Treason, p.1
Treason, page 1
part #1 of Treason and Truth Series
From the past comes magic,
from the present, danger, gradually colliding.
Bereavement stalks the corridors of power as treason brews in the taverns of Oedran. Sibling jealousy threatens the stability of the FitzAlcis’ empire whose stories tell of magic and mundanity. Strangers weave a tale of power unaware of their destination. There are beginnings and ends so tangled that any one may be both.
When the lives of King Adeone and Sergeant Wynfeld become inextricably linked one fateful day, neither expects a chance encounter to become a dance of destinies. As Wynfeld grapples with his new life in Oedran, Adeone must protect those he loves. Soon danger closes in. Can Wynfeld hunt down the men threatening the King in time?
Copyright
Copyright © J.A.Cauldwell, 2024. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.K. copyright law. For permission requests, please email contact@pennodpress.com
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover and Illustrations by J.A.Cauldwell
Pennod Press First Edition 2024.
Distributed on Kobo.
ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-917145-04-6
ISBN (ebook): 978-1-917145-03-9
Trigger Warning
This book is fantasy set in a pre-Victorian style civilisation. There are references to unacceptable behaviours including torture, rape, slavery and murder. Other subjects such as suicide, child death and fatal illnesses are touched upon.
TREASON
The Erinnan Legacy
Treason and Truth
Book 1 of 12
J.A. Cauldwell
Dedication
For Chris
Character lists and notes on world building
are at the end of the book
THE ERINNAN LEGACY
TREASON AND TRUTH
FROM THE PAST COMES MAGIC,
FROM THE PRESENT, DANGER,
GRADUALLY COLLIDING
TREASON
TERA
TRAPPED
TRAGEDY
STORIES FROM ERINNA
EVERYBODY HAS A STORY AND SOMEBODY KNOWS IT
Standalone stories that may link to characters from other series.
TIES
For freebies, The Court Newsletter and to see more details and information on works in progress, please visit https://erinna.co.uk
MAPS
ARCHIVE
PART 1
Chapter 1
CHANGING TIMES
Imperadai, Week 31 – 18th Anapal, 4th Anapcis 1204
Oedran
RUMOUR OF DEATH stalked the corridors of power, the streets of cities and the rooms of men. It dispersed on the winds of winter bringing the chill of the unknown. Death claimed even the strongest, not just the weak; it claimed the rich, not just the poor; it claimed adult and child alike, men and women, paupers and kings.
It drew close to King Altarius Apolinar FitzAlcis, holding out its hand, sapping the strength from his battle-hardened bones. He didn’t want to fight; he had fought rebels, outwitted traitors, raised and lost family and now the hand that had snatched them reached out to him. Soon he would take it, following the path to his ancestors, reuniting with all those he had lost. It wouldn’t be today, it wouldn’t be tomorrow but it would be soon. He had people he loved still to protect.
“You’ve got to persuade Scanlon to come home,” remonstrated Princess Ira. “Your father is—”
“Don’t say it!” snapped her husband. “We’re family but it’s still treason.”
“Your father needs both his sons with him.”
“If you can talk sense into my brother, you’re more than welcome to try. He says he isn’t going to make the journey to Tera twice because I’m panicking.”
“You’re not panicking. Well, not without cause…”
Prince Adeone grimaced. “Father might rally.” He cursed as a knock at their sitting room door interrupted their time alone. “Come in! Yes, what is it, Jacobs?”
His father’s secretary bowed. “His Majesty has asked to see Her Elegance, Your Highness.”
“We’ll be there shortly,” replied Adeone dismissively.
“Forgive me, sir, but His Majesty only sent for Princess Ira.”
Adeone gave a curt nod, waiting for the door to close on the hapless man. “What have you done?” he teased.
“No idea. Should I be worried? He’s never asked to see me alone.”
“You’ll be fine. I should get to Military Counsel. Advisor Rayburn’s joining us and leaving him to the General may be a little unfair.”
As the door clicked shut behind him, she turned to the windows, drinking in the view over the formal gardens towards the palace wall then over it to Palace Walk with its grand houses, and beyond those to where the buildings dropped away to the River Edra, circling the City of Oedran, capital of her wed-family’s empire.
Checking her appearance in a mirror, she contemplated that city, the busy streets teeming with life; a hurried life of survival; a varied life of the poor, of traders and merchants, of lords and ladies; the very difference of position, of what made the city so contradictory. It hummed with the wind-blown rumour, whispered in the dark spaces: King Altarius was dying and change was coming. The rumour was true, but she shouldn’t speak of it. To talk of the death of kings was treason, as her husband had reminded her. She tried to ignore her qualms about that and her appearance. Ella’s birth wasn’t that long ago. The changes were to be expected.
She hurried along the loop of the King’s Corridor to the Audience Chamber doors, where the guards snapped to attention. Entering the opulent, gilded and polished room, she took in the familiar sight of arched panels painted with vistas of the empire: hills, forests, cascading rivers, rough seas, calm lakes and dry deserts; views of mountains and cities, of roads leading the eye to distant places or tantalisingly disappearing around corners.
As the dais guards snapped to attention; she inclined her head slightly – in acknowledgement to them and the throne they were guarding. Her skin tingled; soon her husband would sit there accepting the fealties of his lords. She wasn’t sure she was ready for the change.
Turning right, she entered the more restrained Outer Office. The secretaries stood and she glanced at the elderly King’s Administrator. He gave a slight bow before wordlessly showing her through the Inner Office to the King’s Bedchamber where her wed-father’s long-serving manservant opened the door and stood aside.
Rising from her curtsy, Ira met her wed-father’s steely brown-eyed gaze. She shivered, even in the warm room with its fire-borne scents of apple and cinnamon. Adeone’s hopes he would recover were for nothing. As the manservant left through the cleverly concealed servants’ door, she turned to her wed-father.
Loose skin folded into deep wrinkles beneath her cool fingers as she took his scarred hand. Perching on the edge of the four-poster, a tenderness welled within her that few would have believed.
Quietly he said, “You’ll soon be queen.”
“You’ll recover, sir.”
“No, I won’t. One can’t recover from age.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll join my ancestors quite happily. I’m tired, Ira, tired of the fight. It’s time for my son’s reign.”
“Sire—”
“Don’t deny the future, please – not here, not now. The day will come soon, but it won’t be easy. Adeone will be a very different king.”
“There’s no doubt he is your son, though, Your Majesty.”
“Physically speaking maybe not, but he’s more like his mother was, which is why I’ve always found it hard to show him how much I love him. Too many memories, Ira, too many…”
Tears coursed slowly down his face. Without disturbing the silence, Ira pressed her handkerchief into his hand and glanced away as he wiped his eyes. Of everything she had seen in her years of marriage, her wed-father’s frailty was the least expected.
He took a slow breath to steady his voice. “Keep loving him. He needs your love so very much.”
“I don’t think I could ever stop, Sire.”
He searched her face. Hunting for any shadow of a lie or deception, or just for reassurance, she wasn’t sure. Haunted eyes reminded her of his losses, of his loneliness since Queen Eliza’s death.
“Good, but… Don’t let him get so immersed in work that he misses the children growing. It’s all too easy to do. I missed all their lives. I thought there were more pressing things, more important things, and I was never more wrong. Don’t let him live with the same regret. Take care of the children – Elantha included.”
“Surely, Scanlon and Aelia are able to—”
His hand twitched. “I don’t doubt it but, promise me, if anything happens, to protect her as you would your own, and any siblings she may have in the coming years.”
“Of course I will, Sire. You have my word.”
Altarius sagged into his pillows. “Good. You can never tell what shocks the future brings. When you’re a monarch, you must suspect everyone. Beware of trusting people. Don’t let Adeone trust too many. No matter who they are. Just promise me that. Promise me that my son’s he art shan’t be his downfall. I trust your word, your care, your compassion as no other’s.”
Tilting her head slightly, she said, “You have my promise, Sire.”
He studied her face once more. “You know, you’ve done him a lot of good. He couldn’t have chosen better.”
She blushed and studied their clasped hands. “I don’t know about that, Your Majesty.”
“I do and I’m still King.” He squeezed her hand gently and whispered, as much to himself as to her, “Smoke and mirrors; that’s all it is. Now, you’d better go. Let this old man get some rest. Give my love to the children.”
“I will, Sire. They keep asking how you are. Arkyn especially.”
“He’s a good lad, that one. Keep him close whilst you can.”
She replaced his hand on the coverlet and left in a thoughtful mood. Walking through the palace corridors, she didn’t see the carvings, the gilding or the paint. She considered her wed-father and hoped, against evidence, that he wasn’t dying. There had been a different side to him that day, a softer side, and she realised that maybe Adeone and Scanlon should have glimpsed it more often. She wanted to see more of it herself.
After dinner, Ira dismissed the servants before turning to her husband. He appeared drawn, but they were running out of time. “Your father looked pale earlier.”
“Yes. I saw him after counsel. The doc says he’s getting weaker.”
“You need to get Scanlon home, Ad. It’s time.”
Despair washed over him. “He doesn’t have to do what I say! He’s the Justiciar of the Empire and I’m not Regent. I’m the King’s Representative and heir, but that doesn’t mean Scanlon can’t do what he thinks is best for the Terasian Law Review, and that’s what he’s quoting at me every time I try. As brothers I outrank him, socially in Oedran I outrank him, for his official duties I don’t. Father could order him home, but won’t. By the time I can order the Justiciar around, it’ll be too late. Aelia’s tried and failed. I’ve even asked Uncle Lachlan to try but he’s not got anywhere. Scanlon is as stubborn as a mule and the more we try, the worse he becomes. There’s nothing I can do. There’s just nothing…”
Ira cursed in the privacy of her head. The fact her wed-brother was being so intractable upset her more than she expected. He would surely regret not being in Oedran if Altarius died but Adeone was right: as Justiciar, only the King, or his Regent, could order Scanlon around and Altarius hadn’t named Adeone as Regent simply because it would exacerbate the rumours that he was dying.
A week later, the message came from Doctor Chapa: Adeone and Ira were needed in the King’s Chambers. They entered them quietly. Seconds later, Adeone sat by his father, holding his wasted hand. Ira moved around the bed and took Altarius’ other hand, cursing Scanlon’s absence.
With many pauses, Altarius murmured faintly, “Trust no-one, son. Love your wife and your children, but trust no-one. Implement my requests and bequests without fault. Give me your word that you’ll do it.”
“You have my word and my promise, sir.”
“Ira… Keep him sensible.”
Struggling to keep her emotions in check, she chided him to save his strength.
He held her gaze for a long moment. “My strength has gone. Don’t… don’t weep for me, Ira.”
The door opened and his siblings and second wed-daughter entered. Ira moved away from the bed to stand with Aelia, but Adeone didn’t want to leave his father’s side; he wanted to have what time was left with him.
Altarius regarded his brother and sister. “The past is over… I’ll give your greetings to them all.”
“Thank you, sir. Make your presence known,” replied Prince Lachlan.
Lady Amara sat where Ira had, her brother’s hand in hers. “He always does, Lachy. Always keeps people waiting as well.”
Altarius looked at her. With the last of his rapidly fading strength, he said, “Wish me luck, little sister.”
“All the luck I can, Alt. Don’t stand for any nonsense up there.”
Altarius never heard the last words. His eyes glazed over whilst he turned to his son. Adeone reached over and with a shaking hand closed his father’s eyes. The room was still. No-one moved for several moments; then Adeone jumped as Lachlan’s consoling hand rested on his shoulder. Glad of the support it implied, Adeone didn’t want to move, didn’t want to recognise what had happened, but there were things to do. He drew a deep breath. The deepest he ever had. He rose and carefully put his father’s hand down. Leaning forward, he kissed his father’s brow in parting.
“Rest in peace at last,” he whispered.
As he turned away from his father’s body, everyone but his aunt knelt or curtsied; she sat watching her brother’s motionless face; her own a mixture of contemplation and grief.
“No. Not now. All are equal in grief…” murmured Adeone.
“Just not in life, Sire,” observed Lachlan. “You’ll get used to it.”
Adeone shook his head, amused in spite of himself and oddly grateful to his uncle for the moment of levity. “In that case, ruin your knees. Get up everyone, please.”
Ira crossed over to him as he held out his hand, wrapping him in a hug as they gathered themselves. Silently she resolved to keep her promises to her wed-father, whatever the future brought. Lady Amara seemed unsettled – a stark reminder that times had changed and the reign of King Altarius Apolinar was already history.
Chapter 2
RETURN
Cisadai, Week 12 – 23rd Lowal, 16th Lowis 1209
Anapara
THE POUNDING OF HOOVES on the road behind them made King Adeone turn in the saddle. He had almost returned to Oedran the previous evening but had told himself he was being a fool. He was away for two days, one night, that was all. Heart racing, he spotted the livery of a palace courier. His hands slipped on the reins. Taking a breath, he turned Pursuit and rode to greet the man.
He took the letter without a word. Doctor Chapa’s seal did nothing to allay his fears. The brief missive merely told him Queen Ira had taken a turn for the worse and Chapa thought he would like to know, but Ira had insisted on him sending a note as opposed to contacting him via magical messenger. He didn’t hesitate. Spurring Pursuit into a gallop, he headed for Oedran.
By the time he saw the city clearly, his heart pounded, his back ached and he had no escort. Gradually, the city dominated his view as he urged Pursuit on. Arkyn had chosen the name well and the horse, a true Anaparian Swiftfoot, revelled in a sustained gallop.
He was within hailing distance of the city walls now and could see the mosaic of stones, the areas under repair and those already finished. He should wait for his guards. Ignoring the nagging necessity, he slowed as he crossed the bridge, weaving around people, reining into a walk as he passed under the scaffolded arch. As he ducked low, he spotted a familiar figure and his heart plummeted further. His manservant wouldn’t be waiting if it were good news. Nor would he be telling the city guards to keep people back as he was doing. He hardly noticed the army sergeant pushing himself away from the wall.
“Simkins, why are you here?”
“I thought it best, Sire. Her Grace is at Macarian House.” His manservant’s calm voice turned serious as he enquired where the King’s guards were.
“Catching up. I should give them better mounts. Remind me, at some point. I’ll meet you—”
A shout rang through the air; quick as lightning, the sergeant grabbed Pursuit’s bridle as a pot crashed on the flagstones and shards went flying.
“What was that?” demanded Adeone.
“A pot, Your Majesty,” replied the sergeant matter-of-factly. “It was knocked off the walk atop the gatehouse.”
“Accident?” enquired Adeone, studying the man’s face for it tugged at a memory.
