She glanced up at him, troubled. “Something does not feel right. I don’t know what, or—” This time, it was Lena who stopped.
They had entered the passageway by the back gardens. In the space where Cas’ ugly statue had once stood, someone had built a roaring fire. Not anyone—Bittor. He walked toward the flames, carrying what Cas first thought was a sleeping woman in his arms, until he realized it was Queen Jehan’s wedding dress.
Seeing them, Bittor paused. “What?” he called out. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Lena’s hand had flown to her throat. “I thought he . . . a body . . .”
“So did I,” Cas admitted, rattled.
“What are you doing?” Lena demanded when they reached him.
“Getting rid of this dress,” Bittor informed them. “The king wants it burned.”
“Why?” Cas asked.
“He did not confide in me,” Bittor said, “but if I were to guess, I would say it is because a woman was murdered in it. And therefore it is a very creepy thing to have around.”
Lena reached out and touched a sleeve, wistful. “It’s so beautiful. Such a waste.”
“Would you wear it?” Bittor asked.
Lena dropped her hand. “No.”
“Well, then. Step back.” Bittor made to heave the dress into the flames.
“Bittor, wait.” Lena turned to Cas. “May I borrow your dagger?”
Cas reached for his belt, handed her the dagger hilt first.
“Not everyone can make a dress from silk rakematiz,” Lena explained. “Certainly not one like this. It requires great skill. I wonder . . .” Using his dagger, she sliced off the right sleeve.
Cas understood. “If we can find out who made it . . .”
“We can find out who wanted it made,” Lena finished with a small smile. “Hopefully.”
“You are finishing each other's sentences,” Bittor pointed out with a pained expression. “Already.”
They ignored him. “Where would we start?” Cas asked.
Her face fell. “Oh, who knows. Let me think on it.”
Bittor broke in, sounding annoyed. “Is someone going to tell me what this is about?”
“No,” Cas and Lena said at the same time.
“Fine. Step back.”
When they did, Bittor gathered up the dress, folds and all, and tossed it into the flames.
19
Before he left Palmerin Keep, Cas made one last stop. He knew he should not do it. No good could come from seeing Faro again. He told himself this even as he descended the tower steps into the deepest, darkest part of the keep. The air chilled him. His nose twitched at the first sour waft coming from below.
There had been no chance to confront Faro privately, to speak aloud the names of the three men who had lost their lives because of him.
Jorge.
Sans.
Arias.
But then, why would Faro care? In one fell swoop, he had lost his hand, his beloved, his good name. Soon he would lose his country, once Ventillas sent him off to the border to be tossed from a cart onto the roadside. Like the core of an apple just eaten. Like a pet no longer wanted. Pity came to Cas. Unbidden, unwanted. He hunched his shoulders and hardened his heart. It was as Lena had said that night in the stables. Faro still had his life. It was more than he allowed the others.
Jorge.
Sans.
Arias.
The farther down he went, the worse it smelled. Unwashed bodies and moldy cells. The sharp, acrid sting of misery. He had known a similar place once, not so long ago.
Cas reached the bottom of the stairwell and ducked through a doorway. The dungeon was round, in keeping with the shape of the tower. Cells took up the entire perimeter with the exception of the doorway. A guard occupied a table in the center of the room. Cas had found him taking a bite from his breakfast. Two pieces of bread with a slab of meat between them. When he recognized Cas, he jumped to his feet, and a violent fit of coughing seized him.
Cas thumped him on the back. Three times, hard. A piece of chewed-up, greasy-looking sausage flew from the guard’s mouth and landed on the stones.
“Better?” Cas asked, concerned.
“Yes, yes,” the guard gasped, one hand around his throat. “Welcome home . . . Lord Cassia.”
“Thank you.” Cas picked up a tankard from the table and handed it to the guard, who took it gratefully. Cas glanced around in puzzlement.
“Who are you guarding?” From where he stood, the cells looked empty. Aside from the guard gulping down his wine, all was quiet. Where had they put Faro?
“What? Oh, Lord Tuli is back there.” The guard pointed. “Sleeping, not dead. I just checked.”
“Lord Tuli?” Cas lowered his voice. “What’s he in for?”
The guard wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Burned down the village near his manor. Thought the fire would keep the pestilence away from his family.”
Aghast, Cas said, “Did anyone escape?”
“Only two out of a hundred. The fire started at night.” The guard picked the sausage off the floor. “No gallows for him, though.”
“Why not?”
“He saved Captain Lorenz’s life in the war. The captain asked for mercy.” The guard dusted off the sausage and popped it in his mouth.
Cas said, “Where is his family?”
“Plague took them.” The guard spoke around the sausage. “His wife, sons, grandsons. The fire did not help them in the end.”
Disturbed, Cas went to have a look. Through the bars, he saw a figure lying on a pallet on the floor. A blanket, formerly white, now gray, covered him from head to toe. He looked dead.
“Lord Tuli,” Cas said, to check.
“It is not my fault.” The figure spoke, puffing out the blanket around his mouth. His voice was hoarse, thready, but recognizable. “I thought the fire would save them. Not my fault.”
A sound followed, muffled but unmistakable. Cas moved past Lord Tuli’s cell to the one beside it. A pallet on the floor. A bucket in the corner. Rusty chains and fetters left in a heap. Cas was quiet a long time. He spoke without turning. “Where is he?”
The guard came to stand beside him. “Ah, this was the scribe’s cell.” He looked from the pallet to Cas, clearly wondering how Cas had figured that out.
“Where. Is. He?” Cas repeated.
“Ah . . .” The guard scratched his neck, ill at ease. “Well . . .”
He broke off as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Ventillas appeared, dressed for travel, as Cas was. A heavy cloak and a sword at his back.
“Master Jac saw you come down here,” Ventillas said, frowning.
Cas wrapped a hand around a bar. “I wanted to speak to him.”
“To what end?” Ventillas said with some impatience. When Cas did not answer, he said, “I had him taken away last night. I wanted him gone. He’ll be put on a ship in the south. Are you ready? We should go.”
The guard was carefully studying the paving stones.
“It is not my fault,” Lord Tuli said.
“Save your breath, old man.” Ventillas turned to Cas, waiting.