The Poison Throne (18 page)

To her relief, he laughed, “I’m a bit small all right, aren’t I?”

Wynter grinned back. Merron men were notoriously huge, broad and hairy creatures, every one. Christopher, on the other hand, would never be considered a large man; the only trait he seemed to share with his tribesmen was his incredibly pale skin, a feature for which the Merron were also famous.

“I’m mostly Hadrish by birth, I think.” He smiled, his grey eyes clear in the sun. “And when I was growing up, the troupe spent a lot of time living and travelling in Hadra, so I suppose you could say it was my home country. It was the master of my troupe who was Merron, and he took me in when I were but a mouse.” Christopher’s smile grew wistful and he paused, obviously remembering the man with great affection. “He raised me,” he said softly. “He was my dad… he was who I
called
my dad.” He raised his eyes to Wynter, questioning. “You take my meaning?” Wynter nodded. “He took me to the Merron
aonach
– their great fair – every summer, to catch up on his people, and eventually, despite my obscure origins, they adopted me! They called me
Coinín
, Rabbit, on account that I could outrun them all. Big, lumbering apes.” He chuckled softly at that.

“You’re a foundling, Christopher?”

“Well, I had me a mother for a while, but she wasn’t so inclined to hang about. Mind you, I was a terribly wild infant!” He widened his eyes to illustrate exactly
how
wild an infant he had been. “And in her favour, she stuck by me for nearly four years! You would agree that she showed excellent perseverance, had you any idea what I was like!” He smiled up at her again, as though what he’d said was amusing and not, as Wynter found it, unutterably sad.

How open he is about himself
, she thought,
how like clear water when compared to the usual courtier. If he were a trout pool the fish would have nowhere to hide, and you’d see every pebble on the riverbed
.

She cleared her throat. “Razi asks that you wait for him in the kitchens. He won’t be long. He asks that you please do not wander.”

A touch of amused irritation clouded Christopher’s face, and he looked away, sucking his teeth. “I’m not a bloody baby, Razi Kingsson,” he muttered.

Wynter snorted. “Razi thinks we’re
all
babies. He thinks he has to protect us.”

“And what’s
he
up to, while I’m keeping myself safe and sound? I take it he’s not
wandering
? I take it he’s right where I left him, surrounded by guards, completely unassailable.” Christopher’s voice was dripping with amused sarcasm, and Wynter found herself pleased to have found someone with whom she could share her irritation at Razi’s bullheadedness.

“He’s in secret rendezvous with a councilman.”

Christopher clenched his jaw, his amusement transforming to anger. “That Rochelle fellow?” Wynter nodded. “He have a messenger with him?” She nodded again. Christopher eyed her, trying to see her face. “What do they want from him, lass?”

She shrugged, genuinely ignorant. “I don’t know, Christopher, I… I am not privy to his secrets.”

Christopher turned away, his jaw twitching. He glared into the depths of the stalls for a moment and then abruptly shook himself. He flung his hands up and dismissed the subject with a gesture. “Pah!” he said. “A pox on the lot of them. They’re not worth his spit.” He stood up suddenly, brushing himself off, and shot a teasing smile at Wynter. “Best do as he says though, eh? Lest he sulk? But would you do me the grace of walking me to the kitchens? I can’t seem to find my way around.”

Wynter saw this for a blatantly transparent lie, but that didn’t stop her from ducking her head in agreement and matching Christopher’s step as they strolled out into the sunlight.

“How did you meet Razi, Christopher?” It felt strange to ask such a blunt question, a bit like diving off a high rock. In court life such things were weaselled around for weeks. A piece of information gleaned here, a piece of gossip uncovered there. It went against all her training to be so direct. She steeled herself for the expected lie, for the usual glib evasions. For some strange reason, she hoped that they wouldn’t come.

“I was playing at his aunt’s wedding,” he said.

Wynter stopped walking. “You were… you mean music? You were performing?”

He looked back at her, puzzled, and then it dawned on him, and he lifted his mangled hands. “Oh!” he said. “You assumed… No! Razi and I knew each other…” he shrugged, looking for a way to put it. “Before.” He smiled.

Wynter felt a strong wave of pity cross her face, it just overcame her, and Christopher’s smile fell away. His face became hard and still, like it had the first time they’d spoken, after she had snidely referred to him as a
tumbler of some sort
. She swallowed.

“Which… which of Hadil’s sisters was it that got married?” she tried lightly. He held his resentful glare for a moment, and then he relented and accepted her offering in good grace.

“The tall fat one,” he said with an almost genuine grin. “
What
a crazy witch! I was mortal terrified for that poor groom!”

Wynter laughed, though she had no idea who Christopher was talking about. She had never met any of Razi’s mother’s sisters. She was just delighted that Christopher had thawed.

He started walking again and she fell into step. They passed into sunlight, and it beat on them like a golden hammer.

“I was at Hadil’s house for the whole wedding ceremony, a good three weeks. Most days I would wander down to the stables, and Razi and I fell to chatting about the horses.” He glanced shyly at her. “I know an awful lot about them, you know.”

“Well, you
are
Merron.”

He grinned and nodded, “Aye.”

They turned the corner that would take them to the kitchen steps and the path ahead of them was suddenly full of life. Provisions were being delivered and there were carts and drays and many scuttling men and women.

“And you just stayed on with them,” she queried, “when the festivities were over?”

Christopher tensed, and the unusually easy give and take of their conversation ground to a sudden halt. “Um…” he said, “When my time with Hadil was over… Razi…”

Wynter felt a knot tighten in the pit of her stomach as she realised that he was about to lie. He would do it badly, and she was certain that it embarrassed him, but he was going to do it anyway. The realisation that Christopher was about to deceive her unexpectedly knocked the heat from her heart. Why? Why should it upset her so? Deception was an integral part of life, and only days ago she had been berating his lack of guile.

But as Christopher feverishly groped about for the right words, Wynter felt a terrible disappointment growing in her. It was only then that she realised how light she had felt talking to Christopher, how much laughter he had managed to weave into the short time that they’d walked together. She swallowed back her bitterness as he cleared his throat and stumbled his way back into the conversation.

“Razi persuaded me to stay. To work with his horses.”

What was he hiding?

Perhaps he’s a thief, after all. Perhaps that’s what happened to his hands. He stole from Hadil. It would be just like Razi’s mother to demand the full rigours of the law. And just like Razi to take him in as charity afterwards. But why not just tell her? Didn’t he realise that she’d find out anyway?

He threw her then by holding up his hands. “This,” he said, clearing his throat again, “this happened about two months later. Bandits. The Loups-Garous…”

The name made her startle. “In the Moroccos?” she gasped. “That far south?”

He looked at her knowingly. “Oh aye,” he whispered and she suspected that his dealings with the Loups-Garous were far greater than this one savage attack.

“Why?” she asked, gesturing to his hands. Again he faltered, and once again she realised that he was going to lie.

“I suppose I fought just a little too hard,” he said quietly, spreading the fingers of his left hand, not quite managing to straighten them. “They were very upset with me.”

Perhaps
, thought Wynter with a flash of inspiration,
this is not so much deceit, as it is a need for privacy.

Christopher smiled at her, his cheeks a high pink now, his eyes very troubled. “They took my bracelets,” he said, as if that were almost as bad as them having ripped the fingers from his talented hands.

A shrill whistle cut across the noise of the nearby traders. It was Razi, stalking towards them, his face taut with well contained excitement. He was ringed by guards, and they seemed to loom over him with renewed vigilance, as if they had to make up for their laxity at the arena. They pressed so close that Wynter wanted to scream at them,
Let him breathe! Let him move!

Christopher muttered, “Goddamn. They’ll get him with child if they don’t back off!”

Then there was the unmistakable
thwack
of a longbow being fired, and the guard to Razi’s right keeled over onto his companion, an arrow piercing his head from temple to temple.

Thwarting the King

T
here was pandemonium. Suddenly everyone was shouting and running, pointing in different directions. The guards crowded around Razi and one of them tried to shove him back against the wall of the palace. Razi struggled to push free and see to the fallen soldier, though it was obvious even to Wynter that the poor man was dead.

Christopher grabbed Wynter by the arm, restraining her from running forward. He had gone very still and quiet, his eyes roaming the trees beyond the path.

A woman screamed, “There! There!” and pointed as some hapless gardener came round the far corner, his scythe over his shoulder. The guards turned as one, and the poor man took one look at their faces and fled, dropping his scythe to the grass as he ran. With a roar, all but one of the guards took after him, leaving only a big lumbering fellow to stand in front of Razi and shield him from further threat.

Wynter started forward, her hand up in frustration. “NO!” she shouted at the retreating soldiers. Suddenly, Christopher whistled sharply to get Razi’s attention, and pointed high up into the trees. Then he was off up the path, cutting quickly right and heading upwards at tremendous speed through the woods.

Razi ducked from under the guard’s arm and dodged away as the huge man made a panicked swipe at him.

“My Lord!” he bellowed as Razi escaped his grasp.

“Get the others!” Razi ordered the man. “Stay there!” he yelled imperiously, pointing at the few civilians who had run forward to join the chase. They came to an uncertain halt.

Razi took off into the woods, angling left, then up to intersect with Christopher’s trajectory. Wynter was on Razi’s heels like a shot. He was obviously still suffering the effects of his recent wound, for she rapidly overtook him, and went crashing through the scant underbrush to try and catch up with their quarry.

She could see Christopher ahead of her, haring through the dappled shadows, obviously fixed on his target. It was a steep hill, though lightly wooded, and the ground was slippery with leaves. Wynter was quickly winded, and before long her heart was hammering in her chest. She could hear Razi panting and struggling behind her.

She looked past Christopher and saw the assailant. An enormous man, his bow cast aside, running for his life through the trees. Christopher was angling past him, gaining height on the slope, and Wynter saw that he was intent on getting above the bigger man and bringing him down.

He’s too big to hold!
she thought.
Christopher will never keep him down!

Christopher launched himself through the air from the slope above the man. He brought his legs up and around in the same action he had used on the first assassin, and felled the man with a flying kick to the chest. The two of them rolled in a flurry of leaves and debris down the slope towards Wynter.

Christopher landed awkwardly, and came at the assailant from a bad angle, his first blow landing poorly, his balance off. In the end, he was just too light to overpower the huge man and the assailant easily kicked him off. He sent Christopher slamming into a tree where he slumped for a moment, blinking and winded, before staggering to his feet.

By then Wynter was on top of them. She ran at the man and kicked him hard in the side of the head before he could turn on her. He spun away into the leaves, blood flying from his mouth, and before he could get back up, or before she could think, Wynter jumped and landed her full weight, feet-first, onto his back.

She felt a horrible cracking
give
beneath her boots. The man let out an agonised shriek, and Wynter tumbled off him in shock and revulsion. Then Christopher was there, and the two of them dragged the man onto his back.

Christopher slid in behind the man and wrapped his arm around his neck. He heaved so hard that the man’s head and shoulders were pulled up, his eyes bulging from lack of air. Wynter flung herself across the man’s legs and did her best to hang on. Razi arrived in a swirl of leaves and straddled his would-be killer, pinning his arms to the ground.

“Quickly,” said Christopher. “We don’t have much time!”

For what?
Wynter thought wildly, and then had to tighten her grip on the man’s legs as Razi knelt on his wounded chest, causing him to screech and thrash about in pain. Razi grabbed the man’s hair and yanked his head back, loosening Christopher’s grip and exposing the man’s pulsing throat. Then Razi, his eyes cold, pressed his knife hard into the man’s taut neck. Bright beads of blood showed along the blade where it bit into his flesh.

“I know you!” said Razi softly. “You’re Jusef Marcos, one of my father’s huntsmen. You fought by his side during the insurrection, you were under Oliver’s command.”

The man just rolled his eyes to meet Razi’s, panting with pain. Razi grunted and struck him hard with the handle of his dagger, making Wynter wince.

“Who sent you?” he hissed, pressing the blade back to Jusef’s throat.