Wynter thought her lips might crack from fear when she opened them to speak. ‘My Lord Razi is unwell, your Majesty,’ she said. ‘We were attacked on our way here. His horse tumbled down a hill, taking him with her. He awoke with little memory of who he is, or what has passed between him and his brother.’
There was a stark, crackling silence.
‘I remember that I am a doctor,’ ventured Razi.
The King’s face so darkened that Wynter only barely restrained herself from stepping back.
‘This is the lowest of tricks,’ hissed the King. ‘The cheapest of manipulations! You hope to distil my hopes into one heir, do you? With this ridiculous fabrication, you hope to remove yourself from the picture? You think yourself so important, little man, that first you fake your own death and then you feign madness, all to fling me into Alberon’s arms? Are you such a coward, boy? Have you no spine?’ Jonathon slammed his fist into the table, tears in his eyes. ‘I would rather you came at me with a halberd,’ he cried. ‘I would rather you drew your God-cursed sword, than insult me with this!’
‘I do not recall you at all,’ cried Razi. ‘Certainly I cannot conceive of you being my father. I remember my father clearly! I loved him. I do not know you!’
‘Oh, Razi,’ breathed Wynter, ‘no.’
‘I am a doctor!’ cried Razi. ‘That is what my father made of me! I am a doctor! I do not know what it is I am expected to make of this.’ He gestured to the folder. ‘But I cannot help you with it! This is your poison! You take it!’
Wynter sank to a chair, weary to her bones of trying, and put her head in her hands. There was an abrupt scrape of the King’s chair, and the table thudded beneath her elbows as he jerked clumsily to his feet, but she did not bother looking up. All is lost, she thought. All is chaos. The surrender was almost blissful.
The ensuing silence made her glance up. Razi and Jonathon were gaping at her, and for a moment she did not know why. Then she realised she was slumped at the table, slouching like a beggar with a bowl in the very presence of the King. She blushed and went to rise, but Jonathon waved her down again and sank to his seat once more. It was perhaps this, more than anything else – the very uncourtliness of Wynter’s gesture, the complete and utter lack of art in her despair – that made him believe.
‘I swear to you,’ whispered Razi, ‘I recall nothing of which you speak. I am a doctor, your Majesty, I am a scientist. Everything else,’ he gestured to his head, ‘is gone.’
To Wynter’s amazement, the King huffed a laugh. ‘What a twisted joke . . . to give me what I always wanted, instead of what I find I need.’ He looked up to the heavens in bitter amusement. ‘You always claimed that God had a blackened sense of humour, Lorcan.’ He sighed. ‘We can but bloody laugh.’
‘Your Majesty,’ said Wynter, ‘whatever the future holds in store, Alberon does not come to you at arms. He comes with only the smallest entourage of men, his intentions nothing but peaceful.’
The King huffed again. ‘What needs he of arms, when the damage is done?’
‘Will you read the documents, your Majesty?’ asked Razi.
‘What for?’
Razi thought for a moment. ‘That you may know what is in store?’ The King regarded him closely. ‘That . . . that you may do more than simply lash out in the dark?’
At the King’s grimace, Razi stepped to the table, diffident and uncertain. ‘I have one other thing,’ he said. ‘I have never been certain if it is part of our journey, or if it is a personal possession of my own. I must confess, I have longed to open it, but the fear that it might be yours has swayed me to caution. Can you tell me . . . ?’ With a final hesitation, he reached into his coat and withdrew a small document, folded to a square and sealed with wax. Wynter recognised it at once.
‘Alberon gave that to you,’ she said, ‘just as we were leaving camp. I had assumed you would place it in the folder.’
Razi shook his head. ‘For some reason I did not.’ He offered the letter to his father. ‘Your Majesty? Do you suppose he meant it