Loethar nodded and Freath moved to hold the door open. ‘After you, sir.’
They moved through Brighthelm side by side. Loethar was sure the man was far too sharp to have ignored that the emperor permitted him equal status—if not in title, then certainly in access—to any of his closest supporters. Even Dara Negev, who was showing no signs that her god was preparing to claim her, still maintained the old ways of walking a few steps behind the man of her household. But it must be two anni now that Loethar had given up talking over his shoulder to Freath and insisted the man walk next to him when discussing state business. Though Loethar’s mother, half-brother and even Valya had haughtily mentioned on many an occasion that Freath couldn’t appreciate the honour, Loethar was convinced that Freath not only appreciated the shift but quietly enjoyed the privilege.
They approached the grand staircase, walking down a corridor of magnificent tapestries depicting the former kings of Valisar.
‘Forgive me, sir,’ Freath continued. ‘Returning to our discussion, I was simply going to suggest that you should consider raising people’s taxes in and around the northern area. Chasing through the Deloran Forest is time-consuming and a waste of your men’s resources. It also makes a fool of the emperor.’
Loethar’s head snapped to look at Freath. ‘He is mocking me?’
‘Tax those who protect and laugh at you, my lord. Tax the north. Any excuse will do. In fact, offer no excuse. Tell them the new tax is to cover the losses that Faris inflicts. Remind the north that it is their hard-earned, hard-paid taxes that are being stolen
and if they won’t help you find him, they will certainly help repair his damage.’
Loethar smiled. ‘Very good, Freath. Very good indeed.’
He felt Freath shrug beside him. ‘I would call off your men immediately, my lord. You should make it appear as if you don’t care one way or the other, so long as you have the money due the empire. I would be happy to make that declaration for you, sire, should you need.’
‘Not frightened of being unpopular?’
Freath gave a snort of disdain. ‘They hated me a long time ago, Emperor Loethar. Nothing’s changed.’
‘I shall think on your idea.’
Freath bowed. ‘I shall let the empress know, my lord, that you and her guests await her.’
As Loethar moved into the grand salon to the heralding of trumpets, Freath strode up the stairs, feeling an old familiar tension twisting in his belly. Once out of sight from the ground level he took a moment alone on the landing to lean against the balustrade, taking two deep breaths to calm himself. He hadn’t felt like this in so many anni he’d nearly forgotten what it was to be poised on the precipice of death. Ten anni previous he’d been exposed to negotiating that very knife-edge daily. Though somehow he’d survived, his beautiful Genrie had not. The passing years had not made her loss any easier. He visited her unmarked grave frequently, and although it hurt his heart not to leave flowers—for he couldn’t be seen to be mourning her—he left behind his silent grief. Her death had bought his life, and what a strange, evil life it had become: forever lying, masquerading and patiently plotting.
The only surprise had been his helpless admiration—although he fought it daily—for the man he knew he should despise. He found it easy to hate General Stracker, to inwardly sneer at Dara Negev and to truly abhor the empress. But Loethar
was not as simple. The man was actually every inch the born leader that Brennus had been. And if he had been born a Valisar rather than a Steppes barbarian, Freath knew they’d all be admiring him. Loethar was taking an approach with the Denovians that could only be congratulated. There was no doubting that the new emperor was very tough—but which sovereign wasn’t? None of the Valisars down the ages were known for being spineless. All were hard men, capable of making the most difficult of decisions. Any ruler who took a soft line with detractors would almost certainly perish. Freath often thought, hating himself as he did so, that if he had been in Loethar’s boots, there was little he would or could have done any other way.
He’d tried to explain this once to Kirin, his constant companion, but Kirin would have none of it. Besides, Kirin always had him over a barrel whenever he resorted to the final demand, always impossible to answer.
Why, though, Freath
? he would challenge.
Why did he do it in the first place? It has to be in pursuit of power. And there is no honour in coveting what is not yours in the first place
.
Kirin was right—in principle—especially if you believed in fairies or the Legend of Algin, and that everyone wanted to live in peace and no one ever got jealous of anyone else. Freath grimaced. The Valisar Dynasty might be revered but it had been founded on bloodshed, acquiring land that had never belonged to the Valisars, not so very differently from the way that Loethar had taken the Set. The only difference was that Cormoron had seen the benefits of giving realms to families he could dominate, giving the false impression that he was a magnanimous conqueror—a benefactor to the region even. It was naive of Kirin to suggest that the Valisars—or any of the royal families—were blameless. All land, power and wealth were initially acquired through the spillage of blood. Loethar and his horde were no different—if anything, where Loethar was blunt, he was at least honest.
Despite Loethar’s surprising explanation that his attack on the Denovian Set was purely a matter of opportunity, Freath still wasn’t convinced fortuity alone had triggered the seemingly sudden invasion. The emperor’s rationale was plausible, and probably true, but there was more to it, Freath was sure. The seven realms had peacefully lived alongside Droste to the northeast as well as further east over Lo’s Teeth into the Steppes where the plains people lived. It was true that there had not been a great deal of interaction between Denovians and the Steppes folk but trade during the reign of Brennus had increased. Perhaps beginning to see more of the Denovians, their way of life, their excesses, had attracted Loethar’s people?
Freath pulled out a kerchief and wiped his face, wishing that he could wipe away his fear. For ten anni patience had been all that shared his life. It was a companion that made him feel weak, disloyal, pathetic. He knew it was also his friend. Patience would win through for him, for them, for their cause.
Them.
He closed his eyes. He had bought them some more time in dissuading Loethar from hunting down Faris. Freath had presumed for many years now that the true king, Leo, had fled to Faris and his men. Now he must get word to Faris and learn at last whether the outlaw had raised a king in these intervening years. A decade of distance. A decade of hate. Would he even recognise Leo Valisar, King of Penraven? Would Leo ever forgive him?
He had to get to Kilt Faris before Loethar’s men did. He had to pray that Faris was not the wounded man.
‘Ah, there you are,’ said a familiar voice. He looked up and saw Kirin approaching. ‘Are you feeling all right, Freath?’
Freath nodded. ‘Yes. A moment of reflection, that’s all.’
Kirin smiled softly and there was so much sympathy in the gesture Freath had to look away. ‘That’s always dangerous,’ his friend said.
‘Very true. Were you looking for me?’
Kirin looked around, checking they were alone, and Freath
immediately felt his fear twist up another notch. ‘A pigeon has arrived,’ his friend murmured.
A combination of thrill and puzzlement skipped across Freath’s heart. ‘But it’s been years.’
‘It’s an old pigeon,’ Kirin said.
Freath erupted in an unexpected bellow of laughter at the comment. Few, if any, had ever heard such genuine laughter around the halls of Brighthelm, and Kirin’s expression was delighted.
Freath continued chuckling. ‘Lo, but that was a good feeling.’ ‘I wish I could do that more often,’ his younger friend admitted. ‘It gets better. The bird’s from Clovis.’
Freath closed his eyes, shooting a silent prayer of thanks. They had both long given up hope of hearing from their old friend who had escaped Loethar’s clutches in the madness of the original occupation. Freath had tried through every clandestine method he had available to find him, without success. ‘Where is he?’ he asked, breathless.
Kirin grinned. ‘With Reuth. Medhaven.’
Relief passed through him before another, still more exciting notion struck Freath. He reached for Kirin’s arm, squeezing it. ‘Piven?’ he whispered, daring against all his better judgement to hope.
Kirin’s mouth creased into a wide smile and he nodded just once before he faltered. ‘Later,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Someone comes.’
Freath let go of Kirin’s arm, stood back, and within moments one of Valya’s retinue of servants came scurrying up. She was a tribal woman. Freath liked her. She was quiet, diligent and good at her work—a lot like Genrie although she lacked spine against the empress. But that was understandable. Showing any sort of opposition to Valya, however minor it seemed, was met with punitive retaliation. Only Freath managed to rise above her dominion, and that was only because he had the protection of a higher authority.
‘Bridie?’ he enquired as the servant raced up.
‘Master Freath, she is…’ The girl stared at them both, lost for the right words.
‘I know, Bridie. I’m coming now,’ he assured.
The girl looked so relieved that Kirin shook his head. ‘Don’t let her bully you, Bridie,’ he said.
‘No,’ Freath countered. ‘Let her bully you. It will keep her claws out of you. Come on, we’ll go together and tame her, shall we?’ Bridie smiled tentatively and nodded. He looked over at Kirin. ‘Later? Supper, perhaps?’
Kirin nodded. ‘I’ll be in the library if you need me.’
How very normal that sounded, Freath thought. Kirin, a man of learning, was off to the library, while he, an experienced steward, was off to see to his superior’s needs. They had all settled down into a comfortable life, existing relatively easily with the barbarian horde—as though all the pain and despair never really mattered. And yet his heart was hammering and he knew Kirin was experiencing a similar rush of excitement that was a prelude to a new battle. This battle would not be fought in the fields with two armies. No. This one would be fought by subterfuge. Cunning alone had kept Freath and Kirin alive to fight this new day. And cunning would return the rightful king to the Valisar throne.
He strode alongside the scuttling Bridie, his heart suddenly full, his chest feeling broader than it had in the last ten anni, and his mind filled with wonder.
Piven was alive
.
King and crown prince had possibly survived. He had never allowed himself to dream this much. But it seemed Lo had granted him his prayers.
If he achieved anything with his miserable double-life, he would see King Leonel crowned and the false ruler who called himself emperor humbled and brought before the Valisar sovereign.
Leo alone would decide Loethar’s fate.
Two men were breaking their fast at an inn in Francham. The Amiable Dragon was a busy watering hole and resting spot almost at the base of the Dragonsback Mountains that separated Penraven from Barronel. It was in Francham that traders in particular, after a long trek through Hell’s Gate—as the pass through the mountains was known—would stop for a day or so. Weary travellers would replenish their stocks, and those who were crossing in the opposite direction would make their final preparations for the trip. The traffic made for a lively town with a varied, transient population, which meant someone who wanted to remain relatively invisible could roam Francham without being noticed. It was an unspoken rule, in fact, that people were entitled to privacy in this town.
The weather was mild. Blossomtide meant Hell’s Gate was well and truly open and thriving. The pair of diners was enjoying the morning sun, sitting at a corner table, facing the main street to the mountains beyond that loomed over Francham. One of the men, who had just finished eating and was washing down his early meal with a pot of steaming dinch, was explaining this to his companion. He leaned back with his mug and sighed his pleasure as he swallowed the mouthful of dinch. ‘…it used to be a great smuggling spot, you see, so the legacy of secrecy has been handed down through generations. I’m surprised I haven’t told you this before.’
His listener grinned. ‘You’ve only brought me here twice.’
The speaker gave a look of genuine surprise at this but the companion didn’t look as if he was fooled, going by his wry expression.
He shrugged. ‘Anyway, if you ever need to hide, this is the place to begin. The mountains are better but they don’t offer a bed at night or an ale to quench a thirst.’
‘Why are we here again?’
‘I have to see someone.’
A huge man approached the table. ‘It’s true,’ he confirmed.
The first man put down his mug and pointed to the pot. ‘Help yourself,’ he offered, but his thoughts were elsewhere, his gaze narrowed in thought.
‘What does it mean, Kilt?’ the big man said, sitting down and taking his friend’s mug. ‘I’ll just have yours.’
‘Jewd! Ah—’ Faris said, with a sound of disgust. ‘I’d just got that to the perfect temperature!’
The younger man sitting next to him laughed.
‘I know,’ Jewd replied, nonchalantly. ‘Perfect for me, too.’
Kilt Faris signalled towards a table at the far end where a serving woman set down a plate in front of another guest. She saw his gesture and made her way to them, shifting her hips as she dodged around other people’s chairs. ‘Yes?’ she said, looking distracted but not unfriendly as she gathered up their plates.
‘Ah, pretty Ciara,’ Faris said. ‘Another pot of dinch, please, and we’ll need a fresh mug. Liam, some for you?’
The younger man shook his head but looked appreciatively into the big brown eyes of the woman. ‘Got anything sweet?’ he wondered.
Faris broke into a surreptitious grin and looked over at Jewd, who winked in reply over the mug he was sipping from.
Ciara’s lids lowered slightly as she regarded the youngster. ‘We might have some syrupcakes left from yesterday,’ she said. Then she blinked innocently. ‘If that’s what you mean?’
Leo cleared his throat. ‘I hear they’re always better the day after, anyway. Yes, I’ll have a couple of those. Thank you.’
‘I like good manners. Anything else?’ she offered.
Leo blushed, hesitated, then smiled politely. ‘I’ll, er, I’ll let you know once I’ve finished those, if that’s all right?’
She returned his smile, seemingly enjoying the innuendo.
After she’d left, Faris looked over at Leo but spoke to Jewd in a murmur that only they could hear. ‘It seems his majesty is in dire need of some female company.’
‘I’ll say!’ Leo exclaimed.
Jewd spat some of his dinch with amusement. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ he complained.
‘Well, it’s all right for Kilt, he’s got Lily. And you, Jewd, I know you and the others can escape the forest whenever you want for some rumpy-pumpy.’ This made both men roar with laughter. ‘But you keep me on such a close leash. I’m twenty-two anni, I need some freedom and I desperately need a—’
‘Here we are, then,’ Ciara said, back with a pair of small, oval-shaped cakes dripping with syrup. ‘Careful, they’re moist. Don’t get yourself all sticky.’
The men laughed louder and even Ciara threw them a backward glance of amusement. ‘The dinch is on its way,’ she said.
Leo looked indignant. ‘Laugh it up, you sods. I really need—’
‘I know what you need,’ Kilt said, chuckling, ‘and we’ll fix that. I’ve been remiss.’
‘You’ve been a gaoler more like,’ Leo said.
Kilt grew serious. ‘So, do we trust this man?’ he asked Jewd.
His big friend nodded. ‘Yes. He’s genuine.’
‘What’s going on?’ Leo asked, chewing on a cake.
Kilt fixed him with a grave look. ‘The man you spoke of years ago. You know, the one who is now aide to the emperor?’
‘Freath?’ Leo said, looking between them. ‘Tell me Loethar’s slit his throat,’ he added, putting his cake down and swallowing.
Then he glared. ‘But then he’ll have stolen more from me. I want to be the one to spill that traitor’s—’
Both men shook their heads. ‘He’s not dead,’ Kilt replied, cutting off Leo’s words. ‘He’s made contact.’
Leo leaned forward. ‘What?’ he whispered, shocked.
‘Well, not contact, exactly. But there’s word out. We’ve just received it.’
‘What do you mean?’
Faris left it to Jewd, who took up the thread of conversation. ‘A few days ago Tern picked up snippets of information that money was greasing palms all over the north’s “network”.’ Leo nodded with understanding. ‘Word was moving in certain circles that an influential man was seeking an audience with the infamous highwayman of Penraven.’
Leo’s expression darkened and he scratched softly at the close beard he was growing, his syrupcakes forgotten.
Jewd continued, ‘We paid attention, of course, but we’ve had this happen before.’ He shrugged. ‘Lots of influential men want to speak with Kilt.’
‘Usually to claim the bounty on my head,’ Kilt grumbled.
Leo looked at him. ‘You’re safe, though, aren’t you?’
‘Not safe enough it seems. The barbarians came too close recently. We got sloppy.’
‘You didn’t,’ Jewd admitted. ‘That was my fault.’
Leo shook his head. ‘Jewd, it was no one’s fault.’
Kilt sighed. ‘Attributing blame is pointless. The fact is, they nearly stumbled across you, Leo. We must never be off our guard. As for me, no one outside of our band even knows what I look like. Most people in this town, don’t know who we are. And this town might keep its secrets quiet but it also knows everyone and everything passing through it.’
‘Aren’t you two rather easily identifiable?’
‘Not when I wear women’s clothing,’ Kilt offered indignantly. Leo smiled.
‘He’s not jesting,’ Jewd said, sounding slightly exasperated. ‘He’s done it many times. I’ve walked alongside him when he’s been an old man, an old woman, a blind beggar, a noble.’
‘Ah, but my leper was the best, wasn’t it?’ Kilt said.
‘He was a triumph,’ Jewd agreed.
‘People gave me such a wide berth. It was wonderful. I shall have to find that old pair of clappers we’ve got somewhere and roll him out again.’
Leo frowned. ‘I’m sure Lily would appreciate the humour.’
‘No, well, that’s right,’ Kilt said, his theatrics dampened. ‘It’s why I haven’t used him for a while. And anyway, it’s not just me.’ He lightly slapped his big friend’s chest. ‘Jewd loves all the get-ups too. He came into this very town not so long ago as a drunken friar.’
Leo looked over at Jewd and broke into laughter. ‘And that definitely wasn’t drawing attention to yourself, was it?’
‘Aha,’ Kilt said, waggling a finger. ‘Sometimes you can deflect the scrutiny by giving people something else to focus on.’
‘Is that why you’re wearing that ridiculous twirled moustache, then?’
‘Well, I’m glad you finally mentioned my ingenious disguise,’ Kilt said, feigning offence.
‘And I’m glad you’re having fun,’ Leo grumbled. ‘My disguise is real.’
Both men glanced at the crutch balanced against the table. ‘The arrow-wound is healing well. Give it time,’ Jewd reassured. ‘It will be as good as new as long as you trust Lily’s herbals and the chirosurgeon’s advice.’
‘If only they knew,’ Kilt mused. Then he smiled encouragingly at his young king. ‘At least you’ll have a warrior’s wound to show for your time with us.’
‘How long before I’m ready?’ Leo griped.
‘Not yet,’ Jewd replied.
Leo glanced at Kilt, who shook his head. ‘You’re only just a man now, Leo. We have lots to plan before you can start plotting
an overthrow. You can’t ignore the fact that Loethar has been very subtle.’
Leo grimaced. ‘He’s a better ruler than I would have ever given him credit for.’
‘I think the mere fact that you do credit him with this is a sign of your maturity. As few as three anni ago you wouldn’t have been able to see that.’
The king became thoughtful. ‘Perhaps he is all that the Set ever needed.’
Both men gave sounds of disgust. ‘No, majesty,’ Kilt murmured firmly. ‘He stole your crown, he usurped your throne, he effectively murdered your parents and a lot of other good people. He wrote his imperial title in blood. And yet the true heir lives—he’s a man now. One day soon he’ll be ready to claim what is his. A Valisar has been on that throne for five centuries. It is your duty to return that regal line.’
Leo sighed. ‘I know all the rhetoric, Kilt. I just keep thinking that there’s peace now. It’s been a decade. Everyone has settled down to living harmoniously. I can’t forgive what he’s done but I am only one person…with a grudge. I keep wondering whether it’s better for the good of the Set, but especially for Penraven, that I suffer my family history and its sorrows in silence.’
Faris sat back, glad that they’d taken the precaution of seating themselves so well away from others. He could not have risked anyone hearing this conversation. He shrugged. ‘Well, before we start any discourse with Freath, you’d better seriously consider your position. I gave your father my word about several things, and one of them was to do everything in my power to return the Valisar throne to you. But there’s no point to that if you don’t want it.’
Leo glared at him. ‘Are you really going to meet with Freath? Is he mad, Jewd?’ he asked, turning to their companion.
‘I think so, is the answer to both those questions.’
‘Kilt,’ Leo spluttered. ‘Freath is a snake. No, he’s less. He’s vermin. And he’ll be up to something, mark my words. The man
betrayed my parents. I watched him. I heard him. He laughed at both of their grisly deaths. He helped Loethar keep my brother on a leash, in a dirty shirt that carried the blood of my father. He would give you up to Loethar without a second’s hesitation.’
‘Which is why he won’t get the chance,’ Faris said jauntily.
‘Kilt, don’t. He’s not someone to allow into your life. He cannot be trusted, I tell you. I’ll kill him as soon as I see him.’
Faris looked pained by the younger man’s bravado. ‘Who said anything about trust? I want to know what his game is. If he’s up to something—or if Loethar is, and I know the emperor wants my head staring sightlessly from a spike at Brighthelm—then it’s in my interest to find out everything I can.’
‘It’s a trap, I tell you,’ Leo said vehemently.
Ciara returned. ‘Fresh dinch,’ she said, laying down the pot and mug. ‘You’ve got enough honey, I see,’ she said, opening the pot on the table but looking at Leo.
Kilt grinned. ‘Yes, I’m sweet enough, but this young man here needs something to wipe that scowl from his face. Can I offer you a silver piece to add some sugar in his life?’
Leo’s elbow slipped off the table in shock.
Ciara gave Kilt a puzzled smile. ‘Your young friend thinks you’re staining my honour.’
‘I apologise without reservation,’ Kilt replied, lifting his pot of strong but milky dinch.
Ciara turned to Leo. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Er, Liam,’ he replied, sitting up straighter.
‘Well, Liam, I shall see you this evening at the bordello.’
The king nodded.
‘And you, Henk?’ she said to Kilt.
‘Ah, Ciara. I have a woman in my life now, and she would cut off my bordellos and feed them to me if she thought I was taking my pleasures with you.’
Jewd nodded. ‘That she would. But I’m free, Ciara. Is that lovely buxom Jenny still working?’
‘She is. I’ll tell her you may stop by.’ And with that she left them to it.
‘Henk?’
Leo repeated, reaching over and stealing the mug of dinch that his friend was about to pick up and savour.
‘Hey! Oh, that’s just not fair,’ Kilt grumbled. ‘Go and pay, Jewd. I’m heading off. I promised Lily some supplies.’
‘She’ll certainly have those “bordellos” off in a blink if you let her down,’ Leo said between gulps.
They all stood.
‘Get word through the right channels,’ Faris said to his longtime friend. ‘I’ll see Freath. Let’s find out exactly what he’s up to, shall we?’
Leo scowled as Jewd nodded. The big man handed Leo the single crutch. ‘Hope that wound won’t slow you up tonight.’
The grimace left the younger man’s face, replaced by a smile. ‘Not a chance,’ Leo said, limping to catch up with Faris. ‘It will take more than a barbarian arrow-wound to keep me from Ciara.’
Faris had left Jewd and Leo to their pleasures, and was watching Lily pack up the stores they’d bought. He had never been happier and Jewd assured him frequently that this was due entirely to Lily’s presence. Faris had dismissed the comment but now he wondered if there was something to it after all. Up until Lily, the only person he’d permitted intimacy with his thoughts was Jewd. No girl had ever come between them and Lily was secure enough emotionally to see that no girl should. She hadn’t once created any bad feeling between the two great companions and, above and beyond that, she had been a blessing in terms of playing a big sister role to the young king over the years since his arrival into the camp.
Faris watched as Lily worked, seemingly oblivious of his scrutiny. He liked watching her move; loved the way she’d flick back her hair when it fell forward, how in that second he’d catch a glimpse of her lovely long neck. He wanted to kiss it
now. In fact, he would. Getting up from his seat by the window of the inn, he walked over, put his arms around her waist from behind and kissed the exact spot on her neck he’d been watching. He snuggled into its warmth; could feel her pulse against his lips.