The Falcon Throne (The Tarnished Crown Series) (11 page)

Ignoring Nelda’s frightened snuffling, leaving her to cosset her bastard brat, she bent over the cradle. Bless the spirits, her precious lamb slept on despite the upset. Daring a fingertip to his soft cheek, she made herself breathe slowly until her heart left off its banging on her ribs.

“Ellyn…” Nelda whispered now. “What do we do?”

“Do?” She stood straight and turned. “Nelda, you heard what I—”

And then she bit her lip.
You stay here
. Yes, that was the sensible thing. Only there were lords in the castle, with their men-at-arms. Serjeant Belden was helping them. What did that mean?

Oh. Wild spirits save me. What if these lords are noblemen from Harcia? Not a soul of us thought Duke Harald would ever sire a son. Harcia must’ve doubted it too. What if Belden’s sold his loyalty to Duke Aimery? He could have. And everyone knows what the Harcians are. What if–what if–

Nelda’s bastard brat cried in protest as her hold on it tightened. “Ellyn? You be frighting me. What thought’s put that look on your face? What—”

Leaping to Heartsong’s kitchen drudge, Ellyn pressed a finger to the girl’s cold lips. “Nelda. Listen. Do you love our duke?”

Mute, Nelda nodded.

“And his son? His beautiful Liam, who’s to be duke after him? Do you love him too?”

Another nod, then Nelda pulled away. “Ellyn—”

“No, no, just
listen
,” she said, fighting not to shout. “These men in the castle, Nelda. They’ll never hurt a babe. Noblemen aren’t like that. But–but–we must make certain Liam’s kept safe for the duke.”

“Safe?” said Nelda, bewildered. “I don’t—”

She took hold of Nelda’s shoulders, thin beneath a kitchen-stained linen dress. “Emun will be back soon. Him and Lady Morda, they’ll be back,” she said quickly, as coaxing as she could. “But one of those lords you saw, the ones we don’t know, they could find us first. Nelda, they
mustn’t find Liam. You and me, we can’t let any of them have the duke’s son. Not when we can’t be sure what they’re about.”

Nelda’s eyes were wide enough to nearly start from her head. “But Ellyn, you said they’d not hurt a babe. You said—”

“I know what I said!” she snapped. “And they won’t. But don’t you see? They could still take him and threaten to hurt him, so they can hurt the duke. So here’s what we’ll do. You and me. For Duke Harald. I’ll take my Liam and go in there—” She pointed at Lady Morda’s closet. “—and you’ll stay out here with your–with Tygo. Look! You can sit in the nursing chair and–and Tygo, he can sleep in Liam’s cradle. With all its charms dangling on it, see, so he won’t go awry.”

Nelda’s eyes filled with tears. “You want to leave me here? Alone?”

Stupid
henwit. “No, no, Nelda, you won’t be alone. I’m not leaving. I’m just going to sit with Liam in Morda’s closet. So if one of those lords comes here, he’ll not find us.”

“But he’ll find me and Tygo,” said Nelda, tears spilling. “What do I say then? What do I do?”

“
Nothing
,” she said, and tugged Nelda towards the nursing chair. “You’re only a kitchen drudge. They won’t care about you or your little bastard. So you sit and wait for Emun. Or the duke! He’ll come, for certain. And when he sees what you’ve done for Liam, he’ll be so pleased, Nelda. He’ll–he’ll grant you a cottage, he will. And coins. A gold mark all your own, I’ll bet. And the lady Argante, she’ll give you some of her clothes, she’ll be so grateful. Fancy! Silks and furs and could be a little ruby ring, too.”

“For sitting here?” said Nelda, letting herself be pushed into the chair. “Ellyn, be you sure?”

Ellyn plucked sleeping Liam from his cradle. “Yes! Certain sure. Don’t I know them, Nelda? I’m wet nurse to their son. They
trust
me, you’ve seen that. So
you
can trust me. When I tell them how brave you are, how much you love Liam—”

“Ais, but—” Hope and doubt shook Nelda’s voice. “Lady Morda, she be—”

“Never you mind about that old cow,” she said, fighting not to look at the nursery door. Any moment it could burst open, any moment… “The duke has no care for her, and what the duke decides is what happens. Nelda, you settle Tygo in Liam’s cradle. He’s never slept anywhere so fine, with all these lovely oil-lamps. They’re scented. Don’t the air smell sweet? Better than a kitchen full of cake! Your Tygo, he’ll dream he’s a
duke! I’m taking Liam into the closet now. Once I close its door, not a peep. Not a hiccup. And whatever you do, if a lord does come, don’t look our way. Best you forget we’re in there. The duke will be here soon. All will be well. I promise.”

“Ais,” said Nelda, sniffing.

“And you promise to stay mousey?”

“I promise,” said Nelda.

Shaking, Ellyn closed the closet door on Nelda’s trusting smile. The door had a latch and a wooden cross-bar to hold it fast. Struggling not to disturb Liam, she fumbled the bar into place. Hearing it thud home, she had to swallow tears.

Safe. Safe. We’re safe.

Morda had left three beeswax candles burning beside her bed.
Three
, when she begrudged anyone else a single stinking tallow taper. Oh, she was a cow. And the bed, layered deep with softest wool blankets and a wolfskin coverlet on top. Luxury! And all she did was moan that Duke Harald did not esteem her.

“I’d like to esteem her,” she muttered, cradling Liam’s head as she sank to the edge of the bed. “Right off the top of Heartsong’s keep, I would.”

The mattress gave way beneath her, a silence of wool and feathers. No crackling, prickly straw for Morda. Aching with nerves, she wanted to lie down, only that would be folly. Safe she and Liam might be, but safer still sitting up. She pressed her lips to his head, gently. He wriggled, the tiniest twitch, knowing who held him. Knowing who loved him more than anyone in the world. Even more than Duke Harald did, though she’d never say it out loud. But how could he? Duke Harald didn’t suckle his son, Duke Harald hardly saw him but once or twice in a week. Duke Harald wanted more sons, in case Liam died. She could understand that. It was the way men were made.

But you’ll not die, my baby. You’ll live and be a duke
.

No sound from Nelda in the nursery beyond the barred door. After so much fuss and upset, she’d half-expected to hear Tygo crying. Could be the brat was sickly. Best for Nelda if it was, and died. Bastard brats were a burden–unless they were born noble, like Duke Harald’s bent-nosed cousin.

The beeswax candles burned bright. Staring at them, hating the thought of sitting in the dark, she dithered a moment then reached for the long-handled snuffer and put them out. Better darkness than discovery.

Time dragged its heels. Surely Emun would return soon. Surely—

A heart-cracking sound of timber striking stone as the nursery door crashed open. Nelda broke her mousey promise and screamed. Blind and trapped in Lady Morda’s dark closet, Ellyn leapt to her feet. Bit her lip to blood when Nelda screamed again, and her sickly bastard screamed with her. A confusion of heavy boots on the stone floor, rough voices, a clashing of mail.

“
This is the child?
” A man’s harsh demand. “
Harald’s son?
”

Remembering this time, Nelda said nothing.

“
What is this? What do you do here?
”

A new voice. Familiar. Ellyn stuffed her fist between her teeth.
Emun
. At last.

“
Answer me!
” said Emun. “
You’re bound to answer, for—
”

Metal scraping metal, a shocking sound. Metal plunging into flesh. A choked-off cry, full of pain. A woman’s scream, not Nelda, and then a metal thud as something heavy struck the nursery floor.

“
Butchery!
” cried Lady Morda, shrill with fear. “
Murder! Foul murder! Where is the duke, send for the—
”

Another sickening sound of forged steel cleaving meat. Another thud, much lighter. No rattle of iron mail.

“
Hold!
” said a different voice, tight with anger and confusion. “
What are you doing?
”

A harsh laugh, another new voice. “
What I’m paid for.
”

Muffled shouts. A clash of sword blades. Breathless grunts and booted shuffling. A smash of wood. A desperate cry. A second iron thudding on the floor. A man’s groaning curse, full of pain. Halting, dragging footsteps. And then a frightened baby’s wail.

“
Please
,” said Nelda, weeping. “
Please, you be mistaken. Don’t hurt us. I’m not–please, you mustn’t–no–don’t–don’t—
”

Ellyn dropped to the soft bed and muffled Liam in wolfskin, so he couldn’t hear that bastard brat and its babbling henwit mother die. When it was over she waited to be found, for the closet door to crash open, to feel the unforgiving kiss of steel, to hear Liam shriek like Nelda’s Tygo. To feel her lamb’s blood wet her skin. Instead came another heavy, metal-rattling thud. Slow, this time, and with much laboured groaning.

Then the groaning stopped, and there was silence. Ellyn swallowed a sob. She and wriggling Liam were alone… and alive.

To Roric’s surprise, Harald had said nothing throughout Humbert’s remorseless onslaught of accusations. But, knowing his cousin, he knew the self-control wouldn’t last. Behind the attentive mask Clemen’s duke was seething. Humiliated. A muscle twitched in his cheek, chaotic, and a swollen vein throbbed an ominous warning at his temple.

Standing rigid beside her husband, Argante held his hand so tightly it seemed her bones must burst through the skin.

“Lastly,” said Humbert, shifting his wide-legged stance, “we touch upon your ill-judged tauntings of Harcia. Against all sound advice you insist on provoking its duke! Like a boy with a stick you poke and you prod, flouting custom, flouting
law
. Inviting retaliation. They already resent us mightily for the wealth we possess and they lack. Do you think those wasps won’t sting us, Harald? Do you think you can kick and kick at their nest and they’ll say nothing? Do
nothing
?”

Harald laughed, sounding brittle. “They’ve done nothing yet.”

“And that might easily change,” Humbert growled. “I tell you, Harald, Aimery’s list of grievances against you is growing. Before long it will match our own!”

“
Grievances?
” Trembling, Argante slitted her eyes. “Better call them the petulant, self-serving whinings of an old fool. A fool who forgets himself, for you will surely address my husband as
Your Grace
, Lord Humbert, or I swear I’ll see you—”

“Peace, Argante,” said Harald, still pretending compliance, and raised the hand she did not hold. “Humbert has shed his blood for Clemen. He has earned the right to speak his mind.”

“Speak his mind?” Too angry to heed the warning in his face, she released her tight grasp of his hand and stepped down from the dais. Humbert stood his ground as she approached, bold as any man. “What mind? The old fool’s wits are scattered! He’s forgotten where his sworn loyalties lie. Shed his blood for Clemen? He should bleed out every last drop.
That
will serve Clemen!”

Aistan cleared his throat. “My lady, instead of berating Lord Humbert you should be on your knees thanking him. He has spared you in this, for you’re young and poorly guided. But were he asked, he could list your misdeeds.”

“
My
—” Incredulous, Argante glared. “You’d dare to besmirch
me
?”

“You besmirched yourself when you told lies about Lord Gerbod’s cousin in Harald’s name, so Gerbod’s manor house in Bellham was made forfeit to your brother.”

“Liar!” Argante spat at Aistan, and whirled round. “He’s lying, Harald. Don’t heed him!”

Looking away from his wife, Harald stared at Ercole. “My lord?”

“Your Grace!” Ercole protested. He stood alone, abandoned by Scarwid and the rest. “This is a foul slur, I swear it.”

Doubt and dislike clouded Harald’s eyes as he considered Argante’s brother. Then his expression smoothed. “You hear my wife, Aistan. She knows none of it, and nor do I.”

Roric saw Aistan’s face darken, saw his fingers unfurl and reach for his sword. They were were poised on a blade’s edge–and if they fell—

“I’m sorry, Harald,” he said quickly. “It’s true. Gerbod’s family kept quiet out of fear you’d seek vengeance on them for speaking ill of your wife.”

Humbert snorted. “Another failure. When no man, woman or child, be they of noble blood or common, can trust they’re safe from the rapacious whims of their duke and his duchess, how terrible a day has dawned in Clemen. Which is why we stand before you now, Harald, and say:
No more
.”

All through Humbert’s unflinching recitation, the other lords in the Great Hall had nodded and murmured as every terrible charge was laid down. Some of the complaints had touched on them personally, which prompted open agreement. Harald had never once acknowledged them, his gaze fastened to Humbert from beginning to end. But he paid them attention now, searching each face for even the smallest sign of comfort.

He found none.

“Harald?” said Argante, querulous. “I’m tired of this. Send them away.”

Roric looked at Humbert, who scowled.
Your turn to speak
. He took a breath, but Harald nipped in before him.

“Ah. And now we come to the bitter truth. You think to sit
your
arse on my throne?
Cousin?
”

“I think almost any arse would sit there better than yours,” he said, shrugging. “But I’ve been asked, and I’ve answered. If I can serve Clemen, I will.”

Harald smiled his scorn. “If you serve it as you’ve served me, Roric, Humbert and his friends will be weeping soon enough.” The smile vanished. “As will you. For if I’m to be the first deposed duke in Clemen, how long will it be until you’re the second? Something difficult done once is never so difficult again.”

“Pay him no heed, Roric,” Humbert warned. “He’ll say anything to save his miserable hide.”

With a flourish of her heavy velvet skirts, Argante returned to Harald’s side. “This is naught but chittlechat. Send them
away
, Harald–and together we’ll find a punishment to sweetly suit their foul crimes.”