He then faced Royce and Hadrian. “Now, what do I owe the two of you?”
“Fifty gold tenents,” Royce said before Hadrian had the chance to open his mouth.
“Fifty?” Bishop Parnell said, shocked.
“It’s what Sheriff Knox promised us,” Royce told the bishop. “Being a clergyman, I wouldn’t expect you to know the going rate of a quality assassin consultant.”
Parnell bit his lip.
“You’ll be paid,” the king said, “but I must insist the two of you leave Maranon. I won’t abide thieves and assassins in my kingdom, no matter what service they might have provided me.”
Royce considered asking if he planned to exile Bishop Parnell as well but then thought better of it. He and Hadrian weren’t on their way to the gallows and were being paid twice the agreed amount. Fawkes’s advice to keep his mouth shut seemed wise after all.
Hadrian exited the castle, feeling better the moment the sun hit him. Being in the Great Hall with so many robes and crowns had felt like being underwater; pressure was everywhere. Leaving as soon as they were paid was the smart thing to do. They shouldn’t give the king time to come to his senses and reconsider, but as the reception broke up, Royce had lingered. Fawkes did as well.
I’ll be out in a minute, Royce had told him. I have a few things to talk to Lord Fawkes about before we go.
This was fine with Hadrian. He had at least one question of his own to deal with, and, like Royce, he wanted to do so alone.
The courtyard was still a mess of storm-tossed banners and toppled chairs. The Dulgath standard still lay in the courtyard where Knox had pulled it down. The arbalest was gone. Vincent had likely ordered it secured moments after they’d left. Having one of those pointed at you was tantamount to looking through a big open door into the next world, an experience anyone—much less a king—wouldn’t want to repeat.
Hadrian walked out the front gate, which was still wide open and lacking a guard.
Nothing changes here.
Hadrian looked up at the perfect sky with its perfect sun and puffball clouds.
Nothing at all.
Scarlett waited down the slope and a few yards off to the side with their horses. She was petting Dancer, stroking her neck and letting her tear up thin grass. As he approached, Scarlett looked up, saw him, tilted her head, and leaned out to peer around the horse. She smiled. “No one chasing you this time.”
Hadrian glanced over his shoulder. “Nope.”
“And Lord Fawkes?”
“Steward.”
Scarlett looked puzzled and a bit disappointed. “Not earl?”
“He will be.”
She thought about this and nodded. “Did you get paid?”
“We did indeed.”
She smiled; then the expression vanished. “So you’ll be leaving, then?”
He stopped beside Dancer, clapping her on the shoulder. The horse took no notice of him as she ate the grass. He looked over the horse’s back at Scarlett. “Yes, but I was thinking…”
“A dangerous thing for you, I suspect.” She grinned.
“You’ve been hanging around Royce too much.” He pretended to sound hurt.
She dropped the grin. “Tell me, what have you been thinking?”
“You’re a northern girl; you don’t belong down here. I can’t imagine you enjoy entertaining drunks in Wagner’s tavern for thrown coins.” He softened his tone. “You’re smart, too. Good in a tight spot and incredibly brave. Took a sword to the stomach and only cried a little.”
She scowled. “Didn’t cry—eyes just watered.”
“That’s what crying is.”
“I didn’t blubber, didn’t sob. It just hurt is all.”
“I know it hurt, and I didn’t mean to…” Hadrian sighed. “How did me complimenting you turn into—look, my point is, I was wondering if you’d like to come with us, back to Medford.”
“And do what? Be what? Part of your little thieves’ guild? I’ve already gone that way. Didn’t work for me, remember?”
“Might be different this time.”
She frowned at him.
“So you’re just going to stay with Wagner and dance in his bar?”
“Actually…” She looked up at the walls of the castle. “Last night Lord Fawkes told me that if the king made him earl—and he was pretty sure he might—he planned on cleaning house. Getting rid of the ones he thought might be disloyal. The first to go would be Chamberlain Wells.”
“And?”
“And he said if that happened, the job was mine.”
Hadrian blinked. “Really?”
“You don’t have to look so shocked.”
“Sorry—I just—wow, that’s huge.”
She shrugged, embarrassed. “I told him I don’t know anything about running a castle. Lord Fawkes said anyone could learn, but there were only a rare few he could trust. Have to admit…” Her eyes became glassy, and she reached up to wipe them clear. After a cough to clear her throat, she continued. “It felt good to be recognized like that. To be rewarded for something—for doing something good, you know?”
Hadrian’s hopes collapsed, one by one, in rapid succession. A series of optimistic dreams, which had only started to take root hours before, winked out with painful pricks like a dozen nasty needles. A faint pressure squeezed his chest as muscles tightened. He nodded and continued to nod, buying himself time to swallow.
“You should definitely do that.” He took another breath. “That’s an incredible opportunity.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
He couldn’t help thinking that she wanted him to convince her of something.
“I mean, I’m a daughter of a poor farmer, turned thief, turned failed wool spinner, and I’m going to be the chamberlain of Castle Dulgath. It’s insane.”
“I think you’ll make a wonderful chamberlain.”
She stared at him for a long moment as tears welled once more in her eyes. “Thank you for saying that.”
“No—no, I mean it. I really do. Bet you look really good in blue, too.”
“Aren’t you just full of shoot and sugar.”
“Maybe—I don’t even know what that means.”
“Neither do I. It’s a local thing.” She wiped her eyes again. “Look, Dulgath is missing a sheriff, and as chamberlain I bet I could convince the new steward to give you the job. You did okay as a constable.”
“I was a lousy constable.”
“Just don’t drink the ale.”
Hadrian smiled, but the edges of his lips turned downward as he did. “The king—your king—ordered us out of Maranon.”
She looked as if he’d slapped her. “But you saved his life!”
Hadrian nodded. “Turns out he’s prejudiced against thieves and assassins. Can’t really blame him, I suppose.”
Scarlett looked away then. Her hands found Dancer’s neck again, and she stroked the horse while looking at the ground as if it had moved in an unpleasant and unexpected direction. Hadrian knew the feeling and gave her a moment. He clapped Dancer again. “You’re spoiling my horse.”
“When are you leaving?” Scarlett asked quietly. “Lady Dulgath’s funeral is tomorrow. You’re staying for that, aren’t you? They’re going to carry her up to the monastery to bury her next to her father. All the Dulgaths are up there.”
“Actually, I think Royce is going to want to head out in just a few minutes. We’ve been here a long time, but…”
“But?” The single word lingered. Spoken softly, it sounded more like a cry, desperate and fearful.
Hadrian placed his hand on hers. She grabbed it and squeezed. In that moment, Hadrian hated Dancer as she stood between them. If she weren’t there, he would have…but far more than a horse separated him from Scarlett Dodge. Of the three of them, Hadrian realized Dancer was the wisest.
Hadrian gave in, letting go of Scarlett’s hand and simply shrugging. Looking at her became too hard, too painful. He lowered his head and focused on Dancer’s white socks. He wasn’t accustomed to losing battles, and while this wasn’t one, he felt the loss just the same. He was helpless, beaten by powers beyond his ability to affect.