ignored her, and she sat in silence observing them work. She watched as the sun moved across the canvas, she listened to the peaceful rustle of papers, she drank coffee, and she thought.
If Alberon had accepted the King’s offer to parley – and the King seemed convinced that he had – then he would be here soon. He would arrive with only a small, non-threatening entourage, and he would find himself greeted by the same. Unless both parties resorted to daggers in the back or poisoned each other’s wine, it seemed likely that father and son were finally about to sit down and talk. It seemed likely that this damaged kingdom was on the verge of some sort of repair. For the very first time, Wynter might have an opportunity to think on what her future – her personal future – could hold.
She had to confess, all that she had previously expected from life seemed somehow inappropriate now, or unpalatable to her. Her time in Albi’s camp had, once again, brought home the stifling constrictions of court life. Her time on the trail with Christopher had made her long for more than an existence dedicated solely to her craft. She watched Razi work and she realised that, like him, she had been stripped of her past. All she had left was herself, the man she loved, and the skills that God and her father had given her.
What on earth was she to do with that? Where on earth could she go with it?
‘His communications with the North,’ said the King, his quill scratching away even as he spoke, ‘how were they effected?’
Wynter dragged herself from her thoughts. She put down her coffee. ‘These most recent messages were sent via the Merron, your Majesty.’
He paused in surprise. ‘That Hadrish thief?’
‘Christopher Garron is not a thief,’ said Razi mildly, his attention focused on a sheaf of Jonathon’s notes. ‘I have told you before.’
The King and Wynter exchanged a look. Wynter went to comment, but the King stopped her with a shake of his head. ‘The Merron?’ he prompted her.
‘Noblemen of a Northland tribe, your Majesty. One of their number has accompanied us, if you wish to question him. He waits outside with Freeman Garron. But the Merron seem to know little of the Royal Princess Shirken’s intentions, your Majesty. They work for her in the hope that their efforts will save their kind from destruction . . . a futile hope, I fear.’
The King raised an eyebrow. ‘Futile indeed,’ he said dryly. ‘I am intimately aware of Marguerite’s attitude to her non-Christian subjects.’ He shuffled the papers once again, lifted a particular page. ‘This proposed marriage,’ he murmured, ‘it astounds me.’
Wynter sighed. ‘It is madness,’ she said.
‘It is genius,’ he replied. Her shock seemed to tickle him, and he smiled at her, a warmly amused smile, very like his youngest son’s. ‘Should Marguerite succeed in pushing her father aside without causing revolt – and I suspect that if anyone can do it, she can – a marital alliance between these two kingdoms would be . . .’ Jonathon shook his head. ‘It would be immense,’ he said. ‘There would need to be an agreement regarding heirs, of course. That should be easy enough to hammer out . . . perhaps a division on grounds of sex or age? Yes. Age, I think. One heir North, one South, with provision for separate succession in case of death . . . Foreign education. Padua perhaps? Hmmm. Complete autonomy of rule, of course.’ He huffed in amazement. ‘It is an entirely new method. Who would have imagined the boy capable of its proposal?’ He lost himself in thought, murmuring away to himself, making notes. ‘He would not be able to handle her, of course, poor child. He has no idea of what those people are capable, but, perhaps . . .’
Razi met Wynter’s eyes as the King, deep in thought, shuffled papers and muttered his tangled calculations. ‘This foolishness with the Midland resistance,’ said the King eventually, ‘that cannot be allowed.’
Wynter’s heart sank for Jared and Mary and their desperate hopes for reform. ‘But the Midland envoys have already been sent home, your Majesty,’ she ventured. ‘They are of the belief that they have your Majesty’s support. They greatly depend on it. The Royal Prince . . . the Royal Prince has given them copies of my father’s designs in the hope that my father’s machines will strengthen their position and help end the appalling