Читать книгу Royal Exile - Fiona McIntosh, Fiona McIntosh - Страница 12
ОглавлениеLoethar felt a pulse running through his body that he could liken only to the flashes of awakening that the sky experienced from time to time during a storm. Although he showed little in his expression, he was elated to finally have his prize in front of him: the King of Penraven, 8th of the arrogant, powerful Valisars that had ruled the region and virtually controlled the Set for centuries. He smiled at Vyk, who was awkwardly hopping around the king.
‘Hurry up, Loethar,’ Brennus said testily, as though bored with a game. He ignored the raven that now flew to sit on the barbarian’s shoulder.
Loethar certainly admired the man’s composure. It was true, he was prolonging this, savouring the moment he’d dreamed about from angry childhood into bitter adulthood. ‘Forgive my amusement. I expected someone tall and imposing. Instead, here you stand, not so far off my own age I’m guessing, of unimpressive height, with no distinctive features.’
Brennus returned the marauder’s stare with defiance but also bafflement. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’
‘Are you so tired of life, Brennus?’
‘I’m tired of you,’ the king replied and his tone was caustic.
‘Yes, I’d noticed. But that’s another secret isn’t it?’
Brennus sighed, sounding bored. ‘You have visions of empire and yet you are not honourable enough to lead anything more than the pack of rats you call your people. We think of them as vermin. Don’t get too comfortable, barbarian. Someone, somewhere, sometime will deal with you.’
‘One of your own perhaps?’ Loethar asked, enjoying the conversation.
‘Who knows? I’d like to think so. I’d like to go to my god imagining a Valisar blade cutting through your head in the same way that you brutalised a good man just an hour ago. A man who did not deserve such an ignoble end.’
‘Your soulmate’s blood is on your hands, Brennus, not mine. If you had not insulted me he would not have had to die in the manner you describe. Your lack of courage killed him.’ He was amused to watch the king’s face redden with rage. It was obvious Brennus did not lack for courage but it was fun to bait him all the same.
‘You’re too good for beheading, barbarian. The Set will yield someone who will find a way to give you a death that you justly deserve.’
‘So you keep threatening, Brennus. I will not be quaking in my boots and looking over my shoulder, that’s a promise.’
‘At your own peril, then, barbarian.’
Loethar laughed. ‘You know what I’ve come for, Brennus.’
‘A wasted journey. I don’t possess what I assume you are referring to.’
‘The Enchantment is what I chase. With it I shall control the Set without so much as a squeak of trouble from its people. After I’ve finished with them they will be none the wiser that they ever had separate realms or royals. I will be their ruler, judge, jury and executioner.’
‘You are delusional, barbarian. I have nothing of what you seek and if I did I would die before I allowed you to use it. Surely if I had any power I would have used it against you already.’
‘Perhaps I am unreceptive?’ Loethar suggested.
Brennus smirked.
‘Well, at least you concur that such a power exists.’
‘If it does I have no knowledge of it. You are chasing an unreachable dream. None of the people of the Set will ever give you loyalty. They will bow to your supremacy, right now, I’m sure of it, but they will hatch plans around you. You are already a dead man. It is simply a matter of time.’
The king’s threat smacked of truth. Loethar’s eyes narrowed. ‘Bring me the queen.’ He watched all the bravado that had fuelled the king’s fighting speech instantly dissipate from Brennus’s eyes; although the king said nothing, his expression betrayed him as he warily looked to the doorway of the salon where he had been brought.
Loethar continued conversationally. ‘This is a magnificent chamber, Brennus. I applaud your realm’s artistic skills.’ The king ignored him, his eyes searching the doorway. ‘I thought Barronel had enviable style but I’d hazard Penraven has everything a barbarian tyrant could possibly want. I’m going to enjoy making this my seat of power.’
He watched Brennus fight to find anything to say and then lose the battle, his shoulders slumping as Iselda was escorted in, her hand tightly holding that of Piven, who was skipping at her side, heedless of the tense atmosphere.
‘Iselda,’ Loethar said, deliberately dropping all formality. ‘The descriptions of your beauty do not do you credit.’
The queen had eyes only for Brennus. She said nothing to Loethar. Vyk’s interest had turned to Piven; the bird swooped down to the boy’s head, hopping onto his outstretched arm. The boy seemed mesmerised by the great bird.
‘And this I imagine is the freak adopted son,’ Loethar continued.
Iselda’s jaw tightened. ‘Call your filthy vermin off!’ she said, flapping at Vyk, who swooped away, landing not far from the child. ‘This is Piven. He is a simpleton, yes. He is also harmless and deserves none of your attention.’
As if on cue, Piven broke from her grip and ran toward Loethar, leaping onto the man’s legs. Loethar, taken by surprise, was astonished that he managed to catch the child. He laughed as he lifted him into his arms. ‘Now you see, Brennus, if only all your people were cretinous like your son here, we could all be friends.’ He put Piven down but the boy continued holding his hand, smiling angelically. ‘I’m going to enjoy killing you in front of him.’
Loethar believed it was likely the presence of the innocent child that finally broke the king’s spirit. Without warning Brennus lunged toward one of the barbarian’s guards and grabbed a dagger. Plunging it into his own neck, he ripped it angrily across his throat, a guttural noise directed at his queen accompanying his final act.
Loethar was upon him in a moment, ignoring the queen’s shrieks. Piven, too, moved to the king’s side, dipping his fingers into his father’s blood as it spurted impressively from the king’s neck. The boy grinned vacantly toward his mother and back again at Loethar. Loethar stared down upon the dying king, angry that he had not suspected Brennus was capable of this.
‘Your days are already numbered,’ the king groaned defiantly, his eyes closing as death claimed him.
Loethar roared his anger and ripped his sword from its scabbard. With a howl of fresh ferocity he brought the blade down to sever the king’s head from his neck. The queen swooned but she clung nevertheless to one of her enemy minders, clearly determined to remain upright and strong in the face of such barbarity. She did, however, close her eyes as Loethar reached for Brennus’s head.
Holding it by the king’s wavy, ever so slightly silvered hair, he handed the head to Piven, who couldn’t hold it but dragged it over to his mother with a curious look of wonder on his face. Her husband’s royal blood streaked the bottom of Iselda’s pale gown as Piven tried proudly but failed to lift the head.
Loethar turned to Stracker and murmured, ‘You know what to do.’
Stracker nodded and left the chamber.
Loethar returned his attention to the struggling queen. She was pale and trembling, and seemingly too shocked to weep, but she impressed him all the same with her dignity.
‘You’ll have a chance to farewell your husband properly, your highness,’ Loethar said. ‘I will see you in a few hours. Take the time to compose yourself, change your gown, perhaps.’
He watched her take a long slow breath, her eyes still closed. He had imagined she would scream hysterically when he killed her husband before her. But it appeared the queen had gathered all her pain inside while forcing her courage to the fore. He admired that. She was certainly far more beautiful than he’d imagined. Valya would be even more jealous than she already was of the Valisar Queen.
‘Take the queen to her apartments,’ he ordered, ‘until I call for her.’ He watched as her husband’s headless corpse was unceremoniously dragged away by its feet, no doubt on Stracker’s instructions.
‘Come, Piven,’ she said softly, finally opening her eyes, looking only at her child, ignoring the object to which he clung.
‘I’ll be needing that head, majesty,’ Loethar said.
‘Leave that down now, Piven,’ she said to her boy, her voice as gentle as a soft summertide breeze. Her kindness reminded Loethar briefly of how he’d often wished his own mother had treated him. For a moment he felt envious of the halfwit.
‘Leave the boy, too, your highness.’ He raised his hand as she swung around, startled. ‘I will not harm him. He’ll be a nice playmate for my raven. They seem to suit one another, don’t you think?’
‘What do you want with him?’ she demanded, glancing down at Piven, who was still clinging to his father’s hair. Loethar noticed she had to stop herself from retching as she finally looked upon her husband’s remains. He could almost feel sorry for her.
‘I like him. He shall be my new pet, alongside Vyk.’
‘Pet?’ she echoed, aghast, her face a mask of despair. ‘Sooner you kill him, barbarian. He has no concept of his life, in truth. Perhaps he is best dead.’
‘Fancy a mother saying that,’ Loethar replied, derision in his voice. ‘Tsk … tsk. Even stepmothers should offer some love.’
‘He bears the Valisar name. For that you should accord him just a little respect, even if you will not show that same respect to his father or his mother.’
‘I shall send for you soon, your majesty. I thought that by keeping your son with me it might prompt you to stay obedient. But now that I know you have a heart of stone — that you would wish your own child dead — I can tell you would likely follow your husband’s theatrical lead and kill yourself. That would be most disappointing for me. Guards! The lad remains here, chained like the little beast he is now for me. Escort the queen to her rooms. She is to be treated with care and kept under watch at all times. She is not to be left alone — no matter how she begs — for so much as a heartbeat. Take her. Piven?’
The youngster turned and Loethar, pleased that he at least recognised his name, was amused beyond belief when the boy ran to him open-armed.
‘Leo, steady!’ Gavriel hissed, reaching awkwardly for the prince.
‘My father,’ Leo whispered, his distraught young face ghostly in the dim light of the one low candle they permitted themselves.
Gavriel squeezed the boy’s shoulder. ‘You should never have seen that.’
‘Now we have both had to watch our fathers die,’ Leo said, his whisper unable to hide his grief.
There was nothing Gavriel could say to ease the pain. He was still trying to deal with the recurring image of his own father’s brutal slaying. He wanted to say that at least King Brennus had taken his life on his own terms but was afraid his words would sound callous.’ What about Piven?’ Leo groaned.
Gavriel peeped through the holes bored into the stone. ‘He looks happy.’
‘He always looks like that.’
‘True, but he’s safe for now. I think if Loether was going to kill your mother or brother it would already be done.’ He saw Leo nod, felt a tiny measure of relief. ‘Let’s think about our own situation,’ he said, hoping to distract his charge.
‘What do you think of my hiding spot?’ Leo asked, following Gavriel’s lead.
Gavriel was sure they’d be whispering like this for days to come. ‘Inspired. Who knows about this?’
‘Only my father.’
‘So now only you?’
‘It’s a secret known only to the king and heir, passing down through generations that way.’
‘So that’s why Freath was given such a cryptic message.’
Leo nodded. ‘father showed it to me when the troubles in the Set began several moons ago. He called it the ingress. It was built into the castle walls by King Cormoron centuries ago.’
Gavriel looked around at the narrow corridor in which they found themselves. Leo had had the forethought to grab a lantern as they ran into it via an exquisitely disguised entrance that even someone lifting the tapestry would likely not notice, and had used its flame to light a few tiny candles, that threw a ghostly glow but one still low enough not to attract attention through the peepholes they were now using to spy through. There was not sufficient room for the two of them to stand side by side and Gavriel thanked his stars he didn’t suffer Corbel’s dislike of enclosed spaces. He touched the cool stone. This hidden walkway had been deliberately designed and built for spying he now realised, exactly as they were, into the king’s main salon where presently Loethar presided.
‘Cormoran was obviously a man who trusted no one.’
‘Father used to play in these tiny spaces when he was a boy. His father told him about it when he was much younger than I am. I wish I’d known about it longer. I could have listened to so many conversations.’
‘Perhaps that’s why he didn’t mention it earlier,’ Gavriel whispered, his gaze never leaving Loethar. The barbarian sat quietly in a high-backed chair, watching Piven paint pictures on the floorboards with his father’s blood. ‘Is it limited to just behind this chamber?’
A cunning smile broke across the prince’s mouth. ‘No. There are several access points and all the main public chambers have these hidden chambers in the walls. So do some of the more private ones — my father’s salon, my mother’s apartments…’ Gavriel immediately decided Cormoron hadn’t trusted his queen. ‘… kitchen. I haven’t seen them all. But they’re all this tiny and uncomfortable.’
Gavriel’s attention returned to what Leo was saying. ‘No complaints,’ he admonished in a tight whisper. ‘It has saved not only your life but the Valisar line. There’s enough room to lie down, so we can sleep. If we keep the candles low and small, and only lit during daylight hours, we should go unnoticed indefinitely.’
‘What about food?’
‘I’ll have to think about that.’
‘I know how to get into and out of the kitchens. I’ve stolen birdcakes when Cook’s back was turned but this is obviously more risky.’
‘We’ll work something out,’ Gavin replied noncommittally.
‘Gavriel,’ the prince said solemnly. ‘I will never lose that image of father killing himself.’
‘I know, Leo. Look —’
‘No, wait. What I was about to say is that I’m deliberately going to carry that memory. Although few people take me seriously yet, I am a Valisar. That has been drummed into me since I was old enough to pay attention. Whatever I have to do to stay alive and make the barbarian pay for his cowardly deeds, I will do. So I’ll find us food and I’ll get us out when the time is right. We’ll have to learn the movements of their guards first.’
Gavriel wanted to cheer for the prince but his throat tightened with emotion at Leo’s stirring words and he just nodded, before saying, ‘We have to take off anything that could make noise, Leo. We’ll have to move around these narrow spaces in silence. If you’re going to sneeze or cough, you’ll have to smother it. We’ll need to tiptoe and whisper at all times.’
‘Lucky we had on our travel coats,’ Leo added.
And that reminded them both of being on the battlements and what had happened since.
Gavriel deliberately distracted the boy’s thoughts again, as well as his own. ‘We’ll have to pick a place to leave our waste. It’s not going to smell very nice soon but —’
Leo shook his head. ‘My great-grandfather thought of that,’ he whispered. ‘He and his son built an opening to piss down. It links up with a drophole.’
‘Ingenious,’ Gavriel muttered.
‘I’ll take you later to a spot where we can even sit down to take a shi —’
‘Surely not?’ Gavriel said, genuinely impressed.
Leo actually grinned. ‘It’s true, I tell you. The kings before us have thought of everything.’
‘They obviously enjoyed spying on people.’ Gavriel’s attention was grabbed by movement at the side of the room. The man called Stracker was back and the raven, which had been sitting quietly, was suddenly alert on its perch on one of the high-backed chairs. Gavriel nodded at Leo, and put a finger to his lips.
‘Back already?’ Loethar asked.
‘The cook is planning a feast for you tonight … if he can stop himself from gagging. He’s taken the king’s death hard.’ Stracker laughed.
‘Good,’ Loethar said. ‘I can still hardly believe I allowed it to happen that way. I should have known better.’
‘There’s someone waiting outside I thought you should meet.’
‘Who?’
‘The name’s Freath. Says he thinks he knows where you can find the other son.’
Gavriel stiffened behind the wall. ‘I’m going to kill that bastard,’ he hissed.
‘Lo save us!’ Leo murmured as Freath was brought in before Loethar. The aide did not look at all frightened. ‘But he doesn’t know where we are!’
‘Are you sure?’
Leo nodded, his mouth set. ‘I told you — no one else alive knows about the ingress except us two. And Piven, actually — he came exploring with me a couple of times.’
‘He doesn’t count.’
They heard Loethar’s voice and turned their attention back to the king’s salon.
‘And you are?’
‘The queen’s aide. Er, how should I address you, Master Loethar? Forgive me; I’m unsure of the protocol toward overthrowers of kings.’
Gavriel watched Loethar’s head snap sharply up from papers on Brennus’s desk to the man before him. He couldn’t see Loethar’s face but he imagined the barbarian’s eyes had narrowed as he scrutinised the servant, the silence lengthening. Meanwhile Vyk gave the newcomer a onceover, swooping down to hop around him.
‘I wish he’d peck his eyes out,’ Gavriel murmured to Leo.
‘You could call me emperor,’ Loethar finally replied, as though testing the word on his tongue. ‘Yes, emperor has a nice sound to it, don’t you think?’
‘Indeed it does, although “sire” is perhaps easier for your new people to stomach … so soon after conquest. I presume all realms now answer to you?’
‘You would be right in that presumption.’
‘Then, as the new head of the Set, perhaps you would call off your intimidating crow and we can talk about how we can help each other?’
Loethar laughed. Gavriel, appalled by Freath’s confidence, almost hoped the barbarian would pull out that mean-looking dagger and drag it across the traitor’s throat right now.
‘Call me sire, then. And Vyk prefers “raven”. What makes you think there is a we?’
‘Well, sire,’ Freath began, pushing once at the bird with his foot as a warning and then ignoring it, ‘I have walked among the power brokers for more than two decades. I am an aide to the king and queen of the most influential and powerful of all the realms of the Set. I would urge you not to waste this resource. I have knowledge of a like you can’t imagine.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as who might bend easily to your will.’
‘And who might not?’
Freath smiled. ‘It seems we understand each other. There will always be rebels. I can help you with them. For starters, the De Vis boys will almost certainly find a way to rise against you.’
‘You bastard son of a whore, Freath,’ Gavriel growled. This was followed by a threat as to what he was going to cut off Freath’s body first and where he planned to put that spare bit of flesh. Leo glanced at him, worried.
Stracker laughed. ‘That is a jest, of course,’ he said to Freath, his words threatening.
But Freath seemed unimpressed; his expression remained unchanged while Loethar remained motionless.
‘I’ve never been known as a man of comedy, sire. The De Vis family is fiercely loyal to the Valisars. And your somewhat theatrical murder of their father is not something the sons will be easily able to come to terms with, I hazard.’
‘Tell me about them.’
‘The boys?’
Loethar nodded.
‘They’re twins. They look similar but are not identical and they have vastly different personalities. Corbel is the serious one, the younger one, I believe, by just a few minutes, but still waters run extremely deep with that boy. I say “boy” but he is a man and if my instincts serve me right, he is capable of being single-minded and ruthless.’
Gavriel realised Leo had grabbed his arm. He’d had no idea that his own fists were resting white-knuckled against the stone. He forced himself to relax and felt Leo’s relief beside him.
Freath continued. ‘The other boy, Gavriel, is outspoken, has opinions and expresses them. He’s more showy than his brother. They’re both handsome but one tends to notice Gavriel more. He is an excellent swordsman, I believe, skilled with most weapons, in fact.’
‘How old are they?’
Freath frowned, thinking.
‘A rough estimate will do,’ Stracker chimed in.
‘Actually, I can tell you exactly how old they are. They are turning eighteen in leaf-fall.’
‘And you believe these De Vis boys should be of concern to me? Are you suggesting I should be fearful of mere nestlings?’
‘Not afraid, no. Aware perhaps is more appropriate. They will not pay you any homage, sire. They worshipped their father, respected their king and are devoted to each other. Kill one and I suspect you’d kill the other fairly effectively. I doubt very much, considering the way they’ve been raised and by whom, that they would be frightened to die for what they consider their honour.’
‘And what is their particular focus of honour?’
‘Why, the Valisar king of course.’
‘King? Did you not spy Brennus’s corpse, Freath?’ Stracker asked in an acid tone. ‘There is no Valisar king.’
Freath ignored him. Gavriel couldn’t help but be impressed by the aide’s composure, even as he hated his treachery. ‘Sire, I do not refer to King Brennus but to his son, King Leonel.’
This created a tense silence during which Gavriel felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. Until now all the people in authority had been talking about Leo as the young prince — keep him safe, he’s the future, perhaps one day … But now, for the first time since the attack on Penraven had turned from threat to reality, Gavriel felt the full weight of responsibility that was resting on his shoulders alone. Leo was no boy prince, a young sapling to be protected simply because he was a Valisar. He was now the sovereign, and while he remained alive, Penraven had its Valisar king.
Leo whispered into the dark. ‘That’s scary to hear.’
Gavriel felt a rush of rage crystallise into something hard and unyielding. They would have to kill him to get to Leo.
Loethar’s voice broke through the silence. ‘You call him King Leonel?’
‘I don’t, sire. But everyone other than myself will behind your back. And as long as he breathes, he is the king — sovereign of this realm, and figurehead to the Set. As long as people keep faith with that they will carry a torch that the Set will rise once again and that you will be vanquished.’
Loethar banged his fist on the table. ‘I could have you gutted before me, throw your entrails onto a fire before you’re even dead.’
‘I know you could, sire. I suspect you won’t, though, because as I mentioned earlier I know everyone there is to know in this realm. I am familiar with most of the nobles and dignatories — certainly the royals, if any survive — in the rest of the Set. The transient pleasure of opening my throat would be a shameful waste of the resource … sire.’
‘Brazen, indeed. You impress me, aide.’
‘Thank you, sire. My previous employers were not so mindful of my use to them … or how I could damage them if I chose to.’
‘I will kill him,’ Gavriel hissed.
‘You’ll have to line up behind me,’ Leo whispered angrily and Gavriel, in spite of his fury, felt a spark of satisfaction at the youngster’s threat.
‘I shall give you first hack at him,’ Gavriel muttered back, ‘but only because you’re king,’ he added before returning his attention to the men they spied on.
Loethar regarded the servant. ‘And you want me to guarantee your life if I allow you to … er, how did you say it … share how you can damage the remaining Valisars?’
‘My life at the very least, sire. I am suggesting you take me on as your personal aide.’
Stracker laughed but there was no mirth in the sound, only menace. Piven chose this moment to reach up from the floor where he had been amusing himself and wipe his hands, sticky from his father’s blood, against his white shirt. Clutching Freath’s robes, he hauled himself to his feet.
‘Ah, Piven, you have been spared, I see,’ Freath commented, staring at the boy as though he were an insect. ‘Why is that, I wonder?’
‘He amuses me,’ Loethar said. ‘I like the idea that once I’ve dealt with the heir the only remaining Valisar left — although not of the blood — is a lost soul. He can be a symbol of the former Penraven, equally lost.’
‘Very good, sire,’ Freath said, finding a tight, brief smile that was gone almost as soon as it arrived. ‘Shall I make myself useful and have this child cleaned up for you?’
Loethar stretched. Gavriel felt sick. It seemed as though a bargain had somehow been struck during that conversation. He could sense Leo looking at him for explanation but he couldn’t speak.
‘You may take him and bathe him but put that shirt back on him. I want his father’s blood on show for all to see.’
‘Very ghoulish, sire. Appropriate humbling for watching eyes.’
‘But first, the daughter.’ Loethar paused.
Freath filled the pause with a nod. Then added, ‘Now that you’ve seen the corpse shall I inter it into the family tomb?’
‘No. Burn it. Then scatter the ashes from the castle battlements. Or, rather, I shall. We’ll have her mother present too.’
‘For the final humiliation?’
‘Not quite. I have one left.’
‘Will you be killing queen Iselda, sire?’ Freath asked conversationally.
‘I’m not sure. I haven’t yet made up my mind.’
Gavriel closed his eyes. He wished Leo did not have to share this.
‘May I suggest that if you’re keeping Piven as a symbol of the downfall of the Valisars —’
‘He will be my pet.’
‘Indeed, sire. I was going to say that perhaps you should keep the queen as your servant. That would be a most degrading role for her.’
Gavriel watched Loethar walk around the desk. He could finally see the barbarian’s face and it was filled with amusement as he considered Freath’s remarkably distasteful idea. The raven was back on his shoulder. If the scene were not so sinister, the pair would look comical.
‘Or as your concubine,’ Stracker added.
Freath said nothing to this, simply blinked in irritation.
‘It’s just a thought, sire,’ he said instead to Loethar.
‘I shall consider it,’ Loethar said. ‘But before you go,’ he said to Freath, who was bending to take Piven’s hand, ‘I want to know about the eldest son.’
‘My apologies, of course,’ Freath said, all politeness.
Gavriel bent down to Leo. ‘At least your mother remains alive another day.’
‘What is a concubine?’
‘Another word for servant. She takes the night shift, cares for his needs when the day servants are asleep,’ Gavriel explained carefully, glad it was so dark that Leo could not search his face for the truth he had sidestepped so briskly.
‘… twelve summertides, frail and still very much a child,’ Freath was saying. ‘His head is filled with horses and bladder ball games that he plays badly. Useless with weapons.’
In the ingress Gavriel felt astonishment at this comment and knew Leo would be feeling the same.
‘But Brennus would surely have been training him for his role.’
‘Oh, yes, but only in a mild way, sire. Leo is still just a boy. He hardly knows his head from his arse, if you’ll pardon my language.’
‘You don’t have to worry over my sensitivities, Freath,’ Loethar reassured.
The aide nodded. ‘What I mean is that he’s extremely immature — still something of a mummy’s boy. We’re talking about an indulged brat more than capable of throwing tantrums while incapable of manoeuvring a horse or his weapons with any dexterity.’
Leo turned and glared at Gavriel. ‘Lying bastard!’ he hissed.
‘It seems Freath is out to impress the barbarian. Don’t worry about it, Leo. We’ll kill him with our bare hands if we must, as soon as we get the chance.’ Gavriel knew his words were an empty threat but he felt better for having said them.
‘So while the De Vis twins are a threat, you are saying the heir to the throne is not.’
‘No, sire, that’s not what I’m saying. The De Vis family is your enemy, and they would have been without your splitting the legate’s head in half,’ Freath warned. ‘The heir is not a physical threat to you. He wouldn’t know how to attack, how to rally a force, how to even plan beyond where to play on a given day. He’s still in that childish mindset of the world revolving around his selfish needs, especially his belly.’
Loethar looked amused but Gavriel bristled. Freath knew Leo well and he could have been describing a stranger for all his words resembled the prince. ‘He struggles to make his verbs work, so he is hardly ready to make a realm work for him,’ Freath continued with utter disdain. ‘Brennus never expected to lose his throne. The threat from the Steppes was always that — just a threat. It hadn’t sunken past the shallowest of consciousness that you might succeed in your desire for empire and that the prince might need to be fully readied in all aspects of sovereignty.’
Again Gavriel caught a glance of bewilderment from his new king.
‘Your point?’ Loethar asked.
‘My point, sire, is that you have nothing to fear from Leonel in person. It’s what he represents that should trouble you. No one will let go of the fact that the heir exists — if they believe that to be true — because that means the Valisar dynasty is alive.’
‘I want to know where he is.’
‘And I believe I can help you. But I do require guarantees, sire.’
‘So you say. Give me your terms.’
‘I have heard a rumour that you are gathering all the empowered people from the conquered nations.’
For the first time since Freath had arrived Gavriel noticed the barbarian lose his casual stance. Loethar stiffened. ‘And what’s that to you?’
Freath gave a sly shrug. ‘Well, I can’t imagine you’d go to all that trouble and not make use of that collected power.’
‘And?’
‘I want some of it.’
Stracker grabbed Freath by his shirtfront, pulling him close to his pockmarked face. ‘You don’t demand anything. You’re lucky to have lived this long.’
Freath remained undaunted. ‘Phew, we eat the leaf of the cherrel to keep our breath fresh, Stracker.’
Loethar ignored their barbs. ‘Explain what you mean, Freath, before I allow Stracker to gut you as he so desperately wants.’
Freath straightened his clothes, amazing Gavriel with his audacity. He watched the aide take a breath and paste another cunning smile on his face. ‘Two sorcerers, witches, whatever you care to call them, of my choice and at my behest.’
Gavriel watched Loethar’s mouth twitch. ‘What makes you think they exist?’
‘Oh, they exist all right, but they are cunning. They will go to extraordinary lengths to disguise their skills but that they exist in the Set …’ he smiled as he paused, ‘… of this there is no doubt.’
Loethar’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know who these people are?’
‘I may have suspicions, sire, but no, I don’t know anyone specifically practising magic outwardly. There is the usual band of hedgewitches and herbalists, conjurers and magicians. But what I’m talking about are the thaumaturges, the genuine weavers of miracles — phenomena that can’t be explained. I’m certain you’ve already discovered a few. I want a pair.’
‘And what do you plan to do with them?’ Loethar enquired, sitting against the king’s desk. His arms were crossed in a deliberately casual pose but Gavriel was sure the barbarian was anything but relaxed.
‘They will offer me protection.’
‘From me, I presume.’
‘Correct, sire. And from your bad-smelling lackey and your hideous crow.’
Stracker scowled but Loethar gave a sharp, tight grin. ‘I see. And in return you will give me the boy.’
‘I will try, that is my promise.’
‘Try?’ Loethar’s tone was now fuelled by disdain.
‘He has gone to ground, sire. I have already seen your men searching the palace. I presume they are searching the immediate area and nearby woodland as well. He could not have gone far because I saw him quite recently.’
Loethar stood up. ‘You saw …!’ he began, breaking off angrily to say: ‘Where was he?’
‘The kitchens.’
Gavriel took a step closer to Leo, grinding his jaw as he put an arm around the new king. It felt like hollow reassurance but it seemed more meaningful than words right now. His mind was racing. Should they attempt an escape now or hold their nerve a short while longer? Freath couldn’t possibly know where they were … could he?
Leo echoed his thoughts. ‘He doesn’t know anything,’ he said.
‘They took fright at the sound of your men closing in on the palace and ran off. I tried to follow but I’m an old man by comparison, sire. I couldn’t keep up.’
‘They?’
‘Pardon, sire?’
Loethar’s expression darkened. ‘You said they — who were the others?’
‘Just one other. Gavriel De Vis.’
‘Are you telling me they ran back into the palace?’
Freath shrugged lightly. ‘They headed in, but, sire, we have many entrances and doors that lead to other courtyards. They could be anywhere. Though they won’t have had time to get far.’
‘Have you a suggestion of where they may go?’
‘I have plenty. But I need a show of good faith, sire.’
‘I see. Something in writing? A mix of our bloods perhaps, palm to palm?’
‘This man knows nothing that I, given a room with a pair of heated pincers, couldn’t find out for you,’ Stracker threw at Loethar. Gavriel gave a humourless smile at finding himself momentarily on side with the barbarian’s lackey.
Freath smiled tightly. ‘No need for torture or indeed any loss of blood. My request is very simple and easy for you to provide. When you have finished with her, I want the queen.’
‘What?’ Loethar roared. His surprise turned into a tumult of laughter. ‘Iselda?’
Freath kept his face impassive. ‘She is beautiful. Why not?’
Loethar studied the aide carefully. ‘No, Freath, this doesn’t fit. You’re not that displeasing physically, I’ll grant you, but I see no passion burning in these eyes of yours — other than for your own safe skin. I don’t suspect there is a romantic or even sexual urge in your body. You are lying.’
Freath remained unfazed, his voice calm. ‘You are jumping to conclusions, sire. I said nothing about romance or desire. I simply want her.’
‘What for?’
‘Purely for self-satisfaction. I have served queen Iselda since she came to the palace, sire, and King Brennus even longer. They were the usual arrogant inbreds that seem to take the throne…’ Leo gasped and Gavriel had to put a hand over the boy’s mouth — a hand that was trembling with anger. ‘… services were always taken for granted. Although it’s too late to tell Brennus, now it’s time for me to share with her all my rage. I come from a distinguished line, sire. I deserved better.’
‘This is about not being thanked?’ Loethar asked, incredulous.
Freath blinked slowly. ‘Perhaps put petulantly you could describe it that way, sire. I see it as retribution. I am not a man to be toyed with. I deserved better than I got in my years of service. I kept hoping I would be rewarded for my attentiveness, my loyalty, and, above all, my discretion. But each year passed without so much as a glance of appreciation my way.’
‘You’re a servant, for Lo’s sake!’ Stracker chimed in. ‘What do you want, a manor in the country?’
‘Why not?’ Freath demanded, scowling at the man. ‘The legate was a servant too but De Vis was not only paid handsomely, he was rewarded with horses, land, servants of his own, wealth far more than he’d ever need. And his family line is no finer than mine. He was simply a soldier. I am a man of language, of letters … truly, sire, I was the more versatile if you compare me to De Vis. Yet he dies a hero — a wealthy one. If you slew me now, sire, I would die penniless. Pathetic isn’t it?’
‘Can you kill a man, Freath?’
‘If I had to, yes,’ the aide bristled. ‘Killing doesn’t give you superiority, sire, surely?’
‘And have you ever killed anyone, Freath?’
‘No, sire.’
‘It sounds a lot easier than the doing of it, trust me…not that I suffer the squeamishness of most.’
Freath ignored Loethar’s explanation. ‘If you don’t need her for any other purpose, sire, I would have her.’
‘To humiliate her?’
‘To do whatever I please with her. She will become my slave, follow my orders, answer my desires … however dry they may appear to others.’
‘And so for the queen, two Vested and my word, you will help me hunt down Leonel?’
‘Yes, sire. And there are so many more ways in which I can help you … be assured of that. At no further cost to you than what I’ve already asked for.’
‘You intrigue me, Freath.’
‘So we’re agreed. Iselda is a show of goodwill on your part.’
‘Bugger her senseless for all I care, Freath, although I will be wanting her for tonight myself.’
‘Of course you do, sire,’ Freath said, as though they were discussing the shared use of a horse or plough. ‘In fact I won’t lay a finger upon her until you have. Is that fair?’
Loethar nodded. ‘It is.’ He looked at Stracker. ‘How many have we rounded up?’
‘In total, about thirty-four who seem genuine in their talents.’
‘Have them brought here. I’ll leave you to pick out the best — and show them to Freath. He can choose from your selection. Order it now.’ Stracker nodded and left the chamber. Loethar looked at the royal aide again, then grinned. ‘I need men with your agile mind, Freath. I’m sure I should just slit your throat here and now but there’s something about you that tells me I should stay my hand a little longer.’
‘That’s convenient for me, sire.’
His words amused Loethar further. ‘For both of us, I hope. Stracker can be …’ He searched for the right word.
‘Spontaneous?’ Freath offered.
Now Loethar smiled genuinely. ‘Precisely. And on occasion I need someone who can act upon more considered information, someone who thinks through a situation.’
‘Less of a blunt instrument. I understand. But that doesn’t necessarily make me feel safe.’
Loethar’s smile broadened. Gavriel realised that Freath’s cunning made him a perfect match and someone who had, over the last few moments, changed from aide’s executioner to new employer. The barbarian called in some of his henchmen.
‘This man has access to Queen Iselda. Him alone.’ He had obviously changed his mind about wanting Iselda for the first night. He turned back to the aide. ‘You amuse me, Freath. I like your mind, if not you.’ Freath inclined his head, obviously deciding to take the barbarian’s words as a compliment. ‘As long as you continue to amuse me and keep me informed of everything around this palace and the realm — as I assume you have a well connected spy network — you are safe from my blade.’
‘In that case, sire, we shall take each other on his word. So, for the young prince, let me suggest you try the secret corridor.’
Gavriel felt Leo’s mouth open in terror behind his hand.
‘Show them!’ Loethar ordered Freath, pointing at his men.
