“No,” Torsten replied. “Except that two of my men are women.”
“Really?” Audrey asked, her interest piqued. “I can’t wait to meet them.”
“Thank you, Audrey,” Torsten said. “I really can’t thank you enough.”
“Stop thanking me and go get your bandit horde before the royal guard finds them,” Audrey said as she made for the door. “I’ll be waiting for you out back.”
Felix took Torsten’s hand, oddly grateful to have him out from beneath Audrey’s penetrative gaze—for even she was not immune to the sight of Torsten in tight black leather—and they headed out to collect their bandits, of whom Felix had no problem assuming a portion of ownership.
18 - Exponential Gumption
The remaining bandits had made their way to the perimeter of the estate, and were bent over a hastily sketched map on the hard dirt of the forest floor, arguing rescue options, when Torsten and Felix were sighted. “Wow,” Marilyn said, taking in their cleanliness and leathers as they approached. “And to think we were picturing you chained up naked in the dungeons.” She reached in her pocket for another slice of apple to feed her insistently nudging horse. “This is a much better look.”
Though everyone laughed and wore smiles of relief, it was but a temporary mask for the grief and exhaustion they all were feeling, and Felix bristled with guilt. Though he knew that having been kidnapped in the first place certainly wasn’t his fault, he felt much of what had happened since was, and if he’d wanted to hate himself for it, it would have been easy.
If instead of being fearful, he’d cooperated, even encouraged Torsten to give him to Gethrin that night, the bandits would never have attacked. If he’d refused to allow Torsten to take him home, they’d have been there to fight when Gethrin did attack. And if he’d not snuck away from Torsten’s bed with the compulsion to try to save everybody, the surviving bandits wouldn’t have needed to rescue him, and wouldn’t have suffered more wounds. He watched as Dot took Selon’s hand to uncover and examine a particularly nasty cut. Yes. If everyone here were to lay blame on him it would be understandable, even logical. But no one had. No one had screamed or cursed. No one had uttered a single harsh word or even given him a dirty look. Torsten’s bandits had been nothing but kind.
“So what’s the story, King?” Marilyn asked. “Where are your weapons? What’s happened?” There was no worry in her face or voice. None of them appeared worried. Their trust in Torsten was immense.
Torsten grasped her shoulder. “Our flautist may not be a noble, but he seems to have been hiding princely connections.” He smiled, and it was sweet to see, and Felix felt the others taking strength from it. “The queen will see us this evening,” he announced, to a collective murmur of astonishment. “Hence our need to be properly attired and weapon free. They will be returned.”
“Is she going to arrest us?” asked a man Felix had yet to learn the name of, though he bore a strong resemblance to Harold, with his wispy blond hair and dark eyes.
“Hopefully not,” Torsten replied, looking sideways at Felix. “Hopefully, she’ll listen and act on the truths we have to say.”
“Hopefully?” Selon spat. “The queen is no friend, King. We can’t trust her.”
“But you can trust me,” Felix said, stepping forward. His leather trousers squeaked, and Selon grinned at him smugly. “She won’t be making any arrests. Queen Bellamy values her reputation too much to risk angering a flautist with a secret.” He gave the bandits a knowing look. “And it’s a really big secret, too. Plus, my friend Audrey is on our side, and the queen holds her in high regard.”
This announcement elicited confused mutters and calls to share the secret, but Torsten stole back everyone’s attention with a tip of his head. “We’ve no time for this now. The queen is coming, and we’re expected at the estate—all of us—for baths and food and beds, so let’s waste no more time.”
They walked their horses from the woods, Torsten and Felix leading the way. Outside the stables, servants were waiting to take their reins, and after a confident nod from Torsten, the bandits handed them over. “I hope this doesn’t turn out to be one of those spider and fly situations,” Dot offered as they followed a cobbled walkway around to the back.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” one of the men asked.
“You know,” Dot explained. “Spider lures you in, promising a meal you don’t have to cook yourself for the first time in months, and then whoosh. She grabs you up and off you go to the dungeon.”
“I’m no spider,” Audrey said, walking out from behind the tall hedge where she’d been waiting. “And as long as you keep out of sight ‘til you’re called, and leave all your weapons in the lock box, there’s no need to fear anything here. Isn’t that right, Felix?” she asked, patting him on the shoulder before leading the way up the back stairs.
“As for flies,” she continued, going through to a room that contained oilskin capes and snowshoes, and opening the lid to a large wooden box where Torsten’s weapons lay, “they shouldn’t be a problem once you bathe and get into some fresh clothes.”
“My clothes are fine,” Selon snapped as the bandits began removing their weapons.
“There is an odor,” Audrey said, stepping close to glare at her with one bright blue eye.
“Try living outside and see how you smell,” Selon retorted.
“I lived in a cave for years and still found time to wash regularly,” Audrey replied coolly.
“Enough,” Torsten said gruffly, eyeing them both. “Don’t forget this one,” he murmured as Audrey walked by, placing his hand on Selon’s back. “I know it’s your favorite, but I’ve given my word.”
Selon pulled the chain holding a small, slim dagger from her neck and dropped it into the corner of the box. “Do I smell bad?” she asked quietly.
He bent, kissing her cheek. “You smell of wood smoke and sweat and a battle hard-fought,” Torsten said. “You earned that smell. Wear it proudly.”
“If you want to leave your boots, I’ll have them seen to,” Audrey announced, closing the weapons box and turning the lock with a key she took from her pocket. “This is Winchester,” she nodded, indicating the man who’d just entered the doorway. “He’ll take you to your rooms.”
As the bandits followed him up the back stairs—all but Selon in their bare or stockinged feet—Torsten turned to Audrey. “Please don’t thank me again,” she said, holding her hand up as soon as he opened his mouth. “Having all of you here is good practice for when the bulk of the students arrive. Now, let’s grab a quick supper and get back to the parlor. I’d like a drink or two before Bellamy gets here.”
On their return to the parlor, they found the fire newly made, the heavy curtains drawn, and the lamps and candles freshly filled and wicked. On the table was a plate of nuts, cheeses and dried fruits, drinking glasses, and a crystal decanter filled with whiskey. As Audrey poured, Torsten eyed the amber liquid charily, which did not go unnoticed. “Do you not like whiskey, bandit?” she asked. “Shall I ask the kitchen to warm you some goat’s milk instead?”
“No,” he responded, “but I assume this is guild-brewed whiskey. And given what we now know,” he continued, taking the proffered glass from Audrey’s hand, “we’re adding to the coffers of a man betraying the queen each time we imbibe.”
“Possibly,” she agreed, handing a glass to Felix and taking one for herself. “But trust me when I tell you that you don’t want Bellamy to go through the conversation we’re about to have without it. To the queen,” she said, raising her glass.
“To the queen,” Torsten and Felix echoed, each taking a small sip of their brew as Audrey drained her glass and poured another.
The queen’s arrival some twenty minutes later was heralded by a servant opening the parlor doors and the sounds of a small procession in the adjoining hall.
“Are you nervous?” Felix asked Torsten as Audrey made her way to the door.
“No,” Torsten replied, grabbing
up the near full whiskey glass he’d placed on the table and quickly downing its contents. “Not at all.”
Audrey met the Queen of Viridor at the door, sweeping her inside and shutting out the accompanying swarm of guards and servants. Felix and Torsten bowed as she entered, and after exchanging hello kisses with Audrey, Queen Bellamy’s eyes widened at the sight of them.
“Felix?” she gasped, her hand going to the richly embroidered neckline of her open-necked blouse. She stood frozen in place, her usually stoic face contorted into one of shock and confusion. For the first time since knowing her, even counting the time Scorch had pulled her from the depths of a juniper bush, she didn’t look royal. Her regality had seeped away, leaving an ashen countenance in lieu of the almost ethereal glow that normally illuminated her dark, flawless skin.
Though his eyes never left hers, Felix bowed deeply again, his efforts made squeaky by the tight leather. “Your Majesty,” he said. “I sincerely apologize for shocking you. I believe you were under the impression I’d been killed. But as you can see, I am very much alive and well, and happy to see you again.”
“Yes,” Bellamy said after a moment, dropping her hand as the light began returning to her face. “I see that. You appear very much alive, and I am glad for it. I would be gladder still had I been informed previously that we had guests.” She shot an accusatory scowl at Audrey.
“Felix isn’t a guest,” Audrey tutted, leaving the queen’s side and crossing to her chair. “This one really isn’t either,” she added, stopping briefly by Torsten before she sat.
Bellamy’s eyes moved to the darkly handsome man at Felix’s side. Years had passed since she’d last seen him, and he was no longer the lanky, fresh-faced boy she remembered from his youth in the servant’s quarters. It took her a moment.
Felix saw the spark of recognition in Bellamy’s face just before she spoke. “Torsten,” she said matter-of-factly, an edge of irritation in her voice. He returned her gaze too intently, and unlike Felix, did not volunteer a second, supplicating bow. “Why is he here?” she asked, turning with a frown to Audrey. “Are we entertaining all bandits now, or only the ones I’ve banished?”
“Come have a drink, Bellamy,” Audrey said, wiggling the decanter in her hand. The amber liquid within sloshed enticingly, tantalizing the queen until she sighed and reluctantly moved forward, perching on the edge of the tufted, gilded chair, specially designed for her use.
Felix sat, and Torsten followed, sitting so near to him on the sofa that their thighs touched. Felix glanced at him and saw he wore the fierce face of the bandit king, the formidable face he’d seen when he’d first been dragged into camp. He put a hand on Torsten’s knee to soothe him, but it did nothing to soften his expression.
“Here we are,” Audrey said, pouring out two fingers of the whiskey and passing the crystal glasses. “To Felix not being dead,” she said, raising her glass. All mumbled in assent before Torsten and the queen took large gulps. Audrey enjoyed a long, slow sip, and Felix simply touched the glass to his lips before holding it tightly between his hands.
After pouring herself a second glass and taking a deep sip, Bellamy sat back, gradually reassuming her queenly dignity. She wore ankle boots of black leather trimmed in ermine, wide black trousers, and a snow-white silk blouse with pearl buttons. An intricately filigreed flower pendant hung around her neck, set with pearls and emeralds, and her circlet crown rested on her forehead, its burnished gold gleaming in the parlor’s many lights.
“I need answers,” she said, furrowing her brow at Felix. “Your guardian Merric claimed you’d been killed by bandits, your body taken away for their amusement. If you were alive, why did you not send word before now?”
“Because I was taken by bandits,” Felix explained. “And I couldn’t send word. But they didn’t kill me. Obviously.”
“He was kidnapped and brought to me,” Torsten growled, causing Bellamy to empty the rest of her glass in a single swallow. “He shouldn’t have been—it was a mistake—but he was, and I take full responsibility. None of this is Felix’s fault.”
“So you admit it,” she said. “Malcolm was right when he had me banish you. You were a thief then, and you’re a thief now, and a kidnapper, it seems.” She turned a curious, yet unflustered eye to Felix as she held out her glass to Audrey for more whiskey. “Why are you with this man? And why would you bring such a dangerous criminal into my school?”
“No disrespect, Your Majesty, but I didn’t, because he isn’t. Dangerous I mean. Torsten saved my life. And though he is, admittedly, a bandit, his banditeering has only been an effort to correct your mistakes.” Felix paused, the silence punctuated by Audrey’s snickering and the queen slamming down her glass. He squeezed Torsten’s knee and continued, once the weight of his words had been absorbed. “You sent the wrong man away from the Quarter, banished Torsten while keeping the real thief at your side and on your council. Malcolm is the one who is your enemy, not Torsten. And I have this to prove it.” He pulled Gethrin’s letter from his satchel and placed it on the table next to the queen’s glass.
She picked them both up at once, taking a slow slip of whiskey while her eyes scanned the parchment.
“As you can see,” Felix continued, “Malcolm and Guildmaster McClintock have been in cahoots with a group of bandits, truly dangerous bandits. Trading stolen goods in secret, collecting coin meant for the crown and to feed the hungry, and they meant to elevate their cruelty soon, to the level of human slave trade.”
Audrey was watching Felix with wry amusement, swirling her drink in her hand, and Torsten was looking at him, too, respect gleaming through the smirk on his face. Queen Bellamy’s head was down as she continued to scan the letter, the parchment trembling slightly in her grip.
“Meant to?” she asked, still not looking up. “Past tense?”
“The leader of the bandits they conspired with—Gethrin, the one who wrote that letter—is dead,” Felix replied. “Some of his bandits still live, but they’re little threat until they choose a new leader and reorganize. The biggest threat now is Malcolm or the guildmaster learning of Gethrin’s death, so we need to act quickly.”
Queen Bellamy placed her newly emptied glass on the table, dropped the letter to her lap, and, leaning back, tented her fingers beneath her chin contemplatively. “If I’m to believe you,” she said after a moment, “then I’m to believe that my most trusted councilman, a man I have known my entire life, is a thief who’s been stealing from me for years. And I must also believe,” she continued, “that Guildmaster McClintock, with whom I’ve done business for years, and who is among the most esteemed citizens of Viridor, is a thief and a liar who’s been colluding with bandits.” She raised her eyes and looked challengingly at Torsten. “And I’m to believe all these unbelievable things, because a banished bastard and self-confessed bandit comes to me with a few words scribbled on parchment? The unsent, unsealed writings of a dead man I have never even heard of is your notion of proof?”
“I never stole from you,” Torsten began, dangerously collected. “When I lived in the palace, when I first discovered my father was thieving, Malcolm laid his crimes on me, compelled you to banish me, in order to protect himself. I am a bandit, yes. I’ve been living in your forest and doing my damnedest to steal back everything that’s been stolen so I might help the people left destitute and hungry because of it, the poor villagers you’ve apparently forgotten.” He set his drink down carefully, his face a handsome picture of controlled anger. “I knew you wouldn’t believe easily, because believing means admitting your own poor judgment, and your failure to recognize the treachery that’s been going on beneath your royal nose for years. But you needn’t take the word of a bastard, or a flautist. That letter provides a way to prove that everything we’ve said is true.”
“We will have words about this later,” Bellamy growled at Audrey, who smiled in return. “As for you,” she continued, narrowing her eyes at Torsten. “The disrespect and accusations you’ve lev
elled at your queen have already earned your place in my dungeons. But as you are with Felix,” she said, glancing briefly at their hands, which, while not joined, were pressed closely together, “and I am in his debt, I will allow you to speak further of this supposed proof.”
“How gracious of you,” Torsten glowered. “According to the letter, Gethrin had plans to meet with Malcolm tomorrow at the Queen’s Men Tavern. If Malcolm shows, it’s proof of their collusion.”
“Hardly,” countered the queen. “You could have known his schedule beforehand and written his arrival to the tavern into the letter. It’s not enough.”
Sensing the end of Torsten’s patience, Felix decided to interject. “But he didn’t. We didn’t,” he said forcefully. “Everything we are telling you is true. And if this meeting was to discuss the implementation of a renewed slave trade in Viridor, a trade of your people, isn’t it your duty as sovereign to do everything you can to stop it?” he pleaded. “Let us go there. Let us see if we can trap Malcolm into admitting his involvement. That would be proof enough, wouldn’t it, Your Majesty?”
Queen Bellamy didn’t look happy as she considered him. “And just how do you propose to trap him, if this Gethrin he was to meet with is dead?”
Felix shrugged. To him, it was obvious. “The meeting was to talk about selling slaves. Would it be so out of the ordinary for Gethrin to send ahead one of his trusted bandits with an actual slave in their possession? All traders like to sample the product before they buy it, right? You wouldn’t buy a crate of whiskey without tasting it first.”
“Damn right,” Audrey offered, pouring up another glass.
“And where do you propose we procure a slave?” Bellamy asked in confusion.
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