heard him approach. "According to present information,
Durendal murdered him. I find that a little hard
to swallow."
"And who succeeds?" she asked, knowing the
answer.
"You know who."
No! Ambrose was trying to mess up her
life again, just by dying, and she would not allow it.
"Chivial won't accept a queen regnant.
It tried two and they were both miserable
failures."
"You'll be different."
"In what way?"
"First, he's left you a land prosperous and at
peace. Second, you're supremely well
qualified. You've had practice. The witan
say the country's much better run when I leave
you in charge than when I'm around to do it myself."
"That's nonsense!"
"And third," Radgar continued, unruffled, "the
House of Ranulf has fallen on hard times.
There really isn't anyone else. Everyone
expects you. They're reconciled to it."
"You put it nicely." But she knew Radgar
always had his own sources of information and
drew his own conclusions. He would have made it his
business to keep track of Chivian affairs.
"And if I refuse?"
"No one seems to know. More women, I think.
I may even be the closest male. I suppose
the real answer is "civil war.""
She spun around to face him. "No!
Baelmark is my home now. I am not
qualified. I have a family to care for here, quite
apart from the orphanages, the hospices, arts
schools, and a dozen other important projects
that will all crash into immobility if I take my
eyes off them."
Radgar grinned. She had not presented a very
convincing argument.
"Oh, they may put the crown on me," she
said, "but there'll be all sorts of people lurking around
trying to take it away from me."
Radgar laughed aloud.
"What is so fiery funny?" she barked.
"I know you too well, Malinda! If they
try that sort of game with you, you'll turn the world
upside down and shake them off before you admit
defeat."
"Burn you!" she said. And burn that old
blackguard Ambrose for dying at such an
inconvenient time. A couple of years from now, when
... Ha! She was overlooking something and
apparently Radgar was, too. He had been
hiding over there. ... She turned more toward the
draperies on the other side. "I shall refuse the
throne on behalf of myself and my descendants
forever!"
Young Sigfrith's eyes stretched wide with
astonishment, but she saw movement in the shadows.
Sure enough, Aethelgar stepped forth--slim,
subtle, and sardonic.
"My sympathies on your bereavement, Mother."
Radgar scowled, but he should have guessed that their
eldest son would know what was going on. Eels were
brambles compared to Aethelgar. On the other hand, there
was no use shouting for Fyrbeorn--he would be off
fighting, hunting, or seducing; politics were not
his sport. To Aethelgar there could be no other
sport. As a child he had ruled the rat pack of
Catterstow. He had thought to have himself painted as a
Chivian gentleman, expecting that King
Ambrose would see those portraits and perhaps
display them to Parliament.
"Have you something to contribute to this
discussion?" Malinda demanded.
He displayed the cryptic, conspiratorial
smile that Thomas of Flaskbury had captured
so surely. "I'm a thegn now. I won't be
bound by your renunciation."
"And I'm still king," his father growled. "You'll be
bound what I tell you to be bound by."
They scratched like blade and grindstone, those
two. Malinda intervened.
"All right, Radgar Aeleding! What solution
will you impose?"
"I impose nothing on you," Radgar said
softly, "as you very well know, my lady. But I
have always believed that royal blood brought royal
duty. Can you in good conscience let your homeland
collapse into chaos just because you're too busy
to bother?"
She shrugged angrily. "I have enough to do here."
For the first time a ripple of worry disturbed
Aethelgar's serene confidence. "Any
sword-wielding thug can make a try for the throne
of Baelmark, Mother, but Chivial goes
by primogeniture. Even if you bar me from putting
in my claim now, my sons and sons' sons will
always be a threat to them." He had worked that out years
ago.
So had Radgar. He sighed. "I'm afraid
he's right. Spirits help Chivial! If you turn
Snakeblood."
But Snakeblood wasn't old enough yet.
Aethelgar was about the age she had been at her
marriage, a brash but inexperienced child; like her
then, he thought he knew everything. Burn
Ambrose for dying just now!
"You won't consider abdicating and coming with me?"
Radgar laughed. "With my past? My existence
will be extremely brief if I ever show my
face in Chivial. Besides, I do want to put
Fyrbeorn up here, and he isn't quite ready
yet. You see that painting? You'd think we
whittled him out of oak just to be King of
Baelmark." A very fond, very stupid smirk
disfigured his face. He actually kept the
Baelish thegns on very tight reins these days, but
Fyrbeorn inspired brainless attacks of
piratical nostalgia in his father.
In Malinda's opinion, while that big lunk
looked the part, he lacked the wits to rule
Baelmark for long. Radgar's sons
had shared out his talents between them, and she often wished
she had borne more of them, just to see how many varied
chips the old block could produce. None of the
three could match him for versatility yet. Perhaps
when they were older ...
"What about Sigfrith?"
Radgar chuckled. "This one? This one with the big
ears flapping? He'll get whatever he wants
out of life and let the other two do all the work."
Sigfrith squealed with laughter and hurled himself
into his father's arms, which was perfectly typical.
Radgar spun his youngest son upside down and
deposited him gently on the floor. He
turned to embrace his wife instead. "You don't
think I want to lose you, do you, love? I'd
come if I could."
"What do you suggest?"
"Give it two years. You go home
to Chivial now; take Aethelgar with you and set him
up as Crown Prince. They'll love him, may
the spirits have pity on them. In two years he'll have
the whole kingdom marching to the beat of his drum.
Fyrbeorn will be ready to take over here.
We'll retire together and live happily ever
after."
She laid her head on his shoulder while she
thought about it. Q
ueen Malinda the Brief?
Malinda the Unwilling?
"You promise?"
"I'll have to think about it for a day or two."
"Can I come with you, Mom?" Sigfrith asked
excitedly. "Can I?"
"In the spring, maybe. The sea's too
dangerous just now. How did you hear?" she asked
Radgar's collarbone.
"Durendal warned me months ago it was coming.
I posted Ealdabeard in Lomouth with a fast
ship. This morning he unloaded Commander Dragon
of the Royal Guard on the beach at Catterstow,
breathing and rational, if only just."
Malinda chuckled to herself at the thought of a
Chivian crossing the ocean in midwinter in a
longship. Even a Blade would not come through that
ordeal unscathed. And she remembered that twice
before in her life she had received bad news from
Blades--from Dominic at Ness Royal when
she was a child, and when Durendal came to tell her
of her betrothal to Radgar. Well, she had
thought it was bad news, and both times
things had turned out well in the end.
"I might add," Radgar said acidly, "that
if Sir Dragon is the best your father could find
to be Leader, then either the Blades have slipped a
long way from my day, or else it was past time the
old man moved on."
"That makes you sound old yourself." She
straightened up, kissing his cheek in passing.
"Where's he now--Dragon?"
"Over at New House, eating the
furniture until you return from your outing
to unknown parts."
"And Durendal killed my father?"
"So he says."
Malinda sighed. "I suppose if anyone
could outwit the Royal Guard it would be that one.
Well, I'll think about it."
She was fairly sure she would agree, though.
She could stand anything for two years, even the
agony of being separated from Radgar. And she had
a score to settle with Sir Durendal.
Note: The ensuing encounter between Queen
Malinda and Lord Roland is recounted in the
closing pages of The Gilded Chain.
THE END