Scrivener’s Tale

The older man scratched genially at the close beard that made him look as though he’d been dusted with flour. ‘Florentyna will see reason, I’m sure of it.’

‘Reason,’ Cassien murmured, shaking his head. ‘What reason should I go with? A demon is coming to kill you, your majesty, and this man you see before you who, by the way, has just walked out of the woods, is here to keep you safe?’

‘Sarcasm is a cheap form of attack, Cassien, or didn’t Brother Josse teach you that?’ Fynch chided. ‘You must trust me. I think Florentyna does. I just don’t think most of the people around her do.’

‘Who else trusts you? Knows about this?’

‘Two others.’

‘And you trust them?’

He nodded and his expression became as sombre as Cassien could remember. ‘We should keep riding.’ He led his horse back to the road and Cassien followed, easily catching the apple that Fynch tossed over his shoulder for Cassien’s horse.

‘I have entrusted only one man with the information you now know. He is from the court, one of the most senior noblemen and a close advisor to the queen. He was, to some extent, like a father to her after she lost her own.’

‘That’s a relief. I’ll likely need some allies in the palace.’

‘He’s not in the palace, I’m afraid … not any longer.’

‘So how does he help us?’

‘He helps by observing someone.’

‘Master Fynch,’ Cassien said, pausing, ‘I’m going to have to ask you to be clearer. You were specific when you wanted me to leave the forest with you and yet you fall back on being vague now.’

Fynch stared at him thoughtfully. ‘You’re right. But what I have to say you will find hard to believe.’

‘Are you sure?’ he said, a tone of scepticism creeping into his voice. He heard it and tempered it, schooling his tone to be respectful. ‘Given what I’ve already had to accept perhaps you will allow me to be the best judge of what I find credible.’

Fynch nodded and began slowly. ‘Someone I think of as my friend and who was a close counsel to the queen, though astonished by my story, agreed to humour me and introduce me to the sovereign so I could bring her my warnings directly. The queen, though attentive, was dissuaded by her sister, Darcelle, who wields considerable influence.’

Cassien’s gaze narrowed. ‘Hmm, that does change the complexion of this situation.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did Florentyna go along with her sister’s decision if she trusts you?’

‘Believing she trusts me is probably stretching the truth,’ Fynch admitted. When Cassien’s mouth tightened, he hurried on. ‘But she listened without scorn. However, without the close counsel of my ally in her presence — his name was Chancellor Reynard by the way — she was persuaded by the others. Her sister believes I am some sort of mad old fellow who has been chewing the dreamleaf or is in his cups.’ Fynch stopped his horse and whispered something to it before he climbed into the saddle.

Quietly, Cassien followed suit.

‘You see, Cassien, Queen Florentyna has no idea who I am. She likes me, humours me, perhaps because I’m old, more likely as someone who once knew her father.’

‘Why haven’t you told her the truth?’

‘You admit the only reason you believe me, trust me, is because of a wolf and because I know about your magical roaming. Do you really think a modern young queen — an empress, in fact — such as Florentyna is going to believe in magic?’

‘Have you asked her?’

‘I didn’t dare.’

‘Well, surely —’

‘And Chancellor Reynard assured me it would be dangerous to permit such talk around the palace. Too many ears. It plays right into the hands of Cyricus. We don’t know who our enemies are.’

‘Why did Reynard trust you, then?’

Fynch shrugged. ‘He comes from a line of courtiers — advisors to the Crown. His great-grandfather — a Briavellian, I think — was an old, old friend of King Valor, Valentyna’s father. So Empress Valentyna brought him to her court and enjoyed his counsel. The Reynards have enjoyed royal favour ever since … I suppose I was able to tell him things about his grandfather, for I remember his grandfather as a very young lad and I was not much older than him. I had followed Wyl Thirsk to the Briavellian palace … I won’t go into it.

‘Anyway, we met briefly and talked as lads do. I needed help at the time and all I had as currency was a small token my mother had given me. She had carved her and my initials into a disc of wood that she’d polished and varnished.’ He shrugged at Cassien. ‘We were very poor, you understand. I showed Reynard’s great-grandfather that disc and he liked it. So I snapped it in half and gave him one of the halves, which contained my initial.’

‘What did you exchange?’ Cassien asked.

Fynch smiled. ‘Food for my companion — a dog called Knave. Anyway, I was relating this story to Reynard in the hope that it would convince him that I knew his family. But he did better than I’d hoped. Reynard produced the half-disc. It was a valueless trinket that had been passed down but he had always loved it.’ Again Fynch shrugged. ‘I could have wept to see it again after so many decades. I was able to show him my half, which joined with his perfectly, and told him the initial he held was mine. He was astonished, shaken, of course. He didn’t really want to believe it but could not discredit it. He began to listen and the more I told him, the more he wanted to assist but was almost embarrassed that he believed me. You can understand how far-fetched it all sounds?’

Cassien nodded. If not for Romaine …

Fynch continued. ‘Despite logic, he followed his instincts and agreed to throw in his lot with me. He said he’d help but we could not press her majesty again. He offered to attempt the journey of shifting worlds that I spoke of.’ Fynch lifted a sad shoulder. ‘I don’t think he ever believed it would work.’

‘How do you know it has worked?’

Fynch’s expression clouded. ‘I don’t but I have faith that the imminent sign — the confirmation — will come.’

‘How are you so sure that this demon exists? That he’s coming?’

‘Because of Aphra. She can’t hide herself as well as Cyricus. She leaves a trace.’

‘Magical, you mean?’

‘Curiously visceral, actually, except it comes to me through ethereal means. Does that make sense to you?

Cassien gave an uncertain shrug. ‘Go on.’

‘She became suddenly active recently.’

‘Here?’

Fynch looked pained. ‘No, she’s still in another world.’

Cassien took a slow breath but kept his expression even. ‘And you know this because …?’

‘I could smell violets on the wind. There are no violets in the Wild to yield such perfume.’

Cassien’s lips thinned with growing consternation. ‘And that’s her trace?’

‘Yes,’ Fynch said softly. ‘Breath of violets.’

‘And if she’s active then so is Cyricus?’