Prince of Fools (The Red Queen's War) by Lawrence, Mark
Dedicated to my daughter, Heather
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to the good folk at Ace Books who have made this all happen and put the book in your hands. Special thanks to Ginjer Buchanan and Rebecca Brewer.
Thanks also to Justin Landon, who read the early portion of the book and provided much-appreciated feedback.
And finally, another round of applause for my agent, Ian Drury, and the team at Sheil Land for all their sterling work.
ONE
I’m a liar and a cheat and a coward, but I will never, ever, let a friend down. Unless of course not letting them down requires honesty, fair play, or bravery.
I’ve always found hitting a man from behind to be the best way to go about things. This can sometimes be accomplished by dint of a simple ruse. Classics such as, “What’s that over there?” work surprisingly often, but for truly optimal results it’s best if the person doesn’t ever know you were there.
“Ow! Jesu! What the hell did you do that for?” Alain DeVeer turned, clamping his hand to the back of his head and bringing it away bloody.
When the person you hit doesn’t have the grace to fall over, it’s generally best to have a backup plan. I dropped what remained of the vase, turned, and ran. In my mind he’d folded up with a pleasing “oofff” and left me free to leave the mansion unobserved, stepping over his prone and senseless form on the way. Instead his senseless form was now chasing me down the hall bellowing for blood.
I crashed back through Lisa’s door and slammed it behind me, bracing myself for the impact.
“What the hell?” Lisa sat in the bed, silken sheets flowing off her nakedness like water.
“Uh.” Alain hammered into the door, jolting the air from my lungs and scraping my heels over the tiles. The trick is to never rush for the bolt. You’ll be fumbling for it and get a face full of opening door. Brace for the impact; when that’s done, slam the bolt home while the other party is picking himself off the floor. Alain proved worryingly fast in getting back on his feet and I nearly got the door handle for breakfast despite my precautions.
“Jal!” Lisa was out of bed now, wearing nothing but the light and shade through the shutters. Stripes suited her. Sweeter than her elder sister, sharper than her younger sister. Even then I wanted her, even with her murderous brother held back by just an inch of oak and with my chances for escape evaporating by the moment.
I ran to the largest window and tore the shutters open. “Say sorry to your brother for me.” I swung a leg over the casement. “Mistaken identity or something . . .” The door started to shudder as Alain pounded the far side.
“Alain?” Lisa managed to look both furious with me and terrified at the same time.
I didn’t stop to reply but vaulted down into the bushes, which were thankfully the fragrant rather than thorny variety. Dropping into a thorn bush can lead to no end of grief.