Chapter 4
Zarek
I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING
“What’s she like?” I ask.
Petrys, my informant, shrugs.
“She’s fucking her tutor,” he says.
Ah. That was the rumor. As far as scandals go, it’s pretty mild. I suppose I should be grateful she isn’t a virgin. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to deflowering a woman I’ve never met while the king’s witnesses watch through the secret two-way mirror in my bedroom.
“Anything else?” I ask, as I lean across the table to refill his glass.
The crowded pub fills with raucous laughter as the musician finishes a particularly filthy rendition of “Barmaid’s Brawl.” I’ll have to remember those verses. Petrys meets my gaze and grins.
“What? That’s not scandal enough?” he asks. “What else do you want to know?”
I lean back in the booth. The musician picks up his lute and begins another song. It’s that stupid one about cutting your heart out; the crowd sings every word with brutal enthusiasm and a reckless disregard for tune or key.
What do I want to know about the woman I’m going to marry in less than a week?
I know she’s the only daughter of the king of Marion, a very small country that produces little of note.
I know she has one sibling, an older brother named Elrick, and that her mother died giving birth to her.
I know she was supposed to marry Prince Laurance of Ethiria, a man who supposedly takes idiocy to stunning new heights.
I also know that her incompetent father is a ruler in name only; the political will of Marion rests with a council of mayors who represent the important towns and districts of the kingdom. And now, I know she’s already taken a lover, which is a bit of a relief.
What I don’t know is why King Malrik is suddenly interested in Marion.
Even before they opened their new mine, he was sending more spies and scouts than seemed necessary into that kingdom. I think Malrik hasn’t forgotten that Vsenrog once ruled that little corner of the world, before the villages united and pushed back Malrik’s great-grandfather.
My marriage to the only daughter of Marion’s king is a naked power grab, and there’s not a godsdamned thing I can do about it.
I know Malrik wants to control Marion, anyone who’s even glanced at the movements of his scouts and troops in the past year knows that, but the why is still unclear.
It’s a kingdom of rocks, sheep, and dry, arid plains sandwiched between Vsenrog and Ethiria.
There’s very little strategic value to the place, and even less to be gained from the local economy.
I raise my mug to my lips and sip the warm, bitter ale. This pub has the worst ale in the entire city, which makes it a great place to meet my informants. No one of note ever comes in here.
My mug makes a clink as I put it back on the table. I clear my throat.
“I need to know everything about her that could be used against me,” I say.
Petrys barks a laugh.
“And here I thought you were going to ask about her tits,” he says, shaking his head. “Gods above, you’re such a romantic, Zarek.”
“I’m the snake,” I reply.
Petrys grins as he finishes his beer.
“There’s nothing else,” he says, as he puts his empty mug down on the table. “She’s clever. She’s good with horses. Really, the only scandal I could dig up is that she spreads her legs for her tutor.” He pauses, then presses his lips together.
“Which means she’s probably pregnant,” he says, coming to the same conclusion I reached the night King Malrik summoned me to one of his lesser rooms. “That could give you a convenient out, if you need it.”
My lip curls. I hadn’t considered that particular aspect, but he’s right.
I could send Princess Lilias away for her failure to preserve her maidenhead.
And the gods only know what her father would do to her then.
It might even be as painful as what King Malrik would do to me if I lost his chance to stake a claim on the kingdom of Marion.
“Lovely,” I mutter into my ale.
I don’t relish the thought of taking responsibility for a woman, let alone a newborn child. But what are my options?
“And,” Petrys says, leaning over the table, “just so you know, she does have fantastic tits.”
He waves his hands in front of his chest, miming the swell of breasts so massive they defy the laws of nature. I roll my eyes.
“Since when do you care about tits?” I ask.
As long as I’ve known him, Petrys has preferred male lovers.
“Just giving you the full report,” he replies with a shrug as he waves the serving boy over to our table.
“And forgive my saying this,” Petrys adds, as the serving boy scurries off to fetch another pitcher of that piss-poor ale, “but you don’t seem very excited about your upcoming nuptials.”
I take a long look at Petrys. There were three of us, the hostages sent from the Mountains of Dungal to appease King Malrik.
I was the youngest, and I carried the royal seal on my clothing, so I was the one taken under Malrik’s wing.
Gerrart joined the stables and Petrys joined the barracks; I’ve always thought they got the better end of the deal.
Now, even in the dim light of the pub, I can trace the deepening lines around Petrys’s eyes and mouth.
We’re not getting any younger, the two of us.
Honestly, it’s a bit of a wonder Malrik took this long to marry me off.
Three of his four legitimate sons are already tied to women whose lineage or wealth benefits Malrik in some way.
“Shit,” I finally say, rolling my empty mug between my hands. “Why wouldn’t I be delighted about the chance to ruin some young woman’s life on Malrik’s command?”
Petrys laughs again.
“That’s my brother,” he says, with his broad smile.
The serving boy appears again, this time with another pitcher of foul ale. Petrys fills my mug, then his.
“Now,” Petrys says, “shall we drink to the king’s ill health?”
I raise my glass. For the first time since I entered this stinking pub, I allow myself to smile.