Read Tuesdays at the Castle Online
Authors: Jessica Day George
B
ut when they did find Rolf, he didn’t think there was anything to worry about.
“The Vhervhish are always plotting to assassinate someone,” he said airily. “Me today, Lulath tomorrow, I’m sure.”
“And Lulath is another problem,” Lilah said. “He said to Celie that his rooms are nicer than when he first came.”
Celie gaped at Lilah. Only a few minutes before, her older sister had brushed aside Celie’s concerns about Lulath like they didn’t even matter.
But before Celie could raise a fuss, Lilah gave her an apologetic look. “Now that I’ve had a minute to think about it, it does sound strange that Lulath’s rooms would be nicer. We should look into it. But we can’t very well barge into his rooms and demand to look around!” She turned to Rolf. “And how do we get Khelsh and all his men out of the Castle?”
“That should certainly be our first task,” Rolf said.
“Even if you’re not afraid of them trying to kill you?” Lilah’s face was flushed.
Celie wasn’t sure if her sister was joking or not. She very much wanted Rolf to not be afraid, to assure her that everything was all right, and that none of them needed to be afraid of anything. But on the other hand, if Rolf wasn’t afraid, it might be very foolish of him. The Vhervhish were dangerous, especially Prince Khelsh, and Celie was absolutely certain that they would try to hurt Rolf before the week was out.
“Girls,” Rolf said, putting an arm around each of them and steering them across the courtyard. “I promise to tell Sergeant Avery about all of this. If one of you isn’t with me, then a guard will be.”
“No,” Lilah said, shaking off his arm and turning to go back to the guard room. “A guard should be with you all the time, even if Celie and I are there.”
“Oh, all right,” Rolf agreed.
Celie had been on the verge of asking him if he was afraid, since he hadn’t answered the question before. But she shut her mouth now. Rolf
was
afraid, she realized with a sinking heart. Otherwise he wouldn’t have turned around and followed Lilah back to the guard room.
They found Sergeant Avery and arranged for a pair of men to shadow Rolf. He also offered to have his men guard Celie and Lilah, which Rolf immediately agreed to. But Celie and Lilah exchanged looks, neither of them wanting a guard at their heels. How was Celie to slip around the Castle as she always did, with some big man following her around? And Lilah, she knew, was fond of occasionally meeting with Pogue in private.
Of course, Pogue was gone now. He had left the morning after the memorial ceremony, as promised. First he was going to question the shepherds who lived around the pass and find out if they had seen or heard anything. Then he was going on to the College of Wizardry, to find out if they had a way to track Bran. Celie was sure that he would return with important news. They just didn’t know when that would be.
“I wish Pogue were here,” Lilah said as they left the barracks.
“I was just thinking that!” Celie took Lilah’s hand.
Rolf threw up his hands. “What is it with him? I mean, he’s very good-looking, but really, both of you? And every girl in the village besides?”
“Every girl in the village besides what?” Celie said.
Lilah blushed. “Rolf! Pogue is trying to find out what happened to our brother and our parents,” she reminded him. “That is all that I meant, and Celie, too, I’m sure.”
“What else would I mean?” Celie gave her brother a baffled look.
“Oh, of course,” Rolf said, snickering. He tugged Celie’s hair. “One day, Cel, you’ll look at Pogue and think, ‘Never have I seen a finer specimen of young manhood!’ As every other girl who has ever seen him already thinks.”
“Rolf,” Celie said, blushing herself as she realized what he was saying. “Are you talking about … kissing?”
“Yes, dear, he is,” said Lilah. “But only because he thinks he’s being funny. And really: he isn’t.” She raised her eyebrows at Rolf.
“If my jokes do not amuse you, ladies, then let me apologize,” Rolf said with a show of gallantry. He bowed effusively at them, walking backward.
Celie saw Rolf’s eyes flick over their shoulders, and knew that their bodyguards were following them. Immediately, her back began to itch right between her shoulder blades, and she wanted to turn around. But she shouldn’t, she just knew. They were mounting the steps to the Castle’s main doors now, and she could see faces peering out of the windows at them. If any of those faces were Vhervhish, she didn’t want them to think that having a bodyguard was anything new and strange. Let them wonder how long the men had been shadowing the royal family. Let them see that trained fighters were always watching, waiting to leap into action to protect the Glower children.
“We should go and have a few words with Prince Lulath,” said Rolf, leading them up the stairs. “Just a friendly chat. I mean, if his rooms are really that fine, it would be only polite to pop in, say hello, maybe have a little look around.” He looked at Celie and Lilah to see if they agreed.
“Mother would want us to be hospitable,” Lilah replied, one corner of her mouth turning up.
But they were just inside the main entrance hall when they were accosted by several of their father’s Councilors. Standing silently against the pale stones of the main hall in their long black robes, they looked like a copse of trees on a moonlit night. Celie had to repress a little scream when the foremost of them moved forward suddenly and began to speak.
It was only Lord Feen, she reminded herself sternly. He had been the Speaker for the Council since before she was born … in fact, he had probably been the Speaker since before her father was born. His creased face was grim, but then again, it was always grim, so there was no need to assume that his news was dire.
“We have something to discuss,” Lord Feen said in his quavering voice.
“Ah, Lord Feen!” Rolf made as if to slap the old man on the back, then checked himself at the last moment and merely patted him gently on the shoulder. “My sisters and I were about to pay a visit to one of our foreign guests, and then I shall be at your disposal.”
“You will be at our disposal now,” said the Emissary. “This is too urgent to wait upon a whim.” He looked at Celie and Lilah. “The princesses are not needed,” he sniffed.
“I’m staying,” Celie and Lilah said together.
“My sisters are needed for whatever I am needed for,” Rolf said. His voice was soft, but there was a hard edge in it that made the Emissary’s eyes flash with irritation. “Shall we then, my lords?” Rolf turned and walked through the carved doors that led to the throne room.
There were three chairs in front of the dais where the throne sat. Rolf took the one in the middle, and Celie and Lilah sat on either side of him. The Councilors had to stand, but it wasn’t an insult: they always did. It made them feel tall, Rolf would joke.
It made them feel more
powerful
, was Celie’s thought.
The Council loomed above them now, and Celie wished that the Castle had provided taller chairs. She straightened her spine, and made sure to look Lord Feen directly in the eyes whenever he happened to glance her way. Which wasn’t often, because he really only wanted to speak to Rolf. Her brother was lounging in his own chair as though bored, though Celie could see the tension in his jaw and shoulders, and knew that it was all an act to make him appear older. And braver.
It seemed to be working, Celie thought with admiration. Because Rolf didn’t turn pale or flinch at what the Council had to say. He listened to them, and nodded sagely, and made thoughtful noises without really saying anything in reply, just like their father did when he was listening to something he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.
Celie and Lilah, on the other hand, both flinched
and
turned pale, and Celie had to bite her lips to keep from shouting at Lord Feen. Lilah, with her hands clenched on the arms of her chair, looked like she was trying hard not to shout as well.
Or cry.
What the Council had to say was that they felt the evidence Sergeant Avery had brought was quite clear: King Glower the Seventy-ninth was dead, and so was his queen and his oldest son. There had been a service dedicated to their memory. Now it was time for King Glower the Eightieth to take the throne.
Rolf. They wanted to crown Rolf as soon as possible.
This had made Celie and Lilah both flinch. Celie wanted to shout at them that her parents weren’t dead: the Castle would have given them a sign if they were. But she had been trained not to interrupt during matters of state, or to contradict her elders, so she held her tongue. Then the rest of Lord Feen’s words came clattering out, making her go paler and paler, and wanting to shout less and less, and cry more and more.
Because Lord Feen and the rest of the Council thought that the real reason Rolf was refusing the throne was because he felt incapable of ruling. The Council understood, Lord Feen kept saying, in a strange gentle voice that he probably also used with wary dogs and skittish horses. The Council would never leave Rolf to rule alone.
“Meaning what, exactly?” Rolf narrowed his eyes at Lord Feen.
“Meaning that we, your regents, will be there to guide you in every step you take, until you reach such an age that you can rule alone,” Lord Feen said.
“A regency?” Lilah gasped. “But Father never would have—”
“What father, what king, ever imagines he will leave his heir alone this young?” The Emissary stepped forward. “Naturally your father didn’t leave provision for a regency, because he never imagined that we would need one. But it’s clear that Prince Rolf’s tender age cannot support the burden of the crown.”
“I see,” Rolf said. He stood up. “I thank you for your concern. The kingdom needs a strong ruler, it’s true, and my parents’… mishap … has been sudden and shocking. I am prepared to take the throne, and rule as King Glower the Eightieth. I have been prepared for this since I was five years old, and Castle Glower itself declared me my father’s true heir. If it is indeed the will of the Council that a king ascend the throne now, before we have discovered my parents’ final fate, then so be it. But no King Glower has ruled with a regency, and I do not intend to be the first!” Rolf pinned each of the Councilors with a hard look.
Celie wanted to applaud. This was why Rolf had been chosen by the Castle. He was always ready with a laugh or a joke, always willing to have fun, but when matters were serious, Rolf knew the right thing to say, and how best to say it. Lilah’s cheeks were flushed, and she was looking at Rolf with admiration, too.
The Council, however, was not.
They were frowning, shaking their heads. A few of them were smiling, but in a way that said they thought Rolf was amusing. Like a much younger child. Or a dog that could do tricks.
“That is all very well,” Lord Feen said. “But you are outvoted.”
“Outvoted?” Rolf frowned at Lord Feen. “What on earth do you mean?”
“The Council has put it to a vote, and agreed unanimously that a regency is required.”
“But I am also a member of the Council,” Rolf said. “And I do not vote for a regency.”
“Your disagreement on this matter is noted,” Lord Feen said. “However, the majority is still in favor of a regency.”
“But if I am king—” Rolf began.
“But you are not,” the Emissary said. “Not yet. And until that time, as the crown prince, you are subject to the Council, which has decided that we shall guide your reign until you reach a more mature age.”
Rolf was silent for a long time. His face was very red, and then very pale. Celie could feel her own blood rushing through her body in a strange, irregular way, and knew that her cheeks mirrored Rolf’s: first red, then white, then red again.
“Very well,” Rolf murmured. “If I may ask: When will I reach a more ‘mature age,’ as you put it?”
“The Council has decided that ten years of ruling with our wise guidance should fit you for sole rulership,” the Emissary said with an oily smile. “Under our tutelage it is quite possible that you may become the greatest King Glower ever known!”
“Ten years?” Celie’s throat was so dry that she could hardly whisper, and didn’t think anyone heard her. “Rolf won’t really be king until he’s …”
“Twenty-four,” her brother finished. “You want me to rule with a regency until I’m twenty-four.” He plopped into his chair, holding out a hand to each of his sisters.
Celie took the hand offered her, reaching across the space between their chairs. Something seemed different, and that was when she noticed that the stones beneath her chair were higher, making her just a little bit taller.
T
he coronation was to take place almost immediately. In fact, the Council had already planned the entire event, and had invited the guests from Grath and Vhervhine to stay until after it took place, which was why those princes and all their guards and servants had stayed on following the memorial. The Council had also sent invitations to other nations and to every noble in Sleyne as well.
“So the only people who didn’t know I would be king by the end of the week were you two and me!” Rolf picked up one of Lilah’s pillows and threw it at the wall.
“It’s an insult,” Lilah agreed. “But there’s precious little we can do about it.”
“But I’m supposed to be the king!” Another pillow smacked into the wall.
“Under a regency, that won’t mean much,” Lilah said.
“Lilah!” Celie found herself on the verge of tears. “Don’t be mean!”
She picked up one of the fallen pillows and hugged it to her chest, huddling into a window seat and making herself as small as possible. The news that Rolf was to be a king under the thumb of a regency had been nearly as shocking and upsetting as the news of their parents’ mishap, as Rolf had called it. To make it worse, Rolf had been livid for days, and he and Lilah had been arguing the entire time as well, Lilah trying to make Rolf stop complaining and accept matters, and Rolf snapping back at her and threatening to fight the Council over everything.
Lilah went to sit beside her in the window seat. “I’m not trying to be mean, dear, I’m trying to be practical. The regency will happen, and the more Rolf fights them, the more they will treat him like a child.”
“So you think that I should just agree with everything they say?” Rolf picked up a pillow and looked at it like he wanted to murder it, not just toss it at the wall.
“No, I didn’t say that,” Lilah said. “I only mean that you should show that you are willing to work with the Council, to listen to what they have to say. It will make things a lot easier on all of us.”
“I don’t want things to be easy; I want them to be right!” Rolf said.
“When Pogue returns with his news,” Celie began, “the Council will see that—” She stopped as Lilah and Rolf exchanged a look. “What? What’s happened to Pogue?” Celie asked as her stomach dipped and lurched.
“Nothing, nothing, dear,” Lilah soothed. “Or at least, nothing that we know of. But the Council sent a runner this morning to bring him back. There isn’t to be any more searching for Mother and Father and Bran.”
“What?” Now Celie took the pillow she’d been holding and threw it against the wall as hard as she could. It
was
very satisfying. “How could they? Isn’t that … treason … or something?”
“I’m afraid not,” Rolf told her. “As the Royal Council of Sleyne, they have the right to declare Mother and Father dead. Apparently.” He swallowed, looking like he’d eaten something nasty. “There really is no reason, now that we’ve had a memorial ceremony, to spend the time and expense looking for their bodies.” He held up his hands in defense as Celie gave him a murderous look. “That’s what
they
are saying, not me.”
“But—but we can’t just give up on Mother and Father and Bran!”
“We haven’t,” Rolf said. He crowded into the window seat with Celie and Lilah. “I promise that we haven’t. I slipped a note for Pogue to the runner, along with the official letter from the Council. I told him what has happened, with the regency and everything, and asked him to stay as long as he dared, and do as much as he can. He can say he’s decided to stay in the city and visit some relatives.”
“He does have cousins near the College of Wizardry,” Lilah said. “If he’s there now, he’s probably staying with them anyway.”
“You see? It will all work out just fine,” Rolf said, pasting a false-looking smile on his face. “Pogue will keep going until he finds something, then he’ll come back and report directly to me.”
Celie knew that they were just trying to reassure her; it was clear that even Lilah and Rolf no longer believed their parents would return. But
she
still did. She knew that her father and mother and Bran were still alive. She felt it somehow. All they could do was wait and hope, and try to keep going as best they could, despite the Council, and the coronation, and all that went with it.
“Now,” Rolf said, leaping to his feet. “Who wants to come to the seamstresses’ quarters with me, and be fitted for some lovely, lovely coronation robes?” Rolf bowed with a flourish, gesturing for Celie and Lilah to come with him.
“I already had my fitting this morning,” Celie said.
“I didn’t,” Lilah said, getting up and stretching. “I was down appeasing Cook. She wasn’t told about the coronation, either.” She took Rolf’s arm, but looked back at Celie. “Do you want to come and keep us company?”
“Not really,” Celie said. She saw the frown that appeared between Lilah’s brows. “I’ll take a bodyguard with me.” Three soldiers were waiting in the corridor outside Lilah’s room, ready to stalk along behind them as soon as they stepped out. Even the Council hadn’t objected to the extra security measures. “I think I’ll go up to the Spyglass Tower for a while.”
“All right,” Lilah agreed reluctantly.
“Keep a lookout for Pogue, will you?” Rolf gave her a poke in the ribs. “Make sure he doesn’t dawdle on the way home.”
“I will,” she promised.
They stepped out into the corridor, and Rolf told the guards their plans. Two of them followed Rolf and Lilah to the right and the seamstresses’ rooms, and the other tagged along after Celie, who did indeed go to the Spyglass Tower, leaving her guard at the bottom of the narrow stairs. He had twice inspected the room, and verified that it had no other exits.
When she reached the little round room, Celie cleared her throat and patted the gray stone doorway. It was smooth and cold, and yet there was a certain underlying sensation that was almost but not quite warmth.
“I don’t know if you can hear me,” she said hesitantly. “But Rolf is going to be crowned at the end of the week. There will be royal guests, and noble ones, coming. If you could please make some more rooms … or fetch them, if that’s how it works. And if you could help with the coronation, I know that Rolf would really be grateful. And me and Lilah, as well. So that the regents know that you still want Rolf to be king.”
A thought struck her, and she stepped forward to rest both hands on the table. She looked around the room, a room that she suspected had been prepared for reasons she didn’t understand even now. The Castle did things that they couldn’t fathom, the Castle appeared to like some people and not others.
So why was Prince Khelsh still there?
And the same for Lulath and the Council. Preparations were going forward for the coronation, yet the Castle hadn’t protested. Nor had it changed her parents’ rooms, or Rolf’s. What was going on? Was the Castle losing its powers?
The thought chilled her, and she moved to stand against one of the walls and press her face to the cold, smooth stones. She laid her palms against the stone, too, and stayed there for a long time, breathing slowly and taking comfort from the strength of the stones. She listened, too, to see if the Castle would tell her anything. When it didn’t, she simply asked.
“Why don’t you get rid of Khelsh? Do you like him? And do you still want Rolf to be king? Right now? Even with the Council telling him what to do?”
She listened for several minutes, but didn’t hear anything. Sighing, she pushed away from the wall and glanced around. To her shock, there was an opening in the wall on the opposite side of the room. There was a black cloak folded on the table, too, made out of some sort of thick cloth she had never seen before.
Celie’s whole body trembled. Had this really happened, or was she just dreaming? She touched the cloak tentatively, but it felt real, heavy and soft. What did the Castle want her to do with it? Where did the doorway lead?
She stood and fingered the cloak until a bird soaring by one of the open windows startled her. She made up her mind.
“All right, I’ll do it. I trust you,” she announced to the empty room.
Celie put on the cloak, which fit as though it had been made for her. She tried to see if it made her invisible, but it didn’t. Or maybe she could see herself, but no one else could. The one odd thing was that it seemed to muffle any noises she made. Her feet were completely silent, there was no rustling from her gown or swish as her hair brushed her shoulders, and even her breathing seemed to be soundless now. She pulled up the hood to hide her light-colored hair, and made her way through the new entrance, down a long, winding staircase, to whatever it was the Castle wanted her to see.
The passage ended in a blank wall with a narrow horizontal opening cut into it—a peephole—at the level of Celie’s eyes. She peered through, and could see a faint mesh on the other side of the wall. She reckoned that she was looking through a tapestry of some kind, but which one? There was no one in the room, and it wasn’t anywhere she recognized.
It was a large room, and very impersonal. There was a round table and some high-backed chairs, tapestries on the walls, and a few small tables in the corners of the room holding candles and books and other odds and ends. Was it a new room for one of the guests? She couldn’t be sure. She tried to see if any of the books were in Vhervhish, or Grathian, but they were too far away, or turned so that she couldn’t read the covers.
Then the door opposite her peephole opened, and men in black robes began to file in, led by the Emissary. The Council! She was spying on the Council’s privy chamber! Even Celie’s father hadn’t been allowed in the Council’s privy chamber, and he was the king! Her heart began to pound, and she was glad that the cloak she wore muffled the noise.
She was even more grateful for the muffling cloak when Prince Khelsh entered the room, and a gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it. What was Khelsh doing there? She pressed her face as close to the wall as she could without smashing her nose, and stared through the peephole, angry and nervous and frightened at the same time.
Khelsh closed the door behind him and gestured for the Councilors to sit, acting for all the world as though he were their ruler. Celie gritted her teeth, and tried to keep quiet.
“Now you sit,” said Khelsh roughly.
“Yes, thank you,” the Emissary said crisply. “I agree with Prince Khelsh: let us get right to business!” He made it sound as if Khelsh’s harshly accented words had been the height of courtesy. “We need to sign the agreement making His Highness the fourteenth member of the Royal Council of Sleyne, and thus a regent to Prince Rolf.”
Just then the entire Castle seemed to shudder, and Celie put her palms flat on the wall in front of her, trying to soothe it despite her own anxiety.
“Shouldn’t we inform His Highness first?” It was Lord Sefton, and Celie wondered if he might prove to be an ally.
“My dear Sefton,” the Emissary said. “We are talking treason. Of course we aren’t going to inform Prince Rolf. He’ll find out after the coronation, when he has his first meeting with the full Council.”
“But it’s not really treason,” Sefton protested. “Not when we’re only trying to help Rolf rule as best he can.”
Prince Khelsh and the Emissary exchanged looks, and laughed.
“That is quite enough merriment,” the Emissary snapped. He had an expression of great distaste on his face. “Everyone, sign the agreement so that we can continue with the rest of our business.”
“The other agreement?” Prince Khelsh’s expression was cold. “You must sign also.”
“For that we will need Prince Rolf’s signature, once he is king,” Lord Feen said.
“You did not say this before.” Prince Khelsh’s neck began to swell as it had before, in the throne room. He had very pale skin, like most Vhervhish, and it showed every vein and rush of blood, preventing Khelsh from ever hiding his emotions. Celie fervently wished that the blood she could see pounding through his temples would cause him to have some sort of fit.
Khelsh dipped the pen into the small ink bottle and signed with an agitated scrawl. He tossed down the pen and looked at the Emissary closely.
“But you make princeling sign, once he is king?” Khelsh asked.
“Of course we will,” the Emissary said in a soothing voice. “Prince Rolf will have to agree. He’ll need an heir—every king has to designate one immediately—and the Council will help him choose the heir. He’s young, and naive: he’ll soon realize that he’s powerless to object, if he objects at all.
“And by the end of the month, my dear Prince Khelsh, you will be the crown prince of Sleyne.”