Saint's Blood

by Sebastien de Castell

  I hobbled my way through the crowds, ignoring the variety of salutations, none very friendly, until I caught sight of Kest, Brasti and Ethalia’s horses in the care of two rather confused-looking pages. The horses were not terribly happy, surrounded by such a press of people, and the boys were having some trouble trying to keep control of them. But I went straight past them and into the wide corridor leading to the throne room.

  ‘Saint Laina-who-whores-for-Gods,’ I mumbled to myself, ‘how the hells do I get through that?’

  The throne room of Luth is one of the largest rooms you’ll ever see. It’s over a hundred feet wide and nearly three hundred feet long – a fitting tribute to the self-aggrandisement of the Ducal throne’s past occupants. Brasti used to joke that the servant tasked with bringing food from one end of the room to the other needed a fast horse just to make sure the soup wasn’t stone-cold when it arrived.

  Surveying the room, I could see what must have been three hundred people milling about between me and the throne. The six guardsmen standing at the entrance were looking overwhelmed, so I took advantage of the situation to push past them and disappear into the crowd before they could think to stop me.

  I couldn’t even see if Aline was there from this distance, nor could I spot Kest or Brasti, or Ethalia. Fortunately, I didn’t really need to: Kest would be making his way towards the throne, moving with that eerie efficiency of his, while Brasti would be seeking a vantage point from which he could use his bow to take out the assassin once we spotted him. Ethalia would be working her way to Valiana, so she could let her know what was happening without the assassin picking up on it.

  I glanced up at the galleries. The gate captain’s crossbowmen were nowhere in sight and not for the first time I cursed how ill-prepared we were to protect our future Queen. The Dukes kept those few Knights and soldiers they still trusted in their own Duchies, which left Aramor no choice but to start recruiting and training guards from the local populace. They were looking to be decent folk, all in all, but they were too few, and there was no way they were ready to withstand any real kind of threat, not yet – and who knew what we’d be facing over the years to come?

  ‘First Cantor.’ The voice came from behind me and I didn’t need to glance back to identify him as I kept moving towards the main dais. Tommer, wearing his own black leather attempt at a greatcoat, was walking close behind me. ‘Are you well, First Cantor? I saw you come into the palace, but—’

  ‘Not now, Tommer,’ I said.

  Tommer might be young, but he wasn’t stupid. He caught the concern in my voice and asked quickly, ‘Is the Lady Aline in danger?’

  ‘Not for long,’ I said.

  ‘I can see Brasti,’ Tommer said, and started to raise his arm.

  ‘Stop,’ I said. ‘Don’t draw attention to him.’

  We were halfway to the dais, but the throngs were thicker here and I couldn’t even make out the elaborate oak and silver throne of Luth at the end of the room. I wound my way around a group of merchants and froze as I saw a man in a Greatcoat several feet away from me. I started to draw a knife when I felt Tommer’s hand gripping my arm. ‘That’s Senneth, the King’s Thread,’ he said. ‘Captain Antrim introduced me to him last week. They served under Winnow together.’

  Hells. The beard was new, but I recognised him now. I did my best to loosen the grip on my knife. I was so full of fearful tension that I wasn’t sure I’d have been able to throw the damned thing at this point.

  Tommer pointed to one of the guards standing by the columns lining the room. ‘Shouldn’t we alert the guards? They could—’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘if we alert the guards the assassin will realise we’ve caught on. Besides, he might have accomplices amongst them.’

  ‘Is there no one we can trust, First Cantor?’

  I pushed past another group of men on my way towards the throne. I trust Kest and I trust Brasti, I thought. I trust Valiana, Aline and Ethalia. The rest of the world can go—

  ‘Hey!’ a man said, grabbing my shoulder as I tried to push forward so I could actually see the dais. ‘Wait your turn, Trattari!’

  I turned to remonstrate with him, but Tommer stepped between us. ‘I will deal with this, First Cantor.’

  I nodded, grateful now for Tommer’s intervention and ignoring the fact that I’d been annoyed with him just moments before. I was finally within sight of the throne. It was empty, but a slim figure in the yellow and silver coat of office of the Duchy of Luth stood in front of the dais. He looked young, perhaps twenty-five, with fashionably cut reddish-blond hair grazing his shoulders. He might have been good-looking, but all I could see was his stooped posture and flinching demeanour as he cowered under a barrage of complaints being fired at him by a pair of merchants. I noticed their clothes looked considerably more expensive than his. The young Ducal Protector – I’d been introduced, but couldn’t remember his name – kept glancing over at Valiana, who stood a few feet away. She was listening intently, but apparently unperturbed by the merchants’ litany of complaints. Perhaps the young man was hoping that as Realm’s Protector, she might step in at some point and save him.

  Then I finally caught sight of Aline, sitting in a chair at the side. She might be King Paelis’ heir, but her status was still somewhat nebulous, at least until the Ducal Council got off of its collective arse and properly elevated her to the throne. A quick motion to my right made me turn in time to see Kest standing behind one of the columns, pretending to prop up a clearly unconscious man as if he were helping a drunk cross the street. I worked my way a little closer.

  ‘Is that him?’ The man had a short moustache and beard, recently trimmed, and smooth skin; along with his expensive clothes that suggested noble birth.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Kest replied. ‘He had a knife hidden in the sleeve of his shirt.’

  ‘How in hells did you spot that?’

  He shrugged. Kest never bothers to brag. It’s not that he isn’t as egotistical as the rest of us, it’s just that he thinks bluster and braggadocio is a waste of energy.

  ‘All right, let’s get him out of the way and . . .’ I’d been turning back towards the throne again when I saw Aline smiling at me, her hands pressed against the arms of her chair as if she was about to get up to run and greet me. Behind her, in the shadows of the long red velvet curtains that dressed the curved wall of the dais, two men in greatcoats were moving very slowly towards her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The Two Greatcoats

  I felt rather than heard the scream that came from my throat for my ears were filled with the rush of my own blood, pumping furiously, desperately trying to give my muscles the strength they needed. There was a painful crunch in my ankle as I pushed off of it, using all the force my legs could muster to begin the longest run of my life. I was thirty feet from Aline; she stood far closer to the men who were about to kill her. She couldn’t see them. She was still smiling at me.

  A slight whisper followed by the vibration of a blade slicing through the air told me I’d drawn my right-hand rapier. I’d sliced the fold of a man’s sleeve as I’d pulled the sword into line in front of me. The men in greatcoats behind Aline were moving so slowly; it was as if the whole world was grinding to a halt – but I wasn’t moving any faster. I willed myself to be stronger, praying for Brasti, wherever he was, to see the assassins, to let me hear an arrow sing as it flew through the air. He’d have to get them in the face, otherwise their coats would protect them. Do it, I thought. Show us all you can aim true, even with a wounded arm, Brasti. I swear I’ll agree every time you tell us the hundred reasons why the bow is superior to the blade.

  But no arrow came. The two men were still in the shadows and likely Brasti hadn’t noticed them yet. I called out his name, but I wasn’t sure if anyone could hear me above the din that had erupted as those nearby saw me running and screaming like a madman towards the dais where Aline, even now, was smiling innocently at me.

  How could she not know? How
could she not sense that someone was about to push the point of a blade into her heart? Don’t you understand, you stupid, stupid girl? They’ve come to kill you!

  I knocked an old woman to the ground as I ran past her, nearly catching her walking stick between my legs but overbalancing her. I ignored my hurt ankle to leap over the stick as it clattered to the floor beneath my feet.

  Aline’s expression didn’t change, even to laugh at my awkward rush towards her. She knows, I realised. Men and women close to the dais were now pointing behind her and she could see them doing so. She knows she’s about to be attacked and she thinks I’m going to save her.

  The two men in greatcoats were hesitating, having caught sight of each other. They aren’t together, I realised thankfully. So only one’s a traitor . . . but who . . . ? Both of them looked at me as I screamed, ‘Step back!’ My foot hit the first of the three steps to the dais and slid off the edge, forcing me to scramble inelegantly to keep my balance.

  One of the two men nodded at me as though we were old friends and took a quick step back, but his hands were drifting to his pockets. The other, noticing those movements, drew a falchion from inside his coat. Its subtly curved blade the length of a shortsword gleamed in the light.

  ‘Brasti, now!’ I shouted.

  ‘You’re in my damn line,’ he shouted back at me, and I dropped to my knees, the hard marble floor sending a painful shock all the way up my legs.

  ‘Take the shot!’

  An arrow flew barely an inch over my head, slamming into the coat of the man holding the falchion. By some magic it pierced his coat and went into his shoulder, unleashing a scream followed by a string of curses as he stumbled backwards.

  ‘The next one goes in your throat,’ Brasti called out. His voice sounded light and airy, as if this were all a game, but I could hear the razor-edged tension hidden beneath.

  ‘Falcio, what is going on?’ Valiana asked from behind me, her hand reaching to her side for a sword that she no longer carried; the head of state obviously wasn’t expected to defend herself. The young Ducal Protector of Luth was standing over her protectively.

  I could see guardsmen coming up behind her as I pushed myself up. ‘Assassin,’ I said, my voice barely a whisper, then I added, ‘a Greatcoat.’ Aline’s eyes were still fixed on mine. As I moved towards her, the other man, the one who had nodded at me and backed off, suddenly grinned as a long, wickedly curved knife slid down from the sleeve of his coat.

  ‘The Gods command me!’ he shouted and raised his arm.

  Saints, no, we shot the wrong man— ‘Brasti!’

  ‘Fucking guards are in the way!’

  I threw myself forward, knowing all I had to do was put myself in the way of that knife, and knowing I was too far away. The assassin’s smile grew wider as his eyes met mine; he too knew I couldn’t get to him. Even then, even in that moment, Aline’s eyes remained on me, waiting for me to come to her, waiting for me to save her.

  I can’t reach you, sweetheart!

  The assassin’s dagger had just begun its downward trajectory when a hand reached out and grabbed it awkwardly by the sharp blade, stopping it inches above Aline’s head. It was the man Brasti had hit and he was grimacing in pain. The arrow was buried deep in his shoulder, but still he gripped the knife, stopping the assassin’s hand.

  ‘I can’t hold this much longer . . .’ he groaned. ‘Somebody shoot this bastard!’

  An arrow shot through the air and into the assassin, hitting him square in the right side of his chest, but he didn’t fall. As though entirely incapable of feeling pain, he grinned and pushed down harder against the unknown Greatcoat’s hand.

  ‘I am the God’s Needle!’ the assassin screamed, his voice full of rapturous madness. ‘He commands the girl to die! He says . . .’

  The assassin’s expression changed and he looked down to see the point of a falchion driven deep into his chest just below his neck. ‘I am Mateo Tiller,’ the Greatcoat said, his face contorted in pain, sweat dripping from his forehead. He twisted the blade hard and the assassin’s knife slid from fingers no longer under their owner’s control. ‘I am the King’s Tongue. He says go to hell.’

  *

  For a moment no one moved and everything was still, except for the blood oozing from the assassin’s chest and along Mateo’s blade before it dripped onto Aline’s face. Even then she sat calmly, looking only at me, ignoring the would-be killer’s blood staining her cheeks. I ran to her and grabbed her out of the chair, holding her in my arms, the leather coat wrapping around the two of us. I could hear Kest and Brasti shouting at people to stay back and summoning people we knew in the crowd to form a perimeter around us.

  The would-be assassin was still spewing his religious madness at the world around him, but several of the guards were now holding him down.

  ‘I’m all right,’ Aline said in my ear. ‘Don’t squeeze so hard, Falcio.’

  ‘I’m going to choose to ignore that command,’ I said, listening instead to the beating of her heart and hoping I could slow my own down to match it.

  ‘I wasn’t afraid,’ she insisted.

  ‘Well, I damned well was.’

  ‘I need to . . .’ She started wriggling, trying to get her arm out from under mine, so I let her go and she reached up and wiped some of the blood off her face.

  For a moment the two of us just looked at each other.

  ‘Don’t stare at me like that, Falcio,’ she said. ‘I know I look stupid with blood on my face.’

  ‘You look like a clown getting ready to put on a children’s show.’

  ‘Well you smell like the backside of a horse.’

  ‘That’s perfume,’ I said. ‘I brought it for you as a gift. Don’t you like it?’

  ‘You must. I smell it on you all the time.’

  Behind us people were shouting; Valiana was asking questions and Brasti was doing his best to answer them. For Aline and me, this was a place we’d been to before, death only a hair’s breadth away, too many times. I reached out and hugged her again. ‘We have to stop meeting like this,’ I said.

  She started to say something but stopped.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Aline replied, pushing away from me. ‘Valiana needs you.’

  I turned and saw the woman I’d named my daughter standing before me, waiting to speak to me. Despite the chaos around us, the look of determination on her face made me want to hug her, too. Unfortunately, someone else got in the way.

  ‘First Cantor,’ the young man said, giving a slight bow that made a lock of red-blond hair fall over his face, ‘I am Pastien, Ducal Protector of Luth. I’ve long looked forward to talking to you.’

  I was about to tell him that he was going to be waiting a while longer but Valiana gave a slight shake of her head. I glanced around and realised the nobles and merchants of the court were all watching us intently. She doesn’t want me to weaken him in front of his court, I realised. ‘My Lord Ducal Protector,’ I began, then hesitated. What the hells do I say to the man? I’ve barely even heard of him. ‘My pleasure in meeting you carries with it that of all the Greatcoats. Never have I heard an ill word spoken of you.’ There. That’s all I’ve got.

  Apparently it was enough: Pastien looked like he’d just escaped execution and Valiana gave me a slight wink that said I hadn’t just destroyed the country. ‘My Lord Ducal Protector,’ she interrupted, ‘I know you will forgive us, but we must get Aline away from here. There could be a back-up plan in place and this room is too crowded for us to protect the heir properly.’

  ‘Of course,’ Pastien said. ‘Forgive my foolishness in delaying you.’

  He wasn’t the only fool. I’d so desperately wanted to know that Aline was all right, to feel that she was all right, that I’d failed to consider that other assassins could still be hiding amongst the crowd. ‘I’ll go with her,’ I said.

  ‘You won’t.’ Valiana’s tone brooked no dissent. ‘We need you here. The assassin is dying and
I have no idea what in all the hells is going on.’

  ‘Aline stays—’

  ‘I will care for her.’

  One look at Ethalia and the rush of danger burning through me calmed, if only for a moment, and all I wanted was reach out to her, to connect to that sense of the world being perfectly safe and sane that I felt only when we were together. But everything about Ethalia is in the eyes, and those eyes no longer looked at me the way they used to.

  You’re getting maudlin in your old age. ‘Thank you,’ I said, and looked around. Spotting Kest, I said, ‘Go with them. Kill anyone who tries to touch them. Anyone.’

  Kest squeezed my shoulder and said quietly, so that only I could hear him, ‘It’s what I do best. Now you need to do what you do best.’

  As I returned my attention to the dais and the assassin, any feelings of love or pain drained out of me, leaving a burning rage that threatened to feed on itself. I so badly wanted to put my hands around the throat of the impostor wearing the stolen greatcoat that I had to squeeze them until my knuckles went white.

  ‘Breathe, First Cantor,’ Mateo Tiller said, holding his bleeding shoulder and leaning rather unceremoniously against the throne of Luth. ‘You’re making me nervous.’

  ‘We need a healer!’ I shouted, then I saw someone was already heading towards us, her silver case at the ready. ‘Take care of this man,’ I said, pointing to Mateo, but he was shaking his head.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he grunted. ‘Help the assassin – we need him alive so we can interrogate him.’

  Reluctantly, I nodded to the healer and as she set about her business I said thoughtfully, ‘I think I remember you now. You joined the Greatcoats not long before—’