Thoughts of her earlier argument with her brother pulsed in her head, each of his lacerating comments wounding her anew: What exactly do you want, sister?… I do not want—or need—your help… It’s time you start living your own life… I hold an inordinate amount of power… You hold none… What exactly do you want, sister?
It was a good question and, she realized, not one she had thought to answer before. What did she want? What was the reason she had taken this diversion on her way home to Blaxland Manor? She couldn’t put it into words yet. All she knew was that the subterranean darkness had exerted a powerful pull upon her. Heightened as her senses had been, she had had a sudden vision of a hand reaching up from under the ground to grip her and drag her down through the layers of the palace. Down here, to the very darkest level.
Walking onward, she experienced a sudden chill as she realized that it was not a question of what had brought her down here, but who. She had come to look into the eyes of the assassin. To bear witness to that ultimate kernel of darkness.
Logan Wilde was not a stranger to her. She had watched him maneuver his way expertly through courtly politics, dropping careful phrases into Prince Anders’s—and then Prince Jared’s—ear. She was intrigued by Wilde now, more than ever, for he was a man capable of single-handedly bringing a Princedom to its knees.
Her thoughts were momentarily halted as she found her path blocked by the solid bulk of Morgan Booth, the Executioner. Koel’s eyes traced the complex artwork on his muscled forearms. There were detailed inkings of flowers and ships. She had not chanced to gaze upon them before; now they whispered to her of new worlds and journeys of discovery.
“Lady Koel,” he said, inclining his head. “You are the last person I expected to welcome down into my domain.”
How sweet that he thought of this as his domain. Smiling, she brushed past him, noticing the thrilling rows of axes above his workbench.
“May I?” she inquired. When he didn’t answer, she reached out and pressed her fingers against the cold blade of one of the weapons. She wondered when the blade had last been employed to cut through some undesirable’s neck. She brought her fingers to her nose and inhaled the odor of metal. It was strange how similar the blade smelled to the blood it unleashed.
“Is there something I can do for you?” Booth asked.
“No,” she said. “It’s the prisoner I came to see.”
The Executioner raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak, another, more cultured voice than his emerged from the gloom.
“Well, well,” it said. “I am honored indeed. Greetings, my lady.”
Koel hadn’t realized that she was standing right before the prisoner’s cell. She turned around as the disgraced Poet’s face emerged into the meager light. He stood in the center of his cell, sinewy arms folded—arms, she supposed, that had only ever wielded pens rather than swords. But no, Logan Wilde had used a dagger with great skill on poor Cousin Jared—and, frankly, that was the least of his crimes. He had pumped poison into Prince Anders, killing him little by little until his feet turned gangrenous, his head was filled with terrifying visions, and his heart gave out. Next, Wilde had turned his attention to Lady Silva. The wicked Poet had battered her to death, then staged things to look as if she had drowned herself and her unborn child. Finally, he’d moved on to Nova Chastain, revealed as Prince Anders’s true love. He had used those same sinewy arms to send her flying from the top of her tower.
“Did you just come here to gaze upon me?” he asked, his confident voice cutting through the silence. “Did you take it upon yourself to come and look into the face of a murderer? Well, do take a look, Lady Koel. See what you can decipher.”
Her eyes met his. Yes, this was exactly what she had come for… but now, with a flash of disappointment, she saw that he was just another man.
He grinned at her, perhaps guessing her thoughts, and took a seat on the stone platform that served as his bed. “Well, since you are here, my lady, what news from aboveground? We sewer rats like nothing more than to feast on the tasty scraps of palace gossip.”
Koel hesitated. Surely it was not politic to share any matters of court with him? Yes, he was trapped down here and there was certainly no way he could escape but, according to the terms of the Paddenburg Ultimatum, he could not be harmed. And, in a week’s time, he would be reunited with his comrades from Paddenburg. She knew that anything she told him would be passed on to them.
“Why so tongue-tied?” he asked. “I’ve no doubt you have stories to tell, my lady.”
She frowned. “You know nothing about me, Mr. Wilde.”
He shook his head, smiling. “I know more than you might think. You’re a spectator, Lady Koel. You stalk the palace corridors, absorbing it all. Most people fail to notice you, but don’t let that lull you into thinking you are invisible to me.”
His words took her by surprise. “You’ve made a study of me.”
“Yes, something like that.”
The prisoner was talking to her as though he were her equal. As much as it irked her, it also intrigued her. But they had to be careful. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Morgan Booth busy at his workbench.
“We should be circumspect,” she whispered. “We are not alone.”
Logan smiled. “Regrettably not,” he concurred. “But if it’s the Executioner you are concerned about, fear not.”
What did he mean? Was Morgan an ally of Logan’s? She was shocked to think of it. How many co-conspirators did Logan have in court? On the Twelve?
“In my days of freedom,” Logan resumed, “Morgan and I were friends—at least, it’s fair to say he thought of us as such and I saw no need to disillusion him. Friends confide in one another and Morgan was no exception.” The prisoner paused, a smile etched across his lips once more. “He confided plenty in me—from his teatime dalliances with your aunt, the Queen, to his worsening deafness.”
“Deafness?” she echoed.
Logan nodded. “The fact of the matter is that the Executioner is pretty much as deaf as a post. You may think he’s looking intently at you when you speak, drinking in your every word. I’ve no doubt that Queen Elin is under that impression. The truth of the matter is that he is somewhat desperately attempting to read your lips.” Logan winked. “But if he can’t see you, he certainly can’t hear you.”
Glancing from Logan to Morgan, then back again, Lady Koel decided to take a chance.
“You asked for news from above,” she began.
“Yes.” He nodded. “The deaf Executioner is not exactly a bundle of entertainment and my only other visitor, thus far, has been Father Simeon. It seems he’s intent on saving my mortal soul.”
“But you’re not?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” His face suddenly lit up. “Maybe I shall let him grapple with some of my innermost demons. It would give him some point, some purpose, don’t you agree?”
Koel was intrigued. “You don’t think Father Simeon has a purpose?” she asked.
“I think he struggles sometimes. He doubts himself.”
“But you—someone like you—would never doubt yourself, I suppose?”
Koel expected a flippant answer, but she saw he was giving her question careful consideration.
“Of course I have experienced doubt. You cannot be a rational being and not be subject to moments of doubt, can you? The difference between Simeon and me is that I don’t let it get in the way of getting the job done, while he dithers and ties himself up in knots of one kind or another…”
“You poison princes,” Koel said flatly.
“If that’s what the occasion demands.”
“Or what your masters in Paddenburg demand.”
He smiled again. “What makes you think they are my masters? It could just as easily be the other way around.”
“I ought to be going,” she said. “It’s late and I’m not sure I can match your energy or talent for verbal sparring.”
He shook his head, laughing. “Yo
u’re actually very clever, my lady. I know no one tells you that very often but I have observed you, both from afar and now up close, and I have no doubt that you are indeed very clever. Far cleverer, I suspect, than the rest of your kin.” Their eyes met briefly. “Oh yes, I’m sure you’d love to know my take on Axel. But that’s something for another time.”
“Another time?” It was her turn to laugh. “That’s exceedingly presumptuous of you. What makes you think I’ll come back? It smells foul down here. And it’s hardly appropriate for me to consort with you. If my father found out, he’d—”
“He won’t find out,” Logan said. “He’s far too preoccupied with moving your brother into position.” He nodded. “Oh, yes, Lord Viggo will be in no doubt that this is the golden moment your family has been waiting decades for.” Koel tried not to give anything away in her expression, though it hardly mattered. He clearly had a keen sense of the goings-on in the palace, even from down here in his cell. “No,” he continued. “Lord Viggo has a very skewed sense of his daughter and her talents. You know that as well as I do. Why, most of the time, he acts as if he has only one child.”
His ready smile belied the brutal truth of his words.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wreck the beginnings of this beautiful friendship.”
“We are not friends,” she said defiantly. “We cannot be friends.”
“Spoilsport.” He stood up and stepped closer, his hands reaching for the bars. “You can handle the truth. You’re one of the very few people in court who can. That’s just one of the things we have in common.”
“I’m not sure that I care to examine what traits we may have in common.”
“Of course you do.” He was unrelenting. “You can see the truth for what it is, and accept its consequences. You see what’s going on—and you don’t just see it—you absorb it, you process it. You have everything your brother does not… except position in court. But, of course, that could soon change.”
It unnerved her the way he seemed to know her from the inside out. Almost better, she thought with a shiver, than she knew herself. It was as if he were drawing words, thoughts, desires, up from deep within her. But then, she reasoned, was it also possible that he had planted them there?
Koel attempted to compose herself. “What makes you think I even want a position in court?”
“Don’t play games with me,” he said. “I know just what you want. I told you before—I understand you.” He lowered his voice. “I know exactly how you tick. I think I unsettle you a little, but that isn’t my intention. We’re cut from the same dark cloth, you and me. We both want power. We both want as much power as is there for the taking—and then more besides.”
She shook her head as a strange rush—at once new and yet strangely natural—flowed through her body.
He smiled again. “You’ve never even allowed yourself to think it until now, have you? All those days and nights hearing your father go on and on about how Axel was the one to take power. But now I’ve found your desire, lying there like a pearl in an oyster at the bottom of the ocean. I have found it and I have named it. Now it is out there. And it is only going to grow stronger, believe me.”
She recognized the truth of his words. Strange sensations pulsed through her head and body as if energies long held dormant were now being unleashed. She had come here to look straight into the eyes of a killer, to know what darkness lay within him. And she had done so. But she had found in Logan Wilde a strange kind of mirror. She sensed she could confide in him, share with him the darkness deep within her that she had learned to keep hidden from the others. It was at once a terrifying and yet utterly exhilarating thought.
FIVE DAYS UNTIL INVASION…
TEN
The Palace, Archenfield
IT WAS STILL DARK AS PRINCE JARED AND HAL MADE their way to the stable block; the only sound was the crunching of their boots on the gravel. The palace was shrouded in a rare blanket of peace. The next time I lay eyes on this place, Jared mused, will be either as its champion or as another kingdom’s prisoner.
The thought chilled him.
As they neared the stable block, the Prince saw the glow of lanterns and caught the earthy aroma of coffee.
“Prince Jared, good morning to you!” Lucas Curzon said, as the Prince and his Bodyguard walked through the stable doors. “You are earlier than expected.”
“I thought we should make as early a start as possible,” Jared said. “I am keen to ride out before the palace wakes.”
Lucas nodded. “I understand. And everything is just about ready, I think.” He turned back to watch the other grooms make the final preparations.
“Good morning, Prince Jared… and Hal.” Kai Jagger emerged from the shadows.
Jared shook the Huntsman’s hand. In spite of being the Prince of All Archenfield, Jared had struggled long and hard to regard himself as Kai’s equal. But now at last he felt on the verge of being able to do so.
“I’m honored to be coming with you on this important journey,” the Huntsman said.
From behind Kai appeared a lanky young man of a similar age to Jared. He had black eyes and dark, curly hair.
“I am not sure you have been formally introduced to Bram Gentle,” Hal whispered in Jared’s ear.
Jared started a little. He had forgotten that Hal was so close, but quickly recovered himself. “We have not properly met,” he said, offering his hand to Bram. “But I hear great things about you.”
The boy met the Prince’s gaze timidly and shook the Prince’s hand quickly but with surprising firmness. He flushed red as beetroot in the glare of everyone’s attention.
Jared smiled. It was a great relief to encounter someone more ill at ease than himself. “Gentle is an interesting name for a bodyguard,” he said.
“It is my father’s name, sir,” Bram answered. “And his father’s too.”
Kai laughed. “You know, I think we might have guessed that. Bram, have you had a cup of coffee yet? No? Then come with me and we shall knock the last remains of sleep from you.”
As they moved out of earshot, Hal turned to face Prince Jared. “Do not be fooled, Your Majesty. That boy is sharp as a dagger when it comes to offense and defense. Words, however, are not his forte.”
The grooms led the horses out into the yard, accompanied by their chosen riders. Jared was gratified to see that, although each of the horses had been loaded with panniers containing essential changes of clothes, spare weapons and provisions, the baggage had been kept to a minimum. If Queen Elin had had her way, the horses would have been weighed down with treasures from the palace vaults to help him barter and bribe his way to agreement in the foreign courts. Jared had insisted that he would not win alliances through bribery but only through straight talking and common goals. The look his mother had ended the conversation with was one he would remember for the rest of his days.
“All right, then.” Lucas reappeared at his side. “There you are, Prince Jared. Four of Archenfield’s finest beasts of burden—and the horses are pretty impressive too.”
Lucas’s joke helped break the undertow of tension, which spiraled through the early morning air like the exhalations from the horses’ nostrils. Lucas now offered Prince Jared the reins to his horse, Handrick, and stood back as he climbed into the saddle. There were few places that Jared felt more relaxed than in Handrick’s saddle. Handrick had been the Prince’s favorite horse for many years now. It had been love at first sight when Prince Jared had seen the new foal gamboling around the palace meadow. Undoubtedly the journey ahead was to be their greatest challenge to date, but he had no doubt that the tireless nine-year-old was more than up for the challenge. Glancing over his shoulder, Jared saw his three traveling companions poised and ready to depart. The Prince turned back toward Lucas.
“We’ll see you in a few days’ time,” Jared said. “And don’t worry.” He patted Handrick’s glossy black flank. “I promise to take good care of him.”
“
Travel safe,” Lucas said. “Here’s wishing you good speed and fair weather.”
All at once, they were off, walking and then trotting away from the palace. Although the Prince’s Bell had yet to sound, Jared saw that one of the palace’s upper chambers was lit and the curtains open. He glimpsed the silhouette of his mother. He raised his hand.
If Queen Elin saw him, if indeed she was watching, she did not reciprocate.
Before long, they were trotting along the side of the river—the same river that snaked through all the territories Jared intended to visit. The river was perhaps the only common factor linking these territories but, he hoped, would prove a crucial point of connection. Just as Axel had suggested, he would put on the table to each of the foreign rulers an unprecedented alliance of the river territories. His only departure from Axel’s vision was that this would be an alliance not of four territories but of five, because, against the Captain of the Guard’s clear advice, the first port of call would be Woodlark.
The queendom of Woodlark was not merely important in practical terms: its size, its exemplary militia—under the helm of Princess Ines—and its proximity to both Archenfield and Paddenburg. No, Woodlark was also important in other ways: Jared had to make good his debt to Francesca by telling her the truth about Silva’s death.
Even if he did not gain her alliance, he would regain his self-respect.
They were passing the charred remains of Prince Anders’s bathing house, the place that his brother had come to betray his wife, Silva, with another woman. Close by, Silva’s own life had ended. He remembered how Axel had told him about the fire and put forward his theory that Silva had set fire to the tainted hut before hurling herself to her death in the river. This had not proven to be the true shape of events. Both the burning of the hut and Silva’s death had been executed with icy precision by the hand of Logan Wilde—the Prince’s right-hand man—who had now been revealed as the architect of destruction and a true ally of Paddenburg and its two ambitious Princes.