“I do, though it wasn’t easy to get it out of Connly. I don’t think he wanted to worry me—us—but when I contacted him to pass on your news about the Sleeper to Captain Mapstone and King Zachary, I could tell something was wrong.”
“And?” Alton pushed.
Trace’s shoulders sagged. “When I finally got him to talk, I found out ... I found out there was another assassination attempt on King Zachary, and that this one may yet prove successful.”
“No . . .” Dale murmured.
Estral’s free hand found Alton’s.
Trace explained how the assassin used an arrow tainted with poison and successfully impaled the king, and how Ben tried to heal him but was in turn overcome.
“The king has survived thus far,” Trace said. “And each day buys more hope, but Connly does not know how much of the truth he’s getting from those closest to the king.”
“It isn’t like the captain to hide the truth from her Riders,” Dale said.
“No,” Trace agreed, “it is not. Connly hasn’t been able to see her. Destarion claims she’s been taken ill, and has confined her to the mending wing. He says she’ll recover and not to worry.”
“Who is in charge?” Alton asked, his chest tight.
“Connly is in charge of the Riders,” Trace said. “He reports mainly to Colin Dovekey. As for the realm ...” Her pause was ponderous. “As for the realm, we now have a queen.”
Estral and Dale gasped.
“Lady Estora,” Alton murmured.
Trace nodded, the corona of green light flaring around her head with the gesture. “Queen Estora.”
“But how?” Dale demanded. “If the king is so injured—”
“Exactly why she’s been made queen.” Alton, the son and heir of a lord-governor who had grown up immersed in the politics and machinations of the provincial court, could see all too clearly what had happened. “King Zachary’s condition must be truly precarious for them to go forward with something like this. A deathbed wedding.”
“Someone wanted to ensure there was continuity of power,” Estral added. “But what of an heir? Surely the king had someone in mind in case something like this happened.”
“Even if the king had an heir,” Alton said, “it would cause a disruption, not something we need right now. Just what Second Empire would want.”
They all fell silent, absorbing all that Trace had told them, and what it might mean for their future. A future without King Zachary? Alton shook his head. It would be a blow to the realm, a blow to himself, for he’d admired King Zachary, who always put his people before himself. Could he already be gone, and those closest to him had not yet revealed the truth?
And Karigan. Now that he knew where her affections truly lay, he couldn’t help but hurt for her. She would not know until she came back from Blackveil. If she came back. Estral squeezed his hand, and the somber look she gave him indicated her thoughts were along the same lines.
“What does Connly want us to do?” Alton asked Trace.
“To keep doing as we’re doing. Our orders have not changed. Meanwhile, he’s going to find out what he can do about the captain, and take your information about the Sleepers to the queen. He wanted me to tell you to remember we are still His Majesty’s Messenger Service, but if the king dies, we are the queen’s Riders.” A solemn silence followed this pronouncement.
“I’d like us to touch base daily,” Alton told Trace. “More often if necessary.”
“Absolutely.”
When they said their good-byes, Trace vanished and Merdigen reappeared.
“We’ve got to tell the others,” Alton said. “Can we do it this same way?”
Merdigen nodded. “Except, obviously, with the towers east of the breach.”
“I can ride to Garth,” Dale said.
Alton nodded. “He and Fern will need to know about Haurris and the Sleepers, as well. We need to impress upon everyone just what Connly said, that we need to keep doing our duty, whether we are the king’s Riders, or the queen’s.”
THREATS
A bell tolled through the impenetrable blackness. Its sonorous clanging scraped Laren’s mind raw, and all she could think was that it was a death bell, ringing out the news. The news of . . .
So trapped in the tide of the dark was she that at first she could not remember, but as she tossed beneath blankets, the horizon lightened to gray, only to falter and dim again as she dreamed of arrows, arrows impaling a little boy she loved very much.
The bell pealed out one last note that hung in the air.
“Zachary!” She sat up, blinded by light, disoriented. Where was she? This was not her bed.
Someone’s hand pressed her shoulder and she sank back into her pillows. “Easy, Red.”
At the sound of Elgin’s voice, Laren sighed and rubbed her eyes. When they adjusted to the light, her vision was blurry and her head throbbed. “Terrible dream,” she murmured. Her mouth was dry. “Terrible dream about Zachary.” She floundered for a cup of water on the bedside table. Elgin saw what she was after and helped her drink. When she drained the cup, he filled it for her again from a pitcher. This time she drank more slowly.
“What happened?” she asked. “Where am I?”
“Destarion said you fell ill night before last,” Elgin replied. “You’re in the mending wing.”