crouch down, hoping the blankets that were draped over its back helped conceal him.
Regan entered, followed by two others, and the door closed.
Edyon curled up tightly and tried to breathe silently as Regan offered port to his guests, whom Edyon recognized from the smoke demonstration as Birtwistle and Hunt. Some-one sat heavily in the chair, pushing it farther back into the corner and trapping Edyon completely.
“I’ll be brief.” Regan’s voice was curiously quiet, not his usual manner at all. “I’ve been thinking about your proposal, as I said I would. And, as I said before, this is not easy for me.”
“We understand that, Regan. It’s not easy for any of us.”
“I admit that I haven’t been happy for some time. Thelonius is . . . changed.”
“Weaker,” Hunt added.
“The death of his wife and children strained him,” Regan said. “It’s understandable.”
“Understandable, but that doesn’t mean it’s acceptable. He has to be fit to rule. And putting that illegitimate fool in line for the throne is not acceptable.”
“Nor is forcing you to perjure yourself, Regan.” That was Birtwistle’s voice.
“That’s what hurts me the most,” Regan said in a pained voice. “Thelonius, my oldest, closest friend, asks me to lie under oath for him. He says it’s for Calidor, but at heart it’s for him.”
“And for that fool of a boy.”
“And you nearly got killed trying to bring the boy back.”
“We all agree,” Hunt said. “We’d give our lives for Calidor. We’ve already given much: lost family and friends in the last war, paid huge taxes to build the wall and the sea defenses. None of us wants to lose more. And this alliance with Pitoria will be just the start of it. Mark my words.”
“He’s sent boats. After promising to send nothing,” Regan said. “Contrived to do it with the help of the bastard boy, who seems to know about borrowing money better than anyone his age ought to.”
“If Thelonius can’t be trusted to keep a promise such as that, a promise about the defense of our country, then what else will he renege on?” Hunt asked. “And what will the future hold for Calidor if a boy who’s born and raised in Pitoria, who’s half-Pitorian, takes the throne?”
No one dared answer.
“So, Regan?” Hunt asked. “What do you say? We need you. We’ve taken a bloody risk talking to you, but you know we’re loyal to Calidor in our bones.”
“Yes, I know. And it gives me no pleasure to agree with you. I’m reluctant but I’m willing to accept your proposal.”
Thanks and congratulations were given in muted tones, and then Hunt said in an even quieter voice, “So we agree on what. The next is how.”
Regan said, “It’s difficult. Thelonius will still have many supporters.”
“We’ve been thinking along the same lines,” Hunt said. “Force can be opposed; indeed it almost invites opposition, but an accident . . . Well, that leaves the future open to whoever is best able to take the country forward.”
“An accident that removes Thelonius and his ridiculous offspring in one simple and quick—and obviously tragic—manner.”
What?!
“No one will oppose it; no one can oppose it. The fates have stepped in . . .”
“And put power into different hands.”
“It’s for everyone’s benefit.”
Except mine and my father’s. They really are plotting against us!
“With Thelonius gone and no heirs, Calidor’s future lies with the lords. The chancellor will go along with anything as long as it keeps the money rolling in. And the money will keep rolling in.”
“The people love Thelonius, though.”
“They’ll forget him soon enough. The history books can be rewritten.”
“But he saved Calidor.”
“The lords saved Calidor. That is the history that should be told. We sacrificed our children and many gave their lives.”
“So . . . the big question remains . . . How?”
“We go to your castle as the final stop of our tour, Birtwistle,” Hunt said. “Isn’t it a little old, and isn’t the masonry a little weak in places? A balcony could collapse at any moment with the weight of people on it. A tragic accident for the perpetually unlucky Prince Edyon.”
“And his father.”
“The country will mourn briefly and then the lords will rule with you, Regan, as our leader.”
MARCH
BRIGANT
RASHFORD, SAM, and March set off at dawn.
“How far is it?” March asked.
“We’ve only just left, and you’re already on with the questions?” Rashford joked.
“Is there a law against asking questions in Brigant?”
“Probably,” Rashford muttered.
And March did have lots of questions, like: how did Rashford know where to go, and was Prince Harold really their commanding officer, and