I generally dislike listening to noblemen wax nostalgic about themselves, but since he had an army and I had yet to figure some way out of this mess, I kept quiet.
‘What about the fourth brother?’ Kest asked. I didn’t bother to elbow him; it wouldn’t have done any good: Kest’s obsessive need to know the answer to completely pointless things vastly outweighs his survival instincts.
Rhetan didn’t seem to mind. ‘Astaniel? Ah, he did in fact become Margrave after my father died. He took the seat of Val Iramont at the age of fourteen and held it for nearly five years, every day of which he spent fearing that I was secretly planning to have him killed. He used to wake me up in the night, after our mother had retired for the evening. “I can see how you hunger for what is rightfully mine, little Rhetan”, he would say, and hold a knife to my throat.’ He frowned. ‘He could have killed me at any time, but he was so convinced that I had some devious plot against him that he feared my death would trigger his own.’
‘And you killed him?’ Kest asked.
‘Good Gods, no. After a few years his constant paranoia made him so stressed that he too suffered a heart attack, in the middle of the night. They found him dead, his body lying across a table strewn with sheets of paper upon which he had listed his enemies, real and imagined. That’s when I became the Margrave. I was never a particularly bold warrior, nor even very clever, but I’ve always been patient. Patience is what gets you ahead in life.’ He turned to Pheras, who was still waiting for his orders. ‘Take two dozen of ours below to man the oars and steer us back to shore. Have the galleon follow. Once we’re all back on dry land, have our doctor look to the injured. Afterwards you and the others find something to eat at the palace – I’m sure my nephew won’t mind if you raid his stores.’
Evidalle looked as if he did mind, very much, but he was wise enough to let it pass. ‘The hospitality of Barsat awaits you, Uncle,’ he managed sulkily.
Pheras nodded and ran back up to relay the orders, and during the hustle and bustle, Kest whispered, ‘Falcio, if we’re going to make a move, it has to be now, while Rhetan’s men are busy dealing with the boats.’
‘What can we do?’
‘If we get into position, we can jump over the side just before the barge reaches the dock. Evidalle’s wedding carriage is waiting there – you, Chalmers and I can unhitch the horses while Brasti provides covering fire. The odds aren’t great, but the four of us might—’
‘What about her?’ I asked, looking down at Lady Cestina’s barely conscious sister, leaning against Chalmers for support. The Lady Mareina shared her sister’s colouring and features, but her beauty was marred by extensive cuts and bruising and the effects of being half-starved. She was in no shape to be leaping over the side and running through the shallows, and even if she could, she’d never be fast enough to escape enemy fire.
Kest shook his head. ‘This comes down to moving between the ticks of a clock, Falcio. You know that. If we let anything slow us down, we’ll be dead before we reach the carriage.’
‘You’d leave an innocent victim behind?’ Chalmers whispered furiously.
‘We won’t do her much good if we’re dead.’
‘Keep silent a moment,’ I said, surveying the scene aboard both the galleon and the wedding barge, searching for some opportunity that Kest might have missed. But he was right: Rhetan’s soldiers were disciplined and efficient, and far too numerous for any of our usual tricks. Even with some form of distraction, it would be all we could do to escape without hauling the half-conscious Lady Mareina with us. The young woman’s eyes caught mine; her fear was justified – and contagious. For a moment I worried she might try to make her own desperate run for it, even though she must have known she’d be dead before she hit the water. Perhaps that was preferable to being held captive by her sister and Margrave Evidalle.
‘Just wait a little longer,’ I whispered, as much to myself as to her.
Evidalle made a token effort to regain control of his own wedding. ‘Uncle, we have much to discuss. I suggest we put the Greatcoats to the sword, allow the clerics to complete the ceremony, and then you and I can sit down with a nice glass of brandy and discuss business. With this marriage, my standing in the Duchy will be vastly improved.’
As if he’d only just then noticed the existence of Lady Cestina, Rhetan said, ‘So you managed to seduce the girl after all. You proved me wrong, Evidalle. I never thought it would work.’
Evidalle grinned. ‘Did you ever doubt my powers of persuasion, Uncle?’
‘I certainly doubted her husband would approve the match.’ -Margrave Rhetan walked over to Lady Cestina and bowed. ‘My dearest girl, forgive the unseemly manners of an old man tired from the travails of too many sailings in too short a time.’
Despite the bandaged wound on her shoulder, she responded with an impressive curtsy. ‘Margrave. We are delighted to have you here. As my fiancé says, there is much to—’
‘I understand your first husband met with an unfortunate accident,’ Rhetan interrupted, raising his voice loud enough to be heard all across the wedding barge. ‘And here your poor sister appears to have missed the luncheon.’ He went to stand before Lady Mareina, the dinner knife still dangling loosely from his hand, as if beckoning the girl to take it. She could have, too; she was near enough, and Rhetan showed no sign of being aware he still held it. ‘You appear to have been ill of late, my Lady. How unselfish of you to rise to the occasion of your sister’s wedding.’
Lady Mareina, visibly shaking, took slow, deep breaths as her gaze went from the knife before her to Evidalle, and then to her sister, just a few feet away. The depth of anger she must be feeling, to have been so utterly betrayed by her own blood, had to be overwhelming. I could see the fingers of her right hand twitching, desperate to grab the knife from Rhetan, but when her eyes found the guardsmen all around us, tears of frustration began to slide down her cheeks. ‘My sister is well matched to Margrave Evidalle, my Lord,’ Mareina said, her curtsy made possible only by Chalmers holding her tightly enough to keep her from falling down.
Margrave Rhetan could have let it go – whatever defiance Lady Mareina might have managed had already slipped away – but he kept at her anyway. ‘And your parents? I worry for them, my dear. Yours is a prosperous family, is it not? And yet they too have suffered some recent . . . losses.’
‘Bandits, my Lord,’ Mareina said, her voice low, but without hesitation. ‘These are uncertain times . . .’