A Draw of Kings

6

A DOOR OPENS





MORE DINGY LAMPLIGHT greeted her, reflecting back from walls that had faded to various shades of dirt. A crowd of men stepped forward as Liam moved in behind, locking the door. The first, his face dominated by a nose that had been broken more than once, rushed forward. Callused hands grabbed her, pulled her forward.

“Deas alive, girl, how did you escape?”

She gasped in Rale’s embrace, her ribs protesting. Before she could answer, another man with hair like snow, quiet and still as the land in winter, put a hand on Rale’s shoulder. “I think she’ll answer better if she can breathe,” Merodach said.

Rale released her, his face flushing, and stepped back.

It was too much—the beatings, the lack of food, her flight, all conspired against her. She tottered, but Rale caught her, putting her in a chair while he muttered something to a watchman who left by a side door. A moment later Rokha entered, her eyes sharp.

She snapped her fingers. “Stand back. The air in here is close enough without everyone crowding her.”

Rokha’s gaze darkened as she surveyed the bruises on her face. With a healer’s touch she pulled Adora’s arm from beneath her cloak and pushed back the sleeve. Purple bruises surrounded red spots where Sevra’s boots had found their mark. Fingers probed the cut on Adora’s shoulder.

“Who did this to you?”

The answer could wait. “Could I have something to eat, and maybe some ale?”

Liam disappeared out the front door, his place taken by Merodach.

Adora nodded her thanks. “Sevra, Duke Weir’s daughter, felt the need to demonstrate her grief over her brother’s death.” She rubbed a particularly large knot on one thigh. “She has a penchant for sharp-toed boots.”

Rokha gave a sharp nod, almost a jerk, and brought forth a jar of salve from the healer’s kit she kept with her. Smells of lemongrass and mint battled the less savory odors in the room.

“To what end, Highness?” Rale asked.

Adora shrugged, regretted the gesture. “Duke Weir’s wife is dead. He intended to force me to marry him to replace the heir he lost.” She did not mention Weir’s search for her uncle’s nuntius or Turing’s cryptic message.


Rokha shifted her chair, moved her attention to Adora’s other arm.

Then she stopped and with a lunge pulled Adora’s sword from its sheath and held it up for the men clustered behind her to see.

Rale touched a finger to the sticky wetness on the point. “You drew blood?”

Adora nodded.

Rokha’s smile burst forth, savage, exultant. Careless of the hurts she’d tended just moments before, she threw herself forward to pull Adora into a hug as fierce and savage as Rale’s had been. “Oh, my sister! I’m so proud.”

When they parted, Adora saw unshed tears in Rokha’s eyes.

“Did you mark or kill?” Rokha asked.

She grew light-headed with the memory. “Kill. Two of Weir’s guards.”

Rokha kissed her, eyes brimming. “Now you are worthy of him. Let no one say you are not.”

Rokha’s regard was too much. Sobs locked away behind her imperial reserve broke loose, and Adora clutched her friend as tears washed her face. When she parted, she found the men in the room, hard men who bore the price of their service on their bodies and faces, gazing at her in pride. Then she noticed the strip of black cloth around Rokha’s arm.

She touched it, her fingers sliding along the sturdy weave. “Something new comes. Since when did the watch allow women?”

Rale exchanged a look with Merodach before he answered. “It’s honorary at this point, but the way will be open to her if she wants to challenge.”

Merodach cleared his throat, a hint of disapproval and challenge in his voice. “She will still have to defeat a majority to qualify.”

Rokha’s eyes flashed with her smile. “Would I have it any other way?”

Adora nodded with pride. “No, but how did you escape the duke’s men in the harbor?”

“They didn’t think to put a guard on board Tek’s ship,” Rale said. “We slipped over the rail after dark and swam to shore.” A rueful grin pulled his mouth to one side under his broad nose. “It took some of us longer than others. When Solis Karele and I finally made it to the beach, Rokha and Merodach were fighting a handful of Weir’s men. They held them off until we managed to wade out of the surf.” He shivered. “The water almost took us.” Karele nodded from where he sat at the table.

A coded knock came from the door behind. Merodach drew his sword and cracked the door for a moment before stepping back to allow Liam to reenter bearing a mug and a plate. “It’s not equal to palace fare,” he said. “Watchmen aren’t very good cooks, but it’s edible.”

Realization clicked into place. “The men in the kitchen?”

Liam nodded. “And the men in the common room as well. Outside of the palace, this is the most heavily guarded location in the kingdom.” He placed the food in front of her and stepped back. “If you will permit me, Highness, I will explain while you eat.

“Weir took control of the isle and the city the day after your uncle died,” Liam said. “He’d been bringing his men to the island for months, but never in the open and never so many that people would notice. Before we could muster a defense, the palace compound was in his control. Those of the watch who did not escape were either killed or imprisoned, along with every benefice and reader Benefice Weir saw as a potential threat.”

“Yet much was denied him,” Rale said.

For some reason, this remark brought color to Liam’s cheeks, as if he were embarrassed. His hand waved Rale’s observation away. A knock at the far door interrupted him, and the watchman closest to it cracked it, before bowing two men into the room.

Bertrand Canon, archbenefice of the church, and Enoch Sten, first reader of the conclave, entered. Both acknowledged Liam before taking turns to embrace her. She inhaled, drinking in the smell of the two men who’d been fixtures of security her entire life. The archbenefice smelled of incense and wine while Primus Sten wore scents of wood.

She let go with regret. “If Weir controls the Judica and the conclave and most are in prison, how did you escape?”

The archbenefice spoke first. “Captain Liam brought the watchmen under his command to our quarters as soon as he heard Weir was taking the city.” His eyes shone with pride. “He has the instincts of a tactician. It was almost as if he knew they were coming.”

She checked the room once more. All these men were known to her. “Duke Weir has Errol, Your Excellency, and Martin and Luis as well.”

Primus Sten nodded assent, his face grave. “We know.”

“I’ve sent messengers to the mainland,” Liam said. “As soon as we get reinforcements from the nearest garrisons, we’ll be able to take back the city.”

“How long ago did you send word?” Adora asked.

Liam bit his lower lip. “Five days.”

A stab of ice shot through her belly. Five days? The messengers would barely have had time to reach their destinations, and one man could travel far faster than a full company. For the return they would still have to cross the strait, with the duke’s ships crowding the harbor until their masts resembled a forest.

And the duke had readers.

Oh, Errol.

She shook her head. “We can’t wait that long. We must rescue them.”

“We don’t have any choice, Highness. The duke’s men outnumber us three to one.”

She wrung her hands as if she could pull courage from them. “Don’t you understand? Duke Weir doesn’t trust anyone. The only thing keeping him in check is his fear of betrayal. He’s using Errol to verify lots. Once he’s tested the readers in the Judica, he’ll move. There won’t be anything to stop him.”

Liam shook his head, suddenly wary. “You’ll have to trust me, Highness. They will not find us here, and Aurae can block the readers. I won’t risk a fight we cannot win. They would strike us down before we could breach the compound.”

Her eyes found Karele. Oh, Deas. He was right. If Aurae blinded the readers, they would have all the time they needed. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and hugged herself. But what about Errol? She couldn’t imagine him working for the duke willingly. He would have to be coerced.

Her hands bumped against the hard outline of the key to the garden gate. She snatched it from her cloak pocket, held it up by its string for them to see. “What if you could win? We can enter the palace grounds without their knowledge. There’s a door in the wall hidden by ivy. It leads to a concealed gate in the palace garden.”

Rale’s eyes lit with possibilities, yet his voice carried caution. “The task will be getting enough men into the compound to hold it until Weir can be taken.” His gaze slid from Adora to Liam.

Liam reached forward to take the key, but she tucked it away into her pocket.

He bowed from the neck in acquiescence, his face open, intent, as if listening, before nodding. A wash of tears tracked the dirt on her cheeks as Liam gave her a chaste embrace, his massive chest and shoulders dwarfing her. “We will find him, Your Highness. It’s time the kingdom began to discharge its debts to Errol Stone.” He listened as she explained the door’s location and then turned to Rale. “Can it be done tonight?”

Rale shook his head. “Tomorrow provides a better chance of success. The night is half gone already.” He shrugged. “And we’ll need Captains Cruk and Reynald to assist. Their knowledge of the palace compound exceeds mine.”


Primus Sten pulled a block of pine from his robe, tossed it from one wrinkled hand to the other. “And that will give me the opportunity to tell you exactly where the duke is holding them. You need not waste time searching.”

Liam nodded his thanks. Disappointment at the delay etched his face, but determination as well. “Highness, one of our number will show you to rooms where you may rest.”

Adora looked at the band of black cloth around Rokha’s arm. Naaman Ru’s daughter would never suffer to be left behind. She vowed she wouldn’t be either.

The men filed out, some speaking half-muttered words of encouragement or welcome, the rest nodding, their faces showing the confusion of those whom words had failed. Rokha shouldered her bag, extended a hand to help Adora to her feet. “My room is upstairs. The bed is creaky, but it’s large enough for both of us.”

Tears stung her eyes again. “Thank you. I think I’ve had all the privacy I’ll need for a while.”

Ominous creaks came from the boards as they ascended the stairs, but Rokha didn’t appear concerned. At the end of a long hall covered by a strip of carpet whose yellow color had dirtied to ochre, Rokha produced a key to her room. She tossed her hair and smiled.

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t feel the need for locks, but some of these men are actually better with a sword than I am.” She shrugged. “And some might mistake an unlocked door as encouragement.”

A patchwork of furniture covered with infrequent splotches of varnish decorated the room. Beside the bed stood a washstand with a large porcelain bowl of water on it. Rokha gestured. “Take your clothes off, Your Highness. I can tell from the way you climbed the stairs, there are few areas on your body that don’t bear some type of injury.”

Adora talked as she disrobed to ease her embarrassment. “It’s not just me, is it? Liam, I mean. Even the archbenefice and the primus talk to him as if he’s their equal.”

Rokha’s familiar chuckle, deep and genuine, soothed her ears as her hands explored the injuries Sevra had left. “I respect strength, not titles, but every time I see him I have to fight the urge to look at the ground. I heard Captain Reynald say Rodran had the same effect on people early in his reign.” She clicked her tongue as she opened a jar that filled the room with the tang of mint and lemongrass. “Sevra wears pointed boots?”

Adora nodded, breathing deeply through her nose. A hint of lavender pulled her eyelids lower. “She’s very fond of using them.”

“You should have killed her, Princess.” Rokha’s voice carried no hint of jesting.

The idea of killing anyone, but especially a woman, was repugnant to her, but she understood Rokha’s point of view. The dark-haired woman, raised to fighting and the sword, divided the world into two simple categories: those who needed to be killed and those who didn’t. If someone fell into the first category, their gender wouldn’t matter. Adora wished she could see things in such terms, but it was easier to give the simple answer. “I didn’t get the chance.”

She squirmed around enough to look Rokha in the eye. “My uncle is dead, and I’ve grown up surrounded by people who saw me as his daughter first and only. Outside of Errol, no one calls me by my name. I’d like it if you would.”

Rokha’s full lips pursed in a smile. Her eyes carried equal parts amusement and defiance. “Is that a royal command, Your Highness?”

She shook her head. “Just a request. If I could make friends by fiat, I wouldn’t be covered with bruises.”

“Very well, Adora, but I will still call you Princess when you’re being foolish.”

The consequences of revealing her love for Errol had been beaten into her hide. At the least she’d learned to think before she acted. “I don’t think you’ll have much need.”

Rokha’s mouth broadened into a smile. “You’re probably right . . . Princess.”

Adora laughed into her pillow until tears wet the rough cloth. “How can I persuade Liam to allow me along on the raid?”

The hands on her back stilled. When she spoke, her voice carried none of its usual banter. “From what little I have seen of him, he carries a respect for position. If you order him to allow you along, I think he will try every tactic he can think of to talk you out of it, but he won’t force you to stay behind. If that doesn’t work, don’t give him the key.”

She continued to work salve into Adora’s bruises and welts. A cut on her back she couldn’t recall getting required stitches, along with the one on her shoulder. Rokha was still ministering to her when she fell asleep. She woke once, startled awake by a memory in her sleep, but Rokha slept beside her, fully clothed as if ready to fight. She drifted once more.

She rose from an empty bed with the first light to find the inn nearly deserted. The press of men had vanished, and for a moment she feared Liam had left her behind. A lone watchman with hands the size of small hams tended the kitchen, slicing bread and cheese. She didn’t know his name.

“Captain Liam charged me with making sure you were fed, Your Highness. My name is Bale.” He put some food on a plate, slid it across the high table to her.

She lifted a wedge of cheese from the tray. “Where is Liam now?”

The watchman smiled, showing a pair of front teeth that had been broken off halfway up. “He is making his plans for the attack tonight.” Bale’s face grew serious. “You can trust him, Highness. Captain Liam doesn’t leave anything to chance. I’m to take you to him the fourth hour after sunset.”

“What do I do until then?”

Bale smirked and offered her the bread.

That evening, as dark shrouded the poor quarter, he led her out into the streets.