No matter—I was still officially Lia’s consort and she’d wanted me to help with Calanthe. I’d go check in with Dearsley. And maybe I could pry Ambrose out of his tower to help Lia.
“You coming or staying?” I asked Sondra.
“Staying. Keeping a low profile, since I’m supposedly with Her Highness at the temple.”
“How’d you find out so much already then?”
She shrugged. “I’m a good skulker.”
“What about you?” I asked Vesno. The wolfhound wagged his tail, gazing at me with canine worship. There’s a true friend for you. With a last glance at Lia’s closed door, I grabbed my rock hammer and bagiroca, then headed to get dressed, Vesno a faithful presence at my heel.
* * *
Not many people were around in the public areas, since court was still in session, and the usually airy main halls were dark and gloomy with everything blockaded against the storm. A small army of servants worked feverishly to clean up a deluge of mud that had apparently poured in from one of the flooding ponds—and to set sandbags to prevent more encroachment.
A bit farther on, a group of courtiers marked my passage with excited whispers behind fluttering fans. I hadn’t figured yet how to explain my absence—and renewed presence—but having a reputation for being a taciturn brute had its advantages. No one had the courage to question me, especially as I wore a black scowl along with forbiddingly elaborate court gear. With my bagiroca hanging heavily from my belt, sword at the other hip, and rock hammer at my back, I felt at least something like in control. I wouldn’t ever be the Slave King again. I might never make a king of Calanthe—imagine me being called the Flower King—but I could at least be the guy with a bag of rocks and a big hammer. It’s good to know your strengths. And limitations.
I didn’t go the back way, the one Lia used to access her throne like a street magician in a show sneaking through the curtains in a puff of smoke to magically appear. On my previous rare, and abortive, court appearances with her, I’d gone along with her traditions. Even my own people had used showmanship to dress up the Slave King’s speeches. But I was coming to grips with the idea that whatever life I’d led before this, it was over.
So I went around to the great double doors, easily three times my height, that opened into the great court of Calanthe. Unlike on my first “visit,” the doors stood open, the sleekly groomed guards snapping to attention, then bowing. I waved a hand at them to relax, and I strode up the main aisle, Vesno alert beside me, nose lifted to sample the thick scents of flowers, perfume, and the sour sweat of frightened people.
A ripple of reaction rolled through the assembly, the courtiers closest to the aisle widening their eyes and frantically scribbling notes while passing the news back to their neighbors with less advantageous views. Like Vesno sniffing for scents, I tested the atmosphere of the court. Lia could assess that kind of thing like a connoisseur of fine wine, instantly identifying the subtle notes. I could tell you basically red or white—and yeah, the court thrummed with incipient panic. More petitioners than usual lined up with their noble patrons, the folk from the outlying villages standing out in their simpler clothing, many sporting injuries and other signs of hard times.
Taking it all in with one sweeping glance, I returned my gaze to Dearsley. The elderly man sat in a chair only a couple of levels up the steps to Lia’s throne. A lover of protocol, of course Dearsley wouldn’t presume to sit on the throne, or to even take one of the stools positioned for Lia’s ladies. Until that moment, I hadn’t figured what I’d say to Dearsley, who watched my approach with a pained expression torn equally between hope and despair.
I knew that feeling well.
And I guessed I’d wing this. For all that I loved to plan a battle strategy, politics made me want to hurl things through the windows. Lia would probably say that politics and battles are the same, both equally deserving of careful strategy, and she’d be right. Maybe someday I’d get it.
“Conrí.” Lord Dearsley stood, with the help of a handsome lad at his elbow, and bowed to me. “I yield the Throne of Calanthe to You. Welcome back.”
Sawehl smite me, that was not what I’d intended. That’s what I got for not planning better. The court politely applauded, some sending up cheers and I turned to wave and smile, just as Lia would expect. How she’d feel about me still claiming a right to her throne, though … I winced internally.
“Do You bring news, Conrí?” Dearsley asked tentatively, leaving me plenty of room to maneuver around the truth.
I couldn’t lie to the old man, who’d practically raised Lia. “Her Highness has returned to the palace,” I said, deciding on the spot that secrecy would be not only pointless, but impossible in this hive of gossips.
Dearsley’s polite expression crumbled, a real smile wobbling into place as tears filled his eyes. The lad at his elbow firmed his grip, keeping Dearsley from swaying. “It’s true?” Dearsley asked in a quiet voice that wouldn’t carry even to the nearest courtiers, who leaned forward in their eagerness to catch every sound. “I thought I felt, but … Sometimes hope deceives.”
I clasped him on the shoulder, adding my strength to keep him upright. “It’s true. Your queen has returned. But she remains in seclusion for the moment, and sent me to address anything urgent.” A mix of truth and lies there, but it served to satisfy our audience, who swiftly passed back the news.
“Where to start?” he said with a humorless laugh and bowed again. “We are grateful for Your help, Conrí. If You will take Your throne, we can commence.”
I winced again, internally, as Dearsley employed the honorific. Just digging myself in deeper. Fortunately the chair Lia had added for me to sit beside her remained in place, though I’d only sat in it twice. It saved me taking her ornate and flowery throne. Mine was simple black and silver, another example of her consideration for my taste.
I sat, gesturing for Vesno to sit also, and he settled on his haunches beside my chair with grave ceremony. At least one of us looked regal. I surveyed the sea of faces, all turned hopefully up to me like I could do something for them. I’d never quite figured how to explain to Lia how sitting up here made me feel like a fraud. Shifting on the hard seat, I unslung the rock hammer and set it, heavy-end down, between my chair and Lia’s empty one.
“So,” I said to Dearsley, “I hear there are damage reports.”
“Indeed, Conrí.” Dearsley had sat as soon as I had—I needed to remember that he wouldn’t until I did—and sent his lad up with a long scroll. “The current list, Conrí.”
I took it with a nod, pretended to scan the list. Oh, I could pick out words here and there if I really worked at it, but mostly it looked like spider tracks tangling across the page. If I needed to know exactly what it said, I’d get Ibolya to read it for me. Or Sondra. But I was practiced in working around this particular limitation.
“What, in your estimation, Lord Dearsley, are the most critical concerns?” I asked, rolling up the scroll and tapping it on my knee.
The court erupted into a din of sound, different factions and delegations yelling all at once about their disasters.