Chapter Thirty #2
Balthasar slid through the air again, emerging on his throne, brow still gushing blood. He dabbed his finger into it. Licked it. “So, that’s it?” he baited. “What tremendous power she holds over you, the infamous Roland Daymour.”
Roland snorted. “Was that intended as an insult?”
Balthasar’s dark eyes crawled to me, more curious than ever.
“The emperor will not return Fulke, even if you manipulate me so deftly I turn my own blade to my heart.” His smile widened.
“Oh, yes. Your king told me the story. ‘She was a terror,’” he mimicked.
“‘A pale, wraith-like demon.’” He chuckled to himself. “Oh, how he was distressed.”
“Why would he speak with you?”
“Like most new specters, he was desperate to recount his death and the role you played in it. All dead, wherever they come from, whoever they were in life, have stories to tell. They whisper them all to me.”
“Why would you put your reputation behind Fulke?” I said to Balthasar, raising my voice. “Tell the emperor the truth. You read star charts as well as we do, and I’ve read Fulke’s. It is not destined. He has a feeble, twisted mind. A cruel disposition. Nothing in his sky says he is meant to rule.”
“Destiny is what we tell ourselves was meant to happen all along,” Balthasar replied calmly.
“Destiny can only be so in retrospect. I say Fulke will be king, and so he will be. I’ve already told you.
Saturn is moving into Gemini in a matter of days.
This will be a time of great change, a new rule.
The people see Fulke as the natural, rightful successor.
They will never support you. If only you had an alternative.
If only you had Prince Hal.” He pouted mockingly.
“But alas, he is dead. He belongs to my realm. And you have lost.”
My knuckles scraped against Roland’s again. I knew what role to play. I would hang my head, avert my eyes, pretend to roll over. “We will not risk a war we cannot win,” I said with a sigh.
Roland balked slightly at the submission in my tone.
“Wise.” Balthasar nodded, tapping the pads of his fingers together.
“Very wise, Bianca Mortlake. Fulke will return to Alvion, and we will send over our Mercury for agreements, of course, for his coronation as king. Yes, it will all be very smooth. You see, my friends, this is why I insisted to the emperor that ambassadors could not do the work that we could do together in such a short time. And as a gift for your cooperation, you both may remain on Fulke’s council. ”
His eyes shifted slightly. He was, of course, lying.
“I am glad we could come to this understanding before more blood was spilled,” I said. “All we wanted was to remain at Redhall.”
“And what of you?” asked Roland.
“Me?” Balthasar smiled. He pressed his hand against his heart mockingly. “I want nothing at all. I am only the shadow cast behind the man.”
Rain pelted the castle. The doorway to the Guildfords’ hidden dungeon answered only to magicians, and so it welcomed Roland and me. We crept along by the light of a torch. The ceiling so low, Roland had to duck. “Do you think Archimago built this?” he asked.
“It must have been. If not him, it would have been someone who had their own enemies. Someone actively defying their king.”
“And how long until Balthasar uncovers our deception—” He leaned over my shoulder, his breath hot on my nape. “—Bianca Mortlake?”
I shoved him lightly. “As soon as the man speaks, I’d guess.”
We set our torch in the empty sconce. Groundwater crept down cool, damp walls. A stalactite dripped onto the figure curled on his bed in the first cell.
Trailing his fingers along the bars, Roland said, “Hello, Fulke.”
Fulke did not reply, only collected a wad of phlegm and spat it in Roland’s direction.
Because Fulke Roet, the real Fulke Roet, had never set foot in the Archimago Tomb. Guards had rowed Charles Guildford and a convicted murderer up the Snake in his stead. The murderer had agreed to be transformed by me, in exchange for an execution by beheading instead of fire.
Balthasar had the wrong man. It was only a matter of time before he realized it. No cell was impenetrable to a Saturn, but first he’d have to find this place, and I’d never seen it on any map of Redhall. I’d only discovered it by following Charles Guildford’s trail.
But I was not here for Fulke.
We wound deeper into the dungeon to a smaller cell carved out of crude stone. Another bed, another huddled figure. Kitty Seton’s face reddened when she saw Roland, then drained of blood when I appeared beside him. Her gaze flitted between us.
“Kind of you to visit me, Lord Chancellor. I thought I would never have the pleasure. When I was roused in the middle of the night, I was hoping it might be for another purpose. Though, of course, the entire court knew what the two of you were doing.” She smirked, but no amusement reached her eyes. “We could all hear it.”
“Do you know that to some, what occurs between two people is a private matter?” Roland muttered.
A raised eyebrow. Still, she was unfocused, on edge, whenever she spoke to Roland. Sixteen again, utterly infatuated with him. “You might have tried to be quieter, then,” she bit back.
I sat on the edge of her bed, while Roland leaned against the wooden door. She assessed us again, each of us in turn. “Why am I here? No one will tell me.”