The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [109]
“Nor does my uncle Robert. He will give our country over to the darkest forces you can imagine, and you all know it. That’s why you’re here.”
She sat back and, in the momentary silence that followed, felt her sudden burst of confidence waver. But then another of the men she recognized—Sighbrand Haergild, the Marhgreft of Dhaerath—chuckled loudly.
“The lady has a tongue in her,” he said to the assemblage. He stood, a lean old man who somehow reminded her of the trees on the coast cliffs, an oak shaped by wind and spray, with wood as hard as iron.
“I’ll admit that I’m the first to wonder if a woman ought to be sovereign,” he said. “I opposed William’s campaign and the Comven’s decision. And yet here we are, and it is done. I don’t understand all this talk of shinecraft and saints. The only saint I’ve ever trusted is the one who lives in my sword.
“But I have spent my whole life staring across the Dew River at Hansa. I’ve borne the brunt of the marchland plotting, and I would not see William’s wife wed to a Hansan, would not see one of them sit on even a chamber pot in Eslen. Robert has certainly gone mad to make any deal with the Reiksbaurgs, and that’s proof enough to me that William was right, that the only hope for Crotheny lies in this girl.
“I think it no coincidence that her sisters were murdered on the same day as William, do you?” He stared around the room, and none responded to his challenge. “No, Black Robert was clearing his path to the throne.”
“We don’t know that,” Kenwulf cautioned. “It might as easily have been she who arranged all that.” He pointed at Anne.
That struck through her like a bolt.
“What…did…you say?” she managed to choke out.
“I’m not—I’m just saying, lady, for all we know—I’m not actually accusing…”
Anne pushed herself to her feet, acutely aware of the sudden throbbing in her arms and legs.
“Here I look you in the eye, Lord Kenwulf, and I tell you that I had nothing to do with the death of my family. The very idea is obscene. I have been hounded by the same murderers over half this world. But you look in my eye. Then you do the same with my uncle and see who holds your gaze and does not blink.”
She felt a sort of rushing in her ears and heard the cackle of demonic laughter somewhere behind her.
No, she thought. Would even so many men be enough to protect her? Probably not…
She suddenly realized that she was sitting again, and Austra was offering her water. She also felt as if she had missed something. Everyone was staring at her with concerned expressions.
“—injuries sustained both at Dunmrogh and in an assassination attempt here in Glenchest three nights ago,” Artwair was saying. “She is weak yet, and vile slanders such as Lord Kenwulf conceives do her no good, I assure you.”
“I never meant—” Kenwulf sighed. “I apologize, Your Highness.”
“Accepted,” Anne said frostily.
“Now that that’s done,” Artwair said, “let’s get back to the point, shall we? Lords, Marhgreft Sighbrand speaks the truth, doesn’t he?
“Most of you are here because you are already convinced of what we must do. I am most familiar with this sort of bickering, and I know its root. I also know we do not have time for it. Here is my suggestion, my lords. Each of you speak—in plain king’s tongue—what advantage you desire from Her Majesty once she has been placed on the throne. I think you will find her fair and generous in her treatment of her allies. We will begin with you, Lord Bishop, if you please.”
The rest of the day was a Black Mary for Anne. She hardly understood most of the requests; well, she understood them, but not their importance. The Greft of Roghvael, for instance, asked for a reduction on the tax on the trade of rye, which Artwair advised her to deny him, giving him instead a seat on the Comven. Lord Bishop’s desire was for a position and title in the emperor’s household, an hereditary one. This—again at Artwair