The Duc was an unnervingly delicate man. Eveline knew him by reputation. The Arands were a minor house of Valencour dating back to the days of the Empire. Isembard was the first in his family to be given a position in the capital, and the first Valen appointed to the Great Lords of the realm. He cut an intimidating figure at dinner, tall and broad he sat close to Eveline who sat at the head of the table. Between them were the Prince and the Grandmaster, they were the only of the prince's party invited to eat.
Eveline sat them in the great hall of Caernholm, the room nearly spanned the entire inner bailey, and its tower was one of the tallest in the city. It was one of the oldest buildings in Angevain, rivalled only by the ring forts of the shore mountains. Ancient stones of dark grey built its walls and slate tiles black as the night sky lined its roof. Even at the brightest dawn, it was a dark and gloomy place, lit by hundreds of braziers at Eveline's insistence.
“I do enjoy the fare of this country, simple and honest. One gets sick of the richness in the south.” With a slight flick, the Duc popped a small mushroom into his mouth.
“I pray that your journey was pleasant. Crossing the marshes can be a difficult experience for the uninitiated.” Eveline kept the hall clear, only Brother Hedwyn had been invited but he was tardy as usual. Her ladies-in-waiting had been kept busy organising the feast that would take place once her husband had returned with his knights. They were all very excited about it, heroic warriors returning soiled by the glory of war.
Foolish girls, some of them won’t have any celebrating to do. Eveline remembered many such scenes when the men returned from battles during the Contest, the ladies came streaming into the beautiful courtyard at Tidefall, a marbled swan chased in silver stood raised in the central fountain its streams pouring into channels carved into the flagstones. The knights smelled of blood and sweat and fear, despite the soap and perfume. The ladies would always speak first, asking their brave husbands to step forward and tell of their great deeds. The men would say nothing, most would look away in shame, and some stared at the ladies with angry eyes and clenched jaws. Then it sunk in, husbands, fathers, sons, they had not returned but had been buried on some lonely piece of earth, some quiet corner that the living determined to be a place of peace and reverence.
“It was wet and bumpy, but the carriage ride was smooth enough. Your lord husband keeps the royal highways well intact.” The Duc began.
“Indeed he does my lady, I have scarcely seen rural roads kept in such good condition.” The prince included himself in the conversation.
“It was quiet, the people of Angevain seemed uniquely disinterested in a large well-appointed party travelling across its lands. We were only challenged a handful of times.” Ser Hector Vauken spoke from his side of the table, he poked at his food with a look of distaste. The gilded hawk, preferred son of Luther, brother to the queen, and master of the richest military order in the Holy Kingdom. His presence here was unusual, the Grandsraad had no holdings in Angevain and little interest in recruiting her knights to its cause. If rumour was to be believed they could scarcely pay the knights currently under their banner.
“The people of the north are a shy lot, loathe to leave their fields, and the Barons do not fear any force from the south, their eyes are watchful of the coast and the clan raiders that plague us.”
“Does the Great Wolf not keep his domain well in hand, the only other province which suffers from raiders is Servern, but the Marquess assures us it is temporary.” Felix looked over at Eveline.
“Fenryr is vast Your Majesty, the Great Wolf does his part to keep the peace but these raiders come from beyond the Tear. Only the Errantry has authority there, and every year messages flow down from its officers warning of greater and greater migrations by the clans.”
“Something should be done. The Grandmaster should organise with the Great Wolf, there was a ranging before to break up the naming of the last Clan King. Surely it can be done again.”
Eveline stifled a weary sigh. The young prince was well informed but not well enough to understand why what he asked was impossible. Not for the first time she wished her husband was here.
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“Things have changed in the halls of Vinterheim, the Great Wolf ages and his heir is unpopular. There is talk of war between the brothers.”
The prince’s face twisted in surprise and disgust. “They would do no such thing, to break the king's peace, would invite the destruction of their house!”
Hector Vauken placed a hand delicately on the prince’s shoulder. “Now nephew be calm. Reality can be very different from the law. If the sons of High Jarl Harkonn have inheritance disputes that is to be resolved by them. Only if they break the peace of the realm as a whole would the king need act.”
“Forgive me Your Majesty but this is not the place for a lesson of law. Isembard you wouldn’t have come all this way, in secret, to speak with us about cuisine and the countryside. What message does the king wish to pass on to my husband.” Eveline sipped her wine and watched closely as the duc dotted his cheeks with a cloth and leaned forward.
“The Lord Chancellor, Earl Brassen, is dead.”
Eveline clenched the bronze cup in her hand tightly. “And how did he die.”
“Officially, natural causes.”
Brassen. Dead. Leo will not be pleased, she thought. Earl Brassen was the last man alive who played a part in the execution of his father. The fact King Lysander reinstated him to the great office, once the war was done, drove them apart. “And unofficially?”
“Unofficially he died of natural causes, there is no conspiracy there my lady, as much as the court and the king would like to believe there is.” Hector cut in with frustration in his voice. Eveline got the feeling it wasn’t the first time he had this discussion.
Duc Arand drew a letter from his loosely buttoned doublet and eyed Hector. “Regardless that is between the king and his grand baron.” The letter bore the privy seal, the sign of the king's personal, intimate, and most of all secret correspondence.
“And it was sent with you, Lord Chamberlain. Why not the Lord Keeper? Does the snake not wish to leave its den.”
The duc laughed. “Normally it is the pig who is loathe to leave his pen and the snake that breaks free to hunt its prey. My lady, it is the man who makes the office and Lord Sasaan enjoys the capital far too much to leave it behind.”
“I see. You await my husband's return to ensure he follows the king's order.”
“I await the baron's return so I might understand what that order is. Valorium stirs with unease, the chancellor was well-liked and sponsored many public works for the city. His death has been met with great mourning and the king has yet to appoint a replacement leaving the city without a governor. The king hides in the Silver Keep, not a single public appearance has been made since winter, and the council has not been convened for longer. Now our oldest member is dead and I am instructed to travel here with all haste and deliver a letter.” Duc Arand leaned forward his elbows placed on the table, chin resting on locked fingers.
“Does the king mean to order Leofric to Valorium, appoint him to the office of Lord Chancellor.”
“I do not know, there are few who know the king's mind these days save the All-Father.”
“He will not go.”
“He will not have a choice.”
A silence descended on the table. The prince had been looking for a way into the conversation for some time now. Eveline had seen Felix at the corner of her eye opening his mouth and edging forward only for the talk to sweep past him. Hector's face twisted at the mention of the chancellery, it seemed her husband’s accession would have some contention. She shook her head internally, there would be no accession, he would not do it and the other Great Lords would not allow it. Never in the history of the Holy Kingdom had a Lord Superior sat in a great office of the realm.
Valorium. Capital of the Holy Kingdom. The most beautiful city in the known world and the centre of power in Evros. When Valorian the Great transformed the Sacred Seat he was named the Mage King and began a dynasty that lasted over five hundred years. The city was renamed in his memory by his sons. Every lady dreams of travelling to the Silver Keep, attending the spring dance in the gardens of Morrigan, and every young lord dreams of being placed on the lists in the joust at the Circae Maxima. Her children had those same dreams. Eveline had lived in the capital, she knew the streets well having served the late Queen Ilira as a court lady before her betrothal. She knew it was a den of vipers, even before its fall in the Contest. Politicking spying and backstabbing were the only courtesy available to those who lived there. The natural order meant nothing, wealthy merchants and yeoman rubbed shoulders with the nobility; Duc, Baron, Count, and Earl all attended feasts and ceremonies at the homes of their lessers. It was a place that Eveline hoped she would not see again.
“You must be tired from your travels my lord. You will be informed when my husband's party is spotted returning from their travels, it will only be a day or two at the most. Allow my handmaids to escort you to your chambers.”
The Duc stood and bowed slightly. “You have much to think about my lady, I thank you for your hospitality and await the grand baron's return with much excitement.”