Chapter Two #2
“Calm yourselves,” the Lord Sovereign’s voice booms over the bustle.
“We will accomplish nothing like this. Let us instead recount what we know so far. The evidence against Illian is clear. But while the stills show King Maksim and Illian together, they alone are not proof enough to condemn Maksim. And while Vastianna’s tale is compelling—and certainly plausible—the death of the late Lady Stova is one the Brisendali council may choose to investigate at another time.
We must remember that we are here on account of the murder of a Crown—and King Maksim’s request for retribution.
And thus far, we have forgotten there was another eyewitness to all of this. ”
Anton.
My heart hammers.
And indeed, the Lord Sovereign turns to Gustav.
“If your tale is true, why is Anton not here to confirm this story? Was he not the one to take the majority of the stills—and a direct observer to many of these claims? Was it not his seal clearly being replicated by Illian in letters that claim Anton was allied with Razam against Brisendale?”
“Letters,” Lord Dameron says, “that—as King Maksim has already pointed out—could have been Illian’s only way of bringing his brother’s treachery to light.”
I squeeze my hands into fists. To even suggest such a thing…
“So where is Anton?” the Lord Sovereign demands of Gustav.
“Yes, and why did he name you regent?” asks Lord Dameron. “You have yet to explain.”
“That’s just it,” Gustav says. “Your Majesties, Anton regrettably fell ill. It’s why he felt he wasn’t fit to oversee Miridran for the time being—”
“Awfully convenient,” says a councilman. “Almost as if this is all another ploy.”
“Convenient indeed,” says my father, “when my reports say he was alive and well and last seen crossing the border into Razam with Sadira! Which is more proof of conspiracy between Anton and Razam.”
“I understand the confusion,” Gustav says with more patience than I could ever manage. “Anton indeed traveled to Razam upon the onset of his symptoms. Razam has the very best healers in the north, and Queen Sadira offered the palace physicians themselves to treat him.”
“I can confirm this,” says Sundar. “He is well taken care of, but it may be some time before he is well.”
“And you expect us to believe this?” asks my father, incredulous. “My reports also say that many in your own court aren’t buying the story, and demand the return of their king.”
Frantic, my eyes find Gustav’s, and he presses his lips together, his chin dipping slightly.
It’s true, then. Another frisson of fear whisks up my spine, panic causing my vision to blur. It makes it even more difficult to remain upright.
“It does seem rather suspicious,” says the councilman next to Sofya. “What type of illness is it?”
“Admittedly, I—I am not sure,” Gustav says, his wavering a damnation in itself. “It seems to impair his…hearing, among other things.”
“He could be dead for all we know!” another Karithian delegate shouts.
Once more, the Lord Sovereign stands. “If all this is true, we need to hear it from Anton himself. We cannot be expected to believe a story in which Anton is an integral player—perhaps the most important player—without his voice to confirm it. While the evidence is indeed compelling, as stated, so too is it suspicious. Regent Gustav, your king is missing—or, as King Maksim says, was last seen in Razam. As such, Syndicate leaders, I propose the following: Within thirty days, Anton will stand before us himself. Otherwise we will assume King Maksim speaks the truth and allow Brisendale the recompense they request for Rurik’s death. ”
Gustav pales—as do I.
“And if he is too ill to come…?” I can’t help but ask.
“If his country is at stake, he will come,” the Lord Sovereign says, “ill or not, so that we can see him for ourselves. We will even make it easier for him by convening our next meeting in Ansa, if that meets with everyone’s approval. Syndicate, do we have an accord?”
My father, of course, concedes magnanimously. And why wouldn’t he? Ansa is within striking distance of Razam, which shares a border with East Miridran. The instant Anton fails to appear, he can deploy his army against Razam.
One by one, the rest agree as well.
Swallowing, Gustav nods—the last to concede. He has no choice, I realize. To argue would be to further the Syndicate’s suspicion.
Produce Anton in thirty days, or our testimonies fail. And if I know my father, he will send men to hunt down Anton—to ensure he never makes it. He will have his forces gathered, ready to strike at Razam.
I can’t help but sway.
“At least he bought us time,” Sundar murmurs.
“Before we adjourn, I have one final request,” says my father, sitting tall above the room once more, that steel crown looming above his brow.
But I remind myself he is just one man. That he can be beaten.
“I demand my daughter be returned to me. She must stay here where she can no longer be manipulated by my enemies.”
My pulse freezes as if my blood has turned to ice.
Sundar immediately steps forward, and so does Gustav, who says, “Absolutely not. Vastianna is not safe here. Surely the Syndicate would not allow this after her testimony, when there’s a chance it’s true—”
“The Syndicate cannot deny me my own flesh and blood!” shouts my father. He scans the room, his glare daring anyone to oppose him. I, too, wait for someone to speak up, my heart skipping another beat. Yet no one does.
“He is right,” says the Lord Sovereign, finally letting his gaze rest on me. “Vastianna, I am sorry, we cannot stand against him in this. To send you away would be equivalent to our holding you hostage.”
“Please,” I rasp, my hands shaking. “I can’t—”
He holds up a hand. “However, we must ensure your safety. If she comes to any harm over the next thirty days,” he says, turning to Maksim, “we will hold you responsible. Your daughter will appear before us alive, well, and completely unscathed in Ansa at the next Syndicate meeting.”
“Sire,” I beg. “I appreciate your assurances. However, he will surely find a way—”
“This is all we can do,” he says, a note of regret in his tone. “Syndicate representatives, are we in accord?”
One by one, they agree, cementing my sentence.
They might as well throw me back in prison. My father will find a way to silence me, whether or not he leaves a physical mark. It takes all my effort not to sink to my quaking knees.
Then I feel a steadying hand on my back. The touch is so like Anton’s, the cold of his rings and all, that it makes me shiver. “Then allow me to stay with her.”
I whip my gaze to Sundar, astonished. “You can’t—”
The Lord Sovereign tips his head. “Is that not an inappropriate request, as you are the son of the woman accused of murdering the king?”
“I have proclaimed our innocence, as has Vastianna. Regardless, I am no threat in a fortress teeming with Brisendali soldiers, and I wouldn’t dare harm anyone under the watchful eye of the Syndicate, especially when any action on my behalf would prove Razam’s guilt.
Have me guarded, if you choose, but allow me to stay. ”
“Me, too,” says Copelan, and my lips part once again. I shake my head, but he does not look at me. “I was never in league with anyone until I witnessed the events myself. Allow me to stay as Vastianna’s companion.”
Surely my father will never let it happen. And yet he stuns me into silence when he says, “I will allow it. They may reside here until the next Syndicate meeting in thirty days.”
He—
I bite my lip. Why isn’t he fighting this? There has to be a reason, an opportunity he sees. A way to set up a trap. I grip Sundar’s hand, trying to get his attention, but he doesn’t glance at me. He won’t budge—not when he thinks I’m trying to talk him out of it for the danger it would put him in.
Why? Why would he do this? What in the Fates is he thinking? I wish I could shake him, force the words back down his throat if only to spare him—
“I will also stay if it will bring the Syndicate peace of mind,” says Lord Dameron. “Another representative here to ensure fairness on all accounts.”
“Fine, then,” says the Lord Sovereign. “We may adjourn, and we will reconvene in thirty days.”
With the Syndicate meeting adjourned, the war room empties, many of the representatives and Crowns spilling out into the hall to prepare for the journey home.
My father stays in conversation with a few Brisendali council members while Gustav guides Sundar, Copelan, and me out into the hall and away from the rest, his forehead creased.
“Vasalie, how can I, in good conscience, leave you here? Anton would have my head. And I—I consider you a friend. Seeing you in danger like this…”
“Exactly why Copelan and I are staying,” says Sundar.
“But even so, what could you do?” I ask. “Please, Sundar, you can’t stay. My father agreed too quickly. He has a plan of some kind. He will use this to his benefit.”
“Of course he will,” says Sundar. “But at least I will have honored my vow. I promised Anton I would look after you. And besides, we have the Syndicate watching. He can’t just kill us.”
“Yet,” clarifies Gustav. “If Anton doesn’t regain his memories to testify before the deadline, Maksim will be granted permission to invade Razam—then find an excuse to push into Miridran shortly after.
With you three here, practically in his lap…
he will use you as leverage somehow, or worse.
Don’t you realize? And I have no way to stop it. ”
I try again. “He’s right, Sundar. He could use you against your mother to try to get her to lay down her arms.”
“She would never do that,” Sundar assures me, never mind what it would mean for him. As if he’s of little consequence. “It’s the benefit of having equal heirs, rather than one crown prince upon which the country relies.”
“Even so,” says Gustav, “I have no way to protect any of you after the thirty days are up.”