Book 9: Chapter 18
Herouxville
Palace of the Duchess du Bellay
“THE PRINCESS OF ASTLAND?” Valerie repeated, still sounding shocked. “Quiet little Verena is the Princess of Astland? Aunt Jeanne... Why are you so silent?”
Valerie was sitting on the edge of an armchair, watching anxiously as the Duchess paced back and forth from one corner of the room to the other. She was hopelessly lost in thought.
After Verena’s hasty departure in the company of the Royal Jester, the reception itself had quickly fizzled out. The guests had all departed rather hastily, some remembering to bid the Duchess farewell, others simply wandering off in confusion. The hall had emptied out, as though all the pomp and grandeur of the event had left with Verena.
First to depart was the Baron de Mercadier, who had suddenly started shaking as though he had a bad fever. After all, everyone in the room had immediately realized that he had come quite close to marrying the fugitive Princess. That kind of attention, in circumstances such as those, scared the man to his very core.
Watching scornfully as the carriage with the de Mercadier sigil rumbled away into the night, the Duchess thought about how the coward was hurrying home to lock himself away like a frightened mouse. He might never show his face again.
Only Prince Heinrich and his hangers-on lingered at the ball for any length of time. Surprisingly, however, instead of the sarcastic jokes one might have expected from the Prince as of late, his behavior was the very model of courtesy and respect. Prior to leaving, he kissed Jeanne’s hand and noted, with a marked tone of admiration, that he admired her boldness. Concealing a fugitive Princess, after all, meant going against the will of the King himself, as well as that of Otto II, whom many in Vestonia considered a usurper.
The Duchess made special note of the way that Baron Friedrich von Herwart’s eyes shone when he looked at her. He was one of the Prince’s strykers, and a longtime enemy of Astland’s current ruler. Apparently, he was happy at the prospect that the ensuing diplomatic firestorm might rub some salt into Otto’s wounds. As soon as they departed, however, Jeanne suddenly realized something terrible: her palace would thenceforth be associated with the partisans of the late Conrad V, of whom there were still quite a lot scattered throughout the world. After his defeat in the war, these people had run off to wherever they thought they could find shelter. And according to rumor, for many of them that meant the Foggy Isles. There, they had gathered around the banner of Marshal Albrecht von Mansfled, the last leader of resistance — and a man who wouldn’t fail to grasp the straw that the gods were about to extend to him.
When the world heard about the “resurrection” of Conrad’s only surviving heiress, it would be like throwing a stone into water. It would send out ripples, which would turn into waves that would wreak havoc on the fragile balance of power on the political map of the civilized world.
Any day now, she knew, all of Otto II’s most implacable enemies would swarm into Herouxville, intent on swearing fealty to the “true Princess of Astland.” And regardless of whether she wanted it or not, Verena would become the new symbol of their struggle against the usurper.
Thinking about this, Jeanne understood exactly why Carl hadn’t tried to do things quietly — why he had chosen to unmask the story with the Princess in such an immediate and public manner. He had probably decided to “prepare the ground,” as it were: when Otto’s ambassadors inevitably arrived to complain, Carl could just throw up his hands and claim that he had only just learned of Verena’s true identity himself. The Duchess pictured the King’s unflappable expression, and couldn’t resist a wry smile.
The appearance of the Princess also settled one other question: namely, the shortage of soldiers in the Royal Army. After all, everybody knew that Carl’s recruiters were scrambling to replenish losses suffered in Bergonia.
Even Lord Gray had been sent to the Foggy Isles with all possible speed, in order to hire as many soldiers as he possibly could. After the Princess’ “miraculous resurrection,” however, there would be no end to the Astlandic nobles and soldiers flocking to Carl’s colors. Consequently, the dirty work of collecting men for Carl’s legions could come to an end very quickly indeed.
These thoughts moved the Duchess to sigh heavily. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a pale-faced Valerie sitting in her armchair, and couldn’t help thinking of her brother Henri. He had tried to warn her. It turned out that he had known about everything for quite a long time. And if Henri had known, that meant Bauffremont knew as well... Which meant that Otto already knew everything too.
Oh, Most Luminous Mother, she thought to herself! Jeanne finally realized the full extent of the danger to which she had exposed herself and her niece, merely by being in Verena’s presence. Had Otto II decided to eliminate the Princess, he would never have left either the Duchess or Valerie alive to tell the tale.
That, by the way, was another mystery. Why hadn’t Otto acted? If he had known about the Princess, why hadn’t he moved to neutralize the threat? Jeanne shook her head. So many questions. And there would be so many more...
As she glanced out once more into the nearly-empty hall, Jeanne realized that her shoulders were shaking.
Finally, she stopped in the middle of her office. In a voice that was hushed, but firm as iron, she said:
“You’re staying with me, Valerie.”
“Aunt?” The girl stood up as though she were about to protest.
“Don’t even think about arguing with me.” Jeanne’s voice was frigid. “This is no time for one of your flights of pique.”
“But what’s happening, auntie?” Valerie pleaded as she wrenched at her own fingers in nervous confusion.
“What’s happening,” the Duchess snapped back, “is that your brother has been playing his own game this whole time. And worst of all, he dragged you and me into it without our knowledge.”
Jeanne took a few steps toward her niece, who had recoiled into her armchair like a bird pressing its wings against its body in terror.
“From today on, there will be no more receptions or balls. You will remain at home. Until everything clears up, you and I must keep our heads down and make as little noise as possible. Do you understand?”
“Yes, auntie...” Valerie replied with a hurried nod. A feeling of insurmountable, suffocating panic was rising into her throat.
“Look at me,” the Duchess added menacingly. “Disobey me in this, and you’ll be back at your uncle’s house before you know what’s happening. And he will teach you to listen very, very quickly indeed.”
Those last words hit Valerie like a blow from a scourge.
Tears welled up into her eyes immediately. She jumped up out of her chair and, forgetting any sense of pride, threw herself onto her knees at Jeanne’s feet, wrapping her arms around the Duchess’ legs:
“No, auntie! No... Don’t send me back to my uncle!” She was sobbing so violently, it seemed that she feared even the mention of the man’s name.
Realizing that Valerie had finally understood the gravity of the situation, the Duchess sighed sadly, then bent down and laid a hand gently on the young woman’s shoulder. Her voice became a little warmer:
“That’s enough, my child. Stand up. Dry your tears and listen to me.”
When Valerie rose to her feet, Jeanne pursed her lips and added:
“This is what you’re going to say whenever anyone asks you about what happened today...”
She launched into a clear, concise explanation of which versions of events to cite if Valeria ever found herself discussing the matter with anyone. Valerie nodded at every word, squeezing her handkerchief and blinking away tears the entire time. At one point, Max’s image drifted up in the back of her mind. What, she wondered, would happen when he found out about what had happened at her reception that night? But she knew that this was no time to think about the future. She would need to survive the present first.
From behind the doors came the sound of servants’ footsteps as they removed what was left of the momentous night: the clatter of plates, the rustle of brooms... And from then on, the Duchess’ elegant palace sank into a sudden, terrible stupor, in expectation of the new storm that was bound to break.
* * *
Herouxville
Somewhere en route to the Royal Palace
Verena sat in the corner of the carriage, trying to maintain an upright posture, despite the muscles in her back straining from a sudden feeling of exhaustion. Mere moments before, it seemed, she had been dancing with Prince Heinrich in the palace of the Duchess du Bellay; and now, all she could hear was the creaking of wheels and the rhythmic clatter of hooves along the dark road. It felt like she had been wrenched from one world and thrown into another.
The intense flurry of emotions sent an unpleasant tremor through her body. At first, it was a feeling of nervous embarrassment. Gradually, however, this gave way to fear and anxiety. Time and time again, she kept replaying the events of the past hour in her head, right up until the moment that the jester had sat her down in the carriage.
Verena couldn’t use her gift in such close proximity to him. She shot a glance at the hunchback sitting opposite her, and had difficulty concealing her surprise. In true vision, Kiko’s energy system looked like a sort of colorless blotch. It seemed the King’s jester was gifted. And very sensitive.
Look, she thought — he flinched slightly, the very second I looked at him.
He started to frown and shoot suspicious glances at Verena, who quickly lowered her eyes. It seemed that everything people said about this man was true. Kiko wasn’t the jovial buffoon he appeared to be at all. He wasn’t the kind of jester who was limited to dancing around in a spotted suit for the entertainment of the crowd.
They rode in silence for a little while. The dry creaking of the wheels was soon drowned out by a nocturnal breeze, which crept into the carriage through narrow slits in its frame. Finally, Verena raised her eyes to look at Kiko again. He was sitting with his head tilted slightly to the side, studying her as though she were some sort of rare animal.
Verena’s heart began to beat faster. As had happened so often in her childhood, she was waging a desperate struggle against the urge to wrap her arms around her knees and hide herself away from a sharp, all-seeing gaze.
No, she thought. I won’t let him see my fear. I won’t let him see my fear.
She repeated this thought to herself over and over as she rolled her shoulders and sat up straighter on her seat.
“Your Highness,” said Kiko quietly, just as the silence was becoming oppressively heavy. “Please forgive my haste. I’m sure my actions tonight must have seemed like rudeness to you. But such is the will of the King.”
His voice was firm, without any of its usual affected mirth.
Verena digested his words for a few seconds, trying to come up with a fitting response. As she had during her travels, she really just wanted to clam up and sit there in silence. Suddenly, however, she realized that the role of fugitive was no longer to her liking at all. Verena’s eyes flitted down to her own fingers: they were sweaty, and they had wrapped her lacy handkerchief into a tiny little ball.
I won’t show any weakness, she thought as she raised her chin proudly into the air. This majestic gesture, and the cold look that went along with it, had been taught to her once upon a time by her mother, the Queen of Astland. She had always taken great care to remind the young Verena who she really was. The time had come for Verena to remember what she had learned.
“The will of the King...” Verena echoed. “And what else, pray tell, does His Majesty’s will entail?”
Her voice sounded firmer than she had expected. That was good.
But it didn’t seem to have any effect on Kiko at all. He merely chuckled and smiled.
“His Majesty has reason to believe that you’re in danger. I’m here to ensure your protection.”
Verena raised her eyebrows.
“Protection?” She asked with a bitter laugh. “It seems to me that I was perfectly safe in the Duchess du Bellay’s home. At least until you arrived.”
“Forgive me, Your Highness, if what happened has depressed your spirits.” Kiko squeezed his shoulders together and giggled. “But it seemed to me that you truly did need help. I saw the carnivorous look on that Baron’s face — the one to whom your hand had already been promised. It seemed like the old fool was about to throw himself at you and drag you off to his castle. Something with which the Duchess du Bellay appeared only too willing to help.”
Verena let out a staggered, shuddering breath.
“And what exactly made you decide that it wasn’t my own personal decision to marry the Baron de Mercadier?”
“Your Highness,” the jester chortled. “It was enough to see the way you kept glancing at the old fool. They bore little resemblance indeed to the glances a woman normally showers on a man with whom she’s fallen in love.”
“Who said this marriage is one of love?” Verena objected. “The Baron is wealthy and respected. And he’s never failed to treat me with courtesy and gallantry.”
“Yes, Your Highness. You’re right. Marrying for love is an impermissible luxury for people of your station,” nodded Kiko.
“You mean to say “our station,” said Verena.
“Oh!” The jester smiled. “Our King may have graced me with sigil and Baronial rank, but that doesn’t make my blood noble. I’m merely a jester who does a good job making the King laugh. You’re a Princess of Astland, whose family line extends all the way back into Imperial times. That pitiful little Baron wasn’t even worthy of your gaze, let alone your hand. I marvel that the Duchess du Bellay and the Margrave de Valier didn’t understand that.”
“Max...” Verena began, but blushed as she caught herself. The smiling jester pretended not to have noticed her slip-up. “Neither the Margrave de Valier nor his family had any idea of my true background. I kept the truth carefully hidden.”
Verena tried to sound as confident as possible while saying this. The jester’s eyes narrowed; he knocked his fingers against his knee.
“Oh? And how did you manage to hide and survive for all this time? More importantly, how did you and the Margrave meet?”
Verena gritted her teeth. She had no intention of telling Kiko the details of her travels, still less of the pain she had gone through. But alas — she would need to explain something. Otherwise, he would interpret things for himself. The most important thing she could do at this point, she knew, was to protect Max and his family from reprisal.
“Please understand me, Monsieur, when I tell you that I’d prefer not to relive everything I’ve been through in the years since the death of my family. All you need to know is that the Margrave de Valier saved me from the clutches of the priests of the Frost Temple. I’m sure you don’t need an explanation of the fate that awaited me there?”
The jester’s expression changed. For the first time, he looked at Verena without any hint of mockery or sarcasm. For a second, she even thought she could see sympathy in his eyes. An instant later, however, the King’s jester had the same sappy smile on his face as before.
“Yes. The Duchess wanted to marry me off to the Baron,” Verena continued. “And I’m sure she was doing it with the best of intentions. In her mind, it was the best possible match for the daughter of a bankrupt merchant.”
Kiko shook his head:
“Your Highness... I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all these tribulations. But they’re a thing of the past now. You need fear nothing, now that you’re under the protection of our King.”
Inside, Verena went cold.
“So this isn’t an audience at all,” she said, trying to make sure her voice didn’t shake as she spoke. “I’m a prisoner again, aren’t I?”
Kiko’s eyes bulged; he threw up his hands:
“Your Highness! How could you even think such a thing?! His Majesty remembers the warm relationship he enjoyed with your late father, and wants to make sure that you want for nothing. You will occupy a place of honor at His Majesty’s court — one befitting your true status. More than that, under the protection of the King’s Shadows, you need no longer fear a dagger in the night from any of Otto’s mercenaries.”
Otto’s name set off an alarm. Verena flinched, and thoughts of her relatives and their agonies drifted into her mind — thoughts of their utter helplessness as they fell victim to the new King of Astland, whom many people still called usurper. With some difficulty, Verena managed to swallow the lump in her throat.
“I’m nothing but a new link in your King’s twisted political chain,” she replied morosely.
“Whatever the case, your unmasking is a genie that can no longer be put back in the bottle,” the jester shrugged. “Besides, you forget that you might now have a chance to settle the score with your enemies. News that the only daughter of the glorious King Conrad V is alive and well will make its way around the world very quickly indeed. Hundreds of Astlandic nobles will arrive in Herouxville to swear allegiance to you.”
Verena could feel a heavy sensation rising in her chest. She knew about the surviving partisans of her father’s cause who had fled their homeland. But Verena wasn’t in any particular hurry to become a living banner for that cause. Or pawn in the big political game. Or the cause for a new round of bloody civil war that would weaken her country still further.
The dull knocking of the wheels sounded as though it was adjusting itself to the rhythm of her heart. Verena wrapped her hands around the armrest of her seat. She glanced at the thick curtain covering the window. There, beyond that dense strip of fabric, the dark of the night was getting thicker all the time. She suddenly felt a powerful urge to take a breath of fresh air, but she was afraid to open the window. It felt like opening it even just a little bit would reveal some sort of yawning chasm outside.
She felt the tempo of the wagon’s rocking as it began to quicken. The wheels began to bounce when they hit uneven spots, and the whistling of the wind across the window grew louder. Verena realized that her wagon was no longer traveling across the city’s cobblestones... It was also much darker outside, as though there were no more streetlights around the carriage.
This can’t be right, she thought... The palace... The King’s palace is in the very center of the capital. We shouldn’t be leaving through the gates...
Under the jester’s attentive gaze, Verena leaned forward and opened the window a crack. A burst of damp night air billowed into her face. She could see a row of trees swaying beneath the moon. There were neither houses nor streetlights anywhere in sight — nothing but trees, and other features typical of a forest landscape.
“Wait,” she said, her heart freezing in her chest, as she turned to the jester. “Why are we outside the city?”
“His Majesty has several suburban residences,” Kiko replied evasively, smiling all the while. “One of them happens to be located in a nice, quiet spot where your enemies won’t be able to disturb your peace. Call it our little surprise for those who might come looking for you in the part of the Royal Palace that belongs to Her Majesty — who, as you know, is a relative of the current ruler of Astland.”