She rose and tossed him his shirt. “Very well. When my brother and sister return. And I’ll expect a full account if we’re to help in this escapade of yours.”
They ate a sparse meal of dried beef and bread washed down with water, since his father hadn’t seen fit to provide wine with the extra provisions. If Inehla and Rhelkin sensed any tension between them, they failed to show it, though he fancied there was a faint glint of amusement in the glance Inehla gave her sister.
“How can you be certain the queen’s army will attack on Winterfall Eve?” Rhelkin asked when the meal was done.
“I can’t,” Alucius admitted. “The only surety I can give is that I sent word for them to do so.”
“How?” Cresia asked.
“By pigeon. My last, in fact. So please don’t ask me to send any more.”
“How does a poet come to keep pigeons?”
“Because he’s also a spy in service to the Meldenean Ship Lords.” Alucius sipped his water, sighing in fond remembrance of his last taste of decent wine as the others stared in silence. It had been a bottle from his father’s cellar, one of his oldest, Cumbraelin naturally, a deep and richly flavoured red from the southern vineyards. The bottle had been pleasant but not enough to see him to the sleep he craved, plagued as he was by the ache left by Alornis’s departure to the Reaches. So he had sought out a bottle of brandy from the kitchens, falling into bed only to be roused some hours later by a Volarian army.
“Then you,” Sister Cresia said, breaking through his reminiscence, “are a traitor to this Realm.” Alucius noted her hand had moved to the leather pouch on her belt whilst Brother Rhelkin was now turned towards Twenty-Seven, poised no doubt to employ his gift.
“I suppose so,” Alucius said. He looked at his cup of water and grimaced, putting it aside.
Cresia continued to glare as the silence thickened. “Why?” she asked eventually.
“That is not your concern,” Alucius stated. “What matters is that we have a common interest in ensuring this city is recovered for the Realm with a minimum of bloodshed. And, at present, I stand best placed to achieve this outcome.”
“A spy deserves no trust.”
“Trust? You speak of trust?” Alucius laughed. “You who have lived a lifetime of lies. What service have you done in the name of the Faith, I wonder? How much blood spilled in the shadows over the years?”
Inehla’s rat scurried along the table, sniffing his hand then baring its teeth with a loud squeak. “Does he smell a lie?” Cresia asked her.
The plump sister shook her head, her expression dark. “No, only this one’s contempt for us.”
Cresia’s face registered a scowl of fury before she forced it to a neutral frown, her hand retreating from her pouch. Inehla’s rat gave a final squeak then ran back to its mistress as Brother Rehlkin turned away from Twenty-Seven.
“How is it to be done?” Cresia asked Alucius.
“The Volarian reinforcements are due to arrive on Winterfall Eve,” he said. “To be greeted at the docks by Commander Mirvek, Lord Darnel, and my father. I doubt any will object, or notice if I’m there. I shall require your sister’s skill to create sufficient diversion.”
“Diversion from what?”
“This city will stand or fall on my father’s judgement. Without it, Darnel and his allies are doomed.”
“A hard thing for a son to kill a father,” Rehlkin observed.
“If you doubt my ability to do this,” Alucius replied, “you should kill me now and keep skulking here until Queen Lyrna arrives.” He saw the man’s dislike in his cold glare and found himself beyond caring. “I’ll need you and Sister Cresia to secure the Aspects.”
“Breaking into the Blackhold is no easy task,” Cresia said.
“But within your abilities, I’m sure. I’ve little doubt their guards have orders to kill them should the city fall, and it’s better to risk death than blindly accept it.”
He saw them exchanging glances, reaching agreement in silent nods, Cresia’s the most reluctant. “We’ll do this,” she said. “But when it’s done, poet, you will not be spared an accounting.”
“No.” He got up and turned away, walking back to the tunnel with Twenty-Seven falling in behind. “I don’t imagine I will.”
? ? ?
“I must say, Aspect,” he said, sitting on the bunk beside her. “I found the wine rather bitter.”
“But you did find it?” she asked, her gaze intent.
“Indeed I did. Only three bottles, though.”
Her mouth twitched in suppressed disappointment. “Pity.”
“Disappointment was ever my lot, Aspect. I do, however, have news. It seems we have a new queen.”
“Lyrna? She lives?”