‘You can and will, Odaka. This must not reach my father’s ears. He must not be distracted at this crucial time.’ Again, she had not meant to sound so forceful, even dictatorial, but it was almost becoming second nature.
Odaka said nothing. Janessa wondered whether she had overstepped the mark, but remembered his words:
And I live to obey.
‘Your father will find out about this eventually. When he learns I have kept it from him—’
‘At
my
command. You have kept it from him on
my
order. My father must also learn that if I am to rule one day, I must be allowed to make decisions. If he hears of this would-be assassin he will send men back to the city to protect me, men who need to be fighting under my father’s banner. The news will burden him unnecessarily. I cannot allow that. I
will
not allow that.’
Odaka finally nodded. ‘As you wish, my lady. I will see to it that no word is sent until after the armies of the Free States have faced the Khurtic horde.’
Janessa felt calm. In control. She almost thanked Odaka, but managed to stop herself.
‘Has anyone been hurt? Other than Lord Raelan, I mean?’
‘One of the palace sentries was injured, but he will live. Unless Garret throttles him for his failure. Other than that, only Lord Raelan encountered the assassin.’
‘And how is he? Does he recover?’
As though on cue, the door to the chamber opened. Two Sentinels entered and behind them strode Lord Raelan, flanked by his own bodyguard: two of Valdor’s notorious Border Wolves. These grizzled men from the north were sticking close to their young ward.
All three took to the knee before Janessa and bowed their heads.
‘Your majesty,’ said Raelan. ‘I heard you were here. It gladdens me to see you safe.’
Something about him had changed, something that made Janessa somehow pleased to see him, and glad that he seemed unharmed.
‘Please, Lord Raelan, stand.’ He and his men obeyed, and she saw the yellowing bruise on his jaw where he had been struck by River. ‘You are well, I hope?’
‘I am, my lady. And all the better to see you safe.’
She examined his face with concern. ‘Your wounds …’
‘It is nothing. I’ve had worse in the training yard. I am only sorry that I allowed your assassin to escape. Would that I had been able to capture him.’
‘Yes … it is regrettable he escaped. It seems the Elharim’s influence has reached Steelhaven already.’
‘But you are safe now, my lady. I vow to protect you. My wolves and I will be your guard night and day.’
Janessa felt Odaka shuffle uncomfortably at the suggestion the Sentinels could not protect their princess but he remained silent.
‘I am flattered that you see it as your duty to protect me, but I assure you, Lord Raelan, it isn’t necessary. I am quite safe. The guard has been doubled and my door is watched over day and night. An army of assassins could not reach me now.’
‘Very well, my lady. But please know I am your servant. An attack on you is an attack on everything I hold dear.’
Janessa smiled. ‘You flatter me with your devotion, Lord Raelan.’
Raelan stepped forward, looking somewhat uncomfortable. He lowered his voice so only she could hear.
‘You should know, my lady, that my devotion to you is unswerving. I would do anything for you. Go to any lengths to protect you. Give my life even.’
Janessa was taken aback. Where was such an outpouring of emotion when he had proposed? Did he mean this, or was he just play acting, trying to win her over that she might ultimately gift him the throne?
‘I … I appreciate your words, Lord Raelan. And do not doubt that I am still considering your … proposal.’ The word almost stuck in her throat.
He shook his head. ‘Please, my lady … Janessa. My concern, my fear for you, is real. It would destroy me to think anyone might harm you.’
Raelan was gazing at her ardently, his voice no longer lowered. He didn’t give a damn if his profession of love was heard by everyone present, even his grim bodyguard.
Janessa reeled. Did he really love her? Was this baring of his soul what she had looked for?
It was overwhelming. She felt uncertain before all those eyes, awaiting her response. Should she accept his proposal of marriage now, in front of Odaka and Raelan’s own men?
‘Thank you,’ was all she could manage to say.
Janessa glanced down, realising she was still in her nightgown. She managed to twitch out an awkward smile from one corner of her mouth, spun on her heel and aimed for the door.
Her head was ablaze with frantic thought as she rushed back to her bedchamber. She willed back tears, wishing now that her father
was
here. He would know what to do, he would tell her what to do.
But then he had already told her – his wishes were that she should marry Raelan.
A Sentinel stood at her chamber door.
‘I have been sent to be the guard within your room, majesty. On the orders of the regent.’
She turned on him, her anxiety fuelling her rage like a spark to a fire. ‘Am I expected to be watched while I sleep?’ she bellowed, glaring up at the armoured man.
He made some uncertain noises, clearly at a loss for what to do. The knight could neither refuse the orders of the regent nor ignore the anger of his princess. Janessa felt guilty. This man had done her no wrong; her outburst had been unacceptable.
‘Oh, just stay out here,’ she cried, pushing open the door to the bedchamber and slamming it behind her.
The tears came then. Janessa managed to stifle the sobs, to preserve her dignity. One day she would have to rule this land, this city, and a weak queen would be worse than no queen at all.
And then she sensed something lurking in the shadows at the far corner of the room. Though almost imperceptible in the gloom, she could tell the figure was shivering in the dark.
Janessa might have screamed, might have fled back through the door, but she didn’t. Somehow she knew …
He moved into the light, hood drawn back, his face now visible in the candlelight – that scarred yet beautiful face.
Janessa rushed to him as he stumbled forward, and she managed to support him in her arms. She felt the feverish heat of his body, the clamminess of his skin, the thin film of sweat that covered him. He clutched his side where his clothing was crimson-stained. His hands were covered in congealed blood.
With some effort, Janessa moved him to her bed, where he fell back, gritting his teeth but making no sound.
‘We have to stop the bleeding,’ she said, gathering a fistful of linen sheets and vainly trying to staunch the blood oozing from his side.
She was weeping – but he was smiling.
He raised a hand to her face to let a tear trickle onto his bloodstained finger.
She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word the door to her chamber opened.
‘I know you said you wanted to be alone, but I couldn’t sleep. Garret’s all but screaming the place down,’ said Graye as she walked in. ‘I’m glad I’m not one—’
She stopped, staring at them both on the bed, the colour draining from her face.
Janessa sprinted across the room, slamming the door shut before Graye could think to run out. She placed a hand over Graye’s mouth before she could cry out in alarm.
Janessa could see the fear in her friend’s eyes.
‘You have to trust me, Graye. You have to trust me as you never have before.’ Graye’s eyes flitted to the man lying on the bed. ‘He is my friend, Graye – you have to believe me. He would never hurt me. He couldn’t.’ Janessa knew how hard this must be to believe. ‘If I move my hand will you cry out?’ Graye hesitated then shook her head.
Janessa removed her hand.
‘What in the hells is going on?’ Graye said in a hoarse whisper.
‘I don’t have time to explain right now, Graye. All I can tell you is that he’s wounded and I have to stop the bleeding. Will you help me?’
Graye looked over to the man lying on the bed, clutching the crimson sheet to his side, his breath laboured.
‘Of course,’ she replied.
S
he came for him before dawn, awakening him as the grey light of an autumn day began to filter through the shutters. This time she didn’t speak, but Waylian knew what to do.
Silently he donned his robe, not even bothering to splash water on his face, before following her down the winding staircase to the base of the Tower.
Part of him was thankful no one else had yet risen. For the past few days he’d been too ashamed to show his face in the communal areas, far too embarrassed to see another soul. He could feel them laughing behind his back, pointing their fingers and whispering to one another.
‘There goes the idiot from the refectory.’
‘That’s the one who screams out random profanities.’
‘Yes, I hear he tugs himself to sleep every night too, then cries into his pillow after.’
Waylian could do without the ridicule. He had enough to deal with already, feeling so out of place here now. The books he read made no more sense, the lessons he attended were no more enlightening and it was only a matter of time before he was dismissed from the Tower altogether.
Then at least he would be able to return home.
There would be a certain shame in that, of course, but Waylian didn’t care. He could weather comments about his failure: they would die off soon enough. Then he could become a scribe or scholar of some kind, and settle into a life outside the realms of magick.
He was damned sure he wouldn’t miss it.
His mistress was waiting for him as he made his way down the stairs. Mercifully there was no disdain in her eyes on this particular morning. She might still resemble a leering gargoyle, lacking emotion, still look fearsome, but Waylian didn’t feel any particular hostility was being directed at him. She was just indifferent to him.
Gelredida was through the great double doors before he reached the bottom of the stairs, and Waylian was at pains to keep up with her. Not that it mattered. He must be her silent shadow. Why she even wanted him along was a mystery: it wasn’t as though he could contribute any great insight into things, though he knew by now what kind of things they were heading off to investigate.
This was the third night she had summoned him. The first had been to investigate the hideous, eviscerated corpse that had caused him to evacuate his guts all over the floor. The second was just after he had managed to humiliate himself in front of Gerdy and Bram and the rest of the students. She had come for him that night, waking him from his embarrassed dreams and leading him through the streets to another house surrounded by Greencoats. This time there had been no crowd, no cloying mass of humanity trying to get a sight of the carnage. That murder had been just as grotesque as the first, the body of the man just as badly butchered, the symbols daubed on the walls even more obscene to look upon, though Waylian had just as little understanding of their significance. That time, though, he had managed to hold his evening meal down, despite its insistence on rising towards his mouth.
Now, as he followed Gelredida through the shabby streets, he was more sanguine about what he might see. He guessed one mutilated body was much the same as any other. Tonight’s murder would probably hold few surprises for him.
Waylian took little notice of their route. The streets all looked the same to him: ramshackle houses built too close together, squatting in muddy streets with muddier beggars pleading for coin.
He had expected the Greencoats to be waiting for his mistress as they had been previously, so it came as something of a surprise when she stopped and knocked on the unguarded front door of a huge stone building, its windows long since boarded over.
After some time a shutter in the door opened. There was no exchange of words, but whoever lurked inside must have recognised Gelredida, since the door quickly opened and Waylian’s mistress walked in.
He had never seen the interior of a whorehouse before, but still, this was not what he would have expected. The door opened on a wide room, with several sofas scattered about. Scantily clad girls of various shapes and sizes sat around, some looking bored, others fearful, one openly weeping. This one was being comforted by a whore with a bosom larger than Waylian had ever seen.
It almost made him resentful being so close to these women. He had heard of whores and the men that took solace in their company, of course, but he had never been so close to one. Being in their presence made him feel grimy, as if he might fall victim to some disease just by being in the same room.
Magistra Gelredida was greeted by an ageing woman. Her face was heavily wrinkled and looked grotesque, being as gaudily painted as those of the other whores. She might possibly have been desirable once, it was hard to tell now, age and a livid scar beside her left eye having long since kissed goodbye to her beauty.
‘You’ve told no one?’ Gelredida asked.
The whore raised one painted eyebrow. ‘What do you think?’ she replied.
‘And these?’ The Red Witch gestured to the score of girls in their various states of undress.
‘We both know what’ll assure their silence.’
Gelredida produced a pouch from out of nowhere, and Waylian heard the telltale chink of coins as she placed it in the hand of the brothel-mistress.
‘She’s upstairs,’ said the old whore. ‘The door’s open. The smell should guide you right enough.’
With that she was off into another room hidden by a thick curtain.
Gelredida took the stairs, and Waylian was quick to follow, having no desire to be left alone with these women of the night.
‘Why are there no Greencoats here, Magistra?’ he asked as they reached the first floor landing.
‘It’s the way I want it,’ Gelredida replied. ‘This way we might investigate the scene untroubled and word of this can be kept to a minimum.’
‘But how can you guarantee the silence of those … women?’
Gelredida stopped and turned, regarding Waylian with a wry smile.
‘All men are braggarts by nature, and women of means are most often gossips and rumourmongers. Whores, however, learn to keep their peace … if the price is right. I would sooner trust the discretion of a whore than of anyone else in this city.’