by Callie Bates
In the rubble lies the charred remains of a corpse. My stomach lurches in revulsion, but I force myself to look long enough to identify the decorative helmet that’s fallen from what’s left of his head.
Beyond the corpse and the wreckage, the palace guards make a seething knot before the east wing doors. A harsh silver pulse emanates from them—one of the most violent sounds I have felt. They’re…kicking something on the floor. Beating it with the blunt sides of their sabers.
No—someone.
“Stop!” I shout. “Stop!”
Rhia has a better battle cry. “Stand down in the queen’s name!”
On the other side of the mess of men, I see Captain Grenou flanking the door. He hasn’t been beating the person up—he’s been watching. Cold crawls down the back of my neck.
He’s registered our arrival. “Enough!” he bellows at his guards.
But to my horror, only two of them seem to hear. The rest, at least a dozen men, continue to pummel the figure on the floor.
“Stop this now!” I shout. My hands are shaking, but I point a finger at Grenou and he finally steps forward, wrenching one man off the victim. Rhia lunges forward to wrestle more of them back, one-armed, and more of my mountain women appear, pulling the men from the body. I grind my teeth, waiting. Grenou’s gaze keeps flickering to me.
“Let us at him!” one of the men shouts.
Rhia actually shakes him. “Your queen is here!”
The men sober at that. They step back at last, making an uncomfortable semicircle around the body lying on the floor. Its back is to me, and it wears black. I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman, alive or dead.
I snap my fingers to the mountain women still flanking me. “Send for Demetra. Hurry!”
One runs off, and I turn back to the men.
“What,” I say quietly, “is the meaning of this?”
“He killed Thierry!” one of the guards cries out. The others have stopped moving, but the violent rage still quivers off them.
“Silence.” Grenou steps forward, still breathing hard from the effort of subduing his men. He gives a short bow. “Your Majesty, the men reported that Ciril Thorley attempted to leave the east wing early this morning. They refused to let him out.”
I fold my arms. “On what grounds?”
“He’s an evil bastard!” one of the guards exclaims. “He wouldn’t go back in. He killed Thierry, Your Majesty!”
I point at the curled figure on the floor. “Is that the sorcerer?”
The men look at each other, and cold crawls up my spine again. Captain Grenou waits, apparently impassive.
“No, Your Majesty,” one of them says at last. “Ciril Thorley escaped.”
“Then,” I say carefully, “who is this?”
“He’s another one of those bastards, who tried to get out of there. Came to see if his friend had killed us all.”
Bile rises in the back of my throat. I force it down and walk forward. The guards all go to attention. I pause in front of the body and make myself look into the face of each man. Some flinch. Several stare back. Most drop their gazes.
I end with Captain Grenou. He returns my stare, challenging.
“You have a great deal of explaining to do,” I say. Suppressing my nausea, I kneel beside the body. The man’s face—what I can see of it, anyway—is a mess of blood. His nose is broken, at the very least, but there’s so much blood they must have done a good deal more damage than that.
I touch his shoulder. There’s a twitch—a humming beneath my fingers. Even without fumbling for a pulse on the man’s neck, I know he’s not dead. Life, feeble and graying, whispers through him.
Demetra had better get here soon.
I climb back onto my feet. “You’re lucky this man is still alive,” I say to all of the guards. “We don’t live in a kingdom where we beat a man to death because of what his friend has done.”
This time, most of them have the grace to look ashamed. A few just look sullen.
“I assume that is Thierry.” I gesture to the charred body behind me. “What happened to him?”
Grenou nods to one of his men, who draws in a breath. “The bas…the sorcerer struck him down with—with lightning! Your Majesty.” Even his attempted bravado can’t hide the note of fear souring his voice.
Cold washes through me, again, but I need to show the men I’m not afraid. And I cannot let this spread any further.
“We will gather Thierry’s remains,” I say as calmly as I can, “and see to his funeral. I am certainly sorry for his loss. That being said, you are all revoked from duty until I have a complete understanding of what has happened here. Rhia, see to it that new guards are put in place, and inform the refugees that I expect an explanation from them, as well. Captain Grenou, you and your men will meet me in the Yellow Salon at once. I will be there as soon as Demetra arrives.”
* * *
—
DEMETRA BURSTS FROM the east wing on the heels of the departing guards. Her face is drawn with panic. “Marcos!” she cries out, pushing past us in a bright rush of panic. “Let me see him.” She crouches to examine the fellow on the ground, pressing her fingertips to his pulse.
“Will he survive?” I ask quietly.
Her nostrils flare. “They struck his head, didn’t they?”
“Yes. I think they did.” My lips tighten.
“All he did was go to the door and ask what had happened! We all heard the explosion—we saw Ciril come back—and then we heard shouting.” Her face contorts with pure anger. “He wanted to help.”
We both look down at Marcos, crumpled on his side, blood crusted below his nose.
Quietly, I say, “I am sorry, Demetra, and I’m going to put this right. Tell us what you need.”
“I want to transfer him to a bed. I need to examine him properly.”
I nod. To the mountain women, I say, “Help Demetra in whatever way she needs.”
They immediately surround her, helping her lift the other refugee onto a stretcher. He groans softly, and I feel a stab of hope.
“Make sure Thierry’s body is taken away,” I add. “I expect he’s due a state funeral, though that depends on the testimony I receive.”
I stride off, Rhia on my heels. “I’m not leaving you,” she informs me, fiercely, when I glance at her.
I manage a small smile. Though I’m angry enough to defy Grenou on my own, I’m still grateful she’s come. I need to appear strong.
As ordered, the guards are waiting for me in the Yellow Salon, in neat if sullen ranks. They salute crisply as I arrive. Grenou bows. I march to the front of the chamber, crossing my arms over my dressing gown.
“Explain,” I say shortly.
Grenou nods at the guards. “Alain?”
A tall, thin young man steps forward with a bow, sweeping off his helmet to show straight, sand-colored hair. His eyes meet mine—level, serious. The faint humming sound of him is as solid and level as his gaze. “Thierry, Sebastien, and I were on the night duty, Your Majesty. That Ciril Thorley came to the door around three o’clock and tried to leave the palace. We refused him…”
“Why?”
“Thierry thought it was suspicious that he wanted to leave at that hour of the night. He was the ranking officer, and he thought Ciril seemed too dangerous to be let out into the city at night.”
I drum my fingers on the arm of my chair. “Did you ask him what he wanted in the city?”
Alain hesitates. “He wouldn’t tell us, Your Majesty. He grew belligerent.”
“And did you grow belligerent in return?”
His silence is answer enough.
I utter a sharp sigh. “How did Thierry die?”
“We—well, he wouldn’t go back in. Thierry told him he had to or he’d pay for it. He still wouldn’t go back
, so we seized him. And he…” Alain’s voice breaks. “He gave a great shout and a bolt of lightning burst through the hallway. It flew—it went straight into Thierry! Burned him. And fire—fire erupted in the walls! We let go of the sorcerer for a moment and he got away.”
“Where did he go?” I ask neutrally.
“Bolted back into the east wing.”
Well, I can certainly imagine he’d get as far away from my guards as possible. “We’ll find him. So the fire?”
“It took hours to put out.” He shakes his head. “We had to summon half the company! Then one of the other damned refugees puts his head through the door and demands to know what’s happened to his friend. He accused us of murdering him! When he’s the one who killed Thierry! And then he demanded to be let out and find you, Your Majesty.”
“So you gave him a lesson?” I say.
Alain flushes. He doesn’t answer, but his gaze cuts toward Grenou.
“He took Thierry’s life!” one of the other guards cries in protest.
“Ciril did,” I say to the company at large. “Do you have any evidence that the second man helped him?”
The guards look chastened, or at least some of them do. Alain says in a small voice, “No, Your Majesty. We did not.”
I look at Captain Grenou, who stares bullishly back at me. The guards might have been angry and upset and frightened, but I can’t imagine them attacking the second refugee without encouragement. “When did you arrive at the scene, Captain?”
“Around four o’clock, to help put out the fire.”
“And what did you do when the door opened a second time, and the second refugee came out to find what had happened to Ciril?”
He stiffens. “I ordered him seized as a co-conspirator.”
“Did you also order him beaten to death?”
His gaze moves past me. “Certainly not, Your Majesty. He did not die.”
“Yet,” I note. “Let me ask this again. Did you order the men to beat him, or did you stand by while they did it?”
He says nothing.
“Captain Grenou!” I’m aware, like the soft hum of music building, of the guards’ anger, their confusion, pulsing from Grenou to me. If I push Grenou too hard, I risk turning all of them against me. Yet I’m not about to let them think this behavior is acceptable—and I know I saw guilt on their faces. These men did not attack the sorcerer out of malice. Grenou did. “You will answer.”
“I would like to speak with you privately,” he says.
My hackles rise. “First you will tell me the truth in front of your men!”
Grenou clenches his jaw.
But Alain steps forward again, squaring his shoulders. Anger beats off him now in heavy, drumlike waves. “The captain encouraged us, Your Majesty.” When Grenou whips toward him, he gives the captain a defiant stare.
“Is this true?” I ask the assembled guards.
No one else answers. But most of them glance at Grenou, though they seem too afraid to confirm Alain’s story.
“Very well,” I say. “Captain, you will remain here. The rest of you are dismissed, for the time being. I will be asking the refugees for their version of events. And we will give Thierry a state funeral.”
The guards file out. I am alone with Captain Grenou, and Rhia at my side.
“The men were angry, madam,” he bursts out. “They demanded to punish the refugee.”
I lift an eyebrow. “And you were unable to restrain them?”
“I…” His face has reddened. Now he points at me. “Those refugees are a blight on our society! We don’t know what’s become of Ciril Thorley! If he had attacked you, you would not be interrogating me this way!”
“Attacked me?” I echo. “Ciril was nowhere near my chambers. Captain Grenou, I think you forget that I employ Ciril Thorley. I also employ you. Remember that. You are dismissed until I have a satisfactory version of these events. Alain will function as captain in your stead.”
He doesn’t move. If anything, he seems stunned. “Alain? But he’s only—”
“Yes,” I say firmly, “Alain. He seems to have a more level head than you do.”
He just stares.
“That will be all,” I say.
Now he jabs a shaking finger at me. “You should be careful, Your Majesty!”
“Is that a threat?”
“Careful,” he collects himself, somewhat, “of the refugees, I mean. You don’t know the danger in your own palace.”
I stare at him. I am tired of this man and his arrogance. So I simply say, my voice short, “You are dismissed, Captain Grenou.”
His lips pouch, and he glares at Rhia. But he goes. I release a breath, trying to loosen the tightness in my shoulders.
Rhia scowls after Grenou. “Too bad you can’t dismiss the smarmy ass entirely,” she mutters.
I sigh. “Yes, we would hate to distress Lord Devalle.” It gives him more power than he ought to have, curse him.
At least I no longer have to force Grenou to cooperate. Now it’s time to try to hunt down a renegade sorcerer.
* * *
—
CIRIL THORLEY HAS apparently vanished. The refugees report that he came back into the east wing and left through another exit. No one knows where he’s gone, or why.
“We can’t let the word out,” Alistar says. He’s arrived, tired and unwilling to look at me, but still worried. “After the riot yesterday—there would be chaos in the city streets.”
There’s a rap at the door; Rhia comes in. We’ve retreated to my study to talk. “We didn’t find anything in Ciril’s room.”
I curse softly. We’re going to have to hunt him down somehow, or there will be another riot. If he hadn’t decided to storm off to the gods know where, I might be able to contain this situation fairly easily. But without him here to reprimand, it will appear I’m punishing Captain Grenou and not the refugee who murdered a palace guard.
I look at them both, thinking of how much Ciril unnerved me. “We need to find him, and fast.”
“You have some way to capture a sorcerer?”
“No,” I admit. That scares me more than anything.
I’ve never been frightened of a sorcerer before, I realize. They’ve always been on our side—we’ve always been fighting for them. But I don’t know what Ciril wants, or what he’s capable of. He’s willing to fight against his own people—but then, in some ways, we all have done the same.
And it infuriates me that he’s making the rest of the refugees look bad by extension.
There’s a rattle in the corridor. I get to my feet just as Lord Devalle marches in, the Butcher and Philippe close behind.
“What’s this?” Devalle is demanding. “A royal guard is dead, and you’ve demoted Captain Grenou? What are you thinking?”
“Gentlemen.” I nod at them, even though I want to order them out at the same time. “I’m still trying to get to the bottom of what happened.”
“One of these sorcerers murdered an Ereni guard,” Lord Devalle says flatly. “That is what happened.”
“And our Ereni murdered a sorcerer on Rambaud’s lands,” I snap. “Has there been justice for that death? No. I have requested that anyone who knows what may have happened come forward.” I look from Devalle to Philippe. “No one has.”
Philippe grimaces, but Lord Devalle waves this away. “That was a case of local justice. Who knows—maybe that sorcerer tried to murder them, just as this one has!”
“If he could have killed one of them, I doubt he’d have allowed himself to be killed by them,” I say darkly.
Devalle runs right over this. “Your Majesty, we need to make clear that nothing like this will ever happen again. You need to make an example of this sorcerer. Let justice be done.” He pauses. “You need to put Grenou back in his captaincy.”
Devalle barely controls his contempt. “Most likely he feared that man would attack them the way Ciril did.”
“Demetra said that Marcos opened the door to find out if they needed help.” I shake my head. “I will not tolerate such behavior in my own household, much less in the rest of my kingdom. I witnessed what happened. My guards were beating that man because they could. Because Grenou told them to. It was nauseating.”
Devalle opens his mouth. “Your Caerisians would do the same thing if—”
“It was unacceptable,” I interrupt. “If I witnessed a Caerisian behaving in this manner, it would also be unacceptable. I will not permit such behavior from anyone in my palace or in my country. Do I make myself clear?”
“You do, my lady,” he says, a glint in his eyes, “but Captain Grenou has many friends. They might find his demotion equally unacceptable.”
We stare each other down. Somewhere, I hear a clock ticking.
“You may need Captain Grenou,” Devalle says at last. “Especially if you cannot find that sorcerer quickly. Once the people hear what has happened, there will be protests in the streets. Fear is already running high. Your refugees…”
He’s threatening me—and I can only suppose it must be through a connection he has with Rambaud. I can’t afford another riot, and I certainly can’t risk people harming the refugees in any way.
Ruling, Ruadan always said, is about compromise. I wish he hadn’t been quite so prescient.
“Captain Grenou will return to duty as usual at five o’clock this evening,” I say coldly. “It will give him a few hours to think over what he could have done better.”
Lord Devalle bows. “A wise choice, Your Majesty.”
With a last glance at Philippe, he leaves.