Against The World

I woke to the sound of my wife arguing with the wall.

That was new.

“No,” Evelyn said.

“Morning briefing remains available.”

“And it may remain available.”

“Three delegations have requested an audience.”

“They can have breakfast.”

“Two petitions concern matters described as urgent.”

“Who described them that way?”

“The petitioners.”

“Then ask Mary.”

A pause followed.

I kept my eyes closed.

This seemed worth listening to.

“Royal Archivist Mary has instructed that their Majesties are not to be disturbed before the ninth bell.”

“An excellent instruction,” Evelyn said.

“The king previously requested a report for tomorrow.”

“It is tomorrow. It will continue being tomorrow’s date after breakfast.”

“Clarification accepted.”

The room became quiet.

I opened one eye.

Evelyn stood beside the window in a blue morning robe, her hair loose over her shoulders. Sunlight caught the ring on her hand.

She noticed me watching.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to appreciate marrying someone who can defeat the castle.”

“I have not defeated it. I have taught it to wait.”

“That is considerably more difficult.”

She returned to the bed and sat beside me.

“Good morning.”

I took her hand.

“Good morning, wife.”

Her smile was still immediate.

I hoped that never changed.

Outside, a cart rattled across the courtyard. Someone laughed. The wedding banners stirred beyond the open shutters.

Greykeep had survived the celebration.

So had we.

For once, that felt like enough to accomplish before breakfast.

We ate beside the window.

Beatrice had sent bread, eggs, sliced pears, and a note instructing us to return the tray empty.

Evelyn inspected the pears approvingly.

“Still firm.”

“I remembered.”

“You ordered breakfast?”

“Yesterday.”

She looked at me over the plate.

“Between the wedding and the coronation?”

“Before the wedding.”

“You were thinking about pears?”

“I was thinking about you.”

She went quiet.

Then she leaned across the small table and kissed me.

I nearly dropped my cup.

“That,” I said after a moment, “was worth remembering fruit for.”

She laughed and took a piece of bread.

We talked about the feast.

About Melody persuading a Keld guardsman to dance, then discovering he knew several steps she did not.

About Mary pretending not to enjoy herself.

About Garrick falling asleep in a chair while Helena continued discussing guest arrangements with perfect energy.

Eventually, Evelyn rested her hand beside mine.

“Do you feel different?”

“Married?”

“Crowned.”

I considered it.

The castle remained at the edge of my awareness.

Before, I had sensed particular things when I reached for them. Water moving through a channel. A gate waiting for a command.

Now there was a steady impression of depth.

Rooms beneath rooms.

Doors I had not known existed.

A sense that something very large had stopped asking who I was.

“Yes.”

“So do I.”

She looked toward the wall.

“I can tell when someone enters the royal rooms. Not who. Just that the threshold has been crossed.”

“Does it bother you?”

“A little.”

“We can ask whether it can be quieted.”

Her fingers turned beneath mine.

“You do not mind?”

“Evelyn, I would prefer my wife to sleep rather than spend the night knowing Alistair walked past the door.”

“That was him?”

“Almost certainly.”

She smiled.

Then her expression grew thoughtful.

“The new records may tell us more about all of this.”

“I know.”

“Are you avoiding them?”

I looked toward the courtyard.

A worker was taking down one of the temporary awnings. Two children argued over a fallen ribbon.

“A little.”

“Why?”

“Every time Greykeep opens something, we inherit more work.”

She squeezed my hand.

“Then we should find out what it is while we still have people here who might help.”

That was sensible.

I disliked how often sensible advice involved leaving a comfortable chair.

Mary met us outside the council room at the ninth bell.

She looked at our empty breakfast tray.

Then at us.

“Good.”

“Beatrice asked you to check?”

“No.”

“You checked anyway?”

“Yes.”

Melody leaned against the opposite wall.

“Did the castle wake you?”

“It tried,” Evelyn said.

“Did you threaten it?”

“I explained the time.”

Melody looked impressed.

“I would have threatened it.”

“You threaten furniture,” Mary said.

“Only when it gets in the way.”

Alistair approached carrying no ceremonial sword, just the practical blade he normally wore.

The wedding had ended.

The work had not.

“Your Majesties.”

Evelyn glanced at me.

We were still getting used to hearing that.

“The delegations?” I asked.

“Eating,” he said.

“My parents?”

“Your mother-in-law has joined them. Your father-in-law requests a conversation before he leaves.”

“About?”

“He did not say.”

“That is reassuring.”

Alistair smiled faintly.

Mary adjusted the document case beneath her arm.

“First, the archive?”

I nodded.

The Castellan’s eye appeared on the wall.

“Permanent Crown authority confirmed. Restricted records access available.”

“Anything dangerous waiting behind the door?” Melody asked.

“Records.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“That did not answer my question.”

Mary stepped forward.

“It answered mine.”

The entrance stood behind the throne room.

I had passed the wall dozens of times.

It contained a faded relief of a river, three towers, and a tree with most of its branches chipped away.

Now two small circles glowed near its base.

Evelyn placed her palm over one.

I covered the other.

Stone withdrew into the wall.

Beyond it, stairs descended into warm light.

“Some chambers require both of us?” I asked.

“Certain sovereign records require two authorized witnesses,” the Castellan replied. “The crowned sovereigns may serve. Other chartered arrangements are available when necessary.”

Mary nodded.

“Someone once decided kings should not open everything alone.”

“Someone sounds sensible,” Evelyn said.

“Glad you showed up when you did, seems having a queen is imperative.”

I said with a wry smile.

Melody looked at me.

I ignored her.

We descended.

The chamber below was not a treasure vault.

At least, not the kind I had imagined.

Shelves filled three walls. Sealed cases stood in numbered rows. A long table occupied the center, its surface covered by a pale sheet of stone veined with gold.

There were no jewels.

No mountains of coins.

Mary made a small sound.

I turned toward her.

She was staring at the shelves.

Apparently treasure depended on whom you asked.

“The seals are intact,” she whispered.

“Preservation measures remain operational,” the Castellan said.

Mary moved closer to a case, then stopped herself.

“May I?”

“Archivist access confirmed.”

The seal opened beneath her hand.

She lifted the lid as carefully as someone uncovering a sleeping child.

Inside lay bound volumes, their leather covers supple, their pages untouched by damp.

Alistair remained at the foot of the stairs.

I noticed his expression.

“What?”

“My grandfather searched for this place.”

His voice was quiet.

“He believed the records had been burned.”

Mary looked back.

“Some survived.”

Alistair nodded once.

Then he walked to the table and rested both hands against its edge.

“What did they leave us?”

The gold veins brightened.

A map appeared across the stone.

Greykeep stood at its center.

Roads spread outward.

Rivers.

Bridges.

Villages.

Farther away, names shone in lettering I could not fully read.

Some places glowed gold.

Most remained dark.

My attention caught on a cluster north of the castle.

“What are those?”

“Former Crown dependencies,” the Castellan said. “Last verified administrative status predates the present reign.”

“Meaning?”

“The map is old,” Mary said. “It cannot tell us who lives there now.”

“Correct.”

Evelyn leaned beside me.

“So we cannot look at a mark and decide it belongs to us.”

“Correct.”

I felt several future arguments become slightly easier.

“Good.”

The Castellan continued.

“Accession review includes property, civic obligations, unresolved judgments, outstanding accounts, and protected agreements.”

“Of course it includes accounts,” I said.

Mary had already taken out her pen.

The first surprise was that Greykeep possessed three mills we had not known about.

The second was that two had last been inspected more than a century earlier.

The third was that the treasury contained considerably less money than the word treasury suggested.

“How little?” I asked.

Mary read the figure.

Evelyn looked at the conversion table beside it.

Then at me.

“Enough to be useful.”

“That sounds carefully phrased.”

“Enough to purchase tools and pay several outstanding invoices,” she said. “Not enough to build a kingdom.”

“What happened to the rest?”

The Castellan brought another record into view.

“Transferred during the final evacuation.”

“To whom?”

“Provincial shelters, winter stores, medical houses, and escorted civilian columns.”

Alistair closed his eyes briefly.

The last rulers had not left us a mountain of gold.

They had spent it getting people out.

I found I could live with that.

Then Mary reached the outstanding accounts.

Her pen stopped.

“What is it?” Evelyn asked.

“These are not debts owed to Greykeep.”

I looked up.

“Then who owes them?”

Mary turned the page toward me.

“We do.”

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