Maledicte (40 page)

“Stay out of his way,” Gilly urged the maid.

“No fear,” she said. “I’ve seen that look before. Do you know your way back to the street?”

“I came by carriage,” Gilly said.

“Aren’t you the one?” she said. “Your master treats you well then. It’s a pity he’s not likely to need another maid.”

Gilly kissed her cheek and she giggled at him before ushering him down the stairs. Each step down, Gilly thought giddily, was one step closer to Maledicte’s side. Aris meant to send servants of his own, but surely Gilly would be allowed to attend Maledicte’s needs in Ennisere. Still, his happiness was bittersweet; Gilly knew Maledicte would rail at the prison, no matter how fine the cage, and Ani would drive him mad, and as for himself—his distant dream of the Explorations died in his chest.

He rested against the dark walls, trying to sort the mixture of relief and glee, of pain and dismay, of fear and doubt into some more palatable sensation, and failed. Long minutes later, he let himself out of the servants’ stairwell and headed for the stables.

At the carriage, the door was open. Gilly hesitated at the unexpected sight, and while he did so, Janus stepped out. “You took your sweet time,” he said. “Get in.”

“I’ll walk,” Gilly said, mistrustful of Janus’s smile.

“Don’t you want to help Maledicte?” Janus said. Again the storm flickers washed his eyes.

“I don’t see the guards Aris spoke of, your escort to the prison,” Gilly said.

“Eavesdropper,” Janus said, without heat. “But you dally. I thought you’d be chafing at the bit, ready to seek banishment with him all to yourself.”

Gilly stifled all reply, mistrusting that hot light still luminous in Janus’s gaze.

“Do come on. I have errands aplenty. Before we release Mal, lock him into the Kingsguard’s care, I want to go to the town house to take what we can salvage. The king’s competency is likely to be adequate, but Maledicte is most particular.”

“He’ll want the sword,” Gilly said, thinking of it left waiting for Maledicte’s return.

“Didn’t Echo take it from him?” Janus said.

“Maledicte gave it to me for safekeeping,” Gilly said.

Janus fingered his own sword thoughtfully. “Well, I’m not one to take his toys from him. We’ll collect it, and load the carriage with his possessions while we’re at it. Or do you want to explain to him how he comes to be a hundred miles from the nearest tailor and without his favorite vest?” Janus climbed back into the carriage, leaned against the seat, and said. “Go up and drive, Gilly.”

Gilly, relieved not to be closed in the carriage with Janus, did as he was told. The town house stable, when they arrived, was emptied of horses. The door to the house was marked with Echo’s seal, but Gilly ignored it. In the entry hall, Maledicte’s sword rested on the marble table where calling cards usually littered the surface, as if it too waited a response.

Janus picked up the sheathed sword, swearing as the feathered hilt bit through his thin gloves. His voice echoed in the house, striking no response from the shadows. When Gilly looked into the kitchen below, Cook’s belongings had gone. He wondered who the little maids would work for now, wondered if Livia had smelled this coming, as cunning as a rat, and had found herself a new place.

Janus came into the kitchen after him, his boots ringing on the stone floor. “Tell me something, Gilly. How could Maledicte give you the blade if you weren’t here?” The sudden storm feel of the room caught Gilly by surprise. Janus thrust Ani’s sheathed sword at him hard enough to break ribs; Gilly flung himself backward, tripping over the raised brick hearth.

“You allowed his capture and blame me for it,” Janus said. “He’d be free now, fought through them all, but for you—how did you manage it? Did you drug him again?”

Gilly said, “They would have killed him, Janus. This way he lives.”

“Killed him, when he heals, when poison flees his blood? I have my own plans set in motion, and you had to interfere. You and he go north, banished together? Mal said you were intelligent—did you plan this? Itarusines make long plans, and Vornatti had the training of you—” Janus dropped the sword, unsheathed his own. Gilly grabbed the abandoned rolling pin, and took the strike on its marble surface. The sword skidded, shrieking, and Gilly pushed back, throwing the pin at Janus.

Watching the blade, he missed the bare-handed blow that hit his neck and shoulder, stiffening them into instant pain, and hurling him off balance. In desperation, Gilly threw himself forward, landing a blow of his own that split his knuckles and Janus’s lip. Rage swept him and he forgot he was facing a man with a sword, bent on extracting at least a small measure of Lizette’s pain from Janus.

Janus’s head rocked with the blow; he spat blood at him, and said, “Fool. You’ll break your hand before you hurt me that way.”

Gilly punched out again, and Janus used his momentum against him, letting the rush take them both to the ground among a smashing of the cook’s old chair. Rolling to land atop, Janus put his knees in Gilly’s belly, bearing down, his hands sliding around Gilly’s neck, the sword dropped and forgotten.

Already breathless from the exigencies of the fight, Gilly began to gasp in earnest. He pried Janus’s hands away, doing his best to break the thumbs, and Janus let go. Gilly sucked in air, tried to push Janus’s weight off of him, and barely avoided the elbow aimed at his face.

Janus’s hands wound through Gilly’s hair, and pounded his head into the floor, then the edge of the hearth. The room reeled, spinning into a moment’s dull blackness; his vision cleared to Janus risen above him. Janus kicked him in the jaw, setting off another bout of spinning dizziness. Gilly knew he had to rise—another blow caught his shoulder as he tried to roll to hands and knees, tried to reach either sword.

The next kick cracked ribs and dropped him to his belly. There was blood in his mouth and dripping into his eyes; Gilly crawled up again, the kitchen spinning and dipping as if it were a galley in a shipwreck and not one safely at shore.

The explosion of pain in his side staggered him. He kept his balance, but barely, trying to pull himself up the table legs, wondering when Janus was going to remember the swords. The next blow, to the side of his knee, sent him writhing to the floor. Vision tunneling and clearing, pain a tide washing over him, he could barely make out Janus standing above him, incandescent as flame, grinning.

Gilly knew he was dead; it gave him breath enough to say, “Maledicte—”

“I’m going to give you to the sea. He’ll think you abandoned him, took his coin and fled to the Explorations. He’ll hate you for it,” Janus said.

Gilly struggled to his feet, rested his hands on his thighs, his right leg buckling, and said, “Rot you, he’ll know otherwise.”

Janus drew back a moment, and Gilly stumbled toward the kitchen door and outside, hoping for a witness, even for the Kingsguard or Echo. A faint rasp of metal set him to fumbling for the handle, the iron slick in his palms, when Janus stepped behind him, as patient and as mad as an outcast wolf. He raised his sword. Gilly closed his eyes, whispered, “Mal.”

· 39 ·

A
S THE DOOR TO THE
communal cell opened, Maledicte looked up from his seat on the corpses of those who’d died overnight. Damastes slammed the door shut again and Ani, who’d seen the dark welts on his face, laughed through Maledicte’s throat, flecking his lips with blood. Above him, in other cells, people screamed and wept as Ani’s glee rose through the darkness and touched their dreams.

There were rough sounds of argument in the hall and then the door opened again.

“What a mess you’ve made,” Janus said, holding the keys in a casual hand. “Damastes is cowering in his quarters, muttering about rat fever and devils; the kingsguard refused to come inside at all, and here you sit, laughing.” Though insouciant, his voice held a hint of tremor.

“Janus.” The name worked some of its old magic, driving some of the madness back; he fled his throne of corpses, belatedly repulsed.

“I brought your sword,” Janus said. “Thought you might like to come out and use it.”

Maledicte joined Janus at the door, each slow step returning him to himself. He took the sword in his hand, grimaced at the blood on his skin, and said, “I hope Gilly has a bath run. And despite his wishes, I am never wearing gray again, it’s far too funereal.” He forced the words out, trying to collect the courtier’s mask about him, but finding that it didn’t fit as well as it had.

“Are you unhurt?” Janus asked.

“I am,” Maledicte said. “Some of these others cannot say the same. And I want my belongings back.”

Janus drew him into the hall, folded him into his arms. “That jailer—Damastes, he didn’t find out?”

“No,” Maledicte said. He shivered in Janus’s arms. “Let’s go. I want to see the sky.” Tears streaked his face, ran through the dirt and blood; he only noticed them when they trickled into his mouth, bitter with dust.

“Of course,” Janus said, kissing Maledicte’s mouth, delaying their exit.

Maledicte leaned against Janus, smelling the clean heat of the sun on his skin, tasting the sweetness of his tongue against his own. It pushed more of Ani’s madness away, increased his shaking. “Janus, call for a physician.”

“I thought you unhurt?” Janus held Maledicte at arm’s length.

Maledicte shrugged under that piercing gaze. “For them. I don’t know what I let loose in there.”

“It’s an outbreak of rat fever. Common enough in prisons. You’re no witch, Mal, god-driven or not. And as for them? They’re nothing,” Janus said. “They would have rotted here regardless. Come now, Mal, shelve such unreasonable concerns and dry your tears—or do you want Damastes to see them?”

Maledicte let his breath out in relief as Janus reminded him of an enemy to face, shunted the poisonous guilt back, let Ani dissolve it with the clean heat of Her hatred. “He put us underground.” His fingers tightened around the sword hilt; his mouth drew into a hungry grin.

“Mmm,” Janus said. “Why don’t
I
go talk to Damastes, get your things back? Let you wait in the carriage.”

“The Kingsguard,” Maledicte said, the words filtering through slowly, as if he was still half lost in nightmares. “Why are they here?”

“Did you truly think there would be no penalty?” Janus said. “The town house is sealed against you. They are here to escort you to a hotel, and to make sure you don’t leave it. We’re just trading one cell for another.” Bitterness seeped through his voice.

“I cannot live in a hotel forever,” Maledicte said. “What has Aris planned?”

Janus urged him up the stairs without answering, and Maledicte, sheathed in dirt and stone, was willing to allow evasion, eager to make the sky his own again.

“Look there,” Janus said, laughing. “Damastes is not such a fool as all that.” The piled belongings near the door sparkled in the low light. Maledicte swept them up into his hands, then passed them to Janus, preferring to keep his blade ready.

Maledicte stepped out into afternoon sunlight and winced. The Kingsguard standing beside Last’s carriage stood to attention, then drew back as they saw the naked blade in Maledicte’s hand.

“Where’s Gilly?” Maledicte asked. “I thought sure he’d be here.”

Janus helped him into the carriage, and Maledicte picked up the sheath lurking on the seat cushions. He buckled it on and sighed.

Janus gave the coachman the signal to go, and settled beside Maledicte. A kingsguard passed alongside the window, and Maledicte put his hand on the hilt of the sword.

“Take these back,” Janus said, distracting him from contemplations of flight and murder.

The scatter of small stones and coins made him release the sword so he could catch them before they tumbled from his lap. Moodily, Maledicte sorted buttons from cuff links, stickpin from coins. The pocket watch fell into his fingers again and he pulled it out, setting it to spinning in the sunlight. “You never answered me. Where is Gilly?”

Janus’s silence went on a moment too long, long enough for Maledicte’s interest to turn to concern. “Janus, tell me.”

“I haven’t seen him,” Janus said, tapping the watch in Maledicte’s hands, making it swing. “When Aris told me of your arrest, I went to the town house to collect your belongings. The house was empty. No one had stayed behind—all the rooms were stripped. Your accounts too, undoubtedly. I told you your trust was misplaced.”

“Gilly,” Maledicte whispered, clutching that sudden hurt to his heart. Ani, Her attention diverted from the sky by his pain, turned the hurt around, studied it, and let it drop. There was nothing to be mined; Maledicte had already replaced the pain with wariness and hope. Gilly would return.

“He’s fled,” Janus said. “Count on it. Gone to the sea as he threatened to do so often.”

Janus studied the guards maneuvering outside, his expression hidden. Maledicte turned Janus to face him, stared into the guileless blue eyes, and felt his heart constrict. Roach, Celia, and Ella—all had been helpless before Janus. “Did you…did you kill him?”

“Burn it, Mal,” Janus said, irritation drawing his brows down, his lips thinning. “I begged Aris to free you, swore promises I hate to keep, and all you can ask is if I’ve killed your servant? I did not. Likely he’s decided that our ways are too rough for his tender heart.”

“Lizette died,” Maledicte said. “Seemingly at my hand. Why did you do it?”

Janus cast another glance outside the carriage, at the kingsguard nearest, and leaned forward. “You know why. To punish Gilly, since you won’t let me lay a hand on him. You should be glad of my restraint. And why you sought the brothel in the first place—”

“You murdered Ella, and kept it from me…I despise secrets from you,” Maledicte said, waiting. When Janus only shrugged irritably, Maledicte asked, “What is it that Aris has planned? You seem remarkably loath to mention it.”

“Ennisere,” Janus said. “You’re to live out your time there, on an estate staffed by guards.”

Maledicte thought of maps and distance, but his knowledge was sketchy. Vornatti had taught him about the city and its fashionable retreats. Janus had told him about Itarus, and Gilly had sweetened his dreams with descriptions of the Explorations. Ennisere meant nothing, a foggy blur on an unfinished map of the world. “What of you?”

“I stay at Aris’s side, and work to further our plans.”

“
Your
plans,” Maledicte said. “My plan was always simple, god-guided. Kill the earl of Last, and reclaim you. And I have yet to do the first. That child survives—”

Janus said, “Listen Mal, listen to me. I have my schemes. You’re correct. Maledicte is ruined. So let Aris send you to Ennisere, bide your patience only a little. I know of a black-haired boy with pale skin, a poor mirror of you. We’ll kill him, leave his body at Ennisere, and you can become Miranda again, and return to my side.”

“You’re a fool,” Maledicte said. “Miranda with a ruined voice, a distinctive scar, and no antecedents? You may play puppets with the king but he is not so mindless as all that.” He could not keep the threads of his argument together, losing them in the pale calculation in Janus’s eyes, the clatter of hooves outside the carriage, the line of blood marring Janus’s mouth. “You’re bruised.”

Janus touched his mouth. “You struck me, don’t you recall?”

The blood was fresher than that, Maledicte thought, but that too was sucked away in the skirl of feathers within him. Above the coach, the rooks swarmed, darkening the sky prematurely with their wings. “Where’s Gilly?” he asked again.

The coach drew up to the hotel; the horses milled uncertainly as the kingsmen conferred. Finally, two guards dismounted, flanked Maledicte as he and Janus went up the front stair. At the desk, the owner made a surreptitious charm against evil, and Maledicte smiled at him, showing all his teeth.

“The second floor,” the guard said. “Go ahead of us.”

Maledicte walked into the rooms without protest. The quarters were roomy enough, a bedchamber, a valet’s chamber, sitting room, and bath. He peered out the window, drawing back the curtain. “No balcony. No trellis.”

“It’s a prison, Mal,” Janus said, taking a seat on the bed, and waving the guards out irritably. They shut the door, but Maledicte could hear the faint jingle of their mail as they leaned against the wall.

“So it is,” Maledicte said, dropping the curtain. “When am I transported north?”

“Tomorrow,” Janus began and Maledicte growled.

“So soon?” He paced the room, boot heels muffled against the carpet, the blade swinging freely. “For how long?”

“Until Aris—”

“What? Until Aris dies—” Maledicte’s voice rasped in the quiet room, and Janus pressed his hand close over his mouth.

“Hush,” he said. “The guards are just outside.”

“You’re taking it all from me,” Maledicte said. “I wanted the earl dead and you denied me, and I wanted you. Now you’re walking away, because the king asks it of you. Why can’t we just flee? Kill the guards and run for it?”

“A Last doesn’t run, he conquers,” Janus said.

Maledicte let his breath out in a hiss. “You choose playing for power over me.”

“Not over—” Janus said. “With. I want both. You must be patient. Let me plan since your sense seems to have been buried with Amarantha. Trust me. I’ll win through. See us both rich and powerful.”

“It’s all gone wrong in my head. It’s all beaks and wings and blood…. Where’s Gilly? He can make it better,” Maledicte said, slumping back onto the feather mattress.

Janus kissed his forehead. “You’re overtired, overwrought. You should never have had to go to Stones.”

“Not underground,” Maledicte said. “Wings want sky.”

“Not anywhere within those walls. But your discomfort will be repaid. I promise that.”

Maledicte nodded, the words washing over him like the empty chatter of songbirds, soothing but meaningless. He let Janus undress him like a child, stood docilely in the hip bath while Janus sponged the filth of Stones from his body. He tangled his hands in Janus’s pale hair, kissed his mouth, and let his mind drift away entirely. Janus laid him over the bed, kissing, stroking, soothing, and Maledicte clutched him close. When they were done and dressed, Janus gone, Maledicte sat by the window, staring at the sky.

Gilly kept creeping into his mind, the earnest eyes, the worried half frown that had become his common expression; his image was displaced only by Janus, and the slow ache that grew inside Maledicte. He couldn’t keep them in his mind at the same moment; when he tried, all he saw was blood.

Across the room, the sword muttered and whispered until he cradled it in his lap. “I will, I promised you. In exchange for the sword. I’ll spill his blood yet.” Outside, the rooks settled atop the hotel, their chatter quieting.