Tobyn leaned back on the throne, easing his arms onto the rests and taking a deep breath. It felt right—like destiny. Below the dais, Grim eyed him, his arms crossed. Skepticism still edged the Lothian captain’s scrutiny, but at least he had come through on the agreement to back Tobyn. Without Grim’s aid, Tobyn would still be outside Faerseton Castle with the other nobles, trying in vain to break through.
After weeks of fighting, with Hugues refusing to negotiate any outcome except himself as king of Berginthold, Tobyn had gotten a message to the leader of Malchor’s forces six days ago. Captain Grim agreed to meet with him. Tobyn had to change the captain’s allegiance. Without Grim’s army of ice dwarves, Hugues would not be able to prevail against him and the dissenting lords any longer.
Grim had skewered Tobyn with that skeptical look as soon as he entered Tobyn’s tent.
“Speak quickly,” the captain said without preamble.
Tobyn licked his lips and shifted to the blunt approach. “They’ll accept me as regent, to lead them in weighing all the claims. The fighting stops, and I’ll bow to Malchor’s counsel as a favored ally. We just need to deal with Hugues.”
The other man narrowed his eyes. “And the king?”
Tobyn shrugged. “Sigebard may be stabilized but is still unconscious. It’s only a matter of time. We wait and solidify power in the meantime.”
“Power? For yourself?”
Tobyn adopted his most obsequious demeanor. “It will be easier if they think I’m leading. I can soothe them and secure my claim by then. But I’ll remember and pay my allegiance to your lord.”
The deadpan look lasted longer this time. Finally, Grim said, “Hugues is unsatisfactory. He’s taking too long. I want Berginthold united and ready for Malchor’s seizure, not fractured by internal squabbles. Alright, let’s see what you can do.”
Now Tobyn sat on the throne, if only as a surrogate, and Hugues sat in a cell in the dungeons. His lands and titles had been given to his younger brother, Lord Robion Agust of Harringrett Castle and Eanverness. A green twig that would cause no trouble.
“Has Pendarlof come round?” Grim said.
“Oh, yes,” Tobyn said. “He saw the practicality of relinquishing his loyalty to Hugues immediately, especially after I told him he could remain steward if he showed proper contrition at his error. He wasn’t particularly devoted anyway. Hugues was just the first bidder.” He cocked a complacent smile at Grim. “A better prospect swayed him.”
Grim’s expression didn’t change. “We’ll see.”
“Of course, I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“And the queen?” Grim said.
“She was courteous enough, grateful to be released, but not forthcoming with any more information, or particularly regretful of the part she played in sending the Stone away.” Tobyn stopped smiling. That was inconvenient. Having Enan would have made it easier to take control.
“We know she gave it to her daughter,” Grim said. “Beyond that, I doubt she can offer anything else useful. She did not go with them. Will she be any trouble?”
Tobyn waved his hand airily. “All she wants is to sit by Sigebard’s bed. As long as he breathes, she need not be considered. Afterwards… that is more difficult to say. If I can get her to endorse me, that will carry some weight. She may yet be useful.”
A corner of Grim’s mouth lifted in mockery. “She will never endorse you. She gave the Stone to her daughter because she intends her to rule. The woman had it all that time and never revealed it. Take care. Don’t underestimate her again.”
Tobyn dipped his head, hoping the gracious gesture hid the resentment. Perhaps Grim thought that Tobyn needed instructions on how to manage this kingdom for the lord of the north, or he felt the need to remind him that he was not in charge. Either way, Malchor’s agent meant to give him a short leash. Tobyn had no illusions that he was any more than a puppet to hold Berginthold for Malchor. Grim’s master did not plan to share power with Tobyn when he came. Tobyn might not even survive. It was just another element in the game he played—first appease the nobles, then hoodwink Malchor. Dangerous stakes for a lofty prize—the rule of Berginthold.
“Have you discovered how they escaped? If they got out, they can get in. We need to know,” Grim said.
“We only know that it was through the dungeons. They were seen going down there, but never came up.”
“Does the prisoner know anything?”
It was Tobyn’s turn to mock. “No, I’m afraid Malchor’s man is less than useless—quite deranged, actually.”
Grim narrowed his eyes. “Be careful how you use my master’s name, especially connected to any insult. He has a way of knowing and does not take kindly to it.”
“Of course—my apologies.” Tobyn’s face showed appropriate remorse, but his hands gripped the arms of his seat. One step at a time.
The door to the Throne Room opened to the protestations of the guards outside. A young woman stomped in. The familiar moue of her red lips intensified when she glimpsed Grim. But she looked past him to Tobyn.
“Father, the servants are not cooperating. They will not let me into the princesses’ rooms—said they can’t find the keys. Doors are pretty thick, or I would just have the men hack them down.” She tossed her mane of umber waves in annoyance. “Maybe, we should just hack the servants.”
“Rykelia,” he chided, “remember, patience and poise. If anger controls your faculties, then you are little more than a beast. Cleverness will open doors sooner than brute force.”
She rolled her eyes and huffed, crossing her arms in front of the burgundy surcoat she wore over her white chemise, looking much like Grim. Tobyn suppressed a sigh. The irony was not lost on him. For all his calculations and ambition, his only offspring was female, like Sigebard. And like him, his daughter would not be enough to hold the throne, though she was similarly schooled in all the arts and skills to lead. But unlike Sigebard, Tobyn had a plan to secure the throne for her, if her ungovernable nature didn’t jeopardize it. Rykelia must at least try to play the demure female, if only for a while. Looking at her, he again despaired of that.
Although her surcoat fell well below her knees, it did not hide the trousers and boots. The surcoat itself was cut like a dress and sported the family crest of a sable serpent rising from a coil. But it was girded by a leather belt holding an ornate sword. It skirted the line of acceptable female attire. Beyond flaunting the accoutrements of propriety in her clothing, her dark eyes held no pretense of deference to anyone.
“I thought perhaps we could find some clue in their room, as to how they left the castle—a map or something,” Tobyn explained to Grim.
“There’s some sergeant outside who said he may have information,” Rykelia grumbled. “He’s hanging about trying to talk to you, but your guards won’t let him in. I told him to tell me, but of course he won’t.”
Tobyn sent a questioning glance at Grim. “Should we hear him?” Grim lifted one shoulder and tipped his head. It was enough acquiescence. “Rykelia, if you could…” His daughter sauntered to the door and spoke to the guards. They admitted the sergeant—nondescript in hauberk and surcoat. Tobyn fixed a gracious smile on his face. “I understand you have information, Sergeant…?”
“Tennes, my lord.” The man’s eyes darted to Grim, Rykelia, and back to Tobyn, assessing.
“Proceed, Sergeant Tennes.”
The man squared his jaw. “I was at the siege of Arcliff Hold, before your armies arrived. We got there just after they killed the creature…”
“Ah, yes,” Tobyn said. “There was some device the Mountain Men used.”
Tennes nodded. “Irvon—he’s the son of the habriger—made it and killed the wyvern with it. Afterwards, that Meiwenese woman came.” His lips and nose contorted, like there was a bad smell. “She had some scheme of sneaking into the castle and rescuing the king. She needed a distraction. Irvon was very keen, and they plotted. I didn’t like it, but they convinced Bartle.”
“I heard it was a great success,” Tobyn said. “Pivotal to capturing Launfal and freeing the king.”
Tennes shrugged. “Luck, I guess. But I heard them a bit, when they were planning. He would go off about his inventions and ideas, and I’d tuned out. But later, I remembered. He talked about digging tunnels in the mountains.”
Tobyn sat up, but Grim spoke first. “Tunnels?” He almost looked excited. “Connected here?”
Tennes shook his head nervously. “I’m not sure, but maybe.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know—they lowered their voices; I lost interest…” He quailed under Grim’s displeasure.
“Tunnels… of course,” Tobyn said. “It probably comes to the dungeons. But we’ve searched down there for trap doors, false walls, and such. We haven’t found anything.”
Grim’s eyes continued to bore into Tennes, as if trying to drill into his mind and glean hidden information. “We need this Mountain Man,” he said abruptly, switching his glare to Tobyn. “Do you know where they live?”
“Sure. We’ve had many dealings with their pesky bands, but they’re slippery. You can’t usually catch them. And if you do, they escape right away.”
Grim weighed Tobyn’s words with a stone face. “Give me a company of men to lead me there. My dwarves and I will do the rest.”
Tobyn knew better than to goad Grim in his present mood. He took care to keep his tone neutral. “The Mountain Men are vermin, but they are not without cunning. Will your dwarves be enough to outwit them?”
An unexpected smirk. “The dwarves are to overpower them. I will outwit them.”
#
Rykelia retreated to one of the window seats at the side of the Throne Room, watching as her father spoke to Grim. An unpleasant man, with patches of red and peeling skin on his face. Her father assured her it wasn’t leprosy or another contagious skin disease, but she preferred to keep her distance. Rykelia considered if she wanted to join this hunt for the Mountain Man and decided against it. It would be amusing to see those brigands finally put in their place, but she didn’t want to spend any time with Grim. He would get it done. Grim might be repulsive, but he was effective. Also, she knew it was time to leave for Father’s mission.
Sergeant Tennes followed Grim out. His company of soldiers would be going with Grim. It pleased her that the sergeant did not look happy about it. Did he think he would get a reward for squealing? Well, he deserved the misery instead, for the disdain he’d lavished on her earlier in the hallway outside. Oh, she couldn’t wait to be queen. The first thing she would do was abolish the patriarchy—inheritance, privileges, and preference given to males. See what these arrogant dunces would do when they had to earn something based on merit and not birthright. And the men who had crossed her had better beware.
The door closed, and her father sighed. “That will keep him away for a little while. This is a good time.”
“I know,” she said, drawing her legs up and leaning against the window.
“Well?”
“I leave for Ermot Fields today. I can tell Mother that I’m preparing to come here for a longer stay. It’s better she doesn’t know. Then, I’ll go to the port in Lingmell to find a ship. It’ll be a long trip, especially since we cannot go direct.” The idea made her grunt in irritation. “This needless superstition about the center of the sea will cost me days. Some say a ship’s voyage makes you ill. That best not be true, or I’ll commandeer the ship myself and sail straight through to Meiwen, Aldwyseld or no.”
He waited for her to settle back down. “Where in Meiwen?”
She tweaked up a corner of her mouth. “Bardolf’s men might disdain my company as a comrade in arms, but they talked readily enough when I batted my lashes and trumped up some admiration. Everyone seemed to agree on Meiwen, but nothing more specific.” Her lips pressed together as humor melted away. “I tried it on the marshal. Pestered him about the excitement of seeing other lands, sea voyages, blah, blah, blah… Finally he let on what he’d told Lady Linniue about sea travel some months back—right about the time we felt their absence. She was asking how long it took to reach Pariya in Asenem. He told her that ships are dangerous and uncertain. It would take three weeks at least. That was not easy to wrangle from him. Testy, pompous fellow. He disapproves of me playing at soldiering—dress up, he called it. I had to pout and blush and simper like a mindless ingénue. The man thinks I’m a nitwit, and you a fool for indulging me. It’s not a good look for either of us.” The indignation quivered on her face. She saw her father wrestle with annoyance himself—probably at the presumption of the marshal to think anything of him, rather than at that man’s reproof of her. Another expression quickly replaced his pique. “Yes, Father, you should be impressed.”
“You may do yet,” he said with warmth.
“I daresay,” she muttered.
“You see now the wisdom of not letting you go to the melees against Hugues? It would have been a disaster if you had been tempted to fight. So capable a woman is scandalous and would not have convinced our good marshal to disclose any information. A feckless female, however, is harmless,” he said, nodding.
Rykelia glared, unmollified.
“So you will go to Asenem? You won’t travel alone.”
A smug smile crept back onto her face. “Ysak will come, naturally, as my guard but so will Narra and Alyon. They will look like lady’s companions. No one will know how lethal they are.” She inclined her head at him. “Sometimes, when I think on it, you amaze and frighten me. I have heard you staunchly mouth the claptrap of Bergintholdian chauvinism any number of times with your peers. But in private, you do not fear to arm your women with knowledge and skills enough to overthrow them.”
He spread his lips to mirror hers. “As I’ve said, patience and poise. There is great use in saying what people want to hear. Then they dismiss you, and you can move them as pieces in your game. Ideology is all good and well, but power is the end. All else can be sacrificed. You cannot let pettiness blind you to the obstacles and potentials before you, whatever package they come in. Well that you should notice and learn, daughter.”
“So, you do not mind the ‘wanton rise of women’ as you have decried?”
“It depends on the woman—the clever, worthy woman should be viewed with the respect and circumspection afforded a similar man. She can serve as an ally or rival in one’s purposes. It behooves a prudent man to recognize the capacity of such a woman, or risk waste and ruin.”
“You mean a woman like Peregrine?”
Tobyn chortled. “Now she is a worthy adversary. I would not underestimate her. Yet, she has too many scruples to dissemble—or it’s just pride. Either way, we will not make that mistake. You may meet her in your travels. Malchor expects they will search for the Stones also. Be careful.”
Rykelia unwound from the seat and stood up. “I should go. There’s much to do.” She paused. “I know you are too clever not to know this, but I think the glitter of the throne clouds your judgment. It’s not wise for Malchor’s agent—or anyone else for that matter—to see you so comfortable in that chair. They may suspect more of your intent than you wish them to guess. Patience and poise, Father, to seem the pliable tool in their hands, until you make them the fools in yours.”
Ire and pride strove for mastery on his countenance. The latter won, mostly. He nodded approvingly. “A quick study then, when you’ve a mind to it. You’re right. I’ll have to take more care. Go now, and fair winds, daughter.”
