Chapter 33 #3
‘Oh, not immediately.’ Belloc waved that trivial fact away with an irritated flick of his wrist. ‘He was a child at the time. It was all the different names that made me put one and one together and realise he had to be on his way to Uncle Lesceron – and then the eye confirmed it, of course. Not a day I’d easily forget. ’
He seemed unpleasantly eager to get to the promised story. I squashed the dread itching in my guts and obediently mumbled, ‘What happened?’
‘With little Durlain? He freed one of his father’s prisoners.’
For half a heartbeat, I forgot who I was talking to. ‘What?’
‘Grand, isn’t it?’ Belloc purred, stretching his legs on either side of me as if to deliberately spoil that moment of oblivious peace.
‘Some servant wench, to make matters even more amusing. Girl had walked in on Varraulis balls deep in one of his mistresses and started talking, so of course he had to make a point – not that he cared about the world knowing, I presume, but it’s the principle of the thing, isn’t it? ’
The principle of untouchability, yes. Of no one even entertaining the thought of waylaying a fireborn king in his own home and castle.
I swallowed something sour. ‘And Durlain … freed her?’
‘Seemed to think it was not fair.’ Belloc dragged out the words as if imitating a whiny child.
‘So the morning came, our loose-tongued maid was nowhere to be seen, and the prison master spilled the full story at the first hint of torture. The wench had been sentenced to lose her eyes – espionage, of course – so father-dear did the only reasonable thing and had the boy take her place. Mercifully left it at one eye, though.’
Mercifully.
Oh, sweet hell and oblivion.
I should laugh. I should at least force out some sort of chuckle, because if I’d hated Durlain, I’d probably have thought the anecdote the height of hilarity … but all I could see was a single purple-flecked eye glaring daggers at me. An upper lip curling. I’m not a good person, Thraga.
Mercifully.
‘Unbelievable,’ I rasped.
‘Isn’t it just?’ Belloc barely seemed to hear what I’d said, too busy relishing the memory. ‘His mother was in hysterics. Such a well-behaved little thing, Queen Izenore, but she was raging at the king that morning, calling him an embarrassment to his crown and more of such …’
My heart stopped.
Oh.
Oh, shit.
She got angry with him. I no longer saw the seething sea, the moonlit beach – just Durlain’s too-still face, a fire burning in a baker’s oven, our wet clothes hanging over roofbeams. Criticised him, very much in public. And five days later—
‘She died,’ I said hollowly.
I only realised I’d spoken those words out loud when Belloc stiffened behind me. ‘Beg your pardon?’
‘The … the queen.’ Fuck. I had to be careful now, very careful, because Belloc suddenly no longer sounded like it was all a great joke, and I didn’t fully understand why …
and worst of all, because I didn’t want to be careful.
Durlain couldn’t look at that eye, for hell’s sake.
Couldn’t even look at it. ‘Someone once told me that Varraulis killed his second wife because she made a scene in public – was this what happened, then?’
‘Ah.’ Belloc relaxed as instantly as he’d tensed up, giving a small, playful tug at my braid as if to remind me of my place. ‘Well, officially, His Majesty had nothing to do with her tragic demise, of course.’
That sounded too smug.
It sounded too knowing.
Was that why he’d been so eager to tell the story to some lowly runewitch on the run, a one-woman audience who couldn’t cause him trouble – because he knew something, and revelled in the secrets he kept?
But how in the world would he know, if even Varraulis’s own court had never found out the truth of—
Wait.
I didn’t even feel the dots connecting.
It was just there, all at once – a perfect picture, an inevitable truth.
Swore with the oathstone in his hands that he’d never ordered anyone to kill his wife, Durlain had said. That he’d never expected any member of his court to do such a thing.
But Varraulis might have expected someone who wasn’t a court member to murder the queen, might he not?
Someone he hadn’t quite ordered to do so.
Just a suggestion, a matter of mutual benefit …
because Izenore Averre had been born Izenore Garnot, and who benefited from a rift between House Averre and House Garnot more than the third player in the game?
House Estien.
Whose heir had been there when she’d died. Whose heir was sitting behind me with his vicious, inflammable hands in my hair, bragging about his intimate knowledge of those disastrous events.
‘You,’ I whispered.
His fingers stilled in my hair. ‘What was that, poppet?’
Hell take me.
I wasn’t clever enough for this.
Except that I had to be, because if I wasn’t, Belloc Estien would get away with murdering the mother of a good-man-turned-bad …
and it turned out I couldn’t stomach that thought.
Not even if Durlain had left me here to rot.
Not even if he betrayed me five times over – because once upon a time he’d been a twelve-year-old boy saving an innocent palace maid, and who had stepped in to save him?
When his mother had died and his aunt had left and his sister still needed his protection … had anyone ever had his back?
‘I beg your forgiveness, my lord.’ Quick, quick thinking now. He wouldn’t confess, of course. He would probably do what men of his sort did, though – defend their virility. ‘I just had this wild thought— But that’s nonsensical, of course. You couldn’t just kill a queen.’
His large hand brushed down my jaw. Making for my chin, my throat, in an undeniable threat. ‘Couldn’t I?’
‘Well.’ My nervous laugh was entirely genuine. ‘There would be guards, wouldn’t there?’
‘Oh, there were.’ Fingers, so hot they almost hurt, playing lazily over the front of my throat. ‘And we both know a few guards wouldn’t be a match for a prince of Estien, don’t we? You’re thinking much too hard for that pretty face of yours, Nightingale.’
There were.
Breathing. I had to keep breathing.
‘All I’m thinking is this will be an advantage, my lord.
’ My voice was a thin rasp. ‘He … he told me about his mother. I didn’t know she was Queen Izenore – I thought he was Givron Averre – but he told me about her, and I would bet my right hand that he’ll come back for you if he ever hears of this.
He won’t for me, but he absolutely will for her. ’
Belloc’s fingers were no longer moving.
‘So if we want to trap him …’ We. We were allies. I was Aranc’s heartless little witchling bird, good for nothing but killing, and I was helping him. ‘If we want to lure him back to us and take our revenge for Lady Pol’s death, then—’
‘Yes,’ he said sharply. ‘Yes, I hear what you’re saying, Nightingale.’
I shut my mouth.
I wanted so, so badly to count my knives and counted seconds instead, because it was all I could do to keep my hands from fidgeting. One, two, three, and—
‘He’ll have to hear of it first, however,’ Belloc said slowly, fingers resuming their soft, brushing motions down my throat. ‘And this is not a tale I’d like to spread, as you understand.’
A threat.
I swallowed. ‘Of course, my lord.’
‘So how would you solve that conundrum, poppet?’
‘I could go tell him,’ I said hoarsely. ‘You already told me anyway. I’ll go after him, tell him I’ve escaped and that I heard you telling Jay and Rook about this, and he won’t have any reason to mistrust me.’
Belloc’s chuckle was scalding on the back of my neck. ‘You ran from my brother once before. Why would I trust you to come back this time?’
But he was considering it.
The bastard was considering it.
Half an hour ago, this would have been the greatest imaginable triumph.
Because this was the part I’d prepared for.
The part where I knew things he didn’t, and that would have saved my hide – but the words slid past my lips almost thoughtlessly now, nothing but a trivial next step. ‘You could send Jay and Rook with me.’
‘Yes,’ Belloc said slowly. ‘I could. But why would you do it at all, then? What would it win you?’
‘Revenge for Lady Pol. She was very kind to me, my lord.’ I forced myself to grimace, because I knew he’d feel the tension, the pull of skin over my throat.
‘And if I have to be brought back to court regardless, the king might be in a little less of a hurry to kill me if he has Durlain to worry about.’
‘Pragmatic after all, Nightingale. I approve of that.’ His fingers abruptly disappeared; his legs pulled back on either side of me, and I heard him rise behind me. ‘Boys! Boys! Change of plans!’
I’d done it.
I sat on the cold stone, staring unseeing at the night sky ahead, and let the sound of Belloc’s voice slide past me as he briefed Jay and Rook on the new strategy.
I’d done it, and this could be the end of it.
We’d run together; maybe we’d fake my fellow birds’ deaths, pretend I’d killed the two of them, and not even Aranc would have any reason to keep hunting them down.
A safe way out. I’d lost my knives and perhaps my heart, and I should be glad, overjoyed, to have the option before me.
But Belloc would get away with it.
Even if I did go looking for Durlain, the stupid, cowardly bastard likely wouldn’t want me to find him. I might never see him again, and Belloc would get away with it.
I didn’t even hear Jay coming. He knelt beside me without warning – long blond hair in disarray, blue eyes shining with feverish triumph – and only when he reached for my hand did I notice the small key between his fingers.
His whisper was shrill with excitement – ‘Good work, bonehead. Really good work.’
‘Thanks,’ I breathed.
He set to work on my chains, chattering under his breath. ‘Tor still has a family, you know. Can’t stay there for long – Aranc knows where they live – but they’ll be able to help. And then once we have some money and a place to sleep …’
The iron cuffs clattered off my forearms.
I rubbed my wrists, shutting out the rest of his monologue. ‘Give me one of your knives, Jay.’
‘Give— What?’
‘You can pretend I’ve stolen it. Whatever you prefer.’ Belloc’s voice was approaching rapidly behind us, probably still speaking to Rook. ‘Please. Your knife.’
‘Oh, no,’ Jay sputtered, eyes wild. ‘No, no, no, you’re not going to—’
‘Nightingale?’ Belloc yelled, a dozen feet away at most.
I stopped wasting time.
I jumped to my feet. Shoved Jay sideways in the motion. Snatched a dagger from his belt while he was still tumbling over with an outraged cry, and turned.
And threw.