white and well manicured, unlike Stowe's, which still bore the stress of his trip, or Fesler's, which were cramped and swollen with pain.

Canter stopped in front of Nicholas but did not bow.
 
Nicholas stared at him, a chill running down his spine.
 
If Canter did not give him obeisance, the others would think they could get away with it too.
 
This meeting was more important than any other.
 
Nicholas knew it and they knew it.
 
This was the meeting that would decide who was in control of the Kingdom.

"Lord Canter," Nicholas said, "are we unworthy of your acknowledgment today or are you merely forgetful?"

A dull flush crossed Canter's face.
 
Nicholas had never used the royal we in the presence of the lords before.
 
"Forgive me, Sire," he said as he bowed.
 
"I have been quite forgetful these last few days."

"Would that we all could be so lucky," Nicholas murmured.

Canter remained bowed.
 
Nicholas waited an extra moment before bidding Canter to stand.

As he did, Enford entered with Egan and Holbrook.
 
All three men walked down the runner, then bowed in front of Nicholas.
 
They had apparently seen the last part of the interaction with Canter.
 

Egan nodded his head again, then approached the stairs.
 
His robe was tight around his middle, and he huffed as he climbed toward the throne.
 
Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead.
 
He bowed again when he reached the step below Nicholas then leaned toward him.

"Sire," Egan said so softly that he almost whispered, "I wish to give you my deepest condolences and my deepest understandings.
 
I hope you don't think I outstep myself here, but if the nights grow too long for sleep, you may feel free to summon me.
 
We can share hot mead and conversation until dawn."

Egan's kindness nearly shattered Nicholas's resolve.
 
Of all of the lords, Egan was the only one who had suffered devastating loss.
 
His only child, a son, had died on the day of the Invasion.
 
Egan had searched for the boy for three days before finding the mutilated body beside the river.

Nicholas made himself smile.
 
"Thank you, milord.
 
I will remember your offer."

Egan nodded and went back down the stairs.
 
Enford watched the entire exchange closely.
 
Holbrook had been studying Fesler.
 
Fesler's obvious aging had apparently disturbed them all.
 
Suddenly Fesler looked older than Holbrook, who had always appeared twice as old as the other lords.
 
Nicholas had never realized the two men were of an age, an age his grandfather, and his own father, had never seen.

"Now that we are all assembled," Nicholas said, "let's begin."

"Forgive the intrusion, Sire, but the seating seems to be limited," Canter said.

Nicholas stared at him for a moment.
 
So this was how it would go.
 
The dissenting lords believed they could gain control quickly, now that the King's Fey wife was dead.
 
"Have you forgotten yourself again, milord?" Nicholas asked.
 
"This is the second protocol error you've made this afternoon."

"Highness, I was merely noting that Lord Holbrook also appears uncomfortable and —"

"Fight your battles alone, Canter," Holbrook said.
 
"My feet have borne my weight for decades and will continue to do so without complaint."

"This forgetfulness of yours seems to be quite serious, Lord Canter," Nicholas said.
 
"I believe we shall have to keep it under observation.
 
If it interferes with your functions within this House, we shall have to ask you to step aside and allow your son to fill your seat."

"My son is just a boy, Highness," Canter said.
 
"I'm sure that even with diminished capacity I could perform better than he."

"Your son and I are of an age, milord," Nicholas said.
 
"We surpassed 'boy' a long time ago.
 
I would be pleased to have him work at my side.
 
It certainly appears easier than dealing with your new affliction."

Canter stared at Nicholas, jaw working.
 
Nicholas met Canter's stare.
 
Finally Canter looked away, and slowly bowed.

"I shall, Sire, make certain that my affliction does not interfere with my duties."

"See that it doesn't," Nicholas said.
 
"I shall be monitoring you."

When Canter stood the flush had left his cheeks, but the speculation had not left his eyes.
 
Nicholas purposely turned away from him.
 

"My friends," Nicholas said, emphasizing the word "friends," "we face the largest crisis to hit Blue Isle since the Roca faced the Soldiers of the Enemy.
 
I'm sure by now Lord Stowe has told you about the Fey seen in the area where my father was murdered."

The lords nodded.

"Just a few moments ago, a groom told me that he saw Matthias place the cloth he was using to protect Jewel in a pouch with vials of holy water.
 
My wife's death was no more accidental than my father's."

Fesler's hands tightened on his cane.
 
Enford looked down.
 
Stowe frowned.
 
Canter and Miller didn't move.
 
Egan closed his eyes and shook his head.

Only Holbrook seemed unmoved.
 
"That's a very serious charge, Highness."

"I realize this," Nicholas said.
 
"I would not make it if I did not know it to be true."

"I have heard the groom's testimony as well," Enford said.
 
"He is unimpeachable.
 
I tried before I brought him to the King."