She curtsied before him, then took the limp, papery hand on which he still wore his obsidian ring—the sole visible remnant of his authority—and lifted it to her lips. “Your Majesty, I am your humble servant.”
The crepey skin around Leopold’s eyes crinkled. “A woman such as you is nobody’s servant.”
She nodded gracefully, letting go of his hand and moving aside to allow Nikolai access.
“It is Nikolai, Prince Leopold,” he said, bowing low before him.
“Yes, yes,” Leopold answered. “Do you think I cannot recognize my own nephew after all this time?”
Nikolai kissed his uncle’s ring, then drew himself up to his full height. “You have returned to us, after so many weeks in the wilderness, as sharp as my saber.”
Leopold nodded, patting the side of the bed. “Come, Lydia, take a seat here beside me.” The old Prince’s eyes—a watered-down echo of Henning’s—met hers.
Lydia settled herself on the edge of the bed. The Prince reached out his hand again and she held it gently.
He gave her hand a faint squeeze. The father’s actions were a pale imitation of his son’s. Lydia thought of Henning and tried to push the thought away.
As if sensing her discomfort, Nikolai piped up. “Uncle, I gather from Magda you were asking for Henning and Ven.”
“Oh, yes. Where are they? I want to talk to them.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Nikolai began. “They rode out from the palace early this morning—”
“What kind of business has taken both my sons away from the palace?” Leopold asked. His voice was clearer now, more authoritative.
“Here, let me make you more comfortable,” Lydia said. Letting go of his hand, she reached forward to rearrange his pillows.
“What business?” Leopold repeated. “How long are they gone for?”
“A day or two,” Lydia answered. It scarcely mattered that in two days’ time—assuming he was still alive—he would discover this was a lie.
“Prince Leopold.” As Nikolai spoke, Lydia watched him walk toward the bed. “Do you know how ill you have been? How close we feared you might be to… the end?”
The Prince looked vacant for a moment, then shook his head.
“You have been very sick, dearest uncle,” Nikolai said. “For several months, you have been confined to this chamber.”
Leopold’s eyes clamped shut for a moment. Lydia glanced nervously toward Nikolai.
“In all these months, Prince Leopold, your sons have been running the Princedom most ably on your behalf,” Nikolai pressed on. “When they return, they will be delighted to see you making these first steps toward recovery. But they will worry that any unwanted pressure, any stress, might—”
“What is it that you want, Nikolai?” Leopold asked.
“What I want, what we all want, is for you to make a full recovery and to live out the rest of your days in the bosom of your family and the heart of the Princedom. We want those days, which I hope will be numerous, to be light and unburdened with the business of running Paddenburg.”
Leopold gave a dry little laugh.
“And so,” Nikolai continued, “if you would just sign your name on this document we have prepared, you will officially pass on the duty of rule—jointly—to your two sons. And, after all these years of care, you will be free to let go of the reins you have held for so long.” He set the decree down on the bedclothes, unfurled the parchment and slipped the pen into the Prince’s hand.
Leopold’s eyes turned toward his water glass, and Lydia brought it to his lips. He took a draught, then nodded and wiped away the excess with his liver-spotted hand. “My days will be free, you say?” he resumed, clear as a bell.
Nikolai smiled. “You can do just as you please, Uncle Leopold, safe in the knowledge that your heavy labor here is done and that your two sons, and those they command, will continue your glorious legacy.”
Anxiety coursed through Lydia’s body, and she held her breath as Leopold nodded, then lifted his hand. “Yes, yes, I see the shape of all this.”
The pen remained in his hand. He made no move to remove the cap. Instead, he looked past his visitors toward the window.
Nikolai reached across the bed. “Well, then,” he said, removing the cap from the pen. “Shall I find something to prop this document upon so that it’s easier for you to sign your name?”
“No, Nikolai. It is my express wish that you go now… and leave me with Lydia.”
Nikolai frowned. Lydia held her nerve. Somehow, deep in her core, she had always known that she would be the one to take control of this.
“Please do as the Prince requests,” she said to Nikolai, surprised at how casual the words sounded.
Shrugging, Nikolai strode out of the room. Leopold waited until the door closed before addressing Lydia.
“I see what is happening here,” he said. He smiled, gazing intently upon her. “I see how easily frustrated my nephew grows with me. I see how my sons have worked upon him to do their bidding.”
“No—”
“Please!” Leopold said. “My sons have decided it is time to take the reins from me,” he said. “I knew, of course, this time would come. They will have me sign over the right to rule to them, or, if I refuse, they will find another way to take power from me.” He gripped Lydia’s hand. “They will do whatever they feel is necessary.”
“No,” she said again.
“Yes,” he shot back. “I know this because they are my sons. Their characters were forged in the fire of my own ambition. And this is exactly what I would do in their place.”
At last, he fell silent. Lydia knew how important her next words might prove.
“It sounds like you do indeed have a clear understanding of things,” she began, “and, to a degree, an acceptance.” She paused, taking it step by gentle step. “In which case, would it not be better all around if you did sign the decree?” The words fell from her lips as gently as cherry blossoms stirred by the spring breeze.
Prince Leopold shook his head. “No,” he said. “No. I will not sign any decrees today.” He closed his eyes. “All this talking has tired me,” Leopold announced. “I think I shall have a sleep.”
She nodded and began to rise but, as she did so, he gripped her hand with the exact same pressure Henning had used. It sent a shock wave through her entire body.
“Before I submit to slumber, Lydia, I would like you to tell me a story.”
“Of course,” she said, smiling. “What kind of a story would you like?”
“That’s easy,” Prince Leopold said. “I’d like to know the truth, Lydia Wilde.” His eyes snapped open. “I’d like to know what your real motives are for being here in Paddenburg.”
THIRTEEN
The Palace, Archenfield
“HE’S NOT HERE,” THE SERVANT TOLD ASTA, CLOSING the door in her face.
The last person Asta had wanted to talk to—now or ever—was Axel, but the Captain of the Guard was in charge of the Twelve, and it had made sense to her to find out what he needed from her in her new position as Poet. Still, to be turned away from his office was more a relief than a disappointment. She set off once more along the palace corridor, feeling a weight lifting from her shoulders.
Asta passed through an unfamiliar set of doors opening onto a back stairwell. Looking around, she realized that she hadn’t a clue where she was. She decided to go down. At least, that way, she’d be back on ground level and surely able to find her way from there.
But the stairs deposited her at the beginnings of another unfamiliar corridor. Then, with relief, she saw Jonas Drummond, the Woodsman, come out from a side turning in front of her and march on ahead, oblivious to her presence.
She was about to call out to him—he clearly knew where he was going and could point her toward an exit—but, just as she was about to call out, Jonas glanced cautiously over his shoulder, looking very much like someone who was checking to ensure that he wasn’t being followed.
Asta remained hidden from him in the dimly lit stairwell. Judging by his brisk strides, wherever he was going, he was in quite a hurry… Asta’s curiosity got the better of her. Whatever was the Woodsman up to?
Still careful to keep distance between herself and Jonas, she followed him around a corner—this one darker than the previous, with a galleried area to one side. She saw Jonas reach the door at the end of the corridor and knock on it. Asta ducked into the shadows afforded by the gallery as the heavy door opened and Jonas slipped inside. Hearing voices echoing from within, Asta waited for the door to close. But although it swung back again, it did not close completely. Still, it seemed safe to approach, treading carefully so as not to make a sound, and keeping close to the covered gallery.
As Asta reached the end of the corridor, she saw a sliver of candlelight spilling from the unclosed gap in the door like a dagger and heard voices, including that of Axel Blaxland.
What she heard rooted Asta to the spot.
“Well, this is all very cloak and dagger,” Jonas observed, as he arrived at the table. “Why are we meeting here and not in one of your two offices?”
“The doors are considerably thicker here,” Axel said. “There’s less chance of any unwanted interruptions.” He kicked a chair out from under the table. “Take the weight off, Jonas. Morgan isn’t drinking, but I’m sure you will.”
The Woodsman nodded. Jonas sat down and, noticing the hefty volume in the center of the table, drew it toward him. “The Book of Law. Have you actually read this?”
Axel nodded. “From cover to cover. It’s illuminating.” He smiled.
“So are we waiting for anyone else?” Jonas inquired, reaching for his glass.
“Nobody else.” Axel shook his head. “Just the four of us.” His keen eyes moved around the table from Jonas to Morgan, and then to Elliot Nash. “I extended this invitation only to my three most trusted allies.” He rested one hand on the ancient Book of Law, imagining himself drawing power from its pages. “I summoned each of you here today to tell you that I have come to an important decision. I intend to put forward a vote of no confidence in Prince Jared.”
Morgan looked shocked but nodded. Elliot took another sip of his drink.
“When?” Jonas inquired.
“That is yet to be determined,” Axel replied. “Though my feeling is the sooner the better.” He tapped the book. “I just need”—he broke off and smiled—“we need to ensure that I will get a majority before I set the wheels in motion.”
Jonas nodded. “So you don’t have to table this vote—put it on some agenda to inform the Twelve that it’s up for discussion?”
“No,” Axel said, smiling beatifically. “That’s the beauty of it. I can just bring it up whenever I care to and the vote happens right then and there.”
Morgan raised his hand to speak. Axel gave him a nod. “We are currently missing two members of the Twelve,” Morgan said.
“Correct.” Axel nodded. “And I would, on balance, prefer to await Kai and Hal’s return.”
“Rather than depend on the votes of their deputies?” Jonas asked.
“Deputies do not have voting rights,” Axel told him. “So either we delay the vote until Kai and Hal get back—with Prince Jared, of course—or we proceed ahead of that.” He sipped his drink. “The reason I asked you to come here now is to assess the current loyalties and thereby likely voting of the Twelve. Put in its simplest terms, we need seven votes to pull the throne out from beneath Jared’s sorry… behind.”
“Well,” Jonas said, clearly amused, “you are assured of one vote, at least. Your own.”
“I’m a little more optimistic than that,” Axel said. “If I wasn’t confident I had at least three votes in the bag, I would not have called you and Morgan here today.”
Jonas grinned. Morgan’s expression was tougher to read.
“Elliot has made a list,” Axel said, turning to his deputy. “Elliot rather enjoys making lists, don’t you?”
Rolling his eyes, Elliot took up his ledger and addressed the members of the Twelve. “The first thing you need to know is that Prince Jared has no voting rights, whether he is in court or not when the vote takes place.” He tapped his pen on the paper. “And though Axel currently occupies two positions at the Prince’s Table, he gets only one vote. That was established when he became Edling.”
“So, assuming we both vote for Axel,” Jonas said, nodding at Morgan, “that’s three votes in the bag.”
Axel smiled, reaching for his glass. “So far, so good.”
“Presumably,” Jonas continued, “if Hal and Kai are back from their journey with the Prince, those are your next two votes.”
Axel took a hit of aquavit. “Well, Hal’s a certainty,” he agreed.
“Are you sure?” Morgan said. “The Bodyguard seems very loyal to Prince Jared, just as he did to Prince Anders.”
Axel smiled, running a finger around the rim of his glass. “Yes, he does seem that way, Morgan, doesn’t he? As it turns out, Hal is rather a good actor. Could have had a career with a band of traveling players if he hadn’t had such a liking for using his dagger in various interesting ways.”
Morgan grinned. Axel could see the mere mention of weaponry had cheered him up.
“Just between ourselves,” Axel continued, “although it was Prince Jared who selected Hal to accompany him on his quest, I gave Hal a little briefing of my own before he departed.” That got their attention. “I told him to keep the Prince safe, of course, but to keep him beyond the borders and out of my hair for as long as possible.” He smiled. “Which should give us time to build our case. By my reckoning, the closer we come to the attack from Paddenburg, the more votes will land on our side of the table.”
“What about Kai?” Morgan asked. “How do you anticipate he will vote?”
“Good question, Morgan,” Axel said, seizing the opportunity to flatter the Executioner. He wasn’t entirely confident he had his vote yet. “We can’t take Kai’s vote for granted. He’s an independent thinker and I fear he’s taken on a somewhat paternal role with Prince Jared. And the fact that Kai and Jared are out on the road together is, I fear, only going to make their bond stronger.”
“Unless,” Jonas interjected, “Prince Jared does something to put the wind up him.”
“True,” Axel conceded. “But it’s hard to think what that would be. Kai’s a hard one to ruffle.”
“I’m not so sure,” Jonas insisted.
“If you have something to say, spit it out.”
Jonas shook his head. “Nothing conclusive. Just a feeling.”
“All right,” Axel said, growing bored. “Elliot, put a question mark by Kai’s name. Who’s next on your list?”
“The Groom,” Elliot said.
Axel nodded. “Lucas Curzon—the prettiest lad in all of Archenfield. Well, what do you think, Morgan? Which way will the ladies’ favorite vote?”
Morgan frowned. “That’s a tough one to call. Lucas has an innate sense of loyalty and honor.”
Innate? Axel stilled his rising eyebrow with an effort. The Executioner’s vocabulary grew more varied with every encounter—testament to the latest book he had devoured.
“I don’t think the idea of betraying Prince Jared will sit comfortably with him,” Morgan finished.
“This isn’t about betraying Prince Jared,” Jonas said. “It’s about making a choice about who is the strongest leader for Archenfield.” He glanced at Axel, who nodded with the grateful look he knew Jonas was expecting.
“I understand that,” Morgan said. “I’m saying how Lucas might see this.”
“Very useful,” Axel said. “Elliot, make a note that we may need to exert some gentle persuasion on Lucas.”
“Sounds like someone has some ammunition,” Jonas said with a grin.
“Let’s just say that Lucas’s halo isn’t quite as bright as it might seem.”
Jonas raised an eyebrow, but Axel remained tight-lipped. He saw Jona
s glance across to Morgan, clearly wondering if he knew to what Axel was alluding. To Axel’s great pleasure, Morgan shook his head.
“I shall deal with Lucas,” Axel assured them. “Let’s move on.”
“The Priest,” announced Elliot.
“Father Simeon,” Axel said, rubbing his hands together. “Jonas, you’re the most frequent visitor to his chapel. Which way do you think Father Simeon will vote?”
Jonas considered for a moment. “It’s actually very simple with Father Simeon.”
“Good! We like simple.”
“Father Simeon feels fundamentally disconnected from power and purpose at the moment. He has for some time. The one to secure his vote will be the one who successfully restores his sense of purpose.”
“Excellent,” Axel said. “We’ll have a think about how best to reawaken Simeon’s purpose so that we can claim his vote. Who’s next?”
“The Cook,” Elliot answered, with a knowing grin.
Axel rolled his eyes. “There’s no way Vera would vote for me over Jared. She still hasn’t forgiven me for the Michael Reeves business.”
Jonas smiled. “That’s unusually defeatist of you,” he said. “I’m sure between us we could think of a way to bring Vera around.”
Axel shook his head. “Actually, I’m not being a defeatist, I’m being a realist. Vera is as dangerous as her food. Frankly, if she even learned about this vote, there’s no telling what she might do.” He turned to Elliot. “We’ll leave her alone, unless we’re in absolute need of her vote. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”
Elliot nodded and began scribbling away. When he had finished, he tapped his sheet of parchment. “The Beekeeper.”
Axel frowned. “Emelie Sharp. Sharp by name, sharp by nature… Well, she’s anyone’s guess, isn’t she?”
“I’m sure you could use your powers of persuasion on Emelie, Axel,” Jonas said. “You used to be quite cozy, didn’t you? Remind me—my memory’s a little hazy… why did it end?”