‘This is not a disaster,’ said Thade, soothingly. ‘Hengar is out of the way, and our hands remain clean. Don’t you see how things have fallen in our favour? That fool’s dalliance with the Samarlan ambassador’s daughter gave us the perfect opportunity to remove him and make it look like a pirate attack. If he’d not been travelling in secret, if your spies hadn’t discovered his affair, our job would have been that much more difficult.’
Grephen grunted in reluctant agreement, allowing himself to be mollified.
‘Not only that,’ Thade went on, ‘but leaking information about the affair to the public has turned them against Hengar and the Archduchy in general. Hengar was the one they loved, remember? He stood aside when his parents began their ridiculous campaign to deprive the people of the message of the Allsoul. His death could have strengthened the family, made them sympathetic in the eyes of the common man, but instead they have never been so unpopular.’
‘That’s true, that’s true.’
Thade was warming to his own positivity now. ‘Don’t you see how kindly the Allsoul looks on our enterprise? We have cleared the line of succession: the Archduke has no other children to inherit his title. The people will welcome you when you seize control of the Coalition. You will be Archduke Grephen, and a new dynasty will begin!’
Crake’s mind reeled. This was what it was all about? Spit and blood, they were planning a coup! They were planning to overthrow the Archduke!
It was all but inconceivable. Nobody alive remembered what it was like to live without a member of the Arken dynasty ruling the land. The rulers of the duchy of Thesk had been the leaders of the Coalition for almost a century and a half. They’d been the ones who forcefully brought the squabbling Coalition to heel after they deposed the King and threw down the monarchy. The first Archduke of Vardia had been of the family of Arken, as had every one since. The Arkens had been the ultimate power in the land for generations, overseeing the Third Age of Aviation and the Aerium Wars, the discovery of New Vardia and Jagos on the far side of the world, the formation of the Century Knights. They’d abolished serfdom and brought economic prosperity and industry to a land strangled by the stagnant traditions of millennia of royal rule.
Crake felt history teetering. Riveted, he listened on.
‘It . . . concerns me that Darian Frey is still on the run,’ said the Duke. ‘He has already been to the whispermonger you employed.’
‘Don’t worry about Quail. Dracken has made sure he won’t speak to anyone ever again.’
‘But Frey is already on the trail. He was spotted near your daughter’s hermitage.’
‘Amalicia has been questioned by the Mistresses, at my request. She swears that he never visited her. Dracken probably caught up to him before he had a chance to—’
‘What if she’s lying?’
‘You know I can’t go in there or bring her out. She must stay in isolation. We have to trust her, and the Mistresses.’
‘My point is, he must know about you. That means he may learn about me.’
‘Peace, your Grace. Who’ll believe him? With Quail dead, there’s nothing to link us but the word of a mass-murderer.’
‘It’s not a chance I want to take. If he digs deep enough, he might find something. I don’t want the Century Knights getting hold of him and giving him the chance to spout his theories to the Archduke.’
Crake was sitting atop the toilet, elbows on his knees, one hand on his forehead with his fingers clenched anxiously through his hair. Finally he understood the true seriousness of their situation. Unwittingly, they’d become entangled in a power-play for the greatest prize in the land. The only problem was they’d been inconvenient enough not to die when they were supposed to. Now they
