Champion of the Rose - Kobo Ebook (15 page)

"King Aluster and Lord Aristide," Aspect said,
drinking in her distraction. "The
entire Court's seen the possibilities of it. Both born for the throne. Both
mages. Both absolutely reeking with
looks, not to mention the kind of drive it will take to get Darest back on its
feet. Formidable men make the best
matches, don't you think?"

"For the entertainment value perhaps," Soren
replied, quietly appalled. Lord Aristide
and Strake? But it did make a kind of horrible,
inexorable sense. "It was Lord
Aristide I wanted to ask you about, actually," she continued, trying not
to picture her Rathen in the arms of the gleaming, silky-sharp Diamond.

"How so?" Courtier to the core, Aspen lit up at the prospect of a chance to
demonstrate his knowledge, and no doubt to chalk up a debt.

"I..." Soren shook off panicked, pointless jealousy. Strake was asleep and Lord Aristide still lay
in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Yesterday, almost everyone the King spoke to – Fors, the
Chancellor, the Chamberlain, the Marshall, two of the Barons, even one of the
Apexes – went straight from the Hall of the Crown to Lord Aristide."

Aspen laughed. "You have had your spies out! Even the Chamberlain? He doesn't
care for the Delectable Diamond at all. But of course they all went to him. Can't you guess why?"

"I can guess a lot of things. I want to know."

"I'm gratified." That she thought he could answer, she supposed. Aspen tucked his knees beneath his chin, for
once looking almost serious. "You
do realise what our late-come King asked them to do, don't you?"

"Report on the state of the kingdom."

"Well, yes. Some
of them are competent enough to answer, I suppose. Poor old Fors is in the worst state – he
doesn't know whether he's coming or going. He's a jobbing word-mage: he fixes things, performs entertainments and
carries out whatever little tasks the Regent cares to throw his way. He's competent enough for that, but he's
never poked his nose into anything like what King Aluster wants. Tell him how many mages live in Tor
Darest? The entire country? Rival kingdoms? How many are born with true-mage
potential? Brief him with their
capabilities, their loyalties? Whether
there's been any instances of blood-magic? A summary of the efforts made to get rid of the Tongue? The state of the Shaping projects Lady Arista
abandoned? I tell you, Fors reeled out
of the throne room. And when he could
walk straight, the Diamond was the first and only port of call."

"What about the others?"

"Oh, I dare say the Lord Marshall knows how to run his
toy soldiers well enough, but since
Peveric
made a
point of calling on the Diamond, the Marshall would only consider it wise to
find some excuse to do the same. I'd bet
the Chancellor went to him because he's the only one who actually understands
to the letter The Deeping's ban on our trade. He may have had to wage a running war with his mother to do it, but the
Diamond's the one who's kept this kingdom staggering along these past five
years or more."

"I had no idea it was that bad."

Aspen shrugged. "Occasionally something does spark Lady Arista's interest,
true. Especially if it runs counter to
the Diamond's wishes. But–" He tipped one hand sideways. "Darest defeated her long ago. Fors tells me she was really something when
she was young. Brilliant, resolute. Full of ideas and thorough at implementing
them. If she'd been Rathen, if this
country didn't seem so set against success, well – who knows how she'd be
remembered? But what can you do when
your every scheme goes sour? We should
be glad all she did was withdraw her attention from everything except the
latest pretty piece of flesh. And, of
course, frustrating her son at every turn."

Lady Arista was standing alone in the centre of her throne
room, now stripped to the walls. She had
been gracious to Strake, but very formal and determined. There were responsibilities in the Couerveur
Barony which were long neglected. She
thought it best to demonstrate a clean break to the populace. Naturally the King could call upon her for
anything, but after so many years of service, it was time for her to leave Tor
Darest.

Straightforward acquiescence was as hard to believe as the
Diamond's mild acceptance of Strake as King. "So they go to Lord Aristide simply for answers?"

"Some." Aspen was watching her closely. "If they're fomenting rebellion, they're keeping very quiet about
it, naturally enough.
But–" He paused. "Our new King isn't being terribly
tactful by simply ignoring the Diamond's existence. Love him or loathe him, there's few who won't
admit that Aristide has put everything into Darest. That all the Couerveurs have. A lot of these visits will be nothing more
than a statement of support. I mean, the
Rathens are the rightful rulers and I don't think anyone's seriously
contemplating throwing our new Rathen straight back out into the cold. But Aristide is
Aristide
. People owe him
favours, debts. A lot are truly loyal,
bought and paid for long ago. They
aren't pairing him with the new King just because they'd look so good
together."

A reward. Soren
didn't know what to think.

"Of course," Aspen continued, with an euphoric
smile, "playing match-maker is not nearly so fine a thing as getting the
alluring Aluster naked and slippery. What do you think, oh Champion? Do I stand a chance?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," Soren said, then
looked away as Strake woke up. For a
moment, he and Lord Aristide were in the same position, lying blinking at the
ceiling. Then, with typical energy,
Strake was out of bed. A whirlwind
crowned, not leaving a moment spare for empty loss.

Time to go stand at his side through another day full of
questions. She would tell him this
possible explanation for the meetings with Lord Aristide, but certainly not
that they would look good together.

Her Rathen. Just what
was she supposed to protect him from?

Chapter Twelve

"Champion?"

The tall, brunette's voice was familiar, though Soren
couldn't immediately place her face. A
sheen of red in the hair, pale skin, a scatter of freckles, but it was the not
quite veiled assessment in dark blue eyes which finally jogged Soren's
memory. The Chancellor's junior-most
aide and assistant book wrangler, Halcean Veth.

Soren waited as the woman joined her. Strake had spent the morning inspecting the
city, the afternoon disposing of diplomatic audiences, and was at the moment
studying political maps with the Lord Marshall. He'd not given himself a moment's rest all day, and besides trailing him
about, Soren found herself with a list of people eager to 'consult' with
her. Who wanted to carry tales and
gossip about the King, or try to convince her to coax him to support some
scheme of theirs, redress some ill.

She wasn't altogether sure who it was she was supposed to be
talking to now, let alone what kind of answers she could give them. She murmured some greeting and hoped Halcean
wasn't going to be another who thought she'd help her climb into the King's
bed.

"Are you finding it easier to find your way through
your apartment now?" Halcean asked.

"Was it you who was lumbered with cleaning out the rest
of my library?"

"I was that unfortunate," the aide replied. "It was dusty and dull," she added
with bland forthrightness, "but it seemed a pity not to finish what I'd
started, and it's stood me in good stead in the claws-out battle for the prime
appointment of the day." She
executed a short, graceful bow. "I
present myself, a gesture of goodwill from Chancellor Gestry. Should you want an aide?"

Startled, Soren blinked, then said: "And should I want
an aide?"

Halcean's mouth curled up at the corners. "They're this season's prize
accessory." But her eyes remained
assessing, searching Soren's face. "I won't pretend I don't want you to want one," she continued,
still with that deliberate honesty. "It would be a real step up for me. And there's a lot I can do for you – keep track of your appointments,
organise your apartments, make sure you hear all the gossip you should."

"I already hear that."

"Thanks to
Mageling
Choraide? But who'll tell you the gossip about
him
?"

"He does that, too." But it was a fair point. Soren knew every second courtier had their
networks of spies and sources. And hateful
as she found the idea of participating in games of petty intrigue, she needed
to know what was being said if she were to even keep her head above water.

More importantly: "I could do with someone to stand
buffer between me and everyone suddenly wanting a meeting. Sort out the merely curious from those who
genuinely need to see me."

"And those out to curry favour." Halcean's smile had become conspiratorial,
underlaid by relieved pleasure. A plum
position, landed more easily than she'd perhaps anticipated.

Amused at the stupid sense of power accepting Halcean had
given her, Soren started forward once again. "Feel free to take over any of the empty bedrooms in my
apartment," she said. "Having
gone to the effort of cleaning them out–"

She broke off, spotting Aspen's tutor, Fors Cabtly, lurking
outside her door. He was rumpled, and
his usual rose-cheeked self had been replaced by a sweaty pallor. Fors' second interview with Strake had not
gone well. Since no-one at Court held
the title of Court Shaper or Councillor of Mages, Strake had quizzed Fors on
the duties performed by both during his aunt's reign. Fors had attempted to answer every question,
which, Soren thought, had rather made it worse. Since Fors had always treated her with an absentminded courtesy, Soren
summoned a smile as she reached him.

"Champion. Soren." Fors touched her
arm, moth light, then his hand fluttered away as if he feared to give
offence. "I would, I wanted to
ask... Has the King said anything? Will he–?"

"I don't know, Fors," Soren said, quietly.

"Was he angry?"

Disbelieving would be a more accurate description. "I think he understands that the role of
Court Mage is not the same as these...former offices."

Tact did nothing for Fors. "I have lived here half my life, Champion," he said. "Nearly thirty years. I don't know–" He stopped and shook his head. "The ground has shifted, Champion. I don't know – I don't know if I can rise to
the occasion."

Sorry for the man, embarrassed by his evident need, Soren
fumbled out a few words of sympathy. Fors hardly seemed to hear her. "All for the best, of course," he said. "I would have liked to have helped,
but–" His mouth squashed down. "I am not a politician, Champion, and I
don't think I would like to be. But I
have served long and faithfully. And I
am good at what I do. Tell him that,
will you? As a favour?"

She promised, and Fors turned to walk slowly back to his
rooms. He looked old and crumpled. And frightened.

"Not a politician," Halcean repeated softly.

Soren started, having quite forgotten the aide's
presence. She gave her a searching glance,
prompting the woman to shrug. "Court Mage wasn't the most prestigious position. Councillor of Mages now – even if he thought
himself equal to it, do you think Magister Cabtly would be allowed the
role?"

"Allowed?"

"As Councillor of Mages Lord Aristide would remain
central to the Court. As it is, he has
no formal role – the King hasn't even sent to speak to him – and whatever else,
the Diamond isn't going to accept the role of just another Baron's heir."

It suddenly felt less than circumspect, to be having this
conversation out in the open. "Is
there anyone more suitable?" Soren asked neutrally, pulling the door to
her apartment safely closed behind them.

"Probably not." Halcean bit her lip. "I'm
talking out of turn. My apologies,
Champion."

"It was a valid point."

Palace sight had revealed Halcean's muffled consternation,
followed by swift calculation. A sudden
sense of loss touched Soren. Halcean
wasn't disguising the gain she hoped to make – one of many cultivating the
Rathen Champion, now that the title meant something. It was another level of isolation.

"Call me Soren," she said, abruptly, and turned to
smile at her new acquisition. For the
moment motives didn't matter: she would be happy to have anyone to stand
between her and the importuning hordes. If Halcean could keep the worst of them away, she would happily help her
advance.

-
oOo
-

But Halcean was sleeping safely in her new bed the next
morning when Soren returned from another stolen dawn with Vixen and spotted
Aristide Couerveur standing by the entrance to the Garden of the Rose. It was too much to hope he was not waiting
for her.

Palace-sight allowed her to watch him unknowing: curiously
expressionless, his star sapphire eyes hooded. Then, as she reached a point where she could not escape seeing him, that
faint, infamous smile curved his mouth. It was quite impossible to imagine him scrabbling to retain power when
he did not act like he'd lost any.

"Can I help you, Lord Aristide?"

Lord Aristide simply held a hand out toward the Garden. More than a word, then. Why was it she was always sweaty and
dishevelled when she encountered this over-pristine man?

Unwilling but resigned, Soren walked through the nearest
arch and looked about at the dark-leaved canes and single flower. She supposed that in this place, where she
could shred a man just by wanting it, she should be at her most confident. But all she could think of were the fading
scratches on her wrists.

Lord Aristide walked beneath jagged leaves with perfect
equanimity. "I will not keep you
long, Champion."

"What is it you wish to say to me?" she asked, in
as politely neutral a tone as she could manage. But it was hard to banish the thought of Strake in a quicksilver
embrace. She wished Aspen had never
suggested it to her.