“The underground market is steeped in secrecy,” O’Reilly replied indignantly. “Even to one such as me, who trades in secrets.”
Ronan gave Berengar a look that reminded him of the way warriors sized each other up before a fight, as if seeking to determine whether the warden was a threat. “Which is why you should have requested aid. I would have gone with you myself, had you only told me.”
“We only had one opportunity to apprehend the intermediate,” Berengar said. “The man is a member of the Brotherhood of Thieves. If he even suspected we were after him, he would have left Cashel, never to be seen again.”
“It almost sounds,” Princess Ravenna said softly, only half looking at him, “as if you don’t trust the people in here either.”
“My husband kept secrets enough,” Alannah said. “I will not have them kept from me.” With that, she sat at the head of the table, and the others joined her—save for Berengar and Princess Ravenna.
“Whoever murdered King Mór doesn’t like leaving loose ends,” Berengar said. “They’re too artful for that. The déisi we tracked down this morning was killed before he had the chance to tell us anything useful. If we’re going to catch the king’s killer, we’re going to have to think like they do.”
“Explain yourself.” It was clear from Alannah’s expression she remained unconvinced. Likewise, the others seated around the table seemed similarly perplexed—even Morwen.
Ravenna turned away from the balcony. “He’s setting a trap. This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? Word will spread that one of the conspirators has been captured alive. When they come for him…” She seemed to regard Berengar with something like admiration.
Berengar approached the table with a nod. “Aye. If the killer is afraid of being exposed, they’re more likely to make a mistake. With Calum locked securely away in a cell right here under our feet, it’s only a matter of time before an attempt is made to silence him. When that happens, I’ll be waiting.”
“And if the assassins don’t take the bait? What then?” Ravenna approached, and as always, Berengar found himself drawn to her intelligent, somber eyes that seemed to burn with a hidden fire. If he had to guess, the princess was every bit as clever as her father—perhaps more so. Berengar wondered if that played a part in their troubled relationship.
“I think the prisoner knows more than he told me. Something has him too frightened to talk, even under the threat of losing his remaining hand.”
Queen Alannah’s lips formed a thin frown at that, hinting at her disapproval of such barbaric tactics, which were out of keeping with Munster’s civic virtues. Berengar continued undaunted. “Perhaps he discovered something about his employer he wasn’t supposed to. Even if he hasn’t, the assassin doesn’t strike me as the type to take that chance.” The killer was patient, but Berengar could afford to wait for the right moment to spring his trap. There were more than enough leads to chase in the meantime.
Ronan at least seemed swayed by his explanation. “I’ll tell Corrin to triple the guard. If anyone comes for the prisoner, we’ll be ready.” He rested his hand on the armrest of the queen’s chair, which Berengar noticed with interest. Was it simply a familiar gesture between someone who had long served the throne and his queen, or was there something more there?
“These events have left me deeply uneasy,” Alannah said. “First I learn Matthias and his killer were murdered, and then you appear with the man who arranged to have my husband poisoned. Warden Berengar, were you at least able to learn anything of use from him before you paraded him before the members of my court?”
“Calum mentioned dealings with Gorr Stormsson. That’s how he obtained the coatl egg he was attempting to auction.”
Queen Alannah pushed away from the table, and her counselors did likewise almost at once. She approached the map of Munster, where figures representing armies were scattered. “If the Dane is involved in this, the kingdom is in greater danger than I feared. Stormsson was a sworn enemy of my husband. Long has he sought dominion over Munster.”
Ronan pointed out a mass of enemy figures in the east. “He’s also one of the few individuals with enough gold to pay off the Brotherhood.”
“Send word to your spies, Laird O’Reilly,” Alannah said. “Find out if Stormsson’s soldiers are on the move. If he is preparing an attack, we must be prepared to meet him with force. As for you, Warden Berengar, I trust you will look deeper into this matter. If Stormsson had my husband killed, I wish to know.”
“In the meantime, I suggest you and your daughter avoid leaving the castle for the time being,” Berengar said. “It’s too dangerous for either of you to venture beyond these walls—not until we know more.”
“I go where I please,” the princess said coldly, her demeanor changing to reflect the same defiance she had for Mór when they dined together. “I will not be caged. Not by you or any other man.” The fierce reaction took him by surprise. It was plain from her resolute expression there was no changing her mind, and Berengar knew better than to try.
“The people just lost their king,” Queen Alannah said in agreement with her daughter. “We will not shrink from our duties and hide away from the world. I have absolute confidence in Captain Corrin and his men to protect us from harm.”
Berengar respected the queen’s resolve, if not her confidence in Corrin’s men. The guards hadn’t prevented her husband’s murder—King Mór had died on his throne. Given the assassin’s resources, any amount of public exposure was an unnecessary risk.
“What of this egg?” Ronan asked. “What should we do with it?”
A dark cloud seemed to fall over the room. No one seemed to want to go near the egg after Morwen had unveiled it at the center of the table. Even now it continued to pulse with a faint red light, matching the color of the flames.
Morwen perked up at the mention of the egg. It was obvious she had been waiting for this very moment to arrive. “We should destroy it at once. Were it to hatch, it would spell certain doom for the entire city, not to mention any so unfortunate as to be caught up in its path.” Her passion was unsurprising; as court magician, it was her duty to safeguard the realm against magical threats.
Alannah looked to her thane for guidance. “What do you think, Ronan?”
“A creature of such power might be useful, if it could be used in defense of Munster, as a weapon against our enemies.”
Morwen looked appalled by the very suggestion. “That would be a deadly gamble.” She stared at the egg’s scaled surface, which shimmered in the firelight. “Although a coatl will form a bond with whoever hatches it, they’re said to be difficult for any ordinary human to control. It would be madness to attempt it.” She seemed to plead with the queen with her eyes. “It must be destroyed, Your Grace.”
Berengar was almost tempted to put his axe in the egg that very moment.
“We should not act with haste,” Laird O’Reilly interjected, his voice a soothing whisper. “The egg’s worth is more than that of a weapon. A treasure as rare as this has no price, my queen. One does not discard such a valuable asset lightly.”
Why doesn’t he want it destroyed? Berengar thought. Was it greed, or something more? He wondered if one of the masked spectators at the auction had been there at O’Reilly’s behest. Perhaps the old man wanted the egg for himself all along.
“Lady Morwen, are we in any danger of its hatching, if left alone?” asked the queen.
Morwen shook her head slowly. “No, my queen. Only the cry of another coatl or powerful magic can awaken what sleeps inside. But, Your Grace—”
“Very well,” Alannah said firmly. “Let the egg be sealed away inside the royal vault. It will be kept safe there among our treasures, if ever we should have need of it.” Morwen kept her facial expression flat, but Berengar knew she was disappointed in the queen’s decision.
“The hour is late,” Alannah said. “Unless there are any more pressing matters left to discuss, this meeting is at an end. As for you, Wa
rden Berengar—I hope you know what you’re doing.” With that, she swept out of the chamber alongside her daughter, trailed by a small contingent of guards. Berengar remained behind as the others followed after her. His gaze lingered a moment longer on the swath of enemy territory on the map of Munster before he turned away. Late or not, there was still work to be done.
When he looked up, he saw that only Morwen remained behind, leaning against one of the pillars. The pair had hardly exchanged a word since their arrival at the castle.
“You might have told me that was your plan. I wasn’t sure what you were thinking, marching Calum into the castle like that.” She ran a hand through her hair, which was still unkempt from their flight through the tunnels, before approaching with a half smile. “Still, I’d say we make a good team, all things considered—apart from that nasty business about the hand,” she added with disapproval.
Berengar stared down at her with a dark expression. “I warned you to follow my lead. Instead, you ignored me and nearly got us both killed in the process.”
Morwen’s smile faltered, and she took a step back. “I was only trying to—”
“You told me you could manage magic without your staff, but that was a lie, wasn’t it? No wonder Mór never let you out of his sight. You run around like a little girl trying to prove herself, but we’re not on an adventure, and I am not your friend.” Her brow furrowed in surprise, and he saw tears glistening in the firelight. “Leave now. Before I lose my temper.”
Morwen wiped her eyes before walking away. It was clear she was hurt. As Berengar watched her go, he remembered she was someone who had just lost her father. The thought filled him with regret. A part of himself that was usually quiet told him that he should apologize, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to open his mouth, so instead he just stood there until she was gone.
When he was alone again, Berengar whistled for Faolán and made his way to the dungeon. No matter a castle’s size, it was never particularly difficult to find the dungeon, even with no one to show him the way. As long as he kept heading down, he would eventually end up where he wanted to be. Berengar quickly located the entrance, and after a brief exchange with the sentries stationed outside, he started down a long, stone stairway that descended into the depths under the castle with a torch to guide his path. It was quiet, dark, and damp. There were no cries from below, unlike those that filled the dungeons in the Ice Queen’s fortress far to the north. Munster did not condone torture, even before High Queen Nora outlawed its practice throughout Fál—a practice that had proven notoriously difficult to eradicate.
Finally he reached the bottom of the steps and set the torch in a bracket on the wall. The dungeon presented a stark difference from the splendor of the castle at the surface. There were no precious metals or statues in sight—only hard, cruel stone and cells behind iron bars. A chill hung in the corridor, permeating the ground. Mold grew freely along the walls, many of which were in varying states of disrepair. There was rot beneath the beauty, if one knew where to look. The parallel with the surface world was not lost on Berengar.
The jailers and guards ignored him, likely under orders from Corrin to accommodate him. He passed a row of empty cells until he came at last to the place where Calum sat behind unforgiving iron bars. There were a sizable number of guards stationed outside the cell. All remained quiet at the sight of Berengar and Faolán approaching, even Calum, whose remaining hand went to the base of his stump. Morwen had skillfully dressed the wound; the thief looked about as well as could be expected for a man who had lost a hand hours ago.
“I came to see how you were settling in,” Berengar said. “I trust the cell is to your liking.”
Calum opened his mouth angrily, as if to issue an insult, but stopped short when Faolán growled at him through the bars. “Have you forgotten that I make my living breaking into—and out of—places? This cell won’t hold me for long.”
“I doubt that. These cells were all enchanted by Munster’s court magician. Unless you’re carrying some magic in your pockets, you won’t be able to pick the lock to escape. I wouldn’t count on your friends in the Brotherhood showing up to free you, either—we both know you don’t have that much time.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Answers.”
Calum laughed and shook his head. “Then you’ve come to the wrong place. I’ve already told you everything I know.”
Berengar frowned. “Fine. I’m done wasting my time on you.”
“Wait!” Calum shouted as the warden turned to go. Berengar looked back over his shoulder, where Calum had risen and stood clutching the iron bars. “It’s not safe for me here. The guards want me dead for my role in the king’s death.”
Berengar faced him, their faces separated only by the bars. “It’s not the guards you’re worried about, thief. Tell me something useful, and I’ll reconsider using you as bait.”
Calum’s eyes darted from the guards back to Berengar. “The gold that was used to pay for the contract—it came from Munster’s royal treasury.”
If there was ever any doubt that someone highly placed in the royal court had been involved in King Mór’s assassination, there was none now. Only an individual with significant influence could have gained access to the royal treasury. Using Mór’s own wealth to finance his death had a certain sense of poetry to it. Was that what the killer wanted—to send a message? Neither was the choice of poison accidental. The Demon’s Whisper had clearly been selected to bring about a slow, painful death. What was the intended message in that? Whatever the answers, he wasn’t going to find them standing in the dungeon. As clever as the killer was, if they had used gold from the treasury, there would likely be a record of it somewhere. That meant they’d left a trail for him to follow.
Berengar turned to go. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
Calum banged on the bars. “You said you were going to reconsider using me as bait.”
“I have reconsidered it,” Berengar replied as he stalked away. “I think I like you right where you are.”
The castle was deserted by the time he emerged from the dungeon. Berengar patrolled a castle parapet and looked for any vulnerable places along the wall. Save for the guards and sentries at their posts, there wasn’t a soul in sight. The city of Cashel slept below in peace, but for how long? He was about to return inside when a soft sound echoed in the wind, and Faolán looked up alertly.
“I hear it too,” the warden said quietly of the sound, which resembled a human voice. It was coming from the chapel, or somewhere nearby it. He followed the sound’s source to the crypt, which lay shrouded in darkness. Something was singing. Berengar had hunted enough monsters to know few good things were ever found among the dead in the dark of night. He advanced slowly through the cemetery and reached for his axe, careful to keep to the shadows.
There was a figure in a long dress with her back to him standing over a tomb. She carried lilies in one of her hands. The woman was too far away for him to recognize the words of her song, but the pain and sadness were unmistakable. The clouds parted in the sky and moonlight illuminated the crypt, revealing the form of Princess Ravenna.
Berengar released his hold on the axe and took a step back, surprised, and a twig snapped under his boot. Ravenna glanced up suddenly, startled. She stared at the spot where Berengar stood for a moment longer before turning back to the grave, though she did not resume her song.
“Come, Faolán,” he whispered, leaving her to grieve in privacy.
Only later did it occur to him the grave she’d visited wasn’t her father’s.
Someone had been inside the king’s rooms. Berengar made the discovery when he searched Mór’s chamber the next morning. The room had been torn apart, a sign that someone was searching for something among King Mór’s possessions. According to the king’s chamberlain, who let him inside, the room had been in pristine condition only one day ago. Whoever gained entry had done so while Berengar was busy on the h
unt for Matthias and Calum. There was no sign of forced entry, but the chamberlain explained that many servants often came and went from the room, as well as—the man explained under his breath—the king’s many mistresses.
If the intruder had left evidence of their identity behind, Berengar found no trace of it. Nor could he discern what the intruder was looking for. Although the intruder had been careful enough not to alert anyone to their presence during the search, there was a rushed quality evident from the scattered sheets and overturned furniture that seemed out of keeping with what Berengar knew of the king’s assassin’s cautious approach. But who, if not the assassin, would have risked ransacking the king’s chambers—and for what purpose?
With these unanswered questions in mind, Berengar paid an unannounced visit to the royal treasury, a massive, open chamber in a remote location of the castle. The sound of Berengar’s footsteps on the marble floor echoed across lofty domed ceilings. Despite its size, the quiet room was nearly empty. Two guards stood watch outside the entrance to the vault, behind which lay the wealth of Munster, which now included the coatl egg recovered from the auction. The chamber’s sole remaining occupant was a middle-aged man at a large desk on the opposite side of the room, busy making notations on stacks of parchment with a quill pen.
The man at the desk appeared so absorbed in his work he hardly seemed to notice as Berengar approached. “Can I help you?” he asked stiffly in a tone that indicated he was little inclined to do so.
“I’m looking for the Exchequer.”
“What is the nature of your request?” the man asked without glancing up from his work. “You’ll have to obtain a writ of approval before you can make an official inquiry.”
“I’m here to ask a few questions about the king’s murder.” Berengar slammed his hand down on the desk so the man would see his ring. “And this is all the approval I require.”
At that, the man put down the quill and looked up at him with a shrewd expression. “I see. In that case, I am the Exchequer. You have my full cooperation.”
The Blood of Kings Page 12