The Royal Post had delivered a letter addressed to Niklos marked with all of the hallmarks of the Palace. He’d let it sit on his desk for a day, staring at the Courcel swan impressed in the navy wax of the seal every time he walked past it. It demanded an answer, and he didn’t know that he wanted to see the question. Finally, after some subtle prodding from Jacob, he opened the letter to see what the Palace might want from him.
From the Office of Her Majesty, Anielle de la Courcel, Queen of Terre d’Ange, to Lord Niklos Shahrizai
Regarding the matter of the succession of the County of Angers and the wishes of the late Demitrios Shahrizai, Her Majesty wishes to discuss the future of the title. Your presence is expected at the Royal Palace tomorrow after the midday bells.
Court dress is not required.
On behalf of Queen Anielle, from the hand of the Royal Steward
The official seal of the House Royal of Terre d’Ange was pressed into blue wax, a crowned swan beneath a lily flower.
Niklos made his way down to the main level of the townhouse, proffering the rather basic summons to Jacob. A faint chuckle escaped from his throat as one of Jacob’s eyebrows raised as the man read the summons. “It could be much worse,” Nikolas said. “The note could have said that the inheritance had been voided due to some peculiarity of law. Unless Her Majesty is saving that information to tell me tomorrow.”
Jacob’s head shifted marginally. Niklos thought it was in the negative, before the taciturn man spoke. “My Lord, were the Crown to rule in opposition to your inheritance, there might be some issue. The lands are within the Shahrizai duchy and held by the family since the very beginning of Terre d’Ange. While the Crown must approve of the inheritance, the lands around Angers must remain within the family’s holdings. And there are—” Jacob paused, considering his words, “—only a few qualified members of the family that the lands could be bestowed upon… and none of them fit every stipulation of Lord Demitrious’s will. None aside from you. I rather think Lord Demitrious wrote the provisions with you specifically in mind. And he was old enough to have met Melisande… He would have made certain everything was to the letter.” Jacob smiled briefly and handed the note back to Niklos. “I shall have the good coach prepared. We wouldn’t want the Palace thinking that you were some backwoods relative trying to press your way into the higher echelons of the nobility without any training.”
With that, Jacob slipped across the main hall and through a concealed doorway, leaving Niklos standing there, summons in hand. Niklos took a deep breath and made his way back to the stairs; tomorrow couldn’t arrive soon enough. And after that, well, he had more people in the city to see. Perhaps a visit to Cereus was in order… or possibly Jasmine.
When the royal guards at the gate of the royal palace saw the carriage bearing the Shahrizai keys rolling up the Rue Courcel towards the grand gates, there was not a hint of their personal thoughts on their faces. Trained for discipline and loyalty, they paused only to verify the summons before permitting the coach to pass through.
Likewise, the footmen that waited at the door requested to view the invitation to verify the parchment, ink, and seal before opening the doors to the halls and salons housed within the royal palace. While the Shahrizai maintained apartments within the palace, this particular Shahrizai had not made use of them in some time, and the steward had briefed the footmen carefully about the summons for this day.
Therefore, the footmen guided the Kusheline nobleman through the hallways, not to the grand throne room, but to a smaller reception chamber deeper inside the palace. The guards on either side of the door did their duty to ensure the guest did not enter into the royal presence armed then stood aside to let the footmen open the door and answer, “Lord Niklos Shahrizai.”
Her Majesty, Anielle de la Courcel, Queen of Terre d’Ange, sat in a simple chair set against a drape of Courcel blue. Her hands folded neatly in her lap, her elbows rested on the arms of her chair, her crown prominent on her dark head, she was every inch the ruler of the country as she looked evenly at her guest entering into her presence. And she was not alone. Off to the side, standing at the tall window with the narrow circlet on his head, stood her second son, Gustav de la Courcel, the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange. He was looking pensively out of the window at first, his head only turning when the Shahrizai name was introduced. Two sets of Courcel eyes watched Niklos enter.
Niklos made his way into the audience chamber slowly. He’d been present in the past for audiences, but those were always in the grand Audience Hall, and he hadn’t been the focus of those audiences. Jacob had reminded him of some of the more significant courtly customs that he would need to be aware of for this, though even Jacob hadn’t anticipated a fully private audience.
He crossed the hall at a measured pace, his boots whispering across the floor. He’d always had a light step, and Jacob had cautioned him about making too much noise as well. Nine paces back from the Queen, he paused and bowed deeply, his attention on her, though he had noted Gustav by the windows. The Dauphin seemed pensive, which could prove to be a good quality. Jacob had passed word that Gustav had once been rowdier than his brother, but that was to be expected from a spare…at least it would have been expected. Now Gustav was the heir, and that role seemed to weigh heavier on his shoulders than it had his brother. Or perhaps it was more obvious in Gustav.
Niklos cleared his throat softly. “Majesties, I am responding to your summons.” Niklos spoke clearly, though quietly. There was no reason to be loud, no one was going to interrupt them.
“Welcome, Lord Niklos,” Queen Anielle said evenly, gesturing for him to rise. “Let us begin by offering our sorrows for the passing of the late Count. This last year, it seems, has taken much from many of us, and offered opportunities to prove the mettle of our spirits in how we rise to fill the empty places left.”
The Dauphin turned more of his attention to the conversation then, not yet joining his mother at the chair sat by her right hand, only watching from the sides at the moment as he considered the two people in the center of the room. The tiniest smile flickered across his face as he remembered the chessboard his lady kept in her chambers, the one that laid out all of the world of politics in thirty-two little pieces.
“Yet, the world does not stop moving while we grieve,” the Queen continued, gesturing a footman forward. He bowed and presented her a document on a silver tray, which she plucked up with her fingers to scan. “And there is the matter of the succession of the Shahrizai County to consider. In this document, Count Demitrios makes his wishes clear, and the Judiciary committee regarding noble inheritances has informed me that, as per the stipulations laid out in Count Demitrios’ will, you are the next in line for the title. The only thing that could alter that would be a royal decree.”
Niklos listened, his eyes focused on her, though he monitored the Dauphin in his peripheral vision. He missed the faint smile as the footman stepped forward with the tray, another distraction. He was too close—bad for the angles for observation. His father had taught him that. Never stay in a position where you couldn’t see all the pieces on the board. Of course, his father was warning him about getting stabbed, something that really shouldn’t happen in the chamber he was in, but stranger things had happened. Of course, old Demitrios had warned him about being too observant one of the times he’d met the old man. Melisande spent much of her life in exile on Cytherea, the Count had reminded him, because she had the vision to see all the pieces and all the moves…but not the vision to see the final endgame. Sapphire eyes met Courcel blue ones as the Queen finished scanning the information about Demitrios’ will and the Judiciary Committee’s ruling. Well, one hurdle out of the way.
Laying the document in her lap, the Queen lifted her eyes to regard the lord before her. “We have called you here, Lord Niklos, to discuss the future of the title. Considering our families’ torrid past and complicated entanglement, we have a vested interest in the actions and ambitions of your line. While I bore your predecessor no ill will, nor do I seek to judge you on the past actions of your forebears, it is nevertheless prudent to discuss the matter that I might see what kind of a count you could choose to become.”
He smiled faintly at her comments regarding the discussion of the title. It was only one generation since Imriel de la Courcel, son of the greatest traitor the realm had ever known, had wed Sidonie de la Courcel and continued on the royal line that stretched all the way back to Blessed Elua. Torrid and complicated indeed. This queen and her son could well be considered blood cousins of the family.
“What kind of count I might choose to become, Majesty? I’m not certain how you mean. Every Shahrizai knows of our duty and obligation to the Crown, and anyone who pretends to the cleverness of our shared ancestress are very directly told that there will be none of that nonsense again.” He chuckled lightly. “I fear, Your Majesty, that when it comes to the Crown, the Shahrizai are well and truly under control. We have our personal interests, but we are well and truly yours.” He’d expected something like this, even before news of the will came out. Various aunts and uncles had all made it crystal clear that if any question of loyalty came up, he was to assure whomever asked of the Shahrizai’s absolute loyalty to the crown and realm, at the point of a knife if it came to that.
“It is not just me you will have to convince, Lord Niklos,” Anielle said softly, watching him with the unerring focus of a falcon. “Your family has a reputation, cast by a very long shadow. How fairly it is earned is little matter when all of the nobility, indeed in many ways all of the country, is watching you.”
She leaned back slightly in her chair, comfortable in her seat of power. “But let us speak candidly, then. Few of us often get that chance. Not every person who inherits a title is meant for greatness. Names can easily fade into the mists of history. What matters when heirs are given their titles, with all the power and prestige that can come with them, is what they will do with them. And what legacy they will leave. What legacy do you wish to earn for your name, Niklos Shahrizai?”
Niklos paused, the Queen’s question seeming innocuous. It wasn’t. Questions like that never were. He had considered it, certainly. Didn’t all aspire to some form of greatness or another? He had been quiet, and he had studied. His father had sent him to Tiberium to study at the University there for a time, and there were no books in his father’s library that were unread. And his father had made certain that he understood, in his bones, what he had learned. But she hadn’t asked what he wanted, she asked what legacy he wanted. There was a subtle difference there, and he hoped he could use it to his advantage.
His eyes snapped back into sharp focus as he smiled at her. “My legacy? I hope to be the counterpoint to Melisande Shahrizai. Where her legacy is treason, I wish mine to be trustworthiness.”
He never again wanted a Shahrizai to be suspected of what Melisande had been guilty of. Falsehood would never again wear black and gold. “It will take a lifetime of work. And some of our many relations in the nobility have always been jealous of us, merited or not, but the effort is worthwhile.” And incredibly appropriate for the holder of a minor county well within the Shahrizai duchy in Kusheth.
“And how will that work begin?” Resting her elbows on the arms of her chair, she laced her fingers carelessly together as she watched him. “You must have given it some thought. Beyond the cousins whispering in your ear and the aunts and uncles giving their advice, you on your own must have thought about how your tenure as Count could start. Regale me. If I choose to permit this succession and not stand in the way, how will you begin to prove your trustworthiness?”
He smiled faintly, almost pensively, and nodded to her. “I am here, Your Majesty. Yes, my family encouraged me to take up residence in The City, but I could have just as easily remained in Kusheth. I am present, I did not demur or delay your invitation, and I have not taken possession of property that is yours to grant. Duc Alexius is administering the property, awaiting your decision. We are a well-connected family, and I am doing what I might to reestablish the connections and friendships I have had in the past. Not all news passes through the Palace, Majesty, and some of that which does travel these halls may not reach your ears or the ears of His Highness. Political intrigue is a much safer game to play when you know you have the throne behind you, instead of opposite you.” He took a deep breath. This was a very deep game that could be played, and he had barely established himself on the board. He really needed to get back into the City and reacquaint himself with people.
He was pleased that it didn’t sound like the guards had moved yet, so there had been no hidden signal to restrain him, and he hadn’t threatened. But he wanted the access, and he wanted the information. Melisande had been visionary. The rest of the family, Niklos included, had no chance of matching her brilliance, but that very brilliance was her downfall. She needed to be the smartest person anywhere she had gone, and she desired the power that her brilliance had indicated could be hers. But brilliant people and powerful people were rarely one in the same: The brilliant frequently overlooked something miniscule that could bring them down, and those in power often had to resort to basic brute violence to remain there. Far better an understanding or agreement where both sides aided the other.
“So you offer to be my eyes and ears where neither my son or I may go,” Anielle said, knowing full well the ambitious lordling had said nothing of the sort. But it was a chance that she would extend as a first test. She knew better than to forget the snake in the grass, but a snake that she could direct was far more valuable. “It was that very subterfuge that damned your family before, but you have caught my attention, Niklos Shahrizai.”
She leveled her gaze at him, her voice regal and terrible as thunder as she spoke with the full weight, authority, and power of her throne. “Let us see what you do with this rope: climb or hang.”
Gustav, reading the Queen’s body language and understanding her play, finally moved. Crossing to stand at his place by the Queen’s right hand, he examined the Shahrizai with his blue-black hair and deep blue eyes, blue meeting blue as the cousins regarded each other. But there was enough established now that the rest would come, both Queen and Dauphin watching closely.
So Gustav gave the faintest smile that did not reach his eyes, saying only, “Congratulations, then, Count Shahrizai.”
A royal acknowledgement of the title. It settled on Niklos’ shoulders. There would be paperwork and official acceptance and court announcements, but it started here, with the Queen and the Dauphin seeing in him a noble ready for the title.
Niklos squared his shoulders as the Dauphin caught his eye. He grinned briefly, though the Dauphin’s eyes were cool. He bowed again to both of them, his own eyes dimming, as if looking at a sapphire at night. “My thanks to both of you, Majesties… cousins. I hope I will serve you well.” He bowed again, having recognized the dismissal, and backed away through the audience chamber, bowing once again at the door before exiting.
Anielle watched the door close and murmured quietly, “We will see.”