by CJ Archer
"I had no luck," the captain said.
Brant balanced his chair on its back legs, his toes just touching the floor. "You expect the guilty person to simply wave their hand in your face?"
"I didn't say my investigation was complete."
"So where will you go next?"
Hammer didn't answer.
"What was poison in?" Erik asked. "Food? Drink?"
"The maid said Lady Miranda ate and drank nothing after the main evening meal," I told them.
"There were no plates or glasses in her rooms when I went in," Hammer added.
"You wouldn't have been the first there."
"I wasn't. Hilda the maid was already with her, as were her parents. The maid sent a footman to fetch me so we can assume he was also in the room, albeit briefly."
"No one else?"
He shook his head. "It's possible the maid lied."
"I doubt it," I said. "She seems devoted to her mistress."
"She's a servant," Brant said. "Servants pretend to be devoted all the time. Don't we?" He swiped up his tankard and raised it in salute.
"Shut your mouth," Max muttered. "Your voice is irritating my ears."
"And your ugly face is grating on my nerves."
"I can't help it if you have delicate nerves."
"It's likely the poison was administered during dinner," Hammer said before the argument turned physical. "But no one else became ill, which means she was specifically targeted by the poisoner. That narrows down our suspects to those who had access to her and those with a reason to kill only her."
"Not the king." Quentin blew out a breath. "That's a relief."
"We must find out who sat either side of her at dinner," Max said.
"Brant, you and I will question the servants who were in the dining room before, during and after the meal," Hammer said to his other sergeant. "I want to know the movements of every single one of them."
Brant nodded.
"Do you know Lady Miranda, Josie?" Hammer asked. "Or her family?"
"Only by name," I said. "The Claypools had little reason to come to Mull before now. Hilda, the maid, suggested several of the higher families are jealous of Lady Miranda's rapid rise at court. She said the Claypools' new apartments are coveted by others who think they have more right to be there."
"It's not the apartments themselves," Hammer said. "It's what they symbolize—the king's regard. They all want it."
"They all want the riches he can bestow on them," Brant added.
"We've already searched the rooms of the women who are Lady Miranda's closest rivals," Quentin told me.
"I'm sure that went down well." At his raised brows, I added, "They think themselves above the law and not bound by the same rules as the rest of us."
"Perhaps under the old king, but not Leon," Hammer said. "My investigation has his support."
The front legs of Brant's chair returned to the floor with a thud. "Then allow us to use every method at our disposal to get to the truth. Questions will only result in lies unless we—"
"You'll do as I say, Brant. Is that understood?"
"But—"
"No."
Brant snatched up his tankard and, finding it empty, poured more ale from the jug.
Every method? I dared not think about it.
"You should ask the other nobles about the Claypools and Lady Miranda in particular," I said to Hammer. "Perhaps there's another reason why she was poisoned that has nothing to do with jealousy over the king's favor."
"Good idea," Max said. "Bringing all the Glancia nobles together under the one roof could have ignited long-festering rivalries."
"Land," Erik said, nodding. "We will speak with other tribes."
"Families," Brant corrected. "They don't seem to be called tribes here."
What an odd thing to say. I looked from one face to the other, but they were all serious, even Brant. None seemed to think it odd that King Leon didn't already know about the rivalries between the noble families of his own kingdom.
"The king ought to be aware of any land disputes," I said.
No one met my gaze. Not a single one.
"I know he didn't come from the noble set, and he hasn't been king long, but surely his advisors have informed him of all relevant grievances."
"His Majesty doesn't trust his advisors," Brant said. "They're all greedy and corrupt, according to him. Same with the dukes and other lords."
I couldn't quite fathom it. King Leon had inherited the throne a few short months ago, under unusual circumstances, just as Glancia faced its darkest hour. Its very existence had been under threat. The old king's only heir had died over twenty years ago, without children. Or so the world thought. Days before his own death, Old King Alain declared his grandson had been found. The thing was, no one knew there was a search for him, and many had initially suspected Leon tricked King Alain, until they heard the full story; the story that banished all doubts from the minds of Glancia's ministers and lords.
Leon's father, King Alain's son, had visited Freedland and fallen in love years ago. The couple had married in secret because the son was afraid it would make Alain angry if he knew he'd married a commoner—and a Freedlandian at that. It was true, of course. Not only would King Alain have been furious, but the nobles and ministers too, and the marriage would have been annulled. Leon claimed his father loved his mother and wouldn't wish to disown her, particularly after learning she was with child.
Sadly, King Alain's son died, and so Leon grew up in poverty, not knowing he was of royal Glancian blood. Alain's son, however, had written a document before his death, naming his wife and child. He'd entrusted the document to the High Priest in Tilting, instructing it to be read in the event of his death.
Unfortunately for Leon and his mother, that had not happened. The High Priest forgot about the document. It became lost among the High Temple's records for years until another priest stumbled upon it. Realizing the importance of the document at a time when King Alain lay dying, and the Vytill king was circling, Leon was found and acknowledged. King Alain was said to be delighted to foil the plans of his greedy distant cousin, King Philip of Vytill, who wanted to fold Glancia into Vytill, as well as put the Glancian nobles back in their place before any of them got ideas of taking the crown for themselves. With his succession secured, King Alain died only days after meeting his grandson for the first time.
Despite this legitimization by the old king himself, rumors still swirled through the cities, villages and farms. The tale of Leon's rise to power was so unlikely, so fantastic, that whispers of magic passed between friends and neighbors. The whispers increased when the palace was built in mere weeks without a single builder seen coming or going.
"Is that why King Leon won't listen to his ministers when it comes to taking a wife from one of the other kingdoms?" I asked. "Because he doesn't trust them and thinks they'll force him into a bad alliance for their own benefit?"
"That would be a reasonable assumption," Hammer said.
"Why wouldn't he take a wife from Glancia when he's the king of this country?" Quentin asked.
"Because it's in Glancia's best interests to make an alliance with one of its more important neighbors," Hammer told him. "Marriage alliances keep the peace between kingdoms. No king wants to wage war on his daughter, for example, or his grandchildren."
Quentin nodded, thoughtful. "So why doesn't Leon want to marry a foreign princess? Are there none?"
"King Philip of Vytill has a daughter of marriageable age," Hammer said.
"And the Dreen princess will be of age in another year," I added. "There's nothing stopping a formal betrothal taking place now with the wedding to be scheduled for after her eighteenth birthday."
"But are either of them pretty?" Brant asked.
"Faces," Erik said with a roll of his eyes. "Did we not say a pretty face matters not?"
"You said. Clearly the king thinks as I do. Glancia has the most beautiful women of all the peninsula."
"I talk to the visiting servants instead of avoiding them. I ask them questions."
"And what do you tell them in return?" Hammer asked darkly.
"Nothing," Brant mumbled. "I tell them nothing. I've got nothing to tell, have I?"
An oppressive silence filled the room, weighing me down as if it were a tangible thing. It wasn't so much the silence that worried me, it was the look in each man's eyes. Something made these strong men deeply, desperately sad, and it had to do with their pasts.
"Where are you all from?" I asked carefully.
Some of the guards appealed to their captain, others stared at the table or into their tankards. Hammer's jaw firmed. He scrubbed a hand over it and I thought he would speak, but he didn't. The silence deepened.
"We don't know," Brant finally said. "That's the whole fucking problem."
"Sergeant!" the captain snapped.
Brant slammed the tankard onto the table and shoved his chair back. It clattered onto the flagstones. He glared at his captain and Hammer glared right back.
After a moment, Brant picked up his chair and sat again. "You might as well tell her, Hammer. I asked her father and he'll—"
"You did what?" the captain exploded.
"You said you were going to ask but you didn't."
"I've been busy looking for the poisoner."
"What about yesterday?" Brant sneered. "Or the day before? Or the day before that? Ever since you, Quentin and Max met the doctor, you've told us you would ask him. But you haven't. You put it off and put it off and put it off." He stabbed his finger in Hammer's direction with each repeated accusation. "What kind of leader are you? You're too cowardly to ask an old doctor a simple question."
The other guards squared their shoulders at the accusation, and both Max and Erik looked as if they'd gladly smash a fist into Brant's mouth to shut him up.
But Hammer merely looked down at the tankard gripped in both of his hands. His knuckles were white. "I did not give you permission to speak of this to anyone," he said quietly.
"I don't care," Brant went on. "I'll follow your orders when it comes to finding poisoners and keeping the inhabitants of the palace safe, but if there's a chance I can find answers about us, I will do it. For all we know, you are not our leader."
"Don't," Max said, his voice a sinister growl. "We all spoke an oath to obey Hammer. Even you."
"Well?" one of the guards asked. "What did the doctor say?"
"Wait." I held up my hands. "What question did you ask my father?" When no one responded, I added, "He'll tell me anyway."
They all looked to Brant, except for Hammer. The captain got up and strode to the fireplace. He leaned his forearm against the mantel and lowered his head.
"I asked him if he knows a cure for memory loss," Brant said quietly.
Being in a roomful of big, burly men looking as vulnerable as kittens was an unsettling experience. I couldn't laugh at them, despite the absurdity of Brant's words. He was not jesting or mocking me. He was utterly serious.
"Do you know of a cure, Josie?" Quentin asked in a small voice.
"No," I said.
Brant shot to his feet. "Of course she doesn't." He kicked over his chair. "Her father didn't, so why would she?"
I studied each of their faces, and finally addressed Hammer's back. "You've all lost your memories?"
Several of the men nodded. "Our memories begin three months ago," Quentin told me.
"When the palace was finished," I murmured.
"Not just us, but all of the palace's inhabitants," Max said. "Not a single one remembers their life before that day. We know our names and those of everyone else who works here. We know what our work entails and how to go about it. But that's all. It's as if…" He broke off and scrubbed a hand over his jaw.
Hammer turned around and those blue eyes captured me. "It's as if we didn't exist before that day."
Chapter 5
All of them had lost their memory? Every single palace servant? What an absurd notion. Yet the alternative explanation was even more bizarre—that magic had created them.
"Did you all eat or drink something at the same time?" I asked. "Perhaps you consumed a poison."
"Do you know of a poison that causes memory loss?" Max asked.
"No but I'll ask my father."
"I did," Brant said. "According to him, the only thing that causes memory loss is a severe blow to the head."
Quentin tapped his forhead. "No bumps."
Brant righted his chair. "It may be worth you asking your father about poisons, Josie. I don't think he believed me."
I couldn't blame Father for that. I couldn't decide whether to believe them or not either. Yet why would they all go along with the story if it weren't true? The humorless captain didn't seem like the sort to favor trickery. "The land here is low lying. Perhaps some sort of miasmic cloud carrying an air-born poison settled in the valley and you all breathed it in."
"Have you ever heard of such a cloud?" Hammer asked. "Or of another large group of people losing their memory like this? There are almost a thousand servants living and working here."
"And it seems unlikely they would all be affected," I agreed. "Tell me what you do remember."
"Only our first names, not our last," Quentin told me.
I eyed Hammer.
"It would seem the captain's parents named him after a blunt tool," Brant said with a grudging laugh. "Fitting."
"We do not know our home," Erik told me. "I did not know about the Margin until the new servants came. They all look at me like I am animal. When I finally ask Lady Miranda's maid why, she tell me the Margin folk do not come here."
"We didn't know anything about any of the nations on The Fist Peninsula," Max said. "We didn't know its history, geography, the politics or religion. Nothing. We were as ignorant as small children."
"That must have been unnerving," I said.
"That is an understatement."
"The captain and Theodore read in the library most nights," Quentin said. "They reported back what they learned to us. Do you know, Josie, the day we met you on the hill was the first time I'd seen anyone from outside the palace. I thought you the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Most of the maids are not as tall or elegant."
"Height and fair hair are Glancian traits," I told him.
"But not all Glancian women are as pretty as you." He blushed and looked away, missing my smile.
"You don't have a chance with her," Brant sneered, showing the gap from his missing tooth to full effect.
Ordinarily I would have bitten back at him but I didn't have the heart for it. Brant was as worried as any of these men. His bitterness was understandable.
"The Margin folk don't speak our language," I said to Erik. "Do you remember your native tongue?"
He nodded. "I speak it once and none knew what I said, so I did not do so again." He tapped his temple. "I know two ways to say things but only one way will be understood by others."
"The Margin tribes each speak a different language," I told him. "The rest of The Fist speaks a united one. I wonder how you learned it."
Quentin sighed. "We wonder about a lot of things."
I reached across the table and placed my hand over his. "This explains much. Thank you for telling me. Father and I will look through our medical texts to see if we can help get your memories back. I cannot promise to cure you but I will not rest until I've exhausted all avenues."
"You can discuss this only with your father," Hammer said. "No one else. Is that clear?"
"I don't see why you need secrecy."
"Whispers of magic already abound. If the ministers or nobles have any reason to think we are a result of magic, or that Leon became king under dubious circumstances, then our lives are in jeopardy. At the moment, they accept him as Glancia's king, but if they think magic put him on the throne, they'll no longer acknowledge him."
"No rea
sonable person believes rumors of magic," I told him.
"Your father does," Brant said. "Is he not reasonable?"
"He is a little superstitious. Be assured, I won't tell anyone. I promise."
Hammer held my gaze a moment then nodded.
"You imply that the king also has no memory," I said. "But that's not true, is it?"
"It's true," Max told me. "That's another reason no one must be told. Balthazar says that if the ministers think the king is unfit to rule because he lacks memories, they'll try to remove him from the throne."
I frowned at Hammer but he was once again staring into the unlit fireplace, his back to the room. "So he doesn't know about the document written by his father and found in the High Temple only a few months ago?" I asked.
"He does now, but not in those first few days," Hammer said. "We learned it from some documents found in his desk."
"At least he learned his background," Brant muttered. "He knows where he is from, who his parents were. We don't."
"What about the building of the palace?" I asked. "You say it had already been built before you, er, arrived, but have you since found out how it was built? Are there records of payments to builders?"
"None," Hammer said. "We've heard from the farmers and fishermen who delivered food to the kitchens that it happened very quickly."
"And that no builders were seen coming or going," I added. "What measures have you already taken to learn what happened to you?"
"None," Brant bit off.
"Research in the palace library," Max countered.
"What else can we do?" Quentin asked with a shrug.
"We can leave," Brant said.
Hammer turned around. "And go where? We don't know where we're from. We don't know if we have families. This is the only home we have. At least here we are not alone."
"We have to do something," Brant snapped. "I hate sitting here and doing nothing."
"We won't do nothing forever. But for now, we have a poisoner in the palace. We have to find out who it is."
Brant threw his hands in the air. "Why? What's the point? Why should we care?"
Hammer stalked across the room and slammed his hand on the table near Brant. I jumped but the sergeant did not. "Because the day I woke up, I knew three things," Hammer said. "My name, your names, and my purpose, and that purpose is to serve as captain of the palace guards. I have a feeling that's significant."
