The first two got no's, but at the last question Mauro flipped his wounded hand around and drug his nails across the wood. The gravely and bitter sound bit deep into Alistair's ears and he raced to try and cover them up when Mauro stopped. Reiss grimly nodded at it and pinched the bridge of her nose, "Got it. So we're looking for an incognito mage, male, average height and brown hair."
"That would give you about 40% of the Denerim population to go asking 'Excuse me, but are you a blood mage?'" Harding groaned. She seemed to have no faith in this mage idea.
"Ah, I forgot," Reiss flipped back to Mauro. She swallowed a moment before asking, "Was it an elf?"
That got her a quick shake of the head, which she responded to with a grateful sigh. "Well, a human male so that should knock off 5% in the search." Groaning, Reiss staggered away from her attempts at cracking the case wide open.
Alistair pulled both women further from Mauro, who he kept a very close eye on while they huddled in the corner. "Well, ideas, suggestions? Accusations on how it was the butler the whole time?"
Harding groaned at his pathetic joke, but Reiss' fingers skirted over the tip of his elbow before she retracted them away. "This is idiotic, you're assuming a massive conspiracy based upon a man shaking his head a certain way and the patented shoving the blame onto bogey blood mages."
"It is possible," Reiss said, but even she didn't sound convinced.
"So's dragons bursting through the ground and eating us all alive, doesn't mean it's likely. One thing I've learned over the years in the Inquisition, prepare for the weird but expect the mundane."
"What about all the times the cult seemed to have the upper hand?" Alistair threw out, trying to keep in on the conversation.
"Luck, okay, three parts luck to one part no one expected an assassination attempt so they didn't plan accordingly. If you want anyone to blame, it'd be your guards slacking off on the job," Harding muttered before she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes and groaned. How long had she been working on this problem?
"When did you last sleep, Harding?" Alistair asked, throwing her off balance.
"Caught a nap a few..." she pointed towards the narrow window where the sun was already dipping to the horizon, "I'm fine."
"You'll do no good to anyone exhausted," Alistair said, then blinked, "Maker's sake, I sound like an ol' biddy about to insist you all wear sweaters."
"I'll be sure to pin my mittens to mine, for your sake, your Majesty," Harding snarked back. He was going to miss her when she had to go back to Skyhold, the dwarf was one of the few who'd call him on his shit to his face. Rolling a shoulder, she yanked up a mug and drowned the sludge in a quick toss of her head.
"Look," Harding flattened her hand into her palm, "Cade's right. This many in here's a gaatlock barrel ready to blow. The best thing is to round up the obvious dirt they're carrying, drag 'em in front of court, and finish it off. If there are any lingering conspiracies involving dark cloaks and evil blood mages, we sniff it out later."
"That..." Reiss whispered, seeming to want to disagree.
Harding gestured at her, "I doubt you're going anywhere anytime soon."
"Wh...why do you say that?" Reiss' cheeks lit up bright red but she didn't glance over at Alistair.
For her part Harding only let her hand hang in the air a few beats longer to emphasize that she knew exactly why. "Unless his Majesty's orders are for me to go beating down every door in Denerim to find this fabled blood mage, I think my time is best served here getting more answers out of Tongue-less Mo here."
Alistair watched Reiss glaring at the ground, her fingers limply knocking together. She looked as if she wanted to say something, to defend herself, but Harding's insinuation about their close ties seemed to have drawn the wind from her sails. Maybe it was best to put his faith in the acting Spymaster, she seemed to have a quick grasp on things.
"You do what you think will get the scum out of here, Harding. But first, get some damn sleep. I don't want to find out you broke a tooth passing face first onto the ground."
She stuck her chin out, those freckles flaring red in the torchlight. Alistair braced himself for a dressing down, but instead Harding tipped up her hand and limply saluted him, "Yes, Mother."
Snickering at the response, Alistair leaned closer to her to whisper, "Also you should eat more vegetables, and would it kill you to keep your hair out of your face?"
That got him a full on groan, Harding all but shoving the King out of her domain as she turned back on the man to ask her important questions. He focused on the dwarf playing bad guard, but for a brief second his eyes flickered to Reiss and that same vengeance flared in them. Mauro didn't care about whoever hired them to kill the King, he just wanted that blood mage to pay for what he did.
Reiss went first down the long corridor of hissing and angry mercs about to meet their end. They knew it, the very air stank of death, which meant any semblance of humanity long fled from their veins. A few tried to throw things, most of the shit thankfully missing, and some hooted and hollered at the pair of them walking past. Alistair sneered, an anger stirring in his gut, but Reiss didn't even flinch.
By the time they exited the cells, he needed a hug of support from her, but a few of the royal guards she was about to be serving with milled around. It would probably not endear her to them. Still... "You okay?" Alistair asked, referring to the walk of shit she had to endure.
But Reiss wasn't even thinking of that. "I know it's a long shot, but...something's off, things don't add up the right way and what if...What if he's telling the truth?"
"More like nodding the truth," Alistair cut in, then winced as she deflated.
"Aye, it's preposterous. And perhaps I am seeing things that are not there. It is best to leave it in Harding's capable hands."
"Reiss," he whispered her name, always forgetting the honorific to keep them distant, the one she earned.
She however always remembered, save that one time when she feared he was about to get himself killed. How Alistair adored and wished he could somehow preserve for later every time she whispered his name. "I know my place, Ser." Her head tipped down as she seemed to genuflect, but the voice brimmed with something other than adoration for her King. "It is by your side," those sparkling green eyes met his a moment before she stood tall to tack on, "as your bodyguard. Of course."
The other guards didn't seem to be giving them any attention, their own lunch far more fascinating, but Reiss snapped in an instant at the fear of being caught out. "Come on, bodyguard, I've probably got a stack of work that needs to be pushed from side to side. Hopefully you can protect me from any errant paper cuts or accidental cuticle tears. Those are the nastiest of them all."
He wanted to hold her hand, to skirt his fingers through her hair and tuck back those free tendrils, to kiss her and say it'd be okay. Instead, he cracked open the door, letting her fall back into place behind him.
"I shall do my very best, Ser," Reiss said, back to business. But for a brief moment, he felt her eyes caressing his ass while he walked.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Maybe
The sentencings began quickly, each man hauled before the King and a staple of the highest people in Ferelden to have their charges laid out. It amounted to the same: conspiracy to commit treason, conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to conspire, working with a potential malifecarum. The last Harding threw in just in case nothing else stuck, but no one was rushing to defend the Zea Dogs. They were the kindling being broken in half and tossed onto the pyre people wanted to burn for days. Reiss didn't realize so many in Denerim cared about the life of their King until she watched the citizens shift into snarling beasts in the presence of those who would dare try and take it.
Or were they just spitting their anger out on the most obvious target at the moment?
Even with Harding and Cade moving the men through without any stop in sight, it was going to take time, at least four days. They were working through the lower dregs first,
which at the suggestion of everyone who had an opinion told the King to not be merciful. Excusing anyone who even got a whiff of a planned assassination would throw open the doors for more. Without any obvious recourse to counteract it, Alistair agreed, sending each man to hang on the gallows.
She'd expected a fire in his voice, he'd been living in fear not only for himself but his children, and yet every night when Alistair would seek her out he was subdued. He wasn't a man who delighted in doing what had to be done, which broke her heart a bit as Reiss knew the next day he'd only face more dead men walking. At least it would be over soon and then they'd be off to this hunting lodge in the Hinterlands. Alistair would lighten considerably whenever she'd ask about it, giving up suggestions for what they should do first upon arrival. Apparently leaping buck naked into a pond was high on his list. Reiss was uncertain of the idea, remembering all too well the predominance of leeches in Fereden, but figured she owed it give it a try. At least she could enjoy watching him paddling around fully nude.
Mid-way through the rounds of trials and executions, Alistair called a break. He didn't rise from his seat the way Reiss expected, but slumped forward. Slipping away from her post behind the throne, she whispered to him, "Tired?"
"Would it be improper for the King of Ferelden to curl up on the floor for a nap? I bet I could talk Bann Loren into it," he laughed while waving at the pinch faced Bann.
She stopped herself from rubbing his shoulders, as much as she wanted to, "We were...awake late into the night."
That drew a sly snicker to him as he leaned back and shut his eyes, "Yep, lots of cross-referencing going on as I remember."
"Is that what we were doing?" There are people, lots of people crammed into this over heated room doing their best to act serious and you're flirting with the King right in front of them? Rat, what is wrong with you?
Unaware of the tiny voice in her head screaming at her, Alistair skirted his fingers over the outside of her gauntlets and smiled. He opened his mouth to talk when a rumbling erupted in his stomach. Glancing down, he ordered, "Silence from the stands!"
Reiss laughed at his silly move, but said, "Perhaps I should slip into the kitchens and find something for you to eat."
"Really?" he gasped in surprise as if he wasn't the blighted King who regularly had people find and deliver things for him. "That'd be wonderful."
Barely bowing, Reiss began to slide towards the door. From behind her she heard the King shout, "Oh, if Renata's got any of that roast boar pudding left I'd love some!"
"I make no promises," she called back to him. It drew a few curious glances out of the gentry, but none raced to belt her with turnips, their attention already back to something other than the elf slipping away.
Once freed of the chambers, Reiss took a deep breath trying to shovel as much cool air into her lungs. Sadly, the day itself wasn't helping her as the sun beat an intolerable heat across the land. It amplified ten fold inside the smaller courtroom that filled with even hotter air as the various gentry huffed and puffed for orders of importance. She feared she was about to fall flat out off her feet a few times while standing at attention. Luckily, Reiss learned how to not lock her knees and did her best to wave a hand near her face when it grew worst and no one was looking.
Her own stomach gurgled, but not in the same empty manner as Alistair's. It'd been growing vengeful during the day, the mere concept of food causing the bile to rise up her throat. It was probably the random dinners Reiss kept snatching up, her schedule thrown fully off balance by the trials and the King who only ate when he felt like it. After wiping the sweat off her brow and trying to fan out the sides of her armor, she trekked down the stairs to the kitchens.
Mercifully, the fires were low and slow, though the tempting smells of gravy bubbling inside dough traipsed through the air. Whatever Renata had on hand for dinner was going to be delectable. Too bad that only angered Reiss' stomach more, the scent grabbing her petulant organ and giving it a good shake. Screwing her eyes up, Reiss willed herself into the larder and began to search for something Alistair would like. In truth, it wasn't that hard. The foods the King didn't like amounted to sprouts, fish stew -- though everything else fish was good -- and for some reason oranges. He didn't explain that one much, just kept them far from the castle, much to Renata's grumbling. She'd been wanting to try an orange sauce she read about in a Seheron cookbook, but the King shot it down.
After sifting through the cheeses, breads, and a few of the grapes fresh off the vine, Reiss staggered up to her legs when another bout of dizziness struck her. Gripping onto the ledge, she shut her eyes tight even as the room spun down the drain around her. The spell passed quickly, this damn heat knocking her down harder each time, but in her clumsiness she accidentally spilled a bag of onions across the ground.
"Oi," a voice ricocheted through the kitchen proper, "you better be big fat rats and not Philipe tryin' to mess with my..." Renata's tirade faded as she eyed up Reiss struggling to scoop up the onions she knocked over. "My lady."
"I'm sorry, I was fetching food for the King and..." Reiss explained with a basket dangling off her arm and onions overflowing out of her hands.
"It's not a problem," Renata scooted forward, yanking the onions out of Reiss' hands and promptly returning them to the barrel. Reiss began to slide down to pick up the rest, when the cook called out, "You don't need to do that."
Reiss froze, her muscles locking from that panicked voice she knew well. It was the same one she'd often use when someone with blood bluer than the sky was about to do something that'd get her in trouble. "I...it was my fault?"
"Accidents happen," Renata smiled, her lips smiling but her eyes glared.
"Right, of course, it was..." Reiss clung tight to the basket like a granddaughter about to go visit her werewolf grandma in the forest. "Should I...?"
Renata finished stuffing away the errant onions and turned back to smile at Reiss. "Is there anything else you'll be needing?"
She knew. Maker take her, but Renata, probably Philipe, they all knew that Reiss and the King were... Oh Andraste. A blush burned across Reiss' cheeks and she tried to bury her face in the basket. "No, it's...I'm fine," she gasped, feeling tears burning in her eyes as she scampered past the polite but distant chef. That was all anyone would be now, all her fellow guards, the servants, the coopers, the stablehand, any and all who feared potential reprisal from the King were never going to trust her again. Because if they let their tongue accidentally wag about something his Majesty didn't like around the mistress, then she might use that against them.
They all hated her.
No, worse than that, they all had to put up with her because he did. It was easy to be friends with Alistair, he was the known King who bowled people over with his self deprecation, but the sidepiece encroaching upon the beloved Queen's territory? No one would ever see Reiss again. She'd be the mistress and nothing more.
Reiss' back clattered to the wall and she gripped tight to the stone to remain upright. Another round of dizziness hit, but instead of striking her mind, this one drove right to the gut of the matter. Upending her stomach in one quick blow, she barely had time to shift before vomit shot out across the floor. Burning with the anger at herself, most of her soupy dinner landed in a wet plorp on her shoes -- chunks of corn and carrot mocking her failure.
What was she going to do? She didn't know where the buckets were to clean it up, and if she told someone, they'd...they were all going to look at her the way Renata did. Groaning, Reiss placed her head against the stone. Coldness bit through the heat burning up her skin, trying to soothe away the ache in her exhausted joints. Maker, if she could just stay here and catch her breath, then maybe, maybe she could think of a plan.
A high pitched whine began in the distance like a fly buzzing through the hall. Reiss didn't move to chase it, her body only capable of keeping her upright. Gasping for air, she tried to calm the acid burn in her esophagus while a fog crept up the sides of her vision. Oh
no... She managed a single step, realizing what was about to happen, when her body gave up and Reiss fainted dead away to the floor.
She woke dazed, aware that people were talking but only hearing the same buzzing whine. The back of her head throbbed from where it no doubt smashed into the ground. Someone took the time to prop her up into a sitting position against the wall. An elbow bumped into her and she turned to watch the fingers of an elf scrubbing away her vomit. The eyes didn't lift to her as the man was too focused on his job.
"What...?" Reiss tried to speak, but every joint in her body ached.
"Hey," Alistair dipped to a knee and picked up her hand. "You had me worried there."
"I, uh," she tried to move to stand, but he gripped onto her shoulder to keep her in place. Giving up on falling back in line, she groaned, "I passed out, the heat must have gotten to me."
"Here, Sire," Renata passed a wet sponge into his hands, which he thanked her for while trying to dab off Reiss' sweat. The cool wash felt so good, she moaned in appreciation, her eyes slipping closed to marinate in the sensation. It struck her how that must look and she guiltily glanced up at the cook doing her best to not watch. Maker's breath, how much worse could this get?
"You feel hot," Alistair said.
"I'm..." Reiss tried to wave it away, insisting she was fine, but another flip of her stomach told her otherwise. Don't puke on him. It'd be bad enough walking it back from vomiting on her lover, but doing it to the King and while surrounded by gossip hounds would put her on the pyre. Gripping to his shoulder like the edge of a cliff, Reiss groaned in agony and nodded. "I think I'm sick."
"You don't say. I'm guessing elves don't regularly decorate the floor in their dinner."
"Only for Satinalia eve and Wintersend if one is orthodox," Reiss sighed.
"Here," Alistair left the sponge on the ground and moved to lift Reiss off the ground into his arms.
Love's Blush Page 65
