The bishop turned around and, retracing his steps, pushed open the doors to Gentry Square once again. The blond-haired noble was gone, and no one else could be seen. In the distance, through the curtain of rain, he could just make out the rearing stone statue of Tolin Essendon. Exeter’s body had been removed and the blood washed away, but a single length of rope—too high perhaps for the soldiers to safely reach—still dangled from the neck of the king like a noose.
Why hadn’t Richard killed her? Perhaps Hilfred was smarter than he thought. Only a fool would trust a man about to betray his king. Likely kept her alive to work as insurance in case something went wrong. Maybe he even planned to blackmail him later. He should have had Richard slit her throat in the dungeon, but he thought it was best to have her body discovered far away or not at all. Having her die in the castle would have just provided Exeter one more piece to add to his puzzle, and himself one more accusation to defend against.
For the first time, Saldur was forced to consider who had killed the constable and why. They said a note had been found on him—something about Exeter harming some women.
Could it really be as simple as the girls having hired thugs to protect them from harm? Hadn’t he heard that there were other murders in the city just like Exeter? Each of the victims had somehow harmed the women from this Medford House. How ironic that the petty affairs of prostitutes from the worst quarter of the city could hold a dagger to his throat. Saldur was always amazed at how few people had an appreciation for seeing what was possible. This Rose had him trapped. She could have asked for so many things—money, power, anything really. If arranging for the release and protection of a handful of whores would put the matter to rest, Saldur would be happy to oblige.
Forgetting the fire, his bath, and his waiting bed, Saldur turned and headed back to the burned-out castle once more. He needed to convince His Majesty to release the girls, before Rose started pointing fingers.
When Albert returned to The Hideous Head, Royce was waiting with the door open. Pulling him in, the thief shut the door quickly, and Albert struggled to wipe the rain from his eyes with his soaked sleeve.
“Well?” Royce asked.
“It went fine,” Albert told them. “I got the package to Bishop Saldur and I saw him go back to the castle. Can I ask what was in it?”
“Leverage,” Royce replied.
“So I’m involved in what now … blackmail as well as murder?”
“Gwen and the girls were arrested,” Hadrian said.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but what does that have to do with Bishop Saldur?”
“Royce has come up with a plan to get them out.”
Clearing his eyes, Albert could see Hadrian at one of the tables, a toppled mug of ale before him and a puddle on the floor. His big sword lay bridging the gap across the table and the chair beside him, the baldric left dangling. Royce remained on his feet, hovering uncomfortably close. Neither looked like they had slept.
“I’ve been thinking,” the viscount said. “I’m not cut out for this nefarious sort of life. That and the fact I’m more than a little concerned that the royal guard might be looking for a certain viscount who delivered a message to Lord Exeter shortly before the fire. So perhaps it’s time I left Medford.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Royce told him with a certainty that made Albert believe it. “I need you gathering information.”
“I appreciate your confidence in me, but … here.” Albert held out a coin purse. “There’s twenty gold tenents for a job I secured while at the party. It’s yours to do with as you please. The person who hired me will never find me where I’m going. I don’t think I’ll be able to show my face in Melengar, or possibly all of Avryn, ever again. I’m thinking of going south, Delgos or perhaps Calis.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Royce repeated, ignoring the purse.
“And what if I’m arrested?”
“Albert,” Hadrian said. “You’re overreacting. No one is after you. Besides, you’re one of us now. We wouldn’t let them hang you.”
Hang me? The thought chilled him.
“You don’t think they’d really—” But of course he did. Why else would he have said it? “And how could you stop it? The two of you are so cavalier about everything! I don’t mean to be insulting, but please understand that you’re just two men—they have an army. I’m sorry this is all…” Albert threw up his waterlogged hands, spraying liquid off the cuffs. He was befuddled, lost for the proper words to describe the extreme absurdity. “I’m leaving.”
Royce stepped between him and the door, his face inches away, and when he spoke it was barely above a whisper. “The king’s men might be after you. If they are, they might question you. If they absolutely must find a scapegoat, they might choose to pin a crime on you. But if you walk out that door and Gwen is executed as a result…” He licked his lips, and his eyes glared, unblinking. “Maybe you should take a tour of the city’s fountains on your way out of town.”
Albert didn’t move. He barely breathed and Royce continued to watch him like a cat hoping the mouse would run.
“We really could use your help, Albert,” Hadrian said, his voice so pleasant and casual that Albert was disoriented. These were very strange people. “I promise you, we’ll have your back. If anything happens, we’ll be there.”
When the viscount replied, he spoke quietly, haltingly, and at a slightly higher pitch than usual as he dragged each word out with a struggle. “What is it you want me to do?”
“Good man,” Hadrian said, clapping him on the back and drawing him away from Royce and the door.
“What do you want him to do, Royce?”
“Find out all you can about where Gwen and the girls are being held. If you hear anything—anything at all—about plans for their execution or release, get back here as fast as those new shoes will let you. Understand?”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“If I’m right, we won’t have to do anything.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Albert asked, not at all certain he wanted to hear the answer.
“Then Hadrian and I will have to go in and get her. I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”
“I agree,” Hadrian said.
They planned to go get her—to rescue a whore imprisoned by the king of Melengar after the queen was murdered. The two of them. Common thieves nonchalantly challenging the might of an angry monarch. Albert was employed by madmen. Who did they think they were?
Except for the soot stains, the ash, and the still-rising smoke, the room was as Amrath had left it. Nothing had been burned, not the carpet, not the swan mirror, not the bed where he had found Ann beneath covers as if sleeping. If an army had breached the walls, he could comprehend her death, and he would mount his horse, lift his axe, and ride with the storm. But this. Some invisible monster had slipped into their bedroom and smothered his sweet Ann. A beast that he could still smell, whose poison he breathed as he lay holding her.
“Your Majesty?” It was Valin this time, knocking softly on their door.
“Go away! Leave us alone!” he tried to roar, but his voice, scorched by the smoke, was raspy and vicious.
“But, sire, it’s not healthy—”
“Go away!”
“Just let me come in. I’ll—”
“I swear I’ll beat to death anyone who enters this room.”
The king pulled his wife closer. If he closed his eyes hard enough, it was almost as if nothing had happened. Almost as if he hadn’t left her on the one night in her whole life that she really needed him.
He couldn’t see much anymore. He hadn’t stopped crying since he saw her, since he entered in disbelief and rushed over to try and wake her up. He chased them all out, throwing chairs, stools, and tables. If he’d caught anyone, he would have ripped them apart. He had become a real bear, a wild bear, a wounded and dangerous bear.
Amrath was having trouble breathing. His chest ached as his heart was crushed and torn, consumed in misery. In the silence of the bedroom, even the absurd haunted him.
Why did I say it depended on if you were ready to go to the party?