She swept outside, banging the door shut behind her, leaving Javel still pressed against the wall. Claustrophobia gripped him; the shop seemed suddenly tiny, but he didn’t dare go outside, not until he knew she was gone. He prayed the apothecary would not emerge from behind his curtain, and by some miracle, the man did not. Finally, when it felt as though hours had passed, Javel peeked through the glass-paned door of the shop and saw that the wagon was gone. He took a deep breath and went outside.
The Rue went on just as ever, which seemed strange to Javel; how could the city continue to function normally, when everything had changed? A sweet smell was in the air, pastries from the bakery nearby, but to Javel the smell was cloying, sweetness over filth, just like this entire city. He had spent six years worrying about Allie, suffering for Allie, and now he had no idea what to do. Going back the way he had come seemed intolerable. Going forward seemed worse. And night was coming down.
He stood on the footpath, cradling his head in his hands like a man deep in thought, but his mind was empty. He took his hands from his eyes, looked up, and found everything clear before him.
He was standing in front of a pub.
Even the Mace could not find the two priests.
The Queen’s Guard was supposed to stay with the Mace at all times. They had been charged to do so by the Queen herself, and Aisa could not imagine that any of the others took that charge less seriously than she did herself. But the Mace was the Mace, and if he wanted to disappear, they could not stop him. Yesterday he had gone, and now he reappeared, just as suddenly, through the secret door in the kitchen, causing Milla to scream in fright as she tended a pot of stew.
The Mace’s disappearances were maddening, but even Aisa understood that the Mace tolerated them all by only the barest margin, that he was made to guard, not be guarded. Sometimes he just had to leave, to be somewhere else without any of them around. Aisa had assumed that the Mace went out drinking, or spying, but an overheard conversation between Elston and Coryn told her different: he was out looking for the Keep priest, Father Tyler, and a second priest, Father Seth, both of them bountied by the Arvath.
“The Caden are looking for them too,” Coryn remarked. “They want bounty, ours or the Arvath’s, makes no difference. Who knew that two old men could stay so well hidden?”
“They won’t hide forever,” Elston rumbled. “And every time the Captain leaves the Keep, it becomes more likely that the Holy Father will get wind of it.”
Aisa would have liked to hear more, but in that moment Coryn noticed her in the doorway and shooed her out.
Each time the Mace returned from one of these expeditions without the two priests, he seemed more discouraged. Aisa thought it likely that Father Tyler was dead, for it seemed unlikely that the timid priest could hide for long. She wasn’t the only one who held this view, but no one quite dared say so to the Mace. They had learned to leave him alone at such times, but today, as soon as the Mace collapsed in one of the chairs around the table, he began bellowing.
“Arliss! Get out here!”
The words reverberated through the floor of the audience chamber.
“Arliss!”
“Be patient, you thick bastard!” Arliss shouted down the corridor. “I can’t run!”
The Mace settled into a hunch, an ugly look on his face. His inability to find the two priests was only part of the problem, Aisa thought. The real problem was the empty silver throne. The Queen’s absence weighed on all of them, but heaviest on the Mace. Aisa thought that, beneath his impassive exterior, the Captain might be suffering even more than Pen.
Arliss dragged himself from the mouth of the corridor. “Yes, Mr. Mace?”
“What’s the latest from the Holy Father?”
“Another message this morning. Unless we produce Father Tyler and renew the Arvath’s property tax exemption, he threatens to expel us all from the Church.”
“Who is ‘us’?”
“The entire Keep, from the Queen on down.”
The Mace chuckled, rubbing his red eyes with one hand.
“It’s no laughing matter, man. I’ve got no use for God, but this place is full of devout people. There are practicing Christians in the Guard. They will care, even if you don’t.”
“If they’re fool enough to take the word of God from that piece of shit in the Arvath, they deserve the flames.”
Arliss shrugged, though Aisa could see he would have liked to say more.
“They demanded only Father Tyler? Not Father Seth?”
“Only Father Tyler. And the bounty has doubled again.”
“Strange. Still no word on what happened when he fled the Arvath?”
“A scuffle. Some sort of alarm in the Holy Father’s chambers. That’s all I could dig up.”
“Strange,” the Mace repeated.
“By the way, he’s no longer Father Tyler, or even the Keep priest, in these little missives. The Holy Father’s given him a new name.”
“What’s that?”
“The Apostate.”
The Mace shook his head. “Anything else while I was gone?”
“Another village was attacked in the foothills.”
“What kind of attack?”
Arliss shook his head. “We only have two survivors, sir, and their reports don’t make much sense, monsters and ghosties. Give me a few more days.”
“Fine. What else?”
Arliss turned to Elston, who suddenly looked acutely uncomfortable.
“We have to talk about Pen, sir,” he muttered.
“What about Pen?”
Elston looked down, searching for words, and Arliss took over.
“The boy’s been drinking too much—”
“I know.”
“I’m not finished. Last night he got into a brawl. A public brawl.”
Aisa’s eyes widened, but she said nothing, lest they remember she was there and shoo her out, as Coryn had the other day.
Pen, she thought, and shook her head, almost sadly.
“Lucky he was in one of my gaming pubs, or he might have been killed. He took on five men without a sword. As it is, he’s taken a good beating. I tried to keep it quiet, but news will probably leak out. It always does.”
“Where is he?”
“In the quarters, sleeping it off.”
The Mace stood, his face grim.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Elston said miserably. “I’ve tried to wrangle him, but—”
“Never mind, El. This mess I made myself.”
The Mace headed down the hallway toward the guard quarters, moving in vast, purposeful strides. After a moment, Elston followed, then Coryn and Kibb, and Aisa trailed warily behind them. They reached the far end of the hallway, and were brought up short by the sharp crack! of a palm smacking flesh.
“Get your ass up!”
Pen mumbled something.
“We’ve coddled you long enough, you lovesick brat. Get out of that bed, or I will kick you out, and I won’t be careful what I break on the way. You’re embarrassing yourself and this guard. You’re embarrassing me.”
“Why?”
“I picked you, you little shit!” the Mace roared. “Do you think you’re the only boy I saw on the streets who was good with a blade? I picked you! And now you fold, right when I need you the most!”
Pen mumbled something else. He was still drunk, Aisa realized, or at least deeply hungover. She had heard a similar mush of words from Da many times. Now, louder: “I’m a close guard, and you don’t need a close guard.” Pen’s voice rose. “We sit here, doing nothing, while she’s over there! There’s no one for me to guard!”
Wood splintered, and there was a thump, followed by Pen’s bellow of pain.
“Should we go in?” Aisa whispered, but Elston shook his head and raised a finger against his jagged teeth. A hissing, sliding sound came through the doorway; the Mace was dragging Pen across the floor, his breath roughened with exertion.
“You were the smart one, boy. You
were supposed to captain this Guard after the rest of us get too old and slow. And here you are, wallowing in misery like a pig in shit.”
Aisa felt a tug on her shirttail and looked down to find her sister Glee peering up at her.
“Glee!” she whispered. “You know you’re not supposed to be down here.”
Glee continued to stare at her, unseeing, and Aisa realized that she was in one of her trances.
“Glee? Can you hear me?”
“Your chance,” Glee whispered. Her eyes were so empty that they seemed hollow. “You’ll see it clear. They turn the corner and you grasp your chance.”
Aisa’s lips parted. She could not pay attention to Glee now, for the business between the Mace and Pen continued violent; she heard more breaking furniture, followed by the thud of a punch.
“Go find Maman, Glee.” She turned Glee around and gave her a gentle push, sending her down the corridor. Aisa watched her for a few seconds, troubled, before turning back to the guard quarters. Elston and Kibb were leaning around the doorframe, and Aisa, screwing up her courage, got down on all fours and stuck her head past Elston’s legs to peek into the room.
Pen was bent over, his head inside one of the basins that lined the far wall. The Mace stood over him, holding the back of his neck, and Aisa had the impression that if Pen tried to come up too soon, the Mace would shove him under. Elston signaled, asking if they should leave, but the Mace merely shrugged.
Pen came up and took a great gasp of air, his brown curls plastered slickly to his head. Aisa winced as she saw his face: a bright sunrise of bruises, both eyes black, and a wide slice of dried blood on his cheek. The Mace did not seem concerned.
“Are you sober now, boy?”
“Why do we not act?” Pen howled. “We stay here, waiting and waiting, while she’s over there being—”
The Mace slapped him.
“You have a nerve, Pen. If you had ever looked past your own misery, you would see it plain. We have a city of people who need to get home. A Church that wants to crack this throne down the middle. And a festering boil under the Gut. You know the Queen, Pen. If we left this mess here, untended, just to get her back, she would kill us both.”
“Without her here, it all grows worse—the Church grows worse—”
The Mace’s eyes flickered. “True. And you could be of great help, but instead you drown your sorrow in drink and brawling. You think the Queen would enjoy seeing you like this? Would she be proud of you?”
Pen stared at the ground.
“She would find you pathetic, Pen, just as I do.” The Mace took a deep breath, folding his arms. “Have a wash and put on some clean clothes. Then get out of here. Do what you need to do, think about whether you want to remain a part of this Guard. You have two days. Come back at your best, or don’t come back at all. Understood?”
Pen drew breath in a sharp hiss, his bloodshot eyes wounded. Aisa hoped the Mace would slap him again, but the Mace merely headed for the doorway, shooing them all out.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Elston repeated.
“Not your fault, El,” the Mace replied, shutting the door of the quarters behind him. “I bent an old rule, and I shouldn’t have.”
“Do you think he’ll come back?”
“Yes,” the Mace replied shortly.
Arliss was waiting for them outside his office, holding his usual sheaf of papers, but now Ewen had joined them, peeping around Arliss’s shoulder like a bashful child.
“We have estimates on the harvest—” Arliss began, but the Mace cut him off.
“Ewen, what ails you?”
Ewen emerged from behind the Treasurer, his cheeks flushed a dull red. “I would like to talk to you, sir.”
“Go ahead.”
Ewen took a deep breath, as though commencing a speech. “I’m not a Queen’s Guard. You have been very kind to me, sir, you and the Queen, to let me wear the cloak and act the part. But I’m not a real Queen’s Guard, and I never will be.”
The Mace looked sharply at Elston. “Has someone been speaking to you about this, Ewen?”
“No, sir. Everyone has been as kind as yourself,” Ewen replied, blushing harder. “It took me some time to work it out in my head, but I have now. I’m not a real Queen’s Guard, and I should like to be useful again.”
“And how would you do that?”
“The same way I always have, sir: as a jailor. You have a prisoner loose.”
“A prisoner—” The Mace stared at him for a long moment. “Jesus, Ewen. No.”
“I should like to be useful again,” Ewen replied stubbornly.
“Ewen, do you know how we captured Brenna the first time? Coryn came upon her by accident, dreaming deep in one of Thorne’s morphia dens. You’ve heard what happened to Will downstairs. Knowing what we do now, I think Coryn was very lucky that Brenna didn’t see him coming. I wouldn’t send the best sword in the Tear to lay hold of that witch. I certainly can’t send you.”
Ewen firmed his shoulders until he stood very straight. “I know what she is, sir. I knew it the day I first saw her. And I heard about what she wrote on the wall. She means to harm the Queen.”
The Mace frowned. “Have you spoken to your father about this?”
“My father is dead now, sir. But even dying, he told me to do whatever I might to protect the Queen.”
The Mace did not reply for a long moment, but Aisa could see that he was troubled.
“Ewen, she’s not an ordinary prisoner. You can’t kill her, for the Queen gave her word to keep her alive. But if you try to take such a witch alive, I think you will die in the attempt. I appreciate your courage, but I can’t let you do this. The Queen would say the same. I’m sorry.”
Ewen stared silently at the ground.
“We will find something else for you to do. Something to help the Queen. I promise.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Ewen went down the hall toward the audience chamber, his shoulders slumped.
“Perhaps you should have let him go,” Arliss remarked quietly.
“That would be a fine legacy for me as Regent, wouldn’t it? Sending a child on a suicide mission.”
“He wants to do something honorable, sir,” Elston broke in unexpectedly. “It might be good to allow it.”
“No. I’m done with being a killer of children.”
Aisa froze, but no one else seemed surprised by his words.
“Those days are long gone for you,” Arliss murmured, but the Mace chuckled bitterly, shaking his head.
“You mean to be kind, old man, but no matter how we try to outdistance the past, it’s always very close. I’m done with those days, but that doesn’t mean they’re done with me.”
“You’re a good man now.”
“Aye, I am,” the Mace replied, nodding, but his eyes were hollow, almost damned. “But it does not wipe out what came before.”
They continued down the hallway, discussing the harvest, but Aisa remained where she was, almost rooted to the floor, her mind running over the words again and again, trying to make sense of them. She could not. She thought the Mace was the best man in the Queen’s Wing, except perhaps for Venner, and she was unable to reconcile the Captain of Guard she knew with the picture his words had planted: a man who strode through ranks of small forms, wielding a scythe.
A killer of children.
Two hours later, they assembled in the throne room for the Regent’s audience. Elston, Aisa, Coryn, Devin, and Kibb were grouped around the dais, the rest of the Guard scattered around the room. The Mace sat in one armchair atop the dais, and Arliss beside him in another, as they began to let the petitioners in. The empty throne gleamed in the torchlight.
“God help me,” the Mace muttered. “I used to wonder why the Queen couldn’t keep her temper at these things. Now I wonder how she managed at all.”
Arliss chuckled. “Queenie’s rage was a powerful thing. Entertaining, too. I miss that girl.”
&n
bsp; “We all miss her,” the Mace replied gruffly. “Now let’s be about her business.”
Aisa turned toward the doors, fixing her face into the mask of impassive stoicism that Elston recommended. The nobles came first, an old custom that, more than once, Aisa had heard the Mace and Arliss discuss discarding. But in truth, it made business move faster. Fewer nobles attended the Mace’s audiences now, and today there were only two, both petitioning for tax relief. No one was working the fields, and even Aisa saw that this must be remedied, and soon; not only would there be no food, but the empty fields and farms gave every noble in the kingdom an excuse to dodge tax. Lady Bennett and Lord Taylor listened, their faces glum, while the Mace explained, with extraordinary patience, that changing events made it impossible for him to decide the issue yet. Aisa knew that Arliss was working on the problem of the harvest, of getting people home, but it was a slow business to provision families for such a journey on foot. Both petitioners left empty-handed and disgruntled, just as so many had before.
After the nobles came the poor. Aisa liked them better, for their problems were real. Unredressed crimes, missing livestock, disputes over property . . . the Mace often came up with solutions that Aisa would never have thought of. The Guard tended to relax a bit during this portion of the audience, even Aisa, who was almost enjoying herself, right up until the moment the crowds parted and she found herself facing her father.
Aisa’s hand went automatically to her knife, and she was beset by such a conflicting mixture of feelings that at first she could not separate them. There was relief, relief because she had grown several inches since the spring, and Da no longer seemed quite so tall. There was hatred, a long-burning fire that had only sharpened with distance and time, searing through her head and gut. And last and most urgent, she felt a need to find her younger sisters, Glee and Morryn, to find them and protect them from everything in the world, starting with Da.
The Mace had clearly recognized Da as well, for a muscle had begun to twitch in his jaw. He leaned down and asked in a low voice, “Do you wish to leave, hellcat?”
The Fate of the Tearling Page 13