by Sally Green
Catherine raised her glass. There was a moment’s silence, and then, at the far end of the table, a man stood, and then another, and another, until the guests were all standing to drink the toast and applause rang through the room.
Catherine sat and Boris turned to her. “A pretty speech, sister. Though I don’t remember suggesting you make it.”
“I thought of it all by myself,” replied Catherine lightly. “And do stop scowling, brother. There seems to be an element of hostility in Pitoria—in this room even—to my marriage. My words will do more than your frowns to ensure these people warm to me. We wouldn’t want anything to prevent the wedding, would we?”
With a tight smile, Boris got up and left. As he swept out, Sir Rowland came to Catherine to escort her to the hall for the dancing.
“My compliments on your speech, Your Highness.”
“Boris was not so pleased with my words.”
“I suspect he’s less pleased with Lord Farrow’s. Boris is a soldier, Your Highness, and Lord Farrow is no diplomat.”
“While you are definitely the latter, Sir Rowland. My mother mentioned you to me. She said I could rely on you.”
Sir Rowland hesitated for the first time. “I had the honor of spending time at court in Brigant while the king was absent during the war with Calidor. I met Her Majesty the Queen then. She would be proud of you today.”
A friendship at court! The ambassador must truly be a careful operator, Catherine mused. Had anyone suspected any impropriety between him and her mother, Sir Rowland wouldn’t have such a good position now. Had her father suspected, Sir Rowland wouldn’t have his head.
“Regarding my speech, I would like to improve on it next time. I’d appreciate your advice.”
“Certainly, Your Highness. That would be an honor.”
“Good. In the morning then. Is there a quiet place we can meet?”
“The library is a lovely room. I’m sure it will be quiet before breakfast.”
“Perfect.”
“But now, I’m afraid, there’s more work to be done here. Many people are keen to be introduced to you. May I escort you?”
“Please do, Sir Rowland.”
* * *
Much, much later Catherine fell into bed, exhausted, but she realized she was smiling. She felt that she’d achieved something. She’d stood up to Boris, made a speech, and won her audience’s applause. And she’d done it all wearing the wrong dress.
Tomorrow the latter would be corrected.
AMBROSE
NORWEND, NORTHERN BRIGANT
IT WAS two days after his escape from the boys at Fielding, and Ambrose was almost home. The distant snow-topped mountain peaks loomed behind the jagged hills of Norwend, the sun so bright that Ambrose had to squint. A cold northerly breeze seemed to find a way through the seams of his jacket, and he shivered. The lump on the back of his head was still tender, and yet Ambrose found himself smiling. It was two years since he had left Castle Tarasenth, and until now he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. It felt good to see home.
He approached from the west, which allowed the best view of Tarasenth from a distance, found a sheltered spot, and sat down to watch. He could see no signs of Noyes’s men or soldiers, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t there. Noyes was no fool; he knew that the first place a fugitive looks for help is his family home. Ambrose could only hope the king’s spymaster had credited him with more intelligence than to come here.
When it was dark and the moon hidden by cloud, Ambrose crept silently down the slope. He made his way over the kitchen garden wall, climbed the pear tree onto the pantry roof and across to the window of the room above it. The window was barred, but one bar had been lost to rust long ago and Ambrose could still, just, squeeze through the gap.
He was in the nursery, and across the corridor was his bedroom. He took his boots off and carefully made his way across the old squeaky floorboards, the familiar smell of his house filling his nostrils.
He pushed open the door to Tarquin’s bedroom. There was a shape in the bed, and Ambrose had a sudden fear that it was a trap, that it was one of Noyes’s men. He drew his dagger and approached the bed.
But as he stepped closer he relaxed. The long blond hair on the pillow was unmistakable. And then Tarquin opened his eyes, saw Ambrose, and rose soundlessly from the bed, signaling that Ambrose should be silent before crushing him into an embrace.
“It’s good to see you,” Tarquin said, his voice barely audible.
“Are we whispering because we don’t want to wake the servants or for a more serious reason?”
“Noyes has two men here in Tarasenth. They arrived three days ago. Father had no alternative but to allow them in. But they don’t seem to expect you. Since they searched the place they’ve just been sitting around looking bored. It’s just another way for the king to show his power, how he can send men into our home whenever he likes.”
Tarquin was clearly trying to make light of this news, but Ambrose knew the men would not be too slack if they worked for Noyes.
“I knew it was a risk to come here, but I had to see you.”
Tarquin put a hand gently on Ambrose’s arm. “And I’m glad you’ve come. I’ve heard so many rumors. Some said you’d been killed, others that you were captured. And all because you challenged one of Boris’s men.”
“They challenged me.” And he quickly related the story, telling all—except the depth of his feelings for Princess Catherine and how he’d been sick and scared after killing Hodgson.
Tarquin shook his head. “Noyes came to question us. But of course he wouldn’t say exactly what had happened. And the little he told us was lies, it seems. He said you’d killed a Royal Guard. You’re now wanted for treason.”
“Treason! I was challenged! I defended myself.” It was no worse than Ambrose had expected, and yet his anger surfaced again. “How can I ever prove myself innocent? It’s impossible. The king, Boris, Noyes, they make it impossible.”
“Calm yourself.” Tarquin laid his hand again on Ambrose’s arm. “Those of us who know you need no proof.”
“And if you support me or help me you’ll be treated as a traitor too. You and Father.”
“Only if they find out,” Tarquin corrected. “And they won’t. The evening you left, Noyes and four of his men came to the house we rented in Brigane. Noyes turned the place over, taking Father’s papers, questioning everyone, including all the servants, leaving Father and me till last. But you know Father’s at his best when he’s cornered. He told Noyes how you were a born rebel; how he’d tried to tame you and failed; how you’d left Norwend two years ago to take a position with the Royal Guard against his wishes—I particularly loved the truth of that. He said that he’d confronted you only the day before for failing to denounce Anne, and you had criticized him for denouncing her so clearly. He finished by disowning you entirely and offering his own men to help hunt you down, knowing Noyes wouldn’t accept.”
So Noyes would have no leverage against his father, but Ambrose was still concerned about Tarquin.
“And what did they ask you?”
“To all their questions I, too, told the truth, brother: that I cared for you deeply, that I hadn’t seen you since the day after Anne’s execution, and that I think you’re a bloody fool.”
Ambrose smiled. “I’m a little hurt.” He was sure the questioning would have been a lot more difficult than Tarquin was indicating.
“You’re not a fool, Ambrose. You’re brave and honorable and true. But, if they get their hands on you, they will have no mercy. You have to get away from Brigant, away from Noyes.”
“I plan to. I’m going to Pitoria and then . . . Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“I know you’re thinking that I’ll search out Princess Catherine.”
“Who insis
ted on you escaping. Who said she cared for you. For a princess to say that is . . . well . . . it’s not very princess-like.”
“She’s going to be married in two weeks. And one day she will be queen of Pitoria. I’m a wanted man on the run. She won’t want me near her. My plan is to go to Pitoria first, then on to Illast. And who knows where after that. I want to do it for myself but also for Anne. She always said I should travel and not be stuck in the army, marching round the walls of castles.”
Tarquin smiled. “I remember her saying just that. She called it “saluting for a living.’”
Ambrose smiled too, but the memory faded quickly. “Talking of Anne, I need to tell you what I saw in Fielding. The place where Anne was caught. There’s something strange going on there.”
“What? You’ve been there?”
“I had to go. Neither of us believed the story about her and Sir Oswald being lovers. I still don’t, but something is going on in Fielding. There are boy soldiers there. A few hundred of them. I’ve no idea why, but Aloysius is up to something, and I think Anne found out what. That’s why he had her killed.”
Tarquin held up his hand. “Quiet, brother. This is wild talk.”
Ambrose clutched Tarquin’s hand fiercely. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll look into it! I would, but I’ve done all I can here in Brigant for now. Promise me you’ll do it for Anne.”
Tarquin squeezed Ambrose’s hand back. “I promise.”
Ambrose nodded, a lump in his throat. “I need to leave soon, but I should speak to Father before I go.”
“Wait here. I’ll fetch him.”
Before Ambrose could say anything more, Tarquin had darted out of the room.
Ambrose went to the door to listen and then to the window, checking all was clear. The door opened and Ambrose whipped round as Tarquin reentered.
“He’s coming.” Tarquin came to stand by Ambrose and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve never seen you so jumpy before.”
“In honesty, brother . . . I’m terrified. For me and for you. I can bear what has happened only because you and Father are safe. If they catch me here, you and Father will be dragged down with me. My life isn’t exactly looking rosy; however, if I get to Pitoria I’ll survive, but if I bring more trouble onto your heads, that would be more than I could bear.”
“We’ll survive, Ambrose. And, if things get bad for us, it won’t be your doing.” Tarquin sighed. He turned back and looked at the room. “Do you remember when we shared this room? I told you there were monsters under your bed. I made up the most frightening stories I could, but you just laughed. I so wanted to frighten you then, but I never managed it.”
“Monsters never frightened me. I relished the idea of fighting them. I was so desperate to prove myself.” Ambrose smiled at the memory. “I remember how you were tall enough to see out of this window and watch the horses in the field. I wasn’t big enough. I was so jealous of you.” The sill of the window didn’t even reach his waist now. “How old was I? Five or six? It feels like yesterday.”
At that moment the door opened. Ambrose whirled round, but it wasn’t Noyes’s men that entered.
Ambrose was struck by how old his father looked: smaller, weathered, and wrinkled, not the vibrant, strong man Ambrose remembered from just a few months earlier. The death of one child and the exile of another might do that to a man, he supposed.
Ambrose bowed. “Father.”
His father entered the room, closing the door silently behind him. “It’s many years since I’ve sneaked around these halls at night, but I can still do it.” He approached Ambrose. “So, it takes the king and Noyes’s men to bring you back to Tarasenth.”
“No, Father. My behavior last time we met brought me here. I wanted to apologize for what I said in Brigane. It was foolish and cruel, and I’m sorry. And I’m sorry to have brought danger to you and Tarquin and anyone in Norwend.”
“Foolish indeed. I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. Your recent troubles are a consequence of your behavior at Anne’s . . . the execution.”
“And as a consequence of having a tyrant as king.”
Norwend bristled. “With an attitude like that . . .” His face softened. “But let’s not go down that road again. Your brother tells me you’re bound for Pitoria. Perhaps your idealism will fare better there.”
“Perhaps. At least, I hope no one will try to kill me for it.”
The silence stretched. Ambrose didn’t know what else to say. Perhaps there was nothing more to say.
“I must go. The longer I stay, the more danger I bring.”
His father frowned. “You’re a good soldier, Ambrose, and you’ll be a fine man one day. Remember, the world does change. Perhaps one day you will be able to return here to Tarasenth. This is your home, and whatever happens, you are my son.”
And to Ambrose’s surprise his father opened his arms to be embraced. Ambrose went to him and held him. “Farewell. Remember, your brother and I care much for you.”
Ambrose turned to Tarquin and hugged him hard, but Tarquin smiled and pushed him off, saying, “You don’t need to say good-bye to me yet. I’m coming with you.”
TASH
DORNAN, PITORIA
TASH ENTERED the Black Bat Inn and made her way to the corner table where Gravell sat alone, eating an enormous steak. A tankard of beer stood close by. Tash stopped at a safe distance to assess his reaction. Gravell’s eyes roamed the room as he chewed, and then his chewing stopped. His eyes were on her as he stabbed the steak with his fork, then cut at it as if he was sawing off a limb.
Tash thought this looked pretty promising: he hadn’t shouted or thrown the knife at her.
She’d been lurking around the edge of the fair, giving Gravell time to calm down, but she’d quickly become bored and also realized that the chances of her getting her beautiful gray boots were precisely nil unless she made up with Gravell. So she’d gone to retrieve his boots and managed to recover the one she’d hurled into a particularly stinking outhouse. The other one, which she’d thrown into the road, had disappeared.
Tash moved closer to the table slowly, as one might approach an injured bear. Gravell did look like a bear, but not so much injured as angry. She stood opposite him, keeping the table and a reasonable distance between them, and a clear route out of the inn directly behind her. Gravell stared at her, clutching his knife in his fist, the blade pointing up from the table.
Tash held up the item she’d retrieved from the outhouse and said, “Your boot.”
Gravell’s face twitched.
“I looked for the other one, but I couldn’t find it.”
“Fuck my boots. Where’s my bottle?”
Gravell’s hand slammed on the table, and his plate and steak jumped.
“What?”
“Don’t play the innocent with me.”
“But . . . you mean . . . the bottle of smoke?”
“Don’t shout it out to the world! What do you think I mean, a bottle of pruka?”
“It’s gone?”
Gravell shook his head. “I trusted you, I did. Thought we were partners. Didn’t think you’d steal off me.”
“But I didn’t. I wouldn’t steal from you.”
“Didn’t have you down as a liar or a thief.”
“I’m not either! I haven’t got your . . . bottle—our bottle. I took your boots.”
“So it seems you are a thief then.”
“Well . . . that’s not . . . Look, I took the boots ’cause you were being unfair, but I’d never take the smoke, I mean bottle. You know me, Gravell. I wouldn’t do that.”
“I thought I knew you.”
Tash edged closer to Gravell. “Did it disappear while you were in the bathhouse chasing me?”
Gravell didn’t say yes, didn’t say no; he just looked mean. Tash continued, “Well, I think
I know what’s happened. When you stepped out of the compartment after me, someone went in there and took the smoke.”
“Or you took it and you’re too scared to admit it.”
“Honestly, Gravell, I wouldn’t.”
“Honesty doesn’t seem to be one of your strengths, missy.”
“Look, you wait here. I’ll go to the bathhouse and ask if they saw anyone looking suspicious.”
Gravell snorted. “Why don’t you go and ask the sheriff for help while you’re at it?”
“Well, if anyone tries to sell it, then everyone knows we’re the only demon hunters around here, so . . .”
“So all the people who buy smoke are such honest, law-abiding people they’re bound to come and tell me about it.” Gravell glared at her.
“Well, they know not to cross you.”
“Someone stole off me! They crossed me! I don’t know who, but when I get my hands on him—or her—I’ll . . .” He hacked again at his steak.