Allies & Assassins

by Justin Somper

  Kai did not respond at first. It was as if he were in a trance. He already had a fresh collection of hatchets in his hand.

  “Mr. Jagger,” she repeated, slightly louder.

  “Yes.” Suddenly his eyes were upon her and she felt as though she were staring at a wild beast. Asta remembered someone telling her once that when a wolf caught your scent, it would make an instant decision about whether you were a friend or an enemy, and would never deviate from that judgment. She noticed that the Huntsman’s eyes were as violet as the waters of the fjord, their color made all the more striking by their contrast with his tanned skin and long silver hair.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” Asta said. “I’m Asta Peck, the Physician’s niece.”

  “I know who you are.” She felt him appraising her as he spoke. It was not a comfortable sensation.

  “I make it my business to know everyone who enters the court,” he continued.

  Kai shifted the hatchets in his hand slightly. Asta wondered whether she might have strayed into danger.

  “Why did you seek me out?” he asked now.

  “To ask you a few questions,” she said. “But, if you are busy, I can wait.”

  He nodded, raising his free hand to her. The message could not have been clearer. Stay there! There was a fresh whistle. Now Kai Jagger turned his searing gaze from her and called out again. “Yellows.”

  He sent the hatchets soaring toward the line of birches. His movements were so fast, so subtle, that Asta was unable to fully appreciate his mastery. Still, it was no surprise to look down through the glade and see that yet again, each blade had found its intended mark.

  Unhurriedly, Kai Jagger turned back to face her. “All right, Asta Peck. You say you have some questions.”

  “I’m helping my uncle with his investigations into Prince Anders’s death,” Asta began.

  “You?” His eyes bored into hers. “You are only a child. What help can you give?”

  “I’m Elias’s apprentice,” Asta said. “He’s training me.”

  The Huntsman’s eyes narrowed. “The murder investigations are being conducted by the Captain of the Guard. An arrest has been made and the death warrant signed.” Asta’s thoughts turned to the steward, trapped in the Dungeons, as Kai continued his rant. “The Physician’s work was complete when he delivered his postmortem report.”

  “There are some lingering questions,” Asta replied. “And we thought you might be able to help us with them.”

  Kai continued to stare at her. “The facts seem very clear to me in this matter—to me, if not to you.”

  Asta held her nerve. Before the Huntsman could raise a fresh objection or, for that matter, a hatchet, she ploughed on. “The day before Prince Anders died, he was out hunting with you, wasn’t he?”

  Kai Jagger did not, at first, respond with words, but held her instead in his penetrating stare. “Yes,” he said at last. “We often went out hunting. Hardly an unusual occurrence.”

  “We observed a wound on Prince Anders’s right leg, during the postmortem examination. It looked to us like a wound the Prince might have sustained while hunting.”

  She waited as patiently as she could for Kai to respond.

  “Do you have a question?” he asked at last.

  “Yes,” she said, beginning to grow exasperated in spite of herself. “Do you remember if the Prince was wounded during that final hunting expedition?”

  “No,” Kai said. His head and body remained perfectly still.

  “No, he wasn’t wounded or no, you don’t remember?” Asta pressed him.

  He was silent for a moment and she thought for sure she had offended him. But then he responded. “The former.”

  Asta felt deflated. She had been so sure. She had seen the wound for herself and heard Uncle Elias talk about that same wound as a possible means of transmission for the poison. If that were the case, it would change.

  Kai turned away and reached down into the basket at his side. He lifted five more hatchets from inside. “Greens,” he called. Asta could feel the movement of the air as the Huntsman sent the next five axes flying toward the trees. Four of the five hit their targets but, to her surprise, the fifth missed and sailed through the gap between two of the trees. She could see from the Huntsman’s expression that he was displeased.

  “I’m sure that doesn’t happen often,” she said.

  If he’d heard her, he gave no indication of it.

  “What’s this game called?” she inquired now.

  That caught his attention. “It’s not a game,” he said. “It’s important to keep my eye trained for hunting.”

  “Of course.” She frowned. “But which animals would you catch like this?”

  Kai Jagger’s blue eyes met hers. “These weapons are not used on animals,” he said.

  She trembled. The implicit threat of his words was clear enough.

  “I’d better get going,” she said. “Thank you for your time.” She stepped down from the mound, feeling his eyes still burning into her back as she walked away. But she hadn’t gone more than a few paces when, to her surprise, she heard his voice again.

  “Prince Anders was wounded. But not on that final hunting expedition. It was over a week ago.”

  Asta stopped dead in her tracks. If Kai’s information was accurate, this could still impact their findings. From what Uncle Elias had said, the wound could have been used for a slow buildup of the poison—and ergot was known to be significantly more potent with regular dosage.

  Asta turned to face the Huntsman again. “Can you remember who was part of the hunting party that day?”

  Kai nodded. “Myself, Prince Anders, Hal Harness and a couple of the other guards, Axel Blaxland, Elliot Nash, Jonas Drummond and Lucas Curzon. They were the main ones. And a few of my own team of course.”

  Asta nodded, making a mental note of each of the names.

  “The Prince had shot a stag. But it wasn’t a clean kill. I was surprised and I think he was too. Prince Anders usually had impeccable aim.”

  Asta drank in his words. Was it mere chance that the Prince had been off his game? Or might it suggest that something had been preying on his mind?

  “The creature was badly wounded,” Kai continued. “It was flailing about and Prince Anders ran over to it, intent on putting it out of its pain as swiftly as possible. When he got close, however, the creature had a sudden final surge of adrenaline. This sometimes happens but it took Prince Anders by surprise. The stag charged at the Prince and one of its antlers made a shallow gash on his leg, before I was able to catch up and finally send the creature to its death.”

  Asta nodded. “According to Elias, the first he saw of the wound was during the postmortem. Wasn’t the wound serious enough to need medical attention?”

  “No,” Kai said reflexively.

  “Who made that assessment?” Asta inquired.

  Kai narrowed his eyes once more. “I did. You don’t need to be the Physician to apply a bandage to a wound. What next? Should I seek out your uncle’s attention if I prick my little finger on a rosebush?”

  Asta ignored this barb and pressed on. “Did you apply any form of remedy before you applied the bandage?”

  Kai shook his head. “No. There was no need. Prince Anders didn’t want to make a fuss.”

  “Do you think any of your hunting companions might have offered a remedy?” Asta asked him. “Perhaps a salve of some kind?”

  Kai shook his head. “I really wouldn’t know,” he said.

  Asta could tell from his tone of voice that he had decided to shut down this line of inquiry. She frowned. His information had been useful but, for now, it had led her to a dead end. And if she was to further the theory that Prince Anders had been poisoned by a substance applied to his wound, then she needed to find more answers from another quarter. And she had to do it fast, now that there had been an arrest and the death warrant issued and signed.

  “Asta!”

  This time it wasn’t
the Huntsman who addressed her, but Uncle Elias. Her blood ran cold. How had he found her? She had no right to be in this part of the palace grounds and she could tell his level of anger was high, even though so far he had only intoned the two syllables of her name.

  Hesitantly, she turned around to witness Elias marching toward her but was surprised when he was intercepted by the Huntsman.

  “Peck!” Kai Jagger cried. “I was just answering your questions.” Asta watched as her uncle’s eyes darted across to her, then back toward the Huntsman. “I’d appreciate it,” Kai continued, “if next time you dare to emulate Axel and question another of the Twelve, you are man enough to do it yourself rather than sending in your apprentice!”

  As Kai concluded his outburst, Asta watched to see how her uncle would respond. He did not fight fire with fire but merely nodded in a placatory fashion. Asta had no doubt that she would receive the full force of her uncle’s fury as soon as they were alone. She felt her own anger toward Kai Jagger rising.

  “I’m very sorry that you were troubled,” Elias told Kai now. “It will not happen again.” His voice turned colder as he turned to address her. “Asta, you will accompany me back to the village now.”

  She was aware of Kai Jagger watching her discomfort with evident amusement. Fine. Let him feel smug and superior. Whatever he thought of her, she had managed to obtain some very useful information from him.

  “Come on, Asta!” Elias said, reaching out for her arm, but she slipped out of his clutches. She’d go with him, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be dragged away like an errant child.

  Seeing this, Kai Jagger smiled and shook his head, then reached into the basket of hatchets and took up a fresh bunch of glinting weapons once more.

  Asta felt Uncle Elias’s hot breath on her ear as he hurried her out of earshot. “Remember your place, Asta Peck. If you ever embarrass me like that again, I’ll send you straight back to the settlements—without so much as a second thought.”

  She nodded, shivering at Uncle Elias’s dark warning. She couldn’t return to the settlements—not now. There was much far too much at stake.

  “Blues,” she heard Kai Jagger call out once more. Moments later, she heard the sound of the axes whipping through the air.

  Asta could not resist glancing back over her shoulder. This time, she noticed, Kai Jagger had succeeded in hitting all of the targets. She was not surprised. In the brief time she had spent with the Chief Huntsman, she had formed a picture of someone who was rarely deterred from getting exactly what he wanted. A fresh thought floated into her head. Just how many creatures had the Huntsman sent to their deaths? And did these include a Prince?

  EIGHTEEN

  The Long Corridor, the Palace

  JARED MADE HIS WAY THROUGH THE PALACE, hal harness five steps behind him. it was curious how quickly he had grown used to having the Bodyguard attached to him at all times, as if by an invisible string.

  Through the leaded panes of the windows, Jared observed the light fading from the sky. His second day as Prince was drawing to a close. Already, he felt he had come on a momentous journey. Getting accustomed to being followed everywhere he went was only a small part of it.

  As he continued on his way, a bell began to chime. He counted each chime in turn, all thirteen of them. It was hard to let go of such childish habits. He and Edvin had always teased each other about the Executioner’s Bell—the penultimate bell of the day. But he found he could not return to that lost innocence. Now, when he thought of the Executioner’s Bell, he thought of the death warrant he had signed the night before. And of the execution of the assassin, scheduled at the striking of the very same bell the following evening.

  The past two days had given him a keen sense that the Princedom was a machine and each member of the Council of The Twelve a key component within that machine. From the outside, it appeared as if the Princedom ran itself—but this was only because of their expertise and diligence. It had all passed him by as Edling. He had sat in meetings of the Twelve, often lost in daydreams, feeling the discussions to had little bearing on his own life and preoccupations. He had submitted to the rigors of his training—from archery to celestial navigation—with varying degrees of interest and enthusiasm. There, of course, had been moments of satisfaction and understanding before. But truly it was as if, in the past two days, a veil had been lifted from his eyes. Jared was also painfully aware that as much as had already been revealed to him, he was still only at the beginning of this journey of discovery.

  He had reached his destination. His mother’s quarters were protected, of course, by her own bodyguard—who, seeing the new prince approaching, inclined his head in a bow and opened the first of the two doors he would need to go through to announce Prince Jared’s arrival.

  Jared turned to find Hal, of course, at his shoulder.

  “You can wait out here,” he told him. Seeing Hal hesitated for a moment, he added. “I’m not likely to come to any harm at my mother’s hands,” Jared added.

  Hal stepped dutifully back into the corridor as Prince Jared proceeded into the Queen’s suite. It was Elin herself who had chosen the title of Queen, and not Prince’s Consort, at the outset of Prince Goran’s reign. Neither Goran nor anyone else had seen fit to challenge her. She had retained the title throughout Prince Anders’ reign and was now poised to do so with Jared as ruler of Archenfield. This seemed entirely appropriate, he reflected; through all the turmoil and changes undergone by the Princedom, Queen Elin was its one constant—as steadfast and unyielding as the toughest Archenfield oak.

  He found her, as he had expected, in the first of her rooms. It served as a combined office and parlor for her. She had a desk there—somewhat smaller and more elegant than the one in his own quarters—and was often to be found sitting behind it, writing carefully crafted letters in her immaculate handwriting. Now though, Elin was seated across the room, close by the windows, in front of her easel. It was her custom, every evening at this time, to take the same position and devote the hour or so preceding the evening meal to painting. A choice selection of her canvases covered the wall above the fireplace. They were, on the whole, bucolic scenes—depicting Archenfield in its rich and diverse natural beauty.

  Elin was currently engaged in grinding pigment to a fine powder with a pestle and mortar, in preparation no doubt of making up another batch of paint.

  “Jared,” she said, acknowledging his presence without looking up from her task. “Thank you for coming to see me. Take a seat.”

  He assessed his choices and began moving toward an inviting-looking wingback chair by the hearth.

  “No,” she said. “Sit here, where I can see you. In the window seat.”

  He retraced his steps, hovering in front of the window. “Won’t I block your view?” he asked.

  “No,” she said decisively. “I’m painting from memory.” As she spoke, her eyes glanced up, meeting his briefly. Then they moved back to what she was doing as she began pouring a slow stream of linseed oil into the newly ground pigment powder.

  “You look tired,” she said, though surely she had had only had the briefest opportunity to make this assessment.

  “I suppose I am,” he said, trying to make himself more comfortable on the window seat. “It’s been another long day…”

  “But you got through it,” she said, stirring the paint pot vigorously. “You did what was asked of you. And you did it well.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” he said. “I know that some of the Twelve thought I should have stuck closer to the script.”

  “Oh yes, you never know when one of them will throw the rule book at you. Or, indeed, which one it will be.” She carefully poured out a portion of the paint she had made—a livid red—onto her palette. “Don’t take it to heart, my dear,” she continued. “Remember, they are here to serve us. As much as it might sometimes appear to be vice versa.”

  She smiled at him, her wide eyes radiant in the candlelight. He was struck by the way she made pe
ople feel when she deigned to bestow her full attention upon them—blessed somehow, as if they had the power to conquer new worlds or fly with the ease of one of Nova’s falcons. In Jared’s young life, there hadn’t been many occasions when he had been granted his mother’s full attention. She had, out of necessity, kept her focus squarely on Anders. But she was nothing if not a pragmatist and with Anders gone, he supposed he could expect her to take a keener interest in him now.

  “The trick,” she said, applying her brush to the palette. “Is to take one step at a time. But it pays to be a step ahead of the Twelve.” Dabbing the new color onto the canvas, she continued. “Tomorrow, for instance, you must announce your choice of Edling.”

  “I have made my decision,” he told her, leaning forward with purpose. “It will be Edvin.”

  “No,” she said, with the same decisiveness as when he had selected the wrong chair. “Though your motives are laudable, Edvin won’t do. He won’t do at all.”

  “I know he is young,” Jared began, “but so was I when Anders picked me.”

  “It’s not a question of Edvin’s youth,” his mother said, swirling her brush in a jar of turpentine, its pungent smell instantly permeating the room. “It’s not about what your brother has, or does not have, to offer the role. The fact is that there is only one viable candidate for Edling.” Her brush stilled, and she met his eyes once more. “Your cousin Axel.”

  “Mother!”

  “Don’t adopt that tone, Jared.” As if he were a child again, protesting at having to go to bed.

  “But I don’t even like Cousin Axel, and I’m not sure I know him well enough to trust him.”

  Elin smiled indulgently. “I do know Axel Blaxland and I’m not sure I trust him entirely either. That’s rather the point.” She wiped the turpentine off her brush, then dipped it into another pool of color—a rich blue—on her palette. “There has been a tension within Archenfield for some time now. My brother and his clan are desperate to get their hands on the Princedom.”

  Jared was confused. “So your answer to this is to cede power to them?”