by Katy Haye
I clapped my hands together, nearing the end. Three claps, three steps and I reached out, demanding my brother set his hand in mine without ever speaking a word. I gripped his fingers and stayed close to him, lifting his arm so I could turn beneath it, passing his hand from my left to right as I turned, moving so fast he had to shift constantly to keep our connection.
Martyn scowled. I smiled.
I held both his hands now as I spun one final time – and swept an outstretched leg to the side to trip him up. Martyn landed heavily on his back with a grunt. I plunged my hands into my sleeves and dropped to one knee beside him. Before he could sit up, I pulled a pair of daggers from my sleeves and crossed them at his throat.
Martyn gave a cry of alarm. “Hanna!”
I smiled in triumph, my breast rising and falling with my panting breaths. I snapped the daggers away, rising to my feet only to drop into a deep curtsy facing the prince.
“That, your highness, is an example of the dance of the thieves from Senna Island.”
I held my pose as uncertainty gripped me. The prince’s expression gave nothing away. Had I just made a massive miscalculation?
And then he laughed. He rose to his feet, clapping his hands together. The rest of the court hurried to join in and applause rang out across the room. He walked down the step of the dias, his gaze capturing mine. I couldn’t look away.
Pausing in front of me, the prince reached out a hand. I set mine nervelessly in his. He lifted me to my feet, then pressed a kiss to my knuckles, his eyes remaining on mine the whole time. A shiver of awareness slid down my spine. Heat bloomed in my stomach that had nothing to do with the exertion I’d just undertaken.
“Bravo, Lady Hanna.” He lifted my hand and stepped to my side, turning us both so we faced the audience, our raised hands between us. “A delightful entertainment.” My stomach lurched – was that really all he saw? He glanced across, his gaze sparkling. The heat in my stomach began to bubble like water set to boil. He turned to face the court. I blinked, making out faces in the crowd. Glynneth was staring with her mouth wide. Rannyl appeared serene as ever. And Jesca looked as though she wished her eyes were daggers so she might cut me down where I stood. Prince Jaran raised his voice, “And a salutary lesson to us all – we may believe we have trained women to please us, but we should never forget that they have strength of their own – and intentions that might not match our own.”
He lifted my hand once more, pressing another kiss to my knuckles before stepping back.
As the prince regained his seat the court broke into knots of people. My shoulders slumped as attention finally left me. Martyn struggled to his feet, his face like thunder. He glared. I watched him steadily, hiding my fear. He wasn’t fool enough to attempt revenge for being bested by me, was he?
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “You might have warned me,” he grumbled.
I lifted a shoulder to acknowledge the fact. “But it wouldn’t have had half as much impact if you’d known what to expect.” Surprise was the point of it. My gaze slid to the prince. Mage Redmor stood beside him now. I wondered if the two of them were discussing my performance – or if that made me insufferably arrogant. I hoped they were catching up on court business.
“The prince was impressed, that’s the main thing,” Martyn said.
“I wished to be different.”
Martyn regarded the prince. “He likes surprises. We should remember that.”
He liked women who weren’t ciphers for their menfolk, but I didn’t expect Martyn to understand that.
“Well done,” he said at last.
“Thank you.” I didn’t need his praise, but nor would I scorn it. I didn’t have so many allies that I could afford to alienate any of them. I was glad he’d seen the amusing side of what I’d done.
Martyn chuckled. “And the other cats look ready to scratch your eyes out.”
I turned to follow his gaze, my heart sinking. Jesca and Glynneth were standing several steps apart from each other, but their expressions were identical.
“They shouldn’t have under-estimated me,” I told Martyn coolly, although my stomach clenched. They would be seeking a way to take revenge. I would have to be on my guard.
Prince Jaran
Fury kept him awake into the small hours. Fury – and a portion of fear that only made the fury stronger. He was already sure Redmor was trying to harm his father, although he lacked evidence. Now, someone had tried to hurt one of the women under his protection. He wanted to blame Redmor for this, too, but it made no sense. Why would he act against Venner? If anything, Jaran would have said the two men were allies.
The idea that others of his council were acting to subvert his orders and constrain his choice of bride was alarming – and enraging.
They saw him as a weak prince, one who didn’t need to be obeyed as his father had been; one who could be twisted however they liked.
Sleep was impossible. Pushing out of bed, Jaran pulled on a robe and slipped out of his room into the dim corridor beyond.
When he was a boy, he’d sometimes left his bed and gone to the council chamber in the middle of the night. He’d sat on his father’s grand seat and pretended he was king, waving a hand and issuing orders to lords and servants who existed only in his head.
One night his father had walked in when he was in the middle of a proclamation – sitting forward on the seat, a wooden practise sword raised high overhead. Fear had gripped the young Jaran as he lowered the sword and blinked at the unexpected arrival. He expected a beating for his impertinence. Instead, his father had roared with laughter and clapped him on the back. “You will be a fine, strong king, my lad!” he’d declared. “But many, many years from now.”
His steps tonight took him to his father’s rooms. King Haran would be asleep at this hour, but it wasn’t advice or conversation Jaran needed. He knew his own mind and he could see what needed to be done. He was simply restless.
As he turned at the top of the stairs he grew alert, alarm jolting through him. The corridor was dark when it should be dimly illuminated to enable the guards to keep watch. Jaran stepped silently towards his father’s door, blinking to make his eyes adjust to the gloom. A quarter moon shone through the window at the end of the corridor, but that showed only darker and lighter shades of grey.
Like the lump Jaran nearly tripped over when he neared the door. The guard who should have been standing alert lay in a heap on the floor. Jaran crouched down, checking for a pulse – or blood. The man was sound asleep, but it was not a natural sleep.
Stepping over the man, muscles tensed, Jaran set his hand on the doorknob. He took a slow, deep breath – And the door yanked open out of his grip.
A dark figure confronted him. Jaran broke out of his shock, reaching for the figure – but they gave him a heavy shove back, Jaran tripped on the prone guard and fell backwards. The figure ran past.
Jaran got to his feet and gave chase, but by the time he reached the end of the corridor, all was still and silent with no indication of which way the slim figure had gone.
Bellowing for guards and light, Jaran ran back to his father’s room. A lamp still burned on the table inside. He snatched it up and held it over the bed, half-dreading what he might find. But the king slept steadily. Stepping back, Jaran found another prone figure: the healer who stayed in the room overnight.
By then, guards had arrived with candles and lamps. Jaran sent several to search the palace for anyone not in their bed, and to check at the gate if anyone had left the grounds. The healer came to and said he remembered the door opening. He had asked who was there, and knew nothing after that, although the mighty lump on his head told its own story.
The guard outside, he suspected, had been drugged. He would take longer to come to and Jaran would question the man, but he didn’t expect to get anything of use. His father’s assailant was too careful for that.
Jaran looked around the sickroom. “Change everything,” he ordered. “The line
ns, destroy any food or drink already in here, clean the furniture thoroughly. Someone means the king harm and I am determined they will not conduct their mischief inside my palace.”
As the servants scurried to do his bidding and the healer ensured his father hadn’t been harmed, Jaran stalked back to his room.
Two attacks in as many days. Two plots – or one with several strands. It was unthinkable that such things should happen inside the royal palace, and yet they were occurring right in front of his eyes. Fury rose in him once more, anger seeking revenge for the wrongs that had been done.
It was worse because this wasn’t someone creeping into the palace intending mischief, this was someone who knew the place and its people intimately. It was worse because Jaran knew his father and Claresse weren’t really the targets. He was. Redmor – and possibly others – sought to force his hand, to subvert his orders.
His council thought he was weak. They must learn otherwise. He had no wish to be tyrannical like King Haran, but he would be ruthless. He would discover who had attacked Claresse, he would find evidence if Redmor was behind it, and he would be dealt with harshly.
Traitors could expect no less.
21 – A Biddable Girl
“Lady Hanna!”
I twitched, recognising the voice that hailed me. Mage Redmor strode down the corridor, robe billowing behind him. I’d thought all the men had gone to their council meeting or I’d have lingered longer over my breakfast.
Fingers clenched in my skirts, I dipped a curtsy. “Mage Redmor. How can I help you?”
With a tight smile, he advanced. People milled around, but none paid especial notice of me.
“Please, walk with me a while.”
“I don’t —” My brain struggled to find an excuse. “I cannot—”
“It will only take a moment. I must be in council shortly.” Mage Redmor pinched my elbow and gestured for me to walk alongside him. With no excuse to hand, I obeyed, fixing my gaze on the fingers that pinched my arm to warn me of any other movements.
“The week is passing so quickly, I apologise for not finding the time to speak to you earlier.” I gave a murmur he could interpret how he liked. His words were harmless, but I knew exactly why he had chosen to single me out now. “Tell me, how are you enjoying your time at court?”
“I – it is of course a pleasure to be here. The palace is beautiful, and everyone has been so welcoming.”
It was a diplomatic answer that meant almost nothing. Redmor’s fingers tightened. “That is good. And how do you like the prince?”
I forced myself to breathe. I had faced down my father, I could do the same with Redmor. He, at least, couldn’t strike me in the middle of a hallway.
“Very much. How could anyone come to know him and not love him?” The tension in my stomach wound tighter. “He is everything a prince should be.” I was speaking glib nonsense, but Redmor simply nodded, as though his courtly question expected a similar, meaningless reply.
We came to a corner and Mage Redmor indicated for me to go first. I stepped around. And he grabbed my shoulders, slamming me back against the wall so the breath whooshed from my lungs.
He leaned close, his eyes sparkling with contempt and fury. “Your father promised me you were a biddable girl who would do as you were told.”
My mouth opened but no words came out. I was too shocked – and scared – to attempt a reply. Redmor knew the palace better than I; this tiny corridor was empty. I could scream, but if servants came running I would have to provide explanations I couldn’t give.
“Why haven’t you used the potion?”
“I – there hasn’t been a chance. The prince is very careful. We cannot risk being caught, we must be cautious.”
His fingers on my shoulders tightened. I bit my lip to stifle my cry of pain. “We must be bold,” he hissed.
“The prince is watched. I’ve had no chance to put anything into his food or drink.”
The mage’s face twisted. “You don’t wait for a chance like a pig waiting to be fed, fool girl. You make a chance. There’s little time left.”
“I k-know that.”
“Then do as you were told. You must fix the prince’s affections.”
“I – I will try.”
His fingers pinched. I flinched as his nails dug into my flesh. “You will do better than try. And you will do it fast.”
I dropped my gaze. Fear and fury burned through me, but there was no way to evade his demands. Crushed between my father and this man, I was powerless. “I will find a way,” I said dully.
“That’s better. You don’t want me for an enemy, Lady Hanna, I promise you that.”
“I know.” I gained the courage to look up.
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Fear is a wonderful motivator, Lady Hanna. And you are right to be afraid of me.” I longed to deny it, but I couldn’t. My knees were weak while my heart drummed against my ribs, urging me to run when running was the worst thing I could do. I’d tried not to reveal my fear, but he’d seen it all the same. “I can destroy you,” he said softly. “I could ensure you and your mother both die screaming in agony.” He smiled, a slow, cruel gesture. “Good girl. I see we understand each other. Run along now. You have plans to make.”
He stepped back, lifting his hands so I could slip away. At every step my brain urged me to twist and check whether he was still behind me, but I forced myself to keep my eyes forward. I felt his gaze on my back and I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me glance back in fear.
“Hanna, there you are. I thought we might take a walk together?” When Rannyl stepped into my path, I smiled with relief, almost faint at the sight of a true friend.
“I’d love to.” I couldn’t be in danger if she was with me; a shame I hadn’t thought of that earlier. Even without Redmor, I didn’t know what the other families might attempt. A servant fetched my jacket, since there was a brisk wind, and we headed out to the palace gardens.
We hadn’t gone far before we crossed Glynneth and Jesca going in the opposite direction. I smiled grimly. It seemed we had all decided that we should be in company with someone all the time, to keep us safe – and to ensure that if something happened to one of the other candidates, we couldn’t be suspected.
In the afternoon, Rannyl had her meeting with the prince and I retired to the mews to spend time with Glide where I was in clear sight of the servants – and away from my father and Redmor – the whole time. I was pleased when I returned to the palace that no further incidents had occurred. How soon we’d gone from assuming the palace was safe to seeing danger around each corner.
Rannyl walked in to dinner with a serene smile. Glynneth and Jesca regarded her in dismay.
“How did it go?” I whispered as we took our seats.
Her smile widened. “The prince knows what I want. He didn’t laugh at my ambitions. I consider that excellent progress.”
I lifted my glass to hers. “May we both get what we want.”
Rannyl clinked her glass to mine and took a sip of the rich wine. “May we get it, and enjoy it.”
From the other side of the hall my father cast me a hard glare. My throat dried, all the pleasure of our toast evaporating in the face of his disapproval. My face heating, I looked away. What did he expect – that I would march up to the prince’s seat and pour the potion into his glass in front of the whole court? His ambition was turning him into a fool. Unfortunately, when I turned away I met the equally demanding gaze of Mage Redmor. The men would crush me, and care little for the consequences. My fingers tightened on the stem of my glass. I would bend, not break, and I would find a way to evade them.
I took another sip of wine: get what I want, and enjoy it. If only vowing it could make the toast true.
~
You would have thought that with her arm in a cast, Lady Claresse might have kept to her bed, but if we were trying to make the most of her injury to improve our chances, then she was doing the same. She ate in her
room the way she had done the day before, but when the time came for the evening’s performance, Lady Claresse was carried into the hall, her brother walking beside the litter carried by four strong servants.
“Forgive me, your highness, I cannot accompany myself on my lap harp, but if it pleases you, I will sing to entertain the company.”
The prince got up from his seat and took her good hand as the servants set her down, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. I glanced aside in time to see my brother’s face turn scarlet with anger. I didn’t want her to win, but I couldn’t help but doff my hat at Claresse’s determination. She was surely in considerable pain, and yet she would not let the crown slip from her fingers for a lack of effort.
A musician sat on a stool beside Lady Claresse. She couldn’t accompany herself, so he would provide the music.
Claresse cleared her throat, ensuring she had the attention of us all, and then she began to sing. A shiver ran up my back. The sound was pure and beautiful. All conversation ceased. Her talent was remarkable. The song she’d chosen was a traditional one. I could have sung it myself if I wanted – but there was no way in the world I would ever have sounded like this.
My attention shifted from her to the prince. He was watching the performer, as he had done with all of us. The queen sat forward to say something to him. He leaned towards her, lending his ear without taking his eyes from Claresse.
Unease shivered through me. Was there a particular partiality there? Martyn’s face swam into focus a few places down from the prince. He was scowling at Claresse; unsurprising, if not the most diplomatic thing to do in public. I kept my gaze deliberately away from father, and Mage Redmor who was certain to be close by.
Claresse’s voice continued to fill the hall. I was avoiding my father so hard my attention fell instead on Lord Venner. He was watching his sister as raptly as anyone, but a satisfied smile played around his lips, as though he knew something the rest of us were unaware of. As though he felt my attention, he turned and fixed me in his gaze, dropping a slow wink, his smile growing wide enough to show his teeth.