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“Had you not been at that meeting . . .” He stops, considering. “Silvester is becoming reckless.”

The Prima, who had come from humble beginnings, has grown more and more influential throughout the years. While King Galfrid simply tolerated him, Cettina’s father encouraged a stronger alliance that saw the church’s influence in Edingham grow.

But now he seeks to take advantage of the instability of both kingdoms—the Borderers and some Highlanders in Edingham still calling for war over the attack that never came to pass when the Oryan sank—and Galfrid’s succession crisis. But in doing so, and sending me to treat with the very men that would have seen innocents killed to reach their goal, he has gone too far.

“Do we tell the king of Father Silvester’s involvement?”

He asks the same question I’d been considering for days. When I left Avalon for the Tournament of Loigh, Silvester had been clear. Recruit the Highlanders to our cause by any means necessary. He would, of course, deny any cantonment of innocent men and women to achieve such means.

“What do you think?” I ask.

As always, Baldric has an answer. “If you do, you will be outed. At a time when we need to know Silvester’s every move.”

“Galfrid will tell his Curia,” I agree. “From there, I am on borrowed time.”

“Aye.”

“Although I do not see any other way,” I say. “Perhaps we can speak to Roger first.”

It would be difficult to gain a private audience with Baldric’s son, a member of the king’s Curia, once Hilla’s presence at court is known.

“Aye. Bring the princess to Galfrid, speak to Roger and decide. But remember the oath.”

As if I could forget.

Finishing his ale, the elusive Lord Orazio sits back and contemplates this turn of events.

“My lord?” One of Baldric’s many runners approaches, handing him a large package.

“Give it to him.”

I’ve seen the young man before, but his name eludes me. About to ask it, the boy shoves the package at me, bows and hurries away.

Bristling at Baldric’s laugh, I down the remainder of ale and stand.

“Your reputation precedes you, Aiken.”

“What did you tell him about me? The poor boy was terrified.”

By his dark tan belt, I can see the runner is in his very early stages of training.

Baldric smiles, his mood much improved.

“Just the truth.”

18

Hilla

Although my hands tremble as we prepare to walk through the ornate doors that lead to King Galfrid’s private solar chamber, I know how to feign calm. My father had become a spiteful, mean old man as he aged, but there was a time, when Mother was alive, that he had been tolerable. And wise. I’d learned much from him.

If only we could have taken the best of him as a leader, and father, and rid him of all the hate and bitterness. He’d have told me now to breathe deeply, ensure my shoulders are not tense, and above all, make and maintain eye contact with the king.

Which it seems I will have the opportunity to do as two footmen step forward to open the doors. Aiken, once again wearing his robes, lowers his cowl. I suppose it is good he was able to gain an audience this eve, giving me less time to think about this meeting. No matter his assurances that all will be well, the man sitting on the throne is my enemy.

The chamber’s riches are at odds with his lack of a crown. Indeed, the aging king could be any other man except he sits at the center of the others. And his bearing clearly marks him as their leader.

Both his hair, and beard, are a mixture of dark grey and white. Regal and discerning, he watches as I enter the room. Bowing, his station above mine, I wait for longer than necessary to rise.