“Do you forget I dragged you, half dead, through a forest?”
My master’s reply was quick, vehement.
“Do you forget I didn’t want to live?”
Adran paused, looked almost hurt by my master’s words.
“We worked well together, once, you know,” said Adran. There was none of the haughtiness in her voice I was used to hearing.
“Once,” said my master, and the tapestry rippled again, drawing her eye. She tipped her head, watching for more movement.
“The king will not last much longer, Merela. Together, you and I could make changes, bring back the old ways.”
“You talk of a better world we dreamed of but you will give the throne to your son.” She sounded dismissive and took a step towards the tapestry where the man hid.
“Aydor is not as bad as he seems and he is weak. I can control him.” Adran moved a straw hobby doll from the throne, threw it to the floor, and sat.
“So you have abandoned dreams of the old ways and will slip in another king. Aydor is an animal, like those from our youth, and he will only draw more like him. They will push you aside eventually,” said my master quietly.
“And your boy?”
“He is different.”
“Not like those from our youth, then?”
“No.”
Adran gave a snort.
“Make up your mind—you cannot have it both ways.” Then she sat forward, her voice heavy with threat. “And watch how you speak of my son. For all his faults I do love him. He is my blood.”
“An end to cruelty, Adran, remember?”
“We are not girls any more, and life is not so simple. To rule, Merela, some cruelty is necessary and—”
My master pointed at the tapestry and silenced Adran with a cut of her hand. A good thing as I had leaned over so far to listen to their conversation that I may have fallen from the rafters if they had continued to speak. I watched my master and wondered what she meant about “the old ways.” In some of the stories, the ones seldom asked for by the blessed, women and men ruled together and sometimes women ruled alone. I was distracted from my thoughts as my master approached the tapestry. She reached for it, but before she could touch it the hanging was ripped away to reveal the man I had seen earlier. His hand rested on his blade hilt, though he looked quite calm. He had the look of a mercenary, a rough man of the type common throughout the Tired Lands. I raised my throwing knife in readiness.
“No need to be frightened, ladies,” he said. “I was only having a piss behind the hanging and got stuck in here, is all.”
“I doubt that is true,” said Adran. He looked at her and his smile fell away.
“I am simply a man paid to hear things. I am leaving,” he said. “I heard nothing of any great import, so you just let me walk away, ladies, before someone gets hurt.” Adran laughed at him. “You laugh, but you sent away your guards, Queen Adran,”
“I have my jester.”
“Hardly a threat.” He drew his blade. “I’ve never killed a jester though, first time for everything.”
“I think I’d like to see this,” said Adran. “Merela, do your job.” Adran stood, walking down the steps from the stage to stand by my master. “And take him alive so I can have him questioned.”
For a moment the man looked confused, then he lunged at my master. He was good, well practised and he looked like he had fought many times before. My master did not even bother drawing her blade or taking up the position of readiness. She simply stepped out of the way of his thrust and, using her empty hand, struck him in the throat with stiffened fingers. I knew what she had delivered was a killing strike that crushed the windpipe, there was little to do but watch as the man choked to death on the wooden floor. When he stopped moving Adran walked over to where my master stood by the corpse.
“I wanted him alive.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You don’t make that sort of mistake.”
“You would have tortured him.” She turned to the queen, and I saw Adran’s face twisting as though my master was some sort of strange creature she had never seen before and could not understand.
“You used to call me the soft one, do you remember?”
“It was a long time ago.”
There was a silence, a long one while Adran stared into the face of my master and she stared back. Eventually, Adran turned from her to the corpse on the floor.
“Was he an assassin, do you think?” She turned the man over with her foot.
“You know better than that.”
“Just another spy then. Sometimes I think they outnumber the lice in the castle beds.” She walked up the stairs to the throne and laid a hand on it. “It seems this place has nothing to offer you, Merela. Let us return to my rooms.”
When they were gone I tried to understand what was between them but could not, and I could not ask my master without revealing I had listened in. So despite what I had heard she remained as much a mystery as ever, maybe more so.
Despite this one, puzzling, event, on occasion I would forget completely that I was Girton Club-Foot, the assassin’s boy, and would only be Girton ap Gwynr playing with his friends in the weak sunshine of yearsage. Those moments were the happiest of all.
It was not to last. Xus the unseen, god of death, waited in the wings, and his call to enter came far too quickly.
“Girton!” The voice was urgent but sounded very far away. “Girton!” It came again, an echo from far above while I glided along through the black sea of sleep. “Girton, wake up!”
I sat bolt upright and my master’s skull face swam into focus before me.
“What? What is it? Is it training? Am I late?”
“No, you have barely fallen asleep. Queen Adran wants to see us.”
“Why?
“There’s been a death. One of the squires.”
Immediately, any remaining tiredness was swept away. I feared for Rufra.
“Who?”
“A boy named Kyril.”
“Kyril?” I shook my head to rid it of sleep. “Then I can’t say I’m sorry.”
“Don’t speak like that in front of Adran, Girton.”
“Why? It’s no secret that we were hardly friends.”
“Kyril’s body doesn’t have a mark on it.”
It took a moment for that to sink in.
“He was assassinated?”
“Maybe. Kyril’s family are influential and are yet to commit their support to Aydor. So Adran will be looking for a scapegoat to blame the death of their boy on.”
“A scapegoat.” I paused as I pulled on my jerkin. “You mean me?”
“Girton,” she said, holding my head in her hands so I stared into her eyes, “did you kill him?” It felt like a kick to the stomach that she’d even ask.
“Of course not,” I said. “I would have liked to but if it were me I would have made it look like an accident.”