King Callie: Callie's Saga, Book One (19 page)

Kells had also caught his target off-guard, and scored a blow across her upper torso, tearing her dress. The dark-haired maid had stolen a sword from one of the guards, and used it to complement her dagger with brutish, efficient thrusts and parries. But his swordplay was equally skilled, and he kept her off balance – despite the hit she’d scored on his thigh.

Moments before, Caliandra had thought she would have her revenge; but nothing had gone remotely as she hoped. She had thought there might be more strategy, more thought – but it was her first true taste of battle, and she had no idea what to expect. The men and women in the dungeon were not chess pieces waiting to be moved, or to react – there was a frenzy and desperation in their actions, as they struggled for life. Fear paralyzed her to inaction.

Then, she remembered what Eliya and Mae had told her, about her brother fighting with the Erimeni.
My brother would not want one sacrificed for the other,
she thought.
Not after he fought to help keep Kells alive.
She looked around for a weapon – any sort of weapon – and eschewed the large hammer, far heavier than she could lift, for a loose link of chain, curled up against the wall. Caliandra saw Royth and the red-haired maid grappling in the cell; Kells, it seemed was more evenly matched. Caliandra’s heart pounded she rushed in.

Caliandra rushed to the fray, chain in hand, and saw her perfect opportunity – the dark-haired maid had moved to block Kells, leaving her back wide open. Caliandra swung with all her might – and was rewarded with a sickly crack. The dark-haired maid dropped the sword in her hand, and Kells seized the moment to run the woman through with his blade. He withdrew it, and the maid dropped limply to the floor. Caliandra had hardly a second to realize what had happened, and yet, she knew the full of it would come to her later; the maid was indeed dead. And with her, the chance at revenge vanished. Instead, she had saved Kells’ life.

Kells offered a nod of thanks, and then turned his attentions to the red-haired woman in the cage. She still struggled with Royth on the ground, her leg very much bruised and her face covered with her own running blood. Caliandra’s grip tightened on the chain for a second as she saw the Seer – but then, she dropped it, letting it clatter on the ground. Kells raised his sword at the grapplers, and shouted.

“Stop!” he yelled. “Let her go, Royth… Her woman is dead, and don’t think I won’t mind running the both of you through.” He aimed the tip of the blade at the tangle of bodies. Royth rolled off her, to the side, and the woman looked up at the sword pointed at her – then, to her left, where the lifeless body of her partner lay. Breathing hard through the blood that flowed from her nose, she held her hands up in open defeat.

“Shit,” the red-haired maid muttered.

Caliandra watched as Kells dragged her to the far corner of the dungeon, and chained her to the wall. The whole time, Caliandra’s eyes flecked back to Royth, who she expected to stare hate at her. Instead… she found pity. And that infuriated her.

“Don’t look at me,” she snapped, as she turned away; she kept her eyes fixed on a far wall.

“I do not blame you for what you did,” Royth said, his voice calm and even. Caliandra clenched her teeth.

“I don’t want your sympathy,” Caliandra said, as her voice cracked. “I just want you to
die.
”

“Lady,” Kells said, calling to her. “Come here. I need your help.”

“With what?” Caliandra asked, bitter.

“The prisoner needs to be searched,” Kells said. “I can’t do as thorough a job by myself. I need a second pair of hands.”

Caliandra stood up, and stomped over to where Kells stood, with the maid. “I’ve never –”

“Today has been a day of many firsts for you,” Kells said. “Help me, and I’ll stay silent on the ones that matter.”

“Very well,” Caliandra said, still on edge from Royth’s gaze. She wanted no pity from the man who killed her brother. And yet, she had it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

From what little Kells knew of Sparrows, the red-haired one - the one who lived - met all expectations. Once he had her in shackles, he searched her thoroughly, and found two extra weapons hidden on her person… along with three lock picks. One in her hair, one on the bottom of her corset, and one on the inside of her cheek. He wouldn’t have known to look, if Royth hadn’t told him to. As he forced her mouth open, he half expected her to bite down on his fingers - hence, the butt of the dagger he forced between her teeth, so Caliandra could pluck it out with her nimble fingers. The Sparrow would’ve been free in minutes if she’d been allowed to keep that pick; Kells knew both he and Royth would be dead just as quickly.

Kells glanced back at Caliandra, who was white-knuckled with anxiety. She had calmed down some, but Kells wagered that the fright of combat wasn’t the only thing that set her on edge. He didn’t know how much he could trust her, either; she had saved his life, but in the process, tipped her hand. She was willing to risk her life to see her brother’s death avenged… and Kells only hoped that she never learned how close she was to letting that happen. In the mean-time, he needed her to calm down, which wouldn’t happen if she stayed in the dungeon.

“Find the nearest guards and let them know we’ve captured her,” Kells said to Caliandra. “Then bring a healer in here, to tend to her wounds and set her leg.” Caliandra nodded, and fled for the stairs; all too eager to be gone.

“That’s kind of you,” Sage said, with a wry grin. “I’d have let him beat on me a bit more, if I were you.”

“No need,” Kells mumbled. “The torture’ll come soon enough. Consider it a small token of my delight, at having two members of the Nest in my possession – both fluent in Barrish. No small prize, I assure you.”

“You had one staring you in the face for twenty years, and you’ve caught the other by luck,” Royth said, droll, from across the room. “I wouldn’t gloat if I were you.” His words burned Kells, and infuriated him; he’d caught both by sheer luck. To an outsider, he’d be a hero; he knew he was only lucky.

The Sparrow laughed at him, and made the frustration worse. “You won’t get any of our secrets,” she said, testing her chains at Royth. “And he’ll be dead soon enough.”

“You want to kill a man who can see the future? Good luck,” Royth said.

“There’s no such thing,” the Sparrow said. “It’s just superstition.”

“Even locked down here, I knew you were coming. I wouldn’t have needed the Song they sent me,” he said. “I knew every step you’d make.”

“You’re a damned liar,” the Sparrow replied. “And I’ll be glad to kill a traitor.”

“I might be,” Royth said, grinning, “And I might not. Maybe your Song said, ‘Kill the Royal Seer, Royth, and anon to the woods. Your Shrike will wait in the Hunter’s Pass.’… But to my recollection, any time a traitor was to be killed, the message was ‘pluck the feathers’, not ‘kill’… isn’t that right, Sparrow?”

It was the first time that Kells had seen her unnerved. “You’ve been imprisoned for the past week,” she said, clearly rattled. “You wouldn’t have gotten the Song.” That was when Kells saw the color drain from Royth’s eyes, as they turned to a milky white; the same as the Sparrow’s cheeks, as she blanched with surprise.

“Maybe I didn’t need it,” Royth said. “And maybe, you were sent to your death.” She said nothing else. Likely, Kells thought, because she knew it was true. Royth, however, was still smug. “We’ve already given Kells too much excitement for one day. If we say any more, he may require a change of undergarments.”

Kells chortled. “Very unlikely,” Kells replied. He’d already seen a Sparrow frightened, and perhaps there was more to Royth’s ability than previously imagined; the man told him once it was bound to touch. He had said that it could not be triggered without touching others.

Maybe he lied about that, too.

But before Kells could think on it, he heard footsteps, and a man’s heavy breathing descending the stairs.

“Sir Kells! Sir Kells!” he shouted, urgent, between labored breaths.

“What is it?” Kells, replied.

“It’s the vault, sir. The guards are dead, and it’s gone.” The words struck him with surprise and fear; something that the Sparrow no doubt enjoyed.

“What? What’s gone?” Kells scowled, as he approached the guard. “Tell me. What’s gone?”

“The… the Peacebringer, sir,” the guard hesitated. “It’s been stolen.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Sophine had no sooner checked to see that Caliandra was safe, than she arranged for an urgent meeting of the Council.

Six Ministers arrived with haste: Fenwyn first, with the official scribe; Marrol and Talwyck, from town, and three more within the hour; two late, with prepared excuses; and one dragged, swaying and drunk, from the nearest pub. That last minister, Harrad, irked Sophine to no end. She knew from his clothes that he was a merchant, and that his knowledge of proper decorum may have been lacking
–
but all the same, she found it disrespectful. Especially when Kells, who had managed to capture one of the Sparrows and save her daughter, was only freshly bandaged. He sat at her side, and she did her best to ignore the large, darkening pools of red showing through the bandages’ white fabric.

“Is this how a kingdom falls?” Sophine asked the Ministry. “Murderers and thieves strike, with my husband’s body not three weeks in the ground? We have been struck by hired blades for unknown reasons, Peacebringer is gone, and you cannot even muster a sense of sobriety,” she said, glaring at Minister Harrad, the drunkard, with disgust.

“Pardon me for not anticipatin’ an urgent Ministry meeting,” Minister Harrad replied. “I was entertainin’ Ariaci merchants, and tryin’ to improve our trade. And they happen to like to drink. So thank
you
, Duchess, for ruinin’ a productive evening.” Loud, puffy-eyed, and indolent, Harrad had been given his seat by his fellow nobles; they loved to drink with him, and most times, he had an easy manner. He was a natural choice to be Minister of Foreign Affairs, in their eyes; in Sophine’s, he was effective, but disagreeable. The drinking hardly helped it.

“We don’t know if the incidents were arranged by the same party,” stout Minister Grigor replied, “Or even for what purpose.” He was a solid, small man with an easy smile, caked with soot and iron, and marked by an unusual intelligence. It was why he ran the Barrish Blacksmith’s Guild, and why he had won his seat on the Ministry. She knew him; the drunk, she hadn’t the displeasure of meeting before. “There is the chance that they are unconnected, Duchess.”

She paused to consider his words - a good, cautious conclusion. “True,” she replied. “We must not make hasty decisions. But would we really trust that two parties acting independently of each other should be timed with such coincidence?”

Minister Talwyck, another merchant, spoke up. He was tall and thin, and carried with him his mother’s uncommon features - almond-shaped brown eyes, coal black hair, tan skin - as well as his mother’s button nose. His sister Patta had an equally rare look, but with their father’s high forehead. Sophine thought it a blessing, in her case.

“Had you killed Royth already, neither may have happened,” Talwyck said. “But instead, I hear you’re simply keeping him imprisoned. Why is that?”

Fenwyn responded from his seat. “Are you are able to secure a Seer to replace him?” His response was met by silence. “Of course not,” he said, with a smirk. “Only but a handful in the known world. Which is why we cannot forsake any advantages we have, simply to appease a misplaced want for bloodlust!” Sophine noticed that Talwyck frowned; he did not agree in the least.

“What else do we know of the killers?” Grigor asked.

“Nothing,” replied Kells. He sat to Sophine’s right. “They were sent by the Nest to kill Royth, and kidnap Caliandra. But they did not steal the axe. That is all I’ve been able to learn from the survivor.”

Minister Harrad, laughed. “Don’t waste our time with such shit, Duchess,” he said, with contempt. “the Nest doesn’t exist. If you can’t tell the difference between shit and the truth, perhaps you’re better suited to shovelin’, than to knowin’ secrets.” Sophine was hardly surprised when Kells shot Harrad a hate-filled glance, but admirably, Kells restrained his temper.

“We cannot ignore the timing, and the outcomes. Our king is dead. The axe is gone, and we cannot replace him. Someone has also attempted to hobble us, by taking our Seer’s life and kidnapping a lady of the court. We are already weakened and leaderless. We must change that,” Kells said. “Surely, Harrad, there’s no shit to be found in that argument.” Harrad grimaced, and twisted in his seat.

“I agree,” Marrol said, speaking up. “Until the axe’s pieces are recovered, and we can select the proper leader, I propose be elected to act in that absence.” His proposal met with several murmurs of agreement, and one outright statement of support. Fenwyn gritted his teeth, and Sophine drew a nervous breath. “What say the Ministry?”

Fenwyn stood up. “I will support it,” he said, causing Sophine to look up in surprise, “If the prisoner Royth’s safety can be guaranteed, and that he will not be tried for his crime. I care not what is done with the woman prisoner, but I will give you my vote.”

Marrol frowned, albeit slightly, and Sophine almost laughed; such measures needed unanimous support, and were binding. If they were to have a leader, and it was to be Marrol, he’d have to keep Royth alive.
A lovely move
, she thought.