Chapter Six: Spies, Lies, and an Impractical Horse
Elliott Bramble woke up face-down on a map of the kingdom.
This wasn't a metaphor.
He had, at some point in the night, fallen asleep on the royal war table while trying to decode the spider-and-rose coin left by the mysterious intruder.
"Any progress?" Dorian asked, stepping into the war room with a tray of breakfast and a level of energy Elliott deemed personally offensive.
"Yes," Elliott said, lifting his cheek from the map. "I've discovered that the Eastern Hills taste like parchment and old regret."
Dorian set down a plate of toast, grapes, and something that might have been meat. "You know, most kings use spies. They don't become them."
"Well, most kings weren't actors who got mistaken for royalty because they looked like a guy in a painting," Elliott muttered. "Also, someone in the castle is working with Grottenvast. I'm just trying not to die before I find out who."
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Bold strategy. Any suspects?"
"Yes. All of them. Including you."
"That's fair," Dorian said with a shrug. "But I do make excellent toast."
The Queen Who Wasn't There
Elliott requested a meeting with the one person he hadn't yet properly interrogated: Queen Mother Adalind. Or rather, the very absent Queen Mother Adalind.
"She's meditating in the North Tower," Seraphine said crisply.
"She's been meditating for six days."
"Royal clarity requires commitment."
"It also sounds like a cover for 'went on a spa vacation with the treasury funds.'"
Seraphine gave him a look. "She'll see you when she's ready."
Elliott huffed. "Fine. Then I want to visit the eastern border. Meet with Grottenvast's delegation. Show them I'm serious."
Dorian blinked. "You're voluntarily leaving the castle?"
Elliott nodded.
"You hate horses."
"I'll ride something practical."
Enter: The Impractical Horse
An hour later, Elliott was mounted on Glorious Thunder, a horse the size of a small inn, covered in decorative armor and probably powered by caffeine and rage.
"This is fine," Elliott said, clinging to the reins like they were the last noodles in a soup bowl. "Everything is fine."
"This is not fine," muttered the horse trainer, ducking behind a barrel as the beast reared in place.
Seraphine rode beside him with the elegance of a deadly hawk. Dorian followed behind, whistling cheerfully.
They rode east toward the border, through villages that stared in awe as the "king" galloped by—awkwardly and slightly sideways.
"It's nice," Elliott gasped. "Fresh air. Flying bugs. Tailbone damage."
"Focus," Seraphine muttered. "We're close."
The Neutral Meadow
The meeting place was a flat field between two rivers. A neutral zone used for trade, negotiation, and, occasionally, semi-civilized threats.
Waiting at a silk-draped tent were three delegates from Grottenvast: Lord Calvinius (tall, sharp, and shaped like an angry toothpick), a silent woman in dark robes, and a child in a velvet suit holding a falcon.
"I don't like this," Elliott whispered.
"They brought a child."
"They brought a falcon child," Seraphine corrected. "That's worse."
Lord Calvinius bowed. "Your Majesty. An honor."
"Likewise," Elliott said. "Let's get to the part where you vaguely insult my kingdom."
Calvinius smiled. "Oh, I'm far too polite for that."
"You literally poisoned our wine last week."
"I said polite. Not subtle."
Negotiations and Nonsense
The meeting proceeded with all the warmth of a snowstorm in a grudge factory.
Grottenvast claimed innocence. Elliott fake-laughed. Seraphine narrowed her eyes at everything that moved.
"We only seek peace," Calvinius said.
"Which is why you've burned six farms," Elliott replied.
"Accidents. Farmers should stop building near fire-prone grass."
The falcon child fed her bird a live mouse.
"Right," Elliott muttered. "Totally normal meeting."
Then Calvinius leaned forward. "But perhaps… an alliance. A marriage, even."
Elliott choked on his diplomatic tea.
"A what now?"
"Your reign is young. Vulnerable. Marry into our house. Secure both nations."
Seraphine stiffened. Dorian actually dropped a scone.
Elliott blinked. "You want me to marry someone from your family?"
"Not me," Calvinius said, looking repulsed. "My cousin. She's very accomplished. She makes weapons. And beets."
Elliott stood up. "This has been fun, really. But I'm not here to be auctioned off like a decorative gourd."
He turned to leave.
"Refuse, and we won't hold back next time," Calvinius said smoothly. "Consider our offer."
The falcon shrieked.
"Okay, now the bird's threatening me," Elliott said. "That's my cue."
On the Ride Back: Panic and Pie Charts
Elliott bounced uncomfortably on Glorious Thunder. "They want war. Or me. Or both."
"We need to prepare," Seraphine said.
"Do we have an army?"
"Yes."
"Do they like me?"
"…We'll bribe them."
They returned to the capital as dusk fell. Elliott was immediately greeted with six reports, three pastries, and one urgent message.
From the Queen Mother.
"She wants to see you," Dorian said.
"Is she still meditating?"
"No. She's in the throne room."
"And?"
"She brought her sword."
"Oh good," Elliott groaned. "Because today wasn't dramatic enough."
Cliffhanger: The Queen Returns
The throne room glowed with firelight. Queen Mother Adalind sat on the royal dais, eyes sharp, crown slightly tilted.
She stood as Elliott entered.
"You've made quite a mess," she said.
"Depends on your definition of 'mess,'" Elliott offered. "I call it an improv monarchy."
She stepped forward. "There are whispers in this palace. Spiders. Roses. And a name I thought long buried."
She tossed something at his feet.
Another coin. Spider devouring a rose.
"Where did you get this?" she asked.
"I was hoping you'd tell me," Elliott said. "Unless you're the traitor."
Adalind smiled—just slightly.
"Sit down, boy," she said. "I think it's time you learned everything."
End of Chapter Six