“Who?” Nova looked intrigued.
In answer, Asta walked to the main door of the mews. She opened the door to allow a hooded figure to enter, then closed it quickly behind her. The figure walked toward Nova and dropped down its hood.
“You?” Nova said, startled.
Asta could see the look of mutual suspicion pass between her two companions. She realized that she was going to have to work hard to build this alliance.
“Why should we trust you, Lady Koel?” Nova asked bluntly. “This vote, if successful, would not only benefit Axel but also the rest of the Blaxlands—including you.”
Asta cut in. “Lady Koel has placed herself in considerable personal danger by coming to meet us.”
“Not if she’s a double agent for the Blaxlands,” Nova exclaimed pointedly.
“Look.” Lady Koel addressed Nova calmly. “I understand why I do not automatically merit your trust, but at least allow me to put my case before you. First, I find the thought of what Axel is plotting utterly repellent. This is a time when the court should be rallying behind its new Prince, not turning against him. My allegiance is to Prince Jared, both because he is Archenfield’s rightful ruler and because of my personal feelings toward my cousin. I have always found him to be honorable. I can scarcely say the same for my brother.”
Asta found Lady Koel’s answer to be convincing. She scrutinized Nova’s face, hoping for some signs of a shift in thought there, however slight.
There were none.
“You expect me to believe that you are throwing family loyalty out the window in order to take a stand?” Nova asked her now.
Lady Koel’s usually composed face showed signs of stress for the first time. “Do not think for one moment that this is easy for me, Nova. To separate from my brother and thereby my father and mother and the rest of the Blaxlands… this is not a step I take lightly. But I have searched my mind and my heart, and I find that I have no other choice.” She turned to Asta. “Perhaps this was a mistake,” she said. “Perhaps you two would be better carrying this forward without me.”
“No!” Asta said, desperate not to lose an important ally. “We need you.”
Nova hesitated, then she extended her hand toward Lady Koel. “I apologize,” she said. “I have a deserved reputation for bluntness. But I am sure you understand why I had to put these questions to you.”
Lady Koel took her hand and shook it. “I do understand, Nova. If I were in your shoes, I would do exactly the same.”
Asta smiled and nodded, but when she glanced at Nova, she saw that the Falconer’s face was still clouded with worry.
“With the Paddenburg Ultimatum hanging over court like a deadly storm cloud, and Prince Jared venturing far from home…” Her eyes met Koel’s once more. “Your brother certainly has a gift for timing.”
Koel shrugged. “In truth, this comes from my father even more than my brother. Lord Viggo has been pushing Axel to make his move since before Anders’s body grew cold.” She met Nova’s inquiring eyes. “Axel may be the one embarking on this course of action, but our father has been propelling him in this direction for months, if not years.”
Nova nodded. “It’s hardly news that there is deep enmity between Lord Viggo and Queen Elin. Still, I had not thought it had come to this. It means that we are not only under attack from an external enemy, but from an insidious enemy within too.”
“The first thing we must do is consider the vote,” Asta said. “Axel had a clear sense of who would support him without question, namely Jonas, Morgan and—and I have to admit this puzzles me—Hal. There is no point in us expending time and energy working on those members of the Twelve.”
“Quite,” Koel agreed. “We risk Axel finding out if we do talk to the wrong person. The further we can progress without him knowing we are onto him, the better.”
“All the same,” Asta said, “I am confused by his certainty of Hal’s support. From everything I’ve seen with my own eyes, Hal seems to have gone out of his way to look after Prince Jared.”
Lady Koel shrugged again. “Asta, I fear that, in court, sometimes appearances can be deceptive.” She paused thoughtfully. “But, as the Bodyguard is currently with Prince Jared beyond the borders, for now let us focus our concerns on those remaining at court.”
Asta nodded. “That makes good sense to me. So we need to determine who we can definitely count on for support, and tip them off. And we need to make a plan with regard to those we identify as floating voters.”
“Agreed,” Nova said.
“You should know, Nova,” Asta continued, “that you are seen as a floating vote. Jonas plans to sway your opinion.”
Nova raised an eyebrow. “Let him do his best!” She walked away, as if their conversation were over.
Koel turned with a quizzical look to Asta. Asta shrugged. She at least had had the chance to grow used to the Falconer’s often strangely detached behavior.
“Don’t just stand there,” Nova called. “You’re supposed to be my allies!” She had seated herself at a low table, and was busily removing small items from a casket.
As Asta drew closer, she smiled in recognition. “The Game of the Gates,” she said. “Genius!”
“I’m not sure that I follow,” Koel admitted.
“It’s very simple,” Asta said, helping Nova to turn and sort the pieces until each member of the Twelve was represented by a single counter. “Here’s the Council of Twelve.” She took the counter bearing the Prince’s insignia and brought it up to the top left of the table. Next she located the Captain of the Guard’s token and placed it on the opposite side. “Now we have to determine who is on Team Jared and who is with Team Axel.”
Koel smiled, taking her own seat at the table. “Very good, ladies. Let’s begin.”
“All right, then,” Asta said, reaching a hand across the table. “This is the state of play, as it stands. Prince Jared needs seven votes to ensure his majority. Right now, by our calculations, he has three—if he and his retinue return in time for the vote.” She reached forward and drew the Huntsman’s tile down the table. “But only two if they do not. Nova’s and my own.”
“Meanwhile, we judge Axel already has three safe votes—which increases to four if Hal returns,” Koel noted.
Three pairs of eyes turned to the final column of gaming counters Nova had arranged on the table.
“There are six swing votes,” the Falconer announced.
Koel nodded. “Those are the people we need to work on.” She pulled back and smiled at the other two. “Ladies, I think we have a plan. And, best of all, my brother has no clue that we’re onto his poisonous little scheme.”
Nova grimaced. “Let’s do everything we can to keep it that way.”
Asta nodded, her eyes bright. After the earlier difficulties, it felt like their team had come together and that they could be a force to contend with. “It feels good to be one step ahead, doesn’t it?” she said.
Koel nodded and smiled slowly. “How about we increase the odds still further?”
Nova leaned back. “And how, pray, would we accomplish that?”
Koel smiled enigmatically before giving her answer.
“So, it has come to this.” The Queen brushed past Asta and Nova—it had been agreed that, for reasons of her own safety, Lady Koel would not accompany them—and walked on toward the window of her office. She pulled back the brocade curtain, glancing outside. “My mangy brother has finally summoned the nerve to make his bid for power after all these years.” Her tone remained level, whether from composure or from the fear of a servant overhearing her, Asta could not be sure. “How entirely predictable that he should do so just when the Princedom is vulnerable to attack.”
Queen Elin turned and sat down in the window seat, her head and shoulders framed by the golden light of the afternoon, reminding Asta of one of the religious paintings in the Village chapel. “Did anyone see you come to find me?”
“No one of note,” Nova answered. “
Perhaps one or two of the household guards.”
Queen Elin frowned. “We have to be more circumspect from now on. Who knows which of those guards might be feeding Axel and Viggo scraps of information about comings and goings?” She straightened her skirts with care. “I wonder if he plans to make his move even before my son returns.” Before either of them could offer their opinions on this, the Queen tossed fresh questions at them. “Who else does Axel think is already on his side?”
Asta and Nova exchanged a glance.
“Morgan Booth,” Nova said.
“Morgan?” For the first time in their interview, Queen Elin seemed perturbed.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Nova confirmed. “Morgan was there and, from what Asta and Lady Koel overheard, Axel can probably count upon the Executioner’s support.”
It was as if a chill wind had penetrated the room. “No,” Queen Elin said, her face glacial. “Morgan will not support Axel. You may be very sure about that.”
“That is one of the reasons we came to see you,” Nova told her now. “Asta and I have been assessing which of the Twelve is likely to vote for Prince Jared, which for Axel, and who the waverers are most likely to be. We feel our energies are best directed at the third category.”
Queen Elin nodded. “I concur.”
“We would place Morgan, whatever he has said, into that category. So one of us ought to talk to him.” Nova paused. “We felt that, on account of your special relationship—”
“I will talk to Morgan,” Queen Elin said briskly, rising from her seat.
“I don’t mean to be impertinent…,” Nova began. Queen Elin folded her arms as the Falconer continued. “But you will tread carefully with the Executioner, won’t you, Your Majesty? If he is indeed in Axel’s camp, we don’t want them to know how much we know.”
The color drained from Queen Elin’s face. “Please be assured that I appreciate the complexities of this situation,” she said. “And, from what I have observed so far, I might venture to suggest that I am somewhat better suited to this game than you are.” Her eyes were as hard as ice, her hands fists. “Leave the Executioner to me.”
Asta and Nova made to leave but the Queen’s voice stilled them in their tracks. “We must do our utmost to protect my niece in this. Lady Koel has taken a considerable risk in breaking from her venomous clan.” Queen Elin folded her arms tightly across her chest. “I was, regrettably, born a Blaxland. No one knows better than I how ruthless they are—even with their own. Especially with their own.”
SEVENTEEN
The Royal Bedchamber, the Black Palace, Paddenburg
LYDIA SURVEYED THE PIECES OF HER NEW GOLDEN armor, which had been laid out on the floor of her dressing room. It was vaguely disturbing to gaze down at the disconnected panels of metal: the greaves, which would encase the lower part of her legs; the poleyn, which would circle around each of her knees; the cuisse, which would soon compress her muscled thighs.
It was rather like looking at the broken remnants of a fallen goddess, she thought fancifully.
She crouched down to pick up the breastplate. It was a shock to view her reflection in its polished surface. The curve of the metal distorted her image horribly, elongating her head and neck, making her look deformed, monstrous. She knew it was simply a trick of the light on the convex surface but still, a sense of cold dread spiraled through her.
She realized her breathing had become unsteady again. Throughout the morning, it had seemed to her that her body was battling with the new current of energy building up within her. She set the breastplate back down among the rest of the armor and stumbled toward the open window, longing for a breath of cool air.
As she felt the cold winter breeze on her face, she reflected again on her agitated state of mind. Why, today of all days, should she feel this way? Today was, in so many ways, the day she had been waiting for—the day that would serve as a bridge from one truly extraordinary phase of her life to the even more glorious next. The bright morning sun would see her ride out from the palace at the head of the second movement of troops; by the time the sky glimmered once more with stars, she would not be in any doubt that her journey back to her beloved brother had begun.
Gazing out through the window, she could see far across the palace borders. She knew that with such fine weather, the riding would be good today. All things considered, her spirits should be soaring like the birds turning circles high above the courtyard. But how could her flagging spirits soar, when she knew that there was critical, unfinished business at the palace?
Behind her, she heard the door open and close. Assuming it to be her chambermaid coming to help her with the armor, she remained at the window. It was only as she smelled a musky cologne that she realized her visitor was Nikolai. Turning, she saw him surveying her armor.
“You should not be here,” she scolded. “And you might at least have left the door ajar, to demonstrate propriety.”
“I needed to talk to you, away from prying ears and eyes,” he said.
“Why?” she asked. “Is there bad news from the borders?”
“No,” he said. “Everything is proceeding according to plan out there.”
“What then?” she asked.
“What are you going to tell Henning and Ven?” he inquired. “About their father, I mean.”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Of course about Prince Leopold.”
“We have failed in our mission,” Nikolai said. “We were charged with making the two Princes’ rule legitimate before the attack on Archenfield reaches the next stage.”
She nodded. “In that case, we have not failed yet.”
Nikolai smiled. “You are preparing to dress in your armor, are you not? The army is already gathering outside the barracks. In two hours hence, you will be poised to depart. How do you propose to achieve the desired result between now and your imminent departure?”
Lydia took a slow inhalation of breath. “I will go and talk to Prince Leopold one more time before I depart.”
“I wish you luck,” Nikolai told her.
The door to her chamber opened. This time, it was her chambermaid.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Lady Lydia. I did not know you had company.”
“It’s quite all right,” Lydia told the startled girl. “Lord Nikolai was just admiring my new armor, but he has urgent business to attend to elsewhere.”
“Yes.” Nikolai nodded. “So I do. But I shall come and bid you and the troops a formal farewell, of course.”
Lydia’s maid stepped aside to allow him passage into the corridor. When he was gone, she turned to Lydia. “Well then, madam, shall I help you with your armor?”
“Actually,” Lydia told her, “I have to go and speak with Prince Leopold. I shall leave you to finish packing my things and meet you back here within the hour.”
“Very good, my lady.”
The girl’s voice quickly faded from Lydia’s mind as she bowed her head and made her way along the corridor, toward the Prince’s chamber. Before she could knock on the door, however, another maid dashed out.
“I came to speak to Prince Leopold,” Lydia told her.
“He isn’t here, Lady Lydia,” replied the girl agitatedly.
A jolt of unease throbbed through her. “But where else can he be? He hasn’t moved from his bed in months.” Her eyes met the servant’s. “Well? Out with it! Has the Prince simply evaporated?”
“No!” said the maid. “Far from it, my lady. No, he has taken it upon himself to visit the maze.”
“The maze?” Lydia was incredulous. “On his own?”
“He was quite insistent,” the maid told her. “It always was one of his favorite places. He used to spend hours there, chasing—”
Lydia turned on her heel and strode back along the corridor, toward the main stairwell. She took the stairs two at a time and then strode across the marble hall toward the doors leading out into the garden. She said nothing to the guards who opened the doors for her, stepping out into the cool ai
r and finding herself surprised by the warmth of the winter sun.
Before her stood the maze, in all its glory. She thought once more of Henning and Ven on the road to Archenfield; she thought of Logan waiting for her on the other side of the border: she knew that time was running out, along with her options. Taking a breath, she stepped into the maze, from the light world outside into an enclosure of deep, devouring green.
“Prince Leopold, where are you?” she called, her voice echoing on the winter wind.
Lydia made her way through the looping entrails of the maze. There was a tale of a visiting royal who’d once become lost in its embrace, found dead the next morning. Lydia had been following its green corridors for long moments now, with no one answering her calls but, as she turned a corner, she finally heard singing. She paused. It was a childlike voice, singing a nursery rhyme of some sort. It had to be him. She just needed to work out which direction the sound was coming from and then track it down.
But identifying the location of the singer proved a good deal more straightforward than getting to him. The maze kept turning her around on herself and, just when she thought she was close, she realized she had been cunningly led away in another direction. Now she could no longer even hear the singing. As she started to fear that she might be trapped in the maze, Lydia found herself wondering darkly if this might have been Leopold’s intention all along: the men of Paddenburg—how they enjoyed their games.
She thought of Nikolai. As the Prince Regent while Henning and Ven secured the annexation of Archenfield, he would have considerable power, if only for a short time. By rights, he ought to be the one feeling his way through the maze—if he failed to gain Leopold’s signature on the decree devolving power to Henning and Ven, then, in turn, the decree granting Nikolai the powers of Prince Regent was utterly worthless. Feeling anger pulse through her, Lydia turned a corner. And then, at last, she came upon old Leopold, sitting on a bench and waving her over to join him.