by CJ Archer
That was an innocent enough question for me to give an innocent answer to. "Freedland is poor, my lord."
"I know that," he snapped.
"The mine where her father worked let some workers go so her family came to Glancia for a better life."
"Glancia has been far too lax with its borders, although I'm sure that will change, given the recent problems."
I wasn't sure if he expected me to offer an opinion, but I chose not to, since it might ruin my innocent act.
He stood and addressed me down his nose. "I want you to ask her some more questions and try to enlist her assistance."
"I don't understand," I said, knowing what he was going to ask, yet not wanting to hear it.
"Ask her to spy for you. Tell her you'll pay her."
"I have no money to pay her."
With a shake of his head and a muttered "Merdu," he pulled two coins from his doublet pocket. "I expect answers for this, Josie, better ones than you've given me so far." He pressed the coins into my palm.
"And what about me?" I asked. "You owe me for telling you what the maid said."
"I'm giving you my silence. I won't tell anyone of your interest in the king's use of magic."
I shot to my feet. "You promised me information about the sorcerer."
"The information you gave me isn't worth much."
"Then don't expect anything more." I held out the coins between thumb and forefinger.
He grabbed my hand, his long fingers enclosing mine like a cage. "Keep the money. I'll tell you something about the sorcerer." He released me only to stroke my arm. I tried to pull away but he wrapped his fingers around my wrist, right over the bruise. He was stronger than he looked, and I hissed in pain. He only smiled. "It gives three wishes to the one who frees it."
It was more information than I'd hoped for and it took me a moment to digest and think what it meant. "What kind of wishes?" I asked.
"Anything the heart desires."
"Why only three?"
"I don't know. Perhaps it likes clichés. If I ever meet the sorcerer, I'll ask."
"Where does it need to be freed from?"
"Nobody knows. If they did, the sorcerer would have been found and freed many times throughout history, but it has not been seen for a thousand years. Until now."
"Perhaps," I said.
He frowned. "You don't think it has been found? Isn't that why you came to me, because you think the palace is a result of magic, the servants too?"
"I used to, but after speaking to that maid, I'm no longer sure," I said. "I think she told the truth. She and the others seem very real to me, and this place too."
He loosened his grip and I pulled free. "Surely you don't believe that?" he said.
"Why not? The palace's construction is improbable, I grant you that, but not impossible. And how could magic account for all the staff? That maid had a life before coming here, and I suspect the others do too."
He grunted. "You seem to have thought this through." It sounded like he no longer believed my innocent village girl act.
I was about to make my excuses to leave but he got in first. "I want more information in two days’ time, Miss Cully. Or I will tell the king about your visits and this kind of talk. Is that clear?"
I swallowed and watched him leave through the garden arch. I promptly sat on the stone bench and lowered my head into my hands. What story should I make up to satisfy him next?
The sound of his voice had me sitting up again, even though it wasn't close by. Other voices, men's voices, joined his and I caught snippets of their conversation on the breeze.
"…told you were here." I didn't recognize the speaker, but he spoke to Lord Barborough as an equal. "…talk to you about…progress."
Progress? Was the man referring to Barborough's efforts at infiltrating Ned Perkin's group? I crouched beside the bushes edging the garden and parted the leaves and twigs. I couldn't see anyone but their voices were clearer.
"He has become more accepting of the idea," Barborough said. "Thank you for all your efforts at convincing him of the benefits."
"Our pleasure," one said.
"We do it for Glancia's benefit, not Vytill's," said a gruff voice. "Of course we'll advocate for the Princess Illiriya. Marrying her is the sensible option."
"There's a problem, however," Barborough went on. "He has taken a keen interest in Lady Morgrave, and my sources tell me she's a manipulative bitch. I don't care who he fucks, as long as she doesn't sway him against the princess."
"Let us take care of her," said one of the others.
"I was planning to." Barborough's voice sounded further away, as if he'd walked off.
"I know her father," said the man. "And her husband."
"It's the mother you need to speak to," his companion said with a bitter sneer. "She wields the power."
Their voices drifted off as they walked away. I left the garden behind and returned to the palace, even more relieved that I'd told Lord Barborough I didn't believe the palace was created by magic. Hopefully it would sway his own opinion, because if he started a rumor that the king had used magic to inherit the throne, the entire kingdom could fall apart. Leon may not be a great king, but he was the best option when the alternative was infighting at best, or, at worst, war.
Chapter 13
I hesitated in the doorway to the garrison. Brant sat on a chair, his booted feet on the table. Erik and Quentin were there too, which meant a truce had been called. That might be the reason for Brant's sullenness.
"Your eye looks better," I said, closing the door.
He merely glared at me.
"Is the captain around?" I asked.
"He's in a meeting with the king," Quentin said. He offered me a cup of ale that I gratefully took. I drank the lot in one gulp.
Erik laughed and slapped my shoulder. "You drink like a man."
"She was thirsty," Quentin said in my defense. He offered to pour me another but I refused. "What brings you to the palace today, Josie?"
"I have something to discuss with the captain."
"Oh? What?"
"It's a private matter."
Brant snorted. "You're a fool if you believe her. It ain't a private matter, they just don't want us to know why she's here meeting Barborough, the Vytill lord."
So the footman had talked. I doubted it would be kept secret for long, but I wasn't expecting Brant to use the information as a weapon in his argument.
"Enough," Erik growled. "The captain would not keep a secret from us if it was about our memories."
"How do you know? How do any of us know what he's like, or what any of us are like? We don't know ourselves, let alone each other."
"I know you're an arsehole," Quentin muttered. He was far enough away that Brant couldn't hear him, thankfully. Even so, it was reckless. He must be very sure Brant had learned from his punishment and wouldn't attack.
"He's keeping something from us," Brant said, stamping his feet on the floor. "He, Bal, Theo and the king. They know something about our pasts, about why we're here, and it's got to do with that cabinet and what's in it."
If Max had been present, he would have denied it. He would have defended Dane's need for secrecy or claimed the cabinet was just an ordinary cabinet. But he wasn't present, and the others were either too afraid of Brant to defend the captain's actions—or they agreed with him.
From the nods of at least two other guards, I suspected more fell into the latter category than the former.
I, for one, could not let Brant disparage Dane, however. "The captain has your best interests at heart. He would never withhold information if it helps solve the mystery of your missing memories."
"We should decide if it might help, not him," Brant said. "It's our business too, our lives. No one should keep something important from us."
"Not even the king," one of the other guards said. He gave me an apologetic shrug but couldn't quite meet my gaze. He wasn't a supporter of Brant, but he supported Brant'
s logic.
The sergeant stood and snatched his sword belt from the hook where it hung by the door. "You know where to find me if the captain changes his mind and wants to tell us what's in that cabinet."
I was more relieved than I liked to admit to see him go. If he continued to accuse Dane of withholding information, I might end up saying the wrong thing to defend him—or I might blurt out the truth. Dane thought it safer to keep the gemstone a secret from all but a few, until we knew more about it, but part of me agreed with Brant. The servants deserved to know. What if one of them could shed light on it?
"He is troublemaker," Erik said to the other men. "Do not listen to him."
"He has a point," one said. "If the captain has evidence of something that affects us, we need to know. We need to decide for ourselves if it's relevant."
"Maybe it doesn't affect us," Quentin chimed in. "Maybe what the captain found in that cabinet is just a personal item of the king's, like he said. Why would he lie to us?"
The guard shrugged. "All I know is Brant says he felt the cabinet pulse in his hands, like it was alive or something in it was alive. That's not something Brant would make up. He ain't got the imagination for storytelling."
"That doesn't mean Hammer felt it too," Quentin said. "If he had, he would say so. Wouldn't he, Josie?"
"I don't pretend to know what goes through the captain's mind," I said. "Or why he does or does not do something." It was a cowardly answer, but I could give no other without lying, and I wasn't a very good liar. "Erik, how is the wart?"
My change of topic was met with a frustrated sigh from the guard, but Erik seemed to welcome it. "Smaller," he said, sounding pleased.
"And the heartbroken maids?"
"Their tears are like waterfalls."
Quentin faked a gagging sound. "Enough or I'll throw up."
"You should take advice from Erik," Erik said, tapping his chest. "I sleep with many maids, make them happy. You, little Quentin? How many do you make happy?"
Quentin flushed to the roots of his hair and cast a sideways glance at me. "Plenty."
Erik laughed that deep, rolling laugh of his, and slapped Quentin so hard on the back that Quentin spilled some of his ale. "Ask me if you want advice with maids," Erik said. "Or if you want to share one of mine."
"Erik!" I cried.
He blinked innocently. "What?"
"Be sure to ask the maid first if she would like to be shared with Quentin. Or with anyone. I suspect you might find she prefers exclusivity. Indeed, she probably would prefer it if you were exclusive to her too."
"This is true, but they know I have many maids, and that if they want me they must share."
Dane entered through the internal door and, as I suspected, wasn't surprised to see me. He looked worried, and that worried expression was directed at me. "Come with me, Josie."
I followed him, expecting to be taken to Balthazar's office where we'd talk privately about my meeting with Barborough, but it quickly became apparent we were heading in the wrong direction. When we climbed a flight of stairs, I had a suspicion where we were going but didn't want to ask. There were too many servants within earshot.
"The king wishes to see you," Dane said quietly when we found ourselves alone in a corridor.
"Why?"
He checked behind us, then said, "He wants to discuss the situation in Mull with a local he trusts."
"And you suggested me?"
"I didn't have to. He suggested you himself. When Balthazar told him you were already here at the palace, the king decided it was fortuitous and asked me to fetch you."
"You told Balthazar I was here?"
"He knew. He knows everything that happens within this estate. A rat can't sneeze in the stables without him finding out."
My step slowed and I fell behind.
When Dane realized, he waited for me. "You look worried. There's no need to be. Just answer him truthfully."
"Then why are you worried?" When he didn't answer, and merely set off again at a brisk pace, I caught his arm, halting him. "Tell me, D— Captain."
His gaze met mine. "He says it's your payment for being allowed to come to the palace. He's not happy that you come and go as you please. I had to tell him one of the maids needed medical attention. He wanted specifics so I was forced to tell him about the rape. I can't lie to the king."
"Was he satisfied with that explanation?"
"He was, in a way."
"What does that mean?"
He dismissed my question with a shake of his head. "The point is, he knows you've been here lately. Someone is informing him, most likely Lady Morgrave."
My heart sank. "Lady Morgrave is becoming influential."
"The more time he spends with her, the deeper he falls under her spell. For now, we've managed to explain your presence and undermine the Deerhorns' campaign against you."
"I don't understand why they care what I do."
"In the past, it probably wasn't specific to you, but what you represent—a village girl allowed into their domain. By going to the ball, Lady Deerhorn assumed you had pretensions above your station."
I scoffed. "That's ridiculous."
"Not to her and people like her. They think they were born special, and you fitting into their world undetected goes against those beliefs. But like I said, that was before. Lady Deerhorn's dislike of you specifically probably intensified after you refused to spy for Lord Xavier."
That made sense but it was also more troubling. Given time, she would have forgotten her campaign against me, as Dane called it, if it were just a matter of being annoyed by a village girl with pretensions. Now she must worry that I would tattle on her son to the duke of Gladstow himself.
We exited the servants' corridor through a hidden door in the wall of an antechamber, one of the many rooms that made up the complex of the king's apartments. The room contained a throne covered in crimson velvet, the king's personal insignia of two entwined Ls embroidered onto the backrest in gold thread. There was nowhere else to sit, just a vast expanse of blue and white tiled floor with the Lockhart coat of arms in the middle. It must be a room for the king to receive his closest confidants in a formal setting, rather than the council chamber or the informal sitting room beyond.
We passed through the sitting room to a games room, set out with round tables, then into a long dining room with a table set for at least thirty, followed by a smaller chamber whose function I couldn't discern, and finally a library then an office. All rooms were opulently furnished and guarded by Dane's men.
The office's proportions were intimate compared to the others we'd just passed through. The king must work on his most private tasks here, and perhaps meet with his closest, most trusted advisors. It was strange to think that I was one of them.
The king sat behind a large desk that made him look small. It was mostly bare except for a few papers laid out before him, a gilded inkstand and writing implements, candlesticks and an hourglass dripping sand. He did not look up as he dipped the pen in the ink then set it to the paper. His moment's hesitation caused a small blob of ink to bloom before he neatly signed his name.
Theodore accepted the document and placed it with the others at the edge of the desk. "Captain Hammer and Joselyn Cully are here, sire," he announced, as if the king hadn't seen us.
I curtseyed and Dane offered a small bow. A movement beyond the corner of my eye caught my attention. Balthazar sat on a chair by the door, both hands clasped over the head of his walking stick. I nodded at him and he nodded back.
"Do you know why you've been summoned, Miss Cully?" the king asked with a regal thrust of his chin in my direction.
"The captain informed me that I am to answer any questions you have about Mull, sire. Thank you for the trust you put in me. I am at your service."
"Good. What do you know of the dissenters?"
The abrupt question caught me off guard. Dane had said I shouldn't be worried about answering truthfully, but the king was clearly an
noyed, and if he knew I had been friends with Ivor Morgrain for all my life, he might think me on their side. On the other hand, I didn't want to see Ivor and the others get in serious trouble. Not even Ned.
"They're just ordinary village men," I said. "Ned Perkin appears to be the leader, and I'll admit that he has a certain reputation for drinking and causing headaches for the sheriff." I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't ask about anyone else. It was one thing to cause Ned problems, and quite another to bring the king's wrath down on families like the Swinsons.
"I've been informed that the rioters are upset over Mull's population increase," the king said. "Is that what you believe too?"
"They weren't rioters." At the sudden flare in his eyes, I swallowed and added, "Your advisers are right, and the villagers are worried they'll lose their jobs to the newcomers from Vytill. Food has become expensive, and rents are rising. Some will be forced out of their homes and many already struggle to feed their families."
"That is a shame, but it's the way of the world. What do they expect me to do about it?"
Theodore exchanged a glance with Dane.
"They expect you to intervene, sire," Balthazar said without rising from his chair.
"Do they expect me to conjure up food? Housing?" The reference to magic cut close to the bone, and I suspected the king realized too late. He shifted in the chair, slumping into the corner, and nibbled on his thumb nail.
"This is perhaps a matter for your advisers," Theodore said quickly. "Shall I organize a meeting?"
"My advisers are hopeless and selfish." The king flicked his hand in a dismissive wave. "They fight amongst themselves and make decisions to benefit them, not the kingdom."
"That's not entirely true," Balthazar said.
I held my breath as the king glared at him. Balthazar met the glare with his own steady one, and it was the king who looked away first.
"Some of your advisers are good men," Dane said. "It's a matter of knowing which ones and listening to them."
"And weighing up their suggestions," Theodore added.
The king rubbed his temples. "I want to hear your suggestions. I know you have some. You three always do." I couldn't tell if he spoke sarcastically or not.
