Well of the Damned (12 page)

As
he rode through the wet, dismal streets of Tern with a second mount
in tow, he set his jaw, determined to reset his dreams, to be happy
about this new prince or princess, and vow to protect this child for
as long as he could hold a sword. No one must know he felt anything
but gladness, for his loyalty to Gavin was deep and true, and
coveting the wife of his friend and king was a crime against not only
the crown but his own soul.

Adro
finally arrived at the Lordover Tern’s complex and left the two
horses hitched to the post outside the gaol. He shook the rain off
his cloak before following the warden and a guard through the door to
the cell ward. The stench of human waste and mildew hit him so hard,
he staggered back a step. The two other men seemed not to notice as
they led the way down a narrow corridor, past iron doors lining the
hall on both sides. Each had a small window in which ugly, dirty
faces appeared. The prisoners shouted at him as he passed, some
begging to be released, others begging for something to eat or drink
and claiming cruel treatment by the guards. Adro had delivered his
share of brigands to the gaols of lordovers during his years as a
warrant knight, but never had he smelled one this rank. He tried to
breathe through his mouth.

“The
lordover held a hearing already,” the warden said as he led the
way to the cell. He had to speak loudly to be heard over the beating
of rain on the roof. “He was ready to set her free, but me? I
don’t believe a word she says. It’s a good thing she’s
King Gavin’s prisoner and not Lord Celónd’s.”

“Lord
Celónd found her innocent of the charges?”

“‘Not
responsible,’ he said. Not the same as innocent in my mind, but
he’s the lordover.” The warden unlocked and opened a door
on the right. “Come on. Let’s go.”

A
woman with shoulder-length, black hair and brown eyes exited the cell
wearing a sleeveless beige tunic and trousers that were patchy with
brown grime and old sweat. Her face and hands were dirty, and she
stank like a privy. She looked up at Adro with a curious expression.
“Who are you?”

“Name’s
Adro Fiendsbane, soldier for King Gavin. The king’s agreed to
grant you an audience.”

“Finally,”
she said. “I started to think he’d leave me in there to
rot.” She presented her wrists to the guard, who affixed the
shackles and handed Adro the key.

“She’s
crafty,” the warden said as they marched her down the corridor.
“Beware.”

“Do you have a rain cloak
she can borrow?” Adro asked as he put his cloak over his
shoulders.

“No.
Be glad. The rain’ll wash away her stench.”

This
prisoner was possibly the filthiest person Adro had ever seen. Her
odor made his eyes water. He’d have preferred to let her walk a
step or two ahead, but he thought she might try to run, and so he
kept a firm grip on her upper arm as he guided her to the horses. If
she hadn’t been so dirty, he’d have let her wear his rain
cloak, but he worried that her smell would linger for weeks to come
if he put it on her. Taking the captain’s warning to heart, he
made Cirang ride facing backwards. He held onto the reins of her
horse and started back across Tern towards the palace.

Adro
had gone a week without bathing at times, but he’d always kept
a couple changes of clothes to keep from knocking himself out, or
those around him. Cirang’s clothes were filthy, stained with
sweat and needed washing as badly as she did. He wondered whether
she’d been denied rags or water for bathing during her menses.
Even her breath was foul. He imagined her trailing her stench through
the palace after everyone had worked so hard to clean and repair it
from the demon’s abuse. He didn’t want to shame her, but
he had to do something.

“Can’t
bring you to the king like this,” he said, breaking the
silence. “How long since you last bathed?”

She
tossed him a scowl over her shoulder. “You think I’m this
filthy by choice?”

“Not
at all. All the lordover’s prisoners reeked. It wasn’t
just you.”

She
lowered her head and said softly, “Three months. I haven’t
been given so much as a comb for my hair, let alone enough clean rags
for—” She cleared her throat. “My feminine needs. I
had to tear the sleeves off my own tunic and rinse the bloody rags in
my drinking water.”

“That’s
despicable,” Adro said. With all the rain, the lordover
wouldn’t lack for water, and judging from the well manicured
grounds, he had plenty of hired help to tend the plants and flowers,
but he spared his purse the expense of ensuring his prisoners’
basic needs were met.

Cirang
barked a laugh. “You think that’s despicable? I haven’t
even told you about the warden and his guard. They ravished me during
the night. Held me down, tried to choke me. When I complained to the
lordover, he came to my cell and made it hurt even worse.”

Adro
couldn’t believe it. “Do you have proof?”

She
moved her hair to show him a bruise in the shape of fingers on the
side of her neck. “The lordover refused to even question him
about it.”

His
thoughts were pulled in two directions. He resisted the notion that
the lordover would refuse to investigate any accusation of
wrong-doing in his own gaol. Yet, he knew some men abused their power
to prey on women. He knew it first hand. With a shake of his head, he
cleared his throat and swallowed down the shame and self-loathing the
memory brought up. “The king should know about this. About
everything. It isn’t right. At the very least, maybe he’ll
make the lordover clean up your cell before you go back.”

“I’m
not going back,” Cirang said. “I’m innocent of the
charges, and once I convince the king, he’ll release me.”

“Well,
King Gavin’s nothing if not fair. I know it for a fact.”

“And
how do you know this?”

Adro
rolled up the sleeve on his left arm, revealing the scar on the
tender side of his forearm, and held it out for her to see. It shamed
him, which was why he kept the brand covered, but Queen Feanna
insisted he reveal it to any who had need to trust him.

“He
branded you, and you think him fair?”

“I
was young, foolish, and on the wrong path. He set me right. Gave me a
second chance.”

“So
now you’re loyal to him. How touching,” she said drily
with a roll of her eyes.

“If
he gave you a second chance, wouldn’t you be?”

“The
king wouldn’t give me anything I wasn’t due.”

He
rolled his eyes at her. As a former Viragon Sister, she was used to
the support of a guild full of like-minded fighters. Adro’s
mother had been a drunk and a whore, doing things in front of him
that his young eyes should never have seen. At seventeen, he’d
been fighting hunger and the darkness inside him when he met Gavin
Kinshield. Having someone care enough to take him by the shoulders
and turn him about had been a sobering, life-changing experience.
Cirang had a lot to learn about being on her own. She could use an
ally like King Gavin, but she was too proud to see it.

“Besides,” Cirang went
on, “Kinshield believes me guilty of crimes I had no part in.
If anything, he’ll judge me unfairly when I’m no more
guilty of his brother’s murder than I am of his first wife’s
and child’s.”

“You
don’t know him like I do,” Adro said.

“Perhaps
you don’t know him as well as you think you do. He extorted a
priceless necklace from me. Does that sound like an honorable buck to
you?”

Adro
lifted his lip in a snarl. Telling lies would be her undoing. “Shut
up. Gavin Kinshield’s the most honorable man I’ve ever
known. I won’t listen to your lies.” He urged the horses
faster, wanting to deliver her before he did something he would
regret.

Many
of the roads were empty of people, none wanting to spend a minute
longer in the rain than they needed to. The run-off from the
mountains flowed so quickly down some streets that even walking down
them on horseback was worrisome. Adro took the same route back as the
one he’d used.

At
last, they arrived at the palace. He led her across the bridge,
saluted the guards at the gate, and headed to the stable. After they
dismounted and saw the horses into the care of the stable hands, Adro
took Cirang to the women’s barracks.

“I
doubt the king’s in here,” Cirang said, a challenge in
her voice. “You’re not thinking to ravish me, are you?”

“Of
course not. There’s a wash tub here. You can’t stand
before the king smelling and looking the way you do.” He asked
one of the attendants to bring a woman to help clean the prisoner up.
Three women attended the former Viragon Sisters who now served as the
king’s guard.

Adro
was one of only three male battlers in the garrison so far, including
the new Minister of the Militia, who had a room in the palace proper.
Somehow, that just seemed wrong, but since the coronation, few
warrant knights had come willing to relinquish their warrants and
serve the king. The warrant knight life had its appeal, Adro knew,
but loyalty to the new king should have been more important to more
men.

He
guarded the doorway, while the serving women came and went with
buckets of steaming water, gradually filling the tub. Cirang stood at
the window, looking out at the rain on the lake that fed the River
Athra. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Three months in
a gaol cell would have driven him mad, especially in the conditions
she was forced to live in. At least the bath would help her feel more
dignified, less like a caged animal.

Adro
stopped one of the serving women. “Can you find her something
clean to wear?”

“I
can bring her a servant’s uniform,” she said.

“No
skirts,” Cirang said without turning around. “I don’t
wear skirts.”

A
redheaded battler with a stern, angular face walked into the
barracks. Her eyes went immediately to Adro, and she put a hand on
her sword. “What are you doing here? These are the women’s
barracks.”

“I
know,” he said. “I’m seeing to my prisoner’s
needs. Maybe you can help. She could use some clean clothes for her
meeting with King Gavin. Can you spare something for her to wear?”

“I
have only trousers and tunics,” she said, “no dresses or
skirts.”

“Don’t
give her the king’s colors,” Adro said, “but old
battler clothing’s fine. She was a Viragon Sister, after all.”

“What?”
The battler looked past him into the bathing room. “Cirang,
what’re you doing here? What’s going on?”

“Mirrah,
thank Yrys,” Cirang said, turning around, “someone with
some sense. Tell this addlebrained meat puppet I’m no
malefactor.” She held up her shackled wrists.

Adro
shifted to block Mirrah from entering. “She’s here to
answer the king’s questions, not yours. May she borrow your
clothing or not?”

Mirrah
shot him a cold glare. “Does Daia know about this?”

“She
was present when the king told me to bring her.”

“We’ll
see about that.” Mirrah marched out of the barracks.

Adro and Cirang shrugged at each
other, and then shared a smile. She wasn’t bad looking —
full lips, square jaw and calm, brown eyes. If she was acquitted as
she expected, he would invite her for a tumble, or two if it went
well.

A
few minutes later, Mirrah returned with Daia, who gave Adro a nod.
“Is everything all right?”

“She
hasn’t had a bath in three months,” Adro said. “Thought
she wouldn’t want to go before the king smelling like sewage.
She just needs something clean and dry to wear.”

Daia
turned to Mirrah. “What’s the problem?”

“I
didn’t know— I mean, I have nothing to give her.”

Daia
went around the barracks opening satchels and chests, rummaging
through other battlers’ belongings until she found a clean set
of beige clothing, which she shoved into Adro’s arms. With a
wordless glare at Mirrah, Daia stormed out.

“How
about taking the shackles off while I bathe?” Cirang asked.

Adro
unlocked and removed them. “Don’t try anything you’ll
regret.”

He
waited in the doorway, his back to Cirang, while she bathed with the
assistance of two serving girls. The temptation to turn and look at
her, to see her lean, muscular and completely nude body was strong.
The fact that she sang to herself and chattered at him made resisting
even harder. The muscles in his neck twitched, and every time she
asked him a question, like was he married or wasn’t it
difficult to get a warrant tag with a brand on his arm, he felt the
overwhelming need to clear his throat before answering. Old urges
bubbled to the surface, and he tamped them back down as best he
could. A visit to the brothel later would help.

Finally,
the sounds of water splashing stopped. “Give me the clothes,”
she said.

“Please?”
Adro prompted.

“Give
me the clothes now, or I’ll go before the king naked.”

Adro
sighed and tossed the clothes onto the floor behind him. “It
wouldn’t hurt you to be polite.”

Cirang
snorted. “On the contrary. It would wound me deeply.”

The
sumptuous sound of cloth rustling made sweat break out in his
armpits. It had been years since he’d been with a woman who
wasn’t being paid for her company.

“All
right,” she said. “I suppose you’ll want to put the
shackles back on me.”

When
he turned around and saw his prisoner, clean and dressed with her wet
hair combed back, he breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes went to her
full lips, now pink and alluring. He didn’t know what it was
about her, but she tempted him in ways he hadn’t been tempted
in many years. Not since Gavin Kinshield had carved his initials into
Adro’s forearm, branding him as a malefactor for his crimes of
seduction and debauchery.

Chapter 15