The Charnel Prince (16 page)

Muriele rolled her eyes. “What heir? Even if I were to marry him, I would still have to produce one. Even if I had a mind to—and I do not—do you honestly think I could, at my age?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sir Fail snapped. “There are wheels within wheels turning here. Marrying you gives them the throne in all but name.” He pounded the casement of the window with the heel of his hand. “You must marry Lord Selqui,” he snapped.

Muriele raised an eyebrow. “Must I?” she said coldly.

“Yes, you must. It is entirely the best course of action, and I should think you would see that.”

She rose, her fists balling so tightly that her nails cut into her palms. “I have listened now to five marriage proposals, with William’s breath still warm on the wind. I have been as patient and gracious as I can be. But you are more than a foreign envoy, Fail de Liery. You are my uncle. My blood. You put me on your knee when I was five and told me it was the waterhorse, and I laughed like any child and loved you. Now you have become just one of
them
, another man coming into my house, telling me what I must do. I will not have this from
you
, Uncle. I am no longer a little girl, and you will
not
impose upon my affection.”

Fail’s eyes widened, and then his features softened a bit. “Muriele,” he said, “I’m sorry. But as you say, we are blood. You are a de Liery. The rift between Crotheny and Liery is growing. It isn’t your fault—something William was up to. Did you know he lent ships to Saltmark in their battles against the Sorrow Isles?”

“That is a rumor,” Muriele said. “It is also rumored that Lierish archers killed my husband.”

“You cannot believe that. The evidence for that was obviously contrived.”

“At this point, you cannot imagine what I would believe,” Muriele said.

Fail seemed to bite back a retort, then sighed. He suddenly looked ancient, and for a moment she wanted nothing more than to hug him, feel that rough old cheek against hers.

“Whatever the cause,” Fail said, “the problem remains. You can heal this wound, Muriele. You can bring our nations back together.”

“And you think Liery and Crotheny together can stand against Hansa?”

“I know that alone, neither of us can.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

He puffed his cheeks out and nodded.

“I am a de Liery,” she said. “I am also a Dare. I have two children left, and both are heirs to this throne. I must protect it for them.”

Fail’s voice gentled further. “It is well known that Charles cannot get a child.”

“Thank the saints, or I should be dealing with proposals for
his
hand.”

“Then when you speak of heirs, you mean Anne. Muriele, William’s legitimization of his daughters has little precedent. The Church is against it—Praifec Hespero has already begun a campaign to annul the law. Even if it stands, what if Anne . . .” He stumbled, his lips thinning. “What if Anne is also dead?”

“Anne is alive,” Muriele said.

Fail nodded. “I dearly hope Anne is still alive. Nevertheless, there are other heirs to consider, and you know they
are
being considered.”

“Not by me.”

“It may not be up to you.”

“I will die long before I see one of Ambria Gramme’s bastards put on the throne.”

Fail smiled grimly. “She is a very political animal,” he said. “She has won over more than half the Comven to her cause, as you must know. Muriele, you must be reconciled, both with the Comven and with your father’s people. This is not the time to further divide Crotheny.”

“Nor is it the time to return it to Lierish rule,” she said.

“That is not what I am proposing.”

“That is precisely what you are proposing.”

“Muriele, dear, something must be done. Things cannot continue as they are. Charles does not—will never—hold the people’s trust. They know the saints have touched him, and in gentler times, they might not care. But terrible things are happening, things beyond our understanding. Some say the end of the world is upon us. They want a strong leader, a certain one. And there is still the fact that he cannot father an heir.”

“Anne could be a strong leader.”

“Anne is a willful child, and all the kingdom knows it. Besides, with each passing day, the rumor is growing that Anne shares her sisters’ fate. The dangers on your borders are multiplying. If you do not give Hansa the throne by marriage, they will take it by force. Only their hopes and the feeble worry that the Church might intervene have delayed them this long.”

“I know all of this,” Muriele said wearily.

“Then you know you must act, before they do.”

“I cannot act rashly. Even if I were to marry Selqui, it would anger as many as it would please. More. If I spurn the offer from Hornladh, they might well join Hansa against us. There is no clear course for me here, Sir Fail.”

“
Your
course is made clear by your loyalties. Mine is made invisible by mine. I need real council, real options, not this continued pressure from every direction. I need one single person I can count on, one person who has no loyalties other than to me.”

“Muriele—”

“No. You know you cannot be that. Lierish seawater flows in your veins. As much as I love you, you know I cannot trust you here. I wish I could, but I cannot.”

“Then whom can you trust?”

Muriele felt a solitary tear start in her eye and roll down her cheek. She turned so he would not see it. “No one, of course. Please leave me, Sir Fail.”

“Muriele—” She could hear his voice break with emotion.

“Go,” she said.

A moment later, she heard the door close. She went to the window, gripped the frame with her fingers, and wondered how sunlight could seem so dark.

CAZIO STEPPED BETWEEN ANNE and Ospero. He didn’t raise his sword to guard, but he did keep it in front of him.

“As I told those other fellows,” he said firmly, “these ladies are under my protection. I am no more willing to give them up to you than I was to them.”

Ospero’s eyes tightened, and he suddenly seemed very dangerous indeed, even without the twenty-odd men gathered behind him.

“Careful how you talk to me, boy,” he said. “There are many things you do not know.”

“There certainly are,” Cazio responded. “I do not know how many seeds there are in a pomegranate. I do not know what sort of hats they wear in Herilanz. I’ve no understanding whatever of the language of dogs, and I cannot tell you how a water pump works. But I know I have sworn to protect these two ladies, and protect them I will.”

“I’ve made no threat to your charges,” Ospero said. “On the other hand, they have become a threat to me. When swordsmen from Northside come into
my
town, I am very much concerned. When I am forced to act against them, it is even more my concern. Now I have to kill them all and sink their bodies in the marsh, and I need to know if anyone will miss them. I need to know
who
will miss them, and who, if anyone, will come to look for them. And most of all, I need to know why they came here in the first place.”

“And the reward does not concern you?” Cazio asked skeptically.

“We haven’t gotten to that yet,” Ospero said.

“Nor shall we,” Cazio replied. “Now, kindly send your men away.”

“Boy—” Ospero began.

“I don’t know who they were,” Anne blurted. “I only know someone wants me dead and is willing to pay for it. I can’t answer any of your other questions, because I don’t
know
the answers. I thank you for your help against those men, Ospero. I believe you are a gentleman at heart, and that you will not take advantage of the situation.”

Ospero graveled out a laugh, and many of his men echoed it. “I’m no gentleman,” he said. “That, above all, you can be sure of.” Cazio raised his sword deliberately. “You don’t want to do that, boy,” Ospero said.

“I think I know better than you what I want to do,” Cazio replied haughtily.

Ospero nodded slightly. Then he moved with astonishing speed, dropping and whipping his leg out so that he clipped Cazio’s leading foot. Cazio spun half around, and Ospero stood and almost lazily took his sword arm and twisted it so the sword fell clattering to the ground. As if by magic, a knife appeared in his other hand and flashed up to Cazio’s throat.

“I think,” Ospero said, “you’ve need of a lesson in respect.”

“He’s in need of many lessons of that sort,” a new voice said.

“Z’Acatto!” Austra shouted.

It was indeed the old man, shuffling down the street toward them. “What do you plan to do with him, Ospero?” z’Acatto asked.

“I’m just deciding whether to bleed him out quickly or slowly.”

“Do your worst,” Cazio gritted.

“I’d say to do it quickly,” z’Acatto advised. “He’s likely to make a long-winded speech otherwise.”

“I can see that,” Ospero mused.

“Z’Acatto!” Cazio yelped.

The old man sighed. “You’d better let him go.”

Anne braced herself. She knew that despite his appearance,
z’Acatto was a mestro of the sword, and also that he had a deep love for Cazio. He wouldn’t let the younger man die without a fight. Could she summon the power of Cer again, blind Ospero, and make him drop the knife? She would have to try, for all their sakes.

But to her surprise Ospero took the knife away and stepped back. “Of course, Emratur.”

Cazio looked shocked. “Emratur?” he asked. “What is this? Emratur?”

“Hush, boy,” z’Acatto muttered. “Just be glad you’re alive.” He turned to Ospero. “We’ll need to talk in private,” he said.

Ospero nodded. “It would seem there are things you did not tell me.”

Z’Acatto nodded, too. “Cazio, take the casnaras back to the room. I’ll join you there shortly.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue for once,” z’Acatto said bluntly.

Ospero’s men dispersed as the two older men walked off together.

Cazio watched them go, sighed, and sheathed Caspator. “I wish I knew what that was about,” he said.

“What was that name Ospero called z’Acatto?” Anne asked. “Emratur? I’ve never heard you call him that.”

“Come on,” Cazio said. “We’d better do what he said.” He started walking.

Anne followed. “Cazio?” she persisted.

“Cazio’s just saved our lives,” Austra reminded her. “Again.”

Anne ignored her. “You looked surprised,” she said.

“It’s not a name,” Cazio grunted. “It’s a title. The commander of a hundred men.”

“You mean as in an army?”

“Yes, as in an army.”

“Was z’Acatto an emratur?”

“If he was, I’ve never known it.”

“I thought you had known him all your life.”

They had reached the steps to their apartment, and Cazio started up. “I have. Well, sort of. He was a servant of my father’s. He taught dessrata to my brothers and me. But sometimes, when I was young, he would leave for months at a time. I suppose he might have been off fighting. My father had many interests in those days. He might have commanded a hundred men.”

“But z’Acatto still serves your father.”

“No. My father fell on hard times, and eventually was killed in a duel. I inherited z’Acatto, along with a house in Avella. They are all that remain of my father’s estate.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Tears welled in Anne’s eyes. In the excitement, for just a few moments, she had forgotten to grieve.

Cazio stopped, looked a little puzzled at her expression, and put a hand on her shoulder. “It happened a long time ago,” he said. “There’s no reason for you to cry.”

“I just recalled something,” Anne murmured, “that’s all. Someone I lost.”

“Oh.” He looked down at his feet and then brought his gaze back to hers. “I’m sorry to be so brusque,” he said. “I’m just—well, I wish I knew what was going on. I thought something was strange when z’Acatto got us lodging here, that he must have known Ospero before—it was too easy, and he even gave us credit. Now I’m sure of it. I just don’t know what it means.”

“Then you don’t trust z’Acatto?”

“I don’t think he would ever betray me, if that’s what you mean,” Cazio said. “But his judgment is sometimes poor. He let my father get killed, after all.”

“How was it z’Acatto’s fault? What happened?”

“I don’t know what happened, but I know that z’Acatto feels guilty about it. It was after that he started drinking all the time. And he doesn’t have to stay with me—I haven’t the money to pay him. Yet he does, and it must be out of guilt.”

“Maybe he stays out of love,” Austra suggested.

“Hah,” Cazio replied, waving the possibility aside with his hand.

“But who is Ospero? I thought he was just our landlord.”

“Oh, yes—he’s landlord for most of the Perto Veto. He also controls a lot of what happens at the docks. And the ladies I escort. They call him
zo cassro
, around here—‘the boss.’ Not a pocket gets picked without him knowing about it.”