Removing his finger, he placed it back down on the Princedom immediately north of Archenfield. “And here’s the warmonger Eronesia and”—his finger skated east again—“its erstwhile ally, Schloss.” Axel turned to meet Jared’s eyes. “Frankly, you can forget about alliances with any of these territories.”
Jared frowned—so far, he wasn’t finding Axel’s briefing very motivating.
“You need to focus your attention here,” Axel said, moving his finger to the right of Schloss. “Here you have the three smaller territories of”—his finger continued to travel as he spoke each name in turn—“Baltiska, Rednow and Larsson.” He tapped the map again. “These are the courts you need to visit, to plead your cases with Ciprian, Rohan and Séverin.”
Jared’s eyes narrowed upon the three Princedoms under discussion. “They all share the same river with us… and with Woodlark.”
“Good observation,” Axel said, nodding. “And if you’re asking my advice, I would offer them an alliance of four river territories.” He turned and stepped away, leaving Jared staring at the map. “These three smaller Princedoms have the most to lose from the expansionist ambitions of the bigger territories—whether it is Paddenburg or Woodlark pushing out from the south, or Eronesia and Schloss from the west. Archenfield is twice the size of each of the three and it would certainly play well for you to remind them of this. You can even play up our own fears if you wish. If Archenfield were to be conquered, then Baltiska would become vulnerable next, whether from Paddenburg or from a renewed alliance between Eronesia and Schloss.” He returned to Jared’s side, the stench of aquavit on his breath. “Either way, if we fall, then the whole house of cards begins to collapse.”
Jared nodded, both fearful of Axel’s words—as sour as the scent on his tongue—but also exhilarated at the challenge. It was just as Asta had said: his confidence was returning. “So I should begin in Baltiska and work my way east?”
Axel cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Prince Ciprian is a loose cannon. You’d be better advised to start with Rohan in Rednow, and entreat his help with his two neighbors. We’ve been on good terms with Rohan for the most part, so I’d be surprised if he didn’t play ball. You’ll enjoy his palace too, I think—it’s nothing at all like ours, but still rather wonderful.”
Jared turned. He could see the pleasure Axel took in knowing things that he did not. But those tables could be turned just as easily.
“I will take your advice and entreat Prince Rohan. But, before him, my first port of call will be Woodlark.”
Axel, who had just taken a fresh sip of liquor, spat it out on the floor. “You have got to be joking! Don’t waste your precious time throwing yourself to the lioness Francesca!”
“I appreciate your opinion,” Jared continued, satisfied that his news had unsettled Axel, as he’d hoped it might, “but I intend to petition Queen Francesca to reinstate our former alliance.” He returned his glance to the map. “Woodlark is such a large, strategically positioned territory that I cannot resign myself to letting go of the possibility of a renewed alliance.”
Axel shook his head. “I think you’re mad, but I know of old that when a Wynyard man makes up his mind, it’s not worth the time or pain to try to change it.” He paced back toward his desk. “Let’s revisit this list of yours again.” Jared turned as Axel lifted his scant note. “Kai Jagger. Well, of course you’d want the Huntsman at your side to defend you from man and beast and, if you should be away for longer than you intend, to provide food.”
Jared nodded. There had never been any question in his mind that he’d take Kai with him.
“Hal Harness,” Axel continued. “Yes, yes, of course you’d have to take your Bodyguard. You know you can trust Hal in any situation.” He glanced up at Jared thoughtfully. “But, if I might make a suggestion, take a second guard. Bram Gentle would be my recommendation. He’s a gangly youth but vicious as a baited bear when he needs to be.”
Jared hesitated. He had wanted to keep the numbers as small as possible, but perhaps one extra member of the guard wasn’t a bad idea. “I’ll talk to Hal about him,” he agreed.
Axel nodded agreeably. “You know, Cousin, I half expected to see another name on this list of yours.”
“You did?”
“Yes.” Axel’s lips curved up into a smile. “Asta Peck.”
“Ah,” Jared said, returning the smile. “Asta. Well, yes, I did want to talk to you about Asta. I’ve had some interesting thoughts about her.”
“I’m sure you have, Cousin,” Axel said, his eyes dancing with light once more. “I’m sure you have.”
SIX DAYS UNTIL INVASION…
FIVE
The Prince’s Dressing Chamber, the Palace, Archenfield
PRINCE JARED STOOD BEFORE HIS LOOKING GLASS. Outside, he could hear the noise of the people massing in the palace grounds and the stewards keeping them firmly but good-naturedly under control. This was the third trip to the palace for the citizens of Archenfield in little more than two weeks: first, to hear with their own ears the news of Prince Anders’s assassination and to glimpse Anders’s successor, and then to claim a front view of the funeral procession. Only members of the court would be permitted into the Palace Chapel for the afternoon coronation ceremony, to witness the moment when the Prince’s Crown was placed on Jared’s head. As important as that moment was, arguably it would be eclipsed by Prince Jared’s subsequent arrival on the palace balcony as he greeted the citizens of Archenfield for the first time as their crowned Prince.
He stared dispassionately at his face in the mirror. Recently, each time he glanced at his reflection, his features seemed to have undergone a subtle but significant metamorphosis. He wanted to try to remember the way he looked that afternoon, if only to ask himself the next time he looked in the mirror if anything had truly changed. Would the coronation imbue him with a new sense of… what? Authority? Gravitas? Royalty? Was it even possible to trace such qualities in one’s own face, when one knew all too well the frailties lurking just beneath the skin?
“Someone to see you, Your Majesty.” Hal’s head poked through the chamber door, then disappeared again as he made way for the Prince’s visitor.
His brother strode into the room. Prince Edvin looked utterly transformed in his robes of state. His appearance gave Jared a deep jolt. Edvin and Anders had always looked remarkably similar; now it was as though Jared’s dead brother had risen from the dead, a hundred thousand flakes of ash reuniting until they alchemically became glorious flesh once more. As Edvin opened his long arms to fold him into an embrace, Jared closed his eyes, unable to shake the notion that his dead brother had returned from his own Valhalla to wish him well as his successor.
“What’s the matter?” Edvin asked. “There are tears in your eyes.”
“I was thinking of Anders,” Jared said, opening his eyes again. “You remind me of him.”
Edvin smiled tenderly and shook his handsome head. “Don’t do that,” he said. “Today is your day, Jared. Own it. Savor it.”
It was just the kind of thing Asta might have said.
“I really ought to wear ermine more often, don’t you think?” Edvin said now, twirling around to give Jared the full effect of his cloak.
Jared laughed at the sight of his brother deliberately playing the fool. “Just a piece of advice,” he said. “I would strongly suggest that you don’t give in to your inclination toward pantomime when we’re out on the balcony.”
Edvin grinned. “It would almost be worth it, if only to see Mother’s reaction.”
“No,” Jared said huskily. “Let her have faith that at least one of her surviving sons might one day make her proud.”
Edvin was quick to respond to the bait. “Yes, I heard things had grown a tad frosty between you two.”
“From her?” Jared inquired.
Edvin shook his head. “I have other, ah, sources in the Queen’s Chamber,” he said.
“Do you, indeed? Well, I don’t
think I want to know anything more about that.”
“And nor do I intend to tell you.” Edvin smiled again. “All I’ll say is that if you had only told our dear mother that she was not, in fact, going on her trip a little sooner, you would have spared a lot of frenzied packing and unpacking.”
Jared chuckled lightly. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”
Edvin sighed and when he spoke next, his voice had acquired a new edge and urgency. “So I’m just going to get straight to the point here… I want to come on this quest of yours.”
“It’s not a quest,” Jared said vehemently. “It’s a mission.” His voice grew more measured. “I wondered if perhaps that’s where this was leading.”
“You have to agree I’d be a tremendous asset,” Edvin forged on. “First, I’m miles better with the crossbow than you are. I understand you have Kai along for the ride, and Hal of course, and that new bodyguard with the rather inappropriate name, but you can always use more muscle.” He paused to tense his biceps before breezing on. “Second, I am irrefutably more charming than you. I think we can agree I would cut quite a swath through foreign courts, especially—but not exclusively—when there are females involved in the negotiations. And third, and perhaps most important, I can guarantee I would keep your morale boosted in a way no one you currently have on your list will.”
Jared waited to see if Edvin had any additional ways to bolster his case. It appeared not.
“Come on,” Edvin said, giving his most winning smile. “You know it makes sense.”
Jared smiled back. “I’m touched by this, really I am.”
“Don’t be touched, brother. Just give me an official commission or whatever passes for protocol in these situations now—”
“I’m greatly touched,” Jared continued, stepping closer to his brother. “But I’m afraid I cannot take you with me.”
Edvin frowned. “Please explain.”
“I should have come to see you myself,” Jared said. “Because I want you to know that I did think about this, long and hard.” He could see the surprise in Edvin’s face and was glad to have the chance to explain. “You’re right—you would boost my spirits on the journey. There’s no question of that. And as far as the ladies go, well, yes, I probably could broker at least one alliance based on my offering you up for a royal marriage—”
“Steady on!” Edvin recoiled. “I said I’d charm them, not marry them!”
“As for your talent with crossbows,” Jared continued, “well, it’s true you are gifted in that area. But, actually, Kai and I have been working daily on my own skill. We’ll be fine. I need you to stay here, safe. If anything happens to me…”
He didn’t have to finish his sentence: the look in his brother’s eyes told him he understood that Jared needed him to be alive and ready to play his part, should anything happen to the Prince.
Outside, they could hear the chiming of the Bodyguard’s Bell. Before the nine chimes had finished, there was a knock at the door and, perfectly on cue, Hal appeared in the Prince’s chamber. He waited patiently for the bell to subside before speaking. “It’s time,” he said.
Edvin straightened his ermine cloak. “Come on, brother,” he said to Jared. “Let’s get out of here and make you official!”
Which, out of the many vivid details of his coronation, would he carry with him forever? Jared wondered. The sweet smell of burning incense as he entered the Palace Chapel? The purity of the choral voices as he walked down the nave toward the altar? The face of his mother watching closely as, helped with his long robe by Edvin, Jared took his seat on the Prince’s Chair? The ancient gold cloth woven centuries before, and still as lustrous as sunlight, which covered the chair? The face of Asta Peck? The lingering scent of shaving soap on Father Simeon’s cheek as the Priest leaned in to ask if he was ready? The pervasive sense of ritual that connected him back to each of the priests and princes who had occupied their places there before?
But for Prince Jared, his coronation was to become distilled into one single moment: Axel, his chosen Edling, standing before him, in his hands the Prince’s Crown. It was, at close range, a fearsome thing: shaped like a soldier’s helmet in burnished blue steel, around the base of the crown was a leather band, riveted there with twelve gold bolts—each of them polished to a mirror shine—signifying the Council of Twelve and the Prince’s responsibility to the Twelve. Midway up the helmet was a broader band of leather, studded with four gold engravings of a dragon—the symbol of the Wynyard family. Between the engravings, stitched into the leather band itself, were the marks for north, east, south and west—demarcating the responsibilities of the Prince to the farthest reach of each of the borders. Welded to the top of the helmet was a golden rendering of a stag’s head—paying tribute to the very beginnings of Archenfield and to Jared’s most distant ancestors, who had been crowned with—There but by the grace of God, go I—the actual head of a slaughtered stag, antlers and all. Sitting on the Prince’s Chair, his senses suffused by the wafting incense smoke and transported by the beautiful singing, Jared had looked up into the wide engraved eyes of the stag. He thought back to the stag hunt of only two weeks before, which had ended not only in ignominy but with the news that his brother was dead and that he would now ascend the throne. Jared felt as if everything was circling about one moment. He lifted his gaze from the eyes of the stag to those of his cousin Axel, standing above him. Axel looked solemn, distant. Jared wondered if he was imagining that it was he and not Jared who sat in the Prince’s Chair; that it was his own Edling who stood before him, ready to crown his head with the ancient blue-steel helmet.
Suddenly, there was a moment of utter silence and stillness. Father Simeon had addressed Jared and he had given his answer. Then Axel stepped forward, his eyes meeting Jared’s at last. Axel raised the crown high above the Prince’s head, so that all in the chapel could see the ancient artifact. Then, in one slow, steady movement, he brought it down to rest on Jared’s head.
Nothing had prepared Jared for the weight of the crown. His first thought was that Axel was ramming it down on his head, but then he saw Axel stepping away, the Edling’s role in the ceremony complete. Father Simeon, too, stood back, smiling benignly at him as Jared felt the pressure of the crown bearing down upon his skull and neck.
Everything came into focus. This was the true meaning of being the Prince of All Archenfield—this burden that he and only he could bear. The message, passed down the line of his forebears through the medium of the crown, could not have been any clearer if the princes had risen in unity from the Burning Place at the edge of the fjord to come and whisper their secrets in his ears: “You might have a Council of Twelve to advise and support you. You might have the gift of glorious lands encompassing fjords, mountains and forest. But, ultimately, being the ruler means bearing this weight alone.”
Father Simeon was gesturing to him now. Jared knew that he wanted him to stand up. Summoning all his strength, gripping the arms of the Prince’s Chair and pressing his hands down upon them, Prince Jared, new ruler of Archenfield, rose to his feet.
Jared began the slow walk back down the nave, toward the chapel doors. He was more aware than ever of the immense mass of the crown, pressing into his temples, and walked more carefully than he had ever walked before. The Prince’s steps were accompanied by a fanfare of trumpets, which heralded fresh, jubilant singing from the choir. Jared was aware of all the courtiers’ faces directed toward him, their eyes wide with expectation. Few princes could have been crowned at such a dark moment in Archenfield’s history, but Prince Jared could see that somehow the ancient coronation ceremony had delivered them new hope. It was down to him and him alone to make good on that promise. His father and brother had devoted their lives to serving the people. Now it was his turn.
Feeling renewed strength, Prince Jared walked out to greet his people from the palace balcony. As he left the sanctum of the Palace Chapel behind, the trumpet fanfare was drowned out by the cheers of the expectant crow
d. He looked at the faces turned up to him and waved his hand to them. More cheers erupted and, just for a moment, Jared was able to forget the terrible deadline he’d set to save his kingdom.
In six short days, either these would still be his people, or… Jared tried not to shudder.
The alternative was not worth thinking about.
SIX
The Captain of the Guard’s Villa, the Village of the Twelve, Archenfield
AXEL BLAXLAND GAZED INTO HIS GLASS TUMBLER, filled almost to the brim with aquavit. Returning from the palace to his mansion in the village, he had found the drawing room prepared for him—the fire drawing well, the lamps lit—just as it always was in the hours following dusk. Closing the door with a force surprising even to himself, he had swiftly extinguished each of the lamps, needing not only solitude but also the comforting embrace of darkness. But the servants had been remiss in one aspect of duty in failing to fully draw together the room’s heavy curtains: a rogue shaft of moonlight cut across Axel’s shoulder and bisected the polished table in front of him like a dagger.
There was a sudden clamor on the other side of the door. He heard footsteps on the flagstones, then the opening of the mansion’s main door and voices.
“He’s not in here, the room is in darkness!” His father, Lord Viggo, stood at the threshold, a dark silhouette against the light of the hallway.
“I am here,” he said, rising from his seat.
Axel’s mother, Lady Stella, and his sister, Lady Koel, joined him and his father in the room.
“Well,” Axel said, with soft resignation, “I see the whole family has come for an after-hours visit.”
“Light!” Lord Viggo’s voice boomed. “Let’s have some light in here!”
Axel’s head steward arrived at the threshold to the room but hovered there for a moment, evidently unsure which Blaxland he should be taking his orders from.