Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(81)
These days, though, it seemed events were moving too fast, spiraling out of control. These days, his plans seemed slapdash and reactive. But he had to try.
Destin found Queen Marina on the terrace with the princess Madeleine and a handful of her most trusted ladies—the survivors from among those who had come with her from Tamron when she’d married King Gerard. Whenever Gerard had wanted to punish Marina for some particularly grievous sin, one of her ladies-in-waiting would disappear, to be replaced by a Montaigne loyalist. It was heartbreaking to watch Marina become more and more isolated.
Until Destin was put in charge of the disappearing. He stashed the ladies in a temple in Tamron, and they’d gradually returned to their queen since the king’s death.
The queen spent much of her time on the terrace, or in the gardens—places where there was less risk of eavesdroppers. It was something she’d learned from Gerard. It was a good thing she lived in a warm climate.
When she saw Destin, Marina lit up, rising in a rustle of satin and extending her hand for kissing. “Look, Madeleine,” she said. “It’s Cousin Destin.”
Madeleine charged at Destin and threw her arms around him. The princess was nine years old going on twenty-five. It was no wonder—she’d seen too much in her brief life that was unsuitable for children. Or anyone.
When the general had dragged Destin back to Ardenscourt, Marina had welcomed him into her small circle of hurt. She would tend his wounds, both physical and emotional, and he did his best to reciprocate, by sharing information and commiseration. By putting as many weapons into her hands as he could.
“Please. Sit,” the queen said, waving him to a bench. Destin sat, and Madeleine squeezed in beside him. Marina motioned to two of her ladies, who immediately picked up their basilkas and began to play loudly enough to cover the conversation in case anyone was listening.
The queen was dressed in black and purple, as was her custom these days.
“Mourning suits you, Your Majesty,” Destin said. And it did—she looked happier and healthier than he’d ever seen her. The colors she’d chosen set off her raven curls and Tamric complexion.
Marina lifted her skirts and kicked out her feet, exposing bright-red shoes. “I chose these colors in memory of Gerard—to remind me of all the bruises I received at his hands. I don’t want to forget that there are worse things than being a young widow.”
Destin laughed. “Things can always get worse, but every now and then they get better.”
“Maybe,” Marina said, her smile fading. “We’ll see. I think Gerard should have died sooner, when Jarat was younger and I had more influence over him.”
Destin slid a look at the queen. He’d long suspected that Marina knew more about the king’s tragic end than she let on. If she did, she had not shared it with him. While they exchanged information, they each had secrets they kept close.
“Speaking of King Jarat,” Destin said, “what news of the young hawk?” He and the queen often played at pretty speech when discussing the ugliness at court.
Madeleine leaned toward him. “My brother has been drinking all afternoon with Charles and Georges and Luc.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re disgusting.”
Charles and Georges Barbeau and Luc Granger were members of a group of young lordlings—what the young king called his “privy council.” Emphasis on privy. Most were in their early twenties, and so a few years older than Jarat (and Destin, for that matter). They were the sons of thane loyalists, and were minor bannermen, with a lot to gain from a relationship with the king. None were tainted by a history with King Gerard, nor were they spoiled by wisdom or experience—or common sense. They were more than happy to take the young king under their tutelage in the study of drinking, hunting, dicing, wenching, and swordplay.
“I’ve told you to stay away from them,” Marina said. “It’s not suitable conversation and company for a young lady.”
“How else am I supposed to find out anything?” Madeleine said. “Jarat was bragging that he’s going to marry a northern princess.”
It took Destin a moment to process that. “Really? Does he have one picked out?”
Madeleine shrugged. “There’s only one left, isn’t there? They were talking about all the women they’d had, and would have. Jarat said Father never bedded a wolf, but he would, and even a wolf could be tamed with the proper—”
“Madeleine!” Marina scowled at her daughter and thrust out her hand. Madeleine sighed deeply, dug in her tiny purse, pulled out a copper, and dropped it into her mother’s hand.
“What’s the copper for, Your Highness?” Destin said to Madeleine.
“Mama is trying to teach me dis . . .” She frowned and looked at Marina.
“Discretion, darling,” Marina said.
“Whenever I’m . . . indiscreet, I have to pay Mama a copper.”
Destin reached behind Madeleine’s ear and pretended to pull out a silver. He handed it to her and said, “You were saying?”
Mother and daughter both laughed.
“I think it was just Jarat bragging like he always does,” Madeleine said, tucking away the silver.
I hope so, Destin thought, recalling what Matelon had said about the northern queen. “If your brother means to marry a wolf, you should tell him that wolves eat hawks for dinner,” he said.