Deathcaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  That first round of negotiations was like a card game between two stubborn people with losing hands, neither of whom would display or fold. They just kept on playing, while the stakes piled up on the table. So much to win, so much to lose. Whose side are you on? How much should I reveal? Are we friends or enemies?

  Maybe it was more of a swordfight than a card game.

  It didn’t help that Gray began with, “So you’ve lost, again, Matelon.”

  “Not yet,” Hal said.

  She snorted. “Look around. You’re surrounded.”

  She had a point, but Hal countered with, “So now you’re a striper? That’s new.” Striper was the term used for mercenaries on both sides.

  “What?”

  “You’re fighting for Empress Celestine?”

  Gray’s officers (all Fellsian) bristled, muttering among themselves.

  “Not exactly,” Gray said. She looked as if she had more to say on that topic, but thought better of it. “I’m told you’ve been crowned king of Arden. What does Jarat think of that?”

  “I don’t know,” Hal said. “He’s in Fellsmarch, with his army.”

  That drew blood, he could tell. Gray shot a questioning look at Fletcher and Cooper, and they nodded.

  She swallowed hard, drew herself up, lifted her chin in that way she had. “What . . . Have you heard anything about . . . conditions in the city? About . . . casualties?”

  Hal hadn’t heard any news about bloodshed or body counts. Even if he had, he wouldn’t—he couldn’t—go in for the kill. Not this way. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t have a network of eyes and ears, so I’m pretty much flying by the seat of my breeches.” He paused, then couldn’t help adding, like a cadet bragging in a tavern, “While Jarat’s been busy in the north, I’ve taken Ardenscourt, and now Delphi.”

  “Until now, Delphi,” Gray said. “And I hold Spiritgate.”

  Fletcher cleared his throat loudly. “Capt—Your Majesty, you said you was fighting for the queen in the north,” Fletcher said, jerking a thumb at Gray. “Were you telling the truth?”

  Hal nodded. “Yes,” he said, looking at Gray.

  “Is that still true?” Cooper said.

  “Yes,” Hal said.

  Gray frowned, looking from Hal to Cooper to Fletcher.

  “Then what the hell are you two fighting about?” Cooper said, like a mediator in a schoolyard squabble.

  “I’m not handing anything over to Celestine,” Hal said. “So I need to know who she’s fighting for.” He pointed at Gray. “Looks to me like it’s the empress.”

  “Well?” Cooper said. “Is it?”

  Gray stood frozen, like a cadet called to recite who has nothing to say.

  “You know,” Fletcher said, “that shouldn’t be a hard question.”

  That was when Hal noticed the tears pooling in Gray’s eyes.

  “Take it easy,” he muttered to Fletcher. “I don’t know what she—”

  “Stop muttering!” Gray snarled. “If you have something to say, say it out loud.”

  They all stared down at the ground. Nobody had anything to say.

  “Fine. All of you—get out!”

  They all looked at each other, unsure what to do.

  “General Gray,” Farrow said, “would you like me to—”

  “What’s wrong with your ears? I said get out!”

  As they began shuffling out of the tent, she gripped Hal’s shoulder, spinning him around. “Except you.”

  This prompted a chorus of objections from both sides.

  “Your Majesty,” Fletcher said, talking fast and low, “you don’t know what she might do. She could be one of those bloodsworn I’ve been hearing about, bound to the empress. Even if you know her, she—”

  “She’s not bloodsworn,” Hal said, thinking, If she kills me, she’ll do it for personal reasons.

  “Still. It’s not worth the risk.”

  “You’re wrong,” Hal said. “It is worth the risk. If I end up dead, tell Robert he can be king. Then Harper. Wait outside.”

  They shuffled out, looking over their shoulders, and hovered just beyond the edges of the canopy.

  “If you can hear this, you’re too close,” Gray shouted.

  They edged a little farther away.

  Gray swiped at her face with the backs of her hands. “Why am I crying, when you’re the one caught in a trap?” she muttered.

  “There are different kinds of traps,” Hal said, taking a shot in the dark.

  “What did you mean when you told Fletcher and Cooper you were fighting for me?”

  “I meant that I’ve got your back. I saw what happened at Chalk Cliffs. I— When I saw the empress’s ship sail away with you, I swore that she wouldn’t win here. I tried to convince my father and the rest of the thanes that she was the real danger. I tried to persuade them to let me take an army north to help. They were too busy fighting with each other to listen. They said Ardenscourt came first. So I recruited my own army and took Ardenscourt. Then I followed Jarat north. And here I am.”

  “Impressive,” she said. She’d stopped crying, but her eyes were still red and puffy.

  “Lyss,” Hal said. “What’s wrong?”

  She rose and started pacing. “Why isn’t there anything to drink around here?”

  “Don’t drink. Sit. Talk,” Hal said, gesturing to the camp chair beside him. He hadn’t forgotten that time in Chalk Cliffs when Gray had learned that her brother was dead, and blamed Hal for it, and forced him into a drinking game.

  She stopped pacing, glared at him, and sat. And then, as if she’d read his mind, she said, “Remember my brother, who died?”

  Hal nodded.

  “Well, he’s not dead—at least not in the way I thought. Celestine is holding him as a hostage against my good behavior.”

  Scummer, Hal thought. “Are you sure? Did you see him?”

  She shook her head. “She had my brother’s amulet, which he got from our father,” she said, touching a heavy pendant at her neckline. “Ash would never give that up willingly. So he’s either dead, or a captive.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “She said she found him in Tarvos, in Carthis, and was bringing him back to Celesgarde. I asked myself, What the hell was my brother doing in Tarvos, anyway? And then I realized—he must have been on his way to find me.” She sighed. “I’ve said good-bye to him so many times, you’d think I’d get used to it. I mean, I haven’t seen him since I was eleven years old. But he was the one who supported me after our sister died and I became the heir. I didn’t want it, and I knew that everybody else was disappointed it was me instead of her, but he kept saying, You can do this, Lyss.” The tears were flowing again, and she swiped them away angrily.

  It’s not your fault, Hal wanted to say, but knew it would not make a dent in her guilt.

  “Could it be a trick? That Celestine’s holding your brother, I mean?”

  “It could be.” She swallowed hard, looking like the tears might overflow again. “He’s all I have left,” she whispered. “I know it’s wrong. I know my first duty is to the queendom. I kept telling myself that if I could just get back to the Realms, if I could just keep fighting southerners, if—if—if.”

  “As you might recall, I was held hostage in the north,” Hal began, “while—”

  “You know I never approved of that,” Gray said in a rush, but Hal put up his hand.

  “Let me finish. I was held hostage in the north, while my mother and sister were held hostage by King Gerard. My point is, I know how you feel,” he said. “Helpless.”

  “What happened—to your family?” she whispered, looking chastened. Looking as if she was bracing herself for bad news.

  “I tried to rescue them, and they ended up somewhere in the north.” When she opened her mouth to ask for details, he said, “It’s a long story. Anyway. As far as I know, they’re still in the north, if they’re still alive. That’s another reason I’m taking the North Road
.”

  “I’m sorry, Matelon,” she said. “You don’t deserve any of this.” She put her hand on his arm. Her palm was rough from hard work, the skin darkened by the desert sun and days at sea.

  He put his hand over hers, resisting the temptation to pull her into his arms, to tell her not to worry, that everything would be all right. For one thing, he was very much aware of the audience standing a few paces away. More importantly, he understood that he could partner with Alyssa Gray, but there was no way he could protect her.

  That didn’t keep his heart from aching with the desire to close the distance between them.

  “Look,” he said, “I didn’t want to be king. There are at least four thanes in Arden hot to sit on the throne, including my father. But I realized that if I didn’t take it, I would be reporting to someone who would make my life miserable and keep the war going forever. It sounds like you didn’t want the throne, either, but here we are. If we don’t step up to this, the Realms don’t have a future at all.”

  “I guess my situation is a little different,” Gray said. “I didn’t want to be queen at first, because I felt like I was just a fill-in for the person who belonged in that role. I was so different from my mother, and from my sister, Hanalea. But, gradually, I began to realize that, though I wasn’t like my mother or sister, maybe I had something different to offer. Maybe I’m the queen they need right now.”

  “Maybe you are,” Hal said. “What did Celestine offer you if you conquer the Realms for her?”

  Gray laughed bitterly. “She said that my brother and I can rule the Fells together.”

  “With her as your friendly neighbor to the south?”

  “Right.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  After a long pause, Lyss said, “No,” releasing the word in a whoosh of air.

  “So where do we go from here? Are you really going to lay siege to Delphi and starve us out? That seems like a waste for two people who are basically on the same side.”

  It took her a good long time to answer. She shuffled her feet, picked a burr off her clothing. “It’s just—she said she would burn him alive. I keep imagining her getting word that I’m no longer playing her game, and—and—”

  “Gerard was going to hang my family from the city walls,” Hal said, in a kind of bleak one-upmanship. “Look, we’re smart, capable people. We’ve been doing well on our own. It seems like, together, we ought to be able to defeat just about anyone.”

  Gray frowned, thinking, and Hal knew she’d moved on from helpless frustration to planning mode. “My army is blood-bound to Celestine. Whatever we do, we need to keep them—and her—from finding out she’s been betrayed until it’s too late.”

  “Where’s the empress now?” he said.

  “Near Queen Court,” she said distractedly. “She had to go up there to . . .” She trailed off, as if whatever she’d meant to say had been nudged aside by a new thought. She began to smile, the light of connivery in her eyes.

  “Where’s your army, Matelon?”

  “We’re camped up by the mines, in the headquarters up there,” Hal said, figuring he wasn’t giving anything away, since they’d be easy to find.

  “I have an idea,” Gray said. “But—so sorry, Your Majesty, you’re going to have to lose again.”

  56

  BAD NEWS AND BAD NEWS

  Just when you think you hold all the cards, Destin thought, somebody slips in the trickster. That’s what happened to Jarat Montaigne—emperor, as he styled it, of the Seven Realms, conqueror of the stubborn northern queendom, military genius and peacemaker.

  Destin would have the pleasure (and considerable risk) of delivering the news that at least some of Jarat’s achievements were crumbling into dust behind him.

  Jarat had convened a private meeting in order to devise a strategy to bring the rebellious (and disputed) queen of the Fells to heel. The attendees consisted of Destin Karn, spymaster; Mellony ana’Marianna, queen regent; and Jarat’s traveling disciplinarian, executioner, and inquisitor, Bertram Olivette. Missing was the prospective bride, who, by all accounts, was not in her right mind.

  Jarat was, apparently, all out of carrots, and had taken to wielding the stick. That was where Destin and Olivette came in. It seemed like the interview had been going on for hours.

  “We had an agreement,” Jarat said to Mellony, “and I expect the girl to honor it with suitable . . . enthusiasm.”

  “She’s distraught, Your Eminence,” Mellony said. “After all, she just lost her husband.”

  “A husband you never mentioned during our negotiations,” Jarat snapped. “A traitor who tried to murder her. She should count herself lucky.”

  “She is very lucky, Your Majesty,” Mellony said. “Very lucky indeed. It just may take her some time to recognize that.”

  “This was your idea, remember. You promised that you would dispose of the queen and princess heir and clear the way so that your daughter was next in line to the throne. Bring an army to Fellsmarch, you said. Marry my daughter and make her an empress, and I’ll open the gates to you, you said.”

  “All of which I have done,” Mellony said, without flinching.

  Interesting, Destin thought. So Mellony was Jarat’s “secret source” all along. These wolves can give the Montaignes a run for their money.

  “And yet,” Jarat said, “I find myself humiliated in my own hall, in front of my guests.”

  In Arden, humiliating the king is a capital crime, Destin thought.

  “Have pity, Your Majesty,” Mellony said. “Seeing first her new husband and then her nurse slain before her eyes—”

  “Two things that should never have happened,” Jarat said. “Is she unsullied, at least?”

  Mellony’s lips tightened. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Was the marriage consummated? Am I bargaining for damaged goods?”

  Destin spoke into the ensuing silence. “Your Eminence, as I understand it, the wedding was interrupted when the groom tried to kill the bride. So it would seem that—”

  “At this point, I would just as soon execute the girl as bed her,” Jarat said sullenly. “The Seven Realms are teeming with women who would jump at the chance to sit the throne next to me.”

  Which made for a good question. Why was Jarat so fixed on wedding the heir to the Gray Wolf throne? He knew from experience that royal lines were easily disposed of. Why not start fresh with someone who didn’t come with so much baggage?

  Then it came to him. Destin remembered Jarat bragging back in Ardenscourt that he would marry a wolf princess. That meant that the negotiations with Mellony must have already begun. Jarat is bent on succeeding where his father failed—in every way. King Gerard failed to conquer the north, and he failed to wed the wolf queen. Jarat was checking those things off a list.

  Fathers and sons. Mothers and daughters, creating generations of unfinished business. Gods, Destin thought. Please don’t make me sit through any more of this.

  Perhaps the gods were listening, because Jarat abruptly dismissed the queen regent. “Talk some sense into your daughter, Your Highness. I would very much like to commemorate our union of flesh and state and the end of the war with a magnificent celebration. But, if need be, I will drag her into a chapel by the hair.”

  The queen regent stood, curtsied, and swept out of the room.

  When she was gone, Jarat turned to Destin and Olivette. “I want the two of you to visit my grief-stricken fiancée. If persuasion doesn’t work, then do whatever it takes to bring her into line. Just don’t leave any visible marks on her—understood?”

  Destin and Olivette nodded.

  “You may go, Olivette,” Jarat said. “Colonel, stay a moment.”

  Scummer, Destin thought, watching the inquisitor’s quick exit. Now the race begins.

  “You’ve said that you had news from the south and east?”

  “Yes, Your Eminence,” Destin said. He paused, took a breath. “The rebel thanes have taken Ardenscourt an
d Delphi.”

  “Nonsense.” Jarat folded his arms. “Who told you that?”

  “I’ve heard this from several different sources,” Destin said, “including a gaoler in Newgate who smuggled out this note from Charles Barbeau.” He extended a sealed letter toward the emperor. “He’s being held prisoner there.”

  Jarat snatched the letter, broke the seal, and unfolded it. He scanned the page, his hand shaking slightly. “This cannot be,” he whispered, crumpling it in his fist. “Who the hell is leading them?”

  “Halston Matelon,” Destin said. “He’s proclaimed himself king of Arden.”

  “It seems that treason runs true in that line.” Jarat fingered the hilt of his sword. “I will spit that arrogant pretender like a suckling pig.”

  Destin held his peace on that. “All indications are that he means to march north, through Marisa Pines Pass.”

  “That makes no sense,” Jarat growled. “Why would he do that? Doesn’t he have enough on his hands with pacifying the south?”

  “He seems to think that he can manage,” Destin said. “There’s more. The empress has landed an army at Spiritgate. They’ve taken the city and are marching through the borderlands toward Delphi. They may be there already.”

  “No,” Jarat said. “I have it on good authority that the empress is bogged down in the mountains, near Queen Court. She hasn’t been able to break through the pass.” Jarat always seemed to think he could change reality by arguing against it.

  “Celestine’s armies are growing all the time. She seems to think that she can fight on both fronts.” Destin paused.

  Wait for it. Wait for it. . . .

  “This is your fault, Colonel,” Jarat spat, never one to disappoint. “You call yourself a spymaster. We should have known about this sooner. We should have anticipated this and acted accordingly.”

  We did, Your Eminence, Destin thought. We tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen, you were so hell-bent on showing up your father.