The Stolen Throne

“King Meghren,” Mother Bronach began slowly, in the tone she reserved for those times she knew she was about to make him truly angry. “Perhaps now is the time to be merciful. Prove to the people you are the worthier king, and marshal your strength first before you—”

“Never!” he bellowed, spinning on her. His face was red, and Mother Bronach took a step back reflexively, stumbling against the stool behind her. “This is not a contest! I am the only king, and these others are . . . are malcontents! I will not let this spread further!”

With a step he was up close against her, his gritted teeth barely an inch away from her face. The Mother pressed herself against the wall, turning her face away from his in terror. Severan even thought for a moment that perhaps he should intervene; this was the Grand Cleric of Ferelden, after all. Even Meghren could not hurt her without consequences. But then he remembered that he didn’t particularly like the woman. Let her squirm.

“You will tell them,” Meghren commanded, his tone low and threatening, “that this dog prince is no savior, that he has not returned from the dead. You will tell them this, yes?”

She nodded, refusing to look him in the eyes. “I . . . I will say it was a mistake—”

“Not a mistake! He is a demon. A thing of evil risen from his grave.”

She nodded again, quickly.

“That’s not bad,” Severan considered, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “That might work.”

“Of course it will work.” Meghren stepped away from Mother Bronach, and she exhaled loudly. She composed her robes, beads of sweat running down her forehead. He turned toward Severan, much calmer now. “You will deal with the rebels, my mage. You can do this, yes?”

Severan nodded. “I will send word to the Emperor. He promised us two full legions in his last letter, if we needed. But he warned us that there would be no more after that, Your Majesty.”

Meghren stared at the floor, considering. “Will it be enough?”

“Added to what we have left? Yes. It should be more than enough. We can finish the rebels and then turn our attention to any uprising. They haven’t the strength to stand against you.”

“Then do it.”

Severan turned to leave, but Meghren grabbed him by the arm and spun him about. Meghren’s stare was intense. “But this will be your last chance, my mage. That is clear, yes?”

Severan nodded, and he was released. It may be your last chance as well, Your Majesty, he thought to himself. He merely bowed low, however, and retreated from the room. A moment later, Mother Bronach did the same. She did not look pleased. Meghren was oblivious of them both, already wrapped up once again in an annoyed inspection of his golden armor.

As Severan crossed the long hallways back into the palace proper, thoughts whirled about in his head. If he was careful, this situation could still be turned to his advantage. Meghren had been forced to recognize that the situation was serious. A quick defeat of the rebels would make him most grateful—a better result even than defeating the rebels at Gwaren would have been.

Already most of the palace knew to look to Severan for their commands. The Orlesian commanders responded solely to his orders. The nobility came to him when they needed problems solved. Even the chamberlain came to Severan when it came time to determine Meghren’s daily schedule, and they both made sure that he was kept busy doing what he did best: pleasing himself. Ostensibly all decisions were made by him, but anyone who was anyone important in Ferelden knew better. Without Severan, Meghren wasn’t capable of finding his smallclothes.

He still had to handle Meghren with care. Severan hadn’t yet gotten to the point where he could survive a direct confrontation, should the man get it into his head to realize what was happening. And with Mother Bronach still whispering into his ears, that was always a possibility.

With any luck, his rage against her tonight could be stoked. It was something to consider. For now, however, he had to keep his mind on the rebels.

A young page came around the corner and spied Severan approaching him, and responded by running up nervously. “My lord Severan!” he cried. The lad was out of breath.

“Another message?” More news from Gwaren would be welcome. If it was bad news, Severan at least had an excuse to avoid Meghren for a while yet.

“No, my lord,” the lad gulped, nervous. “There is a woman. She sent me to find you. I’ve been looking everywhere!”

“A woman?”

“An elf, my lord. She told me to say her name is Katriel.”

He paused. “Katriel, you say? Where is she now?”

“In your quarters, my lord.”

Severan didn’t wait for the page to reply, breezing past him quickly. Katriel had done excellent work at West Hill, but had then disappeared under suspicious circumstances. He had wondered if she had been killed, perhaps found out after she had finished her work. There had been several unanswered questions, which had begun to make him suspicious. If she was back, however, this boded well.