Tad Williams - Shadowheart

“Don’t you believe him, then?” Vansen asked.

Chert scowled. “No, the wretched thing is, I do believe him… that is what is so dreadful. Even if we see the boy again, he will never be our Flint, not truly.” He nodded toward the carriage where Opal waited for him and lowered his voice. “That is what makes her so sad.”

“But your boy was always something other than what everyone thought him,” Vansen said slowly. “We none of us truly knew him.”

“And Opal knows that—she knows it better than we do.” Chert reached out a small, callused hand so that Vansen could help him up onto the carriage steps. “Don’t worry for us too much, Captain Vansen. We Funderlings are a thick-skinned race. We’ll live.”

“When you’ve had a little while to yourselves, bring whatever you need to the castle and we’ll find you a place of your own there, in the royal residence.” Vansen had spent so long without a real home that he couldn’t quite think of what ordinary folk carried around with them. “Weapons, if you have them. Keepsakes.”

Chert smiled despite the quiet noises of sorrow coming from the carriage. “Yes, my grand weapon collection, of course. To be honest, I won’t need much room for that. But Opal may have a few pans.” He nodded as he considered. “And I won’t be sad to leave my brother’s house. He’ll be around the place a great deal more now that Cinnabar has convinced the Highwardens to remove Nodule from the Magisters’ Slate for his dangerous meddling, and I’m certain he blames it all on me.” Chert’s smile became a wide grin. “Which gives me a great deal of pleasure, Captain—a great deal of pleasure.”

When Merolanna’s bewildered driver had at last been allowed to leave the crossroads and the carriage had become just another shadow ahead of them, Vansen and Briony rode back to the castle in the silent company of the royal guards.

The princess and the guard captain didn’t have much to say on the way back, either. Vansen did not entirely trust words at the best of times, and just now could not summon even one word that would make sense of what he was feeling. Briony was as remote as he had ever seen her.

This “festive” mood was only enhanced when they were greeted at the causeway by another contingent of guards, this one led by a royal messenger who bowed only long enough for his knee to brush the ground before leaping to his feet and handing Briony a sealed letter from Steffens Nynor.

“Sweet Zoria,” she said as she read it. “Or whoever it is now to whom we must turn. Mercy upon us all.”

“What?” Vansen hated the look of alarm on her face, but he hated the look of pain and exhaustion even more.

“It is Anissa, my stepmother,” Briony said, looking up at the looming castle walls. “She has fallen from her tower window—or she has jumped. She is dead.”

“You are lucky I didn’t have you brought to mein in shackles,” Briony told him, her fists clenched so hard her knuckles had gone white. “How dare you!”

Dawet dan-Faar raised an eyebrow. “How dare I what, Princess?”

“You know precisely what, you rogue! While I was out of the castle, you went to the Tower of Spring. Anissa fell to her death while you were with her. Do you think I’m a fool, Dawet? You as much as told me you thought she should be murdered!”

He smiled. “I believe I suggested that it would be dangerous for you to let such a woman live. I was not aware a person could be killed with words.”

“You were there! You were with her when she died—you pushed her from that window!”

Dawet cocked his head, his brown eyes as wide and innocent as a fawn’s. “What makes you say such a terrible thing, Highness?”

“You were seen going in. One of the guards had stepped away— doubtless pursuing some blind of your own—but as he came back, he saw you go inside the tower.”

He shook his head gravely. “He saw an intruder but did not say anything to him? Did not try to stop the man? Did it ever occur to you that this guard is trying to make up for his own failing, Princess?”

“He saw you! He did not interfere because he knows you are a friend of the royal family.”

“He was obviously mistaken, Princess. I was nowhere near the place. Several people will swear I was playing picket with them in a little establishment newly reopened near the West Lagoon.”

“A gambling den,” she said.

“You may call it such.” He made a little bow. “Certainly there is an element of chance involved in the pastimes pursued there ...”

“Enough! I thought you an honest man even in your most dishonest moments, Dawet. Why do you lie to me now? And why did you do what I told you I could not bear to see done? Kill that poor, stupid woman?”

“That poor stupid woman helped murder your brother.” Dawet’s voice was suddenly hard and serious. “In days to come she would have become a danger to you, too. As to lying—my lady, why would I lie? The only reason I can imagine why anyone who loved you and wished to help might lie to you is so that you can rule as you must, with a clear conscience. Because you, Briony Eddon, are no murderer.”

She stared at him for a long time, then sagged back in her chair, her face sad and weary. “And what am I to do with you, Dan-Faar?”

“If I were truly the villain you think me, Mistress, I would suggest you keep me close to you where I might be useful. A prince never knows when he may need the service of a rogue, after all, and I suspect that things are little different for queens.”

She stared at him for long moments, but the anger had gone from her eyes. “And of course your gambling cronies will swear you were with them all the day.”

“Of course.”

She waved her hand. “Go away, Dan-Faar. Go back to your cards and your convenient friends. I have another funeral to arrange.”

“As you wish, Highness. But I would suggest you bury the late Queen Anissa with the full pomp of her position. She was the mother of your father’s last child, after all. Her tragic accident, so soon after your father’s death, has surprised and saddened all of Southmarch.”

She could not stifle a bitter laugh. “Gods save me! As always, you are most helpful, Master Dan-Faar. Now go away and at least spare me seeing your face for a tennight or two.”

“As you wish, Highness.” He bowed, more deeply this time, and went out.

Vansen was worried, even frightened, by what she told him in the privacy of her chamber. “You cannot let such a man stay in Southmarch! Even if nothing can be proved, you and I both know he is guilty. He is dangerous!”

“Perhaps. But not to me.”

“You can’t be sure of that!”

She reached out and took his hand. “The Kupileia is almost upon us, along with my coronation. I will be the queen. I will be the queen, my dearest captain, and much as I am almost foolish with love for you, I must be the ruler of the March Kingdoms, not you. I know something of Dawet, and I know that he thinks to help me.”

“Help you… !”

She put a finger on his lips. “He is my problem, not yours, my brave knight. And it occurs to me that whether he meant to or not, Dawet has also proved that I owe Avin Brone an apology… but not tonight.” She stood. “Now let’s not talk about any of this any longer.”