by Rj Barker
“But I have heard the high king’s sister has little interest in men.”
He shrugged.
“Adran has ways of getting what she wants. If these were the old times, and queens could rule, then she’d be formidable.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
He leaned forward so he could whisper to me. His breath smelled like old books.
“The heir already dislikes you, Girton. You should choose your friends wisely and with an eye to the future, give some thought to rebuilding bridges you have broken. Do not make a hedgings deal.” He lifted a finger gnarled with arthritis. “Sometimes, Girton ap Gwynr, when we are young we do not realise the way the decisions we make will weigh upon us as adults. Look at me, Girton, bent over by choices made in youth. Make choices now that will help you stand tall as a man, do you understand?”
I did not reply, I did not think the youngest son of a country blessed would know how to reply to what Daana ap Dhyrrin said.
“I have made you uncomfortable,” he said with a false smile. “I apologise, but politics is an uncomfortable business, young Girton. Think on what I have said. Even when Aydor becomes high king strife is coming, boy, and you have made choices likely to leave you lonely when it does. Think of what best benefits your family if you cannot think of yourself.” He sat back in his well padded chair. “I tire now.” He held out his hand and the lizard jumped from his shoulder to it. “If you could place my lizard back in its cage I would be obliged.”
I took the lizard from him and its tiny claws dug into my skin as I took it to its cage. It jumped in and then hissed at me. When I turned, Daana ap Dhyrrin was asleep, so I snuck out of his room and made my way back to my own. My master waited there, curled up on her truckle bed and covered only by a thin blanket. She looked very small and tired.
“Girton,” she said quietly, her voice as dead-sounding as her make-up made her look.
“I have had my meetings with Bryan ap Mennix and Daana ap Dhyrrin.”
She pulled herself up to sit cross-legged. “And?”
“I do not think Bryan ap Mennix has the wit to plan an assassination, but Daana ap Dhyrrin talks quite openly of treason.”
“Aye,” she said, pushing back her hood and starting to undo the plait in her hair, which had become tangled and knotted. I felt a little crestfallen. What I had said was clearly not new information to her. “And do you think him capable of planning a killing?”
“Undoubtedly.” I sat by her and pushed her hand aside, then started to untangle her plait. “But he is clever and believes Aydor, if he does not become high king, will be the architect of his own destruction by turning the people against him.”
“I have heard him say as much.”
“One thing, Master. He said, ‘when Aydor becomes high king,’ though he does not seem to think Aydor will marry the high king’s sister.”
“A slip of the tongue?”
“Maybe, but he sounded very sure of it, and he seemed like a very precise man so it struck me as odd. He talked as if Aydor would be high king, marriage or not. But he is old. Maybe his mind wandered.”
“Do you think him a likely assassin?”
I tried to put myself in the old man’s shoes.
“No. I think he would kill if the opportunity presented itself and he was in a position to get away with it. But if Aydor makes himself unpopular then Tomas could ride in as a hero to the people, dead gods know he looks the part. Daana seems to think he only has to wait.”
She nodded. “But remember that Daana is old and passed over the throne once. He may feel the hand of Xus pressing upon him. The proximity of death can make even the wisest men foolish.” She winced as I pulled at a particularly tricky knot in her hair. “We should not write Daana off completely, Girton.”
“No.” I let a beat pass. “The assassin, master …”
“That is done with.”
“But I know so little.”
“You know more than many others. It is done with.”
I wanted to ask more, but the words would not come. I could not understand why she was always so secretive, and eventually I decided it was best to move on rather than frustrate myself asking questions that would never be answered.
“Did you know that Aydor failed his Riders trial?”
“I did not,” she said as I ran the comb through her hair. “Is that important?”
“It could be. No other squire is allowed to take the trials until Aydor is crowned, for fear of showing him up.”
“That must have ruffled a few feathers.”
“Indeed.”
“So we have more suspects, not less, for our days investigating.” She sounded tired beyond bearing.
“Yes, and another thing I discovered. Did you know the old Landsman, Heamus, brings in waifs and strays?”
“He does?” Her hand came up and stilled the hand holding the comb.
“Yes, I met him, and he, well …” I did not really want to discuss Drusl with my master now, although it appeared everyone in the castle knew about her. “He told me it was his attempt to redress the balance.”
She nodded and then stood.
“Something haunts that man, Girton. It can be seen in his eyes, though I see no profit in Aydor’s death for him. We should watch him anyway.” She rolled her head on her shoulders, easing kinked muscles. “Girton, you look like you have a question.”
I did, though I was unsure how to approach it, and when I opened my mouth I found myself asking something different. “What do you do all day, Master? You look so tired in the evening.”
She put her head in her hands, squeezing her fingers together, making strands of her hair curl into loops. “What do you think I do all day?”
“You act as Heartblade for the queen, protecting her.”
“When I am not keeping you safe I am Heartblade in a way, yes. I protect the queen, and Aydor too, but that is because they are together most of the time. It is long hours and I do not sleep well for trying to fit together puzzle pieces in my mind. Is that really what you wanted to ask?”
“Master,” I stood. “You knew Adran had asked you here and yet you still came. What is between you and the queen?”
“We knew each other. When we were young.”
“But what—”
She stood and turned, placing a finger on my lips to quiet me.
“Sshh, Girton. There are old wounds here with much pain in them. I would rather they were not reopened.”
She took her finger from my lips.. “I am tied to the queen and the heir. I am rarely able to carry on my own investigation which makes finding who may have ordered an assassin doubly difficult—and it is an almost impossible task to start with.” She placed her hands on either side of my head so she could stare into my eyes. “I need you to be my eyes, Girton, be my eyes and ears and watch everything and everyone.”
There was worry etched into every tired line of her face, and if I had not known her better I would have thought her about to cry.
“I will, Master,” I said.
“Good,” she said, and gave me a tired smile. “You don’t do badly for a boy with a bad foot.”
Chapter 12
It may seem strange, considering that both my own and my master’s lives hung in the balance, but I had some of the happiest days of my life at Castle Maniyadoc. In the midst of the castle’s turmoil I had found a friend, something I had never had before, and away from the training yard, where he was always awaiting a surreptitious blow or cruel word from the other squires, Rufra was a different person. He was funny and had a rare wit and a glad hand with people. Old servant women would suddenly find an apple for us, or a slave would stand near and whisper that the other squires were searching for us and where they were. Little could spoil those days: not the almost constant feeling I was being followed, or that I could never quite find an opportunity to talk to Captain Dollis about the incident with the dogs.
Often Rufra and I would end up running from Kyril
, Borniya and Hallin, who acted as Aydor’s enforcers, or Tomas and a bunch of his cronies. It became a game, albeit one that could have a painful end if we lost. Rufra showed me a long scar on his leg that Hallin had given him the year before I came. He said Hallin enjoyed others’ pain, and had cut him slowly while Borniya held him down, but as they were Aydor’s friends he could not strike back. There was something very bleak in his voice when he spoke of Hallin.
When I wasn’t with Rufra I was with Drusl, and if I was too shy to act on my feelings I felt more and more sure a bond was growing between us. Rufra often joined us, and though I hated myself for the lie I was forced to live, I was mostly happy.
In the few moments I had spare I explored Maniyadoc, and it was on one of these trips that I saw my master at work and started to wonder if I knew her at all.
I had found a place in the rafters above the stage where Aydor had been disappointed not to hang me. It was a good place to hide from Kyril, Borniya and Hallin, and watch the world go by. Below me people went to and fro on castle business; at one point I saw a small boy sit upon the king’s throne before being shooed off by his mother. After I had been there about an hour a small group of guards entered through the door onto the stage and spread through the hall, closing doors and moving people out. Most were happy to go, but I noticed one man waited until the guards were distracted and slipped behind one of the tapestries. Once the hall appeared empty the door at the back of the stage opened again and my master walked through, glanced around and then gave a small nod to the figure behind her, Queen Adran, who passed her and walked over to the throne. She scanned the hall as if enjoying the recognition of an invisible crowd and then turned to her guards.
“Leave us,” she said, and she and my master stood in silence while they waited for the guards to exit.
“Why have you brought me here, Adran?” said my master.
The queen ran a hand over the back of the throne.
“Have you given any thought to what I said, Merela? To staying?”
There was a ripple in the tapestries as the man I had seen moved further up the room. He had not been carrying a bow and did not look near enough to hurt them so I presumed he was eavesdropping. If it was more than that then I had no doubt my master would stop him, nonetheless, I loosened one of the throwing knives I kept up my sleeve.
“Girton and I will leave when we have uncovered who wants your son dead. Then I will consider any debt I owe you paid.”
“Do you forget I dragged you, half dead, through a forest?”
My master’s reply was quick, vehement.
“Do you forget I didn’t want to live?”
Adran paused, looked almost hurt by my master’s words.
“We worked well together, once, you know,” said Adran. There was none of the haughtiness in her voice I was used to hearing.
“Once,” said my master, and the tapestry rippled again, drawing her eye. She tipped her head, watching for more movement.
“The king will not last much longer, Merela. Together, you and I could make changes, bring back the old ways.”
“You talk of a better world we dreamed of but you will give the throne to your son.” She sounded dismissive and took a step towards the tapestry where the man hid.
“Aydor is not as bad as he seems and he is weak. I can control him.” Adran moved a straw hobby doll from the throne, threw it to the floor, and sat.
“So you have abandoned dreams of the old ways and will slip in another king. Aydor is an animal, like those from our youth, and he will only draw more like him. They will push you aside eventually,” said my master quietly.
“And your boy?”
“He is different.”
“Not like those from our youth, then?”
“No.”
Adran gave a snort.
“Make up your mind—you cannot have it both ways.” Then she sat forward, her voice heavy with threat. “And watch how you speak of my son. For all his faults I do love him. He is my blood.”
“An end to cruelty, Adran, remember?”
“We are not girls any more, and life is not so simple. To rule, Merela, some cruelty is necessary and—”
My master pointed at the tapestry and silenced Adran with a cut of her hand. A good thing as I had leaned over so far to listen to their conversation that I may have fallen from the rafters if they had continued to speak. I watched my master and wondered what she meant about “the old ways.” In some of the stories, the ones seldom asked for by the blessed, women and men ruled together and sometimes women ruled alone. I was distracted from my thoughts as my master approached the tapestry. She reached for it, but before she could touch it the hanging was ripped away to reveal the man I had seen earlier. His hand rested on his blade hilt, though he looked quite calm. He had the look of a mercenary, a rough man of the type common throughout the Tired Lands. I raised my throwing knife in readiness.
“No need to be frightened, ladies,” he said. “I was only having a piss behind the hanging and got stuck in here, is all.”
“I doubt that is true,” said Adran. He looked at her and his smile fell away.
“I am simply a man paid to hear things. I am leaving,” he said. “I heard nothing of any great import, so you just let me walk away, ladies, before someone gets hurt.” Adran laughed at him. “You laugh, but you sent away your guards, Queen Adran,”
“I have my jester.”
“Hardly a threat.” He drew his blade. “I’ve never killed a jester though, first time for everything.”
“I think I’d like to see this,” said Adran. “Merela, do your job.” Adran stood, walking down the steps from the stage to stand by my master. “And take him alive so I can have him questioned.”
For a moment the man looked confused, then he lunged at my master. He was good, well practised and he looked like he had fought many times before. My master did not even bother drawing her blade or taking up the position of readiness. She simply stepped out of the way of his thrust and, using her empty hand, struck him in the throat with stiffened fingers. I knew what she had delivered was a killing strike that crushed the windpipe, there was little to do but watch as the man choked to death on the wooden floor. When he stopped moving Adran walked over to where my master stood by the corpse.
“I wanted him alive.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You don’t make that sort of mistake.”
“You would have tortured him.” She turned to the queen, and I saw Adran’s face twisting as though my master was some sort of strange creature she had never seen before and could not understand.
“You used to call me the soft one, do you remember?”
“It was a long time ago.”
There was a silence, a long one while Adran stared into the face of my master and she stared back. Eventually, Adran turned from her to the corpse on the floor.
“Was he an assassin, do you think?” She turned the man over with her foot.
“You know better than that.”
“Just another spy then. Sometimes I think they outnumber the lice in the castle beds.” She walked up the stairs to the throne and laid a hand on it. “It seems this place has nothing to offer you, Merela. Let us return to my rooms.”
When they were gone I tried to understand what was between them but could not, and I could not ask my master without revealing I had listened in. So despite what I had heard she remained as much a mystery as ever, maybe more so.
Despite this one, puzzling, event, on occasion I would forget completely that I was Girton Club-Foot, the assassin’s boy, and would only be Girton ap Gwynr playing with his friends in the weak sunshine of yearsage. Those moments were the happiest of all.
It was not to last. Xus the unseen, god of death, waited in the wings, and his call to enter came far too quickly.
“Girton!” The voice was urgent but sounded very far away. “Girton!” It came again, an echo from far above while I glided along through the black sea of sleep
. “Girton, wake up!”
I sat bolt upright and my master’s skull face swam into focus before me.
“What? What is it? Is it training? Am I late?”
“No, you have barely fallen asleep. Queen Adran wants to see us.”
“Why?
“There’s been a death. One of the squires.”
Immediately, any remaining tiredness was swept away. I feared for Rufra.
“Who?”
“A boy named Kyril.”
“Kyril?” I shook my head to rid it of sleep. “Then I can’t say I’m sorry.”
“Don’t speak like that in front of Adran, Girton.”
“Why? It’s no secret that we were hardly friends.”
“Kyril’s body doesn’t have a mark on it.”
It took a moment for that to sink in.
“He was assassinated?”
“Maybe. Kyril’s family are influential and are yet to commit their support to Aydor. So Adran will be looking for a scapegoat to blame the death of their boy on.”
“A scapegoat.” I paused as I pulled on my jerkin. “You mean me?”
“Girton,” she said, holding my head in her hands so I stared into her eyes, “did you kill him?” It felt like a kick to the stomach that she’d even ask.
“Of course not,” I said. “I would have liked to but if it were me I would have made it look like an accident.”
“Good,” she said, and then put her hand gently on my shoulder. “I had to ask that, you understand? Adran will ask and she will want it to be you because it will be easier for her. Do not worry. I will not let her force the blame on to you. When she questions you say little and let me answer.”
I nodded. My throat was too dry with fear to speak. I had seen how swiftly traitors were dealt with here, and this was a timely reminder of the danger we lived in, danger I had almost managed to forget.
Adran’s rooms were on the top floor of the keep. A suite of three: a reception room, a dressing room and a bedroom hidden behind them. She waited in the reception room, one of the most beautiful rooms I had ever seen, full of heavy pre-imbalance furniture and hung with thick tapestries to absorb the constant draughts of the castle. Adran paced backwards and forwards, barely looking up as we entered. Behind her stood Aydor, Neander the priest in his bright orange garb and white mask, Daana ap Dhyrrin in his finery of gold and squawking lizards and Nywulf the squiremaster.