The Red Knight (58 page)

“I’m only doing what’s in the best interests of the kingdom,” said Hyram, shuddering from the ghastly aftertaste of the medicine. “Thea was right to tell me. Their relationship had to be stopped. The treaty with Herulth will only hold if Talin marries one of his fucking daughters. Or do you want yearly visits from Guthani warbands?”

The boy glowered at him. “Have you tried explaining that to him?”

Ignorant pup.
“No, no, no! What fool in love—even a prince, especially this one, would give up his heart’s desire for the sake of a
mere
kingdom? Daris didn’t, and look at the bloody trouble that’s caused. No. I will not let it happen again.”

“You would destroy anyone else who questioned the King’s decisions.”

“I am not just anyone
.
I am the King’s Councillor!” He slapped his face into his hands. “Oh, why didn’t she just die? It would have been so much easier for everyone—even her.”

“Well she didn’t. But you’re right, her life is ruined. Even without you hammering nails into her coffin.”

“So she is crippled?”

“Aye. Gustav said that Mother Jeneri’s done all she can for her. He’s heard that she’ll probably be leaving the monastery within the month, weather permitting.” Garian drained his glass. “I’m curious; what will you do then? When she’s back at Trelanlith you won’t be able to control what she reads and who she sees.”

“Why would she go back there? What good is a knight who can’t ride or hold a sword?” Hyram felt a stab in his withered conscience.
When did I become so callous?

“She’s still the Captain of the Hammer, and a hero or have you forgotten what happened at Gallen Arth? She has to resign her commission, but only after she’s chosen her successor. That’s how they do things.”

Hyram steepled his fingers and considered the problem. He found it much harder to concentrate since his illness. His mind refused to focus like it used to; his best weapon had been blunted. Better to have lost an eye, a leg, two… “Damn it! Why can’t she just disappear? Do you think she might have a relapse?” Hyram looked hopefully at his apprentice.

“No!” he gasped.

Oh, here we go.
His apprentice was obviously outraged by the suggestion.
When did he become so moral? The boy who’s rifled through guts before today.

“Definitely not, and let me tell you this, my Lord; if she does have a ‘relapse’ as you put it, our working relationship will be over, and you and I will no longer be friends. Now before you start calculating how that will affect your schemes, let me help you out because I’ve already considered what you are about to. If you conclude that I need to have an ‘accident’ to keep me quiet, you will answer to my wife and her family, and you really don’t want that, do you?”

Rigid jaw line, level gaze. The little shit means it.
It was gone, he no longer feared him. The game had changed.

Hyram narrowed his eyes. “Are you threatening me, boy?” He was furious,
and
proud of his apprentice. The contempt was hard to take, but he couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t made him what he was.

“Just don’t kill her, Sest’s balls! I can’t believe you’re even thinking about it. Who are you trying to save the kingdom for if you kill the best of its people when they get in the way of your schemes? Why not take this to the ultimate conclusion? Why not drown all newborns! After all, some of them are bound to grow up to be traitors or get in your way. Slay them all! For the good of the kingdom, of course.” The slender glass stem snapped in his fingers.

Hyram threw up his hands. “Alright, enough! It was just a thought. The relationship
must
die; I’ll not be moved on that. The security of the kingdom comes above all else. This mess can never be allowed to happen again. Talin must marry a Guthlander.”

Hyram sat back. He would have left it there but the sanctimonious sneer plastered across the boy’s face was too provoking.

“Don’t judge me, boy! Standing there, heart full of love’s first flush, and a head full of idealistic nonsense. You think me unfair? Well let me tell you, the kingdom doesn’t exist that was built on fairness. D’you think the Clan Lords were fair, or the Fey?” Hyram’s temper roared back to life with a vengeance, it felt good. “Do not forget, Captain Tain; we
both
have blood on our hands.”

“I couldn’t if I tried.” Garian wiped his bloody hand against his breeches. “Some blood won’t wash off.”

“What does he say?” Daris asked, adjusting the sling on his injured arm.

“He says, it’s cold, but that the people are much less hostile now that food supplies have been restored. As a gesture of goodwill he’s lifted the curfew. He also says he has a Sea Drake tooth for Oli, and that he hopes we have a happy Midwinter.” Thea folded the letter without reading out the last part where Talin had written that Alyda was still too ill to write to him, or even receive visitors and that he missed her more each day.

“I know you miss him terribly,” said Daris as he signed another of the documents Lord Hyram was feeding him from an alarmingly large pile cradled in his arms, “so do I—the wine cellar’s never been so full.”

Thea cast a furtive glance at the King’s Councillor while her husband’s head was down. He nodded his encouragement.

“I miss him very much. It’s going to be strange not having him here for Midwinter and… I’m a little tired.” She smiled at her husband. Hyram slid another document in front of him. Daris signed it without reading it and waited, quill poised, for the next.

“If this is your idea of “a few things to sign”, I’d hate to see what your idea of “quite a lot” is. I’m supposed to be recuperating. Lorstadt will have your guts if he finds out how hard you’re working me.”

“‘Tis your other hand that’s injured, Majesty,” Hyram replied. “The one you write with is perfectly able. But I know when to take a hint—subtle though you are. I’ll come back later. Here, let me take those.” Hyram scooped up the signed papers.

“Has the messenger gone back to Guthland yet?” Daris asked before Hyram reached the door.

“Yes, I believe the Iceheart’s vessel sailed this morning.”

“Good. I want the treaty ratified at the Spring Council. Herulth’s daughter is a beauty, isn’t she?” Daris picked up the miniature on his desk. It bore the likeness of a golden-haired girl, painted in exquisite detail on the polished oval of ivory.

“Yes, Majesty
. If the likeness is accurate.
I’m quite sure Talin will not balk when you show him that, but as I suggested; I’d leave it a month or so before you do. Give him time to get to grips with governorship before you tell him he is to be betrothed. One big step at a time and all that.”

“Wise words, Councillor.” Daris smiled.

Hyram bowed to the King, and gave Thea another reassuring nod. She looked away and slipped her son’s letter into her sleeve. When Hyram had gone, Daris limped over and kissed her neck.

“What is it, my love? What’s bothering you?”

She felt sick; there was no way she could tell him, not now. She had made so many terrible mistakes; one more would destroy her. The first had been asking Captain Stenna to lie to Talin. She was glad she hadn’t obeyed, and deeply ashamed that she’d asked her. The second had been confiding in Hyram about their son and the Captain’s relationship.

If only she’d let nature take its course, but she had been so desperate that they should avoid making the same mistakes she and Daris had made. Her arrogance appalled her. She had become just like the scheming courtiers who’d made her life so miserable when she’d come to court. By the time she’d realised what she was doing, it was too late. She couldn’t undo what she had begun, not now. She was far too tangled in Hyram’s webs, and had no choice but to continue with the deception or risk losing the love of her husband, and her son. She accepted her punishment, although it wasn’t nearly as harsh as she deserved. Every day she woke up terrified that today would be the day Daris or Talin would find out what she had done and despise her for it. Anxiety had become her constant companion, and it was excruciating.

“Just hold me,” she said and laid her head on Daris’s shoulder for comfort—and so that he couldn’t see the guilt in her eyes.

“When did you get him to sign this?” Garian was as impressed as he was disgusted by his master’s cunning. Three days had passed since their last meeting. In that time, they’d separately concluded to pretend neither had said what they had said. Civil though they were, the ghost of their previous exchange still hung in the air.

“The day after we last spoke. I know you’ve only just got back, but I need you to return today and take that with you, and this.” Hyram shoved a heavy pouch across the table. Gold glinted through the bulging thonging holding it closed.

“And how much is a guilty conscience going for these days?” Garian picked up the bag and weighed it in his hand. “Hmm, quite a lot it seems.”

Hyram didn’t answer, Garian didn’t push. He put the pouch into the saddle bag, and slipped the documents inside his jerkin.

“No one must know,” said Hyram, “not even your wife—and especially not the King.”

Garian fastened his cloak, and threw the saddlebags over his shoulder. “Surely the King already knows? Unless…You didn’t forge his signature…did you?”

“What? Of course not. Ye gods! D’you think I’d commit the same crime as that turd Corvinius? No. The King signed it… He just doesn’t
know
that he did.”

Garian gave a curt nod. “I’d better get going before the weather turns.” When he reached the door, he paused. “Happy Midwinter.”

Surprised, Hyram looked up, the season’s greeting on his lips. But Garian had already gone.

Slowly and carefully, Flea copied the letters on the chalkboard. Sitting by the fire, the boy was the picture of contentment.

Alyda tried to sit up again, but the strength in her good arm failed and she sagged back against the pile of pillows, drained by the effort. She would have cursed, but Flea had learnt far too many soldiers’ oaths from her over the last few months, or was it years? Time had no meaning when every day was the same as the last.

She would be glad to be home, in her own rooms at Trelanlith, even if it would only be for a short time. The thought of choosing her replacement made her stomach churn. It would be Kieran, that wasn’t her issue. What was hard, what was
impossible,
to reconcile was that she would no longer be Captain of the Hammer.

As happened often of late, her thoughts plunged her into a deep pit of despair. Tears pearled on her lashes. She scrubbed them away, and angrily dashed the small vase of winter greens off the bedside table. It smashed, spraying the whitewashed walls and red tiled floor with glass, water and greenery.

Flea looked up briefly, before returning to his chalkboard, completely unperturbed by Alyda’s latest fit of temper. He was another unasked-for burden, as if she didn’t have enough. She had no idea what she was going to do with him. She couldn’t even look after herself, let alone a child.
Dear gods, a child
.

She wondered how Talin was—if he was well, if he ever thought of her. It had been such a long time since she’d seen or heard from anyone other than the sisters and brothers of the Order. She was glad that nobody had visited and seen her like this; she couldn’t stand the thought of being pitied, but it hurt that no one had written.

The door opened, Sister Mirrin peeped inside and smiled nervously. “You have a visitor, Captain,” the girl squeaked.

“Who is it?” She dared to hope it was Talin.

“A Master Garian Tain, Royal Cartographer, no less. Shall I show him in?”

Alyda hid her bitter disappointment with feigned indifference. “If you must.”

“Oh, I thought…I’ll come and clean up after he’s gone. Shall I bring you something to eat? You need to eat something.”

“Why? To keep my strength up?” Alyda laughed. “No food. I’ve told you, the very thought of it makes me ill.”

“I’m sorry, Captain, maybe later.” The sister ducked round the door.

“Flea,” said Alyda. The boy looked up. “Go play somewhere.”

Without comment or complaint, he tucked his chalkboard under his arm and wandered out. A short while later there was a knock at the door.

He was a master at hiding his feelings and knew he didn’t look as shocked as he was when he saw her. Her hair was short and hanging loose about her face, which was thin to the point of gauntness. Her skin was sallow, except for a livid scar that ran across the right side of her face from her mouth to her ear. Her throat was bruised, and bore the tell-tale burn marks of a rope. Her right hand was bandaged, and her left leg was strapped in a splint from ankle to thigh.

With considerable effort Captain Stenna dragged herself into a sitting position. She’d paid a terrible price for her loyalty, which made it doubly hard for him to do what he’d been ordered,
for the good of the kingdom
.