Waterborne Exile (36 page)

“Then we can be useful to one another, see?”

“You mean I’d be beholden to you.”

“Think of it as a partnership.” Peveril grinned and stood up. “Keep your eyes open for a day or two – see if I’m not right.”

Durstan finally set down his eating knife. “What did that fellow want?”

“Nothing honourable. Your man, Weav– Pius, kept his kind away.”

Durstan frowned. Whether at her mistake or Peveril’s insolence she could not tell. “Once we have the new chapter-house you won’t need to eat here.”

That was months away. In the meantime she would indeed keep her eyes open. There might be some way to turn the new queen’s discontent to her own advantage, with or without Peveril’s assistance.

Drew had lost track of how many days he’d been held captive in the bowels of the citadel. He could no longer gauge the time by the condition of the open wound on the side of his head since it had begun to heal over. By the blessing of the Goddess this room was not as dark or as rank as the dungeon he’d once shared with Weaver and his friends – it at least boasted some light and fresh air from slots set high in the wall. He guessed it was a cellar intended for storage and brought into duty as cells following the collapse of the main tower. But the guards were surly and prone to beating any prisoners who dared so much as raise their eyes to their faces when they brought in their meagre rations of bread and water.

The atmosphere in the place was such that no one spoke for fear of bringing the guards’ wrath down upon them. Thus it was when the guards came for him he sat with his head down and eyes focused on the floor until a swift kick of his shins told him he was being addressed.

“You there, get up. You have a visitor.” Drew was convinced he could hear the clink of coin from the man’s pocket.

No one had visitors in these places. It must mean torture: he’d be racked for another confession, to Goddess knew what this time. The guards dragged him through to another, smaller storeroom, which smelled of smoke from a torchère mounted on one wall. The smoke made his eyes water so much he didn’t notice the figure standing across the room at first glance.

The guards shoved him back against the wall before leaving the room. “Five minutes, right? No longer.” The door clunked shut.

“Well, Drew.”

He recognised the voice in a heartbeat. “Jervin?” This was it: he was to be freed. This had all been a terrible misunderstanding – perhaps Rekhart, in his melancholy, had lied about Drew, perhaps–

“You don’t imagine anyone else would trail through this squalor to see you, do you?”

Drew raised his eyes so he could see Jervin. The light of the torchère flickered over his face, making his expression appear to shift between compassion and monstrous glee.

“I… No.” He was right. No one else in the world would be bothered.

“Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

“Of course.” Drew stayed where he was, against the wall at the opposite side of the chamber from Jervin. The manacles on his wrists dragged downwards, biting into his skin. “I didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

“No.” Jervin’s voice was thoughtful. “Neither did I. But you were keen for me to give people second chances, and…”

Was he planning to free him? Could he even do that? Fool, of course he could. Jervin had a habit of getting his own way, no matter what the law stated. Drew’s eyes were watering from the smoke. Goddess knew what the torchères were made of, the smoke was acrid.

Jervin took a couple of steps closer. “Right now I see nothing much to recommend the practice.”

“You hit me round the head.”

“You asked for it.” Jervin shrugged. “But if we’re to talk second chances we can forget all that happened. Put it behind us.”

“Can we?” Was he really going to set him free, or was this some sick joke on Jervin’s part?

“We can go back to Brigholm and forget any of this happened.”

Drew’s heart leaped. They could. They could start over and it could all be like before. Could they? Could he, knowing what he knew now? And if he did, ignored all his misgivings over Jervin’s business deals, how long before Jervin lost his temper again? Drew looked up, blinking. The light flickered and Jervin’s face shifted: benign, monstrous. Benign, monstrous. Rekhart’s tale of the ailing child thrown in the water… Jervin was a monster with many faces, and only one of those was the honest one.

Drew shook his head slowly. “No.”

“What? I’ve come all the way down here and you refuse me?”

“Apparently. No one could be more surprised than I am myself.” Drew managed to speak perfectly evenly.

Jervin took a step towards him, then halted. “You fool. I give you a second chance and you throw it back in my face. Well, this time I wash my hands of you.”

“I’m sorry. I just–”

“You will be. I’ll make sure of it if you ever set foot in Brigholm again.”

Drew raised his eyes: the face he saw was monstrous. How could he ever have been fooled? He lowered his eyes again. “I won’t. I doubt I’ll ever get out of here.”

“And you’ll be well served. Like your friend Rekhart – did you hear your other friend, that soldier, killed him? Except Rekhart died quickly. You’ll probably linger here for months and months, until you’re finally too weak to draw another breath. Then – if they haven’t started already – the rats will chew your face off. You fool.” Jervin turned away.

“Rekhart? You’re making that up.”

“No. He’d served his purpose. Just like you.” Jervin stepped out through the door and was gone.

The guards came back into the room, dragging Drew away from the wall and back to the ad hoc dungeon. He dropped down once more in his corner, wishing the place was a true dungeon, so the darkness would hide his pain from prying eyes.

The priestess was wishing she’d chosen some more comfortable place to wait. The draught from the window casement struck chill against the back of her neck, leaving her shivering. A pair of tallow candles gave out more odour than light, and precious little warmth. There was no danger of a guard posted here dozing off while on duty – freezing to death, more like. Goddess knew what it would be like in winter. Of one thing she was certain: she had no wish to find out. Unfortunately right now, Highkell was her best hope of a secure future. She rubbed her arms. She would freeze entirely if she had to wait here much longer.

Just as she was convinced the Lady Drelena must have chosen another way this evening, she heard footsteps on the stairs above. She straightened up, rehearsing her lines again under her breath.

A moment later the queen appeared, two servants in her wake.

“Your highness… my lady. If I may beg a word in private with you?”

Drelena frowned. “In private? Can it not wait until after we have dined?”

The priestess glanced meaningfully at the two servants. “It will only take a few moments of your time, my lady.” She lowered her voice, while making sure the two servants could still hear. “I have a message for you, from the freemerchant. He wishes to speak with you – he says it is a most urgent matter.”

“Indeed? Could he not tell me himself?”

“It concerns your father’s loyal servant, my lady. The freemerchant says it is urgent.”

As she had hoped, that caught Drelena’s attention. “Has he brought more news from home?”

“I believe he may have, my lady.” This was what the queen wanted to hear. “He mentioned a letter – that is all I know.”

Drelena drew in her breath sharply. “He might have come to me himself with this news. Where is he?”

“He said he would wait for you in the deserted tower, my lady, in the old throne room. He said it might attract notice if you were seen together in the main palace. And… he told me to say if you do not wish to meet him he will understand.”

“This is all nonsensical.” Drelena glanced to where her two maidservants were waiting.

The priestess folded her hands in her lap. “Shall I tell him you will not meet him, my lady?”

“No. I shall tell him myself what I think of this nonsense. It is close enough by, after all. You two, go ahead. I shall join you in the great hall in a few minutes.” She turned to the younger woman. “I know the way. Vasic showed me where they have begun the repair work. You do not need to guide me.”

“Are you sure, my lady? I do not mind.”

“It is not for you to mind. It is for me to decide.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady.” The priestess curtseyed, then followed after the two servants. She would sooner be in the warmth of the great hall than trailing about after a pampered queen anyway.

Drelena watched the priestess hurry away. She knew well enough the girl had been something to Vasic before her arrival at Highkell. And she would sooner not follow her alone through dark hallways. She could not pinpoint any one thing, but something about the girl’s grey eyes left her uneasy. And why the freemerchant chose to use her for his message was anyone’s guess. But none of that mattered: if there was another letter from home – or, more particularly, from Darnell – she would sooner read it far from watchful eyes.

And if this piece of nonsense turned out to be some fancy of the freemerchant, then she would tell him in no uncertain terms what she thought of him for dragging her all the way out here on a cold night. The anteroom to the former king’s tower was unlit. Deciding she couldn’t trust her eyes to adjust to the darkness Drelena went back to the room before and prised one of the tallow candles loose from its holder. Hot tallow splashed on the back of her hand, stinging. This was a piece of foolishness and no mistake. But of course Marten couldn’t have illuminated the path for her, for then their meeting might be noticed. And if he had another letter from Darnell… Bleaky probably wouldn’t have wanted to approach her himself, not after their last meeting. She had been overly harsh towards a loyal servant. She ought to set things right. And so she would, the very next morning if she did not see him at table tonight.

Drelena crossed the anteroom in silence, shielding the candle flame with her hand. It guttered as she stepped into the draught from the door to the old throne room. She paused, waiting for the flame to steady before stepping through the doorway. There was no sign of anyone else in the room: no light, no scent of smoke. She took a couple of steps forward, wondering if Marten might not have arrived yet. At the far side of the room, the ragged edge of the collapsed wall was silhouetted against the moonlight.

The skin on the back of her neck prickled with unease. This was foolish beyond belief. That priestess was playing some trick on her. Then she heard the softest of footsteps. Was someone there in the room after all? She would not wait to find out.

Drelena turned back to the door, and had taken a step towards it when a heavy blow crashed against the side of her head. She staggered forwards, dropping the noxious candle. The flame went out, plunging her into a dizzying darkness, clouded by a thousand swarming pinpricks of light. She lost her balance and would have fallen, but for the hands that caught hold of her and dragged her upright.

“Be careful now, your highness. You need to mind your step up here.”

Not Marten’s voice.

Not Bleaky.

A hand clamped over her mouth and nose. She clawed at the hand, kicking and flailing in an attempt to break free. Her assailant spun her about and dragged her across the floor.

“Steady on, my lady, you don’t want to hurt yourself.”

Still dizzy, she felt cold air whisper against her face and struggled harder. She had been so foolish. Abruptly the hands released her.

Off balance, Drelena stumbled sideways. She found nothing but empty air beneath her foot.

Two soldiers led Marten to the throne where Vasic waited. The king’s expression suggested scarce-suppressed rage. Before Vasic, hands bound, knelt the priestess. At her side was the messenger boy Marten had been using for errands since his arrival at court, similarly bound while his face bore the marks of rough handling. Marten knew a moment’s gratitude that he had at least been treated as befitting an officer of the court. He’d been dragged from his bed with little ceremony, but no ill treatment. The soldiers released him and stepped back, although they remained within arm’s reach.

Marten bowed. “Highness, I am your humble servant.”

“Indeed?” Vasic glared at him. “Then you must humbly explain this sorry tale I’ve been told.”

“I will if I am able, your highness. Has there been some misunderstanding?”

Kaith was standing off to one side of the throne, his expression grim.

“One might say that.” Vasic drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne. “You were not present at table last night, Marten.”

“No, your highness. I dined in my rooms last night.” His head ached dully from the wine he’d drunk to drown his sorrows.

“Is that so? Might one enquire why?”

Had Vasic learned of the planned meeting? “I was not in a sociable mood last night, your highness.” Was this why Drelena hadn’t turned up? Her seat beside Vasic’s was empty. This was unusual – she always made a point of attending the morning court sessions alongside her husband.

“And not because you conspired to meet my wife that evening?” Vasic’s glare was stony.

“Conspired, your highness? No.” This was not good. “I was handed a note requesting that I meet her urgently, but no one was there. I guessed it must have been some courtier’s trick and I was annoyed with myself for being taken in.”

Kaith spoke up. “And can anyone vouch for your story?”

“It is no story, sir, but the truth. I threw the note on the fire. I don’t think I spoke to anyone yesterday evening. But there were servants at work who saw me as I made my way to the herb garden.” The situation was going from bad to worse. “The boy there handed me the note.” He indicated the boy kneeling before the throne.

Kaith moved forwards to study the prisoners. “The same boy who took the message to priestess Miria?”

“That boy, right there. He’s often run errands for me. I didn’t think to question it when he brought me the note.”

The boy straightened up. “It’s true, I took him a note, your highness.”