Book 8: Chapter 18 |
Vestonia
Outskirts of Herouxville
Suburban Palace of the Duke de Clairmont
ÉDOUARD DE CLAIRMONT stood on the banks of a small, decorative pond in his private park, watching in silence as a pair of swans glided effortlessly across the tranquil surface of the water.
The two majestic birds were moving with perfect synchrony, as if following some invisible rhythm. Now and then, they would sink their long necks into the water in search of prey, and then raise them gracefully into the air, shaking off a shower of drops as they did so.
The swans were swimming along unhurriedly, side by side, and occasionally leaning in and tapping their beaks together, which only added to the sense of calm and harmony. At times, one of them would spread its wings as if preparing to take off into the air, but then it would always return to its smooth, unhurried movement across the surface of the pond.
Édouard sighed heavily as he watched them, and was once again reminded of his wife, Louise de Clairmont. They still hadn’t seen one another since his arrival at the capital. As one of the Ladies of the Queen’s Bedchamber, Louisa had set off with Her Majesty to the Abode of the Most Luminous Mother in Amiens all the way back in the autumn.
There, the Queen and all her ladies-in-waiting spent their days offering prayers to the Most Luminous Mother for His Majesty Carl III’s recovery.
Édouard smiled. He knew exactly whom his spouse was REALLY praying for. The Duke had never been one to turn to the gods with his requests, but then a lot had changed over the past few months.
“Louisa...” said Édouard softly. “What are you hiding from me? What secrets are you keeping?”
Recently, spoken conversations with himself had become something of a habit for the Duke. And it wasn’t because of senility or anything like that. First of all, it helped him think more clearly, and second of all, once Guilleme de Leval had departed for his own castle, Édouard didn’t have anyone to talk to other than his aged butler.
Ever since the day Édouard had returned to the capital, people seemed to have forgotten about him entirely — with the sole exception of a very difficult conversation with his sister that had ended in hysterical tears when she learned of the death of her son.
All those people who had once sought his attention, his intercession, and his patronage suddenly seemed to have disappeared into thin air. In what felt like the blink of an eye, Édouard de Clairmont’s usefulness came to an end.
The Duke understood the reason for this, of course. Édouard had expected something like this to happen. Therefore, so as not to annoy the King with his presence in the capital, the Duke de Clairmont had removed himself to his suburban palace. And to be honest, he was only too happy to do so. For the new Herouxville was not at all to his liking.
The capital was busy celebrating Prince Philippe and the Marquis de Gondy. According to everything the capital-city nobility had heard, it was entirely thanks to these two men that the enemy had been defeated and driven from Vestonian soil.
Herouxville, in other words, was now entirely “red.” For Édouard, however, those red banners conjured up feelings not of dignity and pride, but of shame and humiliation.
Strangely, however, the Duke wasn’t surprised by any of it in the least. He had lived for too long, and seen too much. Rises and falls, victories and defeats, war and peace, love and hate.
So he wasn’t surprised at all when, during a visit to the Royal Palace (where the Duke had gone yet again to request an audience with the King), he ran into the elder Marquis de Hangest — a man whom Renard had very nearly sent back to the capital in chains as a criminal. The self-satisfied looks on the faces of the Marquis and his hangers-on left the Duke entirely indifferent.
In fact, only one thought occurred to the Duke de Clairmont when he saw them: had Renard known all along how the incident with the Marquis de Hangest would end up playing out?
Later on, Édouard asked around among the nobles who were gathered at the Palace that day, and discovered to his surprise that the Marquis was actually a war hero, who had selflessly defended the Sapphire Citadel at the head of his legion.
The world turned upside down...
Presently, the sound of footsteps approaching from behind distracted the Duke from his contemplations. Édouard turned his head and saw his panting, red-faced butler with a young footman standing behind him.
Old Charles knew that his master was in a melancholy frame of mind, and as such he was trying to communicate all news to him personally. Which, of course, explained his hurry in this case. Apparently the old fellow had come running...
“What’s going on?” The Duke chuckled. “By the look on your face, it must be nomads from the east attacking, best-case scenario.”
“Save us, Oh Luminous Mother, from this misfortune!” The butler panted.
“What did you come running to tell me, if not news of a barbarian invasion?”
“The Baron Armand de Lusignan and His Majesty’s Chief Healer, Ruben Garrelle, wish Your Grace to receive them.”
“I see...” The Duke chuckled. “Well... I was expecting this at some point...”
He started off to greet his guests, but then slowed down a moment and added to the butler:
“Invite my guests into the fireplace hall. I’ll be in to see them shortly.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” old Charles replied with a bow before quickly turning around.
A snap of his fingers, and the young footman hurried off to carry out the Duke’s orders. The butler, meanwhile, hobbled off after the Duke on his old, crooked legs, in order to help the Duke get dressed. His Grace’s valet, after all, had fallen protecting their master in battle.
* * *
“Monsieurs,” the Duke de Clairmont exclaimed as he walked into his fireplace hall.
The bored, pensive man who had so recently been standing on the bank of his pond seemed to have vanished without a trace. The man standing before his guests was a calm, collected, and focused Marshal of Vestonia, ready at any moment to lead a legion into battle.
As he entered, his guests stopped their hushed conversation, stood up from their seats, and bowed.
“Your Grace,” the hunchbacked little man greeted the Duke with a smile. “I’m glad to see you in good health.”
Without his makeup, jester’s cap, and silly-looking pointed shoes, the King’s jester looked very different — in fact, one might almost describe him as unremarkable. Édouard suddenly sensed that Kiko felt a little bit awkward without his mask; after all, it was quite literally something to hide behind. Admittedly, the little hunchback hadn’t discarded every last vestige of his usual image. What looked like pearls from a distance actually turned out to be small silver buttons, sewn in large numbers all over his clothing.
Garrel looked exhausted, but satisfied. Édouard wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that this was the first time the healer had left the King’s hunting lodge since the onset of the illness. And that the change of scenery alone was enough to make him smile.
“Thank you,” the Duke nodded in reply as he gestured for his guests to sit down.
After everybody took their seats, Édouard got straight down to business:
“Now what could possibly have prompted you to come out and visit a forgotten old man at such an ungodly hour?”
“Oh, Your Grace... People might call you many things, but somehow “old man” doesn’t seem appropriate anymore,” replied the jester with a big smile.
“You truly appear to be in excellent health, Your Grace,” the Royal Healer agreed. “And that despite the recent rumors that you were at death’s door.”
“Those were no mere rumors,” the Duke replied sternly. “I was no more than a step away from the Abyss, but I managed to postpone my date with death thanks to the efforts of my friends.”
“Actually, that’s why Maître Garrel is here,” said the jester. “His Majesty was concerned about your health, and he ordered his best healer to come out and examine you.”
Inside, the Duke couldn’t resist a chuckle. Carl just couldn’t live without his little games. And neither, for that matter, could the hunchback. Many people mistakenly believed that the jester was actually the one pulling the strings — that he was manipulating the King. In reality, however, the two were on exactly the same level, a fact of which Édouard was already well aware.
“His Majesty is too kind, as always,” the Duke answered. “Besides, it’s our duty to carry out the will of our King. I wouldn’t dream of objecting, Maître — please proceed.”
With a strained smile, the healer stood up and walked over to the Duke. Then he laid a hand on Édouard’s shoulder and closed his eyes.
A few moments later, with a furrowed brow, he asked:
“Do you mind?”
“No, of course not,” the Duke nodded in response. He moved his arm to the side, allowing the healer to lay his hand on the spot where his wound had been.
This time, the healer was occupied for quite a while. Beads of sweat soon broke out all across his broad forehead, as his eyes flitted frantically back and forth beneath his closed eyelids.
The Duke glanced quickly at the jester. Kiko was watching the healer’s every move, and when the latter finally opened his eyes, he asked:
“Well?”
“This is amazing!” Ruben Garrelle looked shocked, and utterly confused. “His Grace is perfectly healthy! And by that, I mean there’s no trace of any diseases or ailments in his body. More than that, I sensed the presence of some... Ahem... How should I put this... Improvements.”
That last piece of information came as a surprise even for Édouard. But he recovered almost immediately.
He had noticed, of course, that his recovery had gone surprisingly quickly. But there were other strange nuances in the process as well. For example, the headaches and joint pain that the Duke had been suffering from for several years by that point... Those were gone. His old wounds no longer ached when the weather changed. Édouard had also noticed that he was sleeping better, and that his morning exercises weren’t as difficult for him anymore. The previous day, for example, he managed to complete a complicated exercise routine with his sword, which he hadn’t done for ages due to the pain in his joints. The young man had obviously done a lot more than simply heal his wound...
“Permit me a few questions, Your Grace,” the healer began.
The Duke glanced at the jester. Kiko smiled politely, but he looked more than anything like a snake that was preparing to attack. Even a fool would have known that Garrelle’s question was motivated first and foremost by Carl’s interests. And the Duke wasn’t a fool. So he replied as honestly as he possibly could:
“I was treated by the Margrave de Valier.”
“How?” The healer leaned in a little closer. “Laying on of hands, or elixirs?”
“He used both of those methods,” said the Duke.
There was one other method, of course... In a moment of clarity amidst the fevers and fitful sleep, Édouard had seen Renard create some sort of glowing magical pattern in the air and lay it down onto his wound. Back in Bergonia, however, Édouard had given his word to keep silent about this particular method of healing. And he had ordered Guilleme to do the same.
Once upon a time, there had been no secrets between Édouard and Carl, but much had changed since the moment the Duke had seen the fox medallion hanging from Maximillian’s neck...
None of this meant that Édouard didn’t wish the King a speedy recovery, of course. Not at all... Carl would simply have to summon Renard and have the boy heal him. But the Duke de Clairmont had no intention of revealing the young man’s secret gift.
“I see...” the healer mused aloud. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of that elixir left, would you?”
The Duke silently slipped a hand into his pocket and took out one of the small bottles of potion that Maximillian had given him. And Édouard also knew that Renard had sent Lord Gray back to the capital with several other bottles just like it, along with a request to give them to the King. The look that Maître Garrelle exchanged with Kiko made it obvious that Carl had already received these potions.
“Everything makes sense now,” the healer announced. “Forgive me, but I must be going now. Duty requires me to return to His Majesty’s side.”
When the door closed behind the healer, Édouard turned to look at Kiko.
“Armand — the quicker he recalls that boy to the capital, the quicker he’ll be back on his feet. You know that, right?”
The two men often switched to a much less formal tone when they were alone. The result of many years’ acquaintance, you might say. They had both been with Carl since he was a child. Sure, they had never really been friends, but they had occasionally been allies. They were bound together by genuine devotion to their King.
Kiko shook his head and sighed:
“You’ve always been too trusting, Ed. That’s why you’re out here alone right now, forgotten by everyone.”
Édouard had been prepared to hear something like this, so he tried to let this jibe about the Count d’Angland’s betrayal pass by unremarked. Although he had expected to hear these words from Carl, rather than his jester...
On the other hand, though, he fully deserved this punishment and the accompanying humiliation... Too many people had died (or might die yet) because of his mistake. And after all, his mistake had left the very fate of Vestonia was hanging by a thread.
“You see some reason to mistrust a man who saved not only my own life, but the entire country as well?” Édouard replied. “If it weren’t for the Margrave de Valier, the Golden Lion and his legions would already be standing outside the walls of Herouxville. And believe me... I know exactly who’s to blame for everything...”
“The bastard’s physical presence in the capital isn’t necessary,” came the jester’s evasive reply. “He’s right where he needs to be...”
“Wait...” The Duke leaned forward. “Are you saying that Carl’s health is improving?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Kiko chuckled.
“The elixirs are helping...” Édouard sighed with relief.
“They certainly are,” nodded the jester. “And as you already know, the secret of the bastard’s gift is packaged inside them. But here’s another secret for you... We’re fairly certain that the bastard borrowed them from the Sapphire Guild’s secret treasury. The pieces are falling into place, aren’t they?”
At that, Édouard very nearly let slip the secret of the magical patterns. Remembering the promise he had made to himself, however, he bit his tongue just in time... If he hadn’t seen the boy’s magic with his own eyes, he would certainly have believed what the jester was saying.
Having regained his composure, Édouard pretended to be surprised by this news. He rubbed his chin and began to muse aloud:
“So the bastard is playing a game of his own...”
“No matter,” said the jester dismissively. “He’s quite predictable. And he’s very useful to Carl out there on the frontier. Let him take care of business in his Margraviate. It’s not like we’re bored here in the capital without him.”
“You’re referring to the Astlanders?” Édouard asked, feeling secretly relieved at the change of subject.
“So you already know?” The jester snickered.
“I saw a pretty sizable Astlandic delegation before I left the city.”
“Officially, Otto II has simply decided to appoint a new ambassador to the Vestonian Court,” the jester explained. “In reality, though, Wilhelm von Lander has decided to double the number of his spies in Herouxville. Rumor has it they’ve already started throwing gold around and gathering a healthy following of hangers-on at court.”
Édouard grimaced at the mention of Wilhelm. That spider had ears in every corner of the world. Even the Queen of Vestonia herself carried on an active correspondence with him. The Duke had no doubt that some of the large chests the Astlandic ambassadors had brought with them were intended for Her Majesty.
Whatever the case, Louisa would certainly tell him about everything later...
“Otto II’s Chief Minister will do everything in his power to sabotage Prince Philippe’s betrothal to the Marchioness de Gondy,” the jester continued. “After all, the Astlanders have their own bride picked out for our dear little Philippe.”
“It’ll be hard without Bauffremont,” noted Édouard.
“That’s why part of the Astlandic delegation and several Vestonian nobles are heading to Atalia,” said Kiko with a sour smile. “They’re bringing ransoms for the Duke de Bauffremont and several other nobles. Our bastard’s uncle is going with them, by the way. And good riddance. At least the secretariat will get a little break from his complaints and petitions. He keeps trying to get that castle back from his nephew. You know, the one that used to belong to your family... The Fox Den, if I’m not mistaken... Not the greatest name in the world, if I’m being honest...”
The jester had a huge smile on his face, but there wasn’t so much as a hint of mirth in his eyes.
“It was quite a castle...” Édouard replied calmly. “We got rid of it quite a few years ago, though.”
“Yes, I understand,” said Kiko, pursing his lips in an expression of sympathy. “The death of a loved one is a hard burden to bear. But when a child dies... Well, I truly sympathize with you.”
“And yet I imagine, Monsieur, that that’s not the only reason you came to visit?” Édouard replied coldly.
“Right you are, Your Grace.” The jester laid his hands down on the armrests of his chair and folded his hands together. His tone became more formal. “His Majesty wishes you to travel to Caen.”
“To Caen?” Édouard frowned. “What am I going to do so far out west?”
“You’re going to serve as Marshal of Vestonia,” replied Kiko as he deftly slipped a scroll bearing the royal seal out from behind his belt. “You’re going to gather legions for His Majesty. Here’s the King’s order and all the necessary instructions. His Majesty is aware that the western nobles respect you, and — what’s more — virtually all of them owe you a favor or two. You may bring the Count de Leval with you. And there’s someone else going with you too, someone you already know quite well: André de Châtillon. His Majesty has pardoned the Viscount, along with everyone else in the cohorts that used to comprise the “Last Chances.”“
“When am I supposed to head out?” The Duke inquired. “I’d like to see my wife before I leave.”
“Alas, there’s no time,” the jester shook his head. “Especially since, as far as I know, Her Majesty plans to remain in the Abode of the Most Luminous Mother for at least a few more months. You simply don’t have time. The clouds are gathering over Vestonia, and His Majesty needs people he can trust.”
The jester jumped down from his chair and glanced at Édouard:
“Carl needs time before he can forgive you. Consider this his way of doing you a favor. Pacify the west. Complete the task he’s set for you here, and he’ll bring you closer once again.”