Exile (44 page)

The man grew pale.

Satisfied for now, Tobazim marched out. He suspected the harbour-master had planned to get his cut after his strongarms had murdered the Wyrds, dumped their bodies in the bay and looted their provisions. If anyone asked, he could say they’d never made it to port.

Tobazim went down the stairs to find anxious Mieren watching from across the road. It struck him that bringing the bodies here had not been the best of moves. Before rumour could take root, he jumped onto the cart seat, and summoned his somewhat rusty Chalcedonian. ‘These Mieren were paid to protect us, yet they tried to slit our throats as we slept. This is what happens to those who raise a hand against us.’ He gestured to Haromyr and Ionnyn. ‘Unload the bodies. They’re our gift to the harbour-master.’

No one spoke as Haromyr and Ionnyn lined the Mieren up on the harbour-master’s doorstep.

The two initiates climbed onto the cart and Tobazim took the reins, heading back to the wharf. By the time he got there it was raining again.

Ardonyx’s people were scrubbing the ships. Driven by his restless gift, Tobazim set out to rebuild and make the wharf secure. He ordered the worst of the ramshackle buildings pulled down and the wood used to repair the warehouse and reinforce the barricade.

He was kneeling by Ardonyx’s side, trying to work out if he was running a fever
,
when Athlyn came with the news that the king’s agent had finally arrived.

Tobazim had a bone to pick with him.

PART THREE

Chapter Thirty-Two

J
ARAILE HAD NEVER
loved the king, never even liked him. She’d been fifteen when he browbeat her father, demanding that she marry him. All Charald had ever wanted from her was an heir. Their wedding night...

She shuddered.

Now, he lay exhausted after raving for the better part of five days. Only the soothing powders from Khitan had given him any peace. According to the manservant, his urine was back to normal this morning. The king had been rational, but he was too tired to lift his head off the bed. She wanted to sink her nails into the soft flesh of his arms to make him bleed, to make him suffer as he had made her suffer.

Yet everyone thought her sweet.

Once, she’d believed herself sweet. That was before she’d had to live under the king’s thumb. He’d stopped coming to her bed around the middle of last year, but that didn’t stop him bullying her. His hands...

She picked up the hand that lay on top of the covers. It was twice the size of hers, but thin and wasted. Only recently he’d left bruises on her with that hand.

She wanted to punish him. Since spring cusp, she’d lain awake every night thinking of her little boy, frightened and alone, all because Charald had to be rid of the Wyrds.

He didn’t love Cedon. He saw their son only as a means to an end.

He didn’t deserve her precious boy.

Why, if she picked up the pillow and held it over the king’s face right now, he would not have the strength to fight her off. The thought filled her with righteous excitement. King Charald didn’t deserve to live. Not content with bullying everyone in Chalcedonia, he’d taken his army and attacked the peaceful kingdoms of the Secluded Sea.

She didn’t want him to get better. She wanted him to die before he could do any more damage to her, to her son or to the kingdom.

But she was no fool. Although she might not be as smart as the half-blood, she was clever in other ways. It made her laugh inside to see how all the others danced to Sorne’s tune, while believing themselves superior to him.

Sorne understood the king. He understood the barons and he understood the Wyrds. Listening to him explain it all to Nitzane, she’d grasped the situation. Everyone feared King Charald the Great. As long as the king lived, the other kingdoms would not attack Chalcedonia, and as long as the southern barons did not realise how frail he had grown, they would not rise up against him. That was why Eskarnor was a danger. He’d lived in the palace and seen the king’s growing fraility. But according to Sorne, Eskarnor could not move against the king while Charald had Nitzane’s support.

It frustrated her, but she and her son needed the king. Even if they got the decree signed, the high priest, Barons Nitzane and Kerminzto, and Commander Halargon did not have the reputation to bluff their enemies. How was she going to keep her boy safe?

‘There you are,’ Nitzane said.

When he smiled on her, she thought the Jaraile she had been might still live somewhere inside her.

‘How is he?’ Nitzane whispered.

‘He ate and spoke sensibly. Now he sleeps.’ She tucked the king’s hand under the covers.

‘You are so good to him,’ Nitzane said.

If only he knew.

‘Have you eaten?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Come with me. You have to keep up your strength.’

At the door they met up with Sorne. ‘How is the king?’ he asked. ‘Does he seem malleable?’

Nitzane didn’t understand.

‘I think he’s had a fright,’ she said. ‘It would be a good time to approach him with the decree about Prince Cedon’s advisors. Would you like me to do it?’

Sorne considered. She expected him to refuse, but he surprised her by nodding.

Just then a messenger arrived. The king’s agent was needed on the Wyrd wharf. Sorne made his apologies and left.

Jaraile let Nitzane lead her down to the terrace, where they took breakfast. She waited until he was eating, then asked the question that had been troubling her since the day the king went mad.

‘What did the king mean when he told Sorne to mind his tongue because he was speaking to his mother?’

Nitzane flushed and appeared uncomfortable.

‘The Warrior’s-voice is Queen Sorna’s son, isn’t he? The king’s first son wasn’t stillborn. He was born a half-blood.’ She didn’t know why the men tried to hide things from her. She always figured it out eventually. ‘What I don’t understand is why he’s so good to the king.’

‘Sorne’s a good man,’ Nitzane said. ‘A better man than many True-men.’

This was high praise indeed. While Nitzane might not be as smart or as ruthless as some of the men she’d seen fawning over Charald, he was a good man. And when the king died, she was going to marry him, because he was weaker than her and she was tired of being bullied.

‘Still no sign of the king?’ Eskarnor joined them. A servant hurried over with a tray of food. ‘Is he still feverish? You have to be careful of fevers. They can turn nasty, especially in a man his age.’

‘Oh, I think he’ll be up today,’ Jaraile said, pretending not to understand the hidden threat. Her heart raced and she felt a little sick with fear, but she also felt more confident than she had in years. One thing had become very clear to her the day Prince Cedon was taken: she would stop at nothing to protect her son.

Once she had been a good little girl, but look where it got her – married to a king old enough to be her grandfather who raped her on their wedding night.

She was never going to be that girl again.

S
ORNE DISMOUNTED AND
led his horse through the barricade. There was no sign of the harbour-master’s strongarms, but there was plenty of activity. Despite the rain, the Wyrds were rebuilding the warehouse. Why were they going to all this trouble, when all they had to do was board their ships, load their supplies and anchor in the bay?

A lad came running over to hold Sorne’s horse.

‘Toresel,’ Sorne greeted the cabin boy. ‘Back in the brotherhood, serving Captain Ardonyx again?’

‘I am. Only it’ll be a while before he’s on his feet.’

‘Why–’

‘Where have you been?’ Tobazim demanded.

He’d stopped at arm’s length, but Sorne could feel his power. It made Sorne’s heart race, and he had to concentrate to speak. ‘I came as soon as I got word.’ Half a dozen big T’En men drew in behind Sorne. He could sense their aggressive gift. ‘Why? What’s the problem?’

‘The problem was thirty Mieren trying to cut our throats while we slept. You’re the king’s agent. Is this how he honours his word?

Sorne took a step back and collided with a broad chest. A glance over his shoulder revealed a T’En warrior a head taller than him. Huge hands grabbed his arms. Despite this male’s size, Sorne knew the real danger lay in front of him. ‘The harbour-master put this wharf aside for you. What about his men–’

‘Half the cut-throats were the harbour-master’s men. Don’t worry,’ Tobazim smiled grimly, ‘I delivered the dead to his doorstep.’

‘If you frighten the people of the port, they’ll turn on you,’ Sorne warned. ‘No one can stop a mob.’

‘I want the king’s own guard in uniform on the barricade.’

‘I can organise that.’ He hoped. The king’s palace guard would consider the duty beneath them. They were the elite of the men-at-arms. But if the harbour-master’s strongarms could not be trusted...

What was the harbour-master thinking? There’d been no trouble since the run-in over Captain Ardonyx’s ships. Surely, Hersegel realised his actions had jeopardised the return of Charald’s son?

If anything happened to the prince, Nitzane’s son would be heir. Despite this, Sorne was certain Nitzane wasn’t behind the attack; the baron didn’t have that kind of cunning. But there was someone who did. If evidence could be fabricated to implicate Nitzane in Prince Cedon’s death, it would drive a wedge between Charald and Nitzane. Without Nitzane and the backing of the Chalcedonian barons, the king was vulnerable.

Sorne went cold. Was Eskarnor working with the harbour-master? Events the night Toresel had been delivered to the palace came back to him. He cursed softly under his breath.

‘What is it?’ Tobazim asked. Sorne glanced to the hands restraining him.

Tobazim gestured. ‘Let him go.’

Sorne drew Tobazim away from the others. ‘You’re in charge here?’

‘I am now.’ Tobazim’s eyes narrowed. ‘What is it?’

‘I need to confirm something.’ Sorne beckoned the cabin boy, who trotted over leading the horse. ‘Toresel, think back to the night Captain Ardonyx’s ships were confiscated. Who attacked you?’

‘The Mieren.’

‘Yes, but which Mieren?’

‘How should I know?’ He shrugged then added. ‘The one who gave the orders spoke with a Dacian accent.’

Sorne rubbed his jaw. Just because the leader of the thugs came from Dace, it did not follow he was in Baron Eskarnor’s employ. But Eskarnor had turned up at the palace with the boy that same night, claiming he’d rescued him from a mob. ‘How did you come to be captured by the baron?’

‘I don’t know. When the ship was attacked I was knocked out. Next thing I knew I was hanging over the baron’s horse.’

It didn’t add up. Why did the brigands spare the cabin boy’s life when they killed everyone else? Because Eskarnor needed the boy to manipulate the king into banishing Sorne. If the southern baron wanted to take the throne, Eskarnor had to divide the king from his allies. But Sorne hadn’t taken offence and abandoned the king.

All this time, he had thought Eskarnor meant to move against Charald after the Wyrds left, but by then, Charald would have his healthy heir. It made more sense for Eskarnor to disrupt the handover of the prince and blame it on Nitzane. Charald had always been paranoid about betrayal. If the king turned on Nitzane, the baron would have to protect himself.

This would split the loyalty of the Chalcedonian barons because some would side with Nitzane and some with Charald, dividing the kingdom into three factions: Nitzane and his heir, Charald and his queen, and Eskarnor and the southern barons.

Sorne turned to Tobazim. ‘You have to move the day of exile forward.’

‘Why? The causare made a bargain with the king.’

‘The bargain is no good if there’s a new king.’

‘What?’

‘I believe the king’s rival was behind the attack last night. Otherwise, why would the harbour-master endanger the exchange? Only one person benefits if the prince isn’t returned, and that’s Baron Eskarnor. He’s ambitious and ruthless, and he’s been searching for a way to separate the king from his allies. If the exchange doesn’t go ahead, there will be civil war with three factions fighting for the throne.’

‘Why should we care who rules Chalcedonia?’

‘Because only King Charald has a vested interest in ensuring the Wyrds sail safely.’

‘The T’Enatuath,’ Tobazim corrected. He rubbed his mouth and looked around the wharf. ‘Why should I trust your judgement?’

‘Because I’ve been watching the king and his power plays since I was seventeen. I’m the reason your people have the prince and a chance to escape alive. And you know I’m the causare’s spy.’

Tobazim conceded this with a single nod. ‘Move the exile forward? Do you realise what that involves? There’s all the brotherhoods and sisterhoods in the city and then there’s the estates–’

‘Don’t trust the harbour-master. I believe he’s backing Baron Eskarnor to seize the throne.’ Sorne reached for his horse’s reins, with a nod of thanks to the lad. ‘From their point of view, there’s no profit in letting you sail into exile. If they kill the lot of you on the wharf, they can divide all the riches you were going to take to fund your exile.’

Tobazim swore softly. ‘If that’s their plan, why jeopardise it with last night’s attack?’

‘The harbour-master’s been skimming off everyone for years. It’s second nature to him. I think he underestimated you, or his men got greedy and acted independently.’ Sorne’s mind raced on. ‘Send a message to Imoshen. Tell her Baron Eskarnor is staying at the palace with the king, while his supporters maintain the siege. If Eskarnor learns you’re leaving early, he’ll tell his barons to strike while your people are camped on the road to port and plant evidence to implicate Nitzane. She must prevent news of your early departure reaching Eskarnor.’ Sorne mounted up.

‘Where will you be?’

Once before, Sorne had put the fate of the Wyrds ahead of his sister’s safety; for all he knew, she’d died the night of the riots, but he wasn’t giving up hope. There was one more place he could try... ‘I’m going to ride across Chalcedonia to save my half-blood sister.’