“Queen Adran,” I said, and imagined crushing Aydor’s throat with my bare hands, “my master requests your presence.”
“She does?” Adran smoothed down the material of her jerkin. “And why would that be?”
“She thinks Rufra is innocent and there is another who wants Aydor’s death, yet to be uncovered.”
Aydor laughed.
“Quiet.” His mother cut him off with a slash of her hand. “Unequivocal proof was found for Rufra and Neander’s guilt. You and your master have done your work, so I suggest you both leave before the king finds out about your presence in his castle.”
I opened my mouth, wanting to tell her the king knew about me but stilled my tongue. Whatever my master had planned may require surprise and so I would give away as little as possible.
“I only know my master is waiting for you in the king’s room, Queen Adran.”
“What?” Shock polluted her hauteur with harsh lines. When she spoke again she spoke quietly, her voice an urgent hiss. “Why is she there?”
“She has asked both you and Daana ap Dhyrrin to meet her there. I am afraid I do not know why, Queen Adran. As you said, I am only her boy.” She glared at me and then leaned in close to Aydor and his friends, whispering something that Aydor clearly didn’t want to hear and pointing at the door. Aydor’s eyes widened and his hand went to the hilt of his blade before she hissed at him to get control of himself. He nodded, touching the scar on his face as he did. Behind him Hallin smiled and Borniya glared at me, nodding to himself.
“I’ll see you two later,” Aydor said sullenly to Borniya and Hallin as they pushed past me. Aydor’s gaze settled on me and there was nothing but hate there. “Celot, you follow me,” he added harshly. As he left he made sure to bang into me with his shoulder.
“Well, boy,” said Adran, “are you going to lead me to my husband’s chambers or simply stand there gawping at me?”
“I am sorry, Queen Adran.” I turned to lead her through the castle as if I were a simple servant. As we walked it was like an invisible force travelled before us, pushing everyone—thankful, living or blessed—out of our way and back against the walls. Our small procession moved through a corridor of men and women with their eyes cast down until we arrived on the royal floor.
“You’re a poor thing, aren’t you?” said Adran. I ignored her. “I suppose the mage-bent get few chances at love, and Drusl, well, she was a pretty girl. If you like that washed-out scrawny look.” I wondered how the queen of Maniyadoc even knew who her stable girl was; I could not imagine her setting foot in the stables. “Girton, the crippled assassin’s apprentice, falls in love with a stable girl and she turns out to be an abomination. It is almost like one of those terrible stories Merela is so fond of.”
I walked on with my hands balled into fists until she stopped me with a gentle touch to my shoulder and turned me so I looked into her face.
“Merela Karn will bring you only misery, Girton. That is her fate in life. It is what she brings to those she loves and who love her in turn.” She stared down at me with a distant sort of pity, the type someone has when they hear another’s pet has died. “I could use you. An intelligent boy with a talent for weapons could go a long way in my court. Women would want you, Girton, despite your foot.” She took a step closer. She smelled of citrus and spices.
“Why are you offering me this?”
“I think Merela may be about to make a mistake.” Her eyes flashed to the blade at my hip. “She and I were close once. We dreamed about changing the Tired Lands, making it a better place. I am near to being a power, a real power. Think about all the good I could do then, boy. You could stop your master making a mistake.” She licked her lips and I wondered whether she meant a word she said.
“The Tired Lands is a cruel place,” I said.
“Yes, and you have experienced more than your fair share of cruelty. Dragged around to kill, never having any friends of your own age. All these things that others take for granted have been denied you because of Merela’s crusade.”
“Crusade?”
She leaned in close, the smell of her perfume almost overwhelming as she stared into my eyes.
“She has never even told you, has she?”
“Told me what?”
“She lost a child, family, to a cruel man, Girton. And that is a wrong that can never be put right, so she seeks to right it for others. She is blind to all else.”
“We strike on the order of the Open Circle,” I said, my mouth dry.
“When it suits her,” said Adran. “Merela does what she wants, Girton. She uses people mercilessly for her own ends.”
“As do you, Queen Adran. After all, the Tired Lands are cruel, are they not?”
She almost smiled and I wondered whether she thought I was taken in by her sudden offer of friendship.
“I could change that for you, Girton.”
“Would you free Rufra If I stopped this ‘mistake’ happening?”
The almost-smile fell away.
“Someone has to be guilty, Girton; it is the way of things.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “You will make other friends—with my patronage even Aydor will come round to you.”
One, my master.
Two, my master.
“They will be waiting for us,” I said.
The queen nodded at me and her face became cold. “Well, let us hurry then. But you would do well to remember that some mistakes you do not get to live to regret.”
We walked on in silence and as we approached the king’s room our footfalls were joined by those of two guards. I glanced back to see Adran do the same, and when she turned back to me a smile played around her mouth.
The king’s chamber was a huge room made claustrophobic by the stink of sickness. Doran ap Mennix lay in a massive four-poster bed of expensive slow-growing darkwood. He was propped up by mounds of pillows and had thick blankets tucked in around his chin, which made him appear nothing more than a thinly bearded head, the skin tinged with yellow and lined with pain. Breath stole in and out of his mouth as if it felt guilty for keeping the man alive but despite this his eyes remained bright and aware as they darted around the room, taking in all the players who had come to his stage.
My master leaned against the wall to my left, and by the opposite wall stood Daana ap Dhyrrin with four guards, each with a dab of red paint on their armour. Queen Adran went to stand by the head of the bed. The king ignored her. When his gaze settled on me he smiled, though it was a weak thing, more a twitch of the corners of his mouth.
“Why are you bothering my husband on his deathbed, Merela?” said Adran. “You should be leaving, along with your charge.” She gestured at me as I went to stand by my master. The king’s gaze followed me.
“Aye, but you gave me a job to do.” The king’s eyes flicked to my master.
“And it is done.” To Adran.
“What job is this,” said Daana ap Dhyrrin querulously, “and who is this woman, Queen Adran?”