“The children,” Briand said, “are listening.”
The children indeed were listening, wide-eyed and eager.
Tibus closed his lips with a snap. He looked unaccustomed to considering small ears. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Cake,” he told the children. “Nath used a fork to cut a pirate a slice of cake.”
“What does eviscerate mean?” one little girl with large, doe-like eyes asked in a lisping voice.
Tibus cringed, looking around at the other adults for a response.
Another little boy piped up. “It means to cut out someone’s guts!”
The children’s eyes got even wider, if that were possible. They stared at Nath with worshipful expressions.
“This is the most adorable, disturbing thing I’ve ever seen,” Maera murmured.
“Ah,” Nath said, “Guttersnipe, where is Lark? Doesn’t she normally see that the children have breakfast?”
“Well,” Briand said, enjoying the situation as much as everyone else and not in a huge hurry to end Nath’s discomfort, “usually both Lark and the children are asleep at this hour of the morning. Why are they awake?”
Nath grimaced and didn’t answer.
“He promised to show us how to eviscerate someone!” one of the children proclaimed with enthusiasm.
“What’s this?” Tibus said, raising both eyebrows. “Are you creating an army, Nath?”
“The children should know how to defend themselves against enemies,” Nath said gruffly.
“What’s this I hear about eviscerating?” Cait asked from the doorway.
Some of the children scampered to give her hugs. She patted their heads as she locked gazes with Nath, who drew himself up as if readying for a battle.
“We were discussing a history lesson yesterday,” he said, “and it came to my attention that they lack some of the important knowledge of self-defense that might be useful to them if they continue to live in this forsaken place. Can we talk about this another time?”
Cait shook her head disapprovingly. “Children,” she said, “go and find Lark. Tell her that you need her to wake the cook for breakfast.”
“But what about our lesson?” the little boy who’d known what eviscerating meant asked in a plaintive voice. “He promised!”
“Nath will have to teach you your lesson later. Now go,” Cait said.
They scampered away, and she pinned her gaze on Nath. “What are you teaching these angels?”
“These angels,” Nath replied dryly, “already know the best way to cure a hangover and where to stand so they can pick the pockets of the dead after they’re taken down from the gallows. They live in Gillspin. They aren’t blue bloods.”
Cait flushed as if that comment had been aimed at her. “I’m Cait,” she said to Bran, thrusting out a hand. “Daughter of Lord Barria, and now right-hand woman to the thief-queen of Gillspin.” She added the last bit with a laugh.
Bran took her hand and bowed over it with a flourish. “Bran Varryda, son of Lord Pieter Varryda, and common soldier in the Monarchist army.”
“Varryda?” Cait looked at Briand. “You are…?”
“He’s my cousin,” Briand offered.
“Oh! Yes, I remember her speaking of you. Quite often, actually.”
“I’m honored to be mentioned so much. And surprised. I don’t remember Briand being particularly chatty,” Bran said.
“She isn’t. She’s a brick wall to talk to, most times,” Cait said cheerfully. “But for her, it is often. She misses you.”
Briand cleared her throat. “Perhaps you two can continue discussing my personality later, when I don’t have to stand here listening to you.”
“Oh, so you don’t like it either,” Nath said sourly.
“Come now, friend,” Tibus chided. “You live with thieves now. Surely they give you a good ribbing.”
“On the contrary—the thieves and gutterlings show me respect,” Nath replied imperiously. “Even the beggars…”
Tibus grinned. “Perhaps it is just kind liking kind.”
“Say that to me with a sword in your hand!” Nath snarled at the soldier, but his eyes were laughing. He wasn’t angry.
Kael, who had been observing all of this with quiet amusement from where he sat on one of the barrels with his arms crossed, stood and strode into their midst.
“Would you like to discuss why we’re here?” he said to Briand and Nath. “Somewhere secluded?”
Briand met Kael’s eyes. Of course, he wasn’t here merely to see her, to bring old friends around for a hello. He had a mission. Something pinged painfully in her stomach. She nodded.
“This way.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
BRIAND LET CAIT and Nath lead the others toward the thief-queen’s quarters, and she hung back, waiting for her cousin as Bran grabbed his crutches. He was surprisingly fast on them, fast enough to cause Briand to have to catch up to him. They walked together through the shadowy corridors of the thief quarters, morning sunlight filtering down in stripes on their shoulders. Rats scrambled away at their approach. Ahead, Briand heard the familiar rumble of Tibus’s voice, answered by Nath’s higher alto, and something inside her unclenched, like fingers that had been holding tight to a ledge that could now let go.
“Have you heard?” Bran asked conversationally. “My father is dead.”
Briand inhaled sharply, remembering the night that Auberon had dragged her uncle before her and read his mind. The Seeker had discovered that her uncle had murdered her father, and he’d promised to see Pieter Varryda punished for it. A torrent of emotions ran through Briand’s chest, but all she said was, “I’m sorry, Bran.”
Her cousin turned his head away so she couldn’t see his expression. When he spoke, his voice sounded suspiciously wobbly. “It happened months ago. I don’t mean to sound monstrous, but he probably deserved what he got. He was horrible to you, and my mother, and lots of other people.”
“Still,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
When Bran looked at her again, he appeared relieved. As if he hadn’t known how she’d take the news, and he was glad to have delivered them so he could lay that burden to rest.
They walked silently for a while longer, and then Bran said, “I’m to be a member of the true prince’s inner circle at the Nyrian court. A spy, though most will see me only another foppish nobleman’s son, no doubt.”
Anger surged through her at the mention of Jehn. How dare he take her cousin and make him a spy too? That would mean her beloved Bran might have to take a sword for him. It was bad enough that Kael’s life was always on the line without adding Bran to the mix. She was grumpy at the mere thought.
“But you only have one leg,” she said.
Bran’s face darkened slightly at that.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean… It doesn’t matter.”
“You bet your life it doesn’t,” Bran said sharply.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
His face softened. “I’m getting a wooden one made,” he said. “Kael tells me the doctors in Nyr are excellent at building false legs, and he’ll have one fitted to me perfectly. I won’t be held back by it.”
“Are you sure political intrigue is the life for you?” she asked. “All that backstabbing? And, you know, the literal backstabbing?”
“I’m quite capable of holding my own against an assassin,” Bran said. “You haven’t seen me in years, Bri. I’m a skilled fighter now.”
“Most skilled swordsmen don’t use their tongues to say so,” she replied.
“You were always a braggart,” he replied.
“I said most.”
They walked a moment in silence, and then Bran said, “It will be an honor, serving the prince.”
When Briand didn’t reply, he added, “Perhaps you could come to court. Serve on the guard. You’re skilled with a knife, are you not? You’ve picked up some skills over the last few years, I can only imagine. And we’re both orph
ans now. We should stick together.”
“I’m a guttersnipe girl, Bran, not a soldier,” she managed to say around the tightness in her throat.
“You’re trustworthy and clever. Jehn doesn’t need brutish louts; he needs soldiers who are loyal to the bone.”
“I’m not a Monarchist, Bran,” she said. She walked faster.
“You’re not?” His crutches clicked on the stone floor as he tried to keep up with her swift stride. “Bri? But all those missions—and, Kael said you saved Jehn’s life from an assassin—”
“I acted on instinct, and as a person saving another person, not as a loyal subject.” She stopped at a flight of stone steps and turned back to face him. “Careful on the steps. Some are crumbling.” Her anger ebbed at the confusion on his face, and she sighed. “Bran. It is complicated, but I do not serve Prince Jehn.”
“You don’t even seem to like him,” Bran said.
“No, I don’t.” She started up the stairs, but not before she caught a glimpse of Bran’s horrified expression.
“Bri,” he said, breathless with effort as he took the stairs after her, planting his crutches and hopping up them one at a time. “What are you saying? Do you… do you support Cahan, then?”
“I said I didn’t like the man. I didn’t say I was a corrupt lord or an idiot. I agree with Jehn’s side of things, but I’m done being a pawn in powerful men’s hands. I’m a thief-queen now.”
“This isn’t your home—”
“And neither is Nyr,” she retorted. “You don’t get to tell me where I can find belonging, cousin.”
They reached the top of the steps. Bran was out of breath. He stared at her, panting.
“You’ve changed,” he said, his tone more curious now. “Kael told me you had, but I thought maybe he meant you were better at knife-throwing than before, but no, it’s your manner. Your convictions. You’ve grown up, Bri.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” she said. “And I am better at knife-throwing than before.”
He grinned at her. “If you’d asked me five years ago what I thought you’d be doing now, I’d have answered that you’d be still playing guards at Dubbok and running from them after you beat them all.”
Briand scowled. “I would’ve been long gone by now. Not by choice.”
Bran’s face fell. “I would have saved you, Briand. If things had been different…” He stopped speaking, licked his lower lip nervously. “I always had a plan in place. I was going to write letters to a nobleman using my father’s name. Arrange a marriage, and have you transported to the nobleman’s house from whatever barren wasteland my father had banished you. You’d be a noblewoman now if it weren’t for that poisonous gift, that vial of venom.”
“Poisonous gift,” she mused. “If it weren’t for that vial, I would never have come to know all of the people I care about: Cait, Maera, Sobin, Reela. I never would have been given a second glance by Nath or Tibus, or seen them again.”
And Kael… Her breath caught in her throat at the thought of never loving him. Infuriating, loyal, steady, unflappable Kael, whose kisses burned like fire and whose rare smiles filled her with sunshine.
Bran didn’t seem to notice that she didn’t mention the leader of his company. “If my plan had succeeded, you might be riding a Tyyrian stallion across a green pasture toward a manor house right now, dressed in silks and wearing a gold necklace.”
“Only Cahan supporters still have their lands,” Briand said with a raised brow. “Is that what you tried to sell me to? The enemy?”
“Fine.” Bran laughed. “You could be standing in a garden in Nyr right now.”
Briand shook her head, amused at the image. “I probably would’ve knifed whatever poor soul you’d chosen for me by the end of the marriage ceremony and rode off with the horse to the southern province to play Dubbok with the southern nobles.” She snorted. “I’m sure your planned future husband was foppish and uppity, like most noblemen’s sons.”
“Are you calling me foppish and uppity?” Bran made a face of mock horror.
Briand laughed. “If the silken slipper fits.”
And like that, they were friends again.
~
In the thief-queen’s quarters, they gathered around in a circle, Maera and Bran sitting at the table in the corner, Cait perching on the bed, Tibus and Nath leaning against the wall with their arms crossed, making similar expressions of gruff concentration. Briand leaned against the bedpost, her cheek against the cool, smooth oak.
The dracules, excited and nervous at all of the intruders, romped from person to person, pressing their noses to knees and elbows and wheezing greetings to those they knew and warnings to those they didn’t. They looked like strange, clumsy dogs in their disguises—Sieya had chewed on the left leg of hers, giving her a flea-bitten appearance and a flopping fake foot. Her slitted eyes glowed as she glared at Tibus, Maera, and Bran in turn.
“Don’t you remember me?” Tibus said in a low rumble, stretching out his hand for the dracule to sniff.
Sieya inhaled the scent of his fingers politely, her nostrils flaring pink, and then drew back and huffed suspiciously. She allowed Tibus to scratch her chin, and then she retreated to stand behind Nath, thrumming in her throat.
Vox, on the other hand, galloped between the newcomers with nervous energy until Briand banished him to the end of the room, where he sat mournfully, his head on his front paws, eyes watching everyone’s movements as if they were smuggling treats in their pockets and he was on the brink of snagging one from an unsuspecting treat-haver.
Kael stood in the center of the circle, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze passed over Briand, and she felt warm, as if he’d pressed his lips to her cheek.
“I’ve received word from Prince Jehn,” Kael said.
Everyone was quiet, listening. Maera looked disinterested, studying her nails, but Briand knew the spy well enough to know that she was on edge waiting for Kael’s next words.
“As most of you have heard by now, Isglorn is under siege,” Kael said. “A dozen noble families loyal to Jehn rule the city. Thousands of subjects—both noble and common—are trapped inside. Cahan’s forces have barricaded the roads and halted all transportation of food. The people inside are running out of food. Several hundred of the city’s citizens managed to escape into the surrounding hills, and they have sent word via spies to Prince Jehn of the conditions in the city. They don’t know how much longer the others can last.”
“And our army?” Tibus asked.
“Fighting in the south.” Kael looked around the room, his gaze lingering on each of their faces in turn. “Unable to get to Isglorn for weeks, maybe longer.”
“So, what are we going to do, sir?” Tibus asked gruffly.
“You and Maera and Bran will continue to Nyr alone,” Kael said. “I will be going to Isglorn.”
Protest broke out. Kael held up a hand, and the room quieted.
“Go without you?” Maera said. “What are you planning?”
“There’s a Seeker camp near Isglorn. I plan to turn myself over to them and reveal under torture that Jehn’s army is approaching from the east.”
“False information,” Maera said with a lift of her eyebrows.
“Yes,” Kael agreed. “But the Seeker general will be confident in his abilities to read my mind. He won’t question it. I’ll see to it that he foresees an easy victory, such that he’d be a fool to ignore. Once the army moves to meet them, that should give our Monarchist subjects enough time to flee to the coast.”
Torture. Briand’s stomach felt like a stone. She curled her fingers around the hilt of the knife at her belt, but it didn’t make her feel better.
Across from her, Nath looked as angry as she felt.
“So, you’re the sacrificial lamb,” he said flatly.
Kael looked at him with a neutral expression. “I am no lamb, my friend. More than one Seeker will have a blade in his throat before my mission is through.”
“Was this the prince’s idea?” Briand asked. The words burst out of her before she could leash them.
The room fell silent at the question.
Kael’s shoulders stiffened. He met her eyes with his, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “No,” he said after a pause. “It was mine.”
“Isn’t there another way?” Nath asks.
“This is the plan that the prince has devised,” Kael replied. His tone was calm, confident.
Briand turned and paced to the door.
Torture.
She knew what Kael was. He was a soldier. A loyal spy to the prince. And now a captain of the guard. His life was going to be in danger daily. She couldn’t stop it.
Could she?
She put her hand on the knob, her fingers shaking, her pulse thundering in her head. All she wanted at the moment was to throw her knives and hear the satisfying sound they made as they sank into a wooden target.
“What about the common people?” Cait asked.
They all looked at the young noblewoman perched on the edge of the bed. Her cheeks burned, and her eyes were bright as she spoke.
“My brother loved a commoner,” Cait said. “We escaped when our city fell. She did not. My brother died trying to make that right.”
A muscle twitched in Kael’s cheek. Briand knew he had loved Sobin like a cousin, and he still mourned the lad’s death too.
“All will be saved,” he said. “That is Jehn’s goal.”
Cait nodded somberly.
All, Briand thought darkly, but perhaps the captain of the guard.
She turned to go. Her throat was tight, her fingers knotted into fists.
“Briand,” Kael said from across the room. He spoke calmly. Almost gently.
She paused. She didn’t look at him, at any of them.
“I bid you to stay,” he said. “There is more, and it concerns you and your people.”
Her people.
One of the problems of becoming a leader was that it rarely afforded one the luxury of running away to lick one’s wounds.
Briand exhaled. She could feel their gazes on her back, burning into her.
She turned back around and leaned her shoulders against the door.
A Court of Lies Page 9
