Stormcaster

  She leaned forward. “Does the king know? Is he working with the empress?”

  “I was going to ask you that question,” Destin said. “My sources—on both sides of the Indio—are usually reliable, especially as regards diplomacy with the empire. From what I’m hearing, there has been no communication to or from, which suggests that she is acting on her own.” He paused, then continued, knowing that he had to frame this in the right way. “I think I can say with confidence that the king doesn’t know it yet, but he soon will. Jarat will think this is good news, that it will free him up to act against the thanes.”

  Marina raised an eyebrow. “And? You disagree?”

  “If King Jarat thinks it’s bad having Queen Raisa as a neighbor, wait until he has to contend with Celestine,” Destin said. “In just a few years, she has conquered the entire Desert Coast. Her army is larger than ever, and her soldiers are unstoppable. If she invaded the Fells without an agreement with the empire, you can bet that this is just the prelude to her coming south.”

  Queen Marina studied him, as if she suspected there was more to the story than he was letting on. “Even if what you say is true—which I’m not conceding—why shouldn’t we bide our time and build our strength while she is busy in the north?”

  “But we aren’t building our strength, we’re spending men and treasure on a civil war.”

  “Have you spoken to the thanes about this?”

  Matelon tried that, and failed, Destin thought, and he’s a much more appealing spokesperson than I am.

  “If I walked into White Oaks, I’d never walk out again,” he said. “I’m not the best person to reach out to the rebels.”

  “What is it you want, then?” Marina said, going for the meat of the matter. “What are you hoping will happen?”

  “I would like to see both sides come to the table and end the civil war. Then we can send our armies into the north and help them drive off the empress.”

  “We’ve been sending our armies into the north for twenty-five years,” Marina said, laughing. “They have not been well received.”

  “One step at a time,” Destin said. “First, we end the civil war.”

  “Done!” Marina said, slapping her hand on the arm of the bench.

  Destin released a long breath. “Jarat thinks the thanes won’t attack as long as he holds hostages. He’s wrong. Arschel Matelon will be marching on the capital any day now.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “No sources, remember,” Destin said. “If the rebels reach the city walls, Jarat will begin killing hostages. If he does, there’s no way any of us will survive this war.”

  “You’re that sure the thanes will win?”

  Destin rocked his hand. “I give them sixty-forty odds—maybe seventy-thirty. Matelon is a seasoned military commander—the best in the empire other than the general. Heresford’s no slouch, either. Tourant’s an asshole, but he has lots of bannermen to call upon.” Destin paused, tilting his head toward the musicians.

  Marina gestured, and they retreated a short distance, then resumed playing at full volume.

  “I have it on good authority that Matelon’s son Halston has returned from the dead to fight alongside them. Everyone who’s served under him sings his praises. They say he’s a soldier’s soldier. He has a huge following in the imperial army.”

  “He lost two big battles this year,” Marina said.

  “Yes,” Destin said, looking her straight in the eye, “he did. As the general intended.”

  He waited while Marina connected the dots. She never needed an extended explanation.

  “So. The king’s soldiers might desert en masse if they find out that young Captain Matelon is on the other side?” she said.

  “It’s possible. It doesn’t help that Jarat has been slow about paying the troops. At least Gerard was smart enough to keep his armies happy.” It was time for the ask. “If we can remove the hostages from the equation, Jarat might see reason and negotiate with the thanes.”

  Marina considered this. “Is there any way they would accept a truce that would allow him to keep his throne and his head?”

  “I don’t know,” Destin said honestly. “It’s early yet, and he hasn’t committed any unforgivable sin. There’s still time for him to show that he’s more reasonable than his father. The thanes really don’t want another civil war. They want an end to the war they’ve been fighting for a quarter century. They want to keep some of their money, for a change.”

  “So they can fight another war against the empress?” Marina raised an eyebrow.

  “Nobody wants that one, either,” Destin said. “But in this case we may have no choice. Who knows? A show of strength from us might send the empress back across the Indio, and that would be the best outcome of all.”

  “But you don’t believe that will happen,” Marina said.

  Destin shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

  “So you want me to help you free the hostages,” the queen said.

  “Yes,” Destin said, meeting her gaze straight on.

  “We’re talking about women and children,” Marina said. “They’re being kept in the most secure part of the dungeon. I’ve been trying to talk Jarat into moving them into better quarters for months. This is not how you treat people you may need on your side later on. If you try to break them out of the pits, there will be casualties, and that will defeat the purpose.”

  “That’s why we have to get them out of the dungeons first. That’s where you come in.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve wielded a sword,” Marina said, flexing her hand. “We Tomlins are better with stilettos and poison.”

  Is that how you did for the king?

  “I have a plan that will not require swordplay.” I hope. “Next week, you’ll be welcoming nobles and emissaries from all over the empire to celebrate His Majesty’s coronation.”

  Jarat’s coronation had been a hurried, secretive affair after the attack on the city and Gerard’s death. Now, four months in, he’d decided to host his first major social and diplomatic event, to demonstrate the power and stability of the empire despite the fractious lords. As regent and queen mother, Marina was King Jarat’s official hostess, since the king had not yet married.

  “I’m not looking forward to that,” Marina said, rolling her eyes.

  “No?” Destin pretended surprise. “Didn’t Jarat promise it would be the party of the year?”

  “Compared to what?” Marina nudged a plate of pastries toward him. “Some of the down-realms’ representatives will be staying a month with their families. Why not stay and feast at the king’s expense? With so many of the estates under control of the rebels, our larders are nearly empty. That means we’ll probably be eating beans and barley cakes until the new crops come in. They’ll be feasting and dancing alone, because most of the court is either in rebellion or lying low at their country estates. So it will be on me to entertain them.” She laughed and poured more wine. “Forgive me. I’m not usually one for whining.”

  “Could you invite the hostages to the reception? Wouldn’t that help fill up the ballroom?”

  Marina stared at him. “Have you lost your mind? Why would His Majesty agree to that?”

  “The lords of the down-realms will be taking Jarat’s measure,” Destin said. “Here’s a young, untried king whose thanes are in rebellion against him. What better way to demonstrate his power than to have the families of the rebellious thanes bending the knee at his coronation and dancing at his reception?”

  “I know some of those ladies,” Marina said. “Trust me, they won’t be bending the knee to Jarat. It could get ugly.”

  “It will be up to me to convince them to be on their best behavior. We also need to make sure that everyone, down to the babes in arms, attends. Nobody gets left behind.”

  “They’ll need clothing—party dresses—and a good scrubbing,” Marina said. “It wouldn’t do a lot for Jarat’s reputation to have them showing up f
or the reception looking like they’ve been kept in a dungeon for months.”

  She’s thinking about logistics, Destin thought. That’s a good sign. “If you tell me what is needed, I will do my best to procure it.”

  “You’ll need the cooperation of that despicable Luc Granger,” Marina said, making a face. In addition to being the king’s drinking companion, Granger had been named the king’s bailiff. “Unless you kill him,” she said, brightening.

  Destin raised both hands, palms out. “Eventually. But not now. Right now, I need to know if you’re in the game.” With that, he put a copper on the table between them.

  It was Tamric custom to seal a bargain by putting money on the table. An ante, so to speak.

  Marina did not hesitate. She laid her coin beside his.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will keep you apprised of my progress.”

  He rose, bowed, turned to leave, then swung back toward her. “One more thing,” he said. “I’m very fond of masquerades.”

  34

  THE KING’S SPYMASTER

  Destin Karn eased his body over the edge of the roof, careful not to send any of the tiles crashing into the castle courtyard below. Anchoring his toes on the stone sill, he poked a foot through the window, verifying that the shutters were open to the breeze. Traveling the high roads of the palace was always easier when the weather was warm.

  Gripping the top edge of the window, he swung his lower body through and dropped to the floor, mildly pleased with this accomplishment. These days, he spent less time in operations and more on politics and espionage. It was good to know that he hadn’t lost his touch completely.

  It was an opulent suite of rooms by any measure, especially for a bailiff. The king’s gaoler generally had quarters in the finest part of the dungeon, which, to be honest, wasn’t all that fine.

  This apartment offered a lovely view of the river, yet was high enough so that the stench of that open sewer wouldn’t reach it, even in midsummer. It was in the same wing as the royal suite, a sign of the king’s favor. The furnishings were rich, some of them centuries old, though they’d seen hard use since this tenant moved in.

  Destin picked his way through a rubble-field of dissipation—empty wine casks, dirty plates, spilled cups of ale and bingo, random pieces of clothing. The velvet bed curtains had been yanked down and spread before the hearth for a makeshift trysting place. Destin tried not to look too closely, tried not to breathe in the reek of lust and licentiousness.

  Not that Destin had a problem with a bit of licentiousness. He did have a problem with the man who lived here.

  Luc Granger had begun as an officer in the King’s Guard who’d managed to get himself assigned to young Prince Jarat at a time when nobody else wanted the job of babysitting the royal brat. In that role, Granger had spent considerable time wooing the young prince—mostly by enabling Jarat’s worst instincts. With Jarat’s ascendance to the throne, Granger’s star rose rapidly. He’d been named captain of the blackbirds, and then bailiff, giving him responsibility for the Guard, the royal prisons, and the courts. Jarat had recently bestowed on Granger a large holding that belonged to the Matelons. Since Arschel Matelon had been one of the founders of the Thane Rebellion, Jarat felt free to give his estates away. The king had also approved Granger’s betrothal to a rich widow, thus ensuring him a title and a fortune to go along with his estate.

  That caused some grumbling among the loyal thanes, who disapproved of handing such a fine estate to a commoner. Their outrage was dampened by the fact that the holding was still occupied by Matelon’s bannermen, who showed no sign of giving way. Granger seemed to spend much of his time at court trying to persuade King Jarat to send an army to enforce his claim. That and abusing prisoners and tumbling any servant girl he could trap in a back corridor.

  Granger resented the spymaster’s independence from the Guard hierarchy. A few months ago, the bailiff had thought he could blackmail Destin with some scandal he’d unearthed. Granger found a dead rat in his bed the next night, tagged with his name. And then his fiancée, a fierce and formidable heiress from the down-realms, found one in her bed. When she threatened to break off the engagement, Granger reconsidered his choice of a target.

  More recently, the young thane had been pressuring Jocelyn Fournier, one of the palace seamstresses, to provide an expanded range of services when he came for a fitting. She was another poor choice of a target, because Jocelyn was Destin’s friend, and one of his most reliable sources.

  The next time Granger was on his way to a fitting, he was waylaid by a hooded assailant who beat him soundly and promised to improve the fit of his breeches with a quick bit of surgery if he didn’t find another tailor. It was possible that Granger suspected Destin’s involvement, but he couldn’t prove it, which was what counted, for now.

  Destin despised Granger, but he’d learned a long time ago that even the most despicable person could be useful. Especially a despicable person with a secret.

  Now Destin settled in to wait. He might have been tempted to sample some of the bailiff’s top-shelf wine, but the risk of poison was too great. Granger had made lots of enemies on his way up.

  It wasn’t long before Destin heard fumbling at the door—somebody who’d been drinking, judging by how long it took for him to manage the latch. The door slammed open and Granger stumbled in. Thankfully, he was alone. He kicked the door shut, which nearly put him down on his back. He stumbled to the garderobe and unbuttoned his breeches, hurrying to unburden himself of excess ale.

  When he turned back around, he found himself facing Destin Karn. “What the devil are you doing here, you scummer-sucking, backgammoning molly?” He dragged at his breeches, hurrying to fasten them again.

  “I’m not the one with his breeches down,” Destin said.

  The bailiff blushed hot pink. “This is my apartment,” he said. “You’re the intruder. The king is going to hear about this, I promise you.”

  “Sit down,” Destin said. “I need to talk to you.” He shoved a stool toward Granger with his foot.

  Granger’s gaze slid to the door, then back to Destin. Maybe he decided there was no way he’d reach the door without being intercepted. Maybe he figured he’d have more dirt on Destin to take to the king if he stayed and listened. In any event, he sat and regarded Destin through baleful eyes.

  “I suppose by now you’ve heard that the king intends to invite the families of the rebellious thanes to the inauguration reception,” Destin said.

  “He—? Right. Of course,” Granger said, making a rocky recovery. “I think it is exceedingly gracious of him to allow them to participate. It may even present an opportunity for them to redeem themselves.”

  “Really? How so?” Destin said, assuming the bailiff wasn’t referring to an opportunity to escape.

  “Once the rebels are defeated, and their ringleaders executed, His Majesty will need to dispose of the rebels’ holdings. One solution would be to allow those of us who have remained loyal to the crown to marry into the old families. To bring them back into the fold, as it were.”

  “Good idea,” Destin said. “It’s too bad that you are already betrothed to Lady—”

  “A broken engagement is a small price to pay in the cause of unifying the empire,” Granger said. “You yourself, Lieutenant, might be in need of an advantageous marriage one day soon.”

  Destin’s patience was rapidly eroding. This was not on any list of topics he wanted to discuss with Luc Granger. “Are you proposing marriage, Granger? This is all so sudden.”

  Granger flushed. “I am offering you a word of warning,” the gaoler snarled. “I have it on good authority that your father’s days as general of the armies are coming to an end.” He paused, perhaps expecting Destin to leap to the general’s defense.

  “I’m sure His Majesty will make his decisions based on performance, just as his father did,” Destin said calmly.

  Looking disappointed, Granger pressed on. “Your father was close to King Ge
rard, but King Jarat does not share the late king’s confidence that the general can deal with a two-front war.”

  “That’s the king’s call, of course,” Destin said. “Does he have a suitable replacement in mind?”

  Granger brushed imaginary lint from his sleeve. “My name has been mentioned.”

  “Really? Then may I be the first to offer congratulations,” Destin said. “Will you be giving up some of your other jobs, or will you keep them all?”

  Granger blinked at him.

  Clearly this was intended to keep Destin awake at night, worrying. Indeed, it might, since it practically guaranteed victory to the rebels. Granger against Matelon? That was a mismatch of epic proportions.

  Ah, Granger, Destin thought. You think you are wielding a big stick, but my stick is so much bigger than yours. Your mistake is that you think I gained power because of my father. The fact is, I gained power in spite of him.

  “Then there’s the matter of your mother’s family,” Granger said.

  Destin tented his fingertips together. “My mother’s family?” Each word was a warning delivered through gritted teeth, but Granger was oblivious.

  “She was a Chambord, right?”

  “Is a Chambord, yes,” Destin said. Granger had stumbled on the one topic that might get him killed, despite Destin’s best intentions.

  “She’s still alive? I didn’t know that.”

  “Yes. She is. She prefers to remain at her family’s estates in Tamron,” Destin said. “She and the general live apart.”

  “His Majesty has invited Lord Chambord to come to court. Repeatedly.”

  His Majesty’s invitations were more like orders—risky to disobey. But Destin’s uncle, his mother’s brother, had stayed in Tamron.

  “Uncle Charles is devoted to my mother, and she is in delicate health,” Destin said. “As I’m sure he told the king when he sent his regrets.”

  “People are saying that the Chambords are sympathetic to the rebellion,” Granger persisted. “And that’s why they are not at court.”