They stood in a shabby little group—their faces closed and guarded. He recognized some of them: Lady Matelon and her daughter. Christina Heresford and her four younger children. Her husband, Ross, had been killed in the war with the north. Her eldest, Rafe, was with the rebels at White Oaks. Patrice DeLacroix, mother to the unfortunate Estelle, and wife to Pascal, who had joined the rebels. Danielle Oberon, cousin to DeLacroix. She’d taken full advantage of the family’s rise when DeLacroix was Montaigne’s favorite.
Several flinched and looked away when they saw Destin. His face was well known at court, his reputation throughout the empire.
Do they think I’m going to torture them? Interrogate them? Murder them?
Well, yes. Why wouldn’t they?
Granger came up beside him. “The count is forty-five, Lieutenant. Twenty-eight adults and seventeen children.”
Lila wrote that number down, although Destin had noticed that she was taking her own count.
“Lieutenant Karn,” Lady Matelon said, fixing on him immediately. “I won’t say welcome, because that would be dishonest, and I try to tell the truth as often as I can.”
Christina Heresford came up beside her and patted her arm. “Now, now, Marjorie, just because we’ve fallen on hard times doesn’t mean that we should forget our manners.” She looked up at Destin. “Can we offer you some gruel, Lieutenant?”
“We’re all out of gruel,” a voice called from amid the crowd.
“Some bread and water, then?” Heresford arched her brow. “Tell me, Lieutenant, is it true that bread is still wholesome if one cuts the mold off?”
Destin was struck by the iron-spined defiance of these women, kept belowground for months, aware of how tenuous their position was. Strong men do choose strong women, he thought. It’s only the weak that are threatened by them.
“Thank you,” he said, “but we’re actually here for another purpose. Is everyone here? Is anyone missing?”
“There are two babies asleep in the nursery,” Heresford said, folding her arms. “Shall we wake them up?”
Destin shook his head. That makes forty-seven, he thought.
He turned to Marina. “Your Majesty?”
“I bring some good news,” Marina said. “We’re here to invite you to a party.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the chamber.
“A party?” Lady Matelon looked at Lady Heresford. “Who the hell is inviting us to a party?” It seemed that her time underground had surfaced the grit in the thanelee.
“His Majesty is entertaining the ambassadors and nobility from the down-realms,” Marina said, “and he would like you to be there.”
“Why?” DeLacroix said, her body stiff with disapproval. “Is he going to stage an execution for his guests?”
“Let me remind you that King Jarat was not responsible for Lady Estelle’s unfortunate death,” Marina said.
“Gerard is dead,” DeLacroix said. “I expected that, as Jarat’s mother, you would exert more influence over—”
“I offer the king counsel,” Marina said, a little sharply, “but, like his father, he makes his own decisions. I would argue that your influence is limited as long as you are locked up out of sight. This could be an opportunity to forge a new relationship with a new king.”
“He can forge a new relationship with us by freeing us and allowing us to rejoin our families,” Lady Matelon said.
“That is unlikely to happen anytime soon,” Destin said. “But this would afford you a little freedom. It could be a start.” Destin knew he should stay out of it. He was no diplomat, and their hatred of him ran deep.
“Why would the king send his spymaster to invite us to a party?” Lady DeLacroix said, tilting her head at Destin. “Are you going to handwrite the invitations, too?”
“The lieutenant is here to protect me from all of you.” Marina rolled her eyes, and several of the ladies laughed. It helped that Marina was popular with the ladies of the court. Despite her limited influence over the king, she was a person who could find a way to get things done behind the scenes. Destin knew for a fact that she had intervened on behalf of many in the room over the years.
“Does he mean to parade us before his guests wearing these clothes?” Heresford swirled her filthy skirts. “Is this really the kind of image he wants to present to his underlords?”
“No, I don’t believe he does,” Marina said. “I have arranged for you to get some new clothes, if you have nothing suitable. To be honest, I asked for this. I am so damned tired of making conversation with every deadly dull merchant, noble, and official who passes through the city. I could use some help.”
Lady Heresford laughed. “You poor thing.” They all knew, to varying degrees, what her life had been like with Gerard. Speaking to dull merchants was the least of it.
“When it comes to the rebellion, I don’t think it will make a big difference politically. Everybody with a brain in his head will understand why you’re there.” Marina smiled sadly. “I have missed all of you so much.”
Heads were nodding all around, accompanied by a murmur of “We’ve missed you, too.”
“What about the children?” somebody asked. “Are they invited?”
Granger began shaking his head, but Marina said, “Of course. It would very much please me if every single one of you is there. Every single one of you,” she repeated, making eye contact with one, and then another. “Costume parties are so much fun. It should be . . . a night you’ll never forget. Jarat is sparing no expense.”
“It’s a costume party?” This was a child’s voice, and the girl sounded excited.
“I’m not coming,” somebody said in a loud and carrying voice.
Everyone turned to look and see who had spoken.
“Harper, we’ll talk about this later,” Lady Matelon said.
“No, Mama, we’ll talk about it now.” With that, Harper Matelon stepped out front, the Matelon scowl planted on her face. “I am not going to any parties with the swiving king or his swiving court.”
“Harper! That language is inappropriate.” Lady Matelon tried to pull her daughter back into the safety of the crowd, but she wrenched free.
“Would despicable be better?” Harper put her hands on her hips. “You’re the one that always tells me to use my words and not my fists.”
“Lady Harper,” Marina said gently, “I really want to have you at my party. Please come.”
Harper wavered, then shook her head. “If it was just your party, Your Majesty, you know I would come. But I refuse to dress up and mince around for him. If he wants me at his party, he’ll have to drag me there in chains and show his guests how . . . despicable . . . he is.”
Granger pushed past the queen. “Listen to me, you ungrateful, traitorous whelpling. If King Jarat invites you to a party, you had better—”
“Shut up, Granger,” Destin said. “Let me talk to Harper in private. I think I can persuade her to come.” He extended his hand toward her, and all the ladies shrank back as one, looks of horror on their faces.
“She’s just a child, Lieutenant,” Lady Matelon said, pushing Harper behind her. “Leave her alone. I will talk to her, and you can be sure that she will be there, if that is what the king commands.”
“She is not a child, Lady Matelon. If she is old enough to have opinions, and to speak them aloud, she is old enough to defend them.”
“Take me instead,” Lady Matelon said, chin up, but her voice trembling just a bit.
“You are not the one I’m having an issue with,” he said. Then, seeing her stricken face, he relented a little. “You can come with her, if you like. We’ll just step into one of these smaller rooms and have a talk.”
“Here!” Lila called. She stood at the entrance to one of the cells. “This is clear.”
“After you,” Destin said. Lady Matelon gripped her daughter’s hand and they walked ahead of Destin, backs straight, as if marching to their execution. The room had fallen dead silent behind them.
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This is why you don’t plan parties, Destin thought. Nobody would come. You’re never that fun to be around.
The room was set up as sleeping quarters for a family, with pallets on the floor and one actual bed. Thanelee Matelon whispered urgently into Harper’s ear while Destin did a quick round of the room, putting up wards against eavesdroppers. Lila stood guard at the door. Always useful, Lila Barrowhill.
Destin returned to where Harper and her mother were standing. As he approached, Lady Matelon drew Harper closer, under the protection of her arm.
“Please don’t spell her,” Lady Matelon said. “She’s promised to cooperate.”
“I’m not going to spell her,” Destin said. He reached out and tilted the girl’s chin up so that he could look into her eyes. “Listen to me, Harper. I really need you to come to this party. I need all of you to come, even the littlest child, and I hope you’ll help me by persuading them.”
Harper was clenching her teeth, struggling to keep her mouth shut, but he could see the resistance in her eyes.
“Are you the youngest?” Destin said abruptly. “Or are you between your two brothers?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m the youngest,” she said, “but only by a year. I’m nearly fourteen.”
“Which of your brothers are you most like, do you think? Hal or Robert?”
Harper cocked her head, as if trying to work out the trick, then she glanced at her mother for help.
“Harper is most like Halston, our eldest, who died at Delphi,” Lady Matelon said. Then, glaring at her daughter, she added, “Although on days like today, she reminds me of Robert.”
“Ah,” Destin said, nodding. “Harper, I have something for you.” He fished the thimble and chain out of his pocket and held it out to her. “Your brother, Captain Matelon, sent this. He says to tell you that he’s been pricked, but he’s not dead yet.”
Harper’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Captain Matelon?” She grabbed the thimble and brought it close to her face, examining it. Then looked up at Destin. “How did you know about this? Are there listeners in the walls at White Oaks?”
“Let me see it, Harper,” Lady Matelon said.
Harper spun around and displayed it to her mother on her outstretched palm.
Lady Matelon poked at it with her forefinger. Then looked up at Destin, her face hardening. “Are you really the kind of brute who would break the heart of a little girl?”
Destin shook his head. “I’m not in the business of breaking hearts,” he said, “though sometimes it can’t be avoided. Lady Matelon, Captain Matelon sent another message for you. He said to tell you to ‘look on the bright side.’”
“Halston,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
“Where is he?” Harper demanded. “Where’s my brother? Is he in prison, too?”
“‘Where are my brothers?’ would be a better question,” Destin said. “I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you that they really want you to come to King Jarat’s party.”
“Why are you doing this?” Lady Matelon said, lowering her voice and looking over her shoulder at Lila. “I cannot fathom why you would be working with Halston and Robert.”
“Or why they would be working with you,” Harper said. “If they even are.”
Politics makes for strange bedfellows? Probably best not to go there.
“This enterprise is a risk that I would have preferred not to take.” Destin said. “But, as it turns out, Lady Harper, your brothers and I share a common goal. You may question whether I’m telling the truth, but you have to consider the possibility that I am, and weigh whether sticking it to the king is worth it.”
The ladies Matelon looked at each other.
“All right,” Harper said. “I will come.”
“Will you help talk the others into coming?”
She met his gaze. “I will.”
“Now. When you speak to the others, you mustn’t mention your brothers’ involvement, or my involvement, or in any way imply that anything other than a party is in store. You must simply convey the message that it is critical that they come. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Thank you,” Destin said, relieved. “Shall we return to the others?”
Harper dangled the thimble in front of Destin. “You should give this back to Hal, to keep him safe.” She wore a mask of innocence, but Destin was used to reading faces to see what lay underneath.
She’s trying to figure out where he is, whether he’s close, whether I’m going to see him, Destin thought. He closed her hand over the thimble. “You can give it back to him yourself when you see him. Now, when we walk back into the other room, it’s important that you appear properly chastened, as if I’ve spent this time schooling you on the consequences of defying the king. I am not the sort of man who delivers hope to political prisoners.”
“Maybe you are,” Harper said, giving him an appraising look. And then she drew her head in and rounded her shoulders as if she expected a blow to fall at any moment. She fixed her eyes on the floor, her lower lip trembling. The transformation was stunning. She was like a snake shedding one skin and putting on another.
You’re not like either of your brothers, Destin thought. You lack their bone-deep instinct for honesty. You might have a future as a spy.
39
REUNION
Lyss sat her horse and watched her fledgling cavalry go through its maneuvers on the parade ground. It was an exercise in frustration. Her soldiers seemed unable to communicate with their mounts in a meaningful way. Every move the horses made seemed to surprise their riders, with sometimes disastrous results.
“Left TURN!” she shouted. “Now, forward!”
Once again the columns dissolved into chaos, horses rearing and showing their teeth. Several riders ended up on the ground.
“Ghezali!” she shouted to one of the field officers. “I said five paces before the turn.”
Ghezali stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. Which she was, in a way. Given that the Carthian army was a mix of nationalities, she used Common as the language of command. She was improving in Carthian—in military vocabulary, at least—but this job was hard enough without hunting for words all day long.
“What is the point of riding back and forth across the field in pretty formations?” Tully Samara nudged his horse closer. “This is a battle, not a dance. Why does it matter how they get to the enemy as long as they get there?”
“Use your eyes,” Lyss said, in no mood to indulge the shiplord’s constant questions. “The idea is to train the soldier so that, in the heat of battle, he or she can act without thinking.”
And if you can’t train the man, you train his horse.
“Ghezali!” she shouted. “Go back to the saber-and-lance exercises you practiced yesterday, this time using all gaits,” Lyss said, giving up on the complexities of turning. “Make fifty passes across the grounds, and you’re done for the day.”
Right now, the bloodsworn were as likely to cut up each other as the enemy, which needed fixing. Except the enemy might be her own Highlander army. That was one of many reasons her head was pounding.
Samara knew next to nothing about land-based warfare, and Lyss had no desire to tutor him. Yet he’d ridden out to join her as soon as he spotted her drilling the cavalry. It seemed he was constantly at her side—when he wasn’t attending the empress—asking questions and challenging Lyss’s answers. He obviously saw her as his rival, given that nearly everyone else on the island was bloodsworn. He resented that Lyss had been given command of the army, and she knew he’d be happy to seize the opportunity to sabotage her efforts or carry tales to the empress. She wished he would go back to sea. And, preferably, drown.
She didn’t need the distraction, given the delicate balancing act she was trying to pull off. So she watched the horses sluice back and forth across the parade ground and did her best to ignore him.
She had no intention of grooming an army capable of
defeating her Highlanders. What was bad for the Carthian army was good for the Fells. Yet failure had its own risks, especially with Samara taking such an interest in what she was doing. The empress was no fool. Lyss had to make a show of competence, or risk ending up in that mob of bloodsworn, probably under Samara’s command. Nearly every night, she’d wake up, sweating, from that nightmare.
Still, it was so damned hard to do less than her best. Lyss had spent years assessing soldiers, making the most of their strengths, and working around their weaknesses. The more she worked with the empress’s army, the more she realized that what had worked well in the Fells didn’t apply here. She’d always used her soldiers as independent agents, capable of making their own decisions and strategy changes, even in the heat of battle. She had prioritized conserving and protecting her troops, since they were usually outnumbered by the southerners. With the exception of Queen Court and a few other battles, she had avoided confronting the enemy straight on. Her tactic of choice was a series of hit-and-run skirmishes that destroyed enemy morale and wore the enemy down. That had suited the soldiers she led in the terrain they were fighting in. Against overwhelming odds, it had kept Arden out of the north.
These troops had no fear of death, and felt no pain, so they had no need for a personal strategy of survival. They simply charged forward, howling, swinging their curved blades and cudgels, until they rode down the enemy or their horses were cut out from under them.
Lyss found herself constantly playing both sides, considering how to best use the assets she had, and how to best counter them in the field. This would be great preparation for fighting Celestine’s forces if she ever got the chance.
In the meantime, her training strategy gradually shifted, until she was no longer training an army that could succeed in the mountains of the Fells. Instead, she was doing her best to train an army that could succeed in the flatlands of Arden.
As she watched, a shadow passed across the parade ground. The horses panicked, rearing and screaming out a warning, dumping several riders to the ground. Lyss looked up, shading her eyes, and saw a winged creature swoop down toward the horses. Its leathery wings all but spanned the parade ground. It glittered in the sun, as if it were covered with blue, purple, and gold armor—or maybe jewels. It seized one of the horses, executed an awkward turn, and then, wings beating hard, it began to climb, heading out to sea again.