Riyria Chronicles 02 - The Rose and the Thorn Page 20

  All things considered, there weren’t that many people around. Maybe they were all at the castle for the party, and the sudden invasion of colder weather was keeping the uninvited inside. Or it could be that they were frightened off by the sheriff patrols, who seemed to be accosting everyone they passed.

  The later it got, the quieter the street grew, which suited Hadrian just fine. The work that lay ahead would best be done in the hours that men shunned. The closer the time came, the more miserable Hadrian felt. He agreed with Royce that no matter his position, the man who had beaten Gwen should be punished, but Royce’s methods never meshed well with his own. Hadrian would prefer to meet him sword to sword on a well-lit field—not that such a pairing would be fair, but at least it would have the illusion of such. Certainly the high constable, a marquis, would not agree to such an arrangement, so Royce’s less-honorable techniques were necessary. He still didn’t like the idea of sneaking up and…

  Hadrian hopped down and leaned against the side of the coach. “Exactly what do you plan on doing with him when he comes out?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Hadrian looked at the delicate rose whose stem was stuffed in the latticework of the carriage lantern. There was one on each of the four corners. Royce had purchased them from a street vendor. He was in a poetic mood, and that was never good.

  CHAPTER 14

  TRAITORS

  I don’t care, young lady.” Queen Ann argued with her daughter. Richard Hilfred stood in the corridor of the royal residence watching through the open doorway. Nora, the handmaid with the lazy eye, was helping the queen with Arista, who was straining to be free of them.

  “I’m nearly thirteen!” the princess shouted. “I could be married and having my own children, and you’d still be sending me to bed before the moon has peaked.”

  The girl was red-faced, furious, and had fought with her mother ever since he had delivered the princess to her bedroom as per the queen’s orders. Royals.

  Hilfred never understood this nightly ritual. A man who stole an apple to stave off death would have his hand severed by the greats with hardly a thought, but they indulged their children recklessly. If Arista were his daughter, she’d never speak to him that way twice—not while keeping the same number of teeth.

  The queen, with hands on hips, leaned in, her tone harsh. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Arista. When you’re married and have your own children, I won’t tell you what to do anymore. That will be your husband’s job. And you’ll do what he says then just as you’ll do what I say now.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Like you said, you’re nearly thirteen—practically a woman, right? Then it’s about time you understood what it means to be a woman. And fairness doesn’t play any part in that. You’ll curtsy, obey, smile, and keep your mouth shut.”

  “That’s not what you do. You and Father—”

  “I was lucky. Your father is … well, he’s very kind, but I also know to do what he says when his voice turns into that growl. You’ll learn that, too, and tonight is good practice for the future.”

  “Then I’ll never get married.”

  “That’s really not your decision.”

  “It should be.”

  “You and all your ‘should bes.’ You aren’t becoming a woman, Arista. You’re becoming a brat. Now get to bed.”

  The queen whirled and stepped out in the hallway, closing the door harder than necessary. She stood rigid for a moment, her hands in fists, jaw clenched. “Stubborn, combative, never willing to accept the inevitable,” the queen grumbled.

  Hilfred wondered if she was speaking to him. Sometimes they just talked to themselves. He felt awkward. If she had spoken to him, he must offer a reply or risk offending her—not something he wished to do in her present state, as he was certain the queen would not offer him the same degree of leniency and patience that she extended to her daughter.

  “A bit like her father,” Hilfred offered.

  Queen Ann nodded without looking at him. Then she turned to look at the door. “That’s what I love about her.”

  “Would you like me to escort you back to the party, Your Majesty?”

  “Hmm?” She looked up. “No. I’ve had enough party for one night. I’ll get Arista to bed and then retire as well. I won’t be needing your services for the rest of the evening, thank you.”

  “Then I will take my leave.” He bowed formally. “Good night, Your Majesty.”

  “Good night, Sergeant, and thank you.” The queen looked at the door to her daughter’s bedchamber and sighed before going back inside.

  Richard was alone in the corridor.

  He’d thought the nonsense with the princess might never end. Any other time he could have stolen away, but the party was as much a help as a hindrance. If only Reuben had told him about Rose sooner.

  Richard needed to speak with the bishop; he needed guidance. The king would be downstairs getting drunk with Count Pickering. Safe enough in his own castle with Bernie and Mal on duty as body men. With the queen and princess in their quarters, all he needed to be concerned about was the prince. Nora always put the boy to bed first, but he’d still have to check the kitchens. Alric, along with the Pickerings, had a habit of sneaking down and gambling with the older squires.

  But where was Saldur?

  He’d last seen the bishop with Amrath in the chapel. Being as it was on the way to the stair, it was worth a look. He stopped outside the chapel door, reached out to knock, but stopped when he heard two familiar voices.

  “…because I was concerned,” Bishop Saldur was explaining.

  “But why were you there?” There was no mistaking the voice of Lord Exeter, crisp and accusatory.

  “Is there a rule against a bishop fraternizing with castle guards? I will apologize to the king at once if I’ve inadvertently breeched some line of etiquette—but I assure you I was unaware of any restriction.”

  “It’s not an issue of protocol. It’s just strange. Sergeant Barnes said he saw you on the tower’s steps. The tower is an odd place for a cleric in the middle of the night. What were you doing there?”

  “Is it by the king’s orders that my presence in the castle must be accounted for now? Or has there been a crime I am unaware of that I’m suspected of having committed?”

  “Is there a reason you are refusing to answer such a simple question?”

  A brief pause.

  “I had just returned from my trip to Ervanon that night and was at the castle to see the king, but when I arrived he was busy and I was asked to wait. I had nothing better to do and I’d never seen the view from the high tower, so I decided to make the climb—good for me to get some exercise. At my age, I don’t get nearly enough. I took a peek out the window—couldn’t actually see much in the dark.” He chuckled. “I suppose I should have anticipated that, but I didn’t. I was heading back down when I ran into this parade of soldiers coming up the stairs. I was curious what so many men were doing in the tower. Turned out it was a birthday party for the captain of the guard. They had a barrel of ale and a tray of meat and cheese. Having not had time to eat, and still waiting for the king, I lingered.”

  “And after it was discovered that the girl was missing, why were you so insistent on Captain Lawrence sounding the alarm?”

  “I was concerned for my king. She could have been anyone. A woman who sells her body is capable of anything. What if she had a dagger and was planning on slitting the king’s throat?”

  “She was just a girl—an ignorant whore from Medford House. Do you expect me to believe you were fearful she could reach the king armed with a butcher’s knife? And even if she did, that she’d pose any serious threat to his life?”

  “I was in the room with a dozen or so castle guards who had admitted to breaking rules and then somehow lost a girl they had smuggled in. I wasn’t quite as confident as you about their competence in protecting the king. I would think that you of all people would agree with me, t
hat you would be on my side.”

  “Your side?” The words were spiteful. “You know what I think, Bishop? I think you and your side would like nothing better than to see an end to monarchal rule. I also think that tower is conveniently isolated despite being part of the royal residence. The stairs are long, it’s cold up there, and it’s supposed to be haunted—perfectly out of the way and yet a nearby place to plot against the king. I think you were there—before the party—not to look at the view but to conspire with someone. There’s a rumor that a light was seen in the tower the night before Wainwright’s death. Perhaps you had a habit of meeting there, and finding the king’s soldiers unexpectedly rushing up the steps gave you reason for concern. What you discovered was alarming. A woman had been hiding in the wardrobe. Was she there when you were? Had she overheard what you and your fellow conspirators said? You needed to find out. That’s why you raised the alarm. You had to find and cut her throat.”

  “My dear boy, that is quite an elaborate tale—so inventive. But why waste it on me? Surely this speech has been concocted to make the king, or at least the chancellor, distrust me—and dare I say, to divert attention from yourself? We both know it’s you who is plotting against the king and you who is so intent on finding this girl. Was it you who arranged for Barnes to smuggle her in? Is that why you killed him? To keep Barnes from telling the truth? You see, accusations are easy to throw around but account for absolutely nothing. I know, I tried to get the king to understand. He was less than receptive. He wants facts not assumptions. Now, unless you intend to arrest me, I’m going back to the cathedral. I’m too old for parties.”

  Richard knocked and waited. “Who’s there?” Exeter shouted. “What do you want?”

  “Richard Hilfred. I’m here to see the bishop.”

  “By all means, come in, Hilfred,” Saldur said.

  “Don’t you ever actually guard the king?” Exeter asked.

  “I was assigned to the queen this evening, Your Lordship, and she has just dismissed me for the evening.”

  “Is there anything else, Constable?” Saldur asked.

  “I’ll find the girl,” he said to Saldur. “I’ll find Rose, and then I suspect we’ll have another, very different conversation.” He pushed past Richard and stormed down the halls toward the stairs.

  “Do come in, Richard. How can I help you this evening?”

  Richard closed the door to the hall but was still concerned about being overheard. After all, he’d just overheard the previous conversation in that room.

  He said softly, “I found Rose.”

  CHAPTER 15

  ROSE

  They moved swiftly down the uncomfortably narrow corridor. Richard led the way, holding a lantern high to help the bishop on what had to be his maiden visit to the dungeon. The sounds of the gala barely reached them—a muffled, muted blend of conversation, laughter, and music. When he reached the last cell, Richard used the key his son had given him.

  “Reuben?” the girl called as he opened the door.

  “No,” Richard said, entering, raising the lantern again, this time to reveal Rose as she sat huddled against the far wall. “I’m Reuben’s father. He sent me and I’ve brought Bishop Saldur, who wants to ask you some questions.”

  They entered the straw-filled cell, and the bishop appraised the girl with a dismissive shake of his head. “Were you in the high tower last night?”

  Rose nodded, wrapped in a straw-covered blanket.

  Richard was pleased that she looked nothing like his Rose. She was much younger, about Reuben’s age, and had a round, doe-eyed face.

  “Sergeant Hilfred tells me you overheard a conversation between two men. What did you hear?”

  “They talked about killing the king.”

  “Who were they?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  Saldur stepped closer. “Are you certain? This is very important.”

  “They never said their names.”

  He took another step. “You’re positive?”

  Huddled in the straw, Rose looked terrified. “I … ah, yes … no names, but one did refer to the other as ‘Your Grace’ once.”

  “Anything else?”

  She hesitated. Richard could see she was struggling to think of anything to appease the bishop, who towered over her. He saw her eyes brighten. “Yes … yes! They said the name Clare.”

  “Clare?” Saldur pressed.

  “I heard…” She looked at Richard, then at the floor. Her eyes drifted in thought as she struggled to remember. “Yes! They said what a shame it was that Clare had to die. That she had discovered who murdered the chancellor.” Rose was nodding rapidly, causing some bits of straw to slip free from her hair.

  “Did they say who that was?”

  Rose struggled again, her face revealing her frustration. “No.”

  “Do you think you could identify the voices if you heard them again?”

  Again she paused to think. Her eyes studied both of them, and in a pitiably small voice she admitted, “I don’t know.”

  Saldur peered at the girl for only a breath longer, then walked out. Richard followed. They moved down the empty cell-lined corridor, then the bishop stopped and spoke, barely above a whisper. “Who else knows she’s here?”

  “No one, just my son.”

  “Your son?”

  “Reuben. Today is his first day as a gate guard.”

  “Is he on duty now?”

  “Yes.”

  Saldur smiled. “Perfect. You need to get Rose out of the castle. Do it now, before Exeter finds her. Take care of her. Find a safe place—somewhere no one will look. Then hurry back—I’ll need your help tonight. The fate of the kingdom is in our hands now.”

  Reuben was starting to understand why Bale had been upset at his tardiness. Standing in one place turned out to be harder than splitting wood and a lot harder than brushing horses. Nothing of note had happened for hours, and the night had turned cold.

  “So what was the fight about this time?” Grisham asked.

  His fellow defender of the front gate was a grizzled veteran who had always frightened Reuben. He had a gravelly voice, unruly eyebrows, and stubble perpetually covering his chin. Reuben found it a mystery that he had never known the man to shave, but neither had he grown a beard. “What fight?” Reuben was surprised Grisham spoke to him. He rarely did, but perhaps boredom affected everyone.

  “Between you and your dad, this morning. I heard you hit the door again. Woke me up.”

  “Sorry.” Reuben left it at that, thinking Grisham just wanted to complain.

  “Well? What was it about?”

  Reuben looked at the old soldier, confused. Does he really want to know? Maybe putting the uniform on changed his status with more than just dungeon-trapped girls. “He didn’t like me being with the prince and his friends.”

  “Oh, yeah. I heard about that. You’re lucky you got back when you did. They were about to get a patrol together to go out looking. If that had happened, you would have had more than just your father to answer to.”

  “What exactly was I supposed to do? When a prince asks you to ride with him, you can’t really say no.”

  “I don’t care what you did or why. I just wondered why Richard was bouncing your head against the door.”

  “He had been drinking,” Reuben added, not knowing why. His father had beaten him plenty of times sober, and Grisham knew it.

  The older guard looked out across the bridge at the line of carriages all still burning their lamps, then scratched at his stubble. He did that a lot. “He’s not a bad guy, you know—your father. Just hard. World made him that way, makes us all that way eventually. He’s just trying to toughen you up, build some calluses so you don’t bleed to death. Understand what I’m saying? It’s how you survive. The world’s a miserable place, kid. Give it any chance and it will kill you and not always with a blade or a cough. You know, there’s a reason men prefer to die in battle—living can sometimes be worse. Yo
u don’t make a tough son by coddling him. You do it by bouncing heads against doors.”

  This was the most Grisham had ever said to Reuben, and with him in such a talkative mood, Reuben decided to push his luck. “Did you know my mother?”

  “Sure, we all did.” Grisham caught himself and quickly added, “Not like that, though. She wasn’t … you know … like they say. She was a good girl, a nice girl.” He paused, then added, “That’s probably part of it too. He doesn’t want you to be like her.”