Scrivener's Tale (24 page)

Darcelle had looked at her with red, watering eyes before turning toward the woman she considered her mother. Florentyna had not given her sister a chance to speak. Until that moment Florentyna didn't know she was going to do anything so swift or decisive, but there was an echo of insincerity in Darcelle's tears that struck a false note.

‘And, Master Burrage?'

‘Yes, your majesty,' he said, according her the title that had the still stunned Saria looking from courtier to courtier in bewilderment.

‘Would you please have someone escort the dowager to the chapel, where I'm sure she will want to grieve for my father.' Florentyna turned to Saria. ‘I will have staff wait upon you in the chapel, where I presume you will keep the day and night vigil over your husband's body. From there I will make arrangements for you to be moved to a quiet place for your mourning.'

Saria's mouth moved but no words were formed.

Florentyna masked her sense of satisfaction by looking away as people began to react. ‘A quiet word, Chancellor Reynard,' she said softly for his hearing and withdrew to the mantelpiece, as far from the deathbed as possible. She heard people moving behind her and when she glanced back as Reynard approached, she saw her sister and her stepmother being aided from the king's bedchamber.

Reynard drew next to her, staring deeply into her dark green eyes, scattered with warm brown flecks. ‘Bravo, Queen Florentyna. I have never felt more proud,' he whispered and bowed again.

She did not smile but a felt a spike of pleasure thrill through her all the same. ‘My sister is to be kept apart from our stepmother for the time being. And the dowager, as she is now to be formally addressed, is to be kept under invisible guard. I do not give her permission to leave the palace yet. She is to be kept at the side of my father's body until she has fulfilled her vigil as is required … on her knees, as is also required.'

He'd nodded and she had seen his fierce pride in her actions.

Reynard had then touched a finger to his lips momentarily. ‘I'm not certain, your majesty, that the dowager is aware of Morgravia's custom that a wife who outlives her husband must go into mourning for eighteen moons,' he'd whispered.

‘No, I suspect not. So Chancellor Reynard, will you make immediate arrangements for her to be removed to Rittylworth Monastery, where she can begin her official mourning as soon as she completes her vigil.'

She remembered how Reynard had permitted himself a tiny smile. ‘I will make those arrangements.'

‘See to it our most reliable guards escort the dowager to her new abode, won't you, Reynard? Select a team who will remain at Rittylworth as her guard but also our eyes. She is dangerous; I have no doubt about that.'

‘You are wise, Queen Florentyna. The dowager will be gone from the palace by tomorrow night.'

Florentyna emerged from her memories at the snap of a twig behind her. ‘Is that you, Felyx?' she asked without turning.

‘Yes, your majesty.'

‘I'm fine. Just a few moments longer, please.'

She heard him retreat and shifted her thoughts to the present. Saria was now unhappily, but securely, entrenched at Rittylworth Monastery. She had nearly completed the period of mourning and Florentyna knew that as soon as she could, the dowager would rush east into Briavel, back to the stronghold of her family's lands at Tamar, northeast of its capital. And from there, Florentyna had no doubt, her vicious stepmother would be out of her black robes and plotting. Not for a heartbeat did Florentyna imagine that Saria would allow her to rule easily. Observers had confirmed that Saria believed a crown had been stolen from her, was even whispering that Florentyna had the healthy king poisoned. It was such abhorrent talk and yet Florentyna knew not to be surprised by it.

‘Above all, my queen,' Reynard had advised, ‘keep Darcelle close and keep her happy. If Saria is going to make any sort of move against you, she will use Darcelle as her secret weapon.'

Not long after, the strange little man called Fynch had appeared and Reynard had granted him an audience with Florentyna.

‘Saria is the least of your concerns, your majesty,' Fynch had said calmly, as though reading her mind, his bright eyes fixing her to the chair in the solar, where she'd greeted him.

She recalled that conversation now.

‘You are saying that the empire is under threat from a foe we don't know about and can't see,' she'd repeated, working to keep an even tone in her voice.

‘That's my belief,' he'd said softly. ‘I have waited for the signs.'

‘Signs?'

‘Majesty, I am a man with strong spiritual beliefs. I pay attention to … well, shall I call them nuances within the invisible world surrounding our own.' She'd flashed a glance at Reynard. Fynch had seen it but didn't appear to react at her obvious cynicism, and had deliberately turned it back upon her. ‘Isn't it true, your majesty, that you believe strongly in the ethereal?'

‘My beliefs are not —'

‘Your beliefs are everything. You must lead your people and they will follow. Cailech and Valentyna believed in the spiritual world, feared and admired it, paid homage to it … in their own way.'

‘What do you know of my forebears, Master Fynch?' she'd bristled.

‘Like you, my queen, I am a student of history. And I have lived more than most.'

There was something cryptic in his words.

Just when she'd thought he'd finished, he added, ‘If you believe that magic exists, your majesty — and I suspect that you do — then you must also believe it can be put to the work of good or to evil. I believe that an evil magic is loose again.' He shrugged, as if to say he had nothing more to offer.

‘Why should we trust this information, Master Fynch?' she'd asked, feeling the weight of his scrutiny.

‘Simply because I can speak only the truth to you, your majesty. If I was interested in mischief-making I'm sure there are far more dramatic and indeed easier ways to win your attention. I know it is difficult to place your trust in a stranger but — and this will be even more difficult for you to accept — I am no stranger to Stoneheart or to your family.'

She'd cut him a glance of surprise before she looked at Reynard. ‘And why do you trust him so, chancellor?'

‘Queen Florentyna, I have nothing other than my ability to judge character upon which to base my trust. I have never been more sure of someone — other than yourself — than I am of this man who stands before you.'

‘You're basing your trust on instinct?'

‘What else is there, majesty?' Fynch cut in. ‘I mean, when logic fails and other sensibilities are removed. We can learn much from the animal realm. Beasts act only upon instinct and rarely make mistakes.'

‘Master Fynch, I am mindful of your care for the Crown, but unless you can convince me of your pedigree to be even able to counsel me on such matters …' She'd shaken her head. ‘I don't know who you are or how you might know such things about my family's history.' Florentyna had then fixed him with a hard gaze. ‘Every Crown has its enemies —'

‘Not like this one, your majesty,' he'd had the gall to quietly interrupt.

Her lips had thinned. It was very difficult for her because Reynard, whom she trusted without question, had a plea in his expression. ‘Nevertheless,' she'd continued, ‘I want proof. Bring it to me and I will sit down with you, Master Fynch.'

‘What sort of proof, your majesty?' he had persisted, frowning.

‘I don't know. That's your problem. I'm afraid until there is something real that I can see or touch or even understand, Master Fynch, I shall leave it to Chancellor Reynard to use his instincts and to keep me briefed.' She'd stood. ‘Good day, gentlemen,' and she had swept from the room, feeling fractionally hollow for having dismissed him.

Master Fynch began to haunt her thoughts; his warning invaded her dreams; his name resonated deep in her recollections … back to her childhood to the legend of a boy called Fynch, who rode with a dragon and was friends with an emperor.

And the chancellor had been absent since that meeting, leaving his day-to-day duties to Burrage. It was strange. Reynard had been at her side since she'd begun her reign and now he'd left her without a word. She'd assumed at first that he was attending to imperial matters but it was not at all like him. And then when he had not appeared and could not be found, a sinister pall had laid itself over his disappearance. Privately, Florentyna was certain that Reynard believed in Fynch and was angry at her for not trusting him also. Had he gone off on some journey of discovery of his own — or even with Fynch — to bring her proof of the threat that she had demanded?

When Florentyna had finally broached with Darcelle the subject of the stranger and his claim, her sister had tossed her golden hair and looked at Florentyna as though she'd gone soft in her mind. Darcelle had ridiculed Fynch as a luna-fool.

‘He probably howls at the night sky when the tides are high,' she gibed. She'd not let the chancellor off lightly either, taking the opportunity to tell Florentyna exactly what she thought of the interfering old man.

‘I'm glad he's finally given you some space to breathe. I know you're very close to him, Florentyna, but perhaps you don't see his oily ways as clearly as others do.'

Florentyna blinked, stung. Her trait was not to react too quickly to criticism so she held her tongue, but Darcelle didn't pause to even take a breath.

‘You should banish both, dear sister. Neither is good for you. Everything is well for our land, especially now that I've strengthened our ties with Tamas. I'm the one you should be grateful to. Not silly old men scared of their own shadows and preaching doom and gloom. In fact, I live in your shadow and yet I'm the one doing the work of a queen. I attend the formal occasions that you should, I charm at parties, I deliver your messages in the most eloquent of ways and now I make your realm safe for you.'

Darcelle had clearly forgotten herself but behind this stupidity Florentyna could hear Saria; it was obvious her sister had paid a visit to her stepmother recently. Darcelle loved the role she played for the Crown; it not only gave her purpose but it employed her strengths, showed off her talents. It was beyond belief that Darcelle would complain or consider herself ‘used' by the Crown. No, it took a far more devious and malicious mind to come up with that slant.

She'd needed Reynard's counsel but the chancellor had not been seen again and neither had Master Fynch. Had she offended her senior aide or had he met some terrible end? It was a mystery that was increasingly making her feel anxious and she'd begun to convince herself that if she could see a dead body she'd have a better time accepting his wordless disappearance. And what kept returning to her was that something in Master Fynch's gaze had told her he had come as a friend, that he was telling her the truth.

Cassien was seated in a chair while an old woman with few teeth was sucking her lips and lathering up his face with a huge soft bristle brush and gritty soap.

‘Widow Nance is the local herbwoman. She makes up floral charms,' Ham explained. ‘She's very busy at the moment.'

‘Is there a feast day?' Cassien wondered aloud as she slopped on still more lather.

‘Be still,' Nance warned, reaching for a lethal-looking blade.

Her fingers trembled as the blade approached and Cassien baulked.

Ham laughed. ‘Don't, Nance. He's new to these parts.'

She cackled, enjoying her joke. ‘I can clean up your chin blindfolded with one arm tied behind my back,' she said, slapping Cassien's shoulder. ‘Now be still, handsome, and let me get this done.'

‘It's blood month,' Ham continued. ‘Widow Nance is doing up orders of special red wreaths and posies to hang in all the houses for luck, and especially for food, through the long winter ahead.'

Nance had already trimmed his hair so he no longer looked shaggy and now he could feel the satisfying scrape of the blade over his jaw. Ham had done well to bring him to this place for she was not even vaguely curious about him or his weapons. Soon she was pressing a steaming towel to his face and telling him he was done.

‘Well, Ham,' she grunted at the boy nearby. ‘You've brought me a welcome one this time. Very tasty, indeed. I'm sure the girls at the brothel will fight over you,' she said, grinning at Cassien. As he opened his mouth, she waved a hand. ‘And don't deny it either. All you young bucks head straight there. Although those girls charge a pretty penny now for something you can get right here.' She began to lift her skirts and Cassien leapt from the chair as if stung.

‘No, Widow Nance!' he all but begged, and this won a guffaw from Hamelyn and a huge wheeze of a laugh from the old girl.

‘I used to be a beauty when I was your age — you'd have accepted me then — but the years have punished me.' She laughed again at his anxious expression. ‘Touchy, isn't he? No sense of humour, Ham. You'd better find him one if he's to survive in this town.'

‘I won't be staying long,' Cassien assured.

‘Then you should take your chances when you can, because I don't make the offer lightly,' she said, again beginning to lift her skirts.

He grinned this time, didn't shrink back and of course she only pulled them high enough to reveal wrinkled knees.

‘Now there you are; you learn fast and you're even more likely to win a kiss when you smile like that,' she said. Then switching topics rapidly she poked Cassien in the chest. ‘Ham's a good boy. Don't you take liberties with him or you'll answer to me.'

Cassien pressed a silver coin into her crooked fingers, gnarled by the bone-ache, and surprised her again by leaning down and planting a kiss on her hollow cheek. ‘Thank you.' Beneath his lips her skin felt leathery but she giggled like a young girl.