Part 58 (1/2)
”Very well, then, let's not circle like two tavern bullies.” Briony's smile was hard. ”You were my father's trusted adviser, Brone. You were that to my brother and to me as well.”
”I have been lucky enough to serve the throne and the people of the March Kingdoms. That is well known. Many would say I did it well.”
”Many would, yes-but that is not my complaint.” For the first time, Vansen saw that the emotion she had hidden was not weariness or fear, but rage. Her cheeks were red and her eyes narrowed in fury; for the first time he saw how much like her brother she really was. ”You betrayed us, Brone, or you planned to. You schemed to see us all dead-my father, my brothers, and me. What do you say to that?”
Brone did not burst out into a torrent of denials, which made Vansen feel even more that the world had tilted on its foundations. Instead, the old man pressed his chin deep into his beard and frowned with his bushy brows until he seemed like a bear staring out of a cave. ”And why do you say that, Your Highness? Who has told you such a thing of me?”
”That is not your affair. But a person I trust has told me that you had a list, and on this list was the name of every member of my family and also the method by which each would be apprehended, imprisoned, and then murdered at your order. Do you deny it?”
Ferras Vansen realized he was holding his breath, and even the guards, his best men, looked startled. Only Avin Brone himself, of all in the long room, did not seem unduly troubled. ”No,” he said. ”I do not deny it.”
Briony let out a ragged gasp like someone struck a painful blow. ”So,” she said at last, her voice barely under control. ”You told me to trust no one, Avin Brone. I thank you for the honesty of that lesson.”
”Do you not wish to know the reason why?”
”No. No, I don't. Guards, take him away. The stronghold held a less guilty man in Shaso-it will serve for this villain, too.”
Brone sat, unmoving, as at Ferras Vansen's signal a quartet of guards in Eddon black and silver surrounded him. ”Will you really do this again, Princess?” the old man asked in a mild tone.
”What do you mean?” Briony had pushed her feelings back behind the mask again: she stared like a statue of Divine Retribution.
”You imprisoned Shaso dan-Heza without learning the truth. You regretted it later, as you make clear. Would you repeat that error?”
”Error?” Briony almost jumped out of her chair. ”You have admitted you planned to murder my family, Brone! What could you say that would make any difference?” But she did not repeat the order for his removal and Vansen, sensing something afoot, signaled his men to wait. ”Speak,” Briony said at last. ”It is late and I am tired and sad. I have just buried my father, and I want to go to bed.”
”I loved him, too, Briony.”
”But you planned to kill him!”
”My duty is first and foremost to the throne, Princess. That has always been true. Your father himself was careful to make certain I understood that. Yes, I planned his death-but it was with Olin's own knowledge.”
”What?” Briony seemed about to spring from her chair and attack him. ”Do you claim he wanted see his own family slaughtered . . . ?”
”No!” Now for the first time Brone lost his temper. ”No, of course not, Highness! But your father knew he had an illness that no one could cure-an illness of the blood that brought raging madness upon him. For ten years or more, he also knew that Barrick had that same distemper of the blood. You and Kendrick did not seem afflicted, but who could tell?”
”What does my father's . . . blood have to do with . . . ?”
”He did not trust himself-and to be honest, I could not afford to trust him entirely, either. He was the king, but at least one night every month he was also a beast-a madman. How could I defend the country without planning to deal with the king himself if he went utterly mad? How could I protect the March Kingdoms if his heirs were also infected? If your father lost his mind beyond saving, I was under orders to lock him away-to lock you all away as well until we knew if one of you was trustworthy. And if none of you were, then there would be no point in leaving you alive to foster unrest among the people, who would not understand. I was prepared to put another relative on the throne if necessary, perhaps one of the Brennish cousins-yes, even to kill you all if no other choice was left to me! But I did not wish to, and I only imagined it because your father, may the G.o.ds bless his bravery and foresight, ordered me to do so.” So saying, the count of Landsend folded his hands across his belly and stared back at her. ”So if you still wish to execute me, Princess, then do so. I will not resist.”
At first, Vansen thought Briony was going to scream at the old man-her face had flushed so deeply he feared for her health. But when she spoke, her words were little more than a whisper.
”Do you have some letter from my father that will prove this?”
He shrugged. ”I have letters from him that allude to the plan. I can a.s.semble them for you. All my papers from the time I served your father are yours now, in any case, Princess, though you might prefer to have someone more trustworthy than myself go through them. But choose that person carefully, Briony.” His smile was mirthless. ”I suspect there are traitors around you still uncovered. ...”
”Get out of my sight, Brone.” She spoke as if she had a mouth full of poison. ”I will send guards with you to collect the papers. Until I decide what to do, you will confine yourself to the inner keep. You will most especially not not return to your house in Landsend.” return to your house in Landsend.”
Avin Brone dipped his head in a small bow, scarcely more than a nod. ”You are my sovereign, Princess. Of course I will do what you say.”
Vansen had finished dividing the guard, keeping double Princess Briony's standard pair on duty but sending the rest away, and was waiting now as she had asked, but Briony deliberately ignored him as she finished a cup of wine.
Briony knew she should have been happy Brone had a plausible excuse-she could not remember ever dreading a meeting more-but instead she was just as angry as before but with no certain target for it. A tiny part of her had hoped he would laugh at the accusation, that it would turn out to be so transparently absurd she could soon laugh, too, but the greater part of her certainty had been that Brone was guilty, that his warnings to her to trust no one had been a form of thinly veiled confession. And when he had admitted it, every hard, protective thing inside her had clanged down like the portcullis of Raven's Gate. Now she was still furious with the old man, but just as angry with herself. If Brone's story was true, what else should he have done but followed her father's orders? But if he couldn't prove what he claimed? What then?
The chance that he might simply be dissembling-that she might still have to imprison and likely execute him-made things even worse, like being whirled around in a too-fast dance, stumbling and breathless.
Ferras Vansen was still waiting in the doorway, a look on his face that Briony thought a very annoying picture of n.o.ble suffering. She felt almost as unhappy with him as she had with Avin Brone. She beckoned him forward but gave him no indication of what to do. Vansen stopped before the throne, made an awkward bow, and then stood waiting again. After she had regarded him silently for a long moment, he finally said, ”Highness?”
”Yes, Captain. Thank you for staying. I'm a bit weary just now, as you might guess, but I wanted to speak with you. What do you think of Lord Brone's proposal?”
He looked quite startled. ”Highness?”
Briony was beginning to fear he would never say anything else. ”He suggested you as an able candidate for lord constable, Captain. Lord Constable of Southmarch? You may have heard of the position? Rather well-known in these parts, I'm told.”
He colored and Briony disliked herself more than she had when the conversation began. So many times she had longed to see this man-why did she find herself treating him in this unpleasant way again?
”I understood the question, Highness, but I didn't understand why you were asking me.”
”Because I want to know if you're interested, Captain. As I said-and as I sincerely meant-you have done wonderful things for Southmarch. Not simply for my family, but for everyone who shelters under the Five Towers.”
”I did only what any loyal servant of the Eddons would have done, Princess.”
”What any would have liked liked to have done but few would have had the wit or courage to manage. Do not belittle your own deeds.” He was coloring again. How could she have ever thought this man cared for her? Or that if he did, it was a pa.s.sion any deeper than a little child's mute love for his nursemaid? How could such a tall, strong man seem so deep one moment, then so foolish the next? Were all his most appealing traits products of her own imagination? ”What of the post, man?” to have done but few would have had the wit or courage to manage. Do not belittle your own deeds.” He was coloring again. How could she have ever thought this man cared for her? Or that if he did, it was a pa.s.sion any deeper than a little child's mute love for his nursemaid? How could such a tall, strong man seem so deep one moment, then so foolish the next? Were all his most appealing traits products of her own imagination? ”What of the post, man?”
”I . . . I am no lord, Princess.”
”A small enough matter. You would not have escaped your heroics without a t.i.tle and some land in any case, Captain. Shall I make you a marquis? Though I fear you will not relish being a lord. You don't seem like the type to enjoy the preening and scurrying of court life.”
”It terrifies me.”
She laughed a little despite herself. ”Poor Captain Vansen. It does seem a terrible thing to do to you. ...”
He had been looking at the floor. Now he raised his gaze to hers and Briony felt a little shock. Ferras Vansen's dark eyes were fiercer than she had ever seen-fiercer than she would have imagined possible, like something that can retreat no farther and must now turn and fight.
”Why do you do this to me, Lady? Why?”
”What do you mean, Captain Van . . . ?”
”This! I mean this! This way of talking to me. I liked it better when you hated me. At least then being lashed again and again was no surprise. But now . . . you say you are grateful, you praise my deeds, but all the time you act like . . . like ...” And although he was as flushed as she had ever seen him, anger mottling his cheeks and his forehead, he stopped suddenly. A moment later he said, in a far quieter voice, ”Your pardon, Highness. I had no right.”