Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Within moments of the queen’s passing, bells clanged a death toll. It resulted in a strange humming from outside.
“What is that sound?” Avera asked Gustav who stood by her side, helmet tucked under his arm. She had her hands clasped in front of her, uncertain how to look, act, or even feel as she watched her mother’s body being prepared.
“It’s the people mourning,” he replied.
The citizens of Daerva wept the demise of their queen and most likely an era because Avera had no idea what to do next. Becoming the leader of a country so suddenly hadn’t changed her and yet people immediately began to act differently.
It began with Gustav who dropped to a knee and thumped his chest. “All hail, Queen Avera.”
A scramble ensued as doctors and attendants followed suit, mumbling their pledge.
The only one to lag? Benoit remained standing until Sir Gustav barked, “Lord Brandy, are you disrespecting our monarch?”
“You’ll have to excuse me. The change in my status is more abrupt than expected,” drawled the ex-consort who was once more simply a lord. Only blood heirs inherited the royal titles. Husbands and wives returned to their former status upon the death of a royal spouse.
While the obeisance made her uncomfortable, Avera knew better than to tell them to cease.
She’d not taken lessons on leadership, but she knew how important pomp and ceremony could be.
Every culture she’d studied had its own version.
To allow disrespect now would create a crack that could easily widen for someone with her inexperience.
“My Queen, perhaps you would like to adjourn elsewhere while the body is prepared for cremation?” Duke Petturi asked while still kneeling with head bowed.
“Yes, of course.” She almost said, “Excuse me,” only to realize these people now catered to her.
If she’d declared she would stay, they would have nodded and agreed because that was how it worked.
However, she wasn’t about to become a tyrant on her first day.
She’d save that for when she found the traitor.
As she left the room with Gustav trailing behind, she murmured, “Now what?”
“Now, we bury your family. Given the number of deaths, I imagine it will take a few days of preparation. During that time, plan your tiara ceremony.” While Avera had never attended one—since the queen had ruled her entire life—she’d read and heard about them.
Essentially, she’d be in the throne room, surrounded by as many lords and ladies as could fit, to receive the ceremonial crown and vow to take care of Daerva.
Then with the tiara on her head—and hopefully secured so it didn’t fall off—she’d ride Luna through the city, waving and smiling so that the people could see her and cheer.
The whole thing sounded inane. After all, she became queen the moment her mother died, but ritual would cement her new role in people’s minds.
“I don’t have a dress fancy enough,” Avera murmured. She kept her wardrobe plain. The last royal event she’d attended—at her mother’s behest—was the queen’s marriage to Benoit.
“I’ll speak to Violette. I’m sure she’s already speaking to a seamstress about creating something for the event,” Gustav said.
“Surely it can wait a few days while Violette mourns.” A kind woman, the maid in charge of the queen’s appearance always had a smile for the queen’s youngest, mostly ignored, daughter.
“Knowing Violette, she’d prefer to be working,” was his dry reply. The familiarity of the comment made Avera wonder about the rumors claiming Violette and Gustav were amorously involved. “Once your mother’s body is removed, the cleaners will work on preparing the royal suite for you.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Must I use it? That room gets terrible light.”
“The lack of wide windows makes it safer.”
“Is it? Mother was attacked in her own chamber.” The blood stain on the carpet that she’d had to step over as she left was a stark reminder of what happened.
Gustav’s lips tightened. “Because they came through a secret passage.”
“Secret passage?” Avera’s lips parted. “I wasn’t aware the palace had any.”
“Neither was I but it turns out there’s a network of them. It’s only because your mother stopped her assassin that we found them in the first place. The assassin left the compartment open for a quick escape.”
“I wouldn’t say no one knew,” Avera murmured. “Someone had to have told these killers how to access them.”
“I’ll be looking into that first thing,” was his grim reply.
She glanced at Gustav. “Mother told me to find the traitor, or traitors as it may be, and make an example of them.”
“She is right. Was right,” he corrected. “The coordination and inside knowledge required couldn’t have happened without help.”
“Given I survived, how likely is it they try again?”
Gustav sighed. “Very. Whoever planned this wanted the entire Voxspira bloodline dead.”
“Meaning I’m not safe.” Avera glanced at the wall. “They could even be hiding in the palace, waiting their chance as we speak.”
“They could be, but not likely. I’ve had knights and pawns scouring the passages.”
The plural of his statement had her asking, “How many secret corridors are there?”
“Enough. They lead to every royal suite, plus the kitchen and throne room. There’s even a passage that exits into the wine cellar. I will have the masons barricade the entrances to ensure they can’t be used again.”
“Is that wise? Sounds as if they might be useful, and now that we know of them, can’t they be monitored?”
Gustav didn’t scoff at her, but he did have a caution. “Keeping them open could be dangerous. They’re the reason why the killers could move through the palace unseen. How they managed to eliminate everyone and escape.”
“Hardly escape, since you killed them by the bridge.”
“Killed some. I don’t know if we got them all.”
Another reminder she might still be in danger. “I find it odd they chose to hit so close to dawn. Surely it would have made more sense to attack in the middle of the night.” Although, if they had, she might be dead.
“It is strange. I can only think they were delayed somehow and rather than wait until the following night, decided to act.”
“Speaking of the intruders, where is the one mother killed as well as those you and your men handled?”
“Currently piled in the bailey until we decide what to do with them.”
“We should search them for clues.”
“We?” He arched a brow. “The handling of corpses is an unseemly task for the queen.”
“And yet I still plan to do it.” Avera wanted to see them for herself. See if they were truly the extinct Verlorian.
“You won’t budge, will you?” Spoken with a forbearing tone.
“No.”
“Then at least let me have them removed somewhere private that you might not be observed.”
“Make it so.” She gave her first royal command.
Gustav stifled a smile and saluted. “Yes, my queen.” He signaled to a solider who came trotting. He gave his instructions before leading the way to the dungeon, a place she’d visited a few times because of her insatiable curiosity.
Unlike the stories that called them dark and dank places, their dungeon, embedded in the hill upon which sat the palace, had windows that overlooked the Lake of Tears and allowed in fresh air.
The chambers had been carved out of stone and being above ground level, tended to be dry, not mildewy or damp.
There was only one entrance, heavily guarded at all times even though they kept few prisoners.
The former queen believed in swift justice.
Would Avera be as ruthless when it came to forcing people to obey the laws? Not a question she’d ever asked herself even as she knew the importance of upholding justice.
While waiting for the bodies to be brought, she stood at a barred window, eyeing the sloshing waves of the lake that abutted the stony outcrop holding the palace.
The poisonous waters were undrinkable. The creatures that lived in it unpalatable.
Only ships with metal-sheathed hulls could sail it as wood disintegrated quickly in its waters.
Even metal eroded rapidly with exposure.
It made the choice of locating the capital by its shore strange, especially since they had to dig numerous wells to supply the city and all food had to be brought in from outlying farms.
Given the age of the palace, predating even their oldest history book, she had to wonder if at one time the lake had been bountiful. If yes, then what caused it to change?
“My queen.” Gustav’s soft murmur jolted her from her thoughts on the lake and she turned to see the chamber now held corpses laid out in a row.
They looked almost identical, given the assassins all wore dark hoods and clothing, except for one whose head was bare.
They differed in size, some taller than others, but none of them were very thick, though.
Given their athleticism, not surprising.
“Is this the one who killed her?” Avera asked, walking to the first body, the uncovered one.
“It is,” Gustav confirmed.
She crouched and eyed the dead man, studying his features. Dark-haired with a tawny complexion. “This assassin definitely appears to be of Verlorian origin. What of the rest?”
“Let’s see.” Gustav stripped the hoods and Avera held her tongue as they were revealed.
“This is a rather mixed band,” she announced, eyeing the different skin tones.
The first had the swarthy coloring of a Verlorian, but the others ranged from straw-toned skinned with short, pure white hair, to porcelain-toned with dark locks, and shades in-between.
“They don’t look like they belong to any single continent,” she murmured as she studied them.
“No, they don’t,” Gustav agreed. “They were most likely hired assassins.”
“Hired from where?” she asked glancing at him in surprise. “Daerva doesn’t have a guild of assassins.”
“No, but Saarpira does.”