Magister Conrad of Spiren arrived before the Evening Office with imperial seals, dry boots, and no expression that could be ransomed. He had been waiting two valleys away.
The castle received him as it had not received Rydric. Men ran. Rushes were swept from the lower hall and replaced with cleaner ones stolen from somewhere less important. A better cloth was thrown over the table. Two candles appeared where one had sufficed for a king. Dame Hedwig’s veil was changed. Captain Ortwin put on a surcoat that had been brushed but not mended at the hem. Brother Mathis stood near the table with his tablet ready and the look of a man who had discovered that conscience preferred company when promotion might be near.
Conrad was neither old nor young. He had a long scholar’s face, pale eyes, and a mouth trained to deny fatigue. His cloak was dark wool lined with grey fur. At his belt hung a seal case, a knife too small for battle, and a purse that did not clink. A clerk followed him with a leather packet wrapped in waxed cloth. Another carried a narrow box for sand, spare quills, and a little brazier for softening seals.
He bowed to Rydric deeply enough to satisfy forms and not one hair farther.
“Your Grace.”
Rydric, brought down under guard with Baudren at his side, looked at the candles. “I see the empire affords better light to clerks than kings.”
Conrad inclined his head. “Clerks must read, sire.”
“Kings must see.”
“Then we are allied in need.”
Baudren murmured, “Beware, he answers.”
Rydric looked him over. “Magister?”
“Conrad of Spiren, clerk to the imperial chamber, servant of Emperor Heinrek, presently instructed to receive, order, and transmit the persons and instruments held in Durnstain under ducal warrant.”
“Receive,” Rydric repeated. “Order. Transmit. I have been moved by worse verbs.”
“They have carried many men farther than horses.”
Nasir, standing under guard near the wall, watched Conrad with a face gone harmless to the point of danger. Khalaf stood beside him, satchel against his chest. Zeid had been brought from the lower passage despite Alianor’s protest. He stood with Yasin on one side and Fadl on the other, wrapped in the plain cloak, face composed, breath shallower than it should have been. Rafiq was still absent.
Alianor stood with Sivelle near Dame Hedwig. She had asked to attend and been refused. Then she had asked Dame Hedwig whether refusal would be recorded as denial of a pledged party’s right to witness her own status, and Dame Hedwig had looked at her for a long moment before saying she was learning too quickly.
Now she stepped forward before Conrad could begin reading.
“Magister.”
Conrad turned to her with the courtesy of a man opening a smaller packet after a larger one. “Princess Alianor.”
“You have my name correctly. That is a beginning.”
“I prefer beginnings with proper titles.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Then write this one properly: I protest the custody of King Rydric Aldren, returning from vowed eastern war; Prince Zeid al-Seylim, envoy of Al-Marwiyah under letters of credential; his household named in treaty rolls; and myself, princess of Esberia and pledged party to the sealed agreement now being used as accusation.”
Brother Mathis’s pen moved. Conrad lifted one finger. His clerk began writing instead.
“You are free to submit protest,” Conrad said.
“I am not free.”
“No,” he said. “But you are able.”
It was a small cruelty because it was true.
Alianor continued. “Masud ibn Fadl, guard of Prince Zeid, was slain at Wenen under colour of seizure. His name is to be preserved. Rafiq of Zeid’s household is not castle property, nor ducal prize, nor assignable servant. He is named among the prince’s attendants.”
Conrad looked to Ortwin.
Ortwin said, “Local inventory is provisional.”
“Provisional things have a habit of becoming graves,” Khalaf said.
Nasir’s hand closed lightly around his sleeve.
Conrad’s eyes moved to the young clerk. “Name?”
Khalaf stiffened. “Khalaf ibn Nadir, clerk in the service of Prince Zeid al-Seylim.”
“Ah,” Conrad said. “A colleague.”
Khalaf looked as if he had been offered spoiled meat.
Alianor said, “Valcierran language appears in the charges. Valcierran interest fattens while my father is held. Princess Aelis’s portion, the Veysin March, Pont-du-Roy, Lower Sauvre—these matters are not born in Osterven.”
Rydric’s head turned.
“Alianor.”
She did not look at him. “I do not accuse King Felrian of command. I say his claims sit at this table though his body does not.”
Conrad’s face gave nothing.
“The imperial chamber is aware of claims touching many crowns, marches, dowries, and roads,” he said.
“Then it should also be aware that greed dresses well when given a churchman.”
Brother Mathis’s mouth tightened.
Conrad took the insult as one might note weather on a travel account. “The matter is not ripe for judgment.”
“It is ripe enough for chains.”
Rydric’s eyes warmed despite himself. Baudren looked briefly proud as well.
Conrad accepted the sealed packet from his clerk and broke the outer wax.
“By order of Emperor Heinrek, guardian of imperial roads, judge of disputes arising under crown, church, oath, charter, and safe-conduct within imperial reach, the persons presently held at Durnstain under ducal warrant shall be transferred to Triwels Rock for direct imperial review.”
No one spoke.
Rain tapped against the shutters.
Conrad read on. “The persons include Rydric Aldren, king of Esberia—”
Baudren’s shoulders loosened by a hair. He had been waiting for a lesser word.
“—Alianor Aldren, princess of Esberia, subject to protective honourable lodging pending ecclesiastical inquiry; Zeid al-Seylim, eastern prince, status as envoy, pledge, hostage, or foreign detainee not yet resolved; Nasir al-Jamil, interpreter; Khalaf ibn Nadir, clerk; surviving armed foreign men of the eastern household; Father Aldemar and such western attendants as are deemed material witnesses; and all sealed instruments, copies, witness notes, letters of credential, household rolls, and disputed inventories.”
Zeid’s voice came quietly. “Where is Rafiq named?”
Conrad looked down the page.
“Eunuch-attendant has to be determined separately.”
“Separately?” Zeid asked.
“Pending valuation and assignment of custody.”
The words entered the room cleanly and left dirt everywhere.
Alianor saw Zeid’s stillness become absolute.
Rydric said, “You price men now?”
Conrad folded the parchment along its crease. “Sire, courts price everything. Even kings. Especially kings. The question is whether the price is called ransom, indemnity, surety, compensation, or sin-offering.”
Zeid took one step forward. Yasin moved with him; Fadl did the same, and two guards lowered spear points. Yasin’s hand went to the empty place where his knife should have been.
“I require my attendant,” Zeid said.
“Your requirement is noted.”
“My father’s treaty names him.”
“The treaty rolls are among the instruments to be reviewed.”
“He is not an instrument.”
Conrad looked at him then, and for the first time something like interest touched his face. “Highness, in imperial custody, men are very often found attached to instruments.”
Alianor felt Sivelle move beside her, not forward, only enough to be ready if Alianor’s temper broke loose.
Conrad rolled the order again. “Transfer begins at first light. Until then, existing custody remains. Protests may be submitted under seal. They will travel with the file.”
Nasir cursed softly in Jaludi.
Zeid answered in the same tongue, so low Alianor barely heard it.
Conrad heard the language but did not ask. Men like him did not need to understand every word to know when grief had become evidence.