The King of Anavrea (Book Two of the Theodoric Saga) Page 7

  “Stop, Lirth.” The man grunted as she found her mark. Then he grabbed her hands and immobilized them firmly. So she started screaming.

  She was abruptly muffled by a large, hard hand over her mouth. It pinned her head back against a powerful shoulder and exposed her neck. Once again, she was helpless. Despair washed over her in a tidal wave. She fought tears.

  Slowly, her senses settled. She became aware of the man restraining her. His ragged breathing in her ear didn’t smell of wine or fish. Once she realized that, she became aware of other details, like the softness beneath her and the gentleness of the grip on her arms. A different sense of dread gripped her stomach and she suddenly began to cry in earnest. The hold on her loosened immediately.

  “I have not hurt you, have I?” This time she recognized the voice.

  When she tried to move her head, Ireic’s hands instantly withdrew, leaving her feeling more desolate than before.

  “I am sorry.” She gasped between the sobs that still convulsed in the back of her throat.

  Ireic fell back onto the bed with a groan.

  “Did I hurt you?” her voice cracked and broke. Spreading her fingers, she cautiously reached toward the sound of his breathing. “I was dreaming and thought you were–” She found his arm and followed it to his shoulder.

  “Thought I was…?” He left the sentence hanging.

  Lirth froze as a hand brushed the top of her head. A thumb stroked her cheek and then hesitated when it encountered tears. The previous statement forgotten, she found herself on her back. Ireic hovered above her.

  “Who is Aarint?” Something brushed the tears from under her eye. His voice sounded soft, but unreadable.

  “My brother.” His fingers attended to the other eye.

  “Which one?” He sounded amused, but Lirth could not figure out why.

  “The youngest.”

  “Lirth.” He captured her head between his hands and she could feel his steady gaze on her face. “I am trying to help. Explain.”

  “I have three brothers: Joman, Lloyden, and Aarint. They are all older than I am.”

  Ireic released her head, but did not back away. “Tell me about your dream. Is it recurring?”

  “Yes.” She shivered. “My brothers and I left the castle on one of our many trips into the woods on the grounds. They would let me ride behind one of them. That morning, we stopped for lunch in a strange place. The boys left me to spread things out and prepare the meal. They said they would not be out of my calling range. The stream lay only a bit beyond our lunch site and the horses needed water.”

  Reclaiming her hands, she hugged herself. “I smelled the man, but not until too late. He grabbed me and covered my mouth before I could scream. I have no real memories of what happened after that. If only the dream ended there.”

  Large arms encircled her and dragged her into Ireic’s lap. Tucking her against his warmth, he held her.

  As much as Ireic wanted to comfort her and tell her she did not have to think about it ever again, he could not. For both their sakes she needed to face the fear.

  “But in the dream…”

  Her frame shook. “In my dream, the man hisses terrible threats in my ears. He threatens to kill my brothers if they find us. He brags of the fame he would gain for single handedly wiping out the male heirs to the throne.” Turning her face into his shoulder, she took a deep breath. “My brothers come back and start calling my name. Then Aarint comes closer to the bush the man has dragged me behind. The branches before me rustle as Aarint says he thinks he sees something.”

  “And then you wake up screaming.”

  She nodded against his shoulder and fresh moisture dampened the fabric of his shirt. He ran his hand up and down her back for a while before asking softly. “Is it the same man?”

  She took so long to reply Ireic wondered if she slept, but finally she shuddered. “Yes. The voice is the same.”

  He dropped his chin to rest on her head amid the dark rumpled curls.

  “I will find a way to deal with him.”

  She did not respond. When he sought her face, he found she was asleep. Carefully, he disengaged her fingers from his shirt and tucked her back under the blankets. He did not know how, but he had to keep anyone from ever harming her again. Laying down again on the other side of the bed, he closed his eyes. Despite the need to capture a few hours of sleep before the council reconvened in the late morning, his mind raced with questions. Who had commissioned her kidnapping? Who was the fiend who had done the deed? How could he prove it and see justice done without exposing Lirth to more distress and pain?

  __________

  Chapter Seven

  “Your Majesty.” Tretan held up two formal coats for Ireic’s selection. One was navy blue and the other dark gray. His shirt collar itched already and both possibilities looked equally uncomfortable.

  “The gray.” Ireic turned back to the mirror and tugged at his shirt. “Lirth?”

  “Yes, sire?” she answered from her perch on the end of the bed. He smiled at her in the mirror although he knew she could not see it. Wearing one of his favorite tunics with the sleeves rolled up so she could use her hands, she looked warm and adorable. He admired her tousled dark curls and sleepy smile. As soon as he had a chance to arrange it, she was going to be sharing his bed every night. Trahern and Eve did it. Nothing beyond tradition kept them in separate bedchambers as far as he knew. It was a flimsy excuse.

  “I am going to have Isack escort you back to your rooms as soon as I leave for the council.” Her reflected image tried to hide the disappointment and prepare for bad news. “Larissa should be there to greet you. I ordered that she be fetched from the kitchens. I hope you can manage with only one attendant, because I have relieved all of the others of their duties indefinitely.”

  Her quiet smile gave him the answer he needed.

  “Good.” He turned to allow Tretan to assist him with the chosen coat.

  There was a soft tapping at the outer door. A footman went to open it. Meanwhile, Lirth retreated behind the bed curtains still drawn to keep out the sunlight. Isack entered the room.

  “Sire,” he began after a low formal bow. “The council has convened and awaits your arrival. The speaker reminded them that under penalty of suspension of all council rights and privileges, they are not to conduct any business until you are present.”

  Ireic turned to accept the matching gray cloak from Tretan.

  “Thank you, Isack. After I leave, please escort the Queen to her chambers and see that she and her attendant have everything they desire.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Lirth emerging from the curtains around the bed. Lowering his voice, he said, “See that you never leave her apartments unguarded. I want no one coming or going unless she wishes.”

  “Yes, sire,” Isack replied. “It will be done.”

  “I wish for a few moments alone,” Ireic announced. Both Tretan and Isack departed through the bedroom door into the entrance area. Once the latch clicked into place, Lirth slipped off the edge of the bed.

  “Ireic?” She tilted her head to listen for sounds of him.

  “Yes.” Ireic loved the way her eyes brightened at his voice. She padded across the floor to him, hands reaching for his. He caught them.

  “Will I see you tonight?” She looked up toward his face, but her dark eyes focused a few inches short of their goal.

  “I will send for you as soon as I have finished with the council. I promise.” He kissed the top of her head before releasing her and heading toward the door.

  The corridors between his quarters and main hall of the palace were clear except for attendants and servants. As he approached, they snapped to attention, just like every other day. Purposefully striding along, he could hear the scramble of his entourage to keep up.

  Before long he reached his favorite gallery. White walls and ceiling, the graceful arches of the windows poured bright early afternoon sunlight across the gray and black tiled
floor. Tasteful touches of gilt added elegance to the beauty. Yet, this time, his pleasure at entering his favorite room of the palace barely registered.

  “Your Majesty!” Dorn, Ireic’s personal scribe descended the stairs from the grand entrance hall to greet Ireic. Despite the scribe’s long legs and spare frame, he gasped for breath before reaching Ireic. Still, Dorn managed to deliver his message.

  “Despite the warnings, the council began without you.”

  “Find the captain of the palace guard. Tell him the situation and have him meet me in the council chamber.”

  “Yes, your majesty.” Dorn pelted off, red faced and grasping.

  When he finally reached the great double oak doors into the council chambers, Ireic did not pause and wait to be announced. Instead, he set a palm to each door and shoved. The massive doors opened silently with more grace than Ireic would have liked.

  He entered and halted. A hasty shuffling of many footfalls behind him signaled his attendants and guards coming to an even hastier stop.

  Built in an oval, the council room rose three stories high. The heavily beamed ceiling harkened back to ancient times when the king listened to the petitions of his people in his great hall. The smell of the polish that kept the wooden partitions and benches gleaming assaulted Ireic’s nose. The two tiers of box-like benches hemming in the room were hardly pleasant to the eye no matter how much carving the designers added. However, they worked well as barriers to keep the councilors from rushing whomever was speaking.

  The High Councilor Lousen stood on the floor at the center of the room. As the doors eased silently back into place, he spoke.

  “The chair acknowledges Councilor Kline, head of the jurisdiction committee. Councilor Kline…” The High Councilor Lousen gestured elegantly.

  A heavyset man in his thirties rose from his seat to Ireic’s far right. From Councilor Kline’s position, he couldn’t see Ireic standing in the entrance way partway around the oval without turning his head quite far. But Ireic picked him out immediately.

  “High Councilor Lousen, esteemed members of the council…” Ireic had heard that phrase all of his life, except it always began with ‘Your Majesty’ not High Councilor.

  A stir began on the other side of the room where some of the men spotted their regent standing in the entrance. Ireic waited as the realization swept left and right across the crowd of men. Councilor Kline, concentrating on what he wanted to say, remained oblivious to the disturbance and the source.

  “The woman that we have received in connection with the treaty with Sardmara may not be all she seems.”

  Despite the instinct to take control of the situation, Ireic waited. He needed to hear what pompous Kline wished to say.

  “She has a condition that could possibly contaminate all the children of a future union with our sovereign.”

  Another stir rippled through the men seated opposite Ireic. Their eyes watched him, not Councilor Kline. Ireic’s attention shifted from Kline when the entrance opposite the one he stood next to admitted the captain of the palace guard. He met Ireic’s gaze and saluted.

  “Gentlemen.” The High Councilor spun in place, official robes flaring out as he turned. “We must act, and quickly, for the good of our country and king.” The man towered in his own importance and surveyed his audience. “Any suggestions on how to tactfully dispose of this girl?”

  “Is our king a child?” a voice asked from the far left side of the room.

  Ireic couldn’t see the new speaker. The man sat above and to the left of where Ireic stood in the shadow of the risers.

  “He is not, Councilor Siver,” High Councilor Lousen replied. “But we, as his council, need to take a stand for the sake of the future of the nation.”

  “Is our king a fool to do something that would jeopardize his nation? In the three years since taking the throne, he has acted with only the best intentions of the country in mind.”

  “But these Theodorics are weak when it comes to the wiles of a woman,” Councilor Kline protested. “His brother married a baseborn woman purchased by her master to please his patrons. Lord Trahern didn’t think of his duty to Anavrea and the purity of the royal line when she fluttered those coy eyelashes his way. No. He married the–” The councilor’s slur was drowned in the roars of protest from some of the other men.

  As pleased as Ireic was to know that Eve had won some admirers within the King’s Councilors, it did not calm the anger growing in his chest.

  “We must rule this king, gentlemen.” The High Councilor’s booming voice prevailed above the growing arguments by sheer volume. “We do not wish to be ruled by simpletons and base minded knaves. We must act.”

  Suddenly Ireic decided he had heard enough. Stepping out from the shadows, he used his own skill born of addressing troops before battle.

  “High Councilor Lousen.” His voice rang out above the murmuring. The man turned swiftly to identify the speaker. Ireic did not wait to be acknowledged as he confronted the man on the floor. “I believe the council’s purpose is to counsel, not to decide, or to ‘take a stand.’”

  Silence fell over the room. Caught conspiring after receiving a direct order to not begin the session until the King’s arrival, they each stood in violation of the law they swore to protect.

  Ireic turned to address the council. Smoothly rotating, he scanned the men for the last speaker. The councilor had returned to his place, blending in with the crowd of men.

  “In the military, where I spent much of my time before taking the throne, sedition is considered a hanging offense.” Ireic passed a calm gaze again over the gathering. “And as a husband, I have the right to bring Councilor Kline personally before a court of law. He has slandered my wife’s name, claiming she is a flawed commodity to be traded at will and then discarded.” Picking out the offender, Ireic announced, “You shall publicly apologize for your statements about my wife, councilor.”

  With great pomp and flare, the man rose. “Your Majesty, the woman in question is not your wife in the eyes of this council.” Murmurs erupted in the gathering. The councilor ignored them and continued. “And as a foreign refugee in our country she can be put aside, which is my recommendation in light of the information that has been brought to my attention.”

  Anger straightened Ireic’s spine. Fisting his hands so tight his fingers throbbed, he took a deep breath. Forcing himself to resist hurdling the partition and throttling the man took more effort every moment. Doing so would only hurt his image, not help. Instead, he chose to use words.

  “Councilor Kline.” The blaring force of his voice bounced back at him. “I am a freeborn man and I marry whomever I choose. The council has no authority to dictate anyone’s marriage, king or otherwise.”

  “Or the government a slave to the king’s whims,” High Councilor Lousen replied.

  “High Councilor.” Ireic closed his eyes briefly and tried to quiet the roaring fire in his gut. “Are you accusing me of asserting my will upon this governing body and the country to satisfy a whim?” The older man’s prominent forehead came even with Ireic’s nose. At least a decade older and significantly wider, the councilor would be laughably easy to subdue in hand to hand combat.

  Physical persuasion has no place in diplomacy, Ireic reminded himself.

  The man did not meet the king’s eyes as he counted off on his thick fingers. “You have taken a woman into your household without the consent of the council. The fact she is deformed and will contaminate the generations of the royal line has not stopped you from taking her to your bed. You did not give thought to your country when you decided to wed her. Now you ask the council to approve of this union and not protest when the security of our nation is at stake.” High Councilor Lousen threw up his hands, feigning exasperation. “Irresponsible, immature, and foolhardy come to mind.”

  Ireic ground his teeth as murmuring rose from the crowd around them.

  “High Councilor and councilors, I am Ireic Iathan Theodoric, King of Anavr
ea. You are the King’s Council. Not a month ago, we signed a treaty with the King of Sardmara. I wrote my name and title on the parchment and right below the signatures of the party of councilors that traveled with me. In the treaty, an agreement of peace and brotherhood, I swore to take the King of Sardmara’s only daughter as my wife.

  “To keep that promise, I traveled to the northern wildlands, subdued a baron and his forces, returned, and married the young woman in question before God and man.” Ireic stressed the word married. “Now, upon returning successful from my quest, I find my own council conspiring behind my back to remove the very woman from my side that they strove to place there.” Taking a deep breath in the uncharacteristic silence, he continued.

  “In the time I have been on this throne, I have seen more corruption and crime in this body of men than in all my years on the battle field, side by side with the common citizens. As king and by the law of the land of Anavrea, I declare this body dissolved and claim the right of sovereign government as allowed by our country’s governing articles. High Councilor Lousen…” Ireic glared at the man next to him. “You are under arrest for inciting action against the crown. Councilor Kline–”

  Turning to where the councilor had been standing before, Ireic found him gone. Not bothering to scan the room, Ireic declared even more loudly above the rising clamor of the crowd, “Councilor Kline is stripped of all titles, lands, and privileges. He is also to be arrested for slandering my wife, Queen Lirth Theodoric.”

  The room exploded into chaos. Councilors shouted, arguing amidst the bedlam whether or not the king was in the right. Many of them shook their fists at him.

  Ireic hadn’t originally planned on dissolving the council, but he had anticipated some strong reactions to his speech and informed the palace guard of the possibility of a disruption. Now armed men spilled through both entrances, catching the flapping limbs of councilors and dragging them from the room.

  The High Councilor disappeared from the center of the room.