Rebel Song (20 page)

CHAPTER 27

Elyra’s private study was one of the more antiquated rooms in the West Wing, but she liked it that way. With intricate marble and porcelain mythological sculptures protruding from the ceiling and multi-dimensional rose carvings climbing along the walls, the room seemed to be crawling with life. Impeccably dressed in a tailored suit dress the shade of rich sapphire and decorated with shimmering pearl buttons up the bodice, Brita Falcon looked perfectly at home in Elyra’s royal study. Her long, alabaster legs dipped into delicate pearl mules of finely tooled leather. Her platinum hair was wound up in her emblematic twist, rendering her fair complexion even more eerily beautiful. Even in the presence of her future queen, Brita showed no fear, no trepidation. She stared back at Elyra with sharp blue eyes the shade of a summer sky.

“You’re probably wondering why I called a private meeting with you,” Elyra began. Brita sat silently. “Well to be honest, I need your help.”

Brita nodded with composure.

“As always, I am at your service, Your Highness.”

“Given the nature of this meeting, please call me Elyra.”

Brita pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes with slight curiosity, as if she were solving a mathematical equation in her head.

“If you prefer,” she nodded.

“I do. I assure you. Unlike my father, I’ve always hated the ceremony of titles.”

“Unless you’re speaking with Markus Fallon of course.”

Elyra couldn’t contain herself and let out a spurt of laughter.

“You do notice things, don’t you?”

Brita shrugged.

“Markus doesn’t keep his feelings for you hidden very well.”

“True, he doesn’t. Look, Brita I need some information and I don’t know who else I can ask. I feel as though you’re the only one on the council whom I can really trust.”

“All due respect Your…Elyra. You hardly know me. We’ve barely spoken.”

“Yes, I know. But I can tell by being in council meetings with you that we are of the same mind. I know I’m new to the council and all these political matters. I know also that most everyone thinks of me as the idiot princess playing dress- up. But I’m just as, if not more, vested in the state of this country than anyone in the Ministry.”

At that, Brita’s pale red lips spread into a genuine smile.

“Yes, I know. It’s all very amusing I’m sure,” Elyra sighed.

“No, no! On the contrary. They may mock you to your face, but they’re frightened of you.” 

“I don’t need to be patronized.”

“I’m quite serious. Many fear what you might accomplish if you take reign.”

“If?” Elyra cocked an eyebrow.

Brita lowered her eyes in sudden embarrassment.

“Once you take reign, Your Highness. Forgive me.” Even shamed, Brita seemed collected.

“Don’t worry about it. Lately even I’ve had doubts about that day.” She sighed. “And don’t call me Your Highness again.” She commanded with a laugh. Brita smiled and nodded. “Brita, as I said, I need…information. This is a very delicate issue and I trust that you can honor the discretion I ask of you.”

Brita sat up straighter in her chair at the proposition.

“I can’t imagine I know anything that you don’t.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Elyra took a deep breath. “I need to know…the whereabouts of Alec Montall.”

Instantly Brita stiffened and Elyra noted the way her eyes widened just for a flicker of a moment, betraying her unwavering facade.

“How do you know about him? From my understanding, he’s just some low criminal picked up for a poor attempt at terrorism.” She attempted to brush it off, but for the first time that Elyra had ever seen, Brita’s composure was cracking.

“We both know that’s not true, Brita.” Elyra stared at her hard, studying the slight flicker of her irises.

“I wouldn’t know anything about any of that.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Elyra finally snapped in frustration, the magnitude of the issue stressing her composure. She took a deep breath and collected herself. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. But you must understand. I am surrounded by lies. Every word uttered to my face is laced with falsities. The list of those on my side dwindles daily. I want to believe that you’re on my side. Are you?”

Brita stared hard at her for a few moments before nodding firmly.

“Yes, I am. But, why do you think that I would know anything about it? It’s hardly in my job description.”

“Because something tells me you are someone who knows a lot of things she shouldn’t.” Brita remained inscrutable, then offered a slight shrug.

“Perhaps,” she smiled slightly. “Perhaps Pantone would like everyone to think they are keeping him in the tombs for questioning.”

“But they aren’t?”

Brita shook her head.

“I truly don’t know. I’ve heard whispers that Pantone is telling everyone that they have him in custody so they won’t try anything else and risk retaliation, but I’ve been unable to confirm it.”

“You mean the rebellion?” Elyra stated the question.

Brita nodded.

“It’s…
more
than a rebellion.”

Elyra’s skin prickled.
How much did Brita know? How much did she dare tell the minister?

“Yes,” Elyra concurred. “I understand that this runs deeply and powerfully. That if they succeed, the whole system as we know it could collapse.”

Brita shifted nervously in her seat.

“I am certain that they will never succeed. His Grace’s army is superior. And the people will never support such a reckless rebellion.” Brita spoke assertively but Elyra could detect feigned propaganda in her voice.

“Are you truly certain?” There was a long, uncomfortable silence between them. Tension clung to the air so heavily Elyra thought she might choke on it.

“No,” Brita finally said. “I am not certain. I think the revolution might just happen, no matter what we do.”

Elyra nodded and turned her mouth up in a slight, knowing smile.

“Good. Now we can talk.”

It was the only time other than with Rogan that Elyra could remember feeling as though she could confide in someone. The barrier of pretense and professionalism had been breached and they now sat as new friends. Elyra reached for a carafe of red wine sitting on her parlor table and poured generously into crystal goblets. Brita hesitated to accept the gesture but quickly relented at a simple raise of Elyra’s eyebrow.

“This business is too stressful for lemon tea,” Elyra grinned.

“I’ll agree to that.” Brita took a sip. “That’s pretty good stuff.”

Elyra pointed a finger at herself playfully.

“Princess,” she said factually and shrugged.

“I guess since we are being honest, can I ask how you even know about Alec Montall? He’s not much of a name to know.”

Elyra bit her lip and contemplated the safest answer.
How about the truth?

“Someone I know close to the situation asked me to look into it. That’s all I can say at this point.”

“That’s the right answer,” Brita smiled. “You can tell them I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. Regardless, they’d better watch their backs. Pantone is out for blood. Don’t trust him for a second.”

Elyra’s stomach churned.

“Can’t say I ever have.”

“And you need to be more careful, Elyra.”

“Meaning?”

“I’ve heard you’ve been vocal about encouraging a contender for the upcoming Council elections.”

“And when did I supposedly say that?” Elyra brushed off the accusation.

Brita shot her a dubious look.

“When you talk, people listen. You have to be careful what you say to whom. Gossips will exaggerate even the smallest comment and turn it into something scandalous.”

Elyra sighed.

“I know. But you have to know I see corruption spreading like wildfire throughout this court. I love this country, but I see where we’re headed.”

“I see it, too. And I’ve been in the capital a fraction of the time you have.”

“You’d be surprised at how little I knew about anything that went on in this place until recently. They all pretended like I didn’t exist. And now, all I can see are lies in everyone’s eyes. They nod their heads and say what they think they have to in order to pacify me, but I know they snicker when I leave the room. Pantone would love nothing more than to see me out of the way.”

“You’re not wrong.” Brita paused, searching Elyra’s face. After a few minutes of contemplation she continued. “Did you know that I finished secondary school at fifteen? Top of my class, a year early.”

Elyra looked at her curiously then shook her head.

“I didn’t know that. You must have been ambitious.”

“I was. I went straight to the University in San Gran and at the end of my first year I got it in my head to run for City Council. I won. Don’t ask me how, but I won. Maybe the voters thought a child on the council would be comical. But guess what? Within a year, I had opened two homeless shelters within the city, coordinated a system to provide free meals to the needy and fronted a county bill that demands one percent of the taxes collected on wine sales to be allocated to agricultural restoration projects.”

“That’s quite the resume,” Elyra suddenly felt somewhat embarrassed that her greatest achievement lately was getting little Ronnie Black to finally grasp subject-verb agreement.

“Thank you. I agree,” Brita went on. “I finished my studies with a degree in Public Policy and was elected to the County Governor’s office shortly after as Secretary of Public Works, followed shortly as Lieutenant Governor of San Gran. I served there until the Great Council opened the position I now serve. I’m still a little in shock at how I ever won the seat, especially now that I know so much about the integrity of the electoral system here. But I think I seemed like an inoffensive choice for a position Pantone never really wanted.” She smiled.

“Little did they know eh?” Elyra laughed.

“I’m not trying to brag,” Brita went on. “It’s just that I want you to understand I came to the capital with real dirt-on-my-hands experience, through a real, honest election. And despite all that, I am the laughing stock of the council and a political pariah. My point, Elyra, is that you came to the council because you turned sixteen, not because you earned it. You can’t expect them to take you seriously. You haven’t earned their respect. You haven’t proved your worth.”

Elyra’s eyes widened. No one had ever said anything so blunt—so honest—to her in her life.
Ever.

“I…” she stuttered. “What do I do?”

“Earn it. Prove them wrong. If you truly care about the future of the country and the people the way you say you do, then you owe it to us all to stop this.” Brita eyes were calm and focused.

“I can’t stop a war, Brita,” she said shaking her head.
She sounds like Rogan.

“How do you know?” Brita raised an eyebrow. “Ever tried?”

“No wonder you’ve gotten as far as you have,” Elyra laughed. “You don’t even accept the concept of defeat.”

“By the time we’re done, neither will you.”

CHAPTER 28

“The forces continue to rally I hear,” Markus Fortune said, pouring a snifter of aged brandy and giving it a gentle swirl. The fire cracked in the corner of Minister General Hugh Pantone’s dimly lit office. “There are rumors that factions in the northern counties are banding together. The governor up there has received threats. Quite legitimate ones it would seem.”

“We don’t give in to idle threats,” Hugh Pantone said dryly. He leaned back in his plush mahogany arm chair, resting a hand on his well-endowed stomach, looking every bit the overfed aristocrat.

“The violence is going to escalate. Between the rebels and the firms, we’re looking at a street war,” Markus said.

“Good. Let them kill each other off. Fewer for us to worry about.”

“I’m not sure the King shares your sentiment, Minister. He fears the message it will send the people if we do not make efforts to protect them.”

“Protect them?” Pantone sputtered a laugh. “And we’re supposed to send aid to those who conspire against us in dark corners? The King is a fool. An outdated fool who has run his course.” His fat jowls shook with his grumbling. “It’s time for change.” He swigged his brandy.

“You’re starting to sound a little like the reformists,” Markus smiled. Pantone grunted and scowled. 

“Reformists. They’re nothing but a band of disjointed provincials whining because they’d rather have a handout than work a little more during hard times. The King is too damn soft on them.” He took another quick swig of his brandy.

“You might be the only one in Arelanda who thinks so.”

“Henri talks a big game with regard to policy, but he hasn’t the stomach to crack down on those who need it. He should have hurt these bastards so hard the first time they’d never even dream of lifting those pitchforks again.”

Markus smirked, thinking Pantone truly embodied the political cartoon in that morning’s paper: Pantone on a fluffy cat’s pillow-bed with two impoverished children fanning him and feeding him grapes from the vine.

“Some would argue had he been more compassionate after the last war, we’d never have had the uprisings in the first place,” Markus debated.

“You’ve been listening to that fish monger they have as their mouthpiece.”

“I’ve heard there’s some fresh blood climbing the ranks. Son of some famous war hero or something.”

Pantone snorted waved his hand as if to bat away the notion.

“Oh, I’m shaking in my boots.” He reached for the crystal brandy carafe and filled his glass again. He leaned in to fill Markus’ but Markus waved his hand over his glass in decline.

”I thought you had the balls of the Fallon clan.”

Markus smiled.

“Having balls and having savvy are two very different things, my good minister. I won’t see this country trade one failed system for another.”

“I’ve been in politics since you were at the tit, Fallon. Don’t think to tell me how it works.”

“I’m only playing devil’s advocate, friend.”

“Look, I’m not proposing overthrowing the monarchy. I’m not a complete fool. These people might groan about their mighty King but they love their damn heritage all the same. They’ll never part with the glory of their beloved royals and all those romantic notions that go along with them. Especially that little bitch of a princess.”

Markus pursed his lips but resisted the urge to scowl.

“Then we are at an impasse with the masses.”

“Not necessarily.” Pantone swirled his glass and starred into the amber liquid as if he were studying it.

“What cooks in that mind of yours, Pantone?”

“If these people need their King and Queen and little princess, their happy royals, then we shall never part them from it. But that doesn’t mean we can’t put a crown on theses monarchs then lock them away from public policy. It’s going that way all over Europe. Henri’s been a fine ruler, but he’s dated. Hell, he’s been in power for thirty damn years.”

“Look who’s calling the kettle black,” Markus grinned.

“Where Henri is dated, my boy, I am merely seasoned.”

“Right, of course. But, unfortunately for you, he’s got hardly a gray hair in his beard. The advantage of being the legendary boy king.”

“Hmph. A boy king he was indeed. I was there the day they put that crown on his puny head. But despite that, he’s tired. He’s been at this nearly his entire life. Do you know what kind of toll that takes on a man? I watched King Rodillio drop dead—I know. Henri might not live to see his golden years, either. Then what? They hand over the gavel to that spoiled, idealistic daughter of his?”

“That’s how it’s supposed to work,” Markus said dryly.

“Oh come now, Markus. I know you’re infatuated with the little thing. Hard to blame you. She’s a looker and your ticket to a big fancy title that would outrank your sniveling brother.” Markus resented the accusation, but didn’t argue. “But you and I both know she is completely incapable of any political policy that extends beyond funding the local library.”

“She’s young and inexperienced. Give her time.”

“Time? What if we don’t have time? Henri took the reins at fourteen. It’s her duty to be prepared for the unexpected. Maybe it’s Henri’s fault for not preparing her, but either way she just doesn’t have it in her.”

“I don’t see your point, Hugh. It is what it is. You said yourself, you’re not going to try to singlehandedly dismember the monarchy.”

“And you said she’s young and inexperienced. Perhaps what she needs is a strong partner who can
direct
her.” Pantone smiled menacingly.

“And?” Markus raised an eyebrow.

“And you have all the makings of a ruler, my son. You were born to be a lord. Why not be a prince consort?”

“My brother was born to be a lord.” Markus sipped his brandy.

“Come now. You know damn well that Hildon can hardly lace his own boots, let alone run a province. Had the world been fair, you would have come out of your mother first, not that whelp. Proof the Sants are just empty statues if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask. Look, it’s not as though my feelings for her are a secret. She wants nothing to do with me.”

“Then perhaps you need to try harder. She needs to understand that this isn’t just about romance and storybooks, but about the good of the people, the nation. She has a head full of fantasies. She needs a shot of reality.”

“And what possible interest could you have in my relationship with Elyra?”

Pantone put his hand to his heart.

“I just want you to be happy Markus.” Markus glared at him. “And I would be lying if I said your union wouldn’t be slightly advantageous. Our war efforts could really use Hildon’s support and he has been less than generous so far. Perhaps a royal marriage for his favorite brother would motivate him?”

Markus shook his head in disbelief.

“You talk of Henri living in the past. Will you listen to yourself? It doesn’t work like that anymore. She’s not a horse, she’s a woman. The
princess
.”

“Markus, you are a smart young man, but you are naïve. Things can work exactly like you’d want them to if you know the right moves.”

“I’m not going to try to force her to love me.”

“Why is it always about love?” Pantone sighed. “You have my support—I’ve spoken at length with Henri about it and you have his support. Let us just see what a little political and social pressure can do.”

“You’re a cunning old bastard Pantone, you know that?”

“I am not where I am today by the grace of your Sants. I know you have enough ambition to see that.” He raised his brandy. “A toast. To a new future. A brighter Arelanda on the horizon.”

“If you say so,” Markus said reluctantly. They clinked glasses and drank.