“Farewell, Gentle Duke,” she whispered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The Shameful Treaty
The royal pavilion of Ceredigion was spacious and full of all the comforts of court. There were padded camp chairs, silken curtains, multiple changing screens, and a carpet that was long enough, unrolled, to fill the entire interior. Ankarette was concealed behind one of those changing screens. It had been two days since her return to Eredur’s camp with the Deconeus of Ely. She had finally been able to rest, tend to her small injuries, and relate much of the sad tale of the Gentle Duke’s life to the king. But there was a good deal she kept to herself.
Eredur was growing heavier than he had been during his prime. The rich meals and endless carousing were taking a toll on his health. Ankarette occasionally concocted potions that alleviated some of his symptoms, but no drug or tonic could counteract the effects of his poor choices.
The deconeus was also inside the tent, holding an unlit thurible by the chain in his hands. The metal orb swung from side to side as he watched the scene unfolding before him. Standing by the deconeus was the king’s brother Dunsdworth, looking unusually satisfied with himself. There were others as well—Eredur’s chancellor, Lord Hastings; as well as Lord Horwath of Dundrennan; Lord Rivers, the king’s brother-in-law; and Lord Bryant, the king’s stepson. But the argument unfolding in the pavilion was between the king and his youngest brother, Severn.
“I cannot believe you are heeding such reckless counsel, Brother!” the younger man spat out with a defiant and angry tone. “We came here to humble the Spider King. It is you who will be humbled.”
Dunsdworth was always quick to stoke the flames of resentment with a barbed comment. “We are going to bleed dry Lewis’s treasury, little Sev. That is hardly being humbled by him.”
“If I wanted more of your ill-informed opinions,” Severn whipped back, “I would have sought you out at an alehouse. You’re more coherent when you’re drunk.”
There was a subtle ripple of Fountain magic as the insult was slung at Dunsdworth. Ankarette peered through the tiny gap of the changing screen, glancing from one person to the next. Who had caused the magic to react like that? The sensation ebbed like a retreating echo.
“Your words are as sharp as your daggers,” Dunsdworth complained. “We’re on the same side, lad!”
“Are we?” Severn challenged, turning his gaze back to the king. “If I heard Hastings correctly, you intend to offer a truce to the Spider King. Is that how we handle spiders, my lord? I thought we crushed them under our boots. Do you think Lewis will hold true to his oaths? He may promise you treasures from the Deep Fathoms, but you won’t be able to reap your reward until you are in the Deep Fathoms. After all, the man intends to murder you on that bridge.”
“Does that surprise you? What you are proposing,” Hastings said with a testy voice, “is a protracted conflict in enemy territory and a small chance of success. Brugia has stranded us here with only Brythonica as an ally.” He snorted with laughter. “And what can they really do but grow berries?”
Despite the fact that his opinion defied the consensus, Severn stood his ground. Ankarette did not like his acerbic wit and sarcasm, but she respected his personal courage. She knew Eredur treasured his advice more than all the others because it was always derived from logic and spoken in earnest. The two brothers were as different as the noonday sky and midnight, but their loyalty to each other had been tested and found to be true.
“No, Brythonica is not a help,” Severn said dismissively. “We cannot count on them for strong support. Yes, it would have been easier to defeat Occitania with Brugia on our side. But we can still do this, Brother! It is not too late to call off the truce.” He stepped forward, jerking his dagger loose in its scabbard and then slamming it down. His passionate and angry gaze did not waver from his brother’s. “They have assembled on the bridge in that bizarre contraption of fences and gates because they fear you. They fear you as they feared defeat after Azinkeep. This is your chance to win back the crown of Occitania. Lewis is no soldier, and neither was his father. If you promise to marry Elyse to his son Chatriyon, if you end this conflict peacefully, you will be giving him an excuse to rise up against you later. It is cowardly, Brother. I thought it beneath you.”
There were stifled gasps of outrage. Ankarette tilted her head to catch the king’s expression. Severn’s words had visibly struck him; there was molten anger in his eyes. Anyone would have been humiliated to receive such a public rebuke from a younger brother, and Eredur was a proud man.