Assassin's Fate (The Fitz and The Fool Trilogy #3)

Paragon’s voice boomed out into the quiet harbour. ‘I will have what I want, Brashen. I will!’

‘Oh, I don’t doubt it,’ he replied bitterly. Althea had already turned away. Brashen spun and followed to lead us aft.

The chamber was large for a ship, but never designed to be packed with so many people. I let Amber sit and stood behind her, my hands on the back of her chair. I had positioned her so that I could study every person in the room.

Sorcor was a contrast. I judged him to be a man past his middle years, used hard by his early life but now in a safe harbour. He dressed as befitted a minor noble, but the scars on his face and the wear on his hands were that of a fighter and a sailor. The sword at his side was of excellent and deadly quality. There was something in the cut of his clothing and the selection of his jewellery that spoke of a man who’d known poverty suddenly given the chance to dress in fine fabric and gold. On another man, it might have looked laughable. On him, it looked earned.

Brashen thudded two bottles down on the table. Brandy and rum. Althea followed it with a clatter of cups. ‘Your choice and pour for yourself,’ she announced wearily before dropping into a chair. For a moment, she lowered her face into her hands. Then, as Brashen came and set his hands on her shoulders, she lifted her head and straightened her back. Her eyes were resigned.

Wintrow spoke. ‘Queen Etta isn’t going to like any of this. She was already alarmed when she got word that a liveship was being brought in for tariff violation. That simply doesn’t happen. The Traders understand taxes and tariffs well, and none of them want the delays and fines that violations bring. As soon as I knew it was Paragon, I went to her immediately. She feared …’ He stopped and abruptly chose another word. ‘She considered it best if the prince were located and his introduction to his father’s ship monitored. So to speak.’ He gave Sorcor a sideways glance.

‘He’s a young man!’ Sorcor objected. ‘Somehow he knew what my mission was and kept clear of me. I suspect he paid his guards to turn a blind eye. I’ll see to their stripes tomorrow. So here we are. What now?’

‘Coming aboard!’ A woman’s voice, imperious and angry.

Wintrow and Sorcor exchanged a look. ‘Queen Etta is not … recalcitrant in acting on a situation.’

Sorcor snorted and looked at Brashen. ‘That big word means she might have a sword out. Look to yourselves and make no fast moves.’ He whipped the hat from his head. I saw how he fell naturally into a fighter’s stance.

Brashen moved away from Althea, closer to the door, as if he would protect her, but her dark eyes blazed and she came to her feet and stood beside him. Queen Etta’s voice reached us again.

‘Out of my way! I’ve told you I don’t need you for this. You are embarrassing me, and my chief minister is going to hear of this. Standing orders should fall before my command! Wait in the boat if you must, but get out of my way.’

‘She just dismissed the guard I assigned to her,’ Wintrow observed mildly.

And in the next instant, the door framed an extraordinary woman. She was tall, and the planes of her face were angular. She was not beautiful, but she was striking. Her glossy black hair fell loose to her shoulders, which were wide beneath a scarlet jacket. Black lace spilled from her shirtfront and cuffed her wrists. Gold hoops dangled boldly from her ears. And close to her throat, almost nestled in the lace, she wore a necklace carved in a man’s image. Kennit? If so, the son strongly resembled the father. She also wore a sword on a wide black belt studded with silver, but it resided still in its sheath. She rested the back of her fingers on its elaborate hilt. The glance that raked the room was sharper than any blade as she demanded, ‘Are you conspiring?’

Wintrow tilted his head at her. ‘Of course we are. And we would welcome your company. The issue is your strong-willed and rather spoiled heir, who has recently met his father’s strong-willed and rather spoiled ship. They seem intent on taking up with one another, on a voyage to Clerres. I’ve been given to understand that the purpose of this voyage is to exact vengeance on a monastery there for the kidnapping and murder of a child. And that afterward, this vessel will magically change himself into two dragons.’

Etta’s mouth hung slightly ajar as Wintrow looked to Althea and asked, ‘Do I have that mostly right?’

Althea shrugged. ‘Close enough.’ And the two women exchanged cold looks.

Queen Etta said nothing. Wintrow spoke cautiously. ‘The Spice Island delegation?’

‘Have plenty of folk to lose their coins to. I’ll join them at the card table or not at all. It little matters to me now.’ She turned a furious look on Althea and Brashen. ‘Why have you brought this ship here? What do you want of us? Of Kennitsson? My son is not going anywhere! He is the heir to this kingdom and is needed here. He is supposed to be enjoying an evening with the merchants from the Spice Islands and his potential bride, not planning a sea voyage.’ Her gaze roved over all of us, her eyes cold. ‘And whatever vengeance you seek, it has nothing to do with us. So why have you come here? What sort of discord do you attempt to sow? Why bring this vessel and its ill reputation and bad luck to our harbour? It was my wish that he never see or set foot on this ship!’

‘There we agree,’ Althea replied quietly.

I felt the pirate queen force herself to look at Althea. ‘But not for the same reasons,’ she said stiffly. ‘My son has had a fascination with this ship ever since he was old enough to know how his father died. Kennit’s last blood soaked into the planks of this deck. His memories, his … life … was taken into it. Absorbed. And from the time my son was old enough to be told of such things, he has possessed a wild curiosity to see this ship, to be aboard it, in the hope of speaking to his father. We have told him, over and over, that Paragon is not his father. His father makes up just a part of the life that the ship embodies. But it is a hard thing to make someone understand.’

Althea spoke in a flat voice. ‘I doubt that anyone not born to Bingtown Trader stock can fully understand what that means.’

Queen Etta stared at her coldly. ‘Kennit was born of Bingtown stock. A Ludluck. And his son carries that blood, even if he prefers the name Kennitsson.’ Her hand rose to clutch at her necklace. ‘And perhaps I understand more of this ship than you think. Paragon himself spoke to me of these things. Plus,’ she tipped her head toward Wintrow, ‘I have had your own nephew as my advisor in these matters.’