Tristan stared into Cillian’s mismatched eyes for a while, taking sparing glances at the tiline he had made. With a sigh, he shook his head, "Are you suggesting that the Blackwells killed the king’s heir. To do what? No one could have predicted such a succession crisis. Under normal circumstances, and I doubt the Blackwells would wish for their greatest enemy to finally have the seat that could allow him to mobilise the crown against them?"
"You’re wrong." Cillian shook his head, "Whilst it wasn’t certain, a succession crisis was likely to happen. My father and the King both had their own supporters. I was privy to those council etings when Lord Deacon was chancellor. No one outright said it, but everyone knew that if my father beca king, people would rally behind Anton and try to push his claim, specifically the Lords of the Valleys and Hillands. He had fought wars with them, led them and stopped their lands from being butchered during the Desertland uprising."
Tristan looked down, "If the council knew it was coming, why didn’t they ensure it wouldn’t co to a vote. Why let it happen?"
"I do not know, but Lord Deacon was a wise man. He knew how wars started, and I assu didn’t have much of a choice. A succession crisis doesn’t just an a war for whoever has a claim, but also those ambitious enough to fight for their own desires. Would a war between my father, the king, and any other Cosmaton wishing to assert their claim have been it? No, rebellions would have popped up. A vote at least allowed the Lords of Veston to be placated and believe they had a say in the matter, soemthing they all knew was coming when it was obvious the king was dying. And how did he die?"
"Illness." Tristan said under his breath, "And with a strong claimant to oppose your father, the Blackwells could take a risk. Of course, it was a gamble, and they got lucky that Lord Deacon chose the most peaceful thod. What they couldn’t predict, however, was Anton granting him a role in the governnt instead of outright killing him to secure his reign."
"The King’s legacy is always misunderstood. He has never been a Kinslayer, despite what people say. All our relatives who have vanished under his hand have simply been exiled." The two stood silently for a mont.
"If this is true." Tristan finally spoke with a low voice, "If they killed the king and his children, then it ans they changed strategy. Outright rebellion had proven ti and ti again to fail, so why not let your enemy tear themselves apart?" Tristan took a deep breath "But even if that is their plan, do they actually have the ans. This isn’t the old Veston. Everyone knows that our bloodline power...." Tristan paused, "You don’t think?"
"I can’t be sure. But if they are playing the long ga, it would an they also need to strengthen their powers once more." Tristan shook his head.
"No, I’ve studied these things, rember. There are traces of the Blackwells marrying and having children outside their imdiate family." Cillian smiled.
"What did you indicate when you gave your hypothetical a week ago. Desperation leads to extre asures. I spoke to my father about it. Inbreeding preserves power." Cillian sat down and clasped his hands, fiddling with his thumbs, "Maybe they didn’t do that, but their power is sothing we don’t understand clearly. Who is to say they didn’t figure out a workaround? A way to preserve the power whilst hiding behind outside marriages."
Tristan closed his eyes, "It’s one massive gamble, you must understand that, Cillian. Even if they caused the deaths of the king and his children, they risked handing the throne to their greatest enemy. You say a vote was likely to happen, but no one could have been sure."
"But would the Lords who wanted Anton as king back down. Would the Lords who are always scheming to get more power and don’t want Brandon as their ruler accept that? Maybe Anton would have been loyal to my father, but his supporters wouldn’t have been. They would push his claim; I an, he is king, he had more supporters than my father, the vote already proved it." Cillian said, making Tristan frown.
"Then tell . If the Blackwells played the long ga, did they try this before? Because you don’t throw all your eggs in one basket. You train and practise until you are sure it will work." Cillian walked over to his tiline and studied after the Red Rebellion. His fingers danced on the table as he took a deep breath.
"I don’t know." Cillian said, unable to match anything to the tiline, "I don’t know Tristan, but I’m sure. Would you sit back after the people you hated most let you live after breaking your legs and say it is rcy? Would you accept such a thing, allowed to live on a whim by people who despise your existence?"
"Of course. Because it ans you survive."
"But why would you want to survive after that?" Cillian looked deep into Tristan’s eyes, "What motive would you have to survive?" Tristan frowned. Maybe he would have chosen to walk away, but this wasn’t him. The Blackwells were a dynasty that feuded with the Cosmatons. An ancient feud fueled by soemthing that transcended common sense. Survival after that could only exist for one reason. To claw back power and ready themselves to strike again. Even if the hatred had left, they should have still been acting like the other Great Houses, scheming to get power.
Tristan turned to the titable laid out, ’It’s too quiet, he is right. Let’s say it takes a century to recover after the Red Rebellion, then, past that 100 years, they should have begun moving more openly. Instead, they were unnaturally quiet.’
"Let’s say everything is true. This is all a Blackwell sche. Why are you telling this?" Tristan asked, finally getting to the point he couldn’t understand, "Your father has the king’s ear, whereas I am a naless princeling without a voice."
Cillian sighed and rubbed his face, "Becuase my father has lost people’s trust in relation to the Blackwells. As I said, hatred is rare for him, so whenever he brings it up, he isn’t taken as seriously as he would like; people believe he is pursuing a personal vendetta. As for , who can I tell? The king would treat like my father, and his children hate for the fact that I am the Chancellor’s son. They would brush off even more than my father."
"So you want to tell Mary or Edmund."
"Please." Cillian rolled his eyes, "I know you have so sort of deal with the Prince and Princess." Smiling, he carried on, "Don’t drop everything on them at once, but drip feed. I’m sure you’re smart enough to know a way of doing it without arousing suspicion. Let them form their own suspicions about the Blackwells and go to Anton. Of course, this is all a theory of mine, but if it’s true, we could stop whatever is happening before it happens."
Tristan took a deep breath, "I understand. I’ll try, but the amount of influence I have on the two isn’t as great as you think." Cillian smiled and leaned back, his temperant relaxing, finally able to tell soone his fears.
"Alright. For now, we shouldn’t talk. I don’t want to give them a reason to believe it’s my words. I’ll see you at the tourney." Tristan nodded.
’A week and a half to do this.’ With a ntal titable, he gave a small bow and left, ’His fears fell extre, but there is enough evidence to show the Blackwells are suspicious.’
----------------------
"Your grace." The man who sat on the Seat of the Creator in the council smiled and laid out three books, one black, two brown.
"Cardinal Brown. These are?" Anton asked, staring at the book, a vague feeling about what they were.
"The Chancellor tasked with collecting a few of the texts preached by Lady Death’s servants. Although it was difficult, I managed to get these three." Brown said his old voice croaked, "My people have tirelessly sorted through them, and although all three say the sa things, there are inconsistencies throughout them as well." Brown smiled, "Inconsistencies that occur when soone mistranslates soemthing."
Anton’s eyes narrowed. With a slow nod, he brought his hands together, "It is a foreign heresy." Telling himself and the council, he took a deep breath. "Find out where it ca from."
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