The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [93]
“The Church might, Majesty.”
“On what grounds?”
He grinned, looking suddenly very boyish. “On the grounds that it’s never been done before, Majesty.”
She felt a wry smile twitch her lips. “Make it as large as you want,” she said. “Larger, even.”
“Thank you, Majesty.”
She nodded.
“Majesty?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“Is something wrong?”
She closed her eyes, then opened them and began walking again. “Yes, Fralet Ackenzal, something is very wrong. There is someone in my suite, someone I did not invite there.”
“You think— I mean, Majesty, do you believe it was an assassin?”
“I can’t think what else it might be.”
He paled. “That’s— Well, shouldn’t we call a guard, Majesty?”
“Unfortunately,” she replied, “I don’t trust most of the guards.”
“How can that be? How can a queen not trust her guards?”
“Are you that naÏve, Fralet Ackenzal? Do you know how many kings and queens have died at the hands of their own servants?”
“But I’ve heard the royal guards of Eslen—the Craftsmen?—that they are incorruptible.”
“In the past few months, on different occasions, two of them have tried to kill me.”
“Oh.”
“They were bewitched, as it turns out, by some sort of encrotacnia, and they are now supposed to be protected against such shinecrafting. Nevertheless, I find it hard to put faith in them, since they killed two of my daughters.”
“I can understand that, Your Majesty. I’m sorry.”
“Beyond that there is the fact that one of them was stationed outside my door. It follows that he either let the assassin in, he is the assassin, or he’s dead.”
“Oh, saints.”
“Precisely.”
“And so—ah—I’m your bodyguard at the moment?”
She smiled at him. “Indeed you are.”
“Majesty, I wouldn’t be much use to you if you were attacked.”
“But you are the hero of Broogh, Fralet Ackenzal. Surely the mere sight of you would frighten off most attackers.”
“I think that rather unlikely,” Ackenzal opined. “But I will protect you as best I can, Majesty. It’s just—if you think there is a coup in progress, you ought to find better help and more of it.”
“I know,” she said. “And that’s what we’re going to do. But I don’t like it.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m going to have to apologize.”
Fail de Liery waved her apology away.
“You were right,” he said. “I went beyond my bounds, and more to the point, beyond my heart. Sometimes when more than one duty calls, it’s difficult to decide which to follow. Glorien de Liery is my liege, but William was my emperor and you are my empress—and my beloved niece. It is I who owe you an apology—and my allegiance, if you will still have it.”
She wanted to hug him right then and there, but at the moment they were queen and subject, and she did not want to spoil that moment.
“Now, tell me why you’re here, Majesty,” Fail said. “You look as if the dead are calling your name.”
He listened as she explained.
When she was done, he nodded grimly.
“You’ll have to come with us,” he said at last. “Even if the Craftsmen are loyal, they won’t let a party of armed men into the royal suites.”
“I’m aware of that.”
Fail nodded. “When you are ready, Majesty.”
“I’m ready.” She turned to Ackenzal. “You are excused,” she said. “And I thank you for your company.”
He bowed, less clumsily this time. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I am always pleased to be of service.”
“When will my commission be ready?”
“It is more than half done already,” he replied. “By the end of the month, I should think.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Thank you, Majesty. Saints be with you.”
She watched him limp off, as Sir Fail roused his men.
They left Sir Fail’s chambers with eight men-at-arms, and though the party encountered a number of puzzled looks, they met with no resistance.
They found two Craftsmen standing guard at the entrance hall of the royal residence. As they approached, one stepped forward, eying the men from Liery with evident suspicion.
“Stand aside, Sir Moris,” Muriele commanded. “These men are accompanying me to my chambers.”
Moris, a round-faced man with a blond mustache, reddened. “Majesty, I cannot allow that,” he said. “No one but the royal family