King Callie: Callie's Saga, Book One (20 page)

“I, too, support this,” Grigor said, throwing his weight behind Fenwyn. “Seers are valuable, more now that we know he’s been targeted.”

“I care little for his survival,” Talwyck said, “But in the name of compromise, I agree – Marrol has my vote.”

Sophine tried to discern some pattern of thought from the furrowing of Marrol’s brow, but found nothing. But she knew it was a price he’d pay, reluctantly – he wanted the unanimous vote, and the position, far more than he wanted Royth dead. Finally, Marrol spoke. “Let the Ministry recognize that I agree to Fenwyn and Grigor’s terms of support.”

“It is recognized,” said the Ministry scribe. “Three votes in favor. What say the rest of you?”

Almost to a man, the vote was yes – except for Harrad. “I give my vote, on the condition that we review our trading policies with the Silenians,” he said, “I should like to enrich our country with more of their cultural assets.”

“I should hope you mean an exchange of goods and intellects,” Talwyck replied. “As opposed to their tradition of slaves and the gladio, which you so adore.” Sophine held back a smile; word had reached her through her servants, and other noblewomen, of Harrad’s less-than-savory trips to Silenia, and his vocal support of bringing such unnecessary violence north. Not to mention the boasts of his conquests while down there.

“I second that,” Fenwyn added. “If we are to solve our problems of sewage and agriculture, we must court the brightest minds - not just from Silenia, but from the other kingdoms as well.”

Marrol grumbled as Fenwyn pushed the subject. “We have no culture to offer such intellectuals,” he replied, half-heartedly, “But if this is a condition of your vote, Harrad, than I accept. Perhaps when such ideas are better formed amongst the three of you, we should pursue them. Let the Ministry recognize that I agree to Harrad’s terms of support.”

“It is recognized,” said the scribe. “Nine votes have been made, and Minister Marrol is elected to the throne in the interim, until such a time as the axes are recovered. When they are recovered, he will rule until a satisfactory King has been found, at which point, he shall relinquish the throne. Do you agree to the terms of the Ministry?”

“I do,” said Marrol with pride. With that, the Ministry stood up, and bowed to him. Sophine did as well, but with no small measure of disdain in her eyes.
At least,
she thought,
He has been restrained.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Kells leaned over, to whisper in Sophine’s ear after the meeting. “Duchess,” he said, “I should like to investigate the matter further… we have not found the thieves who struck the vault. It’s tempting to question the Sparrow, but she won’t give us anything. I think she was a distraction.”

“Do it,” she whispered back. “Keep me appraised. I will send word to the White Stags, and ask for their services in finding the axe, with proof of who stole it. Then I shall inform Caliandra in the morning about Royth’s words.”

He looked surprised
–
shocked, even. “Are either of those choices that wise?” he said.

She shook her head. “We are past the time for wisdom,” she replied. “We must make the best actions we can, quickly.” Marrol approached them; she rapidly shut her mouth, as the King Regent approached.

“Sharing recipes again, are we?” Marrol snickered, as they bowed.

“No, Your Majesty,” Kells replied, sternly. “She is simply worried about her daughter’s safety. The Duchess believes that whoever sought to kidnap Caliandra will not be deterred.”

“Ah. Then rest assured, Duchess,” he said, with a gentle smile, “Your daughter will be safe. She will have trained soldiers watching over her, instead of
guards
.”

“I believe that worries me even more, for guards have displayed control of their temperament, and soldiers are young men, eager for battle and excitement – not the best combination for protecting a beautiful young lady,” Sophine said, locking eyes with him.

“Then she will be protected by the oldest and the ugliest men I have at my disposal,” he said.

“Very good,” she replied.

“And as for our prisoners,” Marrol said, to Kells, “Please arrange it that I talk to them personally in the morning.”

“I am capable enough to interrogate them,” Kells protested, “Your Majesty.”

“You misunderstand an order, Sir Kells.” Marrol’s tone was stern.

“… Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Very good.” Marrol bid them good night, and left the room, as did the Ministers. Kells walked the Duchess to her room.

“We are not beaten yet,” she said, “Keep the faith, Kells.”

“Yes, Duchess,” he replied. She closed the door, and began to plan what she would say to Caliandra. Everything hinged on her – and she only hoped her daughter was not too frightened by her encounter with the Sparrows to refuse her destiny.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE

Marrol was not the least bit surprised to have a visitor to his house so late in the day, given his rise in status; he was King Regent now, after all. What did surprise him was his visitor’s identity: Lady Ostre, wife of the Captain of the Guard. The one he helped only days before with a simple favor - seeing her dress repaired by his brother-in-law, who was quite happy to help a good customer.

It was not such a terrible deal for him to help; he’d torn the woman’s dress, and after all, she was attractive. It boggled his mind why she had been married to Kells for so many years. Or, for that matter, at all. They were such an odd pair; even at meetings, he always seemed as if he had one foot out the door, and she, at balls and gatherings, threw herself into the heart of party. She wanted to be loved; he wanted to be with his thoughts.

And yet, it was something that Marrol envied about Kells and Ostre; they had children. Their children. Whether it was the fault of Patta’s sex or his own - most likely hers, there was nothing wrong with his so far as he could tell - no child had come of it. Her womb was fruitless, and empty. She was beautiful; few women in Barra could match her looks, which were gentle like a summer breeze and cutting like a fresh-sharpened sword. But her real treasure was her mind.

This was something Ostre couldn’t match; Patta was keen in ways he’d known great generals to be. She was sharp with figures, easy with words, and meticulous in planning. Her father and mother may have brought their merchant’s shop to prosperity, but it was when Patta and Talwyck came of age that it truly flourished. The only flaw Marrol could see was that sharpness often turned on him, when she had no other course for it: she was like a naked blade, and no sheath had ever fit her. If it had, she wouldn’t be the same.

Marrol took the stairs with deliberate slowness. He wouldn’t allow himself to be the least bit excited, or interested as he was - he was already thrilled that his plan had come to fruition, and that he himself was King Regent. But the thought that a woman found him so much of interest as to pay him a visit herself? That was unheard of… and very welcome, indeed.

Ostre was waiting in the downstairs entry, with the housemaid. She wore a different dress - dyed a shade of blue that brightened her eyes, and her hair was worn down, and her lips… He saw a flash of white as she smiled, and looked downward to her hands, where he saw a small collection of gifts.

“I wanted to give you a token of my thanks,” she said, “I… I didn’t know what to get you, though. I thought clothes, but you’re always so well dressed, but…” She paused, and held her gift up. It was heavy, and round, and covered by fine velvet. “Here,” she said, as she held it out to him. “You’ll always need one of these.”

Marrol accepted it, and her fingers lingered under his for a tempting moment - something inside him wanted them to stay, but they pulled away, counter to his desires. He flipped open the fabric; inside, he found a small whetstone. An expensive one, of excellent quality and a fine, hard grain. A very practical and thoughtful gift. He’d expected something frivolous, and it caught him by surprise. And underneath it, a slip of paper. He covered the whetstone back up, and took it in hand. “Thank you, Lady Ostre,” he said. “An excellent gift.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she said, allowing herself a smile, and added, “Porthan can’t stop talking about you, by the way.”

“Oh?” Marrol asked, curious.

“Between you and Kells, I don’t think I have a chance of him becoming anything but a soldier,” she said. Marrol was a little disappointed, and it must have shown on his face; she was quick to apologize. “I meant no disrespect - It’s an excellent profession! I just -”

“You want something safer for him, I imagine,” Marrol responded. “Is that closer to the heart of the matter?”

Ostre nodded. “I always worry when he leaves,” she said - by ‘he’ Marrol took to mean Kells - “I just… I don’t know if he’ll come back. Especially after the Prince…” She struggled with the words she wanted to say. “I know if he could,” she said, “He would’ve gone back and taken Valric’s place... but I would never want him to. It’s weighed on him, you know.”

“I do,” Marrol said. “It will be a hard weight to bear for the rest of his life.”

“Will you demote him?” she asked, concerned. “I mean, you’re the King Regent now, and… If you are, I should ask you to reconsider.” He knew she was right to think it; were it his son, and had he no facts around it, he’d have Kells strung up for incompetence. But knowing the truth of the matter - that Valric was killed so the men could go free… one could not honor it with one hand raised, and punish Kells with the other.

“No,” Marrol said. “Your husband performed admirably, and was…” he paused, to find the right words. “He was very brave, and remains steadfast in helping us find other culprits involved in the conspiracy.”

That raised Ostre’s eyebrow. “You think there were more?” she asked, concerned.

“I can’t be certain,” Marrol said, “But I prefer to be cautious. They may act against the Kingdom again, in other ways. We already suffer from the appearance of a weak King, though the majority of our power rests in the Council… our enemies will weaken us, in any way they can.” He regarded Ostre’s expression, and realized too quickly what he’d said had deeply concerned her, however true it was. He thought that Kells would have shared details of his work with her, as Patta heard from him; he did not imagine that Ostre would be so divorced from her husband’s duties. “I have frightened you. I am sorry,” he said, apologizing. “I should not have spoken of it.”

“No,” Ostre replied, with a polite smile, “It is good to know the truth of things. You will be ready to defend us, and I feel safer for it.” Her eyes did not stray from his; they were, in fact, fixed on him. Drawn to his, rather, and he to hers.

“Thank you,” he replied. She shifted on her feet, as if to leave, and suddenly looked away.

“I should be going,” Ostre said.

“Ostre,” Marrol said; she snapped to face him. The words came from his mouth far more tender than he meant. “Thank you.” A closed-mouth smile spread gently across her face, and she looked down, bashful.

“Thank you,” she said, and curtsyed. “Have a good day.” He bowed to her, reveling in the brief chance to lock eyes with her again before she turned about, and left. Marrol watched her leave, a dream of green and ribbon, and walk to the carriage; he didn’t hear his wife descend the stairs from their upper floor, or notice her until she was right behind him.

“Who was that?” Patta asked, curious. Her brown eyes looked him over with a casual distance as he turned around startled by her presence.

“Lady Ostre, the wife of the Captain of the Guard,” Marrol said, the gift in hand.

“The pretty one?” Patta asked. Marrol tread carefully with his response.

“Pretty can’t compare with beautiful,” Marrol replied. She smiled at the compliment; it brought a warmth to his face. “Her dress was caught underfoot by my horse, and torn; I took her to your brother’s, and paid for the repair. She came by to congratulate me on my new position, and to thank me,” he said, holding the whetstone in hand. “I’ll not want for a new whetstone for some time.”

“Ah,” Patta remarked. “That was kind of her.” Her voice brightened as she moved on to more interesting topics. “Speaking of Talwyck, I’ll be visiting him tonight. I must know how our negotiations with the Silenian Merchant’s Guild went. Uncle wrote me some weeks ago, saying that he had spoken with them, but I know they often smile with one face and scowl with the other.”

“I’ll see you for dinner, then?” Marrol asked, with a widening grin; he pulled her a little closer. “We have much to celebrate. You are married to the King Regent, after all.”

Patta hesitated. “Actually,” she said, “I had planned to take dinner with him - you should join us.”

“Not at all,” Marrol replied, doing his best to not be hurt. “You see him very rarely. We can celebrate it tomorrow.”

“We’ll celebrate tonight, when I return,” Patta said, as she pecked him on the cheek with a kiss. With that, she was out the door, leaving Marrol with an almost empty house, a whetstone, and a note. He did not wait long to read it, and what he found made him doubt his own words; pretty could indeed compare with beautiful, and perhaps exceed it.

CHAPTER FORTY

Caliandra looked up at her mother with questioning eyes, over the bread and soup. “Why are we eating in my room?” she asked. “Why are we not eating in the dining hall, with Eliya and Mas?”