NIGHT WAS FALLING–WITH A GRIM finality–as the Iron Castle slowly came into view. Simon Harkness was almost disappointed they hadn’t encountered any pickets, although they wore the king’s livery and carried forged papers that should, in theory, satisfy the castle’s guards. If he’d been guarding a very important prisoner, he would have made sure to stick the bastard somewhere no one would ever think to look…not in the heart of what had once been the prisoner’s castle. But then, technically, the prisoner wasn’t a real prisoner. He just wasn’t allowed out of his castle, even under heavy guard.
He spat on the ground as the remainder of the small force caught up with him. They were really far too close to Alexis for comfort, particularly after someone had tried to kidnap or kill Princess Alassa on her way back to the capital. He’d led his men under cover of night, careful to stay well away from any major settlements, but he was all too aware that they might have been seen and reported to the king. Randor would know that he hadn’t authorized flying patrols, not near the Duchy of Iron. He’d sound the alert at once.
But we couldn’t bring an army up here, he reminded himself. We have to rely on speed and stealth instead of brute force.
He looked back at his men. They were his trusted companions, men who had faced death–and worse–with him during his short career. Simon knew there were people who wondered why he hadn’t claimed the barony, but–in truth–he didn’t want it. He liked being a soldier, he liked leading men into combat…he wasn’t so interested in running the family’s vast estate. And besides, his adopted mother was formidable. She could run the estate far better than he could.
And the king will pay for what he did to her, Simon vowed. It had taken him quite some time to realize that Baroness Harkness held a position of considerable privilege, compared to the other women on the estate. The king would pay for taking it away. Simon had dedicated himself to his adopted mother’s service long ago and he was damned if he was forgetting that, just because real power had been passed to his father. The king will pay.
He cleared his throat. “Remember, we’re the king’s loyalists…until we are in a position to move,” he said. They’d gone through the plan a dozen times, looking for weaknesses and planning how to counter them. “And then…no mercy.”
The horse shifted under the saddle as he dug in his spurs, cantering down the King’s Road towards the Iron Castle. It was a giant brooding mass, only a handful of lights visible in the growing darkness. The gatehouse looked to have been recently renovated, with additional slits for arrows and firearms. Simon had no illusions about what would happen if the alarm was sounded before he was inside the gates. The defenses were strong enough to keep out a full-sized army, let alone the handful of men he’d brought with him.
He braced himself as they moved up to the gatehouse, his eyes picking out a handful of defenders peering down at them. They were pressing their luck, coming so late; it was quite possible that the castle’s defenders would refuse to open the gates, no matter what the paperwork said. Simon would have preferred to arrive in complete darkness, but that would have run the risk of leaving them stranded outside the castle. No one would be allowed to enter after night fell.
“Ho,” he called, loudly. “I bring a message from the king!”
A tiny door opened, allowing a guardsman to step out. Simon felt a flicker of pity–the poor bastard had been sent out to die, if the newcomers were hostile–and passed over the parchment scroll. They were committed now, whatever happened. If the guards thought to check with the king–if the guards could check with the king–Simon and his force would be far too close to the castle to escape.
The guardsman took the parchment and stepped back inside. There was a long chilling pause, long enough that Simon started to believe they had been caught before the portcullis slowly started to inch up. He allowed himself a moment of relief, then rode his horse into the courtyard–his men following him–as soon as the space was clear. A fat man stood there, waiting for him.
“His Grace is abed,” he said, stiffly. “I will have rooms prepared for you and your men.”
Simon glanced at his men, then gave the signal. Half of them ran back, into the gatehouse; the other half ran forward and seized the gate into the castle. The fat man–the king’s servant, Simon guessed–stared in horror. He was too slow to run before Simon jumped off the horse, grabbed him by the neck and threw him to the ground. Behind him, Simon heard the sound of slaughter. Caught by surprise, by enemies inside the defenses, the guards didn’t stand a chance.
“That won’t be necessary,” he hissed. “Tell me…where is the Duke?”
The fat man started to stammer. “I…”
“Tell me, or I swear I’ll unman you,” Simon hissed. “Where is he?”
“Upper levels,” the fat man said. “Please…I…”
Simon slammed his gauntlet into the man’s head, knocking him out. There would be time to come back and interrogate him later, if it turned out he’d risked lying. Not that it mattered, he supposed. They could search the entire castle, killing everyone they met, until they found their target. King Randor’s younger brother was about to become a political pawn once again.
And we will have our revenge, Simon thought, as he walked into the castle. The defenders didn’t seem to have realized that they were under attack. Resistance was light, completely and utterly futile. The king will die…and his kingdom will be ours.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“EMILY,” JADE SHOUTED. “WAKE UP!”
Emily started awake, feeling a momentary flicker of confusion and alarm as she bumped into Cat. They’d been cuddling together on a blanket in the office, Jade giving them some privacy while he slept in the warehouse itself. There was no light, save for a lantern Jade had brought with him and charmed to only provide light for the three of them. The warehouse roof was impressively solid for a building that had clearly been put together in a hurry.
Cat growled, the light of a death-spell flickering over his hand. “What’s happening?”
“I just got word from Tam,” Jade said. Mouse stood behind him, eying Jade warily. “The Duchy of Iron has been attacked! Someone’s kidnapped the Duke!”
Emily blinked in shock. “The Duke?”
Her mind raced. Randor’s brother had been sent into comfortable semi-retirement, hadn’t he? He’d been a prisoner in all but name for the last five years, while his duchy had been given to Alassa. And he’d been stripped of his power and place in the line of succession…he was powerless, useless…wasn’t he?
“Check with…check with our friend in the castle,” Cat said. He stood, the light of the spell snapping out of existence. “It could be a trap.”
“Tam has a spy in the kitchens,” Mouse said. She sounded nervous. It took Emily a moment to realize that she’d been plunged into darkness. Jade must have led her through the warehouse by hand. “He heard it from the cleaning staff.”
Emily cast a light-globe with one hand, casting the warehouse into stark relief, then reached for the chat parchment. Alicia hadn’t written anything during the night, unsurprisingly. She might not be sharing a bed with her husband, but the servants were always watching. Emily wrote out a short note, then stood. It was a shame the warehouse was so unfurnished. The facilities left quite a lot to be desired.
It could be worse, she reminded herself, as she took a mug of hot Kava. Jade was using spells to heat the water, just as they’d done on overnight marches. We could be sleeping rough.
“We need to move now, as soon as possible,” Jade said, sipping his own drink. “It won’t be long before they double the guards everywhere.”