The next time Granger was on his way to a fitting, he was waylaid by a hooded assailant who beat him soundly and promised to improve the fit of his breeches with a quick bit of surgery if he didn’t find another tailor. It was possible that Granger suspected Destin’s involvement, but he couldn’t prove it, which was what counted, for now.
Destin despised Granger, but he’d learned a long time ago that even the most despicable person could be useful. Especially a despicable person with a secret.
Now Destin settled in to wait. He might have been tempted to sample some of the bailiff’s top-shelf wine, but the risk of poison was too great. Granger had made lots of enemies on his way up.
It wasn’t long before Destin heard fumbling at the door—somebody who’d been drinking, judging by how long it took for him to manage the latch. The door slammed open and Granger stumbled in. Thankfully, he was alone. He kicked the door shut, which nearly put him down on his back. He stumbled to the garderobe and unbuttoned his breeches, hurrying to unburden himself of excess ale.
When he turned back around, he found himself facing Destin Karn. “What the devil are you doing here, you scummer-sucking, backgammoning molly?” He dragged at his breeches, hurrying to fasten them again.
“I’m not the one with his breeches down,” Destin said.
The bailiff blushed hot pink. “This is my apartment,” he said. “You’re the intruder. The king is going to hear about this, I promise you.”
“Sit down,” Destin said. “I need to talk to you.” He shoved a stool toward Granger with his foot.
Granger’s gaze slid to the door, then back to Destin. Maybe he decided there was no way he’d reach the door without being intercepted. Maybe he figured he’d have more dirt on Destin to take to the king if he stayed and listened. In any event, he sat and regarded Destin through baleful eyes.
“I suppose by now you’ve heard that the king intends to invite the families of the rebellious thanes to the inauguration reception,” Destin said.
“He—? Right. Of course,” Granger said, making a rocky recovery. “I think it is exceedingly gracious of him to allow them to participate. It may even present an opportunity for them to redeem themselves.”
“Really? How so?” Destin said, assuming the bailiff wasn’t referring to an opportunity to escape.
“Once the rebels are defeated, and their ringleaders executed, His Majesty will need to dispose of the rebels’ holdings. One solution would be to allow those of us who have remained loyal to the crown to marry into the old families. To bring them back into the fold, as it were.”
“Good idea,” Destin said. “It’s too bad that you are already betrothed to Lady—”
“A broken engagement is a small price to pay in the cause of unifying the empire,” Granger said. “You yourself, Lieutenant, might be in need of an advantageous marriage one day soon.”
Destin’s patience was rapidly eroding. This was not on any list of topics he wanted to discuss with Luc Granger. “Are you proposing marriage, Granger? This is all so sudden.”
Granger flushed. “I am offering you a word of warning,” the gaoler snarled. “I have it on good authority that your father’s days as general of the armies are coming to an end.” He paused, perhaps expecting Destin to leap to the general’s defense.
“I’m sure His Majesty will make his decisions based on performance, just as his father did,” Destin said calmly.
Looking disappointed, Granger pressed on. “Your father was close to King Gerard, but King Jarat does not share the late king’s confidence that the general can deal with a two-front war.”
“That’s the king’s call, of course,” Destin said. “Does he have a suitable replacement in mind?”
Granger brushed imaginary lint from his sleeve. “My name has been mentioned.”
“Really? Then may I be the first to offer congratulations,” Destin said. “Will you be giving up some of your other jobs, or will you keep them all?”
Granger blinked at him.
Clearly this was intended to keep Destin awake at night, worrying. Indeed, it might, since it practically guaranteed victory to the rebels. Granger against Matelon? That was a mismatch of epic proportions.
Ah, Granger, Destin thought. You think you are wielding a big stick, but my stick is so much bigger than yours. Your mistake is that you think I gained power because of my father. The fact is, I gained power in spite of him.
“Then there’s the matter of your mother’s family,” Granger said.
Destin tented his fingertips together. “My mother’s family?” Each word was a warning delivered through gritted teeth, but Granger was oblivious.
“She was a Chambord, right?”
“Is a Chambord, yes,” Destin said. Granger had stumbled on the one topic that might get him killed, despite Destin’s best intentions.
“She’s still alive? I didn’t know that.”
“Yes. She is. She prefers to remain at her family’s estates in Tamron,” Destin said. “She and the general live apart.”
“His Majesty has invited Lord Chambord to come to court. Repeatedly.”
His Majesty’s invitations were more like orders—risky to disobey. But Destin’s uncle, his mother’s brother, had stayed in Tamron.
“Uncle Charles is devoted to my mother, and she is in delicate health,” Destin said. “As I’m sure he told the king when he sent his regrets.”
“People are saying that the Chambords are sympathetic to the rebellion,” Granger persisted. “And that’s why they are not at court.”
“Really? What people?” Destin said, his voice a river of ice. “Be specific, now.”
“I . . . ah . . . disremember,” Granger said, beating a hasty retreat. “So. All I’m saying is that you might be able to safeguard your future with the right marriage to someone willing to . . . overlook your baser proclivities.”
Proclivities, Destin thought. An oddly pretentious word for a gaoler. All in all, he was growing impatient with Granger and his volleys of verbal darts. Destin’s tolerance of fools went only so far.
“I think we agree that the king’s invitation to the families is gracious, and generous,” he said, forcing the conversation back where it belonged, “but I’m worried that this act of kindness might endanger the king’s agenda, and possibly his life.”
“You are?” Granger leaned forward, all ears. “Why is that? Are you questioning the king’s judgment?”
“Not at all,” Destin said. “I’m concerned that some of the thanelees might take the opportunity to embarrass King Jarat in front of his down-realm guests.”
“That’s no problem,” Granger said. “I’ll handle it. I’ll use the children as leverage.”
No, you will not, Destin thought.
“I will handle it,” Destin said, “but I will need your help. Queen Marina has asked me to accompany her into the—into their quarters. My role is to make the consequences of bad behavior plain. Her role will be to assess what is needed to make them ready for the reception. We believe that is the way to best assure their cooperation.”
“The queen?” Granger’s bluster faded a bit. “The queen—in the Pit? Absolutely not. That’s no place for a lady.”
“That’s just what I told Her Majesty, and she pointed out that there are at least a dozen ladies down there now—with their children. She is determined to go and invite them personally, then arrange for clothing, bathing, and so on. It would reflect badly on our king if they look as if they’ve spent months in a dungeon.”
The irony of this was, of course, lost on Granger. But the potential blowback from allowing the queen into his domain was not.
“I’ll—I’ll need a few days,” Granger muttered, visibly twitchy.
“We don’t have a few days,” Destin said. “The reception is a week away. We’re coming tomorrow. More importantly, I’ve received intelligence suggesting that the rebels are planning an attack on the capital while our down-realm visitors are here. They may intend to embarrass King Jarat—or they may intend to achieve through assassination what they haven’t done through force of arms.”
By now, Granger was looking a little ill, as if his hard-won role as gaoler and captain of the King’s Guard wasn’t sitting well. If King Jarat went down, he could expect no mercy from the thanes whose families he’d incarcerated.