Destin and the king were to meet in the royal gardens. King Gerard liked the garden for discussing what he called “delicate matters,” like assassinations, kidnappings, betrayals, and the like. When it came to keeping secrets, there were fewer eyes and ears in the garden than in the palace.
It was also a good place for acting on delicate matters. There was always a risk that if you went into the garden, you wouldn’t come out again.
Destin awaited the king in the private courtyard that led out to the royal gardens. A raw wind from the north brought the promise of the season they called winter in the south. He shivered, regretting that he hadn’t dressed more warmly.
Finally, a half hour past their meeting time, Montaigne descended the steps from the terrace, wearing a nondescript woolen cloak, a hood covering his damp-sand hair. He was accompanied by a tall, rangy girl in prim scribe blue.
It was Lila Barrowhill.
For a long moment all Destin could do was gape. Until he remembered himself, closed his mouth, and went down on one knee.
Well. That answered one question, at least—she was still alive.
“Lieutenant Karn,” Montaigne said, waving him to his feet. His cold gaze flicked over Destin, stinging his skin like tiny needles. “Lila and I were just talking about you.”
“Karn!” Lila said heartily. “I’ve wondered where you’ve been. How are you?”
Destin swallowed hard. “Never better,” he lied. He met Lila’s gaze. “It’s good to see you looking so well.” No lie there.
She raised an eyebrow. “As opposed to dead?”
“As opposed to dead, yes,” Destin said. “When you disappeared after that unfortunate incident in your dormitory, I feared the worst.”
“As I told His Majesty, I feared the worst as well,” Lila said.
“As you know, the son of one of our military officers died that night,” Montaigne said. “Colonel Tourant has been pressing for an inquiry. Lila agreed to answer some of his questions about what happened.”
Destin stared into Lila’s face, trying to read it. So there had been a meeting—one he had not been invited to. That was never a good sign.
“Wonderful,” Destin said. “I stand ready to be enlightened.” He fought the temptation to locate the dagger hidden under the black wool of his tunic or bolt like a deer through the garden.
What had she told the king? Was he dead or alive?
Lila leaned against the courtyard pillar. “I think you already know part of the story,” she said, “so I’ll make it short. When I returned to the dormitory, there were dead bodies all over, and Hanson was missing. I worried that he might be out hunting for me.”
“For you?” Destin stared at her.
“I blame myself. I knew he was high-strung and entitled, but I thought he understood that there would never be anything between us.” She sighed. “It’s not like we had anything in common—no chemistry at all. He was all, study study study, talk talk talk, and, as you know, I like to have a good time.”
“Yes,” Destin said, like a dolt.
“He fancied himself a theologian.” Lila rolled her eyes. “Always ranting about the evil Church of Malthus and how somebody ought to keep the crows—the Malthusian priests, I mean—away from the Ford. He kept nagging me to join his little band of fanatics and blow up churches and such.”
She slid an apologetic look at the king. “I know you are a man of faith, Your Majesty,” she said, without a hint of irony, “but I’m just not interested in religious debates. Besides, I can’t afford to get into any more trouble at school.”
“Of course,” King Gerard said, his face all sympathetic understanding.
Destin cleared his throat. “Young Hanson sounds . . . tiresome.”
Lila nodded. “That’s what I thought—he was tiresome, but all talk and no action. Lately, he’d been chewing a lot of razorleaf so he could stay awake to study, and he got to acting crazy again. So I finally told him off—the night of Tourant’s party. I knew he was pissed. But I never expected this.” She shook her head sadly.
Destin was lost. “You never expected—?”
“I never expected him to start massacring priests,” Lila said.
Blood of the martyrs. She thinks sul’Han did the killings? Seriously? Destin studied her face. He saw no evidence of deceit, but he was beginning to realize that Lila was a master liar.
Well, he wasn’t going to call her on it in front of the king. Especially since Montaigne seemed willing to go along.
“So,” Destin said, rubbing his chin. “It was Hanson that did it?”
Lila shrugged. “That’s my guess, though I don’t know how he would have lured priests to the dormitory. I was confused, at first, because he didn’t use sorcery to kill them. But I think maybe he was trying to prove something—that he could get things done without magic.”
“Because—?” Destin cocked his head.
She flushed. “Because, well, I told him that I don’t really, you know, consort with mages—no offense, Lieutenant.”
“None taken,” Destin said. “So. Hanson wasn’t among the bodies, then . . . ?”
“I didn’t see him, but I didn’t do a thorough search,” Lila said. “Like I said, I was worried he might come after me. Plus, I had other plans, and I was afraid I’d be stuck there till Solstice, answering questions. So I left. Hopefully it’ll all blow over before next term.”
“We share that hope,” Destin said. He was still trying to get his arms around the fact that Lila Barrowhill had, in all likelihood, saved his life by surviving. Even better, she had deflected blame from Arden by suggesting that “Ash Hanson” had been responsible for the killing. The only way this disaster could have a better outcome would be if she’d shown up carrying the mageling’s head and an apology from the academy.
Destin cast about for something to say, some way to repay the favor. “I look forward to working with you again this winter,” he said. “As I told you the last time we met, there are—”
“Actually, I have other plans for you,” the king broke in, sending Destin’s gut into turmoil once again. “That will be all, Lila. I need to speak with the lieutenant in private.”
They both watched her as she walked away.
“That was a remarkable story,” King Gerard said, when she was out of earshot. “Do you think she really believes any of it?”
“It’s a plausible story, at least,” Destin said. “The mage, sul’Han, was a loner at school, which makes sense for a person trying to hide his real identity. He spent a lot of time with a Voyageur, a hedge witch named Taliesin Beaugarde.”
Montaigne’s mouth twisted. “Voyageurs are like rats. Despite all of our efforts to exterminate them, they keep coming back. They are impossible to civilize.”
Impossible to control, you mean, Destin thought. “We tried to find Beaugarde after the killings so we could question her, but she’s disappeared as well. That seems suspicious. I’d not heard sul’Han was a zealot, but maybe he picked up some radical ideas from the witch. If so, that’s good for us.”
“The deans at the academy don’t seem to be aware of any of this,” the king said. “At least, they’re not following that line of investigation.”
“I think they decided up front that Arden was responsible and so they haven’t looked further. Besides, apparently Lila didn’t report any of this history before she left.” He paused. “I would advise against sharing it with the school authorities. If she’s to be of use to us, it’s best if she isn’t connected to us in any way.”
The king considered this for a moment. “I agree,” he said. “The deans have their suspicions, but they can’t prove anything. As long as they continue to accept and train our cadets, I don’t care what they think.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Destin said, beginning to hope that he might have dodged the heavy hand of the king’s justice.
“What do you think of Lila?” the king asked abruptly.
That was a loaded question if Destin
ever heard one. “She’s been reliable so far,” he said. “She knows everyone at Oden’s Ford, and nothing happens that escapes her notice.”
“The war will not be won at Oden’s Ford.”
“Maybe not,” Destin said, “but the academy is a crossroads. Lila travels all over the Seven Realms, she speaks multiple languages, she fits in everywhere, and thus far the information she’s provided has been on the mark.”
“What is her reputation at school? Was she really as poor a student as she would have us believe?”
“She’s in Wien House, as you know. Tourant was her class commander, and he had nothing good to say about her. She’s been brought up before the deans several times. Tourant claimed that it’s only the drop in enrollment at the academy that has kept her from being expelled permanently.”
“Perhaps the girl cannot help it,” the king mused. “I’ve never believed that women are well suited for the military. But she also could be playing a part for our benefit. What do you think?”
“The military is all about rules, and that’s not a good fit for Lila. Besides, I think Tourant was a fool. We’re better off that he fell into the river before he could reproduce.”
The king threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, Karn, I have missed our conversations. It’s just that there are so many claims on my time.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“What’s the girl’s background?”
Destin realized that this was more than an interest in Lila—it was a test of his investigative skills.
“She’s a war orphan. She grew up in the Southern Islands, raised by an aunt. Then joined another aunt in a smuggling operation along the east coast. It’s a family business.”
“What is a smuggler doing at Oden’s Ford?”
“It seems that her family keeps sending her back there, hoping she can make good connections with high-ups in the military.”
“And so she has,” Montaigne said, “on your recommendation.”
“I interrogated her under persuasion when I brought her on,” Destin said. “The story she told checks out.”
“I do enjoy having her at court,” the king said. “She came to dinner last night, and had the entire table in stitches. Even Lord Matelon.”
“Lila is a reckless wit,” Destin said. “She says things other people think but don’t say out loud.” That was always a risk around the king. Montaigne found that kind of candor amusing—until he didn’t.
“I’ll need convincing that she can come through with the magecraft we’re needing. I don’t want an army of uncollared mages running amok in the empire.”
“I have people in Baston Bay, at Watergate, and in the Southern Islands,” Destin said. “I’ll see what else I can find out.”
Maybe Lila will be the king’s new protégée, Destin thought. The king had a habit of elevating commoners to positions of power at court. They tended to be more beholden and compliant than the nobility, who were used to wielding power on their own.
But would he choose a woman for his inner circle? That would be unprecedented.
The king had a habit of playing courtiers against each other. Perhaps it was nothing more than that. Destin liked Lila, too, but he didn’t trust her.
“Come, walk with me.” Montaigne led him out along the low stone wall that divided the formal plantings from the woods beyond. The trees blazed with color against the brilliant sky. The gardens were still overblown with flowers, their scent rank and overpowering, like the smell of decay.
The king walked on, moving delicately, like a deer picking its way over rough terrain. “Asters,” he said, sweeping an elegant hand toward some ragged pink and purple flowers along the flagstone path. He picked a few and handed them to Destin, who let them slip from his hand as soon as he could do so surreptitiously.
Destin had never known the royal gardens at Ardenscourt to be out of bloom. Violas had been his mother’s favorites. They were the only flowers he could remember the name of, though Montaigne always repeatedly pointed out and named the others.
Perhaps it was because Destin was always distracted in the garden, waiting to find out whom it was he had to kill.
By now they’d reached one of the many pavilions that studded the garden, overlooking a pool of stagnant water overgrown with grotesque plants.
“Sit with me,” the king said, settling onto a bench next to the wall.
Destin sat. And waited.
“You’ve been to Carthis, haven’t you?”
It was good that Destin was sitting down. The question came like a blow to the head, so unexpected that Destin might have stumbled on the path.
That the king had asked it meant that he already knew the answer. But how would he know? It seemed unlikely that Destin’s father would have told him.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I lived there for a time as a boy.” My mother and I were so eager to get away from my father that we sailed across the ocean, Destin thought. As it turned out, that wasn’t far enough.
“Tell me about it,” the king said.
As always, there was no telling what the king already knew, and what lay behind his questions.
“Well. It’s mostly sand and rock,” Destin said. “Though it’s pretty far north, the ocean currents keep it warm. It’s nearly impossible to grow anything, so people are desperately poor. That is why so many have turned to piracy.”
Destin was ambushed by memories of the cottage by the sea that he’d shared with his mother, the village where he’d run barefoot through dusty streets. Those had been some of the happiest times of his life.
“Yet, I understand that they have very powerful magic there,” Gerard said. “They say that’s where the mages came from originally.”
“That’s true in a way, Your Majesty,” Destin said. “Mages originated in the Northern Islands, which as you know were once one of the original Seven Realms. After the Breaking, the islands joined with Carthis. They . . . ah . . . they are still loosely connected, I believe.”
“Have you been to the islands?”
“No, my lord.”
“Do you speak the language?”
Destin shook his head. “I used to. I don’t really remember it now.”
Abruptly, the king changed the subject. “So. Another marching season over, and we are still no closer to our goal,” Montaigne said. “I had such high hopes that this would be our breakthrough summer.”
Destin didn’t risk a reply.
“And yet, we have gained no ground,” Montaigne said. “I am losing patience. I’m wondering if we need a new strategy.”
Does he expect me to defend my father? Actually, my life would be immeasurably improved if he were dead.
But Destin knew better than to fall into that trap. “I wouldn’t hazard an opinion on that, Your Majesty. I am no expert on military strategy. I have no doubt that we will prevail in the end, given our superior military and your creative leadership.”
“I will do whatever it takes to win this war,” the king said, his voice low and vicious. “I will break their spirit and I will break their hearts until the witch in the north kneels to me and begs for mercy. She’ll beg, but will receive none.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I need you to find a girl for me.”
This time, Destin managed to navigate the conversational curve. “I’ll find a dozen for you, Your Majesty,” he replied. “What’s your pleasure?”
Montaigne laughed. “Do you take me for a fool? If I send a young man like yourself out hunting, you’ll keep the best for yourself.”
“Your Majesty, I know better than that,” Destin said. “I would be poor competition for a man like yourself.” That, at least, was true.
Montaigne snorted, shaking his head. “No, there’s a particular girl I need you to find, if indeed she exists. If she does, she may be in Delphi.”
“Delphi!” Destin struggled to hide his dismay. He’d been to Delphi, too, and his memories of that time were horrifying. He had no d
esire to go back. “You want me to go to Delphi?”
“That stands to reason, Lieutenant, if I want you to find this girl, and she is there.”
“I see,” Destin said. “I wonder if there might be . . .” He trailed off, remembering his father’s advice. Whatever he asks of you, the answer is yes. He swallowed down his protests and said, “Thank you for your confidence in me, Your Majesty. I am eager to serve.”
The king smiled a thin-lipped smile that said he wasn’t fooled. “She would be about sixteen years old, and she bears a rune, like so, on the back of her neck.” Montaigne handed Destin a piece of paper with a symbol sketched on it, a spiderweb of lines framing an arrangement of triangles, like a faceted gem.
Destin stared at it, ambushed for a second time. His heart began to thud, and he felt strangled, as if he couldn’t get his breath. He brushed it with his forefinger, as if he could read it by touch. The symbol was familiar, and yet—unfamiliar.
He swiveled away from the king, staring across the bog to where the meticulously clipped hedgerows ran into the trees. He was glad that it was nearly dark, so that the king could not read his face. “Your Majesty,” he said hoarsely. “If I may ask . . . who is this girl, and why is she important?”
“She’s important to somebody,” Montaigne replied. “A potential ally from the Northern Islands.”
“The Northern Islands,” Destin repeated, the truth slamming home like a punch to the gut. He turned back toward the king. “But . . . is that wise, Your Majesty? To engage with sorcerers, idolators, and the like in a place that has spawned so much evil?”
Annoyance flickered across the king’s face, and Destin knew he’d made a mistake. “Where do you suggest that I draw the line, mage?” The king’s voice crackled with menace. “You wouldn’t want to find yourself on the wrong side of it.”
“No, Your Majesty, I would not,” Destin said hastily. “Every day I thank the great saint for your gracious tolerance.”
And every day I curse this king’s ability to dance on both sides of that line, taking whatever position suits his agenda at the moment.
“The fact of the matter is that the thanes are restive and holding tighter to their purses and their bannermen than in the past. I am tired of crawling to them, begging them to meet their obligations. I need to find a powerful ally—someone who will enable me to field an army that can bring us a decisive win. Finding this girl just might be the key to ending the war in our favor.”