The Queen's Gambit (28 page)

“Do we wait until she gains experience and grasps power securely?” Lervan asked scornfully. “Far better to force her to agree now, when she is breeding and easily confused.”

Theloi shot him a look of contempt. “And how did your grace fare today in gaining her agreement?”

“Damne, have I not just said she would not yield?”

“Exactly.”

Lervan did not at all care for the cardinal's mocking smirk. He shifted irritably in his chair and told himself that court
intrigue involved more trouble, more risk, more discomfort, and more toadying to little men he disliked than he'd ever expected. He did not believe the effort was worthwhile, not if it meant he had to go on waiting endlessly for what he'd been promised.

“ 'Tis impossible to persuade her,” he said in a huff. “She is like a mule.”

“Were your grace to give her more of the attention due a wife, she might be more quickly persuaded. A woman in love is generous. A woman scorned and humiliated becomes jealous and vindictive. I warned your grace long ago, when you first came to court, that Pheresa would not accept libertine behavior.”

“She has no choice,” Lervan said defiantly. “I go my way and leave her to do as she pleases.”

“The queen does not please.”

“Well, if she had affairs, by Thod, she might be considerably less sour!”

Theloi stared at him coldly. “While she carries your grace's child, she expects special attention from you. Give it to her, and she will share the world with you.”

“I think not. She's grasping and ambitious. She enjoys giving me orders and seeing me jump like a trained monkey.”

“Put your petty resentment aside, and make an effort.”

“I do. I have!” Lervan said in exasperation. “But she is never satisfied. It's like being strangled by a vine, pulled down and wrapped tight by her incessant neediness. She gives nothing. She only takes.”

“Getting rid of this new mistress would appease her greatly.”

Lervan shot to his feet. “Never! I refuse. It's out of the question.”

“Then forget your bid to rule Mandria.”

Glowering sullenly, Lervan turned away from Theloi. “Hedrina is mine,” he muttered.

“Your grace, think of what is at stake.”

Lervan wanted to close his ears. The very thought of forsaking Hedrina stirred up a panic inside him. He'd never
loved a woman the way he did her. The more he saw of her, the more he wanted her. It had become a craving, a force that he could not resist. Nor did he wish to. Giving Hedrina up now would be like cutting out his heart. He refused to consider it. Even so, a tiny corner of his mind asked,
What if Theloi is right? Do I really want to sacrifice the throne for Hedrina?

But he swept such doubts away. There had to be a solution. He would find a way to keep Hedrina
and
share power with Pheresa.

“The queen is going to fail,” he said, turning back to the cardinal. “She's all bluff, you see. She acts serene and confident, but it's fakery. She doesn't believe in herself, doesn't believe that she can do what she's set for herself. Why, she doesn't even believe she's beautiful.”

Theloi said nothing.

“She'll fail,” Lervan repeated with assurance. “She's busy now demonstrating to one and all that she's clever and shrewd. She's learning as fast as she can, trying to take an accounting of every detail, and exhausting herself. She'll collapse from the strain, then she'll be forced to come to me for help.”

“Are you so sure?” Theloi asked.

“Aye, of course I am. Your eminence forgets I am married to the lady. I see a side of her no one else does.”

“And this is your grace's strategy?”

“If I wait for anything, I wait for that. And, to put it plainly, I think better of my strategy than yours.”

“You have made her distrust you,” Theloi said in disgust. “Such a mistake is—”

“I'll not woo her while she fattens and swells,” Lervan said firmly. “Let her bear the child and grow comely again, then I'll charm her anew. If I choose.”

Theloi compressed his lips, but said merely, “I believe we are finished tonight, your grace.”

Lervan bowed to him, but made no move toward the door. “There is a final matter.”

“Yes?”

“The queen will not increase my allowance. 'Tis irksome, as I have twice as much entertaining to do now that I am consort. My wardrobe needs replenishing, and I want larger apartments. I find myself already in debt, and have no wish to fall deeper in the clutches of the usurers.”

No sympathy crossed Theloi's face. “I doubt the queen will reward your grace's infidelity. Perhaps she feels that a fatter purse in your grace's pocket would only be spent on your mistress.”

Lervan flushed, but kept his temper. “Perhaps,” he agreed through gritted teeth. “But I want more money. Since the queen is a clutch fist, I think my increase should come from church coffers.”

Theloi's green eyes narrowed. “Your grace is mistaken.”

“Oh, I do not think so,” Lervan said airily. “After all, a flunky could have dealt with the
sorcerel
rather than myself. You wanted me directly involved in our treason, so that I would remain beneath your thumb.”

Theloi's expression grew stony.

Lervan nodded to him. “You see, I may act the cheerful fool, but I am far from being one. I know why I was sent to deal with those foreign devils, why I had to risk their magic and evil ways, and why I had to carry the payment to them. All the risk fell on me, while your eminence has remained safely hidden from view, like a spider in its lair. But if I went to the queen and told her some of the truth, that a plot was laid against Verence to bring him down—”

“If I fall, so does your grace,” Theloi said in a tight, dangerous voice.

Lervan laughed. “Oh, but I wonder. For the lady loves me still, and might forgive my sins were I to throw myself on her mercy. And the lady likes you not at all.”

Theloi went pale. He stroked his gray goatee while his eyes grew fierce and predatory. “Have we come now to threats, your grace?” he asked in a very soft voice. “Have we forgotten how I sponsored your grace's cause, so that the king invited you to court and grew to like you?”

“I've forgotten nothing,” Lervan said. “Thanks to you, I
came to court. Thanks to my own wit and efforts, I found the king's favor. I seek no quarrel tonight, eminence, only gold to line my pockets. After all, a consort needs heartening from time to time, does he not?”

As he spoke, he cocked his head to one side and grinned, but Theloi did not smile back.

“Oh, come!” Lervan said heartily, holding out his hand. “What good comes of black looks and resentful hearts? I want money. I care not whence it comes.”

“Very well,” Theloi said. “I shall authorize a fund for your grace.”

Lervan's grin widened, and he bowed with a flourish. “Your eminence is too kind.”

Theloi went to his desk and picked up a quill pen. He wrote hurriedly, splattering ink, and signed his name with an angular loop. Tossing down his pen, he turned to Lervan with the paper in his hand. “Take care, your grace,” he said in a cold, hostile voice. “Remember who your true friends are and how unwise it would be to make enemies where you are in most need of allies.”

Lervan eyed the paper avidly. Already his head was swirling with plans of how to spend his new largess. Hedrina would look magnificent in sapphires. He would commission a necklace, a stunning necklace, to adorn her lovely throat. Aye, and there would be other jewels to lavish on her, for she must be rewarded for making him so happy. He supposed he would have to give Pheresa a trinket as well and buy a cup of the finest eldin silver for the baby's gift. But first there was a new horse he wanted, and he must have new clothes, for surely Pheresa would not wish her consort to look shabby. His style would now lead the court, so he would have to employ the very best tailors.

Theloi cleared his throat, and Lervan hastily pulled himself from his daydreams.

He smiled, laughing a little, and bowed again. “Thank you. I was sure we could come to terms. We always work well together, you and I.”

With a frown, Theloi handed over the writ of authority.
Lervan took it with no more than a cursory glance, rolled it up, kissed it with a laugh, and tucked it safely away inside his doublet.

“Be at ease,” he said to the cardinal as he strolled to the door. “I shall give the queen some of the petting she craves, and see if I can't lighten her heart a bit. From time to time.”

Theloi's eyes narrowed. “Your grace plays with fire.”

“Nay, my lord cardinal,” Lervan replied. “I was born under the luckiest of stars.”

With a saucy salute, he walked out.

In the chill of an autumn night, Talmor awakened suddenly and completely, every sense instantly alert. He lay still, listening hard, as he sought to understand what had awakened him.

There was only silence. The small alcove where he slept in earshot of the queen held his bunk, a stand for washing, and a chest for his possessions. He had no window of his own, but he could see moonlight slanting into the queen's bedchamber. He lifted his head warily, alert for danger.

No servant stirred to answer some private need of her majesty. No lamp had been lit, no low murmur of voices disturbed the slumberous quiet.

Yet something was wrong.

His unease grew, swelling into a feeling of urgency, as though he needed to take action
now
. Something was coming, he realized. It was coming soon, and he must be ready.

What was this danger, he wondered. Why did it feel so powerful, so menacing? Why was he consumed with the urge to awaken the queen and run?

He rose silently from his bunk and pulled on his leggings swiftly before belting on his dagger. Barefooted, he eased into the enormous chamber—fully as large as the great hall in his father's hold—and padded silently over the wooden floorboards to the windows and peered out.

He saw a glow fill the west horizon, brightening rapidly like daybreak, except the sun did not dawn in the west. Pressing his face to the glass, Talmor watched ruddy light fill the night sky. He was disbelieving at first, then sure.

Striding back to his alcove, he finished dressing, quick and efficient in the darkness as he'd trained himself to be, and tiptoed through the servant's door to wake Pears.

Coming awake with a jerk, Pears threw off his blanket and knuckled his eyes. “Sir?”

“Trouble,” Talmor whispered softly. “Send Lutel to the guardhouse for news.”

Returning to the queen's bedchamber, Talmor stepped over the low fence and walked quietly up to her bedside. For an instant he hesitated, then pulled aside a portion of the bed hangings, and said, “Majesty, wake up.”

She stirred but did not awaken.

“Majesty.”

“Go away,” she mumbled. Then with a start, she sat up. The coverlet slipped off her shoulders, exposing the pale cloth of her bedgown.

He realized he'd frightened her, looming over her in silhouette against the moonlight streaming across his shoulders. “ 'Tis I, Talmor,” he said quickly.

She released an unsteady breath and rubbed her face with her hands. “I—I was dreaming. I thought . . .” She shook her head and looked at him with more alertness. “What is it, sir?”

“Savroix-en-Charva is on fire, majesty.”

“What?”
She jumped out of bed and hurried over to the windows, where the ruddy glow continued to spread and brighten. Pheresa pushed open a window, heedless of her physician's strictures against the evil humors of night air, and leaned out into the cold darkness. “What has happened?” she asked, her voice muffled. “How can this be?”

With the window open, Talmor now heard sentries calling out. He frowned at how slow they were to give the alarm. A call to arms should have already been issued, the entire barracks roused and assembling.