Page 46 of A Crown of Darkness

ROLAND

Roland roared as he attacked but Anselm seemed to dance out of the way, defending himself with an agility which did him credit. Not attacking, Roland realised. He retreated to the door, performed some kind of artful pivot and suddenly he was on the other side of Roland, with the chancellor behind him.

She sank back into her seat by the window, watching the two of them as if their battle was some kind of spectacle put on for her amusement.

‘Grandmaster,’ Anselm pleaded. And well he should plead. He’d plead until Nightbreaker was buried in his heart. ‘Roland, please, listen to me. This is a trick, an enchantment. She isn’t whatever you think she is…she isn’t Elodie!’

The name was like a slap to the face with a wet cloth.

Her name.

Roland shied back, pulling a blow that should have taken Anselm’s head off if it had fallen true.

Elodie. He was here forElodie. And this woman…thisenchantress…

That same fuzzy-edged reality pressed in on him again. But at least Alouette wasn’t touching him this time. He struggled to find balance again, to bring himself back to truth.

‘Kill him, Roland. Kill him and then kneel at my feet and give me that sword,’ Alouette snarled, all the music in her voice twisted now into rage and command.

Roland locked his gaze on Anselm, begging him to understand. He had to understand.

Three steps. That was all it took. He lunged at Anselm and with one arm lashed the knight’s weapon from his hands. Anselm wouldn’t attack him, that was his problem. Not even when Roland was trying to kill him and that was the weakness the Grandmaster needed. Always exploit a weakness. Who had told him that? Old Pykeman, or Lavendyss maybe? Years ago. When your enemy shows you their weakness, you use it.

He grabbed Anselm by the throat and drove him back to the foot of Alouette’s chair, flinging him down onto his knees.

‘Beg her forgiveness,’ he told Anselm.

But Anselm, never one to beg for anything, didn’t say a word. He bowed his head only because he didn’t have any choice. Roland raised Nightbreaker on high, ready to bring its edge down on his neck and end him.

Behind them the door flew open so hard it almost twisted off the hinges. No doubt that magic was behind it but Olivier rushed in first. He faltered when he saw the scene before him. A host of witches and guards followed but Roland was still armed and dangerous. No one wanted to make a move or disturb the tableau before them.

‘Time’s up,’ said Alouette in a sing-song voice. ‘This entertainment is over and that sword is mine. The rest of you,’ she raised her voice to the people crowding in the doorway behind Olivier, ‘be about your business.’

No one moved.

‘Why?’ Anselm asked, his voice broken. ‘What good will Nightbreaker do you?’

She laughed, a merry, ringing sound. ‘You knights and your arrogance. You don’t even know your own history. There is a fragment of the Aurum locked in that sword. And now, as it all falls apart, as your queen slowly dies and the Aurum with her, it will be all that remains. It might even have been enough to draw her back if you hadn’t been rash enough to bring it here. You are so easily led, do you know that? The right words, from the right lips, at just the crucial moment.’

‘This is all part of a plot?’ Olivier gasped.

‘Well done, little witchkind knight. Oh, don’t think I can’t see it in you. You deny it and offer it up to your great light but the traces still show. Marked forever as witchkind. You can feel it, can’t you, coming back to you. As the Aurum fails the old magic stirs. You may have woken some of my devotees from their slumber, you and Vivienne, but it won’t last. I made this College mine, and we almost took Pelias. We would have if that stupid man had just done what he was told, and burned the queen.’

‘You were working with my father?’ Anselm murmured, still trying to tamp down helpless rage.

‘Your father?’ She laughed and Roland realised that she hadn’t even known who Anselm was before. She simply didn’t care. ‘Oh that is too amusing. Yes, the Earl of Sassone. He promised so much and delivered nothing. Only to be expected of a man, I suppose. Not that the girl was much better.’

‘Carlotta,’ Anselm growled. ‘Her name was Carlotta. And she was a friend.’

Alouette laughed at him, a vindictive, cruel laugh. ‘Well, you do have the strangest connections, Lord Tarryn. Or are you the Earl of Sassone now? Can Roland here strip you of your title as easily as he stripped you of knighthood?’ She sneered at him, and though Anselm gave no response, his shoulders were taut as a bow string. ‘The girl was a mistake, but she was no more than a tool. My sister should have been more direct from the start andshe will pay for her shoddy craft. She was far too desperate to bring the Nox and the Aurum into conflict and thought killing one of the Ilanthian princelings would do that. Perhaps it should have, but oh, she does complicate matters.’

‘Were you behind all of it?’ Anselm asked.

‘Not just me.’

‘So you’re a traitor.’

‘A traitor? I swore no vows to your Aurum or your queen. No, nor to the Nox either. I never will. I live free. I will make the powers of the world my own, just as I have made the College mine.’

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