The Judgment of King Kieran #4
“Your Majesty,” Geraint boomed, his gaze fixed on Kieran.
“I am the firstborn child of Sir Tarlegan. My mother was a noblewoman of Faerie, which is not the case for my baseborn half siblings.” He sneered in their direction.
“I am a warrior of tremendous fortitude, who only seeks what is his due by the tradition of our realm: absolute primogeniture, the right of the firstborn child to inherit the parent’s estate.
I do not deny my father’s love for my siblings.
But did Sir Tarlegan not leave his arms and armor to I, his eldest?
Did he not encourage his daughter to seek out her fortune in distant lands, knowing that there was little for her at Court?
Did he not permit his third child to be raised by his mother, in the lap of weak indulgences?
A great warrior is needed as the Knight of All Storms. That warrior is me. ”
Geraint bowed low. Kieran caught a fleeting look from Cristina, who was shaking her head. He said, “Thank you, Geraint. I shall consider your words.”
Geraint stiffened. “Your Majesty, I welcome your judgment. I know it will fall in my favor.”
He walked proudly back to his table, just as Lady Brissole rose and took his place.
Glittering combs decorated with the feathers of ravens and crows held back her hair.
Her eyes were wide, amber-orange, reminiscent of an owl’s.
Kieran wondered what manner of faerie her mother had been.
“Your Majesty, I am Sir Tarlegan’s only daughter, the Lady Brissole.
” She smiled, full of confidence. “As for Master Geraint’s merits, I would challenge him to spell primogeniture. ”
The assembled fey cackled with laughter. Geraint’s eyes narrowed as he crushed his silver goblet in his fist. Finian was staring longingly at some wine.
Lady Brissole tossed her head. “My father did send me to the mortal world, but he did so that I might study the ways of storms and the madness of the weather the mortals of the human world have unleashed upon themselves. Your Majesty, I have seen the devastation a storm can do. I have dared walk the accursed stretch of land the mortals call Tornado Alley. I have seen lands drown and hills burn. I pledge use my knowledge to tame the winds, the rain, the lightning—all in fealty to the Crown.”
Lady Brissole bowed—very slightly—before stalking back to her table.
Last came Finian. He wobbled as he stood up from his place, and wove an uneven line to the center of the room.
He waved at Kieran, as if he were a friend he’d just spied in the distance.
Kieran heard General Winter rumble with discontent, like a stirring volcano, as Finian stepped forward and bowed.
“Your Majesty,” he said, and hiccuped. “I am only here at the insistence of my mother, who dotes upon me and believes I am worthy of my father’s title.
I doubt he ever thought as much, as he was rarely present in my life.
Off to perform his quests and duties and defend the realm.
I have no such aims. I am a wastrel, a cad.
Release me and I’ll go straight to the wine cellar and tap your finest. And offer you a toast, praising you for your good judgment. ”
Kieran almost smiled. “You need not make rash promises, Master Finian. Though you are not permitted to roam the cellar or anywhere else in the Tower at your whim, simply ask, and the finest wine shall be made available to you. You are dismissed, for now.”
Finian looked as if he were going to object—probably because Kieran hadn’t dismissed him from consideration for the Knight position—but in the end, just shrugged.
Kieran sat back in his chair as Finian wandered off and sat himself in the lap of an outraged nixie.
The Court began to buzz and hum with gossip as Kieran glanced up at General Winter.
“I must make my choice by tomorrow night, I know,” he said.
“At least it seems I will only be choosing between two, not three.”
General Winter flicked his cold glance over the room. “Your father would simply have declared he liked none of them, and had them all slain.”
Kieran pressed his fingers against his temple. His head was throbbing. “Couldn’t he just have sent them home?”
General Winter shrugged. “I would have advised him not to, as I would advise you. There is always the fear that a rejected gentry fey will be resentful and perhaps might raise a rebellion against you. One should leave no loose ends.”
Barely listening, Kieran said, “Never fear. I will do what I must do, Winter.”
He glanced down then, and saw Mark and Cristina looking at him, both wide-eyed. He wondered how much of his conversation with Winter they had overheard, and if they were thinking of his father, the old King, and how very cold-blooded he had been.
But I am not like that. I am not ruthless, Kieran thought, but he knew he could not say such a thing: not to his general or to his consorts. The Unseelie Court was no place to advertise that you were merciful.
—
Really, Cristina thought, as she clambered into Kieran’s massive royal bed, there was nothing weirder than wearing your fuzzy poodle pajamas in the Unseelie Court, but it was all she had in the way of nightwear.
Mark was in worse shape: He’d rushed while he was packing, and ended up with nothing to sleep in but a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt that said party naked.
“Where did you get that?” Cristina demanded, as Mark climbed into the bed with her.
It was a very odd bed—very wide, but with a stiff mattress, and the silk-and-velvet sheets and blanket were slippery and cold.
Kieran would never have chosen any of this himself, she thought, although she couldn’t ask him—he’d stayed back at the banquet for a last word with General Winter.
Mark tugged at his shirt, looking mournful. “Julian gave this to me as a joke.”
“The problem with that shirt,” Cristina said, pushing a pillow behind her, “is that as soon as you put it on, you’re no longer partying naked.”
“Don’t obsess over the shirt, my love,” Mark said, tugging gently at the end of one of her braids. “I’m sure at the banquet you sensed the same thing I did.”
Cristina frowned. “I did. The three heirs—”
She broke off as the door opened, and Kieran came in. She sat up quickly in the bed, her heart giving a little thump of worry. He looked as beautiful as he had before, all black and silver and icy white, but there were deep shadows beneath his eyes, and lines of pain at their corners.
He took off the crown he was wearing the moment the door shut behind him, and set it down firmly on top of a dresser. “So,” he said, “that is that. You have seen what I am like as King of the Unseelie Court.”
His tone was strained; Mark and Cristina exchanged a worried look.
Cristina held out her arms. “You need not be King now,” she said. “Come to bed, and rest yourself.”
But Kieran did not approach them. Instead he sat down in a high-backed black chair, which looked uncomfortable. Cristina slowly lowered her arms. She could not help a feeling of rejection, though she told herself Kieran was under tremendous stress.
“Kier,” Mark said. “Is anything troubling you besides this business of choosing an heir to the Knighthood?”
Kieran looked down at his hands—pale, long hands, flexible and careful. Cristina could not help but recall those hands on her, and on Mark. She blushed. “At the end of the banquet,” Kieran said, “it seemed to me you were shaken. Horrified, perhaps.”
“Yes,” Mark said. “We wished to tell you as soon as we were alone—”
“Is it because of Boreth and that fool Thurgil? Because I commanded them to duel to the death? Understand, it was not because of the fight they had tonight. It was because of their past actions, because the resentment between the two was fast becoming a poison, one likely to lead to war—”
“Kieran,” Mark interrupted. “It’s not that. It’s not you, at all. We know you must make difficult decisions as King.”
“We sensed a demonic presence at the banquet,” said Cristina. “Not a demon itself, but perhaps some sort of demonic enchantment or spell.”
Kieran looked shocked. “Here? In my Court?”
“I fear so,” said Mark. “It was strongest around the heirs, but we could not say which of the three carried the taint, or if it was all of them.”
“We were thinking,” Cristina said. “I believe they need to be spoken to separately. Away from each other.”
Kieran said, “It will do no good if I interrogate them. I cannot sense demonic magic.”
“Everyone already knows we’re here,” said Cristina. “Let us speak with them. We will report what we find.”
Kieran shook his head slightly. For a moment, Cristina thought he was rejecting the idea.
Then he said, slowly, “I could send you each with an official message from me, requiring that they speak to my consort. The consorts of the King typically have a high place at Court; it is only that you are Shadowhunters that keeps you from that place. But if I insist they acknowledge you, they will.” He flashed his silver-black gaze. “Are you sure you wish to do this?”
Mark and Cristina both nodded. “Of course. We want to help you however we can.”
Kieran exhaled. “It will be tomorrow, then, for I must make my choice by sunset. In the early morning, I will meet with my advisors to discuss the matter. I will do my best to keep them occupied while you question the heirs.”
“You know,” Mark said thoughtfully, “I’ve noticed that in movies, mundane meetings last much longer than they should because everyone uses a lot of nonsense words. They are always saying things like ‘think outside the box’ and ‘circle back around’ or ‘put a pin in it.’ ”
Kieran looked baffled. “Put a pin in what?”
“It means to delay a decision, I believe,” Mark said, and yawned.
“That’s enough, you two,” Cristina interrupted. “Mark and I will speak to the heirs tomorrow. But in the meantime, Kieran, you should come to bed and rest.”