The Garden at Dusk
She seemed to lack even the strength to be difficult. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought her after all. Barcas gazed down at her gaunt face with worried eyes, then stepped out of the carriage.
Bright sunlight poured over their heads like a sudden downpour. A faint crease appeared on her pale brow, whether from the glare or not. He shielded her eyes with the hem of his coat and strode straight through the castle gates. Hundreds of curious gazes flew toward them. Tension coiled suddenly along his spine.
He was long accustomed to living beneath countless eyes, yet the glances stealing toward the woman cradled in his arms refused to leave him unmoved.
“The Duchess appears unwell, my lord.”
The captain of the guard who had hurried after them to serve as guide murmured with sympathy, his eyes lingering on her tangled hair and the ivory curve of her cheek. Barcas answered coolly.
“Show me to the bedchamber first.”
“Of course, my lord. This way, if you please. Sir Temuran instructed us to attend the Duke with the utmost care.”
The man tore his gaze from her and took the lead. Barcas followed him up the stairs into a hushed hall and dim corridor that reminded him of a monastery.
“You may use this room.”
The man crossed what appeared to be a reception chamber and pushed open a door banded with iron. Barcas stepped inside and surveyed the tidy furnishings. The bedchamber was modest yet far from shabby; it would serve for a few days. Satisfied, he laid her gently upon the bed.
Thalia had already fallen asleep again. Perhaps the sedative the healer had given her had not yet worn off. While he watched her, still unable to rouse herself, the captain lingered uneasily by the door.
Barcas’s voice was sharp. “What is it?”
“Forgive me, my lord, but Sir Temuran requests an immediate audience. Would you be so good as to come to the reception room at once?”
Barcas frowned. Custom dictated that a guest who had traveled far be offered rest first. Either Temuran was a boor who knew nothing of courtesy, or the matter was urgent enough to override it.
After a searching glance, Barcas gave a curt nod. “Very well. Lead on.”
The captain’s tense face relaxed into relief. He dispatched a waiting subordinate to summon a healer, then hurried after Barcas without delay.
They soon reached a grand chamber lit by many lamps. Barcas crossed an intricately patterned carpet and approached a heavy oak table. Behind it, an elderly knight rose at once to greet him.
“Thank you for coming, Your Grace.”
The old knight’s pallor suggested his illness was no pretense. Barcas studied him in silence before taking a seat. The knight sat opposite and spoke at once, urgency in his voice.
“I beg you to forgive this breach of etiquette. As you see, my health is poor; I may collapse at any moment. I wished to speak with you while my mind was still clear, and so I presumed to hasten Your Grace’s steps. A hundred apologies cannot suffice—”
“Enough preamble. Tell me why you summoned me.”
Barcas cut the lengthy apology short. The old knight wiped the sweat from his brow, glanced nervously at his guest, and finally spoke.
“In truth… there is one matter I wished to ask about.”
He extended a hand toward the attendant standing behind him. The silent young man placed a parchment document in his palm. The knight unfolded it, his voice tight with tension.
“Not long ago I received word that the Heimdall family has begun summoning warriors from the north. Is it true that Crown Prince Gareth stands behind them?”
Barcas accepted the document and read it slowly. It appeared to be intelligence passed along by merchants traveling between north and east. The anonymous report detailed the movements of northern nobles and numerous sightings of imperial knights in Amasek.
He tapped the table lightly as he finished the final lines. The old knight pressed on anxiously.
“Recently there have been rumors of marriage talks between the First Princess and the Heimdall heir. I wondered whether Your Grace was aware of these developments…”
“Precisely what do you wish to know?”
Barcas set the parchment aside and asked directly. The old knight moistened his lips, his face taut, and at last came to the point.
“I wish to hear Your Grace’s exact position. On which side do we stand?”
Barcas did not answer at once. He simply regarded the man in silence. Unable to bear the pause, the old knight rushed on.
“There are whispers that Your Grace’s marriage may turn the east toward neutrality or even toward the Empress. Meanwhile, Crown Prince Gareth has begun forging closer ties with the north. Some fear the empire may be on the verge of splitting apart.”
Barcas gave a short laugh. Only a few months had passed since his broken engagement and subsequent marriage, yet everyone had been busy indeed.
Leaning back in his chair, he picked up the parchment and held it over the candle flame on the table. The yellowed document curled and blackened in an instant, sending up dark smoke. He watched it burn for a moment, then turned his gaze back to the old knight and spoke with finality.
“Nothing has changed. The east supports Gareth Roem Guerta.”
“Then why has the Crown Prince turned toward the north—”
“He is merely trying to restore the dignity of the sister whose face was ground into the dirt by a disloyal vassal. How many houses in this empire can compare with the Siarkan family?”
Even after the firm declaration, doubt lingered on the knight’s face. Barcas exhaled a weary sigh.
“I understand your concerns, given your proximity to the north, but you seem overly anxious. At most, these are only rumors.”
“Does Your Grace still stand with the Crown Prince?”
“I do. The Siarkan family will not oppose him.”
Only then did relief soften the old knight’s features.
“Thank you for answering so plainly. With Your Grace’s assurance, I may finally set my mind at ease.”
“I am glad to have helped.”
Barcas rose with crisp precision. The old knight followed suit, but Barcas stayed him with a light gesture and left the reception room without further ceremony.
Dusk had already settled over the corridor. He followed the deepening shadows, his thoughts moving quickly. Gareth’s impulsive action was hardly surprising. The man was suspicious by nature; even Barcas’s assurance would not have satisfied him. Reaching out to the north to build an independent power base had been within the realm of expectation. What warranted caution was how swiftly the rumors had spread.
…It seems the Empress’s influence has begun to reach even the east.
Otherwise, news of the Crown Prince’s movements would not have traveled so far in so short a time. That woman had not abandoned her plan to drive a wedge between Gareth and himself.
Barcas rubbed his jaw and turned toward a window. Gray clouds gathered in the sky, hinting at rain. Weeds choked the flowerbeds, and twilight lay thick along the paths.
He surveyed the bleak scene without interest, then stopped abruptly. The woman he had laid upon the bed was wandering the garden alone, without a single attendant.