Chapter 19
With the Lion of Senet absent from Avacas, Crown Prince Misha was—supposedly—left in charge. It was Antonov’s way of making everybody think he trusted his heir, but it didn’t really fool anyone. Misha’s power was severely limited. His father’s people showed Misha only what they thought he needed to know about, not wishing to bother the ailing prince (so they claimed) with anything that might disturb him.
Misha was well aware that what he was given to sign and approve had been heavily censored, and it annoyed him. Just because he couldn’t walk properly didn’t mean he was incapable of making a decision. He could read a balance sheet better than his father. He knew more about the history of every province and duchy in Senet than anybody else in the palace. But it just took one twitch, one tremble, and they looked at him like he was a brainless fool, gathered up their reports and hurriedly excused themselves before they had to suffer the embarrassment of watching the Crown Prince of Senet foaming at the mouth and twitching on the floor like a decapitated chicken.
Misha had learned the hard way that the best time to meet with the Chancellor of the Exchequer or the Palace Seneschal, or Barin Welacin, the Prefect of Avacas, was in the morning right after he had taken his tonic, when he was at his most alert. Then he could question them with a steady voice, ask for details that were, quite often (he suspected deliberately), excluded from their reports, and make decisions that had half a chance of being implemented. The Lion of Senet had never questioned a decision he had made in this manner, nor seen fit to overrule him, which gave Misha some hope. But neither did he trust his son with anything terribly important, so it probably mattered little to Antonov, one way or the other.
Misha was feeling particularly peeved about the whole arrangement this morning. His father had been gone for more than a week, but he had still not seen anything more interesting than the estimates for next year’s maize harvest. And now, Lord Palinov, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, had brought him a request from the city elders in Talenburg, asking for a grant of ten thousand gold dorns to strengthen the levee walls around their city to prevent Lake Ruska’s yearly flooding of the lower parts of the city after the spring rains. Lord Palinov had handed him the letter with a heavy sigh and a recommendation that they grant Talenburg two thousand dorns and let them find the rest of the money somewhere else.
The letter advising the elders of Talenburg about the Lion of Senet’s decision was already drafted, and required nothing more than Misha’s signature and that he apply his father’s seal to the finished document.
“A number of people were drowned in last year’s floods, as I recall,” Misha remarked as he read through the letter.
“But only in the poorer quarters of the city, your highness,” Palinov assured him. “Nobody important was killed.”
“I imagine the people who died were important to somebody,” Misha replied. “A child who lost his mother in the floods would disagree with you, I think, as would any struggling family who lost their breadwinner.”
“You know what I mean, your highness,” Palinov shrugged with an oily smile. “Like you, I grieve for the loss of any person, no matter what their station in life. But in granting this request we would be setting an extremely bad precedent. If we say yes to Talenburg, the next thing you know Bollow will be asking for the same consideration, then Tolace will want something, then Paislee, then Versage ... By the end of the week, every city in Senet will find they suddenly have a need for large amounts of our cash for urgent capital works.”
“And if we only grant them a fifth of what they ask for? How will they raise the rest?”
“Talenburg could easily levy a tax on its own citizens to raise the necessary funds, your highness.”
“So the poor get to drown in the floods or pay taxes they can ill afford to repair the levee walls,” Misha concluded.
“Your highness,” Palinov sighed condescendingly. “You must realize that these requests are always outrageously inflated. Talenburg probably doesn’t need to spend anywhere near ten thousand dorns to repair the levee walls. They simply ask for that amount, knowing that we will only grant part of it. It’s a game they all play. You mustn’t let yourself be swayed by emotional pleas to save the lives of a few starving peasants, when the vast majority of the money is liable to wind up lining the pockets of the Talenburg city elders.”
“Is this all they sent?” he asked, holding up the letter. He was pleased to see the parchment was steady in his hand.
“There was some supporting documentation,” Palinov admitted. “Estimates, a few engineering diagrams and the like, but ...”
“I want to see them.”
“Your highness?”
“I will see what else they sent, my lord,” Misha insisted. “Or I will cross out the figure of two thousand dorns and replace it with the ten thousand dorns they originally asked for and grant their request for the full amount right now.”
“As you wish,” Palinov said, backing down with a shrug.
He’s humoring me. He probably thinks I won’t understand a
word of it.
“Was there anything else, my lord?”
“I merely require your signature on a few other things, your highness,” the chancellor said, holding up a sheaf of official-looking documents. “I can show you where to sign.”
“Leave them on the desk. I’ll read through them later.”
“Your highness really doesn’t need to bother himself,” Palinov advised, as if Misha was just a little bit odd for suggesting such an unheard-of thing. “They are simply administrative matters that your father did not have time to deal with before he left for Elcast. Even he would not waste time going over every little detail.”
“I’m not my father,” Misha pointed out coldly.
The chancellor looked at him strangely for a moment, and then rose to his feet. “No, Prince Misha, you certainly are not.”
Misha wasn’t sure how to take the comment, but he was fairly confident Palinov didn’t mean it as a compliment.
Later that afternoon, one of Palinov’s scribes arrived with a bundle of documents that turned out to be the “supporting documentation” the chancellor had so blithely dismissed as irrelevant to Talenburg’s request for assistance. Misha frowned when he saw the pile, and dismissed the scribe with a wave of his hand. He was not feeling nearly so enthusiastic about looking through the pile of documents as he had been this morning.
“Perhaps you should review them tomorrow,” Olena suggested, when she noticed the look on his face. “Palinov can wait another day for your decision.”
That will just give him another day to find a way to thwart me,
Misha thought, but he did not share his sentiments with Olena. If the Shadowdancers had their way, he would not be bothered by Lord Palinov at all. He had argued with both Ella and Olena in the past about his responsibilities as the crown prince. They were firmly convinced that Misha was overextending himself by attempting to take an active part in the governance of Senet, and that he would be much better off if he left it to those paid to deal with such things.
“I’ll look through them later,” he told her. “After dinner, perhaps.”
“Well, don’t stay up too late,” the Shadowdancer warned. “You’re still very weak. You need your rest.”
“You fuss over me like I’m made of glass, Olena. You’re worse than Ella, I swear.”
“You may not be made of glass, your highness, but you’re certainly not made of diamond, either. You’ll suffer for it if you do too much.”
Although she sounded concerned, Misha could not avoid the feeling her words contained a veiled threat. Like Ella, Olena always called him “your highness” when she was peeved with him.
“I know my limits,” he assured her. “Better than anyone.”
“Then let me help you back to bed ...”
“No,” he said, reaching for the pile from Talenburg. “I’ve changed my mind. I will look at these now.”
With shaking hands he unrolled the largest document and spread it out on the desk. Olena glanced at the diagram curiously. “Can you make any sense of that?”
“More than Lord Palinov, I’ll wager. Could you fetch me some tea?”
“I’ll have some sent up,” Olena promised. “Did you want me to send someone to sit with you?”
She meant:
Do you want me to send someone to watch over
you in case you have another fit?
But Misha was feeling reasonably sound, although his trembling was slowly getting worse.
“No. I’ll be fine. Just have the tea sent up.”
“As you wish, your highness.”
They were always saying that to him, he mused as Olena left the room and he turned his attention to schematics of the Talenburg levee wall.
As you wish.
As if his will carried weight, and the title of Crown Prince of Senet actually meant something.
Chapter 20
Alenor was furious when she learned that Marqel was part of the Shadowdancers’ delegation to Grannon Rock for the Landfall Festival. So furious, in fact, that she did something she had promised Kirsh she would never do. She sent for Alexin, and specifically forbade Kirshov from taking part in the Festival.
“Your highness, it might be a bit difficult ...” Alexin began, when she told him what she wanted.
“How is it difficult? You’re the Captain of the Guard. He is one of your officers. I should think it would be a simple matter.”
“Simple, perhaps, but not wise. Kirshov is Senetian. For him, the ritual of the Landfall Feast is very important.”
“And since when do the desires of a foreign prince outweigh those of your crown princess?”
Alexin bowed apologetically. “They don’t, your highness, of course. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. I will assign Kirshov to the guard escorting you and the queen on Landfall night. That should keep him occupied and out of trouble.”
“Thank you, Captain,” she said with relief. “I don’t suppose I need to point out that I would rather Kirsh didn’t know of my interest in his duties during the Landfall Festival?”
Alexin smiled thinly. “No, your highness, I don’t suppose you do.”
Once the captain had left, Alenor turned to stare out over the lawns. They were deserted, this late in the afternoon, except for the lone figure of a small boy chasing a puppy toward the bathhouse.
The door opened and her mother entered the room, dressed in a dark mourning gown. She had been paying her respects to the Shadowdancers in the temple in town—out of politeness, if not genuine regret that one of them had died so tragically.
“Well, that’s that rather onerous duty taken care of,” Rainan sighed, pulling her gloves off.
“Did you find out what happened?” Alenor asked, turning from the window.
The queen unpinned her veil and tossed it on the side table. “Apparently Laleno was wandering too close to the edge of the cliffs when the ground gave way. The hawkmaster died trying to save her.”
Alenor’s first hopeful thought—that it was Marqel who had plunged to her death—proved to be an idle one.
“I wonder if that will dent their enthusiasm for the Landfall Feast.”
The queen shrugged. “Somehow I doubt it. The Sundancer in charge of the temple spent much of the day making arrangements to ship poor Laleno’s body back to her family in Versage, but I’m quite certain the Shadowdancers won’t let the inconvenient death of one of their sisters get in the way of the Landfall Feast.”
“At least this unfortunate incident has spared us the need to socialize with them.”
Rainan smiled sadly. “You’re becoming a cynic, my dear. Was that Alexin I saw leaving?”
Alenor nodded. “I was just checking on the arrangements for Landfall.”
“You mean you were checking on Kirshov.”
“Is that so wrong?” she asked, a little defensively.
“Not wrong, Alenor, but foolish. He doesn’t want your interference, and Antonov won’t appreciate you trying to manipulate circumstances to suit yourself.”
“Antonov does nothing
but
manipulate circumstances to suit himself,” she pointed out sourly.
“All the more reason not to let him catch you at it.” Alenor glared at her mother. “Why do you put up with him? Why do you let him dictate to Dhevyn? He should have no say over what we do!”
“Don’t you think I would defy him if I could?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think you give in far too easily.”
The queen sighed again and walked to the window to stand beside her daughter. “Johan tried defying him, Alenor, and more than half the dukes of Dhevyn sided with Senet. I won’t start another civil war.”
“I still don’t understand how that happened, either. You should have hanged them all for treason. They should have backed Johan.”
“By the time Johan tried to rebel against the yoke of Senet, the damage was already done. The reality is that by the time they met on the battlefield, Johan was already fighting a lost cause. Only people like Johan and Morna Provin refused to admit it. And then Antonov sacrificed his son, and that very morning the second sun appeared in the heavens for the first time in a decade. We had no chance after that.”
“You threw away our independence,” Alenor accused. “We’re nothing more than a subject province of Senet now.”
“Perhaps,” the queen conceded. “Temporarily. But once you and Kirshov are married and Misha rules Senet ...”
“Antonov is expecting the opposite. He thinks my marriage to Kirshov will seal Dhevyn to Senet forever.”
“Then it will be up to you to prove him wrong.”
Alenor looked at her mother, suddenly understanding what she was getting at. “Which is why you don’t want me doing anything to interfere with Kirsh and the Landfall Festival, isn’t it? You don’t want me to tip my hand. Should I countermand the order I just gave Alexin?”
“No. The damage is done. In truth, I would rather Kirshov didn’t take part in the Festival, either. Just be more cautious in the future, my dear. Until you’re married, we are treading a very thin line.”
Alenor sighed. “Will I ever stop making such blunders?”
“It’s not a blunder,” she assured her. “Well, not a serious one. You’re young and in love. The chances are Antonov would see it as nothing more than the childish interference of a young woman jealously protecting what she considers her property.”
“Kirsh would be furious if he found out.”
“Then hope he doesn’t, Alenor.”
“Is it always like this, Mother?” she asked, turning back to stare out of the window. “Will I never be able to take a breath without considering the implications?”
“Not if you plan to remain Queen of Dhevyn for long.”
“How do you bear it?”
“I try not to think about it,” Rainan shrugged. “But it’s not so bad. And it does have its compensations.”
“I hadn’t noticed any.”
Rainan smiled. “Well, at the very least, it means you always get served first at dinner.”
Alenor smiled at her mother’s wan attempt at humor.
If
only it were that simple,
she thought wistfully. But it was nice to share a private moment with her mother. They had so few of them.
“Mother, about Alexin’s offer to meet with—”
“I told you, Alenor, I won’t discuss it.”
“Why not? Shouldn’t we at least consider the idea?”
“No. And that is my final word on the subject. I will not risk everything just to meet in a seedy back room somewhere and have a bunch of fanatical exiles tell me how I should be running my kingdom.”
“You let Antonov tell you how to run it.”
Her mother glared at her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Alenor.”
“Then explain it to me, Mother. In a few weeks I’m going to be sixteen. I will be married and a queen, with a regent whose every move will be dictated by Avacas. On that day you’ll lose your damn kingdom anyway, because the day I marry Kirsh, we effectively hand ourselves over to the Lion of Senet. Haven’t you seen the people he’s placed in our court already? Why are you so determined to do this?”
“I am determined not to cause our people any more suffering, Alenor. I am also determined not to hear any more about alliances with the exiles in Mil. Now please, do not mention it again.”
Alenor knew it was futile to discuss the matter any further, but she could not help wondering if, just for once, someone in the Dhevynian royal family should take a risk.
Then she sighed. If someone was planning to take a risk, it certainly wasn’t going to be her.