More reports had come in confirming D’Ivary’s ill treatment of refugees. Laren could not believe the lord-governor’s gall, going against the king’s word and hiring mercenaries to impersonate Sacoridian troops. It was tantamount to treason. Zachary would have to deal with D’Ivary swiftly and decisively.
He’d also have to handle the situation with great care. He could not risk causing the rest of the lord-governors to align against him if they perceived him misusing his powers toward one of their own.
There had been very little grumbling at the punishment of the old lord-governor of Mirwell, because Mirwell had been the engineer of a plan that had killed many nobles and their children. Zachary performing the execution himself, however, had stunned them. For better or worse, they witnessed a new side of their king, and Laren believed it unsettled them knowing how willingly he shed noble blood. Not just any noble blood, but that of a lord-governor.
In D’Ivary’s case, the lord-governor had not acted aggressively toward the crown itself, unlike Mirwell, nor had he threatened the other lord-governors. No one, in fact, beyond his borders.
The only ones who had suffered were the refugees. Yes, the other lord-governors thought D’Ivary’s behavior stupid and appalling, but the people he hurt, they believed, were leeches to Sacoridian society. They looked to no lord-governor, paid no taxes, yet lived within the borders of the kingdom, using its resources and demanding its protection.
For Zachary to forcefully bring D’Ivary to justice was to chance turning most of the lord-governors against him. Some would stand true to him no matter what, but there were too many new bloods; too new to know precisely where they stood, or how far they’d go to support their king, and a king was only as strong as the support of his vassals.
Yet Zachary could not let D’Ivary off unchallenged and unpunished. This would not only signal to the lord-governors they had free rein to do as they wished within the boundaries of their provinces, but it would seriously undermine the king’s authority and credibility.
There were a few lord-governors, Laren knew, who would not mind a weaker monarch, or a completely different monarch altogether.
The parameters of the problem were enough to make Laren’s head throb, and she knew it must gnaw at Zachary. When he had first heard the news of what had happened to the refugees, he’d called in General Harborough, ready to storm D’Ivary Province with the entire army at his back. Fortunately, Sperren, Colin Dovekey, and the general had been able to bring him around to consider less drastic measures.
Just what those measures might be preoccupied Zachary to the point it diverted his attention from other important matters. The politics of the situation frustrated him; throttled his ability to mete out justice as he wished.
The king and his party left the carpeted west wing, and entered more utilitarian corridors, their boots ringing on flagstones. Servants and other folk bowed out of the king’s way.
“Rider Ty Newland has returned from Adolind and Mirwell,” Laren told him.
“Yes?”
Their rapport had suffered ever since her misreading of D’Ivary. Zachary remained curt with her, and did not consult her at all during audiences or meetings, despite the fact her ability had been behaving of late. Mostly, anyway. It was as though he had lost all faith in her, not just her ability. Nothing could have saddened her more, for they had always been close.
“He says Lord-Governor Adolind is very pleased with the arrival of northern refugees. He says Adolind is experiencing what looks to be a bumper harvest this year, one like they’ve never seen, and they need all the help with it they can get.”
The news brightened Zachary. “That is certainly good to hear. Adolind usually suffers through the winter for lack of stores. And it sounds like the refugees have found much more of a welcome there.”
Laren nodded, pleased by Zachary’s positive response. “In addition, Ty brought a message from Beryl Spencer.”
Beryl Spencer was a Green Rider who, like Lynx, did not run message errands. Her special ability to assume a role, her ability to deceive, was much too useful to confine her to ordinary messenger duties. No, Zachary had other, more secret uses for her ability. Portraying a major of the Mirwellian militia, she had played no small role in the demise of the old lord-governor, and now kept watch on his son.
From an inner pocket of her shortcoat, Laren withdrew an envelope sealed with the emblem of Mirwell Province, a war hammer crushing a mountain.
The king actually halted to read it. His attendants and Weapons came to a stop a split second behind him, the Weapons arraying themselves all around him in a watchful attitude.
“Hmm. It appears Adolind’s good fortune has not reached Mirwell. Crops are withering in the soil.” He looked up from the message to Laren. “How can that be? They’re in the same region.”
Laren shrugged, just as surprised as he.
He read on, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. When he finished, he passed the message back to her. As she read it, she saw how peculiar the failure of crops was in Mirwell—the weather had been superb for growing, and there was no sign of widespread disease or pestilence. Mirwell should be having a fine harvest to look forward to.
As she read on, she came across the section that had raised the king’s eyebrows:
I know this may seem odd, as though I’ve been spending too much time in the wine cellar, but I cannot discount what I saw, nor the words of several other eyewitnesses.
I was out on the keep’s grounds when I noticed a commotion at a nearby ornamental pond. The groundskeepers were wrangling with an ancient monster of a snaking turtle—it was huge—that had been feeding on the ducks that frequent the pond. A crowd had gathered to witness the creature, and the amusing antics of the men trying to capture it.