Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) (20 page)

The tavern where Chirpy, Migs and Tidge made their home was flattened like cow shit. The buildings on either side were still standing, more or less, but the Silent Bull was nothing but a pile of bricks and smashed timbers.

Rag staggered forward, stumbling through the wreckage. All she could think was that her lads must have been on the roof, minding their business, when a ball of flame came and took them all out in an instant. At least it would have been quick. Or that’s what Rag kept telling herself.

In the distance another ball of fire came flying over the wall, and Rag watched as it smashed into something on the other side of the district.

This had been stupid. No one was still in Dockside, and even the lads wouldn’t have been dumb enough to stay here with those ships in the harbour raining all kinds of shit down on the south of the city.

She turned to leave.

‘I told you it was her.’

Rag spun at the voice, glancing around for a sign of whoever owned it. At first she couldn’t see nothing, thinking her ears were playing tricks on her, and then she noticed him standing there. Tidge, face and hair all black, standing at the edge of the wreckage. Chirpy and Migs came into view then, looking at her all suspicious, but she didn’t care. She ran to them, grabbing hold of Tidge and Chirpy in a headlock and squeezing them till they started to struggle. She kissed their filthy heads, feeling the tears of relief flood her eyes.

‘You gone fucking soft?’ said Migs as she tried to reach out for him too.

Rag laughed. ‘Yeah, I think I have. I thought you were all …’

‘Yeah,’ said Chirpy, looking pleased to see her. ‘We would have been if we hadn’t been out on the rob. Every house round here’s left empty. Easy pickings.’

‘Not every house,’ said Tidge. ‘Boris stayed in the Bull after everyone had left.’ He gestured to the wreckage. ‘He’ll be in there somewhere, flat as a fucking fart.’

‘He was always moaning about his weight anyhow,’ said Migs. ‘Don’t have to worry about that no more, do he?’

‘What about Fender?’ asked Rag.

Migs shook his head. ‘Ain’t seen no sign of that cunt since before the Khurtas got here.’

Rag had thought that would be the answer. They didn’t need him anyway. She was here now. She would look after them.

‘What you doing here anyhow, Rag?’ Tidge asked.

She smiled at him. ‘I’ve come for you lot,’ she replied.

‘What?’ asked Migs. ‘Come to see if we’re still living in the lap of luxury?’ He gestured around at the carnage.

‘No,’ Rag said with a smile. ‘I’ve come to see if you want to help save the city.’

A
moment of quiet reflection. It was all Janessa had wanted. Part of her felt selfish for it. There was so much still to do, so much planning, so much to know, to organise, but she needed a moment alone.

The gardens had been her father’s sanctuary; there seemed no reason why they shouldn’t also act as hers. Even though the shadows of dark memory lingered here – the sickening touch of Azai Dravos, when he had looked into her heart, into her belly and found her unborn child – she still took solace in the place. Besides, she had killed Dravos; struck the head from his shoulders and stood the survivor. That was a victory she could revel in.

Thoughts of Dravos faded as she stood within the winter garden. The chill of the air did not bother her. She had dismissed her Sentinels and Kaira was elsewhere, most likely taking some deserved rest after her labours during the night. Janessa was alone, the weight of her armour and her sword gone for just a brief amount of time.

She breathed deep, remembering what it had been like before all this. Before she had lost Graye to betrayal and murder. Before she had lost her father to the hand of Amon Tugha. Before River had abandoned her.

For that tiny moment, as the cold breeze caressed her face and swept through her red curls, she was carefree again. There was no city in peril, no savages at the wall.

Should she have taken her chance weeks ago and fled the city? It would have been so easy. A swift horse or passage on a ship. Enough gold to make a new start, a new life. All this would have been as nothing – a past she could have left behind. There had been a chance, when River had asked her to run away with him. At the time it had seemed a difficult choice but now, in that garden, with the weight of ten thousand lives resting on her, she could hardly believe she had hesitated.

That chance was gone, though. Now there would be no swift horse. There was no caravel to carry her to safer shores. So she would take this moment and savour it. Breathe it in, despite the stench of death and fire that was carried on the air. Who knew when she would get another chance? Who knew how long this moment might last?

‘I also find the quiet moments are the best.’

Janessa turned, her daydream shattered. Leon Magrida stood watching her from beneath the naked branches of a willow. Baroness Isabelle’s son smiled at her warmly but it did nothing to stifle the cold on her skin. He too had lived at the palace since the Khurtas had set Dreldun on fire but thankfully, unlike his mother, Janessa had seen little of him in the past days of strife.

Her eyes scanned the gardens but there was no sign of anyone else. How he had made it past her Sentinels she had no idea. He certainly had a talent for lurking unseen. The thought did nothing to put her at ease.

‘Lord Leon,’ she said. There should have been more. Some polite small talk as was traditional at court, but Janessa could think of no words. This was hardly the time for such pointless wittering. And what would she have said anyway?
Hope you are well. Are the palace rooms still to your satisfaction?
It hardly seemed appropriate while her people died by the hundred.

He walked towards her, the smile still on his face. As he did so he straightened the black doublet he wore and she noticed the dagger at his side, instantly dismissing the notion he might be a threat. This was the heir to Dreldun, she was in no danger here.

‘My apologies if I startled you, Majesty. But it has become increasingly difficult to find a moment when you are not surrounded by guards. And it is important that I speak with you.’

No, it couldn’t be. Not now. Was Leon seriously about to propose? Now, of all times, when her city was on the brink? Was he insane?

‘Lord Leon, I am sure this is nothing that cannot wait.’

‘Oh but it can’t,’ he replied, still approaching, walking with a steady yet purposeful stride. ‘You see, I have wanted to tell you for the longest time, but have simply been unable. But now we are alone. And there is no time like the present, as they say in the provinces.’

His smile changed, the humour draining from it in an instant. His eyes looked dead. If he was about to profess his love for her he certainly didn’t mind how unconvincing it would look.

‘My lord, this is neither the time nor the place,’ she said, feeling her anger rise. Who did Leon think he was? Her city burned and all he could think about was his ascension to the throne. A throne that might well be rubble in a few short days.

‘Oh, but it is,’ Leon replied. He was within touching distance now, gazing at her with those dead eyes of his. She had never noticed before just how emotionless they were, as though he were dreaming with his eyes open. ‘I have waited for this moment for what seems an age, Majesty. And so have you.’

‘My lord—’

He reached out and took her hand before she could think to pull away. His flesh was cold and pallid like the dead. Like young Lord Raelan’s flesh had been when he was laid out, waiting to be carried back to Valdor by his father’s men.

‘The time for talking is over,’ said Leon, a smile playing on his lips. He looked at her with a hunger now – his dead expression replaced with one of need. The smile grew as his lips pulled back from his teeth. His eyes glared.

Janessa tried to pull away but he held her tight within his grip. She made to speak but he shook his head.

‘Don’t say anything. This should be a dignified moment. It is only fitting that there should be an aspect of formality to this. My prince, Amon Tugha, must have his due.’

Janessa felt ice run from the back of her neck and down her spine. She couldn’t move as his words filled her with dread. As she stared at those dead eyes she suddenly felt sick.

All this time Leon had been under her roof and every day of it he had belonged to the warlord who wanted her head.

She saw his hand move to the dagger at his side, but her eyes were still fixed on his. Her Sentinels were only scant yards away but she couldn’t cry out – he would simply cut her down, and from the look of zeal in his eyes it seemed unlikely that Leon would care when they came running to kill him, as long as he had succeeded in murdering her first.

‘Shhh,’ he said softly. ‘This will take but a moment.’

The knife slid from its sheath.

Janessa’s hand shot forward before she had time to think what she was doing. The heel of her palm struck Leon beneath the chin and she felt a momentary snatch of satisfaction as she heard his teeth clack together. He staggered back, the knife dropping from his grip to clatter on the garden path, but he still held her wrist.

She tried to strike again, balling a fist this time, but he raised his arm, catching her hand before she could hit him. For a moment they stared at one another, and she saw the anger in him, the madness. He was going to kill her and cared nothing for the consequences. Perhaps something had happened to him; perhaps his mind had been twisted by Elharim magicks. Perhaps he was simply insane.

None of that seemed to matter, though; if she didn’t find help he was going to kill her.

Janessa took a breath in, to call for help from her Sentinels, but as she was about to let out a scream Leon hit her in the stomach. The blow doubled her over, and before she could fall he had her by the throat.

She grasped his wrists, digging her nails in, panic gripping her tight as she felt his strength. Her eyes darted around for any sign of aid but there was no one there. Leon shook his head.

‘They’re not coming,’ he whispered. ‘Not in time to save you. I realise this is becoming a habit, you being placed in mortal peril in your own palace, but I am not Azai Dravos. I do not want to control you. I want to kill you.’ She felt him tighten his grip, squeezing her throat shut so she couldn’t breathe.

On the floor lay the knife; she could just see it, but it may as well have been a thousand leagues away. Her vision began to haze. As it did so she saw Leon was smiling again, one of his teeth chipped where she had struck him below the chin. As she drifted off, Janessa got a strange sense of satisfaction from the fact she had wounded him, no matter how little. Still, it was a poor substitute for her life.

‘Leon!’

The voice cut the silence of the garden, bringing Janessa back from the brink.

Leon’s grip on her throat relented somewhat but he still held her fast and unable to speak.

‘Mother, what are you doing here?’ he said. ‘You can’t be here.’ His voice wavered and Janessa saw that the look in his eyes, which had a moment ago been so focused, was now filled with doubt.

‘Let the queen go, Leon.’

He glanced to where Baroness Isabelle stood. Janessa could see her now, calm as she always was, but her eyes were fixed firmly on her son.

‘Why are you here?’ Leon asked. ‘You weren’t to be involved. We have plans. I have made a bargain. We will be all powerful. We will rule the Free States. Dreldun will rise from the ashes stronger than ever.’

He turned back to Janessa, his grip tightening once more.

‘How will you do that when you’re dead, Leon?’ said Isabelle. ‘You have been made a fool of. If you kill her you’ll be dead before you set foot from this garden.’

‘I cannot die,’ Leon spat.

‘Of course you can, idiot boy!’ Isabelle screamed.

Her voice seemed to snap Leon from whatever spell he was under. He loosened his grip enough for Janessa to pull herself away and drop to her knees gasping. She glanced towards the garden entrance but no Sentinels came running at the sound of Isabelle’s raised voice.

‘Amon Tugha has promised me,’ said Leon, as much to himself as his mother. ‘He is powerful beyond words. I have seen it. He has shown me.’

Isabelle moved forward, her eyes filling with sympathy. ‘He has cast his spell on you,’ she said gently. ‘He will hold to no bargain. He is using you.’

Leon shook his head. ‘No, he has shown me the future. I have seen it. I will wear the Steel Crown. Dreldun will be the new power behind the Free States.’

Isabelle was close enough to lay a hand on his arm now, soothing him. Leon smiled as his mother shook her head.

‘He will share no power with us, my sweet boy. He has turned your mind. But it’s not your fault. You were always so easy to lead, gods, I know that more than anyone.’

Leon shook his head now, the fight he waged in his mind writ large in his eyes. ‘No. I will be king. I will rule in his name, but I will be king.’

‘Do you think Amon Tugha has come all this way with tens of thousands at his command to let you rule?’

Leon looked down at Janessa. A tear welled in the corner of his eye and for a moment she felt sympathy for him. He had been bewitched. By magick, by the promise of power, perhaps both.

‘He swore to me,’ he said gently, as though he didn’t believe it.

Then he struck his mother across the face, his fist balled tight.

As the old woman fell his expression contorted. Janessa saw all the hate and loathing she imagined Amon Tugha bore for her. In that moment she could hold no sympathy, no mercy.

Leon came at her, his hands outstretched for her throat once more, but she was faster. As he grasped for her she lunged for the knife he had dropped on the garden path. Her fingers closed around it as Leon managed to grab a fistful of curls, hauling her up. His other hand took her by the throat just as she plunged the blade into his eye.

His grip went slack and he made no sound as he fell backward, the knife still protruding from his socket. Leon hit the ground like a discarded doll. Janessa stood and stared at his lifeless form as Baroness Isabelle began to scream, her voice rising in a forlorn wail that murdered the quiet of the garden.