Audric ca’Dakwi
THE COUNCIL OF CA’ FOR NESSANTICO met on the first
floor of the Grande Palais on the Isle a’Kralji, where they had
several suites of rooms and a small staff of palais servants
dedicated entirely to their needs. The Council of Ca’, for most of
the great Kraljica Marguerite’s reign, as well as that of her son
Kraljiki Justi, had been largely a social organization, coming to
the palais to sign the papers passed to them by the Kralji and the
royal staff—a task they performed with little thought or
discussion, otherwise spending their time relaxing in their
sumptuous private offices or socializing in the well-appointed
dining room and lounges of the Council’s section of the Kralji’s
Palais. For many decades, being a “councillor” was mostly an
honorary position, their duties ceremonial and hardly taxing, and
their stipend for serving on the Council generous.
But with Kraljiki
Justi’s passing, with Audric being in his minority when he ascended
to the Sun Throne, the Council had been required to assume a more
active role in government. It was the Council of Ca’ who had named
Sergei ca’Rudka as Regent; it was the Council who now created and
passed new legislation (until very recently, with the Regent’s
input as well), it was the Council who controlled the purse strings
of Nessantico, it was the Council with whom the Regent was required
to consult on any matter of policy within the Holdings, or any
diplomatic decisions regarding the Coalition, the Hellins, or the
other countries within the Holdings.
The Council had been
required to wake from its comfortable, long slumber, and to a large
extent it had. The last election for the Council, four years ago,
had been aggressive and harsh; four of the seven members had been
deposed, replaced by far more ambitious ca’.
Audric knew the
history of the Council; Sergei had yammered on about it
interminably, and Maister ci’Blaylock had spoken of the same in his
lectures. Now his great-matarh gave him the same
warnings.
“You need to be careful, Audric. Remember that each of the
councillors wants to be where you are. They want the ring and the
staff; they want to sit on the Sun Throne. They are jealous of you,
and you must convince them that in giving you what you want, they
will find themselves closer to their own
goals.”
Great-Matarh
Marguerite was staring at him as he walked down the corridor to the
Hall of the Sun Throne, where the Council awaited him. The wheels
of the easel on which her painting rested were quiet today; he’d
insisted that Marlon grease them with duck fat before the meeting.
The servants pushed the easel down the inner corridor of the palais
in front of Audric, careful to match his erratic, slow pace, while
Marlon and Seaton supported him at either side. He’d had a bad day;
it was a misty and cool day, and he allowed himself to cough even
as he heard his great-mam’s voice comforting him.
“You can allow it, this once,” she told him.
“This once, your weakness will be our
strength. But after this, you must be stronger. You will
be stronger.”
“I will,
Great-Matarh,” he said. “I will be strong after today, and the
sickness will leave me.” From the periphery of his vision, he saw
Marlon look at him strangely, though the man said
nothing.
Seaton gestured to
the hall servants, who opened the door to the hall and bowed as
Audric and his great-matarh entered. Inside, the Council members
rose from their seats before the Sun Throne and also bowed, though
their bows were but the barest lowering of heads. Audric could see
Sigourney ca’Ludovici’s eyes as she inclined her head, though her
gaze seemed to be more on the painting of Marguerite than on him.
He went to the Sun Throne, Marlon helping him up the set of three
stairs to the platform on which it sat, and let himself drop into
the cushioned seat. He coughed then—he could not stop the
paroxysm—as light flared deep inside the crystal and surrounded him
in a bath of yellow: as the Throne had done for long generations
whenever a Kralji had sat there. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve
of his silken bashta as the Council stood before him and Seaton
wheeled the easel to the right side of the throne, so that
Marguerite glared balefully out at the seven ca’.
“Look at them,” she said to Audric. “Look how hungrily they stare at the Sun Throne. They’re
all wondering how they might come to sit where you are. Start by
being firm with them, Audric. Show them that you are in charge of
this meeting, not them. Then . . . then do as you
must.”
“I will,” he told
her. The ca’ were already starting to seat themselves, and he
raised his voice, addressing them. “There’s no need to take your
seats,” he told the ca’. “Our business here should take but a few
grains of the glass.”
Caught in
mid-movement, the ca’ straightened again with a rustling of bashta
and tashta, and gazes in his direction that ranged from questioning
to nearly angry. “Forgive me, Kraljiki,” Sigourney ca’Ludovici
said, “but things may not be as straightforward as you
think.”
“But they are, Vajica
ca’Ludovici,” Audric told her. “The traitor ca’Rudka is in the
Bastida; the Council has had the time you asked for to consult with
each other and deliberate. Will you name another Regent, or will
you allow me to rule as Kraljiki as I should? Those are the only
two options before you, and you should have made a decision.” The
long speech cost him, as he knew it would. He bent over coughing
even as his great-matarh laughed softly in his head, covering his
mouth with a kerchief that was quickly stained with red blotches.
He crumpled the linen in his hand, but not so much that they could
not see the blood.
He opened his eyes to
see ca’Ludovici staring at his hand. Her gaze lifted abruptly, and
she smiled the smile of a cat spying a cornered mouse, glancing
back once at the other Council members. “Perhaps you’re right,
Kraljiki. After all, the day is damp and we shouldn’t keep you away
from the comfort of your chambers.”
She took a breath,
and Audric heard Marguerite whisper to him in that space.
“Now. Tell her what she wants to
hear.”
“I am stronger now
than I have been in years,” Audric said, but he forced himself to
cough again, to pause as if for breath between the words. It did
not require much acting. “But I also am aware of my youth and
inexperience, and I would look to the Council of Ca’ for their
advice, and perhaps to you especially, Councillor ca’Ludovici, as
my mentor.”
She bowed at that,
and there was no mistaking the satisfaction in her face. “You are
indeed wise past your years, Kraljiki, which means that it gives me
pleasure to tell you that we have deliberated, all of us, and have
come to agreement. Kraljiki Audric, despite your youth, the Council
of Ca’ will not name a new Regent.”
He heard his
great-matarh laugh with the word, exulting, and he nearly laughed
himself, but did not because it would bring on the coughing again.
He contented himself with a silent wave of appreciation to them.
So easy to manipulate. So predictable.
He didn’t know whose thought it was: his or
Marguerite’s.
“I thank the Council
for their efforts,” Audric said. “And we see a new era for
Nessantico, one where we will regain all that we have lost, and
reach beyond even Kraljica Marguerite’s dreams.” He had to pause,
to breathe and clear his lungs again. Marlon stretched his hand
toward the throne to give him a new handkerchief and to take away
the stained and soiled one. “As for the former Regent ca’Rudka, I
think it is time that he confessed his sins, made his peace with
Cénzi, and paid for the errors of his life.”
Vajica ca’Ludovici
bowed once more, but not before Audric again saw the satisfaction
in the twisting of her features. Yes, she sees
ca’Rudka as her rival, dangerous as long as he remains alive . .
. “It will be done as the Kraljiki wishes,” she said. “I
will see to it myself.”