Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4)

by Stephen L. Hadley

  Nyssa nodded haltingly and glanced at her protégés. Atarah and Fanette had resumed their stretches, though from the way both turned aside at their instructor’s glance it was obvious their attention had not been on exercise.

  “Go bathe,” she ordered. “We’ll train again after dinner.”

  The sisters nodded immediately and hastened to obey. From their responsiveness, such commands were commonplace. But Leo couldn’t quite mask his surprise. He folded his arms, waited until the pair had left the room, and then cocked his head curiously.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  Nyssa shook her head. “Of course not.”

  “Then why’d you send them away? Going to teach me some secret trow technique?”

  This time, she snorted and rolled her eyes. “Please. You already know my secrets techniques. Intimately.”

  “I wouldn’t mind another demonstration.”

  “I’ll bet.” Returning her training sword to an empty spot on the rack, Nyssa waited until Leo had done likewise then sighed softly. “Actually, I wanted to ask about your plans. You know, for the war.”

  He perked up immediately, flirtatious grin vanishing. “What about them?” he asked.

  “I wanted to make certain you’re not leaving me behind.”

  “Leaving you behind?” Leo echoed, incredulous. The notion was laughable, but Nyssa had spoken it with such grave seriousness that it felt rude to react in such a way. “Why in the seven hells would I do that?”

  “Because of Cirilla,” she answered. “I know someone needs to stay behind to rule in your stead. And knowing you, you’re going to want her well-protected. I just wanted to make sure that I’m not the one you choose.”

  Leo hesitated, running his hands across the countless weapon hilts as he considered the trow’s words. It was true that he’d planned on leaving at least a few of his more trusted guards behind to protect her, but he’d given little thought as to whom. And, the more he thought about it, the more reasonable Nyssa’s fears became. She would have been the natural choice. Karran and Sann were too wild and too uniquely dedicated to him to be entrusted with the duty. Lucius was needed to manage the elven conscripts. And it hardly made sense to take Nyssa with him but leave her students behind.

  “You’ve thought this through,” he mused aloud.

  “I have,” Nyssa said. “And I know it may be asking a lot. But I’ve been with you since—well, since the beginning. And you were the one who freed me, not your wife. My place is with you.”

  He sighed. “I should have bought more slaves while I had the chance.”

  Nyssa swatted him on the arm. It was a gentle, playful gesture but landed near enough to one of his bruises to make him wince. The trow stiffened the instant she noticed his reaction and flashed an apologetic smile.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You didn’t,” he lied. “I’m just trying to think of someone who could replace you here.”

  “What if…” Nyssa began cautiously. “What if you didn’t?”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, I’m serious.” Folding her arms, Nyssa began to pace around him in a small circle. “Think about it. What difference would I really make being here? There are a hundred elves guarding the Ministry, plus the Watch. If you think your wife will need someone capable of working discretely, she can always go to Davin. Or, hell, you could even leave Atarah or Fanette if you’re still not convinced. They’re not quite as good as me, but they’re good enough for most jobs.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  Nyssa ceased pacing a moment, then nodded and resumed her walk. “I’m sure,” she said. “Either one of them. They’re ready.”

  “All right,” Leo said, shrugging. “I trust you. If you say they’re ready, then they’re ready. You can come with me.”

  Nyssa grinned. From her body language, she’d obviously expected him to give in. But even so, the relief in her eyes was genuine.

  “Thank you, Leo,” she said. “I… I truly appreciate it.”

  He shrugged again, reaching out to cup her cheek. Nyssa responded by nuzzling his palm, much like Karran or Sann might have, and stared at him adoringly.

  “Like you said,” he murmured. “You’ve been with me since the beginning. It’s only fair that you stay by my side.”

  “Thank you,” she repeated. Then, without warning, she averted her eyes.

  Leo recognized the shyness immediately.

  “Yes?” he prompted.

  “I… I need to bathe,” Nyssa said. Despite her best efforts, her cheeks darkened with each word. “But, if you wanted to join me, I suppose I could demonstrate a few of those secret techniques you mentioned.”

  He chuckled, leaning in to kiss her brow. She smelled of sweat—as he did, no doubt—but it was not an unpleasant aroma.

  “I think we’ve both earned a bit of relaxation,” he said.

  Nyssa giggled, the sound almost bizarre to hear coming from so deadly a warrior, and seized his arm with hers. She led him to the door, almost dragging him in her eagerness. But, as they neared it, Nyssa suddenly shoved him bodily aside. She leaped forward, pressing her elongated ear against the wood. Then with a curse, she sprinted to the back wall.

  “Nyssa?” Leo called, alarmed.

  She didn’t answer, except to seize a pair of swords. Drawing one from its scabbard, she tossed the spare to Leo.

  It was not a training blade.

  “Keep close!” Nyssa snarled. All the playfulness had gone from her, replaced by keen, deadly intent. She glanced at him, eyes blazing. “Leo! Come on!”

  Swallowing hard, he pulled his blade from its scabbard. And, as Nyssa eased open the door, he finally heard the sounds which her ears had detected but his had not.

  The sound of screams and clashing steel echoed distantly but unmistakably down the hall.

  Chapter Seven

  The battle was nearly over by the time Leo and Nyssa arrived. Ordinarily, that fact would have come as a relief, but one glance at the casualties proved enough to fill him with a second helping of dread.

  A dozen ducal guards—his guards—lay dead or dying, while a similar number of foes slumped in pools of spreading blood. Others huddled against the walls, groaning and clutching at mangled limbs. The carnage wasn’t limited to the armed, either. Here and there, unmoving servants lay motionless, their faces frozen in final expressions of terror or anguish.

  Two men spotted them as Leo rounded a corner and passed from the barracks into the servants’ chambers. The men wore bloodstained tunics and were armed with long, dirtied blades. And a second after noticing him, the foremost figure charged.

  Nyssa moved before Leo had time to consider doing the same. She seemed to float, gliding effortlessly over a pair of the fallen, and removed with man’s head with a graceful swing.

  The sight gave the man’s partner pause. He was already clutching his side where a long gash had bled through the fabric of his tunic. And upon witnessing Nyssa’s easy victory, he cursed and threw down his blade.

  His surrender hardly made a difference to Nyssa. She stalked forward, snarling, sword at the ready.

  “Wait,” Leo barked. “I want the bastard alive.”

  Nyssa glanced at him, eyes blazing with fury. And then, reluctantly, she nodded. She advanced, turning the wounded man around with the tip of her sword, and prodding him dangerously in the back.

  “Walk,” she growled. “Try anything and I will cut you down too.”

  The man might have been a murderous brigand but he wasn’t stupid. He nodded, allowing Nyssa to steer him down the hall.

  Leo followed after them. His sword hung limply from his fingers, its tip almost scraping the floor with each step. There were so many dead. These were not strangers, either. Leo didn’t know many of the guards by name, but he recognized their faces. Worse still, many were among those he’d dismissed from the training hall
only a short while ago.

  Did that mean their deaths were on his hands? He’d only wandered in because he was bored and frustrated. If he hadn’t, or if he’d told Nyssa to allow the men to remain, how many of them would now be alive? It wasn’t as though he’d intended to send them to their deaths, but—

  Leo was so lost in thought that he nearly tripped over a body. He glanced down then froze at the sight of the face staring back at him. And, slowly, he crouched.

  The girl, Bailee if he remembered her name correctly, had been one of his servants. She’d been with him for months, long before he’d married Cirilla. In fact, it was partly thanks to her that his marriage had happened at all. Her timely invitation into their bedroom had been one of Leo’s first bonding experiences with Cirilla. She’d been a lovely diversion.

  And now, Bailee was dead. Her only crime was that she’d served Leo.

  His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword as he set his jaw and rose.

  He would find the ones responsible. Noble, commoner, or even slave—whoever it was, he would make them pay.

  Nyssa was leaving him behind. Leo trotted after her, relieved to discover the trail of corpses thinning as they neared the end of the corridor. But, no sooner had he rounded the next corner than he discovered his assumption to be hasty.

  Another two dozen corpses littered the broadening hall before him. The door to his bedchamber anteroom was open. And although the sight briefly terrified him, it was only a split-second later that he spotted Cirilla.

  His wife stood amid a crowd of ducal guards, speaking and gesturing urgently. On either side of her, Karran and Sann lurked warily. Her dress was torn and there was a long, thin scratch running from her neck down past her collarbone, but otherwise, she appeared unharmed. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. And even over the groans and murmur of hushed conversation, he could hear her gasp.

  Cirilla started toward him, then froze in place and muttered something he could not hear. Karran and Sann bolted for Leo, their eyes aflame with concern and relief.

  Leo greeted them warmly, assuring them that he was unharmed, but it was Cirilla who retained the majority of his focus. He watched as she excused herself, closed the anteroom door, and quickly trotted over to join him.

  “Leo!” she exclaimed. “Thank the gods! Where were you? Nobody could find—”

  “I was training with Nyssa,” he explained, nodding toward her. “It was almost over by the time we heard. What happened? What’s going on?”

  “We’re not sure,” Cirilla said. “We think there were two groups—twenty or so men in each. One attacked from the south. Then, as soon as the guards sounded the alarm, the other group struck from another direction. I think we’ve got them all, but we’re scouring every inch of the Ministry to be sure.”

  “We found one more,” he muttered, indicating the man Nyssa held at sword point. “Any others still alive? We need to find out who the fuck dared try something like this.”

  “Seven or eight wounded. Most will die, but we’ll question them before they do.”

  “Good. Fuck.” It was as though the grumbled curse had broken something inside him and the rage exploded out of him like a geyser. “Fuck! Who the fuck do they think they are?”

  Cirilla hesitated, eyed him warily, and then leaned in. Her brow furrowed deeper.

  “There’s more,” she murmured. “Two of the bastards came after me. My guards put them down, but…”

  “But what?” Leo demanded.

  Cirilla swallowed hard and grimaced. She nodded toward their chambers.

  “You should go take a look.”

  He practically ran to do so, Karran and Sann following dutifully. Growing dread tried in vain to weigh down his feet, but there was no power in Ansiri that could have stopped him at that moment. Steeling himself, he shouldered open the anteroom and, finding it empty, marched on toward the bedchamber.

  At first glance, he mistook Delia for resting. Her eyes were closed, her head on a pillow, and one hand draped across her stomach. But, no sooner had he noticed her hand than he realized that her dress was not originally red.

  “No,” he breathed, shoulders slumping.

  The heartbreak didn’t end there. The instant he spoke, a strangled cry reached his ears. He turned.

  Brigit lay sprawled on a borrowed blanket, her eyes clouded with pain and her bare feet kicking helplessly against the floor. An elderly surgeon knelt over her, bandaging her wounds with practiced fingers. But a single glance at the man’s glum, distracted expression told Leo everything he needed to know.

  “No!” Leo moaned. He raced to Brigit’s side, nearly tripping over the surgeon as he dropped to his knees opposite the man. “No, no, no. Bri!”

  “Leo?” she whimpered. She blinked furiously, her eyes clearing momentarily as she sought his face. “Oh, Leo. You’re all right! I’m so glad.”

  Leo’s eyes snapped to the surgeon.

  “Save her,” he demanded.

  The man grimaced, fidgeting uncomfortably as he gestured to the bandages he’d tied around Brigit’s wounds. There were already a half-dozen in place and most had already bled through.

  “Your Excellency,” the man began. “I don’t—”

  “You’re going to be fine, Bri,” Leo said. He leaned down, his brow nearly touching hers, and cupped her face with his hands. Her skin was unnaturally cold to the touch. “You hear me? You’re not getting out of work that easily.”

  Brigit laughed weakly.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Master,” she said. Her eyes closed before the last word escaped her lips. And when she breathed, the sound of it was wet, wheezing, and final.

  Leo waited for her to inhale again but she did not. Even so, he continued to clutch the sides of her face. And, when Karran stooped at last and gently pried his fingers from Brigit’s skin, he was surprised to find that he did not fight her.

  “I’m so sorry, Your Excellency,” the surgeon murmured. The man rose and sounded as though he wanted to say more, but then he turned and abandoned Leo to his grief.

  Leo wanted to cry. He wanted to hurl himself over Brigit’s body, to sob and scream until she returned to scold him. But he didn’t.

  He knelt silently, gazing at her motionless features with burning eyes. He remained that way for ages until he felt Karran’s claw settle gently on his shoulder.

  Leo stood woodenly, his knees protesting the effort. Taking Karran’s claw in his hands, he lifted it to his face and kissed the back of it.

  “Go get Nyssa,” he instructed, his voice hoarse. “I need to speak with her.”

  Karran eyed him for a moment, her mouth tight. But whatever she saw in his face must have been convincing since she nodded and left without a hint of protest.

  He turned to Sann next. The drakonid’s expression did not share the ambrosian’s outward sympathy, but her silence thus far made it clear that she understood the gravity of Leo’s loss. She stared back at him in silence, her wings folded tight against her back and her tail lashing slowly from side to side.

  “Go look after Cirilla,” Leo ordered. “I’ll call for you soon. Are you ready to fight for me?”

  Sann grinned, her fangs nearly as wicked as the feral gleam in her crimson eyes.

  “Alwaysss,” she hissed. And then, she too departed.

  Leo followed her, just far enough to shut the chamber door. It should have been disconcerting to be alone with Delia and Brigit’s bodies. Instead, he found it to be precisely what he needed at the moment.

  Eyes still burning with unshed tears, Leo made his way to the corner desk. His crown was waiting for him, resting on a flat, satin pillow. He stared at it for a moment then placed the heavy, golden band atop his head. Sitting, he gathered a blank sheet of parchment and a lead.

  He began to write.

  ***

  Leo had bothered to sit on his throne on only three occasions. The first was after his return from Sutherpoint, when h
e’d killed Wyden and assumed the title of Duke for himself. The second was the following day, when he’d formally introduced himself to Ansiri’s nobles, administrators, and officers.

  The third was when he received Nicolo.

  The slaver-turned-alderman grinned as he was shown into the chamber by two of Leo’s guards. If the man thought there was anything unusual about meeting in such an auspicious room, he gave no indication of it. In fact, he almost seemed to delight in it. Whistling as he strolled past the empty boxes and seats, he soon reached the bar and gave an extravagant bow.

  “Your Excellency,” he called in his usual, singsong way. “To what do I owe this honor? I’m not in trouble am I?”

  Leo shook his head.

  “Huh,” Nicolo said. He tucked his hands in his pockets and slowly scanned the empty chamber. “Well, can you at least tell me in what capacity I was summoned? Alderman, I’m assuming? Otherwise, why would—”

  “A few hours ago,” Leo interrupted. “The Ministry was attacked by some forty-odd armed men. They slew dozens of my guards and servants, including several dear friends of mine. I want to know how it happened.”

  Nicolo stiffened, every hint of playfulness vanishing. “Seven hells, Leo! Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  Leo gestured dismissively. “It’s fine,” he said. “We’ve tried to keep it quiet. But, as to your questions, I’ve brought you here as both an alderman and a friend. I need your help.”

  “Anything!”

  “First, I need to borrow your warehouse in the slave district. Perhaps for a few months.”

  Nicolo cocked his head, frowning and smiling in equal measure. “I suppose that’s doable,” he said. “It’s not as though I’ve an abundance of slaves to sell at the moment. But may I ask why?”

  Leo stood, descending the stairs leading to the throne. Then, once he’d reached Nicolo, he pulled a folded page from his jacket and handed it to him.

  It was easy enough to track the man’s progress by the way his eyes widened. Curiosity came first, followed swiftly by shock, and finally, outrage.