Gambit of the Glass Crowns: Vol. I of epic fantasy The Sundered Kingdoms Trilogy (43 page)

Culhwch Valifor remained, as ever, an insipid little man who did whatever Grigor Boraste told him. As they shared the Ddrych Island off the coast of mainland Annwyd, their houses had always been close. It was to be expected that one house would take command of the other. Though prone to Boraste’s bidding, he was nonetheless dangerous.

“Shall we?” Senator Valifor asked.

Tristram nodded. He stood next to the chair at the head of the table, waiting for the prince to take his seat.

Madoc nodded, keeping his gaze on Grigor Boraste as the senator sat across from him, sure the man’s great frame would crush the chair beneath him to kindling.

“Has word been sent to the Vega?” Grigor rested his elbows on the table, clasping his massive hands together.

“Several days ago,” Tristram answered. “I saw to it myself.”

“Good. Very good.” Grigor glanced at Madoc. “Let us hope this plan goes far more accordingly than the last.”

“Such foreign poisons should never have been used,” Senator Valifor added. “A bit of hemlock would have served the task just as well, and been more thorough.”

“You question the prince’s judgement in such matters?” Tristram stepped in. “Besides, hemlock would not have been so easily tied to the Féinmhuinín.”

“You are the one who suggested‌—”

Grigor cleared his throat. “What was that?”

Madoc spoke louder, “You were the one who put us into contact with those Reibirians in the first place. If they could not handle the assassination of the high king and his heir‌—”

“The princeling does not speak out of turn.” Senator Valifor faced Grigor. “It came to us to provide the assassins, and they could not perform their duties.”

“That is not entirely true, however.” Tristram waved his hand. “The blame fell upon the Féinmhuinín, just as we planned. Though his heir survived to see the throne, Alric’s body is cold nonetheless. And the only surviving direct heir to the throne, Connor, has little time left.”

“He should have been dead by now.” Grigor cracked his knuckles and leaned back in his chair.

“Patience, my good senator. He is as good as dead anyway.”

“And what are we to do should Bronwen birth the high king’s heir?” Grigor looked at Madoc.

For the first time since the hulking senator entered the room, Madoc felt confident in his assertions. “Leave my sister to me. She listens to my father’s every whim, and she will fall easily under my thumb when I am king.”

“And until then?”

“I will speak to my father, urge him to keep the reins pulled tight on Bronwen until we are certain she will obey without question.”

“Is that wise?” Valifor looked at him before glancing at Grigor. “There is reason we have not included the king in such discussions, lest you have forgotten.”

Madoc shook his head. “I will not say anything explicit to him about our plans. Only offer him reason to take a more practical approach where my sister is concerned.”

“Tristram?” Madoc turned to the old man when he took a deep breath.

“My lord, it is no secret that our enemies lurk in the shadows, ever vigilant for House Denorheim to show any sign of weakness. You have said so yourself on many an occasion. You cannot seek to lay claim to the throne of Annwyd without allies.” Tristram looked to the senators. “I have worked in secret this past season to bring you such allies.”

Boraste spoke with plain resolve. “You have something your father severely lacks‌—‌the vision to lead our people. Our great land was founded by our three houses, and the people look to us in times such as this. Our traditions are what hold our kingdom together. Let us draw out the other houses of Annwyd like poison from a wound.”

“Our people live in fear without a leader to march Annwyd toward victory,” Valifor proclaimed. “You must be the one to lead them. House Denorheim must answer our peoples’ cry for action, and your father is unwilling to do so.”

Madoc stayed silent.

Culhwch Valifor seemed to sense Madoc’s uneasiness. “Tristram has informed us of your plans, Lord Prince. The houses of Boraste and Valifor will pledge our allegiance in the coming days to see you crowned if your father will not take up the cause.”

“Annwyd is on the brink of crumbling because of your father’s mistakes.” Boraste’s fingers knotted together as he leaned forward. “The kingdom needs fresh, young blood to take control. Were either of our houses to claim the throne, we would appear opportunists. It would leave a bitter taste in the mouths of the people. You, however, have a legitimate claim to the throne.”

“And what of the other senators’ houses?” Madoc asked. “How am I to lay claim to the throne without their approval?”

“In times such as this,” Tristram said, “dire actions must be taken to benefit the greater good.”

Silence swept through the room.

Bronwen sat with a patience that surprised even her as she watched Rhodri’s caravan arrive. She wanted nothing more than to run to him and embrace him and feel his strong arms around her. It had been days since word was sent about Alric’s death. She was certain he would arrive the day before, but his caravan must have been caught in bad weather. It was inevitable that he would arrive today, however. Her father would have received word by now as well, but he had not returned to Cærwyn as she had hoped. Now the duty to persuade Rhodri to marry her fell upon her cunning ways alone.

The king’s death had not yet been made public to the people of Cærwyn. It would only be announced just before the coronation so the other nobles would not have the time to gather their supporters to vie for the throne. In this tumultuous political climate, the direct bloodline of Cærwynian kings must be kept intact. The people would look to Rhodri as high king and accept him. They must. The bloody wheels of war had already started to turn. Were civil war to break out, both Cærwyn and Annwyd would fall victims to their own machinations. They must remain a united front, under the banner of The Maker, for the people of Dweömer. They were the only source of comfort and protection from the Gethin of the north and the savagery of the Old Ways.