Rob Scott - The Hickory Staff

Tenner had not returned to Falkan for Anaria’s funeral; his current responsibilities in Rona were far too pressing. He planned to leave within a few days. Then he would make peace with his sister and beg forgiveness from her departed spirit.

*

Some days after the tragic deaths of Princes Markon and Helmat and Princess Anis, Tenner had received word of a massacre at Sandcliff Palace in Gorsk. The details were sketchy, but it appeared there were few – if any – Larion Senators left alive. He had dispatched riders to gather more comprehensive information, but even the swiftest Ronan horsemen would take many days to reach Gorsk. The entire political structure of Praga and the Eastlands was in ruins. The descendants of King Remond I, rulers of four Eldani nations, had been killed off; all that remained of Eldarn’s royal family were the Whitwards: Prince Draven, his wife Mernam and their son Marek in Malakasia.

Mistrust was rampant. Border raids had been reported between Rona and Falkan, and several Pragan trade ships had been taken by Falkan battle cruisers on the Ravenian Sea. War was coming, and there were few leaders left to arbitrate in the pending conflict. These circumstances would have been unthinkable a Twinmoon ago; they were why he had elected to stay in Rona until tonight. He had to ensure the continuity of Danmark’s family line before the prince succumbed further to his madness.

Tenner needed a commoner so no one would expect her to be carrying Rona’s heir. A daughter of one of Rona’s wealthy families would never do; her pregnancy would arouse too much suspicion. But he’d been lucky: he had found Regona Carvic, a beautiful sepia-skinned serving girl from Rona’s South Coast. He had taken the time to tell her how very important her task was, that she would be the mother of the next Ronan prince, but though obviously intelligent, the young woman was still frightened. He could hardly blame her: there was no way he’d been able to conceal the prince’s condition. When he revealed the madness that made it impossible for Danmark III to choose his own wife, the girl began to cry, ‘Please, Doctor Tenner, please don’t make me do this.’

‘I can’t make you do it, dear,’ he had told her calmly, ‘but I need you to help me. We all need you to help us.’

‘Is he violent?’ she asked, still shaking.

‘No. There’s no danger. He’ll be very gentle,’ Tenner assured her, a little unconvinced himself. He repeated, quietly, ‘Regona, my dear, this is for the sake of Rona. We need you.’

Regona wiped the tears away and nodded her agreement; she couldn’t bring herself to speak.

Tenner had chosen Regona less for her undoubted beauty than for her intelligence. She was remarkably gifted; unlike most of the menial labourers in Estrad, who could neither read nor write, even the common tongue, Regona could do both and, even better, showed an affinity for creative and engaging education. During her infrequent avens away from the kitchens, she told stories, taught writing and made up maths games for the palace children. The offspring of servants and gentry alike regularly begged permission to work with the doe-eyed scullery-maid rather than their classroom teachers. Regona Carvic was special, and Tenner was delighted that she had agreed to participate in his monumental undertaking. He could have ordered her to bear Rona’s heir, but Regona’s decision not only to conceive, but also to love and care for the infant, would ensure the child’s welfare.

As they walked together up the grand staircase to the royal residence, Tenner said, ‘I know you would rather not have it happen this way. I know this is a terrible thing to ask of you: it violates one of your most basic freedoms.’ She tried to appear brave, forcing a smile at the older man as he continued, ‘However, if Danmark dies, Rona’s future will be desperately uncertain.’ Tenner felt his heart breaking as Regona gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

‘I’ll be all right,’ she said calmly. She had made her choice and would give herself willingly to the creature – no, the man, her prince – waiting upstairs.

Tenner, still guilty, hugged her briefly. ‘You are astonishingly brave, Regona, and I am very proud to know you.’

The first time she entered Danmark’s chamber, Regona was trembling, her self-assurance draining away. But the prince was not as scary as she had imagined and after their initial coupling, the girl was no longer frightened. He was physically capable of intercourse with her, but apart from a loud, sickening cry with each climax, she did not believe the young monarch knew what was happening.

Every other evening for the next thirty days Tenner led Regona to Danmark’s chambers; now, a Moon later, he was confident she carried Danmark’s child. He arranged comfortable accommodation for her away from the palace in Estrad. There was too much unrest, too many political machinations and assassination plots, even imminent all-out war; it would not be safe for the child to be born in the palace. Seeing a servant, even one with Regona’s talents, being singled out for attention by one of the world’s most powerful and influential men would arouse suspicion. No matter how many precautions he took, servants and guards could be bribed. Eventually word would leak out that the South Coast scullery-maid was carrying a Grayslip, King Remond’s descendant.

Tenner intended eventually to return from Falkan to share the education of the child. He had remained at Riverend Palace to see his self-appointed task – the continuation of the Ronan line – completed. It might have cost him his sister, but now it was done, and he could go home to attend to the rising unrest in Falkan.

Shaking thoughts of Anaria from his mind, Tenner wrote several lines on a sheet of parchment. Re-reading his notes, he wiped an errant tear from his face and nodded once to himself, grimly determined. He rose, crossed to the fireplace and pulled back and forth on a protruding stone until it came free from the wall. Placing it on the floor near his feet, he folded the parchment into quarters and secreted it in the gap. Groaning a little as he bent down to retrieve the stone, Tenner pushed it back into place until the parchment was completely hidden from view. If you didn’t know, it was impossible to see which stone had moved.

A knock on his chamber door woke the doctor from his reverie and he stepped away from the hearth. ‘Yes?’

A palace servant entered carrying a tray with a goblet of wine and a small loaf of bread, still warm from the kitchen.

‘I thought you might fancy something, sir.’ The young man, seeing the physician upset, spoke quickly, shuffling and staring at his feet. ‘I mean, I saw you were still awake, sir.’

‘Thank you. That was thoughtful of you,’ said Tenner, suddenly conscious that he hadn’t eaten in a while. ‘Would you have some fruit left in the kitchen?’

‘Yes, sir. We got some lovely peaches in this morning, sir. Right off the ship and into the scullery,’ the man replied. ‘I’ll get some at once,’ he said and hurried from the room.

When he returned, just a short while later, the young servant knocked quietly and, hearing no sound from within, risked opening the door slightly, calling to the doctor as he did, ‘I got three of the best for you, sir.’ When no answer came, he pushed the door open and stood in the entryway.

The dim glow from two candles and a low fire burning in the fireplace cast a half-light across the doctor’s chamber and illuminated Tenner, who had his back to the door. The doctor was on the opposite side of the room, tearing violently at a large tapestry hanging on the wall of his study.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ the boy asked, stepping forward.

‘Get out.’ Tenner’s voice had changed.