Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  "Of course." He glanced towards the doors. "Forgive me, I have grown used to being watched, the lack of privacy." He shrugged. She understood then, and wondered what it cost for him to admit he was little more than Micia's prisoner. The silence lengthened. If there had been a way to leave her task uncompleted, she would have done so. But she had made her choice when she joined the Compact. She had a duty to Hugo and her children too. Whatever she lost, she must finish what she had started.

  He was studying her face. "Why have you come?"

  The question surprised her. A moment ago, he had assumed he understood her reasons. He had seen something that made him doubt. He was not usually so observant. It was another change.

  "I have questions." She had to be honest. "And there is other news."

  He stepped away from her. "Tell me the bad news."

  "Your father has been summoned to court."

  "Why?"

  "Ferdinand wants him close." It was the way of kings to demand a show of loyalty and trust from those they trusted least. Rupert could prove his loyalty by putting himself in his brother's power. "Your father has done nothing wrong." She could not bring herself to say he would be safe.

  Edouard turned away from her. "He will be a hostage against…"

  She waited until it was clear he would not say anything more. "You are worried that Ferdinand will use your father, force you to return."

  He nodded. "No doubt it is another part of his plan." He turned back, regarded her in silence for a moment. "Clement St Andre is here, leading an official embassy from Ferdinand. He has come to convince Micia I murdered his father. He claims to have proof of that and other crimes. He is demanding that I return to face Ferdinand's justice." He did not ask whether she knew this.

  "What will Micia do?"

  "There will be a hearing of sorts. I will have the chance to answer any charges Clement makes, if I wish to. Micia will decide the outcome."

  "Any charges, other crimes? This is about more than St Andre's death?"

  He looked at her, but said nothing more. As the silence grew, there was a question in his eyes.

  "Can you prove your innocence, Edouard?" she asked.

  "That is the question you came to ask me?" Without moving, he had retreated, creating a distance between them. He was wiser than he had been. She was not prepared for the change.

  The silence lengthened. She reminded herself that he was not innocent. A flicker of anger made it easier to face him. "Among others," she said.

  "An inquisition. On whose behalf?" When she did not answer, he scrubbed his fingers through his hair. It was a strangely familiar gesture. "How could I be such a fool?" When he looked at her, his face was guarded. He moved away and settled against the marble balustrade. His fingers curled tight around the edge as he held himself very still. "Did Ferdinand send you?"

  "No."

  "Who then?"

  She had a choice. If she told the truth, he would believe that everything between them had been a sham. Whatever she said, or claimed, that is what he would hear. She could not admit to betraying him and speak of love, and she could not lie.

  "The shadow knights killed Hugo," she said. "Afterward I joined a group to find his killers. To have revenge."

  "The Compact," he said with flat voiced certainty. "They have given evidence against me to Ferdinand, damning evidence." His calmness surprised her. She had expected temper, recriminations. The difference to how she had thought he would react was so great that she felt she did not know him at all. "Half of it lies," he said, holding her gaze. "And it is this false evidence Clement relies on. Shamet warned me."

  "Half of it?" she asked; her voice sounded cold.

  "The worst half," he said. For a moment, he stared at the ground. "Do you really believe I could murder a woman, a daughter of the mysteries, Mariette?"

  She felt ice slide along her spine. "There were witnesses–"

  "If you believe that." He cut her off as if he could not bear the sound of her voice. "Then you believe it all. That I murdered Mayor Arno. That I betrayed the army at Ralmadre, stood by and watched the slaughter of Etrives' sons and men. That I murdered St Andre to hide my complicity in these and other treasons. Is there anything you do not think me capable of?"

  "I did not want to believe any of it." She raised her voice to counter him, her own anger surfacing, and a measure of the hurt. "But you were part of the shadow evil, Edouard."

  "Not willingly," he said, and she heard a hint of the boy again. It was gone when he continued. "Why are you here? What do you want from me, Mariette?"

  "The truth."

  "You might have had that anytime, had you asked." He laughed bitterly. "But it is too late now. The truth does not matter anymore. Perhaps it has never mattered."

  "How can you say that?"

  "When I came here, I thought in time I could return home with the truth and evidence, and it would make a difference. Make things right. But the truth is no defense and evidence is as fickle. Once a moment or an action is done it is in the past, and only words remain to tell of it, and they can tell any story."

  He looked away from her before continuing softly, "The truth of that moment, that act, comes down to each man's word and honor, and words are fragile and easily manipulated. As for honor." He shrugged. "Do you think Ferdinand cares about either?" He looked at her. "We have all been manipulated. This is about many things. It is about Arnaud. Ferdinand's fear, his attempt to control the future; his fight with my father. Ferdinand will accept the truth that gives him what he wants."

  She had always been able to read him, but that also had changed.

  "You owe me the truth," she said.

  "It seems that, like Ferdinand, you have your truth already."

  She took a step towards him. "At least tell me who is behind the shadow?"

  "Do you think I would be here if I knew that?"

  "I want to help, Edouard." She meant it. His words had unsettled her. She went to him and reached for his hand. "I believe the truth does matter."

  It was a mistake. He flinched away from her touch. "Mariette, there is nothing I can tell you." He stood up and pushed past her, for once clumsy in his haste.

  "Go back to court and play your games, Mariette." He turned back for a moment. "Or stay and enjoy your revenge."

  "Edouard, wait, what do you mean?" But when she followed, he was gone. When she called the servant he came, but he would not take her to Edouard. He guided her to the door. The guards and officials were waiting to lead her back.

  Chapter 97

  Edouard woke suddenly, still half caught in a nightmare of Chamfort; muddled images of his father and Michel; Mariette holding a bloodied blade before his face. Her accusations were ringing in his ears. The details of the nightmare slipped away as he lay motionless. He listened to the distant splash of water from the fountains in the gardens, but close by all was still and silent. A sense of danger prickled his senses. He came up onto one elbow and scanned the room. Nothing seemed out of place. The door stood closed, the shadows in the room and on the balcony formed familiar shapes.

  A breeze stirred the bed hangings. He rolled, silently, to his feet and paused beside the bed. The guard had increased since his adventure in the city and again on the arrival of Clement's embassy. If anyone came for him, he had to believe it would be with the Queen, or Shamet’s blessing. How else would an assassin get past so many guards? His mouth was dry at the thought. He had no weapon and no chance if he was right.

  Strangely, the thought settled him. For too long he had felt stifled, like a rat in a trap, waiting its fate without options. This at least offered him the chance for action. He took a breath and ran for the balcony. It was a long drop, and likely there would be swords waiting below, but the narrow doorway was not an option, too easy to guard, and trapped in this room he had no chance.

  He did not make it to the balcony. A body slammed into his. They fell together, sliding across cold marble. Edouard reached for vulnerable targe
ts, his attacker’s eyes or neck. He did not call out, certain there was no point, no chance of help. He missed the grip and the attacker slipped away from him, quick and supple as an eel. He came up to one knee, and surged to his feet. Ready to defend against an attack that did not come. Silence. But now a shadow lay between him and the route to the balcony and any hope of escape.

  Edouard backed a pace. His gaze scanned the room but found no other presence. Why would the assassin be alone? It did not make sense. He followed the shadow to its source. It did not move. There was no glint of metal. No call for reinforcements. Perhaps he was wrong, this was not Micia or Shamet’s doing. If so the guards were his allies.

  Uncertainty kept him silent. Still, the shadow did not move. Edouard kept his voice low, "Who are you? What do you want?" The shadow moved a pace closer. A slender figure clad in black. He backed away. "Tell me now or I will call for the guards."

  The figure among the shadows spoke. "Be quiet, or there is a chance we will both die here tonight."

  He knew her at once. Had thought about her often during his first weeks in Allesarion, wondering where she might be. Perhaps he had hoped she might help him. He knew now how foolish that had been. If she was here, it was at Micia's bidding. "Innana?"

  She did not answer but moved closer.

  It came to him that his first thought might have been right. Just because he knew her didn't mean she was a friend. "Have you come to kill me?"

  She laughed softly. "If I had you would be dead already. You know that." Another step and she would be within reach.

  He shifted, raised one hand in warning, presuming she thought him capable of offering any kind of threat. It seemed she did. She halted.

  "Why are you here?" he asked.

  "I bring an offer from the Queen." She moved closer, he let her.

  "In the middle of the night?"

  "Some things cannot be said or done openly." Her voice was soft. She was very close now and he could feel her breath on his skin. It was distracting. He remembered the night they had spent together. It seemed a lifetime ago.

  "Tell me," he said, more sharply than he had intended. He was not in the mood for games.

  The distance between them increased. She moved towards a divan in the corner of the room. After a moment's hesitation, he followed, pulling a sheet from the bed to cover himself. He settled on the divan, keeping a distance between them.

  "You're safe from me," she said, with a hint of amusement. "But we must not be overheard."

  As his eyes adjusted, he saw she was wearing midnight blue. The soft material showed the contours of a dancer's body, or an assassin's. Her arms and feet were bare. Her hair was bound up. He scrubbed a hand through his hair; this was not the moment to be distracted. He had to work out the implications of her visit. If Micia had sent her, did Shamet know?

  "Tell me why you are here." It was hardly subtle, but he was tired and unsettled. It had been an awful day.

  She was silent for a moment. Her hands resting lightly on her thighs, she sat very still as if she was meditating. He realized she was listening. It gave him pause.

  "Clement St Andre's case against you is strong," she said. "The Queen is concerned."

  He knew exactly how strong the case against him was. From his experience of Micia, it seemed unlikely that she cared what happened one way or another, unless there was some gain in it for her. "What part of my situation concerns the Queen?"

  She did not seem to notice his sarcasm. "If Clement St Andre's case is good enough, she will have no choice but to accede to Ferdinand's demands and return you to face trial and justice." The implications were clear. Micia expected St Andre to make his case, and she had no doubt what the outcome of his trial in Valderon would be; no doubt she had details of the punishment. "She is concerned for your fate."

  He shrugged. "There are other possibilities."

  "You speak of an honor challenge?"

  "Yes."

  "It is the Queen's understanding that if you make this challenge, St Andre may nominate a champion."

  It was true. At first he was surprised that Micia would know this. But of course Shamet knew. He nodded, prepared for what must come and not wanting to hear it.

  "He will nominate the knight, de Nortial," she said. It was not a question. "I have seen this man fight." A moment's hesitation. "And he is known to us."

  He is known to us. The words gave him pause. He wondered how well de Nortial was known to them, and whether it was by reputation alone, or had de Nortial performed some service for Micia or Shamet in the past. It hardly mattered, the point was clear enough and not something he wanted to discuss.

  "I will take my chances," he said. It was as good a way as any to settle this mess and it must be settled, for his family's sake. He had put them at risk, and now he must make sure they were safe.

  A second victory would validate his claim that the combat with the Marechal St Andre had been an honor duel. If he lost, it would not be something he would have to worry about. Ferdinand would have his justice or revenge.

  She had moved closer. "But if there was another way?"

  He was tired. "I see no other way. The Queen has undertaken to hear the evidence and make a decision. You have already said she cannot dismiss St Andre's evidence. She must honor her agreement to King Ferdinand." This had always been a game for Micia, a chance to spite Ferdinand. She had never intended to risk anything on the outcome.

  "But if you were to escape."

  "From this palace? From Allesarion?" He laughed and she gestured urgently for silence. He was surprised by the urgency. Perhaps Micia did want to help him. But why would she risk it? He wondered if it was Shamet's doing and thought not. The Chancellor was a pragmatic man; he would not take such a risk. Edouard had made his position clear, despite the allegations, he was not a traitor. He would not move against Ferdinand, even if something were to happen to Arnaud. "Why are you here?" he asked wearily.

  "I am here at the Queen's command. There are things she cannot do openly. The offer of sanctuary, it was not lightly given."

  "What would happen?" he asked.

  "You would disappear. There are ways to leave the palace unseen. No one would know."

  "Ferdinand would be furious," he said it because he wanted to hear what she would say.

  She shrugged, an expressive, dancer's movement. "Micia would deny all knowledge."

  "Of course, because I am a guest. She is not my keeper." He smiled at the irony, even though she would not see it. Shamet was always quick to say that the constraints on his movements, the guards when he went into the city, were for his protection. It amounted to imprisonment, but even Clement and de Nortial could not know that. If they asked questions, they would get no answers from within the palace. And he had done it before, his visit to the city and time with the gladiators was well known.

  "So she will risk Ferdinand's anger, and what of Shamet?"

  She was silent for a moment. A breeze stirred the leaves on the balcony and the shadows shifted gently. "You will not leave?" she asked, softly. "I told her you would not. She will be angry."

  Just what he needed. Micia angry with him. As if things were not bad enough. "I can't," he said, thinking of his family.

  "Wait one night, think about it."

  "I'm not afraid of de Nortial."

  "You should be," she said.

  True, but it was not as if he had a choice. "I won't run away." He couldn't explain.

  Talking to Mariette, he had realized there was only one outcome that would resolve the mess he had made. He would not leave his father to face the consequences of his actions again. He could not explain that to Innana. Perhaps she had already guessed. He would have liked to talk it through with Shamet, but he did not think that would be possible, or fair.

  Her hand touched his face. He had not seen her move and it startled him. He flinched away. Her fingers came to rest, curled gently against his neck. He did not expect gentleness from her.

  "You
have been lonely?" she asked.

  "You won't persuade me." Games within games, endlessly, the thought exhausted him. No doubt Micia had decided he could be of some use. There would be strings to her offer. He wondered if anything was ever straightforward here. In the end it did not matter, he knew what he must do.

  "It was good between us before," she said. "You could have a future here." The whisper of her breath against his neck as she moved closer, fingers sliding across his shoulder.

  Her lips sought his, raising memories of the night in Chamfort town. He thought of Mariette and turned away. "No."

  "This is my gift, not Micia's." The words were very soft. Her lips close to his ear. Her fingers linked through his, offering comfort. "If you are decided, I will not try to change your mind. But you must think it through. There is no need for you to take this risk."

  "That is my decision."

  "You think facing de Nortial," she hesitated and spoke softly. "Will absolve your crimes."

  He did not answer. There was no answer that could explain how he felt. He must prove he was not the man Mariette believed him to be. He must protect his family. There was nothing Innana or Micia could offer that would change this.

  The silence seemed louder in the shadow-filled darkness. Her fingers were still entwined with his "You have been alone too long," she said. "At such times it can be hard to see things clearly."

  His ragged breathing proved her right. But his decision was hard won: too much depended on it, he would not be brought to doubt or regret.

  "I do not seek to influence you," she said. It was uncanny, her ability to know his mind frightened him. "There is no need to be alone tonight. You have made a hard choice." Her lips were warm against his skin. Her hands traced the muscles of his back. He could feel the warmth of her skin through thin fabric. He did not want to be alone. But the woman he wanted was not here, the only woman he wanted. It seemed as if that had always been so.

  Innana's lips touched his neck.

  "No," he said, softly, drawing away from her. He had given Mariette his heart; it was the one trust he had not betrayed. It should not matter after what he had learned, but it did. He would be true in this one thing.