Blood Succession (Knight Protector Book 4), page 3
It was a sight she saw all too often these days: disabled, often homeless veterans, with nowhere to go and nothing to do. She figured they’d see a lot more of them once the winter snows thawed in the North, and those who had holed up in old, abandoned homes or caves made their way home – missing fingers and toes, and maybe hands and feet from the brutal cold.
She forced herself to look away, and didn’t miss the irony of that gesture, either. It had been Agalyn’s response, as he kept on making those wounded veterans. It was the city’s response, as the slums and alleys filled with starving, desperate men who found themselves suddenly unemployable and homeless. It was too big a problem for any one person, except maybe the king, to solve. And no one seemed interested in coming together to fix it. So the city had gotten quite good at looking away.
A new sound joined the roar of the crowd: the clatter of hooves. Terese turned back to the oncoming procession. She could see the riders now, little heads high above the crowd on horseback. The gleaming armor of the foot soldiers differentiated them from the well-wishers. Her father, she saw, had spared no effort in ass kissing. He’d taken a small army with him: whatever it took to flatter the ego of this new Agalyn.
They kept coming, and the crowd continued to get louder. She could make out the forms, and then the faces. She saw her father, riding tall and proud and just far enough behind the new queen to be respectful. An unfamiliar eye might not have noticed the tension in his manner. But Crassus had been a Knight Protector before he’d been a senator. He was a politician at heart, and military man by training. And Terese knew her father well enough to see the tension in his posture, or the careful scrutiny of the crowd in his seemingly casual glances. He was taking the new queen into a vibrant urban setting. It was the kind of tactical nightmare that would keep the high protector up at night, once she was coronated, and her life was the high protector’s responsibility. But now, the job – and worries – of keeping the queen safe fell to Crassus and the contingent of soldiers. She couldn’t blame him for being on edge. She figured she’d be sweating bullets in his situation.
But her real focus fell not on her father’s familiar face, but on the queen herself. She had the standard Ignis family look: proud, aristocratic features, and green-gray eyes. The eyes, popular rumor said, were blue gray in the northern branch of the family – Queen Ilaria’s branch. But here in the South, the royal family’s gray-green eyes set them apart from other noble bloodlines.
Aria had those same eyes, and high cheekbones, a strong nose, a firm jaw, and an expression of – detachment? Aloofness? Terese couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t like it. She’d seen a similarly inclined posture to Agalyn’s head, the same upraised nose from his third and fourth and many-times removed cousins. She figured it stemmed from the same source: the Ignis family pride.
She was pretty, though, the way Agalyn had been handsome, and all the Ignis’s were beautiful in their own right. What the royal family lacked in decency and ethics, the gods had compensated in appearance and physique.
The procession was very close, now. Aria nodded now and again, robotically, like one of the automatons the military had been testing. She wasn’t thrilled to be here among her people. That much was clear. Her driver focused on the road, his eyes fixed and unwavering. Crassus flashed a half-smile toward his family, then resumed his vigil.
Terese glanced away. She felt like she’d seen enough of this vain monarch already. Her brother seemed to reach the same conclusion, because he was back to scanning their neighbors.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or weep at that. Aria’s disinterest could be explained in that she probably didn’t realize she was looking at her intended. But her brother did, and he was more interested in their neighbors.
She shook her head and glanced away, past the Brutus family who lived across the street, past the alley between their house and the Aurelius’s. Then, she froze. She’d seen something so brief she’d almost missed it: a flash of silver in the alley where the veteran had been.
She turned her gaze back. The man had vanished. But no, that wasn’t true. He’d stepped back into the shadow, where he was all but invisible to outsiders. She could only just make out a grayish form in the darkness. She didn’t know what the sudden movement had been, or what the gleam of metal indicated. Something about it set her on edge.
Something about the way he’d retreated into the darkness did too. It didn’t make sense. They’d all gathered to see the queen, and to be seen in turn. Why hide out of sight, where he’d get only a fleeting glimpse as her chariot rolled past? Why not stay out in the open, where he could crane his neck and clamor with everyone else to watch her approach as long as possible? It was ridiculous, of course. But that’s why they were out here, wasn’t it?
She watched the gray shadow. She could make out the old, faded tunic. She could make out the lighter skin of his face and arms, and the darker points where his eyes sat.
He must have felt her eyes on him, because those dark eyes turned her way now. Then, the shadow sprang into motion, like a gray blur against a black backdrop. The one-legged man ran forward, out of the shadowy alley and into the street. She saw the flash of metal again, and she understood now: the veteran brandished a gun, probably his service pistol. He was aiming at Aria.
Terese didn’t think. She didn’t consider how close the chariot was, or whether the charioteer could stop in time. She didn’t think about her father and all the soldiers – with all their guns – who might take her to be an assassin as readily as him.
Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was her old academy training kicking in when she needed it most. But whatever it was, she leaped forward.
Chapter Three – Aria
Plinius had guided them at an easy pace through the gathered multitudes. Aria had never seen so many people at once. She could scarcely believe her eyes. Everywhere, on every balcony, every roof, every street, people had turned out to see her.
They’d passed through commercial districts, and through streets lined with apartments. Now, they had reached the wealthier districts, just outside the palace and senate: the homes of the South’s noblest citizens and most prominent senators.
Senators like Crassus. His own house was on this road, and his own family had turned out to welcome her. He’d warned her of that.
Not about the house or greetings, exactly, but about a senate recommendation. “I need to tell you something, Majesty. I was advised to do otherwise. But – well, I need you to know that it was not my idea.
“Which I suppose is what I would say even if it was. But you should know in advance, at any rate.”
This, of course, had alarmed her, and she’d demanded an answer in full. The details hadn’t been quite so terrifying as his buildup had led her to believe. It had nothing to do with assassins or attempted coups by distant family members – the sort of thing the Southern court was famous for.
It was a senatorial recommendation for marriage. Her marriage, specifically. “And here is the part where I must beg you to believe me, majesty, that it was not my idea. The recommendation is for a union between yourself and – well, my son.”
She hadn’t believed him, of course. She saw his kindness to her, his interest in her welfare, even his pleas to stay and assume the throne, in a different light. At least, in the beginning.
Then, he’d said, “The reasons, the senate and your advisers will no doubt impress upon you in great detail. But the long and short of it is that King Agalyn amassed a great deal of debt – the bulk of it, to me. And my learned peers would like to see an arrangement whereby you attain a husband, I accept the loss in exchange for a grandson or granddaughter on the throne.” He said it matter-of-factly, but with a wry smile.
“It would be a considerable loss to the house of Crassus. But I cannot refuse a senatorial recommendation.
“A queen, on the other hand, can. Or, if she is so inclined, she can accept it.”
“Are you asking me to refuse it?” she’d wondered, a little skeptically.
“Not at all, majesty. I am saying – and pardon me for being indelicate – that there is benefit to me in either direction. On the one hand, my son’s children would be yours. Someday, my own blood would sit on the throne of the South. Men have gone to war for less than that, and I won’t pretend the idea doesn’t have its own kind of appeal.
“But on the other, King Agalyn – may the gods rest his soul – overextended the royal purse by a considerable amount. I am a loyal son of the South, and if the South goes to war, well, House Crassus will do our part. But it is a great deal of money. I would be lying to say that I could sleep easier knowing it wasn’t gone forever.
“So I will support you in whatever you choose to do, not only because you are my queen, but because whatever you decide will be of benefit to my house.”
She’d scrutinized him closely at that. It seemed too perfect, too polished a response to be genuine. But she’d seen no hint of a lie in his expression of tone either. “I am surprised by you, Senator.”
“I apologize if I was too blunt, Majesty.”
“Not at all. I appreciate the bluntness. But you have had my attention these last days. I have been entirely in your hands. I have not heard you say anything about your son to recommend him, though you’ve had ample opportunity.”
He’d smiled again, that same, wry expression. “The opportunity, I assure you, was not by accident. My peers in the senate are deeply troubled by the state of the royal treasury. Though I’d like to flatter myself that the honor of escorting you was awarded to me on the basis of some kind of merit, I’m quite certain it is not the case. I’m quite certain I was given the assignment as a means of selling you on the idea.”
“You are not a very persuasive salesman.”
“I am, Majesty. But I have to be trying to sell something. And, I am not.
“Do not mistake me. I am as proud of my son as any father can be. But I believe I can truly say, beyond paternal affection, that he would make a woman a very good match. He is, perhaps, a little indolent, as the youth of today – present company excluded, I’m sure – are wont to be. But he is not vain, or jealous, or cruel. He is loyal, and trustworthy – and intelligent, when he chooses to exercise his wit.”
She’d laughed at that, and he’d shrugged. “He is a young man, and all young men are fools at times. And having been one myself – too many years ago, now – I feel no compunction in saying so.
“But my point is that I am not trying to persuade you, one way or the other. Do what you feel is right for you, Majesty, and you will have my full support. Whatever you choose.”
It had all sounded very pretty, and Aria had found herself coming dangerously close to believing him. But she’d heard too many stories about the treachery of court politics to trust anyone completely. So when Crassus had leaned over and pointed out his own domus and his family, she’d nodded and stolen a glance. She saw three people: an older woman, with fine, fair features; a younger one, with dark hair and dark eyes, who looked rather like her father, but with skin a few tones darker; and a young man, who looked as much a blend of Crassus and the older woman as any person can. They would be Priscilla, Crassus’s wife, Terese, his daughter from a prior relationship, and Augustus, the young man the senate wanted her to marry.
She glanced away as quickly as she’d first looked, refusing to make eye contact with any of them. She didn’t know what she was going to do. She didn’t know if she was even going to remain on the throne. She didn’t like the idea of being boxed into a marriage with someone she didn’t know, but she had no idea of how great a fortune Agalyn had squandered, either. She didn’t know if she would have any choice at all in the matter.
But until she did know, she wouldn’t be seen to encourage the notion. She didn’t want to give life to rumors, or to establish any kind of hopes with the young man – or his father, if his benevolent disinterest hadn’t been quite as impartial as he’d let on.
So she was staring off doggedly into the horizon when a flash of motion caught her eye. At the same time, Plinius drew the horses to the side sharply and slowed their pace equally as quickly.
She caught her balance on the side of the chariot. At the same time, she heard someone yell, “Gun!” Then everyone was shouting all at once.
Plinius had drawn the horses to a halt, but he spun and threw himself over her even as Crassus dug his heels into his mount’s side and put himself between the chariot and the blur of motion.
It all happened in the blink of an eye. But they moved a second too late – a second after the danger had already passed.
A man with a wooden leg had sprang out of the shadows, brandishing a weapon – some kind of laser pistol by the look of it. She wasn’t very familiar with guns, but it was a handgun, and it didn’t have the cylinders of an old-style revolver. As far as she knew, that left only laser pistols, like soldiers used.
Then the dark-haired woman she’d identified as Terese tackled the man with the gun. She’d moved like a bolt of lightning, covering the distance in the blink of an eye. She grabbed the man’s gun arm, and twisted it back at a sharp, horrifying angle. Aria had heard bones snapping, and the man crying out in pain.
Then Plinius and Crassus had moved between her and the pair. It took a few seconds longer for her to extricate herself from the driver, whose job apparently also involved using himself as a human shield when danger presented itself.
She’d told him to release her once and he hadn’t listened. With the second time, though, he started to comply.
Then a shot rang out, and the whole business started all over again: shouting, human shields, all of it. The crowd screamed and the horses stamped uneasily.
By time she pulled herself away, the man with the gun was dead. Augustus Crassus stood, a still smoking revolver in hand.
Priscilla Cassia stood by Terese. She seemed to have pulled the younger woman off the dead man, presumably when he’d still been alive. She was pale and shaking. So was Terese, but her trembling seemed borne of anger rather than fear. She was glaring daggers at her brother. “He was disarmed, Augustus. He was down.”
Priscilla swatted her daughter’s arm. “He would have killed you. Augustus saved your life, Terese, and the queen’s.”
Aria didn’t hear any more after that. Crassus had knelt by the would-be shooter, confirming that he was dead. Now, he returned to his mount. “We need to go,” he told her. “We need to get you to the palace.”
He shouted a few orders to one of his men, and Plinius had resumed the reins, moving them at a breakneck speed through the city streets. Aria glanced over her shoulder. The scene behind them was chaos. A few soldiers remained behind to deal with the body, but the residents scrambled this way and that in terror. Priscilla looked like she might faint. Her son and daughter supported her. They looked like they were still arguing.
Then people stepped between her and them, obscuring her view. The city streets clattered on, and buildings whipped past. The Forum looked like a great, marble blur on her right.
She got a better glimpse of the palace, if only because of its enormity. It sat at the top of the great hill around which the city was built, and it sprawled for long city blocks in every direction. It had been built in levels, with the royal residence at the top of the hill. Below it, connected by stairs – some open-air and some closed – were other levels. Great dining rooms, guest accommodations, ballrooms and rooms of state had been built into hillside. Rivers had been constructed to flow alongside the open-air stairs, and gardens and theaters filled the spaces between. She could see colorful mosaics and glistening pools, marble statuary and rows upon rows of great pillars. It was large enough to be a city in its own right, not just the center of one.
She might have appreciated the beauty and majesty more, if not for the fact that her pulse raced and her heart thundered in her chest. She’d barely reached the city, and already someone had tried to murder her. What was this place? What manner of hell had she been condemned to?
They followed a winding paved road up the hillside, past the lower levels of the palace until they reached a courtyard about midway up. Crassus dismounted, and offered her a hand. He was all solicitude. He checked and rechecked that no shot had come near her, and that she was alright.
She answered numbly, assuring him that she was. “Plinius would have been shot before me. And you.”
Crassus nodded. “As it should be, Majesty.” Then, he called for the same women who had brought brandy the first time. They repeated the service.
She drank, and servants came and went. Crassus urged them to wait a minute, while she finished her drink. She was glad of that. She needed something to fortify her. She felt lightheaded and terrified, shaky and wobbly.
“Your children,” she said in a minute. “They saved my life.”
He nodded. “I suppose they did.”
“Why would anyone want to kill me? I’ve only just got here. Why would they hate me enough to kill me?”
“It’s not you they want to kill, Majesty. It’s not you they hate. That man – whatever his reasons, they had nothing at all to do with you.
“But this country, this city – there’s a good deal of pain. A good deal of anger, and a good many people who…well, I should not speak ill of the dead.”
