times, or when asked a question. He was not permitted to take part in any discussion, or to express an opinion, without being invited, and he was seldom invited.
Karl had given him a sympathetic smile when he first sat down on his throne. He rather thought he knew how the Commoner felt. The Commoner had very slightly bowed his head, but made no other response.
At the end of his term, the Commoner would be greatly rewarded. If he failed to serve out his term, he would receive nothing. It gave him great incentive to behave himself precisely as the MageLords expected him to behave.
As well, at the end of his term, the Commoner’s memory of the meetings he had attended would be magically removed. As a discussion of which of two Commoner firms should have the snow-clearing contract for a bridge over the North Evrenfels River in Berriton dragged on, Karl rather wished he had that option.
The meeting was well into its fourth hour, and Karl feared he would never walk again, when Lord Athol finally said, “I therefore declare us adjourned. We will reconvene in three days, at which time Lord Falk will tell us of the preliminary results of his investigation into the attempt on Prince Karl’s life.” He smiled. “In the meantime, I expect I will see many of you tonight at Davydd Verdsmitt’s play.” There was a murmur of assent, then the Councillors began to get to their feet. Athol hurried to catch up to the King’s Purse. “Lady Estra, a word…”
Lord Athol and Lady Estra exited together, talking in low voices. Tagaza nodded to Karl as he gathered up his notes and trailed along. The Commoner remained where he was, reading over papers, as did Lady Vin, who was still studying the final report the Council had received. Karl stood and stretched, and Lady Vin raised her head. “Will you be at Verdsmitt’s play, Your Highness?”
“The first new play by Verdsmitt in three years, Lady Vin? You’d have to tie me up to keep me away.” Or assassinate me, he thought, and grinned a little sourly, wondering if Falk had considered that unlikely motive for the attack. He glanced up as Teran, relegated to the hallway outside during the Council meeting, came in to see what was taking him so long. “You will sit behind me, won’t you?” he said to his bodyguard, who stood a head taller than he did. “If you sit in front of me I won’t be able to see a thing.”
A grin flicked over Teran’s face. “I could slouch. But no, I won’t be sitting in front of you.”
“Nor in front of me, I trust,” Lady Vin said lightly. She stood and gathered her papers, then hesitated. “I… was alarmed when I heard of the attack on you, Your Highness,” she said, her voice warmed by concern, though whether real or feigned, Karl couldn’t tell. “It would be a tragedy if the Kingdom were to lose you.”
“Well, I certainly agree with you,” Karl said, keeping his own voice light. “But Falk has taken every precautionary measure. I’m reasonably confident that no attacks on my august person will disrupt tonight’s performance… or if they do, I promise to step outside and die quietly in the hall so as not to disturb the rest of the audience.”
Lady Vin laughed. “Your solicitude is appreciated, Your Highness. Fare well until this evening.” She swept out, leaving Karl alone with Teran and the Commoner.
Karl strode over to him, and he scrambled to his feet and bowed respectfully. “Please, sit down,” Karl said. The Commoner bowed again, and resumed his place behind the table. Karl glanced down at the papers there. “What are you reading?”
“More about the bridge contract, Your Highness,” said the Commoner. “I have some… concerns.”
Karl cocked his head. “You don’t think the Council made the right decision?”
The Commoner lowered his head. “As you know, Your Highness, it is not my place to say.”
“It is if the Prince asks you for your opinion,” Karl said softly. “And I’m asking.”
The Commoner’s head came up again, slowly. “Then, Your Highness. .. no, I do not think the Council made the right decision.”
Karl sighed. “As it happens, neither do I. The contractor was chosen because Lady Vin conducts non- government business with him. He gives her a very good price on that work, and in exchange she arranges for him to snare overpriced government contracts.”
The Commoner’s face went blank. “If you say so, Your Highness.”
“I’m not trying to trap you,” Karl said tiredly. “It’s obvious, and everyone knows it. But nobody cares.”
The Commoner raised his left eyebrow. “But you do, Your Highness?” he said softly.
“Yes,” Karl said. “I do. But I’m still only the Heir. When I’m King…” He spread his hands. “I don’t know what I can do then, either, to tell the truth. But I hope to do better than our current King. And I hope to craft a Council that does better as well.”
The Commoner’s right eyebrow went up as well. “I would… welcome that, Your Highness.”
“Well… I’ll let you get back to work,” said Karl, and headed for the big oak doors, Teran close behind.
In the Great Hall, Teran said, “That was an interesting conversation.”
Karl glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t think I should talk to the Commoner that way?”
Teran smiled. “Hardly. I think that’s exactly the way you should talk to him. But not many Mageborn would, and no MageLords. It’s particularly interesting considering Falk seems to think the Commoners were behind the attack on you.”
Karl shrugged. “All the more reason to try to make the point with any Commoner who will listen that I hope to be a different kind of King than they’re used to, isn’t it? Not that the MageLords will make it easy.” He reached back and rubbed his rear end with both hands; it was tingling now that blood flow had been restored to it. “Damn, I hate that chair.”
Teran laughed. “Not very Prince-like, Your Highness.”
“Even Princes get sore butts, Teran.”
As they strode through the corridors leading to Karl’s quarters, they passed the Royal Theater, a grandly named but rather small auditorium that held no more than a hundred audience members. The doors stood open, and Karl, glancing in, saw workmen on the stage, hammering away at set pieces lying facedown on the black- painted wood. He felt a thrill of anticipation. A new Verdsmitt play! He could hardly wait.
Falk had never shown any interest in plays of any kind, by Verdsmitt or anyone else, as far as Karl knew. He wondered why the Minister of Public Safety was making a special effort to be back for the performance.
He snorted to himself as they moved on down the hall, the sound of hammering following them. Of course, with a moment’s thought, he knew why. Verdsmitt was widely whispered to be sympathetic to the Common Cause, though how much of that was truth and how much merely a smear campaign by his less-known (and less-talented) rivals Karl did not know. Nevertheless, if Karl had heard those rumors, surely Lord Falk had, as well.
So why hasn’t he canceled the performance? Karl wondered. If he hadn’t, he had good reason for it. Falk did not simply overlook things.
“It should be an interesting evening,” Teran said, voicing what Karl had been thinking, and while such a thought could sometimes fill him with excitement, on this day, it filled him with foreboding.
Three hours later, following a light supper of hot barley soup and cold fresh walleye (there would be a surfeit of food at the reception following the play), Karl entered the Royal Theater, dressed in his finest white tunic and scarlet trousers. A featherweight gold cape floated from epaulets on each shoulder, and a golden circlet, with an enormous ruby centered in the middle of his forehead, proclaimed his rank. Glittering black calf-high boots and a ceremonial sword completed his faux-military ensemble.
He felt like a fool, really, but it was his duty as representative of the Crown to dress the part and impress upon the Verdsmitt Players the honor a Royal Performance represented.
Of course, for real honor, the play should have been attended by the King, but once again, the King was “indisposed.”
Karl had vague memories from when he was a small child of his father laughing uproariously at performances in this very theater. When had all that changed? He hadn’t seen his father in the flesh for
… what? Two months? In fact, the only reason he could be certain the old man was still alive was that the Keys had not come to him, an event which Tagaza had assured him he would not overlook.
“When the King or Queen dies,” the First Mage had told him, “the Heir to the Keys immediately feels faint and may even black out. There is reportedly a feeling of disconnection, as if the mind and body have been separated. Next, consciousness enlarges. Previous Heirs have reported that for a brief but overpowering moment they felt connected to every Mageborn in the Kingdom, a feeling followed by an equally overpowering sense of loss as the sensation passes and mind and body reunite. All of this frequently is followed by a splitting headache and nausea.”
“Charming,” Karl had responded. “The effect of becoming King appears to closely mimic the effect of eating
