Tristam handed the message to Perce, who looked it over. “The note reads as Tristam says, but it contains no signature, and the seal is not one I recognize.” He looked back at Tristam. “Do you have any stronger evidence?”
Tristam nodded to a manservant waiting near the door and hoped that Fitz was still outside. “I have the testimony of the messenger.”
This time, he did see a flicker of worry across Willem’s face. A moment later, Fitz stepped into the room with Robert in tow. The messenger faltered when he saw Willem, and Fitz had to drag him the remainder of the way. Don’t lose your nerve, thought Tristam.
“This is the messenger whom I followed from the Palace walls to an inn not far away. He has confessed to taking messages between Head Councilman Willem and Whitt Manor.”
Tristam could see observers in the Council Room looking around, probably trying to see if Lord Whitt had any representatives in attendance. Tristam doubted he did. Whitt didn’t have a strong presence within the city.
Perce addressed the messenger. “What is your name?”
“Robert, sir. Of Forge.” The messenger couldn’t seem to take his eyes from Willem, who was studying him with an intense, cold gaze.
“And do you confirm what Tristam of Brancel has said? Did you, in fact, receive this message from the Head Councilman to deliver to Lord Whitt?”
The messenger was still staring at Willem. His jaw worked, but he didn’t speak. Tristam focused everything he had on Robert, willing him to follow through.
“Please answer the question,” Perce repeated.
The messenger licked his lips. “No,” he said. “The parchment that Tristam claims to have found on me was a plant that he created himself. He tried to pay me to testify against Willem.”
Tristam struggled to maintain his composure as the room once again dissolved into murmurs. Of course that was what Robert would say. What did Tristam have to threaten him with that didn’t pale against the Head Councilman’s influence?
Willem sat back in his seat. “I believe we’ve taken care of that,” he said. “I will be requesting a full investigation into Tristam for bringing false charges against me.”
Malikel cleared his throat. “May I suggest that the messenger might not be trusted to give a truthful testimony in front of the accused?”
“How much longer must we put up with this nonsense?” said Willem. “We have preparations to make. Tristam of Brancel has already wasted enough of our time in a clear effort to delay our attack on the barbarians. I move to dismiss discussion of this subject to a later time.”
It was a close vote, but it came out in Willem’s favor. Willem looked pointedly at Tristam. “You are dismissed, soldier.”
There was finality to that command, and there was nothing Tristam could do except bow and walk away. Robert, still in Fitz’s grip, avoided Tristam’s gaze as he passed. Tristam tried his best to hold his head high on his way to the door, fighting the despair that was starting to take root in his stomach. They had staked so much on this. What could they do now?
Tristam was so caught up in his own frustrations that he didn’t notice that someone was trying to talk to him. When he finally realized someone had spoken his name, he turned to see a young servant girl looking urgently up at him. He returned her gaze, surprised to be approached so by one of the staff. She looked familiar.
“Lord Tristam,” she said, her voice low. “Can anyone speak in front of the Council?”
“Anyone?” he echoed dumbly before he finally made sense of her question. “Anyone, yes. But only before Willem closes the meeting.”
She nodded then, and her face took on a mask of determination. Tristam watched in bemusement as she made straight for the herald. The two exchanged a few words, and she seemed to be arguing with him, though Tristam couldn’t make out what was said.
Finally, the herald drew breath for an announcement. “Darylene of Forge would like to make a statement before the Council.” His voice lacked his usual confidence, and he glanced uncertainly at the serving girl behind him.
“What is the meaning of this? We’ve had enough oddities today,” said Willem. Tristam was surprised to hear alarm in Willem’s voice, given the cool disdain with which the Head Councilman had responded to Tristam’s accusations. Then Tristam recognized the girl. Darylene of Forge was Willem’s mistress.
“We haven’t closed the Council meeting yet,” said Malikel. “The lady has a right to speak.”
Darylene didn’t look at all at ease in front of the Council. She glanced from Councilman to Councilman, though she seemed to studiously avoid Willem’s gaze. “I’m sorry, milords,” she said. She sounded younger than she looked. Tristam had thought her older because of her association with Willem, but he now realized she was probably close to his own age, if not younger. “I’ve been listening to the young lord’s testimony, and I can tell you that he’s both right and wrong.
“I am…privy to some of the Head Councilman’s private dealings,” she continued. Some knowing glances passed between the Councilmen, and a few snickers sounded from the observing benches. It took no small amount of courage, Tristam thought, to brave such scrutiny.
Darylene waited for the room to quiet. “The messenger Robert of Forge is, in truth, Robert of Edlan. He lied about working for Whitt Manor. He has actually been carrying messages directly between Sir Willem and Duke Symon of Edlan. They have been working together to overthrow Forge’s Council.”
Pandemonium. Willem shouted something about the girl having lost her mind, and Malikel called for order as Tristam struggled to understand what he’d heard. Had he misread the message from Willem?
“The girl tells lies,” said Willem. “She must be in the employ of my enemies.”
“Lies or not, they must be investigated,” said Malikel. “Darylene, do you have any evidence?”
Darylene looked to Willem, who was staring at her with barely controlled rage. “There’s a compartment in the floor of his sitting room, next to the fireplace. You can access it if you pry up the floorboards. You will find other messages there from those he’s been contacting in Edlan.”
“This is preposterous,” said Willem. “A clear attempt to distract from the coming offensive. I move to dismiss this Council meeting.”
“Not yet, Willem,” said a Councilman in the second row. “The girl gave us information that can be easily confirmed. It is only reasonable to do so.” Tristam began to feel some hope. At least the Council members were taking these accusations seriously now.
“I agree.” Malikel raised his voice. “Seal the doors. Don’t let anyone come in or out of this room until we’ve verified Darylene’s claims. I’m sure you’ll agree, Willem, that the best way to dismiss these claims beyond doubt is to verify them now.”
Willem gave Malikel a long, measured look, and then nodded. “Very well, if you are to accuse me, then let us go investigate these charges. Do you claim this investigation under your purview, Malikel?”
“I will verify the allegations as Defense Minister. I believe protocol also requires the presence of the accusers, Darylene and Tristam.”
“Will you take guards too, lest I turn violent upon discovery of my misdeeds?” A layer of scorn laced Willem’s voice.
“The usual escort of Red Shields should be enough,” said Malikel mildly.
Willem nodded to the Red Shields lining the side of the room, and four stepped forward. The Head Councilman turned his eye to Tristam and then to Darylene, who stood braced against Willem’s fury as if it might knock her over. “Let’s get this farce over with.”
Willem led the way across the Palace grounds to his private living quarters. It was a small, detached building in the inner compound, unremarkable on the outside, though the inside was luxuriously decorated with tapestries, carvings, and marble statues. Nobody spoke. The Head Councilman exuded an aura of fury and kept a few steps in front of everyone else. Malikel trailed behind him, calm but focused, and Darylene followed after. Tristam wished
he could talk to her, find out more about what she was thinking, but she studiously avoided his gaze.
“Are we headed to my bedchamber?” asked Willem.
“Is that correct, Darylene?” said Malikel.
She gave a barely discernible nod.
Willem led them up a flight of stairs, where a manservant opened a pair of tall oak doors. The suite within was large and opulent. A four-poster bed took up the center of the room. The walls, the rug, and the linens on the bed were all decorated in maroon with gold accents.
“By the fireplace,” said Malikel.
One of the Red Shields bowed and knelt near the fireplace, running his hands along the floorboards. “I don’t feel anything,” he said.
“To your left,” said Darylene. “Feel for a raised portion along the floor.”
“By all means, search your best, soldier,” said Willem. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
The Red Shield paused in his search, fingers curving against an edge Tristam couldn’t see. The soldier jiggled something, and then there was the clear sound of a wood panel sliding away. Tristam’s breath caught. He’d believed the girl, but somehow he still hadn’t expected the Red Shield to find anything.
“What is that?” said Malikel, walking toward him. The Red Shield was frowning at a box in his hands. “It’s a compartment, just as the lass said.”
“Let me see,” said Malikel, reaching for the box.
“Now,” said Willem.
The Red Shield handed Malikel the box. And then, as the Defense Minister’s hands were occupied, the Red Shield drew his dagger and thrust it toward Malikel’s stomach.
T W E N T Y - E I G H T
Darylene screamed. Tristam shouted Malikel’s name and took a step forward, so intent on his commander that he almost didn’t see the man coming at him from the side. Tristam ducked out of the way just in time to avoid being gutted. He pivoted to face his attacker. It was another of the Red Shields who had accompanied them. Had Willem managed to turn them all? Tristam drew his dagger, extremely grateful that he’d kept it on him this morning. When his attacker came at him again, he stepped around the Red Shield’s knife hand and grabbed his wrist, pulling the man past him and sinking his own blade deep between his opponent’s ribs. He pulled his dagger free and threw the man to the ground.
Tristam cast about, breathing heavily, trying to get his bearings. The man who’d attacked him lay on the ground in front of him. Darylene stood pressed against the wall. There were blood spatters on her face and gown, but she looked otherwise uninjured. Malikel crouched with his hand pressed to his side. The mysterious box sat on the ground not far from him, and next to the box lay the body of the soldier who had attacked the Defense Minister. The room was otherwise empty. Willem and the remaining two Red Shields were nowhere to be seen.
“Malikel!” Tristam ran to his commander’s side.
The older man groaned. “It’s not as deep as it could have been,” he said. “Must have glanced off one of my ribs. Help me bind it.”
Darylene came forward with a strip of fabric she’d torn from the bed linens. Tristam thanked her and set about wrapping Malikel’s chest.
“Quickly, Tristam,” said Malikel. “Did anyone see what happened to Willem?”
“He ran, with the two Red Shields after him,” said Darylene.
Malikel exhaled sharply through his nose as Tristam pulled the makeshift bandages tight. “All four of the guards were loyal to Willem?”
“I don’t think so,” said Darylene. “Three of them were, and the fourth chased Willem when he fled.”
Tristam secured the bandages, and Malikel gripped his arm. “A hand, please.” Tristam had doubts about whether his commander should be standing and moving, but he obeyed. The Defense Minister regained his feet and nodded toward the door. “We need to get word to the Council.”
Darylene took the hard-earned box of evidence, and Tristam ducked under Malikel’s arm. They slowly made their way out, Tristam sneaking surreptitious glances at his commander to see how he fared. Malikel moved as if it pained him, but at least he was supporting much of his own weight.
Tristam drew his dagger as they stepped into the corridor. It was eerily silent in Willem’s house. As they made their way down the staircase, Tristam caught sight of a few servants running away. As he neared the front door, Tristam heard noises from outside—shouts, yells, and the clash of weapons. Malikel frowned.
Tristam stopped. “With your permission, sir, I’ll go scout.”
Tristam wished he had his sword. The dagger wasn’t going to do much good against enemy soldiers. Willem’s doorman was long gone, so Tristam reached for the doorknob and hoped for the best.
He opened the door to a battle in full swing. Soldiers clashed swords while Palace staff did their best to flee the fighting. Tristam looked around in confusion as battle cries and screams assaulted his ears. Were they invaded? Had the enemy breached their walls so easily? But then he realized what had really happened. The three Red Shields who’d attacked Malikel were obviously not the only traitors in the compound.
There was a cluster of four soldiers fighting just a short distance away. At first, Tristam had trouble distinguishing sides because they all wore Forge livery. Then he saw that two of the soldiers had blue armbands. Edlan blue.
I need more funds to gain the cooperation of Palace scribes, as well as key members of the defense forces, Willem’s note had said. Tristam had thought it a roundabout way of swaying Council votes, but Willem had actually been using the bribes to hide Edlan troops within Forge. There had been such confusion in the Palace lately, with the extra conscripts from the city. A few well-placed bribes to scribes and Red Shield commanders, a few altered documents…The more of our own that we have within the Palace, the safer our position will be.
A body sporting a blue armband lay beside one of the pathways. Tristam swallowed against his disgust and took the man’s sword. Its balance was different from his own, but it would have to do.
The men outside Willem’s house were still fighting. One of the true Red Shields had fallen, and his comrade was backed against a shrub, trying to fend off two enemies. Tristam cut one of the traitors down from behind. The remaining Edlan soldier turned to gape, and the cornered Red Shield ran him through. For a moment, Tristam and the Red Shield stared at each other, catching their breath.
“Thank you,” said the soldier.
“That was an impressive fight. I’m Tristam of Brancel,” said Tristam.
“Claren of Forge.”
They looked to the neighboring courtyard. There, five Red Shields closed in on three Edlan fighters. A line of soldiers rounded the corner, and Tristam raised his sword, only to cautiously lower it again when he saw no sign of Edlan blue. Forge soldiers still outnumbered the Edlanese, at least in this part of the Palace.
“How widespread is the fighting?” asked Tristam.
“All over the Palace grounds. There must have been some kind of signal.”
“The Defense Minister is wounded,” Tristam said. “Can you help?”
They rushed back to Willem’s house. Tristam had just thrown the door open when he heard new shouts.
“Forge men, to the city wall! Edlan’s army is at the gates!”
Kyra waited out the morning as close to the city as she dared. She climbed a tree overlooking the main road and ducked behind the trunk whenever a traveler passed by. She tried not to dwell on her worries, but it became harder as the sun climbed steadily overhead. What had become of Tristam? Would the Council believe him? She had ample time to think up worst-case scenarios, but she didn’t dare go into the Palace, at least not until dark. The last thing they needed was for her to create more trouble by getting impatient.
She heard footsteps approaching, not from the main road, but from the forest below her. Kyra froze stock-still. There wasn’t nearly as much cover for her in the winter. She hoped whoever was coming would not think to look up.
It turned out to be a
nother one of Willem’s forest patrols. Kyra stayed silent as the men passed below her, and they were none the wiser. She watched them gather on a plot of farmland just outside the forest boundary. There they stood, waiting. Some tended to their weapons, while others simply milled about. After a while, Kyra turned her attention away from them and resumed watching the main road.
It wasn’t until a second group came and joined the first that Kyra began to wonder. And then a third, fourth, and fifth group came as well. Soon there were a hundred men standing on that field. Kyra watched as a man came walking from the opposite direction—the owner of the farm, Kyra guessed, and she was suddenly scared for him. The gathered soldiers had also noticed the farmer, and one of them went out to meet him. Words were exchanged. Kyra couldn’t hear them, but they were obviously not friendly. The soldier drew his weapon and Kyra stifled a gasp, but he didn’t strike. The farmer retreated.
As the one soldier rejoined the rest of the group, Kyra gave up completely on watching the main road and focused on these men. They were taking tunics out of sacks now and putting them on. The tunics were colored deep blue. Edlan blue.
This time Kyra did gasp, and it was only the men’s lack of attention that kept her from discovery. Puzzle pieces fell in place in her mind. She remembered the group of soldiers who had stumbled upon her family with Pashla and Adele in the forest. They’d looked like seasoned soldiers instead of peasants. One had told Kyra that “His Grace” didn’t want people in the forest. It was a funny way to put things, since Forge citizens almost always referred to the Council as a whole. The man had been an Edlan soldier hiding under the guise of Willem’s Demon Rider offensive. Did Willem know about this? If Willem had betrayed the city, what had happened to Tristam and Malikel?
The gathered soldiers were dressed now, and they began to march toward Forge. Kyra waited until they had gone some distance, then came down from her hiding place and trailed them. When she came out of the trees, her heart almost stopped. From her vantage point, she had only seen one group of soldiers. But now that she was in open farmland, she could see multiple companies taking up formation and converging on the main road. The muted thuds of their boots carried over the fields.
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