Page 69 of The Traitor's Curse
He said it as if I ought to praise him for his discretion,but I knew damn well he’d have kept that secret out of pure self-preservation. My father clearly hadn’t wanted to recognize Tavius, and anyone who went against my father in matters of state ended up in a dungeon being nibbled by rats, at best.
“Until?” I prompted him. Fabian hadn’t liked me, but he’d wanted my father’s son on the throne—and he’d cared about things like legitimacy of birth. Tavius wasn’t any improvement over me in that regard.
“Until Lord Benedict returned from his journeys, and Fabian feared he had designs on the crown. I beg your pardon, Duke Lucian, of course I didn’t share this belief. But Fabian didn’t think you had the strength and resolution to hold your throne if Lord Benedict chose to take it.” Didn’t share that belief, my sweet, slightly too-flat ass. I coughed to cover an ungentlemanly snort of laughter. Zettine frowned disapprovingly and added, “He also doubted that you’d produce an heir of your own, a concern that I admit I share, along with the majority of your council.”
He sounded shockingly sincere. Well, he might be an asshole, but he’d served Calatria loyally for longer than I’d been alive—mostly. Unless it conflicted with his daughter-in-law’s profits from her vineyards, of course.
“Given recent events, I think that this year I’ll give my attention to the matter of an eventual heir. Not of my body, I don’t think. But other Calatrian dukes have been unable or unwilling to father a child. We’ve gotten over it. There are legal provisions for it. It’s possible you may even be a part of that discussion.”
Zettine raised his eyebrows. “You mean if I’m not imprisoned for murder, Your Grace?” he asked drily. “If you attempt to lay charges against me, I’ll admit to no such—”
“You’ll admit to it now, or I’ll set Benedict on you,” I said briskly, and had the pleasure of watching him go pale again.“The full truth, Lord Zettine.”
His lips compressed again. “Very well,” he bit off. “In brief: Fabian came to me some months ago and shared his concerns. He told me he wished to inform Lord Tavius of the circumstances of his conception. I forbade it. But he disobeyed me, and I discovered his treachery. I would eventually have needed to handle Lord Tavius more directly,” by which I presumed he meant murder him, too, but I let it pass without comment, “but in the meantime, I had to prevent him from approaching the council with his story and with a reliable witness. I was forced to remove any possibility of Fabian presenting his testimony. And I could argue, were I required to,” he said with sudden animation, “that not only did Inotcommit treason, Ipunishedtreason. Fabian was the traitor. He conspired to remove the rightful duke, Your Grace. I only did my duty.”
“I’d like to see you prove you didn’t intend to poison me with that wine,” I replied, my tone as dry as his. “You certainly ran the risk of doing so accidentally. And if you try to look me in the eye and tell me you cared one way or the other, I’ll clap you in irons on principle.”
“Hmmph,” Zettine sniffed. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I did indeed care. Of the current options for the Calatrian throne, you are the most acceptable.”
That broke my grip on my self-control; I burst out laughing. Zettine glared at me as I wheezed my way to recovery. “That at least is probably honest, my Lord Chancellor,” I said. “Fine. But you’re going to need to do better than that if you expect to keep your head and your title.”
Zettine sat up straighter. “My title?” he said. “Lord Chancellor, not my barony, I assume you mean.”
“You’re experienced and generally extremely competent.” And Fabian had sold me out to Tavius. Having really digestedthat information, the last of my concern over his death had evaporated. My anger at his murder could only be considered a formality at this point—or simply a matter of leverage. “So yes, under a series of conditions, any violation of which will be met with immediate and possibly final consequences, you will keep your position and the honors and perquisites that pertain to it. Except for any authority over tariffs,” I added, taking malicious pleasure in watching his mouth open in unhappy surprise. “We will be taxing white wine from Surbino at the usual rate. I may not be the duke you’d have chosen, if you had your way, but I’m not an idiot.”
Zettine gazed at me thoughtfully for a few moments, his jaw working. “No,” he said at last, and for once I didn’t think he had any agenda other than simply saying what he thought. “You’re not an idiot. I think I might have chosen a rather stupider duke, in fact. A stupider, more biddable duke who wanted to marry a stupid, biddable duchess. And I certainly wouldn’t have chosen a duke who could not be more precisely designed to attract the attention of the very unbiddable Lord General Rathenas.”
“Lord Benedict and I have come to an understanding, Lord Zettine,” I said, as airily as I could manage, although I could feel my cheeks heating. “In fact, one of my conditions relates to him.”
“You seem to have brought him into line, yes.” He sniffed again. “Since more accepted means of controlling him proved insufficient, Your Grace, then I suppose I must congratulate you on having found one that’s more effective, albeit a bit unorthodox given your familial relationship. And of course Lord Tavius contributed the potion.” He smiled sourly at the little start of surprise I couldn’t suppress. “Lord Benedict’s officer took all of Lord Tavius’s servants into custody, as was his duty, except for one who’d already fled. One of my men located himin the lower town. We had a very informative chat early this morning.”
Oh, for the love of all the gods. Executing Lord Zettine would be by far the best choice if I wanted any chance of having a biddable Lord Chancellor. But…a more biddable one would probably also be stupider. And a clever duke would use his resources, bend them to his will, rather than simply execute them when they became unruly.
At least bringing Lord Zettine under control wouldn’t involve spreading my legs.
“Good,” I said. “You can tell me everything you learned from him after I’ve laid out my conditions. We’ll start with the wine…”
Chapter Twenty-Three
It took another half hour for me to reach the end of my list of conditions, which included full transparency regarding everything Zettine knew about my father’s peccadilloes and also—because he hadn’t become the Lord Chancellor by being easy to out-negotiate—an agreement on my side to buy twenty cases of a light dessert wine from his daughter-in-law to be served at palace functions.
I’d opened my mouth to add one more, a demand for his word that he’d never call another council meeting again, when a hubbub broke out in the antechamber. Zettine’s secretary’s voice contributed a high note of violent protests, and—yes, the bass line was Benedict.
The door burst open an instant later.
Benedict hadn’t quite gone so far as to draw his sword, thank the gods, but he had his hand on the hilt and his magic swirled around him, spreading through the air and raising all the hair on the back of my neck.
He stopped, looking around the room and taking in the total lack of danger.
His hand fell away from his sword.
“Excuse me,” he said stiffly, and bowed to me. “I didn’t—I apologize for the interruption.”
I stifled a sigh. Benedict chose the oddest times to stand on court formality, as if his birth and breeding seeped through the cracks in his ruffianly façade whenever he felt truly at a loss.
“Shut the door,” I said to the secretary, and he huffed and slammed out of the room. “Come in, Benedict. I’m guessing you had enough time to think this morning that you reached the same conclusion I did, that our esteemed Lord Chancellor murdered Fabian and knew about Tavius all along. Don’t worry, he’s not going to try to kill me. He’s had time to reach a conclusion too, that it wouldn’t be in his best interests.”
Benedict stared, raised his eyebrows so sharply they nearly disappeared into his hairline, and started to laugh.
