Within the Hollow Crown (34 page)

Everyone had been so anxious to hear why Landos had invited them all there that they were silent immediately.

“Welcome all,” he said. “I am glad we are able to have this small celebration, even in the midst of what are very trying times for all of us. Before we go any further, let us raise a glass to those who could not join us today, in their memory and in recognition of their sacrifice.”

Everyone raised a goblet and silently toasted the fallen. Gallar had been put in charge of compiling some sort of census for the Kingdom, and in the letters he had sent to Jareld over the past weeks, it was clear that more than a third of the population, about three hundred thousand, had died during the war.

“Now, I know there are a lot of us here today, but I would very much like it if everyone could stand and say their name and where they’re from.”

Jareld immediately took out his journal and a quill. He recorded the names of all forty-one people in attendance, many of whom he had met during the meal. Jareld had not really known Landos until after the fighting was over, but what he had learned was the man could organize people and get things done. Considering the extravagance of this meeting, Jareld imagined something great would be done here today.

When everyone had finished introducing themselves, Landos stood at the podium again.

“Thank you all again. I have brought everyone here to discuss our future. Our collective futures, as they pertain to this great Kingdom. Our country has been through the fire, but we’ve come out the other side, and those of us who are here must take steps to rebuild our former lives. But before we discuss that task, I feel I must address the issue of the Saintskeep. I’m sure many of you have heard rumors and small bits of the story pertaining to the Sword of Kings, and to the true line of ascension. I would like everyone now to hear the story from someone who was there, and can tell it to us in full.

“Master Jareld,” he said, opening an introducing hand to Jareld, “Will you please oblige us?”

Jareld nervously stood and walked to the podium. He never liked public speaking. And he wasn’t a great orator. But after the first few sentences, he found it easy to discuss the journey he had taken. In a way, it was cathartic to share it with everyone. In a way, he found the story told itself, and he was just the vessel of the information.

When he got to the part with the engravings on the wall, the ones that became buttons and allowed him to track down the Saintskeep, he passed over it as vaguely as he could. There was still something bothering him about the wall. The fact that it recorded the Kings to the present date. Something about a dashed line.

But the crowd was so entranced with his tale that they didn’t notice or mind the omission. He finished the story, making heroes of Michael, Vye, Flopson, and Corthos, while very modestly omitting his part in the fight with Devesant.

He did brag a little about unveiling the King’s banner. Nobody could begrudge him that.

“Thank you, Master Jareld,” Landos said when Jareld was done. Jareld sat as Landos resumed his position at the podium. “Much of our worries during the war were spent dealing with the line of succession. I’m sure we would all agree that this story clarifies where the true line of Kings lies.”

“I for one agree,” said Duke Brimford, standing, “And I think we all do. But we no longer have Michael. He is not an option. Who would you suggest we put on the throne? Certainly not yourself.”

“No,” Landos said, very sharply. “I have taken the initiative, and I hope you will all forgive me for using the Royal Seal in inviting you. But it was with a sense of unity that I hoped we could meet.”

“But then who did you have in mind?” one of the delegates from Trentford called, “Without a clear leader, we would fall back on the same fight that almost destroyed us.”

“Indeed,” Christopher Avonshire said. “The Turin arranged for Duke Brimford and my father to kill one another over this very issue. How can we just choose a leader?”

“What would be required of a leader?” Landos said. “What would it take to bring all of you together?”

“I suppose,” Lord Kelliwick said, “If there was another descendent of King James. I think we all agree that if what Jareld says is true, then we must follow the original bloodline.”

“Let us be clear,” Landos said, “Will each due representative of their Duchy or County declare that if we had another of James’ bloodline, that they would follow that person?”

Countess Vye, Duke Brimford, Christopher Avonshire, Count Arwall, Count Ralsean, and five other men, the leaders of their particular councils, all stood in turn and declared it so.

Jareld’s mind raced through his noble genealogies. In fact, there wasn’t another suitable candidate. There were several questionable ones, such as the sons of the second son of James, or the first sons of James’ younger brother, but these presented the same issues of law that caused Brimford and Avonshire to war for the throne.

Jareld looked up at Landos, as Landos called out each Region and waited for the response of their representative. As was always the case with Landos, his face was unreadable. A true diplomat. A face of marble.

“Thank you, Dukes, Counts, Barons, and Nobles,” Landos said, when the declarations were done. “Now, may I present, Her Majesty, the Queen Sarah Rone.”

This was clearly a well-rehearsed event, as two doors opened behind Landos just as he finished speaking, and Sarah stepped out from the doors.

She was in a beautiful white dress, which accentuated, very tastefully, her womanly figure. It also very clearly showed that she was several months pregnant. Landos stepped down from the podium and Sarah stepped up.

“I want to make my first public announcement to all of you,” she said, “That I am with child. I am pregnant with King Michael’s child, the heir to the throne.”

The Terrace went silent in a heartbeat. The sound of the wind blowing off the shore was heard clearly for several moments.

“I want to apologize for not coming forward earlier, but it was too soon to announce,” Sarah said. “But now this child gives us all hope, and we can work together to rebuild the Kingdom to its former glory.”

Again, there was a stunned silence. Finally, Lord Kelliwick stood.

“Three Cheers for the Queen!” Lord Kelliwick called. Then, he led the group in two cheers. He was still very bad at math.

But there were plenty of cheers to go around that day, as each of the representatives stood and rejoiced. They each came to Sarah, bowed before her, and offered their allegiance to the unborn child.

“Jareld, quick!” Landos called, stepping down from the podium as everyone went to congratulate Sarah, “Quickly, write up an official paper. I’ll have someone bring out some good parchment.”

It was only then that Jareld realized he hadn’t moved since the announcement. He didn’t know why. While waiting for the parchment, he just kept looking up at Sarah, and at the child in her womb.

He shook it off. Parchment arrived, and he started writing. He wrote absentmindedly, while his brain went through everything.

When Vye and Corthos were convalescing, Jareld and Michael had a considerable amount of time to talk to one another. Michael had told Jareld everything that had happened on the surface, both to him and to everyone else. There had been the wedding. Michael and Sarah didn’t consummate the marriage that night. Michael was in the woods, healing from his injuries. Sarah hadn’t been there. The same day Michael returned, he had to go to Avonshire. Sarah was kidnapped while he was away from home.

But Jareld had been there, in the Caves. He had seen the wall, which accurately followed the line of Kings from James II to Michael IV. And he had seen the child. The wall had known about the child before Michael and Sarah would have had a chance to do any reproducing. But the child was there, with a dashed line.

With the dashed line! The same dashed line that followed King James II to Prince John. An illegitimate child.

Jareld’s eyes shot up from the formal document he was writing. He saw Sarah, smiling and laughing with the representatives. He saw Landos, standing behind her. Landos was looking at her, his eyes glazed over in some emotion. Was it admiration? Adoration?

Or maybe something more?

Landos looked over at Jareld.

“Ah, you’re finished,” he said, grabbing the paper.

Everyone signed. Everyone laughed. The party went into full swing again as a band came out and started a dance. Tables were moved aside expertly by stewards and servants, and the people started having a good time. More food came out, and the party smoothly transitioned into the night.

But Jareld wasn’t joining the party. Emily asked him to dance, but he declined. Jareld wrote something down on a piece of paper, then folded it and put it in an envelope.

“Corthos,” Jareld called to the Captain, “Corthos, I need your help.”

“Aye,” Corthos said. “What can I do fer you?”

“On this paper are some instructions,” Jareld said. “Would you be willing to follow them, even if I don’t explain anything about them?”

“Per’aps,” Corthos said. “What be the nature of the instructions?”

“It involves several illegal activities,” Jareld said, “Such as stealing, and burying treasure.”

Corthos smiled the biggest smile of his life.

“Aye, I can do that.”

“Did someone say something about stealing?” Flopson said, appearing from behind a drape.

“Come,” Corthos said, “We have work to do.”

“Leave immediately,” Jareld said. Then, he clasped arms with Corthos, and turned around. He made a bee line for Landos without saying another word.

“I need to speak with you and Sarah,” Jareld said, once he had Landos’ attention.

“Sure,” Landos said, “Let’s set a time for tomorrow.”

“Now,” Jareld said. His voice wasn’t loud, but his intention was clear. Landos would not be able to talk him down.

He had Jareld escorted to one of the chamber rooms in the Castle. Jareld waited there for a few moments before Landos and Sarah arrived.

“Is everything alright, Jareld?” Landos said, “Her absence will be conspicuous.”

“Jareld,” Sarah said, “What’s wrong?”

“I know,” Jareld said.

“You know…what?” Landos asked.

Jareld looked at both of them.

“I know about the baby,” Jareld said. Landos and Sarah played blank faces, but Jareld knew they were lying through their eyes.

“I know,” he continued, “That it isn’t Michael’s child. It’s yours.”

“Oh,” Landos said, his gaze faltering.

“We have to nullify this treaty,” Jareld said.

“No,” Landos said. “No. We can’t. We need a King. This child will be a King everyone can believe in.”

“It’s a lie,” Jareld said.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. If I learned one thing this year, Landos, it’s that the truth will not remain hidden forever. This lie only makes the problem last longer.”

“Jareld,” Sarah said, “Who would be the next King, if it won’t be this child?”

“It’s not entirely clear, but it could be Lord Gregor, from Trentford.”

“He’s dead,” Landos said. “He died in Hartstone. I was there.”

“Very well,” Jareld said, “Perhaps Duke Maethran, or his eldest son.”

“The Maethrans all died,” Landos said.

“Is there anyone else?” Sarah said.

“If I had to, I could make an argument for Lord Buckley in Morrhampton.”

“I know Lord Buckley,” Landos said. “He died last month of the flu.”

“He had two sons,” Jareld said.

“They died defending their homeland.”

“Are you sure?” Jareld said. “It must be hard to get accurate information out there.”

“I asked about them,” Landos said, “From one of the refugees from Morrhampton. They’re both dead.”

Jareld sighed. He didn’t know what to say from there.

“Listen,” Landos said, quietly, conspiratorially, “A lot of people died this month. Friends of ours, and neighbors, and strangers, and, well, just a lot of people. But they all died defending this land, our land, our Country. They all died to save their way of life. We’re not the ones who should be making these decisions, but we’re the ones who are left. We have to rebuild. We need a King.”

Jareld’s face was expressionless. Whatever he was thinking, Landos couldn’t read him.

“I’ve been told you’re very good at history. It’s something you’ve studied for a long time, but also maybe something you’re just really good at. I’m good at getting people to agree to things. I’m good at compromises. I know how to negotiate. I can get the people of this Kingdom to believe that they should stand united, and work together, and rebuild our land. But in order to do that, I need a King. I need the authority to do that. I can’t do it if you’re not with us. I can’t rebuild the Kingdom if you start spreading the word that Sarah’s child isn’t the rightful King.”

Jareld turned in his seat to Landos. The historian in him couldn’t help but think of Sir Dorn. Gallar had warned Jareld that he had to learn more than the dates and names. He had to learn the reasons. Why would Sir Dorn hide the truth? Why would he hide the Saintskeep? Finally, at long last, Jareld understood. Jareld knew, in his heart and mind, what Sir Dorn was feeling, what Sir Dorn must have felt when he learned that he had to choose between truth and the lives of those he loved.