Dark Lady's Chosen (22 page)

“Like?”

“Like he’s keeping a messenger pigeon up on the roof, near Kait’s old mews. The falcons put up a squabble when he goes up there, but he throws them some meat to calm them down. The boy saw him take a message off the bird’s leg and then replace it and send the bird out.”

Carroway shook his head. “For all we know, it might be a message to Tris. It’s nearly a week’s ride to the Southern Plains. Maybe Crevan had to send an urgent message.”

“Aye, the boy said the bird flew south. But if it were a message to the king, why would Crevan go alone in the middle of the night?”

“Maybe it couldn’t wait until morning.”

“Maybe. But if Crevan’s communicating with the king, why is everything at the palace such a mess? Macaria told you about the Council of Nobles. That’s just the beginning. I’ve heard that Crevan keeps putting off paying the merchants, saying that the king hasn’t returned the documents he’s sent. Yet every week, a messenger comes from the front lines with a thick packet for Crevan, and Crevan sends a new one in its place.”

“Crevan was never supposed to be full seneschal,” Carroway said, taking another drink of his sherry. “Zachar could have run the palace in his sleep. Crevan was just the assistant.”

“Interesting that Zachar died right after the king left, isn’t it?” Tadghe said quietly. “I’ve been wondering about that. Here’s a guy who might have been up in years, but he was tough enough to shinny down a garderobe and escape from Jared, and he just dies in his sleep?”

“It happens.”

Tadghe leaned forward. “Yeah, but do you know that Crevan wouldn’t allow the Sisterhood to prepare Zachar’s body for burial? It was his right, as advisor to the king, to be buried with full honors. Crevan refused to let them have the body—said he wanted to do it himself, as a sign of respect.”

“I’m not sure I understand—”

“What if Zachar didn’t die from a brain bleed? You’ve told us how that poisoned dagger worked on Jonmarc Vahanian when the assassin struck last Winterstide. A nick with a bad blade, and Zachar’s heart stops. And who would know, except a mage, who might just pick up on the poison?”

Despite the warmth of the fire, Carroway felt a chill. “I really don’t like what you’re suggesting.”

“There’s more. Paiva and I went to see Bian,” Bandele added. “She’s not doing well. The cold down in the dungeon has her crippled up with gout. And unlike Mikhail, she’s frightened by the darkness. She had an awful cough when we saw her. I’m worried that she might not live long enough for the king to hear her case.” She paused. “But Bian wanted to see us badly enough that she managed to get the servant who brings her food to slip me a note.

She said she was afraid for the queen’s safety.”

Carroway winced, remembering the kindness of the old cook. “What did she tell you?”

“Do you remember when Malae died? We know there was poison in the
kesthrie
cakes—

the Isencroft pastries. They blamed Bian for that. But Bian told me that it was Crevan who requested the cakes. She says she was too afraid to mention it before, but she thinks she’s dying and she wanted someone to know. She also said that Crevan called her out of the kitchen right before the cakes were ready to take up—and that the cakes were alone in the kitchen for several minutes while she answered questions on something trivial. At the time, she thought Crevan was just in a dither because he was new to his role. But Bian’s had time to think it over, and she’s sure there was time for someone to slip into the kitchen and taint the cakes while Crevan kept her busy in the other room.”

Carroway shook his head. “This sounds like the kind of story you hear from some down-and-out drunk soldier. The kind of guy who thinks everything’s a conspiracy. No one’s actually seen Crevan do anything except send off a pigeon. So answer me this—why? Why would he betray the king? Why would he try to kill Kiara?”

Paiva cocked her head to look at him. “Do you remember when we were trying to identify all of the spies? And we could never figure out who was Isencroft’s man?”

“There was one more thing Mikhail told us,” Tadghe said. “The night he was arrested, he’d been doing the books up in the exchequer’s office. He says he found Isencroft gold that doesn’t match what’s in the ledger. It was in a bag off in a corner, as if someone wanted it safe but not noticed. Mikhail wonders whether whoever framed him wanted to make sure no one else was watching the books. And the only one who had access to the exchequer’s books, besides Mikhail and Zachar, was Crevan.”

“Which might explain why Crevan turned down our requests to visit Mikhail,” Halik added.

“The only way we got in was through those
vayash moru
family connections. I happened to know that both the guards last night have
vayash moru
kin. They went off to ‘investigate suspicious noises’ right before we came and left.”

Carroway ran a hand back through his hair. “I’ll grant you that a pile of Isencroft gold is pretty suspicious. But why would King Donelan’s spy be trying to kill Kiara?”

“Maybe Crevan’s playing a double game,” Tadghe said. “I’ve been talking with the traders who come down through Isencroft from the Northern Sea. They said that they won’t make another trip on that route until Donelan gets the divisionists under control. To hear them tell it, Isencroft’s

on the brink of civil war over the idea of a joint kingdom when Donelan dies.”

“That doesn’t make any sense! Crevan was born in Isencroft, but Zachar told me he grew up in Margolan.”

“Suppose Crevan was loyal to Isencroft—enough so that Donelan made him his spy,” Halik said. “Someone that loyal to Isencroft might not want to see the crown divided. I’ve heard what passes for logic among people who wrap themselves tightly in their flag,” he added, dropping his voice. “If Kiara and the baby die and Jared’s bastard were to take the throne, Isencroft would surely declare war. And at least for Donelan’s lifetime, the crown would be secure—and independent.”

Carroway stared at Halik in horror. “We need proof,” he said, his voice not altogether steady. “Kiara’s on shaky ground as it is. We can’t go to her with accusations like this.

Eadoin’s too sick to help. The lords on the Council who supported Kiara might listen to Eadoin, but who’ll believe a bunch of bards? They’ll say you’ve fabricated the whole thing to save me. And right now, we have no proof at all.”

“How do we get that proof?” Bandele asked.

“Keep watching Crevan. But you’ve got to be careful. If you’re right, you could be in danger if he suspects anything. And if you’re wrong, he could still throw you out of the palace if you get on his bad side.” Carroway shook his head. “I wish Harrtuck were here. I’d feel better knowing someone I trust is looking after Kiara.”

“Where is he?” Ruggs’s voice was deafening, shouting next to Cam’s ear. For emphasis, Ruggs grabbed a fistful of Cam’s curly dark hair and thrust Cam’s head into a large tub of icy water. Cam writhed, both from the struggle to breathe and from the pain of being forced to kneel on his broken leg. Ruggs kept him below the surface until pinpricks of light began to crowd out Cam’s vision and his lungs ached for air. Ruggs yanked him back, and Cam gasped, his heart thudding.

“Where’s the other man?”

“I don’t know.”

Ruggs plunged Cam beneath the surface once again, holding him down so long that Cam threw up. When Ruggs pulled him up, Cam’s ears were ringing and his head felt as if it would explode as darkness crowded his vision. “Next time I let you die. Where is he?”

Cam spat puke and water at Ruggs. “I passed out. When I came around, he was gone.

Took my cloak pin and my last two coins. A whore-spawned thief.”

Ruggs looked at him, and Cam knew the other man was debating whether or not to finish him.
Go ahead. It would be a kindness.

“Ruggs, we’ve got a problem.” It was Leather John’s voice behind them. Cam was still pinned over the tub, with Ruggs’s hand painfully gripping his hair. “The king’s men got Dolancey. They mean to hang him at dawn as retribution for this one. Seems the king did get your message.”

“Dolancey was stupid. He gets what he deserves.” Ruggs jerked back on Cam’s hair, eliciting a groan. “How best to send Donelan my next message, I wonder? He’s got your finger. Shall I send him the hand to go with it? Leave the pieces of the puzzle for him to find and reassemble?” Ruggs laughed at his own joke. “I just might—but I think Donelan’s fool enough to come after you. I’m betting that he just might take this personally. Isencroft’s hot-tempered king, never content to let someone else do his fighting for him. No, you’re still worth something as bait.” Ruggs stood, tearing his hand loose from Cam’s hair.

“I think we’ll move you from where your ‘thief’ mysteriously disappeared,” Ruggs said. “And just in case you’ve got any other ideas, let me give you something for the pain.” Without warning, his boot lashed out, catching Cam on the side of the head and sending him into darkness.

Images filled the darkness. The gates of Brunnfen, Cam’s family’s manor, stretched high against a gray sky. Never before had the walls seemed so high, or the gates so solid. But never before had Cam been shut out, with those solid doors barred behind him. Carina brought her horse next to his, and the animal snuffled in the cold. Carina was huddled in her cloak, but Cam squared his shoulders, sitting up tall on his horse. Only fourteen, he was as big as most grown men. That just might save them, now that their father had disowned them and driven them from his lands. If they were lucky, they might find an inn that would take on a healer and a hired hand, or a merc group that would accept Cam’s word about his age. If not, they would be beggars.

“Don’t waste a look back.” Carina’s voice was quiet against the wind. Cam raised his face defiantly. His father stood on the walk above the gates, and next to him was their eldest brother, Alvior. Alvior’s arms were crossed, and his face was set in a hard expression.

Alvior, the one who had betrayed Carina’s healing to their father, knowing what would happen.

“You can’t let them go!” It was Renn, their younger brother. Without even a cloak, the boy ran across the walkway. “Father, no! Please, no!” He ran at Lord Asmarr, but their father turned away.

“Go away, Renn. This isn’t your concern.”

“You did this! It’s all your fault!” Renn threw himself at Alvior hard enough that Alvior staggered back, despite the fact that Alvior was a man of twenty and Renn was only nine years old. Renn beat against Alvior’s chest with his fists, until Alvior backhanded him hard enough that the boy fell.

“Carina! Cam! Come back!”

Cam could hear Renn sobbing, but the guards at the gate remained expressionless, barring them from entry. Carina laid a hand on Cam’s arm and used her magic to nudge their horses into motion. She said nothing, but Cam saw the tears that ran down her face. They could hear Renn calling out to them until Brunnfen disappeared on the horizon.
Is she
crying for Renn or for us?
Cam wondered.
Renn has to survive living with Father and Alvior,
but we’re on our own now. Goddess help us.

Renn’s voice rang in Cam’s mind as he felt himself struggle out of unconsciousness. He awoke to the squeaking of rats. A cold draft filtered up through the floorboards. The room was half

filled with the bales of fulled wool, and dust hung heavy in the air. Faint light illuminated the edge of the door and slipped up through the cracks between the floorboards. Soaked from his interrogation, Cam shivered. His left eye was swollen closed from where Ruggs had kicked him, and his head throbbed. Cam curled into a ball, trying to stay warm. His broken leg ached and his left hand, where Ruggs had cut off his finger, was hot and swollen. He gritted his teeth against the pain.

I wonder how Carina’s doing in Dark Haven,
he thought, trying to distract himself.
I don’t
imagine she and Jonmarc will waste time. By spring, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a
baby on the way. She’s better off out of Isencroft. Jonmarc will keep her safe.

His throat was still raw from the near-drowning, and his chest hurt from the water he’d swallowed.
At least I know Rhistiart got away. Ruggs wouldn’t have been so angry if they’d
caught him. But will he take the message to the guards? And will anyone believe him?

Worse, he thought, might be Rhistiart’s success. Ruggs was right; Donelan had a reputation for reckless stunts in battle. They made his reputation as a fierce warrior in his youth. But that was decades ago. Cam did not want to be Ruggs’s bait.

He forced himself to sit and look around his new prison. Bales of fulled wool as high as his waist filled most of the room. Dust filled the air, floating in the faint shafts of light. Cam could smell the vile liquid the fullers used in their craft, meaning that the pits where they mixed water, manure and urine were not far away. There was only one door and no windows. Cam guessed he was imprisoned in a storage room.

He shifted, and felt something move in his pocket. With his left hand, he dug down until he found the flint and a bit of broken steel left from Rhistiart’s tools. Cam smiled as a plan began to form. He might not be able to escape, but he just might manage to alert Donelan to the danger.

Exhausted, Cam dragged himself closer to the warmth of the baled wool and tried to find a position that was both warm and not too painful. His sleep was fitful. He dreamed of Rhosyn, the brewer’s daughter. Plump, well endowed and quick with a laugh, she was everything Cam had ever hoped to find in a girl. Her father, the head of the brewers’ guild, might not be noble, but he was a man of standing in the city and well-regarded. Cam had hoped to ask for her hand come springtime. In his dream, Rhosyn welcomed him with a mug of ale and a shameless kiss on the lips.

His dreams shifted to a cold hillside. Cam watched helplessly from where he lay as the slavers torched the caravan camp. Too far away to see what became of the captives, he only knew that when the fires died and the camp was silent, Carina did not come looking for him. That meant she was among the dead—or the captives. Blood soaked his tunic from a deep sword wound. He lay on the mossy ground and waited to die.