Royal Exile (24 page)

Behind him he heard a gasp and he took a long, steadying breath while he pasted a look of disdain into his expression and turned back to face Negev. He even found the wherewithal to brush his hands as though the job were well done. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish, Dara.’ He could hardly believe his savagely sardonic tone, nor his composure. It wouldn’t last. He needed to get out of this chamber as quickly as he could. ‘My apologies if my actions startled you but I’m sure you agree she had outlived her use to any of us? She was turning into a harridan in her lucid moments and your son was right: she was a mere lump of flesh otherwise and absolutely no fun at all.’ Before Negev could form a response, he pressed on, in the same uncaring tone, even finding a bitter smile. ‘I, for one, could not put up with another moment of that bellyaching and cursing. Excuse me, please. I’ll make sure someone cleans up the mess of what’s left of her.’

Dara Negev still seemed to be catching her breath. ‘My son will not approve of this!’ she hissed as he passed her.

It took all of his courage to pause and face her again. ‘Well, with all due respect, Dara, she was mine to do with as I pleased,’ he sneered. ‘That was our arrangement — and I have chosen to end her pathetic life. I think I’d decided as much earlier this morning after I raped her to the sound of her hideous, idiotic babbling. I suppose we should be grateful that at least she made sense just now — it would have been a bit of a letdown to have killed her when she wasn’t aware of what was happening, don’t you think?’ He banished the vision that kept swirling through his mind of the queen sprawled on the gravel, her lifeblood leaking beneath her. ‘Maybe something you said gave her a moment of clarity.’ He gave a soft mirthless chuckle.

‘What did she mean about her son?’ Negev demanded, gathering her wits again.

He had begun approaching the door again and had to get out now. ‘I can’t imagine, Dara Negev. She probably still believes he’s going to make it to his thirteenth anni. I doubt it, don’t you?’ He pulled open the door, praying this was the last parry he’d have to make.

‘My son must be told. Go about your business, Freath, but let my son know what has occurred first.’

‘Yes, Dara, as you wish.’ Freath managed to bow and was surprised to find he could still ask, ‘Shall I escort you —’

‘No!’ she growled, as he had hoped she would. ‘I must let Valya know.’

Freath fled the chamber, hoping he could continue to mask his grief and wondering if he would ever — could ever — come to terms with his part in Iselda’s death. As he walked, almost trotting with his desire to begone from the queen’s apartments, he made himself appreciate that the Valisars were brave to the last and silently reminded himself that he needed to show the same resilience and courage. Stopping on a flight of lonely stairs, he made himself take some steadying breaths. As he leaned back against the cool stone he felt a welcome composure gradually settling over him. Now only the two sons remained — one mad and useless to their case, while the other was still far too young to have such responsibility heaped upon his small shoulders. He wondered where in the castle Leo and Gavriel were at this moment.

Genrie had heard the commotion outside, and had looked down out of one of the windows to see with horror the remains of Queen Iselda. She pulled back, filled with despair, almost unable to believe that her queen had jumped to her death. The woman called Valya had already gone for her ride, hurling insults within orders over her shoulder that a bath should be readied for her return. Genrie knew she needed to find Freath and quickly before any sneering member of Loethar’s people told the queen’s aide. She went looking and finally found him leaning against the wall halfway down a stairwell.

‘Master Freath, the queen, she’s —’

‘I know,’ he interrupted softly. ‘I did it.’

Of all the responses Genrie could have anticipated, this would not have been among them. She stared at the man she admired more than any other. Loved, even. She hadn’t admitted her true feelings to herself until this minute but the fear, the atrocities and intensity of the last couple of days had brought all sorts of things to the surface, making her behave recklessly. The pain at her cheek was testimony to that.

‘You …?’ She couldn’t finish her sentence. ‘Why?’

His beautiful blue eyes wouldn’t look at her. ‘They would have killed her. She wanted her death to count, to achieve something. She forced my hand.’

‘What was the point?’ Genrie asked, horrified that Freath could sound so calm.

‘The point was to protect my disguise. As long as they believe I am a traitor, I have the opportunity to work from the inside to help our new king. Iselda did this for Leonel, no one else.’

She stared at him, lost for words, using the time instead to gaze at the features she found so strangely handsome. Was it only her who found him charismatic and irresistible? Master Freath was so distant, so measured that most of the other servants found him unapproachable, hard to judge. She didn’t though. To her, Freath was wise, safe.

Freath pushed away from the wall, rubbing his head wearily, and now she could see how ashen he looked, how suddenly hollow and broken. ‘Genrie, I think we must get you away from here. It’s going to get even more ugly.’

‘What will they do to you?’ She hurried down the stairs to join him, now gravely worried for him.

He shrugged. It was an unusual gesture; Freath was always so in control, so sure. ‘If not for Leonel, I’m not sure I’d care. Have you got somewhere to go if I could get you out?’

How could he know how much those words hurt her, for she had never shown him, never given him any inkling of her feelings? Hesitantly, somewhat frightened by the intensity of the moment, she leaned toward the man and kissed him gently, not lingering, afraid of a rebuff. It would be polite but it would be firm. She pulled away, awaiting his reaction.

Freath cleared his throat. ‘Well, that wasn’t the reply I was expecting.’ His voice was gruff.

‘I’m sorry, Master Freath, I —’

He surprised her by pulling her back towards him, looking deeply into her face. ‘My name is Herric. Just moments ago I had never felt so adrift. You kissed me and I’ve never felt so anchored. Please, Genrie, do that again.’

He kissed her back this time and tears threatened to squeeze from her closed eyes.

Freath shook his head when they finally parted. ‘Did it show?’ She looked back at him quizzically. ‘I tried so hard to hide how I’ve felt about you these last two anni.’

His words made her catch her breath. ‘No, you hid it very well, Master Freath.’ He smiled briefly at her formality.

‘I’m sorry about that, Genrie. I’m forty-four anni. I gave up on romance a long time ago. And although I’ve been captivated by you since the moment you started, I didn’t for a moment imagine you could ever return my feelings.’

‘For someone so brave that is a cowardly admission.’

He smiled more easily now. She’d never seen such softness in his face. ‘Where you are concerned, yes.’ He kissed her tenderly again before his expression darkened. ‘And now I have more reason to fear for you. I want you to leave. It is getting too dangerous, this fine tightrope we are both walking.’

‘I agreed to follow your lead before they stormed the palace. Nothing has changed.’

‘But you are taking the greater risk. I have some protection through Loethar’s favour. Now the queen’s courageous death has added to my disguise. You are too vulnerable.’

‘I’m not leaving you, certainly not now. Don’t ask me again. I love you, Master Freath. I’m staying come what may.’

He touched her face gently. ‘I can’t believe you’re saying that. I’m probably going to have to ask you to repeat it sometime later when I’ve convinced myself I dreamed this.’

She hugged him tightly. ‘I love you. Remember that always. Now where are you meant to be?’

‘With him.’ She nodded. ‘But tell me quickly about Leonel,’ he added, his voice dropping.

‘I arose just prior to dawn, laid out the food as you asked — everything I could find that was easy for them to grab. Then I yelled out for help so that they’d know there was no one else around and made a big show of going down to the cellar. I gave them ample time and as you predicted some of the food had been taken when I returned. I’d left a flask of milk but I wish I’d thought to leave water in the same fashion — they must be thirsty.’

‘That poor boy. He’s lost everything, and now to be in exile in his own palace.’

‘How can he survive?’

‘The same way we must. Using his wits. He has the advantage of being hidden, plus he has Gavriel De Vis with him. Under the circumstances, we couldn’t have asked for a finer champion. King Brennus chose well.’

‘De Vis is just a young man,’ Genrie said.

‘Leonel trusts him, and that short age gap will keep them close. If you knew Regor De Vis as well as I did, you’d know the breeding is there — we can all trust his sons. Gavriel would lay down his life for Leonel, or for Penraven, for that matter. We can’t ask for more.’

‘De Vis asked me to kiss him just a day or two ago,’ Genrie said playfully.

‘You’ve only kissed me twice and already you’re trying to make me jealous,’ Freath sighed. ‘He’s youthful. I would expect nothing less than his wanting to kiss every beautiful woman he comes across.’

‘Beautiful, eh?’

‘And brave. Stay brave, my Genrie. No heroics, please promise me.’

‘I promise,’ she said and kissed him farewell. ‘Go. The two witches will be looking for me too, I imagine.’

Freath reluctantly let Genrie go and hurried away down towards Loethar’s salon. He had refused to tell her how the king and De Vis would be watching or where from in the kitchens and fortunately she was astute enough not to press him. He blessed his luck that he’d had those few moments with King Brennus before the royal was dragged before Loethar. Captive and already guessing his fate, Brennus had refused Freath’s words of sympathy, telling him instead of the existence of the ingress. Freath realised that his ear was not a desperate option either. He knew the king had absolute faith in him. He must not lose his nerve now. Newly determined, he continued his descent toward the salon where he would find Loethar. He was not looking forward to seeing the queen’s smashed corpse but as he knocked on the barbarian’s door, he hoped with all his heart that Leo would never learn the method of his mother’s death.

In the ingress a terrible silence lay between its two occupants. Gavriel had attempted to say something into the shock of the void but Leo had raised his hand and uttered a single word, ‘Don’t!’

Gavriel waited anxiously, watching the young king’s chest heave as he battled to wrestle back a hurricane of emotion. The luminous glow of the candle revealed the dryness of the royal’s mouth as Leo licked his lips nervously, his forehead creased into a vertical line at its middle, as he concentrated hard on breathing steadily, no doubt talking himself back from the precipice of despair that Gavriel was sure he teetered on. He himself was still in shock over what they’d witnessed and now he knew they had to leave immediately. There would be no time for food, no time for any supplies. What they already had and what they could pick up on the run through the secret corridors up to the roof was all they would have. He imagined the feel of the fresh air on his face; that might help Leo remain steady. He tried not to think about what came beyond that. Surely to lower themselves from this height was close to suicide.
Why not suicide?
Gavriel wondered.
Everyone’s doing it
, he thought bitterly, echoing the sort of dark humour that Corbel would appreciate. But Corb wasn’t here to help him. Blood was pounding through his veins, urging him to take the king and flee. Again his mind helplessly returned to Leo’s audacious idea to lower each other down on a rope.

‘We slide down it, of course!’ he’d said, incredulous that Gavriel had had to ask. ‘We move silently from the palace to beyond the castle gates.’

‘How do we anchor it precisely?’

‘Petty detail!’ the new king had replied, giving an irritated shrug. ‘We have everything we need. Father stocked the ingress with weapons, ropes, cloaks, candles — all sorts of supplies, just in case. You know he checked them annually, had the weapons oiled, sharpened?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Gavriel had replied, somewhat petulantly. How could he!

Leo’s plan was the stuff of boys’ daydreams. Gavriel knew there was a good chance they would fall to their deaths, or at best suffer nasty injuries.

More splattered bodies to be cleaned up
, he heard Corbel’s sombre drone in his mind.

The king’s voice was wintry when it came, interrupting Gavriel’s bleak thoughts. ‘Piven’s fate is in the lap of Lo now but I must survive if I am to see Loethar and Freath answer for their sins. If I do nothing else with this life, I will claim their last breaths; my face will be the last they see.’

Gavriel could only nod. He knew the king needed this fury in order to survive. Perhaps — dare he even think this? — the deaths of the king and the queen were the very triggers needed to turn Leo from crown prince into King Leonel. The boy standing before him now was certainly no child but a genuine King of Penraven and instinctively Gavriel knelt.

‘King Leonel, as my father did to your father, I pledge myself wholly to your service and to your protection. I will follow you wherever you go, I will lay down my life for you.’ The words were rote but he had never meant anything more deeply in his life and to prove it he snatched the knife from his belt and without hesitation slashed open his palm. Leo remained silent, listening gravely, watching sombrely, as Gavriel offered up the most primitive of the Valisar blood covenants, first performed on King Cormoron by his brother. Dipping the fingers of his uninjured hand into the blood pooling in his palm, Gavriel reached up and smeared his blood onto the face of the king.

‘I offer you my blood covenant, King Leonel.’

Clearly moved, Leo nodded. ‘And though we have no witnesses except ourselves, let it be known that I accept your pledge and from this day you will be called Legate Gavriel De Vis.’ Mirroring Gavriel’s actions, Leo took the blade, opened his own palm and painted the resulting blood onto Gavriel’s cheeks and forehead. New king and new legate solemnly clasped bleeding hands together. ‘The Blood Covenant of the 9th is sealed,’ Leo pronounced.