Pointy waited in the shadows until another shadow joined him.
The woman was tiny, as short as Carabelle, and moved with feline grace. Her hair was long and honey-blond, braided to hang over one shoulder. Large but shrewd blue eyes glinted beneath the moons. “Sauvageon sent me.”
“Pointy,” he said and held out his hand.
“Amber.” She flashed a striking smile and took his hand in a firm grip. Her shirt was tight and clung to well-formed muscles. Stronger than she seemed—a warrior in a small package.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“Yes.” She crossed her arms. “First of all, your friends were questioned, but nobody was taken into custody. You’re to be arrested on sight, and the king’s put out a reward in exchange for information on your whereabouts. The people are pissed about that, for the most part. From what I’ve heard, the nobles are entertained. Those of us without a title, though? Not happy.”
He smirked.
“It won’t be long until they find those bodies,” Amber said. “You’ll be in neck-deep shit then. Meanwhile, your friends were sent away this morning.”
The hair on his nape rose. “They were.”
“Yes. To test the medicine the apothecary has been making. The other one, the grey one, he’s to stay at the outpost just outside of Artagnon.”
Pointy’s bowels twisted. “That’s right in the middle of the fighting.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Don’t need to tell me. That’s where the king sends the people he wants to punish. Or get rid of.”
He bit his tongue. Dammit. If he’d been around, he could have— Well, he couldn’t have done anything. Jeanita could handle herself, but Nathaniel? This was ill news.
“I think the apothecary will be fine, though,” she said. “The king won’t send anyone with medicine-making skills too far out of his reach. Not with the emperor also collecting physicians.”
Would Jeanita’s usefulness run out if the emperor managed to make a cure before she did? A shadow crept from the darkness in the back of his mind. What if there was some other reason for Sanshouo to gather physicians?
Pointy drummed his fingers on his uninjured thigh. “What else?”
“Malak’s been sneaking off, too. You heard?”
“I did.”
“Well, turns out she’s trading secrets for herbal remedies. The kind of stuff that’ll help a woman conceive. She’s been using it for years, but no baby.”
Interesting. “And the secrets?”
Amber shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. All I know for sure is she steals stuff from the king and uses that to get her remedies.”
Pointy toyed with the ends of his ponytail. So, Malak wanted a baby. Of course she did. A child would cement her place in Frank’s life. “Why would she steal anything if she works for Intelligence?”
She gaped. “The harlot? She doesn’t work for Intelligence; they’ve been trying to get rid of her from the start.”
If they’d truly wanted to be rid of her, she’d be gone. But… Of course. The people hated Malak for the most part, but that was her role. Pointy had read stories of agents in history—people who were placed as dubious civilians in the lives of monarchs or high-ranking nobles with the sole purpose of weeding out anyone disloyal to the person they served. Which was Malak’s mission.
Where else would conspirators go, but to Frank’s mistress, whom everyone knew was untrustworthy and willing to sell anything for sex? Malak had the run of the castle, access to Frank’s personal suite, and could easily steal any documents or secrets said conspirators would need. Meanwhile, Frank played the part of one too enamoured to realise how dangerous she was. In truth, Malak stopped all attempts to remove Frank from power before they had the chance to take root.
Pointy almost laughed. “She’s Intelligence. One of mine overheard an interesting conversation between Frank and the spymaster. Malak works for her.”
“Clarity?” Amber raised one eyebrow.
Few people knew that name. Perhaps there was more to Amber than she liked to share.
“The one and only,” he said. “On her order, Frank and Malak are drugging the princess with ethirin.”
“You’re joking, right?”
His heart clenched. “I wish I was.”
“Medicine or not, there’s a reason they banned that stuff. It’s highly addictive. Back in my nursing days, I treated an ethirin addict. It was bad.”
Nursing? Sauvageon had sent him a gem in this woman. He could use someone with multiple skill sets.
Pointy raised his hands. “Clarity.”
Amber frowned. “Does the king just do what she says? How long has this been going on?”
“Years,” Pointy said. “From what my agent overheard, he does exactly what the old spider wants him to do. He’s a puppet. Clarity raised him and his sisters. The stories Carabelle has told me about that woman… Let’s just say I want her dead.”
She nodded. “That bitch is going down.”
He grinned. “Glad you’re on our side.”
“Look, most of the resistance is made up of small-town people. I’m from the countryside. We might be willing to take your word for it and nothing more, but the others will demand proof. Lenoir is Mordoux, so Francois is Mordoux. Without another…” She shrugged a shoulder.
“What if Mordoux had a queen?” Pointy swallowed. “Would they follow her?”
“The princess?” Amber bit her lower lip. “I would. If she’s worth following.”
“She is.”
“Then prove it,” she said. “What you’ve said about Clarity? We might not have known it’s her, but we haven’t been blind to what’s going on here. Fires blamed on the emperor in places he couldn’t possibly reach. Noble families murdered in their houses. Far-off outposts so neglected, they have no qualms with deserting. The king makes a whole lot of promises he doesn’t keep. And the politics? There’s more to Mordoux than Belle’Victoire. Not everyone wants to invade Aelland. We have family in there—aunts, uncles, cousins. We have one damn war going already, why enter another?”
Murders? Fires? Jeanita had mentioned fires after she’d spied on Frank and Celestine. Was the old spider taking care of her enemies? If she killed Mordian citizens to settle debts in a time of war, her new power had made her especially savage.
Pointy sniffed. “I can confidently ensure you Carabelle feels the same. She grew up in Aelland and opposes the invasion.”
“Maybe the people should know that.”
“Then do me a favour and tell them. That, and about the ethirin. Convince them to give Carabelle a chance.”
“You’ve got it.” She paused. “But it won’t be easy. No matter what he’s been doing on the sly, Francois isn’t a bad ruler. Because of him, the resistance has been flourishing.”
“Oh, I know. Clarity did raise him, after all.” He threw his ponytail over his shoulder. “But Carabelle is better.”
She tipped her head.
“Anything else?”
“Rumour has it the chief-queen’s getting angrier by the day.” Amber shifted to the other foot. “Can’t say I blame her, with the king not making good on his end of the alliance bargain. I wouldn’t be surprised if she left Mordoux and took some of the resistance with her. Many Mordians train with the Dvarans. I do. Their ways make sense. That woman has the power to rip the resistance in half, and I get the idea the king either doesn’t know or doesn’t care.”
He’d heard such rumours before, which was part of the reason why he’d put Jeanita to the task of befriending Varda. “All right.”
“I saw Ghedi leave the keep today. Don’t know if it means anything, but I’m having him watched. Oh, and there’s this random story about a dig site, but I haven’t been able to find out more.”
Pointy nodded. “You’ve given me much to think about. I’ll let you know when and where we’ll meet again.”
Amber shrank into the dark. “I’ll be there.”
“You’d mak
e a good Intelligence agent.”
“I would.” She grinned, then left.
The time had come to see Vendla. Bargain with her. Varda’s loyalty remained questionable, and Jeanita had made no progress with her. Besides, how long could the chief-queen’s patience last while the promises made to her and her people continued to be disregarded? He didn’t envy the idiot failing to deliver to this formidable woman, but maybe she’d get angry enough and eliminate Pointy’s problem on his behalf. He smirked.
He’d appeal to her annoyance with Frank and make an ally of her. If she did the improbable and reported his story to Frank, Pointy was in hiding anyway. The outcome would remain unchanged, except that he’d be hiding from more people. Still, he’d bet his grandmother’s teeth that Vendla would be receptive.
Meanwhile, he’d have Marcell construct a few more stories about Carabelle. Her kindness, her spirit. If the people knew of her past as an apprentice, they might just be more sympathetic. Especially when the ethirin rumours spread among them.
Couldn’t the Dvaran encampment be closer? Dammit, his leg ached.
He rolled his neck and continued deeper into the tented area, to where everything reeked of fish, ale, and coffee. The snoring among the Dvarans dwarfed whatever similar sounds had been in the other tents. As did the sounds of lovemaking.
A large Dvaran with an orange beard—half of the population fit that description—stepped out of a tent with a flagon of ale.
Pointy shrugged, then stopped the man. “Good evening, kind sir,” he said in Dvaran. “Would you mind taking me to see your chief-queen?”
“It’s the middle of the night, toothpick.”
“This is a middle-of-the-night kind of matter.”
The Dvaran held up a hand. “Let her break you in half. I just had my armour cleaned.”
Pointy laughed. “I like this pragmatic approach to life. Looking for a job?”
“I tell you what, toothpick. You finish half a glass of Gunther’s home brew, and I’ll do whatever you want, with Vanth as my witness.”
Pointy held out a hand. “Deal.” Seems he’d forge two alliances here.
Chapter 13
Laura’s gentle shaking woke Sera. “My queen, I apologise, but it’s urgent.” The terror in Laura’s black eyes erased whatever grogginess might have remained. Splotches of red coloured her porcelain skin, and her usually neat bun was unkempt.
Sera shifted upright, pulling her blanket to her chest. “What happened, dear?”
“Prince Richard is ill. We think he may have rot.”
What? Sera’s pulse sprinted. “How’s that even possible?”
“Mister Portiere has been giving the prince a sleeping elixir, as you’d suggested. This morning, the prince didn’t leave his suite at his normal time, so Mister Portiere investigated. He found the prince coughing and feverish. He’d been injected with something—there’s a mark on his neck. He’d likely been in too deep a sleep to wake when the assailant entered his room. I’ve alerted the guards. They’re looking for the perpetrator.”
“You’re sure it’s rot?” Sera bit on her tongue to keep from screaming.
Laura nodded. “I sent a message to Duke Cutter’s estate, majesty. He’ll confirm it, but what else could it be?”
Considering what Intelligence believed about George, could he have something to do with Richard’s illness? Ashes. “Help me get ready.”
Laura bit the side of her lip.
“What is it, dear?”
“Well, I know you might not want to, majesty, but in light of everything… Don’t you think you should talk to your father? Since he’s, ah, trained for this sort of thing.”
Sera closed her eyes. In the days since he’d told her the truth, she hadn’t spoken to him at all. She couldn’t face him.
Barely a moment went by that she didn’t think of him or remember something and view it with new perspective. He’d done so much for her, so many little things that she hadn’t noticed because she’d been trained to hate him. He’d also made mistakes—done things that had hurt and terrified her.
So, what did she do now? One part of her, a part that grew daily, wanted nothing more than to be his daughter. The other part was still scared. All those years she’d doubted and feared him had been for nothing. Cara would have been safe with him, and they could have been a family. Yet, the more these revelations circled in her mind, the more she itched to go to him and rebuild their relationship, the more she feared he wouldn’t want her.
He now knew he had a daughter of blood; one with the strain, and a claim to the throne. Would he still want the impostor from the orphanage?
“My queen?” Laura squeezed her shoulder.
“Of course. We’ll check in on Richard, then go to Laroche on the way to meet Magnus.”
***
Sera knocked on his door with a trembling fist.
Laroche opened a moment later. “News?” His eyes widened, and he inched back, then smiled. “Majesty.”
It would be like that, then. She cleared her throat. “You’ve heard?”
“Yes. I’m at your service, majesty.”
“I’m going to meet Magnus. You can come along if you want.”
“Of course, majesty.”
He followed about four paces behind. Was he nervous because of their previous conversation, or couldn’t he stand being close to her?
Equally puzzling were Laura and Thatcher. They trailed at the rear, close, their pinkies hooked together. Had something happened between them? But Sera would wonder about it later—more pressing matters required her attention.
Magnus waited at the entrance to the east wing. He no longer looked like Magnus. His clothes were too big, and his skin hung loose on his frame. Pale, wilted. Where was the whimsical light in those blue eyes? The grandfatherly smile? He’d never dragged his feet this way before—his had been the relaxed stroll of a content man. Cancer had changed everything. They should have let him be, let him rest. He’d done enough for Aelland. Magnus didn’t deserve to die in pain, wasting away.
Neither did Richard. There would be no rest for anyone today.
Sera removed the kerchief she’d tied around her face. “Magnus, thank the Creator.” She took his arm and pulled him with her.
His brow crumpled. “What is it?”
“Richard has rot.” She itched, and lights flickered at the edges of her vision.
“What?” His steps faltered, but she didn’t let go of his arm, and guided him onward.
“Someone injected him, and now he’s sick. We don’t know who did this. The guard has found no traces of a forced entry, no new staff members, nothing to indicate who’s responsible. All we know is it comes from inside the palace. It must.”
Magnus glared at Laroche.
She sniffed. “I’m certain he’s innocent of this.” She leaned close to Magnus and whispered in his ear, “George, though.”
“Salamander’s spit, what has been going on here?”
“So much, Magnus. So much.”
“Have you seen Richard?”
“Yes. He vomits without end. I swear there’s nothing left in him to throw up.”
“Already? Does he cough?”
Sera’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She nodded.
“No.” Magnus shuddered then removed a mask from his medical case and fastened it over his face.
Sera retied her kerchief.
***
Richard had been moved to a clean room. He was in bed, covered with blankets to his chin, pale and quaking with fever, his features distorted in pain. A bucket stood next to the bed, which Richard grabbed just as Magnus moved closer to him. Rancid fluid sloshed as he vomited. His yellow mane was plastered to his head, sweat-soaked. The air was toxic with the stench of sickness.
“My king,” Magnus said.
Victor sat next to the bed, pawing at Richard’s forehead. “My son. My son has rot.”
“You shouldn’t be so close to him, Victor.” Sera managed
to keep her tone low. At least he’d kept on the mask.
“Neither should you,” Laroche said from the hall.
“Please move back, majesties.” Magnus set down his medical case and removed the linen from Richard.
Richard’s body shone with perspiration. The place where he’d been injected had swollen since Sera’s earlier visit—a red welt on his pasty skin.
Magnus pulled away when Richard coughed.
“Well?” Victor rose.
“It’s rot.”
“So do something!” Victor demanded.
“I can give him something to lessen the pain, but other than that, I can’t help him. I don’t have a cure,” Magnus said.
“You’re saying he’s going to die?”
“He could survive.” Magnus fished his bag and took out vials of medicine. He administered these to Richard. “I’m quarantining this room. We can’t risk House Aellor to rot. The medicine I’ve given him will allow him some rest, but I’ll have to go back for other remedies. When I was summoned, I didn’t expect this.”
Sera nodded. “Come along, my king. We can’t risk you getting sick.”
“I’m staying.”
“Victor, if you die—”
“George can rule.”
Sera closed her eyes. “You and I both know that can’t happen.”
“He’s next in line.” Victor’s shoulders slumped.
“He’d make a terrible king.”
“I know. Another way in which I’ve failed Aelland.”
He was right, but she was also to blame. She should have fulfilled her duty as wife. She should have had Victor’s child, no matter how repulsive, no matter how wrong. He was her husband, and it was his right. If she’d been less stubborn, if she hadn’t put all her faith in the possibility that Richard would live to be king, she’d have planned an escape route.
Now, George would be king. Aelland would die.
“No more of this. You are the king. No matter what happens to Richard, you must rule.” Sera pulled him along. “Magnus, do you need—”
“No. Thank you, my queen. Please disinfect. I’ll instruct the staff to deliver some of the cleaning liquid to you,” Magnus said. “I’ll be back within an hour or two.”
A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2) Page 10
