Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

Darnel rose from his throne, his hand going to his sword, face red with fury. He halted when Division Commander Mirvek gave a warning cough and Aluciusʼs father stiffened, stepping closer to his sonʼs side. Darnelʼs gaze swept around them all, his hand quivering on his sword-handle. His recent flight from the Red Brother and the news that his fief was now raised in rebellion had done little to improve his temperament. Also Mirvekʼs increasing disregard and deference to his Battle Lord provided ample evidence of Darnelʼs burgeoning irrelevance. Only a handful of his knights remained and there were no more to be had in his fief. Alucius wondered why the Volarian didnʼt simply have Darnel killed and assume command himself, but the man was clearly a soldier to his core and would continue to follow orders until contrary word came from the Council. Darnel was their appointed vassal and Mirvek lacked the authority to depose him, however useless he had become.

“They know of more Gifted,” Darnel told the Volarian, failing to keep a desperate note from his voice. “Iʼm sure of it.”

Not so much a fool he doesnʼt know his stock has fallen, Alucius realised, watching Darnel fidget. Seeking to buy security with the Aspectsʼ knowledge.

“The Aspects are precious to all those still free in these lands,” Aluciusʼs father said. “Harming them in any way invites further rebellion.”

“His people rebel in any case,” Mirvek pointed out in a reflective tone. “These Aspects of yours are intriguing. The warrior Aspect intriguing enough the Council ordered him shipped back to the empire the day he was captured. Questioning them could prove fruitful.”

Alucius didnʼt like the weight the Volarian placed on the word “questioning.” “If youʼll allow me more time,” he said. “Iʼm sure they will prove more accommodating. Aspect Dendrish in particular would probably spill every secret in his head for a full dinner.”

Mirvek failed to laugh, regarding him with a narrow gaze. Up until now his attitude to his slave generalʼs son had been one of vague contempt, but now Alucius knew he was seeing him with uncomfortable clarity. “My most able questioner was taken by your Red Brother,” the Volarian said. “He could have had them talking in seconds. I have sent for a replacement, arriving with our reinforcements by the weekʼs end. You have until their arrival.”

Alucius replied with a grateful bow, backing away as the Volarian dismissed him with a flick of his hand. He could feel Darnelʼs eyes on him as he made his way from the throne room and once again wondered at his complete absence of fear.

“Well,” Alucius said as Sister Cresia panted in his ear, her naked form atop him, trembling a little. “That was unexpected.”

She levered herself off him, turning her back and reaching for her blouse. “I havenʼt spent my entire life skulking here,” she said. “I was bored. Donʼt fall in love with me, poet.”

He forced away an image of Alornisʼs face, hiding guilt in a laugh. “Trust me, sister, I need no such instruction.”

Sister Cresia shot him a sharp glance and rose from the pile of furs where she made her bed. She had said nothing when he made his way down here once again, inclining her head at a side passage and leading him to her chamber, shrugging her clothes off and standing naked with a questioning look. Alucius had glanced at Twenty-Seven standing in the passage outside, his blank gaze seemingly fixed on the fine brickwork. Cresiaʼs brother and sister were off somewhere in the nighttime streets above, gathering knowledge and supplies she said, though he had brought sufficient to last them until Winterfall Eve, after that a lack of provisions was likely to be the least of their concerns.

“Who was she?” Cresia asked, her tone lightly curious.

“Who was who?”

“The woman you were thinking of a few moments ago.” She fastened the belt to her trews and sat to pull on her boots.

Is that her design? he wondered. Seeking to garner knowledge through intimacy. Sheʼs as much a spy as I am.

“How could any man think of another when in your arms, my lady?” he replied, sitting up. He felt her flinch at his caustic tone and felt a pang of regret. I always hurt them, he recalled, thinking back over the years, the girls drawn to the handsome poet with the sad smile, the sweet embraces and the inevitable tears. Alornis was the only woman he had never contrived to disappoint, and he had never even kissed her.

“If you require intelligence from me,” he told Cresia, “it might be simpler, and less time-consuming, to just ask.”

She rose and tossed him his shirt. “Very well. When my brother and sister return. And Iʼll expect a full account if weʼre to help in this escapade of yours.”

They ate a sparse meal of dried beef and bread washed down with water, since his father hadnʼt seen fit to provide wine with the extra provisions. If Inehla and Rhelkin sensed any tension between them, they failed to show it, though he fancied there was a faint glint of amusement in the glance Inehla gave her sister.

“How can you be certain the queenʼs army will attack on Winterfall Eve?” Rhelkin asked when the meal was done.

“I canʼt,” Alucius admitted. “The only surety I can give is that I sent word for them to do so.”

“How?” Cresia asked.

“By pigeon. My last, in fact. So please donʼt ask me to send any more.”

“How does a poet come to keep pigeons?”

“Because heʼs also a spy in service to the Meldenean Ship Lords.” Alucius sipped his water, sighing in fond remembrance of his last taste of decent wine as the others stared in silence. It had been a bottle from his fatherʼs cellar, one of his oldest, Cumbraelin naturally, a deep and richly flavoured red from the southern vineyards. The bottle had been pleasant but not enough to see him to the sleep he craved, plagued as he was by the ache left by Alornisʼs departure to the Reaches. So he had sought out a bottle of brandy from the kitchens, falling into bed only to be roused some hours later by a Volarian army.

“Then you,” Sister Cresia said, breaking through his reminiscence, “are a traitor to this Realm.” Alucius noted her hand had moved to the leather pouch on her belt whilst Brother Rhelkin was now turned towards Twenty-Seven, poised no doubt to employ his gift.

“I suppose so,” Alucius said. He looked at his cup of water and grimaced, putting it aside.

Cresia continued to glare as the silence thickened. “Why?” she asked eventually.

“That is not your concern,” Alucius stated. “What matters is that we have a common interest in ensuring this city is recovered for the Realm with a minimum of bloodshed. And, at present, I stand best placed to achieve this outcome.”

“A spy deserves no trust.”

“Trust? You speak of trust?” Alucius laughed. “You who have lived a lifetime of lies. What service have you done in the name of the Faith, I wonder? How much blood spilled in the shadows over the years?”

Inehlaʼs rat scurried along the table, sniffing his hand then baring its teeth with a loud squeak. “Does he smell a lie?” Cresia asked her.

The plump sister shook her head, her expression dark. “No, only this oneʼs contempt for us.”

Cresiaʼs face registered a scowl of fury before she forced it to a neutral frown, her hand retreating from her pouch. Inehlaʼs rat gave a final squeak then ran back to its mistress as Brother Rehlkin turned away from Twenty-Seven.

“How is it to be done?” Cresia asked Alucius.

“The Volarian reinforcements are due to arrive on Winterfall Eve,” he said. “To be greeted at the docks by Commander Mirvek, Lord Darnel, and my father. I doubt any will object, or notice if Iʼm there. I shall require your sisterʼs skill to create sufficient diversion.”