The King's Justice (14 page)

Inimica Phlegathon deVry's smile became yet more ravishing. “Then I will be plain, my lord Baron.” Musicians relished their melodies in her voice. “I wish to make of you my husband.”

The Baron did not appear appropriately surprised. Nor did he evince quick eagerness. Rather his scowl threatened thunder. It threatened wild lightnings. “To what advantage?” he demanded without pause for consideration. “Do you conceive that my ambitions will be sated by a place in your bed? I am not such a fool. You see some advantage to yourself. You do not desire my person. And you have already secured the succession. Wedlock with you will not provide for my sons”—he muttered a curse under his breath—“or indeed for my daughters.”

In contrast, none of his mistresses would complain of it if his attentions were directed elsewhere.

“Where does
your
advantage lie,” he concluded, “Your Majesty?”

“Advantage, my lord Baron?” The Queen granted the word an inflection of amusement. “It is true that I have secured the succession, as did my mothers before me. That is as it must be. Still I am surprised to hear your ambitions so simply named. Do you not crave stature among your fellow barons? Do you not desire a voice among my counselors? Do you not yearn for
influence
, Glare Estobate?” She let the corner of her mouth twist humorously. “And are you truly incurious to taste the pleasures of my bed?”

Though I heeded closely, I did not hear her reveal where her advantage lay.

However, the Baron did not pursue that query. He barked a laugh. “My confusion grows, Your Majesty.” His mien said otherwise. Now he looked avid as a pouncing cat. “Less than a fortnight has passed since my friend and ally, Baron Thrysus Indolent, informed me that you have proposed marriage to
him
. Proposed, he assured me—and was accepted.”

His beard bristled with triumph. “Will you wed us
both
, Your Majesty? Will you dare such mockery? If you do, all Indemnie will cry out against you.”

For my part, I heard him as though I had received a blow. That my Queen had proposed wedlock to Thrysus Indolent—and had been accepted—was known to me. I had been present
on that occasion, as I was now. And I was not unduly struck by her offer to Glare Estobate, though I had no conception of her motive. I had been likewise present when she had engaged herself to three other barons before Thrysus Indolent. That the toll of the land's lesser rulers was now complete did not unsettle me unduly.

But that Baron Indolent had confided in Glare Estobate—! That was a blow indeed. To my mind, Thrysus Indolent was much the sharpest, and therefore the most dangerous, of my Queen's subjects. Of his predecessors in courtship—if her machinations may be so styled—I would more readily have expected indiscretion from Praylix Venery, who could not have kept a secret if it were locked in a vault. As for Quirk Panderman, his dedication to wine was so profound that his engagement to his sovereign might well have escaped his mind. And Jakob Plinth was too dour and self-contained to betray ambitions of any kind. When he had accepted his monarch's offer, he had done so with an ill grace, indeed with an air of duress, apparently fearing the fate of his present wife if he refused. Assuredly he would not have spoken of his coming nuptials until—or unless—events compelled him to confess them.

In contrast, if Thrysus Indolent had indeed spoken—and had confided in Glare Estobate, of all men the one most likely to take violent umbrage—he was playing a deeper game than I could then explain. One deeper than I could justify.

However, Inimica Phlegathon deVry's game was likewise deep, as it had been from the first. I had labored until my eyes
watered and my brain ached to find and refine the auguries she sought. And when I was not cutting and prodding and interpreting, I had studied her seeking itself, hoping thereby to improve my ability to answer her. Yet I could not apprehend her lies and reversals, her demands and rejections, her constant play of openness and concealment. She remained as hidden from me as I from the Baron. Glare Estobate's challenge did not disconcert so much as a hair on her head.

As though she could dismiss Thrysus Indolent's revelation with a twist of her hand, she countered, “Must I conclude, then, my lord Baron, that I am refused?”

His beard positively bristled with triumph. “You must. Thrysus Indolent is my ally and my friend. Should I accept, I will be gravely disadvantaged by the loss of both friendship and alliance. It has perhaps escaped Your Majesty's notice that such bonds have become precious in Indemnie. I cannot suffer the consequences of your proposal.”

“And you do not consider,” she asked lightly, “that you will be disadvantaged by the loss of
my
friendship?
My
alliance?”

Glare Estobate snorted. “Your offer is surpassingly expensive, Your Majesty. My treasury cannot bear the price of a wedding—and certainly not the price of standing at your side while you turn all Indemnie against you.”

To this charge, my Queen replied with a sigh which would have melted a pillar of salt. “My lord Baron,” she returned, “I am not fickle. Nor am I deliberately unkind. I have indeed proposed matrimony to Thrysus Indolent. But his was merely the
fourth of my offers. Now you alone are not pledged to me. By this test, I determine the disposition—I may say the loyalty—of men who name themselves my subjects.” Her manner suggested that he now stood higher in her estimation, although her words implied otherwise. “The consequence of your refusal is that I must now try you further. I will amend my proposal.

“If you will grant a provisional acceptance, an acceptance dependent solely upon the outcome of my dealings, I will devise some means to sway you.”

Again his fists grappled with his beard. Again his visage threatened storms. The extremity in his eyes suggested that words did not suffice for him. Doubtless he would have preferred to face Inimica Phlegathon deVry with a saber.

But while he wrenched his thoughts to and fro, his monarch defeated him. Where beauty did not serve her, words were entirely sufficient. Her response dismembered his turmoil like the flick of a blade.

“The succession, my lord Baron, is perhaps not as secure as you suppose.”

That utterance unmade the Baron's resolve. His various indignations were transformed. His resistance fell from him like a snatched cloak. For a moment, he gaped, almost visibly attempting to voice the cry which was obvious to my mind. Not secure? Do you intend to disinherit your daughter? But his temerity did not extend to such a query—I may say, to such an affront. Rather he croaked unsteadily, “Provisional?”

Inimica Phlegathon deVry wore her assurance as though it
could not be sullied, either by doubt or by threat. “Provisional only, my lord Baron. Until I have demonstrated my sincerity.”

Glare Estobate's beard shuddered. His mouth could not muster the strength to express his view of her sincerity. Instead he could only ask, “How?”

Draped in silks and sunlight, she appeared irrefusably regal. “How?” she echoed. I saw a teasing glint in her eyes. Perhaps she considered feigning incomprehension. If so, she discarded the notion. With more crispness, more authority, than she had heretofore allowed herself, she announced, “Spring is upon us. On the summer solstice, I will host a great ball in the Domicile. Every personage of note will attend.

“Upon that occasion, I will name my betrothed for all to hear.”

Before Baron Estobate—or indeed I—could so much as begin to estimate the purposes and perils of her intentions, she concluded with drums beating in her tone like a march to the gallows, “At that moment, my lord Baron, your acceptance will cease to be provisional.”

I did not scorn his consternation. Hidden, I shared it. She offered wedlock as a test of loyalty? And she proposed publicly to spurn four so that she might reward one? If it were not errant folly, it was plain madness. She hastened one of Indemnie's dooms. Indeed, she might bring it upon us in a single stroke.

And yet she was my Queen. In that respect, if in no other, my dismay was greater than the Baron's. He risked only his
head in a game he lacked the penetration to play. I hazarded head, heart, and all in her service.

Glare Estobate had rediscovered wrath. He may have wished to roar. Certainly he appeared primed with outrage, poised to hurl vituperation at the walls. Yet the untroubled polish of Inimica Phlegathon deVry's demeanor closed his throat. He found no chink in her perfection. At the crisis of this encounter, his wits failed him—his wits or his courage. Rather than cry indignation, he could only writhe in frustration as he dropped his gaze.

“Provisionally, then, Your Majesty,” he gasped as though he had suffered a beating. “I accept.”

Graceless as a marionette, he made a leg and withdrew like a man routed.

Snared within myself, I remained where I was until my Queen asked softly, “You heard?” Then I had no choice other than to emerge from my concealment like a boy caught in a shameful act.

She lifted an eyebrow at my plain disconcertion. “What think you, Hieronomer?”

I swallowed several times. “I am scarce able to name my thoughts, Your Majesty.” Questions crowded my throat. Have you taken leave of your wits? Did you not hear that Thrysus Indolent has already betrayed your machinations? What gain is there in setting the barons at each other's throats?—a tinder keg which may well take flame ere your demented ball turns every hand against you? How are you able to imagine that such false
dealing will forestall the doom—indeed, the dooms—which crowd close upon us? Yet I had no words for such demands. The only query that I was man enough to utter was, “Did you speak truly? Is the succession threatened? Do you mean to disinherit your daughter?”

To shield her daughter's place from challenge, she had commanded the child's father murdered in his bed.

My Queen frowned at me, when she had only smiled for Baron Estobate. “Hieronomer,” she replied, “we have spoken of this.” In her tone, an as-yet distant vexation swelled. “Or if not of this explicitly, of other matters similar enough. Your knowledge of my dealings does not concern me. In truth, I require it. It will aid the accuracy of your auguries. But I fear your grasp of my intentions. It will make you dangerous.”

Though I knew how she would answer, I could not stifle a protest. “How so, Your Majesty? I am your servant in all things.”

“We have spoken of this,” she repeated more sharply. “You confessed it to me when you entered my service. I merely heed your counsel.

“You must know of my doings. You must be cognizant of the deeds and forces which shape Indemnie's fate. But should you apprehend the policy which guides my dealings, you will either approve or disapprove. In either case, you will continue to serve me. And in either case, you will serve me falsely. The honesty of your auguries will be distorted, perhaps fatally, by the judgments of the mind that scries.

“I must rely on you, Mayhew Gordian. You have uttered that
to me which cannot be recalled. At your prompting, I have considered futures which cannot be turned aside. I must not now undermine your gifts. I will not.”

Fearing that her ire might draw nearer, I bowed my contrition. “I am chastened, Your Majesty. You well recall my counsel, as I recall the terms of my service. I must trust that my surprise,” indeed, my dismay, “will serve you, should it transpire that your daughter is set aside.”

My Queen did not hesitate. “Then I return to my inquiry.” To that extent, she trusted me still. “Glare Estobate has revealed much which may cause Thrysus Indolent to grind his teeth. What think you of these gambits?”

There I stood on surer ground. I met her gaze well enough to say, “Your deeds as they stand foment rebellion, Your Majesty. Now we have learned that Baron Indolent seeks to weaken your rule for his own purposes. He stirs the hot cauldron of Glare Estobate's heart. Whether he guessed that Baron Estobate would blurt his revelation is an intriguing detail, but of secondary import. The central point is that Baron Indolent plots some harm to you—or to the realm. So much has been made overt.

“Alas, I cannot determine the nature of that harm by words alone.”

Indeed, I doubted that I would be able to determine the truth of Thrysus Indolent even in my laborium. The greatest frustration of hieromancy, and also the greatest peril, is that it answers specific questions with generalities. Only general questions receive specific responses.

Briefly Inimica Phlegathon deVry mulled my assertions. “Rebellion?” Then she shook her head, scattering auburn intimations through the light on her hair. “I think not. The barons of Indemnie are small men. Those clods and sheep-tuppers have not the manhood to act against me.”

In response, I invoked what small dignity I possessed. “In this, Your Majesty, my arts assure me otherwise. The signs are unmistakable.” I yearned to convey the scale of her peril. “Only the form that the rebellion will take remains obscure.”

However, she appeared impervious to my alarms. With a glance toward the tapestry from which I had emerged, she indicated her readiness to dismiss me. “Return to your den, my fox of the unknown. Glean what you can concerning Thrysus Indolent's plots. And scry again regarding ships. I crave tidings from any quarter, but in particular from the east. We will speak again when you have some report.” A small catch flawed the music of her voice. “I fear the east.”

Having no other recourse, I bowed again and gathered myself to withdraw.

As I neared the tapestry, she commanded like a sting, “Sacrifice a child if you must.”

With those words, she swept all thought of self-preservation from my head. I wheeled on her as though I were armed. “
I will not
.”

Through the clamor of my heart, I heard her as though from a distance. “You will if you must.” She was a woman speaking
in some other chamber. “Inquire of Slew. He will obtain”—she lifted her shoulders—“what you require.”