Kesh’s mind crept back from the edge, sniffing the possibility of a future. He couldn’t be more convincing if he were dead. He dared not move for fear of extinguishing the spark of light that promised survival.
“As for Jagger, well...” Banlor paused but did not turn. “I suppose you wouldn’t know it, but I was instrumental in Jagger’s escape from a most certain death. His false plummet from the Cliffs of Judgment was my design.” A satisfied smile made its way onto his mentor’s face. “You see, I am more familiar with your ‘contact’ than you ever could be. Admittedly, the man is fully capable of the things you described, but he is certainly not foolish enough to cross me... unless sorely tempted.”
Kesh’s eyes bulged at hearing the words. Had Jagger already spoken with his master? Would the rogue still be hunting for him? Had Jagger really been tempted by Kesh’s offer?
Banlor turned to look at him, his face again a mask of calm. “As it happens, things have changed and it is no longer necessary for the two Pelosian whores to die.” He started climbing the steps to the exit above, each board creaking under his richly adorned feet. Without taking eyes from his objective, Banlor continued, “While your failure is a worthy cause to end your pathetic existence, I find I do have some use for you after all. Upon your return to Waterfall Citadel—formally, that is—you will spin your little tale to the courts, the prince, and his new barbarian bride. Be convincing, my pupil. Your life depends on it.”
Kesh attempted to give thanks, but it came out as a pained sob.
Banlor finally reached the top of the stairs and placed his hand on the doorknob. He hesitated before leaving. “Of course, you must be punished before forgiveness can be granted.” The older man chuckled as he opened the door. “I do not envy you, my pupil.”
Walina crawled closer to Kesh’s naked form. She hissed again, her head jerking with short, quick movements.
The door closed behind the old minister of trade just as Kesh began to scream.
Sloane sat beside Alexander and Queen Rhian, shaking her head in total disbelief. What she was hearing could not be true.
Today was one of her first days to join her new husband in formal court. The nobility of Basinia came here to see, be seen, and to beg the king’s—or in these past months—Alexander’s favor. She understood that most of the requests were handled in the intricate Basinian system of courts led by Banlor Graves. It was only when their formal complaints had not found resolution that they were allowed to petition the king. Other unique situations were also occasionally brought to this hall. Unique was one word she might choose to describe what she had just heard.
Early this morning, a ragged man had appeared at the northern bridge, claiming to have information about Sacha and the events that had lead to her continued absence. The abduction that had been so gracelessly revealed by her brother during the wedding was no longer a secret to be coveted. A formal court had been hastily assembled to hear the tale, rather than allow rumor to grow.
That selfsame man had just finished his story and though the voice was undoubtedly the same, she had trouble believing it could actually be Chancellor Kesh Tomelen.
Many changes in his appearance had occurred since Sloane had seen him last. His clothes, once noble and grand, were torn and muddied almost beyond belief, and bloodstains decorated the ruined cloth in large, irregular patches. His face and body were covered in cuts and bruises. The discolored spots on his flesh varied widely, hinting at prolonged exposure to the elements or perhaps dangerous encounters along the road. The man truly looked wretched.
Despite the obvious and tortuous path the chancellor had traveled, Sloane simply could not believe what she was hearing about Erik and Kinsey. “This cannot be the truth of it, sir. I believe I know these men. They would not—could not—do this thing.”
“I would be the first to agree with you, My Princess, had I not seen the events unfold before my own eyes,” Kesh croaked.
Sloane looked over at Rouke, who stood off to the side with several other men-at-arms. He was glaring so intently at the kneeling man, she thought he might be trying to burn holes in the chancellor with his eyes.
“Bring this man some water,” Prince Alexander announced. “Stand, chancellor, you are not on trial here.”
Kesh shambled to his feet with the assistance of a nearby guardsman. He swayed slightly but was able to compose himself. A page scurried forward with a goblet of water, and the chancellor took it with the most profound look of gratitude Sloane had ever thought to see on his proud face.
“You say Princess Sacha is held captive by Erik and Kinsey Aveon. You are certain she still lives?” Queen Rhian sat forward on her throne as she spoke. The elegantly carved chair was made entirely of winewood, and the wood glowed with a bright shine. Precious metals had been worked into the throne’s back, which towered nine feet above the lushly padded seat. Images of elves and men had been etched into the gold and silver plates along the mighty chair’s surface. The queen looked to have the proportions of a child in the massive seat of power.
Kesh nodded and replied with a hint of sadness, “Yes, My Queen, I am certain.”
The queen shook her head and settled back once more, thoughtful. “Well, at least there is some good news. The circumstances of your story, though, are hard to believe.” She turned to Lord Graves, who sat a step lower on her left side. “Minister, you have some experience with these two... men. What is your opinion?”
The older man had been inspecting the chancellor’s haggard form, apparently deep in thought. He blinked suddenly and addressed the queen. “It is no secret that the pair in question and I have no love for each other. My opinion may be perceived as having bias, My Queen.”
The queen tsked. “I would hear your thoughts regardless.”
The minister cleared his throat. “Master Kinsey has always been a volatile man. I’ve always attributed this unpleasant trait to the dwarven part of his heritage. His tendency to act out, however, has become more prevalent this past year, as I can personally attest to. After hearing the chancellor’s statements, I begin to wonder why. Perhaps it was caused by the apprehension he felt, knowing of the coming tasks he was expected to perform in the abduction.” He raised his hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully as he spoke, then spread his fingers before his face in a rapid motion as if casting away the thought. “Or perhaps the two events are just coincidental. It is hard to say without speaking to the man himself.”
The queen nodded. “And the other man? Erik?”
Minister Graves sighed. “Erik Aveon has been a trusted scout and has given loyal service to Basinia for more years than any in this room, or our fathers and grandfathers, for that matter. His betrayal, if true, is most puzzling.”
Many in the room nodded in agreement with the minister’s words.
“But he is an elf,” Banlor continued before conversations could begin. His thick brows knitted above his deep-set eyes in thought. “Their tactics are far different from our own. Their lifespans would allow for such long-term plans to come to fruition. Erik’s continued existence amongst those who are so unlike himself has always been a mystery. Perhaps the elves as a whole are more involved with this incident than we might want to believe or even suspect.”
“I find that hard to believe, Minister,” Alexander replied. His usually smooth features wore a mask of seriousness. “We have been on relatively good terms with the elves for many years, and the possibility of even better terms are just on the horizon. Let us not cast aspersions upon an entire people for the unverified actions of one man.”
The old minister bowed his head. “As you say, My Prince. My thoughts are only speculations, an attempt to explain the actions as we’ve heard them described, and at the request of your most gracious mother.”
“Well spoken, Minister,” said the queen. “Your insight may prove most valuable in the near future.” She looked at her son to garner his attention. “Our dealings with the elves are truly a sensitive affair, but,” she said,
lifting a graceful finger, “no stone must be left unturned.”
“My Queen.” Minister Graves bowed his greying head a second time and leaned back into his chair, returning to his study of the chancellor. Alexander nodded slightly, accepting the queen’s wisdom, but the muscles of his jaw worked in silent protest.
Rouke stepped forward and took a knee near Kesh, facing the queen. His action sparked a murmur through the crowd. He said nothing. One of his low stature speaking out of turn at such an event could result in a visit to the dungeons or a flogging, depending on how discourteous the interruption. Given the murder in his eyes as he listened to Kesh’s recitation, Sloane was surprised at the man’s reserve.
“Rise and speak, guardsman…?” The queen let the invitation hang in the air as she gestured for him to rise.
“Tarr, Yer Majesty. Rouke Tarr, Yer Majesty,” Rouke said as he rose to his feet. “I’d like to speak in defense of Masters Erik and Kinsey, if I may.”
The queen nodded her assent.
“I known them goin’ on fifteen years now, and I have to say that what’s bein’ said about ’em here today is complete rubbish.” Rouke’s hand cut through the air with finality. “I’d put my life in either of their hands at the snap of a finger, Yer Grace. What’s bein’ said can’t be true, it just can’t be.”
Chancellor Tomelen turned to face Rouke. “It is well known that the biggest scoundrels are often the most congenial of men, Rouke.” Hints of his old self crept back into his speech, condescension coating the syllables like varnish. Kesh opened his arms and shook his head. “You have been duped, as have we all.”
Sloane wanted to believe Rouke, but the chancellor’s words were infectious, and this was the first news of any kind since that awful night in Riverwood. She didn’t really know either Kinsey or Erik, or what they were actually capable of. All she had to go on was the feeling that they were decent people.
Rouke’s face darkened and his eye twitched as he returned Kesh’s gaze. “You been after Kinsey since the start of this whole thing!” He jabbed his finger at the chancellor. “You been wantin’ him to fail. That’s why yer spinnin’ these tales about him and Erik!”
“It was Kinsey’s supposed incompetence that lead to the abduction in the first place!” Kesh replied just as hotly. “I went with them that night to make sure they didn’t bungle the rescue, only to find they had staged the entire affair, and I almost lost my life because of it!” Breathing heavily, Kesh turned back to the throne. “As much as it pains me to say, My Queen, I stand by my previous statement: Kinsey and Erik are traitors.”
Rouke took a step toward the chancellor, his hands balled into fists.
“Enough!” Prince Alexander shouted. “Rouke, you have said your peace. Now step back in line.”
Rouke’s face was livid, but he stopped in his tracks and once again turned to face the throne. He gave a stiff bow and a muttered, “Yes, Yer Majesty.” Then he returned to his place beside the other men-at-arms.
Even from Sloane’s place next to Alexander, the action of Rouke’s grinding jaw was obvious.
The queen and Prince Alexander leaned their heads together and began whispering. The throne room was deathly quiet, and not just because the usual crowd was absent. An ominous hush had settled on those few that were present.
Sloane fought to keep her hands from fidgeting. There was some truth to the chancellor’s words. The abduction had taken place under Master Kinsey’s watch, but had he set up the scenario intentionally? She still had trouble believing it. She had been so groggy from her injuries that she couldn’t remember most of the details of that night.
Queen Rhian stood, drawing all eyes and breaking Sloane’s worried thoughts.
“I have come to a decision. Given the gravity of the situation, I must, with regret, issue warrants for the arrests of Master Kinsey Aveon and Master Erik Aveon. They shall not be named traitors as of yet, but they must be detained for questioning concerning the attempted abduction of Princess Sloane Moridin and the abduction of Princess Sacha Moridin.”
The throne room remained silent. Most of the few nobles nodded as if this were the only conclusion to which the queen could have come. Several of the armsmen around Rouke looked grim, while Rouke himself wore an expression of outright fury, though he held his tongue. The men on either side of him laid their hands on his shoulders and bent close to whisper.
“Basinia is indebted to Chancellor Tomelen for his bravery and loyalty during this trying affair.” The queen’s steely gaze fell upon Kesh. “Go in peace, Chancellor, but do not leave the city until Erik and Kinsey Aveon have been brought before me to answer the allegations you have laid against them.”
Kesh bowed as deeply as he was able. “As you say, My Queen.”
Sloane was not surprised by the proclamation, only disappointed. Her husband and the queen were acting according to the best interests of the country they served and the available evidence, but she had hoped for a different conclusion. She had begun to consider the two men friends, but she also worried for her ability to rule. She would have trusted them as Rouke did—with her life. They had saved her, hadn’t they? Her memories from that night seemed a haze of confusion, but this did not seem right. As the court broke apart and the soldiers filed out to see their orders fulfilled, Sloane was left with more questions than ever before.
Kesh nearly skipped from the throne room, but the lingering pain from his encounter with Banlor’s wicked creature helped to keep his façade in place. Unbelievable as it might seem, they had bought the tale. It would only be a matter of time before Erik was dragged back in chains. The only threat to him remaining from this entire debacle would be that scarred madman, Jagger.
Thoughts of that sneering visage served to douse the last of the elation he felt. Suddenly, the chatting aristocrats and commoners, who had been such a welcome reprieve from the recent horrors, felt like a threat. Many faces were familiar to him from his years of work here in the halls of power, but all of them now seemed to eye him with calculated interest. Those faces he didn’t know all seemed to regard him with a level of attention that was untoward and suspicious. Did any of them work for Jagger? He knew the odious man would not hesitate to make good on his threats.
Kesh ducked his head low and fled from the shadow of Terrandal into the streets of Waterfall Citadel.
Hours passed as Kesh moved through the city, always walking, never pausing for more than a few moments to stare around suspiciously. Each time a person hailed him, his heart leapt, and he soon took to wandering alleys in search of safety. He thought numerous times of returning to Banlor’s home, but his mind reeled from the memory of solid-black eyes, and he would shudder violently each time.
He finally found himself standing in a sheltered alcove several hundred feet from the front door of his own home. Throngs of busy people passed back and forth in front of the stoop, which was set almost four feet above street level.
He had felt confident about returning here after his inevitable escape from Mitchum and Jagger’s other thugs, but only because there had been no time for Jagger to find his home, much less set a watch after Kesh’s betrayal. Now, his mind’s eye painted every strolling vendor, every obvious visitor from the lands surrounding the Citadel, and every person wearing the colors of the kingdom as a spy, watching his home and waiting for him to appear so word could be delivered to Jagger. I’m being ridiculous, Kesh finally thought to himself. This is my home. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped confidently into the flow of traffic.
He immediately leapt straight into the air, shrieking as a voice spoke in his ear.
“My Lord?”
Kesh’s feet hit the cobbles and he was halfway through a panicked swinging punch before he recognized Carlile, his manservant.
Carlile dropped his bundle with a shriek of his own, cowering before Kesh’s fist. The flowing crowd separated around the two men as they regarded each other with wide eyes over the bread and cabbage that Carlile had apparently been bring
ing back from the market street. For once today, Kesh didn’t give a second thought to those who passed with curious glances.
Kesh seized the older man by his collar. “You idiot!” He hissed into the nonplussed face. “I could have killed you! Don’t you know not to sneak around like that?” He shoved Carlile back and passed a trembling hand over his own brow as his servant bent to pick up the fallen produce.
“I am s-sorry, My Lord,” Carlile stammered as he gathered his fallen goods. “I had no idea you had returned to the Citadel.” He stood, brushing the dirt from his light brown pants with one hand while clutching at his bag with the other. “You have caught me most unawares as well. The maids have all been on leave during your absence. I’m afraid the home is quite unsuitable for you.”
“Never mind that,” Kesh snapped, once again becoming aware of passersby as his heart rate slowed. “Has anyone come here looking for me?” He seized the other man by the arm of his light green coat and began to stride purposefully to the door of his home, dragging the gabbling man with him.
“Looking, My Lord? For you?” Carlie said as he struggled to maintain his grip on the groceries and keep pace with Kesh. “No, My Lord. No one today, My Lord. Should I be expecting someone?” The servant’s face began to lose some of its consternation as he stepped into the familiar routine of serving.
“No!” Kesh almost yelled as he attempted to open the door and found it locked. He fought the urge to claw and beat at the door to be free from the street and the eyes of so many people he could not trust. Instead, he took a deep breath and continued, “I mean, no. No, I am not expecting anyone; I just know people will be wanting to check on me now that I have returned.”
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 41
