Emelda shrugged. ‘Can’t say for sure, but every expert we’ve been able to find swears this is a holy artefact. Even had a few Jan’Tep mages examine it. They pretty much ran off whimpering in a corner after taking one look. Now these …’ She reached into the case and removed something I’d missed before – a tiny bag made of purple felt that she tossed to me. I caught it and opened it up.
‘Dice?’
‘Made from the same tree, or so my sources tell me. Figured they suited your chosen profession.’
‘You want me to gamble the Berabesq god to death?’
She chuckled at that. ‘Dice are a funny thing, don’t you think? Never know what number they’ll turn up. Their very existence implies the universe is filled with random events. You know what the opposite of randomness is?’
‘Destiny?’
‘God.’ She reached out a finger and tapped one of the dice in my hand. ‘Passages in several of the Berabesq holy texts claim that if you roll these in God’s presence, his dominion over the world will be suspended until they come to a stop.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Well, hard to say if it’s meant to be interpreted literally. The prose gets a little flowery at times. Could be they just make him laugh and then he incinerates your soul.’ She held the scourge out to me. ‘That’s why you’d best get this wrapped around his neck as quickly as possible.’
When I didn’t take it, she carefully placed it back in its case and closed the metal clasps. ‘Don’t blame you for believing you can walk away from fate,’ she said. ‘But take it from an old dog who’s seen more than her share of ugliness – we all do what we have to when it comes to protecting the ones we love. Even when the deeds are more foul than our souls can bear.’
Something about the way she said those words, the mixture of weariness and determination in her craggy features reminded me of someone. Someone I’d met when I’d first arrived in Darome. Someone who’d distrusted me as instinctively as Emelda did. Someone I’d killed.
Oh, ancestors … Please let me be wrong about this.
The queen had made sure no one knew the truth about his death – any one of a thousand loyal outraged marshals would’ve murdered me for sure if they’d found out the truth. Only I guess she was wrong about that, because Emelda hadn’t killed me yet.
‘Does Torian know?’ I asked.
‘Know what?’
I hate it when shrewd people act dumb. It tells you they don’t respect your intelligence.
‘That I killed her father.’
Jed Colfax had been a legend among the queen’s marshals service. An old man when I met him, he could still take down the toughest outlaws on the continent, and had a reputation for pursuing fugitives no matter how long it took to bring them to justice. Looking back now, I felt kind of stupid for not realising Torian had to be his daughter. Given she’d changed her last name, I guess it was one of those open secrets everyone knew but nobody talked about.
I have to hand it to Emelda: she didn’t flinch when I brought up killing her husband. Didn’t so much as blink. We might as well have been talking about the weather. She turned and walked to the door, but not before saying, ‘My daughter believes what the rest of Darome believes: Andreas Martius and his band of would-be tyrants murdered her father. That’s why every last one of them is dead and you’re still standing there like an idiot in a towel, debating whether or not to do the one thing that can save this world from blood and fire. The only thing by my reckoning that gives you any right to live at all.’
I stayed there, staring at the gnarled wooden case for a long time after she left. Eventually Reichis came over and chittered, ‘You know what we ought to do?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Open that case back up and light the whip on fire, then leave the ashes outside that old bird’s door tonight. Bet she won’t feel so smart then.’
Never in my life have I been more tempted to follow a squirrel cat’s advice. Problem was, that would pretty much guarantee we spent the rest of our lives with the marshals service chasing us across whatever parts of the world weren’t already filled with Berabesq zealots hunting blaspheming spellslingers.
‘Come on,’ I said, reaching for my clothes.
‘Where’re we goin’?’
‘To find the queen. Past time she gave us some answers.’
But Reichis sat back on his haunches. ‘Umm … Kellen?’
‘Yeah?’
He pawed pathetically at the fur on his chest. ‘You’re gonna need to brush me. Lot of butter-biscuit crumbs in that pool. Must’ve been left there by somebody else.’
I sighed. ‘Fine,’ I said as I went to grab one of the brushes from the grooming area at the edge of the baths. ‘But there’s one condition.’
Squirrel cats, while unable to comprehend any number of human concepts, understand negotiations just fine. ‘Well, not sure I need to be brushed that much. I mean, it’s just a couple of crumbs, really, and it’s not like anyone’s going to notice and … Okay, what’re your terms?’
I pointed to the jaunty purple merchant’s cap sitting on the damp floor near Reichis that he still insisted on wearing whenever I wore my frontier hat. ‘You promise not to wear that thing in front of the queen.’
‘Deal!’ Reichis chittered victoriously. ‘I was done with the hat anyway.’ He looked up at me with the squirrel cat equivalent of an evil grin. ‘Sucker.’
18
The Letter
Even for a royal tutor with the traditional right of Consovi Mandat, it’s not as easy as one might hope to get a private audience with the Queen of Darome. Turns out monarchs have more important things to do than subject themselves to the irate complaints of their tutor of cards.
‘I can get you in next week,’ Arex said, standing outside the entrance to the sanctum.
A Jan’Tep palace has no actual throne room, but that didn’t stop the queen’s entourage from keeping up appearances. The moment my father had turned over the palace to her use, dozens of retainers and servants had set to hauling in various furnishings brought with us on the journey to ensure her temporary accommodations conveyed all the trappings of imperial power. This included various gilded pennants, jewel-encrusted sceptres and the actual Daroman throne, which weighs a little over a ton. Her royal accessories also included Arex Nerren, the man who was currently keeping me from seeing her.
Arex was, technically speaking, the queen’s social secretary. This came with a rather wider range of powers and privileges than one would normally associate with such a position, not the least of which was to be a huge pain in my arse anytime he felt the urge. Occasionally even when it was someone else’s urge.
‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘Torian got to you too.’
He gave me a sideways grin. ‘The lieutenant’s got a lot of clout. Would’ve thought you’d have figured how these things work by now, kid.’
Reichis, sitting atop my shoulder, gave Arex a snarl that would’ve wilted an oak tree. This wasn’t on my behalf, you understand. He’s just never liked the man.
Arex is one of the few people in the world other than Ferius who manages to get away with calling me kid. Despite the somewhat obsequious-sounding title of ‘social secretary’, he stands six and a half feet tall, could probably wrestle a bear and really, really enjoys pummelling people who try to get past him.
On the other hand, a year or so ago, during the attempted coup, he’d gotten stabbed several times and come perilously close to bleeding out all over the floor of the Daroman palace. I knew the precise location of every one of those wounds and which ones to strike in the event we ever came to blows.
I quite like Arex Nerren. He’s funny, astute and fundamentally decent. His devotion to the queen is beyond question and I trust him implicitly. Unfortunately I tend to be a terrible judge of character, so these days I balance out my trusting nature with careful contemplation of how best to murder just about every individual in the Daroman court should the need arise.
Maybe my father had been right about me. My moral compass didn’t seem to be working very well lately. On the other hand, considering Ke’heops – along with the queen’s own strategic council – expected me to kill a boy younger than me, I was having my doubts about how finely tuned anyone else’s moral compass was these days.
Where are you, Ferius? The world isn’t making any kind of sense any more.
That thought made me chuckle aloud. Ferius Parfax had never made any sense to me either.
‘You okay, kid?’ Arex asked.
‘I’m fine. Just …’
I sighed. I really needed to see the queen, but I wasn’t ready to get into another fight right now, especially with someone I actually respected. Fortunately, not all of my ruses involve homicide.
‘Want me to rip his face off?’ Reichis offered. ‘Might make him more accommodating.’
‘Forget it,’ I said, and turned to leave the sanctum’s foyer. I made a show of stopping as if I’d just remembered something. ‘Actually, could you let the queen know I won’t be able to make our poker lesson next week?’
Arex’s tone conveyed just the right amount of confusion and suspicion. ‘I guess. She’ll want to know why you cancelled – what with that being your only job.’
‘Good point.’ I removed a small, sealed envelope from my coat and turned to hand it to him.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, examining the envelope.
‘My resignation as her royal tutor of cards.’
He gave me a cock-eyed look. ‘Seriously?’
‘You can read it if you like. I had it notarised by a magistrate and everything.’
I counted six steps before he called out to me. ‘Gods of sea and sky. Fine, you can see her now. She wasn’t doing anything important – just reviewing a seven-hundred-page treaty she’s supposed to sign in front of a thousand of your fellow Jan’Tep tomorrow. If we end up in the wrong war by morning it’ll be on your head.’
I reached out for the envelope. ‘Nice doing business with you, Arex.’
He let me tug on it for a second without letting go. ‘How long’ve you been keeping this resignation letter in your pocket to blackmail me with?’
‘Wrote it the day after I took the job.’
He chuckled and released the envelope. I stuffed it back into the pocket of my coat.
As I walked past him he snagged me by the shoulder. ‘That trick’s only going to work once, you get that, right?’
Truth be told, I hadn’t been sure it would work this time. ‘They only ever work once,’ I said as I entered the sanctum and prepared to confront the queen. ‘That’s why I need so many of them.’
19
The Sanctum
There are actually three chambers you must pass through to enter the palace sanctum, each one with its own set of double doors. There are various esoteric and meditational reasons for this, most of which were pretty much defeated by the presence of a small detachment of marshals polluting the otherwise pristine environment with their maces, crossbows and determined readiness to use them. Guarding the monarch used to be the province of the First Royal Regiment of the Imperial Army, but, well, a whole bunch of them had to be executed last year as punishment for having supported an attempted coup against Queen Ginevra.
The marshals are more irritable than the soldiers used to be. Fugitive hunters aren’t trained to stand there doing nothing for hours at a time. When it comes to foul dispositions though, not even they could hold a candle to the aging canker sore known as the royal herald.
‘Tutor Kellen,’ he said, managing to turn both words into insults.
‘Cerreck. It’s been a while.’
‘Has it?’ he asked, conveying a distinct weariness with both my presence and my mere existence.
I gestured to the final set of doors leading into the sanctum. ‘Care to announce me? If you’re too tired, of course, I’d be happy to …’
He gave me the long, withering stare I no doubt deserved before finally, in an act of sublime defeat, pushing open the double doors.
Jan’Tep sanctums are lit by glow-glass balls, which shed light only in proportion to the magical abilities of those nearby. I tried pushing my will into them and got barely a flicker. Some enterprising soul had mounted oil lanterns to each of the seven columns in the centre of the sanctum, but they barely dented the darkness permeating the massive chamber, making the throne set in the middle of the room look smaller somehow. On each arm were stacks of papers piled high, and between them, the very weary-looking twelve-year-old monarch of the Daroman empire.
‘Yes?’ she asked, without looking up from her papers.
‘Ahem,’ Cerreck coughed. ‘His Most Excellent Royal Tutor of Cards, Kellen Argos.’
The herald, thinking his duty done, began to back away, until Reichis looked up from the floor and gave him a stare that had induced heart failure in many, many rabbits.
‘You better just do it,’ I said to the old man quietly.
A look of spiritual dismay passed over his features. ‘The whole thing?’
‘You know what he’s like. You really want to risk it?’
Cerreck took in a deep breath. ‘And His Most Murderous Lord, Slayer of Mages, Killer of Crocodiles, Destroyer of Dragons – Even the Stupid Metal Ones – Most Beloved of All Sixteen Squirrel Cat God—’
‘Twenty-nine,’ Reichis corrected.
I translated for him.
‘Really?’ the herald asked. ‘I would’ve sworn last week it was sixteen.’
‘Just roll with it,’ I advised.
Cerreck sighed. ‘Most Beloved of All Twenty-Nine Squirrel Cat Gods, and Bearer of … “The Coolest Shadowblack Markings Ever”, Reichis The Terrible!’
For the first time the queen looked up from her papers and smiled. She was a beautiful girl, though not in the conventional way favoured by Daroman painters. Her features were flatter than those of the majority of her subjects – more like those of the Zhuban in the north than the lighter-skinned people who inhabit the traditional Daroman lands. Her black hair fell in ringlets either side of a round, almost chubby face meant for laughter, but which too often wore the strains of her rank.
‘Master squirrel cat,’ she said with a brief nod. ‘I understood we were overdue for an important meeting, but I was unaware you’d be bringing your assistant.’
Reichis chuckled. This was the kind of joke the two of them always enjoyed, mostly because I didn’t.
‘Your Majesty,’ I began.
She went on as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘I’m especially surprised to see the royal tutor of cards here this evening as I believe he attempted to resign just minutes ago.’
Ancestors, I swore silently. How could she know?
‘Your Majesty, are we alone?’
She looked back at me with a raised eyebrow.
There’s no such thing as being ‘alone’ with the Queen of Darome. There’s an actual law that makes it a crime for the queen’s security services to leave her unattended. Specifically, anyone in teretro – which literally means ‘tethered to’ the monarch but in practice refers to being one of the six people on duty at that time as part of her custodia regita corpora (‘guards of the royal body’) – found more than twelve paces away from her can be hanged as a deserter.
Most places, like her bedroom or the private study where she meets with her tutors, the guards can be outside the door while still within twelve paces of her. But the clan prince’s sanctum was huge, so even if she’d overriden her own laws to demand privacy, at least two designated guardians had to be here somewhere, standing in the shadows on either side where I couldn’t see them. Of course, anyone guarding her is always sworn to absolute secrecy, never to reveal even under torture anything they had seen or heard in the throne room.
‘We are as alone as we need to be,’ the queen replied at last.
Which means I know at least one of the two people watching us
.
A year ago, the queen had – against my protestations – slid down the top of her gown to reveal the shadowblack markings she’d kept hidden from almost everyone. I hadn’t known it at the time, but even then there had been two marshals in the room. One of those had been Torian Libri; the other a man who, devoutly believing that this revelation of the queen’s defect made her ineligible to hold the throne, tried to persuade Torian that they had a duty to inform their superiors.
I’m told you can still find pieces of his corpse in all four corners of the country.
So who was the second person in the room with us now, standing in the shadowy alcove at the back of the sanctum? The queen almost certainly knew why I’d come here. She wouldn’t allow anyone to observe us unless she completely trusted them.
I still wondered how she knew I’d pull the resignation gambit.
‘I’m rather busy,’ the queen said, fingers rifling through one of the stacks of paper resting on the arm of her throne, ‘and unlikely to see my bed before morning. So if you’ve come to yell at me about my many failings as monarch, master card player, it would be helpful if you could give me a little warning so that I might prepare myself for the experience.’
It’s … possible that I haven’t always displayed the courtesy expected of a servant of the crown.
‘Oh, you’re going to get yelled at,’ Reichis chittered as he sauntered over to hop up onto her lap.
‘I rather expected as much,’ she said.
The queen is the only person other than myself who seems to be able to understand the things Reichis says. Whether this is because she really is the two-thousand-year-old spirit of the royal line inside the body of a twelve-year-old or because both of us are actually deranged has never been clear to me.
‘Actually, I came with a simple question, Your Majesty.’
‘Go on,’ she said, suspicion evident in her tone.
‘Are you ordering me to assassinate the boy living in the great temple of Berabesq?’
‘Have I issued any such order?’
Spellslinger 6: Crownbreaker Page 12
