I squeezed her hand back and tried to think of something clever and biting to say. I hated it when she knew what I was thinking, and I hated it more when she had to remind me of my duty. In a scarily short time, Aline had gone from a frightened and confused little girl to a young woman who exemplified everything you could hope for in a monarch: she was clever, compassionate, strong when she needed to be, merciful when she could afford to be. In her I saw my King’s dream made flesh, and all the things Kest, Brasti – so many of us – had fought to bring about for the country. She was our future.
I pulled my hand away after a few seconds, saying nothing – it wasn’t that my sense of humour had abandoned me, just that, for the first time in my life, I was quite sure I had no intention of following the law.
Filian, the man I was absolutely sure was the true-born son of King Paelis, would never take the throne from Aline.
I wouldn’t allow it.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The Divided Order
‘I take it that went well?’ Brasti asked, taking note of my expression as I left the council room. He and Kest followed me as I made my way out of the royal wing and back towards the centre of the keep.
‘Well?’ Brasti repeated, jogging to catch up to me.
‘It took roughly thirty seconds after I gave my report for half of them to begin plotting against us.’
‘And the other half?’ Kest asked.
‘Plotting against each other.’ I stopped, waiting as a group of craft-masters followed the labourers carting building materials past us, off to start repairing some other bit of the castle that was never going to be fixed in my lifetime. I was starting to wonder why they bothered.
Brasti opened his mouth to speak, then stopped.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Well, it’s just that . . . if it’s down to who can come up with the most vicious, conniving plot, should we . . . ? You know . . .’ He seemed to be struggling to meet my eye.
‘Spit it out.’
‘Well, shouldn’t we go and see the Tailor? I mean, aren’t vicious conniving plots kind of her stock in trade?’
Even Kest looked uncomfortable. ‘That . . . hasn’t entirely worked out for us in the past.’
I almost laughed at that. Almost. ‘You mean, besides the time she sold me out to the Dashini Unblooded so they could torture me to death?’
‘Now be fair,’ Brasti countered, ‘all that torture and poison may well have helped burn the neatha out of your blood – it’s pretty much been dead fatal in every other case.’
‘There’s a different issue we should consider,’ Kest said. ‘If Filian is the King’s son, and we all think he is, then the Tailor is his grandmother. How can we be sure who she’ll side with?’
And that’s the real problem: the reason I really can’t trust her. Not with this.
‘Fine,’ Brasti asked. ‘Then what are you going to do now?’
Kest shot me a sympathetic look. He already knew exactly what I had to do next, which meant my day wasn’t likely to get any better. As much as I’d rued having to tell the Dukes about the twin problems of Filian and Avares, it was the next meeting that I would have done anything to avoid.
‘Carefully and quietly, I need the two of you to gather all the other Greatcoats still in Aramor. Talia, Mateo, Antrim . . . all of them.’
‘What about Chalmers?’ Brasti asked. ‘She’s only really half a Greatcoat, isn’t she?’
‘Her too – and find out where Gwyn’s stashed himself away. We’ll need him too.’
‘And when we find them?’ Brasti asked.
‘Bring them to the old Greatcoats wardroom.’ I took in a long, slow breath, and yet still felt as if there wasn’t enough air in my lungs. ‘It’s time to tell them what’s become of our brothers and sisters.’
*
‘You’re either lying or you’re stupid,’ Talia repeated, slamming the butt of her spear against the already-damaged stone floor of the wardroom for the third time.
Antrim Thomas, who’d always been something of a diplomat, tried to soften the blow. ‘I think what Talia’s asking is . . . is there any way this might all be some kind of . . . mistake?’
Brasti snorted. ‘Morn nearly beat Falcio to death and then locked us all up. No mistake there.’
‘Well, in his defence,’ Mateo chimed in, trying to make a joke of it, ‘who hasn’t wanted to beat the shit out of the three of you once in a while?’
Talia rose to her feet, her spear still in hand as if she might have some cause to use it. ‘This isn’t a fucking joke, Mateo.’ She pointed her weapon at me. ‘He’s accusing more than forty Greatcoats of turning traitor. Forty!’
‘Forty-two,’ Kest corrected.
‘Shut the hells up, Murrowson! No one thinks you’re clever just because correcting people gives you a tingle in your balls.’ She turned back to me. ‘Quillata. You’re really telling me Quillata betrayed the King? Do you have any idea how many times she saved my life? How many times Quil saved my brother’s life when she was his Cantor?’
‘I’m guessing you’re about to tell me.’
I hadn’t meant to sound glib; however much Talia’s ferocity sometimes grated on me, I knew it was her way of showing her devotion to the cause. Deep down, I’d always admired her. Shame the feeling wasn’t mutual.
‘You arrogant fucking prig! Quil should have been the First Cantor, not you!’ Talia started tapping my chest with the head of her spear. ‘If Morn and the others really have turned traitor, then it’s because you damn well pushed them to it.’
Kest got between us. Talia let the tip of her spear drift up to his chin. ‘Something you want to say to me, Murrowson?’
He gave no ground. ‘Only this: if you think Falcio isn’t already eating himself up inside with that thought, you don’t know him very well.’ With his left hand he batted the head of her spear away. ‘And if you think I’m going to let you keep pushing him, then you don’t know me at all.’
Antrim got to his feet. ‘Let’s all take a breath. We need—’
‘Kest-fucking-Murrowson,’ Talia said, bringing her spear back into line, ‘are you sure you were the Saint of Swords? Because most of us always figured you for the Saint of Lapdogs, following Falcio around and growling at anyone who got in his way.’
‘Keep pointing that weapon at me, Talia, and you’ll find out exactly who I am.’
Tempers began to flare in the room, everyone shouting – even those calling for calm – except for Gwyn, who sat silently, looking out the window as if he desperately wanted to climb out of it. Chalmers kept staring at me, waiting for me to say something – to do something – to stop the situation from getting even more out of hand. But I couldn’t. For all Talia’s bluster, the reason her words were cutting so deeply was because she was right: if the others had so lost faith in what we stood for that they’d willingly turn their backs on the King’s dream, then they had done so because I’d failed to give them a reason to keep believing.
I wasn’t the First Cantor any more, not in any way that mattered.
‘Enough!’ Chalmers shouted, her voice too young to sound anything other than shrill. ‘Is this what the Greatcoats have become? Bickering children so eager to assign blame that we can’t even focus on the danger to the country?’
‘What would you know?’ Talia asked. ‘Nobody in this room is even sure if you are a Greatcoat, little girl, and certainly nobody wants you here. How old would you have been when the King named you? Thirteen?’