Persephone lifted the spyglass and scanned the panorama. The mountain rolled out beneath them all the way until the town bifurcated the road to the mines. But The Last Chance tavern was out of sight, and Nana Haf’s too far away to be seen. Persephone stared through the spyglass, as if by force of will she could move the rock and reveal miners scurrying away like ants.
“So, what does interest you, Magistrate?”
Elianor stood alongside her at the wall.
“The successful conclusion of my mission,” she said. “Do you believe your brother Anton was involved in the attempt on your father’s life?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”
“But what do you think?”
Persephone snapped the spyglass shut and returned it to the satchel. Her face had flushed red.
“I think if he was involved, it was a bloody stupid way to do it. And I would have told him that if he’d asked.”
“Nobody is questioning your loyalty, Captain.”
“Nobody ever questions my loyalty.” Persephone snorted. “I’m a good girl. I’m the one who does as she’s told. If Anton wanted to kill our father, he could just do it. Hell, everyone would applaud. But Anton doesn’t want, and I don’t get.”
Persephone pushed her fingers into her forehead so hard they left red marks.
“I’m sorry, is that too much truth? I thought truth was what you Magistrates cared about.”
“So, tell me the truth, Captain. What happened here yesterday?”
Persephone threw her arms in the air then stepped past Elianor to lean over and shout to the courtyard, “Wyn! Get Ty up here. I can’t see a damned thing. Wyn!”
Elianor stepped into the space that Persephone had vacated. Somewhere down there, Haf Garn would be going into hiding, the miners would be marshalling themselves, and Anton Vile would be doing whatever the hell he was planning to do. But the truth, the truth was higher up the mountain.
“Anton’s not like other men,” Persephone said.
Elianor could feel time and opportunity slipping away from her.
“Because he’s your brother?”
“Will you listen? I’m not just a Vile, I’m the strongest Vile, the best fighter on the mountain. There’s nobody who can stand toe to toe with me. Do you have any idea how hard that makes it to find a worthwhile man?”
Elianor thought of Nathaniel on the porch of Tannyr Brek’s farm. Persephone was still talking. Elianor wasn’t keen on the direction the conversation was taking.
“Anton was part of the Republican Guard when the Northern Kingdoms marched on the capital. The building he was in collapsed. He was buried for three days before anyone thought to look through the corpses. He was broken, burned; he couldn’t even sit up on his own. They brought him back here to die. Our father took one look at him and walked out. But that’s the first time I saw Anton, I mean saw him as he really is. Because he wouldn’t die. It’s as if he took the fire and made it part of himself. I was just a teenager. But I wanted his fire. I want it.”
“And what, you’ll be his Castellan?”
“His partner. His lady.”
“You…you want to marry your brother?”
“It isn’t illegal.”
She might be right about that. Fabian II had made inter-familiar wedlock legal so he could marry his own sister, although if Elianor remembered her history, that had hardly ended well. Nobody had thought to change the law back.
“He still has to, you know, consent. What on earth makes you think—”
“He got an erection. That means he must have wanted it…”
Just for a moment Elianor stood there, mouth open, no words coming out, her mind teetering over a gaping maw of images she had no desire to envisage. Eventually, her disgust found voice.
“Are you out of your mind? What if you get pregnant?”
Gods, Elianor thought. Maybe that is what she wants. Stupid bloody royalist logic: can’t get more pureblood than inbred. The worse thing was that this disappointment, this devastating insight into the damaged mind before her, hurt even more because Elianor had liked Persephone—liked her from the moment they’d met. There was something inherently pleasing in meeting another woman who could break a man in two with her hands. But here she was, honest, true, and loyal to all the principles Elianor hated the most.
“War is coming,” Persephone said. “You must know that.”
“And what, you fancy Anton and yourself as the next King and Queen?”
Persephone snorted. “Of course not. Any student of recent history knows that the leader of the next revolution will be guillotined, and the one after executed by the North. Trist has no answer to the same questions that have held her prisoner for centuries. But after that, the people will go looking for old things, sure things, things from the past. And what better answer than a true-blood Vile, a guardian from the West, trained to rule and untainted by the revolution.”
“Your child? You want to put your inbred child on the throne?”
“It is my destiny and Anton’s duty. Anton will realise that, in the end.”
“Persephone, it doesn’t matter what you believe: Anton is exactly like other men. He lets you do what he wants you to do. Allows you to be the acting Castellan but keeps the name. Gallivants around town playing Lord of the Manor and leaves you to clear up the mess. Whatever is going on between you and his…erections…he will never, never marry you. Your son, if he is ever born, will be a bastard. You aren’t free if it’s given on loan.”
“Bastards have sat on the throne before. And who loaned you your freedom?”
The hypocrisy of it brought colour to Elianor’s cheeks. Persephone understood nothing. Elianor had worked for everything she had, worked to get into the Academy, worked to win pupillage with Lord Carada. How could Persephone Vile sneer at someone for being born a noble? Persephone seemed to notice the violent twitch of Elianor’s fist, because she shifted her feet to a combat stance. Best fighter on the mountain? Elianor would like to test that assertion.
There was an awkward cough from the stairs.
“Where’s Ty?” Persephone snapped. “I asked for Ty!”
Wyn pulled her sword belt tighter and avoided meeting either of the other women’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, Captain. Ty was part of the group that left with Gwyion Garn.”
“Are you sure? Did you check the dead?”
“I was on duty at the gate, so I saw her go. And the Garns helped her out last year when she needed money for that problem.”
Elianor was sure Persephone had no idea what her guard was talking about.
“Okay,” Persephone said. “Okay, go and tell Rees to tell Tannyr no. We hardly have enough swords for the real fighters. His farmers won’t know what they’re doing with them, anyway.”
“Yes, Captain,” Wyn said, scurrying away to the courtyard.
“How often do you go to the town?” Elianor said, as soon as the guard was out of earshot.
“What? Why?”
“Have you been to the brothel? Garn’s brothel, I mean?”
“Why would I—”
“I take it that means no. But you do know that Anton has a son. By Haf’s daughter?”
Persephone said nothing.
“Zach, I think his name was. He has his father’s eyes.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Perhaps you should make sure for yourself. I’m going up the mountain, Captain. Maybe it’s time you stopped trying to be his knight and get on with doing it for yourself. Either way, this mess needs to be cleaned up by the time I get back.”
Had she gone too far? She needed a living, compliant Vile. One living Vile, or two, or three, it didn’t matter; but the wound had to be lanced.
“You know nothing about anything,” Persephone said.
Elianor turned her back on the Captain and went to take her horse.
Chapter 47
“Time’s up, Garn!”
Persephone watched Tannyr shout
up at the top window of The Last Chance. He strutted to the garden’s edge but stayed well back from the front door. Persephone and her remaining guards waited on horseback. Sergeant Rees glared at his belt buckle and fiddled with the end of the leather strap. Wyn concentrated on keeping her horse still. The farmers gathered in clumps around them while Tannyr called threats at what might well be an empty building. He was an ox that thought he was a bull.
There were twice as many farmers here as had come for the hanging. Ifanna Brek had gathered them from the fields, strong men and women used to bending their backs and riled up by her stories that the Garns were the reason they worked so much for so little. Persephone had heard the stories, the things Tannyr did to his wife, but Ifanna had still brought him an army on the promise she would see the Garns dead. Amazing how peasants always hated the wrong people. Ifanna sat nearby on a small, squat horse, her little legs poking out from under her dress. The round of her back made her look like a mole. She didn’t look at her husband.
“Come on out or we’re coming in!” Tannyr bawled.
Normally there would be music and laughter reverberating from the tavern, the odours of beer and barbecued food spilling out with revellers into the garden. Now there was nothing. The windows and doors were shut. On the front door, a small closed sign flapped in the rising wind and tapped intermittently on the wood. Tap, tap. Tap, tap.
“Captain?” Tannyr said.
Persephone bit back a sigh. They had wasted too much time at the castle that morning, arguing with each other, arguing with the awful Magistrate Paine. By now Gwyion could have gathered the miners and fortified The Last Chance. There could be crossbowmen behind the windows, just out of sight, or the dragon-helm mercenaries, arrived early from Durançon. But Anton wasn’t here. He couldn’t stay quiet for so long.
“Captain, let me,” Rees said, but she got off her horse and went to Tannyr.
If she and Sergeant Rees had struck out early with a couple of the others, they could have caught the Garns before they got organised. But what others? Harran was dead. Ty defected. Corporal Edern had not returned from his mission to Durançon. Wyn was here, seated on a horse two hands too big for her. Maybe she could have dragooned Dale, or Blair, some of the more sensible farmers. She adjusted the strap on her breastplate, shifted her greatsword against her shoulder, and cleared her throat.
“We are here to bring Haf Garn to justice, along with any and all conspirators in her attempt to assassinate Lord Vile and release the convict Derec Garn,” Persephone called in her fullest parade ground voice. The farmers stayed behind her, clutching their tools and shuffling their feet. Persephone could have chopped through them like wheat, lined them up in rows and hoed them down. But right now, she needed them to stand. “Those who surrender will be given the chance of a fair trial.”
“A fair trial like the one you gave Derec?”
Gwyion Garn’s voice came from the highest window. At the sound of his enemy, Tannyr took a step forward.
“Come any closer and we’ll put a crossbow bolt in your chest,” Gwyion said.
Tannyr looked from window to window with his piggy little eyes. There was bright spring sunlight outside and only darkness within. He held his hands out as if he stood on a tightrope. Persephone stayed where she was. Gwyion could have acquired crossbows from Durançon. There were regular deliveries of equipment and supplies to the mines. Something might have got past without her knowledge. Even so, crossbows were expensive, unwieldy, and difficult to use. They required training. They were not weapons purchased on the off chance of trouble. Gwyion was probably bluffing. Tannyr didn’t appear willing to find out.
“This has all been a big mistake,” Gwyion said. “Haf didn’t shoot Lord Vile. I want to talk to the Magistrate.”
He thinks Paine is here, Persephone thought. That means he thinks he can’t lie.
“Captain,” Sergeant Rees said in a low voice, as he came to stand next to her. “If they do have crossbows…”
So Gwyion believes it when he says Haf didn’t shoot Lord Vile.
“You had your chance,” Tannyr bawled. “Come out and maybe we won’t execute you right here.”
“For the Gods’ sake, man, my mine relies on your farms. You’ll lose half your business! What do you gain from this?”
“You and yours out of Shadowgate. A return to decency.”
Where had Anton run? Why was Gwyion talking?
“Okay,” Gwyion said. “Buy me out. Negotiate. Nobody else has to die today.”
“Is Ty with you?” Persephone said.
She had seen Begw’s crossbow stowed in the guardhouse, but that had been two nights before the hanging. Begw was Haf’s niece, she and Ty were friends, and Ty was close to the Garns.
“Private Ty, come out this instant!” Persephone shouted.
“Let me speak to the Magistrate,” Gwyion replied. “We have a right to a proper investigation.”
“He’s stalling,” she said to Tannyr. Rees began to dismount but she held up her hand: stay, I’ll deal with this.
“Very well,” she called up to the window. “If you intend to shoot me, Private, don’t miss.”
Persephone did not wait for anyone to follow. Halfway to the door there was a buzz and a thump: a crossbow bolt striking the grass. Persephone’s pulse surged but she didn’t turn, didn’t look around, didn’t increase her pace. She crashed into the door and slammed it open with her hand, sending the closed sign flying in ahead of her. The chairs and tables were set as if the bar would open this evening. There was nobody on the ground floor, but she heard people moving upstairs.
Now she ran. She drew her greatsword before the first step, twisting it so it didn’t crash into the handrail. A figure in guard’s armour crouched on the mezzanine and struggled to reload the crossbow between their knees.
It wasn’t Ty.
“Corporal Edern?” Persephone said. “When did you get back?”
The moustachioed guard did not look up.
“The Castellan ordered me to report to the Garns first,” Edern said. “Don’t blame me.”
Anton. Again. Persephone recognised Begw’s crossbow. But Edern clearly didn’t know how to use it properly. And while he was an athletic man, one of Persephone’s better guards, she still stood a foot taller than him.
“It’s just you and Gwyion here, isn’t it,” Persephone said.
Edern dropped the crossbow bolt. He didn’t curse, he didn’t pause, his hand barely trembled as he picked it back up and restarted reloading. There was a rush of feet on wood above them. Gwyion Garn stopped on the stairs before he reached Edern. He was not carrying a weapon.
“Captain. Please, wait.”
Persephone ignored him and kept talking to Edern.
“You can’t load it faster than I can get up those stairs. Draw your sword or get out of my way, Corporal.”
Edern dropped the crossbow and drew his sword. It was shorter, better suited to fighting on stairs, and Edern had the high ground. Was it only three days ago they had struggled together to save Wyn’s life on the span?
“Don’t come any closer,” Edern said. “I don’t want to fight you.”
Which was all Persephone needed to hear. She lowered the point of her sword and ran at Edern. He raised his sword overhead: too soon: he gave himself away. Persephone thrust her greatsword through the space between the base of Edern’s armour and his crotch, driving upwards and lifting him off his feet. She grabbed the wrist of his sword arm and skewered him like a roast. He gargled and spat, stunned that there was blood in his mouth, that things could come to an end so quickly. With a great grunt, she hurled the separating parts of Edern’s body over the balcony. He didn’t even have time to cry out. The severed meat smashed into the tables and chairs below. Gwyion just stood there, eyes white, face blank, with his hand over his mouth.
Damn, Persephone thought. I should have asked about Seren’s mother before I killed him.
Garn turned and ran back up the stairs. Pe
rsephone advanced after him, breathing heavily. He tried to close the door in her face. She smashed it to one side. He scrambled backwards through the office, sent papers flying and knocked a paperweight from the desk as he turned to run. Edern’s blood was on her face and throat. Gwyion fled past the small green bed as if there were somewhere to go beyond the round window at the far end of the room. Persephone stopped at the door. One last trap? He turned to face her, holding his hands out in protection.
“You’re being used, Persephone,” he said. “You’re better than this.”
She advanced into the bedroom. He snatched a dagger from his belt. His knobbed knuckles fixed the hilt at an odd angle, more suited to trimming vegetables. Persephone tossed her greatsword onto the bed and raised her fists. Everyone thought they knew what was best for her. But they were small. And she was big. She punched him. He stumbled. She grabbed his right arm and snapped it at the elbow. He shrieked and dropped the dagger. She thought of Anton laughing, of Elianor sneering, of Vile, Vile, always Vile, and here, finally, someone to hit.
She took Gwyion by his neck and hurled him head first through the window.
The stained glass shattered. Gwyion’s legs caught on the sill. It looked like he would hang there, a fish flopping on the riverbank, but the momentum carried him farther and she heard him fall to the roof of the porch, roll, and fall again onto the grass before the stunned farmers. The leather strap of her breastplate bit into her left shoulder, where a thick sheen of sweat had just begun to run. Persephone wiped Edern’s blood across her forehead and went to look out of the window.
Gwyion Garn lay smashed into the ground before The Last Chance.
The crowd cheered. Even Sergeant Rees smiled. This was her moment, she had finally done something worthy of recognition, worthy of glory. She was just about to wave to them when she saw Tannyr. His face bulged with the smile of someone who had just bought the fattest pig at market.
Chapter 48
Anton lay on the kitchen table in Nana Haf’s with his head dangled upside-down, better to watch the steady stream of the insect invasion. Worker ants marched in a column through a crack in the wall, from who knew where to who knew why. When the mob came down from the mountain and burned all this to the ground, would the ants keep coming, across broken, blackened stone, between places where people once fought and laughed and fucked?
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