Maybe cowards handle great terrors better than heroes, for they face fear every day. Koll forced his feet forward, forced his face into a smile, flapped his hands about with carefree disrespect.
‘I see your decisions are all made by King Uthil’s niece. A snake that turned against her own family. A snake that still drips poison even collared and chained. Why waste all our time pretending otherwise? After all,’ and Koll put one hand on his chest, ‘it is traditional for the farmer,’ and he held that hand out towards Isriun, ‘and the butcher … to divide the meat without seeking the opinions …’ And now he held both hands out towards Queen Laithlin and Prince Varoslaf. ‘Of the pigs.’
There was a disbelieving silence. Then Varoslaf’s guards bristled. One muttered a curse in the tongue of the Horse People. Another stepped forward, reaching for his curved sword. Then there was a sharp smack as Thorn hit Koll backhanded across the face.
He would’ve liked to say he went down on purpose, but in truth it was like being hit with a hammer. He struggled up onto one elbow, his face burning and his head reeling, to see Queen Laithlin glaring down.
‘I will have you flogged for that.’
Varoslaf’s grooved hand was held up lazily to hold his warriors back, his gaze so cold Koll thought he could feel the piss freezing in his bladder. It was only a few days ago he’d been telling himself he was nowhere near as clever as he supposed. Some men never learn.
Isriun leaned towards Varoslaf’s ear. ‘You must demand his skin for that—’
It was cut off in a squawk as he dragged her down by her chain. ‘Never tell me what I must do.’ And he flung Isriun stumbling towards the door, while Thorn caught Koll under the arm with fearsome strength and dragged him cringing after.
‘Nicely done,’ she whispered. ‘Didn’t hurt you, did I?’
‘You hit like a girl,’ he squeaked, as she flung him bodily out into the anteroom and slammed the doors closed.
‘You must be pleased,’ snarled Isriun.
Koll slowly sat up, touched his fingertips to his lip and brought them away red. ‘I’d be more pleased without the bloody mouth.’
‘You can laugh!’ Isriun bared her teeth, closer to a grimace of agony than a smile. ‘The gods know I’d laugh, in your place. I was daughter to a king! I was a minister, at the side of Grandmother Wexen! Now …’ She jerked her wrist so her chain snapped taut and the collar bit into her neck, but however she squirmed she couldn’t quite get her arm straight. ‘I’d laugh myself, in your place!’
Koll shook his head as he clambered up. ‘Not me. I know what it is to be a slave.’ He remembered the cellar where he and his mother had been kept. The darkness of it. The smell of it. He remembered the feeling of the collar, the feeling when Father Yarvi ordered it struck off. Not things easily forgotten. ‘I’m sorry. It’s worth nothing, but I’m sorry.’
The tattooed horse on Isriun’s face shifted as she ground her teeth. ‘I only did what I had to. Stood with those who stood with me. I tried to do my duty. I tried to keep my word.’
‘I know.’ Koll winced at the floor, feeling a long way from the best man he could be. ‘But I have to do the same.’
It was some time later the doors opened and Queen Laithlin swept into the anteroom.
‘Did you reach an agreement, my queen?’ asked Koll.
‘Once the poison was drawn from the wound. That was subtle thinking on your part. You will make a fine minister, I think.’
Koll felt such a warm glow at that he could hardly hide his smile. The praise of the powerful was an intoxicating draught indeed. He bowed low. ‘You are too kind.’
‘Needless to say, if you ever do such a thing again, I really will have you flogged.’
Koll bowed lower yet. ‘You are far too kind.’
‘There was only one point on which I and the prince could not agree.’
Thorn grinned over at Isriun. ‘Your price.’
‘Mine?’ she muttered, eyes going wide.
‘I offered a fine red jewel for you, and the girl who oils my hair.’ Laithlin shrugged. ‘But Varoslaf wanted a hundred pieces of silver too.’
Isriun’s face twitched, caught between fear and defiance. ‘Did you pay?’
‘I could buy a good ship with that money, sail and all. Why pay it just to see some thrall drowned in the sewer? Your master is waiting, and not in the best of moods.’
‘I’ll be revenged on you!’ snarled Isriun. ‘On you and your crippled son! I’ve sworn it!’
Laithlin smiled then, a smile as cold as the utmost north where the snows never melt, and Koll wondered whether she or Varoslaf was the more ruthless. ‘Enemies are the price of success, slave. I have heard a thousand such empty oaths. I still sleep soundly.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Come, Koll.’
He took one last look back at Isriun, staring at the open door, winding the chain about her hand so tight the links dug into her fingers and turned them white. But Father Yarvi always said a good minister faces the facts, and saves what he can. Koll hurried after Laithlin.