Or an unscrupulous minion of the king. Destin smiled benignly at Granger.
As they descended the stairs, Granger grew more relaxed, almost chatty. Definitely a bit more daring when it came to taking pokes at Destin. Maybe it was because he was on his own turf. It was disturbing that he’d recovered from yesterday’s interview so quickly.
“So, as you’ll see, the hostages are safe and sound, right under the king’s eye, and totally secure.”
They’d finally reached the bottom of the staircase. Granger drew a second ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. After that, it was down another corridor and through another set of doors. Here the air was dank, thick with moisture, and the walls gleamed with sweat. Destin could hear water trickling, and several times they crossed streamlets running across the floor. It was cold, too—a damp cold that penetrated all the way to the bone.
That’s when Destin knew: King Jarat was stupid enough to keep his hostages in the Pit—only a remote, secret part of it, unconnected to the rest. A place where they would never be found by anyone who didn’t know where to look. He sent up a prayer of thanks to whatever god had persuaded him not to bring Matelon along. Even a stoic soul like Matelon couldn’t help but react to this.
He glanced at Marina. Her face was smooth, unreadable. She’s not surprised, he thought. She knew the Montaignes better than most—at least among those who were still alive.
Finally, they reached another checkpoint staffed with blackbird guards—none of whom were known to Destin. They all seemed to know Granger, though. After some whispered discussion, the group passed through.
Lila had been amazingly silent so far, but now she spoke up. “How many hostages are down here?”
Granger lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Probably thirty. That’s not counting the lytlings.”
Marina’s head came up. “The children are down here?” This revelation had broken through her wall. She’d always had a soft spot for children.
“They’d want to be with their mothers, wouldn’t they?” Granger said. “I’ve asked the guards to gather everyone up for a count.”
The next area was better lit, and the air seemed a little more breathable. Destin could see evidence that the families, or their captors, had tried to make their prison more comfortable. Here and there, a rug centered a gathering of random furniture. Families had set up in some of the side chambers, with beds lining the walls, tables and chairs, and draperies hung over the entries to provide a bit more privacy.
“Many of our guests have apartments here in the capital,” Granger said, “thus, we were able to bring in their own furniture so that they would feel at home.”
“A few months down here, and their furniture will be fit for the midden heap,” Destin said.
“Hopefully, peace will be restored before then,” Granger said. “It was their choice, of course, whether to bring their belongings in.”
“What are they eating down here?” Lila said.
“They are supplied from the kitchens,” Granger said. “They do much of their own cooking, since we cannot exactly serve formal meals—that would draw too much attention, all that coming and going. Fortunately, goods keep well down here.”
But people don’t, Destin thought, pressing his lips together. The families would never forget this, and the thanes would never forgive it. This is not how you treat people that you might want as your allies later on. But maybe Jarat doesn’t care. He has Granger, after all, who is probably plotting his overthrow.
Destin could hear voices from farther on. The blackbirds had gone on ahead of them, no doubt to begin the “gathering” process.
The families were assembled in a larger chamber in the cave—what seemed to stand in for a great hall. A table—not large enough to accommodate everyone at once, but sizable—stood at one end. Destin smelled woodsmoke, and realized that there must be some sort of kitchen nearby.
They stood in a shabby little group—their faces closed and guarded. He recognized some of them: Lady Matelon and her daughter. Christina Heresford and her four younger children. Her husband, Ross, had been killed in the war with the north. Her eldest, Rafe, was with the rebels at White Oaks. Patrice DeLacroix, mother to the unfortunate Estelle, and wife to Pascal, who had joined the rebels. Danielle Oberon, cousin to DeLacroix. She’d taken full advantage of the family’s rise when DeLacroix was Montaigne’s favorite.
Several flinched and looked away when they saw Destin. His face was well known at court, his reputation throughout the empire.
Do they think I’m going to torture them? Interrogate them? Murder them?
Well, yes. Why wouldn’t they?
Granger came up beside him. “The count is forty-five, Lieutenant. Twenty-eight adults and seventeen children.”
Lila wrote that number down, although Destin had noticed that she was taking her own count.
“Lieutenant Karn,” Lady Matelon said, fixing on him immediately. “I won’t say welcome, because that would be dishonest, and I try to tell the truth as often as I can.”
Christina Heresford came up beside her and patted her arm. “Now, now, Marjorie, just because we’ve fallen on hard times doesn’t mean that we should forget our manners.” She looked up at Destin. “Can we offer you some gruel, Lieutenant?”
“We’re all out of gruel,” a voice called from amid the crowd.
“Some bread and water, then?” Heresford arched her brow. “Tell me, Lieutenant, is it true that bread is still wholesome if one cuts the mold off?”
Destin was struck by the iron-spined defiance of these women, kept belowground for months, aware of how tenuous their position was. Strong men do choose strong women, he thought. It’s only the weak that are threatened by them.
“Thank you,” he said, “but we’re actually here for another purpose. Is everyone here? Is anyone missing?”
“There are two babies asleep in the nursery,” Heresford said, folding her arms. “Shall we wake them up?”
Destin shook his head. That makes forty-seven, he thought.
He turned to Marina. “Your Majesty?”
“I bring some good news,” Marina said. “We’re here to invite you to a party.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the chamber.
“A party?” Lady Matelon looked at Lady Heresford. “Who the hell is inviting us to a party?” It seemed that her time underground had surfaced the grit in the thanelee.
“His Majesty is entertaining the ambassadors and nobility from the down-realms,” Marina said, “and he would like you to be there.”
“Why?” DeLacroix said, her body stiff with disapproval. “Is he going to stage an execution for his guests?”
“Let me remind you that King Jarat was not responsible for Lady Estelle’s unfortunate death,” Marina said.
“Gerard is dead,” DeLacroix said. “I expected that, as Jarat’s mother, you would exert more influence over—”
“I offer the king counsel,” Marina said, a little sharply, “but, like his father, he makes his own decisions. I would argue that your influence is limited as long as you are locked up out of sight. This could be an opportunity to forge a new relationship with a new king.”
“He can forge a new relationship with us by freeing us and allowing us to rejoin our families,” Lady Matelon said.
“That is unlikely to happen anytime soon,” Destin said. “But this would afford you a little freedom. It could be a start.” Destin knew he should stay out of it. He was no diplomat, and their hatred of him ran deep.
“Why would the king send his spymaster to invite us to a party?” Lady DeLacroix said, tilting her head at Destin. “Are you going to handwrite the invitations, too?”