The Severed Realm

by Michael G. Manning

  She didn’t bother to spare a glance for the man who said it. She knew enough to ruin him, and most of the others as well. For years their fear of her had kept their tongues silent, but now they smelled blood. In her mind she could sense it: The hounds were gathering around her, waiting to drag her down, anxious for their bloody feast.

  Rose heard Carissa’s voice once more in her memory. “But who protects the Thornbear?”

  It was a relief when she was ushered into the small audience room where Ariadne waited. Painting a smile on her face, she knelt quickly. “You asked for me, Your Majesty?”

  “We’re alone, Rose. No need for formality today,” said Ariadne. “I wanted to ask you about Mordecai.”

  Rising to her feet, Rose met the Queen’s eyes. “He is well, for now.”

  Ariadne continued hesitantly, “I heard you’ve been visiting him.”

  “As his legal counsel,” said Rose, nodding. “By your orders, no one else has been able to see him.”

  “I had to do that, Rose. The lords—”

  “I already know about political expediency, Ari. No need to make excuses,” interrupted Rose, her tone giving away just a hint of her true feelings on the matter.

  Ariadne picked up on it immediately, and she flinched as though she had been slapped. “I love him as much as anyone, Rose. He’s family.”

  “Speaking of family,” said Rose, “how is your brother, Roland? You must be very pleased to see him again. I’m sure you are very grateful to your cousin for returning him to you.” She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm.

  The Queen ignored her baiting. “He’s as energetic as ever, anxious to return home. He’s been after me to release Mordecai, so he could take him home. As usual he’s more worried about his own concerns than those of the realm.”

  “Sometimes we have to choose between the two,” observed Rose. “It’s rarely a happy choice.”

  “Exactly,” said Ariadne, thinking that Rose understood her. “How are the conditions down there? Are they feeding him well?”

  “I wouldn’t keep a rabid dog in such a pit,” said Rose honestly, her eyes flashing.

  Abashed, Ariadne lowered her eyes. “I didn’t realize. What can we—?”

  “He hasn’t frozen to death,” interrupted Rose. “I’ve gotten some blankets to him. He’ll live until the trial.”

  The Queen’s patience broke at last. “What would you have me do, Rose? Clearly you blame me for this somehow. What is it that you think I should be doing?”

  “Help me!” Rose hissed sharply. “Put pressure on Airedale to testify in his defense. Order him to lie if you have to!”

  “Under oath?” responded Ariadne, seeming surprised. “Airedale is an honorable man. He wouldn’t do that, even for me.”

  “The man is a weasel, Ari,” Rose snapped. “Just like his father was. Remember him? The one you had to execute for betraying James? The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree. Have him testify that one of the servants did it. His honorable word will be enough to see Mordecai acquitted.”

  “You’d see an innocent man executed for Mordecai’s crime?” said Ariadne, incredulous.

  Rose wanted to tear out her hair. “He is innocent, Ariadne! I swear it. Have you become so addled by lying tongues you can’t spot the truth anymore? Airedale was there to further some plot he and Leomund were working on. Now he’s using this as an opportunity to bring down your greatest supporter.”

  The Queen stiffened. “I am not sad to see Leomund dead. He was a dreadful man. But I won’t twist the law to suit my whims, and Mordecai wouldn’t want me to. He set that example for me years ago, though he paid for it with his own pain and blood.”

  “Then how could you believe he would cast the law aside and kill Leomund?” asked Rose.

  “Because I know him as well as you do,” answered Ariadne sadly. “When he found that poor waif, he lost his mind, and as much as I wish I could give him a medal for ridding the world of Leomund, I cannot set my desires above the law.”

  “If you had been properly attentive to your duties, this would never have come up to begin with,” said Rose sharply.

  Ariadne was taken aback. “What?”

  Rose had crossed the line, and she knew it, but she wasn’t about to retreat. “If you had dealt with Leomund as you should have, it would never have fallen to Mort to do something. The only reason he was there that day was to protect you from whatever plot the man was brewing. If you had exposed the Prince’s betrayal sooner and removed his head, it wouldn’t have fallen to your loyal vassal to act in your stead. Mordecai went there because I was foolish enough to tell him of Leomund’s dark conspiracy, not realizing he would run off and immediately investigate it on his own.”

  The Queen’s face went white, then slowly colored to red as her anger began to burn. “You speak boldly for a woman whose own motives are anything but pure.”

  “What are you implying?” asked Rose, her tone threatening to freeze the air around her.

  “Why are you going so far for him, Rose? He’s my cousin, but what is he to you?”

  “He’s as much my family as he is—”

  “No, he isn’t. That’s precisely the point,” interrupted Ariadne. “Don’t you realize what they’re saying about you, Rose?” said Ariadne. “Tyrion told me about your extended visit yesterday. What did you think people would say? Penelope hasn’t even been in her grave four months yet.”

  Rose’s eyes seemed to turn from blue to steel grey. “I have done nothing to be ashamed of, even were Penny here to ask me today. Unlike someone foolish enough to invite the wolf into her bed before her husband had even died. Have you even considered Tyrion’s motives?”

  The Queen’s fury was such that her words nearly failed her. “Get out!”

  Rose curtseyed deeply. “With great pleasure, Your Majesty.” Then she turned and marched for the door.

  “I don’t want to see you or even hear your name before the trial!” Ariadne shouted at her retreating form.

  Chapter 25

  Rose’s mind was in such a state that she was hardly aware of her surroundings as she walked, heading without thought for the door to her chambers. Deep down, her subconscious registered that something was off, but she was too angry to pay attention to her instincts.

  She was almost to her door when she realized what should have been immediately obvious to her. The part of the palace her chambers were in didn’t have the luxury of enchanted lights as some of the more traveled parts did. They still relied on old-fashioned oil lamps set in sconces along the wall.

  Lamps that weren’t lit.

  The section of the hall that her door was set in was in the deepest part of the shadow, dark enough she had trouble seeing the entrance to her rooms. That alone would have set off alarms in her mind, but it was the whisper of steel sliding from leather that told her she had made a serious mistake.

  Leaping forward, her foot tangled in her skirt and Rose stumbled. The long knife that been aimed at the spot between her shoulder blades narrowly missed, cutting through the fabric and skin of her left shoulder. Ignoring the pain, she considered reaching for the dagger strapped to her leg, but it would be impossible to get out with her dress bunched up as it was. Instead, she drew out the smaller blade hidden in her bodice, but it was too late.

  The assassin wasn’t slow. As soon as his first strike missed, he shifted his weight and kicked forward, his boot striking Rose in the side, beneath her left arm. She felt a pop, and pain blossomed through her as the force of the blow sent her crashing to the floor. A second kick found her stomach, sending the air rushing from her lungs and nearly rendering her senseless.

  She gasped hopelessly, trying to draw air with lungs that refused to work, as the assassin turned her over onto her back and knelt above her, his knees just beneath each of her arms. He appeared to be clad all in black, alt
hough the light was so dim his clothing might have been almost any color.

  “If you hadn’t been stupid, this would have been over already. You might’ve saved yourself some pain.” The stranger flashed a perfect smile at her as he leaned down. “I don’t mind, though. I prefer it this way. Pain is more fun.”

  He held a shorter blade now, a dagger with six inches of blackened steel emerging from the hilt. Placing it carefully against her right shoulder, he began to bear down, pushing it through the skin, its point high enough to miss her lungs.

  Rose jerked, kicking and thrashing, trying to throw him off, still unable to scream, but his weight was too great. Agony tore through her as the blade passed over her collarbone and through the soft tissue until it reached the stone floor beneath her. The assassin pulled it out again with tender slowness, watching her writhe.

  Then her fingers found something cold on the floor beside her. Slapping at her assailant with her left hand, she waited until he caught her wrist to stop her before she brought her right hand and the bodice knife up and slammed it into his side, the steel sliding between his ribs and narrowly missing his heart.

  “Bitch!” screamed the assassin, his voice gurgling slightly. Her blade had punctured one of his lungs.

  Jerking it back, she stabbed again, catching him once more in the abdomen before he could roll off of her. Her third and fourth blows only hit his thigh and lower leg.

  She was beginning to draw shallow breaths as she scrabbled backward to lean against the wall. Using the brief respite, she pulled out the longer blade strapped to her leg, but she knew it was futile. The assassin was on his feet, hobbling toward her on his one good leg. He was bleeding profusely, but that was the trouble with knife fights.

  People didn’t die quickly, unless someone got lucky and struck the heart. Often the winner of such a fight would die minutes or hours after the loser. Rose didn’t know if she had given the assassin a mortal wound or not, but it was clear that he would live long enough to make it a moot point.

  Then her bedroom door opened, and a lean figure stepped out. “Sloppy,” said Tyrion softly. “You’re an embarrassment to your profession.”

  The assassin took half a step, and then he was falling, or rather there were pieces of him falling. His head, right arm, and upper torso fell one way; his left arm and lower torso went the other. His hips and legs made a macabre sight, swaying slightly for a second before joining the rest of him on the floor. A rapidly growing pool of blood flowed outward, threatening to soak into Rose’s dress.

  Kneeling down, Tyrion gathered Rose into his arms, taking time to gather her blades and lay them in her lap before he stood and took her inside her chambers. The door closed itself behind him.

  He carried her across the room and laid her carefully on the couch before sitting on a nearby chair, cradling his head in his hands. “You wouldn’t believe my head. It feels like someone took a club to it last night.”

  Rose gave him a hard stare, as she quietly bled onto the cushions. She couldn’t berate him if she wanted to. She could barely draw breath.

  “Don’t look at me like that. Trust me, my head hurts worse,” said Tyrion sourly. “And I would know. I’m an expert on getting stabbed.” When she continued to glare at him, he added, “You aren’t dying. You’ve got a shallow cut above one shoulder, a neat stab wound through the other, and a broken rib that’s in no danger of poking anything important. Just give me a minute to get my bearings. I only woke up a few seconds ago.”

  She continued to stare at him accusingly, and after a moment he rose to his feet and stalked away. Rose watched him curiously as he staggered toward her bedroom, then went inside. He returned a moment later with the pitcher of water that she kept on the table in there. She almost forgave him then, thinking he meant to wash her wounds, but Tyrion lifted the pitcher and began to drink, pouring water down his throat as though he were dying of thirst. When the water was almost gone, he lifted it and poured the rest over his head, making a terrible mess on the rug at his feet.

  He shivered slightly, then looked at her. “Fine. Stop whining.” Kneeling beside the couch, he reached up and placed his finger at the edge of the neckline of her dress. A second later, she felt the fabric part, and he began to peel away the material.

  Rose flinched, trying to pull away from him, but he pushed her down with his other hand and tore away the rest of the top half of her dress. “Don’t be such a prude,” he told her. “You’d think after last night you wouldn’t be so easily embarrassed.” Dipping one finger into the wound in her shoulder, he tasted the blood, then he put his finger back, and Rose felt a slow burn begin in the injured flesh. She was breathing well enough now to hiss at the pain.

  It faded after a moment, becoming a dull throb, and then he moved on to the cut above her other shoulder. Again, she felt the searing pain, but this time it ended more quickly.

  “Don’t worry,” Tyrion told her. “I’m really good at this. In a few weeks there will hardly even be a scar left, but your shoulder is going to be a little stiff for a while. I recommend you stretch it as often as possible.” His hand traveled down her chest and to one side, stopping when it was above her broken rib. “The next part will hurt. Do you want me to numb it first?”

  “Why didn’t you do that first?” said Rose through clenched teeth. “Before you set fire to my shoulders.”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t occur to me. It’s not worth the effort for little things.”

  A strange, cool sensation washed over her torso, so Rose assumed he had taken her remark for an affirmative. She felt some pressure and then a slight warmth, but no pain. A minute later, Tyrion took his hand away. “That should do it,” he announced. “I’ll leave the nerve block so you won’t feel the soreness until it wears off, probably in an hour or two.”

  “Thank you,” said Rose, somewhat reluctantly.

  Gazing down at her, Tyrion’s eyes roamed across her chest briefly, and then he prodded one of her breasts with his finger. “It was my pleasure.”

  Her response was instant—her hand rose to slap him—but her shoulder ruined the motion and her blow landed on his shoulder instead of his cheek. “Get off me!” she ordered.

  The moment he withdrew, she covered herself with the remains of her dress and with less difficulty than she expected, she sat up. Then she went to her bedroom and shut the door. She removed the ruined dress, looking at it regretfully. It had been one of her favorites.

  She used a towel to wipe away the blood that hadn’t dried yet, wishing she still had water to scrub away the rest. No use crying over it, she thought, and then she pulled on a long wool dress that was as warm as it was comfortable. When she returned to the front room, she found Tyrion sitting on the couch again, apparently unworried that the blood there would stain his trousers. He held her blades in his lap, studying them.

  “This is fine work,” he commented. “Did Mordecai make them?”

  Rose nodded.

  “I never noticed them before,” remarked Tyrion. “The sheaths are also enchanted, obscuring the magic until they’re drawn. Clever.” He grinned at her wickedly. “What did you plan to do with them?”

  They were part of her everyday attire, a habit she had kept since reaching womanhood, but her reply was severe, “Stab you with them.”

  Tyrion laughed. “You really are feisty! Though I think if that were the case, you’d have done so already. You’ve had plenty of chances.”

  “Give me another and see what happens,” returned Rose, feeling slightly better for some reason.

  He re-sheathed the weapons and then tossed them onto the table. “Why do you think that fellow wanted to kill you?”

  She could think of several reasons. She’d already considered a number of them and promptly discarded them. Over the years, she had made many enemies at court—that was the problem with being successful at politics. Airedale was the obvious s
uspect, given the current situation, but she hadn’t expected the spineless snake to have the guts to try it.

  I need time to think, she thought in frustration. She needed Tyrion out of her apartments. Then something occurred to her. “You said he was an embarrassment. What did you mean?”

  Tyrion stared at the table, looking at her daggers for a moment, then answered, “He wasted several opportunities. He bungled the approach, then he started kicking. Once you were helpless, he rolled you over to torment you instead of finishing you off. Even worse, he couldn’t even do that right. When he knelt down, he should have put his knees on your arms. Leaving them free was his stupidest mistake. I doubt he’s ever killed anyone before.”

  “You saw all that?” asked Rose sharply.

  “Of course,” replied Tyrion.

  Agape, she stared at him. “Why didn’t you do something sooner?”

  Tyrion sighed. “You underestimate just how bad this headache is. I woke up just as it started, and it took me a moment to collect my wits.” Then, he smiled. “Besides, I wanted to see how it would turn out before I spoiled the fun.” Rising to his feet, he started for the door. “I need to go take a bath. The Queen’s probably looking for me.”

  “Give her my regards,” said Rose acidly.

  “Sure,” said Tyrion.

  “And don’t forget our bargain.”

  He looked uncertain for a moment, as though he was struggling to remember something. “About that…”

  Rose released a dramatic sigh, pretending to be annoyed. “Make sure the krytek don’t interfere. There will be strangers moving through the city with enchanted weapons. Ignore them. If the trial goes against us, make sure they know to do nothing, no matter what happens.”

  “Yeah, I remember that part,” said Tyrion impatiently. “But last night is pretty fuzzy.”

  “One night, and one night only,” said Rose firmly. “That was the deal, and I don’t ever want to hear about it again.”

  Tyrion looked puzzled, but after a moment he shrugged. “Fine. Honestly, I’m surprised you went so far. I was going to help even if you hadn’t been so willing.” He winked and blew her a kiss.