A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals) (24 page)

Chapter
43: Things to Talk About When Dining With the Queen

The Council meeting went well. Jareld came in with his proposal, and everybody agreed to the terms. They seemed radical. They sounded preposterous. But they were fair, and they made sense, and nobody could deny that the Kingdom would be better off with them than they had been before.

The Council would appoint a new High Magistrate. This person would have the authority of the King in all domestic issues, but would need the Council to approve any major changes in taxes or in declarations of war. The Magistrate would serve for exactly one year, and then, the Kingdom of Rone would hold elections for the new King.

That took hours of debate. Nobody liked the idea of commoners voting for a King. The King was appointed by divine right. Bloodlines and all that. But Jareld pointed out that the bloodline of the Kings had dissolved. All that was left was for them to look forward.

It wasn’t the most egalitarian election system ever. Only those who held the rank of Knight or higher got a vote. What’s more, Knights only got one vote, but Barons got three, Counts five, and Dukes eight. Like the Turin, they would hold elections once every ten years.

Jareld declared that because he was the one who wrote the document, he would be ineligible to be the new Magistrate or to be elected King. Also, whoever was appointed as the Magistrate would be ineligible to become the King. These failsafes were there to prevent anyone from grabbing power.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” James Avonshire asked during the meeting. “We would probably all have voted you in as the Magistrate.”

“He’s trying to appear modest,” Emily said, her tone flat. And the veiled insult ringing loud and clear.

“On the contrary,” Jareld said. “If I become the magistrate, my legacy will last for one year. If I write the document that dictates how our land is governed for generations to come, my legacy will last for centuries.”

The Council approved Jareld’s plan. They would meet the following morning to decide who would be the new Magistrate. But in the meantime, there was a formal brunch to attend, the end of the Peace Festival. The Council would be expected, and they had to come up with an excuse for Landos’ absence. Fast.

---

The Turin were already asking questions, since they had heard a commotion that morning. Guards and Council Members running around the Castle, doors being knocked over with statues. The Turin didn’t know what kind of trouble they were in, so they sent most of their delegation back to the Turinheld, just to be safe. Only the Regent, Master Eric, and Orlean remained in Anuen. But they demanded to know what had happened.

Emily was the one who came up with the answer: Landos had fallen over, breaking his leg very badly. Unfortunately, he had been behind a locked door when this happened, so they had to break into the room to get to him. They apologized for the confusion.

“It seems silly now, doesn’t it?” she said to the Regent. “We should have sent someone to tell you what happened. We were just so caught up in the emergency that it never occurred to us.”

“It is quite alright,” the Regent responded, translated through Orlean. “I hope he is resting.”

“He is,” Emily lied, “And they said he should not be disturbed. So we apologize for his absence. The Baron von Wrims will take his seat at the table.”

“Is the Queen still planning to attend?” the Regent demanded.

“Of course,” Emily snapped back, a little too quickly for her own taste. In truth, she was uncomfortable about the Queen being at the brunch. Emily and James were the ones who went up to Sarah’s room to tell her about Landos’ death. And she barely responded. The Prince cried, and Sarah comforted him. But there was no emotion in Sarah’s eyes.

Emily supposed that the Queen was mourning in her own way. That perhaps she wanted to put on a strong face. To do her crying in private. But it didn’t...feel right. Sarah didn’t respond with shock or denial. She simply nodded.

The Queen had also not been on her best behavior during the Peace Festival. Emily was sure something was wrong. But so many things were wrong, and Emily had so much on her mind, that the danger didn’t register. The Turin delegation would be leaving in a few hours. Once they were out of Anuen, then Emily, and Sarah for that matter, could deal with the mess.

Emily thought the worst part of the brunch would be seeing Jareld dressed up as the Baron. Bad enough they were hiding the death of the Magistrate. Bad enough they were keeping up the charade that Prince William was of the Royal Bloodline. Now the Council had to pretend Jareld was Count von Wrims, even though they all knew that man was dead.

But Jareld’s disguise wasn’t the worst part of the brunch...

---

“Her Majesty, Queen Sarah Rone,” the herald announced.

Sarah felt herself walk into the Dining Hall. It had taken three hours to dress her. It was supposed to look effortless, but it wasn’t. A shimmering white gown with a flower on the shoulder.  Her hair up in stylish design. Sarah didn’t know why she was dressed in white. But she knew it had to be white. For some reason.

She felt her feet carry her up to the main table. Raised on a platform, so that the entire Hall could see her sitting beside the Regent. Symbolically eating a meal together at the end of a Peace Festival. That image would carry the people of Rone into a future where there were no wars between their peoples.

But Sarah knew something was wrong. For days, she had been watching a performance. A play in which the main character was her own body. But Sarah didn’t know what that character was going to do next. It was a puppet show. Somebody was letting her watch. A voyeur on her own life.

She had insulted the Regent and the Turin people during the visit to the Hall of Saint Michael. She had heard that Landos was dead, but could not cry. Not only could she not cry, she was having trouble feeling anything. His death should have destroyed her. And instead she sat at the main table in the Dining Hall, waiting to see what she would do next.

“Regent,” she said, “Today is our last meal as a part of this Festival. But I hope there are many to come in the future of our friendship.”

That was right. That was part of the script. Part of the script that Landos and Duncan and Rajani and everyone had worked out. Sarah wanted to say that, even though she had no control over the words. But it wasn’t her will that made her say it. It was...something else.

“Your Majesty,” Rajani said in her own language, as Orlean translated, “Vengeance is mine.”

And the Regent lifted the steak knife and stabbed the Queen in the heart.

Sarah saw Rajani’s hand move to the knife. She saw the Regent stand and turn. She saw the knife coming down on her chest. But for some reason, Sarah couldn’t move. She was frozen. Paralyzed. Whatever was making her act the way she was acting, say the things she had said, it also stole her ability to defend herself.

The Regent had no expression on her face. Sarah stared up at the Turin woman as the knife came down again and again, shredding her dress and her skin. Sarah pleaded with her eyes, since her arms and legs would not make any move to shield her body. And Sarah could see in Rajani’s eyes that the Turin leader was in the same position. Someone or something had taken her body. And only the two of them knew.

As the blood splattered over both Sarah and Rajani, over the porcelain plates, and the starched-white napkins, Sarah’s mind came back to her. But her body was so far gone, she couldn’t move anymore. So all she could do was spend her last breath on one word...

“Michael...”

Chapter
44: The Apology

Twenty Years Ago...

Michael went down to the docks when he heard Lady Vivian was leaving the city. He rode his horse up to her carriage. A valet was getting her bags and a young dockhand was helping them load her things on a yacht. She saw Michael and turned away, averting her eyes as an insult.

“Lady Vivian,” Michael called, “Where are you going?”

“Home,” she said tersely.

“Were you going to say goodbye?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound playful. But it’s not easy to force such an effect.

“Goodbye,” Vivian returned, still looking at the boat in lieu of Michael.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked.

“I heard what you said,” she answered, “When you spoke to your father last night. I think he hoped it would help him win me back, but instead it makes me think you’re both miserable assholes.”

The valet and the dockhand tried very, very hard not to hear what had been said, but as it had been said with a ton of malice and no subtlety whatsoever, this was a performance no actor could have pulled off.

Michael dismounted so that he could speak to her at a more intimate and hopefully quieter distance.

“What did my Father say?” Michael said.

“He told me why you seduced me. That it was a game to you. That you were doing it to get back at him for something.”

“Well, of course he would say that, just to get back at me.”

“But get back at you for what? Your father and I had a good time, but we weren’t in love. Why would he care if you slept with me.”

“Just because it’s me.”

Vivian softened, just a teensy-tiny bit.

“So it isn’t true?”

Michael took one second too long to say anything.

“Of course not,” he finally said.

“At all?”

“My father and I have a very complicated and adversarial relationship.”

“Well, I hope you find some other way to be complicated and adversarial. Next time try to pick a fight over a football. It doesn’t mind getting kicked around as much.”

Vivian turned to board the yacht. Michael chased her down.

“Don’t go,” he said.

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Are you in love with me?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then the answer is no.”

“How can you be sure? People are always saying that, but maybe love is different for different people, and maybe some people won’t be as sure about what it is when it happens to them. How can you be sure that I’m not just because I’m not sure?”

“Because I have been in love,” Vivian said. “And I know it’s not something you can be mistaken about.”

Vivian turned and boarded the ship. It was only then that it occurred to Michael that she might have meant him.

“I’m sorry,” Michael called out. But she was out of sight. The young dockhand descended from the plank and removed it.

“Methinks she didn’t hear you,” he said. Michael noticed he was wearing an eyepatch.

“I’ll send her a letter,” Michael said, handing the dockhand a small tip.

“That ought’ter work wonders,” the young dockhand said, rolling his visible eye and moving off.

Michael mounted his horse and left the docks. He remained on the hills just behind the docks until the yacht sailed west and out of sight around the bay.

Chapter
45: A War Made of Lies and Murder

For five whole seconds, nobody moved.

The Peace Festival had been going well. The Rone and the Turin were all behaving themselves. They were all being cordial. Sure, a lot of people probably wanted to stab a lot of people, both Rone and Turin alike. But this was just a stupid Festival. Everyone just had to smile and get it over with.

So when the Turin Regent grabbed a knife and stabbed the Rone Queen eleven times, nobody could process it. That hadn’t been in the scripts they had rehearsed.

When someone finally did move, it was one of the guards patrolling the catwalk that overlooked the Dining Hall. He lifted his crossbow, aimed at the Turin Regent, and fired. He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do. Landos had a long talk with all the guards about going out of their way to protect the Turin guests. If anything happened, the Turin had to believe that the Rone had done everything they could to protect the Regent.

But this particular guard didn’t suppose that covered the scenario in which the Regent was stabbing the Queen to death.

Unfortunately, Orlean, the Regent’s translator, was also amongst the first to move. He had tried to grab Rajani around the waist and pull her off the dying Queen. But he had barely gotten his arms around her when the crossbow went off, and the bolt lodged in his back, just below his shoulder.

Finally, chaos, who had been sitting quietly for those five seconds, took over. Guards surrounded the Queen. Eric stood and stunned everyone within thirty paces of the main table. He had precious little time to think. The guards would only be stunned for seconds. He could try to heal the Queen, but even his magic wouldn’t do much good against all those wounds. And it was unlikely the Rone would leave him unmolested while his hands were on her body.

So he had only one other move. He had to get Rajani out of Anuen. He focused on opening a portal, right there on the brunch table. He had to rush through the spell, but he got the smoke to appear just as the guards regained their bearings.

Everybody came charging at Eric. But he grabbed the Regent and leapt through the portal. And he was gone...

---

The Council found themselves convening once again. Jareld had taken off the fake beard, wig, and prosthetics of the Baron, but he was still wearing the robes he had on when he tried to save the Queen. Emily’s dress was also speckled in blood. They had been the closest to Sarah when the attack had occurred. They both tried to hold her wounds closed with their bare hands. And they had both known, as the Queen died, that it had been hopeless.

“Fuck the Turin,” James Avonshire said, opening the informal meeting.

“Jareld, we need to declare war on them, immediately,” said Sir Gaelin, from Trentford.

“I can’t help you with that,” Jareld said.

“Why in the blazes not?” Avonshire demanded.

“I know you’re angry,” he said. “I’m angry too. But don’t you remember? Five hours ago? When we all signed a document that said a new Magistrate had to be selected? That still stands. Right now, I’m just a guy in a bloody robe.”

“Then we select you,” Emily said, her expression hardened. She still hated what Jareld had done. But for the moment, she hated the Turin more.

“I told you,” Jareld insisted, “I’m not eligible. Otherwise--”

“But you just said you can’t make any declarations, right?” Gaelin interrupted.

“Yes, so--”

“Then I don’t care if you think you’re ineligible,” he continued. “I nominate Master Jareld to be the new High Magistrate.”

“I second,” Avonshire chimed in.

“All in favor?” Emily kept the train moving. All eight members of the Council raised their hands. “It is so declared. Congratulations, Master Jareld. You’re the new High Magistrate. Declare War. Now.”

“No, no, no, wait,” Jareld said, waving his hands, “Remember, the Magistrate can’t handle foreign matters without the approval of the Council. So--”

“I propose we support the Magistrate in a Declaration of War on the Turin?” Avonshire called out.

“Guys,” Jareld said, “We should think about--”

“I second,” Emily cut him off. “All in favor?” Again, all the hands went up. “Magistrate,” she addressed Jareld, “The Council supports your Declaration of War. If you so choose to make one...”

All eyes were on Jareld. For the briefest moment, he wondered if his cell was still available back in the Tower at Goldmere. The fact that it was covered in blood wouldn’t have been a deal breaker, either, considering his current garb.

“What are you waiting for?” Avonshire pressed.

“We can’t...” Jareld began. “I’m not sure. Something’s not right here. Did you see the way Eric reacted? He wasn’t prepared for the Regent to make that move.”

“So?” Emily asked.

“So maybe she acted alone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sir Gaelin said. “She’s in charge. If she acts alone, she’s still speaking for the Turin government.”

“Maybe,” Jareld reflected. There was a sort of legal purity to that argument. But he still couldn’t bring himself to start a war. Even if it was right, he didn’t want to be the one who did it. “I need time... I need to think about this.”

“Every second you delay gives them the advantage,” Avonshire said.

“Perhaps,” Jareld agreed. “Here’s what we’ll do. Summon our standing army. Call up the reserves. Start plotting out marching formations and supply lines. We’ll meet back here in a few hours. And if we decide to declare war, we’ll be ready to go.”

---

Jareld was exhausted. He had gone from a fake Baron to a real High Magistrate in less than a day. And he had been placed in the middle of a situation that demanded a war. He couldn’t help but think that this was all wrong. But there would be no way to convince the Council not to go to War. They had all seen Sarah die a bloody death at the hands of the Regent.

He decided to lock himself in his room and make himself
some tea. It was probably inevitable. The War. But he was going to think about it for a couple of hours and see if he couldn’t find a way out.

He stepped into his quarters, shut the door, and bolted the lock. But for a second, his mind tripped on something. Hadn’t the door been destroyed? Hadn’t the Council come bursting into his room just that morning?

And that’s when he realized he was dreaming.

It had all happened. It was all real. He was the Magistrate, and he was in charge of a Kingdom about to go to War. But he had left that meeting hours ago, and he had drifted off at his desk. He had left the world of the waking behind while his body rested.

And suddenly, he wasn’t in his quarters at the Castle Anuen, but now on a balcony of a small house, overlooking a bay. It was a house that belonged to his uncle. A place he had been to twice in his youth, that had stuck in his mind as a sort of ideal home. It was the place he imagined whenever he hoped he would grow old with Emily by his side.

But there was an eerie silence around him. The water was still. There was no breeze. No animals. No other voices.

He was alone.

The sky darkened. Like a storm was coming. But there was no thunder. No drizzle. The blue sky just faded to white, then grey, then smoke, then black. But there were no stars.

“Emily?” Jareld called out. If he was here, she should have been here too.

“She is not here,” bellowed a voice from across the water.

“Who are you?”

“I am the thing of nightmares,” the deep voice echoed. “I have come to take the stars from you.”

Jareld ran into the house--

--but found himself in his cell, back in the Tower of Goldmere. The place that had been his home for four years. Every nook familiar to him. Every pebble an old friend.

“I’ve faced worse nightmares than this,” Jareld shouted to the darkness.

“Do you think I cannot find out what scares you?” said the voice. Jareld turned to the door of his cell. It was opened. It had only been opened once in the entire time he had been there. When he was placed in it. Since then, food trays had been slipped under the door, and he had crawled out through the dirt.

But now the hallway that lead out from his cell glowed. Like a fire raged at the other end of the passage. A growing fire, closing in on him.

“Loneliness doesn’t bother me,” Jareld said. “I was alone for years.”

And he was back in his quarters. But it was a memory of earlier that day. He and Emily were talking for the first time as themselves. Just after the Council left. Just after Landos had “died.”

She was accusing him of being different. Of being a liar. She wasn’t saying words, per se. But Jareld felt the twist in the conversation. He felt the sting in his heart. He had hoped that his triumph over Landos would bring him back to Emily. But it had possibly moved them further apart.

“I lived without her for years as well,” Jareld said. “And she still loves me. If she didn’t, she would have married someone else. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have stayed in this room and argued with me for so long.”

The room glowed red, as though the fireplace had grown to the size of an elephant. And then Jareld found himself back in the Tower of Goldmere. In his cell.

“Her judgement doesn’t bother you?” the evil voice called.

“Of course it bothers me,” Jareld answered, “But we’ll find our way again. You can’t frighten me. I’ve already lived through worse than you can summon!”

And then the voice laughed. A deep, booming, terrifying laugh. Jareld felt his stomach sink. He knew he wasn’t as strong as he was pretending. Did this evil creature know as well?

“Then explain it to him,” the voice concluded.

And now Jareld was in the hallway outside his cell. He was walking with Queen Sarah, as a visitor to the Prison. She was pregnant. This was six years ago. When she and Landos had first locked him up. And she had come down to plead with him. To ask him to keep their secret.

And when Sarah knocked on the cell door, Jareld saw what the voice meant by “him.” It was the younger Jareld. The one who had been locked in that cell. The one who held onto naive and simple principles such as hope and justice and doing the right thing. It was a Jareld who had only been in jail for a few months. Who hadn’t escaped and trapped a man in his place. Who hadn’t met the Baron and buried the homesick noble. Who hadn’t learned to lie.

And now the Queen was gone, and it was just the younger Jareld, staring out from the barred window in the door. He was accusing the older Jareld with his eyes. Jareld remembered those days, but he suddenly realized he wasn’t thinking of them as an earlier time in his life. They felt like someone else’s life.

“What have you done?” the younger Jareld asked the older Jareld, disapproval dripping from his words.

And older Jareld knew the accusations were true. If young Jareld had heard about a man who did all the things old Jareld had done, he would have dismissed him as an immoral man. He wasn’t the same man who had gone into that prison. He was a worse man.

Older Jareld turned and ran, and found himself in the halls of the Castle Anuen once again. A creature was pursuing him, chasing him with fiery feet until Jareld ran out of breath.

He collapsed on the ground, turning to see the beast once and for all. Its eyes were aflame. It held its hand out over Jareld’s head...

“I know your fears and your guilt. I am the one who can wash them clean from your mind.”

“Stay away from me...”

“You have been Turned.”

And he clasped his burning hand over Jareld’s eyes...