Blade of Glass: Chapter 48

The path to the throne room wasn’t direct. Queen Morgan didn’t provide a convenient route from the front door to her throat. Near as Meriwether could tell, she closeted herself behind six sets of vaulted doors, each with six guards. Thirty-six fellows and a lot of wood and steel. It spoke to a learned sense of caution.

The guards were what you’d expect: steely-eyed, hard-faced, and holding weapons in a way that said, I know how to use this, and I mean to.

Naturally, they had an escort. The largest man Meriwether had ever seen held the rear. He made Israel look like a dwarf rabbit, but couldn’t match Armitage’s bulk. The guard kept puffing out his chest and other nonsense if the Vhemin looked his way, as if claiming a piece of him should the action start.

Armitage paid him no mind. The Vhemin trundled along, eyes front, faux helmet on, but Meriwether swore he caught a glint of grinning shark teeth in there somewhere. By the Three, he’s enjoying this.

The connecting corridors also held ten guards apiece, meaning a standing contingent of ninety-six guards just to get a job interview. Meriwether wondered why Morgan didn’t make it a round century until they reached the throne room. The queen sat atop her throne, with four guards at the base of lush carpeted steps leading to her.

And there it is. At least someone here cares about symmetry and order. 

The guards at the base of the throne weren’t like the lackeys outside. Two men and two women with black armor, bearing the queen’s raven crest in bright silver. No helmets, and no welcoming smiles either. 

The queen herself looked down on them with all the haughtiness a twenty-two-year-old monarch could. Meriwether admitted, it was quite a lot of haughtiness; she had a talent for it. Morgan was pale-skinned like Vertiline, with hair as black as the ravens on the drapes in the throne room. Ice-blue eyes looked from a face that captured beauty in a way that defied the inbreeding that led to her conception. Her lips were painted red, matching the long gown she wore. It was an elegant cut, revealing nothing, but demanding his attention nonetheless.

A simple silver circlet completed the package. Silver? Not gold? I guess it goes better with black. He cast a nervous eye at Geneve and her black sash banded with gold. Although gold looks better on some people.

Meriwether walked half the forty meter length of the room, then bent the knee, bowing his head. “My queen.”

A slight pause, filled by the silence of Geneve not bowing. Rumors say Knights only bow to the Three. Morgan answered, her tone full of the hard strength that came from ruling a kingdom since late teens. “Rise.”

Meriwether did as he was told. The guards at the base of her throne hadn’t moved a millimeter. Sight of Day offered Meriwether a half-smile, then stepped past him. {Hello, Morgan. I’ve brought the gift you wanted.}

“This is the magician who’s seen the Ledger of Lost Souls?” Morgan’s eye traveled up and down Meriwether. He felt like he’d been measured on the finest scales and found to be a handful short.

{He is, and so much more.} Sight of Day’s ear flicked. {The Feybrind honor our pact.}

Morgan stood, and swept down the stairs. As she reached her guard, they moved with her, two in front and two behind. She made it to Meriwether, measuring him again. This close, he got a chance to measure right back. The gown couldn’t hide her youth, and she held a sadness behind her eyes the mask of royalty barely held in check. “Do you have a name, magician?”

“Meriwether du Reeves.” He offered her a smile. “At your service. This is Knight Adept Geneve, and Knight Chevalier Armitage. You clearly know Sight of Day.”

She gave a slow nod, not taking the smile. “It’s curious you travel with Knights of the Tresward. Don’t they consider your kind sinners?”

Meriwether felt his smile turn brittle. “Ah. There’s a story behind that—”

“We were taking him to Judgment.” Geneve took a step forward, and Morgan’s guards stiffened. “On the way, Sight of Day’s family were killed, his village turned to ash. Vhemin hunted Meri. They still do.”

“Vhemin are like that.” The queen’s eyes found Armitage for a moment. “Still, your sacred duty calls for a different outcome.”

Geneve took off her helmet, tousled red hair spilling down her face. “There are … complications.” Her eyes found the floor. “Sight of Day promised truth about the Justiciars.”

“He offered promises that weren’t his to give.” The queen’s voice was hard as steel. Sight of Day raised an eyebrow, hands moving as if about to speak.

“About that.” Meriwether tightened the crank on his smile. “See, that’s now how it works. I’m the one who’s seen the Ledger. You’re not really in a position to bargain.”

“You’d put a scattergun to my head when the fate of the kingdom’s at stake?” Her tone was incredulous.

“I don’t give a shit about the kingdom. Hasn’t done much for me, and I don’t expect that to change. Knights roam your lands murdering people like me, and you’ve not lifted a finger. I care about the cat, and…” His voice seized like an old wagon axle when he remembered who he was talking to.

The tiniest hint of what might become, in another thirty years, a smile touched Morgan’s lips. “Du Reeves. A northern family, if I remember correctly. A small barony. They make good wine, and poor friends. Friends with the Tresward.” The might-be-a-smile fell away. “They lost a boy. Dead, on the Tresward’s command.” Meriwether held onto his smile like a mother clutches her dead baby to her breast. 

“Meri?” Geneve’s voice held a softness that cut him to the core. The way she said his name made him want to curl over a sea of memories. “Is that—”

“Probably different branch of the du Reeves family. They breed like rats.” Meriwether held his voice steady through sheer force of will.

“Possibly,” the queen countered. “Show me the book.”

“You won’t like it.”

“Show me!” The queen’s voice was like a whip, but Meriwether was used to people shouting at him. He didn’t mind it so much anymore. Meriwether rolled his eyes, then held his right hand up, because a little showmanship never hurt. Morgan’s eyes followed the motion, and she took a step back when he snapped his fingers.

In the air below his hand a book appeared. Not just any book, but one scholars would call a tome. The cover was black leather, but fine, as if made from skin not from cow or lamb. A clever trick of the leatherwork made a snarling face on the front. Green eyes glowed from sockets of malice. It was thick as Meriwether’s hand, holding hundreds of pages. 

The queen took a step back, hand over her mouth. “The Ledger.”

“I guess so.” Meriwether snapped his fingers again, and the book vanished.

Morgan pursed her lips, then locked her eyes on his face. “Is it usual to introduce the least-ranked Knight before the senior, Chevalier Armitage?”

“Ooh.” Meriwether winced. That was dumb. I’m slipping. “My bad.”

Geneve’s hand clutched, as if seeking a blade. “It’s not like that—”

“I’ll tell you what it’s like,” the queen said. Her eyes were hard as stone, but Meriwether could see a glint of amusement in there. “The four of you aren’t what you appear. Take off your helm, Chevalier Armitage.”

Armitage’s voice was quiet. “Ah, fuck.”

Sight of Day hurried to Meriwether’s side. {Morgan, that might not be the best idea.}

She waved him aside. “There are too many secrets, cat. The air is thick with them. I feel them under my feet. They hang behind the drapes in my throne room. Spies are everywhere. Assassins thirst for my blood, because I’m trying to do something different. I will trade you one truth for another, heir of the du Reeves estate and liegeman of mykingdom. You will tell me who these people are, and I will set you free.”

Meriwether considered. “We’re kind of fucked either way, aren’t we?”

“You put a scattergun to my head, and I’ve returned the favor.” Morgan’s guards hadn’t appeared to move, but all had hands on swords. It was a trick Meriwether couldn’t have managed with the finest illusion. “Sometime, somewhere, somehow we must learn to trust each other.”

Meriwether turned to Armitage. “It’s your call.”

The monster nodded, shoulders slumped. “We’ve shared a good road. I’m okay with it ending here.” He put massive hands on his faux helmet, lifting it from his head.

The giant guard behind him yelled, “Ware! Ware! Vhemin!” He made to draw his sword and managed to get a hand’s breadth from his scabbard before Armitage burst into motion.

The monster grabbed the huge man, hauling him off his feet. He slammed a fist into the guard’s chest. The man flew back, landing in a clatter of armor and lost opportunity. Armitage roared, spreading his arms in challenge. Sight of Day leaped to his side, standing back to back with the Vhemin. His jaws were bared, tail lashing, and his eyes held goldfire and challenge.

“Hold!” Morgan yelled. She was perhaps a quarter of Armitage’s size, but her voice froze the monster and all guards in the room.

Meriwether turned a slow circle, admiring the royal guard’s discipline. Some had blades almost fully drawn but froze before striking. Everyone ignored him, which suited Meriwether just fine. Geneve held a guard in a painful-looking arm bar. The man looked nervous, because she hadn’t broken his arm or popped it free of its socket, so the future was bright with possibilities.

The queen sighed, as if releasing a burden. “A Vhemin, a Feybrind, a Knight, and a sinner.”

“He’s not a sinner,” Geneve spat. She didn’t release the guard.

The queen turned her appraising eye on Geneve. “And you’re no longer a Knight, are you?” Morgan shook her head. “Would you release my man?”

“Will he try to kill me?”

“No.”

Geneve gave a grudging nod, releasing the guard and pushing him away. “No offense.”

“Ah,” wheezed the guard. “None taken. And thanks for the professional courtesy of not breaking my arm when you could’ve.”

“My truth is this,” Morgan said. “I’m building an army of sinners to overthrow the corruption of this world.”

“I’ve many questions,” Meriwether admitted. “Who’s the corruption? Where are the sinners? What’s the Tresward going to say about this?”

“The Tresward is going to have kittens,” Armitage rumbled.

“The Tresward is corrupt.” The queen paced, coming to rest before Geneve. “You know this.”

“I’ve seen it.” Geneve gave a nod mired in misery. “I feel it.”

“But none can stand against the power of the Light.” The queen spread her hands in a what can you do? gesture. “Sway steals the mind, and the Storm can break castle walls. There are few Knights anymore. Most fell along the way. Do you know why?”

“Because they go in the sharp end,” Meriwether said.

“Because they’re commanded to go to their deaths. They’re the one thing standing between this world and demons, and the Justiciars are corrupted by their foulness.”

“Demons?” Meriwether did a double-take. “Fairytales. Children’s stories.”

“Those children’s stories are seeking to rule our world.” The queen’s voice held fire. “I won’t allow it. This is mykingdom. These are my people.”

“And so…” Meriwether coughed into his fist. “You’re going to challenge demons with a book?”

“No.” The queen shook her head, raven hair like wings for a moment. “I’m going to take away the book that kills Knights. After that, the Knights will do what they do.” Morgan gave a nod to Geneve, as if acknowledging an equal. “It’s what they were made for, a very long time ago.” She looked to Meriwether. “But I need the book first.”

* * *

The queen ordered refreshments. Pastries, stuffed quails, ham and cheese, and thick, crusty bread followed them into a small antechamber off the throne room. 

It was cozier, but not small. A small fire crackled to itself. Comfortable-looking chairs were set about a long table able to seat thirty people who didn’t like each other very much. That was about how many were here now. The queen retained her four elite guard, and the giant who’d tried to take a bite out of Armitage. She sat in a padded chair with long sweeping arms making it look like a throne, but fun-sized. 

Geneve stood by the window, all pensive crossed arms, staring at the darkening sky outside. Meriwether thought he saw a dragon coasting above, but it might have been a gull depending on distance. It wasn’t of consequence: if it was a dragon, they were all dead, and gulls didn’t matter. 

Sight of Day stood near the queen, but nearer the fire, tail curled about his legs. Armitage glowered at the guard he’d hit, who glowered back. Meriwether sat near the queen, cross-legged on a divan that promised him comfort but turned out to be a liar.

Also within the room were a gaggle of men and women who had a mix of looking lost and arrogant. Older, wiser heads tried to look down noses. Younger eyes darted to the door, as if expecting terror. These people were the Queen’s Coven, magicians all. Some styled themselves witches, others warlocks. A few claimed they were cunning men, another a hedge wizard.

The queen harbors sorcerers against the Tresward’s will. She’s gathered as many as she could and kept them secret. Meriwether found himself admiring the young Morgan. Her father might have left her a kingdom in ruin, but she wasn’t going down with the ship. If anything, she was single-handedly floating it again.

Thunder rattled the window, breaking Geneve from her brooding. “Your hospitality is generous, Your Majesty. But why are we here?”

“So you can meet the face of tomorrow,” Morgan said. “We’re remaking the world.”

“You don’t need me for that.” Geneve bowed her head. “I’ve done too much already.”

“I’ve always a need for good people.” The queen pursed her lips. “As does the Tresward. It’s your choice.”

Meriwether adjusted his position on the unforgiving divan. “So … how’s it work? I show the Ledger, one of these sorcerers brings it here?”

“It’s far more complicated than that,” an older wizard sniffed. “You couldn’t understand.”

“Watch it, Sparky,” Armitage rumbled. His snake eyes looked hungry. “The runt’s not much to look at, but he’s clever for a human. Don’t underestimate him.”

“Thanks, I think.” Meriwether scratched his beard. “Then we destroy the Ledger?”

“Then we burn it to ash,” the queen agreed. 

“After that, we go on our way?” Meriwether frowned.

“You’d be welcome here too, Lord du Reeves. The Queen’s Coven has no illusionist, and you’d find teachers here.” Morgan sighed. “Perhaps a shred of safety, too.”

{You do have a knack for getting almost dead,} Sight of Day said. {Everyone needs a thing to be good at, but you should have chosen something else.}

“Lord du Reeves?” Meriwether felt Geneve’s raised eyebrow from across the room and was entirely successful at not meeting her eye. “Perhaps you’ll be at home among your … family.”

Instead of glancing to the eyebrow and all it meant, Meriwether investigated the cold harbor of Morgan’s gaze. “Things aren’t lining up. Assassins came for me in Calterburry. Or, kidnappers. Whatever.” He waved his hand. “Israel said they were assassins, and they used their tools, but they wanted to take me to your man Symonet. The lordling wanted to Harvest my gift.”

“He wanted the Ledger,” she said. “It gives power over the Tresward. Imagine the threat of recording a name on its pages and seeing that Knight fall. You could compel a legion with the power of it.”

{You haven’t worked with many Knights.} Sight of Day’s tail lashed while he also avoided looking at Geneve. {They don’t bend the knee and will die for the Three. They are singularly stubborn. Some would say willful.}

Geneve bristled. “I am not—”

The queen breezed on. “Some would. Enough, I think, to muster a force capable of toppling a kingdom.” 

Meriwether nodded. “I’ve never met a man who couldn’t be moved. You just need the right lever.”

The door slammed open, a breathless youth who could only be a page coming through. He found himself at the business end of swords, pikes, and a lot of frosty stares. “Your Majesty. Forgiveness, but there is a Knight…” He trailed off, seeing Geneve.

The queen rose, long red gown flowing like water traveling upward. “Take a breath. Then another, and when you’re ready, speak.”

The page nodded, sandy hair wisping the air. “There is a large Knight who is very angry, and a smaller Knight who is angry at him. They’re both at the gates, demanding, uh, her.” The page raised a trembling finger toward Geneve. 

“Israel,” Geneve breathed. “Vertiline.”

Fuck the man’s timing. Meriwether stood, clapped his hands, and beamed. “Let’s run.”

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