Maledicte (39 page)

“No need,” Maledicte said. “I’m tired of my clothes being manhandled. First my Gilly, who should know better, and Echo, then that oaf in the cells. I see no reason to add two more pairs of damp handprints to my coat. You want me to kneel?”

Maledicte searched out a clean spot on the floor, finding one just as the guards reached for him again. He dropped, letting them grope the air. He grinned at Damastes. “Here I am. Kneeling before you…but very far from begging, I assure you.”

The jailer surged out of his chair, a thin hand knotting into a fist, and paused, his shoulders rising and falling with a laden breath. “I could break you,” he said, his voice striving to match Maledicte’s insouciance.

“My bones perhaps,” Maledicte said. “But what then? Will you gamble that I am to be incarcerated forever? Or will you strike me, and see me freed tomorrow, full of rancor? My lover does not care to see me abused.”

“Your lover—the king’s nephew,” the jailer said.

“No secret there, an old scandal in the court.”

“You’re as much a bauble as any of these jewels,” Damastes said. “A favored possession. Close to royalty. You’ve been bedded on crested sheets.”

“Sometimes in crested carriages,” Maledicte agreed, all silken tones, like steel withdrawing.

“A collectible and rare. They say even Aris has touched you—” The jailer’s voice dropped to a whisper; he darted a quick glance at his guards.

“That would be indiscriminate of me, surely, to bed both nephew and uncle,” Maledicte said, relaxing into the familiar thrust and parry of spite and gossip. Damastes was simply another fool to be manipulated.

“To add you to my collection, to have something that was theirs…I could—” The jailer paused, an ugly, triumphant light in his eyes. He touched Maledicte’s throat, drew closer, a hand on his own breeches.

Maledicte smiled. “My teeth are as sharp as my wit.”

Damastes took his hand away. Maledicte shrugged, a loose liquid thing, as if he had been only chatting with friends. “Are we not to barter at all? Or have you brought me here only to enact the worst examples of boring pornographies?”

He made no attempt to lower his voice and Damastes snapped, “Shut up, or I’ll gag you.”

“Back to the cell, then?” Maledicte said. “You’ll never get your trophies that way.”

“What have you got?” the jailer said grudgingly, sinking back into his seat.

“No furniture, I’m afraid, I haven’t been here long enough to have furnishings brought, nor do I intend to be. But then, this room is rather bewildered with furniture. All I have is the usual bric-a-brac of a gentleman’s life.”

He turned out his purse. “Two sols, how lucky for you—enough to get your boots resoled. After all, gold is no trophy, gold spends. A stickpin, ruby, jet, and silver.” He dropped it onto the desk. “Had I known I was to be arrested, I would have worn one I liked less. Jet buttons on my waistcoat. Cuff links, ruby again.” They landed beside the stickpin, rolled, and fell to the floor with faint thumps.

“In my pockets, well, Gilly says it’s the mark of a gentleman to have nothing marring the line of my coat, but luckily for you, I am not so much a gentleman as all that. A luna and a snuffbox”—he frowned—“that I stole from Dantalion’s corpse. I’d be careful with it. Knowing the man’s reputation, I’d expect it to be full of something that would do you no good at all to inhale.” He tugged at his coat sleeves, and withdrew another handful of small objects. “Broken porcelain, nothing to interest you there, I’m afraid. That looks to be it. What do you think? Enough for a solitary cell aboveground? That bottle of wine we discussed?”

Damastes jerked his head at the guards. One left and returned with an opened bottle, passed it to Maledicte. Maledicte sniffed, and made a face, acting the spoiled lord. “Adequate, I suppose.” He drank deeply, taking the dryness from his throat, the scratching sensation that the dirt was trying to crawl into his mouth. He craved the night air, fouled with fog as it was, yearned to go over and put his face to the windows.

“All right then,” the jailer said. “Bargaining’s concluded. Guards, take him back to the common cell.”

Maledicte snarled, caught flat-footed long enough for the first guard to take hold of his arm. The second guard caught the bottle square in the jaw, and fell backward, teeth broken and bleeding.

Damastes swung himself over the desk, and helped pin Maledicte, knees digging into Maledicte’s back. He said, “You’re right. Sols do spend. And Echo gave me plenty of them to keep you caged with the other rats.” He wrenched Maledicte’s head up by his hair. “If you want out of that cell, you’ll have to beg.”

Maledicte struggled, clawing and kicking, until Damastes called for more guards to secure him. Even with the shock still ringing through his body that he had misread Damastes so, Maledicte growled, “You’ll be dead before I ever come begging to you.” The jailer’s hand swung around, crashing across Maledicte’s face and ear. When the ringing stopped, Maledicte ran his tongue over his bloody lip, and spat the blood back at him.

They dragged him down the stairs and threw him into the cells. He crawled away from the door into a dark corner, his head swimming, his body aching, and in his chest, Ani and Miranda vying for panic. Miranda felt the corset loosening as a result of the rough handling, her bladder already protesting the water and wine, and wondered how long she could hold out, how she could repair the corset strings without attracting notice.

A shadow crossed her. She raised her head and hissed; the men, allies of the earlier oaf, backed away. But she knew they’d watch and wait for their chance.

Ani flapped wings through him, setting his heart to racing, his blood pumping; he wanted to fly, but there was no escape from the surrounding earth and stone. He whimpered but swallowed the sound, and refused to make another.

Gilly would tell Janus. Janus would get him out. They wouldn’t leave him here. Gilly hadn’t believed him when he confessed to killing Lizette. He would come, tell him tales to soothe him, make him laugh. Maledicte sank back against the stone, felt a small impact in his forearm, and reached trembling fingers up his sleeve. The pocket watch spun on the end of the chain, catching the faint torchlight from the hall, making a small sun and sea in the dimness of the prison cell. He refused to acknowledge the pressing walls and earth, choosing to dwell on images of the sea and sky and Gilly’s low voice telling him improbable stories.

Ani, displaced by Miranda’s panic, by Maledicte’s careful control, spread outward, seeking egress.

Across the room, one of the predatory men began to beat his head against the stone to the rhythm of Maledicte’s imaginary oarsmen. The sleeping prisoners whimpered without waking. By the time the needs of his body sent him into knotted coils, no one was left to notice. The oaf staved his head in with a sudden last blow. Around his fallen body, his two allies stood and began to beat out the same fatal rhythm. One woman screamed, her face welting up with black bruises that burst when she touched them. People scattered away from her, shrieking, some of them already blistering.

Maledicte dragged over a chamber pot and used it without worry, still imagining the blueness of the sea, and gulls reeling overhead, but sounding like rooks.

· 38 ·

A
T FIRST LIGHT,
Gilly sought the palace, slipping through the maze to the dark side of the king’s ballroom, skirting it until he saw the house servants at their morning chores. He followed a maidservant burdened by wet linens to the rear entrance of the residential side of the palace. Following her in, he was halted not by an upper servant, which he had expected, but by an armed guard.

“You’re not employed here. What’s your business?” the guard asked.

“Message for Janus Ixion, Lord Last,” Gilly said.

“You can leave a message at the front gate,” the guard said, then scowled. “Wait, I know you. Your master’s Maledicte. I saw you going in and out of his home.”

Gilly nodded when his startled hesitation made any other answer a lie. But he was dismayed at his own incompetence; he hadn’t recognized the guard, though he had passed him more than once. Such notice used to be his task. He hoped the guard was less aware of Maledicte’s current status, of his arrest—or that, even if aware, had no reason to deny a message.

The guard said, “Ixion’s in quarters next to the nursery. You know where that is?”

“Yes,” Gilly lied, gambling that it was better to be familiar with the palace. He strode away, unwilling to give the guard a chance to decide that Gilly should wait, and wait, and wait for Janus. Not while Maledicte was prisoned.

“You,” the guard said. Gilly turned. “You take the servants’ stairs.” He pointed to the small doors Gilly had passed.

Gilly bent his head, and went into the labyrinthine world of the palace servants. Dark, ill-lit, and narrow, the stairs rose at a leg-burning angle, then suddenly veered. Heat flushed Gilly’s skin, and he thought he must be behind a fireplace. He found himself dallying on the stairs, trying to map the castle in his mind. He acknowledged that he didn’t want to see Janus at all. He shouldn’t have had to, except that when Gilly had gone to retrieve the Antyrrian audit ledgers, intending to use them to buy Maledicte’s freedom, he found them gone.

Hidden as they had been in the recesses of Maledicte’s bedchamber, Gilly had no doubts that Janus had used them for his own purpose. Without the ledgers for leverage, Gilly had tried bribing the jailer directly, but the man refused his coin. So Gilly was left to beg aid from Lizette’s murderer, from the man who had taken Maledicte’s security for his own.

Coupled with that loathing, fear crawled along his spine. If Janus had faulted Gilly for Maledicte’s behavior before, what would he think now, when he learned of Maledicte’s arrest?

“Be wary,” Gilly whispered to himself. “Be careful.”

He found the nursery door by the simple expedient of the two guards flanking it. These guards wore mail as well as leathers, pistols as well as swords. Gilly shuddered. Aris knew the babe was still threatened. For a brief moment Gilly found himself heart-glad of Maledicte’s imprisonment, the murderous plan stymied. But he had come to release Maledicte….

“Janus Ixion.” Despite himself, he couldn’t help the growl that came out. He had expected them to allow him to pass farther down the hallway, toward Janus’s quarters, but the guards opened the nursery door with little more than a glance.

Gilly’s unruly emotions, fear, loathing, and worry, gave way to a far simpler one. Wonder. So this was how royal children lived. The long room was appointed as richly as any room he had ever seen, adorned with tapestries and carpets, ornate furniture and shelves full of books tooled in gold.

The carpets piled thickly enough across the floor in a careless riot of scarlet, lapis, and gold that even the most clumsy child could find no injury in falling. At one end of the room, opened windows overlooked the gardens below, their panes barred with iron. But even the iron had been wrapped with batting to protect the children from hurt. A firescreen locked to the stone fireplace attested to more precautionary measures. At the opposite end of the room, wide doors, paned with mirrors, stood closed.

Near them, reflected in bits and pieces, the heart of all these small worries, Adiran played with painted blocks, stacking them with an air of weary boredom. The mastiff beside him whuffed at Gilly, halting his approach.

Gilly had heard about Adiran, of course, had shared that knowledge with Maledicte long ago. Gossip about the king’s son could fill every ear in the kingdom were all the rumors spoken at once, but he had never seen him so close. Disbelief shaded his thoughts. Adiran seemed hale and entire; then the boy looked up at him with such exquisite vacuity that Gilly’s breath lodged in his throat.

Adiran stood, and approached like an uncertain pup, cautiously pleased. Behind him, the mirrored doors flashed, scattering reflections as they opened.

“He thinks you’re the servant who brings him his morning sweet,” Janus said, standing framed within the mirrored doors.

“Oh,” Gilly said, as Adiran reached out and tugged at his pockets, then held up an empty hand. Gilly obediently searched his pockets, finding coin, but no candy. His fingers closed on something smooth and cool, and he brought it out to look at it. The porcelain puppeteer, least damaged by Maledicte’s temper, barely chipped by Her fall from the attic. He handed Black-Winged Ani to Adiran, who cupped Her wings in his hands and laughed. He returned to his building, placing the puppet atop the blocks.

Gilly watched the boy, horribly aware of Janus’s eyes on him, of his own simmering anger in this peaceful place.

“So you came to give little Adi a toy Aris will surely dislike—or is there another reason?”

“Maledicte’s been arrested. He was taken to Stones last night. Echo has seen to it that money alone will not free him; the guards turned my offering away without a moment’s thought. It wants an influence that seems to have gone missing.” Gilly turned to see the result of his blunt words.

“I’ll see Echo gutted and spread on the docks for the gulls,” Janus said, a whisper of rage. “And you—where were you that you allowed this to happen?”

Gilly, unused to lying, found a lie on his lips now, a lie to serve two purposes, to shield him from Janus’s wrath and a small, barbed retaliation for Janus’s actions. “With Lizette. Seeing what could be done to ease her passing.”

“You should never have left him,” Janus said.

“It’s you he wants. Not me. And you’re here.” His voice cracked, bitter with the taste of it, and Janus curled his mouth into a smile. Gilly drove it away with his next words. “Tell me, Janus, did you buy this position with the ledgers? Trade Maledicte’s security for your own power?”

“I had little choice. Maledicte’s impatience has seen him ruined. What good would it do us to have me fall alongside?”

“Ani rides him too fiercely for patience or reason. Your doing also, I believe.” Goading Janus wasn’t wise, Gilly thought, but he seemed unable to stop, and worse, unable to provoke the reaction he wanted: guilt.

“Maledicte and Ani are not the same creature. What he lacks in patience he should make up in trust. But he doesn’t understand….” Janus turned, looked back in at Auron’s small, huddled form. “Guardian to the earl is not so different from being the earl. By the time Auron is grown enough to take the title, well, boys of that age are notoriously careless. Carriage racing, dueling, drinking in the bad parts of town…It’ll be as much a wonder if he survives his first year as a young man as it was that he survived the carriage wreck.”

Gilly’s breath knotted at the pale serenity in Janus’s eyes, at the pleasant tone to his words. Surely there should be some outward taint, some hint of the viciousness beneath, but even knowing Janus as he did, knowing what lay beneath the mask, Gilly’s first impression of Janus still lingered, a bored, amiable young aristocrat.

Though aghast at Auron’s coolly planned fate, Gilly refused to let it distract him from his current purpose. “What about Maledicte? Will you free him or is he simply a casualty of your schemes?”

“Don’t be insulting.” Janus said, frowning.

“Then you’d best go soon,” Gilly said. “Best sweep down on them like an avenging godling and remove Mal before they stop to think that king’s nephew or no—your influence is fragile, your breeding suspect, and your pockets to let.”

Janus’s hands clenched, but his voice remained pleasant. “You’re aping your betters, Gilly. Trying to sound like him. You haven’t the tongue for it.”

Any rejoinder Gilly would have made was stifled by the guards opening the door, not the crack they opened it for Gilly, but flinging it wide, stepping back.

Aris came into the room, dressed casually, breeches and linens under a dressing gown. Adiran cried, “Papa,” and flung himself on the king.

Gilly dropped to his knees, shivering, and when he looked up, Aris was watching him, startlement in his eyes, as if Gilly’s master had been much on his mind.

The weariness and drawn lines of the king’s face made Gilly’s guilty heart turn over. How many of those lines had Gilly helped put there?

“You’ve brought the news, then,” Aris said.

“Sire,” Gilly said in agreement.

“Then you’ve done your duty and we need not keep you,” Aris said.

Gilly bowed out and headed for the servants’ stairs, shaken, and desperately worried.

In the darkness of the servants’ stairwell, Gilly hesitated, seeing again the other doors. They would open into other rooms. Once, Gilly earned his pocket money by gathering secrets, by being unobtrusive and silent, by sneaking and prying himself, instead of paying others to do so. He should never have stopped his snooping, he thought bitterly now. He should have had word of the warrant signed for Maledicte’s arrest—but either his spies had failed or the message had been intercepted, his fault either way.

Gilly tried to judge which door would allow him to eavesdrop without being caught. He eased open the next door, the one that should be Janus’s and therefore empty. The room was cool and dim; he listened for movement and heard nothing. He leaned up against the interior wall, near the hearth, and the white-clad maid he had taken for a curtain in the dull light made a quick squeak of surprise. Gilly put his hand over her mouth. “Shh, I’m just here to listen. Like you.”

“It’s the only way,” she said, keeping her voice low. “That one has a temper on him, if you don’t watch out—best to know his moods well ahead.”

“The king?” Gilly said, though he knew the answer.

“He never notices us at all—it’s the bastard you’ve got to watch.”

Gilly leaned closer to the wall, drowning her words in the rumble of voices filtered through plaster and brick.

“—in charge, and his holdings seized,” Aris said.

“With your approval? Echo is sure of himself, but not so confident as all that,” Janus said.

“With my approval,” Aris said, and Janus hissed out his breath. “Maledicte cannot escape punishment, Janus.”

“I’ll secure his release.”

“It will be impossible to do so without my permission.”

Behind the wall, Gilly gritted his teeth, trying to think of who he could bribe or blackmail and failing that, how to free Maledicte without permission at all.

“…prison,” Janus said, in quiet tones. “Is there no alternative?”

“Want to watch?” the maidservant said.

Gilly nodded again. She tugged at a brick, gingerly sliding it out.

“They’ll see the hole,” Gilly said, his hand on hers, halting her progress.

She put her hand to his lips, rough with brick dust, and shook her head. She pulled the brick out completely, cradled it in her apron pocket.

Gilly, picturing the infant’s room from the narrow slice he’d seen over Janus’s shoulder, recalled the extensive firescreen that spread beyond the confines of the hearth, encompassing much of the wall.

He peered through, saw the two men standing beside the cradle, their words clearer now.

“Janus, don’t take on so,” Aris said. “I never meant his imprisonment to last. A few days locked alone in a cell, and Maledicte will be more amenable to his fate.”

Seen through the woven mesh of the firescreen, Janus’s face was as still as marble, his eyes as blank as Adiran’s blue-sky ones. The expression stirred familiar notes in Gilly’s head.

“Enlighten me as to your plans?” Janus asked.

“He will live,” Aris said. “Though for all practical purposes, he is dead to you.

“There’s a village called Ennisere on the north coast. It’s a cold place, and desolate, but I have comfortable holdings there. I will send Maledicte there with a competence to live on, servants to care for his whims and to watch over him. It will be a prison, Janus, but one far more pleasant than Stones. And you will never see him again.” He raised a hand as if Janus had started to interrupt, but Gilly could see that Janus’s face was as frozen as lakewater in winter. “He should have been hanged, Janus.”

Janus let his breath out. “May I at least take him from the cells, tell him what you’ve done for him?”

“I would prefer…”

“We fought, Uncle, the last time we were together. Will you deny me the chance to apologize to him? To leave us both with a sweeter memory?” Janus’s tendons were white in his neck, white in his hands as he dared to interrupt the king.

Aris turned Janus’s face up to his, searched the open eyes for signs of rebellion, and then nodded. “A brief meeting only. And my guards will go with you, should his temper hold sway.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Janus said, and Gilly was horrified by the clear blueness in Janus’s eyes. He had placed the memory, placed that empty exaltation in Maledicte’s eyes in the moments when he turned to murder.

“Do not thank me,” Aris said. “I should have taken Michel’s advice in this instance. Maledicte is not fit for civilized society. Take a wife, Janus, and if you crave your male flesh, take a lover, but one less disposed to mayhem and more disposed to discretion.” His mouth firmed, then relaxed. “Janus, it is for the best. Such a companion is not fit for a counselor.”

“As you say,” Janus said. His eyes reminded Gilly of heat lightning, and he wondered that the king couldn’t see or feel the danger. All that rage, ruthlessly tamped down, until Janus found something, someone to release it on.

Gilly slotted the brick back into place, keeping his hands from trembling by the greater fear that if his hands shook, made the brick chatter, Janus would see him.