Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (62 page)

Rouke stepped forward and took a knee near Kesh, facing the queen. His action sparked a murmur through the crowd. He said nothing. One of his low stature speaking out of turn at such an event could result in a visit to the dungeons or a flogging, depending on how discourteous the interruption. Given the murder in his eyes as he listened to Kesh’s recitation, Sloane was surprised at the man’s reserve.

“Rise and speak, guardsman…?” The queen let the invitation hang in the air as she gestured for him to rise.

“Tarr, Yer Majesty. Rouke Tarr, Yer Majesty,” Rouke said as he rose to his feet. “I’d like to speak in defense of Masters Erik and Kinsey, if I may.”

The queen nodded her assent.

“I known them goin’ on fifteen years now, and I have to say that what’s bein’ said about ’em here today is complete rubbish.” Rouke’s hand cut through the air with finality. “I’d put my life in either of their hands at the snap of a finger, Yer Grace. What’s bein’ said can’t be true, it just can’t be.”

Chancellor Tomelen turned to face Rouke. “It is well known that the biggest scoundrels are often the most congenial of men, Rouke.” Hints of his old self crept back into his speech, condescension coating the syllables like varnish. Kesh opened his arms and shook his head. “You have been duped, as have we all.”

Sloane wanted to believe Rouke, but the chancellor’s words were infectious, and this was the first news of
any
kind since that awful night in Riverwood. She didn’t really know either Kinsey or Erik, or what they were actually capable of. All she had to go on was the feeling that they were decent people.

Rouke’s face darkened and his eye twitched as he returned Kesh’s gaze. “You been after Kinsey since the start of this whole thing!” He jabbed his finger at the chancellor. “You been wantin’ him to fail.
That’s
why yer spinnin’ these tales about him and Erik!”

“It was Kinsey’s supposed incompetence that lead to the abduction in the first place!” Kesh replied just as hotly. “I went with them that night to make sure they didn’t bungle the rescue, only to find they had staged the entire affair, and I almost lost my life because of it!” Breathing heavily, Kesh turned back to the throne. “As much as it pains me to say, My Queen, I stand by my previous statement: Kinsey and Erik are traitors.”

Rouke took a step toward the chancellor, his hands balled into fists.

“Enough!” Prince Alexander shouted. “Rouke, you have said your peace. Now step back in line.”

Rouke’s face was livid, but he stopped in his tracks and once again turned to face the throne. He gave a stiff bow and a muttered, “Yes, Yer Majesty.” Then he returned to his place beside the other men-at-arms.

Even from Sloane’s place next to Alexander, the action of Rouke’s grinding jaw was obvious.

The queen and Prince Alexander leaned their heads together and began whispering. The throne room was deathly quiet, and not just because the usual crowd was absent. An ominous hush had settled on those few that were present.

Sloane fought to keep her hands from fidgeting. There was some truth to the chancellor’s words. The abduction
had
taken place under Master Kinsey’s watch, but had he set up the scenario intentionally? She still had trouble believing it. She had been so groggy from her injuries that she couldn’t remember most of the details of that night.

Queen Rhian stood, drawing all eyes and breaking Sloane’s worried thoughts.

“I have come to a decision. Given the gravity of the situation, I must, with regret, issue warrants for the arrests of Master Kinsey Aveon and Master Erik Aveon. They shall not be named traitors as of yet, but they must be detained for questioning concerning the attempted abduction of Princess Sloane Moridin and the abduction of Princess Sacha Moridin.”

The throne room remained silent. Most of the few nobles nodded as if this were the only conclusion to which the queen could have come. Several of the armsmen around Rouke looked grim, while Rouke himself wore an expression of outright fury, though he held his tongue. The men on either side of him laid their hands on his shoulders and bent close to whisper.

“Basinia is indebted to Chancellor Tomelen for his bravery and loyalty during this trying affair.” The queen’s steely gaze fell upon Kesh. “Go in peace, Chancellor, but do not leave the city until Erik and Kinsey Aveon have been brought before me to answer the allegations you have laid against them.”

Kesh bowed as deeply as he was able. “As you say, My Queen.”

Sloane was not surprised by the proclamation, only disappointed. Her husband and the queen were acting according to the best interests of the country they served and the available evidence, but she had hoped for a different conclusion. She had begun to consider the two men friends, but she also worried for her ability to rule. She would have trusted them as Rouke did—with her life. They had saved her, hadn’t they? Her memories from that night seemed a haze of confusion, but this did not seem right. As the court broke apart and the soldiers filed out to see their orders fulfilled, Sloane was left with more questions than ever before.

Kesh nearly skipped from the throne room, but the lingering pain from his encounter with Banlor’s wicked creature helped to keep his façade in place. Unbelievable as it might seem, they had bought the tale. It would only be a matter of time before Erik was dragged back in chains. The only threat to him remaining from this entire debacle would be that scarred madman, Jagger.

Thoughts of that sneering visage served to douse the last of the elation he felt. Suddenly, the chatting aristocrats and commoners, who had been such a welcome reprieve from the recent horrors, felt like a threat. Many faces were familiar to him from his years of work here in the halls of power, but all of them now seemed to eye him with calculated interest. Those faces he didn’t know all seemed to regard him with a level of attention that was untoward and suspicious. Did any of them work for Jagger? He knew the odious man would not hesitate to make good on his threats.

Kesh ducked his head low and fled from the shadow of Terrandal into the streets of Waterfall Citadel.

Hours passed as Kesh moved through the city, always walking, never pausing for more than a few moments to stare around suspiciously. Each time a person hailed him, his heart leapt, and he soon took to wandering alleys in search of safety. He thought numerous times of returning to Banlor’s home, but his mind reeled from the memory of solid-black eyes, and he would shudder violently each time.

He finally found himself standing in a sheltered alcove several hundred feet from the front door of his own home. Throngs of busy people passed back and forth in front of the stoop, which was set almost four feet above street level.

He had felt confident about returning here after his inevitable escape from Mitchum and Jagger’s other thugs, but only because there had been no time for Jagger to find his home, much less set a watch after Kesh’s betrayal. Now, his mind’s eye painted every strolling vendor, every obvious visitor from the lands surrounding the Citadel, and every person wearing the colors of the kingdom as a spy, watching his home and waiting for him to appear so word could be delivered to Jagger.
I’m being ridiculous
, Kesh finally thought to himself.
This is my home
. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped confidently into the flow of traffic.

He immediately leapt straight into the air, shrieking as a voice spoke in his ear.

“My Lord?”

Kesh’s feet hit the cobbles and he was halfway through a panicked swinging punch before he recognized Carlile, his manservant.

Carlile dropped his bundle with a shriek of his own, cowering before Kesh’s fist. The flowing crowd separated around the two men as they regarded each other with wide eyes over the bread and cabbage that Carlile had apparently been bringing back from the market street. For once today, Kesh didn’t give a second thought to those who passed with curious glances.

Kesh seized the older man by his collar. “You idiot!” He hissed into the nonplussed face. “I could have killed you! Don’t you know not to sneak around like that?” He shoved Carlile back and passed a trembling hand over his own brow as his servant bent to pick up the fallen produce.

“I am s-sorry, My Lord,” Carlile stammered as he gathered his fallen goods. “I had no idea you had returned to the Citadel.” He stood, brushing the dirt from his light brown pants with one hand while clutching at his bag with the other. “You have caught me most unawares as well. The maids have all been on leave during your absence. I’m afraid the home is quite unsuitable for you.”

“Never mind that,” Kesh snapped, once again becoming aware of passersby as his heart rate slowed. “Has anyone come here looking for me?” He seized the other man by the arm of his light green coat and began to stride purposefully to the door of his home, dragging the gabbling man with him.

“Looking, My Lord? For you?” Carlie said as he struggled to maintain his grip on the groceries and keep pace with Kesh. “No, My Lord. No one today, My Lord. Should I be expecting someone?” The servant’s face began to lose some of its consternation as he stepped into the familiar routine of serving.

“No!” Kesh almost yelled as he attempted to open the door and found it locked. He fought the urge to claw and beat at the door to be free from the street and the eyes of so many people he could not trust. Instead, he took a deep breath and continued, “I mean, no. No, I am not expecting anyone; I just know people will be wanting to check on me now that I have returned.”

“Of course, My Lord.” Carlile shifted his burden to pull a large ring of keys from his pocket and open the door. He stepped away from the opening and bowed, allowing Kesh to precede him.

Kesh managed not to dash into the vestibule—barely. Carlile stepped in behind him, shutting the door carefully and setting down his burden on a convenient table. “Are you quite well, My Lord?” Carlile asked, folding his hands before him and adopting his usual attentive pose.

Carlile was not wearing his customary serving garb, instead opting for common clothes adopted by the street vendors and others going about their daily tasks. His feet were clad in sturdy boots, and the pants, shirt, and jacket all fit well, though the cloth was simple cotton. The near scuffle in the street had failed to soil even a cuff, and suddenly Kesh became aware once more of his own tattered state.

Kesh itched to be free of the soiled clothes Banlor had produced for him to wear to the court, but if he was going to survive, he couldn’t stay here. He needed to disappear into the city, and to do that, he needed his money. He left Carlile in a rush, nearly sprinting for the wooden stairs to his second-floor study. He called over his shoulder as he ascended. “I will need a change of clothes, immediately. I won’t be here long. Hurry your lazy bones, man!”

“Yes, My Lord. Will you require—”

Carlile’s response was lost as Kesh hauled open the massive winewood door and slammed it closed behind him. He rushed behind his finely crafted desk and fell to his knees. He shoved the heavy, plush chair to one side and cast the ornate woven rug to the other.

A simple brass ring, set flush to the floor, was exposed in the center of a finely milled board. He stabbed his thumb into the tiny bowl that cradled the brass circlet and pried the lever upward on delicate hinges. He twisted the ring several times in one direction, and then several more in the other. On the final turn, a soft click sounded under the floorboards and several boards came free as a unit, exposing a small dark cubby. Kesh reached into the gloomy recess and seized the familiar soft leather pouches he found there. There were six of them, all burgeoned with gold coins. He breathed a sigh of relief. The money would buy him a room somewhere within the Citadel, regardless of how many cursed visitors were here for the ongoing wedding celebrations. Once he was safe, he could begin to work on the problem of Jagger’s continued existence. Perhaps Micount…

The door to his study clicked shut, and his breath caught in his throat. He had closed the door behind him, hadn’t he?

“Carlile?” Kesh asked, still kneeling behind the desk.

“No,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Carlile will not be joining us.”

Kesh cringed but rose slowly from behind the desk, fearing what he might see. His mind painted pictures of Banlor’s tamed horror or Jagger’s minions. Even the dead Mitchum, and his leering, black smile managed a haunting appearance.