The Crown Conspiracy

In time, the full face of the sun rose overhead, and the river widened considerably and settled into a gentle flow with sandy banks and rich green fields beyond. The Galewyr divided two kingdoms. To the south lay Glouston, the northern marchland of the kingdom of Warric. To the north was Galilin, the largest province in Melengar administered by Count Pickering. At one time, the river had been a hotly disputed division between two uneasy warlords, but those days were gone. Now, it was a peaceful fence between good neighbors and both banks remained lovely, untroubled pastoral scenes of the late season, filled with hay mounds and grazing cows.

The day became unusually warm. Being so late in the year, there were few insects about. The cicadas’ drone had disappeared, and even the frogs were quiet. The only sound that remained was the soft gentle breeze through the dry grasses. Hadrian reclined across the boat with his head on the bundle of the steward son’s old clothes and his feet on the gunwale. His cloak and boots were off and his shirt was open. Similarly, Royce lay with his legs up, idly guiding the boat. The sweet scent of wild salifan was strong in the air, the fragrance more pungent after surviving the year’s first frost. Except for the lack of food, the day was turning out to be quite wonderful and would have been even if they had not just escaped a horrible death hours before.

Hadrian tilted his head back to catch the full light of the sun on his face. “Maybe we should be fishermen.”

“Fishermen?” Royce asked dubiously.

“This is pretty nice, isn’t it? I never realized how much I like the sound of water lapping against a boat before. I’m enjoying this: the buzzing of a dragonfly, the sight of the cattails, and the bank drifting lazily by.”

“Fish don’t just jump into the boat you know?” Royce pointed out. “You have to cast nets, haul them in, gut the fish, cut off their heads, and scale them. You don’t just get to drift.”

“Putting it that way makes it sound oddly more like work.” Hadrian scooped a handful of water from the river and splashed it on his warm face. He ran his wet fingers through his hair and sighed contentedly.

“You think he’s still alive?” Royce asked, nodding his head toward Alric.

“Sure,” Hadrian replied without bothering to look. “He’s probably sleeping. Why do you ask?”

“I was just pondering something. Do you think a person could smother in a wet potato bag?”

Hadrian lifted his head and looked over at the motionless prince. “I really hadn’t thought about it until now.” He got up and shook Alric, but the prince did not stir. “Why didn’t you mention something earlier!” he said, drawing his dagger. He cut through the ropes and pulled the bag clear.

Alric lay still. Hadrian bent down to check if he was breathing. Just then, the prince kicked Hadrian hard, knocking him back toward Royce. Alric began feverishly untying his feet, but Hadrian was back on him before he cleared the first knot. He slammed Alric to the deck, pinning his hands over his head.

“Hand me the twine,” Hadrian barked to Royce, who was watching the wrestling match with quiet amusement. Royce casually tossed him a small coil, and when Hadrian at last had the prince secured, he sat back down to rest.

“See,” Royce said, “that’s more like fishing; only fish don’t kick, of course.”

“Okay, so it was a bad idea.” Hadrian rubbed his side where the prince had hit him.

“By brutalizing me, the two of you have sentenced yourselves to death! You know that, don’t you?”

“That’s a bit redundant don’t you think, Your Majesty?” Royce inquired. “Seeing as how you already sentenced us to death once today.”

The prince rolled onto his side tilting his head back, squinted against the brilliant sunlight.

“You!” he shouted amazed. “But how did you—Arista!” His eyes narrowed in anger. “Not jealous is she! My dear sister is behind all this! She hired you to kill my father, and now she plans to eliminate me so she can rule!”

“The king was her father as well. Besides, if we wanted to kill you, don’t you think you’d already be dead?” Royce asked. “Why would we go to all the trouble of hauling you down this river? We could have slit your throat, weighed you down with rocks, and dumped you hours ago. I might add that such a fate would still be considerably better than what you had planned for us.”

The prince considered this for a moment. “So it’s ransom then. Do you intend to sell me to the highest bidder? Did she promise you a profit from my sale? You’re both fools, if you believe that. Arista will never allow it. She’ll see me dead. She has to in order to secure her seat on the throne. You won’t get a copper!”

“Listen, you little royal pain in the ass, we didn’t kill your father. In fact, for what it is worth, I thought old Amrath was a fair king, as far as they go. We also aren’t ransoming or selling you.”