“None but her twin,” Galen replied absently.
“Oh. Yes, of course, Lady Sacha must have been a beauty herself...”
Galen’s brow came down sharply and he turned to look at the minister. “What do you mean, ‘must have been’?”
The gaunt man’s eyes grew wide and he stammered, “I... I only... I’m not at liberty to say, My Lord.”
Few things had stricken fear into Galen’s heart since he had reached manhood. But the words spoken by the man before him doused him with a chill that all the hordes of Skelris had failed to inspire. Without thought, his hand was on Lord Graves’s shoulder once more. “Speak plainly, little man. I will not trifle with word games when my family’s wellbeing is in question.”
Banlor winced under the pressure of Galen’s grip. “I thought you knew,” he blurted. “I shouldn’t say, My Lord, but Princess Sloane...” He looked to the dance floor.
Galen frowned and followed the thin man’s gaze. His eyes fell upon Sloane, who was dancing with Captain Tigon, both smiling and laughing as if nothing were amiss.
“My Lord, please—”
“Your slip of the tongue is safe with me,” Galen interrupted. His blood turned cold as the chill that had gripped his heart traveled down his spine. He released the pleading man and stalked toward his sister, half dazed.
They didn’t notice his approach until he was practically on top of them. Sloane looked up, pleasantly surprised, but the look on his face must have been telling, for her smile faded quickly.
“I would have words with you,” Galen began, then turned to look at Bale. “Both.”
Prince Galen took his sister by the arm and escorted her, with Captain Tigon following in their wake, to a somewhat secluded alcove. The giant prince corralled the two and began speaking. They were too far away to be heard, but the prince’s aggressive posturing and the other’s rigid stances spoke volumes.
Banlor moved through the clusters of people toward the not-so-private confrontation like an eel through tall reeds. He noted Prince Alexander’s location as he moved closer to the trio. The Citadel’s royal son was currently engaged with several nobles on the opposite side of the hall. It would be good for the Basinian prince to witness the siblings’ argument, but it must be at the right time. Alexander’s smooth tongue might settle their squabbling before it bore fruit.
The minister stopped within listening distance of the three Pelosians but not so close that his presence would interrupt them or draw their attention.
Princess Sloane’s voice was strained as it drifted to Banlor’s ear. “... we were beset on our way here. It is still unclear who wanted to kidnap us, or why, but—”
“Us?!” Galen interrupted sharply. “What in the pit-cursed name of Mot do you mean by ‘us’?” His voice began to rise. “You’re telling me you both were targets?!”
“Yes, it would seem so. Galen, I—”
The Pelosian prince ground his teeth. “Did it not occur to you these people could be responsible for this?!” His meaty hand flung out toward the open room.
“Galen! Please. We have search parties out looking for her now. They are trying to help us—”
“They?! They nothing, Sloane. This is our sister we are talking about!” The giant’s thick finger jabbed at the princess. “It should be you out—”
“My Prince!” Bale interrupted and took a small step forward, raising his hands in a calming manner.
Galen’s massive arm moved so quickly, Banlor didn’t realize what had happened until he saw the captain stagger backward into the wall behind him. Bale slid to the ground with one hand covering the side of his face where the prince’s backhanded strike had landed.
“Silence!” the giant bellowed. “You... You let her be taken?!” He shouted at the prostrate captain, taking a step toward him. “And you are here? Dancing?!”
The music died in discordant whines and taps as exclamations of surprise rose from the crowd. Those closest to the trio ceased their conversations and began to pull away from the argument, creating a loose half circle.
Satisfaction warmed Banlor’s veins as the hulking brute exposed his true nature. He quickly looked across the room to Prince Alexander and found that the royal’s attention had been drawn to the commotion. Perfect.
“Galen! Stop!” The princess shouted, seizing an arm. “I ordered him to leave the search.”
Her brother turned, his sapphire eyes blazing. “Dammit, Sloane! She is our sister!”
“You think I don’t know that?!” The princess curled her hands into fists. “You Eos-damned fool. I miss her with every. Waking. Breath.”
Prince Galen straightened to his full menacing height.
Undaunted by her brother’s size or rage, Sloane stepped to stand between him and the still-dazed captain on the ground. “It was the only choice I had.” Her small hand hammered into Galen’s broad chest. “And father cannot know!” Tears of rage traced paths down her upturned face, but she showed no signs of fear or backing away. The giant prince’s own rage seemed to abate somewhat in the face of his sister’s.
Banlor had to hide his smile. He could feel his moment of opportunity drawing near. He glanced around at the growing crowd of spectators.
Shock and whispers raced through the banquet hall like wildfire. Only a chosen few had been privileged enough to know about Princess Sacha’s abduction, or even that she was supposed to have accompanied Prince Alexander’s new bride to Waterfall Citadel. The prince and his advisers had done a masterful job of keeping it quiet—until now.
Not that it matters, Banlor thought. He had already ordered that several anonymous letters concerning the whole ordeal be sent to Pelos and its barbarian king. Whether or not King Hathorn would be insulted enough to wage war remained to be seen, but that didn’t really matter either. His mistress’s plans had changed somewhat, making war between the two kingdoms neither a good thing nor bad. What will be will be.
Prince Alexander stepped from the crowd and moved closer to the pair, calling out, “Sloane! Prince Galen!” His voice was steady, with an air of calm and absolute confidence. “Perhaps we should take this discussion elsewhere.” He did not wait for their reply but turned to address the gathering. “Please, my friends. Continue to enjoy yourselves. Affairs of state never rest, it would seem.”
His tone still carried the authority, but it had undertones of good nature, and many chuckles went through the throng at the prince’s words. The minstrels, sensing that the moment of tension had passed, struck up a lively tune. Prince Galen stormed off in the direction of Alexander’s open-handed gesture and was followed quickly by his sister. Prince Alexander and several other buffoons loyal to the sickly king fell into step behind them.
Banlor moved quickly. He banished the servant who had appeared to attend to the still-dazed captain, who remained prone against the wall.
A moistened white cloth had been provided to the captain, and bright red blood was slowly soaking into the fibers as he cradled it against his cheek and jaw. His hazel eyes, though a little unfocused, followed the retreating backs of the company. Lines of anger etched deep paths into the unobscured portions of the man’s leathery skin.
“Might I have a word, Captain?” Banlor asked.
Bale turned his head toward Banlor. Angry purple bruising already showed behind the edges of the cloth. Bale gave no reply, only pushed his way to his feet. His action was more steady than Banlor expected.
Moving closer, Banlor said in a low voice, “I believe I am going to be receiving information that can help you.”
Confused lines replaced the deep furrows of anger in the Pelosian warrior’s brow. “In what way?”
“You are not the only one who has been searching for the missing princess.” Banlor looked around to ensure no one listened in on their conversation. “I will be meeting with some important people in a few days from now. It would be good if you were there.”
Bale’s hand shot out and grabbed hold of Banlor’s finely embroid
ered coat. All uncertainty and confusion was washed away from the soldier’s expression. “When is this meeting?” he demanded. “Why have you not spoken of this sooner?”
“Discretion,” Banlor hissed. Looking down at the hand gripping him, he swiveled his head again in search of eavesdroppers.
The captain maintained his steely hold, not speaking.
Banlor continued, “Your own suspicions would reveal my reasons for secrecy—I believe Princess Sacha’s abduction to be of Basinian design.”
Bale narrowed his eyes and released the minister. “I should inform my prince.”
Banlor’s eyes widened. “I come to you in confidence and this is your answer.” He shook his head. “I thought you of smarter stock. Stronger of will, even.”
A low growl rumbled from Bale’s chest.
“I am risking my standing, my life, approaching you like this.” Banlor pointed to the ground for emphasis. “The people I am meeting with may have attained the names of those responsible, and I’m willing to give them to you, but to do so, I must have prudence exercised on your part.”
The captain blinked and looked toward the doors his prince had used to make his leave.
“Do you not want some form of redemption?” Banlor pressed.
“Why would you do this for me?”
Banlor smiled and spread his hands. “You have been dealt a poor hand. I would see you regain your status, and of course, it is always good to have friends...Wouldn’t you agree?”
The large man frowned in thought for a moment, then looked back at Banlor. “When?”
“You knew he would find out eventually. There was no avoiding it,” Alexander’s tone was soft, matching the slight breeze that blew past the high terrace of the royal chambers.
“Yes, but not like that. Not in front of everyone.” Sloane leaned against the stone balustrade and looked out over the clay rooftops of the city, where candlelit windows glowed in the cloudless night. “I should have taken him aside and told him, immediately after his arrival.”
“How could you have known he would react the way he did?”
“Oh, I knew.” She shook her head. “He is my brother, after all. I just... I just wanted to forget for awhile. Get away from the pain.”
She felt Alexander’s warm hands caress her shoulders, softly at first, then with more firmness, rubbing the tension from her knotted muscles. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he whispered. “This is our night, remember?” Slowly, he turned her around to face him.
Her skin tingled from his touch and her heart began to race. He was beautiful, standing before her, naked in the moonlight. She leaned forward and kissed him fiercely, her bare skin pressing against his.
Alexander leaned over and scooped one arm below her knees to lift her from the ground and cradle her close. His voice was thick with desire as he spoke. “This is our night.”
Sloane didn’t notice the slight shift of a shadow on the opposite wall as Alexander walked to their bed, nor could she see the soft glow of Vinnicus’s eyes as he watched her through the night.
KESH looked down at the softly glowing street lanterns of his island home. The clusters of light milled about and snatches of voices lifted in song on the night breeze. The wedding had taken place, it would seem. He envied the revelers below and thought of his weeks of traveling like a Wildman. So near, but still—
His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp stick Jagger had taken to prodding him with in the past few days. Disdaining a blade, the detestable thief had starting poking the chancellor with the branch he had drawn from the bracken along the path they travelled. The flexible branch bowed under the pressure of the larger man as he pushed it into Kesh’s ribs, digging the point through the fabric into the flesh below.
“Far too late to hesitate, my piglet,” said the dreadfully familiar voice.
Kesh didn’t need to see the scarred, sneering face. Since the disaster at the old ruin, he had seen it in too many waking moments along this nightmarish trek. The vilification of his dignity was also well-worn ground that Jagger had yet to tire of. Ever since watching Kesh crawl from the pigsty, the villain had rarely stooped to use Kesh’s actual name.
Jagger had spent many hours of their journey forcing him to walk. The rogue seemed to take pleasure in Kesh’s discomfort and used whatever means at his disposal to see it done. He would claim ridiculous excuses, such as “The horses look tired.” Kesh had nonetheless been forced to play along, lest he push the thief too far and find himself being left to feed the crows.
Kesh exhaled sharply and clutched at his side as if the stick had actually penetrated his flesh. “Why must you persist in this, Jagger?” he whined softly. “You know I only have the best intentions for both of us. Your victory and renegotiation is my path to success from the dog’s dinner of this trip.”
“What I know,” said Jagger, lightly tapping Kesh on the shoulder with his switch, then prodding it painfully into his chest, “is that you are a lying, sniveling, highborn pig of a man at the end of his rope, and you are hoping I will drop my guard enough for you to not only save your own pathetic neck, but also somehow cheat me of my due compensation.” The thief’s chest swelled as he took a deep breath.
Kesh raised both hands before him in an arresting motion. “No!” he said. “No, I truly wish to see you compensated for your losses. My new employer will be most pleased to have a man with your reputation and skill join us.”
Jagger crossed his arms and raised the brow over his unmarred eye.
The doubt was written large on the man’s face, so Kesh threw more bait to sweeten the pot. “Consider... I am not highborn, and yet I didn’t balk at the fees you demanded, because I can assure you that pittance only represents the smallest portion of my benefactor’s wealth and power.” Kesh held his breath as the scarred face showed little emotion while digesting this latest plea. Kesh had been born to a noble house, albeit a minor one. It was unlikely Jagger could possibly know of his true roots and was only operating on an assumption. The money Kesh had given the thief to secure his services had, of course, come from Banlor. The sight of such bounty had nearly made Kesh’s eyes pop.
Jagger simply grunted in response, but Kesh thought he could see interest, and perhaps hope, behind the avarice that always colored the man’s face.
Pushing gently, he continued. “A man of your reputation will of course have some difficulty coming openly into the city, even with the celebration. Send me with one of your men to ensure my loyalty, and we will see a carriage sent for you this very night, so this business can be concluded.”
Suspicion flared in Jagger’s eyes and he narrowed them to glare at Kesh. “I think not. I would see this new master of yours for myself.” He flicked the switch at his dull-looking cronies. “Besides, my men and I love a good party. It looks as if they could use some real men to spice it up down there.” In spite of his light-hearted tone, Jagger’s expression remained stony.
Mitchum, however, gave a horrid grin, with his blackened and twisted teeth, in response to his leader’s jest. The rest of Jagger’s motley crew laughed uproariously.
Kesh had suspected the scarred brigand would not let him out of his sight. Still, he had to try and persuade him otherwise. Jagger’s presence would definitely make his plan to escape more difficult, but not impossible.
When the laughter died, Jagger fingered his scar contemplatively with one hand and considered the nobleman. “You may make some sense though, Sir Swine.” He cast his eye over the ragged lot of survivors of that horrible night at Ordair’s Keep. “It might be that even your oiled tongue cannot talk all of us into the city.”
Jagger lifted his switch and pointed at another of his men, who had lost an arm at the elbow. Mitchum had used a red-hot pan to cauterize the stump in a fine example of brutally efficient field surgery mere hours after the monster had torn through the fort. Kesh had personally believed the maimed man to be a casualty who had not yet realized his own mortality, but against all odds, h
is color had returned and the infection that was all too frequent after amputations had not set in. “Jona, take this sorry lot to the knoll on the south side of the Citadel and set a camp there. Mitchum, Harten, Dale, Crester, and I”—Jagger gestured at each man in turn—-“will see Sir Piggy to his new master and meet you tomorrow with fresh supplies.”
Pointing with the stick to the bridges to the Citadel, he said, “Time to trot, my piggy.”
Entering the Citadel was much easier than Kesh had envisioned. The bridge guards recognized him immediately and not only allowed him through, but offered him and his companions fresh water. Kesh managed to retain enough of his usual poise that it was a simple matter to divert their questions about his absence and convince them to treat his return to the city with the utmost discretion.
Jagger, to his credit, managed to withhold his laughter at the guards and their credulity until they had passed well beyond the gate and into the city itself. “I’ll be damned, boys.” he guffawed. “Our piglet has been blessed with a silver tongue as well as a padded pen.” Mitchum and Harten chuckled at their leader’s gibe, though Kesh felt the two men probably lacked the wit to see the whole joke Jagger was making. The final two members of their party did not laugh, but they smiled at Kesh’s discomfort and rode along with eyes alert.
He put the chortling brigands from his mind as he made his way through the city. The hour was late enough that they should have passed few people on the torchlit streets, but most every thoroughfare was still packed with milling patrons singing out in celebration.
Unlike the guards who had allowed them through the gates, none of the passersby seemed inclined to look at or interrupt the half-dozen men. Those few who looked up long enough for Kesh to see their faces quickly returned their gaze to the merriment about them.
Searching the crowds, Kesh spotted the occasional night soil cart rumbling through the knots of revelers, wafting its noxious odors along the lanes as it made the rounds, cleansing the city. The revelers parted readily for the carts, but closed once again to continue their celebration.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 38
