Stormcaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

“Really? What people?” Destin said, his voice a river of ice. “Be specific, now.”

  “I . . . ah . . . disremember,” Granger said, beating a hasty retreat. “So. All I’m saying is that you might be able to safeguard your future with the right marriage to someone willing to . . . overlook your baser proclivities.”

  Proclivities, Destin thought. An oddly pretentious word for a gaoler. All in all, he was growing impatient with Granger and his volleys of verbal darts. Destin’s tolerance of fools went only so far.

  “I think we agree that the king’s invitation to the families is gracious, and generous,” he said, forcing the conversation back where it belonged, “but I’m worried that this act of kindness might endanger the king’s agenda, and possibly his life.”

  “You are?” Granger leaned forward, all ears. “Why is that? Are you questioning the king’s judgment?”

  “Not at all,” Destin said. “I’m concerned that some of the thanelees might take the opportunity to embarrass King Jarat in front of his down-realm guests.”

  “That’s no problem,” Granger said. “I’ll handle it. I’ll use the children as leverage.”

  No, you will not, Destin thought.

  “I will handle it,” Destin said, “but I will need your help. Queen Marina has asked me to accompany her into the—into their quarters. My role is to make the consequences of bad behavior plain. Her role will be to assess what is needed to make them ready for the reception. We believe that is the way to best assure their cooperation.”

  “The queen?” Granger’s bluster faded a bit. “The queen—in the Pit? Absolutely not. That’s no place for a lady.”

  “That’s just what I told Her Majesty, and she pointed out that there are at least a dozen ladies down there now—with their children. She is determined to go and invite them personally, then arrange for clothing, bathing, and so on. It would reflect badly on our king if they look as if they’ve spent months in a dungeon.”

  The irony of this was, of course, lost on Granger. But the potential blowback from allowing the queen into his domain was not.

  “I’ll—I’ll need a few days,” Granger muttered, visibly twitchy.

  “We don’t have a few days,” Destin said. “The reception is a week away. We’re coming tomorrow. More importantly, I’ve received intelligence suggesting that the rebels are planning an attack on the capital while our down-realm visitors are here. They may intend to embarrass King Jarat—or they may intend to achieve through assassination what they haven’t done through force of arms.”

  By now, Granger was looking a little ill, as if his hard-won role as gaoler and captain of the King’s Guard wasn’t sitting well. If King Jarat went down, he could expect no mercy from the thanes whose families he’d incarcerated.

  Granger cleared his throat. “Isn’t it your job to prevent that?”

  “It’s my job to alert the King’s Guard when the king may be in danger,” Destin said. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. It’s the job of the King’s Guard to protect the royal family. Don’t worry, though. If anything happens, we’ll both be neck deep in it.”

  “If we don’t know what’s going to happen, and when, then how are we supposed to—?”

  “As I see it, the biggest point of vulnerability is during the reception, as the ballroom is outside the central keep. It was never meant to be a fortress. So. The king wants to fill out his guest list. The ladies will need someone to dance with. I want a squad of blackbirds in the ballroom. If anything happens, I want them to usher the royal family and the down-realm guests from the ballroom and into the keep. Keep them there until I give the all clear.”

  “What about the hostages—I mean, the thanes’ families?” Granger said.

  “In the event of an attack, we’ll want to segregate them from the down-realm barons and the royal family,” Destin said. “I plan to take them to Newgate and secure them there until the danger is over.”

  “Ah,” Granger said, nodding, avoiding eye contact. “That sounds like a good plan.” His expression had shifted from panicked to calculating, and Destin knew he was considering how to turn the situation to his advantage, or find a way to blame Destin if it went wrong. All at once, he seemed eager to bring the interview to a close. “Is that all, Lieutenant? If so—”

  “There’s one more thing,” Destin said, keeping his seat.

  “It’s late, Lieutenant,” Granger said, “and I’ll have much to do tomorrow. Perhaps it can—”

  “There is a disturbing rumor that pertains directly to you, Captain Granger,” Destin said. “I suspect you’ll want to hear it.”

  “To me?” Granger said.

  “You’ve told me that you grew up in Southgate,” Destin said. “The son of a merchant?”

  “Yes,” Granger snapped. “What of it?”

  “Yet I cannot find anyone who remembers you there,” Destin said. “Nor any family. Nor, in the temple, any record of your birth.”

  “You dared to snoop into my background?” Granger stood, as if to walk out, but of course the conversation was taking place in his room. Awkward. He pointed at the door. “This interview is over.”

  “It is my job to investigate those close to the king, in order to identify possible threats and conflicts,” Destin said.

  “If they don’t remember me in Southgate, it’s because I left there at an early age,” Granger said. “Apparently, I didn’t make much of an impression.”

  “I had better luck at Watergate,” Destin said.

  That landed like a cannonball.

  “Really?” Granger said, turning fish-belly pale. “That’s surprising. I’m not sure I even know where that is.” A sheen of sweat appeared on the bailiff’s upper lip. He glanced around, as if the spymaster’s minions might be closing in.

  “I spoke to your lady mother, who has high hopes that you will come into your rightful inheritance one day,” Destin said.

  “You spoke to my mother?” The bailiff went from pale to sheet-white. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll—”

  “Tell me, does the king call you Cousin Luc in private?”

  With that, Granger drew his sword and lunged at Destin, who dodged aside, stuck out his foot, and sent the bailiff flying so that he landed, hard, on the hearth, his ornate blade clattering onto the stones. Destin sent flash into the sword, heating it to a dull red. After briefly holding its shape, it subsided into a puddle.

  “That was my grandfather’s sword!” Granger crawled forward, tried to pluck the precious stones out of the mess, then yelped and sat back, sucking his fingers.

  “Too fancy a blade for a bailiff, don’t you think?” Destin said. “Pretentious, really. I take it you haven’t told the king who you are, which is understandable. Perhaps you find it off-putting that King Jarat’s father murdered your grandfather and seized his throne.” Destin paused, and when Granger did not respond, continued. “More importantly, do you think His Majesty would find it off-putting that you’ve been his drinking companion and a member of his privy council all this time, and never saw fit to mention your shared heritage?”

  “I am here to serve the king,” Granger said sullenly. “That is all.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Destin said. “But King Jarat might be uncomfortable with the notion of having a potential rival for the throne pouring his wine and sitting in on his council, let alone taking charge of his army. He may decide to house you down below, with his many other guests.”

  Granger sighed and pulled out his purse. “How much will it take to buy your silence? I can offer you a small sum now, and the balance later. Most of my holdings are in land, which would take time to liquidate.”

  “I am not here looking for a bribe,” Destin said. “I am here to offer you some advice—don’t cross me. I don’t know what kind of games you played in Watergate, but this is not a joust but a battle to the death. Ever since your arrival, you’ve been blundering about, bullying the help, interfering with your betters, and making the kinds of enemies someone in yo
ur precarious position doesn’t need.”

  Scorn replaced the cynicism on Granger’s face. “You think you are my better? You? I come from a long line of kings. You are the son of a battlefield butcher and a round-heeled Tamric—”

  Destin gripped the bailiff by his shirtfront, dragged him to his feet, and hit him, hard, crushing his nose and dislodging a few teeth. Then smashed his head against the mantel.

  He heard his mother’s voice in his head. Don’t kill him, Destin. Please. Don’t kill him. It’s not worth it to me to lose you.

  Destin looked into the rubble of Granger’s face. “You think you’re a deadly, vicious, pitiless bastard, don’t you?” he said softly. “You are nothing, compared to me. I learned from the master. If the reception wasn’t next week, I would kill you now without hesitation. I am offering you the gift of your life, and I suggest you take it, keep your mouth shut, and do as you are told.” Destin pulled out a handkerchief and wiped Granger’s blood from his own face. “You had better go straightaway to the healing halls and get that repaired before tomorrow. Queen Marina and I will meet you in your office at midday.”

  When Destin left the palace, he walked along the river, collar up, head down, cursing himself. The meeting with Granger had been going so well, until he’d lost his temper at the end. That was always the way. Just when he thought he had the monster inside him under control, it came roaring to life.

  I am not a monster. Evan had made him say it, over and over. Saying it didn’t make it true.

  Remodeling Granger’s face might prove useful, in the short run, if it frightened the bailiff enough to secure his cooperation. In the long run, however, Granger would never forget his humiliation and would eventually seek revenge.

  One more task for Destin’s mental list: kill Granger. After the reception.

  Unlike many at court, who tried to spend as much time in front of the king as they could, Destin valued his privacy. So, in addition to his apartment within the palace, he kept a suite of rooms at the Cup and Comfort Inn on the riverfront. Any kind of pleasure could be had at the Cup and Comfort for a price, but what Destin treasured most was anonymity. This was a place where he could be himself.

  So it was with not a little alarm that he unlocked the door to his rooms at the inn to find Lila Barrowhill sleeping in his fireside chair.

  He froze in the doorway, but she must have heard him, because she opened her eyes and smiled at him sleepily. “I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in. I didn’t want to draw attention by sitting outside your door.”

  Destin stepped inside and shut and locked the door behind him. Then turned to glare at her, his arms folded.

  Lila grinned when she saw his expression. “Blood and bones, Karn, I’m so glad you’re still alive. It always seems that I’m a lot happier to see you than you are to see me. Well, except for that time you came to Oden’s Ford. Then there was that time in King Gerard’s garden—”

  “How did you find this place?”

  “I needed a cup and some comfort, and this place was recommended,” she said. She held up a cup she’d no doubt filled down in the taproom. “It’s truly amazing. You really can get anything you want here.” She winked at him.

  “If you’re thinking that you can blackmail me, you—”

  “Heavens, no!” Lila actually looked offended. “If you think I have any interest in your private life, so sorry, I don’t. And I don’t want you to have to ‘disappear’ me. The best thing about being shameless is that I have no interest in shaming anyone else.”

  Destin couldn’t help thinking that she was not quite as shameless as she made herself out to be. But he sighed and slid out of his court coat and hung it up carefully. He then walked around the room, creating wards to frustrate eavesdroppers. Then poked at the fire.

  “Karn. You can’t have been gone from Delphi that long.” She fanned herself. “Do you really need a fire?”

  “Did I ask you for your opinion?” With the fire going to his satisfaction, he sat on the edge of the hearth. “How can I help you, Lila? Surely you aren’t hurting for business, with a civil war in the offing and the ongoing war with the Fells—”

  “And an invasion from the empress in the east.” She eyed him, her head cocked. “But you already knew about that.” There was a trace of a question mark at the end of that statement. It struck him that she was watching him in the same way he’d watched Queen Marina, trying to ferret out whether he’d been involved.

  “Actually, I just heard,” Destin said. “What can you tell me about this empress? Did a northern princeling refuse her hand in marriage or what?”

  “Not all wars are about unrequited love,” Lila said.

  Destin couldn’t help laughing. He’d missed Lila, he had to admit.

  “What have you heard?” he said.

  Lila gave him a look that said, You first. Then relented. “What I know I heard from my relatives on the coast.”

  “The smugglers?”

  “We prefer ‘merchants and traders,’” Lila said. “Anyway, they said all the ports on the east coast are in an uproar, trying to fortify against possible attacks by sea, people wondering what the empress’s intentions are. They’re used to pirates—they know there’s always a risk when they put to sea. But this is the first time pirates have come inland, acting like they mean to stay.”

  “Have they advanced beyond Chalk Cliffs?”

  “I don’t know,” Lila said. “I’ve been on the road.”

  “Are you selling magecraft to them?”

  She shook her head. “My understanding is that they don’t use magecraft. Their soldiers are magelike, but they don’t use amulets and they cannot be controlled with collars or defended against with talismans.”

  “Too bad,” Destin said, rubbing his chin. “You think you have a whole new market, and it comes to nothing.”

  “Exactly. So. How are you getting on with King Jarat?”

  “Why?” Destin asked warily.

  “This empress is bad for business,” Lila said. “I wondered if he would be amenable to helping the northerners boot her out.”

  Destin stared at her, then burst out laughing.

  Now it was Lila’s turn to glare at him.

  Destin blotted tears from his eyes. It had been so long since he’d had anything to laugh about.

  “What’s so funny, Karn?”

  “I—I’m sure if you explained the damage to your business, King Jarat will get right on it. Maybe you could offer him a split of the profits.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it exactly that way, but—”

  “I’m serious. He could use the cash. He can use it to buy more ordnance from you.” Destin raised his hands, palms up. “Perfect.”

  “Shut up, Karn,” Lila growled.

  “Maybe there’s something else you can sell the empress,” Destin said. “I understand that she forces prisoners to drink her blood and turns them into slaves.” He lifted Lila’s cup and waggled it under her nose. “How about . . . cups? Or maybe a product to get bloodstains out?”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” Lila grabbed her cup back and drained it.

  “Actually,” Karn admitted, “I’m not. I know enough about the empress to predict disaster if we’re not able to drive her away.”

  “Then work with me,” Lila said.

  Spending time with Lila Barrowhill always proved worthwhile, even if it had its price in aggravation. Somehow it was a pleasure to work with a person who never hid behind a façade of respectability.

  He rose, opened a secret cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of bingo and two glasses. “Shall we?”

  35

  THE EMPRESS’S NEW CLOTHES

  Lyss and Breon were housed in a luxurious suite of rooms in one of the finished wings of the marble palace. They each had their own bedroom, with a connecting living area. The suite opened onto a terrace overlooking the ocean, but the only way out of the wing was through a locked wrought-iron gate and past a guard post that
was staffed with blood mages around the clock.

  Servants came and went with food trays and linens, their sandals whispering over the stones. Breon tried to strike up a conversation with some of them, but got nowhere. Lyss finally realized that it was because they were deaf—which is probably the best protection against a spellsinger.

  A young woman came in one day with an armload of nightgowns and silk robes that she then hung in a tall wardrobe. She measured Lyss from top to toe, murmuring her surprise over the battleground of Lyss’s body—a maze of old scars and fading bruises.

  Lyss tried speaking with her, using the four languages she knew. Clearly the young woman heard, but she didn’t understand. Finally, Lyss pointed her thumb into her chest and said, “Lyss.” Then she pointed at the girl, who smiled and said, “Lara.”

  Two days later, Lara brought several bundles of new clothes. There were two sets of garments similar to those that the blood mages had worn—the ones who’d attacked the keep at Chalk Cliffs. Loose-fitting breeches that narrowed just below the knee; a linen overshirt; a long vest, decorated with embroidery and braid; a thick leather belt and leather gauntlets; and a head wrap.

  There were also two sets of what looked like a court uniform—fine dress breeches and a long coat complete with braid and glitterbits, the empress’s siren insignia on the back. Plus four sets of smallclothes. The boots appeared to have been made to match the boots Lyss was wearing when she was taken captive.

  Gesturing, Lara directed her to try the clothes on, to make sure of the fit. They fit perfectly—even the boots fit reasonably well. Lara demonstrated how the head wrap could be worn as a loose cowl or drawn across her face, exposing only her eyes. When Lyss looked in the glass, she saw just another Carthian warrior.

  Well, then.

  Lyss smiled at Lara. “Perfect,” she said, making a turn so the seamstress could see all sides.

  Lara smiled back, curtsied, and left.

  Lyss sat on the low bed, her mind tumbling from one bad possibility to the next. It seemed that the empress meant to keep her around for a while. That could be good news or bad. She’d heard that the empress somehow turned her captives into mages and forced them to fight for her. Was that what she intended for Lyss?