‘Beshard is dead,’ Chandis said.
‘What—? When?’ Shuran asked.
‘We just discovered him in his room, in bed. His throat was opened.’ Sir Chandis was watching Shuran’s expression. ‘Knight-Commander, isn’t it obvious? These men killed the chamberlain to cover up the harlot Trattari’s secret. She wormed her way into the castle kitchens as a maid, caught the Duke’s eye and when the time was right, did the business she was sent to do.’ The Knight pointed at us. ‘By the child, Aline, the one they want to put on the throne.’
Sir Shuran raised an eyebrow. ‘I can believe this woman – Tessa or Winnow, or whatever her name was – committed the crimes, but I hardly think it the plan of a thirteen-year-old girl, Sir Chandis.’
‘Thirteen?’ Wirrina interrupted. ‘Oh, I think that’s impossible, sir.’
Chandis sneered. ‘Are you an investigator now, old woman?’
‘Oh, no, sir, not that, it’s just that – well, this Aline, whoever she is? Well, she’d’ve had to’ve hatched the plan when she was eight. Tessa’s been with us for nigh on five year now.’
Five years? Winnow had been hiding out as a scullery maid for five years? And doing what all that time? Sleeping with the Duke of Aramor?
‘None of this makes any sense,’ I muttered.
Sir Shuran looked to me and then back to the head cook. ‘Thank you, Wirrina. Sir Chandis will take you back to the kitchens now. You need not fear for you or yours; of that I can assure you. I’ll need to talk to you again soon, and in the meantime, Sir Chandis himself will bear full responsibility for your safety.’
Sir Chandis looked properly chastened and after a moment he saluted and left with the old woman in tow.
‘This certainly sounds like a plot, First Cantor,’ Sir Shuran said to me.
‘It does,’ Kest said, ‘but not a very good one.’
‘And why not? It has succeeded admirably.’ The Knight-Commander’s voice was beginning to show distinct irritation.
‘The assassin sneaks into the family’s rooms, knocking out but not killing the guards, and murders the Duke’s wife and children. Then the assassin goes to Beshard’s room and murders him. Finally, the assassin comes here, kills two guards, takes the time to inform his Grace that his entire family is lying dead, then kills him too. Eight dead in total.’
‘Forgive me, Saint of Swords, but that sounds perfectly logical to me,’ Shuran said.
‘Why not kill the other guards?’ Brasti asked. ‘The ones outside the family rooms? Why knock them out? It’s a greater risk.’
‘Elegance?’ Shuran offered. ‘Perhaps this Winnow of yours wanted to kill the nobles but not the guards who were just doing their jobs? Then when she got here, she found she had no choice but to kill Isault’s guards—’
‘What about Beshard?’ I asked. ‘He wasn’t a noble, and yet you say he was killed in his bed.’
‘She would have had to have killed Beshard if he knew of her relationship with the Duke.’ Shuran spread his hands to indicate the bodies on the floor. ‘I realise this may be hard for you to believe, Falcio, but the simplest and most logical explanation is that your woman, Winnow, murdered the Duke and his family.’
‘But why?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps out of revenge for his part in the death of the King.’
‘Five years later?’ Kest asked.
‘Or for some more recent slight. If they were lovers, perhaps the Duke tired of her. Or perhaps she discovered that Duke Isault was not going to give you the decree supporting Aline and was instead going to support Trin.’
‘Was he?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Shuran said. ‘When I spoke with the Duke last night he was quite drunk. He switched back and forth, first swearing he would back Aline, then cursing the King’s name and vowing to support Trin. When I pressed him on the matter he sent me away.’
‘Which way did you press him?’
Shuran gave a weary smile. ‘I asked only that he tell me which way he was going to go so I could prepare my men for whatever we needed to do next.’
What he really meant to say was, If Isault was going to betray you, I needed to ready my men to arrest you or kill you. I wondered if he even knew whether he would have followed through on his duty to the Duke or his promise to me. There are times when honour sucks.
We stood there in silence for a few moments more, trying to make sense of what had happened. ‘She’s a bloody mess,’ Brasti said at last. He’d been silent all this time and so the soft, sorrowful note in his voice surprised all of us.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Here,’ he said, pointing at a wound on her thigh. ‘Look at how messy this wound is. It’s like the Duke stabbed her three or four times in the same place.’
‘The Duke was enraged,’ Kest said.
‘Sure. So why is the one in her chest so clean? It’s a single strike. Have you ever seen a man driven mad by rage who stabs someone repeatedly in the thigh and then gives them a single thrust to the heart? Why didn’t he butcher her?’
‘Probably because he was dying,’ Shuran said. ‘They struggled for a while, she gave him the fatal thrust, and then before he died he thrust his dagger into her heart.’
Brasti snorted. ‘Just like the old stories.’
‘There is a dark symmetry to it.’
‘Except a man with a sword through his heart isn’t going to have the strength to do what you say Isault did. Falcio, someone else killed Winnow.’
I looked at Kest. ‘Surprisingly,’ he said, ‘Brasti is right. The chances of all this being due to one woman, even Winnow, is nearly impossible. And to then be killed by a fat, drunken man mad with rage? Even seriously wounded, Winnow would have dispatched him easily.’
‘I agree: there’s another killer,’ I said. ‘Whatever else happened here, it wasn’t all between Winnow and Duke Isault. Shuran, you need to let us go after him. Kest, Brasti and I have experience with this. We’ve tracked killers before.’
‘I can’t do that, Falcio. You know I can’t. Releasing you would show weakness to the very nobles and clerics who will be vying for power.’
‘Who’ll take the throne?’ I asked.
‘No one. There hasn’t been a case of an entire ducal family murdered in . . . Actually, I can’t think of a case. I’ll need to have my Knights establish control over the local guardsmen across the duchy until the Ducal Concord can be called.’
‘You mean the other eight get to decide who takes over?’
He nodded.
‘Who benefits in the meantime?’
Shuran was silent for a few moments. ‘Me, I suppose, for a while. But it’s not as if the other Dukes would ever elevate a Knight.’
‘What about Isault’s enemies?’
‘Duke Roset may try to use the opportunity to extend his control over the border between Aramor and Luth. I imagine Carefal and the other villages like it will slip into Roset’s control.’
‘What about Trin?’ Brasti asked. ‘Without Isault to support Aline doesn’t that mean things get easier for her?’
‘Not really,’ Shuran said. ‘If suspicion falls on her then it’s highly likely the Dukes of Pertine, Luth, Baern and even Rijou will band together. Assassinating a Duke is not considered good form for a putative monarch.’
‘Good, then,’ Brasti said. ‘So all we need to do is go find proof that she’s responsible for this and then we can put this whole mess to bed.’
Shuran stepped forward and put a hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘I told you, I can’t let you leave. I know you’re not responsible for these deaths but I’ll have enough trouble establishing control without having the nobles accusing me of letting the Greatcoats get away with murder.’
Kest stood in front of him. He hadn’t bothered to draw his own sword, nor had the Knight-Commander. ‘We’ve fought once, Sir Shuran. On the best day of your life, do you believe you could win?’
Shuran gave a wry smile. ‘I don’t know.’
He let go of the hilt of his sword and it slid back down into its sheath. ‘Certainly today is unlikely to be my best day.’ He turned to me. ‘You want me to try and take control of Aramor while being known as the man who let the Greatcoats free?’
‘It’s either that, or be the man who let the assassin escape justice. I doubt there’s anything that would please the murderer so much as you detaining us now. You’ll have to decide how best to serve Duke Isault.’
Shuran looked at me, at Kest, at Brasti, as if he hoped for some sign in our expressions that we could be trusted – or perhaps, that we were guilty – anything that would make his decision easier. My hand was close to my rapier. I didn’t really think he would let us go.
He knelt down in front of the Duke’s body. ‘Isault was kind to me, you know. I think he liked the fact that I was a foreigner, that I was different. He used to make fun of my scars. Everybody else pretends not to see them, but the Duke, well, he always told the truth as he saw it.’
The big Knight rose. ‘Go,’ he said, still looking at the body. ‘If there was another assassin, he or she will have used the passage behind the door near the throne. It leads out of the castle. If you’re telling the truth, then you’re my only hope of finding whoever did this. If you’re not, then be very sure you understand that I too can find people if I need to.’
*
The passageway that began behind Isault’s throne wound its torturous way through the inner walls of the palace. It reminded me of the trail left by a snake that had eaten its way through the stone. It took us to empty hallways near the outer walls, then wove its way deep into the heart of the castle itself.
‘Saints,’ Brasti said at last, ‘which drunken architect designed this mess?’
‘There’s a pattern,’ Kest said, as he pointed to one of the narrow doors that periodically interrupted the path. ‘The main passageway winds its way around the castle, while these side passageways gave the Duke access to nearly every other room in the place.’
‘So he could spy on his own people.’
‘Better that than the reverse, I imagine,’ Kest replied.
I spotted a small bloody smear on the wall again. ‘The assassin went this way,’ I said, pointing to another side corridor. ‘Why didn’t the damned guards follow the trail?’
‘Perhaps they were too busy assuming it really was us,’ Kest suggested.
‘No,’ Brasti said as he knelt down to examine tracks along the dusty floor. His former life – as hunter and poacher – had given him eyes for following a trail that Kest and I lacked. ‘Look, you can see where some of the guards have followed the trail.’
‘Any chance they caught the assassin?’ I asked.
‘No – see here? The trail looks like it heads to the inner circuit, but that’s only because the assassin wants us to go that way. He’s tried to mask his tracks in the dust but he’s favouring his left leg. What he actually did was to head straight out the passageway to leave the castle.’
‘How do you know?’
Brasti carefully brushed some of the dust out of the way. At first I saw nothing amiss, but peering closer, I could just make out the dark red drops on the floor. ‘He’s been covering up his blood with dust, and then wiping some on the walls to show him going the other way – but in fact he always backtracks towards the outer passage. Look at the way he’s favouring one leg.’
‘Winnow always did prefer to go for a leg wound first,’ Kest said.
It was a good strategy, and one that had served her well in the past; when it works, it throws the opponent’s balance off and slows them down, giving the swordsman time to concentrate on the killing stroke.
‘Too bad someone played her at her own game this time,’ I said. ‘Come on.’
We picked up our pace, all the while keeping an eye out for any over-zealous guards who might be continuing their own search. The passageways wound their way around the entire palace, sometimes sloping upwards at a ridiculously steep angle to get up to the next storey, other times proceeding downwards by precipitously narrow stairs. Eventually, despite our best efforts, we lost the trail.
‘How far back did he fool us?’ I asked Brasti.
‘A long way, I think,’ he replied crossly. ‘Damn it. I should have caught on. If we go back now—’
‘—we’ll likely end up getting caught by the palace guards.’
Hells. Whoever had done this was better at sneaking than we were at tracking them.
‘What now?’ Kest asked.
‘There’s the way out,’ Brasti said, pointing to a circle of white light off to the right of us.
The path became steadily more uneven as we approached the exit. Outside was a sheer cliff dropping a hundred feet to a rocky riverbed, but on closer inspection we spotted a vague excuse for a trail that led away from the castle.
‘That’s one hell of an escape route to have to take in the dark,’ Brasti said. ‘I doubt it would have done Isault much good if he’d ever needed it.’
‘The assassin made it down,’ I said, ‘I’m sure of it. He or she led us all that way around the entire bloody palace, but I bet they got here hours ago.’
‘Then how did these tracks get here?’ Kest asked.
‘He must have planted them last night,’ Brasti said. ‘The assassin knew this would be the best escape route so he must have set a trail long before he committed the murders.’
Kest looked unconvinced. ‘That would be a rather large risk to take for someone whose own life depended on not being seen.’
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I’ll bet Isault didn’t let many people use those hallways – what good’s a secret spying network if everyone knows about it? If the assassin knew the way in, he or she probably had the passages all to themselves.’
‘That all makes sense,’ Kest said, ‘but something is still bothering me.’
‘Other than the obvious fact that we’re completely buggered?’ Brasti asked.
‘Yes: it’s the timing of the murders. Why kill the Duke’s family first?’
‘Because the Duke kept the better guards for himself?’ Brasti suggested.
‘Except he didn’t. Two guards? He had far more men in the family wing protecting his wife and children.’
‘It’s likely he wanted to keep whatever relationship he had with Winnow a secret,’ I said.
‘Fine,’ Brasti said, ‘so he was fucking Winnow – which completely confuses me by the way. She never so much as laughed at my jokes – but that aside, it still makes more sense to kill him first. If someone had seen the assassin going in and out of the family rooms, they would have sounded the alarm and the killer would never have reached Isault. No, there had to be at least two assassins: someone killed Isault, and someone else killed his family.’
‘That doesn’t stop Winnow from being the one who killed the Duke while an accomplice killed his family,’ Kest said.
‘Not possible,’ Brasti said, his voice echoing with absolute certainty.
‘So you agree with Falcio?’ Kest sounded surprised.
‘Of course not,’ he replied. ‘Falcio’s an idealistic idiot when it comes to Winnow and the others, the same way he is about the King. He’s forgotten that Winnow was a fucking lunatic.’
‘Then—’
‘That’s the point: if she’d wanted to murder Isault she wouldn’t have waited five years to do it. And she wouldn’t kill him with some poet’s thrust to the heart, either. Do you remember what she was like in a fight? Shit, if Winnow had decided to kill Isault she would have decapitated him and all his guards, spent the next hour arranging their heads on spears around the throne room, then drunk whatever was left of his wine before leaving. There’s no way Winnow did this out of some kind of desire for personal revenge.’
‘There is another possibility,’ Kest said. He turned to me. ‘But you won’t like it, Falcio.’
‘What is it?’
‘Perhaps we should get out of here first. We’ve got a long walk down that gully and the
n we’re going to need to get to a village to buy new horses and gear.’
‘Tell me,’ I said.
He paused for a moment, then said, ‘You’ve been saying all along that the King must have had a plan; that he wouldn’t have simply left all this to chance. What if this was his plan? What if—?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘there’s no way the King would sanction murder. Even if—’
‘Hear me out. Aline’s birthright has just been uncovered. Word is spreading that she’s going to try to take the throne. Isault may or may not have been planning to betray us, and suddenly he turns up dead?’
‘It’s no—’
‘Kest is right,’ Brasti said. ‘Look, Falcio, I know how much you loved the King. Most of us did. But this is war and politics, it’s not sipping wine in the library at Castle Aramor and swapping old books about stoic philosophy. This is about Aline, the King’s own daughter. If you had a child and you knew what would happen to her after you were dead, wouldn’t you do anything to protect her? And if you knew you weren’t going to be around to do it, wouldn’t something like this make perfect sense? Send Greatcoats out, ready to kill the Dukes when the time came – get his stroke in before they can attack her?’
‘There’s a flaw in your theory,’ I said.
He threw up his hands. ‘Yeah, you don’t like it.’
Kest looked as if he were trying to work through the theory in his head again, and then again. At last he asked, ‘What’s the flaw?’
‘The three of us are probably the best choices for a mission like that,’ I replied, ‘but he didn’t order us to do any such thing, did he?’
The two of them were looking at me, their eyes a little wide with disbelief. It occurred to me for the first time that neither of them had ever revealed the last command the King had given each of them.
But then Brasti said, ‘Saints, Falcio. You really can’t see it, can you?’
‘What?’
It was Kest who answered, and his voice was quiet, gentler than usual. ‘The King loved you too much to ask you to commit murder. He knew something like this would kill you, Falcio.’
I leaned a hand against the cliff. My chest felt tight and it was hard to breathe. There was a small part of me that couldn’t help but believe that there was truth in what Brasti and Kest were saying. The King and I had always been close, and I’d always believed that the two of us had shared the same ideals. But in his darkest hour, with the Dukes marching towards the castle with an army at their backs and intent on taking his head . . . could Paelis have gone back on those ideals? In the name of his own daughter, could he truly have commanded my fellow Greatcoats to commit murder? I felt my legs become unsteady, as if the neatha paralysis were taking over again. In my mind King Paelis’ words repeated over and over again: You will betray her.
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