An Imperial Gambit (Wardens of Issalia Book 3)

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  She knows.

  “Through a twist of fate, you then became my bodyguard.

  She knows.

  “You are in a unique position, Glynnis. You know the serving staff. You know many of the guards. You know every Council member and local official by sight, and you are able to move practically anywhere in the citadel with little challenge.”

  Oh, dear Issal, she knows. Quinn’s thumb shifted to the release on the bottom of the Chaos trap, her finger on the trigger. The rapid thump of her pulse throbbed in her ear.

  Varius eased closer and held the sword before Quinn while her other hand rested on Quinn’s shoulder. Quinn’s gaze shifted from the woman’s hand to the sword, her breath caught in her throat.

  “I want you to find this spy,” Varius said in a hushed voice. “I will provide you the time and the liberty to search whenever and wherever the clues take you, but you must discover the spy and eliminate the threat.” She grabbed Quinn’s right hand, her empty hand, and placed the sword hilt in Quinn’s palm. “The swords are for you, made by the finest weapon smith in Sol Polis. Proper weapons for a proper bodyguard. I recalled your mention of being a dual-wielder who prefers short swords and had the weapons commissioned for that purpose.”

  Quinn gazed upon the blade, sharp, balanced, and polished such that her own reflection stared back at her. She tested it, twisting her wrist. It was perfect. There was a letter engraved on the pommel, and Quinn held the hilt closer to examine it.

  Varius said, “The pommel of each sword is engraved with a G for Glynnis. They were custom crafted for you, and for you alone.”

  Turning back to her desk, Varius picked up both scabbards, one of which was empty. Realizing the threat to her had passed, Quinn hastily stuffed the Chaos trap into the back of her breeches before the Archon turned back toward her.

  “I knew I could count on you, Glynnis.” Varius held the scabbards toward Quinn, who accepted them numbly. “You, my son, and Kardan are the only people in this world whom I wholly trust. Once the spy has been captured and my enemy outed, I will strike back. For, in Ratio Bellicus terms, it is time to execute an imperial gambit.”

  22

  Servant

  Waking, Brandt rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. The narrow window near the ceiling revealed the amber light of sunset outside. With a sigh, he stood, stretched, and padded over to his vanity. Splashing water on his face helped to wash away the lingering effects of his nap. He dried his face and wiped away the drops that had fallen on his shoulders and chest. Bending toward his mirror, he frowned. The mirror was subpar, its surface twisting his reflection and making it difficult to judge his appearance. After an unsuccessful attempt to tame his hair, he gave up with a shrug.

  A knock at the door had him hoping it was not Master Sheen. He glanced toward his bare torso and considered donning a shirt before opening the door but chose a speedy response over his appearance. Sheen hated waiting.

  Two strides took him across the tiny apartment. He opened the door and flinched in surprise.

  “Qui…Glynnis.” Leaning forward, he peered into the corridor and found it empty except for her. “What can I do for you?”

  Quinn arched her brow, the bemused look on her face a contradiction to the firm manner in which she spoke, her voice projecting as if she were performing before a crowd. “Hello, Ebran. May I come in? I have some questions for you.”

  Brandt grinned and stepped back, playing along as he replied in a firm tone. “Please. Come in.”

  She slipped past him and he closed the door, his eyes drinking her in.

  Quinn’s golden hair was tied in a tail, her eyes blue and friendly. Dressed in her form-fitting black leathers, she projected an image that teetered between enticing and daunting. The combination stirred Brandt’s blood. The short swords at her hips only enhanced the imagery.

  “Nice swords,” he said, his voice hushed.

  Quinn looked down, caressing one of the golden-gilded pommels. “Varius gave them to me…as a gift. I still don’t know what to think about the gesture.”

  “Her trust in you appears to run deep. You should consider that a good thing.” His brow arched in question. “Other than to show off your new weapons, what is this about?”

  She leered at his torso with a smirk on her face. “Is this how you greet all your female guests?”

  He looked down at himself, then back at her. “Yes. Every one of them. Of course, you are the first since I’ve arrived here, but I’m hoping for future visits.”

  She ran a finger up his stomach and across his chest until she held his chin. “I wish I could visit more often…and that I could remain longer than a few minutes.”

  He took her hand from his chin and held it in both of his palms. “Is a few minutes all you have for me?”

  “I’m afraid so. In reality, this visit is half for show.”

  He arched his brow again. “What is the other half for?”

  Quinn’s smirk returned. “For me.” She leaned in and kissed him, but pushed him away when he tried to hold her. “No. We cannot afford to have anyone catch us. This must appear as part of my search and nothing more.”

  “Your search?”

  “Yes. Varius is convinced there is a spy in our midst, and she assigned me the task of apprehending this invader.”

  “How ironic.”

  “I know, right?”

  “So you came straight to me? Won’t that arouse suspicion?”

  “Not straight to you. In fact, I have already interviewed over half the citadel staff and a third of the guards.”

  His hands covered his heart. “It hurts deeply that I am so far down your list.” Brandt did his best to appear forlorn. “Please don’t tell me you kiss everyone you interrogate.”

  “Well…not everyone.” Her eyes twinkled as she grinned.

  He chuckled. She is so easy for me to be with – to be myself.

  “Besides,” Quinn said. “I thought it best to visit you later in the day to remove suspicion.”

  “Good idea.” He had to admit, she was smart. And pretty. And brave. Is this love?

  “I even had the chance to interview the jailor.”

  Anxiety quivered in Brandt’s stomach. “What did he say?”

  “The man insists he was beset by a squad of soldiers. Four or five men, all as big as him.”

  Brandt chuckled again. “It was dark.”

  “Not that dark. No, he is prideful and has created an impressive story to protect his job…and his image.”

  “You don’t plan to tell Varius that.”

  “No. In fact, I plan to repeat the jailor’s words exactly. It won’t explain the missing map, but at least it clears suspicion of Pretencia’s escape.”

  “Speaking of the map, they won’t find it, will they?”

  “I certainly hope not.”

  The thought triggered an idea. “Perhaps we should let them find it.”

  “What?”

  “We could plant it somewhere to redirect suspicion.”

  Quinn frowned for a moment before a smile crossed her face. “Larrimor.”

  “You really don’t like her, do you?”

  Quinn’s face darkened. “That woman is a bitter old hag. Besides, she has enough clout to weasel out of it, but proving her innocence will be a thorn for her to pick at until it’s removed.”

  “And it will have them examining someone other than us. Anything that diverts their attention buys us more time.”

  “I agree.” She looked toward the door. “I’ve been in here long enough. I should go…in case someone saw me enter.”

  When Quinn slid past him, toward the door, he grabbed her arm and spun her toward him.

  Brandt wished she could remain. He imagined locking the door and the two of them just hiding in the room for the remainder of the day…and the night. There was so much more he wanted to say to her, but the only words he could muster were “Please, be careful.”

  A smile appeared on her face. “You care a
bout me.”

  More than you know. “I have already admitted as much.”

  “True, but it’s nice to hear it again.” Her eyes – the color of the deep sea on a sunny day – stared into his. “Is there something else?”

  He found himself scrambling to redirect the conversation. “What of the young men who arrived yesterday. People on the staff say that one of them is the Archon’s son.”

  Quinn’s smile melted. “Yes.”

  He saw conflict in her eyes, the azure shifting to gray. “There’s something you aren’t telling me.”

  She looked away, the mood broken – spoiled. “I need to go.” She took a breath. “We can meet tonight. I’ll tell you then.”

  “The tower?”

  Wither her back to him, she nodded, opened the door and left the room.

  Brandt stared at the door for a long moment and then suddenly remembered his job. He grabbed a white shirt from his chest and smelled it before sliding it over his head. He tucked it in, smoothed it, and donned his navy blue serving coat and rushed from his room. After locking the door, he hurried down the corridor and up the stairs. At the second level, he took a long corridor to the back of the complex and slowed as he reached a closed door. Muted noises carried through the door, the volume increasing tenfold when Brandt pushed it open.

  The citadel kitchen was massive – with two oversized ovens at one end and four rows of counters where food was busily being prepared. A dozen kitchen workers in pale blue smocks toiled on the dinners that would soon be served. Six servers, including Brandt, were dressed in fine blue coats that were short of reaching their waists at the front but with split tails dangling past their rears at the back. Standing among the servers was a short woman who shouted commands, guiding the staff in a manner that would make the most seasoned ship captain proud.

  “I need twelve plates of the baked fish ready for the Archon, her son, the Council, General Kardan, and Captain Sculdin. Don’t let those vegetables steam too long and get soggy. Someone get the dessert into the ovens as soon as the dinners head out the door. We don’t want to leave them waiting.” Her demeanor was firm, demanding attention and instantly yielding a response.

  As Brandt approached, she put her hands on her hips – hips that were difficult to miss. “You’re late.”

  Brandt kneaded his hands, as if worried for his job. “I…I’m sorry, Mistress Harrington. I was answering questions posed by the Archon’s bodyguard.”

  The blond woman’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “That girl has been nosing about like a dog digging through the trash. I wish she would find what she is after and be done with it.”

  “Fish is ready,” one of the cooks announced.

  “Vegetables ready,” another chimed.

  “Bread is ready.”

  Harrington turned away from Brandt and resumed command. “Prepare the plates and begin loading the trays.”

  She then began barking out specific orders, citing which servers were assigned to each task. Once finished, and when all the other servers and stewards had assignments, she turned back toward Brandt.

  “You are to serve Sculdin in his loft over the barracks. Bring him a plate and some wine. Be sure to mind yourself. If you cross him, he’ll come complaining to me, and I don’t need that.”

  As instructed, Brandt grabbed a carafe of wine, a goblet, a plate, and silverware. Once loaded, he strode to the door, backed through it, and headed down the hallway. He turned at the corner and strolled down another corridor to the stairs. One flight up, he approached a door at the end of a narrow hallway and knocked with his elbow.

  “Come in,” a man’s voice called from inside.

  Brandt frowned as he stared at the door, unsure of how to turn the knob with this hands full. How do servants do this? Finally, fearing that he would drop something, he gave up. “Can someone open the door?”

  Footsteps approached. The door opened to reveal a face that was not Sculdin’s. It was a female, not much older than Brandt. She had black hair and fair skin, her eyes a deep brown. He walked past her, noting the plain clothing and riding boots. Messenger, he thought.

  Sculdin stood behind a table covered in maps and notes, busily writing a message. He looked up, and Brandt gave the man a slight bow.

  “Where would you like your dinner, sir?”

  After shuffling some papers to make space on the table, Sculdin said, “Set it here.” He then returned to scrawling script on the paper.

  Brandt set the plate and goblet in the open space. His gaze shifted to the map, but found it covered with paper, and he was unable to see the notations. After pouring a glass of wine, Brandt moved to the side of the room and waited.

  Sculdin finished writing his note and walked toward the young woman, handing it to her. “Storms are common in the pass this time of year. Be careful or you won’t reach Corvichi. This delivery is imperative. I need those weapons before spring hits.”

  “I understand, Captain. Jarlish will have this message in hand in two days’ time.”

  “Good. You are dismissed, Dilynn.”

  The woman thumped her fist to her chest and headed out the door. Sculdin turned and frowned.

  “I forgot you were here,” the captain said.

  Brandt gestured toward the table. “Your dinner, sir. I also filled the goblet with wine. Do you require anything else?”

  Sculdin walked past Brandt, “No. That will be all. You can leave the carafe behind. This will be a long night, and I may need it.”

  “Very well, sir,” Brandt bowed to the man and walked out the door only to collide with someone entering.

  “You should watch where you are going,” said a young man with dark hair and amber eyes.

  With a barbed quip on his lips, ready to lash out, Brandt glared at the young man for a moment before he recalled his persona. Dropping his gaze toward the floor, he stepped back and allowed the young man inside. Brandt scrutinized the newcomer, who was tall, well dressed, and maintained a perfect posture. It was immediately apparent that this was somebody important.

  “That will be all, Ebran,” Sculdin said. Brandt bowed and stepped outside as Sculdin smiled. “Ikonis, what brings you here?”

  “Hello, Scully,” Ikonis replied. “I fear that I might lose my edge and wanted to arrange a few practice bouts with the guards, with your approval of...”

  The words cut off as Brandt closed the door.

  Ikonis. He’s the one the serving maids have been gushing about – the Archon’s son. He doesn’t seem so special to me. Brandt then recalled the conversation he had overheard between Sculdin and the messenger. Jarlish is in Corvichi! With the revelation, puzzle pieces clicked into place.

  He hurried along, eager to share his discovery with Quinn.

  23

  New Objective

  After standing guard while Varius ate dinner with Kardan and the Council members, Quinn escorted the Archon to her chamber and then left to get a meal for herself. She ate a bowl of beef stew, which had gone cold since dinner was hours past, along with a hard roll chewy enough to leave her jaw sore. Once finished, she headed up to her room.

  The fifth-floor corridor was empty save for Ydith, who scowled at Quinn as she walked past. Seeing the guard made Quinn reconsider her plan with the map. I wonder if I can get the map in her locker without notice. It would be nice to see Ydith squirm for once.

  Quinn drew the cord over her head and used her key to unlock the door. As she opened it, she heard footsteps down the corridor and found Iko approaching. She rushed into her room and heard him call out.

  “Wait!”

  She stared at the door, halfway closed, and considered closing it and locking him out. However, he had seen her enter the room. Such obvious avoidance might stir more trouble than facing him. With a sigh, she pulled the door open as he came into view.

  “I would like to speak with you,” Iko said as he came to a stop outside her room.

  Quinn waved Iko in, closed the door, and turn
ed to find him surveying her room.

  “What is this about?” Quinn didn’t attempt to disguise anger from her voice.

  He turned toward her. “You still hate me.” His tone carried a note of resignation. “I had hoped you had grown to understand.”

  “Understand?” She clenched her fists. “You killed two innocent girls and framed me for their murders.”

  “That was Percy’s doing.” He blurted before his voice softened. “Even then, it wasn’t his intention to frame you. Percy merely spared you rather than killing you along with them. He saw it as a favor, not as an attack on you.”

  “Regardless, you knew the truth, but you said nothing.” She wanted to punch him. Again. Beat him worse this time.

  “I tried to convince Goren and Jasmine that you were innocent, that you would never commit such a crime, regardless of the lack of love you had toward Darnya.” He shook his head. “Despite your situation, I could not betray Percy, nor the cause for which we fight.”

  Quinn pressed her lips together and glared at him.

  Iko looked down and sighed. “I am truly sorry, Quinn. I care for you, despite our troubled past.”

  “I’m sorry as well, Iko. The moment has passed, the light of our relationship now forever tainted by shadow.”

  He looked at her, his amber eyes staring into hers, searching for something. A long moment of silence lingered, her dripping venom, him clearly wishing it were honey. Finally, he relented.

  “Very well.”

  “If we are done, I would like to get some sleep.” Quinn walked past him, sat on the edge of her bed, and began removing her boots. “I have more people to question tomorrow.”

  Iko did not leave, but instead he stared at her while she removed her boots. Quinn refused to look up and meet his gaze.

  “Why are you here, Quinn?” He paused a beat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or is it Glynnis?”

  She set her left boot down and frowned in thought before replying.