by Max Irons
“What about the poison?” asked Iven.
“That was meant for Kolvein,” Galeron said. “She sent Fletcher to kill him as part of his placement. Didn’t go so well. He was found out.”
Iven nodded. “So where does this fit in with…”
Galeron sighed, glancing back up the stairs. “Arlana decided that I had done really well, and she wanted to…reward me, I suppose.”
He grinned. “She wanted you?” Iven laughed. “Some days, you’ve got all the luck.”
“It…Lonni walked in…”
Iven winced. “Right in the middle of everything?”
“We hadn’t gotten very far,” Galeron said, heat returning to his cheeks. “It just happened, but…well, you can imagine what it must have looked like.”
Iven’s face slackened, and a dreamy grin slid over it. “You have no idea.”
Galeron poked him in the chest. “Quit that.”
Iven shook his head like a wet dog. “Right, sorry.” He chuckled again. “Can’t believe you got to, what, kiss the Princess Arlana?”
He rubbed his forehead. This had been a mistake. “What is wrong with you?”
“You did it, not me,” Iven said. “I doubt that made Lonni very happy.”
“No, it didn’t,” Galeron said, his voice going quiet.
“Don’t worry about her,” Iven said. “She just needs time to calm down.”
Perhaps, but that chunk of ice still bobbed up and down in his stomach.
The main door burst open, and a man in a green and white doublet raced in, stopping in front of Iven with one hand outstretched, bearing a sealed piece of parchment.
“A message from the king,” he gasped.
Iven took the letter, frowning. “At this hour?” He opened it, scanned the contents, and his face drained of color.
“What?” asked Galeron.
“We’ve been summoned,” said Iven.
“We?”
“Aye, we,” Iven said. “Someone set the royal crypt ablaze, and the king has three witness who put us there before the fires started.” His hands shook as he folded the letter up. “That, and Phoebe and Dianna have both been taken for questioning. Lord Pendegrast is accusing them of forging orders for house Porter.”
Galeron swallowed. And he thought they’d been almost done.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Arlana was, of course, long gone from his chambers when Galeron rushed back to pull on his armor. A sick feeling dug in his stomach as he slipped black chain mail over his head. Had Lord Pendegrast leveled the accusations just because of Iven’s lack of respect? When would it all end?
Donning the rest of his garb, even the bulky pauldrons, Galeron met Iven back in the atrium. He’d ignored more formal attire in favor of speed, wearing the tunic and trousers from earlier that night.
“Let’s get this over with,” Iven said.
The carriage driver was none too happy about being dragged out of bed that early in the morning, but he hitched up the horse team with only a moderate amount of swearing.
“We’re in deep trouble, aren’t we?” asked Iven.
Galeron bit his lip. “It’s likely Kolvein’s manipulation.”
“That’s not going to matter,” Iven said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about what’s to come.”
Then, they would do what had to be done. Just like always. The ride to the palace behind the throne passed in silence. Iven massaged his temples, and Galeron fingered the hilt of his sword. Their last vestige of evidence had gone up in smoke. Now he knew why Bolthor and his companions hadn’t chased them hard. They hadn’t cared about killing them or knowing what they’d learned.
“We’re playing a game, Galeron.” He could hear Kolvein laughing at him across the fields of memory. The Delktian really was ahead of them, and there was nothing to be done about it. The next few hours would decide the course of action. Who could predict the madness of a king, or what other task Kolvein might try to accomplish?
The carriage came to a halt, and Galeron and Iven looked at each other.
“Could really use a drink,” Iven said.
“I’m tempted to join you,” Galeron said.
They climbed out, and Iven gave their driver a few instructions. They stood at the foot of the king’s hall where the legionaries stood watch over the entrance, torches blazing in their brackets. Galeron and Iven ascended the steps and approached, the hall no more than a massive black shadow in the darkness.
“Lord Porter,” said one of the legionaries. “You’re expected.” He snatched the torch closest to him. “Follow me.”
Galeron eyed the other legionary, but he made no move to confiscate his sword. Strange, but he wasn’t going to ask. No need to remind them if they’d forgotten. The throne hall felt even more massive at night, when the flickering firelight barely gave any indication of just how much surrounded them. The blackness seemed to have substance as they passed the throne itself. Maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe his mind grew dull with lack of sleep.
Maybe.
The legionary took them through the door King Balen used that morning. Had it been only this morning Iven swore his oaths of fealty? It felt like a month ago. Up a twisting stair they went, spilling out into a narrow corridor lined with tapestries depicting mages and various acts of magic before the legionary swerved down another hallway and stopped in front of a pair of wide double doors. He knocked sharply and waited. Galeron’s insides twisted.
The door swung inward, and the legionary gestured for them to enter. Galeron and Iven walked through the doorway and into the chambers. King Balen, propped up on a mountain of pillows, lay in his giant canopied bed, staring vaguely at them as the door swung shut. His gaze kept sliding off Galeron and Iven, though he always pulled his eyes back up to refocus. Galeron and Iven came to a stop a few feet from the bed’s foot board.
Five legionaries stood to either side of the bed, weapons sheathed, but each man held an expression of tempered steel. Queen Tulia stood to the king’s left, and Kolvein, a thin smile over his face, sat in a plush chair at the king’s right hand. Lord Pendegrast, his eyes bloodshot and a slightly green look about his cheeks, wobbled next to him, as did the taller Lord Atalan.
“Lord Porter,” Kolvein said. “We appreciate your willingness, despite the lateness of the hour, to respond to this most…unfortunate set of circumstances. I believe you know the esteemed Lord Pendegrast and Lord Atalan.”
Iven kept his expression blank.
“When King Balen summons me, I obey,” Iven said. “I hope his majesty is feeling better.”
“Your concern for your sovereign is appreciated,” Queen Tulia said.
“Though it will not save you,” Kolvein said. “Lord Porter, the crown has received word of disturbing accusations. We hope that they prove to be false, but evidence piles against you.”
“We?” asked Galeron. “Does a Delktian presume to speak for a Rayan king?”
King Balen shifted on the bed, rubbing his forehead with one hand. He groaned, and wheezed out, “The words of…the Delktian are the…words of your king.”
A ripple went through the assembled legionaries, almost as one. Queen Tulia’s eyes narrowed, and her jaw tightened as she studied Kolvein.
“I think that clears matters, iron paladin,” said Kolvein.
His influence over the king had gotten stronger, or maybe it was just King Balen’s current state. Either way…
“Lord Porter,” Kolvein continued. “The crown has three witnesses who place you, your paladin, and the concubine at the royal crypt moments before King Balen’s vault burned with a heat so fierce it melted bone.”
Iven frowned. “We were there to pay respects to my brother. In case you hadn’t heard, he died.”
Kolvein smiled. “The crown is aware of it, and of your reluctance to accept the house mantle.” He licked his lips. “In fact, it comes to us from reliable sources that you harbored a grudge against the crown for…” His voice trailed away, and his brow
creased. “What was it you said? Oh, yes, ‘dragging you out of the fun life.’ I believe those were your words?”
Iven stood stock still. Galeron glowered holes into Kolvein’s skull. How had he known that? It’d been a conversation in private, or at least, it should have been. Lady Atalan’s warning rang true again.
“Disgraceful,” mumbled Lord Atalan.
“Kolvein, make haste and conclude this assemblage,” said Queen Tulia. “His majesty needs rest.”
“I assure you, my queen, I would not have requested a meeting had there not been a desperate need,” he said, inclining his head.
Galeron’s muscles quivered. “You know neither Iven nor I are mages. How could we make fire burn that hot without magic?”
Kolvein’s smile widened. “Most astute, iron paladin. You and your friends do lack that happy skill, but, based on the word of a very loyal apothecary, your lover has an affinity for firelocks.”
Galeron’s chest gave a brief and deep ache at the mention of Lonni, but he maintained his glare. “Firelocks aren’t banned in Raya, only the night dust.”
“Once again, correct,” he said. “Yet, my lords and esteemed queen, I ask you, what us is a firelock without night dust?”
“A waste of good coin,” grumbled Lord Pendegrast.
“Quite so,” drawled Kolvein. “As all know, night dust burns hotter than anything under mortal power. How could you have started such a fire, paladin? With night dust, of course.”
“That’s not how it works,” Galeron said.
“Are you an alchemist?” asked Kolvein.
His scowl deepened. “No.”
“Then how can you know for certain?” Kolvein shrugged. “I’m told such Broton machinations are vastly complicated, and you have proved yourself about as sharp as a child’s ball. Your lady, however, certainly had the intelligence for such work. Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Pendegrast?”
Pendegrast, whose eyelids had been drooping, stood up straight, snorting. “Yes, yes. Wit quicked she was.” He shook his head. “Quick-witted, I mean. Lovely dancer.”
Lord Atalan rubbed his forehead. “It is no secret Lord Porter was less than happy to take up the house mantle, but I have my doubts it would cause him to desecrate the dead.”
“What have you proved?” asked Iven. “Did anyone see us set fire to the royal crypt?” He spread his arms. “What’s to be gained from burning corpses already buried?”
Kolvein chuckled. “There we come to it, my lords. Why indeed? What is the use of burning a corpse put away?” He licked his lips and stood. “My lords, noble queen, the explanation seems quite clear, though I had trouble believing it at first.”
Galeron rolled his eyes. Kolvein was putting on a show for the lords, or was it just an attempt to goad him into something rash?
“At the Fallen One’s ball, both Lord Porter and his paladin showed unusual interest in Princess Carys’s death,” Kolvein said. “I overheard them ask about funeral processions and how the king thought Broton responsible for her tragic death. I thought to myself that this was a mere curiosity. Lord Porter had been away, and it seemed natural for him to learn what he had missed.”
Kolvein paused, letting his words ferment for a few heartbeats. Galeron bit the inside of his mouth. Where was he going with this? All Kolvein had was speculation.
“However, the questions continued, and then, unexpectedly, Lord Porter and his companions left the ball before its conclusion,” Kolvein said. “But not before he was heard saying that Princess Carys’s burial required more investigating. Now I ask you, why would that be? I cannot say for certain, my lords, but then these two surfaced at the royal crypt. Three court mages can place them there within moments of the fire. The esteemed Bolthor and his companions were assaulted by Lord Porter and his paladin as they fled the flames.”
“Bolthor?” asked Lord Atalan. “He’s little better than sell-swords frequenting the taverns.”
“Perhaps that is so, my lord,” Kolvein said. “But a sell-sword’s loyalty sits with those who pay him the most coin. He is well compensated by the crown and has King Balen’s personal ring.”
Galeron leaned over to Iven. “What ring?”
“It gives the wearer status rivaling a minor lord,” Iven whispered. “Think of it as a temporary promotion. Used in emergencies if the king’s retinue is short men.”
Galeron’s heart sank. If Bolthor had been wearing that ring during their fight, and it seemed likely, that meant Galeron had attacked a lord of Raya, even if it was a technicality. In a clash of Bolthor’s word against his own, Bolthor would win by default. His insides shriveled up.
Since he wasn’t a diplomat or official representative of Broton, it wouldn’t be enough for King Balen, or Kolvein really, to declare war. However, it was enough to get him locked in Balen’s dungeons and cause Iven a lot of trouble.
“Disturbing though this story might be, it is still the word of Lord Porter against Bolthor,” said Queen Tulia. “I have no doubt who the Rayan lords will believe.”
“Wisely said, great queen,” said Kolvein. “I, too, might have thought Bolthor’s words as an excuse to charge more of the crown, but then I learned—”
A short, sharp rapping at the door cut across his explanation.
“Are we expecting someone else?” asked Kolvein. “I thought all were pres—”
“I took the liberty of summoning Princess Arlana,” said Tulia. “Prudence demands that Broton have a representative besides Lord Porter’s paladin.”
One of the legionaries opened the door, allowing Arlana to glide into the room before he closed it and returned to his post. She’d changed into a more formal, black cotton dress that didn’t emphasize her curves as much as the satin. Heat flooded Galeron’s face as she winked at him. Arlana faced the king and queen, curtsying and then intertwining her hands behind her back.
“Your majesties, may I ask the reason for such a late meeting?” she asked.
Kolvein studied her, eyes narrowed and mouth drawn into a thin line.
“Our Delktian ambassador believes he has uncovered…” Queen Tulia frowned and raised an eyebrow at him. “We aren’t actually sure. He’s done an awful lot of preening and prancing to reveal that Lord Porter doesn’t like being a lord.”
“Mmm, you don’t say?” said Arlana. “I must admit, between the sour comments, grumpy exterior, and shirking of duties, I don’t know what gave him such intuition. It is, of course, in a Delktian’s nature to notice even the smallest of details. Perhaps we should not be surprised at such great intellect.”
Lord Atalan chuckled.
Kolvein’s face hardened. “Mock all you like, princess, but the question of burning already buried corpses remains important.”
“Oh, I never said it wasn’t,” Arlana purred. “As Queen Tulia suggested, perhaps you should abstain the theatrics and tell us what you’re about.” She gave a great yawn. “Nighttime should be reserved for much more private activities.”
Lord Pendegrast went pink and coughed.
“Nothing, princess, is more private than a conspiracy,” said Kolvein.
“It doesn’t sound so private if you know of one,” said Arlana.
“You know exactly of what I speak.” Kolvein’s voice took an icy tone. “Would you like to tell them about Galeron Triste, or should I?”
“What are we telling them?” she asked blandly. “Are we going to talk about his lack of tact? That should be obvious to anyone who meets him. Or are we going to discuss the fact that, despite his stony exterior, he is good at kissing?”
Kolvein went purple and seemed to choke on something. Both lords gazed at the floor, and Tulia stared at Galeron with an appraising look. His face blazed with a sudden inferno, and Iven grinned at him.
Why did she have to bring that up? He averted his eyes and swallowed.
“No,” Kolvein licked his lips and glared at Arlana. “Clearly the nobles do not know of Galeron’s work as an informer for the Broton court.”
Arlana gave Kolvein a sweet smile. “Indeed. He was an informer during the Delktian Wars. He left the service once peace was established. If your information was a little more recent, you’d know he’s spent the last five years as a sell-sword.”
“Do not play me for a fool,” said Kolvein. “A man doesn’t stop being an informer.”
She nodded. “That is true, if he’d ever been much of one. Tell me, Delktian, do you remember how your king died?”
Kolvein’s jaw tightened, and he gave a curt nod.
“You’ll be embarrassed to know, then, that the battle was an accident,” Arlana said. “Keith Bane and Brenna Dolan weren’t supposed to kill Adrik. They were hunting the necromancer, but Galeron got them lost and killed.”
Galeron’s insides turned to ice. That hadn’t been what happened, and she knew it. She’d heard his story and read his accounts of events in the Njal.
“How is that relevant?” Kolvein forced out.
“If you’re trying to say Galeron is spying for my brother, then perhaps you aren’t as astute as I thought,” she said. “Soren has dozens of well-trained and competent informers to call upon.”
“Precisely,” said Kolvein. “Who better to pass under suspicion than a half-wit?”
“Mmm, that half-wit kidnapped Prince Lattimer a few months ago,” Arlana said. “He made up for it, but Soren isn’t a trusting man.” She shook her head slowly. “If you’re going to throw around accusations, at least make them good ones.”
Kolvein growled at her. “You’re lying through your teeth.”
Arlana gave him another sweet smile. “If you had any proof of what you say, other than your own words, please…” She spread her hands. “Show us.”
“We have witnesses who place them in the crypt,” said Kolvein.
Arlana nodded. “Does Galeron deny he and Lord Porter went there?”
“No,” Galeron said.