A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2)

by Yolandie Horak

  He was alone.

  A pair of plush wingback chairs stood across from floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that spanned the length of two of the walls, filled with hundreds of files and scrolls and books. Homemade pillows with cute patches and embroidered flowers were half-covered by a chain-knit blanket on a chaise next to a grand teak desk, where a potted violet bloomed. A painting of three children, a boy and two girls, hung above the desk.

  Three smiling faces. The brown-eyed and dark-haired boy—around the same age as Marcell—stood just behind the roughly five-year-old girls, one blond and one brunette. A lie. Those three children had never even been together at that age, let alone wore such contented expressions. No; young Carabelle had been hidden and raised in fear, and though her father had loved her, Seraphine had fared no better.

  Still, their likenesses had been captured well. As an artist, he couldn’t deny the talent or technique.

  Flames danced in the fireplace in the far wall, and a warm, reddish glow tinted the room in homely shades to match the bottom part of the table on which Pointy was imprisoned, where torture utensils and what looked like knitting needles—knitting needles?—had been placed in neat rows.

  The spider’s lair.

  He was going to die here, just like the other Du Ponts must have. He’d never see his children again, never meet the one who was on the way. The family would take care of them, and the girls were training to be spies—they’d be all right. Madeleine might go to pieces, but Tatienne was such a strong girl, so nurturing. She’d guide her sister through it. But Lucien. What would the loss of another parent do to that sweet boy? Aimee had been gone for almost a year, and still, he didn’t speak. If Pointy died now, Lucien would—

  No, he couldn’t die. He had to go home to his children, had to tell them he loved them. Besides, where would he go without the queen? He had to get her out. Had to.

  As though summoned by his thoughts, Celestine rolled into the room.

  An old woman in a wheelchair, bloodshot eyes with pale irises, and a vicious, flat-lipped smile. Hair twisted into a bun in her nape. Had he not known what Carabelle had seen, he’d be relieved. What was a granny so frail going to do to anyone? Bore them to death with the least exciting ever bedtime story? But the frailty was a lie, as was the wheelchair.

  “You need to get out more, Clarity,” Pointy said. “You could do with a bit of sun.”

  She cackled. “Typical Du Pont to stare their end in the eyes and still find it in them to fake bravado. Tell me another joke, why don’t you?”

  He lowered his head to the cold metal and smirked at the ceiling. “Here’s a good one. Carabelle will follow you blindly.”

  The smile fell from her face. “She is mine. No matter what you’ve filled her head with, I’ll reclaim her, and she will fulfil her destiny.”

  Destiny? What was this destiny, and how would it fit with Frank’s?

  Pointy chuckled. “You’re right about the destiny bit. One way or the other, she’ll do what she’s meant to do. But never as your little invisible pet. She’s grown too much, she’s become too strong, and you’ll never claim her.”

  “You’ll bleed for that.”

  “Maybe, but I’ll bleed for her any day of the week, so…” He raised one shoulder as high as he could.

  Celestine sniffed, then rolled to the shelves, where she pulled one of the books forward. A click sounded, and a segment of the shelves slid away. On the floor in a secret space behind the shelves, a body sagged to one side.

  “This is the one who captured you.” She gestured at the corpse. “Nobody knows you’re here, my pet. You and I are going to have some fun.”

  His insides were a frozen, shattered mess, but he offered his warmest smile. “I usually buy a lady a drink first, but sure. Do your worst.”

  She closed the compartment in the wall, then rolled closer. Once she was about ten paces away, she locked the wheels of the chair and stood with a flourish. “I’ll enjoy wiping that smug smile from your face. Or maybe cutting it away.”

  Shit. This was going to hurt.

  Chapter 27

  The caravan rumbled to a halt, and Nathan all but stumbled out of the vehicle. Ghost vibrations rattled his legs, as though he were still on the road.

  After two days of travel with barely any stops except when they’d had no other choice, all he wanted was to stretch his muscles, and something to dull the pain. At least they hadn’t had to make the whole journey with the corpse staring up at him. They’d left the dead soldier at an outpost when they’d restocked the day prior.

  “Come. We’re going to see the king,” Ghedi said, then stomped on ahead.

  Nita shrugged then hooked arms with Nathan and followed Ghedi to the castle.

  Everything looked the same at Collinefort. There was something wrong about that, how they all went on as though nothing had happened outside of their little world. Meanwhile, who knew how many people died every day, fighting a war the resistance was supposed to help them fight. Instead, Frank’s people flourished out here, warm and snug and away from the constant battle and bloodshed the rest of Mordoux had to endure.

  Nathan’s hands balled so tight that his fingernails cut into his palms.

  Whatever Ghedi said to Frank would mean nothing. The only thing Frank would be upset about was that Nathan hadn’t died with the other soldiers at the outpost. The rest was meaningless to the pretender king.

  Ghedi grabbed a page by the arm and demanded to know where Frank was, then altered his course to the council room. He paused outside the door, took a breath, and entered.

  Frank and Nic were inside, heads together. The remains of a platter of fruit, sliced meat, biscuits, and cheese stood between them, and each held a half-full wineglass.

  A wall of heat tumbled into the hallway. Images of Faible’s face as he died, more honourable than Frank could ever dream to be, assaulted Nathan. This son of a whore called himself a king, but sat in a warm room, eating and drinking while talking with his best friend day in and out, nary a care. What about the trenches? What about villages like Artagnon, left to fend for themselves? Was he not king of that?

  Nita pulled Nathan into the room.

  Frank stood with a smile. “Back so soon, old friend?”

  “Before we start this meeting, Frank, I want to make it clear—I didn’t like what I saw out there.” Ghedi crossed his arms. “You sent Cutter to that outpost to die, just like you sent all those other soldiers to their deaths. I don’t even care to know why, but if you want me to stay in this resistance, if you want my council, you’ll treat the man with more respect than that. Not only him, all your soldiers.”

  Frank’s eyebrows rose, and his lips parted.

  “Why don’t you tell us what you mean, Ghedi?” Nic motioned to the chairs, then walked past Nita to shut the door behind her.

  Nathan and the others all sat.

  Ghedi steepled his fingers on the table. “We lost that outpost.”

  Frank paled. “We did?”

  “We were attacked with cannons and rifles, so many of them that we had no chance. The outpost was heavily undersupplied. They didn’t even have ammunition. I’ve been to many outposts with you, Frank, but I’ve never seen any of our outposts in such a state of disarray. They weren’t ready. When the attack came, it came hard. We had no choice but to run for our lives. Most of the soldiers were dead before we’d boarded the caravan.”

  Frank pursed his lips. “Will the enemy push deeper into the valley?”

  Ghedi snorted. “I just told you we lost an entire outpost, with all its soldiers, all the medical equipment and what meagre weapons they had there, and you don’t even blink.”

  “Of course I’m sorry for the loss, Ghedi.”

  “After what those soldiers told me, I’m not so sure you are.” The lines around Ghedi’s mouth deepened. “They said you never went to inspect their outpost, or the others in the area. That the physician had died months ago, and that they were no longer a part of the resi
stance. You were supposed to be different.”

  “I am different.”

  “So show me. Where is the compassionate young man I met four years ago? And who is this neglectful king who has taken his place?”

  Nic’s eyes narrowed, and he ran his tongue along his teeth.

  “Meanwhile, as your soldiers die of diseases like trench foot, Sanshouo’s people are warm and dry. They’re planning a coronation as we speak! And some of your men are going to defect as soon as Katsuro is emperor.”

  “You said that would never happen,” Frank said.

  “I did, but little did I know that Hisao would lose his purpose with the birth of his son’s third daughter!”

  Frank’s expression hardened, and fire flashed in his gaze. “You don’t call him anything but Sanshouo in my presence. Your friend Hisao is gone. You don’t serve him, Ghedi. He is the salamander, our enemy. Yours”—he pointed at Ghedi—“and mine.” He tapped his forefinger to his chest.

  Nathan struggled with a smile. So, Frank was losing control of his superior than everyone façade and letting his temper slip to a greater audience. Good. Let the people know what he really was.

  Ghedi stood and glared down at Frank. “If you cannot speak to me like a person, I’ll leave. Right now.”

  Frank blanched. “I’m, ah— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut, and exhaled. “Ah, my friend. You’re right, on all accounts. I didn’t visit that outpost, or any other in the area. I’ve been to the closer outposts, the ones accessible on horseback, but none of the others. I am king, and Intelligence wants to keep me close. You’re right, I have neglected some of my other soldiers. With your help, I’ll set it right. Only a true friend would speak so candidly.”

  Ghedi studied Frank for a while, then gave a nod. He returned to his seat. “You ask if they’ll push into the valley, and the answer is yes. Unless the trenches are extended, better stocked and kept. And we’ll have to retake that outpost, or they’ll fall, one after the other.”

  “We’ll discuss and plan counter measures in a minute.” Frank faced Nathan. “If you’re still willing, I’ll station you here. You can stay in Collinefort, in the same cottage. Would that work for you?”

  Nathan’s skin tingled. “Yes, your majesty.”

  “Please, just Frank.”

  Just Frank until you find another way to stab me in the back. Nathan inclined his head. He needed a shot of something. Just one. It didn’t even have to be a drug. He could buy a bottle of whiskey on his way to the cottage.

  “Now, Nita, did you have any success?” Frank asked.

  She raised both hands. “I’m sorry, my king, but I honestly can’t answer that. We’d been there less than a full day before we were attacked. Many of the patients we’d seen were caught in the crossfire, and all my equipment remained behind. I failed.”

  Frank’s jaw pulsed as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. He cleared his throat. “No harm done. It wasn’t your fault. You survived and can remake what was lost. I’ll set you up with new equipment, and you can resume your trials. Please just tell me the notes you took on the subject have survived?”

  “Some of them, majesty. Unfortunately, the tent had a leak, and my notebook was flooded by rainwater. Some of the notes are still legible, but I’ve lost the majority of my work.”

  Artful lies. How did she manage to look so sincere when not a single word was true? Ghedi didn’t flinch. If he knew the truth, it seemed he’d keep it. Maybe he knew, too, that Frank wouldn’t do good with a cure in his hands.

  “Then you’d best start on recovering your work immediately.” Frank sounded formal, his expression tight. “Will you help her, Nathaniel?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’d like to discuss matters with Ghedi, if you don’t mind. You must be exhausted from your journey.”

  Dismissed. Nathan stood, half-bowed, then followed Nita out of the castle.

  She stopped by the keep wall. “You go rest. I’ll see if I can find Pointy, then have someone come back for you.”

  “No,” Nathan said. “I’m going for a walk. I need some exercise and fresh air after so long in a caravan.”

  “I’ll find you.” Nita left.

  Nathan turned down one of the cobbled pathways that would lead him to the liquor vendor on the other side of Collinefort. Should he be doing this? Should he buy whiskey? Alcohol wasn’t as bad as narcotics, was it? Whiskey had always been his favourite.

  His mind argued the point. One part said no, the other said yes, but his body seemed to side with the yes part.

  He couldn’t stop.

  For once, the sun was out and relatively warm. Water drip-dripped from icicles hanging from awnings, drainpipes, lampposts, and branches. Dark stains ran down the sides of the cottages, and tiny rivers raced between the cobbles, leaving the world a glittering, wet mess. The earthy smell of melting snow was pleasant, however. Fresh.

  He rounded a corner between cottages and almost collided with someone. People crowded together, and shouts sounded from ahead.

  Nathan had seen the woman around the training grounds. One of the officers, Sauvageon. Her scar and strange accent made her unforgettable. The Dvaran man screaming insults at her spat as he shouted, and Sauvageon wiped saliva from her cheek.

  People crowded around them. They placed bets, laughed at the translations of what was said, and some gossiped. A pair of maids discussed some sort of excavation, but the only way forward was between them. They made rude noises as Nathan powered his way through.

  No matter how he tried, Nathan couldn’t get through the mass of bodies to the vendor. A sign that he shouldn’t go. A glass of whiskey in any other man’s hand wouldn’t do as much damage as it would in his. With a sigh, he turned back in the direction of the castle. Might as well go home and get some rest.

  He ended up on a path that led to a garden and another crowd. Had something happened in Collinefort to draw so many crowds of random people? But no, there were no shouts this time. Just a pair walking down the garden path.

  Nic still wore the same outfit he’d had on earlier in the council room.

  Cara was on his arm in a pink-and-floral dress, trimmed with lace, and a fur-lined coat of grey. Her back was turned to him, her hair twisted into a knot on top of her head.

  Nathan smiled. There she was, for the first time in weeks, within his sights.

  He followed them from the edge of the crowd, his route parallel with theirs, until the wall blocked his path.

  Nic and Cara turned.

  Her lips had been tinted pink, eyes rimmed in kohl. She was thin, expressionless, and hid a yawn behind a gloved hand.

  Nic spotted Nathan before Cara did, and his step must have faltered because she frowned up at him, then turned her gaze in the same direction as Nic was looking. To Nathan.

  Warmth radiated inside of him as her dazed expression lifted, and she flashed a small smile that faded so fast he’d have missed it, had he not been looking.

  Cara turned her face and continued on the path as though she hadn’t seen Nathan at all.

  Nic bent down and kissed her forehead, eyes narrowed at Nathan, then led Cara away.

  A pain shot through Nathan’s chest. She was being drugged, the ethirin destroyed her ability to reason. Yet, she didn’t look like an addict, and nobody knew better than he what an addict looked like. In fact, that moment of clarity when she’d glanced his way—

  Just like he’d known in his soul that she was no boy named Carl, he now knew she hadn’t been using the ethirin. She was pretending. Nathan almost laughed. She’d looked away, not to shun him, but to keep up her act. Pointy would have details, which meant Nita would have details once she found Pointy. Nathan rushed to his cottage to wait for her.

  ***

  Nathan paced the narrow area in front of his bed. The only furniture that fit in his cottage was the bed, a square table and a folding chair. A shelf fastened to one wall and a single cupboard ab
ove it served as his kitchen, and a built-in wardrobe filled the space between the kitchen sink and the door to the bathroom. The area had never seemed as small. What kept Nita?

  He should have fought his way to the liquor vendor and bought the damn whiskey. If he hurried, he could still make it before the shop closed. He’d just stood to put on his coat when the door opened and Nita entered, wide-eyed and pale.

  “I have good news and bad news.” She fell onto his bed and covered her face with both hands. “So, Cara’s not on ethirin. She’s pretending to be under the influence until we can find a way to get her the hell out of there.”

  Nathan laughed. Confirmation. “That’s the best news.”

  Nita spared him a small grin. “I agree. I’m so proud of her I could burst.”

  “What’s the bad news?”

  “While we were away, they found the bodies of those guys that attacked Pointy, and named him a murder suspect, set for execution.” She covered her face again. A tear glinted as it rolled into her hairline. “He was fine, still in hiding, but couldn’t stay away when he heard Cara was out and about, so he made a plan to meet with her. They managed to talk, but Nic saw Pointy, and people started looking for him. Marc says he reopened the cut in his struggle to get away. But instead of staying the hell put and waiting for me to come back, he went into the castle. On his own. Apparently, there’s an Intelligence passage to Cara’s room. She found it and told Pointy about it, and he went in to get her.”

  Pins prickled his skin. “All right.”

  She wiped her eyes and sniffed. “It gets worse. It’s a long story that I’ll tell in detail later, but Cara had a run-in with Celestine, who’s as vicious as ever.”

  “Ashes. Is Cara—”

  “Fine. She’s as good as she can be, considering, and is unhurt. For now. Anyway, Pointy knew the ‘for now’ part was pretty vital, so he went into the passages, as I said. Alone. This was two days ago, and he’s still not back.”

  Whatever joy Nathan had experienced at seeing Cara, knowing she wasn’t addicted, now evaporated. He shivered. “He was caught?”