The Pirate of Fathoms Deep (15 page)

Sarrica barked, "Is he wrong?"

"No, Your Majesty, High Commander. That sounds exactly like the Hands of Death. But if Treya Mencee took issue with Harken, they would have tried diplomatic means first. We are well aware of what a positive relationship with Harken brings us and have no wish to jeopardize it. If they were sending out the Hands of Death, whom they would never send to foreign soil, they would have warned me, and I vow they have not."

"What of the rest of those gathered here? Would they have knowledge of such a thing, knowledge they would not share with you?"

"Not if they wished to remain alive," Lace replied flatly, causing several people to flinch and look closer to panicking than ever.

But none of them acted
guilty.
They acted like people who were afraid they would be blamed no matter what the truth of the matter might be. Lesto swept his gaze back and forth, watching them closely as Sarrica started laying into them again, detailing all that had happened to Lesto from the kidnapping onward.

When Sarrica came to the tavern where Lesto and Shemal had been attacked, the young man at the far end, three seats from Lace, looked angry and miserable for the barest moment. It wasn't much of a tell, but it was certainly enough to poke at.

Lesto smacked his hand on the table lightly, halting the conversation. Sarrica leaned back and waited for him to proceed. Gesturing at the young man in question, Lesto looked at Lace and asked, "Who is he? What does he do?"

"He is my assistant," Lace said. "Peter Tarn. He is the youngest son of a good friend of mine. I'm training him as a favor. He's a boy, harmless."

That was no boy. That was a young man, at least twenty years of age, plenty old enough to get in way over his head. "Who is this good friend?"

"Lady Vesper, Marchioness of Whitley. She's…" Lace stopped speaking, some sort of awful realization falling over his face. His gaze snapped back to Peter, and he started speaking in rapid Treyan.

Lesto and Sarrica looked at the silver tongue, who started speaking while watching the conversation on the far side of the table. "He wants to know what Peter's brother has done this time, what mess has he dragged Peter into." She frowned. "Peter says that the Star of Menceera is missing, that the Hands of Death were sent to take it back and kill everyone on the ship as a warning to the thief, but the Star wasn't on board. Peter tried to stop them, but it was too late by the time his messages reached Treya Mencee. His brother also ordered their own men to—"

She stopped as Lace broke off, rose, and went around the table to yank Peter from his seat and started hitting the boy back and forth across the face. Lesto surged from his seat and closed the distance quickly. He tore them apart, threw Lace on the floor, and pushed Peter back in his chair. Drawing his sword, he planted a boot on Lace's chest and said, "I can tell you from experience that beating information out of people is a last resort and should be done with more care than you are showing. Are you going to behave, or do I need to summon guards?"

"You don't understand," Lace said. "His brother sent out Blood of the Fallen. That is their family's private guard, and while not as violent and murderous as the Hands of Death, they are ruthless to a fault."

Lesto's eye narrowed, the hot anger running through his blood steadily heating to rage. "Do they wear red leather armor trimmed in gold?"

"Yes," Lace said. "They shouldn't even be here. The Hands of Death, Blood of the Fallen—they deal with
internal
matters. They are not allowed to operate outside the country. It's simply too dangerous. Like letting a wild dog off its chain. They are infinitely valuable back home. Treya Mencee is a violent place and needs must, but we don't use them abroad. If they've been ordered to bring in Bestowen and retrieve the Star of Menceera, they will keep going until they accomplish that mission."

Lesto looked to Peter. "Call off your dogs."

"I can't," Peter said. "My brother is the only one who can command them, the only one they'll listen to. I can advise, but I don't have the authority to call them off. If I tried, they would simply ignore me. I didn't want them to come along, but my brother ordered it, so they snuck aboard as part of the regular army sent to serve as our bodyguards."

"No one noticed all these men were missing?" Lesto snarled at Lace. "Ten men attacked us in that fucking tavern. You were permitted an escort of fifty men. You didn't notice ten of them weren't where they should be?"

Lace's mouth tightened. "No, I've been pre-occupied and left Peter to tend such matters for me. I mistakenly trusted he would tell me if something was wrong."

Lesto snarled, sheathed his sword, bent, and yanked Lace to his feet, threw him toward his chair. "Tell me right now how to stop Blood of the Fallen."

"Get back the Star of Menceera," Peter said. "Or kill them. You've killed ten, but there are fifteen more."

Striding to the door, Lesto grabbed the handle—and was nearly whacked in the face as the door flew open. He stumbled back, slamming into the wall, and snarled, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Commander!" The guard snapped to attention, wide-eyed with dismay. "You must come at once. Lord Shemal got into an altercation with Lord Tecilia and wound up breaking Lord Tecilia's arm. His family is furious, and Lord Shemal has run off. Lord Tara was there and went after him, but we don't know where they've gone."

"Damn it!" Lesto bellowed. He gestured sharply at the Treya Mencee delegates. "Arrest all of them. I don't care where you shove them, but they're not to be held together. Someone locate Lord Bestowen and have him here by morning, or heads will start rolling."

 More guards came in at a signal from the first, and Lesto jabbed fingers at two of them. "You are not to leave His Majesty's side until I bid you do otherwise, I don't care what he says. If you defy me, I will put you in stocks for the rest of the year. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Commander!"

"Where is Lord Tecilia right now?"

"The sunset room."

Lesto stormed off, motioning to two more guards in the hallway who fell into step behind him without hesitation. He cut down servant stairs then all but ran the length of a dark, narrow hallway to the compass hall, then started up yet another hallway that would take him to the public areas where the sunset room was located.

He saw a group of nobles fluttering around the hall as he turned the corner. When they saw him, they all blanched and fled. Lesto stepped into the sunset room and looked around at all the broken furniture, the blood on the carpet. His stomach churned, a dull ache spreading through his chest, tangling with the anger that burned ever hotter.

"Commander!" Tecilia's father, Lord Ketherow, rose from the armchair he was sitting in, angry and arrogant, but with a gleam of triumph Lesto knew all too well—the triumph of a schemer who'd found a weakness to exploit that would get him everything he wanted. "I demand recompense for this terrible—"

"So terrible that instead of immediately taking your son to the healer, you leave him sitting here in pain so you can extract what, money? A promise of marriage?" Lesto moved forward like a predator on the hunt, grabbed Ketherow around the throat, and slammed him into the wall. "You have exactly ten seconds to tell me what really happened here, or I will throw the whole lot of you in a cell where you can rot until I feel like remembering you exist. Not only have you attacked my lover, a man called friend by the High Throne, you have taken me away from a matter that will result in the deaths of hundreds of people, unless I stop it. If those people die, you will be convicted of willfully endangering the empire." He squeezed tighter then threw Ketherow to the floor. "Start talking."

His demeanor decidedly less arrogant and affronted, Ketherow said, "I wasn't here to witness what happened. Guards summoned me after the fact. Tecilia said they were arguing—"

"I told him all the ways he was ruining your life by pretending to be something he wasn't, the way somebody else already should have!" Tecilia snarled. "He's a pirate, Farlander trash, pretending to be a lord, like he's someone you'd actually keep for long when any halfwit can see he's just some plaything. Everyone says you're going to marry him, and that sort of nonsense can't be allowed to—" He stopped as Lesto prowled toward him.

"You hit him right where it would hurt most, just like the petty, vindictive child you are," Lesto said. "Even if any of that was true, which it's not, it wasn't your place to say such things, and you damn well know it. He
isn't
ruining my life; you're just a jealous brat. I
am
going to marry him, so if I were you, I'd start practicing how you're going to apologize to him if you and your family ever want to be allowed back in the High Court. What provoked the fight? Shemal wouldn't have turned violet over that."

Tecilia's mouth pinched, eyes dropping to the floor. "Lord Tara attempted to interfere in the conversation, and I told him exactly what everyone thinks of
him.
"

"My, my, you are quite the chatty little fool, aren't you? Then what? Shemal doesn't break arms over insults, especially insults spouted off by children."

"He
laughed
at me," Tecilia said petulantly. "I struck him, as was my right, but then Lord Berry jumped him from behind and Rister—"

"Three of you jumped him because he laughed at you?" Lesto said. "No wonder he broke your fucking arm. You're lucky you didn't suffer worse, going up against a man who has survived tangling with Penance Gate and worse. What sort of rampant stupidity convinces three soft nobles to get into a fight with a former pirate—a former pirate who has punched both the High Commander and the High King. Did you really think you were going to best him?" He turned to Ketherow, who looked about half a step away from passing out. "Your family is banned from Harkenesten for six months. I highly suggest that when you return, you leave your son behind—unless he somehow manages to grow up. You will not warn the other parties involved, and you should probably expect His Majesty to add his own punishments to the pile. You should be ash—"

He broke off at the sound of boots pounding down the hallway and turned just as a guard appeared in the doorway, heaving for breath, skin flushed red and dripping sweat. "Commander, come at once to His Majesty's office."

Lesto swore. "Find more guards, escort Lord Tecilia to the healers, then escort him and Lord Ketherow to their rooms and supervise their packing. They're to be out of the palace by nightfall. The same goes for Ziirin and Bremer. If they give you trouble, tell Jader I want them made to suffer. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Commander!"

"Good. See to it Sarrica's secretaries draft the banishment papers. Six months, on my command, and whatever Sarrica chooses to add on. If I missed anything, Sarrica or Allen can handle it."

"Yes, Commander."

Lesto swept out of the room and all but ran back through the palace to Sarrica's offices.

Where he was greeted by the sight of a battered, bloody Lord Tara curled up in Rene's arms, Allen sitting on his other side holding one of his hands. Ice-cold fear squeezed his chest. He couldn't
breathe.
  "Where—" He broke off, unable to force the question out, terrified what the answer would be.

Sarrica strode across the room and grabbed his shoulders. "He's
alive
, Lesto."

Lesto shuddered, nearly dropping to his knees in relief. He shrugged off Sarrica's hands, but cast him a brief look of gratitude. "Are you all right, Tara?"

"Yes," Tara said. "I don't know how you halfwits do this for a living." He motioned to his bruised, bloody, tear-streaked face. "Food and rest will heal me up fine. It's only because of Shemal that I got away. He got into a fight with Lord Tecilia, who jumped him, and two of his friends right along with him. The guards tried to stop it, but they'd all come prepared, had weights in their fists, and one of them brought out a cane. But it was when Tecilia brought out a dagger—"

"I'm going to kill that—"

"Lesto, calm down. Whatever punishment you've already given them, I'll quadruple it," Sarrica said, holding tightly to Lesto's arm and dragging him back in a way only Sarrica and Rene could do and live to tell the tale.

Tara continued, "That's when Shemal broke his arm, then he panicked and ran. I went after him, all the way to the city. Then everything just went
wrong
. We were grabbed by men in red leather, dragged off." He shook his head. "I thought Shemal had been fighting before, when those brats attacked him, but he was something else entirely fighting off those men in red. He—" His face went a bit gray. "He killed three of them, but some others had me, tried to use me against him. He stopped, they let down their guard, and he killed two more and got me away from them, then fled the other way so they'd go after him since it was definitely him they wanted. I came back here as quickly as I could." He looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything."

Lesto barely heard the others comforting him, too busy trying to see past the blinding rage. Even Sarrica's hand on his shoulder didn't help much.

"I've already summoned Lace and Peter," Sarrica said. "They should be here any moment. Do whatever you want short of killing them. Allen can sweet talk our way out of any problems later."

"You make it sound so easy," Allen said with a soft sigh. "It's remarkably hard to do when I want to kill them myself."

Sarrica smiled at him.

Lesto looked away. Damn it, where the fuck—

The door opened and four Fathoms Deep dragged in Peter and Lace, who both looked one step away from killing themselves. "Bring them here," Lesto said, and when they were close enough, he grabbed Peter by the throat and yanked him forward. "I am officially out of patience. Your fucking mercenaries have kidnapped my lover. You will tell me where to find them, or you will wish that Sarrica had given me permission to kill you."

"You can't—do—treaty says—" Peter broke off, looked desperately at Lace, who just stood and watched.

"The treaty says a lot of things that you have seen fit to ignore," Allen said coldly. "I would tread carefully if I were you."