Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
TO BE PLACED IN HIS MAJESTY’S HAND:
Sorcery-sign near Caer Idris, three days north-west of Eascild.
Have personally confirmed.
Awaiting your order.
Highest-priority missive from Ser Cenhelm,
Chief Iron Talon Huntsman of King Oswald Arden-Draca.
Autumn, 693 A.S.
FIFTEEN
Searching the forest revealed nothing. The hunt was called off. The entire party returned to Eascild Castle, and the Cyngaleg court gathered in the Council chambers, the stained glass in the thin windows dark, hammering with heavy rain.
Aldreda pointedly took the second-highest seat, ankle folded over her knee so she could lean forward on her elbow.
Osian stood, arms folded, though the gesture had been noted by all.
‘Forgive me, Majesty.’ Captain Radnor also stood, levelled and grim. ‘But a thorough investigation of the prince consort is necessary. He was closest to the incident and is the individual whose background we know least.’
It was a good thing Osian had over two decades of practice at cooling his expression. ‘I understand, but his familial background was investigated upon his arrival at Eascild. We must look elsewhere as well.’
‘Many things can be hidden within one’s family tree, Majesty.’
A thinly veiled personal attack against Osian himself, which again no one failed to miss. Bold of the captain, to prod that rumour so overtly.
Aldreda bristled and spoke for the first time, words barbed. ‘Captain. Is it not a little too obvious for him to be responsible? I cannot be the only one thinking it.’
Some agreement, though muted.
Demelza, pale and drawn in, addressed the room steadily. ‘I was not alone in witnessing the prince consort’s reaction to Lord Leighton’s death. He was the most shaken of us all. I agree with the Heir Apparent, though of course you must do your duty, Captain.’
‘Can we test him?’ Wystan asked, from the third-highest seat. His knee bobbed ferociously, but at least he had stopped shouting for Meilyr to be locked up. ‘Iron, or something? I thought that was an option?’
‘Unfortunately, iron was never proved able to identify a sorcerer,’ Captain Radnor said. ‘It does not work on them as keenly as it does the otherfolk. It can, however, prove useful in suppressing their magics, and in putting them down.’
Putting them down. Gods.
‘What of Lord Leighton’s March?’ Kenelm Radnor, with a kerchief to his lips, sat doe-eyed and demure.
He had been chosen to take the seat of his March’s Khaim-based Justice, a move Osian regretted not pushing back against. ‘Sanford must be represented. I humbly nominate myself to oversee decisions in Lord Leighton’s stead until another Justice can be summoned. ’
Of course that was his prime concern. There were murmurs of assent from some of the nearly dozen people in the room.
Osian bit his tongue. ‘For now, we must continue a wider search of the area. I will oversee—’
‘Forgive me, Majesty.’ Captain Radnor used the words purely for decoration. ‘We have the matter in hand. Rest assured, we are more than—’
‘This is not merely a murder investigation, Captain. Sorcery was used, and law still dictates that matters of sorcery be handled directly by the Crown.’
Several hums of agreement. The fear was thick. For most present, there was likely relief at the notion that the indomitable Khaimlic royal family – the descendants of those who had quelled the sorcery uprising generations before – would oversee this horror.
They might not approve of some of Osian’s policies, but all had seen or at least heard of his exploits on the battlefield. He spoke also for the might of his sister, and even his younger brother. For the king.
Radnor’s jaw worked. ‘Of course. However, given Your Majesty’s relationship with the primary suspect—’
‘Are you insinuating I am incapable of doing my duty, Captain?’
A beat. The tide of the room shifted further. ‘Not at all, Majesty.’ Radnor dipped his head, stiffly. ‘The assistance of the Crown is greatly appreciated. What do you suggest our next action be?’
Captain Radnor questioned Meilyr in the royal solar, a large, usually comfortable retiring space above the Great Hall and beneath Aldreda’s chambers.
It was mercifully devoid of plant life, but there were crownsworn posted beyond every door.
It was not quite being dragged to a cell, but Meilyr was certain the captain had his men ready at a single shout.
‘An apothecary?’ The word was loaded with distrust. Radnor leafed through Meilyr’s information, scant pages gathered in a hurry, most from Harlan, who stood to one side. ‘Owned by Lowri Howell and given to you?’
‘Yes.’ As with everything, his foster-aunt’s name sounded wrong in the Khaimlic tongue. Hywel. Softer and more rolling, like breath.
‘You were adopted into the family. How?’
The half-lie was always ready. ‘My parents were neighbours of the Howells. When they passed, I was taken in.’
Radnor glanced at him, then back at the pages. To the crownsworn just inside the door, he said, ‘I want more information. Send Verdun to Gorsedd Arian.’
‘Is that wholly necessary?’ Prince Osian, not far from Meilyr’s chair, stood more severely than any soldier. No doubt he was concerned deeper investigation might reveal the falsity of their union. ‘The focus should be on searching for a killer, not interrogating the lineage of my consort.’
‘I would say it is necessary, Majesty.’ The captain handed the papers to one of his men. ‘We have the capacity for both a thorough search of the local area and this. In line with our orders from His Majesty the King, we will be subtle but pointed. Your word remains law, but allow me to do my duty.’
Meilyr’s throat felt scraped by thorns. It sounded like a hunt, ordered by the king himself. Had contact been made with him already? Did Khaim have the means? There were some magics capable, but if they possessed them, it was not widely known.
The captain and his men left, with Harlan. Only Meilyr and the two eldest heirs remained in the room.
That could have gone worse. He could have been put to death without questioning. They could have found out about Celyn, or a thousand other terrible things that had not yet come to pass.
Even if Radnor did somehow dig up more in Gorsedd Arian, it would be found that the neighbouring family had indeed had a child and had died in the same winter.
What should be harder to find was the fact that the child had perished with them.
Cadogan. The name of a ghost, given to Meilyr from Idwal – his adoptive father – who had gifted him a falsified parentage that would stand up to scrutiny.
But the populace was about to be put under further duress. Innocent people, innocent children, only trying to help.
Just as he had been, once.
If Khaim went in search of sorcerers, they might find them. Not to mention those without a drop of weaver blood, who might be accused all the same.
‘Gods.’ Aldreda moved to pour herself a drink from a glass decanter at one of the low tables. ‘We are breaths away from them declaring we should skewer every Denelander within three miles atop the tower walls.’
Meilyr’s snatched-together composure cracked.
Prince Osian said, ‘Every move must be made to find one individual, not punish a populace. If Radnor retaliates against the people, there will be further bloodshed.’
‘We are talking about a populace we thought utterly without magic until yesterday.’
‘A foolish assumption from the start.’
Meilyr dug his nails deep into his palms.
Why would someone risk exposure like this? Why?
Aldreda stared at her brother. ‘You mean Great-Grandfather’s declarations and ghost stories didn’t convince you?
Osian, he wiped them out.’ For the first time, she glanced at Meilyr.
Whatever she felt was quickly masked, but it was…
not what he had expected. ‘Brother, surely you remember. You were terrified. I know you were younger, but…’
‘The truth of what he believed is moot, now. Either they did not successfully capture all those of the blood, or—’
‘If you are about to say Denelander sorcerers can spring out of the ground like bloody daffodils, then it had better be the last time I ever hear it because, gods, if Father…’ She grimaced. ‘I know he wants the coronation at any cost, but he also wants the same as Wystan and Radnor. You know that.’
The coronation. Was that part of why Lord Leighton’s killing was to be declared a hunting accident?
‘Also,’ Aldreda said, ‘please stop standing there like a damn knight, you’re making my head ache. Get yourself a drink.’ Her eyes fell on Meilyr. ‘And I suppose it’s time. Highness Meilyr Cadogan, did you kill Lord Leighton?’
‘Aldreda.’
‘I told you I would ask him, so I’m asking. Meilyr Cadogan, did you kill him?’
Panic nearly held his tongue. ‘No – no, Your Majesty, I swear it.’
She looked hard into his eyes, and he could not look away.
After ragged heartbeats, she sighed. ‘Last night I asked my brother if there was a chance, any chance, that you could have killed Lord Leighton. None of us are blind – he deserved his hands removed for what happened on the hunt. But Osian swore you cannot be involved, which won’t be enough for many but is enough for me for now.
You are, however, the member of court most recently in touch with the Deneland populace.
You know these lands, their stories. What do you think happened? ’
Meilyr had to glance at Osian. The prince had yet again vouched for him, no doubt for his own gain, but – he had seemed different in the tent after Lord Leighton’s death. Softer. Closer.
Perhaps it had only been Meilyr’s shaken imagination.
He set it aside to answer the Heir Apparent. ‘It happened so fast,’ he began. ‘I have no idea, whatsoever, who could have killed him. But I do believe from the stories that it was almost certainly… Deneland sorcery that was used.’
‘We know that. What else?’
His bruised nerves shivered. ‘You asked what I think, Your Majesty. Forgive me, but I know little more than you.’