Inheritance (12 page)

Hmm, not a bad thing
, she thought.
He is an intelligent and likable fellow. Areava could do worse
. She laughed bitterly. God, she herself had done worse twice over, not finding true love and a worthy companion for her endeavors until she married Elynd Chisal. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered her third husband, a man who was frank to the point of rudeness, with a vocabulary that scandalized the court, and a propensity to wear the plainest of clothes. But she had loved him more than she had loved anyone except her own children. Thinking of Elynd made her think of Lynan.

A son she never thought she would have. She grimaced. A son to whom she should have shown more kindness, but for his own good and for his own protection she had kept him distant and apart not only from herself but from his siblings as well. It had been, she realized now so late in her life, a wrong decision, and she desperately wished there was someway she could make up for it.

But there was not enough time, and now upon Lynan’s young shoulders would fall an unexpected and unfair burden. She closed her eyes briefly, automatically murmured a prayer to a God she had never been sure she believed in, and grasped the Keys even tighter.

The pain in her chest started again, and this time would not go away.

Lynan was woken by someone gently shaking his shoulder. He sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes.

“Hurry, your Highness,” said Pirem’s voice. “It’s the queen, she’s callin‘ for you. She’s callin’ for all of you.”

Standing next to Lynan’s bed, Pirem was holding out Lynan’s tunic and breeches. “You haven’t much time. Your Highness. The others are already gathering like vultures.”

Lynan looked as sternly as possible at the old man. “Is that how you see us, Pirem, as vultures?”

“Not you, Lynan, no.” Pirem tried smiling, but the effort was too much for him and he grimaced instead. “Nor your siblings. But many in her court are as ruthless as you are easygoin‘. If you don’t hurry, your mother will be dead before you can get there an’ you’ll not even receive her blessin‘, an’ if that happens, your life won’t be worth a handful of bird shit, pardon the expression. Now hurry!”

Lynan hurried out of bed, his sleep-befuddled senses at last comprehending Pirem’s message. His mother might not live to see morning, and she was calling all her children to her side to publicly declare who could rightfully claim descent from her. He tugged on his breeches, found his boots under his bed, and pulled them on. He scurried out of his room and down the cold stone hallway to the other side of the palace and the queen’s apartments. Pirem scuttled behind, handing him his tunic, then his belt, and finally his dress knife, his gasps for air rattling in his old throat.

When they reached the royal quarters, Lynan waved Pirem back, slowed to a quick walk, and straightened his tunic. As he turned the last corner to Usharna’s bedroom, he met a section of the guard. They stood swiftly to attention, dipping their spears slightly as Lynan passed. He stopped at the entrance, caught his breath, and pushed aside the heavy doors.

It was a large room, with the head of the queen’s huge four-poster bed set against the west wall. Built into the east wall was a fireplace which was always kept burning. Rough wool tapestries covered the cold stone, and exposed pine rafters in the ceiling gave off a sweet fragrance.

Berayma’s long, dark body was bent over his mother, his face showing great pain and grief. Lynan knew, as did everyone else in the kingdom, that Berayma cared for little in this world and what love he carried in his heart was reserved almost entirely for his mother. Lynan felt a pang of guilt that he did not feel the same way about the old woman, but then he reminded himself she had showed him scant affection in his seventeen years of life.

Standing at the end of the huge bed was Areava, tall and as fair as Berayma was dark. She had her mother’s face and eyes, but while her hair glowed like sun-ripened wheat, the queen’s was colder than a winter moon. Next to Areava, demure and slight, awkward in the presence of his mother, stood Olio. Olio looked up when Lynan entered and offered him a sad nod.

The queen was propped into a sitting position, several pillows between her and the bedhead. Her skin was gray and dry, her eyes sunken, and her long white hair fell loosely over her shoulders like a mantle of snow. Lynan had never seen his mother’s hair let down before, and he could not help staring at it.

“Did you think I was bald, child?” the queen asked suddenly, noticing his presence and the direction of his gaze.

“I did not know it was so beautiful,” he answered honestly, and then blushed. He knew his mother did not like blandishments, but this time she surprised him by smiling, making him blush even more.

Usharna looked closely at each of her children, then rested her head back and closed her eyes.

“Mother?” Berayma asked, taking one of her hands in his. “Are you in pain?”

She opened her eyes and shook her head. “No. Just tired. More tired than I have ever been before. I am tired of living.”

“Don’t say that, your Majesty,” said Orkid’s deep voice. He appeared from the room’s shadows to stand behind Lynan. “Your devoted subjects don’t want you to leave them.”

The chancellor brushed past Lynan and took up Usharna’s other hand.

Orkid tried to make his patriarchal face, with its full black beard and beaked nose, look as sympathetic as possible, but he could not help glowering at the dying woman. “No more talk of being too tired for life.”

“If it was up to you, Orkid, I’d outlive my own children,” she remonstrated. “Fortunately, nature has been kind enough to let me avoid that disaster.” Orkid opened his mouth to reply, but Usharna lifted her hand in a command of silence. “I have little time left, and there’s much to be said.”

She drew in a deep breath and her eyelids fluttered with weariness. “Bring me the Keys,” she ordered.

Harnan Beresard came to the queen, a wooden casket in his hands. He opened the lid and gently placed the casket on the queen’s lap. Usharna reached into it and retrieved the four glimmering, golden Keys of Power, each on its own thick silver chain.

She glanced up to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “Now is the time custom insists I declare my successor. Let it be known that on my death, my firstborn, Berayma, will take my place on the throne, and his descendants will rule after him.”

Those in the room gave an audible, collective sigh of relief. It was done. Such a public declaration guaranteed a peaceful succession, something the entire kingdom prayed for near the end of a monarch’s life. The number of witnesses present guaranteed the succession would not come into dispute.

“I have four children,” Usharna began, “all accomplished, and the kingdom can ill afford to lose so much talent. Against the advice of some, who would have me pass on all the Keys to my successor as I received all the Keys from my father, I will maintain the tradition of our family and pass them on to all my children. Accepting a Key implies swearing fealty to Berayma as head of the family and as the rightful ruler of Kendra.

“The Key will remain with the bearers until their deaths, when they will be returned to Berayma, or until the death of Berayma, when his successor will determine their possession.”

Usharna paused to catch her breath, her eyes red with exhaustion.

“You must sleep, Mother,” Berayma insisted, patting her hand. “We will come back in the morning.”

She feebly shook her head. “No time, my son. My past is catching up with me. I had the good fortune to enjoy the pleasure and company of three husbands, but the poor judgment to outlive them all.”

Her bony hands scrabbled at the Keys, and she looked at Berayma. “As king, you must have the Monarch’s Key,” she said, and gave him a star-shaped piece with a thick rod fixed in its center. “The Key of the Scepter,” she intoned, her voice seeming to gather sudden strength.

Berayma seemed unsure what to do with it. “Put it on, Berayma,” Usharna insisted. He slipped the silver chain over his head, the Key resting against his broad chest. “That’s fine,” she said, and patted his shoulder.

She took hold of a second Key, a square with two crossed swords pierced by a single spear. She handed it to Areava. “My secondborn, you will have the Key of the Sword. Grenda Lear will look to you for protection against our enemies.” Areava bowed and stepped back a pace.

“Olio,” the queen continued, waving him forward, “you are the gentlest of your siblings, and perhaps the least understood. You will have the Healing Key, the Key of the Heart.” There was a quiet murmur in the room, which Usharna silenced by looking up sharply. “It is said that this Key holds the greatest magic of all. Perhaps it is true, but if so its power is one of creation, not coercion.” She handed the Key, a triangle holding the design of a heart, to Olio. He stepped away from the bed, fingering his gift curiously.

Usharna now looked back at Lynan, and her eyes seemed to soften. Lynan swallowed hard and resisted the temptation to move out of her line of sight. He had rarely been the focus of her undivided attention.

“Poor Lynan, lastborn, you shall have the last Key.” Lynan moved forward until he was touching the bed. Usharna’s left hand crossed over to hold his in a firm, cold embrace. “I wish my hand was warmer,” she said softly so that no one else could hear. “As warm as my heart whenever I think of you.” With her right hand she passed him the remaining Key, a simple, golden circle.

Lynan nervously placed the chain over his head. The Key was surprisingly heavy against his chest. He thought he could feel everyone’s gaze fixed on his face. He looked around and saw that it was so, except for Orkid who stared strangely at the Key itself. A shiver passed down his spine.

“The Key of Union,” Usharna announced. “With this you represent the kingdom’s commonwealth. You will be the king’s representative to all our peoples.”

The queen fell back against her pillows, her hands collapsing by her sides. Berayma and Olio were pushed away by Trion, her personal surgeon. He felt her pulse and temperature. “She has no other duties,” he said somberly. “She needs to sleep now. Everyone must leave.”

Berayma nodded and led everyone from the room. Besides his family, Orkid, Trion and Dejanus, there were nurses, attendants, and guards, including Kumul. They had all been standing quietly to attention against the walls, watching with fascination as power was passed from the dying queen to her four children.

The thought made Lynan frown. Power? What would he do with the Key of Union? He wasn’t even sure he wanted it.

When they were all in the hall outside, Berayma ordered Kumul to set two guards at the door, and then advised everyone to return to their quarters.

“We all have much to consider,” he said in his low monotone. “Grenda Lear has not seen such changes for a generation.” He looked down uncertainly on Lynan as he said the last sentence. “But I’m sure our mother knows what she’s doing. Age may have made her weary, but it will not have affected her mind, of that we can be sure.”

“She won’t live through the night, will she?” Olio asked, his voice tight.

“Enough of that,” Areava said as kindly as possible, putting a comforting hand on Olio’s shoulder. “It will do no good to think such thoughts.”

Olio’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Wait! I hold the Healing Key—”

“I can see where your thoughts are leading you, your Highness,” Harnan interrupted, “but you must understand the nature of what the queen has done. She wielded the Key of the Heart herself, and it will have no effect on her now that she has surrendered it. Death is not a sickness for her, it is a relief and an ending.” The old man blinked back tears as he spoke, and when he had finished, he hurried away.

Lynan felt a lump in his throat, so he quickly turned away from the others so they could not see his sorrow. They had shared little with him before, and he was damned if he was going to share his grief with them now. He was confused by the strange emotions he was feeling. He had loved his mother after a fashion, the way a servant might love a good mistress, but they had never been close.

The gift of the last Key, and her few kind words, had sharply reminded him of his loneliness and unhappiness as a child.
Why now, Mother, when it’s all too late
?

“I will see you all tomorrow,” he told the others. Berayma and Areava stared after him, the brother they had never before truly considered a brother at all.

Lynan fell asleep in his clothes, so when he was woken by Pirem for a second time that morning he felt uncomfortably cramped and pinched. Wan sunlight filtered through his room’s only window high in the eastern wall.

“What news, Pirem?” he asked, shaking his head to clear away the cobwebs of interrupted sleep.

“I regret to have to be the one to tell you, your Highness, but your mother, Queen Usharna, is dead.”

Lynan felt numb. “When?”

“Within the last few minutes. Word is being sent to your siblings right now. You must gather again at her bedside.”

“Of course. Thank you, Pirem.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, your Highness?”

Lynan shook his head.
Why don’t I feel anything ? What is wrong with me
? “I will call you if I need anything.”

Pirem bowed and made to leave but Lynan suddenly called him back. “Tell me, did you love the queen?”

“Why, yes, of course.”

“Was she loved by the people?”

“Those I knew, your Highness.” Pirem looked curiously at Lynan. “An‘ respected,” he added. “She was loved an’ respected. We’ve had a prosperous and largely peaceful quarter century. A people cannot ask for more. Is there anything else, your Highness?”

Lynan shook his head and Pirem left.
How much better simply to have been one of her subjects
, he thought.

It was a golden morning. Sunlight poured through the windows in Berayma’s chambers. Around him, servants and courtiers fussed over his robes and accouterments, making sure everything was in its right place and hung in the right way. His garments were resplendent, as befitted Grenda Lear’s new king, even though he was being dressed to attend his own mother’s funeral. Conversations were going on all around him, a constant background hum of human noise.