“Yes, fine,” Axel told him. “You may light the lamps.” He turned to his female visitors. “I know Father will be happy slugging back my aquavit, but can I have anything brought for you from the kitchens? Some tea or warm milk, perhaps?”
Lady Stella nodded. “Some tea would be very nice, thank you, Axel.”
Axel gave a nod to his steward and the servant left the room. Then he turned back to his family. “Please,” he said, “make yourselves comfortable. I’m sorry I was not more welcoming. I was not expecting visitors.”
“Do you often sit here in the dark?” Koel asked.
Axel did not answer. Instead, he reached for his glass.
“Well,” his father said, taking a seat. “Quite a day, eh? Quite a day! Archenfield crowns its new Prince.”
“If you have come to reflect, blow by blow, on the coronation ceremony, I’m not in the mood,” Axel told his father.
Lord Viggo chuckled. “No, my son, I have no interest in that. I suppose the ladies might be keen to discuss the fashions and so forth…” This comment, typical of Viggo Blaxland, was met by three pairs of disdainful eyes. “No? Well, that isn’t why we have come.” He took a sip of his drink, then resumed in a more energetic tone. “Things have reached an interesting pass, you must agree. I have come—we have come—to discuss what happens next.”
Axel’s eyes felt heavy. He could feel the familiar overture to a pressure headache and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go on,” he said. He knew from experience that it was best to force his father to the point.
Lord Viggo glanced toward the door, checking that there were no servants in earshot. “This is the moment we have been waiting for. The Wynyards have never been so weak. Now is ripe for you to make your move and seize power.”
As Axel turned to address his father, he noticed that Koel was watching him with those intense, feline eyes of hers.
“As Captain of the Guard,” Axel said, “it is my responsibility to defend the Princedom against this fresh attack from Paddenburg. It would be a dire enough situation even without the Prince throwing obstacles in my way.”
“You mean by refusing to declare open enmity with Paddenburg?” his mother said, her voice cool as the waters of the fjord.
Axel nodded. “Yes. But his mind is changeable. Yesterday, when the ultimatum arrived, we talked immediately about the necessity of acting swiftly and in the most decisive terms—in other words, taking war to Paddenburg before they deliver it to us.” He sighed. “But then, at the meeting of the Twelve, where we are supposed to ratify the decision to go to war, he tells us that no, he is intent upon forging alliances that he hopes will eliminate the hostilities even before they commence.”
“It is a noble aim,” Lady Stella pronounced, “though surely a misguided one.”
Koel nodded. “How on earth does Prince Jared think he can forge the necessary alliances in less than one week?”
Axel shrugged. “I agree with both of you. But Jared’s been down blind alleys before.” He leaned toward them. “I argued from the very beginning that Prince Anders was assassinated for political reasons. And so it proved. But Jared, urged on by his little friend…”
“Asta,” Koel added. “The Physician’s apprentice.”
Axel nodded. “The two of them somehow convinced themselves that no, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, Anders’s murder was a crime of passion. And so they embarked on a dangerous diversion that almost cost each of them their lives.”
“To be fair,” Koel broke in, “it was true that Prince Anders was having a reckless affair.”
Axel slammed his glass down more forcefully than he had intended. “So, a prince cheats on his wife? It wasn’t that reckless, Koel. Believe me, it was not without precedent in the palace of Archenfield. But the fact that this Asta seems to wield some influence on Jared—a greater influence than I or even Queen Elin—is troubling. Especially when the future of Archenfield rests on his actions…”
“No!” Lord Viggo cried, rising to his feet. “That’s just the point! The future of Archenfield no longer depends on Jared Wynyard’s actions.” He moved toward Axel. “This nation’s future depends on you and what you do next.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand why you fail to see that the power is there in front of you. You just have to learn to seize it!”
Axel had risen to his feet also. “I told you before, Father—I am neither a fool nor a procrastinator, but the facts are simple. This is not the time for me to distract myself, or others, with a coup d’état. My first and foremost duty is to make safe the Princedom, whatever expedition my cousin has decided to embark on. Somehow I have to find a way to give him his head and let him ride across the borders with his chosen fellows while I ready the troops for the hellhounds the twin Princes of Paddenburg will let loose upon us six days from now!” He let out a strangulated cry of frustration. “I could work alongside Prince Goran,” he continued. “Even Prince Anders was fairly straightforward. I don’t know what it is about this sixteen-year-old boy, but I find him impossible.”
His confession was met by silence. Then his father spoke.
“Neutralize him.”
“What?” Axel’s eyes met his father’s.
“If Prince Jared is such a thorn in your side, remove him.” Lord Viggo reached for Axel’s shoulder. “You need to change the way you see this situation.” He gave his son’s shoulder a little shake. “You think you and I are poles apart, my son, but we’re not.”
“Perhaps not,” Axel conceded. “But I can’t contend with this external threat to our nation and launch a plot to overthrow the Prince.” He looked at his father with exasperation. “You were just the same when I was dealing with the investigation into Anders’s assassination, telling me then it was the time to strike. Father, I know how ambitious you are—for me and for our family. I’m ambitious too. But you have to let me handle these crises in my way.” He lowered his voice. “And be assured that as soon as things are settled, I will deal with Prince Jared. In my way.”
“But you are thinking about this all wrong!” his father insisted. “It’s just these moments of crisis—when Jared is so wrong-footed—that are the very times to take action against him. You already missed one powerful opportunity, during the investigation, to embarrass him.” Lord Viggo’s eyes narrowed. “And you even rushed to his aid when Wilde plunged his dagger into him during the funeral procession…”
“Yes,” Axel acknowledged with a shrug. “And in doing so, gained his trust and that of those closest to him—those who might perhaps before have doubted my intent. Should I not have done that, Father?”
It was Lord Viggo’s turn to shrug. “You could have waited a moment or two longer, so that he bled out a bit more.”
Axel shook his head, smiling. “How unusual… you of all people to advocate waiting.”
Lord Viggo swept his hand through the air as if swatting away a horsefly. “We’re getting away from the point. You need to act right now, and take advantage of a weakened Jared, to assert your rival claim to the throne.” He stepped closer to Axel, his eyes surveying his son with confusion. “What’s holding you back? I’m starting to think you’re actually scared of power.” His tone became crueler. “I’m starting to think that all these years we’ve spent preparing you for glory have been a poor investment.” He shook Axel hard by the shoulder before releasing him. “Our time would have been better spent looking to your sister.”
Axel was too angry to speak. Furious, he threw his glance toward his sister, and noticed that she was grimacing, as though she shared his ire. Axel turned back, slowly, toward his father’s livid face. “I did not invite you into my house tonight,” he said, his voice as cold as the fjord in winter. “And you are not a welcome guest. I am going for a walk. When I return, I expect to find you gone.” Head down, Axel strode out of the room.
“Axel, wait!” Koel called after her brother. It was no joke trying to pursue him across the dense lawn of his garden, encumbered as sh
e was by long skirts and dainty shoes.
He stopped and turned half toward her, his face bathed in moonlight.
“I know you are angry,” she said carefully. “And you have every right to be. I see the way our father piles pressure upon you, and at the most ill-judged times.”
Axel shrugged. “I can deal with Viggo. I’ll make things happen in my own time and my own way.”
“I know that,” Koel said. “I have never doubted your abilities.”
Axel observed her curiously. “What exactly do you want, sister? Lately, you’ve taken to following me around like a dog. Wherever I turn, I find you hard on my heels.” He frowned. “I don’t need this. I’m beginning to feel suffocated.”
It was her turn to frown. “Believe me, that is not my intention. I simply want to help you. I believe I can. But you always push me away. I’m not a child, Axel. I know how things work. Let me help.”
He sighed. “I have told you before. I do not want—or need—your help. You have beautiful, wide eyes, sister. Open them and look around you.” The smile evaporated. “I have people close at hand to help me. I have good friends and unfailing allies on the Twelve. I have my deputy, Elliot, and the rest of my teams. I have all the support I need. What I don’t need is this constant interference from my family. I am keenly aware that the pressure is on me. It always has been. Our father wants me to claim power in order to satisfy his own frustrated appetite.”
Koel nodded, her agile mind more than keeping pace. “You’re right, of course.” She gazed up at him. “You wouldn’t resist power just to defy him, would you?”
Axel pursed his lips. “You’re no better than he is, Koel, whatever your protestations to the contrary. You have the same one-track mind; you pose the same needling questions. I don’t need it from him and I won’t take it from you! It’s time you start living your own life and cease interfering in mine. We’re not allies. I hold an inordinate amount of power in this Princedom. You hold none.”
His words cut her deeper than she would let him see. Koel was used to being pushed away by her brother, but never had he used such direct or brutal words.
Axel hesitated for a moment. Feeling flushed and queasy, Koel wondered if he might be about to attempt to draw her into a patronizing embrace. That was the last thing she wanted. She folded her arms tightly, drawing herself together, and let out a breath into the chill air. It was a relief when he turned and walked away. She watched her brother’s silhouette blend into the shadows of the hedges and ivy-clad walls. Within moments, his form was lost.
She began her own walk back toward the lights of Axel’s mansion. She was keenly aware that her parents would be waiting for her report. She must compose herself, but Axel’s vicious words echoed in her head, repeating and layering themselves, like a peal of bells: “I hold an inordinate amount of power… You hold none.”
“No!” she cried, her outburst causing an owl to take startled flight from the hollow of a tree in which it had been resting. Koel watched its wings beat its path of retreat and suddenly felt a certain sense of satisfaction. Her brother might not believe that she wielded any power; her father—perhaps her mother too—might suffer from the same delusions. But she would make them all see. If there was one thing she had learned from observing the workings of court, there were some to whom power was given—often for no discernible reason—and others who were driven to claim power for themselves. She knew which camp she belonged to.
SEVEN
The Physician’s House, the Village of the Twelve, Archenfield
“IT’S YOUR PLAY, ASTA,” NOVA REMINDED HER.
“I know,” Asta said, glancing up guiltily.
Nova smiled softly and lifted the cup of herb tea to her lips. A spiral of steam rose over the Falconer’s strikingly beautiful features. She glanced back down at the serried faces of the tiles on the rack in front of her. Elias and Nova had also succeeded in collecting sets of similarly patterned tiles and laid them down in front of their own racks. Elias had two quartets, one of the Huntsman, the other of the Beekeeper, and a trio of—and this had pleased him greatly of course—the Physician. Nova had two trios—the Bodyguard and also the Huntsman—but had in addition achieved an “honor quartet” with the four highly valuable Season tiles. Meanwhile, Asta herself had laid down only one trio so far—the Edling—and, judging by the eclectic assortment of tiles in her rack, would not be laying claim to further points anytime soon.
“I’m very grateful, Nova,” Elias said, “that you were able to come and join us this evening. It’s been an age since I dusted off my set of gaming tiles and, of course, you need a minimum of three to play.”
Nova smiled, setting down her cup. “It’s my pleasure, Elias. But I rather suspect that your true motive in asking me over was to see how my recovery was proceeding.”
Elias flushed slightly. “No, of course… well, all right. Perhaps.”
Asta smiled. Her uncle was saved any further embarrassment by a brisk knocking on the front door. Grateful for the diversion from her move, Asta jumped out of her seat and darted into the hallway. She opened the door to find Prince Jared standing on the threshold. As ever, Hal Harness stood a few steps behind him.
“Good evening, Asta,” Prince Jared said. “May we come in?”
“Yes, of course!” She nodded.
Asta led the Prince and his Bodyguard through the hallway and into the parlor, where the others were still seated on either side of the gaming table.
Elias began scrambling up to his feet.
“No, no, Elias. There’s no need to get up,” Prince Jared said. His eyes ranged across the array of tiles. “Ah, the Game of the Gates,” he said with twinkling eyes.
“Feel free to take over my hand,” Asta said. “I don’t think I have a knack for this at all.”
The Prince smiled. “I’m sure that’s not true.” His smile was only fleeting.
Asta knew Prince Jared’s face well enough by now to see the blend of disquiet and purpose swimming below the surface of his handsome features. “I’m sorry to call upon you late in the evening,” the Prince said, his voice a touch more formal, “but there’s a matter of court business too pressing to wait until morning.”
Elias nodded, pushing back his chair and drawing himself upright. “Of course,” he said. “Perhaps you would prefer to speak to Nova and me in private?”
Prince Jared looked suddenly sheepish. “I’m sorry. I should have been clearer. It’s actually Asta I came to see.”
Elias and Nova turned to look at her; Asta was aware of her face reddening. Elias hovered awkwardly midway between standing and sitting. “Nova and I can leave—”
Nova nodded, but Asta broke in. “There’s no need for you to abandon the game or your drinks.” She turned toward their visitor. “That is, if Prince Jared is happy to step out into the Physic Garden with me? The full moon will light our way.”
The Prince gave a nod. “Of course,” he said. “Lead on!”
Stepping through the pair of doors into the garden, Asta felt the bracing chill of the night air on her face and regretted not fetching a warmer item of clothing on her way out.
“You’re shivering,” Prince Jared said, close at her side, his jacket already in his hands.
Jared’s woolen jacket warmed her, as did the thought that, only moments before, it had been pressed close to his own body. Asta glanced up into Jared’s face and, finding this somehow too intimate a connection, quickly looked past him. She noted Hal, standing at a discreet remove from them close by the house. The Prince had crouched down to examine one of Elias’s neatly ordered herb beds. Intrigued, Asta walked over to join him, dropping down at his side.
Jared surveyed the plot, then looked more closely at a plant over on his other side. It had lacy, blue-green leaves. She watched as the Prince carefully broke off a sprig from it, then lifted it to his nose. She smiled at the expression he pulled and the speed with which he snatched the herb away. “That is… pungent!” he gasped, offering
it to her.
Asta accepted it with a laugh. “Pungent is a polite way to describe it. But as bad as it smells, this is one of the most powerful plants in my uncle’s arsenal. It’s rue. It’s thought to be the antidote to all kinds of poisons.” Her words trailed off as she saw the color rapidly drain from the Prince’s face. Asta chided herself for her lack of sensitivity.
Jared rose to his feet. Asta drew herself up, half tempted to discard the foul-smelling rue but, on second thought, slipped it into her pocket.
“Time isn’t on our side,” Jared said, “and there is an important matter I must talk to you about.”
Her eyes locked onto his as he continued. “Perhaps you know by now that I took your advice. Tomorrow, I embark on a mission to recruit allies from some of our neighboring states. Much against the advice of my mother, Cousin Axel and a good many of the Council of Twelve, I might add.”
She nodded. “I’m glad you came to this conclusion, though I shall miss you and worry about you until you return. But, Prince Jared, I didn’t advise you to go any more than I did to stay. All I did was encourage you to see there were multiple possible actions you could take.”
He smiled at her, and for a moment she wondered if he felt she was trying to duck out of responsibility—which she certainly wasn’t. “How carefully you choose your words,” he said. “That should come in handy.” His gaze intensified. “Asta, I wish to appoint you as the new Poet.”
This was too much. She must have crossed from reality into a dream state. There could be no possible way that he was asking her to join the Twelve.
“I want you as Logan Wilde’s replacement.”
Asta shook her head. “The Poet is one of the most pivotal positions in court. I have no training.”
“That’s of little concern to me,” Jared said defiantly. “Logan Wilde had plenty of training, and look what a multitude of benefits we reaped from his appointment! What I want from my Poet is honesty, and a voice that resonates with the people.”