by C. J. Archer
"Let me know if I can be of assistance," Balthazar said to Dane. "Life is quiet here at the palace lately. Too quiet. There are no revels to plan, no grand dinners to organize, and more and more nobles are leaving every day."
"You should put your feet up and relax," Quentin told him.
Balthazar tapped his leg with his walking stick. "These feet can't go up. I have to do something. If not, I might as well be dead."
"At least you still have some work to keep you occupied," Theodore said with a sigh. "I am a valet without a master. In the last few days, I have rearranged the clothes in the royal wardrobe five times and taken stock of all jewels and personal effects four times."
"Become a guard," said one of the guards. "You can't be any worse than Quentin."
Quentin rolled his eyes. "At least his company will be more interesting than yours."
Theodore chuckled. "I'd rather rearrange the wardrobe again. I've also been running errands for Balthazar. While we still have staff here at the palace, he has work to do, if significantly less."
"Once the dukes leave, the rest of the nobles will follow," Dane said. "When that happens, the palace really will feel empty."
Balthazar lifted his gaze to Dane's, and a worried look passed between them. "And the number of staff we currently have will become unnecessary," Balthazar said. "If the dukes want to decrease costs, that's where they'll start."
"Is it their decision to make?" I asked. "Or the finance minister's?"
"The finance minister died two days ago," Dane said. "He succumbed to his illness."
"And Dr. Clegg?" I asked, referring to the finance minister's private doctor. Dr. Clegg and I had clashed on numerous occasions, even though I had the king's support. It didn't concern Leon that I was a woman. He only saw me as a doctor. It had been his one good trait.
"He left," Dane said.
That meant Doctor Ashmole was the only qualified medic within miles.
"Lord Claypool is the new finance minister," Dane said. "But he is still coming to terms with the position."
"Miranda's father? I'm glad. He seems sensible. Which duke does he support?"
"A good question," Balthazar said. "Publicly, he's not saying. His lack of allegiance was why he was appointed finance minister so swiftly. Neither duke opposed him. Besides, they've been busy these last few days. Very busy. They were appointed co-regents, giving them complete authority over decisions affecting the realm. But they must agree. Financial savings will be an area they agree on."
"One of few," Max added. "I heard they argued throughout most of that meeting. And to think, they were allies when Leon was alive."
"Their aims aligned then. They don't anymore."
"They claim they won't fight each other for the crown," Quentin piped up. "They promised they wouldn't ruin the country with a war of succession."
Ray snorted. "If you believe them, you're a fool."
"Which one has the strongest support?" I asked.
"Hard to say," Dane said. "Few noblemen have publicly acknowledged their allegiance. We suspect many will do so once they leave the palace and return to the relative safety of their own estates. Until then, only the dukes know."
"Perhaps not even they," Balthazar said. "Some lords will play both sides until they can see what the outcome will be."
"You know quite a lot about the nature of powerful men and politics," I said. "Perhaps you were an advisor before you lost your memory."
"I would have been recognized by one of the noblemen," he pointed out. "And I like to think I'm more of an observer of human nature than of power and politics."
"Are they not the same thing?" Theodore quipped.
Balthazar lifted his cup in salute. "So it would seem."
"Do you think the dukes will depart soon?" I asked.
Dane nodded.
"And what of Lord Barborough? Has he returned to Vytill?"
"Not yet," Dane said. "He has been ordered to leave, but he remains here, like a stain that can't be removed. The moment he's caught spying, however, he'll be escorted out of the country. So far, he has stayed out of the way and not been seen speaking to any of the nobles."
Theodore pointed his wine cup at Balthazar. "Bal has a theory about that. He thinks Barborough is still here because he wants to find the gem."
"Of course he wants the gem," Balthazar said.
"Why?" I asked. "It's useless to anyone but Leon. Only the one who found it can use the sorcerer's three wishes."
"Barborough might have lied about that."
It was a sobering thought. Lord Barborough, the Vytill spy and magical expert, had seemed like he was telling the truth, but how could we know for sure?
"All the more reason to keep it hidden," Dane said. "And for no one but me to know where it is. Barborough can't be trusted. He might have been the one to break into Josie's house and tie up the Ashmoles so he could search the place unhindered. I won't risk anyone's safety."
Not a single guard grumbled. They trusted Dane.
"You no longer think it was Brant?" I asked.
He hesitated. "It could have been him."
He got up and limped to the door. If I hadn't been looking for the limp, I might not have noticed it at all, it was that slight.
"Captain, may we speak in private?" I asked.
He paused then gave a single nod. "I was on my way to meet with the dukes to discuss security. You can walk part of the way with me."
He held the door open and I brushed past him. The touch was fleeting, impersonal. I ached for more. We'd shared too many tender moments for me to accept this standoffishness. Perhaps when I got him away from his men, he might be more like himself again.
"Meg?" I asked. "Will you be all right here?"
She offered me a shy smile and a nod.
"We'll take care of her," Quentin said. "Won't we, Max?"
Max got up to refill Meg's cup only to have Quentin take his seat. The youth beamed at Meg.
"Did you know I'm learning to become a doctor?" he asked.
"No, no, no," Erik protested. "That is not good talk for a pretty lady." He turned to her. "Tell me about you. I want to know everything."
"Oh." Meg blushed again and glanced over their heads at Max.
He smiled weakly and refilled her cup.
I walked with Dane along the corridor, one of many in the maze of passages that connected the service rooms to the more opulent ones inhabited by the nobles. This corridor was empty, the only sound that of our footsteps on the flagstones. I knew from experience that the closer we drew to the palace's better rooms, the busier these hallways would become with footmen and maids going about their work.
I put a hand to Dane's arm to stop him. "Can we talk here? In private."
"Of course," he said matter-of-factly. "Is this about Brant?"
"No, but I do have questions now that you've brought him up. Have you seen him since he ran off after the king's death?"
"He's here at the palace."
"As a prisoner?"
"No. If I put him in the cells, he'll be too easy to find. I suspect if he's found by the dukes or advisors, he'll be executed for murdering the king. I prefer not to have that on my conscience."
"Is it wise to have him roaming free?"
He crossed his arms over his chest. "You're questioning my decision."
"No! No, I'm not. You know him best, and if you think he isn't a danger then I trust you."
His gaze narrowed. "You are questioning my decision."
"I wouldn't dare. You're the captain of the guards, and I don't even belong here."
His eyes turned smoky. Or it could have been the poor light cast by the wall torches playing tricks. "Some would say you belong here as much as anyone."
"Are you one of them?"
He lowered his arms and walked off. "You can come here whenever you like. You're most welcome."
"I'm not finished yet."
He stopped up ahead. "There's more?"
I indicated
his foot. "How is it?"
"Fine."
"Then why are you limping?"
"I'm not."
I tilted my head to the side. "I've seen men limping before, and I've seen men attempt to disguise their limp. You fall into the latter category. Remove your boot and roll up your pants leg. I need to inspect the wound."
He settled his feet a little apart. "I have somewhere to be."
"It'll only take a moment."
"It's too dark in here. You can't see properly."
I removed one of the wall torches. "Any more excuses?"
"It'll hurt," he said with a pout in his voice.
I laughed. "Not as much as it will if it gets infected. Do as I ask or you might be worse off if it's not healing properly."
He sighed and undid his bootlaces. "You're a dragon."
"A dragon who's going to make you feel better." I bent to inspect the wounds left by the teeth marks of the trap. Most were healing well but the deepest was red and swollen at the edges. "You need to put anneece on this before it gets worse."
"Do you have any?" he asked as he rolled his pants leg down again.
"You have to buy it from Mistress Ashmole. Rub an amount of the salve onto the wound to thoroughly cover it then wrap a bandage around the area. That will keep the anneece from rubbing off on your clothes or the bed sheets. Do that day and night until the redness disappears."
"I'll buy some when I'm next in the village."
"Today, Dane. The sooner you treat it, the quicker it'll heal. Leave it too long and the infection will fester. If you can't make it to the village, I'll buy a jar myself and bring it back this afternoon."
"Very well. Balthazar will give you some coins. And Josie?"
"Yes?" I said, too eagerly.
This time I was sure his gaze softened as it settled on me. "Be careful."
I wanted him to say more, something intimate and tender, just a few words to lift my heart until I saw him again. But he did not.
"The danger is largely over now," I said. "Barborough doesn't need me to gather information for him."
"The Deerhorns might still be a threat."
"They'll be too occupied with matters affecting the realm."
"I hope you're right." He inched toward me only to stop. His focus sharpened, captivating in its intensity. "I worry about you in the village. It's too far away from here. From me. I can't keep you safe."
I took his hand. The soft leather of his glove warmed my fingers. "I'll be careful. I'm with friends."
He didn't look convinced but said nothing as he turned away.
I didn't see the figure but I heard his racing footsteps a moment before his arm circled my throat from behind. I didn't need to see him to know it was Brant. His odor was more fetid than usual but it was distinctive.
Dane whipped around, drawing his sword in the same motion. His eyes were cold now, flat, his features set. "Let her go or I will run you through without hesitation."
Brant's arm tightened, a noose around my neck.
I scrabbled at it, gasping in air and succeeding only in choking. Brant's low chuckle and hot breath made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
"Let her go!" Dane shouted.
"Not until you give me the gem."
Chapter 2
"You kill her, and I'll kill you," Dane said. "It's a simple equation, Brant. Let her go and I'll spare your life."
"Give me the gem," Brant snarled.
My throat burned, but the more I struggled, the more his arm squeezed.
Dane's fingers flexed around the sword handle and he took a small step forward.
"Stay back!" Brant shouted. "Don't come any closer. I have a knife to her back, and I will use it."
I tried to signal to Dane with my eyes that Brant lied. He didn't have a knife. Nothing dug into my back. His hand fisted in my clothes, pulling my shirt and jerkin tight, but that was all. I would have felt the sharp sting of a blade if he held one.
Dane didn't seem to understand my signals, however. His face was unreadable as ever, his focus entirely on Brant, waiting for the moment to charge and overpower him.
I could help him choose that moment. Brant might not be armed, but I was.
I tucked my hand into the slim pocket of my skirt and wrapped my fingers around the surgeon's scalpel. Ever since Lady Deerhorn kidnapped me, I'd carried it for protection.
"Get me the fucking gem!"
Brant's shout made me jump which obscured the movement of my arm as I arced it backward and stuck him high up in the thigh.
He cried out and his grip loosened. I stomped on his foot, punched his wounded leg, and slipped out from the circle of his arm. He swore in frustration and pain, but could do nothing except surrender at the point of Dane's sword.
"You fucking bitch! You cut me!"
Blood smeared the small hole in his pants at his upper thigh. "Next time I'll aim higher," I said.
That shut him up with an audible gulp.
Dane put pressure on his sword, driving the tip into Brant's chest. "You were already on thin ice," Dane said. "No one will care if I kill you now."
"You should care," Brant spat. "If you kill me, you'll never get your memories back." His lips stretched. "That got your attention, didn't it?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I have the king's remaining wishes. I can wish for our memories back, but I need the gem."
"What do you mean you have the wishes?"
"There are two and I can use them. The sorcerer will grant me what I want if I have the magic device. I know it as surely as I know I'm standing here now, arguing with you when you could be getting the gem."
"I don't believe you."
Brant shrugged. "Why would I lie? Fetch the gem, let me make the wish and we'll find out, won't we?"
Dane shook his head. "If it were true, Barborough would have said so."
"What if he didn't know the wishes could transfer? Or what if he did and decided to lie about it? I know you want your memory back, Hammer. Trust me." Brant put out his hand, slowly, so as not to rile Dane. "Give me the gem and let me wish for our memories to return."
Dane shifted his stance. "It's not up to me. Go back to the garrison. We'll discuss it."
Brant swore and shook his head. "You're the captain! The leader! Make the decision."
"I'm the captain of the guards, not of the rest of the staff. It's not my decision to make when it affects us all. Go to the garrison and keep your hands where I can see them."
Brant rolled his eyes but did as asked. I went to follow him, but Dane held me back. He touched my throat, stroking his thumb along the tender flesh.
"You did well," he murmured. "I like that knife." He gently pried open my fist to reveal the scalpel. I hadn't realized I'd been clutching it so tightly. "You don't need it now."
Even so, I did not pocket it, and he did not sheath his sword until we reached the garrison.
A low rumble of voices greeted us as well as glares directed at Brant. He snatched up a cup and filled it with ale from the jug at the sideboard.
"Listen up!" he said, raising the cup. "I've got something to say. Something you'll all want to hear."
Almost all of them turned to Dane with questioning looks.
"Listen to him," was all Dane said.
Brant moved around the room, walking behind the seated men and Meg. Their gazes followed him, wary, watchful, as if they expected him to flick the backs of their heads as he passed, or worse. Brant preened from the attention.
"Get on with it," one of the guards muttered.
"Patience." Brant pulled out a spare chair and sat on the back, his feet resting on the seat, elbows on his knees. "I inherited the king's remaining wishes when I killed him."
Silence. Again, several men looked to Dane.
"Why are you looking at him?" Brant snapped. He jerked his thumb at his chest. "I have the two unused wishes. They transferred to me after the fake king died."
"How?" someone sc
offed.
"Why?" asked Quentin.
"I don't know," Brant admitted. "Maybe they jumped into me because I was closest to him when he died, or maybe I got them because I'm the one who killed him. But I do know I have them."
"The sorcerer tell you that?" asked Ray.
"It didn't tell me with words, just…just a feeling, I suppose."
Erik snorted. "You want us to believe you?"
Brant turned an icy glare onto him. "I don't care what you believe, Marginer."
"But you care what I believe," Dane said. "I'm the one with the gem, and if I don't believe your story, I won't give it to you."
Brant straightened. "I'm telling the truth."
"Then why did you wait so long to come forward? Leon died five days ago. You've had ample opportunity to talk to me."
Brant lifted a shoulder in a shrug.
"Because he wanted to keep the wishes for himself," Balthazar said.
Brant studied the men who'd been his colleagues, his friends. At least he had the decency not to lie to their faces and deny the accusation, but he showed no contrition either.
"It was you who searched my old house and tied up the Ashmoles," I said. "Not Barborough. You were looking for the gem."
Meg gasped.
"Why not just ask Hammer for it?" Max asked.
"Because I knew he wouldn't give it to me," Brant snapped. "He doesn't want you all to get your memories back."
Again, everyone looked to Dane.
"You think that of me?" Dane asked. "That I would deny everyone the chance to have their memories returned?"
"Aye, if you don't trust me. You think I'll use one of the wishes to gain my fortune."
"Or punish your enemies," Balthazar added. "Hammer might trust you enough to give you the gem, but I don't. And unless we all agree, you're not getting it."
"It's not up to you, old man. Hammer has it, not you."
"This affects us all. We all get an equal say and unless we come to an agreement, the gem stays hidden until we can be sure we can trust you."
Brant pushed off from the chair, kicking it over as he lunged toward Balthazar. It took both Dane and Max to hold him back. Brant struggled against them until Dane wrenched his shoulder back. Brant hissed in pain.
