Chapter 7
GALLMAU
G allmau mumbled obscenities under his breath as they entered Lutecia over the main bridge connecting to the island that held the city proper.
The massive stone thoroughfare, constructed of connected short arches and wide enough to accommodate both multiple carriages and pedestrian walkways on either side, had been completed early in King Syagrius’s reign, long before Gallmau’s birth.
On a typical day, it provided a dramatic view of the river running through Lutecia, with multistory government buildings lining the shores and the great dome in the center of the Noviodunam gleaming in the distance.
Also typical would be the brisk traffic of horse-drawn carts and vendors on foot selling everything from firewood to coffee.
But there was nothing typical about today.
Tumas had been right—half the population had come out to gawk at the procession. Throngs of people clogged the bridge, preventing any forward motion and forcing the Gardes Soissons to shout and push the packed bodies out of their way.
He slumped against the side of the wagon, wishing as he often did that he wasn’t as difficult to hide as a large red bear.
This was a disaster. Not only had he returned to Lutecia against the Queen’s wishes and without any warning, he had arrived with a cohort of soldiers who kept expressing more loyalty to him than the crown.
Worse yet, most of the city was watching him do it.
He’d be lucky if Xiaolian didn’t have him thrown in the dungeons.
“What are you doing?” Meri had regained some of her strength and all of her bad temper as they traveled toward the capital.
She had been only a little mollified to learn Sinan had left her curved swords and Gallmau’s treasured shield by their unconscious bodies.
At least the news that both her beloved Nada and Gallmau’s steed Argant survived the slaughter had cheered her up. “Get up and wave at them, you dumb ox.”
“You’re always grumpy when we’ve been beaten like a rug.” Gallmau did his best to glare at her, but Meri could all but castrate a man with her eyes. He dropped his gaze back to the floor of the wagon.
“I don’t lose often, but when it happens I don’t mope.
I get back into the fight.” Meri bit off another chunk of the cheese her now numerous admirers in the Gardes Soissons had given her, along with a few offers of marriage.
She had alternated between eating and describing increasingly violent scenarios of revenge against Sinan during the whole trip.
“Stand up beside me. I’ll get their attention for you. ”
Meri, unlike Gallmau, was both accustomed to and happy with being the center of attention.
She continued, jabbing a finger in his direction.
“Rumors will be flying around, including that you’re injured or dead.
Maybe someone will ask who would want to send an assassin from the Order of Katil after you.
Perhaps the royal family will come up. This could get ugly fast.”
“Then I should keep my head down.” Gallmau didn’t want to snap at her like that, so soon after he’d been afraid she wouldn’t wake up, but Meri didn’t understand the politics of the royal household.
Neither did he, but that wasn’t the point.
“You’re returning to Lutecia as a hero.” Meri was impossible to argue with under normal circumstances, much less now that she was this riled up.
“A healthy hero entering the palace with plenty of supporters in the streets who want to see him stay that way. I don’t care to mysteriously succumb to my injuries after meeting the Queen. Do you?”
Gallmau started to say there was no possibility of that happening, but the warnings the Sorcier du Roi, Zhang Jue, had given him before he had left Lutecia were an unpleasant voice in his head, reminding him that the threat of losing of the crown had provoked worse actions.
With a sigh, he rose to his feet, then helped her stand up beside him.
There was a sudden silence in the crowd pushing and shoving to get a better look. Then the cheering started.
The roar was so loud and overwhelming Gallmau might have shrunk back into the limited privacy of the wagon walls, if Meri hadn’t grabbed his arm and lifted it into the air.
Unlike other speed fighters Gallmau had met, Meri spent hours training to increase both her skills and stamina, and she used what strength she had left to shove his hand to the sky in triumph as she shouted, “Long live the prince!”
The mob screamed that phrase back, and then it was nothing short of bedlam, with people trying to climb onto the wagon to get close to him.
Tumas and his troops were forced to beat back members of the crowd, but a few made it past them, including a number of women throwing both kisses and articles of intimate clothing in his direction.
Gallmau kept telling himself it would all be over soon—one way or the other—but the ride to the palace stretched out as their procession advanced at a snail’s pace.
The inhabitants of Lutecia, from pickpockets to the grand dames who ruled the upper ranks of polite society, were usually united in an air of jaded indifference toward events that riled the rest of the country.
He had never seen the city so frantic and frenzied.
They pulled through the outer gates of the palace complex, with the Maison Militaire du Roi—the royal palace guards—slamming the gates behind them. Gallmau jumped off the wagon to help Meri down, just as the Secrétaire and his private bodyguards came toward them.
The Secrétaire was long past his prime, having been from a noble family close to Gallmau’s grandfather.
His family’s stature, which far outstripped its wealth, had led to him being left in the role of supervising the royal household when King Syagrius the 13 th , Gallmau’s father, had ascended to the throne.
Everyone thought the old son of a bitch would die off and be replaced by someone more politically palatable to the new regime.
The years trudged on, and so had the Secrétaire.
King Syagrius was dead, his controversial Qing wife was queen, and his bastard son had just arrived with a mob of supporters at his back, but here the old man stood, bent over and wearing both the robes of his office and his usual dour expression.
The Secrétaire bowed toward Gallmau, or at least bobbed forward a little more than his usual hunch. “Welcome, Monsieur de Rohan.”
Gallmau had been neither recognized as a legitimate son nor denounced by the Church as an illegitimate child of indiscretion and thus had existed in a confused state of being too royal to enjoy a normal life and not royal enough to warrant much of a title.
In the Court, there had been talk of making him some sort of duke and marrying him off to the daughter of a family deficient in either courtly influence, money, or both.
No consensus on a suitable candidate had ever been reached.
As Gallmau had little interest in a wife, the lack of agreement about his marital prospects had been a relief.
“Good morning, Monsieur le Secrétaire.” Gallmau was sure the old man had a real name but had frankly never bothered to learn it, having hoped the old coot would die by now. “Allow me to introduce my companion, Meritamun of Abdju.”
“Mademoiselle Meritamun.” The Secrétaire clicked his heels together and bowed deeply in Meri’s direction, coming dangerously close to toppling over. “It is my honor to make the lady’s acquaintance.”
“We had a bit of trouble on the road.” Gallmau did his best to sound dismissive about his close brush with death. The details of their harrowing escape were best left to a discreet conversation with Zhang Jue. “Of a magical sort. I was hoping to have a word with the Sorcier du Roi about it.”
“The honorable Zhang Jue is, unfortunately, otherwise occupied.” The Secrétaire pursed his lips. “And Madame is expecting you.”
“Oh.” Gallmau shifted his feet. In upper society, everyone was a monsieur or madame of something.
When the term was used alone it referred to only one person—the Queen of Soissons.
“I’m honored Madame wishes me to attend upon her.
However, given the circumstances of my arrival, I should seek the counsel of Magus Zhang Jue first, so that my report to Madame might be more—complete. ”
“She is expecting you now .” The Secrétaire’s tone grew icy, and his wrinkled face turned more sour. His guards, younger by decades than the Secrétaire and still decrepit, did their best to glower at Gallmau.
By Saint Attilio, Gallmau could have toppled over the lot of them with a good shout, but power in the Maison du Roi had little to do with physical strength and everything to do with tradition.
“I’ll present myself to Madame immediately, then.” Gallmau bowed to the Secrétaire and his guards and offered his arm to a perplexed Meri. The two of them walked away toward the garden maze, as Gallmau kept his pace as slow and stately as he could manage.
“So, we’re going to see the Queen?” Meri asked. “Or was that a load of horseshit for the old fool’s entertainment?”
“I have to talk to Zhang Jue first.” Gallmau dropped his voice to a whisper, even though he doubted the Secrétaire and his doddering company could hear them if he was shouting. “He sent me that letter asking me to come back. I’d much rather face Queen Xiaolian with him beside me.”
“Aren’t we walking toward her right now?” Meri glanced back at the Secrétaire and his guards. “They’re not following.”