If there were any people in the Blood Holes so taken with their own affairs that they weren’t already staring in my direction then the mention of the bear soon changed that. A ripple ran through the crowds and as one they began to flow toward Ochre, drawn by the fighter’s shouts for mercy and by the prospect of seeing him get none.
Maeres didn’t turn to watch the spectacle, keeping his eyes on me instead. We stood there like that with the throng around us baying for blood, their voices competing first with the man’s screaming and then with the grisly noise of the bear rending its meal.
‘You had business to conduct, Prince Jalan?’ Maeres cocked his head, inviting my reply. Two of his enforcers stood at my shoulders now, hard men who had survived the pits to climb to their current positions.
‘I’ve come to settle my debts, Maeres. I borrowed in good faith and gave my word to repay in full. My father is the Red Queen’s son and I don’t give my promise lightly.’ I layered on the bravado. If I were going to spend thousands in gold I should at least enjoy the moment. ‘Remind me how much is due.’
Maeres put out his hand and a hulking fellow in black placed a slate into his palm. I knew the man for Maeres’s bookkeeper though with those big sausage fingers of his he looked better suited to wrestling trolls than pushing numbers around. ‘The debt stands at three thousand and eleven in crown gold.’ A sharp intake of breath ran through the onlookers, perhaps even the building itself sucked in its walls at such a figure. Many there would have difficulty imagining so large a sum, and none of the gentry were so rich that the loss of three thousand wouldn’t hurt them.
Three thousand exceeded what I’d borrowed from Maeres by some considerable margin. Even with months of interest. I suspected I was being charged for the services of the men he sent after me, Alber Marks, Cutter John, and the Slov brothers who were tasked with returning me to the city for a secret and gruesome death. With a grunt of effort I supported the coffer with one aching arm and flipped open the lid with the other. ‘If you could have your man count out the required amount.’ I stepped forward so that the coffer almost reached Maeres, level with his head, the coins’ glow lighting his face.
It took a while but each scoop of the bookkeeper’s shovel-like hands lightened my load. He weighed the coins in his scales, calling the tallies aloud then spilling the gleaming heap into a leather sack. He quickly sent for two more, realizing that the one he had would prove too small to receive my payment.
‘One thousand.’
While the bookkeeper scooped and weighed, weighed and scooped, Maeres kept his gaze on me, eyes dark and unreadable. The madness I’d seen in them that day in his poppy halls lay hidden now.
‘The repayment of a loan is always welcome – but tell me, what prompted this change of heart, from a man so keen to borrow to a man so keen to pay?’
‘Two thousand.’ The bookkeeper tied off a second sack.
I stared back. Was Maeres inviting me to advertise his methods? Daring me? This killer with his vile tastes, murdering within the walls of Vermillion, dining so close to the palace that the shadows of its towers might brush against his mansion, richer than many a lord, making his own laws and dishing out his own justice. ‘I met a king and sought his advice.’
‘And he advised you to pay me?’
I thought of my meeting with Jorg Ancrath. When I had spoken of my problem he grew quiet at first, then serious as if not a drop had passed his lips all night. ‘He said to give you what you want.’ I set the coffer down between us and rubbed my arms.
‘A wise king indeed.’
‘Three thousand.’ The bookkeeper tied off the last sack, then bent over the coffer once more and started to count out the last eleven coins.
‘You seem a changed man, Prince Jalan. I do hope your travels in the remnants of our once great empire haven’t soured you?’
‘Six … seven … eight.’ The bookkeeper placed the coins into a pocket of his leather apron.
‘I’ve been through Hell, Maeres.’
‘The roads can be dangerous.’ He nodded. ‘Still, I’m sure we’ll see the old prince return, such a happy young man, so sure of his opinion, so ready to spend.’
‘Nine … ten…’
‘I hope so too – but for now the prince you see before you will have to serve.’ I remembered how it felt to be tied to his table – the look on his face as he turned me over to Cutter John – how I’d shouted and begged. Snorri had mistaken that for bravery.
‘Eleven.’ The bookkeeper straightened up, seeming reluctant to leave the coffer with gold still obscuring the bottom. ‘The debt is covered.’
‘Well and good.’ Maeres’s smile told me he knew that despite the chains of debt being cast off he owned me now, more truly than he ever had before. A chill ran through me, the cold challenge of the Slidr, and the red heat that had seen me across the sharpest river in Hell now rose to burn away that chill. I remembered all the boy-king’s words.
‘Jorg Ancrath told me, “Give him what he wants.’’’ I stepped forward, bending to recover my coffer.
‘One more thing, Prince Jalan.’ Maeres’s voice, arresting me as I bent before him. A cold hand closed around my heart and I knew there was only Jorg’s path open to me.
‘He said you would say that.’ I remembered all of it. I remembered the darkness, the heat, Jorg Ancrath’s prediction: ‘When you’ve given, he will ask for more. Just one more thing, he’ll say.’ And I remembered the look in the boy-king’s eyes.
‘He said, give him what he wants.’ I straightened, quick and smooth, without touching the box. ‘Then take what you want.’ A flick of my wrist brushed the back of my hand across Maeres’s neck. The small triangular knife, once concealed in my sleeve, and now with its blade jutting between my fingers, slit his throat. I hardly felt it.
I caught him around the back of the head and held him close, spraying crimson and trying to speak. I had it done before any of his men even knew what had happened.
‘I am the Red Queen’s grandson.’ I roared the words out into the silence. ‘Maeres Allus is dead. His life was mine to take. There’s nothing left to protect here.’ Hot blood soaked my chest while I clasped Allus against me, lifting my chin as one of his arms reached up weakly, scrabbling at my face. ‘I don’t care how his assets are divided, but lift a hand against me and by God you will lose it.’
The crowd had drawn back from us, aghast, as if the violence they looked down upon each day twenty foot below the level of their shoes was something different, a pretence perhaps, but a man in a well-tailored tunic bleeding among them was all too real and made them blanch and cringe.
Allus’s guards had stepped away too. Their charge was dead, his heart would realize it in short order. They had nothing to gain by coming against me now. It had ended for them the moment I slit their boss’s throat.
I pushed Allus away from me. He staggered back, pulsing crimson from his neck wound, fetching up against the wooden barricade. I followed and shoved him, two hands rammed hard into his chest. He went heels over head, plummeting backward across the barrier. I peered after him. ‘Is the bear big enough for you?’ Shouted at a volume that would reach the whole crowd, though Maeres himself was beyond hearing.
I spun around and picked up my coffer. I could see some of Allus’s flunkies slipping away through various exits. The bookkeeper was clutching a wound in his side and the three sacks had vanished. Scuffles had broken out further back in the crowd. Half a dozen of the Terrif brothers’ guards were closing in on me.
‘He’s dead!’ I roared it at them. ‘I’m a fucking prince of the realm. Are you going to touch me?’ I stalked past the first of them, paying him no heed. ‘Thought not!’ I walked on, letting the onlookers part before me.
Just before the entrance I turned back. Several bloody fights were in progress and the richer elements had already started to flee the scene.
I used my royal shout to be heard. ‘My grandmother’s troops will be burning the poppies by night
fall. Death warrants will be issued for Allus’s captains. I expect to see Alber Marks’s head on a spike by morning, Cutter John’s too, and there will be leniency for any man who helped put them there.’
I turned and left, exiting the main doors, with some of the lords who had wondered about my identity now sprinting ahead into the street, many others crowding behind me. I heard the mutter then, for the first time. ‘Red Prince.’ And looking down at myself as I stepped into the light of day I saw that few parts of me weren’t crimson with Maeres Allus’s lifeblood.
I walked twenty paces and leaned against one of the great buttresses that support the slaughterhouse walls, forehead to the stonework, cool in the shade. I saw my knife cut Allus’s throat, again and again. On the third time I vomited until I was empty. At last I walked away, weak and shaking, wiping my mouth.
‘Give him what he wants,’ Jorg had said. ‘Then take what you want. Nobody is more vulnerable than in their moment of victory, and you know that whatever you do this man will never let you go while he lives.’
I walked away, coffer heavy in my arms, still a coward. Neither the old Jalan, nor the one who left Vermillion a year ago. Perhaps a little of each – still a coward, but when you’ve looked at your old life with eyes that have seen Hell you discover a new perspective and realize that you can only be pushed so far.
8
I walked to the palace. Three times city guards stopped me, concerned at the gore dripping from my finery.
‘I’m Prince Jalan. A man tried to rob me. He won’t try again.’ I said the same thing three times and passed on.
I met more soldiers than guards, units of them moving rapidly and offering me no more than curious glances. At last I came to the Errik Gate through which heroes enter the palace, and took instead the postern gate just as I had on my return from the North. The sub-captain on duty recognized me and admitted me without fuss once he’d established the blood wasn’t mine.
On the far side of the wall the palace waited, unchanged, baking in the late Vermillion summer. ‘What’s going on in the city?’ I asked the sub-captain as I emerged. ‘Soldiers everywhere.’ It had been like this before we moved out for the Scorron border. That had been war in earnest and there hadn’t been as many troops in the streets.
‘It’s a campaign against Slov, my prince.’
‘Why?’ I cared little enough for politics but I was pretty sure Slov hadn’t offered Red March even a hint of aggression in my lifetime. I seemed to remember half their royal family were honoured guests of the March, hostages against the good behaviour of the current regime – though quite how much the current Slov royals would care about people they hadn’t seen in decades I didn’t know. ‘What have they done?’
The man wrinkled his brow as if the act might produce an answer. ‘They’re the enemy, sire.’
‘By definition if we’re attacking them. But why are they the enemy?’
Again the frown, but this time relaxing into a smile as he remembered the fact he’d been hunting. ‘Harbouring a person of interest.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know, Prince Jalan.’
‘You’re dismissed, sub-captain.’
‘But, my prince. We should escort—’
‘I made it from here from the deserts of Afrique, sub-captain. I should be able to negotiate the next three hundred yards in my own home without mishap.’
The first two hundred and ninety yards went well. It was approaching the front steps of the Roma Hall that I ran into difficulty.
‘Jalan? By Christ!’ An angry roar from behind me. ‘It is you! Where the hell have you been you bankrupt little weasel?’
I paused. My big brother Martus. A man I’d not had to endure since that audience in the throne room the day I first laid eyes on Snorri. I made a slow turn and found myself in Martus’s shadow as he loomed over me.
‘Killing people, brother.’ I met his gaze squarely.
It took a moment for the words to sink in, another for him to take in the crimson state of me, one more for him to put the two together and take a sharp step back. ‘Dear God…’
‘My debts have been paid in full.’ I turned back and walked on up into the house.
Not strictly true but the arm-aching weight of gold remaining in the coffer I held before me would pay off the various wine merchants, tailors, and bawdy houses still holding my credit notes. It would be good to be free of the burden.
I won’t say the Roma Hall seemed small, because set against the places I’d been laying my head of late it was huge – but somehow it felt smaller than my memories of it. Fat Ned and young Double stood on guard at the front door, the former blanching at my approach and shaking so much the loose folds of his skin jiggled around his old bones.
‘It’s Prince Jalan, Ned.’ Double elbowed the old man, his dark eyes taking in more than just the gore drying across me. He bowed, the black locks of his hair falling across his face, eyes still studying me from behind this veil.
I favoured them with a brief nod and pushed on through, Fat Ned still gaping at me.
A couple of servants in the entrance hall ran off screaming murder, but Ballessa stood her ground, her expression disapproval and concern in equal measures.
‘No errant peasant boys to take care of this time, Ballessa. Clean clothes will suffice.’
A frown at the memory of Hennan’s brief stay, then Ballessa gave a nod, rotated her matronly bulk and set off down the corridor to order up a bath and fetch a collection of suitable garments from my wardrobes.
I washed off the blood and left the water pink, the last of Maeres Allus swirling around, diluted, sluiced away, and beneath it Jalan Kendeth, clean and without stain. I’d killed a man with intent, done it in cold blood, or as cold as any human’s blood can be at such a moment. An evil son of a bitch, true enough, but it didn’t feel good, it didn’t feel right. No part of me felt the hero. I called for more water and washed again – though water will only take the stains you can see.
The clothes Ballessa brought still fitted me. They wrapped me, comfortable, familiar, rich, a second skin that completed my disguise – I stood before the mirror and Prince Jalan stared back at me, surprised. I looked the part, every inch of me, and every inch felt the impostor. Every step of my journey had taken me further from home, no matter the direction I took, and now, standing in my father’s house, I was further away than I’d ever been.
I made to turn away and in the last moment caught a flash of blue that drew my gaze back to the mirror, staring past myself into the room behind, the doorways, the windows, the shadows. There’d been a flicker of motion. I was sure of it. I wanted to whirl around and check that nobody stood at my back. Instead I stood there, without motion, studying the reflected room, hunting it, looking for that blue.
Finally I turned the mirror to the wall then did the same for the three others hung in my rooms. I hadn’t forgotten about the Lady Blue and much as I wanted her to forget about me that was unlikely to happen. She and Grandmother still had their war – and when the Red Queen crushed the witch the loudest cheer would come from me. She had the blood of my great-grandfather on her hands, a crime I could perhaps overlook, but the blood of my unborn sister, and the blood of my friend, Tuttugu, could not be washed away. Part of me, more than a small part, the pieces still burning with the memory of taking Maeres Allus’s corrupted life, wanted to be the one to stick the knife into the Lady Blue, and twist it.
An hour later I stepped from the Roma Hall, fresh and clean, wearing my old clothes and my old smile. I doubted there’d be much to mark me from the Jalan who sneaked back from the DeVeer mansion at dawn on the day of the opera, though it felt like half a lifetime ago.
Walking away from my old home I felt a curious sensation of being watched. Not the adoration or curiosity a returning hero might expect but a crawling sensation on the back of my neck, as if I were the object of a close and cold scrutiny. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, I picked up my pace and crossed the cour
tyard with a brisk stride.
I went to the palace. Not Grandmother’s main doors, but to the guest wing, up the stairs to the Great Jon’s suite. The guards at the ground floor informed me Barras still occupied the rooms, presumably now the headquarters for the search for his misplaced wife.
Knocking on the door I found my heart pounding harder than it had in the Blood Holes in the moment I realized I had murder on my mind.
‘Good afternoon, sir.’ A short doorman, immaculately groomed, offered me his bow. ‘Who may I say is calling?’
‘Jalan?’ Lisa’s voice calling from somewhere off the reception hall. She came running, holding her skirts at both hips to keep from tripping. Barras nearly as fast behind her, pale, dark lines beneath both eyes.
‘Jalan…’ Lisa pulled up short of throwing herself into my arms, hands going to her face as if I were still wearing all the gore I arrived at the palace with. ‘Are you…’ She studied my face, leaving me wondering if perhaps I had changed rather more than I suspected.
‘Jal!’ Barras showed no such hesitation and threw himself into my arms with no pretence at a manly hug. ‘Jal! Thank you, Jal! Thank you!’
‘Steady on!’ I waited for a loosening of his grip then slipped free. ‘The bad news is you owe me two camels—’ I caught Lisa’s look of outrage. ‘Three! Three camels. Good ones!’
‘Same old Jal!’ Barras laughed, punching my shoulder.
‘No, really. I’m not jo—’
‘Thank you!’ And he was back to the hugging.
When I finally untangled myself it seemed as if the moment to ask for my camels’ worth had passed. Barras stood, running his hands back across the short brown shock of his hair and looking in happy amazement from me to Lisa and back again. ‘We have to celebrate… A feast!’
‘I’ve been on the road too long to turn down a feast.’ I held up a hand to forestall him. ‘But right now I have an urgent meeting with our monarch.’ I looked to Lisa, lovely in her powders and jewels now, though I liked her looks just as much out in the wilds. ‘Do you have the package I gave you for safe-keeping?’