Olea had spent her evening tracing sigils in the dust upon the stones of her cell, trying to ignore the creeping feeling of being watched in the torch light. Her fingertips circled around again, as a tingling sensation lifted the hair upon her neck. Olea ignored it. Even if she was being watched from behind the wall, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. And rising to alert every time she felt that tingle was making her as paranoid as Uhlas had been at the end. The Upper Cells were swept regularly, and the straw of her pallet was fresh, but there was nevertheless a light coat of byrunstone dust that settled over everything this far beneath the palace, and it made for an excellent distraction. Moving in a light meditation, she traced, each sigil remembered from the etchings on the clockwork that she had examined from her little white pouch night after night, year after year.
A scraping sound caught her attention suddenly, just a whisper in the darkness. Olea sharpened her hearing, waiting, then heard it again. A scrape with a slight crunch, like a soft leather boot over grit-covered stone. After a moment, she felt a shadow by the bars of her cell, just out of the torch’s light. His breathing was soft and fluid, a sound normal ears wouldn't have noted. She could just hear the beat of his blood in his veins, steady and slow. In the darkness, his scent held the vague touch of pine musk with his oiled leather.
Elohl's stealth had improved over the years. Olea smiled, relieved that he’d come. She glanced though her bars at the guard, three cells down by the stairs. A normally sharp man by the name of Khenner den’Ihs, he was bored, staring straight ahead, slumped at the wall with arms crossed and a vague scowl. He hadn’t noticed a thing.
“Elohl.” Olea's whisper was soft. She knew Elohl could hear her.
“Olea. What can I do?” His answer came just as soft, hardly a breath.
“I’m fine. I need you to protect the Dhenra.”
“She’s being watched. Fenton, Vargen, and your man Aldris. Olea. Did you know Fenton was a Kingsman?” Elohl breathed.
“Not until last night.”
“How many more of these Shemout Alrashemni are there… in hiding?”
Olea paused. “I don’t think they’re in hiding, Elohl. I think they operate outside the Oath. Outside the Crown. A secret sect of Alrashemni with no liege. But I think they were assigned to us, to keep Kingskinder alive all these years.”
“Then why help the Dhenra, if they don’t serve the Crown?”
Olea chewed her lip. “Elohl… there’s a dangerous game being played here. It's bigger than the Crown, whatever it is. And I think we’re the pawns. We always have been. The Summons was a deliberate move by someone, to eradicate Alrashemni. And it wasn’t King Uhlas.”
Elohl snorted softly. “So we have enemies we know nothing of. Maybe Ghrenna will be able to see something.”
“Ghrenna?!” Olea startled. It was all she could do to not turn to stare at the shadow of her twin in the darkness. “You’ve seen Ghrenna? Where? When?!”
Elohl paused for a long moment, and Olea knew something was wrong. “She’s alive. She’s here in the city.”
“Just alive?” Olea breathed. Elohl's words had an ominous ring to them, and if Olea knew her brother, which she did, he was leaving quite a lot out.
Elohl’s next words were strained. “She’s bad, Olea. Really bad. I can’t even touch her. She spasms if we touch, and the headaches devour her. They're worse than ever...”
“Elohl…” Telling him she was sorry wouldn’t help. It never did, with Elohl. He would grieve and grieve until it consumed him, and not utter one more breath about his love, nor how it tore him to shreds with claws and teeth. He had always suffered that way, with the silence of a glacier.
“It doesn’t matter,” Elohl continued, mastering himself. “Fenton’s set me up as a guard now. How do I approach the Dhenra to tell her what’s happening?”
“You don’t, not unless you want to be in here with me. She’s got a temper, Elohl, and she had reason to use it upon me, not to mention on some nobody she's never met. Don’t try to approach her. Don’t try to speak with her. Just stay on her ass like a leech and spread your senses wide. Don’t let anything slip through unnoticed. Fenton and Aldris are sharp swordsmen, Elohl. But they don’t have what you have.”
She saw the shadow nod. “I’ll do my best. I love you, Lea.” And with the faint swish of air where he’d been, Elohl slipped away.
“I love you too, Elohl.” Olea breathed, but she knew he was already gone. Olea sat back from the bars, settling cross-legged upon her pallet. Leaning her head back against the cold stone wall, she allowed her senses to still, ignoring her paranoia, her mind drifting in the darkness behind her eyelids. Images became sharp, her thoughts and memory turning to her last time alone with Alden nearly two years ago.
In her memory, she saw the palace practice-yards. The way the dust swirled in the hot summer sun when it was kicked up by Alden’s boot. She heard his throaty laugh as she got a jab with her practice-knife right into his ribs. A light wind was in the trees, the oaks and cendarie at the wall where the practice grounds met the forest whispering of summer. Cicadas whirred lazily as Alden regained his breath and strode in again, sword and longknife ready, never to be undone by the number of times Olea had killed him in the dirt ring.
Olea remembered their last conversation together, etched into her mind.
“I've had two letters, Olea, sent by hawk.” Alden was breathing hard, slipping through Olea's deft parries.
“From Arlen den'Selthir?”
“No. It's been so long since we sent that one, I think that hawk might have gotten shot and eaten. No, I've had two letters from Amlenport.”
“What do they say?”
“The Amlenport Harbormaster's letter arrived first. He illuminated the dock-keeper's trial we asked about, the one that happened right before the Summons eight years ago. Apparently it was a very odd affair.” Alden huffed between parries of his sword and a jab at Olea with his longknife. She slid out and blocked with ease.
“Odd, how?”
“Well, the man was put to the question at the time by some of our Guard, Fenton den'Kharel and Aldris den'Farahan. Interestingly enough, I don't know how those two were chosen for the duty, but they were. And the dock-keeper broke quickly. Too quickly, so the Harbormaster thinks. Gave up the name of a Thuruman pirating vessel that made spoils off the attack that night, raiding the Dauntless of their shipment of emeralds. I took the liberty of asking Fenton about the interrogation while we were drinking together last night. He said the same thing. That the man broke too easily under torture. Two minutes of water-dunking, that was all. The man was barely wet when he babbled everything about the pirates. And something else. Said they planned the attack at Amlenport's Alranstone.”
Olea stepped back, ceasing their duel. “What? Why? Wouldn't a deal with Thuruman pirates be made upon their own ship? They're cagey bastards...”
“So Fenton thought, too. And when it came time to execute the dock-keeper, he started shrieking, I don't know these thoughts! And babbling about his mind being broken by someone.”
“Mind being broken?” Olea held up hand, passed it over her eyes. “Like what that man in black herringbone armor did the day all us Kingskinder were captured. He broke into our minds. Gave us all so much pain that none of us could fight back.”
“Yes, except the dock-keeper was screaming that it was a woman who'd broken his mind. And that she was at the Alranstone. And that she was under the sway of a tall, genteel man. The man in grey and the woman of slow sighs broke my mind! Were his exact words, as the Harbormaster recalls them.”
Olea lifted an eyebrow. “Who are they?”
But Alden shook his head. “The dock-keeper was put to death before that information came out. Fenton and Aldris weren't there when he was lynched. Fenton was livid about it. Said the local judiciary of Amlenport had been hasty with the noose. They were apparently supposed to wait to hang the man until Fenton was there as King's Witness. Fenton and Ald
ris were still getting dressed to attend the hanging when they heard the gallows drop in the square. Judiciaries just showed them the body afterwards as proof of the man's demise.”
“Someone was trying to cover up the man's last words, so Fenton wouldn’t witness them.”
“So Fenton thinks, also.”
“And it was a woman and a man in grey who broke into the dock-keeper's mind?”
“Apparently.” Alden cocked his head at Olea. “Do you know anyone who might fit those descriptions?”
Olea sighed. “Well, it's vague, but it's a place to start. What did the second letter you received say?”
Alden put a hand to his sweaty black hair, tousled it. “It was a follow-up letter from Amlenport, from Vicoute den’Jhenn. Apparently, the Harbormaster at Amlenport has been killed. Just two days after sending the letter he wrote to me.”
Olea blinked. Slid her sword slowly away. “How?”
“Knife in the night.”
“Harbormaster Lugol den'Fhillian was Kingsman-trained, Alden, in Valdhera. The den'Fhillian minor nobles are an old family that followed the tradition of sending their sons to train with the Kingsmen so they could be Harbormasters. He wouldn't have been easy to kill.”
“So someone with equal or better training killed him. You know, Olea, the more we look into this ball of yarn, the more it feels like we're dealing with a massive network. To pull off something of this size... of killing so many trained Kingsmen in a single night and all these strange dealings since... you'd have to have thousands of people!” Alden planted his sword tip-down in the dirt with an exasperated huff, something young Elyasin was already copying him at. “Did you talk to Fenton about his search through the lists?”
Olea nodded. “Yes. Fenton said he looked through the rosters and found no Guardsmen declared missing from palace duties the day the Kingskinder were collected. But what he did find, was that a shipment of three hundred cobalt jerkins ordered from the leatherworks at Sulphhaven were reported missing two weeks prior to the Summons. Stolen right before delivery.”
“So the Guardsmen involved in the capture of the Kingskinder could have been hired mercenaries. They had carts and horses with them, too, right? I’m seeing Lhaurent in a few minutes to plan supplies for the merchant fleet venture to Ghrec, before our meeting with the Chancellate tonight. I'll ask him if anything was reported missing from the palace stables prior to the Kingsmen disappearance. And then we'll know if anyone from Roushenn was involved.”
“Careful, Alden. We don't know whom to trust.”
“We took a chance with Fenton and Aldris. They seem alright. And Lhaurent has been an institution at this palace since my father was born. Don't worry, Olea. It's just a few questions about supplies. I'll say I'm just doing a retrospective inventory on the stables.”
“Careful.”
Alden strode forward, seizing Olea around the waist and pressing her with a hard kiss right out in the open where anyone could have seen. Fortunately, the practice yards were empty, and a hasty glance showed no one at the windows of the palace overlooking the yards.
Olea glowered as Alden pulled away, chuckling.
“I'll be careful!” He strode out of the sand ring, a haughty jaunt in his step as he slid his practice sword back into the rack. “Oh, and by the way... you’re coming with me as my escort out on the trading-run to Ghrec when it leaves in two days with the merchant fleet. Get your things packed. We'll have all the time in the world to trade blows and heave while we sample spices in hot climes a few days hence!” Alden gave her a cheeky wink. “See you in the Chancellate Hall for the meeting at sixth bell.”
And turned his back, striding away through the dust.
But the memory broke suddenly as Olea heard another pair of feet coming to her cell. This time, it was the swish of soft boots down a stone staircase. She peered curiously out of her cell, saw the guard salute. And then the tall, stooped figure of Lhaurent den’Karthus approached, his regular pearl-grey outfit switched for a very fine doublet and breeches of silver-embroidered dark blue silk. His chain of office was at the collar of his doublet, and he clasped his hands behind his back as he came to stand before her bars. Olea stood, dragging her boots through the sigils from the clockwork she had been tracing in the dirt, discreetly obliterating them.
“Captain-General.”
“Castellan.” Olea matched his frigid tone, and did him one better.
He gave a slight smirk. “You might be a little politer, captain. I am here on your behalf.”
“Oh?” Olea was saccharine. “Did the Dhenra send you to return me to my duties?”
His smirk was benignly apologetic. “No, I’m afraid. Nothing so bold. The Dhenra merely inquires about your health.”
“As well as can be expected for the Captain-General of the Guard who is caged up and prevented from protecting her liege in a den of butchers and mongrels.”
“You think so little of her suitors?” Lhaurent raised a well-groomed eyebrow. “No one’s good enough for your little Dhenra?”
“Not within these walls.”
“Do you think Roushenn so unfit a place for Elyasin?”
“Roushenn is unfit for anyone but you.”
“Ah, I see…” Lhaurent clasped his oily hands before him now, looking down and twiddling his thumbs, deliberately. “Roushenn is unfit for anyone, you are right, but me. I am a very good fit for palace life, it is true.”
“How did you kill all the Kingsmen when they came here after the Summons, Lhaurent? How did you make the palace walls move?”
Lhaurent chuckled smoothly. “What a vivid imagination you have, my dear captain!”
“I know you were a part of it, Lhaurent. I have a survivor, a witness.”
His grey gaze went cold suddenly. “That can be amended.”
“What are you after? The throne? The kingdom? Why kill the Alrashemni?”
His grey eyes glittered in the darkness, and a slight smile played about his smooth lips. “Such paltry treasures to be heaped upon these unwilling shoulders. No... When I look in the mirror, captain, I see… possibility. A world behind the world. A world that can be what we make of it, through subtle grace. Like sunlight underwater. What do you see when you look in the mirror, captain? Power? Influence? A position to the right of the throne?”
Olea was at the bars now, seething, rabid. “I see your face, you bastard, watching me!”
His eyebrows rose with mock affront. “Do you think me so callous, my dear captain, to watch what a woman does with her off-hours? To observe whom she does or does not take to bed? I do not peek through keyholes.”
“No, but you watch behind the mirrors.” Olea growled, low and menacing.
Lhaurent’s smile was an oily smirk from where he stood, so carefully out of reach. “And I watch from behind your bars, captain. For the palace is a prison to you. And to me, it is freedom. Ultimate freedom.”
“You bastard.” Olea’s breath was hot, her face inches from the bars, her knuckles white where she gripped cold iron. If she could have, she would have ripped his smirking mouth off his face with her teeth.
“It was you all along, wasn’t it?” Olea seethed. “When you exposed Alden and I that day before the entire Chancellate! I thought it was a maid or a chamberlain who had seen us kiss in the practice yards! I thought we had been careless, that that one slip had been seen, but it was you! You were watching behind the walls of my bedchamber, you disgusting piece of filth! From behind that fucking gilded mirror you never removed from my quarters!!”
“Temper, captain.” Lhaurent lifted one finger, tapping his smooth lips to partially conceal his oily smirk. “You should be more careful whom you threaten. It might not go well for you. As it did not go so well for Alden. Or even Uhlas, for that matter.”
Lhaurent den’Karthus removed his finger from his lips, but his smirk remained. He had turned to leave, but Olea's next words stopped him. “You killed Alden. And Uhlas.”
He turned slightly, a serene
smile upon his smooth lips. “Alden was rash. He was bound to get killed sooner or later.”
“You bribed someone to put out the lighthouse at Amlenport. You orchestrated it! Just like you orchestrated the theft of emeralds from our trade ships! Because you knew Uhlas would put me right back at Alden's side once he returned from Ghrec, and you couldn't take that chance! You couldn't get to Alden while I was around.”
Lhaurent examined his buffed nails. “Rumor and conjecture, my dear. Amlenport is a very busy city of trade. There are a thousand thieves who would bribe a lighthouse-keeper to make a beacon go dark there.”
“All so that Alden and I would never get the chance to expose where the threads we were following went. The threads that led right to you!”
Lhaurent's eyes went very hard. “Follow the tail of the hydra, my dear, and you'll find more than you bargained for.”
“There may be more heads than you, but you're the true snake in the grass.”
“Thank you, my dear captain. That was very nice of you to say.”
Olea blinked, astounded. “So you admit it? You killed Alden? And Uhlas?”
“Ahh... Uhlas. So paranoid at the end. Almost as if someone were watching him day and night, don't you think?” Lhaurent's lips lifted at the corners.
“He knew you were behind the walls.”
“Uhlas knew nothing. Uhlas knew what I told him to know, and what I told him was to drink his medicine so his health would recover. Which he did. And for a few hours after every vial he felt tremendously improved.”
“Before he felt even worse and had to have another vial. You poisoned him, you bastard...!”
“I urged an ailing, paranoid liege to take his medicines for the good of his kingdom, and for his daughter. His only remaining heir.”
Olea surged at the bars. “What are you plotting against Elyasin?!”
Lhaurent lifted one well-combed eyebrow. “Elyasin will enjoy being Queen. For as long as she may.” He turned to go, his gossamer step sliding away over the stones.
“I will expose you for the crimes you’ve committed!” Olea screamed behind him. “I will find the missing link of it all, figure out how you orchestrated so many deaths! I will prove what you've done! And I will expose this palace for what it is, Lhaurent!”
Lhaurent den'Karthus turned back, his grey eyes feverish with mirth. “And who is going to believe you? Some things are far too much for the ordinary mind. What would happen if the tired, superstitious masses knew the secrets kings keep? What riots would they incite? What tumult would they create? Foolish people do foolish things with precious information. The Alrashemni knew it. But they have kept far too many secrets, for far too long. And secrets have a way of strangling those who wield them.”
“I’m going to strangle you with yours, Lhaurent.” Olea growled through her bars.
His glittering grey gaze was feral now, and a sneer curled his lips. “Not if I strangle you with yours first. I seem to recall you have two interesting tomes in your quarters, which you peruse at very late hours. Very interesting little books. Treason interesting, some might say, to assert that the Queen herself comes from the Alrashemni lineage of the damned and traitorous Kingsmen. Now I wonder… would the people of Lintesh enjoy having a Kingswoman traitor who is also a witch to burn upon their pyre for harvest-fest?”
“I’m no witch!”
He eyed her, smirking. “With hearing like you have? It seems a witch-talent to me, that you can even come close to hearing me when I enter a room. Or perhaps we could use those two little volumes... to prove that you wanted to steal the throne by seducing the Dhenir. Oh yes. Because you are of a bloodline more royal than our precious Dhenir and Dhenra! That might give the populace a nice little reason to flay you. But first thing's first. I have a coronation to attend in a few days. The spectacle of which I am very much looking forward to. Goodnight, captain.”
Lhaurent swished away over the stones and out of sight beyond the ring of torchlight. Olea growled, throwing her weight upon the bars, desperate in her imprisonment. Her heart hammered, her mind frozen into a loop in her terror at everything Lhaurent had wrought, at everything was going to. The content of the two tomes rolled through her mind. Lists of names and dates, descriptions of the first kings and queens of Alrou-Mendera. How they had come to power and fashioned a nation. And what race of people they had come from, the Linea den’Alrahel of the Alrashemni.
Olea’s knees buckled. She sat down hard upon her pallet. She stared at the wall opposite, her mind churning, desperate and utterly trapped behind bars in the flickering darkness. The creeping sensation of being watched filled her, lifting the hairs at the nape of her neck. She drew her knees in to her chest, her limbs locked tight with an animal panic.
CHAPTER 32 – THEROUN
Blackmark (The Kingsmen Chronicles #1): An Epic Fantasy Adventure Sword and Highland Magic Page 50
