The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [92]
She found the doorway to the Hall of Doves, looked in, confirmed that no one was there, and burst into it, then pushed the panel closed behind her, and ran.
After a few moments she slowed to a walk, but being in the common halls didn’t make her feel any safer, even where they were well-lit and populated by servants. Her enemy had an unknown face, and anyone in the castle might wear it. Worse—and this was just starting to sink in—if the person in her room had really come to kill her, this was no mere attempt at murder. It was an attempt at a coup. Which meant she needed help, now, and help she could trust.
She was still considering who might be trusted when she nearly collided with Leovigild Ackenzal. She yelped and jumped back. For his part, the composer looked extremely flustered and then tried to get down on one knee. He was having trouble doing so, and she remembered the last time she had seen him he had been on crutches.
The hero of Broogh.
“Never mind that,” she said, calming her own anxiousness. “What are you doing in the halls at this hour, Fralet Ackenzal?”
“Majesty? I was just exercising my leg.”
His face showed no signs of deceit, so she made a quick decision.
“Come with me,” she commanded. “Are you armed?”
“A-armed?” he stuttered.
“No, I suppose you aren’t. Ah, well. Come along anyway.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
She moved away quickly, then had to slow her pace so he could keep up with her, and she wondered why she wanted him with her. He was all but a stranger—why should she trust him? But she remembered the day he had played for her, the absolute earnestness of it, and somehow felt he could do her no harm. She rarely trusted her feelings, but at this point she had no choice but to do so.
He hobbled silently after her, clearly puzzled but unwilling to ask any questions.
“How is my commission coming along?” she asked, largely to break the strained silence.
“Very well, Majesty.” A note of excitement entered his voice, which even under these circumstances was charming. She was struck by how much he resembled Neil MeqVren—Neil was passionate and excitable, a true knight with nothing cynical in him. This composer was like that, too, though his passion was of an entirely different nature. But they were both—authentic.
She desperately wished Neil were here now, but she had been right to send him after Anne. He was the only one she could trust with Anne’s location.
“You will be done with it soon, I hope,” she said. “I’ve already arranged for a performance and an accompanying banquet in the Candle Grove, about three weeks hence.”
“Three weeks? Well, yes, it’s nearly done. But I’ll need to start rehearsing immediately.”
“Just let me know what you need.”
“I’ve wanted to talk to you about something, actually,” he said.
“In regards to what?”
“The size of the ensemble, Majesty.”
“Make it whatever size you wish,” she replied.
“What I’m hoping for is a bit unusual,” he said, a little uncertainly. “I—the composition I’m working on—I think it would be best done by thirty pieces.”
She stopped and glanced curiously at him. “That’s rather large, isn’t it?” she asked.
“There has never been an ensemble of its size,” he said.
He made it sound very important, and all of a sudden she was struck by the ridiculousness of the whole situation. Here she was in fear of her life and her kingdom, and she somehow found herself discussing how many musicians she ought to engage.
But her heart had slowed to its normal pace, and she felt almost eerily calm.
“Then why should ours be so large?” she asked.
“Because there has never been a piece written like this,” he replied.
She stopped for a moment to study him, to see if there was any pride or haughtiness to be found in that statement. If it was there, it did not show.
“I’ve no objection to a large ensemble,” she said finally. “Even the largest.