I didn’t dignify that with an answer but hauled myself up a few inches more, found a gap to jam in a toe and resumed the climb. There was a limit to how much abuse I was willing to take from her – also, at this point it was probably safer to finish the climb than it was to try to get back down.
Eventually we reached the highest surviving floor and forced the window open. I pulled out a piece of amberlight and by the light of the torch Darriana produced I recognised our surroundings: one of the many storage rooms the King had used for unwanted gifts. Sure enough, the little cabinet with all the bottles from Saints-knew-where was still there – and it wasn’t even locked.
‘Why would the King keep these here?’ she asked. ‘Didn’t he have a wine cellar?’
‘A vast one,’ I replied. ‘But these were all gifts, so he could never be sure they weren’t poisoned.’
‘Makes sense,’ she said, picking out a bottle. She twisted the cork out and handed it to me. ‘You first.’
‘Me? Aren’t you supposed to be a Dashini? Don’t you go through some kind of mystical training to make yourself resistant to poison?’
‘Yes – but I reckon you’ve been poisoned so many times your body probably doesn’t care any more.’
‘Good point.’ I took a swig, and the taste of summer peaches woke up my tongue, closely followed by a burning sensation – but it could have been worse. ‘Not bad,’ I said, passing her the bottle.
She took a drink. ‘Sweet,’ she said, then a moment later, ‘Oh . . . I quite like that.’
I extended my hand for the bottle but she pulled it away from me and threw it against the far wall. It smashed into a thousand pieces, the delicious peachy liquor pooling on the floor.
‘Why in hells would you do that?’ I growled, glaring.
Darriana picked out another bottle. ‘We already tried that one. Let’s push our luck a bit, shall we?’
Reluctantly, I accepted the bottle. And the next. And the one after that.
An hour or so later, sitting on the floor with our backs to the wall, somewhat drunk and still alive, she said, ‘I wanted to ask you something.’
‘Go ahead.’
She turned to me, her eyes a little blurry from the booze. ‘You came back to find Pastien – why?’
‘The same reason you did. I was going to beat some sense into him.’
‘But weren’t you risking the nobles getting pissed off with the Greatcoats?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And isn’t Aline likely to need Pastien’s support in the coming days?’
I was a little confused about where this was going.
‘And didn’t Valiana specifically tell you to leave him alone?’
I nodded again.
She leaned her head back against the wall. ‘So you risked creating all kinds of inconveniences for yourself and the Crown, in full knowledge that Valiana would be furious with you, just to slap that git around a bit.’
‘Except you got there first.’
She grinned. ‘Yes, but I’m crazy. Everyone knows that.’
‘True.’
‘So why did you do it? Why go there, knowing you’d likely only make things worse?’
I rubbed my shoulder while I thought about that. The climb had been harder than I expected and the soothing effects of the alcohol were wearing off. ‘I don’t know,’ I said finally. ‘No, wait, that’s not true. I do know. Valiana said something to me. She said, “You’re not my real father. Don’t pretend to be”.’
‘So?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t give a shit if I’m her father or not. She’s my daughter, and no one gets to treat her like dirt while I’m alive.’
Darriana gave a little snort, then looked up at the ceiling. After a few seconds, she turned and kissed me on the cheek.
‘What’s that for?’ I asked.
She leaned her head against my shoulder. ‘For knowing that sometimes the right thing to do happens to be the wrong thing.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Price of a Crown
The next morning I was summoned before the Ducal Council. I could think of two reasons, and I prepared a response for each one. If they’d heard about my shenanigans with Pastien and wanted to take the opportunity to dress me down or threaten me with one punishment or another, well, fine: I could live with that. I’d prostrate myself, apologise and beg forgiveness, and as long as that over-manicured piece of shit never tried humiliating Valiana again, I was happy to let him kick me around a bit.
The second possibility was that the Dukes had a list of demands in order to put Aline on the throne, as Duchess Ossia had predicted. They would seek to curb the Greatcoats’ influence in their territories, or maybe demand we stamp out a problem or two. I had little doubt that whatever they wanted from me would involve a combination of humiliation and life-threatening danger. I could live with that too. The country’s need was far too great, and the salvation of seeing Aline crowned was too close for me to screw things up out of pride or indignity.
Whatever they demanded, this time I was going to keep my temper. I would honour my commitment to maintain my calm and give offence to no one, remembering the times when Paelis had been King and I’d been able to sit quietly and speak diplomatically, regardless of whatever asinine proposals the Dukes had in mind for me.
A magistrate is, first and foremost, a man of words.
Peaceful words.
‘Are you absolutely fucking mad?’ I shouted, slamming a hand down on the new large round oak table inside the council chambers. I suspected the table’s shape was to prevent anyone – especially Valiana or Aline – from ever being at the head of the table and therefore being seen to have greater status than the Dukes.
‘It’s a perfectly sound request,’ Hadiermo, Duke of Domaris, said for the third time. He was, notably, the man who’d lost most of his men to Trin’s army in less than a week of fighting.
‘None of you,’ I said, pointing to each one of them in turn, ‘not one fucking one of you is ever going to marry Aline.’
‘It needn’t be one of us,’ Duke Jillard said, with the calm that comes from already knowing that even if you haven’t quite won yet, your opponent has lost.
So much for my new best friend, I thought.
‘She. Is. Too. Young,’ I said, emphasising each word to see if I could, through sheer effort, make them understand.
Erris, Duke of Pulnam, the brave leader who, having largely lost his own battles with Trin’s forces, waited until we had saved his bony arse before making a pact with the bitch to betray us, creaked his way to a standing position. This was, apparently, a time for the sage wisdom of elder statesmen. ‘She is of marriageable age,’ he said, and promptly sat back down again.
‘Well argued, Duke—’
‘I’m not finished,’ he said. ‘Like it or not, First Cantor, the girl is old enough – by the Saints, man: you want to make her Queen of Tristia and give her the whole country, but you say she’s too young to manage a husband?’
‘There’s a side to this you aren’t seeing, Falcio,’ said Duke Jillard, looking for all the world as if he were magnanimously trying to reason with me. ‘For the sake of the Kingdom, Aline must take a husband so that she can produce an heir.’
‘And when she does you’ll have no more use for her, will you, your Graces?’
‘You tread close to a dangerous accusation,’ Hadiermo said. ‘Do the Greatcoats suspect this council of wrongdoing?’