by Liam Reese
It was a blessing, really, the king reflected, that innocence was so difficult to come by in Castle Balfour.
He raised his chin towards Serhiy with a faint smile. Rudeness would be ill-advised, especially to someone like that.
Serhiy responded with his usual overjoyed smile, a smile so wide and stretched that it pressed his dark blue eyes into slits. If nothing else, the king thought, Serhiy always seemed so pleased by everything that it was easy to believe that he was really as pleasant and average as he presented himself.
The king knew better.
He returned his gaze and his attention to Batrek Felcin.
“My dear man,” he said, “I do hope that you know I appreciate all the service that you have given me, and the many occasions of faithfulness and loyalty that I’m sure both of us are reflecting on even as we speak. Of course, I will do everything in my power to assist you in finding your missing darling. I remember her, of course — a very sweet and proper young woman, though, as you say, headstrong as a horse. Lisan, is her name, if my memory does not fail me.”
“It does,” said the girl’s father. “Her name is Lisca.”
“Lisca,” said the king, clapping a hand melodramatically to his forehead. “Of course, how could I forget. Lisca of the honey blonde hair and the sweet blue eyes, blue as a cornflower.”
Batrek Felcin looked as though he were about to object to this description but opened and closed his mouth without saying anything at all. That was really how the king preferred it, anyway. He stood up decisively and nodded at Merkin to signal the end of the interview.
“I will be in touch with you as soon as I get any sort of result,” he informed Felcin. “There is no need to request another audience. I will send a messenger.”
“As a matter of fact,” said Felcin, “as one of your council, I would have thought that there was no need for me to request an audience to begin with.” His tone was gently chiding, which made the king’s eyelashes itch.
He stretched his lips into a smile.
“These are interesting times, indeed,” he said. “Please, make your way home to your household and inform them that your daughter will be returned very soon. After all, the most powerful man in the kingdom is going to see to it. With my help at your disposal, how can any villain hope to hold out against our combined might?”
Again, Felcin looked very much as though he wanted to say something, but his better judgment counseled him against it just in time. He made a deep bow to the December King, pressed his lips to the royal ring when it was lifted to him, and left the throne room at what seemed to the king to be a slow crawl, much the same as he had entered it.
When at last he had gone, and the king had thanked the maid who showed up, dishes rattling, with his tea, Serhiy advanced to the throne. He gave an elegant bow to the king, the sort of bow that noble men spent years in training to master; but somehow, the king thought, it always came across as vaguely insulting.
He wouldn’t think about that now. When Serhiy was smiling like that, it was very important to keep his wits about him and pay close attention. It also often meant that someone had just died recently.
“What news of Elgodon’s finest, my dear Serhiy? How are the ambassadors settling in?”
“Very well, I think,” said Serhiy. His voice was as smooth and florid as rancid butter; it did not match his face, seeming to come from someone much older, much more jaded. “At least, that is what the maids tell me. I am inclined to believe them.”
The king would much rather that his news had come first hand from the ambassadors themselves, but as this wasn’t what he had asked Serhiy to ascertain to begin with, he couldn’t really fault him the indirect method. He leaned forward, and gestured Serhiy a little bit closer. Obediently, Serhiy came far too close for comfort. The king leaned backward again, settling fully into the throne.
He’d played this game before.
“And what of Vieve, then?” he said, affecting nonchalance that fooled no one, not even him. “I suppose you’ve heard what happened?”
“The Lady Vieve was left behind,” said Serhiy. “Though invited to our fair Ainsea, she pleaded seasickness and would not embark from her home.”
“I see.” The king put an elbow on the arm of the throne and leaned his chin into his hand. He sighed deeply. “What do you suppose the odds are of that being true, Serhiy?”
“I am not a gambling man, nor a betting one,” said Serhiy.
“But if you were?”
Serhiy shrugged. “The odor of them strikes me as being very slim, my lord.”
“Slim?”
“Wispily so.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” The king heaved another sigh, that followed the last so closely as to almost be one continuous exhalation of tiresome regret. “I do so hate it when I have to hunt someone down.”
“I quite enjoy it, myself, my lord.”
The king eyed him sharply.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “Well, leaving my problems aside for the moment — how good are you exactly at hunting people down?”
Serhiy stood up straight. “Everyone always tells me I have a nose like a bloodhound, my lord.”
“Well, that isn’t very kind of them, is it? How well does it work?”
Serhiy gave another of his slit-eyed smiles at His Majesty’s witticism. Call the young man what you would, he was not vain. Not about his looks, at any rate. Perhaps about his abilities to cause people pain or to chop heads clean off at the very first attempt. But then, that was understandable. He had started his career at Castle Balfour as the king’s own pet executioner after all. And he was incredibly skilled his job.
“Quite as well as I should hope, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, indeed?”
“Oh, indeed,” Serhiy assured him fervently. “I do make certain to practice regularly, you see.”
The king decided swiftly, with hardly any reflection at all, that this was not something that he needed to question at this juncture.
“Very well, then,” he said. “I have a new assignment for you, if you would care to take it on. You may put your current one on hold, if you like — there have been enough assassination attempts without your assistance. I believe I have a good idea who may be responsible.”
“Oh, yes, sir? Who might that be?”
“I dearly hope it was the one that hanged the day before yesterday,” said the king, pressing his hands to his heart. “But only time will tell. In the meantime, allow me to redirect your efforts to a new job. It does involve traveling outside of Balfour.”
“Oh!” said Serhiy again, and all but licked his lips. He pressed his hands together in front of him in an attitude that was very nearly but not quite prayerful. “I should — I should like it above all things, Your Majesty! I have scarcely left the town in the last year. I would like very much to have a chance to run after things in new fields and territories. Perhaps even climb a tree — I —” He appeared almost incoherent with excitement. His voice lowered to a harsh whisper, quite different from his normal overly-dulcet tone. “I have never climbed a tree before, Your Majesty.”
The king realized that he was staring and that perhaps to do so would not be the wisest move.
“Ah,” he said. “Indeed. Tree climbing. Well, I won’t make any guarantees, my lad, but I would venture to say that it is a distinct possibility. Now, there is a slight difference in this case from other assignments that I have given you in the past.”
“Very well,” said Serhiy. “I am quite ready to do anything for the chance to run after things in new fields and territories and to possibly even climb trees.”
The king leveled a finger at him. He had at last become accustomed to the way his servant spoke — for the most part. But occasionally conversations like this happened.
“You are to find a young girl,” he said, “who may possibly have met with an ill end. You are to find her, alive if at all possible. If you can return her — if anyone could return her, rather �
�” he hastily clarified. Serhiy’s estimation of his ability to perform tasks and of the necessary steps to carry out his assignment, were at times quite different from what most people found themselves capable of. In fact, he could occasionally be called ‘unhinged.’ “If anyone would be able to bring her back alive and unharmed, then please, do so. You may use a scrier, if you like, though remember that they are unreliable at best.”
“To use a scrier reeks of cheating,” said Serhiy.
“I will leave that to your discretion. At any rate, that is your assignment.” He eyed him. “Are you up to that?”
Serhiy considered, deliberating for a long silent moment.
“I can do it,” he said at last. “Who is she, where might she be? What has she done?”
“She has done nothing, that I am aware of, other than simply go missing, and possibly through no fault of her own,” replied the king, relieved. “Her name is Lisca Felcin, she is somewhere in the vicinity of fifteen years old and was last seen on the Deen Road, on the way to Bertam’s Port. Her father is very keen to have her home again. And —” He hesitated for a moment, and his intent wavered briefly before it grew strong again. “She is quite young and innocent,” he said, firmly. “Please, find her.”
Serhiy gave him another deep and vaguely insulting bow.
“Rest easy, Your Majesty,” he said, smiling his slit-eyed smile. “Nobody escapes me for long.”
3
Revenge From A Fox
A few more hours of trekking led them into the more heavily wooded territory. The rocks and plains faded into the golden light of the afternoon, replaced by scrubs and sparse lands. Further on, a forest suddenly sprung up around them. It appeared as if by magic at the beginning of the evening, as the sun was going down. Shafts of light glittered through the woods, around the tree trunks, as fast and unpredictable as will o’ the wisps. Thorn knew — from living long years in the woods, he knew it in his bones — that the light would be gone before the sun was. The woods would swallow them up, and whether the forest became the mouth of a monster or the embracing arms of a friend remained to be seen.
“Where are we, anyway?” he said.
“Near the western edge of the Badlands,” said Irae. “We will skirt them after we find Braeve and continue south on the Lonely Road.”
“If we can continue anywhere,” he said.
Irae paused on the outer edges of the forest and looked back over her shoulder at the path they had taken to this point. As close as he was, just one horse-width away, Thorn could see the muscles in the smooth, pale column of her throat tense and tighten.
“You’re certain about this?” he said.
“Of course,” said Irae immediately before turning away.
“This is a terrible idea,” said Lully from behind them, but their leader was paying no heed. She nudged her horse forward into the woods proper letting the rest of them follow.
They could not go far with all three of them wedged together the way they were. So, when they reached the first narrowing of the trees, Irae called a halt and swung down from her horse, leaving Thorn to steady Karyl on his own. Irae tied her horse to a low branch, took Lully’s steed by the reins, and drew her towards it as well.
“You can stay here,” she said, “as you think this is such a horrible idea anyway.”
“I said terrible, not horrible,” said Lully sulkily.
Irae flicked her gaze to Ruben, who was working his mouth nervously.
“You as well, please,” she said. “Stay with them.”
“Are you certain you won’t need me?”
“Absolutely positive,” said the princess, firmly. “They, on the other hand, need you for protection.”
“Alright then,” said the bard. He was clearly relieved and wiped sweat from his brow. He swung easily down from his horse and went to take Lully’s reins from Irae. “I will stay here and do what I can to protect them. How long shall we wait?”
Irae looked at him with obvious patience, as though she thought he was a little bit stupid.
“As long as it takes,” she said. “We will be back as soon as we can, but there’s no way to know what will need to be done in order to save Karyl.”
The bard nodded vigorously. “Ah, of course, of course. Whatever it takes.” He tied Lully’s horse up and began to assist her down, still muttering under his breath. The kitchen maid sent a look to Irae that was half anger and half worried fear.
“Will you not listen to reason?” she begged. “I’m afraid you will never return, if Braeve catches up to you.”
“She isn’t going to catch up to me,” said Irae. She was clearly still irritated with the former kitchen maid, but she took a moment to reach out and pat her knee. “I am going to catch up to her. Don’t worry so much.”
She reached up to hold Karyl steady and allow Thorn to dismount from his own horse. The former guard was pale and still. He had stopped making any noise more than an hour ago, other than the ragged effort of his breathing. Thorn had checked his pulse a few times along the way, as best as he could. Even with the roughness of the road, it had been easy to tell that it was thready and weak.
Thorn left his horse with Irae’s and caught eyes with Lully as he made to turn away. Her eyes were luminous with fear and unshed tears. He hadn’t had much to do with Lully, other than trying his best to assist with a broken arm. Not having had much experience with women, he felt a little on edge around her.
But she looked absolutely miserable.
He bit his lip and reached out to pat her hand carefully.
She moved her hand away from his touch, but only to swipe at her eyes with the heel of her palm. She straightened up, lifting her chin, and he could see her steel herself in front of him. He was ready for her to ask him to take care of Irae, her mistress — beloved, no matter how much they disagreed. After all, Lully had followed her away from everything she knew, that kept her safe, and that her life had always been. There was a devotion there, from both Karyl and Lully — and from Graic, if it came to that — that Thorn couldn’t begin to fathom. He could feel the edges of it in the way they looked at Jelen — at their Queen Irae, disgraced and deposed and betrayed as she was — and he could make out the dim shape of it. But the feeling was beyond his grasp.
The idea of Lully taking that depth of emotion and entrusting him with it was frankly terrifying.
But all she said was, “Keep your eyes open. Don’t be a liability if you can help it.”
There seemed so much that he could have said to that, but he swallowed it and nodded brusquely instead.
“I will do my best,” he said, which was as much confidence as he felt comfortable promising.
He took his place at Karyl’s side again, catching a glimpse or two of Irae on the other side of the horse. She was facing forward, one hand twined in the reins and the other on Karyl’s shoulder.
He mimicked her position, taking up a fistful of Karyl’s shirt and seeking to prepare himself as much as he could.
Who knew what lay ahead?
He tried to ignore it, but after everything they had gone through, the sense of impending doom was so familiar that it felt like a constant companion.
Irae led them carefully through the forest, stepping cautiously on the loamy floor and avoiding tighter spaces between the trees where the horse could not fit. There was no path through the woods, as such, though there was something winding that seemed a little more well-traveled, trail-like and dim. The woods were tall and dark, but clean. There seemed to be no wildlife around at all – no small furry creatures that were typical in forests like this, no insects or spiders. The trees themselves were some species of pine that Thorn wasn’t familiar with. They stood tall above them with scarcely a limb to be seen until several feet above their heads.
He took a deep breath, knowing that he had to break the silence.
“How are we meant to attract the attention of this person?”
His voice came out a great deal louder than he
had intended, and he jumped a little. Over the neck of the horse, he caught a glimpse of Irae, just her eyes and the upper part of her face; she looked amused, despite herself.
He cleared his throat.
“I thought you were much more at home in the woods,” she said.
“I am.” Did he sound defensive? He thought he sounded defensive. “But I don’t know these woods, and there is someone in them who may or may not want to kill you. And if she decides to kill you, there is little that would stand in the way of her aiming to kill me as well. And she has the ability to bestow immortality on others — who knows what other mysterious gifts she might possess that will enable her to kill us all in fascinating and innovative ways? Never trust a woman who chooses to extend a man’s lifespan. It goes against nature.”
If nothing else, even with the hurry and the worry, he succeeded in making her laugh. It was a weak laugh, quiet and short and in spite of herself, but a laugh nonetheless. It didn’t make him any less worried, but it brightened him for a moment.
“May I remind you,” she said, “that you have the ability to turn things into other things? If we’re going to talk about not trusting those with gifts beyond what most mortals possess, perhaps I shouldn’t be putting all my eggs in one forged basket.” He had to admit that this was logical, but he chose not to speak out loud, maintaining what he hoped was a dignified silence. They walked on for a few steps before she said, “And I do trust you.”
The bright spark that her laughter had brought into life glowed a little brighter, and he felt something which had been tightly wound within him begin to loosen. They were in a ludicrously terrible situation — walking through mysterious woods with a fatally wounded companion, moving towards a murderous mystery woman — but it made him think of early days, before he knew quite what was going to happen. Back when Irae had initially come for him, back before she was Queen Anything; when she was just Jelen Woodborne, prideful and flawed but looking for him to help her. To save her.
With a jolt, he realized that it had been just scarcely shy of two weeks. How was that even possible?
