Chapter 7
SEVEN
The Cyngaleg Marches, and the Marcher Lords, were established by
Khaim during the conquest to subdue the borderlands and push back
against the so-called Green Wastes. Much of their autonomy still
remains.
The Crown’s seat of power – the Principality – centres around Eascild,
at the helm of the Ring of Iron.
Khaimlic History and the Centuries of War with Cyngalon,
E. van der Vos
SEVEN
‘Nothing yet from the Mortimers of Penmark, or the Strouds of Skenfrith.’
Osian’s mind was too full, and Harlan was not helping. The inaugural session for the relocated Council of Cyngalon and the Marches would begin within the bell, and he was to represent more than half of the king-appointed members of the royal household, and three bishops.
Two of the four Justices representing the Marcher lordships – those from Penmark March and Skenfrith March – had neither made the journey to Eascild nor assigned alternative representatives. Their seats would remain empty.
‘Give them a week,’ he said, ‘then send another missive.’
‘Polite or pressuring?’
‘Pointed. Blythe, I do not suppose you have heard anything?’
Blythe, striding easily behind him, next to Pedr, shrugged. She had a cousin wed to the Mortimers, but they were no longer close. ‘Nothing, Majesty. I’ll ask, though it might not do any good.’
‘Thank you. A start, Harlan?’
Harlan made a face but jotted it down.
As they moved through one of the outer arched walkways, his gaze was drawn inextricably through the lush green to a single, fixed point. His steps slowed.
Down the terraces, Meilyr was being shown the gardens.
‘Majesty?’
Osian continued to stare through the nearest archway. ‘Yes, Harlan?’
Blythe shot Pedr a look, which they stoically pretended not to notice. Turning to the steward, she said, ‘Perhaps some of this might be dealt with later, Master Harlan? I imagine His Majesty could be forgiven for being… distracted, today?’
Distracted. If only it were that simple.
He tore himself loose and moved from the arches. ‘There is no need, thank you, Blythe. Where were we, Harlan?’
Meilyr shielded his eyes as the capricious sun burned through the morning cloud.
Beneath the castle, the tidal mouth of the Splintered Sea glittered as though strewn with jewels.
Across it lay Khaim; the end of the grey, human-made bridge that connected the two lands was visible on the eastern shore, its mooring in Cyngalon tucked beneath the bluff.
There were rumours the Marches planned to build another bridge, northwards.
Near Gorsedd Arian, to the north-west of Eascild, Meilyr had grown from wounded orphan to bruised young man.
Idwal had raised him and Celyn on stories of the gigantic afanc disturbed centuries before by Khaim’s building works.
The gods-descended serpent had coursed from its ruined lake and into the Splintered Sea, to rip and tear through the foolish attempts to ford Cyngalon.
Though this bridge had long stood, and the afanc likely perished or fled into the mists of the west, perhaps building another bridge would be enough to summon it home.
‘Highness Cadogan, how good to see you.’
It was Highness Demelza, with Lady Faina at her elbow. The latter waved merrily.
It felt surprisingly good to see them. ‘Highness Demelza, Lady Faina.’
They all bowed to each other.
‘How are you finding the gardens?’ Demelza was stunning in pale gold and white, the colours of her king. Her flowing hair was dressed with jewels befitting a queen, a ruby resting at her pale throat, catching the light as finely as the water.
‘A breath of fresh air,’ Meilyr replied, meaning it.
‘Aren’t they just. Deryn dear, have you shown him the fountains?’
Deryn curtsied deeply. ‘Yes, Highness.’
‘Excellent. Shall we walk together? Were you heading for the folly?’
‘Yes, Highness.’
‘Perfect.’ She took Meilyr warmly by the arm, and Faina glided to his other side. ‘We were discussing what a shame it will be when the blossoms fall.’
‘My Lady.’ Faina laughed. ‘That was before.’ She tucked towards Meilyr, conspiratorially. ‘We were actually discussing how we cannot quite believe His Majesty has chosen a consort, and how thankful we are that you are both good to look at and not at all witless.’
‘Faina,’ Demelza warned affectionately. ‘Private ears.’
‘Oh, none of that, he deserves to know! I for one am immensely relieved His Majesty could make his own choice, but only you understand how awful it must be to be thrown into’ – she gestured expansively – ‘all this. It must be boggling, and I don’t intend to leave him to the wolves, especially those arriving tonight. ’
Demelza’s eyes betrayed amusement. ‘I suppose you are right, dear. Highness Cadogan, our offer from last night still stands. Please ask, should you need anything, including counsel. Lady Faina, although more… informal than your average member of court, is correct. I do remember my first days as consort. I was estranged from my family and all I had known, but soon realised I was not alone, as I hope you will find as well.’
Meilyr could not find the words to respond.
Demelza squeezed his arm and spoke more quietly. ‘All waves meet the shore and dissipate. Whatever is murmured will wash into silence before long. Pay them as little heed as you can and protect yourself.’
‘The court is always ripe with gossip,’ Faina agreed.
‘Someone is bound to do something heinously outrageous, and then you’ll be part of the furniture, like the rest of us.
Actually, take us as example: I’m the bastard whelp of a Marcher Lord’s daughter and a Cyngaleg stableboy, if you’d believe.
My mother took one look at my father and decided, Oh yes, I do so love the smell of horses.
And here I am, cast aside the titles for the titles of books. ’
‘Faina,’ Demelza admonished mildly.
‘My point is, some people lost their senses when Prince Osian named me Keeper of Books, even though I know books better than anyone. I thought I’d never get over all the glances, the snide comments – then that thing with Lord Cawkwell and the pig happened, and no one batted an eyelid that I was Keeper of Books.
Sometimes, I wonder if I miss the attention. ’
Demelza struggled to suppress a grin. ‘I could answer that for you.’
‘Oh, My Lady, do not. My point is, Highness Cadogan, this will feel overwhelming, but not forever. The court is a fickle monster, but remember that anyone foolish enough to question His Majesty’s choice will be on a fast horse to a short noose, if you—’
‘Highness Demelza, forgive my interruption.’
It was Lord Leighton, the Earl of March who had made Meilyr so uncomfortable the night before. Though he addressed Highness Demelza, his gaze shifted to Meilyr, a self-assured lift to his lips.
‘Lord Leighton.’ Demelza dipped a short bow, moving Meilyr with her. ‘How good to see you.’
‘And you, My Lady. Lady Faina.’ His bow was deep and smooth. ‘Highness Cadogan, it is good to see you again.’
Meilyr lowered his head. ‘Lord Leighton.’
‘You have the entire court shaken up. Highness Demelza, did you have any more inkling than the rest of us what His Majesty was up to?’
Oh, gods.
Highness Demelza’s expression was beatific.
‘Though I was a little surprised, I cannot say I was not expecting something. His Majesty has been rather personally distracted of late, would you not say? I had hoped he had found someone, and I could not be happier with the result.’ She gave Meilyr’s arm another squeeze, as though they were old confidants. She meant it, and it stunned him.
That was clearly not what Lord Leighton had expected either, but he recovered well enough. ‘A joyous thing for us all, then. Though I am sure there are those who will be disappointed in equal measure.’
There was a self-serving tilt to his mouth, renewing Meilyr’s nausea.
‘Well,’ Demelza said, ‘you and I will soon be required at Council, Lord Leighton. Might I escort you?’
‘I would be honoured.’ The lord bowed, and Demelza gave Meilyr’s arm one final steady before she relieved them of Lord Leighton’s presence.
Meilyr shuddered in a breath as Faina took Demelza’s place.
She purposefully held them still until the others had moved out of sight.
‘Be careful of him.’ All mischief and sparkle had left her voice.
‘My cousins told me stories. When they were younger, they visited Sanford March. He was…’ She gripped his arm, intense and opaque concern and revulsion radiating from her.
‘He likes to destroy things. Likes the power it gives him, to take something and own it by ruining it. He’s never liked Prince Osian, and the way he looks at you—’
Harlan burst around the hedges in front of them, knocking petals off an orange blossom. ‘Deryn! Deryn, you—’ They stumbled to a halt. Snapped into a bow and out again. ‘Some of the royal house have ridden ahead and will be here very soon. Come, now.’
‘Of course they have.’ Faina released him, somewhat reluctantly. ‘Be gentle with him.’
‘Come,’ Harlan ushered, ‘you must be made ready, Highness.’