Harbor (On the Wind #3)

47. Orestes

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

ORESTES

P enelope, goddess and mother that she was, leaped to comfort Tybalt in the wake of what had happened, wrapping her arms around him and pulling his trembling form against her.

I stepped in behind them, whispering to her. “Your brother, Majesty.”

She lifted her head and motioned to two of the remaining guards, who seemed just as stunned and uncertain of how to proceed as the rest of the court. “He needs to be returned to the dungeon. He is a cold-blooded murderer. He’ll be tried and convicted like any other killer. Being my brother doesn’t make him above the law.”

“And Mercutio?” one of the lords in the room asked. His voice trembled as he did, and it was plain to see that whoever the man was, he cared about the young lordling. There was some resemblance between the two, around the eyes. Maybe a father or an uncle. “He... he did kill the king.”

“That was hardly in cold blood,” I pointed out. “It was in defense of the queen. I know little about how such action is treated in Urial, but in Nemeda, we’ve always thought harming one’s spouse to be the act of a coward, and defending against it honorable. Allowing such abuse to continue would have been downright uncivilized. The people of Urial aren’t uncivilized, are they?”

That set the whole of the crowd to whispering, but then the relative of Mercutio who’d asked the question turned to another man, grabbing his elbow and giving him a beseeching look.

I recognized this man as one who’d been treated as something of an elder statesman among the people of Urial, and even better, one who’d been civil to me, not taking his king’s cues as permission to be a jackass. I’d had more than one conversation at dinner with him, revolving around what our countries might offer each other in a treaty.

He stepped forward, nodding. “I quite agree, Lord Orestes. The people of Urial certainly do not approve of such behavior, or such language as His Majesty was using.” He turned and looked at a few people, pausing as he did so. “I wonder if perhaps the Albany’s advancing age was affecting his mind. Allying himself with a killer, name-calling in court, ignoring a diplomat from a possible ally country, and now attacking the queen... He’s been acting quite out of sorts for some time now.”

I nodded at that. “A sad matter, but perhaps it’s for the best that it be over quickly.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, and without another word, he slid into a fluid bow, entirely on his knees, in front of Tybalt. “Your Majesty, if I might make a suggestion on how to deal with Lord Mercutio?”

I stepped to stand behind Tybalt, in case anyone thought to attack him from behind, but also, to make it clear that like the queen, I would stand with him, should they try anything.

It took Tybalt a moment to understand that he was the subject of the man’s intent. It was heartbreaking, seeing the horrified realization cross his face that he, now, was “Your Majesty,” because his father was dead. He looked at the blood on the floor, that no one had thought to clean up yet. At his father’s body, still lying there.

Still, something puffed up with pride in my chest when he straightened himself, turned, and met the man’s eye. “Of course, Lord Gregory. The throne has always found your advice to be most wise.”

His voice trembled, but did not break. Just like the man himself. He was not a stone, not an unfeeling monster, but he was strong. So very strong.

“Lord Mercutio, like many young men, acted with haste and anger upon seeing an injustice done.” He ducked his head, looking slightly ashamed. “I realize Your Majesty has lost more than anyone in this moment, and you would be well within your rights to order him killed. There can be no doubt he committed the act. However, as Lord Orestes points out, the act was also in preservation of the civilization of Urial. Unlike Lord Eric, clearly Mercutio did not act out of self-interest. If we go about name-calling and striking our wives, then are we truly Urial any longer?”

Tybalt cocked his head at him and leaned against me, clearly caring very little what people thought of him taking comfort. He also, I noted, had not pulled away from Penelope. “Civilized behavior has always been at the heart of Urial,” he finally agreed. “But my father?—”

“Was clearly quite ill,” the man said, wincing at interrupting Tybalt, but rushing his words nonetheless. “I fear that if we question the villain Lord Eric further, we’ll find that he was attempting to murder yourself, and”—he stopped to let out a somewhat theatrical sigh—“that Albany was plotting with him.”

There were gasps throughout the room, and Tybalt sank a little farther into me, but he nodded. “I do have reason to believe thusly.”

The buzzing of quiet conversation increased, the people absolutely scandalized by the notion. I had realized in my time at the Urial court that while some people thought Tybalt scandalous, many of them thought that was normal, and perhaps even largely acceptable. They would not be understanding of a man trying to murder his own son. At least, not when it was made public.

“So that leaves us with quite the conundrum,” the man said, pushing off the floor and turning to the court, his audience, and they were rapt, staring at him, silence falling all the way to the back of the crowd. “Do we treat this as the murder of King Albany? Or the rightful killing of one of the men who was plotting to murder King Tybalt?”

As though an actress following a script, a young woman near the front of the crowd swooned and had to be caught by a nobleman.

The first man who had started the conversation, the one I suspected was related to Mercutio, did not hesitate, given the opening. “Long live King Tybalt!” he shouted.

In an instant, the rest of the room followed suit, and it became a chant. “Long live King Tybalt!”

Tybalt, for his part, looked stunned. I didn’t think he could have been more surprised if they had told him they had elected an actual bird to be the next council chief of Urial. Not that Urial had a council or chiefs.

Lord Gregory turned back to Tybalt, a theatrical “what can you do?” sort of expression plastered across his face, and bowed again. “I think, Your Majesty, that in the interest of Urial, we need to focus on the future. Not the past. Certainly, I would not stand between the king and punishing Lord Mercutio. But if you were looking for something a little less... drastic than what that villain Eric will no doubt get, there remains the matter of Nemeda. I have, this day, received word that they have made peace with their enemies to the south. As such, it is more important than ever that we also have a treaty in place with them. We know the troubled, sometimes downright dangerous history of trying to make peace with Nemeda. No offense, Lord Orestes.”

“None taken,” I agreed. “We did keep your last envoy for ourselves, after all. We found Lord Paris most agreeable, and his entire family delightful.” I paused, pursing my lips. “And your intelligence is quite right. We have, in fact, made peace with the southlands.”

“Indeed,” Lord Gregory said, nodding and turning back to Tybalt. “If Lord Mercutio’s life is to be risked in payment for his brash, though not entirely inappropriate, actions, perhaps it should be in the course of his duty to his country. He can go to the Nemedan clan chiefs and sue for our own peace. Perhaps, he can even get us those oranges Albany kept promising. A successful treaty would pay any debt he might have, that he can one day return home with a clean slate and conscience.”

Tybalt took one more glance at his father, then at Gregory, and I could feel the whole court hold its breath. Would he side with his dead father, or with the old friend who had killed him?

It would not only set a precedent, which perhaps decreased the inflated Urial view on what a king was worth, but it would set a tone for his entire future as king.

Tybalt, clever Tybalt, never ever let me down.

“I would not make my first act as king of Urial to have a man killed, regardless of why. I do not approve of murder, even if my father was... quite clearly unwell, and needed to be stopped lest he harm Queen Penelope and degrade our Urial virtue. But you’re right, Lord Gregory. I would not waste another life. Where would that end? Too many lives have been either ended or hurt by this disaster and nonsensical ambition.” He reached up and wrapped an arm around Penelope’s back. “My dear stepmother Penelope lost her beloved to Lord Eric’s ambition to plant himself next to the throne. I’d have that happen to no one else.”

How had my love ever thought he would make a poor king? It was Albany’s doing, I thought, and had to swallow down the urge to kick the man’s corpse. It was enough that he was dead, no need to add disrespect to the mix.

A bit shaky, but strong and defiant to the last of his ability, Tybalt stood before his people, the precise image of what a king should be. I made sure I was behind him, bracing a hand in his back to help hold him up where no one could see. “Yes. Mercutio can make peace with Nemeda. When he brings me the oranges Father wanted, and a lasting promise of peace with our neighbors, we will welcome him home with open arms. And as I would never think to strike either Queen Penelope nor my own beloved, I cannot imagine that we will have any more of this behavior from Mercutio in the future.”

Penelope beamed at him, but then, slowly, her lips turned down. “My King,” she whispered. “As much as I do hate to turn to darker matters. As it is no longer your first act as ruler, and will not taint our future?—”

He turned to her, grabbing her hand and kissing it. “Of course, my lady. The court will hear our proof of your brother’s duplicity, and Eric will see the gallows for what he did to your husband. Cold-blooded murder in the name of personal ambition will not be allowed.”

Then, it was Tybalt’s turn to frown. He turned, finally, to me. “But if we are sending Mercutio to Nemeda to make this treaty, then... I suppose you will be free to return home, Lord Orestes.”

I smiled, kneeling down next to him. “I have already told you, My King. Where you are, I am home.”