A Man Betrayed (78 page)

He could see her
deciding how to react to his words. Her pink lips trembled, then softened.
"Would that my father showed me similar consideration."

Baralis' smile was
tender. She was nothing but a child playing a grown-up game. Catching hold of
her hand, he led her to the bed and bid her sit. As she settled herself down,
he reached out and touched her golden hair. A calculated gesture, nothing more.
"Drink up, my sweet Catherine," he said softly. "And then tell
me why you have come."

The wine was still
wet upon her tongue as she said, "Father is marrying that woman in secret.
Two days from now."

"He told you
this?" Baralis did not allow himself as much as a flicker of surprise.

"Yes. He
wants me to stand by his bride's side at the ceremony. He hopes that we can
become friends." Catherine's voice became shrill. "Friends! How dare
he? After taking the very birthright from under me, he expects me to be friends
with the woman who is responsible for it."

Baralis barely
heard what Catherine said. His mind was racing ahead. The deed would have to be
done sooner than he thought. As soon as possible. The duke had to be murdered.
Kylock must have Bren. For decades he had planned, and nothing, not now, not
ever, would be allowed to stand in his way. The north would be his.

Crossing the room,
Baralis went and stood by the fire. Once he had warmed himself enough, he spun
around to face Catherine. "What is the best way to get to your
father?"

Catherine
hesitated for a second. "There is a secret passageway leading up to his chambers
from the servants' chapel. There is only one guard set to watch it. Father uses
it to smuggle low-born women into his bedroom. The entrance is behind the
middle panel at the back of the altar."

Baralis missed
neither the hesitation, nor its meaning: Catherine was not as reckless about
this as she was pretending to be. There was still a part of her that owed
loyalty to her father. Baralis realized he would have to change his approach.
He could not run the risk of Catherine doing something irrational-like running
to the duke. She was dangerously unstable-last night had proven that: as the
guards were leading her from the table, she had actually attempted a drawing.
There, in the great hall, with all of Bren's court looking on, Catherine had
tried to use sorcery against Melliandra. He had blocked her, of course. The
foolish girl had no idea of self-restraint. If she had been caught using
sorcery, her father would have had no choice but to disinherit her on the spot.
Sorcery was not tolerated in the north.

Yes, thought
Baralis, he would have to be careful what he said to Catherine. The girl could
not be relied upon.

"It is not
your father who I am interested in, it is his wife. Once they are wed,
Melliandra will not leave his side. The duke's weak points will become
hers."

"I want that
woman dead." There was no hesitation in Catherine's voice now. "Her
and her precious protector, the duke's champion."

Baralis came and
sat beside her. He took her hand in his. "Have no fear, my sweet
Catherine, I will take care of both of them for you."

"And my
father?"

"I have no
quarrel with him," lied Baralis. "He will be left well alone."

Relief flashed
across Catherine's face. She worked quickly to conceal it. "Once that
woman is out of the way, Father will come to his senses."

She was wrong,
very wrong. If only Melliandra were murdered, the duke could go on and wed
another woman, have another child, and Catherine's inheritance would be
threatened once more. Baralis could not allow that to happen.

What was
Catherine's would soon be Kylock's. And what was Kylock's was his.

"Go now, my
sweet Catherine. I will arrange everything." He pulled her up off the bed.
"You need not concern yourself with the details."

"Will you do
the deed yourself?" she asked as he guided her toward the door.

"No. I have
someone in mind who will do it for me." Baralis rested his hand on the
door latch. A certain mercenary named Traff would do the deed.

"And will you
use the secret passage?"

Baralis brought
his finger to his lips. Catherine was asking too many questions. Opening the
door, he checked that no one was in sight. Just before he let her go, he placed
a kiss upon her lips. Catherine leaned forward to meet him. He pulled away
before the kiss had a chance to become anything further. "Trust me,"
he whispered, just before he closed the door.

Jack was dreaming
about Melli again. Somehow she had stolen into his old recurring dream about
the city with high battlements. She was trapped behind the walls, unable to
escape. In the distance he heard a noise: a shouting, angry mob. Only when the
noise grew louder did he realize it was not part of his dream. He opened his
eyes. He was in a small storeroom that had been hastily adapted for sleep.
There were no windows, so it was dark. Panicking slightly, Jack stood up. His
head brushed against something-drying herbs from the smell of them. Back bent
to avoid them, he made his way toward the door.

Stillfox was
leaning out of a window. As soon as he heard Jack enter the room, he drew back
the shutters. "Gave me quite a shock there, lad," he said, patting
the area of his chest where his heart lay.

"I'm sorry. I
came to find out what the noise was."

"Helch has
just surrendered to Kylock. He gave them little choice. He burned the entire
city. Only the castle remains intact. All of Annis is up in arms about it.
People have taken to the streets in protest . . ."

Stillfox carried
on, but Jack was no longer listening. He stood very still as the world went
black around him. This time he didn't fight it. Kylock had taken Helch. The war
had just begun.

Baralis glided
through the streets of Bren, his feet barely touching the filth. It was early
morning, and the rising sun cast his shadow long before him. As he approached
Brotheling Street, he slowed his pace. He spied an old man rummaging amidst the
refuse in an open drain. He would do. "You," he said, approaching the
man. "Which of these brothels is kept by a woman with no front
teeth?" To ensure his question was answered promptly, Baralis drew the
slightest of compulsions around his words. Time was of the essence today.

The old man opened
a mouth ringed with sores. "Madame Thornypurse has a sister with no front
teeth. Her place is the red-shuttered building to the left." The man
looked confused, as if he barely comprehended what he was saying, or why.

Baralis inclined
his head to the man. He contemplated throwing him a coin in payment, then
thought better of it. Why waste money paying for something that had already
been freely given? He turned on his heel and headed toward the building which
the old man had described.

He knocked loudly
upon the door. A few moments later a woman answered. Seeing him, the ridiculous
creature made a great show of primping her hair and smoothing down her dress.
"Yes, handsome sir, can I help you?"

She had all her
teeth, though crooked and yellow as they were, they did her no favors.
"Who am I speaking to?" he demanded.

The woman curtsied
like a blushing maiden. "Madame Thornypurse, proprietor of this fine
establishment."

"Have you a
man named Traff staying here?" Baralis caught the unmistakable odor of
dead rats in his nostrils.

The woman's hand
fluttered to her chest. She was just about to speak when a second woman pushed
her aside.

"We never
divulge the names of our customers," she said. It was the woman with no
front teeth.

Baralis,
recognizing an opening for bribery, pulled a gold coin from his cloak. "I
have important business to discuss with Traff," he said, pressing the cool
coin into the waiting palm of the woman with no front teeth.

"Come inside,
noble sir," she said. "I will bring Traff to you."

He was led into a
large, untidy room where several young girls lay sleeping on the floor.
"Do you have anywhere less public where we can talk?"

"Of
course," said the woman who smelled of dead rats. "Though it will
cost you extra," added the woman with no front teeth.

Another gold coin
changed hands and Baralis was ushered into a small, dimly lit room near the
back of the building. There was one window in the room and the shutter was
firmly closed.

The door opened
and in walked Traff. The mercenary made a point of chewing on his snatch for a
moment before spitting it out and speaking. "What do you want,
Baralis?"

He pulled his hand
knife from his belt and began to clean the dirt from under his nails with the
blade.

Baralis regarded
the mercenary coolly. Traff did not look in a good way. His hair was greasy,
his clothes were dirty, and he now boasted a short beard. Flakes of snatch
nestled within the bristles. The dirt he cleaned from his fingertips was the
color of dried blood. "Been in a fight?" Traff looked up. "None
that I've lost."

The mercenary was
as insolent as ever. Baralis decided to get straight to the point. "Have
you heard that the duke is to marry Maybor's daughter?"

Traff flung his
knife across the room. It flew past Baralis and landed embedded in the wall.
"No
one will marry Melli, "
he said.

Baralis had a
defensive drawing ready upon his lips, but on hearing Traff's words he breathed
it back into his lungs. He didn't know what caused the mercenary's anger, but
he could use it. "My thoughts exactly, my friend," murmured Baralis.
"I don't want Melliandra wed, either."

"Why?"
Traff was suddenly more interested.

"Because I
want Bren to remain Catherine's. If Melliandra weds the duke and then gives
birth to a male child, Catherine will no longer inherit her father's
title." The truth suited Baralis for the moment.

"What are you
planning to do?"

"I plan to
murder the duke." Baralis took a guess at Traff's motives. "As for
Melliandra, you can do what you want with her."

Traff licked his
lips. "How do you plan to do this?" Baralis permitted himself a tiny
smile of self-congratulation. It seemed as if he'd guessed right: Traff was
enamored of Maybor's daughter. It had probably happened when the mercenary had
been sent out to capture her. Baralis began to feel more confident. Fate was
once again on his side.

He took a short
breath and looked Traff straight in the eye. "I want you to help me. The
wedding will take place in private tomorrow. When the couple returns to their
chambers after the ceremony, I want you and your knife to pay them a visit. I
know of a secret passageway leading from the servants' chapel to the duke's
quarters. You will use that to gain entry." Baralis paused briefly as he
reshaped his plans to meet with Traff's needs. The mercenary wanted Melliandra
for his own. So, if Traff was going to run away with her, then the newly wed
couple must not-under any circumstances-be allowed to consummate the marriage.
Baralis could not risk Melliandra popping up a few months later, claiming to be
carrying the duke's child. "You must be waiting for them the moment they
return from the chapel."

Traff gave Baralis
a long, hard look. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You can't.
The only thing you can be certain of is that I will be waiting by the entrance
to the passageway to make sure you have done the job. From the kitchens, it
will be easy for you and Melliandra to make your escape. I will make all the
necessary arrangements." Baralis stepped forward and rested his hand on
Traff's arm. "I won't ask what you want with the girl. That's not my
concern."

Traff drew back
from the touch. "Will there be any guards in the duke's chamber?"

"Just one. I
will make sure he receives a little something in his ale to slow him
down." Poisoning guards was easy: no one tasted their food.

"I want five
hundred golds in my possession by the end of the day."

"Done."
Baralis moved toward the door. "Crope will see to it. Be waiting on the
east side of the palace, close to the servants' entrance tomorrow at sundown. I
will come for you." Just as he was about to leave, Traff surprised him by
asking:

"Is Melli in
love with the duke?"

Baralis recognized
the glint of obsession in the mercenary's eye. He was not displeased. "No.
Her father is forcing her into it."

As he had hoped,
Traff was pleased with the answer. The mercenary smiled thinly. "I guessed
as much. I will be there tomorrow."

"Good. Do not
be late." Baralis turned and left the room. The woman who smelled of dead
rats rushed to greet him, but he shook her off. He found his own way out.

Baralis was in a
good mood as he traveled back to the palace. The meeting with Traff had gone
better than he could possibly have imagined. The fact that the mercenary was
infatuated with Maybor's daughter made everything easy. Traff had jumped at the
chance to murder the duke. Events were moving in his favor once more. Picking up
his pace, Baralis rushed across the city. He had much to do today; there was
gold to be procured, poison to be made, and guards to be reminded of their
obligations.

Mistress Greal was
shin-deep in sewage. She barely smelled it. She was busy extracting a large
splinter from her cheek. With her good hand, she gripped at the wooden tip and
then pulled as hard as she could. The pain was excruciating. The splinter had
gone deep, and as it came out, it brought blood welling to the surface.
Mistress Greal counted herself quite fortunate: a finger's breadth higher and
it could have been her eye. She made no attempt to stop the bleeding. What was
a little blood compared to what she had just heard? Pressing her ear against a
certain wood shutter had been the cause of her injury. Curiosity was what
brought her outside in the first place.