CHAPTER THREE
Melissande heard the commotion when she was still one dingy corridor away from the palace's Large Audience Chamber. Raised voices. Indignant expostulations. The rat-a-tat-tat of ebony canes on marble-tiled flooring. She felt her insides clench. Her brisk footsteps slowed, and her heart suddenly felt too large for her chest. Someone was arguing with Lional.
She started hurrying again, breath caught in her throat. More than likely it was the Council. Oh, how could they be so stupid? Didn't they understand her brother yet? When were they going to realise that Lional wasn't his father? The late king had been a kind, mostly ineffectual man who was more than happy to let the Council run the kingdom on his behalf. Leave him alone to potter in his gardens and trundle out once or twice a year for public display and he was perfectly content. Lional wasn't. For a start, he didn't like gardens. Even less did he like being told what to do by a bunch of nattering old men. The only thing Lional and the late king had in common was the name. And in the last few months, as kingship took its toll, Lional s temper had grown markedly short.
Fearing the worst she sprinted the final eight yards and skidded around the corner to the audience chamber's reception area. Now she could make out actual words in the shouting. Words like 'foolish' and 'ridiculous' and 'misguided'. Saint Snodgrass preserve them.
Her other brother was sitting in a plush red velvet chair, his bony nose stuck in a book as usual. From the ratty state of his britches and jacket he'd come straight from his butterfly house. It was possible he'd even slept there last night; half a green butterfly wing was caught in his hair and he had a rumpled, unbedlike look. Ignoring the shouting and the two discomfited attendants on either side of the open chamber doors, she rushed up to him and snatched the book from his hands.
'Rupert! What's going on? What are they yelling about now, do you know?'
Rupert blinked at her myopically. 'What are who yelling about? Oh! You mean Lional and the Council?' He shrugged. 'Haven't a clue, Melly. Sorry. I was engrossed in a particularly fascinating chapter about the mating habits of the Larger Crested Swamp Butterfly of Lower Limpopo.' A gleam of passion shone in his faded blue eyes. 'I'd give just about anything to have one in my collection but the Lower Limpopo government is so unreasonable when it comes to exporting their native fauna. I've even asked Court Wizard Greenfeather to help, since he's from Lower Limpopo and seems to know everybody important, but — '
'RupertV Confiscated book pinned between her knees, Melissande clapped her hands sharply in front of his face. 'Are you sure you don't know what they're yelling about?'
'Positive,' said Rupert cheerfully. He wiggled his fingers at her. 'Can I have my book back, please?'
Swallowing an impatient sigh she shoved it at him. There was no point getting angry with Rupert. He was a darling man, a sweet and thoughtful brother, but not even an adoring sister could call him the brightest candle in the palace chandelier.
Inside the audience chamber the shouting stopped. She heard Lional say, 'Raise your voices to me one more time, gentlemen, and there will be consequences, is that clear?'
There was a moment's silence and then the voices resumed. This time they were pitched at a respectful murmur.
'Whoops,' said Rupert, wincing. 'I think they've really made him cross this time.'
Melissande slumped into the chair beside him. 'They always do, the silly old fools. You'd think they'd learn.' With a sigh, she patted Rupert's threadbare knee. 'What brings you here, anyway?'
He brightened. 'I need permission to leave the country. There's a terribly important symposium in Aframbigi I want to attend. 'Natural Mutations Arising From Captive Lepidoptery Breeding Programs'. It's being chaired by Professor Sunyi herself!' He released a tiny, ecstatic sigh. 'I've read every book and pamphlet she's ever written. The idea of meeting her — '
'Is pretty much out of the question,' she said, as gently as she could. 'Balloon season's over and the Kallarapi are still refusing nonessential camel-train passage.'
Rupert's expression turned mulish. 'There's still the portal.'
'The portal? Don't be silly, Rupert. Lional will never let you use it. Not for a butterfly symposium.' 'He might. If I ask him nicely.'
Dear Rupert. Deluded, ever-hopeful Rupert. There was no point arguing, either. The only trait he and their older brother had in common was a streak of stubbornness as wide as the Kallarapi Desert. She patted his knee again. Sometimes she felt like Rupert's mother, not his little sister. 'Yes, Rupe. You can always ask.'
'Don't worry, I will.' He sniffed. 'Why do you want to see him?'
'I don't. I was summoned.' She chewed at a fingernail. 'I hope it's not about finishing school again. How many more times can I say no? For pity's sake, I'm nearly twenty-one! Finishing school would finish me all right, but not in the way he thinks. And anyway, I don't have time.'
'Because of your correspondence course with Madame — '
'ShhhV she hissed, and glanced at the po-faced chamber attendants. They never looked as though they were listening but one couldn't be too careful. She lowered her voice. 'Partly. And I have a feeling I should be here.'
'But Mel…' said Rupert anxiously, 'you might not have a choice. After all, Lional's the king now. Father didn't much mind what any of us did so long as we weren't running all over his flowerbeds. But Lional's got views. Especially about being contradicted.'
She waved a dismissive hand.'I'm his little sister. Putting me in prison wouldn't look good. Besides, Lional's bark is far worse than his bite, you know that.' She patted his knee again. 'Don't worry'
Rupert smoothed his thin fingers over the cover of his precious book. 'Well, I hope you're right, Mel. But I still think you should reconsider. You never know, finishing school might be fun and at least it'd get you away from here for a — '
' Dismissed? roared a voice from inside the audience chamber. 'The entire Council? Is Your Majesty quite madV
'Mad? No!' was Lional's cold reply. 'But I am sorely tempted to serve you your liver fried with onions for daring to take that tone with me, your kingl'
Melissande and Rupert leapt to their feet. Even the diplomatically deaf, dumb and blind chamber attendants quivered. 'That sounded like Lord Billingsley,' Rupert whispered hoarsely. 'He always was a bit tactless.'
'There's tactless and then there's suicidal,' Melissande whispered back. She felt Rupert's cold hand groping for hers and wrapped her fingers round it. 'I'm sorry, Rupe, but I think asking Lional for permission to leave the country will have to wait.'
Rupert nodded. 'Yes. D'you want me to stay anyway? You know, for moral support?'
A fresh babble of angry voices rose within the audience chamber. 'No, I'll be fine. You go. We both know Lional in a temper gives you hives.'
He let go of her hand. 'Well,' he said, sounding relieved.'If you're sure…'
She was certain. Rupert got on Lional's nerves even more than Lord Billingsley and the rest of the Council. All her life she'd pushed herself between them like a wodge of cotton wool, preventing unfortunate breakages.
'Positive.' She stretched up and kissed his stubbly cheek. 'I'll see you at dinner, all right? Say hello to the butterflies for me — and don't forget to shave. Lional's got views about that too, remember?'
Rupert departed, clutching his book. A moment later Lional's Council — his former Council — filed out of the audience chamber. Their expressions were identically thunderous. Ebony cane tips rapping the floor, they muttered to one another under their wheezing breaths as they limped and shuffled into the chamber's reception area, a group of old men whose aggregate age approached a staggering one thousand years. No wonder Lional was tired of them.
Lord Billingsley, the youngest at seventy-six, paused to look down his bulbous nose at her. Like his colleagues he was dressed in the height of courtly fashion: striped trousers, tail coat and boiled shirt, with half a diamond mine's worth of stick pins and gewgaws thrust into his polka-dot silk cravat. 'Your Highness.' She nodded.'Lord Billingsley.' 'Here to see the king?' 'That's right.'
'Then I suggest you take a moment to talk some sense into him!' Billingsley snapped. His left eye twitched uncontrollably, threatening to shoot his monocle clear across the room. 'He seems to have completely lost his
