Exile (14 page)

“You are quite sufficient, Draken,” she said, very softly.

Draken glanced up, and Tyrolean met his gaze. The First Captain’s face was set, hard. He said nothing.

“Fools all, light the torches! I’d like to see where I am walking.” Reavan thrust himself into the Queen’s chambers. “What’s happened? A servii woke me with some idiotic tale about the princess, and I come to find two Escorts dead in the hall—”

“Aarinnaie tried to kill me,” Elena said. “Draken stopped her.”

The Lord Marshal’s eyebrows climbed.

Draken added, quickly, “Fortunate timing, Lord Marshal.”

A servant lit the torches bracketed to the walls, revealing the strain on Elena’s face.

Reavan’s eyes rested on Elena, and then Draken, who’d yet to drop her hands. “And how did you come to be here, in the Queen’s bedchamber, with your fortunate timing?”

Draken gently disengaged his hands from Elena’s, acutely aware he was bare-chested, and looked away from her filmy sleeping shift. “I couldn’t sleep. I was out for a walk in the courtyard and saw someone moving under the shadows of the breezeway. She behaved suspiciously, and I followed her here.”

“But your timing was not so fortunate as to include the sparing of the slain Escorts?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I made the mistake of assuming your soldiers could defend themselves.”

A beat passed. Reavan’s lips whitened and Tyrolean crossed his arms over his chest.

“Obviously our little pirate princess was taught to kill by her father.” Without quite pushing Draken away, Reavan put himself between them. “Let me see you for myself, my Queen, to assuage my fears.”

Draken happily stepped back.

“I’m all right, Reavan,” Elena said. “Thanks to Draken.”

Draken thought Elena was starting to lay it on a little thick. Reavan did, too, because his lips curled into more a sneer than a smile. “Aye. Thanks to Draken.”

Draken dipped his chin. “If you require nothing more of me…”

“Quite right,” Reavan said. “Let the man go back to his companions and their bed.”

If Draken hadn’t been quite clear on how Akrasian culture viewed their sharing a bed, he was now. He bit back his annoyance, inclined his head in another bow, and turned away.

“I’ll arrange for her execution straight away, Queen Elena. I’ll attend to it myself. Then you’ll rest easier.”

Draken spun back toward them without thinking. “No. No, you can’t do that.”

Reavan arched an elegant eyebrow and his lined eyes widened with interest.

“I understand your loyalty to your former royals,” Elena said. “But Aarinnaie is a traitor, and law decrees she be executed immediately.”

“It would be a terrible mistake, Your Majesty.”

Elena, her lips pursed, considered Draken long enough he thought she was building up to a reprimand, or worse. But she asked, “Why?”

“She knows things about the plot against you—she must, because she never managed all this on her own.”

Reavan reached for one of the blankets to pull up over the Queen’s shoulders. He scowled when she shrugged him away.

“What things might she know?” Elena asked, rising.

“For one so young, she’s well-trained in the art of killing, and she’s had her hate for you nurtured. Someone helped her.” Or used her. But he kept that particular suspicion to himself.

Reavan’s tone was appraising. “We’ll interrogate her, then, before executing her.”

“Khellian’s blood, no!” Draken took a breath and dipped his chin again. “Apologies, Queen Elena, Lord Marshal. But she’s of more use alive. She could lead us right to the heart of the plot. And she is a princess, isn’t she? Her death is the perfect excuse for rebels, should they be great in numbers, to rise against you openly.”

Draken stopped talking at Reavan’s open glare, but his mind kept moving. If Aarinnaie’s father was involved, it could mean civil war. Gods, it could at any rate. What father would stand for his daughter’s execution without a trial? He stared at Elena, and she at him, and he realized she was thinking the same things.

“We’ll take your suggestions under advisement,” Reavan said, and added pointedly, “You’ve done as you said you would. You’re free to leave Auwaer as soon as you wish.”

It should have been a relief. Osias was well past ready to be on his way. And the longer Draken stayed at court, the more likely someone would discover who he really was. Korde curse him, he’d been a fool to think he could ever find Lesle’s killer.

But to just leave...He thought of Elena’s stricken face when she’d sat up on the bed, handspans from her death. Was this what Lesle had felt as death had claimed her? She must have been terrified without Draken there to save her. And how could he ever rest knowing he’d been close to the plot against the Queen, a plot which maybe included the person who had murdered his wife?

“There is more to this scheme against you than I originally thought, Your Majesty,” he said quietly. “But I shall step aside if you wish it.”

“In truth, I am loathe to lose your aid,” Elena said at length.

Draken released a silent breath. “I am ever at your service.”

She drew herself up. “Draken, please interrogate Aarinniae straight away and report back to me. Tonight.”

The fearful victim was gone and in her place stood a Queen. His Queen.

Draken bowed. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Chapter Ten

D
raken could hardly do a proper interrogation half-dressed. Draken woke Osias when he went back to their room and explained what had happened.

“I suppose you’re wishing you’d accepted Setia’s offer now, eh?” Osias asked.

Draken rubbed his mouth with one hand, unwilling to answer. His uncomfortable attraction to his companions was the least of his worries at the moment. “The Queen would be dead, Osias, and I would be at fault for not protecting her.”

Osias shook his head and gave him a sad smile. “I fear for you, Draken, and I fear the motives surrounding this attack. We know a Mance is involved. Deadly for anyone who tries to stop him. Deadly for you.”

“You didn’t try to stop me before.”

“Truth?” Osias’ smile was gone, his face slack as a death mask. “I never expected you to live so long.”

“That’s encouraging,” Draken said dryly.

Setia woke to their voices. “What is it? Why are you awake?” She looked very young and pretty in their bed, her curls tousled and the dapples in her skin gleaming in the candlelight.

“Sorry to have woken you,” Draken said, not meeting her gaze.

“Princess Aarinnaie attacked the Queen,” Osias said.

“Attacked her?” Setia pushed herself up to sitting. “Why would Aarin do such a thing?”

Aarin. Draken pulled on his shirt and knotted the laces at his throat. “How do you know her, Setia, to call her by the familiar?”

Setia’s gaze slipped to Osias.

Draken sighed and sat next to her on the bed. “I have to interrogate her. If you know anything of help, I’d like to hear it.”

“Like most sundry in Brîn,” Osias said, “Setia was a slave. She served the House of Khel, the Royal Citadel of Brîn, before the Akrasians came. She knew Aarinnaie as a baby.”

Draken couldn’t fathom Setia as a slave. Sudden affection for her and painful regret she’d been born into such grim circumstances consumed him. He of anyone knew what it was like. “But it was Sohalias ago,” he said. “Aarinnaie must be twenty by now, or older.”

“I told you, I’m older than I look,” she said.

“Setia knows many things about the Brînian Prince and about his loss of the Crown,” Osias said.

“What sorts of things?” Draken asked.

Setia studied her knees. “When the Brînian King was murdered, Prince Khel disappeared for many Sohalias. He went into hiding on the sea, he claimed. To the Dragonstar Isles. By the time he reappeared, Elena’s father felt more lenient toward him, since Prince Khel did not challenge the established peace but declared his fealty to the Akrasian Crown.”

“It’s probably public knowledge,” Draken said. “So what of it?”

“I know where he really went, what he did,” Setia said. But she didn’t offer more.

“Does Aarinniae know?” Draken asked.

Setia shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He decided not to push her further, though curiosity bit at him.

“Setia could be perceived as a threat, though—by the Queen and by Aarinnaie,” Osias said. “Especially if the Crown learns she was at House Khel and witnessed the Prince’s escape.”

Draken nodded his understanding, though he wasn’t quite sure how Elena would see Setia as a threat. “Well, it’s our secret, then. She won’t hear of it from me.”

Setia reached out for Draken’s hand. “I fear Aarinnaie will be...surprised by you.”

“She’d seen me already,” Draken said. “At court, before, and tonight. She did seem surprised, though. Do you know why?”

“Just…” She looked past him at Osias. “You’re Brînian and you’re working on behalf of the Queen. Brînians don’t often come to court.”

“I’m not Brînian, remember?” Draken said, looking from one to the other. “I’m Monoean.” He started for the door but turned back. He hadn’t missed the glance between the Moonling and the Mance. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“Not presently,” Osias answered, his back stiff, his attention on Setia. He didn’t turn around as Draken left the room.

A thick cluster of Royal Escorts lingered in the hall outside the room where Aarinnaie had been taken. Two more stood at attention inside the room, swords drawn, eyes on their prisoner. Her feet and hands were shackled to a heavy chair. One side of her face was raw and red, contrasting with her dark blue eyes. Blood from her mouth had run down her neck and stained her collar. Upon closer inspection, Draken realized the shackles were maliciously tight.

He stood over her for a few moments, staring down at her defiant eyes. Then he knelt in front of her so he had to look up into her face.

She didn’t respond except to close her eyes.

Draken rose and turned to find First Captain Tyrolean observing from the doorway.

“Queen Elena did not say to mistreat the prisoner,” Draken said. “She said to bring her here and hold her for questioning.”

The Captain’s fingers twitched toward the knife on his belt. “If my Queen has issue with the prisoner’s treatment, I am certain she will advise me of it.”

“I was assigned to question her, which puts her in my charge. Unshackle her at once and bring something so she can clean herself.”

The Akrasian’s brows dropped over his black-lined eyes. Apparently taking orders from Brînian strangers was outside his experience. “I’ll not allow her freedom of movement without a directive from the Queen. She’s a dangerous assassin and a traitor.”

“I’ll be waiting for towels and water then, Captain,” Draken said. “I’ll tend her myself, since she is unable. And leave us be. We need to speak, and we don’t need an audience.”

“It’s not safe.”

Draken turned back to look at Aarinnaie, who glared at them both. “She’ll be safer with me than with your Escorts,” he said.

“I meant she’s not safe for you.”

Draken laughed with practiced sarcasm as he pushed past Tyrolean to get to the hall. “Have you forgotten I’m the one who caught her in the first place?”

“A private word with you, bloodlord?” Tyrolean followed close behind and continued when they’d put some distance between them and the Escorts. “I will not have you make demands of me as if I am a common servii. I am the First Captain at the Queen’s Bastion.”

Draken sighed. “I’m just working the prisoner. She needs to view me as an ally, not the enemy. I’ll never get anything out of her if she thinks I’m on your side.”

“Which side
are
you on, I wonder?”

“The
Queen’s
, First Captain. I’m only doing as she asked.”

“See you keep close to task,” Tyrolean said. He strode away from Draken to speak to his Escorts.

Why did these Akrasians make everything so cursed difficult? Draken leaned against the wall, intending to let Aarinnaie stew for a few minutes, and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Nausea from exhaustion clawed at his stomach. He wondered how likely it was he’d get some information from her about a Mance involved in the plot. Not at all, he thought grimly, and then looked up at the sound of his name.

Heir Geord cut his way through the Escorts, followed by his two guards. One was a huge, emotionless, bejeweled man who stared past Draken as if he weren’t there. The other was slighter, with an appealing gaze and attractive, refined features. Light dappling peppered his forehead and his eyelashes were thick enough to make his eyes look lined. He gazed at Draken with distinct, polite interest. When Geord stopped in front of Draken, they stood silent sentry behind, hands resting on their sword hilts.

Despite the hour, the Heir to the Brîn Principality wore enough chains and rings to outfit a table at a jewel stall. His wavy hair hung loose to his shoulders and the white metal shone against his bare chest.

“You,” he said.

“Aye,” Draken said mildly. “Me.”

“My betrothed is here, and they won’t allow me passage.”

“She’s not exactly a guest anymore,” Draken said. “She’s a prisoner.”

“Cursed moons! I know that. What I’ve not been told is why. I am an emissary from Brîn. By our treaty I’ve a right to see her.”

Geord needed someone to take out his frustration on, and Draken was not happy to oblige. He didn’t know anything about their treaty, but he knew they would never allow Geord to pass. At this point the Heir was under suspicion as well, at least as far as Draken was concerned. But maybe there was another tactic to take here.

“Walk with me, my lord, would you?”

Geord considered long enough that Draken was sure he’d refuse, but then he turned and strode off, leaving Draken hurrying to catch up.

“I was assigned to interrogate her, my lord,” Draken said, trying to affect a civil, even deferential, tone. “I’ll do what I can to save her, but she made an attempt on the Queen’s life tonight and came close to succeeding.”

“She…” Geord’s steps faltered in what Draken took as honest surprise, and he turned to face Draken. His voice was a harsh whisper. “Seven Eyes, why would she do such a thing?”