Closer to the Heart Read online

  The King’s expression didn’t change by much, just a slight tightening of the lips. “If he’ll come talk to me alone, I’d like you to arrange that.”

  Amily only had time to nod before all the rest were seated. The King rapped on the table to get their attention. “I am fairly certain no rumors have escaped about the purpose of the Menmellith Ambassador turning up, but I am sure you all know he did, that he clearly came in haste, and that therefore what brought him must have been urgent. And by the mere fact that I called an emergency Council session, you deduced that it must be extremely urgent. This is true. It appears we are on the brink of war with Menmellith.” While they were still speechless, he continued. “Their King is a child of ten, and the Council rules until he comes of age. Unsurprisingly, given such circumstances, a rebellion has broken out, led by one of the King’s cousins. Someone has smuggled arms in apparently significant numbers to the rebels; those arms all have makers’ marks of armories in the south of Valdemar. The Menmellith Council has jumped to the reasonable conclusion that Valdemar is supporting the rebellion, and evidently are debating war with us.”

  Ebon Aleric, the Lord Martial, who attained his position entirely on merit and experience rather than wealth and connections, cleared his throat.

  “Yes Lord Aleric?” the King prompted.

  “They are scarcely in a position to prosecute such a war, your Highness,” Ebon pointed out. “’Tis folly to fight a war on two fronts.”

  “Ordinarily I would agree with you,” the King replied. “But they must have some strategy in mind even to contemplate it. The Council of Menmellith is not composed of dotards, or armchair fighters. I think we should assume they must have some idea of how they could manage such a feat in mind, and make our plans from there.”

  “Obviously, we aren’t supplying weapons,” put in Master Soren. Who then paused, and added doubtfully, “Are we?”

  “If anyone is, it is without the knowledge of anyone here in this room,” the Seneschal said firmly, before the King could speak. “What’s more, I have seen no expenditure out of the Treasury sufficient to account for enough weaponry to cause the Menmellith Council to assume we are.”

  “You couldn’t sneak enough out of the Treasury to buy a good hunting dog without Lord Barethias noticing,” Prince Sedric observed, making a couple of the Council members laugh nervously.

  The King tapped on the table to get their attention. “So, what we need to do, and quickly, is to find out who is supplying these weapons, why they are doing so, and how they are getting them over the Border.”

  “And how they are buying them in the first place without anyone making note of it,” Amily pointed out.

  “And quietly,” the King added. “Whoever is doing this does not want attention, and probably is unaware that Menmellith has discovered what is going on. I’m exceedingly disturbed by all of this, because I can think of many possible sources and reasons for someone to be funneling weapons into another Kingdom, and I am not happy about any of them.” He looked around the table. “You are all here because I know you can be trusted. Assume no one outside of this room can be.”

  Into the silence, Amily said the one thing everyone was thinking, but no one dared say. “Does that include the Heralds?”

  “Yes,” said the King, the Prince, and her father, all at the same time. All three looked at each other, and the King gestured to Nikolas to explain.

  “While I am completely certain that no Herald would countenance such a thing, we can’t know who every Herald trusts, and if the rest of the Heraldic Circle knows what is going on, someone might innocently alert the guilty party.” Nikolas shrugged. “We’re only human. Our Gifts are many and varied and not all of them are useful in alerting us to people we shouldn’t trust. Some of us trust the wrong people.”

  “So this stays in this room,” the King continued, “Because what goes for the Heralds goes doubly for the rest of the people in your lives. No talking to spouse, best friend, trusted counselor, priest, or second-in-command. No one. I am going to get more details, if I can, out of the Ambassador. We will reconvene here after dinner. In the meantime, I would like you to think of ways in which we might be able to discover the who, how, and why of this.” He nodded at them all. “We need to get to the bottom of this, and we need to do so quickly.”

  • • •

  Amily tapped on the door of the Crown Princess’s suite. Lydia herself cautiously cracked the door.

  “Would he come?” she whispered.

  “He’s right here,” Amily whispered back, moving aside a little so Lydia could see the exhausted face of the Ambassador. He had gotten food, more wine, and a good hot bath and change of clothing, but no real rest. Still, he had been willing to come with Amily for a private meeting with the King. That spoke volumes for him, so far as Amily was concerned. He couldn’t have assassinated a pocket pie in his current state of exhaustion, and he very well knew it. So his only reason for agreeing to a private meeting must be exactly what King Kyril hoped; he did not believe that Valdemar was supplying the rebellion, and he was going to tell everything he knew.

  “Come in, quickly.” Lydia opened the door and the two of them slipped inside. They had gotten this far without anyone noticing only because Amily had taken all the servants’ corridors. Growing up in the Palace as she had, Amily knew every inch of the servants’ corridors. Most of the Heralds here in residence generally did too; it was the best way to get around if you didn’t want anyone highborn to know where you were going.

  The solar of Lydia’s suite was quite empty—except for the King, who waited for the Ambassador before the fire. In fact, the entire suite was empty; Lydia had sent away all her servants and her ladies, pleading a headache. The solar was a corner room that got light most of the day during the winter and was shaded during the summer. Lydia encouraged her ladies to be productive, so aside from the usual embroidery frames and fancywork projects there were many books that had been laid aside, and a musical instrument or two. There were window seats in all the windows, but at the moment the only seats occupied were the ones at the hearth, heavily padded and comfortable.

  “Thank you for coming, Ambassador,” the King said. “And please sit down immediately. You and I have known each other for a very long time. Let’s not have any ceremony; there is a problem here we must get to the bottom of.”

  All of the tension drained away from the Ambassador’s body, and he took a seat across from the King, easing himself down into the cushions as if he ached. He probably did. Riding as long and hard as he had was no joke, even for a young and seasoned rider. “We grew up together in a sense, my lord King,” he said reaching for the goblet of wine the King handed him. “I was esquire to my father, the former Ambassador, when you were serving in the train of your own Father as Crown Prince, and I recall many weeks of the two of us amusing each other while we waited out meetings on the Border. And of course, we have had many dealings since you became King. I had hoped you had not suddenly changed into a man I no longer recognized. I am unspeakably relieved to discover I was correct.”

  The King spread his hands. “Tell me what you know. The people I trust are completely in the dark, and my Seneschal tells me there is no discrepancy in the Treasury to account for the mass purchase of weapons.”

  The Ambassador sipped his wine, carefully choosing his words. A good habit in a diplomat, Amily thought. “The King’s cousin, Astanifandal, made no secret of the fact that he felt he should have been named Regent, or at least Lord Protector, when the little King’s parents died of that fever that swept the country last summer. When winter arrived, he decided to act on that discontent and raise an army.” The Ambassador paused, and then drank half the wine, and the King poured him more, as it was obvious he needed it. “Winter is not as bad a season for making war as it is in Valdemar,” he continued. “The roads are firm, the weather generally is—I’m maundering.”


  “You’re exhausted,” the King pointed out. “I’m surprised you can still string words together in any coherent fashion. I’m very certain I couldn’t, after a flat-out ride from Menmellith to here.”

  The Ambassador shrugged, as if his own exhaustion didn’t matter. “The point is, he formed an army from his stronghold; the northwest corner of the country, where his lands are and where the nearest landed men loyal to him dwell. He put together quite an alliance, and managed to raise enough money for a mercenary army as well as his own sworn fighters. And he’s been fighting a shrewd campaign. He doesn’t pillage the countryside, he moves slowly, but surely, and he leaves behind him people who are convinced that a strong, adult man is a better King than a boy with a Council.”

  King Kyril frowned. “Given that . . . if I were faced with such a persuasive argument, and the fellow that was in charge of the armies had kept his men from looting my property, I’d find it hard to disagree with him,” he replied.

  The Ambassador groaned a little. “Honestly, I feel the same. I wish that the old King had named a Regent, just in case something happened, rather than leaving things in chaos. I think that the boy will make a very good King one day, but having a child on the throne is like setting out a feast in front of the starving and expecting them not to touch it.” He shook his head sadly. “Rethwellan has a sword that chooses the proper King. At least, I think it’s a sword. You lot have your horses. I wish we had something, something that gave a definitive answer so ambitious cousins would just have to swallow their bile and deal with it. But wishes buy nothing; the boy is my King and I swore my fealty to him. And the Council thinks they can make a bargain with Rethwellan to crush his forces between ours and theirs—then move north with their help and take some of Valdemar to teach you a lesson.”

  A less temperate man than Kyril would probably have shouted, or burst into a bout of swearing, or flung the wine in the Ambassador’s face. Kyril just tapped the rim of his goblet against his lower lip. “They could do that,” he said, finally. “We have treaties with Rethwellan, certainly, but if we really were supplying the rebels with weapons, I believe they could reasonably say they assume we’d violate the treaties we have with them as well. We have no other ties binding us than those treaties, not even marriages with highborn across our borders. I have not got the faintest idea why Rethwellan would want stony hills fit only for pasturing sheep and goats and hill ponies. . . .” Then he shook his head. “Forgive me, I am trying to be humorous in the light of a serious situation. How likely is the Council to decide this, and how long do you think it will take them?”

  “I left on my own recognizance when I realized how near to it they were.” The Ambassador turned the goblet around and around in his hands. “I left others whom I trust to try and persuade them into some sense, while I came north to warn you. But all it will take is one or two more significant victories to tilt the balance against you. As for how long?” He shrugged. “It’s Spring. That is in your favor. Astanifandal cannot start riding his men roughshod over newly planted fields and through herds with lambs and calves without losing everything he has gained by treating the common folk well. Moreover, his men who are not mercenaries must return to their own lands if he is to be able to feed and support his forces. That means the best that the mercenaries can do is hold what he has already taken. So . . . you have a moon, perhaps two.”

  “Majesty—” Amily interrupted, tentatively.

  Both of them turned to look at her as if they had forgotten she was there. “Speak,” Kyril ordered her.

  “The Seneschal has said that the money for these weapons did not come from the Treasury. Although he did not say so, I think he also means it did not come from taxes being held back; he knows to the half-copper-bit how much can be expected in a given year.” She took a steadying breath. This was where her intensive study of old records for all those years was proving its worth. “Money does not spring into being on its own. But there is one place where it does come out of the ground. The mines.”

  Kyril’s gaze riveted her, and the Ambassador’s eyes widened. “Go on,” Kyril urged.

  “I am not going to speculate on motive,” she continued. “We can worry about motive later. But the gem mines would be the easiest place for money to come from that simply seems to appear out of nowhere, buying Valdemaran weapons. Not the gold and silver mines; I am certain that the assessors generally have a very good idea of what can be expected out of the mines producing precious metal. But Mags told me that the gem mines are . . . capricious. One can expect a steady output of average gems, but the unusually valuable ones cannot be predicted. It’s not usually possible for the workers to tell if a large gem is an insanely valuable one, or so flawed it is only worth breaking into smaller ones. And all it would take would be for the mine owner to hide away gems of unusual value, smuggle them off to a third party, and have that third party sell them over the Border. The mines would be producing at the ‘normal’ rate as far as the assessors were concerned. Gems are much more valuable than gold, impossible to trace, and easy to conceal.”

  “Where did you find this paragon of a young woman, Kyril?” the Ambassador asked, startled into using the King’s given name.

  The King didn’t rebuke him even with a look; he merely answered. “The same place we always do; the Companions find them. I take it you agree with her?”

  “It is by far the most logical thing I have heard yet in this situation. But have you any way of proving it?” the Ambassador asked.

  Instead of answering him directly, Kyril turned to Amily. “I am very, very, sorry, Herald. I am afraid you are going to have to postpone your wedding.”

  “Because you are sending Mags back to the mining country,” she replied, thinking with relief how glad she was that Mags had foreseen this particular “disaster.” “Our duty is to Valdemar, and anything else comes second. We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Well,” said Lord Jorthun, rubbing his hands together in glee. “This is something I didn’t anticipate!”

  Lord Jorthun and Lady Dia had been let in on the secret at the orders of the King. With the King’s permission, Mags himself had brought the information to them, because he had a plan, but it was going to involve one of the new Queen’s Handmaidens. Keira, to be precise.

  Mags’ dismay must have shown on his face, because Lady Dia turned to her husband with a slight frown. “My love, that is not at all kind. This is a serious situation.”

  “It is not yet a serious situation; when it becomes one, believe me, I shall react with all due gravity,” Lord Jorthun replied. “For now, however, I am going to regard this as an opportunity. So, you say that Nikolas is going to trace the origin of the weapons themselves, and dear young Amily is going to pursue what faint leads there may be here in the city by means of your young rapscallion tribe and the new Handmaidens and her own odd but useful Gift. And you are going to investigate the gem mines and take Keira with you as a distraction. She is to be a wealthy young widow, and you are her manservant. That allows her to tease any secrets that might be had out of young men, and you to go snooping about.”

  “That was our plans, m’lord, aye,” Mags agreed.

  Once again they were seated in the library; it seemed to be the room of choice for conferences that Lord Jorthun did not wish anyone to overhear.

  “Excellent.” Once again he rubbed his hands in glee. “I shall go along as her doddering old father. That will give us three points of attack.”

  Mags was, frankly, stunned by the—well he couldn’t exactly call it an offer, since it was phrased as a fait accompli. But he could not deny that having Jorthun, who had taught Nikolas all he knew, and who was teaching Mags plenty of new tricks, would be invaluable on this trip. “I—don’t know what to say,” he managed.

  “Pish, don’t say anything,” Lord Jorthun replied airily. “I can supply the coach and horses, the livery, Keira’s wardrobe—w
ell, that is mostly taken care of already—the traveling kit that no highborn lord or lady would ever travel without. And you are not going to procure those on short notice. I’ve been wanting to get out and do something again, and this will be perfect.”

  “I hope you aren’t running away from me,” Dia pouted, then dimpled and leaned over the arm of her chair to kiss her husband. “You’ve been itching to get back to the Game ever since I married you, and I can only thank the gods that at least you’ve chosen something that isn’t likely to get you shot at or chased.”

  “No, if anyone is going to get shot at or chased, it will be young Mags,” Jorthun said complacently. “I assume that your Companion will do what Rolan used to when Nikolas was incognito?”

  :I’m going to ghost along with you, staying out of sight, while you ride a regular horse,: Dallen said, helpfully.

  “If you mean he’ll come along but stay out of sight, then aye, sir,” Mags replied.

  “Then we’ll concoct some means of getting him fed. Fortunately things are beginning to green up nicely, so he’ll have that.” Jorthun went to a table and got a stylus and palimpsest paper. He returned to his seat and began making notes. “For once, young Mags, you may leave the planning to someone else. We’ll be ready to leave in two days.”

  Mags left feeling a bit stunned. Lady Dia escorted him as far as the front door. “Jorthun has been craving action for . . . well, far too long. There was not a great deal he could do about those foreign assassins the Karsites had hired—it was obvious they were something outside of his expertise, and they were certainly beyond what he is physically capable of handling now.” She smiled as he gave her a quizzical glance. “Trust me, Mags, my husband knows exactly what he can do and how far he can trust his body. He won’t undertake anything he can’t finish.”