“Good. I want to know who has access to gold from the royal treasury.”
The Exchequer looked relieved. “That’s an easy question to answer. Apart from members of the royal family, the vault remains sealed unless I give the order. I oversee all transactions, including matters of trade and taxation. Every piece is accounted for.” He indicated a set of black books stacked on the desk. “I keep meticulous records of every transaction.”
“And if gold were to go missing after it left the treasury, how would that happen?”
The Exchequer frowned. “It’s odd you should say that. A shipment of gold was attacked in transit on the road just over a month ago. Rumor has it the Danes were involved, though none of our soldiers survived to confirm the accounts.”
“Is that so unusual? I’m sure there are highway bandits even in Munster.”
The Exchequer shook his head. “Our shipments are well protected and transported with the utmost secrecy. I plan and oversee each route myself. No one else should have known the details, and yet…the gold vanished into thin air, as if someone knew exactly where to strike.”
This marked the second mention of the Danes in recent conversation—first the coatl egg, and now the mysterious disappearance of gold from the royal treasury. Berengar doubted it was a coincidence, even if there was no clear connection between the two. Was it possible someone inside the castle was working with Gorr Stormsson? He decided it was time to find out more about Stormsson and his plans for Munster.
“Let me take a look at those records,” he said on the chance something in the books might explain how gold from the treasury ended up in the hands of King Mór’s killers. He spent almost an hour combing through dusty pages full of numbers and transactions, until at last he noticed something off about the books. “These numbers don’t add up.” He pointed out a column of numbers to the Exchequer.
The Exchequer’s eyes swept the page. “That’s impossible. I total and record each sum myself.” He suddenly stopped speaking, and his brow arched in surprise. “This isn’t right.”
Berengar noticed the content of a few entries had been erased and replaced by someone with handwriting distinct from the Exchequer’s. “Someone changed the numbers. Why?”
“They were trying to cover something up.” The Exchequer went back through the rest of the records, and after several minutes he laid another book out for Berengar to see. “These payments were authorized by King Mór himself.”
The royal seal was unmistakable. Based on the records, Mór had been paying a substantial amount of gold to an unnamed individual over a period of years, and immediately after his death, someone had gone to great lengths to cover it up. That could only mean one thing.
“Someone was blackmailing the king,” Berengar said.
The implications were grave. Who would risk such a bold gamble as to blackmail a sitting monarch, and—perhaps more importantly—what did they know that Mór had wanted kept secret? Suddenly the king’s paranoia and desire for secrecy made sense. Was Mór’s blackmailer also behind his death? The attempt to alter the books was rather careless compared to the resourcefulness the assassin had displayed so far, much like whoever searched the king’s chambers.
Queen Alannah was right. Mór was a man of secrets. The responsibilities of the throne had changed him greatly from the lighthearted prince Berengar remembered from the war, perhaps to an extent greater than he had previously thought.
“Say nothing of this—to anyone,” he told the Exchequer. “Do you understand?”
“You have my word.” The Exchequer swallowed nervously and tugged at his collar before casting a glance across the room at the sentries guarding the vault, as if to make sure they hadn’t been overheard. “Am I in danger?”
Berengar pictured the déisi’s body slumped against the side of a building, an arrow protruding from his chest. “Until I find the person who did this, we’re all in danger. I wouldn’t be here if it were otherwise.”
No sooner had he left the treasury than Corrin appeared, accompanied by a host of guards. “Warden Berengar, I’m to escort you into the city at Thane Ronan’s behest. There has been some unrest in several districts this morning, and we would appreciate your assistance safeguarding the royal family during the Feast of Remembrance to mark the king’s passing. Princess Ravenna specifically requested that you accompany her during the festivities.”
Berengar didn’t have to ask what kind of unrest, remembering the harassment of the goblin smith he’d witnessed in the market only one day prior. As rumors about the king’s death began to spread, such acts would become commonplace until the culprit was brought to justice and peace was restored. That, along with the assassin’s unknown motives and lingering presence, was why Berengar cautioned the royals to remain inside the castle for their own safety. Still, if they insisted on venturing into the city, he would be right there to watch over them.
The need for the show of force became readily apparent when he arrived at the feast. There were people everywhere, as far as he could see. The queen and her court occupied a place of honor in a pavilion near the base of the hill, looking over the rest of Cashel. The well-guarded area was mainly reserved for high-ranking nobles, including the Rí Tuaithe, who had arrived at the capital to pay tribute to Queen Alannah. Berengar recognized Desmond, son of Laird Tierney, among those who bowed and cast their iron crowns at the queen’s feet to affirm their loyalty. Thane Ronan himself stood at Alannah’s side, keeping a vigilant watch over the festivities. Just below, commoners and low-ranking nobles from all walks of life took part in various activities, including games, dancing, and eating. It was a lively gala, especially for one held in honor of a man so recently murdered by poisoning.
As Berengar searched for the princess, he passed a group of drunken nobles locked in a loud argument about the rights of nonhumans. Berengar saw Morwen nearby, trailed closely by a small group of children who pleaded with her to perform magic. Morwen ran her hand over one of the runestones at the head of her staff, and a swarm of butterflies composed of glowing purple light flew over the children. Morwen smiled as the children raced after the butterflies, laughing with delight, and Berengar felt guilty for the way he had treated her in their last encounter. Although Morwen was probably too headstrong for her own good, she had only been trying to help. Her heart was in the right place, even if she was naive about the world’s harsher realities. He wondered if that was why she grated on him so. There was something wholesome about the girl—something good—that was at odds with the man he had become, reminding him of another time in his life.
He looked away from Morwen and noticed Princess Ravenna standing alone, observing the revelries below. Like him, the princess seemed to shun the company of others, and yet eyes followed her wherever she went. It wasn’t hard to see why—although Berengar usually made it a practice not to notice such things, Ravenna was easily the most beautiful woman at the feast. The princess seemed to brighten when she saw him approach, although the change in her features was so imperceptible he might have been mistaken. He wondered if she had seen him in the crypt the night before. The princess was harder to read than her mother, who herself had no small skill at concealing her true feelings.
“Your Grace,” he said by way of introduction. “You asked for me.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Warden Berengar. These events are usually intolerably boring, and you’re the first truly interesting person to come to this city in a long while.” Ravenna showed no fear of Faolán, though she did not reach out to pet her as Morwen had. “Will you walk with me?”
Berengar nodded in assent, and they walked along the path together, taking in the sights and sounds of the feast. He waited for her to speak, but Ravenna seemed content to remain quiet. This suited Berengar perfectly well, as he preferred silence as a rule. He kept a cautious eye on the crowd, searching for any sign of danger. A group of onlookers shied away from Berengar’s scars, murmuring in hushed tones as they passed.
“W
e must make quite a pair,” Ravenna said. “The Tainted Princess and the Bloody Red Bear. Half these people think you’re a monster, Warden Berengar, and the others believe you’re a hero. I wonder which is closer to the truth.”
I’m the monster they send to kill worse monsters. The sentiment didn’t seem appropriate to share with the princess, so he said only, “I’m no hero.”
“I believe there are no heroes. No monsters. Only people, capable of both good and evil.”
“You see the world differently than most,” Berengar observed.
“A trait we share, I imagine. I sensed a kinship with you the moment we met. I could see it in you.” She stopped and stood so near to him they almost touched, catching him by surprise, and her eyes moved over the ruined half of his face before meeting his gaze. “We both know what it is to be broken—to remake ourselves. Those who look only at the outside are fools. My husband had no scars, Warden Berengar, and he was as cruel a man as they come. But that is a story for another time. Tell me, are you closer to finding my father’s killer?”
The pair neared the end of the path and turned back in the direction of the queen’s pavilion.
“Perhaps,” Berengar said. “Your father had his fair share of enemies. I can see why he was short on trust.” He glanced at the place where Alannah sat and saw the queen laughing at something Ronan had said. “Do you trust him?”
Ravenna appeared surprised he would ask such a question. “With my life. Thane Ronan grew up in my mother’s household. No one in the kingdom is more loyal to the throne. He has always been very kind to me.”
That explains the nature of his relationship with the queen, Berengar thought. If Ronan had a history with Alannah, did she also receive the greater extent of his loyalty? It was well-known Mór enjoyed a number of affairs, but perhaps there was something more between Ronan and the queen. That was the sort of secret one would kill for. Berengar’s gaze wandered over to Laird O’Reilly, who was seated at one of the banquet tables, a goblet of wine in hand. “What about him?”
Ravenna regarded the royal adviser with thinly veiled contempt. “Be careful with him. Laird O’Reilly is more dangerous than he appears. There is little love between us. When I fled the castle after my father announced my engagement, it was Laird O’Reilly’s spies that found me. I’ll never forget the smug look on his face when the soldiers dragged me back screaming.”
The warden was about to respond when shouts broke out nearby. He tensed instinctively and turned to face the commotion, where a growing multitude pursued a hooded woman down the street. When one of the woman’s pursuers grabbed her cloak from behind, her hood slipped off, revealing a pair of faintly pointed ears.
“She’s a half fairy,” a voice cried out in alarm. “She’ll steal our children and bewitch our households!”
“Get her!” another of the pursuers shouted.
They’re out for blood, Berengar realized. It wasn’t all that clear the woman in question had a drop of fairy blood running through her veins—not that it mattered to the bloodthirsty crowd determined to take justice into its own hands.
Chaos ensued as the woman fled blindly toward the pavilion. The mob followed, trampling and destroying everything in their path, while others ran in every direction, engulfed in panic. The guards stationed around the pavilion were caught by surprise and quickly overwhelmed by the angry horde, which pelted them with food from the feast.
“Stay back.” Berengar pushed Ravenna behind him and reached for his battleaxe. He spotted Queen Alannah through the crowd, flanked by Corrin and his men.
“Get the queen to safety!” Ronan drew his longsword in defense of the queen as the guards surrounded her with their shields.
Berengar took Ravenna by the hand and led her toward the others. Just as she reached the queen’s side, the ground shook as a giant came running to the accused woman’s defense. The giant put himself between the woman and the mob, using his body to shield her from the stones and projectiles. Thrown off balance, the giant toppled over backward and crashed into the pavilion, cracking the stone as he fell.
“Monster!” someone shouted from the crowd. “Kill him!”
As the crowd advanced on the giant, who was sprawled helplessly on the ground, Berengar saw Morwen sprint to meet them without a moment’s hesitation. The magician drove her staff into the ground and uttered an incantation, and an invisible barrier deflected the projectiles hurled at the giant, who struggled to regain his footing.
“Stay back!” She brandished her staff as a defensive weapon. “I won’t let you hurt them.” Morwen stood alone against the crowd, backed up against the giant.
What’s she doing? Berengar thought. The mob showed no signs of slowing down. She’s going to get herself killed. He left the ranks of the guards behind and charged to the magician’s aid.
Just as the first attacker neared Morwen, Faolán leapt on him with a howl. Berengar cut a path toward the magician with his axe, watching as she attempted to fend off a man holding a knife. Blood trickled from her nose, and it was clear she was drained from the spell. Faolán bit the man’s ankle, allowing Morwen to knock him flat on his back with her staff.
“Take my hand!” Berengar yelled, reaching out to her.
“Berengar?” she muttered with a confused expression. She started to stumble, but he caught her before she could fall. The giant scooped up the accused woman into his arms and fled, easily outpacing the mob with each long stride.
“Don’t worry,” Berengar told Morwen. “I’ve got you.” He pulled her to safety, where the guards shielded Queen Alannah and Princess Ravenna.
“Get them to the castle!” Ronan ordered over the tumult. “Quickly!”
Faolán howled to warn him of danger, and Berengar spotted a bow trained on Princess Ravenna—a black arrow pointed directly at her heart. He didn’t have time to think. He stepped in front of the princess and put himself in the arrow’s path.
The warden felt a searing pain just below his shoulder, there was a terrible scream, and then his world went dark.
Chapter Eight
When he woke, there was a pair of amber eyes staring back at him.
Lying at his side, Faolán began licking his face affectionately the moment he stirred.
“Nice to see you too,” Berengar muttered, ruffling the fur on the back of her neck.
“The guards couldn’t keep her away,” a voice said, and he noticed Morwen standing over him.
They were alone. Abundant sunlight entered through a window at the end of the hall, revealing the contours of an unfamiliar chamber. It was morning, which meant he’d slept through the night. Berengar glanced around the room and saw a row of cots lining the hall on either side. Judging from the view outside the window, he was inside the castle once more, though Berengar had no memory of how he’d ended up there.
“Where am I?” he managed to cough out, finding his throat parched. The arrow was gone. In its place were fresh bandages. The wound would leave a scar—just one among many others he’d earned over the years. He sat up in sweat-drenched sheets, and Morwen put her hand over his chest to steady him.
“Take it easy. You’re in the infirmary.” She handed him a cup brimming with a mysterious elixir. “Here, drink this. It will make you feel better.”
Berengar regarded the red liquid cautiously and took a small sip. The substance was surprisingly pleasant tasting, with a hint of cherries. As he messily gulped down the contents of the cup a light, tingling sensation spread through his body, and his mind began to clear.
“The arrow was poisoned,” Morwen explained.
He followed her gaze to the bloody tip of the black arrow, which protruded from a bowl of water on a tray beside his cot.
That arrow was meant for the princess, Berengar thought. If he hadn’t acted when he did, another member of the royal family might have fallen victim to an assassin’s poison.
“A cruder poison than the one used to kill the king, to be sure, but fatal nonetheless,” M
orwen finished. “Fortunately for us both, it was rather easier to cure than the Demon’s Whisper.” A makeshift alchemy workbench had been assembled nearby, littered with herbs and various ingredients, where Morwen had undoubtedly concocted a cure while the poison coursed through his veins.
“I am in your debt.”
Morwen blushed and looked away sheepishly. “I might say the same. That’s twice now you’ve saved my life. I haven’t forgotten how you fought off the déisi on the road to Cashel. It seems you have a talent for keeping me out of harm’s way.”
“Maybe if you’d stop risking your neck so often, I wouldn’t have to.” From the look on Morwen’s face she’d taken the remark as a rebuke, and Berengar struggled to choose the right words. Though well versed in coarse language, kind words came harder to him. “That was a noble thing you did—putting yourself in harm’s way to protect that giant. Your father would have been proud.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry for the words I said when we last spoke. I shouldn’t have said them.”
Morwen settled into the chair beside his cot and shook her head sadly. “You were right. I wanted so badly to prove myself to my father. It was never enough. I’m a good student, and rather talented at alchemy and potion-making, but I’m not much in the way of a powerful magician. I struggle to cast the simplest of spells without my staff, as you saw for yourself. It’s why I was not allowed to continue my studies with the Order of the Swordless Mage.” She said the last sentence in barely a whisper, her embarrassment plain.
“You think quickly on your feet, and you’re a good deal braver than a girl your age has any right to be. That’s more important than how long it takes you to cast some incantation.”
She beamed at him. “Does that mean you’ve reconsidered letting me help you?”
“Aye.” He suppressed a chuckle at her unbridled enthusiasm to resume the hunt.
The Blood of Kings Page 13
