A Loom of Years
Twenty First Weaving
@Anne E. Fraser 2006
Blaine came bustling into the hearing, late, looking dishevelled,
apologizing to everyone and smiling at Genevieve. A Prince was
allowed two attendants. Only two. For those with a consort, a
successor, and security, it made for a hard decision on who to take
to a meeting. Usually Princes rotated the retainers; taking their
consort and a security guard one meeting, their successor and some
other attendant the next. Olivia nearly always was one of Blaine's
chosen retainers and had come along this time. She merely shook her
head. She was far too used to Blaine's ways to attempt to change
him. What would be the point? Diccon, as successor, was the other
retainer, here to learn. Those few Princes who had successors (they
seemed rather superstitious about naming a successor, generally,
much as mortals were superstitious about making a will. Princes
with named successors tended to die. They'd all seen this) had
brought them, surely, for the first ever deposition hearing of the
Council?
Olivia tried to peer around Blaine's shuffling mannerisms to count
heads. Yes, Stamos was here, sitting primly behind Kalonice,
watching Monique. But Lothar was accompanied only by his two goons
Gunnar and Fritz, who were nothing more than leftover Nazi
officers. Of colourless Wilhelm, there was no sign. Interesting.
Genevieve's chosen successor, Maurice, had died a few years
earlier. Fighting demons, Olivia thought, or chasing down a rogue.
Something like that. She had not named another one, although she
had boldly proclaimed Jean as her official consort. Olivia grinned
at that. Socializing with Switzerland's brown little Katja was
boring. Socializing with Jean was going to be quite entertaining.
But Genevieve�who was looking quite composed and unafraid�had not
brought Jean or any of the usual Gardiens. Instead, she had brought
that red-haired boy, a Nameless One from Wales, the son of an old
friend. Owen, that was it. Owen Jones, Evan's son. Evan was with
the Brotherhood now, in Maine�whatever was his son doing working for
the Prince of France? And as for the other retainer for France...
who on earth was he? A young man, Indian by the looks of him, with
a long black warrior's braid and the most interesting tattoo...
Blaine caught sight of this odd servant combination for Gen and
frowned, then decided to let it pass. Doubtlessly she knew best. A
Nameless One, of course, for a bodyguard in case the meeting got out
of hand. And the lad with the tattoo was undoubtedly magical. So
that was all right.
They were all here but Carmine. Last, as always, he sauntered in and
sat down next to Lothar, whom he utterly ignored. Monique called
the meeting to order. Blaine searched his pockets, ostensibly for
notepaper, and asked if anyone had one.
"Notes are not necessary, Great Britain," snapped the Belgian Prince.
Ah, so it was going to be one of those sessions, where you called
your fellow Princes by their countries, not their names. Well,
bugger that for a game of soldiers.
"I'd like to know why the agenda for this meeting was changed
without notice," Blaine said, and caused a minor stir.
"You are out of order," Monique informed him. "All the members of
the Council were informed of the reason for this emergency session.
We are here to vote on the deposition of the French Prince."
Lothar admitted to having brought the charges, Monique and Rodrigo
to having supported the vote for an emergency session.
Paavali, who'd been staring rudely at the tattooed young man with
Gen, demanded to know what he was. The boy calmly announced that he
was a demon-hunter.
"Hah!" said Blaine.
Monique called for order, and eventually got it, although quite a
few Princes were smirking now. Rodrigo and Lothar were both looking
furious, but they always looked furious. When called upon, Rodrigo
listed the charges against Gen and stated the case for deposition.
They were ridiculous charges, trumped-up excuses to depose a
perfectly good Prince, relating to the war that had recently torn
France apart and left several people dead or wounded. And
fraternization with that notorious shamanistic mage, Julian Vaurien.
Kalonice expressed scorn at the thought that the war had been the
fault of the Prince of France in any way, and the floor was opened
for discussion.
There was a lot of shouting. Carmine more or less accused Spain,
Belgium and Germany of wanting to carve up France between them.
Lothar declared he had no designs on France. Rodrigo was staring at
Gen; obviously he had designs if not on France, then on its Prince.
She ignored him.
Blaine checked his watch. "Isn't it a bit rich to blame Genevieve
for Sark?" he asked, referring to the magician who'd been tricked by
a powerful demon into conducting most of the war against
France. "He was a bit of a rotter, you know."
"And it's a bit soon to speak of giving anyone France," said
Yves. "There is a candidate."
Olivia caught Blaine's eye and they exchanged a silent
communication. So that was the game, was it? Damn Monique. Who
the hell could this candidate be? There was no other French
bloodline old enough or noble enough to be Prince, surely...
"There are no candidates," Genevieve spoke up for the first time at
her own trial, echoing Blaine's thoughts.
"There is one," said Monique, "of an equally noble bloodline."
"Whose?"
"Corbeau."
The name fell like molten lead, quieting everyone. Nobody looked
like they believed it, even Rodrigo.
"He is dead," said Genevieve clearly. "I saw it done. Ashes and
gone."
Blaine sat back. Ah, this should be interesting.
"There are those of his bloodline left," said Monique. "Not your
tame little Baron, either. There is another."
"Ah," Blaine breathed. He noticed that Gen's odder retainer was
staring at him, and that the colours of that tattoo were...
moving. "Kindly stare elsewhere, young man," he requested.
"My apologies, Prince," said the young man, with a bow.
"I've yet to hear anything other than a silly excuse to depose a
seated Prince," said Blaine to Monique. He was still laughing
inwardly about "fraternization"... really! What century was this?
As if it mattered at all who a Prince slept with.
Lothar leapt up, spluttering, "Silly!"
Carmine looked at Lothar and asked him if it was crowded in there.
Blaine saw the boy with the tattoo sag, as if in relief. Wait,
hadn't the lad said he was a demon-detector? Did that mean...?
Blaine brought up the fraternization charge and asked if everyone
would mind revealing who had shared their beds in the past few
years. Into the silence that followed, Genevieve spoke again.
"I would like to bring Julian as my witness," she said.
"Yes," said Kalonice. "Let Julian have his say."
Although it was evident that Monique had never wanted to let Julian
address the meeting, she caved in rather than face rebellion in the
ranks.
Julian looked exactly as Blaine remembered him. These immortal
magicians, he thought. The mage slouched in, greeting everyone as
if it was a picnic, and then looked directly at Lothar. He did not
address the German Prince, though.
"Vanth, honey," he said, making everyone look around, wondering who
Vanth might be. "Want out of there?"
And there was a trail of greasy grey smoke, and Lothar fell,
insensate.
"Ever so sorry, folks, you'll be needing a new Prince of Germany,"
Julian drawled.
The meeting became utter chaos, not surprisingly. Blaine asked for
a twenty minute recess, which was granted; he was the first to
Genevieve's side, after quietly asking Olivia to stay behind in the
Council room and keep her eye on things.
"I'm appointing myself your jailer," he said to Gen, offering her
his hand. "Come along quietly."
She accepted his hand and followed him out into the back gardens
behind Monique's Brussels townhouse.
"How are you holding up?" he asked her as they sat, not too close
together, on a garden bench.
"I wish I knew," came her reply.
"I can't help wondering what Claude would have thought of all this,"
Blaine said.
"This would never have happened if Claude were still alive."
Well, I can at least assume you wouldn't have slept with Julian.
But Claude wouldn't have had much patience with that lot."
"No," Gen agreed. "He always liked you, you know."
"I miss him, rather. So must you, only more so."
"I miss him very much tonight," she admitted.
"He'd have been proud of you."
She kissed him on the cheek. "Merci."
They sat in silence for awhile, contemplating the garden and the
past. Then, "We'd best go back in, old girl."
"Yes." She stood up, and he hastily rose beside her. "Do you think
Lothar is dead? I cannot feel the connection to him anymore, but I
did not feel him die."
"I think he is just... gone. His successor will have to decide what
to do. You will not feel the connection die until Wilhelm is
confirmed as Prince."
"I see." She nodded and held her head up high. "Let us go and
discover who this candidate from a corrupt bloodline is."
Olivia, who had remained behind with Diccon, had been treated to the
sight of Lothar's senseless body being carried from the room by
Gunnar and Fritz, presumably for delivery to Wilhelm. Nobody looked
at all upset that Lothar was finished as Prince. Nobody had liked
him. Olivia, though she hadn't liked him either, found that a
little sad. Everyone should have someone who was sorry they were
dead.
"What will happen to Prince Lothar?" Diccon asked. He was obviously
pondering all the implications of being Prince. This wasn't
something Blaine had warned him about.
"It's up to Wilhelm," said Olivia. "If he's merciful, it will be
the sword and the fire. All the other Princes will feel him die."
"Yes, Prince Blaine told me that. It sounds terrible."
"I don't think they really _feel_ another Prince die; you just get
the knowledge that they are dead. So I'm told."
The recess ended; Blaine and Genevieve returned from the garden.
The meeting was called back to order; no sooner had Monique banged
the gavel then Carmine demanded to know who the pretender to France
was.
Monique, clearly displeased, ordered the candidate trotted out. He
was a pretty boy; was Laurent Martin, the sort who would have
appealed to Etienne Corbeau. He tried to speak, but was ignored
when Hans called for a vote on the motion tabled. In case anyone
had forgotten, the motion was to have Genevieve de Monet deposed as
Prince of France.
Deposed Princes were put to the sword�them, and their entire
courts. The motion failed to carry, and the meeting adjourned in a
hubbub. Blaine ran to Gen's side and grabbed her in an exuberant
hug. Olivia was not far behind him; smiles were breaking out all
over the room. Except for Rodrigo, who looked very angry, and
Monique, who looked a bit frightened. This would undoubtedly have
repercussions for her.
Nobody asked what happened to Laurent Martin, who had been whisked
away quickly when the vote had been called for. In retrospect,
someone should have.