Scrivener’s Tale. Fiona McIntosh
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‘I can go without if necessary.’
‘Nothing doing. Just don’t eat the pigeon pie if it’s on.’
‘Why?’
‘You don’t want to know,’ Fynch said archly. He slid off his horse and walked it to the stream they’d been following for several miles. Cassien followed suit. It was a lonely road and they’d met few other travellers, certainly none in the last few hours.
He leaned against his horse as it quenched its thirst, and became aware of the new weaponry perched around his body. It was hard to credit how comfortable it felt — as though it had always been there or had been moulded to him. He blinked, realising another aspect about the weapons as he watched Fynch dig out an apple and feed it to his mount.
‘Have you noticed that Wevyr’s weapons make no noise?’
‘I wondered how long that would take,’ Fynch replied absently.
‘How can metal at my side make no noise?’
‘Ask Wevyr.’
‘Doesn’t it intrigue you?’
Fynch changed subjects. ‘You’ll need to push yourself to mix with people. Stoneheart is like a small city within the larger one of Pearlis. The palace is going to challenge you in ways you can’t imagine and one of the most simple and yet perhaps most daunting hurdles will be feeling comfortable around the endless movement. Stoneheart never sleeps. There are always people working.’
‘I’m sure I’ll manage.’
‘You have to do more than manage, son. I am asking you to infiltrate the life of a queen. It is a tricky task and the politics surrounding her will make you dizzy.’
Cassien nodded. ‘It doesn’t matter about me. What matters is her life. I’m being sent in to keep her safe.’
‘Well said.’
‘Tell me, what does the queen think of this notion of a complete stranger walking into her life and shadowing her every move?’
‘I don’t think she minds the notion yet.’
‘Yet?’
Fynch shrugged. ‘I don’t think she minds just yet because she doesn’t know you’re coming,’ he explained.
‘Shar’s wrath!’
The older man scratched genially at the close beard that made him look as though he’d been dusted with flour. ‘Florentyna will see reason, I’m sure of it.’
‘Reason,’ Cassien murmured, shaking his head. ‘What reason should I go with? A demon is coming to kill you, your majesty, and this man you see before you who, by the way, has just walked out of the woods, is here to keep you safe?’
‘Sarcasm is a cheap form of attack, Cassien, or didn’t Brother Josse teach you that?’ Fynch chided. ‘You must trust me. I think Florentyna does. I just don’t think most of the people around her do.’
‘Who else trusts you? Knows about this?’
‘Two others.’
‘And you trust them?’
He nodded and his expression became as sombre as Cassien could remember. ‘We should keep riding.’ He led his horse back to the road and Cassien followed, easily catching the apple that Fynch tossed over his shoulder for Cassien’s horse.
‘I have entrusted only one man with the information you now know. He is from the court, one of the most senior noblemen and a close advisor to the queen. He was, to some extent, like a father to her after she lost her own.’
‘That’s a relief. I’ll likely need some allies in the palace.’
‘He’s not in the palace, I’m afraid … not any longer.’
‘So how does he help us?’
‘He helps by observing someone.’
‘Master Fynch,’ Cassien said, pausing, ‘I’m going to have to ask you to be clearer. You were specific when you wanted me to leave the forest with you and yet you fall back on being vague now.’
Fynch stared at him thoughtfully. ‘You’re right. But what I have to say you will find hard to believe.’
‘Are you sure?’ he said, a tone of scepticism creeping into his voice. He heard it and tempered it, schooling his tone to be respectful. ‘Given what I’ve already had to accept perhaps you will allow me to be the best judge of what I find credible.’
Fynch nodded and began slowly. ‘Someone I think of as my friend and who was a close counsel to the queen, though astonished by my story, agreed to humour me and introduce me to the sovereign so I could bring her my warnings directly. The queen, though attentive, was dissuaded by her sister, Darcelle, who wields considerable influence.’
Cassien’s gaze narrowed. ‘Hmm, that does change the complexion of this situation.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did Florentyna go along with her sister’s decision if she trusts you?’
‘Believing she trusts me is probably stretching the truth,’ Fynch admitted. When Cassien’s mouth tightened, he hurried on. ‘But she listened without scorn. However, without the close counsel of my ally in her presence — his name was Chancellor Reynard by the way — she was persuaded by the others. Her sister believes I am some sort of mad old fellow who has been chewing the dreamleaf or is in his cups.’ Fynch stopped his horse and whispered something to it before he climbed into the saddle.
Quietly, Cassien followed suit.
‘You see, Cassien, Queen Florentyna has no idea who I am. She likes me, humours me, perhaps because I’m old, more likely as someone who once knew her father.’
‘Why haven’t you told her the truth?’
‘You admit the only reason you believe me, trust me, is because of a wolf and because I know about your magical roaming. Do you really think a modern young queen — an empress, in fact — such as Florentyna is going to believe in magic?’
‘Have you asked her?’
‘I didn’t dare.’
‘Well, surely —’
‘And Chancellor Reynard assured me it would be dangerous to permit such talk around the palace. Too many ears. It plays right into the hands of Cyricus. We don’t know who our enemies are.’
‘Why did Reynard trust you, then?’
Fynch shrugged. ‘He comes from a line of courtiers — advisors to the Crown. His great-grandfather — a Briavellian, I think — was an old, old friend of King Valor, Valentyna’s father. So Empress Valentyna brought him to her court and enjoyed his counsel. The Reynards have enjoyed royal favour ever since … I suppose I was able to tell him things about his grandfather, for I remember his grandfather as a very young lad and I was not much older than him. I had followed Wyl Thirsk to the Briavellian palace … I won’t go into it.
‘Anyway, we met briefly and talked as lads do. I needed help at the time and all I had as currency was a small token my mother had given me. She had carved her and my initials into a disc of wood that she’d polished and varnished.’ He shrugged at Cassien. ‘We were very poor, you understand. I showed Reynard’s great-grandfather that disc and he liked it. So I snapped it in half and gave him one of the halves, which contained my initial.’
‘What did you exchange?’ Cassien asked.
Fynch smiled. ‘Food for my companion — a dog called Knave. Anyway, I was relating this story to Reynard in the hope that it would convince him that I knew his family. But he did better than I’d hoped. Reynard produced the half-disc. It was a valueless trinket that had been passed down but he had always loved it.’ Again Fynch shrugged. ‘I could have wept to see