“Second thing, whatever the king asks you to do, say yes. If he asks you to dig up your mother and hang her body from the ramparts, say yes. If he wants you to make him a coat from the carcasses of kittens, your answer is yes. If he wants you to kiss his royal ass, say yes. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” Destin said. Then couldn’t help adding, “And if he asks me to kill you? Should I say yes to that as well?”
Their eyes met. Held. Then Karn barked out a bitter laugh. “By all means, boy, do the deed if you think you can pull it off. If you say no, the king will find someone else to kill us both. One of us may as well come out of it alive.”
Destin and the king were to meet in the royal gardens. King Gerard liked the garden for discussing what he called “delicate matters,” like assassinations, kidnappings, betrayals, and the like. When it came to keeping secrets, there were fewer eyes and ears in the garden than in the palace.
It was also a good place for acting on delicate matters. There was always a risk that if you went into the garden, you wouldn’t come out again.
Destin awaited the king in the private courtyard that led out to the royal gardens. A raw wind from the north brought the promise of the season they called winter in the south. He shivered, regretting that he hadn’t dressed more warmly.
Finally, a half hour past their meeting time, Montaigne descended the steps from the terrace, wearing a nondescript woolen cloak, a hood covering his damp-sand hair. He was accompanied by a tall, rangy girl in prim scribe blue.
It was Lila Barrowhill.
For a long moment all Destin could do was gape. Until he remembered himself, closed his mouth, and went down on one knee.
Well. That answered one question, at least—she was still alive.
“Lieutenant Karn,” Montaigne said, waving him to his feet. His cold gaze flicked over Destin, stinging his skin like tiny needles. “Lila and I were just talking about you.”
“Karn!” Lila said heartily. “I’ve wondered where you’ve been. How are you?”
Destin swallowed hard. “Never better,” he lied. He met Lila’s gaze. “It’s good to see you looking so well.” No lie there.
She raised an eyebrow. “As opposed to dead?”
“As opposed to dead, yes,” Destin said. “When you disappeared after that unfortunate incident in your dormitory, I feared the worst.”
“As I told His Majesty, I feared the worst as well,” Lila said.
“As you know, the son of one of our military officers died that night,” Montaigne said. “Colonel Tourant has been pressing for an inquiry. Lila agreed to answer some of his questions about what happened.”
Destin stared into Lila’s face, trying to read it. So there had been a meeting—one he had not been invited to. That was never a good sign.
“Wonderful,” Destin said. “I stand ready to be enlightened.” He fought the temptation to locate the dagger hidden under the black wool of his tunic or bolt like a deer through the garden.
What had she told the king? Was he dead or alive?
Lila leaned against the courtyard pillar. “I think you already know part of the story,” she said, “so I’ll make it short. When I returned to the dormitory, there were dead bodies all over, and Hanson was missing. I worried that he might be out hunting for me.”
“For you?” Destin stared at her.
“I blame myself. I knew he was high-strung and entitled, but I thought he understood that there would never be anything between us.” She sighed. “It’s not like we had anything in common—no chemistry at all. He was all, study study study, talk talk talk, and, as you know, I like to have a good time.”
“Yes,” Destin said, like a dolt.
“He fancied himself a theologian.” Lila rolled her eyes. “Always ranting about the evil Church of Malthus and how somebody ought to keep the crows—the Malthusian priests, I mean—away from the Ford. He kept nagging me to join his little band of fanatics and blow up churches and such.”
She slid an apologetic look at the king. “I know you are a man of faith, Your Majesty,” she said, without a hint of irony, “but I’m just not interested in religious debates. Besides, I can’t afford to get into any more trouble at school.”
“Of course,” King Gerard said, his face all sympathetic understanding.
Destin cleared his throat. “Young Hanson sounds . . . tiresome.”
Lila nodded. “That’s what I thought—he was tiresome, but all talk and no action. Lately, he’d been chewing a lot of razorleaf so he could stay awake to study, and he got to acting crazy again. So I finally told him off—the night of Tourant’s party. I knew he was pissed. But I never expected this.” She shook her head sadly.
Destin was lost. “You never expected—?”
“I never expected him to start massacring priests,” Lila said.
Blood of the martyrs. She thinks sul’Han did the killings? Seriously? Destin studied her face. He saw no evidence of deceit, but he was beginning to realize that Lila was a master liar.
Well, he wasn’t going to call her on it in front of the king. Especially since Montaigne seemed willing to go along.