Allies & Assassins

by Justin Somper

  Koel laughed at that. “Oh, I forgot I was wearing this thing!” she said, raising her hand and pulling the eye patch and its string off her head, sliding it over her long, dark hair. “It’s to help me focus on the target but I’m sure it looks ridiculous.”

  “Actually, I think it rather suits you,” Jared observed with a grin.

  “I’m not sure I like the implication of that.” Koel set down her bow in its stand, and gratefully received the glass of lingonberry cordial offered to her by her lady-in-waiting. “May we offer you some refreshment?”

  Jared nodded. “Thank you, that would be nice.” Koel’s servant poured another glass and handed it to the Prince.

  “Shall we sit for a moment, over there in the shade?” Koel led Jared toward a table and chairs, beside an old willow tree. “So,” she said, taking a seat. “What brings you out here? Were you thinking of having some target practice yourself? Oh but of course not, you haven’t brought your bow!”

  Jared sat down beside his cousin. “I’m sure I could do with the practice but no, I came to find you.”

  Koel smiled and took a small sip of her drink. “I’m flattered that with all the people who are doubtless competing for your time and attention, you would choose to seek me out.”

  Jared turned toward her. “I wanted to check how you’re doing after all the terrible things that have happened these past few days.”

  Koel shook her head. “That’s so typical of you,” she said. “I should be the one offering you support. After all, you’ve lost a brother and now a sister-in-law too.”

  Jared nodded, feeling a cool breeze through the rustling the leaves of the willow tree. “Anders’s death is a source of deep grief to us all,” he said. “Silva’s too. We are one family—the Wynyards and the Blaxlands. We all bleed the same blood.”

  “Indeed,” Koel said. “But let us hope that no more blood is shed for a long while yet.” She reached across and squeezed his hand, just for a moment. Releasing it again, she asked, “What news of the investigation?”

  “I’m sure your brother has kept you up to speed.”

  “Axel?” Koel laughed lightly. “Axel doesn’t tell me anything. He thinks I’m far too young and frivolous to be interested in his serious man stuff.”

  “Then I think he does you a disservice.”

  “I think so too, Cousin Jared.” She smiled again. “Thank you for saying so.”

  Jared took a draught of cordial before continuing. “Your brother and I met late last night to discuss the latest evidence and he and his team are pursuing some fresh leads this morning. It is possible Anders wasn’t poisoned through his food but by other means. Forgive me for not going into too much detail.”

  “Of course, I understand,” Koel said. “But that certainly sounds promising.” She paused. “And what is the latest thinking with regard to Silva—accident or suicide?”

  Jared took a breath before answering. “Murder.”

  “No!” Koel’s pretty face paled.

  “I’m sorry but I fear so,” Jared said. “And it seems that her murder was connected to that of Anders. Axel believes that Archenfield has been infiltrated by more than one assassin from across the borders.”

  Koel shuddered. “It makes me feel so powerless—dealing with an unseen enemy.”

  “Yes,” Jared agreed. “I know exactly what you mean.” He paused, anxious to get the conversation, flowing as it was, in the direction it needed to go. “Koel, I need to ask you something. Something rather personal. I hope you won’t be angry with me.”

  She shook her head. “I could never be angry with you, Cousin Jared. What’s on your mind?” She took another sip of her drink.

  “It has come to light that my brother was conducting a romantic liaison with someone, outside of his marriage to Silva.”

  Koel’s eyes locked with his. “How… how do you know about this?” she inquired.

  Jared frowned. “Several factors have led us in this direction but, most of all, the discovery of certain love notes to Anders. One in particular, which he carried in a locket, close to his heart.”

  “That is kind of romantic!” Koel said. “Well, it would be, if it wasn’t under such tragic circumstances.”

  Jared winced as he asked the next question. “Koel, I’m sorry but I have to ask you this. Did you write the love notes? Were you in love with my brother?”

  “Me?” Her brown eyes were wide. “No! I mean—don’t get me wrong—I always liked your brother. But not in that way. No, absolutely not.”

  “That’s a relief,” Jared said, settling back into his seat. “I’m sorry. Please understand that I had to ask.”

  She shook it off lightly. “I do understand. You need to gather answers. And it’s an intriguing situation.” Her eyes met his once more. “But Jared, if I were to send love notes to one of my male cousins, they would not be for Anders.” She held his gaze for a moment.

  Jared thought he knew her meaning and it did not displease him. Suddenly, however, her brown eyes seemed to transform into gray ones and, for a moment, it was as if he were not looking into Koel’s eyes but into Asta’s.

  As if Asta were warning him to stay on track.

  Just then, one of Nova’s falcons soared into view. Both Jared and Koel turned their eyes upward as the majestic bird flew overhead.

  “I fear that is the envoy to Woodlark, informing Prince Willem and Queen Francesca that Silva is dead,” Jared said. He dropped his eyes again and sighed. “I should return to the palace, and let you get back to your archery.”

  Koel nodded, running a hand through her long, dark hair. “I fear I need the practice.”

  Jared set down his empty glass, then leaned across and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Just pay attention to your follow-through. You’re better than you think.”

  She basked in his kind words. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

  Prince Jared strode away. Koel watched him, replaying their meeting in her mind even before it was fully over. After he had disappeared into the glade, she placed the eye patch over her head once more and strode back to retrieve her bow from her waiting servant.

  She loaded another arrow and locked into place the nock. Checking her stance, she raised the bow and appraised her target. She drew back her string hand to the very same spot on her cheekbone where her cousin, the Prince, had so tenderly kissed her. Then she released the arrow. It flew through the air and landed plum in the center of the target.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The Falconer’s Cottage,

  the Village

  ASTA KNOCKED ON THE DOOR TO THE FALCONer’s cottage. she waited, but there was no sound of anyone moving around inside. She knocked again, a little louder. No reply. She walked around to peer through one of the windows. The place seemed deserted. She went back to the door and tried to open it herself. It was locked.

  Adjoining the Falconer’s Cottage was its tower, atop of which was located the Falconer’s Mews. Glancing up at the glass-domed structure, reminiscent of an orangery, Asta thought she discerned movement. Whether it was the Falconer herself, or merely her birds, she was unsure from that distance and in the gloomy late afternoon light. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  The entrance to the tower was unlocked. Asta pushed open the wooden door and began climbing the stone steps, already feeling a sense of anticipation. With each turn of the spiral stairwell, she knew she was rising higher and higher above the Princedom. There were no full windows on the main body of the tower but there were narrow embrasures, used for looking out and—when the need arose—shooting arrows through.

  Asta paused at one of these, gazing through the slim gap back toward her own home. Already, she had climbed high enough to look down upon the roof of the Physician’s house. She continued her ascent. The next embrasure was on the opposite side of the tower and afforded her a view of the fjord and the mountains beyond. She drew her face away from the gap. The air was chillier now that she had almost reached the summi
t and the warmth had drained from the day.

  She came to a stop before a second door. She suspected that this would not be locked either. Still, out of politeness, she knocked. After a short delay, the door opened and Asta found herself face to face with the Falconer. She was struck, at this close range, by the woman’s unique beauty. Nova was unlike any of the other women in court—indeed unlike any woman Asta had ever seen before. Her long dark hair was not teased into intricate plaits; instead it hung loose and wild over her shoulders and down her back. Her skin was unpowdered but nonetheless flawless, burnished gold by the elements. Her lips were unusually full and deep red. They made Asta think of plump raspberries in the heat of summer.

  Nova’s catlike eyes scrutinized Asta coolly. She gave no pretense of being pleased at Asta’s arrival. “Of course, it’s you,” she said. “I guessed you’d be up to bother me before long.”

  Asta was, unusually, lost for words.

  Nova shook her head. “Don’t you think we talk to each other, my fellows and I?” she asked pointedly.

  “I’d very much like to talk to you,” Asta said.

  “No,” Nova countered, still blocking the threshold. “What you want is to ask me questions. You’ve taken it into your head you are some kind of investigator. It seems you have mistaken your relish for prying for a qualification.”

  Asta felt flushed. She needed to get inside the Falconer’s Mews but, with every passing moment, she feared that the door might be slammed shut in her face and the key turned in the lock.

  “You’re right,” she said carefully. “I am helping with the investigation into the assassinations. At least I’m trying to.”

  “Assassinations?” Nova hesitated. “There has been only one assassination—that of the Prince. Silva committed suicide.”

  Asta shook her head. “No,” she said, firmly, sensing she might be gaining the upper hand. “The death scene was made to look that way. But we now know otherwise.”

  Asta’s ploy seemed to have worked. Nova drew back inside the room but, rather than slamming the door, left it ajar. Asta stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

  She found herself at the foot of another spiral stairwell. Without waiting for her, the Falconer had continued on her way. Asta followed. It proved to be only a short climb, before the stairway deposited her in the circular room at the summit of the tower.

  The room stretched across almost the entire top area of the tower. It was essentially a vast dome. Standing there, surrounded on all sides by metal and glass, Asta felt as if she were contained within a giant birdcage. This impression was driven home to her as one of Nova’s falcons suddenly spread its wings and took flight above her—but not so high above that she couldn’t feel the stirring of the breeze on her upturned face. It felt as if the bird had come to keep an eye on her, Asta thought—then mentally scolded herself for being ridiculous.

  Around the perimeter of the mews ran a balcony, accessed by one of four doors—which, judging by the letters engraved above each, marked the exact positions of north, east, south and west. This, Asta realized, made absolute sense as it would enable Nova to send her birds out in whichever direction she desired.

  She glanced upward again, watching with fascination but also a certain nervousness, as the falcon turned perfect circles above her. Away over, on the opposite side of the dome, the bird’s six companions were poised on a vast wooden perch.

  Nova was making her way toward the perch, her low, rustic skirt skimming the stone floor. In her right hand was a small wooden pail. Dressed though she was in the most humble of clothes, Asta thought; still, Nova walked with the confidence of a queen. She realized she was falling a little under the Falconer’s spell.

  Not wanting to disturb her, Asta gazed once more around the dome. Though Nova lived in the locked cottage down below, there were signs that she might actually have spent a considerable amount of her time up here in the company of her birds. There was a chaise (it made Asta think, of course, of the one in the bathing house) and a couple of other chairs and tables, a bookcase, a free-standing mirror and several candelabra. Further in the distance, closer to the perch, was a desk and accompanying chair.

  The haphazard assortment of furniture gave the mews the feel of a human aerie. Asta had the sense that Nova had foraged about the palace complex, gathering up things that were useful—or, perhaps more important, simply appealing—in some way to her. Asta couldn’t help but wonder—had Prince Anders been foraged in a similar fashion?

  But there was little to be gained by simply standing and staring, Asta decided. If she was going to learn anything of value here, she needed to draw out the Falconer in conversation, however challenging that was likely to prove.

  Asta walked over to join Nova at the perch, just as the itinerant falcon returned to join her sisters. As Asta herself arrived in front of the perch, she realized that it was not, as she had first thought, crafted from wood but rather from a number of antlers, cleverly welded together. Seeing the cluster of antlers, she had another visual flash of Anders’s bathing house and the pair of antlers fastened to the wall there. In her mind, another connection was made to the place, but she knew that she needed concrete evidence to determine if Nova really was the Prince’s secret love. Antlers were not exactly a rarity in the environs of the court.

  Ignoring her uninvited guest, Nova busied herself petting each of her falcons in turn and offering them food from her pail. Glancing in the metallic-smelling bucket, Asta saw blood-slick gobbets of dark, shiny flesh.

  “Rabbit organs,” Nova announced, as if sensing her next question. “Caught fresh in the woods this morning.” She extended a slick piece of liver to the bird that had turned circles above them. Asta watched as the morsel was snatched up eagerly in the bird’s small beak and swiftly devoured.

  “She seems hungry,” Asta observed.

  The Falconer did not respond to this comment. It seemed that she was preoccupied, feeding and talking to her birds. Asta had often heard tell of the intense bond between the Falconer and her falcons; now at last she was witness to it with her own eyes and ears.

  She felt rather bilious from the feeding display and was relieved when at last Nova held up her empty, blood-stained palms, signaling to the seven falcons that mealtime was over. The Falconer then turned and wandered over to a small washstand, cleaning her hands with soap and water. The pleasant smell of verbena filled the air for a moment.

  Asta watched the Falconer scrubbing her bloody fingers—a jumble of thoughts running through her head—then returned her attention to the birds on their perch.

  “Here!” Asta turned to find the Falconer once more at her side. Nova’s right hand was now encased in a leather gauntlet and in it she held a spare glove, which she offered to Asta. “Put this on your strongest hand.”

  Asta took the gauntlet. She felt herself under scrutiny, not only from the Falconer but also from the seven pairs of avian eyes, all reflecting the light from the nearest candelabra.

  “Here, let me help you,” Nova said, her eyes meeting Asta’s as she tightened the straps on the glove. “Don’t be scared. I can sense your fear. And if I can, you can be sure that the falcons can too. It unsettles them.”

  Asta glanced down at the gauntlet, willing herself to rise to this challenge.

  “Watch!” Nova told her, resting her gauntlet-covered hand and wrist alongside the perch. One of the falcons immediately extended one clawed foot, then the other, onto the Falconer’s wrist. Nova took on the bird’s weight easily and drew her wrist away, nuzzling the falcon tenderly against her cheek as she did so. Then she glanced across at Asta. “Your turn!”

  Asta had no desire whatsoever to follow suit but she realized she wasn’t going to have any choice in the matter. The sooner she submitted to this test, the sooner it would be over. Taking a steadying breath, she placed her arm adjacent to the perch, just as Nova had done.

  To begin with, nothing happened. The six remaining birds stood their ground. Asta imagin
ed what they might be thinking—Who is this amateur? Why would I want to travel anywhere on her wrist?

  But then it seemed as if one of the falcons deigned to take pity upon her. Asta watched nervously as its talons took a firm grip of her gauntlet. As the bird settled, she felt her arm begin to buckle under its surprising weight of the bird. The falcon began to stretch out its wings as if it knew it had to cover its options.

  “Hold your arm steady!” Nova barked at her imperiously.

  Asta did as she was told. The falcon appeared to calm down again.

  “That’s better,” Nova said, with a fraction less severity. “Now follow me.”

  She walked to the nearest door—the one marked with a large E—and, opening it with her free hand while maintaining perfect balance, continued outside onto the balcony. Asta found it to be a considerable physical challenge to walk in an even gait with such a weight bearing down on one arm—especially as her falcon persisted in shifting from foot to foot on her wrist. Perhaps it could still sense her nervousness.

  She made it out to the balcony, coming to stand beside the Falconer right at the edge. She found herself looking down at the village green. It soothed her somewhat to see the familiar locale, albeit from this new and unique perspective. The light was already draining from the day and it softened the shapes of the buildings below.

  “Now watch!” Nova commanded. She gave a precise flick of the wrist and, receiving its cue, her falcon immediately spread its wings and took flight.

  Asta felt the Falconer’s sharp eyes upon her once more. She readied herself, then did her best to emulate Nova’s elegant wrist-flick. Her movement was, inevitably, far less fluid but still her falcon seemed to get the message—or perhaps it had simply decided it was high time that the two of them parted company. It opened its vast wings and rose majestically away over the balcony, out across the village. Asta felt a body-rush of exhilaration as “her” bird turned a circle over the rooftops.