A meeting in Trian’s study. The king and queen exchanged unhappy glances. Anne pressed her lips together tightly, placed chill fingers in her husband’s hand. Stephen frowned, escorted his wife down the hallway.
Trian’s study was the only room in the castle where the three could meet in private, be certain that their conversation would not be overheard. The castle was a breeding ground for intrigue and gossip. Half the servants were in the pay of one baron or another. The other half passed on their information for free.
Located in a light and airy turret room, the wizard’s study was far removed from the noise and rowdiness of the boisterous castle life. Trian was fond of revels himself. His youthful good looks and charming manner ensured that, though unmarried, he rarely spent a night in bed alone, unless he wanted. No one in the kingdom could dance with such grace, and many a noble would have given untold sums to know the magus’s secret for imbibing large quantities of wine and never showing the slightest ill effect.
But though Trian might revel through the night, he was serious and intent on the business of assisting to run the kingdom during the day. He was completely, totally, devotedly loyal to his king and queen, loved them both as friends, respected them as his rulers. He knew their every secret and could have made his fortune ten times over by selling out one or the other. He would have as soon jumped into the Maelstrom. And though he was twenty years younger than Stephen, Trian was councillor, adviser, minister, and mentor to the older man.
Entering the wizard’s study, king and queen discovered two people waiting for them there. One—a man—they did not know, though he seemed vaguely familiar. The other—a woman—they knew by sight, and, at the sight of her, the cloud that had covered them grew thicker and darker.
The woman rose and made respectful reverence to Their Majesties. Stephen and Anne returned the bow with respect on their side, for though the woman and her followers had acknowledged the two as king and queen, the bond forged was an uneasy one. It is difficult ruling those who are far more powerful than oneself and who could, with a whispered word, bring one’s castle tumbling down about one’s ears.
“You know the Lady Iridal, I believe, Your Majesty,” said Trian unnecessarily, gently endeavoring to set everyone at ease before he let loose the blast that would shatter their lives.
Polite pleasantries were exchanged, everyone mouthing words learned by rote, none of them thinking about what they said. Thus “How nice to see you again” and “It’s been far too long” and “Thank you for the sweet baby gift” died away swiftly. Especially when the baby was mentioned. Anne turned deathly white and sank down in a chair. Iridal clasped her hands together tightly, looked down, unseeing, at her fingers. Stephen coughed, cleared his throat, and frowned at the stranger in the room, trying to recall where he’d seen the man.
“Well, what is it, Trian?” the king demanded. “Why have you summoned us here? I assume it has nothing to do with Fitzwarren,” he added with heavy irony, his gaze shifting to the Lady Iridal, for though she lived near the palace, she rarely ventured to visit, well aware that she brought back unwelcome and painful memories to this couple, as they revived such memories in her.
“Will it please Your Majesty to take a seat?” asked Trian. No one in the room could sit down unless the king sat first.
Stephen frowned, then threw himself into a chair. “Get on with it.”
“Half a moment, if you please, Your Majesty,” said Trian. He raised his hands, fluttered his fingers in the air, and imitated the sound of a piping of birds. “There. Now we may speak safely.”
Anyone listening outside the door, outside the circle of the spell, would overhear only what sounded like twittering bird calls. Those within the compass of the spell itself could hear and understand each other perfectly.
Trian cast a deprecating glance at the Lady Iridal. A mysteriarch, she ranked Seventh House, while Trian could attain no higher than Three. Iridal could have changed them all to singing birds, if she’d desired.