‘Really?’ He did me the service of pretending this was some new idea and not something I’d repeated daily. ‘I suppose it’s just a habit I’ve picked up over the last fifteen years.’
It was a plain statement of fact; it would have stung, had it come from anyone else. But Kest said it like a kind of promise: he’d kept me alive this long – despite my many poor choices – and would continue to do so for as long as he could. I found the thought both poignant and somehow heart-breaking.
‘Go fuck yourself,’ I said, by way of reply, and went back to staring at the river passing beneath us.
More troublesome than seasickness was the echo of Ossia’s words in my head. ‘We enter an age of politics now. The time for preposterous heroics has passed.’
Preposterous heroics. Was that all we’d managed, all these years since the King’s assassination? Had I really been doing nothing more than racing from one crisis to another, facing off against each new threat and pretending that somehow this fight, this duel, this battle would be the last, the one that solved all the complex problems of my troubled country with a brilliant coup de grâce?
Most days I could convince myself that it did matter, that if Trin had succeeded in taking the throne, she would have held all of Tristia in her iron grip, just like her mother Patriana had ruled the Duchy of Hervor. She would have been a tyrant unlike any the country had ever seen.
Only . . .
When I thought back now to my travels to Hervor, that harsh northern Duchy rich in mining but poor in everything else . . . the people there had appeared to be no worse off than in many other parts of the country. Patriana might have treated them more as indentured serfs than free men, but for all that, they never went hungry.
Nehra’s exhortation came back to me: Get labour to where it’s needed, bring seed and move crops, keep the roads clear and trade flowing.
Might as well ask me to duel the ocean.
Aline could do it, though. She was quick and clever, and with Valiana’s help, she could navigate the dark arts of economics and politics to put in place policies that would set the country on a path of recovery. Someone just needed to put her on the throne first.
I could do that – I would do that. Even if it meant giving the Dukes whatever it was they wanted from me first.
‘Not long now,’ Kest said, pulling me from my reverie.
‘Really?’ I looked up from the railing to a dark sky full of stars. How many hours had I been standing there? Along the riverbanks, cottages began to appear in the pale light cast by the moon overhead.
‘Look over to starboard,’ Kest said, gesturing to the right, and in the distance, past the next winding turn in the river up ahead, I could just begin to make out lights from the city itself. My eyes followed the path up the hillside to where Castle Aramor had once stood.
Until a few months ago, nine great towers, one for each of the Duchies of Tristia, had topped that hill, connected to each other by a massive curtain wall built to withstand a siege . . . then the Blacksmith’s God had raised his fist and just like that, the castle had come tumbling down, leaving only a single tower and part of the original keep standing. Even in darkness and from this distance I’d swear I could make out the grey haze that permanently smothered the ruins.
‘It’s a trick of the wind,’ Kest said, following my gaze. ‘All the dust and debris from the shattered stones and mortar swirls around the hilltop, then it falls to the ground, only to be picked up by the next breeze – one of the stonemasons working on the repairs told me it might be years before the cloud dissipates for good.’
I guess that too was a metaphor for something.
‘Well, well,’ Brasti said, the heels of his boots clacking against the deck as he approached. ‘Home again, boys.’
‘You look rested,’ I said, hating him for it.
He took in a deep breath and grinned. ‘Must be all this fresh sea air. Well, that and the gentle rolling of the ship. It’s like being rocked in a cradle – I swear I’ve slept like a baby this entire journey.’
I thought about taking a swing at him but I was too close to the edge and there was a decent chance that I would miss and end up falling over the side.
‘Saint Anlas-who-remembers-the-world,’ a voice swore from above us in the rigging, and the three of us looked up to see Chalmers nestled among the ropes on the crossbeam of the mizenmast.
‘Anlas is definitely one of the dead ones,’ Brasti pointed out. ‘We saw the body.’
‘How long have you been up there?’ I asked her.
She didn’t reply, or even acknowledge that she’d heard me; she looked at once spellbound and horrified, and only then did I remember that Aramor had been her childhood home.
‘I . . . I haven’t been back since the King died.’ Her voice sounded very small. ‘How could . . . how could it all just come down like that?’
‘A God,’ Kest answered simply.
Her eyes found mine. ‘And you killed him?’
‘It’s not like he didn’t have help, you know,’ Brasti said, irritated.
The sailors started bustling in that carefully orchestrated chaos which involves them doing whatever it is sailors do in preparation for landing a ship – rolling up sails and dropping anchors, or something along those lines. I watched the crew for a while until I noticed Brasti in the periphery of my vision alternating between stretching his arms up high and then folding over at the waist to reach for the tops of his boots.
‘What in all the hells are you doing?’ I asked.
He stood back up and began lifting one knee at a time, hugging first one to his chest, then setting his foot back down on the deck and repeating with the other. ‘Limbering up, of course.’
‘I can see that. The question is why?’
‘We’re going to be docking in a few minutes. Assuming the stablemaster hasn’t sold our horses, we’ll be riding up to Castle Aramor within the hour.’
‘A fifteen-minute ride on horseback requires limbering up?’ Kest asked.
Brasti rolled his shoulders. ‘No, stupid, but then we’ll be back at the castle.’
‘And?’
‘When have we ever come home without ending up in a huge bloody fight?’ He stretched one arm, then the other, across his chest. ‘No point pulling a muscle in the process.’
Oddly, he turned out to be right.
*
If there’s anything more depressing than returning to a once-magnificent castle that’s now reduced to ruins, it is surely to find the guards refusing you entry.
‘Explain it to me again,’ I said.
‘Told you: nobody enters the castle after dark.’ The guardsman gestured with his spear to rows of tents set up on the field behind us. ‘Go and sleep it off and come back in the morning to see if the Captain will clear your credentials.’
‘Sleep it off?’ I asked. ‘What in all the hells is that supposed to mean?’
‘He thinks you’re drunk,’ Kest explained.
The guard smirked. ‘Yeah, on account of the way you keep stumbling around – you know, like a drunk.’
Sadly, he had a point. Turns out, spending time on boats plays havoc with your sense of balance once you get back on dry land, and it really was all I could do to stay on my feet. Brasti and Chalmers looked equally unstable. Kest, of course, stood as straight as the iron gateposts. I would have asked how that was possible, but the prospect of a lecture on the various techniques for countering the effects of recent sea travel was almost as unpleasant as the thought of being forced to wait outside in a tent, like someone come to beg for food.
Bloody castle guardsmen. Even when King Paelis was alive and the Greatcoats were going in and out of this damned fortress on a daily basis, they still acted as if we were unwelcome guests come to steal the silverware. And if that wasn’t enough, only two of the soldiers barring our way w
ore the faded purple livery of Aramor. The other two wore yellow.
‘What in the name of—?’ I paused and turned to Kest.
‘Eloria-whose-screams-draw-blood?’ he offered.
‘Which one’s she?’
‘According to the Bardatti, she’s the new Saint of Torture.’
‘That works.’
I spoke to the one in purple with a Sargent’s insignia on his collar. ‘Why in the name of Saint Eloria-whose . . . whatever he said . . . are soldiers of Luth standing guard outside Castle Aramor?’
‘Pastien, Ducal Protector of Luth, is within on a diplomatic visit,’ the younger of the two said proudly, as if this revelation should send me genuflecting at the mere mention of that glorious name. ‘By order of the Ducal Council, we have permission to establish a perimeter to ensure his safety.’
Through tight lips the Aramor Sargent said, ‘I’m afraid my . . . colleague . . . is correct.’
‘We have a right to defend our Lord,’ the second soldier in yellow insisted, brandishing his crossbow to emphasise his point. Then he smirked. ‘Besides, wouldn’t want to risk the heir to the throne being assassinated by intruders now, would we?’
I took a deep breath and counted very slowly as I let it out, giving peaceful, reasoned debate the chance to prevail. ‘Listen, you blithering idiot: we’re the Greatcoats – we’re the ones who protect the heir!’
The Sargent coughed. ‘Well, actually, sir, the last time someone came dressed as a Greatcoat, they did try to kill her.’
‘That was completely different,’ I said.
It wasn’t, of course. It was only a few months back that a man wearing Harden Vitale’s greatcoat had insinuated himself into the castle and nearly managed to slit Aline’s throat before Mateo Tiller had stopped him.
The second Luth guard, sensing their imminent victory, then made the mistake of pointing at Chalmers. ‘Look, that one’s not even wearing a proper greatcoat.’
‘Oh, that’s it,’ she said, trying to push past me.
‘Don’t,’ I warned. ‘It won’t get us anywhere.’
I glanced back at the rows of tents behind us. No doubt someone would come along shortly, offering to charge us an exorbitant fee for using one, but at this hour, everyone we needed to see would already be asleep anyway. ‘Fine,’ I said at last. ‘We’ll sleep outside tonight, but I damned well better see someone ready to let us in at first light.’
The guards looked relieved, and Chalmers looked as if I’d just sacrificed one more great and important principle on the altar of expediency. Kest went off to deal with the horses, leaving Brasti to stand next to me looking oddly confused.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘I can’t believe I wasted all that time stretching.’
‘Not everything ends in a fight, Brasti.’
He shook his head. ‘The whole world’s stopped making sense, Falcio.’
I clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You’ll get over it.’
We turned and started towards the tents when the sounds of muffled shouts reached us and without a word I ran back to the castle gate to find the Sargent opening the door to the castle. ‘What in hells is going on in there?’ he demanded of the guard inside.
Over the frantic sounds of boots on marble and weapons being drawn the guard replied, ‘We’re not sure yet, sir – we think there’s been some kind of attack inside the keep.’
As the others joined me, I drew my rapier. ‘Gentlemen, time we all stopped playing “Who’s King of the Castle?”.’
The two Aramor guards looked ready to give way, but the soldiers from Luth raised their crossbows.
‘Look, friends,’ Brasti said amiably, ‘here’s what’s going to happen. Falcio’s going to talk a lot of nonsense about having to save every endangered soul in the world, then one of you is going to say the wrong thing, and then the four of us are going to knock the lot of you on your arses. Since none of you look like you’ve limbered up, you might as well just let us pass and save yourselves a lot of pain and trouble.’
‘Let them pass,’ the Aramor Sargent said.
‘We don’t know who these people are,’ the older of the Luthian soldiers declared, adding smugly, ‘They don’t get in until their credentials have been established to our Captain’s satisfaction.’
‘We’re four of the most dangerous people you’ve ever met,’ I told him, ‘so get the hells out of my way or we’ll establish our credentials to your eternal dissatisfaction.’
‘See?’ Brasti said, elbowing Chalmers. ‘That’s the kind of threat you need to have at the ready if you want to be a proper Greatcoat.’
The Sargent, clearly as keen as we were to get on and deal with whatever was going on inside, shouted at the men in yellow, ‘I’m the senior officer here and I’m ordering the two of you to step aside. Now.’
The younger guard turned his crossbow towards the Sargent. ‘You don’t command us—’
An instant later he was stumbling backwards. His weapon dropped to the ground as he slumped down against the stone wall, blood spurting from his nose. ‘Been waiting to do that for weeks now,’ the Sargent said, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand and looking deeply satisfied. He turned to the second soldier from Luth. ‘Care to register a complaint?’
The guard set down his crossbow and the Sargent motioned for us to enter.
‘Thanks,’ I said as I passed him.
‘Just protect the heir – and try not to steal anything, Trattari.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Assignation
We ran through a maze of dark halls hazy with dust, past ungainly supports propping up the damaged walls and roof.
‘Saint Laina’s cold dead tits!’ Brasti swore, coughing as the dust got up his nose. ‘Did something explode in here?’
‘No, it’s all the people,’ Kest said, gesturing to the motley collection of nobles, retainers and guards clogging the halls, trying to find out what was happening. ‘They’re stirring up the debris from the repair work.’
I ignored everyone; I’d trained myself months ago to navigate the path to Aline’s rooms blindfolded, in case of yet another assassination attempt.
Why must they always come after you, sweetheart?
‘First Cantor!’ a young voice shouted, and a boy wearing a page’s uniform started waving furiously at me.
‘Bendain, isn’t it?’ I asked.
The boy nodded. ‘Thank the Saints you’re here, sir – but you’re going the wrong way!’
I glanced at the intersection of hallways, momentarily confused by the chaos around me. ‘What do you mean? Aline’s rooms are—’
‘The attack isn’t on Aline, sir.’
‘Then who—?’
‘I’m not sure.’ The page pulled at my coat, leading me down a side passage. ‘I think something’s happened to the Realm’s Protector.’
I suddenly recognised where I was, and grabbing Bendain by the shoulders, said, ‘You’ve brought us to the diplomatic wing – why would Valiana be here in the middle of the night?’
‘Weren’t these rooms set aside for Pastien and his entourage?’ Kest asked, noting the soldiers’ yellow livery.
I was starting to really hate that colour.
The boy didn’t meet my eyes. ‘I don’t want to be indiscreet, sir, but—’
‘You think I give a damn about discretion right now? The whole damned castle’s awake. Where’s Valiana?’
‘She’s . . .’ Bendain hesitated, then muttered, ‘She was . . . er . . . visiting the Ducal Protector, sir.’
Saints, but I’m thick sometimes.
One of Pastien’s personal guard caught sight of Bendain and grabbed him by the collar. ‘I told you before, runt, keep clear of this area. No one gets in or out until we—’
‘Remove your hand from that boy,’ Chalme
rs said, coming up beside me, her hand on her cutlass, ‘or I can cut it off for you. Your choice.’
Her threat drew a half dozen other soldiers to us, all with weapons at the ready. The man holding onto Bendain tightened his grip.
Saint Eloria-who-is-clearly-going-to-be-my-patron-saint, I really don’t need this now.
If Chalmers drew her blade, not only would we stumble headlong into a pointless fight, but the boy would likely be the first one killed. With my free hand I grabbed Chalmers by the shoulder and hauled her back, then dropped her and slapped the guard across the face, hard enough to make him let go of the page.
The boy had the good sense to immediately get out of the way.
‘Trattari bastard,’ he growled, raising his weapon high. ‘Just wait—’
‘Look down,’ I said, and when he did, the first thing he saw was the point of my rapier at his crotch. ‘Laying hands on a royal page inside Castle Aramor is considered an attack on the Crown, you know.’
Bendain was dusting himself off. ‘Sir, that’s not technically—’
‘Shut up.’
‘Men of Luth, stand down now!’ commanded a deep, rumbling voice, and the soldiers immediately made way for a man bearing a Captain’s insignia on the collar of his yellow livery. ‘You’re Falcio val Mond, right?’
‘I am.’
‘Good. Figured I’d save you the time of one of your legendary introductions. I’m Gueran Lendale, Captain of the Ducal Protector’s Guard.’ He gestured at Pastien himself, looking rather pale and ungainly in his nightshirt, standing ringed by an assortment of servants and soldiers. ‘There’s been some sort of incident. No one’s dead, but I need to secure the area so that I can determine what is to be done.’
‘Who attacked him?’ I asked. ‘And more importantly, where is Valiana?’
‘That will be determined once I’ve—’
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