27 #2
He watches my blades, as he should, but he keeps talking, words wrenching from him like they’re being torn out by sheer frustration.
“This plan should have gone smoothly. You cocked it up for me. Dragged it out unnecessarily long, made me do things that I—” He lets out an exasperated growl.
“Without you, the idiot prince would never have lasted this long. We’d have had him in the dungeon that first night. ”
I indulge in a smile, realizing that I have occupied this man’s thoughts ever since Vawn and I rode out of the Lyre & Vice on a magic carpet.
“Why the masks, the secret identities, the subterfuge?” I sidle around Renfrow and he circles with me, his sword at the ready.
“A coup masterminded by a royal bodyguard would be considered treachery,” he says.
“It wouldn’t be given the political weight it deserved.
I had allies, people willing to stand with me, and mercenaries to amplify our ranks, but I lacked support from the nobility.
Instead, I used mystery and secrecy. People fear what they cannot fully see.
The disguises gave us a chance to take over quickly and quietly, without being immediately labeled as traitors or rebels. ”
“You wanted to minimize casualties,” I say. “That’s why you only took prisoners until we escaped you at the Tularesk border. Then you lost your temper.”
“I did not lose my temper!” He rushes at me, but I catch his blade between my knives and wrench his arm while I spin aside.
A quick cartwheel around him, and I manage a stab to his back, beneath his left ribs.
He whirls toward me, roaring in pain, and smashes the hilt of his sword against my right shoulder.
I scream as the joint pops out of its socket.
My right-hand knife rattles on the floor, and I retreat with my dislocated arm hanging painfully limp. I point my other knife at Renfrow, putting a pillar between us and casting a nervous look at the guards in the room. Any second now, they will begin to move again.
“Who’s your puppet there?” I nod to the immobilized figure on the throne.
“Oh, you know him too. But don’t worry about that. Your brief life is over. Too bad. You made a decent bodyguard.”
“Wait,” I gasp, backing away. “I have one more question. Why did you want Vawn alive?”
“So I could keep him in a cell and force him to paint glyphs for me. Why else?” Renfrow gives a raw laugh.
“The boy is talented. And maybe I wanted to pay back some of the discomfort and humiliation I endured as his bodyguard. ‘Hold this, Renfrow. We’re going to another club, Renfrow. Where are my pants, Renfrow? Did my legs really turn into tentacles, Renfrow, or am I just wasted?’ His father demoted me to that position, you know.
I used to be one of the King’s own bodyguards, and then I had the audacity to yield to a princess when she wanted a night with her father’s guard.
It didn’t matter to the King that the sex was her idea.
He wanted me out of his sight, and the bitch never defended me. ”
“By bitch, you mean—”
“Princess Athalia. After that, she and her cunt of a sister tittered at me whenever I passed.”
“But you still had a good place, as the bodyguard to a prince.”
“Traipsing around after the lecherous layabout?” he says dryly. “Oh yes, an excellent place. Just the two of us, me and Kresser, having to pull His Cocky Highness out of all the messes he got himself into. Kresser seemed to be fond of him, if you can believe that.”
“I can.”
At my response, Renfrow’s eyes narrow. “Don’t tell me you let the boy into your pants.”
I’m about to respond, but movement from behind Renfrow catches my eye. Smiling, I let my remaining knife fall, and I support my injured arm with my left hand.
“Look at that sickening smile on your face,” Renfrow groans. “By the fates, have some self-respect. I suppose you think you love him?”
“Better. I know he loves me.”
Renfrow hears the soft sweep of the magic carpet a second too late.
As Severin rushes by, Vawn roars with all the grief in his soul, leaning over the carpet’s edge.
The sword in Vawn’s hand goes into Renfrow’s back so hard and so deep that the bloody point bursts out of his chest. I dart aside, out of the way, but I’m still spattered with flecks of his blood.
Severin pulls up short, and Vawn leaps off. He released the sword right after stabbing Renfrow, and he’s massaging his shoulder like the force of the blow hurt him.
I move toward the carpet. “I called for you three times.”
“Apologies,” says Severin. “It took us a bit longer than expected to overcome the guards at the palace gates. The rest of the Tularesk army and quite a few Belavrin loyalists are still in the courtyard and the great hall, finishing off the Redeemers.”
“Thank the fates,” I breathe. “We’ve won.”
“It’s not over yet.” Severin points a tassel toward the prince, who has knelt beside his former bodyguard.
Vawn draws the sword out of Renfrow and pushes the big man onto his back. Renfrow is dying, blood bubbling from his lips. He chokes on it as he stares up at Vawn.
The devastation in Vawn’s eyes guts me. I wish he didn’t have to endure this moment, but he needs the finality, the understanding.
“Why?” Vawn whispers, but Renfrow can’t answer.
“He told me why,” I say quietly, coming to stand beside Vawn. “I’ll explain later, but Vawn, the Exemplar is starting to move. I think he was only Renfrow’s puppet, but he could still be a threat, and he was complicit in the death of your family. We should restrain him.”
Vawn nods vaguely, still staring at Renfrow, so I gesture to a couple of the Tularesk soldiers who have entered the room. None of them are dressed in uniforms, but they all wear a leaf of blood ivy pinned to their chest—Vawn’s idea, so we would know whom to trust.
“Restrain the Exemplar,” I tell them. They move in, covering his hands with gloves so he can’t use glyphs and then binding his wrists. He moves feebly in protest, but the paralysis spell hasn’t worn off enough for him to resist.
“Syth.” Cordall touches my back lightly. “Your shoulder—I can fix it. It will be sore, but it won’t hurt as much.”
I submit to his help, crying out when he pops the joint back in. Immediately the pain becomes bearable, with the tissues under less strain. “Thank you,” I tell him. “Are you all right?”
“I’ve never felt pain like that,” the artist says. “And I won’t soon forget it. But I’ll be fine.” He wipes sweat from his forehead. “All in all, the plan went off well, I think.”
“Very well, seeing as we’re not dead.” I collect my claw knives from the floor, holding them ready even though our enemies have been subdued. “And now to unmask the Exemplar, the puppet Renfrow placed on the throne. The impotent figurehead.”
Even as I say it, my gaze drops to the jeweled scepter, which lies on the floor beside the usurper’s feet. My memory clarifies into the image of a dead unicorn, ripped apart, lying by the side of the road. I was commanded to retrieve its horn, which Vawn did for me, so I wouldn’t have to.
And he gave the horn to Loxley.
“Vawn.” I dash forward and grab his arm as he approaches the Exemplar and reaches for the mask. “This is going to hurt.”
He gives me a sorrowful smile. “I already know who it is, sweetheart. I’ve known since we first heard the description of the Exemplar’s mask. I’d seen it before, in Loxley’s room, about two weeks before our night at the Lyre & Vice.”
“You knew Loxley was the Exemplar? And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t think it mattered. Knowing him, I was convinced he was only a puppet, as you said. And maybe…” Vawn hesitates, clearing his throat. “Maybe I wanted to hope that I was mistaken. He was one of my closest friends. Weren’t you, Loxley?” And he removes the mask from the Exemplar’s head.
But the face behind the mask isn’t Loxley. It’s Tolgan.
“Tolgan,” Vawn breathes. “The fuck?”
“You thought the Exemplar was Loxley? Really?” scoffs Tolgan. “That idiot couldn’t think his way out of a canvas bag.”
Vawn withdraws a step, the muscles of his jaw working, his eyes fractured with pain. “Why did I see this mask in Loxley’s room, then?”
“I left it there for safekeeping one night, before we went out,” says Tolgan. “I had just picked it up that day, and I didn’t have time to take it home. It was in a box. How did you see it?”
“I was always poking around Loxley’s things. I thought someone had given to him.” Vawn stoops, snatching up the unicorn scepter. He shoves it at Tolgan’s face with such violence that the other man whimpers. “What about this?”
“Loxley had that made for me a week ago.” Tolgan is trembling now, all his bravado gone.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Probably in my suite, sleeping off last night’s libations.”
“So he finally slept with you,” Vawn sneers.
“Yes,” mumbles Tolgan. “Once I told him that I was the man in power.”
Vawn spins on his heel and stalks a few steps away, as if he can’t bear to look at the traitor anymore. His pain infuriates me, and I move in, tucking the tip of a knife beneath Tolgan’s chin.
“Power?” I croon. “What power? You never had any. Renfrow was always in charge. Except for him and Loxley, no one else knew you were on this throne, did they?”
“A few people knew,” Tolgan says defensively.
“The craftsman who made my mask, a couple of servants, and my parents. Once everything stabilized and Belavrin became even more prosperous than before, Renfrow and I were going to reveal ourselves as the benefactors of the kingdom. It would have been glorious.”
“Maybe.” I poke the knife harder beneath his jaw. “But guess who is going to receive all the glory now? Your prince. He’s the savior of Belavrin, back from the dead.”