Mark Lawrence - The Liar's key

I toyed with the thing. Let he that is without sin cast the first stone. . and set it aside, knowing Father would disinherit me if I broke it. Treasures, but sadly too valuable and too difficult to pawn. I wondered briefly at their significance. As a rule, Father never let them from his sight. Perhaps he feared if he took them to Roma with him the pope might strip them from him by way of chastisement for his failings in office.

I closed the box and returned to my seat, plucking a book at random from the shelves. The Prodigal Son . Bible stories aren’t my strong point but I had a feeling the prodigal son had been feasted and celebrated on his return, despite being a waste of space. Here I was, with actual accomplishments to my name and all I’d got was a plaque on the outside of the family church, and a telling off for not wresting from a giant Norse killing-machine something that I didn’t know Grandmother wanted in the first place. Add to that Micha married to an undeserving Darin, Sharal promised away to a man who looked set to carve me up for sport, and Hennan running off to the road as if trudging through the dust was better than life in the palace of Vermillion.

“I’m going out.” I tossed the book down. My life in Vermillion had always centred on its less salubrious spots, its flesh-pits and hellholes, the racetrack, the bordellos. .

First to my rooms to find something suitable to wear for town. I found the place in a terrible mess and pursed my lips. It was entirely possible I’d left my gear scattered when I left-but I expected it tidied away by. . someone. I wasn’t sure who did such things, but they happened. Always. I made a note to complain to Ballessa about it. It almost looked as if someone had rummaged through my belongings. . With a shrug I selected a fine waistcoat, pantaloons with slashed velvet revealing a scarlet silk liner, a dark and expensive cape with a silver clasp. A glance in the mirror. Ravishing. Time to go.

Down in the guardhouse I rousted out the two old men Father assigned to my personal protection: Ronar and Todd, both veterans of some war not worth a song. I’d never enquired after their family names. They got up, grumbling, and clattered along after me as if it were some great imposition after spending the last six months on their arses playing battamon in the barracks.

From Roma Hall I led off aiming for the guest range to gather up some of my old cronies. I cut through the Field, a poorly named courtyard where in my youth I spent many unhappy hours being drilled in all the military arts. I passed Uncle Hertet, almost lost amid his retinue. Into his fifties and wearing his years poorly he cut a gaudy figure in a high-necked tunic sewn with enough gold thread to found an orphanage. I spotted cousins Roland and Rotus in the mix but none of them so much as spared me a glance. They seemed to be coming from the direction of the Inner Palace-perhaps another formal visit where the heir-apparently-not checked in to see if his mother had had the decency to die yet.

• • •

From the Field I led my two layabout bodyguards to the guest range, a sprawling arm of the Inner Palace, secured from the royal quarters and home to a fluid population of visiting nobility, diplomats, trade delegations and the like. Barras Jon’s father, the ambassador from Vyene, held a suite of chambers on the second floor. Vyene might be the capital of a broken empire but the memory of its former glory lent its ambassadors a certain gravitas-further bolstered by the quality of the Gilden Guard who once served the last emperor and now protected the dynasty of officials he left behind.

Quite why Grand Jon had been at court for three years now nobody seemed to know. The empire had a hundred fragments as large as Red March and while the Vyenese ambassadors would certainly call in at each of them from time to time, few stayed to take up residence. Barras only said that his father, having negotiated a truce between Scorron and the March, now refused to leave for fear it would fall apart the moment his back turned.

I led the way through several long corridors, stairs up, stairs down, and stairs up. At last we reached the correct doors and I hammered for admission.

“Barras!” He came to the chamber doors half-dressed, though it took an age after I’d sent the doorman to get him. Rollas came up behind him, a hefty fellow, competent with fists and blade, good company but you never forgot he was there to protect the ambassador’s son from the consequences of his own recklessness.

“Jalan! It’s true! We thought the opera killed you.” He grinned, though with a nervy air. He’d buttoned his shirt wrong and had what looked like bite marks on his neck.

“It was touch and go for a while,” I said. “But I got out during the intermission. Had a bit of an adventure up north, but I’m back and ready for trouble. We’re hitting the town tonight.”

“Sounds good. . Who is ‘we’?” He rubbed at his neck, eyes flicking to Rollas who’d come to crowd the doorway, giving me a friendly nod.

“We’ll get the Greyjars, winkle Omar out of his studies, head down to Davmar Gardens and spill a little wine. . see where the night leads us.” A flicker of satin skirts caught my eye and I peered past Barras to the corner at the end of the hallway behind him. “Entertaining a young lady in there, Barras? What would the Grand Jon say?”

“He, ah. . he’d give me his blessing.” Barras looked at his feet, frowning. “I, um.”

“He got married,” Rollas said. “When you ‘died’ it shook him up a bit. Started thinking about what his plans were, what he might leave behind him if something cut him short too.” He gave a shrug as if this were a stage all men went through.

“You old dog!” I tried to sound cheerful about it. Though it’s hard to cheer the loss of a good man. “Who is she? Someone rich I hope!”

Barras still couldn’t look me in the eye. Rollas cleared his throat.

“Oh for Christsake. . not Lisa?” My voice came out louder than intended. “You married Lisa DeVeer?”

Barras looked up sheepishly. “She was very upset when you. . when she thought you’d died with Alain. I thought it my duty to comfort her.”

“The hell you did.” I could see him “comforting” her right now. “Poor Jalan. I expect he’s in a better place now. .” shuffling closer to her on the chaise longue, “There, there!” arm creeping around her shoulders. “Dammit all.” I turned on my heel and started to stride away.

“Where are you going?” Barras called after me.

“To find Roust and Lon. I expect you’ll try and tell me the Greyjars are married now?”

“Gone back to Arrow,” he shouted as the distance between us grew. “Their cousin has taken the country to war. They’re part of the invasion of Conaught now!”

“Omar then!” I roared back.

“Returned to Hamada to study at the mathema!”

“Shit on it all!” And I was past earshot, taking the stairs three at a time. I paused for breath at the main doors and let the injustice of it all sink in. I had definitely been going to ask Lisa to marry me. Lisa, whose memory sustained me in the icy wastes, kept me going despite pain, hardship and the suicidal nature of our quest. Lisa, who my mind kept returning to in the empty wilderness. Married! To my friend Barras! I gave the doorpost a vicious kick and hobbled out into the blazing sun. I made the Poor Palace my next stop. I hadn’t intended to but with things at a low ebb I set out across Victory Plaza and went up to see what old Garyus had to say for himself. I used the stairs, it being too hot for climbing. In any case such activities were beneath the dignity of a prince returning from staring death in the eye on margins of the Bitter Ice.