Treason: Treason and Truth, #1

Copyright

Copyright © J.A.Cauldwell, 2024. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.K. copyright law. For permission requests, please email [email protected]

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover and Illustrations by J.A.Cauldwell

Pennod Press First Edition 2024.

Distributed on Draft2Digital.

ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-917145-04-6

ISBN (ebook): 978-1-917145-03-9

Trigger Warning

This book is fantasy set in a pre-Victorian style civilisation. There are references to unacceptable behaviours including torture, rape, slavery and murder. Other subjects such as suicide, child death and fatal illnesses are touched upon.

TREASON

The Erinnan Legacy

Treason and Truth

Book 1 of 12

J.A. Cauldwell

Dedication

For Chris

Character lists and notes on world building

are at the end of the book

THE ERINNAN LEGACY

TREASON AND TRUTH

FROM THE PAST COMES MAGIC,

FROM THE PRESENT, DANGER,

GRADUALLY COLLIDING

TREASON

TERA

TRAPPED

TRAGEDY

STORIES FROM ERINNA

EVERYBODY HAS A STORY AND SOMEBODY KNOWS IT

Standalone stories that may link to characters from other series.

TIES

For freebies, The Court Newsletter and to see more details and information on works in progress, please visit https://erinna.co.uk

MAPS

ARCHIVE

PART 1

Chapter 1

CHANGING TIMES

Imperadai, Week 31 – 18th Anapal, 4th Anapcis 1204

Oedran

RUMOUR OF DEATH stalked the corridors of power, the streets of cities and the rooms of men. It dispersed on the winds of winter bringing the chill of the unknown. Death claimed even the strongest, not just the weak; it claimed the rich, not just the poor; it claimed adult and child alike, men and women, paupers and kings.

It drew close to King Altarius Apolinar FitzAlcis, holding out its hand, sapping the strength from his battle-hardened bones. He didn’t want to fight; he had fought rebels, outwitted traitors, raised and lost family and now the hand that had snatched them reached out to him. Soon he would take it, following the path to his ancestors, reuniting with all those he had lost. It wouldn’t be today, it wouldn’t be tomorrow but it would be soon. He had people he loved still to protect.

You’ve got to persuade Scanlon to come home, remonstrated Princess Ira. Your father is—

Don’t say it! snapped her husband. We’re family but it’s still treason.

Your father needs both his sons with him.

If you can talk sense into my brother, you’re more than welcome to try. He says he isn’t going to make the journey to Tera twice because I’m panicking.

You’re not panicking. Well, not without cause…

Prince Adeone grimaced. "Father might rally. He cursed as a knock at their sitting room door interrupted their time alone. Come in! Yes, what is it, Jacobs?"

His father’s secretary bowed. His Majesty has asked to see Her Elegance, Your Highness.

We’ll be there shortly, replied Adeone dismissively.

Forgive me, sir, but His Majesty only sent for Princess Ira.

Adeone gave a curt nod, waiting for the door to close on the hapless man. What have you done? he teased.

No idea. Should I be worried? He’s never asked to see me alone.

You’ll be fine. I should get to Military Counsel. Advisor Rayburn’s joining us and leaving him to the General may be a little unfair.

As the door clicked shut behind him, she turned to the windows, drinking in the view over the formal gardens towards the palace wall then over it to Palace Walk with its grand houses, and beyond those to where the buildings dropped away to the River Edra, circling the City of Oedran, capital of her wed-family’s empire.

Checking her appearance in a mirror, she contemplated that city, the busy streets teeming with life; a hurried life of survival; a varied life of the poor, of traders and merchants, of lords and ladies; the very difference of position, of what made the city so contradictory. It hummed with the wind-blown rumour, whispered in the dark spaces: King Altarius was dying and change was coming. The rumour was true, but she shouldn’t speak of it. To talk of the death of kings was treason, as her husband had reminded her. She tried to ignore her qualms about that and her appearance. Ella’s birth wasn’t that long ago. The changes were to be expected.

She hurried along the loop of the King’s Corridor to the Audience Chamber doors, where the guards snapped to attention. Entering the opulent, gilded and polished room, she took in the familiar sight of arched panels painted with vistas of the empire: hills, forests, cascading rivers, rough seas, calm lakes and dry deserts; views of mountains and cities, of roads leading the eye to distant places or tantalisingly disappearing around corners.

As the dais guards snapped to attention; she inclined her head slightly – in acknowledgement to them and the throne they were guarding. Her skin tingled; soon her husband would sit there accepting the fealties of his lords. She wasn’t sure she was ready for the change.

Turning right, she entered the more restrained Outer Office. The secretaries stood and she glanced at the elderly King’s Administrator. He gave a slight bow before wordlessly showing her through the Inner Office to the King’s Bedchamber where her wed-father’s long-serving manservant opened the door and stood aside.

Rising from her curtsy, Ira met her wed-father’s steely brown-eyed gaze. She shivered, even in the warm room with its fire-borne scents of apple and cinnamon. Adeone’s hopes he would recover were for nothing. As the manservant left through the cleverly concealed servants’ door, she turned to her wed-father.

Loose skin folded into deep wrinkles beneath her cool fingers as she took his scarred hand. Perching on the edge of the four-poster, a tenderness welled within her that few would have believed.

Quietly he said, You’ll soon be queen.

You’ll recover, sir.

No, I won’t. One can’t recover from age. He squeezed her hand. "I’ll join my ancestors quite happily. I’m tired, Ira, tired of the fight. It’s time for my son’s reign."

Sire—

Don’t deny the future, please – not here, not now. The day will come soon, but it won’t be easy. Adeone will be a very different king.

There’s no doubt he is your son, though, Your Majesty.

Physically speaking maybe not, but he’s more like his mother was, which is why I’ve always found it hard to show him how much I love him. Too many memories, Ira, too many…

Tears coursed slowly down his face. Without disturbing the silence, Ira pressed her handkerchief into his hand and glanced away as he wiped his eyes. Of everything she had seen in her years of marriage, her wed-father’s frailty was the least expected.

He took a slow breath to steady his voice. Keep loving him. He needs your love so very much.

I don’t think I could ever stop, Sire.

He searched her face. Hunting for any shadow of a lie or deception, or just for reassurance, she wasn’t sure. Haunted eyes reminded her of his losses, of his loneliness since Queen Eliza’s death.

Good, but… Don’t let him get so immersed in work that he misses the children growing. It’s all too easy to do. I missed all their lives. I thought there were more pressing things, more important things, and I was never more wrong. Don’t let him live with the same regret. Take care of the children – Elantha included.

Surely, Scanlon and Aelia are able to—

His hand twitched. I don’t doubt it but, promise me, if anything happens, to protect her as you would your own, and any siblings she may have in the coming years.

Of course I will, Sire. You have my word.

Altarius sagged into his pillows. "Good. You can never tell what shocks the future brings. When you’re a monarch, you must suspect everyone. Beware of trusting people. Don’t let Adeone trust too many. No matter who they are. Just promise me that. Promise me that my son’s heart shan’t be his downfall. I trust your word, your care, your compassion as no other’s."

Tilting her head slightly, she said, You have my promise, Sire.

He studied her face once more. You know, you’ve done him a lot of good. He couldn’t have chosen better.

She blushed and studied their clasped hands. I don’t know about that, Your Majesty.

I do and I’m still King. He squeezed her hand gently and whispered, as much to himself as to her, Smoke and mirrors; that’s all it is. Now, you’d better go. Let this old man get some rest. Give my love to the children.

I will, Sire. They keep asking how you are. Arkyn especially.

He’s a good lad, that one. Keep him close whilst you can.

She replaced his hand on the coverlet and left in a thoughtful mood. Walking through the palace corridors, she didn’t see the carvings, the gilding or the paint. She considered her wed-father and hoped, against evidence, that he wasn’t dying. There had been a different side to him that day, a softer side, and she realised that maybe Adeone and Scanlon should have glimpsed it more often. She wanted to see more of it herself.

After dinner, Ira dismissed the servants before turning to her husband. He appeared drawn, but they were running out of time. Your father looked pale earlier.

Yes. I saw him after counsel. The doc says he’s getting weaker.

You need to get Scanlon home, Ad. It’s time.

Despair washed over him. He doesn’t have to do what I say! He’s the Justiciar of the Empire and I’m not Regent. I’m the King’s Representative and heir, but that doesn’t mean Scanlon can’t do what he thinks is best for the Terasian Law Review, and that’s what he’s quoting at me every time I try. As brothers I outrank him, socially in Oedran I outrank him, for his official duties I don’t. Father could order him home, but won’t. By the time I can order the Justiciar around, it’ll be too late. Aelia’s tried and failed. I’ve even asked Uncle Lachlan to try but he’s not got anywhere. Scanlon is as stubborn as a mule and the more we try, the worse he becomes. There’s nothing I can do. There’s just nothing…

Ira cursed in the privacy of her head. The fact her wed-brother was being so intractable upset her more than she expected. He would surely regret not being in Oedran if Altarius died but Adeone was right: as Justiciar, only the King, or his Regent, could order Scanlon around and Altarius hadn’t named Adeone as Regent simply because it would exacerbate the rumours that he was dying.

A week later, the message came from Doctor Chapa: Adeone and Ira were needed in the King’s Chambers. They entered them quietly. Seconds later, Adeone sat by his father, holding his wasted hand. Ira moved around the bed and took Altarius’ other hand, cursing Scanlon’s absence.

With many pauses, Altarius murmured faintly, "Trust no-one, son. Love your wife and your children, but trust no-one. Implement my requests and bequests without fault. Give me your word that you’ll do it."

You have my word and my promise, sir.

Ira… Keep him sensible.

Struggling to keep her emotions in check, she chided him to save his strength.

He held her gaze for a long moment. My strength has gone. Don’t… don’t weep for me, Ira.

The door opened and his siblings and second wed-daughter entered. Ira moved away from the bed to stand with Aelia, but Adeone didn’t want to leave his father’s side; he wanted to have what time was left with him.

Altarius regarded his brother and sister. The past is over… I’ll give your greetings to them all.

Thank you, sir. Make your presence known, replied Prince Lachlan.

Lady Amara sat where Ira had, her brother’s hand in hers. He always does, Lachy. Always keeps people waiting as well.

Altarius looked at her. With the last of his rapidly fading strength, he said, Wish me luck, little sister.

All the luck I can, Alt. Don’t stand for any nonsense up there.

Altarius never heard the last words. His eyes glazed over whilst he turned to his son. Adeone reached over and with a shaking hand closed his father’s eyes. The room was still. No-one moved for several moments; then Adeone jumped as Lachlan’s consoling hand rested on his shoulder. Glad of the support it implied, Adeone didn’t want to move, didn’t want to recognise what had happened, but there were things to do. He drew a deep breath. The deepest he ever had. He rose and carefully put his father’s hand down. Leaning forward, he kissed his father’s brow in parting.

Rest in peace at last, he whispered.

As he turned away from his father’s body, everyone but his aunt knelt or curtsied; she sat watching her brother’s motionless face; her own a mixture of contemplation and grief.

No. Not now. All are equal in grief… murmured Adeone.

Just not in life, Sire, observed Lachlan. You’ll get used to it.

Adeone shook his head, amused in spite of himself and oddly grateful to his uncle for the moment of levity. In that case, ruin your knees. Get up everyone, please.

Ira crossed over to him as he held out his hand, wrapping him in a hug as they gathered themselves. Silently she resolved to keep her promises to her wed-father, whatever the future brought. Lady Amara seemed unsettled – a stark reminder that times had changed and the reign of King Altarius Apolinar was already history.

Chapter 2

RETURN

Cisadai, Week 12 – 23rd Lowal, 16th Lowis 1209

Anapara

THE POUNDING OF HOOVES on the road behind them made King Adeone turn in the saddle. He had almost returned to Oedran the previous evening but had told himself he was being a fool. He was away for two days, one night, that was all. Heart racing, he spotted the livery of a palace courier. His hands slipped on the reins. Taking a breath, he turned Pursuit and rode to greet the man.

He took the letter without a word. Doctor Chapa’s seal did nothing to allay his fears. The brief missive merely told him Queen Ira had taken a turn for the worse and Chapa thought he would like to know, but Ira had insisted on him sending a note as opposed to contacting him via magical messenger. He didn’t hesitate. Spurring Pursuit into a gallop, he headed for Oedran.

By the time he saw the city clearly, his heart pounded, his back ached and he had no escort. Gradually, the city dominated his view as he urged Pursuit on. Arkyn had chosen the name well and the horse, a true Anaparian Swiftfoot, revelled in a sustained gallop.

He was within hailing distance of the city walls now and could see the mosaic of stones, the areas under repair and those already finished. He should wait for his guards. Ignoring the nagging necessity, he slowed as he crossed the bridge, weaving around people, reining into a walk as he passed under the scaffolded arch. As he ducked low, he spotted a familiar figure and his heart plummeted further. His manservant wouldn’t be waiting if it were good news. Nor would he be telling the city guards to keep people back as he was doing. He hardly noticed the army sergeant pushing himself away from the wall.

Simkins, why are you here?

I thought it best, Sire. Her Grace is at Macarian House. His manservant’s calm voice turned serious as he enquired where the King’s guards were.

Catching up. I should give them better mounts. Remind me, at some point. I’ll meet you—

A shout rang through the air; quick as lightning, the sergeant grabbed Pursuit’s bridle as a pot crashed on the flagstones and shards went flying.

What was that? demanded Adeone.

A pot, Your Majesty, replied the sergeant matter-of-factly. It was knocked off the walk atop the gatehouse.

Accident? enquired Adeone, studying the man’s face for it tugged at a memory.

Yes, sir. A long piece of wood caught it.

Then, thank you; that could have been nasty.

Sire, if Pursuit had reared, you could have been killed, said Simkins.

Yes, quite. Sergeant, your face is familiar, but I can’t place you.

I worked for Lord Macaria when Lady Ira was young… Sorry, Sire, I should, of course, have said Her Grace.

If you worked for the family, Lady Ira will do, replied Adeone distantly. Although it’s now fifteen years since she carried that title. Where have they gone?

Into history, Sire. I was troubled to hear that she was so ill. I came to Oedran to hear news of her.

Adeone pulled himself out of the past. Then I think we can do better than that for you. Any link with her past is dear to her now. Come and see her.

It would not be right, Sire.

Sergeant, I’m the one asking; how can it ‘not be right’?

The two men looked at each other. Adeone sensed a battle happening in the sergeant’s head: what he wanted to do against what he should do, what his superiors would say if they found out and what he would face if he accepted the offer.

If you will not come, at least tell me your name so I can tell her of your concern.

It’s Wynfeld, Sire, but I would like, very much, to see her again.

Then meet me at Macarian House. You too, Simkins. Without giving his manservant the chance to object, Adeone spurred Pursuit on and moved at a trot down the street.

He’ll be heartbroken if the Queen dies, said Simkins sadly and later wondered at his rare confidence.

I don’t think he’ll be the only one, Master Simkins. Wynfeld strode off through the crowds and momentarily wondered why the manservant didn’t join him.

*  *  *

A short while later, Simkins entered the entrance hall of Landis House via the front door, enquiring of the new doorkeeper if Lord Landis was at home.

The footman’s glance took in Simkins from his slightly disordered hair to his crisp white tunic, scarlet belt, loose white trousers and well-made leather shoes. He asked rather too pointedly who wanted to know.

Simkins told him, rather intrigued the footman hadn’t at least recognised his uniform: scarlet was the colour of kings, white the colour of menservants. It wasn’t difficult to deduce, that was the point.

Completely unabashed, Backery said that His Lordship was in the study. Simkins crossed the polished entrance hall and made his way to the old part of the house.

Simkins? I thought you had a few days off. What’s happened? asked Landis.

Her Grace is at Macarian House, my lord, and the doc isn’t hopeful. The King’s returned but alone, without his guards. I thought you’d want to know.

Do you think it would help if I had Their Highnesses here for a couple of days? enquired Landis, privately cursing his friend’s stupidity with the guards.

No, sir. I think the King needs them near him.

Landis nodded. Lord Iris is presiding at Court for me today, just in case. I won’t come and disrupt things but, if you think I’m needed, please let me know. Also, send Jenner this way. Marsh will now be duty sergeant.

"I understand, my lord. I’ll keep you informed. Oh, you should know that one Sergeant Wynfeld of the army saved the King’s life…" Simkins explained quickly and easily.

Landis raised an eyebrow. Interesting. Thank you. I presume Fitz has decided he’s needed at Macarian House in the circumstances?

Yes, my lord. He arrived as I did this morning.

Landis snorted. There are days I wonder why His Majesty keeps Fitz as Captain of Intelligence when it’s clear he would rather be at their side.

Simkins chuckled. Privilege of being an Officer of the FitzAlcis, my lord. He delegates, the General can’t object and His Majesty trusts him.

That’s why he’s an Officer of the FitzAlcis, observed Landis dryly. All right, Simkins. You’ve given me plenty of work to do. You’d better go and make sure His Majesty has all he needs.

Watching the manservant leave, Landis frowned to himself. Macarian House and Landis House were close but it was telling that the manservant had come to see him.

Chapter 3

A QUEEN’S PASSING

Early Afternoon

Oedran

WYNFELD STROLLED THROUGH OEDRAN, completely unaware he was a person of interest. He’d never intended to return, but events and his conscience had overtaken him. Claiming all the leave he could, he’d made the long journey to Oedran from Garth in Bayan. He’d saved leave in the hopes of retiring early when his time in the army ended; however, this was more important than those extra few weeks in a few years’ time.

He hadn’t expected to see his King, or to be invited to see Queen Ira again. He’d been leaning on the wall of the gatehouse to prolong the time until he had to face the past. Surveying the diverse and bustling city had helped calm his troubled mind. Oedran had survived battles and fire, famine and feasting, fevers and festivals. Limestone walls sparkled in the sun or glinted in the light of the two Erinnan moons. The wide cobbled streets with their smooth pavements invited the traveller in. Magnificent and domineering, crafted throughout centuries, Oedran’s alluring and terrifying character overawed visitors. It was the living, breathing heart of the FitzAlcis’ empire, which stretched from the northern coast to the southern mountains and from the western seas to beyond the eastern isles.

As he walked to Macarian House, the familiar sights and smells of home assailed his senses, bringing nostalgia with them: cookshops sold foods from all over the empire; spices from Serpent Isle vied with herbs from Lufian; roasting lamb from the Low Plains fought with pies from north Anapara; Bayan stews with large floury dumplings faced off against Macian seafood; the long slow-cooked meats of Denshire sold next to the sausages of Terasia and the fresh vegetable dishes of Gerymor; Pale Landian soups of all varieties complimented new-baked bread, made with Traderian and Arealian grains. As he passed a butcher’s shop, he caught the metallic scent of blood before passing a cheesemonger where the earthy, ripe and musty tones were less disturbing, but he preferred the redolence of herbs and spices. The aromas mixed, providing a patchwork of variety for the senses marred by the pervading stink of humanity.

The buildings hadn’t changed and people still moved with purpose or idled along the street, stopping to examine trinkets or essentials, to pass the time of day with friends or dodge aside to avoid others. Apprentices watched the wares at the front of the shops as their masters served within. Amongst the bakers and butchers, the cookshops and cobblers were the cloth traders and leather workers, chandlers and facilitators; there were the smiths and farriers, saddlers and tailors, inns and taverns, brothels and schools, all entwined together.

He passed a mail lodge with riders bringing news and despatching it to all places in the empire. Around the gates, people gossiped, trying to pick up the latest information; some would sell it on, others merely wanted to hear it to liven up their day. Wynfeld caught the eye of a boy who pretended he hadn’t been about to slice a pouch from a distracted merchant. Truly, the city never changed. Reassuringly, it was still the boiling pot it had always been. The words of an old man from his youth came to mind: be watchful, be careful but, above all, be alive for the city lives.

His feet found their own way to the servants’ entrance of Macarian House and a friendly word to the guards saw him through into the yard, though he was aware they watched him as he knocked at the kitchen door.

A rosy-faced lady opened it. Hands on her hips, she said, You’ve got a cheek, young man!

Instinctively stepping back, Wynfeld shrank inwardly. Aunt Maria, you’re looking well.

Humph. Never wrote, did you! What you turned up now for, like a bad talence?

Our King invited me. I—

"He asked you to come here? Now?"

It sounds unbelievable, but I assure you it’s true, replied Wynfeld, placatingly.

"I’ve heard that before! You never were much good at sweet-talking. Wait there." With that – and all the family feeling she could muster – she shut the door abruptly and firmly in his face.

Wynfeld, his back against the doorpost, surveyed the kitchen yard. A grin slowly suffused his features; this was his childhood home and haunt, the flagged yard with the wall separating it from the stables, the outer wall to the street with its wrought-iron gate and the troughs of herbs against the house wall for easy picking. Chewing on a leaf of mint, as he had as a child, he grinned, glad he’d returned. Even his aunt berating him was worth it. Had he really been gone so long? It felt like no time at all.

Running feet and a spontaneous burst of laughter from the stable entrance heralded two boys with the familiar looks of their parents. They stopped abruptly when they spotted him. The elder took half a step forward, shielding his brother.

Has father found out we come into the kitchens this way? asked Prince Arkyn with an odd strain in his voice.

Wynfeld considered standing straighter but they probably had enough formality in their lives. No, Your Highness. I am merely waiting for my Aunt Maria to verify some information.

She made you wait outside? enquired the bright-eyed, black-haired, nine-year-old incredulously.

I’m afraid so, Prince Tain. Women can be so hard-hearted. He got no further before the door reopened and Maria said,

You’re to go to them in the gardens.

He pushed himself away from the wall. "Thank you. Now, is there any love left in that cold heart? Can you find a resting place for my kit bag? I also think Their Highnesses were on the scrounge for something."

Saluting smartly, he left, ruining the impression with a broad wink. He didn’t see the way his grinning Princes watched him go or the way that his aunt shepherded them into the kitchen, but he did feel her suspicious glare and chuckled to himself. He’d pay for not having kept in contact, but he was glad to see her.

He idled through the grounds, lost in thought. Near the steps onto the lawn was a daybed with his King sitting on the bench beside it. Stopping a couple of steps up, he once more saluted and waited. His heart beat quickly against his ribs and he was sure his King would see it and wonder why.

Adeone glanced up, oblivious of Wynfeld’s nerves. Ah, you’re here. My dear… Adeone turned to Queen Ira. Sergeant Wynfeld just saved my life. He used to work for your family, apparently. I thought you might like to see him.

Ira gasped. Wynfeld? But… Truly… is it… you? I thought… No… matter… There was so much light in her wan voice that both Adeone and the sergeant knew they had done the right thing.

Yes, my lady, I’ve changed a bit though. His voice betrayed none of his angst as he stepped forward and saw how starkly her ashen skin contrasted with her black hair.

No, you never could… Are you still… as skilled with horses?

I should say he is, remarked Adeone. Calmed Pursuit down with a couple of words. Wynfeld, sit down; don’t stand on ceremony, not today.

They spent the afternoon happily reminiscing, bringing up numerous anecdotes that kept Adeone chuckling. Halfway through the afternoon, the Princes joined them, listening to the stories. As the evening drew ever closer, Wynfeld contemplated how to excuse himself before he’d outstayed his welcome.

Ira said, I’m tired; I think… I’ll go in… for a while.

Adeone got up. I’ll find your chair.

No, my dear… I’ll walk. I’ll be fine if Wynfeld and you… support me. I’m sick… of the chair.

I’d much rather carry you – less chance of an accident.

Wynfeld caught the King’s eye but kept quiet. They both knew Ira wasn’t going to be walking anywhere.

You can’t … chided Ira, tiredness catching her words. The doc has… said you must watch… watch your back, and I’m guessing… you rode recklessly… and harmed… more… than helped.

My dear…

Why can’t Sergeant Wynfeld carry mother? asked Tain.

Because, my prince, it would be inappropriate, replied Wynfeld quietly.

Nonsense! Please do, if you can, requested Adeone.

Wynfeld smiled as he lifted Ira. Her head rested on his shoulder and he was surprised at just how light she was. As he carried her up the steps, he glanced at her.

She was watching his face. Just like… that… last… day, she murmured with a wry smile.

But no sprained ankle, my lady.

So quietly that Wynfeld thought it was only he who’d heard, she whispered, No, just… a… sprained… heart… Look… after… them, Lex. I’m… so… so… tired.

Her eyes closed as she left them.

Entering the house, Wynfeld glanced at King Adeone to see tears in his eyes. He knew.

Arkyn, which room has the Queen been using? asked Adeone, hiding behind formality.

Her childhood one, sir, whispered Arkyn, not wanting to disturb her.

Once they reached the room, Wynfeld laid Ira gently down and would have left if Adeone hadn’t stopped him with a hand on his arm.

Thank you. It has been the ending she would have wanted: laughter, family and friends.

I am truly sorry, my king. He glanced at his Princes’ pale faces, took a breath but words failed him; he left the family together, making his way to the kitchens where Maria snapped at the potboy to get a tankard of beer for him.

You’ve been privileged, haven’t you?

Aunt Maria, not now, replied Wynfeld, drained of emotion.

She quietly retreated from recrimination and moved with him to one side of the busy kitchen.

Lady Ira died in my arms. I’m so sorry, aunt.

No! Maria’s anguished cry silenced the kitchen.

Wynfeld held her close as her eyes filled with tears and her face drained of colour.

Nice to see you, young Wynfeld, but what’s happened? asked one of the cooks.

Wynfeld swallowed. It wasn’t his place to tell them, but he had little choice. Queen Ira has started her journey to the ancestors.

Gasps and sobs shattered the stillness.

May they greet her kindly and protect those she loved, intoned the cook. Come on, we’ve still got a job to do. You sit yourselves there. No, Maria, take time whilst you can. The Princes won’t need anything for a while.

Wynfeld persuaded his aunt to sit down and accepted a replenishing tankard of ale. A plate of food appeared next to it and someone squeezed his shoulder in mute support. The business of the kitchen carried on around them: the staff silent. There were tears in eyes and hands that shook as they prepared the evening’s meals.

Long after dinner was served and cleared, Maria said, Come on, I’ve made you a bed up. I ought to see that—

"Aunt, have I ever told you what a wonderful woman you are?"

No, but with the amount you’ve drunk I’m sure I’ll be hearing it a lot. When they got to the privacy of a bedroom, she chided gently, "Why did you come home, lad? Your heart will just break again."

Wynfeld murmured something so softly that Maria couldn’t hear it. When she did catch anything, it was impossible to decipher.

She whispered, Drown your sorrows in sleep, lad; it’s better for your liver.

Chapter 4

REACTION

Evening

Landis House

TAKING THE LETTER his manservant held out, Landis ran his thumb over the plain seal. The lack of a cachet spoke a thousand words that Adeone’s hand alone could not.

Who delivered this, William?

My son, sir.

Dreading the contents, Landis broke the red wax. Moments later he was staring at the page, unseeingly. Ira had been his friend as much as his cousin, more than his Queen. Folding the letter carefully, he went to find his wife.

His face must have told a thousand stories, for as soon as she and their eldest children saw him, she asked,

Ira? When he nodded, she said, May our ancestors welcome her.

Glancing between her parents, Julia let out a small sob. Landis simply hugged her tightly. Julius blinked back his tears. Men didn’t cry. His mother held out an arm and he shook his head.

It’s fine to be upset. We are.

Julius hesitated but crossed to her. Realising she really was distressed, he returned her enveloping hug. The silence lasted for many minutes before Julia dried her eyes.

How’s Uncle Adeone?

Landis said, I didn’t speak with him, but I expect he’s emotionally shattered.

Can we see him?

It may be better to wait for a time. Let him and your nearcousins adjust.

Can you tell them we’re thinking of them? asked Julia.

Of course. He’s never in doubt about that.

Can we write? suggested Julius.

If you want to. Just give them a couple of days.

A few minutes later, Cornelia persuaded the twins to go to bed. When she returned, she found her husband pale and drawn.

How’s His Majesty really?

I don’t know. Honestly, Cornelia, I don’t. He wrote, his hand wasn’t steady and he didn’t seal the letter properly. So, I can guess that he’s not good. I saw her yesterday. I knew she was weak but I didn’t think it would be today.

Cornelia sat on the arm of his chair and held him. He pulled her onto his lap, hugging her tightly as he let the realisation of loss wash over him.

She’s with Ella now.

Cornelia swallowed. Yes, but the boys will miss her so much.

She’ll see Aelia as well.

Cornelia stilled. Her sister had taken her own life. It wasn’t something she wanted to talk about or even acknowledge. Her wed-brother, Lord Scanlon, hadn’t invited them to Aelia’s funeral. He’d seen to everything before he informed them and used Princess Ella’s death, which had occurred around the same time, to excuse his actions. So, to her, Aelia was forever elsewhere in the empire, not with their ancestors.

Landis realised he’d said the wrong thing. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m not myself.

I know. We’ve got to be there for our nearsons now, Festus, like never before.

"I asked Simkins if it would help if we had them to stay for a couple of days, but he thought not. He was right, I think. Adeone will need them close now."

I wasn’t meaning that, clarified Cornelia. We need to be available to them if they want to talk. Arkyn’s a year older than the twins and will soon be starting to take up duties. It’ll only be a couple of years before he’ll be touring the empire doing provincial reviews. He and Ira were close, Festus.

He’s close to Adeone as well.

Yes, but not in the same way, explained Cornelia. He feels the expectations more with Adeone. He doesn’t want to disappoint him. Ira told me he fears the future. He’ll do what he has to without complaint but he will need someone to talk to.

I know. As will Tain and Adeone, for that matter. He whispered, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Cornelia.

You’d cope for our children, as Adeone will cope for his.

How many have we got again?

Five, as you well know.

Hmm. I might like a couple more.

She gave him a well-practised look, leaned down and kissed him gently. He responded immediately, then stopped just as suddenly. Carefully, Cornelia pushed his dark hair away from his forehead. Fourteen years of marriage and she knew him better than almost anyone else. He needed to acknowledge his emotion before he could work through it.

After a moment, she disentangled herself and poured him a whiskey. Turning back, she noticed his glazed eyes and smiled sadly to herself. It wasn’t an evening for laughter or conversation. She put the drink on the table next to his hand and sat at a small desk, pulling out a sheet of paper. As she was sealing the letter, Landis asked who she was writing to.

Feronia.

It won’t get to her before the news. Ifor will tell her…

I know, but I like writing to my wed-sister. Don’t worry, I obviously sent your love.

Landis grimaced. He loved his sister and wished she lived closer than the Low Plains, but there was a difference between that and admitting it.

I don’t have to send the letter.

Yes, you do. I should contact her myself. She and Ira were close as girls. He swallowed. Why do I feel so ripped apart by this?

Because you loved your cousin and know what her family must be going through. You’ll be better when you’ve seen Adeone at least. Changing the subject, she asked, What was that with Sergeant Jenner earlier?

"Oh, I was sacking him. The King arrived in