He regarded the queen where she sat on her throne, idly poking a slice of meat with her fork. Grinner had not been the only one changed by the events of the last few days. Queen Isabelle had never been beautiful in the classical sense—or any sense at all, so far as that went—yet she had always still taken great pains in her appearance, wearing only the finest dresses and perfumes, covering her skin’s many imperfections with powder so thick it was a wonder she had been able to breathe.
But since her sister’s disappearance, the queen had seemed to shrivel in on herself, and though she was still as fat as ever, there was a wasted, sick look about her. The fat on her face sagged as if she were some ice sculpture that had begun to melt, and the fingers holding her fork shook perceptibly. Her normally carefully-done hair was full of knots and tangles, and she put off a decidedly unpleasant aroma that reached Grinner even at the far end of the table. She smelled as if she hadn’t bathed or used any perfume for nearly a week which—Grinner knew from the reports of the men and women he paid to keep an eye on her—was nothing short of the truth.
“Is everything okay, Your Majesty?” he asked, filling his voice with a concern he did not feel.
She didn’t seem to hear him, her piggy eyes focused on the meat on her plate, studying it with some sick fascination the way a child might study a beetle being swarmed by ants.
Grinner cleared his throat, trying again. “Majesty?” he said louder.
She started as if woken from a deep slumber, knocking her plate—and the food piled high on it—off the table. “Oh, my,” she said, blinking her eyes in that slow, dim-witted way that always reminded the crime boss of a particularly stupid cow. “Forgive me, Councilman Grinner,” she said, “I’m afraid I was distracted.”
“No forgiveness necessary, of course, my Queen,” Grinner said, bowing his head as a servant scurried forward to clean up the mess. “I only wished to ask after your welfare.”
“My welfare,” the woman said as if she had never heard the word and had no idea of its meaning. Then she nodded slowly. “Yes, I understand. I thank you for your concern, Councilman. Tell me,” she continued, finally meeting his eyes, a desperate, quiet terror on her face, “do you believe that my royal sister, Adina, will return soon?”
Oh, I am quite sure she will not, Grinner thought, smiling behind his mask. Though, I suppose it is possible that some hunter might find pieces of her, but I suspect such a thing will be little comfort, you fat, worthless pile of dung. “I assure you, Majesty,” he said, injecting what he thought was just the right mix of grave solemnity and passion in his voice, “that I will not rest until Queen Adina is found. My men are scouring the city and its outlying regions, searching for any sign of your royal sister’s whereabouts or those of the others.”
“It isn’t true, what they say in the city,” the queen said, her gaze unfocused once more as she stared into space. “My sister would never abandon Perennia. Surely, you know the truth of that. And the others, General Envelar and all the rest.” She paused, shaking her head. “It’s ridiculous, surely. After all, General Envelar saved my life when Kevlane attacked. Had it not been for his intervention, the mage would have killed me and taken my place long before now.” She shuddered, as if the very thought of the man sent a shiver of fear through her. “I mean,” she continued, “why would Aaron do such a thing, Councilman?”
Grinner shook his head slowly, as if thinking the question over. “I do not know, Majesty. If there is a man within Telrear wise enough to know the minds of men, I am afraid that I’m not he. Regarding your royal sister, please believe me when I say that what few men are not out searching for her whereabouts are doing what they can to determine the source of these vile rumors. I will do everything within my power to put an end to them and deal with whoever is fool enough to speak evil of one of the royal blood. I, of course, believe none of the nonsense about your sister, as Queen Adina always struck me as a woman with courage and resolve beyond any, save, of course, yourself.”
The queen nodded, her expression lifeless despite the compliment and the fact that, in normal times, she would have partaken of it with as much relish and vigor as she did the sweet meats she loved so much. “And General Envelar and the rest?” she asked. “What are your thoughts on them, Councilman Grinner?”
Grinner gave a helpless sigh. “Forgive me, Majesty, but I just don’t know. As you say, General Envelar saved you from one assassination attempt already, and it is hard to believe fear would drive him to abandon you in your greatest hour of need. Still,” he said, shrugging sadly, “I have heard of stranger things. I have heard stories of soldiers who have fought in dozens of battles suddenly being struck down with fear for no discernible reason when facing far easier odds than they have in their pasts.”
The queen seemed to consider that, then finally gave a slow shake of her head. “No,” she said in that lifeless, toneless voice. “General Envelar did not strike me as such a man—he was many things, but a coward was not numbered among them.”
Grinner sneered and, once again, was thankful for the mask he wore. Whatever else he was, the bastard is dead now, he thought viciously, and that is no less than he deserved for all his mocking, for all his threats. “I’m sure it is as you say, Majesty,” he said. “For I have known Silent long myself, and he has never seemed a coward to me. Yet,” he added, as if just having the thought, “if he did not flee in fear, then he must have left the city for some other reason…”
He waited, giving her plodding mind time to consider it. “You mean treachery,” she said finally, her eyes wide.
Grinner shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what I mean, Majesty. I hesitate to call anyone a traitor without proof, but then, some might say the proof is clear enough now that he and the others are gone. The rumors say he is in league with Boyce Kevlane himself—I know, I know, a terrible thing to consider, one I can hardly credit. Yet, in all my years of city life, Majesty, one of the things I’ve learned is that rumors rarely exist without some reason.”
The queen nodded slowly, her head moving on her body as if of its own accord, and she looked to Grinner like some ill-used marionette. “Yes. I thank you, as always, for your wisdom, Councilman Grinner. I am grateful that you, at least, have not abandoned m—the city.”
Grinner smiled at that. “Of course not, Majesty. My loyalty is, first and foremost, yours to command. I wish only to serve you as best I may and to do my small part to keep you—and the people of this fine city—safe. As to that,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, “I believe it might be wise to discuss the woman, May, and Councilman Hale.”
The slightest frown creased the queen’s heavy features. “They are both imprisoned, are they not?”
“Indeed they are, Majesty.”
“They have been questioned,” she said. “Captain Gant did it himself. He believes them both innocent of any wrong doing.” She glanced at Grinner, one corner of her mouth tilting up in an almost imperceptible half-smile. “He even expressed some doubts about your own sincerity in wanting what is best for myself and Perennia.”
Grinner stiffened in anger, and hoped she would take it for no more than hurt. “I do all I do to serve you, Majesty,” he said, not having to feign the emotion in his voice, “and would sacrifice more than just my looks, such as they were, to keep you safe.” It would be good, he thought, to remind her of what he had given up for her, of what saving her had cost him, but he was surprised by how much rage rose in him at the thought. He took a moment, forcing himself to stay calm. “Still,” he continued, “if it is your will, I will leave Perennia and take my men with me—the last thing I want is for you to doubt my loyalty.”
“Forgive me, Councilman Grinner,” the queen said, her voice almost wheedling now, “I did not mean to offend you. I know well the sacrifice you made for me—Captain Gant is a brave man and a great soldier, but he would be the first to admit that he does not do as well with people as might be desired. A simple man with a soldier’s understanding
of the world. Still,” she went on, her expression troubled, “we will need such men in the coming days.”
Yes, Grinner thought, making a mark on the mental tally he kept of anyone who’d wronged him, a simple man, and one who must be dealt with soon. “Of course, my Queen. I don’t believe anyone could question the captain’s loyalty or military knowledge, and he is no doubt a great boon in these troubling times. Still, if you might trust me enough to touch upon the subject of May and Councilman Hale once more…” He hesitated as if awaiting her pleasure, leaving just enough hurt in his voice.
“Oh, of course, Councilman Grinner,” she said, “please do not take offense at the captain’s words, truly. His opinion is not one I share, for I saw your courage well enough in the courtyard when you risked your own life to slay the two assassins who had come for me.”
“Very well, Majesty,” Grinner said, bowing his head, “and I am most grateful for your kindness. I was only thinking about the rumors regarding Silent and the others. It seems to me that, if Hale and May are traitors, no one would be more likely to know the whereabouts of the sellsword and—perhaps—your sister, than they. I wonder if it wouldn’t be too much to ask for you to allow me to interrogate them personally. Though I hold nothing but the highest respect for Captain Gant, such a noble, upstanding man as he may not be as well-versed in the subtleties of criminals and criminal enterprises as my unfortunate life of the streets has taught me—and my men—to be.”
The queen nodded thoughtfully. “And you believe that, in questioning them, you might discover some information regarding my sister’s whereabouts?”
Grinner didn’t miss the childlike hope behind the question. “I cannot know for certain, Majesty,” he said, “but I think it worth the effort.”
“Very well,” she said, “I will tell the captain to allow you, and those men you deem necessary, access to their cells.”
“Thank you, my Queen,” he said, bowing. “And, if I may, there is one more thing—if, in my questioning, I discover that Councilman Hale and Lady May are guilty of treason, what do you wish to have done with them?”
The queen hesitated, looking around as if hoping someone—her royal sister, perhaps, or that bastard Envelar—would appear out of thin air to tell her what to do. “I…” she began, “I don’t know.” She swallowed hard, not a queen at all, in that moment, but a child waking from a nightmare and looking to an adult for comfort. “What would you have me do, Councilman Grinner?”
Grinner took a moment, as if considering the question, then shook his head slowly. “Given the recent disappearances of so many of the city’s leaders, the people are worried, Majesty. They are afraid at a time when we need them to be brave, and they question at a time when they must follow orders. If we are to have any chance of success in the coming battle with Kevlane, we must reassure them that their leader cares for them and, more importantly, is willing to act decisively to protect them. Besides,” he added, as if it was no more than an afterthought, “we do not know how many were involved in the conspiracy on your life or, for that matter, the disappearance of your royal sister.”
He sighed, meeting her eyes. “Forgive me, Majesty, but I fear that, should my questioning discover the absolute truth of Councilman Hale and Lady May’s guilt, we must put our own personal feelings aside and show the people that we are steadfast in our resolve.” He shook his head slowly, sadly. “We must execute them both, and it must be done publicly, so the people might see that their leaders do not sit idly by while treachery and death run amok in the city.”
“Execute them?” Queen Isabelle breathed, as if the idea had never crossed her thoughts and, given what few thoughts her fool’s mind seemed to have, Grinner didn’t doubt it. “But surely…”
“I understand your hesitation, Majesty,” Grinner said, taking a calculating risk of interrupting her. When she didn’t call him down, he smiled once more behind his mask. “Indeed, I share it, for I have known Councilman Hale and Lady May for many years, and despite the fact that our positions have often put us at odds, I think of them both as friends, no doubt as they do myself. In truth, I applaud your hesitation, for it is a demonstration of that unending compassion for which you are known throughout the kingdom of Telrear. Yet, if we should discover they are traitors…”
Queen Isabelle let out a heavy breath and nodded. “Then they must die. The people must be made to feel safe again.”
“I fear that it is so, my Queen.”
“Very well,” she said, reluctantly, then turned to the crime boss and some small bit of strength, of resolve, returned to her face. “But only if they are found to be guilty, Councilman Grinner. I will need unquestionable proof before any action is taken.”
“Of course, Majesty,” Grinner said, his grin widening behind his silver mask. And proof you will have. I will make sure of it.
CHAPTER FOUR
May had been born on the streets, into a life of dubious prospects where, odds were, that before her sixteenth birthday, she would be dead at worst or, at best, become some man’s property. She had been born without privilege, without coin or a family name to protect her, yet despite all of that, she had flourished.
The poor girl had grown into a woman, a woman who had spent most of her years not only outmaneuvering two of the city’s most powerful crime bosses, but also leading a secret rebellion against a prince. She had made it her life’s work to protect the people of Avarest, those unfortunate souls who could not protect themselves. She had even had some success, rescuing more than a few young women—inevitably pretty and also inevitably half-dead inside from the terrors their tormenters had subjected them to—from the clutches of perversions and evils she would not wish on her worst enemy.
In all those years, she had been cautious and careful, aware of the many dangers that lay around every corner, cognizant of those who watched from the shadows, waiting for her to make one fatal mistake, one grievous error in judgment so they might pounce and rid themselves of the meddling woman once and for all. She had been aware of the dangers, yet she had not been afraid.
She was afraid now. Her cell was barely large enough to lie down in which, in truth, was probably just as well. If it were any larger, she would have spent the interminable hours pacing the cell, wearing a furrow in the dirt floor with her worry. As it was, she only sat in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees, unable to keep herself from starting at every sound. She knew how she must look—filthy, hopeless, her gaze full of a quiet terror, and she hated herself for it. Yet, for all her knowledge, for all her self-loathing, she could not still the tremors of fear that shook her frame from time to time.
The air smelled of dirt and sweat and excrement, a sickening melding that, seemed to her, the stench of hope’s decaying carcass, for those who filled the dungeon had long since given up any dream of being saved. Even the cries for help that arose from those cells around her were done without conviction or expectation, more a litany of despair than any true plea for salvation. Scared she might be, but she did not send her own voice up into that tormented chorus, for she knew that to do so would be to sacrifice the last bit of her dignity, to drag a red blade across the throat of her own hope. So instead, she only sat in the corner in silence, save for the sporadic, quiet whimpers that escaped despite her best efforts.
But since being imprisoned, May had been forced to learn some hard truths, and one was that it was only a matter of time before her cries echoed with those of the others, only a matter of time before reason and logic bowed down before desperation and fear, and she believed that, at that moment, she would be truly lost.
She scratched at her itching head, hating the greasy, tangled feel of her hair, and wondered what Thom would think of her now, wondered if news of her imprisonment had even reached him. She prayed to the gods that it had not, for though the first mate was normally kind enough, he had a temper that, when roused, was not easily put to bed, and she feared what he might do if he learned that she was being held in the dungeons.
Like as not the fool will get himself killed.
The thought sent a fresh shiver of anxiety through her, and a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan escaped her. She wondered, too, about Silent, about Adina, and the others. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the dungeons, as there was no means of marking time there save, perhaps, for the arrival of the gruel that served as the prisoners’ meals. Yet she had grown to believe that even the food was not brought on a regular basis, as if being unable to mark the passage of time was only one more facet of their punishment.
“Gods,” she said, in a voice that was scratchy and tortured and unrecognizable even to her own ears, “let them be okay.”
“You’re worried about the lad.”
May considered pretending she hadn’t heard, but knew from experience that if she ignored him, the man would only keep talking, so she raised her head, looking across the dirty, well-paced hallway that ran in between the cells to the one opposite her own. Hale sat with his back propped against the wall of his cell, his massive frame reclined and looking as at ease as if he lounged on a cushioned divan in some brothel instead of in a cold dungeon. The poor, flickering orange light of the dungeon’s randomly placed torches did little to reveal any of the crime boss’s features, but what May could see of his mostly shadowed face reflected a calm she couldn’t credit.
“Of course I do,” she said. Normally, she would have snapped the words out, adding just the right amount of acid and venom to keep the man on his toes and show what a foolish statement it was, but she didn’t have the energy, and her words came out toneless and dead.
The shadow shifted slightly in what may or may not have been a nod. “Figured as much. Still, I wouldn’t.”
A Sellsword's Mercy Page 2
