A Dirge for Princes

The woman looked hopeful then, as if thinking that this was all some mistake, in spite of the depredations of the others in the village. She looked that way right up to the point when the Master of Crows thrust his sword through her heart, the thrust sure and clean, probably even painless.

“In this case, I gave your men a choice, and they made it,” he said as she clutched at the weapon. He pulled it out, and she fell. “It is a choice I intend to give much of the rest of this kingdom. Perhaps they will choose more wisely.”

He looked around as the slaughter continued, feeling neither pleasure nor displeasure, just a kind of even satisfaction at a task accomplished. A step, at least, because after all, this was no more than the taking of a village.

There would be much more to come.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dowager Queen Mary of the House of Flamberg sat in the great chambers of the Assembly of Nobles, trying not to look too bored on her throne at the heart of things while the supposed representatives of her people talked, and talked.

Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have mattered. The Dowager had long ago mastered the art of looking impassive and regal while the great factions there argued. Typically, she let the populists and the traditionalists wear themselves out before she spoke. Today, though, that was taking longer than usual, which meant that the ever-present tightness in her lungs was growing. If she did not finish with this soon, these fools might see the secret that she worked so hard to disguise.

But there was no hurrying it. War had come, which meant that everyone wanted their chance to speak. Worse, more than a few of them wanted answers that she didn’t have.

“I merely wish to ask my honorable friends whether the fact that enemies have landed on our shore is indicative of a wider government policy of neglecting our nation’s military capabilities,” Lord Hawes of Briarmarsh asked.

“The honorable lord is well aware of the reasons that this Assembly has been wary of the notion of a centralized army,” Lord Branston of Upper Vereford replied.

They continued to babble on, refighting old political battles while more literal ones were growing closer.

“If I might state the situation, so that this Assembly does not accuse me of neglecting my duty,” General Sir Guise Burborough said. “The forces of the New Army have landed on our southeastern shores, bypassing many of the defenses that we put in place to prevent the possibility. They have advanced at a rapid rate, overwhelming those defenders who have tried to stop them and burning villages in their wake. Already, there are numerous refugees who seem to think that we should provide them with lodging.”

It was amusing, the Dowager thought, that the man could make people running for their lives sound like unwanted relatives determined to stay too long.

“What of preparations around Ashton?” Graham, Marquis of the Shale, demanded. “I take it that they are heading this way? Can we seal the walls?”

That was the response of a man who knew nothing about cannon, the Dowager thought. She might have laughed out loud if she’d had the breath for it. As it was, it was all she could do to maintain her impassive expression.

“They are,” the general replied. “Before the month is out, we might have to prepare for a siege, and earthworks are already being constructed against the possibility.”

“Are we considering evacuating the people in the army’s path?” Lord Neresford asked. “Should we advise the people of Ashton to flee north to avoid the fighting? Should our queen, at least, consider retreating to her estates?”

It was funny; the Dowager had never taken him for one interested in her well-being. He had always been quick to vote against any proposal she put forward.

She decided that it was time to speak, while she still could. She stood, and the room fell silent. Even though the nobles had fought for their Assembly, they still listened to her within it.

“To order an evacuation would start a panic,” she said. “There would be looting in the streets, and strong men who might defend their homes otherwise will flee. I will stand here too. This is my home, and I will not be seen to run from it in the face of a rabble of foes.”

“Far from a rabble, Your Majesty,” Lord Neresford pointed out, as if the Dowager’s advisors hadn’t told her the precise extent of the invading force. Perhaps he just assumed that, as a woman, she wouldn’t have enough knowledge of war to understand it. “Although I am sure that all the Assembly is eager to hear your plans to defeat it.”

The Dowager stared him down, although that was hard to do when her lungs felt as though she might burst into a coughing fit at any moment.

“As the honorable lords know,” she said, “I have deliberately eschewed too close a role in the kingdom’s armies. I wouldn’t want to make you all uncomfortable by claiming to command you now.”

“I’m sure we can forgive it this once,” the lord said, as if he had the power to forgive or condemn her. “What is your solution, Your Majesty?”

The Dowager shrugged. “I thought that we would start with a wedding.”

She stood there, waiting for the furor to die down, the various factions within the Assembly shouting at one another. The royalists were cheering their support, the anti-monarchists griping about the waste of money. The military members were assuming that she was ignoring them, while those from the further reaches of the kingdom wanted to know what any of it meant for their people. The Dowager didn’t say anything until she was sure that she had their attention.

“Listen to yourselves, babbling like frightened children,” she said. “Did your tutors and your governesses not teach you the history of our nation? How many times have foreign foes sought to claim our lands, jealous of their beauty and their wealth? Shall I list them for you? Shall I tell you about the failures of the Havvers Warfleet, the Invasion of the Seven Princes? Even in our civil wars, the foes that came from without were always pushed back. It has been a thousand years since anyone has conquered this land, and yet you panic now because a few foes have evaded our first line of defenses.”

She looked around the room, shaming them like children.

“I cannot give our people much. I cannot command without your support, and rightly so.” She didn’t want them arguing about her power here and now. “I can give them hope, though, which is why today, in this Assembly, I wish to announce an event that offers hope for the future. I wish to announce the impending marriage of my son Sebastian to Lady d’Angelica, Marchioness of Sowerd. Will any of you seek to force a vote on the matter?”

They didn’t, although she suspected that it was as much because they were stunned by the announcement as anything. The Dowager didn’t care. She set off from the chamber, deciding that her own preparations were more important than whatever business it would conclude in her absence.

There was still so much to do. She needed to make sure that the Danses’ daughters had been contained, she needed to make wedding preparations —

The coughing fit took her suddenly, even though she had been expecting it through most of her speech. When her handkerchief came away stained with blood, the Dowager knew that she’d pushed too hard today. That, and things were progressing faster than she would have liked.

She would finish things here. She would secure the kingdom for her sons, against all the threats, inside and out. She would see her line continue. She would see the dangers eliminated.

Before all of that, though, there was someone she needed to see.

***

“Sebastian, I’m so sorry,” Angelica said, and then stopped herself with a frown. That wasn’t right. Too eager, too bright. She needed to try again. “Sebastian, I’m so sorry.”

Better, but still not quite right. She kept practicing as she made her way along the corridors of the palace, knowing that when the time came to actually say it in earnest, it would have to be perfect. She needed to make Sebastian understand that she felt his pain, because that kind of sympathy was the first step when it came to owning his heart.

It would have been easier if she’d felt anything but joy at the thought of Sophia being gone. Just the memory of the knife sliding into her brought a smile that she wouldn’t be able to show in front of Sebastian when he got back.

That wouldn’t be long. Angelica had beaten him home by riding hard, but she had no doubt that Rupert, Sebastian, and all the rest would return soon. She needed to be ready once they did, because there was no point in removing Sophia if she couldn’t take advantage of the gap that left.

For now, though, Sebastian wasn’t the member of their family she needed to worry about. She stood outside the Dowager’s quarters, taking a breath while the guards watched her. When they swung the doors back in silence, Angelica set her brightest smile on her features and ventured forward.

“Remember that you’ve done what she wants,” Angelica told herself.

The Dowager was waiting for her, seated on a comfortable chair and drinking some kind of herbal tea. Angelica remembered her deep curtsey this time, and it seemed that Sebastian’s mother wasn’t in a mood to play games.

“Please rise, Angelica,” she said in a tone that was surprisingly mild.

Still, it made sense that she would be pleased. Angelica had done everything that was required.

“Sit there,” the older woman said, gesturing to a spot beside her. It was better than having to kneel before her, although being commanded like that was still a small piece of grit rubbing against Angelica’s soul. “Now, tell me about your journey to Monthys.”

“It’s done,” Angelica said. “Sophia is dead.”

“Are you sure of that?” the Dowager asked. “You checked her body?”

Angelica frowned at the questioning note there. Was nothing good enough for this old woman?

“I had to escape before that, but I stabbed her with a stiletto laced with the most vicious poison I had,” she said. “No one could have survived.”

“Well,” the Dowager said, “I hope you’re correct. My spies say that her sister showed up?”