Royal Exile (3 page)

De Vis became aware of the awkward silence clinging to the foursome, broken only by the flapping of a sparrow that had become trapped in the chapel and now flew hopelessly around the ceiling, tapping against the timber and stone, testing for a way out. Piven, nearby, flapped his arms too, his expression vacant, unfocused.

De Vis imagined Brennus felt very much like the sparrow right now — trapped but hoping against hope for a way out of the baby’s death. There was none. He rallied his courage, for he was sure Brennus’s forlorn expression meant the king’s mettle was foundering. ‘Gavriel, Corbel, King Brennus wishes to tell you something of such grave import that we cannot risk anyone outside of the four of us sharing this plan. No one … do you understand?’

Both boys stared at their father and nodded. Piven stepped up into the circle and eyed each, smiling beatifically.

‘Have you chosen who takes which responsibility?’ Brennus asked, after clearing his throat.

‘Gavriel will take Leo, sire. Corbel will …’ he hesitated, not sure whether his own voice would hold. He too cleared his throat. ‘He will —’

Brennus rescued him. ‘Hold her, Corbel. This is a new princess for Penraven and a more dangerous birth I cannot imagine. I loathe passing this terrible responsibility to you but your father believes you are up to it.’

‘Why is she dangerous, your majesty?’ Corbel asked.

‘She is the first female to be born into the Valisars for centuries, the only one who might well be strong enough to live. Those that have been born in the past have rarely survived their first hour.’ Brennus shrugged sorrowfully. ‘We cannot let her be found by the tyrant Loethar.’

De Vis sympathised with his son. He could see that the king’s opening gambit was having the right effect in chilling Corbel but he was also aware that Brennus was circling the truth.

In fact he realised the king was distancing himself from it, already addressing Gavriel.

‘…must look after Leo. I cannot leave Penraven without an heir. I fear as eldest and crown prince he must face whatever is ahead — I cannot soften the blow, even though he is still so young.’

Gavriel nodded, and his father realised his son understood. ‘Your daughter does not need to face the tyrant — is this what you mean, your highness … that we can soften the blow for her, but not for the prince?’

De Vis felt something in his heart give. The boys would make him proud. He wished, for the thousandth time, that his wife had lived to see them. He pitied that she’d never known how Gavriel led and yet although this made Corbel seem weaker, he was far from it. If anything he was the one who was prepared to take the greatest risks, for all that he rarely shared what he was thinking. Gavriel did the talking for both of them and here again, he’d said aloud for everyone’s benefit what the king was finding so hard to say and Corbel refused to ask.

‘Yes,’ Brennus replied to the eldest twin. ‘We can soften the blow for the princess. She need not face Loethar. I have let the realm down by my willingness to believe in our invincibility. But no one is invincible, boys. Not even the barbarian. He is strong now, fuelled by his success — success that I wrongly permitted — but he too will become inflated by his own importance one day, by his own sense of invincibility. I have to leave it to the next generation to know when to bring him down.’

‘Are we going to lose to Loethar, sire?’ Gavriel asked.

‘We may,’ was Brennus’s noncommittal answer. ‘But we can do this much for the princess. Save her his wrath.’ His voice almost broke upon his last word and he reached to stroke her shock of dark hair, so unlike Leo’s and Iselda’s colouring.

‘And Piven?’ Gavriel enquired.

All four glanced at the youngster. ‘I am trying not to worry about this child,’ Brennus replied. ‘He is harmless; anyone can see that. He is also not of our blood,’ he added, looking down awkwardly. ‘If anything happens to him he will know little of it and if he survives, nothing will change in his strange internal world. It’s as though he is not among us anyway. I am prepared to take the risk that the barbarian will hardly notice him.’

The De Vis family nodded in unison, although whether they believed him was hard to tell.

‘The queen, er …’ Gavriel looked from the king to his father.

‘Will be none the wiser,’ De Vis said firmly. ‘It is enough that most of us will likely die anyway. We can spare her this.’

‘Die?’ Gavriel asked, aghast. ‘But we can get the king and queen away, taking Leo and the baby across the ocean to —’

‘No, Gav. We can’t,’ his father interrupted. ‘The king will not leave his people — nor should he — and I will not leave his side. We will fight to the last and if we are to fall, we fall together, the queen included. But we cannot risk the royal children.’

Brennus took up the thread again, much to De Vis’s relief. ‘Piven is not seen as an heir but he is also no threat. And while I sadly must risk that Leo is found, tortured, abused and ultimately exploited for the tyrant’s purposes, I am giving him a fighting chance with you, Gavriel. That said, I won’t risk the possibility of my daughter falling into Loethar’s hands.’

That sentence prompted a ghastly silence, broken finally by Corbel, who looked uncomfortably away from the dark eyes of the baby that stared at him from the crook of his arm. ‘Tell me what I must do,’ he asked.

The king sighed, hesitated. De Vis’s encouraging hand on his arm helped him to finally say it. ‘Today, my daughter must die.’

Corbel stood alone with the tiny infant, hardly daring to breathe. He wasn’t sure she was even breathing, to tell the truth, and for a minute he hoped that she had stopped of her own accord. But her tiny fingers twitched and he knew she clung stubbornly to life.

He made no judgement against the king. He imagined that if he was hurting this much over such a traumatic task, then surely the king was hurting twice as hard to demand it of him. His father must believe him more capable of being able to carry out the grim request than Gavriel and he understood why. His father probably anticipated that he would be able to push his guilt into a deep corner of his mind, perhaps lock it away forever and never think about it, let alone speak of it. Corbel knew he gave this impression of being remote, capable of such hardness, but he was no such thing.

The baby girl, swathed in soft, royal birth linens, shifted gently in his arms. It was time. No amount of soul searching was going to get this job done and the responsibility rested with him alone.

Just do it
, he urged himself.
Leave the recrimination for later
. His job was to hand the dead child to Father Briar, who would take her to the king so that he could allow the queen to say goodbye to her. Meanwhile his father would be waiting in the preserves cellar to brief him on where he must flee. Nobody must ever connect him to the dead child. He wanted to say goodbye properly to Gavriel but their sovereign and even their father had not given them time.

He picked up the blanket and said a silent prayer with his face buried in it for a few moments. Easy tears were not something Corbel suffered from but although his body didn’t betray him with a physical sign of his grief, he felt it nonetheless as he placed the blanket over the now sleeping, very weak child’s face and begged Lo to make this swift. He tried to blank his mind as he pressed on the blanket but thoughts of Gavriel surfaced. How would his brother protect Leo? Would they survive the coming conflict? He might never know; he was being sent away — far away…and he didn’t know if he would ever return. Accepting this felt impossible and grief began to mix with anger as he sped the child to her death.

Gavriel De Vis had watched his father leave with his brother. There had not been time for he and his brother to share anything more than a look, but that look had said droves about the terrible action that was about to be taken. In that moment in which he and Corbel had learned of the king’s plan, Gavriel had despised Brennus for forcing them into this corner. Perhaps Brennus sensed it for as the legate and Corbel left, the king had held him back.

‘Gavriel, a word if I may?’

‘Of course, highness,’ he said, curtly.

‘I’ve asked a lot of you today.’

‘You’ve asked me simply to keep guard over Leo, which is no trial, majesty. What you’ve asked of my brother is completely different. Enough to shatter anyone’s soul, if you’ll forgive my candour, highness.’ He felt proud of himself for saying as much.

‘You understand it could not be done by my hand?’

‘I’m not sure I understand it at all, your highness. But I will take care of Leo as my king has asked and because my father demands it.’

‘I know you will protect him with your life.’

‘Of course. He is the crown prince.’

‘There is something else I need to share with you. It is a delicate matter but I can share this information with no one else.’

Gavriel’s anger gave way to confusion. ‘Your majesty, whatever you tell me is in confidence.’

‘I mean
no one
, though, Gavriel. This information is for your ears alone — not your father, not your brother, no one at all. Not even Leo. I am entrusting a great secret to you alone. I would ask you to swear your silence.’

Gavriel frowned. ‘All right, highness. I swear you my silence. Whatever you share remains our secret.’

‘Not here,’ the king said. ‘I shall send for you. Come to my salon. Right now I must away to my good wife. Await my message.’

Gavriel bowed, baffled.

The queen’s convalescing chamber was attended by various servants and officials who the king had insisted upon. Its atmosphere was frigid, the awkward quiet punctuated only by the sounds of embarrassed shuffles or coughs over the mournful toll of a single bell. The only focus of activity or brightness was Piven, who gently stroked his mother’s hair. No one could be sure of the sound, but he was humming tunelessly as he did so.

‘And tell me again, Hana, why my newborn child is not at my breast and you cannot find my husband?’ Iselda demanded, her face wan from fatigue and worry.

Hana fussed at her queen’s coverlets before pressing a warm posset of milk curdled with ginger wine and honey into her mistress’s hands. ‘I’ve heard the king is on his way, your highness. Now I beg you to drink this without fuss. You need to regain your strength.’

In a rare show of anger Iselda hurled the cup across the room, its contents splashing in all directions. Piven sat back in what could only be described as amusement, while Hana flinched in astonishment. The cup shattered against the stone, the liquid soaking into the timber beneath the herbs that were strewn underfoot. Its heat instantly released the sweet smell of lavender mingling with mint and rosemary.

‘I shall take nothing, eat nothing, say not another word until my daughter is returned to me. Find her! Do you hear me?’ the queen yelled, coughing on the last word as she dissolved into tears. Piven returned to stroking his mother’s hair as though nothing had happened.

‘As does the entire palace, my love,’ Brennus said, finally arriving. Hana visibly relaxed at the sight of the tall, dark king whose beard had recently erupted new silver flecks, whose once broad shoulders now appeared to sag, and whose laughter, which had boomed around the walls of Brighthelm, was now only an echo.

‘Brennus!’ Iselda took his hands as he settled to sit beside her. Piven leapt onto his father’s lap. The queen accepted the soft kiss Brennus planted on her cheek, mindful of their audience, and pulled back to search his face. She found her answer in the set of his mouth, the grief in his eyes. She asked all the same. ‘Where is our daughter? Why the mourning knell?’

‘Iselda,’ Brennus began gently. The hurt in his voice was so raw it hit her like a blow and her eyes spilled, tears coursing down her cheeks and finding a path through the fingers she clamped to her mouth to prevent herself from shrieking her own grief. ‘Our baby died not long after her birth,’ Brennus finished. ‘In my arms.’

Iselda shook her head slowly, repeating the word ‘no’ over his soft words.

Brennus wiped away his own tears and over her denials he continued. ‘No daughter has ever survived. The Valisar line seems to have its own self-defence for the female line — but you already know that, my love.’ He took her hands, squeezing them, gently kissing them. ‘She didn’t suffer, my darling, I promise. She simply fell asleep as Father Briar blessed her with holy oil. She heard her name spoken and I’m sure she heard me tell her that we loved her with all our hearts.’

Iselda’s lips moved but no sound came. The death bell tolled mournfully through the difficult silence.

Brennus pressed on. ‘I knew this might occur and that is why I took her from you, my love. I needed her to be blessed before … before …’ He was unable to finish, his voice crumbling.

‘Before the devil stole her soul?’ Iselda asked, her voice suddenly hard, her cheeks wet. ‘Do you really believe that something so small and beautiful and pure would be ignored, cast aside by Lo? Is he really that cruel, this god we pray to and put all our faith in, to not only murder my baby but then refuse her soul passage into heaven?’ Her voice had changed into a hissing shriek at his apparent insensitivity. She was very well aware it was unseemly to unravel emotionally in front of the palace servants but she no longer cared. Three children were all Lo had given her to love; of those, one was a grotesque, and now her only daughter was already dead within hours of her birth. Precious Leonel, their hope, was likely as good as dead anyway.

‘Perhaps our little girl is the lucky one, taken by Lo peacefully. Where is Leo? Does he know?’ she begged, her voice softer now.

The king’s red-rimmed eyes closed briefly. ‘De Vis is with him now but will leave Gavriel with him.’

‘That’s good,’ she said, relieved, giving a watery smile to Piven. ‘Leo does love that family as if it’s his own,’ she added absently, before dissolving into quiet weeping.

The king cleared his throat, looking towards the queen’s overly attentive aide hovering nearby. Freath was a good man, only slightly older than himself and although not handsome in a traditional sense, there was an enigmatic quality to his dry, reserved manner that was appealing. ‘I think we’re fine here now, Freath. You can organise for us to be left alone.’