“Oh, wipe that pious expression off your face.”
“So you agree? Prosperian will be raised in Galazon.”
“Agnes will never consent.”
“I'm certain you can persuade her. I wouldn't care to hold her responsible for your financial malfeasance, but I will prosecute you both if I have to.”
“I made the customary settlements. It was all legal. Perfectly legal.”
“Oh, Uncle Brinker. You've taken such good care of me all these years. Why don't you let me take good care of you now?” Her words were silken. “I can make things so inconvenient for you if you refuse to cooperate.”
Brinker's eyes narrowed. “And if Agnes and I agree to your terms? What then?”
“Unlike me, you have some talent for diplomacy. I want you to use it on my behalf. I intend to send you awayâ
far awayâFinland, I thinkâas my ambassador. Tell Agnes she has a choice. She may stay in Aravillâ
not
Galazonâor she may go with you toâHelsinki.”
“Agnes dislikes cold weather.”
“She might dislike the alternatives more. Oh, there is just one other thing. You purchased some land belonging to Reed's family.”
“Did I?”
“Quince blossom. Don't tell me you've forgotten the quince blossom?”
“Quince blossom? Oh, yes.” Brinker's expression cleared. “I remember now. Reed is tractable enough, but his family objected to the taxes long before I began to raise them. They're a garrulous bunch, and related to half the crofters in the duchy. I needed to give them something else to think about.”
“If they get the land back, and if you and Agnes agree to allow Prosperian to be brought up as my heir in Galazon, I will take no legal action against you for your financial exploits.”
“Done.”
Faris abandoned the seascape. Brinker followed her warily. “Surely that's not all?”
Faris looked surprised. “I'm exiling you and your wife. I'm going to raise your first child as my own. What more do you think there should be?”
“You can't expect me to believe you're concerned about that miserable vegetable patch of Reed's.” Brinker looked offended. “Why, if you wanted it, you could have just taken it.”
“No.” Faris stopped and stared at her uncle until he had to look away. “No, I couldn't.”
Â
F
aris joined the king in his presence chamber. He was alone. As she entered, he was walking slowly along the wall of windows, looking out at the streets below. He seemed older, wearier than she remembered, perhaps because instead of his usual bright garb he wore a neat suit of black. Unconscious parody of her own impulse to wear mourning? She wondered. “You wished to see me?”
He turned to regard her. With the light at his back, it was hard for her to judge his expression but Faris thought his shoulders drooped slightly, as if in disappointment. She guessed this was not the greeting he'd expected. “I understood you wished to see me,” he answered quietly.
She crossed to look out the windows herself. It was an unseasonably sunny day, not a cloud anywhere. “Jane thought you might like some advice about Graelent. You'd do better to deport him than to imprison him.”
“If you wish him to go free, he shall go free,” the king said stiffly.
“I wish him to be exposed for the opportunist he is, no more. And no less. He's a mountebank, but he'll create more trouble if he can convince people that he's being persecuted.” She described the method Graelent had used to line his own pockets. “Mock him, don't martyr him.”
“You know a great deal about Istvan Graelent.”
With an effort, she kept her tone light. “More than enough.”
“I told them to give you the finest chamber in the palace. Have they?”
She nodded. “It's very grand.”
“You don't like it.”
“It'sâmagnificent.”
“You dislike it, don't you?”
“I couldn't. I'm very grateful for your hospitality. Now, may I ask you something? Honestly? How much was it?”
“How much was what?”
“You needn't feign ignorance. Just say you refuse to answer. But I'd like to know the true amount. Brinker does things his own wayâeven bookkeeping.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The dowry. How much does it cost an ambassador of the farmyard to marry these days?”
Obviously nonplused, it took him some time to reply. “I think I must refuse to answer.”
“Don't you remember?”
“Why must you know the exact amount? Are you concerned that I might not have demanded enough?” the king asked calmly.
Faris managed a crooked smile. “Oh, I'm counting on you to have demanded more than enough. I'll need to spend some of the money on my maintenance here in Aravis.”
“Here? You're staying here?” The king's astonishment flickered and vanished beneath a mask of bland interest.
“I'm not prepared to return to Galazon just yet.”
“No?” The curiosity in his tone belied his placid expression. “Why not?”
Faris hesitated. “To mend the rift, I had to surrender much that I value. I am still taking stock of the damage. One thing I lostâ” Her words leaped so in her throat, she did not trust herself to continue.
The king looked away. “Galazon.”
“Yes.”
“I'm so sorry.” His voice was gentle, hardly more than a whisper.
She was surprised how much his sympathy moved her. She had to shut her eyes to conceal her response. “I have something else to ask you.”
“Ask. Understand, I may have to refuse you again. But ask. I will answer if I can.”
“What frightened you so? What did you think I was doing there at the rift?”
“Iâfeared you would step too close and be lost in the rift forever. Forgive me. I wish to atone for my folly.”
“Folly?” Her anger was so abrupt it astonished her. “You call it folly?”
“I have been a fool. What else can I call it?”
“In your folly, you gave the order toâ” She broke off, stammering. His calmness enraged her.
“In my folly, I forgot you wereâwho you were.”
“How can you look so blank? Do you even understand what you've done?”
“I gave an order I now bitterly regret. But you were spared.”
“You don't understand anything, do you?” She began to pace along the windows. “I gave up Galazon. I let it go
into the rift. The rift wanted more. Yet I couldn't bring myself to give Tyrian up too. And thenâthen you gave your order. Which you now bitterly regret.”
Still calm, he managed a quiet reply. “Tyrian won, then. He kept you safe. You hired him to protect you and he did. What better end could he have made?”
Faris turned on him. “Why choose to wear black today, of all days? I know why I'm in black. Why are you? Mourning?”
He looked startled. “One does not wear mourning for a servant.”
“You still don't understand, do you? He was not my servant.”
He regarded her anger, aghast. “What then? What else could he be?”
Her empty hands shook as she held them out to him. Her voice shook as she replied. “Glove to my hand.” Slowly she closed her fists. “
Everything
.”
Rage choked her. She left him there, staring numbly out at nothing. Grief and anger drove her through the palace, from the presence chamber to the lion-guarded heights.
Â
O
n Candlemas, Faris stood again at the empty heights where the rift had been. The sky was cloudy. A steady breeze from the west promised mild weather to come. Far below lay the narrow, noisy streets of Aravis. Faris did not spare a glance down at them. She looked westward. But for the lions, who were fond of her company, she was alone.
The Monarchist party had ceased to play any part in the politics of Aravill. Lord Brinker Nallaneen and his lady wife had departed for Finland. Their child, deemed too young for such a journey, was sent to Galazon with her nurses. Reed escorted them to Galazon Chase, the child's home for the winter months.
As soon as spring came, Reed would take the child and her nurses to Shieling, where Prosperian would be cared for and protected by Warin and Flavia Woodrowel. In return for the child's maintenance, the Woodrowels would pay tribute: one pine bough, once a year. A fresh one.
To secure the castle, the doors to the warden's stair had been locked and bricked shut. World's End Close was sealed and guarded.
The king's silent calm continued. His once-lively social schedule had given way to near isolation. Though this change concerned his ministers, his diligence concerned them more. He seemed determined to review every nuance of his political responsibility.
Greenlaw was still in session. Dame Brailsford's absence could not be excused indefinitely. Reluctantly, Jane had taken her leave a week before.
Â
O
n Candlemas, Faris watched Greenlaw from the heights of Aravis. Far off, she saw a sleek Minerva limousine roar across the sands of low tide on the spine of paved causeway. With a flourish, the long automobile drew up smartly before the gate.
Before the engine had ceased idling, the little green shutter
snapped open. The gatekeeper's grim face was round and red, chapped by the offshore wind. “We have no use for automobiles here.”
The driver's door opened and Jane Brailsford emerged, immaculate in her Parisian traveling clothes.
The gatekeeper was dismayed. “I beg your pardon, Dame Brailsford. I thought you were a tourist.”
Jane leaned in to address someone still inside the limousine. “Thank you, Charles. I'll send someone down to collect my luggage while I report to the Dean. You're not to trouble about it. I recommend Mere Poulard's for lunch, by the way. Thank you again for the chance to practice my driving. If Uncle Ambrose notices anything fishy about the gearbox, do blame it all on me. Oh, and don't worry about leaving the limo for lunch. I'm sure the gatekeeper will be glad to keep an eye on it for you.”
Disgusted, the gatekeeper slammed his shutter. After a moment, the wooden gate swung open.
Jane walked through the gates of Greenlaw, the visible built of oak, the invisible built of the Dean's will. She crossed the threshold and was lost to Faris's view.
Alone on the heights of Aravis, Faris turned away. Far below lay the narrow, noisy streets. She did not spare them a glance. She felt loneliness welling up within.
From about her neck, she drew the fine chain that held the key to the warden's stair. For a thoughtful moment, she let the key swing and spin, admiring the way its facets gave back the morning light.
The lions looked back toward the palace door. She followed their glance and saw the king emerge. He moved
stiffly, almost warily, toward her. With disfavor, Faris noted that he was still wearing black. Pointedly, she turned her back on him.
Faris looked down. Far below lay the city, crowded, heedless, aimlessly busy. She stretched out her hand until the key hung, flawless and brilliant, over the edge.
“The palace prefect told me you were here,” the king said softly.
Faris did not bother to turn and acknowledge his presence. The effrontery, to follow her here. It must be obvious she wished to be left alone. Quite alone.
“I didn't mean to startle you.”
Something troubled Faris, but she could not identify what it was. She frowned at the key, twisting on its chain as it caught the light and surrendered it.
When she did not answer, he inquired calmly, “Won't you need that key?”
She spaced her words coldly. “The stair is closed. If I shatter the key, the stair will remain closed.”
“There may be other doors. And what makes you certain the key will shatter?”
She glanced down at the cluttered streets below. “From this height? Can you doubt it?”
“Who can be certain what Hilarion's key will do?”
More intent on the tone of his words than the sense, she answered almost absently, “It's mine now. And I no longer need it.” Then the sense reached her, and she demanded, “Who told you it was Hilarion's key?”
He touched her shoulder with a gloved hand. “Come away from the edge.”
At those words, in that place, Faris drew breath sharply.
In that voice
. She remembered that voice. With every bone in her body, she recognized it.
She felt something shift within her as a pattern came clear and clean. Something she could not name came right, as swiftly, as neatly as one might cut a deck of cards.