Thrand (Part Seven)

 

“My Lady,” he rumbled, bowing his head until his greying beard almost swept the floor, right fist clenched over his heart. “The kingdom mourns, and I mourn with your sorrow.” He straightened himself, but his fist remained on his chest. “Taryn was a great king,” he proclaimed.

“I thank you, High Justice.” Innia inclined her head slightly, and the princes performed a curt, almost military bow with such energy and promptness that Thrand was startled. He looked slowly back and forth between them a few seconds before going on.

“My people will be coming soon to take the Crown Helm to the Courts, my Lady. Until it has been decided – until I have decided – who will be the next King.”

“So I have been informed, thank you.” Her voice was studiedly neutral, but Thrand thought he could sense a tinge of resentment behind her words. He shrugged inside. Well, in for a penny. At least she couldn’t say later that she was never warned.

“And speaking of crowns, my Lady, you may wish to remove yours. And the Princes their circlets.”

Innia’s eyes flashed and frowned behind her mourning veil, and Prince Trallin took a half-step forward, hand straying to the hilt of his dagger. The old Morg ignored him.

“I say this for your own good, Ma’am. In this kingdom, it is the tradition that after a king passes, any station his family had in the kingdom passes with him, and their marks of honor are removed as a matter of mourning. I do not know if your heralds, in your time of grief, have had the occasion to inform you of this matter of protocol.”

“I see.” She seemed to swallow back some anger – or was it fear? “And are any other of my honors to be taken from me?”

“No at all,” he hastened to reassure her. “All that was Taryn’s, his house and his estates, are yours.” Thrand’s face hardened. “But his royalty is not.”

The lady drew herself up stiffly.

“You forget I was a princess in Metarlin before I came here.”

“That’s all very fine … in Metarlin. Here, it means very little.” The Morg looked at her, not without compassion. “You wear a crown now and you will appear insensitive, or ignorant, or worse, presumptuous.”

That seemed to deflate her a little.

“And the Princes?”

“Are still princes, though that means very little politically.” Thrand decided to throw them a bone of hope. “Of course, they may be in the running for the next king. The gratitude and feeling for Taryn is still very high. However, if they are seen to flout customs …” He let the thought hang in the air. “It might be held as a strike against them.”

“I see.” The erstwhile Queen bowed her head in thought, then slowly reached up and removed the crown from her head and set it in her lap. For a moment she contemplated it, glistening gold in her lap. Then she spoke quietly.

“Varnik, summon my handmaids to return this to my chambers. And you two had best send your circlets as well. For now.” She smiled bleakly. “We would not wish to give anyone the wrong idea. And leave word with the heralds that we shall see no-one else until we call. Until we are once more … presentable.” She turned to Thrand.

“We thank you again, High Justice, for your counsel and your concern. Is there aught we can do for you before you must leave us?”

He heard the dismissal in her voice.

“No, there is nothing else. But if you could direct me to a more private way out of the palace? No doubt I shall soon be harangued by those eager to be put forth as candidates for the throne, and I would have peace for a while yet.”

“But of course.” She pointed. “If you take that door, you will be directed to the King’s Exit.” She smiled bleakly. “There are only about a hundred people who know its place of egress, and very few of them are likely to have pretensions to be king.”

Innia and Trallin watched silently as Prince Varnik escorted the Morg judge to the door and gave instructions to the Queen’s maid waiting there. Only when Varnik had returned and they were assured that Thrand was really gone did Trallin finally burst out into quiet rage.

“That old blackguard! How dare he not show Mother the respect she deserves? He talked to you as if you were some slack-jawed serving wench! And to take our crowns!”

“I for one am glad of that,” said Varnik. He casually removed his silver coronet, revealing a ring of compressed black hair circling his head. “It never did set right for me.”

“And what of Mother, then?”

“Peace, Trallin.”  She slowly drew up the hood of her black cloak and covered the thin white hair of her head. She glanced down to where the Witnesses still held vigil over Taryn’s body. “We must honor these ways if you are ever to sit on your father’s throne. High Justice Thrand will be a very important voice in that decision. And they will want a Peace King, for now.”

“But it’s not really Father’s throne anymore, is it?” said Varnik. Trallin shot him a venomous look. “Not according to the Law, anyway.” He shrugged. “I don’t really care who the next King is; I know it won’t be me, at any rate.”

Innia’s voice sank low, pitched so that only her sons could hear it.

“There is something even stronger than Law, my princes, and that is Custom. Your father was indeed beloved, by Morg and Man alike. Once let Trallin establish himself on the Throne and rule for a few decades, and it will seem only right that the House of Taryn must continue. But the first step is to get Trallin there. We shall consider who will present his case to the High Justice to its best advantage.”

Varnik looked down on the cold catafalque where his father lay. He sighed.

“Nevertheless, I wish all this protocol would let me go down and take his hand one more time.”

“Why?” Trallin almost sneered. Varnik always had been the weak one. “Want dear old Daddy to comfort you again?”

“No, I’d like to comfort him,” Varnik confessed quietly. “Wherever he is, I feel it must be cold and lonely.” He looked at his brother. “It sure does seem so here.”