The Poison Throne (38 page)

They glared at each other for an instant. Then Lorcan’s face softened slightly, “Look, Jon,” he said quietly. “I am
spent
. Can you not see it? I am spent.” He spread his big hands in warm regret. “Just give me some time.”

Jonathon looked at Lorcan from under lowered brows, then raised his gaze to Wynter. She took an involuntary step back at the calculation in his eyes, her spine cold. Lorcan reached convulsively for the King’s arm. “
Jonathon
,” he breathed, his face alarmed, the word a warning and an entreaty.

Jonathon shook Lorcan’s hand from his arm and stood, his eyes still on Wynter. “I will see you at the banquet tonight, Protector Lady; you may have the honour of taking your father’s place.” He bowed to her, and then to Lorcan who was regarding him with cold hatred. “I wish you a speedy return to health, Protector Lord. I look forward to your return to my side.”

They listened to him leave, the steady tramp of his guards fading quickly from earshot. Lorcan’s lips were compressed and trembling in rage, his hands wringing the covers. Wynter put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be upset, Dad. It’s just another banquet! At best, I’ll be bored to death, at worst, I’ll have to dance with Warrick Shardon and have my toes broken.”

He reached up and grabbed her hand, clutching it to his chest. He absently stroked the calluses on her palm, the worthy scars on her knuckles. All the years they’d spent working at their independence… as if they’d ever really had a chance, what fools!

“At worst you could be poisoned by his opposition,” he said bitterly, “at worst you could be stabbed, or shot. At worst Jonathon could decide to betroth you into his circle, just to keep us near him. He could send you to a convent, just to control my words. He…”

“Dad!”

He squeezed her hand hard and brought it to his lips, his eyes clenched shut. “Oh Wynter!” he moaned, rocking slightly in distress “Oh baby-girl! At least tell me Marni has agreed! At least tell me that!”

“She has agreed,” she whispered, beaming at him with every ounce of false cheer she could muster. “Did you ever doubt her?”

Lorcan nodded. “ Good,” he said, regaining some of his composure. “Good.” He took a deep breath and then he released her hand, pushing himself higher in the bed, “Go get that boy now,” he said with a wave of his hand, “none of us should be alone today.” But as she moved away, he seemed to have a thought and reached for her arm and looked into her eyes. “We should tell Christopher of our plan,” he said softly, “it alarms him that you might have to stay here alone. It will do his heart good, on his journey, to know that you will be safe.”

“No, Dad!” she blurted.

Her vehemence shocked him, and he pulled back to look at her closely. “You fear he would tell Razi? Give you away?”

No, Dad, that’s not what I fear at all. I fear that, should I try and deceive him as I am deceiving you, Christopher would see right through me. And if Christopher guesses what I really have planned, he would chain me in the keep, rather than let me leave. And you, Dad, would probably hand him the keys
.

She nodded gravely at her father. “Yes, I think he would tell Razi. Razi wants me to stay here, and I think that Christopher would feel obliged to take his side over mine.”

Lorcan smiled at her, his eyes kind. “I think you underestimate that boy’s esteem for you, darling.”

She squeezed his hand and leant in close, her voice teasing. “Dad! Do not tell
that boy
what we’re planning! Regardless of his so-called
esteem
.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Whatever you wish!”

Wynter went to the secret door and slid the panel open, her thoughts miles away. A white shape moved quickly in the dark, and she leapt and stifled a scream as Christopher’s pale face was revealed only inches from her own. She staggered back, her hand to her dagger. Lorcan shouted at her, “What is it?”

“Christopher!” she cried, “What in God’s name…”

The breakfast things were at Christopher’s feet, and Wynter realised that he’d never moved from behind the door. He had, in fact, been waiting in the dark all along.

Had he been spying? But no, she saw it in his eyes, that fierceness she had seen before, when he’d been protecting Razi. And she knew, all at once, that he had been waiting in case they needed him. She wondered how he had planned to get to them, had things taken a turn, but the look on his face told her that nothing would have stopped him, had she cried out.

She straightened, breathless, and shoved her dagger back in its sheath. Running a shaky hand over her face, she breathed deeply and tried to get her body to calm itself. In his own contained way, Christopher was trying to do the same. He slowly dropped his hands, sheathing his own dagger and straightened from his crouch. His face gradually lost its tense, dangerous mask. He looked away, a little dazed, his breathing shaky.

“I thought…” he said, “I thought I’d wait… just in case.”

She nodded wordlessly and gestured for him to come on in. The two of them made their uncertain way to Lorcan, who smiled indulgently at them from his pillows, as if they were small children or a couple of amusing
puppies.

Another Bloody Feast

“S
top pacing, boy! I’m exhausted just watching you!”

Lorcan’s irritated growl drifted to Wynter as she locked the hall door behind her. Sighing, she lowered her roll of tools to the floor and leant her head against the frame, listening to the men fretting in the next room.

“What time is it now?” Christopher asked, his lilting voice tight.

“Good Christ! You just heard the bloody bell! It’s half past the sixth quarter!”

“In
proper
bloody time, Lorcan! What’s the time on the
Northern
clock?”

Lorcan’s voice softened slightly and he said, “It’s one o’clock, boy… Just one. There’s still an hour to go.”

“Good Frith. I… God curse him… I swear…”

Wynter listened to Christopher’s inarticulate anxiety, and closed her eyes against the panic that threatened to unleash itself in her heart. She had left the library early, distractedly thrusting the egress papers into Pascal’s hand, muttering something about state business. She had seen the horror in Pascal’s eyes when she hadn’t bothered to organise her tools before tying the roll shut, but she ignored him and flung the roll carelessly onto her shoulders. She couldn’t remember doing one single tap of work all day anyway, she might as well be here.

She wandered into the retiring room and went to lean in Lorcan’s doorway, her arms crossed against the tension in her chest. Lorcan was slumped against the headboard, his cards laid out in an untidy game of patience. Christopher was prowling a tight figure of eight in front of the fireplace. They both noticed her at the same time, and paused, looking at her expectantly, as if she might have news. She spread her hands at them in exasperation.
For Godssake! What the hell would I know?
And they turned away from her with identical grunts of disappointment.

Lorcan snapped a card down onto the bed.

Christopher did another circuit in front of the fire and broke off to look out the window.

“Get away from there,” snapped Lorcan, as if for the hundredth time that day.

Christopher angled away from the window and returned to the fireplace. He came to rest for a moment, then started pacing again. Wynter felt his nervous energy starting to grate on her. She didn’t know how her father hadn’t yet killed him, she’d only just arrived and already she felt the urge to stamp on Christopher’s head.

Razi must be preparing to meet the King now. He had probably been ready for hours. He was probably standing, right now, in his rooms. Alone. Waiting.

Jesu
.

She broke away from the door and paced to the other side of the retiring room She got to the wall and paced back to the door again. She came to a halt. She clenched her arms tighter around her chest.

Jesu Christi
.

Christopher’s soft boots went
pat pat pat
on the wooden floor.

Lorcan snapped another card down.

“Dad.” Lorcan looked up at her expectantly. “Jonathon would meet him in the private appointment rooms, would he not?”

Lorcan nodded. It was hardly likely that the King would choose to meet his son in the thronging chaos of the public rooms. No matter how discontented Jonathon was with Razi, he would never make him wait in that long hall, packed in with all the other patiently waiting petitioners.

Wynter looked significantly at her father. The private appointment rooms were only two floors down, almost directly below their suite. “I just want him to see me, Dad. I want him to know…”

Christopher had come to a complete halt and was staring at her, his eyes wide and hopeful.

“You can’t let the guards see you, darling,” Lorcan warned softly. “The hall to the rooms will be filled with Jonathon’s soldiers.” Wynter felt her chin beginning to jut in stubborn defiance, but Lorcan went on thoughtfully. “Razi will probably approach from the middle gallery staircase, coming up the blue corridor. If you take the twelve-step backstairs and come out the dwarf door, you could stand in the alcove by the music library. That way, when Razi comes up the steps to turn into the hall…” Lorcan raised his eyes to her, “he’ll see you.”

“I’m coming too,” said Christopher firmly. One look at his face told them that there was no point arguing.

Half an hour later they stood, silent and staring, pressed side by side at the end of the short corridor. They could hear Jonathon’s men in the hall around the corner. If they took just ten or eleven paces forward and turned left they would be right amongst them. Wynter did not want to think about that, about being surrounded by those big men again. These were the same men who had laughed when Jonathon had beat Christopher’s head against the tree. The same men who had taunted him and dragged him, screaming and bleeding, down the hill to the keep.

Wynter tried to keep her breathing calm and quiet. She concentrated on the stairs ahead of her. What if Razi took a different route? What if he arrived, as was his custom now, surrounded by men? What if he swept by and never raised his eyes to look at all?

Beside her, Christopher stood motionless and patient as stone. His eyes had never left the top of the staircase, and if he was as nervous of the guards as Wynter, he certainly didn’t show it.

They had been there for what seemed like a long time, and Wynter was beginning to wonder if Razi had already gone in, when Christopher straightened suddenly, and stepped away from the wall. She stepped forward too, her shoulder brushing his arm, and strained to hear what had caught his attention.

There! Boots on the stairs. One man, striding upwards. Razi!

He came quickly up the steps, his head down, and for an awful moment Wynter thought he would continue on and turn the corner into the hall without seeing them. But at the very top, just before stepping into the sight of the guards, Razi came to a sudden frowning halt, his head down, his eyes unfocused. He stood there for a moment, one hand on the wall, the other clenched in a fist by his side.

Then he suddenly focused on the floor at his feet, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Wynter saw Razi’s mask slip into place. His uncertainty, his fear, all those things, slid underneath somewhere, and his cool, insouciant court-face rose to the surface like ice. She saw his eyes, almost lost under his loose fringe of curls, harden and his brows rise up in haughty contempt. Then he snapped his back straight and flung his head up, and looked right into her eyes.

Razi’s mask shattered into a million pieces at the sight of her, and he stumbled two steps backwards before collecting himself. His eyes slipped from her to Christopher and back again. He blinked rapidly as if trying to clear them from his vision.

Wynter felt her face crumble,
Oh God
, she thought,
we’ve done the wrong thing, we’ve done the wrong thing!
But they were here now and the damage was done, so she put everything she could into her eyes.
I love you
, she tried to show him, to tell him.
I’m with you. You’re not alone.

Razi’s eyebrows knotted and his eyes grew huge and liquid. He took another step back.

Then Christopher stepped forward. He raised a finger to his lips and frowned sternly at his friend. Razi locked eyes with him, desperate. Christopher took his finger from his lips and straightened smoothly, his feet together, his face composed. He lifted his hand to his brow, put his foot forward and then swept down in the most perfect, most
courtly
bow Wynter had ever seen.

Razi released a silent, laughing sob. He looked down at his friend’s bowed head, nodded and took a deep breath. He squared his shoulders again. Christopher held his bow for a long moment and when he rose, Razi’s mask was back in place. The two men looked at each other down the length of the corridor, their poses formal, their faces set.

Razi ducked his head in a little nod and Christopher smiled and nodded back.

Razi met Wynter’s eyes. There was the briefest moment of softness, the smallest lifting of the corners of his mouth and then he bowed. And though she was still in her work clothes, she immediately spread him a curtsy worthy of the finest dress, holding the dip for a very long time, so that when she rose he had moved on, as was befitting a royal prince in the company of his subjects.

“You look beautiful, baby-girl.”

“Thank you, Dad.” Wynter continued to hover in the bedroom door, running her hands nervously over the emerald satin of her skirts. It was almost time for the banquet, she had left it until the last minute to get dressed and now she must go.

Lorcan regarded her from his bed. He was huddled miserably under a mound of covers, shivering again despite the roaring fire. Christopher stood beside him, stripped to his undershirt and britches, barefoot, his sleeves rolled to the shoulder. He was sweating in the tremendous heat, his eyes and his bracelets gleaming in the firelight.