“You tried to have my son killed to set up Rufra?”
My master smiled. “He didn’t try to have your son killed, Adran, but he did try to set up Rufra. He probably came up with the idea when the king’s Heartblade was killed and he realised an assassin had been employed. By placing blame on Rufra, he removes a threat to his favourite grandson and ensures you let your guard down for the real assassin to move in. All his problems are solved in one sweep and his hands are never dirtied. When I asked him for leave to exit the castle he saw his opportunity. He must have seen Heamus leave and made the connection. Fitchgrass knows, the man made enough noise.”
“And how, mistress assassin,” said Daana ap Dhyrrin, “would I know what Heamus storming out the castle meant?”
“I was just getting to that, Daana,” she said. “It seemed very strange to me that you were so open about your ambitions for your grandson. Unless, of course, you knew something that made you feel like you were safe.” She turned away from Daana. “Queen Adran, how are your negotiations going with the high king regarding marrying Aydor to his sister?”
“I don’t see that’s any of your business,” she said. “Ambition is not treason.”
“No, it is not. But it is no secret that the marriage is unlikely. The high king is not the type to be blinded by your beauty and do as you wish. No doubt he sees your ambition and has no wish to invite a scorpion into his castle.” A soundless laugh from the king. “So, knowing that, you have made other arrangements.”
Adran glowered. “I don’t know what you mean.” The king was staring at Adran now, his gaze unswerving.
“When I explained to Girton about the high king’s family and why I thought a marriage unlikely, he asked if you were going to start a war. I thought the idea ridiculous because you could never scrape together enough troops.” Queen Adran blinked, looked to her husband, looked away. “But it wasn’t ridiculous, was it? You didn’t think you’d need an army. Daana ap Dhyrrin knew what you were doing—” Doran was nodding now, his head moving slowly up and down as my master spoke “—which is how he knew that Heamus storming out to the stables meant Neander may soon be running for his life. And it’s also why Daana ap Dhyrrin was not frightened of you. He knew Neander and Heamus were training sorcerers—” she smiled at the queen “—and he knew they were doing it for you and your son. He could expose you so you daren’t move against him.”
“I’d be a fool to use sorcerers,” snapped Adran.
“Oh you would. The Landsmen would bring everything they had against you. Maybe you thought the threat would be enough. And Daana ap Dhyrrin didn’t stop you because he couldn’t lose. You get what you want? He gets Castle Maniyadoc for Tomas. Something goes wrong with your scheme? You are disgraced, and he gets Castle Maniyadoc for Tomas. I expect you pushed Neander and Heamus to give you sorcerers quickly. You have never been patient. So Neander used increasingly brutal methods. It was probably falling apart well before Drusl killed Kyril. Heamus had no stomach for Neander’s methods, and his sorcerers, as poor Drusl showed, were increasingly unstable. When we started looking for the assassin we started to get too near to your secret—”
“This is all nonsense,” said Adran, but she could not look at her husband who stared intently at her from his deathbed. “Why would I invite you here if I was planning such treason?”
“You invited me here,” said my master quietly, “because you thought our past meant I could be manipulated and because, though you have many terrible and ruthless qualities, Adran Mennix, you do love your son. In your own way.”
“I think the strain has broken you, Merela,” said Adran. Did she sound frightened? “You cannot expect me to believe Rufra innocent when all you have is a fairy story concocted from fancies and wishful thinking.”
“This woman sounds desperate, Queen Adran,” said Daana ap Dhyrrin. “Maybe she wants to ingratiate herself with the Landsmen in the hope they will overlook the fact she is an assassin?”
“Possibly,” said Adran, “though I doubt anyone would believe the word of an assassin. As long as we stand together, Daana, we have nothing to worry about.”
“These ‘fancies,’ as you call them, were necessary so you would understand who really wants your son dead.” My master’s tone was ice, and her fingers flicked out signs telling me to stand close to her.
The king’s head slowly turned so he could look at my master, and his mouth opened slightly, his tongue wet his lips.
“And just who is it that wants Aydor dead?” sneered Adran. “I see no one else here.” She sounded smug.
“Look harder, Adran.” My master stared past Adran at the bed.
“The king?” Adran’s face went white. The king coughed. His cough became a laugh and then a cough again. He forced a smile onto his face though pain wracked him and drool ran down one side of his chin. Adran took a step back to stand next to her husband’s head and placed a hand on the bed. “Doran?” Her hand scrabbled at the blankets looking for the king’s hand, but she could not find it. He simply stared at her. She turned from him, back to face my master. “You lie, Merela. You are a bitter, beaten woman trying to cause trouble. My husband hates assassins.”
“Not as much as he hates sorcerers and poisoners.” The king continued to watch, the only life left in his eyes, which sparkled, as if in amusement.
“No,” said Adran.
My master carried on speaking, using a pointing finger to stab out her words—she was relentless.
“Nothing made any sense here. Such a web of lies and deceit. Aye, it is the same as all castles, but it was not until Girton told me twice that the king recognised him as an assassin that everything came together in my mind. Do you know what he said to Girton, Adran?” The queen sank down until she was sitting on the bed. “He said, ‘make it quick,’ and he raised his head to bare his throat. Girton thought the king believed we had come for him—natural enough as we all know you are poisoning him. Girton didn’t know the king was saluting him and asking him to make sure his target didn’t suffer. The king would only do that if he expected an assassin. And he would only expect an assassin to present themselves to him if he had requested one.” She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “He knew what you were doing, Adran. He knew.”
The king did not move, could not for all I knew, but his eyes were constantly shifting spots of light as he watched the people in the room play out their drama.
“No,” said Adran in a much softer whisper than my master’s. She turned to the king. “Doran, he is our son.”
“Magic,” said King Doran ap Mennix in his weak rasping voice, “is an abomination. It cannot be allowed back into the land. There could be no worse betrayal, Adran.”
“But it was for Aydor, Doran—all of it. If you had asked I would have stopped. You should have told me. I would have stopped.”