The Poison Throne (28 page)

“She put a dress on.”

“Oh,” he said, “I saw her in a dress once.
Fierce
handsome!”

Lorcan smirked at Wynter.
See?
that smirk said.
What did I tell you? Your Hadrish boy!

Wynter gave him a warning glare.

“I prefer the sight of her arse in a pair of trousers though,” mumbled Christopher as he looked down at his cards again, apparently unaware he’d spoken out loud.

Wynter gaped at him and glanced at her father whose eyes had grown to saucers and whose hands suddenly looked very large and capable of snapping a Hadrish neck.

Lorcan leant forward. He was opening his mouth to let launch a tirade at the unsuspecting young man, when he was distracted by the sound of a body of guards arriving in the hall outside.

As one they all froze, suddenly alert as rabbits. They heard a key turn in the lock of Razi’s door and a quiet snap and thud as it was opened and shut again. Razi was back.

It hit them all more or less at the same time: Razi was back to an empty room!

“Wynter?” Lorcan asked, “Did you leave him a note?”

Wynter gasped and leapt to her feet. Christopher made a dismayed little sound as they heard a door suddenly bang back against a wall next door. Razi bellowed Christopher’s name and they heard him knocking something over in his panic.

“
Quickly!
” Christopher gestured wildly to Wynter. “Before he runs out into the hall!” but she was already flying out the door and into the secret passage.

Razi was actually at his hall door, his hand on the handle, when she pushed her way into his rooms.

“Razi!” she hissed, “Stop!”

He spun to her in a frenzy of terror and panic. “They’ve taken him! They took Christopher!” he cried. “Oh God, Wynter!” He clutched his head, gripping his curls with eye-watering force. “Oh God! What have I
done?
”

Wynter flew across the room and grabbed his arms, pulling him down so that his face was level with hers.

“He’s all right!” she whispered. “Christopher is with us, Razi! He’s inside! He’s playing cards with Lorcan!”

As her words slowly percolated through his terror, Razi’s hands loosened their grip on his hair and the panic gradually seeped from his face.

“Honestly, brother, it’s all right,” she said, patting his arm. “I’m sorry we didn’t leave you a note. We never thought…”

His eyes filled with tears. He closed them briefly, and then he gently shrugged her hands from his arms and stood to his full height, looking around his rooms as if at a loss as to where or who he was, or what to do next.

“Come on,” she said, and took him by the hand and led him unresisting through the passage to Lorcan’s room.

When Wynter came back into the bedroom Christopher had turned awkwardly toward the door, his face anxious. Razi didn’t enter, he just leaned his long body against the doorframe and looked at the two men with weary relief.

“Sorry, Razi,” Christopher whispered contritely.

Razi rested his head against the wall. “Did you get your draught?” he asked, every word suffused with tiredness.

“Aye.”

Razi nodded. “I must go,” he murmured and turned to leave.

His three friends exchanged concerned looks.

“My Lord!” said Lorcan, “Go you to the banquet?”

Razi only turned his head slightly, his back still to the room. Wynter saw his weary profile as he spoke. His eyes were shut. “I am your Highness the Royal Prince Razi, Protector Lord Moorehawke. You must address me by my proper title.”

He waited through the shocked silence and nodded when Lorcan whispered, “Aye… your Highness. My apologies.”

“I
am
on my way to the banquet. Why do you ask?”

“I hoped you might accompany my daughter, your Highness. She is inexperienced in the manners of the royal platform, and I thought…”

Razi held up his hand, cutting Lorcan off and already heading into the gloom of the retiring room as he spoke. “Be ready in ten minutes, Protector Lady, I shall not wait.”

They sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then Christopher sighed “Well,” he said quietly, “That’s you told, Lorcan.”

Lorcan quirked a sad little smile. “Aye,” he said. “That’s me told.”

Wynter hesitated for a moment, and then drew Razi’s note from her bodice. She handed it to Lorcan and he read it without comment, his jaw tightening.

“What is it?” asked Christopher, straining to make out what they were up to.

Lorcan looked to Wynter for permission and she nodded.

“Can you read?” asked Lorcan kindly.

“Aye.”

“Here,” Lorcan leant forward and handed the note to Christopher.

The young man took it, moved it too and fro, angled it, shifted his head with a pained little grimace, and finally found a position from which he could see the writing. He read it slowly, his lips moving. “Oh,” he said. “Poor Razi.”

“We’re a danger to him,” said Wynter.

“Oh, Wyn,” sighed her father, taking her hand. “That’s not it, darling.”

“He thinks
he’s
a danger to us…” breathed Christopher.

“Yes,” Lorcan agreed, nodding slowly.

“But the closer we are to him, the more vulnerable he is,” insisted Wynter.

“Aye. Jonathon just has to
glance
at Christopher there. Or have one of his guards smirk at you, darling. And Razi has no choice but to roll over and show his belly.”

“Poor bastard,” said Christopher absently, and Lorcan didn’t even grimace at his choice of word.

A sudden realisation struck Wynter. “Jonathon will never let you go,” she said to Christopher.

“She’s right, boy.” Lorcan said, “You’re his best leverage to get Razi to do whatever he wishes. Jonathon’s going to want you around for a long, long time.”

“Good Frith!” breathed Christopher. He stared at Wynter and Lorcan and they both gave him identical, pitying looks.
Now who’s the poor bastard
, is what he knew they were thinking.

Freedom to Leave

T
he next morning Wynter woke to a blessedly cool dawn. Outside was grey with mist and it drifted in her window. It was a glorious relief from the unrelenting heat, and she spread her arms on the pillows and revelled in it. It wouldn’t last. The hazy sky was already washed with rosy sunrise and Wynter knew that within the next quarter, this sweet coolness would have given way to another blistering, sun-blasted day.

All her recent worries suddenly fell on her as if from a great height and pressed down on her chest, squeezing her heart. She rolled to her side with a groan and turned her face into the crook of her arm. Why couldn’t she have stayed asleep? It had been blissful and dreamless, and she wanted it back. She closed her eyes and tried to force herself to sink under the surface of her thoughts, tried to drift back down into that delicious well of innocent oblivion.

Instead, her wayward mind travelled back to last night’s excruciating banquet. What a nightmare it had been, with its endless protocol and the constant, whispering scrutiny of the falsely merry crowd. The King’s guard had been a looming wall of intimidation at every turn, and Razi! Good Christ, Razi! Cold, aloof and unapproachable. On their walk to and from their rooms, he had spared her no words other than those that procedure demanded. Once in the hall itself, he had cast not a glance in her direction, unless to indicate where to turn or whose hand to shake first.

Even during the interminable after-dinner dancing, Razi had paid her no heed. He had spent the night sprawled on his brother’s throne, a dour, brooding presence. Had Wynter not known the true heart of the man, she would have judged him a sullen, black-hearted knave. He did himself no favours with the attending crowd.

This memory speared her heart, and she grunted in frustration and rolled onto her back. She could get up now, get dressed, go arrange food, and look in on her father. She could get an early start on the library. Instead, she closed her eyes and let the damp air settle on her face and arms. Birds were making little waking up noises in the orange trees. A cock crowed in the stable yards. Wynter began to float dreamily, and tried to go with it. Maybe if she relaxed she would fall back asleep.

She heard her father say, “I am cold,” and she opened her eyes when someone answered. It was Razi. Their voices were quiet, but clear as bells on the still air.

“Is it your feet, Lorcan?”

“Aye.”

“I shall fetch another pair of socks from your chest, if you like?”

Lorcan replied tiredly that he would appreciate it. There was quiet scuffling about for a few moments. Then Razi said, “Is that better?”

It must have been an improvement, because Razi murmured an almost inaudible, “Good.”

Wynter lay still and looked at the ceiling. She listened with sorrow to the private decency of the same man who only last night had glowered his way through the feast and scowled and grunted at everyone who approached him.

Her father mumbled something and Razi replied, “It is just for one more day, Lorcan! That’s
all
I’m asking of you.”

Lorcan’s voice was tight with frustration. “I have much to do, your Highness. I need to oversee the library! And I need to get an idea of which way the tides are flowing out there! It will be fatal to fall out of touch.”

“Lorcan,” Razi admonished gently, “You will
die
if you do not rest as I have asked. I cannot be clearer with you. You will die, and you will leave our lovely girl all alone in this awful mess. I cannot believe that that is what you would want.”

“For want of one bloody day abed?” Wynter could hear the sneer in her father’s voice.

There was no reply. Wynter knew what expression Razi would have on his face. She could dearly imagine his brown eyes, steady and immutable, not backing down. And she knew her father would be valiantly trying to stare him into submission, and failing. She sat up and quietly swung her legs out of bed.

There was silence. Then her father grunted in defeat.

“So,” Razi said, no triumph in his voice. She heard small sounds as he laid things out on Lorcan’s table. “I can trust you to do as I have asked?” A pause in which her father must have gestured or murmured. “You are sincere, Lorcan? There will be no scurrying about behind my back? Because I cannot be seen to return today, and I must be able to trust you.”

“Aye!
Aye
!” Impatient and sharp.

“Thank you. Now, I will not give you the opium today, for fear you begin to crave it. I am, instead, leaving you this hashish. Eat one of these portions with your breakfast, dinner and supper. I have arranged good, wholesome meals to be delivered…”

“Sounds delicious…” murmured Lorcan snidely.

“Do not be sour.”

“Well, I’m not hungry.”

“That is just the opium talking… you will be clemmed soon, particularly if you take the hashish, it’s powerful good for restoring a lost appetite. Here, drink this.”

Wynter put on her robe and padded into the retiring room to peer in at her father’s door. Razi was stooped over the big man, his face calm and attentive, his hand poised for the return of the cup. He was dressed in a loose white shirt, leggings and riding boots. His crop lay on the bed at Lorcan’s feet. He must be heading down to the horses. She leaned against the doorframe and watched them. Lorcan handed Razi the cup he’d just drained, and made a face.

“Gah! Tastes like bloody horse shit!”

As Razi turned to put things into his bag. Lorcan lay back and watched him carefully, his eyes assessing.

“Would the Hadrish be up to spending time with me today?”

Razi paused a moment and then went on with his tidying. “Christopher will be in a lot of pain today, perhaps even more so than yesterday. But I have given him a draught, and I will leave it up to him.”

“I like him,” said Lorcan suddenly, as if surprised.

Razi said nothing.

“I suspect that there are feelings between him and my daughter.”

Startled, Wynter slipped out of sight and stood listening from around the corner. There was a long pause, and Razi sighed quietly.

“There was a time, Lorcan, that to hear it would have made my heart soar. At one time I had hoped…” Razi’s wistful voice trailed off.

“But now?”

There was a decisive sound of Razi snapping his bag shut. “Freeman Garron will not be here long enough for any of my hopes to be realised.”

Wynter’s heart contracted with unexpected grief at this news.

Then her father said, “The King will never let him go. You know that.” And this filled Wynter with such fear that she didn’t know what she wanted or how she even felt. There was silence from the next room and she stepped back to the door and looked in. To hell with skulking around corners while her menfolk discussed things that affected them all. They didn’t notice or see her, and she did nothing to draw attention to herself.

Razi was standing, side-on to her father, and the two men were regarding each other with knowing, tension filled faces. Razi dropped his eyes and placed his bag carefully back on the bedside table. He went to speak, hesitated and then, with the air of someone about to make a reluctant confession said, “I intend to make myself a very unpleasant addition to the royal platform, Protector Lord.”

Lorcan winced. “Razi,” he moaned, “You will get yourself killed.”

“And where would his Majesty be then?” Razi sneered. “Hunting one heir like a rat in a cellar, and burying the other in a Musulman graveyard in town? My father is mad, Lorcan, but he is not stupid!”

“Then he will hurt that Hadrish boy in ways you cannot possibly imagine. I
know
your father, and I am telling you, you have no chance against him.”

Razi stood looking down on Lorcan, his face stony. Then his body sagged slightly, curving in on itself in weariness. “I will figure something out,” he said quietly.

“But until then you must be careful, for your sake – and the Hadrish’s. You must bide your time.”

“Yes,” breathed Razi, watching the brightening sky, “I have enough on my conscience with Christopher already.”

“Wynter tells me that he is Merron?” asked Lorcan carefully.