Kings and Assassins (27 page)

“A moment you forced. If you'll recall, I wanted to halt the demonstration,” Janus said. “But it won't come to that.” They turned equal expressions of skepticism on him and he gritted his teeth. Was he the only one who made plans at all? Two days gone from the catastrophic demonstration and he had dismissed nearly as many plans as he had imagined.

Gost sighed, and sat down behind the desk, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on that uncomfortable point.

Janus said, “We are in the same position we were before. Ivor's letter is nothing more than a letter of intent; he polices the treaty, but Grigor is the only one who can adjust it.”

“I fail to see why that is a matter for celebration,” DeGuerre said. “Grigor is as eager as Ivor to devour Antyre. All it allows us is time to rail against our fate. Perhaps if we make it clear that you and yours acted against the kingdom's wishes, Grigor will forgive—”

“You would risk everything on Grigor's mercy? I am not such a fool,” Janus said.

Gost leaned back in the chair, propped his feet up on Aris's favorite footstool, making himself entirely too comfortable. Aris used
to sit thusly, watching Janus, Bull, and DeGuerre debate, before making his decisions.

Janus thought Fanshawe Gost just might have been making plans of his own, while wearing the mask of a false friend.

“Time can be an invaluable ally, if one knows how to use it,” Janus said, turning to DeGuerre. The admiral's hands were shaking with agitation, and Janus acquitted him of not caring about the outcome. It wasn't cowardice that set him worrying about soothing Grigor but genuine concern for the country. “And we do have time. A fortnight minimum—time for Ivor's report to reach Grigor at the Winter Court and return.”

“And you have a purpose for those scant days?” DeGuerre asked. Hope glittered in his eyes.

“First, find Aris's assassin. If we use this time to prove Ivor guilty of Aris's murder, we can counter their claim that it was Antyre who broke the treaty.”

“Will
we find proof of Ivor's guilt?” Gost murmured.

“Sooner than you'll find proof of mine,” Janus said. “Though it would be easier if we had some method of keeping Ivor's attention elsewhere while we attempt to net him.”

“The money!” DeGuerre said. “It can come from the funds for your precious privateers. If we hand that over—”

“If we hand over the funds, all at once,” Gost interjected, pinning DeGuerre with a disappointed look, “it will become apparent we've been falsifying the books for years. We'll be in worse straits than we are now.”

Janus said, “The money is hardly our first concern. Nor will it be Ivor's concern. We must prevent his fleet from touching ashore, prevent their soldiers from setting foot in our streets.”

“Without arming the people?” DeGuerre said. “They'd be cut down, slaughtered all.”

“I don't want war,” Janus repeated. “If I wanted war, I'd have murdered Ivor and sent his head back in a tax chest.” Janus smiled at both men, letting them see that, yes, he could do such a thing, and without qualm, even to a man he felt a reluctant fondness for. After all,
they persisted in thinking the worst of him anyway; he had nothing left to lose.

“How do you intend to stop them, then?” DeGuerre said.

Gost said, “You think you can prevent their landing and keep the peace? How?” His eyes narrowed, and Janus decided then and there, that his plans would remain his own. There was too much hunger in Gost's face, in the clutch of his hands on the armrests of his chair.

Janus allowed himself a vulgar shrug, enjoyed the way both men twitched in instant disapproval, and made no answer beyond that.

Predictably, DeGuerre spluttered at him, words made incomprehensible by his agitation.

Gost, in contrast, settled back again, that shadow of suspicion hooding his eyes. Janus turned his expression as blank and as guileless as he had done during his first days in the Antyrrian court, and smiled.

He had no intention of sharing his plan with Gost. He had been gulled by the man, and it rankled. Though Janus distrusted altruism on principle, he had believed in Gost's offer of aid, forgetting that men who played games with power were uniformly ambitious. The result of such carelessness? Gost's first suggestion of aid had led to the demonstration at the docks.

No, Gost was no ally, but another like Ivor, one he must take by surprise.

DeGuerre left the room with an ill-mannered slam of the door that set the dust on Aris's bookshelves falling like ash.

Gost said, “You make an enemy of one who might otherwise be an ally.”

“Do you speak of yourself or of the admiral? I prefer his honest frustration and temper to your more calculated words.” Janus sat in the chair opposite Gost, stretching his feet out before him, and studying the shine of his boots. His hand dropped to his hip and rested there, above his sword hilt.

“Your father did you a grave disservice when he chose to have you schooled in the Itarusine court. You exhibit the worst of their manners—insolence and distrust.” Gost's face betrayed no sentiment other than a faint, fatherly disappointment. A practiced liar indeed.

Janus nearly laughed, freed by the realization that if Gost was an enemy he needn't court his approval any longer. “It wasn't schooling he sent me there for but disposal, a way to placate Aris's demands for my reinstatement as father's heir and to please himself The Itarusine court's notoriously dangerous. Unfortunately for my father, Ivor found me useful, Aris recalled me home, and well, we know the rest.”

“You slaughtered your father,” Gost said, “and fed him to the sea.”

“Not I,” Janus said.

“Your lover,” Gost said.

“Unproven,” Janus said. “Though I will admit Mal's desires sometimes exceeded sense.”

“Indeed,” Gost said. “It seems to be a flaw of youth.” He rose and left Janus in possession of the king's study.

Janus's satisfaction faded between one heartbeat and the next. All very well to name Gost enemy, but the recognition of it didn't make the man any less powerful. Gost commanded respect; held a fortune earned in Kyrda's court, safe from Itarusine predation; had the friendship of the Kyrdic king; and, if DeGuerre and Bull supported him, owned the majority of the Kingsguard.

Gost might even have been behind the attempt on his life. Janus had only Psyke's word that Harm had been behind it, and how could he trust the word of a woman who spoke with the dead and counted the Duchess of Love among her friends?

Janus leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and tangled his hands in his hair. Enemies on every side, yes, and he was accustomed to that, but never before had he needed to turn them to allies. Even having Maledicte by his side would fail to help toward that end.

Turn the knife outward
. It had been all the advice Mal had ever given him. Advice that had served them so well in the Relicts. It was the same thing now. Stop hurting himself with doubts.

Stop his enemies, yes, but recognize that Ivor took precedence over the rest. Ivor commanded a near army of loyal men, brought to Antyre with him, in the very walls of the palace, playing at being simple servants; he owned men in the streets, Itarusine merchants who were likely more than they appeared. But Janus knew Ivor and the Winter Court, and knew they were not without fears of their own.

Janus's idea turned and twisted in his mind as he added and discarded elaborations, hunted for the perfect plan. He collected the broadsheet lying over the arm of the chair, folded it back to the caricature, and thought of Poole, in his privileged prison cell, high above the crowded and diseased lower levels. There was the place to start.

B
EFORE LEAVING THE PALACE, JANUS
thought to visit Adiran, see how the boy fared. After the tantrums had ceased, he'd heard nothing from the nursery save gossip.

The guards outside Adiran's door made way when Janus approached, ushering him in, then, as he passed, Janus heard one of them heading away from the door, undoubtedly notifying Rue of his visit.

The low table was set for lunch and Adiran looked up from his plate, leaning away so the maid could finish cutting his meal into bite-size pieces. She set the fork into the boy's lax hand.

Adiran smiled, wide and sunny, and Janus joined him at his low table, fishing in his pockets for a sweet.

The nurserymaid said, “Not'til after he eats, my lord,” then paled and removed herself from his reach.

Janus laid the waxed twist of paper on the table, and Adiran peeled it open to reveal a crimson chunk of rock sugar.

“Thank you,” Adiran said clearly.

Janus blinked. Courtesies were rare in Adiran's world. The boy was only tangentially aware of people at all, though Aris had worked with him. Perhaps it was simply table etiquette, drummed in by rote practice; the maid seemed unsurprised, even as she disapproved.

“It's a single piece,” Janus said, “hardly enough to ruin his appetite.”

“His appetite's not good,” she said. “He doesn't do enough to wake it.”

“I suppose not,” Janus said, after some thought. Done with his candy, Adiran reached for a piece of venison, and the maid coughed.

Janus caught the boy's hand, and held out the fork. “Use this,” he said.

Adiran took it, though he sent Janus a glance much less sweet
than usual. He poked at the meat with the fork clutched tight in his fist, little bursts of frustration.

“I can watch him.” As the maid hesitated, he said, “Or do you think my manners so barbaric I cannot even instruct a child….” He let his tone grow sharp and cold, watched her pale.

“Of course, my lord,” she said, dropping a curtsy and taking herself out of the room.

Adiran watched her go, and dropped the fork, plucking the meat from the tines and eating it defiantly from his fingers.

Janus laughed, and let the boy eat as he would. Intelligent or not, the boy did have a will of his own. Gost, no doubt, intended to use it to prove the boy was fit to be king. It was what Janus would do, if he felt inclined to hide his goals: Pretend the boy had recovered well enough to rule but keep him confined and pretend to receive direction from him.

Janus snitched a piece of the venison, ate it, and watched Adiran eat the rest of his meal faster, protecting it from Janus.

When the food was gone, the boy pushed his way into Janus's lap and started rooting through his pockets. There was no more candy to find, but Janus let the boy collect the tiny dagger he carried in his waistcoat, a last-ditch weapon should his sword be taken from him. Adiran tilted it back and forth, watching the shine of the blade in the room. “Would you like it?” Janus asked. “It's not a toy, but you have enough of those.”

Adiran stopped fidgeting and tilted his head up to meet Janus's gaze. Completely still, completely silent, those blue eyes watched Janus with a strange intensity. “It's only a thought,” Janus said. “Even toys might pall if that's all you're allowed. Though best not to let your maid see it. Consider it a birthday gift. Likely your first.”

Adiran laid the dagger on the table, walked his fingers up the blade, leaving fingerprints on the steel.

“Do you want me to tell you a story, Adi?”

Still looking at the knife, Adiran nodded, the reflection of his eyes blurred shadows in the blade.

“When I was your age, I had a birthday as uncelebrated as yours. Yours is tainted by the death of your mother. Your father mourned
her loss so much that even though he loved you, he couldn't
celebrate
your birth. Typical of Aris, if you ask me. In my case, though, there was no celebration because my mother wished I had never been born. When I turned thirteen, Miranda kissed me. Not in play, not to make mock of our whorish mothers. But because she loved me.

“I miss her, Adi. I feel incomplete without her.” He pressed his face into Adiran's knotted curls.

A dark weight rose up through him, the cold chill of Ani's voice not as he had always imagined it, harsh and cold, but a childish treble that stung his ears deep inside, made him clap a hand to them, expecting blood.

Then you shouldn't have used her. Betrayed Her

Adiran's hand fisted around the dagger's hilt.

Janus pushed the boy from his lap, snatched the dagger from his hand, breathing hard and fast. Adiran blinked at him, quiet and entirely too watchful, a predator's eyes in a boyish face. But the intensity of his gaze faded. Adiran yawned and held out his hand for the dagger.

“Please?” he said.

Janus kept the dagger close for a long moment, then passed it over, along with its sheath.

Janus sat down again, numb. The boy's intelligence was no greater than before, though Gost might find it so, did Janus choose to acquit him of duplicity in the matter. It was simply that Adiran was no longer alone in his soul. As much as Janus wished to deny it, he could not. As Maledicte had been a composite personality, comprised of Miranda and Ani, so Adiran grew into something more. Something new and dangerous, though right now, with Adiran leaning up against his hip in sleepy contentment, it was hard to believe. Could the boy, flawed as he was, even hold the god's attention?

Vengeance
, Janus thought bleakly.
Love and vengeance and a beloved father murdered. Ani would take notice
.

The double doors to the nursery opened wide, giving Janus a glance at a squad of guards, with Rue at the head, the mastiff Hela at his side.

Hela jerked out of Rue's grasp and began to bark, deep furious
notes that filled the nursery. Rue gestured sharply and a guard dragged Hela back into the corridor, still barking and growling.

Rue bowed briefly to Janus and said, “Might we speak?”

“Of course,” Janus said. He gave Adi a gentle shove toward his toys, and followed Rue into the hall.

Hela had calmed, and was being led away on a heavy chain. Rue watched the guard go and sighed. “Bane's already been transferred to the stables. I had hoped Hela would stay manageable.”

It was Adiran, Janus thought. The dogs knew, sensed the god's presence lurking within the child, knew and hated Her.

“The guards believe Maledicte left a taint in the room, and that's why the dogs bark and growl so, where once they loved to be.”