*
‘What the hells is wrong with him?’ Allister’s voice was calling out.
Thin branches full of leaves were swatting at my face.
Odd. I don’t remember seeing any leaves on the tree.
The words of Heryn, the Dashini Unblooded who had overseen the Lament, repeated themselves over and over in my ears: ‘Shall we begin?’
Breathe, I told myself, willing my heart to slow. Heryn is dead. Darriana killed him. The Lament is over.
Over? What a foolish thing to say . . .
‘What’s going on?’ Talia asked.
‘It’s the Lament – the torture he experienced months ago,’ Ethalia said.
‘But he’s recovered,’ Brasti said.
‘No. He hides it, he holds it in, but the Lament is always with him.’
Distantly, I felt something inside her reach out to me, something that tried to ease the fear, and for a moment, I felt myself coming back – then Ethalia fell to her knees and again I was drawn back into it.
‘I’m not strong enough,’ she cried. ‘I can’t help him.’
It’s not the Lament, I told myself. You’re in a forest hundreds of miles from the place they held you. The Lament is over. It’s over. It’s over.
Someone slapped me hard across the face and only then did I realise it wasn’t the first time. I opened my eyes to see Kest, his face impassive, but behind his eyes I could see concern and sadness and guilt mixed together.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, pushing him away.
‘You’re anything but fine,’ Allister shouted. He turned to the others. ‘What in name of Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears is going on with him?’
‘Leave it,’ Kest said. Even I could hear the warning in his voice now.
‘Well, the First Cantor can stand here until winter comes,’ Talia said, removing Brasti’s coat and handing it back to him, ‘but I’ve got work to do and I don’t feel like waiting around for Falcio to get his courage back.’
Though she didn’t elaborate on that work, I knew exactly what she meant. And I also knew the way she was speaking to me was intentional; it was the same way Allister spoke to me, testing boundaries. I reached down to help Ethalia up, but she shook her head and I knew it was because she wasn’t strong enough at that moment to endure my touch.
‘Falcio?’ Kest said, and we exchanged glances.
What was I supposed to do now, let Talia go off and start looking for revenge against anyone she could find? Did I even have the right to refuse her?
Of course you don’t have the right, you fool, I cursed. You have a Gods-damned duty to refuse her.
I looked at her and at Allister both. There was precious little admiration in the way they looked back at me and I couldn’t blame them. The Greatcoats had been disbanded for years and we’d all been apart ever since the King had died. Why should they listen to me now?
Because there’s a reason why the King named the Cantors, and, no matter how stupid and slow you are now, there’s a reason he made you the First.
‘Brasti, go back to the road and get Talia’s coat. Kest, help Ethalia, then go with him.’
Kest seemed to sense what was happening. ‘Falcio, I’m not sure that’s—’
‘Just do it,’ I said. ‘Consider it an order.’
Without further complaint, Kest gently lifted Ethalia by her shoulders and helped her make her way back to the road.
‘I’m not leaving her here,’ Brasti said.
Talia gave him a wan smile. ‘Why, Brasti Goodbow – have you decided that you love me after all this time?’
He looked at her awkwardly for a moment, then turned and went towards the road.
Talia shook her head. ‘Who would’ve thought . . .’ She looked up at me and any affection that had been in her voice disappeared. ‘Well, you might as well ask whatever it is you were too uncomfortable asking in front of Brasti. They didn’t rape or torture me, if that’s what you’re wondering. The woman burned my clothes. She kept saying I was unclean – which, given how long it’s been since I had a ba—’
‘I need to know if you’re a still a Greatcoat.’
Even before the words had finished leaving my mouth, Talia had let the tip of her spear drift down towards my chest. ‘I don’t know if you’re genuinely stupid, Falcio, or just tired of life.’
‘Both.’ I didn’t bother to push away the spearhead. ‘But I’m also the First Cantor of the King’s Greatcoats, so get your weapon out of my face and answer the damned question.’
The command struck her like a blow. For the first time since we’d found her, I saw tears in her eyes. ‘My name is Talia Venire,’ she said. ‘I am the King’s Spear and yes, you fucking sack of dirt, I am a Greatcoat.’
‘And you?’ I said to Allister.
He snorted. ‘Sorry, Falcio, but you don’t get to talk to me that way any more. From what I can see you’ve pretty much screwed up the whole—’
‘Either answer my question or take off the damned coat so I can give it to someone who can.’
Allister’s hand gripped his staff a fraction tighter and the iron-shod end twitched towards me a fraction.
Damn, but he’s quick.
‘You really think you’re fast enough to draw that rapier of yours on me the way you did with that idiot Knight? Who in all the hells do you think you are to tell the rest of us—’
‘I’m Falcio val Mond,’ I said, ‘called the King’s Heart, and, in case you’ve forgotten, I am the fucking First Cantor of the Greatcoats. So either answer my question or make your move and find out just how fast I can be.’
Allister’s jaw was so tight I could hear his teeth grinding.
He’ll go with the back of the staff first, I thought. He’ll feint with the top and then—
Whatever move he was planning, he let it go and set the bottom of his staff against the ground. ‘My name is Allister Ivany. I was named the King’s Shadow, and yes, I’m still a Greatcoat.’
I let out the breath I’d been holding in for a long while. What replaced it was more guilt than relief. How long had the other Greatcoats spent on the road, reviled by one half of the country and hunted by the other half? Was dressing Talia and Allister down like this really the best way to remind them of who they were? Talia had been captured, beaten and forced to watch her brother tortured to death. Was I bringing her back, or breaking her spirit?
‘Well, you arse,’ Talia said, ‘we answered your damned question. Now what? Are you waiting for us to kneel down for you, too?’
Okay, not much danger of breaking her spirit.
‘Greatcoats don’t kneel,’ I said. ‘Kest, Brasti and I are going to find a sanctuary for Ethalia and then get to Aramor so we can put Aline on the throne before the whole country goes mad.’
Allister shook his head. ‘Do you really think a fourteen-year-old girl is going to—?’ He stopped abruptly. ‘All right. Tell us what you want us to do.’
‘If Greatcoats are being hunted, then we need to get the word out. Find the Bardatti – start with the ones from the inn if you have to, then go north. Tell them what’s happening, and find a way to gather the rest of the Greatcoats safely and bring them back to Aramor alive.’
‘How are we supposed to do that?’ Talia asked. ‘I’m not even sure that’s possible.’
‘It may not be,’ I admitted, ‘but you’re Greatcoats. Doing the impossible comes with the coat.’
*
While I waited for Kest and Brasti to return with Ethalia, I forced myself to look up at the dead Saint, wondering how long it would take until the features of his face stopped looking like my own, how long until I stopped feeling the ropes tight against my skin.
I glanced back over at Harden, who also wore my face. It’s possible that you’ve been beaten, poisoned and tortured one too many times to ever hope to stay sane.
For some reason it bothered me that they’d stripped him naked. I wasn’t sure why, since it had likely been the least of Harden’s worries at the time. But som
ething was gnawing at my thoughts.
‘Well, you’re not dead, so that’s something,’ Brasti said, approaching me with Kest and Ethalia alongside. ‘Though from the look on Talia and Allister’s faces you might want to sleep with your rapier next to you.’
Why not? I thought, trying not to look at Ethalia. No one else wants that spot any more.
It was a petty, small-minded thought. There were vastly worse things happening in the world than my love life. I could almost feel someone turning the screws, as if Heryn was still driving his little needles into my flesh.
Heryn’s dead. Stop conjuring him up. Leave the Lament behind. Focus on the next problem.
My vision of Aline came back to me, her words ringing loud in my ears. ‘You can’t beat him unless you see what isn’t there.’
So what isn’t here?
‘Falcio?’ Kest asked.
‘What?’
‘You’re drifting off again.’
‘I’m not . . . I . . . Something’s wrong. I’m missing something important.’
My eyes went back up to Harden’s naked corpse, wondering again what perverse satisfaction his killers had taken in stripping him bare, in taking his—
‘Hells!’ I shouted, ‘Harden’s greatcoat – where is it?’
‘Why? What does it matter now?’ Brasti asked, but Kest was already moving through the tents, knocking them over and rummaging through their contents.
‘I’m not finding anything but rags and bits of food,’ Kest said.
‘Maybe they burned it?’ Brasti suggested.
‘Check the firepit,’ I said, running to the centre of camp.
Brasti, Ethalia and I knelt down in front of the firepit and the three of us started running our hands through the ashes looking for any sign of Harden’s coat.
‘Falcio, there’s nothing here,’ Brasti said, showing me his blackened hands. ‘Even if they did burn Harden’s coat we’re not going to find anything.’
‘The buttons are gold, assuming Harden hadn’t already used them,’ Kest said, joining us.
Brasti stopped. ‘Even if he had them, the killers would’ve taken the gold, wouldn’t they?’
‘The buckles,’ I said, ‘the rivets – there’s metal all over our coats. Find something!’
‘There’s nothing here, Falcio. Saint Felsan-who-weighs-the-world, what’s wrong with you?’
‘Where was Aline headed after she left Baern?’ I asked Kest. Please, tell me it’s Aramor. Tell me she went back to—
‘The Ducal Palace of Luth,’ Kest replied. ‘She insisted on going ahead with the plan to visit each of the Duchies, to show everyone she’ll have their interests at heart when she rules.’
I was already on my feet before he finished his sentence and running back towards the road.
‘Falcio, what—?’
‘They took Harden’s coat,’ I shouted back.
‘So you think they’re laying more ambushes?’ Brasti asked, chasing after me. ‘Isn’t that what you sent Talia and Allister to deal with?’
‘The woman who ambushed us,’ I said, still running, trying not to stumble on the rough ground. ‘Before she died, she said something. “I hope you are there to witness the glorious moment when one of us buries our Needle deep inside the false Queen’s mouth”.’
I made it back to the road, thanking what Saints were left when I saw that our horses were still there. ‘Come on,’ I cried, ‘we have to get to Luth, now!’
The way the woman had said those words. I hadn’t understood at the time but they weren’t an idle threat. She hadn’t been speaking with the mad conviction of a zealot but the certainty of someone whose plan was already in motion.
‘I don’t understand,’ Ethalia said, mounting her horse as I kicked mine into a gallop. ‘What does this have to do with Harden’s coat?’
‘I told Valiana I wanted Greatcoats standing guard over Aline, but she’s never met the others. That’s why the killers took Harden’s coat. That’s how they’re going to get to Aline.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Throne Room
Five days of hard riding, spending sleepless nights trying not to fall off our mounts and stopping only to let them rest while we debated our plans and blamed each other and everyone we knew, and none of it, in the end, made any difference.
The Ducal Palace of Luth came into view, looming over the massive arch that led into the capital city: a reminder to its visitors that all trade passes beneath the Duke’s watchful eyes. The sight had probably been more imposing when there was an actual Duke on the throne, but with Roset dead, Luth was now governed by a timid and very temporary Ducal Protector.
‘Left or right?’ Kest asked.
The main road went under the arch and up to the palace, so horses and wagons had to creak up one of the paved paths that went up a gentle incline on either side to reach the narrow courtyard above.
‘Right,’ I said, thinking it didn’t matter which one we chose. It turned out I was right.
‘What in the name of Saint Iphilia-who-cuts-her-own-heart are they doing?’ Brasti asked, peering at the crowds ahead of us, massed outside the courtyard.
‘They’re praying,’ Ethalia said. ‘Like the ones at the martyrium.’
‘Let them pray,’ I said, and kicked Arsehole’s copper-coloured sides to induce him to greater speed. Ahead of me several of the pilgrims suddenly rose and locked arms across the roadway.
‘I don’t think they’re going to let us through,’ Kest pointed out.
I leaned forward on my horse’s neck and said, ‘All right, Arsehole. You’ve been hopping your way through half the South. Show me what you can really do.’
Jumping over obstacles is tricky at the best of times. It’s worse when it’s people, because the horse tends to get scared and wants to turn. So jumping over a dozen religious fanatics while riding uphill?
‘Come on,’ I urged, and Arsehole raced forward towards the crowd. For a second I was afraid he’d hesitate, but then I felt the muscles of his powerful, mountain-bred hindquarters launch us into the air. This must be what it feels like to fly, I thought for that brief moment as we sailed over the heads of the shocked pilgrims.
Arsehole landed perfectly on the other side and took off at once, not slowing for even a moment. I glanced back and saw a few of the pilgrims break ranks and start chasing after us, which was a mistake, since it created a gap for the others to ride through.
‘You are a damned good horse,’ I said. Arsehole didn’t reply, no doubt because he really wasn’t an especially bright horse.
The path ended inside the courtyard where guardsmen armed with spears and crossbows awaited. ‘Dismount,’ the gate captain shouted to me.
I reined in the horse but stayed mounted. ‘I’m Falcio val Mond, First Cantor of the Greatcoats.’
‘I know a Trattari when I see one,’ he replied. ‘Now get off your horse before we shoot you down.’
‘Listen to my words very carefully, Captain,’ I said. ‘The life of the heir to the throne of Tristia is in danger, in this palace and on your watch. Now let me pass.’
His eyes narrowed but he considered me carefully and finally signalled his men to stand down. ‘Fine, but I need you to report the situation so that I can—’
‘I’ll report later,’ I said, but before I could I kick Arsehole into motion, a crossbow bolt flew at me, fired by one of the guards standing next to the captain. It missed my thigh but caught the saddle and glanced off the horse’s flank. The beast reared up in shock and the only thing that stopped me from flying to the ground was flinging my arms tightly around his neck.
‘Down, boy,’ I said, as soothingly as one can while being shaken mercilessly by a horse in terror. ‘Come on, Arsehole,’ I added for good measure, ‘the wound’s not so bad as that.’
Arsehole, quite reasonably, didn’t listen, but I nonetheless managed to slide off him before he went charging into the centre of the courtyard.
‘Damn fool!’ the c
aptain shouted, ramming his fist into the side of the man who’d fired at me. ‘The Ducal Protector would have my head for seeing a Greatcoat harmed, not to mention what the Realm’s Protector would do!’
‘Falcio—’ Kest began.
‘Go,’ I said, looking at the sky above me. It was close to midday. ‘The three of you get to the throne room – if the Ducal Protector is holding court, Valiana and Aline will be there. I’ll follow. Kest, if you find him—’
‘We’ll find him, Falcio,’ Brasti said.
I watched the three of them ride straight through the courtyard and into the front entrance to the main hall before turning back to the gate captain. ‘There’s an assassin coming for the heir. He’ll be dressed like us.’
‘A Greatcoat? But—?’
I cut him off. ‘It doesn’t matter how.’ But, of course, it did matter. We were supposed to be smarter than this, better than this. Damn you, Harden, for letting yourself get taken, I thought irrationally. I pointed to the other guards. ‘Take your men and get as many more as you can find. Tell them to bring crossbows to the upper gallery of the throne room.’ When he nodded his assent I added, ‘And Captain? Find some men who can bloody well aim.’
The young guard who’d fired at me was still bowing repeatedly. When I looked at him he started gabbling, ‘I’m sorry, sir, I . . . I thought you were about to attack the captain—’
I grabbed him by the front of his jerkin and shook him. ‘Go and take care of my damned horse.’ I took off at a run towards the main entrance and immediately felt a twisting pain lance through my ankle. I’d not even noticed landing awkwardly after sliding off Arsehole’s back.
‘I can send more men with you,’ the gate captain called after me.
‘Just the crossbowmen in the gallery,’ I shouted back, begging my ankle to hold out just a little while longer.
I don’t know who you are, I cursed my nameless opponent, but I know why you’ve come. You don’t get to touch her. Do you understand that? You don’t get to touch my King’s daughter.
*
Inside the palace, men and women crowded around marble pillars and shuffled like cattle towards the interior hallways, sometimes pausing to talk or smile or sneer at one another. Luth was one of four Duchies that now stood without a Duke or Duchess on the throne; instead, they had to rely on the tenuous leadership of hastily appointed Ducal Protectors whose primary qualifications appeared to be timidity and a distinct lack of ambition.
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