Queenslayer

by Sebastien de Castell

  Reichis stopped in his tracks and turned to face me, beady eyes gleaming in the dark. “You can’t. Neither of us can.”

  “So we’re both playing lousy hands. And someone… someone is holding all the cards we both need.”

  He hopped off the railing onto the balcony. “Who?”

  I thought about all the players at the table. Koresh and Arrasia were dead, but who had they been working for? Arex appeared to know the ins and outs of the court better than anyone, and he was technically in line for the throne. Then again, everyone seemed to be in line for the throne; the queen had no end of cousins. Countess Mariadne herself was one. Count Martius was one, too. He was older than Mariadne and closer to the front of the pack. Then again, maybe the marshals were tired of following the orders of an eleven-year-old queen and old Colfax was ready for a coup? What if it was my own family? Ke’heops, mage sovereign of what few clans remained of the Jan’Tep, had no love for anyone but his own people. Only… the Zhuban despise magic. They’d happily wipe out the Jan’Tep if they could. Whatever Sha’maat was up to at court, it probably wasn’t designed to let the Zhuban pour into Darome.

  “Damn, Reichis,” I said. “There are more people with cause and means to bring down the queen than there are fleas in your fur. Maybe we should—Ow! Stop that.”

  Reichis pulled his teeth out of my leg. “Fine, so the countess is screwed and the queen even more so.”

  I nodded. “And Tasia is caught in the middle. She’s the one person with neither power nor influence here.”

  Reichis started picking at his fur. I shouldn’t have made the joke about fleas. He can be remarkably sensitive at times. After a few seconds he chittered, “How in the thirteen squirrel cat hells are we supposed to figure this out when everybody—everybody—in this freakin’ country is lyin’ to us?”

  “Juridas averso ombrix,” I said.

  Reichis looked up at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s the inscription on the bottom of every magistrate’s gavel. It means, ‘Justice abhors shadows.” The Daroman legal system favours openness and transparency.”

  Reichis went back to cleaning himself. “These skinbags sure do have a lot of fine-soundin’ sayings. Too bad they don’t live up to them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Back at the marshals’ garrison, didn’t Countess prissy-face say somethin’ about the magistrate refusing to let her see the writ? How ‘open and transparent’ is that?”

  I hadn’t considered it at the time, but Reichis had a point. To keep a writ of execution secret? From the noblewoman who rules the very district in which you’re a magistrate? I doubted any lone backwoods judge would do that of his own accord. Finding out why he’d done it would be a big step in untangling this mess.

  “Ah, crap,” Reichis muttered, sauntering by me to go back into the room.

  “What?”

  He hopped up onto the bed. “You’ve got that dumb look on your face that tells anyone with a pair of eyes that you’re planning somethin’ stupid. Can’t believe you manage to beat other skinbags at cards.”

  I joined him inside, closing the doors to the balcony behind me. “Help me get Mariadne a look at that writ, partner, then we’re out of this town and back to the palace, alright?”

  Reichis curled himself up into a ball. “Only the writ is secret, so how exactly do you plan on persuadin’ the magistrate to let you see it?”

  I pulled one of the Daroman decks I’d been carrying with me from my pocket. “By doing what the queen sent me here to do in the first place: play cards.”

  27

  The Royal Deception

  The magistrate’s chambers consisted of a courtroom, an office and a records room that occupied the eastern side of the marshals’ compound—just in front of the gallows: a testament to Daroman frontier efficiency. Unfortunately, Magistrate Garran wasn’t there. Even worse, Bracius and Fen were the ones in charge while he was away.

  “You again?” the big marshal asked, her hand drifting to the mace at her side.

  I shrugged. “I’m just trying to keep her off my back.”

  Mariadne shot daggers at me with her gaze. I’d managed to convince Marshal Fen to let her accompany me on the guarantee of the queen’s tutor of cards that the countess wouldn’t try to break out her maid and the further assurance that she wouldn’t so much as utter an angry word until we’d left the garrison. Turns out some people don’t appreciate my negotiating skills.

  “Where’s your… whatever that weasel-thing was?” Fen asked.

  “He’s outside,” I said. “I think he’s afraid of you.”

  “He better be.”

  Bracius pushed him aside. “All right, Fen, you’ve shown us all how tough you are.” The marshal turned back to us. “Now, what do you two want?”

  “Is that the records room over there?” I asked, pointing to a door behind the counter.

  She nodded. “What do you want?”

  “So that’s it there,” I said, louder than I probably needed to. “On the south-east corner?”

  Bracius looked at me like I was an idiot. So did Mariadne. “Yes,” the marshal said, just as loudly. “Do you need me to draw you a map?”

  “Nope,” I said. “But you could let us see the writ of judgement against Tasia.”

  The marshal shook her head. “It’s been sealed. Only by application to the queen or the presiding magistrate can it be unsealed.”

  “Fine,” I said. “We’ll wait.”

  The marshal sighed. “He might not be back today, and even if he is, he’s not going to let you see it.” Her gaze went to Mariadne. “As I’ve told you on roughly five separate occasions, countess.”

  “Well, doesn’t hurt to let us wait a little while, does it?” I pulled out my deck of Daroman playing cards. “Say… either of you enjoy a good card trick?”

  Fen looked up. Don’t know what it is about Daroman marshals, but I swear they’re all addicted to gambling.

  “You sure I can’t persuade you?” I said, dropping a fat silver coin on the desk.

  Fen reached for it but Bracius slammed her fist down. “You know what the penalty for attempting to bribe a marshal is, friend?”

  I put my hands up. “No bribing here, marshal. Just thought you and Fen here might like to play a game while we wait to see if the magistrate turns up.”

  Bracius snorted. “Yeah, like we’re going to make bets with the queen’s tutor of cards.”

  “Tell you what—let’s make it easy. I’ll show you a little card trick like this…” I flipped the outlaw of chariots from the deck along with the knight of blades and the knight of arrows.

  “This game here’s called Prison Break,” I said, flipping the cards face down and switching their positions back and forth. “All you have to do is help the outlaw escape. Don’t worry—he’s innocent after all.”

  Bracius laughed. “That’s what they all say.”

  I’ve done this trick on a half-dozen occasions with marshals on the borderlands, and I swear to you, they make that joke every single time. “All right then—where’s our prisoner?”

  Fen put a finger down on the middle card. I flipped it over. It was the outlaw.

  “Well now, see? That’s all there is to it.”

  Fen smiled. “So I get the coin now, right?”

  “I was going pretty slow that time. How about we do it for real now?”

  “Okay,” he said, leaning in so his face was six inches from the cards. I flipped the cards back and forth twice as fast this time. When I stopped he put his finger on the middle card again.

  “You sure?” I asked.

  “That’s the one,” he said.

  I flipped it over. Sure enough, it was the outlaw of chariots.

  “Well, all right!” he said, and took the coin. “So much for Mister Fancy Card Player!”

  I smiled. “Come on now—let me have a chance to win it back.”

  I dropped another silver coin on the de
sk.

  “Just walk away from it, Fen,” Bracius warned.

  Fen looked at me, his tongue working its way like a snake in his mouth as he considered his odds. “I think I can do it.”

  “Good man,” I said.

  I pulled the same trick again. And again Fen pointed to the middle card. I flipped it over and it was the outlaw of trebuchets.

  “Ha! See that, Bracius? That’s two silver for me.”

  Bracius looked at me suspiciously. “Guess you’re buying drinks tonight.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Fen said, a big, dumb smile lighting up his face.

  I put another silver on the desk.

  “Oh no—I think two’ll do just fine, Mister Card Player.”

  “Ah, come on,” I said. “You’re a natural at this. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? Even if I win this round, you still walk away with a silver.”

  “I don’t know… Ah hell, let’s do it. I’m feeling lucky!”

  “Here we go,” I said. This time I spun the cards around faster than all the other times. I did it longer too, whirling them back and forth faster than the eye can follow. When I finally stopped, Fen looked angry.

  “You tryin’ to cheat me?”

  I shrugged. “You agreed. Never said I couldn’t go faster.”

  Bracius didn’t look too pleased either.

  “Well, come on now, pick your card.”

  “Don’t rush me,” Fen said.

  He stared at the backs of the cards like he thought he could see through them if he just tried hard enough. Eventually he stuck his finger on the one on the left.

  “Okay, here we—”

  “No,” he said. “You went for that too quick. I want this one.” He put his finger back on the middle card again.

  “You sure?” I asked.

  “Damn straight,” he said.

  Reluctantly I flipped the card over, revealing the outlaw once again.

  “Whee-hoo!” Fen shouted. “That’s a week’s wages, Bracius!”

  Bracius shook her head. “Hell, Fen, I got to admit, that was pretty impressive. How did you do it?”

  “I got the family eyes,” he said proudly. “My pa used to be able to shoot an eagle with a crossbow from two hundred yards. Fast eyes—that’s what Mister Card Player here didn’t count on.”

  Nobody, not with any crossbow ever made, has ever hit a moving target from two hundred yards away. “One more try?” I suggested.

  Fen looked like he was considering it, but Bracius stepped in. “No way. That’s enough fun for one day, and I know how folks like you work. No, sir—just walk away from your losses, friend.”

  I sighed. “All right, but don’t you think the least you can do is let me see the writ, just for a second?”

  Bracius shook her head. “Out,” she said. “Come back tomorrow and try the magistrate again.”

  “And bring more money with you,” Fen said, cackling. “I could use some new leathers.”

  Mariadne had the decency to wait until we were outside before she started yelling at me. “That was your big plan? Lose money to a half-brained thug who only ended up in the marshals service by being arrested for drunkenness and then getting lost on the way to his jail cell?”

  “They were never going to give us that writ,” I said. “Best to keep things friendly.”

  “I don’t even understand the point of the trick! You just shuffle the same three cards around over and over, trying to hide an outlaw he had no trouble finding!”

  I snorted. “You kidding me? That guy missed the outlaw every time! The trick was convincing him he’d actually landed on the right one.” I stuffed the deck back in my pocket. “Actually, I screwed up on the second turn and showed him the outlaw of trebuchets instead of chariots, but nobody pays attention when they’re winning.”

  The expression of befuddlement on Mariadne’s face was actually rather endearing. “So you devote what I assume must be considerable skills at sleight of hand for the purpose of losing money?”

  “Keeps everyone friendly while the time passes.”

  Across the street, Reichis was marking his territory against the trunk of what looked to be a very expensive to maintain finberry tree. “I see your animal is hard at work too,” Mariadne said.

  “Any luck?” I asked the squirrel cat as I walked over to him.

  Reichis gave me one of those looks of his that says that “luck” was something only skinbags required. He scratched away at a little mound of dirt to reveal a crumpled sheet of vellum. I retrieved it and handed it to Mariadne.

  She looked at the writ, then at Reichis, in shock. “It’s true then? He really does understand you?”

  I shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe he just gets lucky a lot.”

  “I…” Mariadne looked at me with a confused expression that eventually settled into something faintly apologetic. I’ve learned over the past year not to be tricked, bewildered or otherwise boondoggled by beautiful women. The ones who aren’t disgusted by my shadowblack soon learn to be when they see other people react to it. But something about Mariadne and the way every thought in her head seemed to write itself across her features one by one made her hard to resist. For all the privileges of her birth, those same circumstances had threatened to steal all the joy from her life. “Apologise later,” I said. “What’s in the writ?”

  She read over the document and then handed it to me. “Damn him. Damn him to hell!”

  “Who?”

  “Leonidas! He lied, just as I suspected. He told the queen that he’d urged the magistrate to clemency, but it says here that he swore an oath that Tasia’s attack had been intended to undermine the security of the Northern Border Forces. That’s why the magistrate treated the attack as a treasonous offence.”

  Having had some experience with the Daroman propensity for charging treason in cases involving honest mistakes like wiping blood on the flag or trying to stab military commanders, I read through the document carefully. Daroman writs are pretty comprehensive, detailing what evidence was considered by the magistrate, what was deemed credible, what factors determined the sentence and who signed off on the execution…

  “Okay, so this is bad,” I said.

  “What? What is it?”

  “We have a bigger problem than Leonidas.”

  “Well, tell me!”

  I’d been wondering why a petty local magistrate would risk executing the companion of a noblewoman with close ties to the queen. All he’d had to do was lower the charge from treason to armed assault or even attempted murder and sentence Tasia to life in prison. Yet he’d gone ahead and sanctioned her execution—something that under normal circumstances would require the guilty to be taken to the capital and put before the monarch for final sentencing. I handed Mariadne the writ and pointed at the execution order. On the bottom line was a seal and a signature that read, By order of Ginevra, Imperial Majesty of Darome.

  28

  The Fortune Teller

  Countess Mariadne was capable of vastly more indignant fury than I’d previously assumed. It was in hopes of keeping her from picking up the nearest pitchfork and walking all the way back to the capital to personally declare war on the queen of Darome that I went to the considerable trouble of convincing Marshal Bracia to let me visit Tasia a second time.

  “You care about these women?” the marshal asked me as she led me down the jail’s narrow hall, her gruff but almost gentle tone making it seem as if we’d suddenly become old friends.

  “Not in the slightest,” I replied. “Just trying to do my job.”

  “Which is what, exactly?”

  “Yeah,” Reichis chittered. “I for one would love to hear it.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

  Bracia chuckled, and slapped me on the back in that way that says, “You seem like a nice fella, sure would be a shame if I had to smash your face in with my mace.”

  When we finally reached Tasia’s cell, the marshal paused after u
nlocking the door and quietly said to me, “She’s a good girl, this one. Don’t know why she done what she did, but it weren’t from cruelty nor cowardice. If you reckon you can help her, best be doing it soon.”

  “Yeah? And if I could bust her out of here, what then?”

  Marshal Bracia glanced back at me, and gentle compassion shone in her eyes, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the unyielding determination behind them. “Then we hunt you down, boy, to the ends of the earth.” She turned and headed back down the hall. “It’s a big world, though. Might take us a whole month to find you.”

  The smile that lit up Tasia’s face when Reichis and I entered the cell, her gaze going from me to Reichis and back again, made me reassess her looks. She was, in her way, as pretty as any woman I’d ever met.

  Beauty is what you see when your eyes stop focusing on the details and you begin to see the whole person. Ferius’s typically bizarre axiom was starting to make sense. A little.

  Regardless, I had trouble imagining that Leonidas had seen her the way I did now, and I doubted he’d risk his future just to get her into bed. But the plain truth was, Tasia was stuck in here, and that smug, self-important bastard Leonidas was walking free, and those facts made me want to stick a knife in him.

  “Thank you,” Tasia said to me as I sat down on one of the wooden chairs.

  “For what?”

  “For these.” She pointed at one of the decks of cards I’d left her. “I’d forgotten how much I loved cards.”

  As Reichis crawled up on Tasia’s lap I picked up a standard Daroman deck and started shuffling. “You’ve played a lot of cards?”

  “Enough to win a bet here or there,” she said, the left side of her smile tilting up. She made a silver coin appear from the sleeve of her dress.

  A surprised laugh came out of me. “You gambled with Fen, the marshal, didn’t you?”

  Her smile widened. “He’s really not very good.”

  “You ever play with Mariadne?”

  “Oh no, the countess isn’t one for cards. Her husband Arafas used to play once in a while before…”

  “Before Leonidas had him killed and blamed it on Zhuban raiders?” I asked.