The best lies are based in truth, Jolan said to himself, remembering Garret’s words when they snuck into Deepdale last spring.
“You didn’t hear?” Jolan asked, doing his best to keep his voice even and natural. “Couple of local women stole this cart last night and fled the city. We went after ’em. Whole thing’s a mess—lost three men.”
“That right?” The smile on the sergeant’s face disappeared. “I didn’t hear anything.”
They’d circled Black Rock on the hope that there’d be a believable lapse in communication. So far, it seemed to have worked.
“Lieutenant Lornus said something about a few missing soldiers,” said the second Balarian. He narrowed his eyes. “But he didn’t say anything about anyone chasing a cart. Just men who abandoned their posts without orders.”
“There wasn’t time to get orders. Damn mud pinchers hit me over the head with a brick and took off.” Jolan gestured to his forehead, where Shoshone had painted a surprisingly realistic-looking gash. She’d also rubbed dirt and grime on his face to hide the fact that he was a sixteen-year-old Almiran. Jolan motioned to the skyship above. “Figured there was no need for General Mun to get word about this, you know?”
“Since when is it your job to figure anything? And how did some local cunts get the drop on you, soldier?”
Jolan shrugged. “The stories about Almirans are true. Even the women fight like cornered jackals.” Jolan prayed he’d said the idiom correctly. “We brought back the men they killed, but the women disappeared into the forest.”
The sergeant peeked into the back of the wagon, where Cumberland, Sten, and Willem were laid up over the tarp in full armor and covered in plenty of blood.
“My plan was to head back to Sergeant Lornus and tell him what happened,” Jolan said. “But seems to me someone should get after those women before they get lost in the wilderness.”
The first soldier surveyed the situation in the back of the cart for another moment, then glared at Jolan. At this point, they were surrounded by all ten of the Balarian soldiers. Nobody was aiming their crossbow at them, but they were inching in that direction.
“What is your name, soldier?” the man asked Jolan.
“Private Tam, sir.”
“And yours?” he asked, turning to Oromir.
“Private Marus, sir,” Oromir said without hesitation.
Shoshone had provided them both with their names. He didn’t know how she’d obtained them, but suspected her cleaver had been involved.
“And what do you have to say about all this, Private Marus?”
Oromir looked at him. “I fucking hate Almirans.”
His accent was almost perfect.
The sergeant looked at them both for another moment, then spat on the ground.
“Three casualties. No hostile bodies, and no fucking orders for any of it. None of this smells right. And I do not like things with bad smells coming through my gate.” He turned to his men. “Consal. Remus. Keska. Ride with these two to the far side of the city—march them directly to Lieutenant Lornus and see what’s to be done with them.”
“Sir.”
“Once they’re through, seal this gate. We’ll go looking for these Almiran women who have caused so much trouble.”
There was a flurry of activity as soldiers hopped onto their cart and the gate opened. Two minutes later they were inside the city and rolling down one of the main avenues. Jolan couldn’t believe it.
But they weren’t done yet. Not even close.
* * *
The three Balarian soldiers rode in the back, sitting on the sides of the wagon, their boots uncomfortably close to Cumberland and Sten. Two carried crossbows that were aimed at Jolan and Oromir, respectively. The third had his sword drawn. None of them spoke.
Jolan guided the ox down a few more streets until he spotted a dark alley. He turned down it.
“What are you doing, Private?” one of the soldiers asked him.
“I know a shortcut.”
The soldier jabbed him with the crossbow. Even with his armor on, the bolt’s point dug into his back.
“No shortcuts, asshole. Turn this thing around and keep on down the main—”
Cumberland shot up, pushed the crossbow to the left, and jammed his dagger up through the bottom of the Balarian’s chin. When the blade entered his brain, his fingers tightened and the crossbow fired a bolt into the brick wall of the alley.
“Hey!” shouted the other man with a crossbow. But before he could fire, Sten kicked the bottom of the weapon so he fired his bolt into the sky instead of through Oromir’s face. Willem was on him a moment later, dragging him down into the cart and covering his mouth as he sawed a dagger across this throat.
The third soldier hopped off the cart and started sprinting down the alley. But Shoshone darted out from beneath the tarp, already swinging her sling in three quick arcs. She released her shot, and the man’s helmet shattered. Brains spilled all over the cobblestone alley.
“Pretty clean,” Willem said, leaning back against the cart. His entire forearm was covered in blood.
Jolan wasn’t sure how anyone could call an event that involved so much blood and brain clean. But he didn’t say anything.
“Sten, Willem. Get those bodies underneath the tarp,” Shoshone said, already walking toward the man she’d killed. “Cumberland, help me with this one.”
“Who put her in charge?” Willem muttered.
“Shut up and help me,” Sten responded, grabbing a dead Balarian by the wrists.
When it was done, they snuck back to the entrance of the alley and looked around. The orange torchlight of patrolling sentries put a glow on the city avenue.
“What now?” Cumberland asked.
“We need to move fast, before they recover from the confusion we caused,” Shoshone said. She turned to Jolan. Smiled. “You are about to deliver some Papyrian widows to the fortress as your prisoners, Jolan.”
Jolan swallowed. “No. Not again. It won’t work twice.”
“You’d be surprised. Come on, the fortress is this way. Leave the cart here.”
29
VERA
Almira, Aboard the Blue Sparrow
“Hello, Linkon.”
The king of Almira looked up, squinting so see in the dim hold of the Blue Sparrow.
His hands were still bound behind his back. His scalp and lip were bleeding and there were shards of glass in this hair left over from when Vera had thrown him out the window.
“Who are you people?” he asked. “What did you do to me?”
“Come now, Linkon. It hasn’t been that long. Surely you remember me.”
Kira stepped forward so the dragon-oil lanterns lit her face.
“Kira?” Linkon asked. “What are you doing in Almira? What’s happened?”
“Quite a lot,” she answered. “I ran away from Floodhaven, and while I was gone my father died and you killed my sister.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
Kira clucked her tongue disapprovingly.
“Linkon, Linkon, Linkon. None of that now. This room is a place of honesty.” She gestured around the walls of the dim hold. “A place where kings and empresses may talk plainly with each other. Speaking for myself, I never liked Ashlyn very much. She was always so serious and gloomy. Droning on about dragons and wasps and plant goop. Gods, what a bore.”
Linkon didn’t say anything.
“You are going to admit the truth,” Kira continued. “We can do this the easy way, which ends with you getting a stiff drink of juniper liquor and someone to help you clean that glass out of your hair. Or we can do it the hard way, which ends with you shitting yourself while Vera force-feeds your own toes to you. Either way, I will get what I want. The path we take to get there is up to you.”
Linkon glanced between Vera and Kira a few times. A single tear dripped down his cheek.
“After you left Almira, I saw an opportunity. With Hertzog on his deathbed and you gone, the Malg
raves were vulnerable. I hired an … operative … to weaken Ashlyn’s position further, and then I manipulated Cedar Wallace into a rebellion. And when he and Ashlyn were at each other’s throats, I convinced the other high lords to stand with me against her. But I didn’t kill her.”
“Your men. Your orders.”
“No. You don’t understand. We never found her. After the battle of Floodhaven, she disappeared. I said that she was dead to consolidate power, that’s all.”
“And how has that worked out for you?” Kira asked, smiling.
Linkon glared at her. “I didn’t kill your sister, but I wish that I had. She really is a demon-fucking witch. And you, with this flying monstrosity. You Malgraves … you’re all abominations.”
“I know,” Kira nodded. “Run-of-the-mill treachery pales in comparison, doesn’t it? But let’s move on from the past. I always found history to be tedious. I am far more interested in the present. For example, how many Almiran lords are currently in Floodhaven?”
“Twenty-three.”
“And how many wardens in their service behind these walls?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Guess.”
Linkon grimaced. “Maybe a hundred.”
“So few. Why?”
“The fucking jaguars are tearing the backcountry apart. The first army of wardens that I sent south never returned from the Dainwood. So, I sent more. And kept sending them. All that’s left in Floodhaven are scraps.”
“He’s lying,” Vera said. “Actus Thorn said the first wave of skyships scouted thousands of wardens in the city. Too large a force for them to conquer.”
“That’s what they saw,” Linkon said. “It wasn’t the truth. I took the armor and masks that your sister didn’t turn to ashes and forced women and children to wear them. Man the walls and run patrols.”
“Clever,” Kira said. “Most of the lords of Almira are morons, but a lack of intelligence was never your problem. Do you know what your problem is?”
He looked at her. “What?”
“When you go to stir shit up, you don’t use a big enough spoon.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I know you don’t. That’s why you’re the one on your knees and I’m the one standing over you, giving commands. But don’t worry—you’re going to make out just fine. You and I are going to get married, Linkon, and fast. First, we’ll need to introduce the idea to your loyal lords and wardens. Are they all in Floodhaven currently?”
Linkon wiped the tear away from his eye, nodded.
“You’re sure? All of them?”
“Yes, yes. With the war on—and all my men down south—I had to corral them all here. Make sure they didn’t rebel.”
“A shrewd choice.” Kira turned to Osyrus Ward. “Give it to him.”
Osyrus Ward stepped forward and produced a black pill the size of a man’s thumb from his robes. In a practiced motion that made Vera think he’d done it many times before, Osyrus jammed the pill into Linkon’s mouth, then held his knobby hand over the king’s mouth and nose until he swallowed.
Linkon started coughing as soon as Osyrus released him. “What the fuck was that?”
“Insurance,” Kira said. “I want to trust you, Linkon—and I think we’ll be very happily married one day soon. But seeing as you betrayed my sister less than a year ago, I need to make sure you’ll behave in the short term, before we have a chance to fall in love and all that dragonshit.”
“What was it?” he repeated, voice cracking.
Kira turned to Osyrus. Nodded.
“A fatal dose of Yellow-Spined Greezel venom that I coated with a layer of pine resin,” Osyrus said. “It’s currently quite harmless, but your stomach is already starting to digest the resin. Once it is dissolved, your stomach will fill with the Greezel venom. You will begin vomiting and defecating blood, and you will not stop until you are dead.”
Linkon’s eyes turned wide with panic.
“Relax, Linkon. There’s an antidote.” Kira leaned closer to Linkon. “And I’ll give it to you. But first, we’re going to drop you off back at the castle, and you are going to do me a favor.”
Linkon swallowed. “What favor?”
Kira smiled. “You will summon every loyal lord and warden in Floodhaven to Castle Malgrave tonight, where they will be crammed into Alior Hall for a feast. At this feast, you will announce that you have successfully brokered a marriage with me, and that I am now their queen. You will do this as soon as we return you to the ground.” Her smile disappeared. “If you are late, or if you try to deceive me, you don’t get the antidote and it’ll be bloody shits and a bloody death. Clear?”
* * *
Linkon Pommol did as he was told. It was amazing how fast the threat of death could motivate a man into drastic action.
His staff had assumed that he’d been eaten by the dragon, but Linkon had explained that he’d left the dining hall just a few minutes before the attack to visit a secret lover, and had been with her all day. The plan was to reveal the lover as Kira that night.
It was a weak lie. But kings can get away with weak lies, along with so many other things.
Linkon had ordered the feast, and then smuggled everyone from the Blue Sparrow into the castle while arrangements were made.
His loyal lords and wardens filled Alior Hall. Vera watched them from a darkened upper gallery, alongside Decimar. The grunts and laughs and farts of the drunken wardens boomed through the chamber. The crowd was loud enough that they could talk in muttered voices without fear of being overheard.
“This is the nobility of Almira?” Decimar asked. “They behave like animals.”
“Kira would say that they simply wear their true colors out in the open, unlike Balarians,” Vera said.
“What do you say?”
She looked at him. “That this needs to be done.”
“Aye. Guess I should have expected a little wet work on our secret mission to overthrow a whole government in one night. We ready?”
“Yes.”
Decimar signaled to his men, who were positioned around the top gallery so they all had clean shots on the lords and wardens below. They were outnumbered five to one, but the feasters were unarmed, the doors were locked, and Decimar’s longbowmen could each release five arrows a minute.
They nocked their bows and set them at half draws. Waited for their lieutenant’s signal.
Decimar drew his bow back to his cheek. “Anyone specific you want gone first?”
“Just leave Linkon alive. And only Linkon. Kira’s orders.”
“Right.”
Decimar released his arrow into the chest of a lord with rodentlike features. At that range, the arrow hit him with such strength that it went through the back of his chair and ricocheted off the floor with a metallic ping. Decimar’s men released a heartbeat later. The laughs and belches of the lords were replaced with groans, cries, and the sounds of their dead faces slamming into their plates.
The longbowmen worked fast. Vera did not see any of them miss a target. She counted the pulses on her wrist bracer as they massacred the unarmed, helpless men below.
Eighty-nine seconds later, everyone in the room was dead, except for Linkon, who was frozen with a cut of pork halfway between his mouth and his plate.
“Keep this entire level sealed,” Vera said to Decimar. “No servants in or out.”
* * *
Two minutes later, when Vera brought Kira into the hall, Linkon still hadn’t moved from his chair. Just put down his fork. His eyes were wet. “Those were … the loyal nobility of Almira.”
“They were loyal to you. That doesn’t do me any good.”
“You tricked me,” he said to Kira as she moved into the room, stepping over a few corpses.
“Just as you tricked my sister.”
“She was a witch.”
“And you are a sniveling, dishonest prick. A month ago, I’d have tried to do all of this peacefully. Without bloodshed. But my t
ime in Balaria taught me that peaceful approaches are not always effective.”
“I did as you asked,” Linkon said. He swallowed. “Please. May I have the antidote?”
“Oh, that?” Kira smiled. “I made it up.”
“That pill wasn’t poisoned?”
“No, the poison part was true. But the existence of an antidote was a lie.” Kira held up Vera’s wrist and checked the time. “And it should end your life in about three minutes.”
“Gods … no…”
“You should not have betrayed my sister, Linkon.” She rummaged around in one of her pockets and came back with a red seashell. Tossed it to him. “Here you go. Have a nice swim.”
Kira headed for the exit. Linkon sank off his chair, curled into a ball, and started wailing.
Osyrus and Decimar were waiting for them outside. Decimar closed the door behind them to dampen the sounds of Linkon beginning to die. Kira took a breath.
“Well, that part’s done. The castle is secured?” she asked Decimar.
“Yes. With all the lords and wardens gone, my men were able to seal the gates without incident. We’re safe for the time being, but we’re also trapped.”
“Not for very long. Osyrus?”
“My acolytes have already checked the storerooms. The oil is there—just enough for the apparatus to operate. I will begin the preparations for activation.”
“Apparatus?” Decimar asked. “Activation? What’s all this about? I assumed we would be heading back to Balaria, now that the mission is complete.”
“The mission is just beginning,” Kira said.
“What do you mean?”
Kira glanced at Vera. They’d decided beforehand that Vera should be the one to handle this next part. One soldier to another.
“You should get some rest, Empress,” Vera said. Then she put a hand on Decimar’s shoulder. “And we should get some food. Meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes.”
* * *
Vera made sure that Kira was safe, then headed to the kitchen. She found Decimar sitting alone. A half-drunk cup of coffee and an untouched roll were on the table in front of him. He was staring out the window, but smiled when he saw Vera come in.
Sorcery of a Queen Page 30
