Royal Exile. Fiona McIntosh

blessed with a daughter.’

      Brennus looked at the woman as though she had suddenly begun speaking gibberish.

      She hurried on in her anxious whisper. ‘She is beautiful but I must warn that she is frail due to her early arrival. A girl, majesty,’ she muttered with awe. ‘How long has it been?’

      ‘Show me,’ Brennus demanded, his jaw grinding to keep his own fears in check. The midwife obliged and he was left with no doubt; he had sired a girl. Wrapping her in the linens again, he looked mournfully at the old, knowing midwife — old enough to have delivered him nearly five decades ago. She knew about the Valisar line and what this arrival meant. How much worse could their situation get, he wondered, his mind instantly chaotic.

      ‘I fear she may not survive, majesty.’

      ‘I am taking her to the chapel,’ he said, ignoring the woman’s concerns.

      Their attention was momentarily diverted by Piven scampering up, his dark curly hair its usual messy mop and his matching dark eyes twinkling with delight at seeing his father. But Piven gave everyone a similar welcome; it was obvious he made no distinction between man or woman, king or courtier. Everyone was a friend, deserving of a beaming, vacant salutation. Brennus affectionately stroked his invalid son’s hair.

      The midwife tried to protest. ‘But the queen has hardly seen her. She said —’

      ‘Never mind what the queen instructs.’ Brennus reached for the baby. ‘Give her to me. I would hold the first Valisar princess in centuries. She will go straight to the chapel for a blessing in case she passes on. My wife will understand. Tell her I shall be back shortly with our daughter.’

      Brennus didn’t wait for the woman’s reply. Cradling his daughter as though she were a flickering flame that could be winked out with the slightest draught, he shielded her beneath his cloak and strode — almost ran — to Penraven’s royal chapel, trailed by his laughing, clapping five-year-old boy. Inside he locked the door. His breathing had become laboured and shallow, and the fear that had begun as a tingle now throbbed through his body like fire.

      The priest came and was promptly banished. Soon after a knock at the door revealed De Vis with his twin sons in tow, looking wide-eyed but resolute. Now tall enough to stand shoulder to shoulder alongside their father like sentries, strikingly similar and yet somehow clearly individual, they bowed deeply to their sovereign, while Piven mimicked the action. Although neither Gavriel nor Corbel knew what was afoot for them, they had obviously been told by their father that each had a special role to perform.

      ‘Bolt it,’ Brennus ordered as soon as the De Vis family was inside the chapel.

      A glance to one son by De Vis saw it done. ‘Are we alone?’ he asked the king as Corbel drew the heavy bolt into place.

      ‘Yes, we’re secure.’

      De Vis saw the king fetch a gurgling bundle from behind one of the pews and then watched his boys’ brows crinkle with gentle confusion although they said nothing. He held his breath in an attempt to banish his reluctance to go through with the plan. He could hardly believe this was really happening and that the king and he had agreed to involve the boys. And yet there was no other way, no one else to trust.

      ‘This is my newborn child,’ Brennus said quietly, unable to hide the catch in his voice.

      The legate forced a tight smile although the sentiment behind it was genuine. ‘Congratulations, majesty.’ The fact that the baby was among them told him the plan was already in motion. He felt the weight of his own fear at the responsibility that he and the king were about to hand over; it fell like a stone down his throat to settle uncomfortably, painfully, in the pit of his stomach. Could these young men — still youthful enough that their attempts to grow beards and moustaches were a source of amusement — pull off the extraordinary plan that the king and he had hatched over this last moon? From the time at which it had become obvious that the Set could not withstand the force of Loethar’s marauding army.

      They had to do this. He had to trust that his sons would gather their own courage and understand the import of what was being entrusted to them.

      De Vis became aware of the awkward silence clinging to the foursome, broken only by the flapping of a sparrow that had become trapped in the chapel and now flew hopelessly around the ceiling, tapping against the timber and stone, testing for a way out. Piven, nearby, flapped his arms too, his expression vacant, unfocused.

      De Vis imagined Brennus felt very much like the sparrow right now — trapped but hoping against hope for a way out of the baby’s death. There was none. He rallied his courage, for he was sure Brennus’s forlorn expression meant the king’s mettle was foundering. ‘Gavriel, Corbel, King Brennus wishes to tell you something of such grave import that we cannot risk anyone outside of the four of us sharing this plan. No one … do you understand?’

      Both boys stared at their father and nodded. Piven stepped up into the circle and eyed each, smiling beatifically.

      ‘Have you chosen who takes which responsibility?’ Brennus asked, after clearing his throat.

      ‘Gavriel will take Leo, sire. Corbel will …’ he hesitated, not sure whether his own voice would hold. He too cleared his throat. ‘He will —’

      Brennus rescued him. ‘Hold her, Corbel. This is a new princess for Penraven and a more dangerous birth I cannot imagine. I loathe passing this terrible responsibility to you but your father believes you are up to it.’

      ‘Why is she dangerous, your majesty?’ Corbel asked.

      ‘She is the first female to be born into the Valisars for centuries, the only one who might well be strong enough to live. Those that have been born in the past have rarely survived their first hour.’ Brennus shrugged sorrowfully. ‘We cannot let her be found by the tyrant Loethar.’

      De Vis sympathised with his son. He could see that the king’s opening gambit was having the right effect in chilling Corbel but he was also aware that Brennus was circling the truth.

      In fact he realised the king was distancing himself from it, already addressing Gavriel.

      ‘…must look after Leo. I cannot leave Penraven without an heir. I fear as eldest and crown prince he must face whatever is ahead — I cannot soften the blow, even though he is still so young.’

      Gavriel nodded, and his father realised his son understood. ‘Your daughter does not need to face the tyrant — is this what you mean, your highness … that we can soften the blow for her, but not for the prince?’

      De Vis felt something in his heart give. The boys would make him proud. He wished, for the thousandth time, that his wife had lived to see them. He pitied that she’d never known how Gavriel led and yet although this made Corbel seem weaker, he was far from it. If anything he was the one who was prepared to take the greatest risks, for all that he rarely shared what he was thinking. Gavriel did the talking for both of them and here again, he’d said aloud for everyone’s benefit what the king was finding so hard to say and Corbel refused to ask.

      ‘Yes,’ Brennus replied to the eldest twin. ‘We can soften the blow for the princess. She need not face Loethar. I have let the realm down by my willingness to believe in our invincibility. But no one is invincible, boys. Not even the barbarian. He is strong now, fuelled by his success — success that I wrongly permitted — but he too will become inflated by his own importance one day, by his own sense of invincibility. I have to leave it to the next generation to know when to bring him down.’

      ‘Are we going to lose to Loethar, sire?’ Gavriel asked.

      ‘We may,’ was Brennus’s noncommittal answer. ‘But we can do this much for the princess. Save her his wrath.’ His voice almost broke upon his last word and he reached to stroke her shock of dark hair, so unlike Leo’s and Iselda’s colouring.

      ‘And Piven?’ Gavriel enquired.

      All four glanced at the youngster. ‘I am trying not to worry about