‘Saint Laina-who-whores-for-Gods! What a mess.’ The Tailor turned to me. ‘There’s a story going around that a Greatcoat was found in Isault’s throne room when he was killed. Is it true?’
I nodded. ‘Winnow.’
The Tailor’s expression grew thoughtful. ‘Why in all the hells was she there?’
That was a question that had been burning a hole in me since we’d arrived, but I wasn’t sure if I was prepared for the answer.
Hells, I thought, will it really make things any worse if I know for sure? ‘Did you and the King ever discuss a plan to have Greatcoats assassinate the Dukes?’
‘Paelis would never condone such a thing. You know that.’
‘What happens now?’ Kest asked. ‘If we can’t win a war against Trin, how do we proceed?’
The Tailor opened a cloth bag sitting on the windowsill next to her sewing. She pulled out three smaller bags and handed one to each of us.
I opened up my bag and saw a pile of small gold coins inside – more than thirty, I reckoned at first sight. ‘What are we supposed to do with these?’
‘Retire,’ she said.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Go to Merisaw; it’s just outside the capital of Rijou.’
‘I know where Merisaw is – but why would I go there?’
The Tailor’s voice softened. ‘Because she’s there,’ she said. ‘She’s waiting for you.’
Brasti threw his hands up in the air, nearly losing hold of his bag of coins. ‘Will one of you please tell me what you’re talking about?’
A woman’s face came into my mind: dark hair framing pale white skin, blue eyes with tiny wrinkles on each side that you could only see if you were close enough to kiss her. A smile that promised the stars. ‘Ethalia,’ I said. ‘Ethalia is there.’
The Tailor smiled. ‘Look at that idiot expression on your face, Falcio. I swear, in a better world I’d find it endearing. Take the back roads and make your way there. From Merisaw you can join one of the caravans going south; when you get to Baern you can get yourself a little boat. Go and spend your days in the Southern Islands. Trin will have little interest in them.’
‘But what about us?’ Brasti said.
‘You? Take your money; go and live your life. There’s enough there to keep you in whores and ale until you get so drunk you shoot yourself dead with an arrow from your own bow.’
‘I have no use for whores, nor ale,’ Kest said.
The Tailor walked over to him and put a hand on his face. ‘Ah, Kest. Your love may well be the noblest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s certainly the most pathetic.’
Before I could ask her what she was talking about, a more pressing thought entered my mind. ‘But what about Aline – what happens to her?’
‘Aline will come with me,’ she said. ‘I’ll keep her hidden. Trin will take the country and drive it into chaos and civil war, which is probably for the best.’
I started to object but the Tailor held up a hand. ‘Tristia can’t be saved, not as it is, and not with Aline too young to survive the throne. No, Trin will take power and ruin things even more and before long she’ll find herself looking down at her headless body from the top of a spike. The Dukes will likely fall right alongside her and the country will be ready for a sane monarch. Until that day, Aline must be protected.’
I thought back to my conversation with Aline on the top of the little hill outside the village of Phan. ‘Aline comes with me,’ I said.
The Tailor’s eyes were as flat and hard as black rock. ‘No. She does not.’
‘I kept her safe in Rijou. This is easier. I can—’
‘You weren’t dying in Rijou,’ the Tailor said quietly.
‘What are you talking about?’ Brasti asked.
‘You haven’t told them?’
Kest and Brasti looked at me. They might have suspected, but they were still not sure. They knew I was suffering from the neatha, but I’d kept my thoughts about where the paralysis was leading to myself; insanely, I had still hoped there might be some cure. Now all I could think about was the number of days the journey from Pertine to Merisaw would take, and then how much further down to the Southern Islands.
‘How long do I have?’ I asked.
The Tailor’s expression was full of sorrow and pity, but her eyes were as hard as ever. ‘If you leave now, you may well get to see a sunset over the Southern Islands.’
‘So it’s over, just like that?’ Brasti asked. ‘Everything we did, everything the King talked about . . . it’s over? We don’t run or fight or judge. We just—’
‘It’s over for you, that’s all. The world will continue. Aline will survive, I’ll see to that. But the three of you have done enough. Go and live out your days with whatever happiness you can find in this corrupt and broken world.’ She reached over and put her hand on Brasti’s chest, a gentle gesture that made no sense to me, not coming from the Tailor. ‘This was never a land for heroes. The war that’s coming will have no place for you at all.’
I rose and stood with Kest and Brasti. Somehow it always came back to the three of us. Even when we journeyed apart, we always knew we would come back together again. For nearly fifteen years we had been the arrow and the blade and the heart of the King’s dream, but now the Tailor was telling us that we were finished, that everything we’d fought for was going away, that the path of the Greatcoats had been a dream, soon to be forgotten. We were being ordered to walk away from the fight.
Kest and Brasti and I looked at each other wordlessly, and after a moment we each nodded in turn. For one brief instant our minds were joined and we shared between the three of us an inescapable truth. We didn’t clasp hands, or hug each other. We didn’t say or do anything, in fact, for anything we might have done would have felt like a performance.
‘All right, then. Good,’ the Tailor said. She went over to the door of the bedchamber and opened it quietly before going in. I heard her gently rouse Aline from sleep and pick up her things. When they returned, I knelt down awkwardly by the bench so that the King’s daughter could put a weary head on my shoulder.
‘The Tailor says we’re leaving, but you can’t come with us right now. Are you going on a mission?’
At that moment I realised I had never before lied to Aline. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and it’s a very important mission. I’d tell you all about it, but it’s a secret and no one but Kest and Brasti and I know about it.’
She giggled for just a moment, then said, ‘You’re such a bad liar, Falcio.’
‘That’s why I never lie to you,’ I said. ‘Besides, if I did, Monster would bite my hand off.’
Aline’s eyes became soft and quickly filled with tears. ‘I had to send Monster away, Falcio. She was going crazy all the time – she even tried to bite me. She’s gone.’
‘I . . . I’m sorry to hear that.’ I pulled my King’s daughter to me, and over her shoulder caught the Tailor’s eye. Her expression confirmed what I suspected: Monster would try to kill anyone who hurt Aline – but how could the Fey Horse fight something as insidious as what was happening to the girl now?
I don’t pray often, you mad beast, but I pray you find peace for yourself. Dan’ha vath fallatu, Monster. I am of your herd.
The Tailor’s hand appeared on Aline’s shoulder and she gently pulled her away. ‘It’s time we go now, sweetness.’
Aline looked at me for a moment. ‘I’m going to smile now,’ she said. ‘You smile too, and then we both close our eyes and keep them closed until I’m gone. That way we’ll always remember each other like that.’
‘I . . . All right, Aline, we’ll do that.’
She smiled at me, and it was as if the whole world became bright, just for a moment. Then I smiled too, and closed my eyes quickly, afraid our smiles might break before I had them tight shut. I kept my eyes closed and a moment later heard the sounds of Aline’s light footsteps alongside those of the Tailor. I stayed where I was, leaning against the bench, and listened as they
walked out of the room and along the hall, down the stairs and, ever so faintly, through the front door of the inn and out of my life.
Finally I felt Kest’s arm around my shoulders, pulling me up.
The three of us looked at each other, and no one was quite sure whether to speak or not.
It was Brasti who broke first. ‘So,’ he said, ‘do you think the Tailor bought it?’
Chapter Eighteen
A Last Drink
Kest and I found a table near the door of the Inn of the Red Hammer’s remarkably large common room. A central fire illuminated a small stage and spread warmth amongst the two dozen men and women who filled barely a quarter of the tables and benches spread throughout the room.
Brasti returned from the bar with three mugs of ale. He examined each one carefully, then made sure to set the largest mug down in front of me. ‘I’m sorry you’re dying, Falcio.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, and reached for the mug, oddly touched by the simple gesture.
‘You probably won’t need all your coin, will you?’ he added. ‘I mean, what with things being as they are?’
Kest raised an eyebrow. ‘Would you seriously use Falcio’s illness as a way to worm his money away from him?’
‘Now wait a minute, I—’
I chuckled. ‘He did give me the bigger mug, Kest.’
‘That’s right,’ Brasti said. ‘I did.’
I took a long drink. The ale was good, the room was warm, I was sitting with the two men I loved best in the world and at that precise moment no one was trying to kill me. I felt, absurdly, happy.
Brasti started to speak, but Kest, his eyes on me, held up a hand to stop him. Brasti leaned back in his chair and drank his ale, and the three of us sat together in silence. I felt a small stab of guilt at the thought that Aline now believed I was leaving her for ever. At least I didn’t lie to her, I told myself. Nor had I lied to the Tailor, in fact – not really, anyway.
I understood why the Tailor wanted us out of the way. It would have made it easier for her, for Aline – probably for everyone. If they were going into hiding, to watch and wait as the world fell apart under Trin’s capricious rule, it probably wouldn’t do much good having Kest, Brasti and me tearing up the countryside trying to delay it. I understood her reasoning and her logic. I simply didn’t care.
There had been a man once who was both brilliant and foolish. He’d seen the darkness of this country and dreamed of something brighter. And even when he’d been killed and his incomplete work had been shattered to pieces, little shards of his dream had lodged themselves inside Kest and Brasti and me. This was something we three shared, in our own separate and sometimes incompatible ways.
But there was something else the three of us shared too: a belief that there are some fights you don’t walk away from, no matter what the cost. That’s why I knew, at that moment when the Tailor offered us respite and resignation from our duty, that none of us would take it. We’d stood in that room and locked eyes and without having to speak it aloud, shared a single silent promise: if the world is going to fall apart, then we will go down with it. Fighting.
That was why, in the not overly crowded common room of that dirty little inn, situated on the border of three duchies, I felt a momentary but indescribably precious happiness.
The clerics teach us that pride is a bad thing – it’s a weakness; a vanity that leads men to forget their natural humility. They say that only through accepting our place as servants to the greater forces of the world can we achieve contentment. Pride, they tell us, is the gate that stands between us and the Gods.
Fuck the clerics, I thought. I’ll keep what pride I can hold onto for as long as I can.
I reached the bottom of my mug and set it down on the table. Brasti looked at me and then at Kest, almost as if waiting for permission to speak. Kest rolled his eyes and Brasti gave him a dirty look, then turned to me and asked, ‘So what’s the plan, then?’
‘Luth,’ I said. ‘We’ll stay the night here, but in the morning we’ll go to Luth.’
‘Luth? What’s in Luth?’
‘Two things. First, despite what the Tailor thinks, it’s still possible that Duke Roset will agree to support Aline in order to keep Trin from the throne.’
‘But Aline’s not trying to be Queen any more.’
‘Roset doesn’t know that,’ Kest said.
Brasti grinned. ‘Well, I like the idea of deceiving a Duke anyway, just in principle. What’s the other reason to go there?’
‘Roset and Isault were often enemies,’ I said, remembering Shuran’s words at Carefal, and again at the Ducal Palace. ‘Aramor and Luth haven’t been the best of friends lately, if all of these little border disputes are any indication.’
Kest’s expression was wary. ‘You really think Duke Roset would go so far as to send assassins for Isault and his family?’
‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘and maybe not, but he’ll certainly know who Isault’s other enemies were. Either way, things will go very badly for him with the Ducal Concord if there is real cause to believe he had a fellow Duke and his family murdered.’
‘You think you can push him into giving Aline his support? What happens if he decides that with Trin coming he’s not worried about the Ducal Concord and calls your bluff?’
I picked up my mug and tried to shake a last drop or two down my throat. ‘Then I imagine we’ll need to escape. Quickly.’
Brasti laughed. ‘So our strategy is go to Luth and blackmail a Duke, and then if that fails, run very fast.’ He turned to Kest. ‘People still think he’s the smart one, you know.’
Kest didn’t respond. His eyes were focused behind us, but my back was to the door so I felt the breeze first and then heard the footsteps of a man and a woman entering the inn.
‘That’s odd,’ Kest said.
I turned to look at the new patrons. The man was young and handsome, with dark hair and a short beard. The woman, plain and thickset, carried a brown leather guitar case.
‘Saint Gan-who-laughs-with-dice,’ Brasti said. ‘What are the odds of them showing up here and now?’
The man, noticing us staring, gave a noncommittal smile and the sort of nod of one who cannot quite recall where he’d seen us before. Then I remembered we’d been sitting in the shadows at the Inn at the End of the World when he’d performed there, so he’d probably not actually seen us at all.
The troubadours walked over to the stage. The woman placed her guitar-case on top of an empty chair, then opened it carefully and moved the chair a little closer to the fire to warm it up.
A waitress came over and set down three bowls of stew in front of us. ‘That’s a stag each,’ she said. ‘D’you want me to bring you more ale?’
‘We didn’t order food,’ Kest said.
‘You stay for the performance, you have to eat.’
I reached into my pocket and felt around, not wanting to bring out a gold piece in the middle of a common room. I gave her four silver pieces. ‘That’s for the three meals and another two ales each,’ I said. As she reached down for the stags I put my hand over them. ‘How often do those two perform here?’ I asked.
‘Them? Oh, every month or two, I’d say. They follow the same route around the southern duchies as most of the troubadours.’
‘When were they last here?’ Kest asked.
The waitress looked up as if the answer were on the ceiling. ‘Oh, about . . . well, just a couple of weeks ago, now that I think of it.’
‘And their names?’
‘How should I know? They’re just troubadours. They come, they play, the man drinks a lot and tries to bed me, and then they go.’ She pulled my hand off the coins and took them.
‘How often does he succeed?’ Brasti asked.
The waitress gave a sly grin. ‘Wouldn’t you like to find out?’
Brasti returned her smile and the waitress left for the bar. I felt oddly put out by their immediate, even if largely artificial, sense of intimacy. Ethalia was there i
n Merisaw, not even five days’ ride from here. Was she waiting for me? Did she wake up each morning wondering if this was the day I’d come for her and the two of us would—? No, better to leave those thoughts behind. If there was any justice in the world, Ethalia would give up on me quickly.
‘They’re about to begin,’ Kest said, and I turned my attention to the stage just as the guitarist began to play. I marvelled once again at the way she plucked out little melodies that intertwined within the chords and subtly changed the rhythm of the music. The patrons of the inn were still largely focused on their food and drink and the storyteller was pacing the small stage, stretching his arms and neck as if he were about to begin a boxing match.
I felt a brief rush of cool air as the door opened again, and a moment later I heard a female voice say, ‘Oh, hells, tell me I haven’t spent the last three days racing around the countryside without so much as a hot meal in my belly only to come and have to listen to that idiot gargling out his fool stories again.’
I turned and saw Dariana standing behind me.
‘Well, now, speaking of idiots,’ she said with a smile.
‘Stop blocking the door, Dari; I’m getting cold,’ another voice said, and Valiana pushed past her.
Both women looked pretty road-worn, with dusty coats and dirty faces. Valiana’s long dark hair was tangled, even though she’d tied it back, and strands were fluttering around her face. Dariana’s shorter reddish-brown hair looked as if it’d been blown about by high winds.
The two of them pulled chairs up to our table, and as they undid their coats I could see their clothes were rumpled, and Dariana’s shirt was torn from the neck to halfway down her chest.
‘Having a good look, are you?’ she asked, her eyes on Brasti.
‘Just checking for wounds,’ he said.
The troubadour was telling his damned story again, still mispronouncing my name, which was the least of his inaccuracies. Valiana had placed her chair between Kest and me, and for some reason I leaned over and hugged her. I felt like a fool afterwards.
‘Ah, see?’ Dariana said tartly. ‘Papa Falcio missed you.’
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