Conquering the Queen (11 page)

There were some grumbles, but also some sighs of relief as portly lords and tipsy ladies rose from their chairs and filtered from the room to seek their comfortable beds.

When only Lord Reginald and Lady Fleur remained with the king, Cynric took this as his cue to withdraw and do what he did best, wait and observe unseen.

“The feast was wonderful, Your Highness.” Cynric caught Lady Fleur’s voice from where he stood in the shadows. “It was both a pleasure and an honor to be your guest, except for that most unfortunate incident.” She was addressing Xander’s father now. “Forgive my passion, Lord Reginald. I spoke out of turn, I know. But I cannot abide seeing another human so used, no matter how wretched.”

“Avin is not wretched,” Xander said. “Only the treatment of her was.”

“You are a man of character,” Lady Fleur said. “I admire that.”

“The two of you have much in common,” Lord Reginald was saying. “You both possess the capacity for mercy, even for those who are unworthy of it. And then, of course, there is the matter of our families’ strong bonds.” He chuckled. “I believe the two of you are the only sober ones left in the room after tonight’s festivities. And the evening is still young for such young people. Let me take my leave so the two of you may become more acquainted. Your subjects love Lady Fleur already, Xander, and she is keen to learn more of your life in Windbourne. Why don’t the two of you…”

“No.” Xander’s response was curt. “I must beg the lady’s forgiveness, Father,” he said. “I am in no mood for company. Thank you for your graciousness, Lady Fleur. Father, if you would see her to her chambers.” Xander turned away.

“Will I see you on the morrow?” There was disappointment in her voice as she called after him, but no answer from the king. Only his footfalls as he left. The doors shut. From the shadows Cynric could see Lady Fleur pacing.

“Patience, my dear,” Lord Reginald said. “He is stung by what happened earlier, but your performance tonight further won the favor of our people. It will only increase the pressure I’m bringing to bear for the two of you to wed.” He paused. “Avin saw the necklace?”

“Yes.” Lady Fleur laughed. “I kept it in the pouch as you instructed, and before I went in to speak to her alone I put it on without Xander seeing. Her face…” She laughed again. “It ruined her.”

“I wish I could have seen it. I shall have to reward Sal for revealing Xander’s plan to give it to her. I revel in the pain it must have caused that icy whore when she saw it around the neck of another woman.”

“You replaced the necklace?” Lady Fleur’s voice was heavy with concern.

“Of course,” Lord Reginald replied. “It is back among the jewels we brought from Ravenscroft, and I’m quite convinced Xander believes Avin to have gone mad. She was overheard yelling that he gave it to another.”

“And he doesn’t suspect us?” she asked.

“How could he? He had no way of knowing that Sal has been giving us information to use against them. So far as Xander is concerned, Avin’s accusations are borne of delusion.” Lord Reginald laughed. “Just one look at his expression in the hall tonight and I knew all had gone to plan. Now, the king may yet ask if you had the necklace. If he does, what will be your reply?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Lady Fleur mimicked concerned indignation. “The poor dear. Why would she say such a thing when I’ve only seen her once, and that was when she was tied up with the dogs!”

“Very good, my dear. Very good.”

Cynric peeked from around a pillar. He could see Lord Reginald clap his hands and rub them together.

“With no proof to back up the wretched bitch’s claims, combined with your steadiness and popularity, we’ll soon have Xander brought to heel. It will be impossible for him to deny the benefits of marriage to a calm young woman of good breeding who grows more popular by the day with his people. And we shall make sure that Sal chips hints regularly at the king’s love for you. We’ll drive her mad.”

Lady Fleur smiled. “It’s going to happen, isn’t it? Soon I will be queen.”

Lord Reginald grew quiet. “You will be. I’ll see to that. And once you are, I’ll arrange Avin’s death one way or the other. But first, there is one other obstacle to my plan that is soon to be eliminated.”

“Queen Fleur of Windbourne. It has a lovely ring, does it not?” Lord Reginald stepped closer to the young woman. “And we both know how busy your husband will be, managing a realm and two castles. And how distracted.” He pulled her to him and squeezed her breast. “As a good father, I’ll be there to help Xander fulfill his duties. In every way.” His hand moved to her breast, groping as the young woman laughed.

The usually calm Cynric’s heart was racing. Even in his most cynical moments, he could not have foreseen this.

He needed to tell the king, but his hands were shaking, and such news needed to be delivered calmly. Cynric waited quietly until the couple had left, standing in the dark to make sure they were one before heading to his room. He usually had his evening glass of wine before bed, but tonight he would make an exception.

As always, a servant had brought a jug and a cup. He could smell the wine as he lifted it. It was some of the fine vintage from the feast. Good. It would steady him, for what must be done. He poured a glass and downed a large gulp. The wine was full-bodied, the best of the Ravenscroft vintage. He took another.

At first he thought the chill he felt was from a draft. But then came the tingling in his throat, and the numbness that began to creep from his hands up to his shoulders.

The passing servant Cynric bowled over as he stumbled into the hall looked almost as terrified as the advisor felt. Cynric grabbed his arm as he fell, remembering with sudden dread the words of Lord Reginald.

“…there is one other obstacle to my plan that is soon to be eliminated.”

How could he have been so blind? He was that obstacle. Lord Reginald knew Cynric’s loyalties lay with the king. He was grooming Lady Fleur to be his confidant, and eliminating the Gawens’ trusted advisor.

There was only one small glimmer of hope, but it now hung on the servant he clutched. As Cynric’s vision blurred, he uttered a message he hoped Xander would understand. His life, and perhaps the kingdom, depended on it.

“The king,” Cynric said, his voice barely above a strangled whisper, his terrified eyes meeting the servant’s frightened ones. “Get… the… king… Tell him… Avin… Need… Avin…”

Chapter Sixteen

When the guard came for Avin, her first instinct was to refuse. It would be the second time this evening that she’d been brought from her room. But she knew there was no use to fight; had not the Gawens proven they could do with her as they wished?

She wondered if she was being taken back to the tower, or maybe the dungeon. She was surprised when she rounded the corner of a hallway in the adjacent wing to hers to see Xander standing there, looking stricken.

He walked over to her as soon as she was delivered to him, then barked at guards to leave. They left.

Avin stood in silence before him.

“Cynric,” he said, breaking that silence.

“What about him?” she asked coldly.

“He’s dying.”

This was not expected. Avin stared up at Xander. The advisor had been kind to her. But so had this lying man who’d pretended to love her.

“Why should I care?”

“Because the last word he uttered was your name.” Xander moved close, so close that they were almost touching. His voice was low now. “I do not know what has happened. I do not know why you said the things you said today. I only know that my advisor is close to death, and I believe both things are related. And I believe if Cynric asked for you with his last able breath, it was for a reason.”

Avin started to refuse, but found herself heeding the healer within, even as she wondered at the futility of going to see this dying man. Xander did not pull her along, but turned to walk ahead of her without looking back. His stride was long and purposeful, his back broad. Avin knew that she could turn and run, could disappear down the corridors of this castle she knew better than anyone else, could hide and eventually escape. She realized he knew it, too, but he was trusting her to stay behind him, and so she did.

The physician was in Cynric’s chamber when they arrived.

“Is he…?” Xander choked out the question.

“He still breathes, but barely.” The physician who’d examined Avin was there, looking frustrated and distressed. That look turned to confusion when he realized the king’s captive slave was approaching the advisor’s bedside, but she did not linger on either man, turning instead to the one on the bed.

She leaned over, studying Cynric’s skin, noting that it was mottled and clammy to the touch. Sweat beaded on his brow and his upper lip. His eyes were closed, but twitched behind his lids. Avin leaned closer. There was something about him… something unnatural about his state. She put her nose to within an inch of his mouth, and felt her heart quicken.

She looked up.

“Poisoned.”

The king rushed to her side.

“How do you know?”

“I smell it,” she said. “Do you? The odor of sweetness?”

Xander leaned forward. “Yes,” he said. “But he had wine.”

“No, no,” she said. “This is a different kind of sweetness, undetectable to most. But I know it well. It’s baneflower.” She turned to the king. “We need wortroot, and quickly.”

“Wortroot?” The physician stepped forward. “That he’s been poisoned, I have no doubt. But wortroot? That is a hag’s treatment. This man needs to be bled.”

“Baneflower thins the blood,” Avin said knowingly. “Bleeding will only hasten his death.” She turned back to the king. “Do you remember when I went into the ash groves of Ravenswood? It’s where I found wortroot. There’s an ash grove by the river here in Windbourne. I will need to go. I know this plant; I must fetch it. Anyone else may bring the wrong one.”

“We will go together,” he said.

Xander stationed his most trusted guards at the entrance to his advisor’s room. They were in a race against time, and Avin led the way now, using a secret passage out of the castle that allowed them to depart undetected through a tunnel to the stables where Xander hastily saddled their horses.

The moon was high over the lane they took, and as they rode Avin knew she could easily slip into one of the well-trod side paths so unfamiliar to her king and be rid of him, of his spiteful father, of Lady Fleur, of the whole of Windbourne. But she stayed on the path, Xander pushing his mount as Avin pressed her horse ahead of his.

And there it was, the patch of woods she sought. Avin hauled her horse up harshly, dismounting before the animal had come to a complete stop.

“Avin, wait!” She could hear his voice, and a memory surfaced of happier times when she’d run from him in search of herbs. But the stakes were not urgent then, and she knew her ignoring him this time would be excused.

The moon was waning, but still cast enough light for her to see the telltale heart-shaped leaves of the plant whose root she needed to save the advisor’s life.

“Your knife!” she called, holding out her hand. A moment later, the king was at her side, pressing the blade trustingly into her slender white hand. Avin had sunk down into the moist dirt at the base of the tree, not caring that she was getting soiled as she extracted the root.

Avin said nothing as she clutched the root and ran back to her horse and mounted gracefully. Pushing the mare to a gallop, she prayed there would be time to save Cynric.

She would need a bowl, a mortar and pestle, and hot water. When they arrived back at the castle, the physician already had most of what she needed. He told her that Cynric had vomited several times.

“Good,” Avin said. “His body is telling him to be rid of it.”

“He’s very weak.” Xander was by his bedside when she turned with the bowl of cooling antidote. Both men moved aside as she took a seat at the side of Cynric’s bed, blowing on the mixture until it was cool. Once it was, she positioned the advisor’s head between two pillows so she could spoon the infusion into his mouth.

It went painstakingly slow, but bit by bit, Cynric swallowed. Xander sat on the bedside, watching with Avin as the portly man’s color slowly returned and his eyelids fluttered to consciousness.

The antidote worked quickly. Avin looked up to see relief flooding the king’s face when it became clear that he was recovering.

“Can he speak?” he asked.

Avin leaned over. “Cynric,” she asked. “Can you talk? If you can, try.”

The first two words he spoke were addressed to Avin. “Thank you,” he said weakly. “I knew, my dear, as soon as I fell that only you could save me.” Then he looked at Xander. “I know who did this,” he said. “And I know why.”

Chapter Seventeen

The king was gone again, leaving Avin alone with Cynric. The advisor was sitting up on his own now, finishing a cup of broth with the help of the deposed queen.

“He loves you, my dear. He never stopped.”

“Cynric, don’t…”

“He does. And if I know this man he’s gone to set wrong to right even as we speak.”

“He should,” Avin said. “Poisoning a man is a crime.”

Cynric chuckled. “Oh, it is. But I believe there is a score he settles equal to what was done to me.” He paused. “I know about the necklace. I followed Lord Reginald and Lady Fleur after the feast tonight. I caught them alone. It seems your trusted maid has been relaying your conversations. Xander did not give her that necklace; his father did. But they wanted you to think it was a gift from the king. They wanted to break you.”

Avin put her face in her hands. “And I believed the worst.” A tear slipped from her eye as she looked back up. “How could I have been so easily misled?”

“He was easily misled once, and like you chose to think the worst despite knowing in his heart that it could not be so. It is human to err.”

Avin wiped away a tear. “All these misjudgments,” she said. “And now all is ruined. He is king and I am still a slave at the end of the day.”