The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions
Page 35
“I’m not sure,” Cassandra said. “The nurse didn’t say.”
“I think he needs burping,” said Orrana, picking Cullen up. She positioned his head on her shoulder and gently rubbed his lower back. “He needs someone who has the time for him.”
“There’s a woman on Boreac’s house staff, Olive,” Cassandra said. “Perhaps when this is all cleared up you could bring her on to look after Cullen. If she is cleared of any wrongdoing, that is.”
“Why her?” Orrana asked.
“Because she is his aunt,” Cassandra said. “His mother’s sister.” Orrana blinked rapidly, then nodded her head in agreement.
“You should go,” Orrana said. As Cassandra left and passed by Thane, who had his forehead pressed in boredom against the wall, she heard Orrana call out after her, “Be careful.”
Cassandra returned to her room and found some suitable clothing. No dress or gown, she wanted to be able to move, just in case. What she really wanted was to take a sword, but that wouldn’t do. Cassandra was playing princess today. Yet Kymethra didn’t have such restrictions and she could play a Hinterland huntress, perhaps a contact of Orrana’s sent for Cassandra’s protection. She decided on black dress leggings – the sort that huntress captains might wear to formal occasions – combined with a decorative green silk shirt with frilly sleeves. Once dressed, she rolled up the sleeves to free her hands and strapped on her sword. She would pass it to Kymethra when she found her. Pleased with her attire, Cassandra grabbed the bundle of letters and set off to find the witch.
Her first stop was Brackendon’s room and she found the door was already ajar.
“Hush, Brackendon,” came Kymethra’s voice. She sounded exhausted.
Through the open doorway, Cassandra saw Brackendon sitting upright in bed with Kymethra perched beside him. Brackendon’s bedrobe was torn in places and there were scratch marks on his arms and neck.
“Gghhnghhm,” Brackendon mumbled. His head suddenly swayed into Kymethra’s chest where he sobbed and whined.
“Shhhh, shhh,” Kymethra said, barely holding back tears.
“End the magic,” Brackendon managed to say. “End the magic, end the—” but he broke down again in incoherent babbling.
“It will be okay,” Kymethra said. She placed three fingers carefully just above Brackendon’s ear, all the while reassuring him, “It will be okay. You’ll be okay.” On her last words, her soothing seemed to take effect. Brackendon ceased muttering and his eyes glazed over. Kymethra resettled him back down and he fell asleep. That Kymethra only allowed herself one lone tear was perhaps the bravest thing Cassandra had ever seen.
Cassandra felt like a terrible intruder, walking in on the worst form of intimacy. She thought about turning and walking away but Kymethra saw her then.
“Oh, it’s you,” Kymethra said. “Orrana set everything up then?” Her right arm was shaking as she pointed to the letters and a few more strands of her hair had turned white.
“She has,” Cassandra said, suddenly unsure about this. “You don’t have to come if—”
“I’m bloody coming,” Kymethra said with a sniff and a great shake of her head.
“All right,” Cassandra said. “If you put on the Hinterland leathers we can pretend you are the extra protection Orrana has given me, seeing as the Chevaliers are spread so thin.”
“Bit of a lame excuse,” Kymethra muttered. She started rooting around in some drawers, yanking out pieces of blue leather flecked with pale green.
“I need you to put this on as well,” Cassandra said, tapping her sword.
“Why? I can’t use it.”
“A huntress would have a sword,” Cass said softly.
Kymethra nodded, taking the weapon from her. The buckle caused Kymethra’s shaking fingers some trouble. She started getting angry again, pulling on the leather strap until it tightened like a corset. Cassandra dove to loosen it and fix the buckle in place as Kymethra wheezed above her.
“I can’t imagine what you are suffering through,” Cassandra said. “And I know you want to help me catch those involved, but you’ll hardly help if you’re only half-alive.”
“I’m fine. Some cold water and fresh bread from the kitchens will set me straight. Let’s just go.”
After successfully negotiating the winding old streets of Brevia, the Master Station was a bit underwhelming. None of Cassandra’s books had ever described the place and she thought she now understood why. Plain and unadorned, the station took up an entire block near the tanneries, which were now part of the larger Trade District. Though simple, there was something stoic about it. Despite the centuries, the station had refused to change.
There was one huntress stationed at the door, looking bored. She questioned them, but was settled by Orrana’s royal seal on the letters and the glaring look that Kymethra gave her.
“Captain Horath is out today,” the huntress said, her eyes nervously flicking back to Kymethra. “He’s giving a speech along with the Hero of the Bastion, trying to beef up our numbers too.”
“That’s no matter,” Cassandra said, relieved she would not have to deal with the captain. “I only need to deliver these invitations.”
“Far be it from me to stop you, milady.”
Cassandra smiled pleasantly and she and Kymethra walked inside. Even compared to the dim-witted guards outside of Boreac’s mansion that had been child’s play. Playing the princess certainly has some perks.
The station’s interior was not as demure. It was decorated with the most impressive kills the hunters had ever made; enormous stuffed dire wolves, great stags with antlers over four feet long and even a silver-furred bear the size of a carriage. Kymethra didn’t seem to be paying attention and occasionally passed Cassandra when she paused before a display. Yet Cassandra couldn’t help but admire them, even if it was sad to know that such creatures had been hunted from the world, whether for glory or safety. These animals were likely to be extinct now, never to return to Tenalp. The final display was a collection of thick gold plated armour of varying designs. One suit looked eerily like Blaine’s own. A little plaque beneath it read:
The armour of the murderous Norbanus. Gifted to the hunters after the Battle of the Bogs by Dronithir, Humanity’s Greatest Friend.
The actual armour of the Guardian Norbanus himself? Why isn’t this well known? Perhaps it had something to do with the undiplomatic wording on the inscription. The hunters honoured their tradition well. Dragons were their greatest kills, and not all the displays were of extinct species after all.
Not for now, at least.
“Are you coming?” Kymethra asked.
“Yes, sorry,” Cassandra said, striding to catch up.
Room after room, fake pleasantries and seemingly endless amounts of small talk were endured before they finally found the office they were looking for. Cassandra knocked lightly at the open doorway.
“Ralph Foulis?”
“That would be me,” the man said without looking up from his papers. “You can tell Horath the transfer candidates still aren’t drawn up yet.”
“I am not a huntress,” Cassandra said. Foulis glanced up then and a look of confusion creased his forehead. At a glance, he was not much older than Cassandra, yet his skin was milkier than most hunters, showing he’d probably sat behind that desk for many years. “I have something for you.” She entered the office and dropped the letter on top of the documents he was scribbling at.
“The royal seal?” Foulis said, suddenly nervous. “Who are you? Why would Arkus be corresponding with me?”
“That’s the Queen’s seal,” Cassandra said. “The King knows nothing about this.”
“Does he not?” Foulis said, mincing words as though he’d never spoke under pressure before.
“The King seems to be on your mind,” Cassandra said. “Any reason? I could inform the Queen herself if it is important.”
She’d give him a chance. He looked nervous enough to burst without much pressure.
“Because I spent twenty years as Castallan’s hostage at the Bastion.” Telling half a truth was easier than a full lie and now she’d dropped another name to make him squirm.
Foulis fidgeted with the letter. “Most unfortunate. Glad that horrible business is all over.”
“Is it?” Cassandra asked. “Lord Annandale is to stand trial in the Assembly and Lord Boreac has disappeared. Many seem to think that points to him being involved.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about all that,” Foulis said, without even having the sense to look at her directly. Either that or he found the doorframe very alluring.
“Kymethra,” Cassandra said, without taking her own gaze from Foulis. “We’ll need some privacy, I think. Go shut the door.”
“Hmmph,” Kymethra grunted from behind.
Foulis looked alarmed.
And it all happened at once. As Kymethra closed the door with a firm click from the lock, Foulis’ chair screeched out from under him. He jumped to his feet, his slight gut already stretching his uniform, and tried to dart around the side of his desk. A slight limp slowed him, but he had one hand on the sword at his belt. Now half-drawn. Steel visible.
Cassandra lunged across Kymethra’s waist and ripped the sword there free. She blocked Foulis with a great clang of metal. He stumbled backwards and she buried an elbow into his soft flab. With both arms he clutched at his stomach, groaning, and exposing himself. She jabbed the pommel against his wrist and he dropped his weapon.
“Impressive,” Kymethra said, stepping up beside her. She was looking down on Foulis with the contemplation she might have given a juicy rabbit in her eagle form.
“He clearly isn’t good at this,” Cassandra said.
“I won’t talk,” Foulis said, trying to crawl back to his desk. “My family needs me – the money. I won’t—”
Kymethra swooped down upon the man. “Are you in pain?”
“I’m always in pain,” he snorted. “My leg. Tendons ripped. Never healed fully. S’why I’m stuck in here.”
“That must be a terrible burden,” Kymethra said, in a strangely tender voice. “To have to live the rest of your life like that. In pain. Sat there. It’s almost understandable, the things you’ve done. The people you’ve hurt. The lives you’ve ruined…” She was on her knees beside him. Something about the glint in her eye made Cassandra uneasy.
“Kymethra…”
“Well, what could I do?” Foulis said. “I won’t rise in rank stuck here, and my House needs support. The King’s policies don’t allow payments to noblemen injured, even when we’re flat broke. There are whoresons wounded in the last war getting compensation. But do I? No. Wrecked on my first night of duty in a tavern brawl. The injustice!”
“Oh, so unjust,” Kymethra said. She pushed back a bit of his hair, just above the ear. She placed three fingers there.
“Kymethra,” Cassandra said, more pressing.
“Do you know where Lord Boreac fled to?” Kymethra asked.
Foulis shook his sweating head.
“No?” Kymethra said. “But we found a scrap of a letter you sent him. It was you, right?” Foulis didn’t deny it. “Did Boreac come to see you, as you asked him?”
“He did, but I don’t know where he went.”
“You don’t know or you won’t tell us?” Kymethra asked.
“I can’t tell you. If I talk I won’t get the gold to help—”
“Let me help you remember,” Kymethra spat. Her fingers seemed to vibrate and Foulis froze, his face suddenly struck with horror.
“No,” Cassandra cried. Bringing Kymethra had been a mistake. She was too upset, too unstable.
Foulis’ mouth opened in a silent scream. His eyes rolled up, showing only white, and he began to tremble upon the floor. Kymethra grimaced as she worked her magic, looking as if the pain from the poison was as great as the pleasure she was receiving from hurting a man who was involved in Brackendon’s terrible fate.
Cassandra didn’t know what to do, but instinct pushed her to Kymethra’s shoulder and she grabbed her, trying to yank her free from Foulis. That was a mistake.
Pain flared throughout Cassandra’s body and she fell backwards, colliding with a set of shelves. Paper and scrolls descended on top of her as her vision turned to a revolving blur.
Memories flashed before her. She was nine years old and stuck in one of the Bastion’s tunnels with no light or warmth. Trapped. “Chelos,” she sobbed. “Chelos, where are you?” She was even younger now, seven and lying on her bed. She was reading stories about children who wanted to run away from home and go on adventures. She didn’t understand why they’d want to leave. Everything swirled again, and there was a hand on her shoulder, a scream – and blood was pouring from his chest.
Thud.
Her eyes snapped open. Her head rang in pain. A heavy book lay in front of her; its spine still touched the edge of her nose. With a splitting head, Cassandra got unsteadily to her feet.
Foulis was still writhing and strange foamy saliva trailed from the edge of his mouth. Kymethra’s arm shook, yet she held it determinedly in place.
Cassandra looked for her fallen sword and picked it up.
“Kymethra, stop.” Kymethra did not. “Stop it now or I swear I’ll cut your hand off.”
When Kymethra didn’t respond, Cassandra raised her sword —
Brought it down —
But she couldn’t follow through. What was I thinking? She held the cold edge just above Kymethra’s wrist, then kicked the witch with all her might.
Kymethra spun away, clipping her head off the desk corner and Foulis regained himself. His eyes were a web of bloodshot lines. All three of them were gasping for air.
“Right,” Cassandra panted, feeling winded. “Now we all have thundering headaches; can we go about this more civilly? Foulis. Tell us all you know.”
“Why should I?” Foulis moaned. “After that? If this is what Arkus resorts to then what’s stopping you from killing me after.”
“Arkus doesn’t know we’re here,” Cassandra said.
“Even more reason I am disposable then.”
Cassandra glanced at Kymethra who looked thoroughly dazed. A trickle of blood ran down from her temple. Don’t make me regret this, Kymethra. She tossed her sword well out of reach then raised her empty hands in peace to Foulis.
“All Arkus cares about is Boreac.” Foulis still looked unsure. Cassandra slowly crouched down in front of him and he flinched.
What horrors did she make you relive?
“I know a bit about your House,” Cassandra said. “I know you once had your time in the sun, that the name Foulis briefly meant something. But that was taken away, wasn’t it?”
“What do you know of it?”
“I know an ancestor of yours almost singlehandedly held Brevia from the Islanders when they sacked the city. John Foulis. Just a young man like you; a second son of a third son. A lowly gatekeeper on the city walls. But he rallied his men and barred the doors, and held strong. And when the lords from the Crownlands marched to relieve the city, the gates were open for them.”
Foulis nodded along.
“When the White Arch of Brevia was built its sea defences were entrusted to your family, the defenders of the city. But slowly your House declined once more. Little is written, but I can guess what happened.”
“Can you?”
“I don’t know if your House was ever rich, but it wasn’t when such an important duty was placed upon its shoulders. My guess is that you couldn’t maintain the costs of the Arch: its upkeep, the soldiers, the staff. Loans might have been taken, but you couldn’t pay them back. You couldn’t even lean on patriotism once the Islanders had joined the Assembly and there was no need to defend against the sea anymore. So, while other families’ rose, yours fell and I doubt anyone cared.
“Maybe Boreac said he cared. Maybe Castall
an promised you wealth and power again. Don’t you see why they came to you? Why they used you? They played you for their own ends. And now they’ve met theirs. Castallan is dead. Boreac is on the run. There’s nothing to be gained anymore.”
“I need the gold,” Foulis groaned. “It’s not just for me. My older brothers died in the last war. My parents have worked themselves half to death to keep the estate running. They’re good to their tenants, which is far more than I can say for most of the Crown Land families. I was their last hope but I’m injured, stuck behind this desk. I’ll never be a Captain or rise to anything like this. My sister Ruth is a sweet girl, but homely. She won’t marry high in the world. We’re done.”
Crumpled up, Kymethra finally let loose a groan of her own. Foulis and Cassandra ignored her.
“Boreac promised he’d send word of where he’d stashed some coin for me,” Foulis said. “Once he was safe.”
“Did he want you to help hide him?” Cassandra asked.
“No. He just wanted some documents I’d kept – letters and such. Secret orders. I thought he would be mad to hear I hadn’t burned them, but he was pleased.”
“What letters?” Cassandra asked. “What orders?”
Foulis lowered his head. “Look, I’m not talking. My folks need this. I never thought this much bloodshed would happen. Still, it’s happened now, and I’ve made peace with it. So, do your worst.”
Cassandra sighed, exasperated. Her knees were beginning to hurt so she sat down crossed legged before Foulis. It was admirable of him, in a way, to risk everything for his parents and sister.
“You must love your family very much,” Cassandra said.
“I’d do anything for them,” Foulis said. “Wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t have one,” is what Cassandra was about to say. Yet, even as she formed the words in her mind, she knew it wasn’t strictly true anymore. Chelos might have been taken from her but she thought of Orrana, and how wonderful and welcoming she had been. She thought of sweet young Thane and even Cullen. Strange as it was to admit, she’d do anything for her nephew. Castallan, Boreac and the rest would probably have killed him if they’d won. That was enough to set a fire in her.