Royal Exile

valisar: book one

FIONA McINToSH

Copyright

Voyager An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.voyager-books.com

Published by Voyager 2008

Cover design by © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019 Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com

Copyright © Fiona McIntosh 2008

Fiona McIntosh asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Ebook Edition © JANUARY 2009 ISBN:9780007287826

Version 2019-07-29

For Will McIntosh, Jack McIntosh, Paige Klimentou

and Jack Caddy…

start walking towards your dreams today.

Whatever the dream, no matter how daring or grand, somebody will eventually achieve it. It might as well be you. Bryce Courtenay

Contents

Copyright Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty One Chapter Twenty Two Chapter Twenty Three Chapter Twenty Four Chapter Twenty Five Chapter Twenty Six Chapter Twenty Seven Chapter Twenty Eight Chapter Twenty Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty One Epilogue Glossary Acknowledgments Books By Fiona Mcintosh About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

King Ormond’s face was ashen. He wore the sunken, resigned expression of a man who knew he had but hours to live. Nevertheless, sitting on his horse, atop the mound overlooking the battlefield, his anger flared, his jaw grinding as he watched the horde from the plains make light work of his soldiers. His attention was riveted on one man: the enemy’s leader, who was easy to pick out in the fray, even from this distance. For while his warriors wore the distinctive colours of their tribe, inked all over their faces and bodies, this man’s skin was clean. His features, like his age, were indeterminate from this distance, but he fought with the speed and physical force of a man in his prime. And he led his men from the front, a sign of his bravado and courage.

‘Look at the arrogance!’ Ormond said, disbelief ringing in his voice. ‘Are we so pathetic that he doesn’t even care to take the precaution of armour? Does he have no fear?’

‘Majesty,’ one of his companions replied wearily. ‘I believe Loethar is driven by something more complex than a desire for victory.’

‘General Marth, what could possibly be more desirable than victory when one goes to war?’ the king challenged, staring down his offsider.

The general looked momentarily lost for words. He looked away towards the carnage, then back to his king. ‘Your highness, this man is not interested in simply winning. He is not looking to conscript a new army from the devastation of ours, or even to preserve much of the realm for his own needs. I sense he is only after humiliation for his enemy. He has shown the Set that his pattern is to kill everyone who carries a weapon against him. There is no mercy in his heart.’

The king shook his head, despair now haunting his expression. ‘I can’t let this continue. It has gone on long enough. He’s been on the rampage for four moons now. Dregon and Vorgaven are conquered and Cremond simply capitulated.’ He gave a sound of disgust. ‘The other realms in the Set that have been attacked have fallen no matter what reinforcements have been sent.’

Clearly forcing himself to remain calm despite the sounds of death below, the general took a breath. ‘As I counselled previously, majesty, it is not that he has an inexhaustible supply of fighters but that he has used his men with great cunning and insight. There has been nothing disorganised about his attack on the Set’s realms; it has been very strategic and we have not accorded him the respect he deserved. We should have taken him seriously when his men first started appearing. We should have sent our own men to help the Dregons and Vorgavese —’

‘For Lo’s sake, man! If Penraven didn’t why would we? Brennus obviously thought Ranuld could hold Vorgaven.’

‘We’re all neighbours, highness. We are the Set. We should have combined all our resources. Penraven has the largest army, the most well equipped army, the greatest number of weapons —’

‘Yes but still he didn’t! King Brennus chose not to send his men. Why? Because he trusted Ranuld to keep his end strong against this rabble upstart.’

General Marth looked away again, and like his king his gaze was helplessly drawn to the horde’s ruthless leader as his sword swung, hacking into one of their men’s necks. They saw the spume of blood explode and watched another life be given cheaply to the insatiable ruler of the plains tribes. The general turned back, a fresh look of fury on his face. ‘No, majesty. I don’t think the Valisar king trusts any of us. Forgive me, I know you consider him a friend, but King Brennus is not coming to anyone’s aid. I suspect he has seen the error of his confidence, knows the threat to Penraven is very real. In light of that we are expendable. His priority always has been, always will be, Penraven. He is saving his men for the final confrontation.’

King Ormond’s gaze narrowed. ‘He sent men to Dregon, he even —’

Marth shook his head sadly. ‘A token gesture, highness. We needed to combine our armies to chase this barbarian from our midst. Instead we brazenly allowed him the chance for his early and shocking victory against Dregon and Vorgaven — his audacity to fight not only on two fronts and two borders but to take both cities. His men are not mere rabble, highness. These are warriors … trained ones. We should have crushed him the moment he took his first footsteps into the Set.’

‘We all agreed to wait and see what his intentions were.’

‘Not all of us, highness,’ General Marth replied and the bitterness in his voice was tempered by sorrow. ‘We didn’t act fast enough. We all left it to each other.’

‘But who would have thought Cremond would not even offer the slightest resistance? Why? Do they want a tribal thug as their ruler?’ Marth shook his head, seemingly unable to offer any light on the Cremond capitulation although it was a longheld belief within the rest of the Set that Cremond, rarely considering itself as close to the other realms, often tended to behave in a contrary fashion. ‘And then who in his right mind marches across the region, ignoring Barronel, in order to take Vorgaven at the same time as Dregon? None of it makes sense.’

‘None of it makes sense because that was his intention. Loethar constantly caught us off guard. If we’d acted with speed at the outset we likely would have cut him off before he even established a foothold. Now he’s had these four moons to put our backs to the wall, to somehow convince Penraven — in its own arrogance — to wait and see what happens. Did we really think he was going to say “thank you” and go home?’

‘Brennus and I believed he’d seek terms. Granted, we’re both shocked at his victory, but we never anticipated that he’d go after the whole Set.’

‘I don’t know why, majesty. He didn’t ask permission to enter it. Why would he give us any opportunity to sit around a parley table with him? He probably can’t even speak the language!’ Marth hesitated briefly. But what was there to lose in finally speaking his mind? Careful to speak without accusation, he continued. ‘The Valisars have always considered themselves invincible and I doubt Brennus feels any differently. Don’t you see, your highness, that Brennus has allowed us to be the fodder? The rest of the realm has borne the brunt of Loethar’s ferocity and yet I think he’s deliberately saving the biggest, the best, for last. I don’t think it’s because he’s frightened of Penraven. Quite the contrary. He has been playing games, convincing Brennus that the tribes would run out of interest — another reason why Brennus has hesitated to send the full might of the Penravian army to stand by us. I sense Loethar has deliberately made himself appear to be that yob you called him earlier, when in fact he is a long way from being a dull-headed, thick-skinned ruffian who might tire of the spoils of war and head back to the plains, sated. He has shown himself to be a shrewd adversary and now, my king, he is ready to topple our realm. I admire him.’

Ormond sighed deeply and hung his head. ‘Call the retreat, general.’

‘No, King Ormond. Our men are going to die anyway. I suspect they would rather die fighting. It is more worthy to fall in the heat of battle and to a noble wound than on one’s knees pleading for one’s life. That’s what the barbarian did in Vorgaven; put people to the sword long after the battle cries had stopped echoing. I think our soldiers should go to Lo yelling their defiance.’

The king shook his head gravely. ‘But you are a general and I am a sovereign. It is our role to think brave and be brave to the last … to give our lives for our land. Perhaps some of these men might escape and survive to recount Barronel’s bravery to the last. For that hope alone, we should surrender.’

‘Please, King Ormond. Let us all perish if we must, but let us fight to the last man.’

Ormond set his chin grimly. ‘No. I took an oath when I was crowned that I would not knowingly allow any of my subjects to be killed if I could prevent it. I have to believe some of my people, however few, can be preserved in the chaos of retreat. Let the men run for their lives. But Lo help me, Marth, I will see the blood of the Valisars flour for this betrayal.’ His voice had become a growl. ‘Sound the retreat!’

Loethar’s teeth seemed to be the only part of him not drenched in the blood of his foe. But he knew that would soon change and while his limbs worked savagely, tirelessly, to deny his enemies another breath, his thoughts focused around drinking the blood of King Ormond of Barronel. For Ormond was all that stood between him and his true goal … Penraven.

All the preparation — two anni in the making — had been undertaken for the moment that he was so close to now he could almost taste it. All the relentless training had been worth it — the toughening of his warriors, the breeding of horses, stockpiling of food and water near the main Set border … But none of that could compare to his mental preparation. He had grown up on hate, loathing, bitterness, and rage, kept under control, channelled into the groundwork that led to the surprise concerted raid on two realms at the same time.

The overconfidence, the bursting ego of the Valisars demanded that they would never have believed for a moment they were under any serious threat. Not at the outset anyway. Which is why he’d acted as though he lacked any strategy or battle knowledge, traversing the Set covering unnecessary, almost senseless ground. He made sure his men behaved like the unruly rabble he wanted them to appear, even sending a quarter of them back to the Set’s main border, as though they were making a straggly return to their plains, no longer interested in the bloodlust.

And gradually he had streamed them back to the main vanguard, usually under cover of darkness, running alongside wild dogs of the plains that he had had trained since puppies, killing their parents so they knew and trusted only the smell of his men. These dogs made the sharpest of scouts. They knew how to range, how to move silently and how to smell even the vaguest threat of their enemy. Many times they warned the tribes’ various leaders to change course, to return to the main army via a different route. They were a large part of why Vorgaven, for instance, had thought it was facing three thousand men, when it was actually confronted by close on five thousand.

Time and again over the four moons Loethar had baffled his enemy, an enemy that was fuelled by such self-belief, and worse, such disdain for the horde of the plains, that it had essentially crippled itself.

Now Loethar grimaced as a man fell near his feet, the Barronel soldier’s sword slicing into Loethar’s leg before the soldier’s body fell. Fortunately, Loethar’s nimble, intelligent horse moved sideways, allowing the man to fall beneath the advancing warriors and other horses so that the body was quickly trampled until it no longer had a recognisable face. Loethar barely paid attention to the wound on his leg; it hurt but there was no time to consider the pain. His sword kept slashing a path through flesh and bone, moving him ever closer to his prize.

He suspected word had quickly been passed around that the shirtless, armour-less fighter was the one to bring down. But Stracker was always near, his Greens more savage than any of the other tribes.

Loethar saw one soldier’s head topple from his neck following one of Stracker’s tremendous blows. On the back swing of that same blow, another soldier had his outstretched arm hacked off just above the elbow. The soldier stared at the stump pumping blood and roared his despair, reaching down to pick up his fallen sword with the other hand.

‘He’s brave, I’ll give him that,’ Loethar called to his man as Stracker rammed his weapon into the soldier’s soft belly to finish him off.

‘Got to watch out for those sly two-handers, brother,’ Stracker yelled, slashing another man’s throat open with a practised swing.

‘They’ll call the retreat soon,’ Loethar called back, twisting his horse in a full circle, and killing two men in the motion.

‘No chance. Barronel plans to fight until every man falls, I reckon.’

Loethar managed to wink. ‘My amazing Trilla, here, for your stallion, says it will happen before you can kill another six of the enemy.’

Stracker smiled, his bloodstained face creasing in amusement. ‘Done! I’ve always liked that small, feisty horse of yours.’

‘She’s not yours yet, brother.’

‘Oh, but she will be. One!’ he called smugly as another Barronel soldier met his end. ‘Two,’ he added, slashing across the belly of another.

Stracker had made it to four when he and Loethar heard the unmistakeable sound of the Barronel retreat being sounded across the battlefield.

As Stracker roared his disapproval, Loethar laughed, but he was secretly relieved. He was tired and he knew the blood soaking his body wasn’t all his enemy’s. He too had taken some punishment. He had fought hard today at the front of the vanguard and the retreating backs of the Barronel force — gravely diminished as it was — was a sweet sight.

‘Round them up,’ he called to his senior tribesmen, trying to hide the weariness in his voice. ‘The Greens will join me in taking the surrender from General Marth. Reds and Blues, let them believe we are simply taking stock of their number. All will be killed later.’

‘And the king?’ Stracker asked, drawing alongside, still obviously miffed at losing the bet.

‘King Ormond I shall be sharing a drink with later. He will, of course, go to his god before this night is out, but first, Stracker, you owe me that fine horse.’

1

‘Could he do this?’ he wondered, as yet another wail began. He knew he had no choice if the Valisars were to survive.

Two great oak doors, carved with the family coat of arms, separated King Brennus from his wife’s groans and shrieks, but despite the sound being muffled, her agonised cries injured him nonetheless. He knew his beautiful and beloved Iselda would never have to forgive him because she would never know of his ruthlessness at what he planned for his own flesh and blood. He looked to his trusted legate and dropped his gaze, shaking his head. They were all servants to the crown — king included — and serve he must by presenting the infant corpse in order to protect the realm.

‘It never gets any easier, De Vis,’ he lamented.

De Vis nodded knowingly; he had lost his own wife soon after childbirth. ‘I can remember Eril’s screams as though they were yesterday.’ He hurried to add: ‘Of course, once the queen holds her child, majesty, her pain will disappear.’

They were both talking around the real issues — the murder of a newborn and the threat that their kingdom was facing its demise.

Brennus’s face drooped even further. ‘In this you are right, although I fear for all our children, De Vis. My wife brings into this world a new son who may never see his first anni.’

‘Which is why your plan is inspired, highness. We cannot risk Loethar having access to the power.’

‘If it is accessible at all in this generation. Leo shows no sign at this stage … and Piven …’ The king trailed off as another agonised shriek cut through their murmurs.

De Vis held his tongue but when silence returned and stretched between them, he said softly: ‘We can’t know for sure. Leo is still young — it may yet come to him — and the next prince may be bristling with it. We can’t risk either child falling into the wrong hands. And as for Piven, your highness, he is not of your flesh. We know he hardly possesses his faculties, majesty, let alone any power.’

The king’s grave face told his legate that Brennus agreed, that his mind was made up. Nevertheless he confirmed it aloud as though needing to justify his terrifying plan. ‘It is my duty to protect the Valisar inheritance. It cannot be tarnished by those not of the blood. I hope history proves me to be anything but the murderer I will appear if the truth ever outs. Is everything in place?’

‘Precisely to your specifications,’ De Vis answered.

Brennus could see the legate’s jaw working. De Vis was feeling the despair of what they were about to do as deeply as he was. ‘Your boys …’ the king muttered, his words petering out.

De Vis didn’t flinch. ‘Are completely loyal and will do their duty. You know that.’

‘Of course I know it, De Vis — they might as well be my own I know them so well — but they are too young for such grim tasks. I ask myself: could you do it? Could I? Can they?’

De Vis’s expression remained stoic. ‘They have to. You have said as much yourself. My sons will not let Penraven down.’

Brennus scowled. ‘Have you said anything yet?’

De Vis shook his head. ‘Until the moment is upon us, the fewer who know the better. The brief will also be better coming directly from you, majesty.’

Brennus winced as another scream came from behind the door, followed by a low groan that penetrated to the sunlit corridor where he and De Vis talked. He turned from the stone balustrade against which he had been leaning, looking out into the atrium that serviced the private royal apartments. Breathing deeply, he drank in the fragrance of daphne that the queen had personally planted in boxes hanging from the archways and took a long, sorrowful look at the light-drenched gardens below she had tended and made so beautiful. Trying for an heir had taken them on a torrid journey of miscarriages and disappointments. And then Leo had come along and, miraculously, had survived and flourished. But both Brennus and Iselda knew that a single heir was not enough, however, and so they had endured another three heartbreaking deaths in the womb.

It was as though Regor De Vis could read Brennus’s thoughts. ‘Do not fret over Piven, your highness. If the barbarian breaches our walls I doubt he will even glance at your adopted son.’

Brennus hoped his legate was right. Brennus was aware that Piven had made it quietly into the world and had remained mostly silent since then. These days odd noises, heartbreaking smiles and endless affection told everyone that Piven heard sound, though he could not communicate in any traditional way.

And now there was a new child who’d managed to somehow cling on to life, his heartbeat strong and fierce like the winged lion his family’s history sprang from. There had been so much excitement, so much to look forward to as little as six moons ago. And now everything had changed.

The ill-wind had blown in from the east, where one ambitious, creative warlord had united the rabble that made up the tribes who eked out an existence on the infertile plains. It had been almost laughable when Dregon sent news that it was under attack from the barbarians. It had sounded even more implausible when Vorgaven sent a similar missive.

De Vis could clearly read his mind. ‘How something we considered a skirmish could come to this is beyond me.’

‘I trusted everyone to hold their own against a mere tribal warlord!’

‘Our trust was a mistake, majesty … and so was our confidence in the Set’s strength. It should never have come to this. And, worse, we haven’t prepared our people. It’s only because word is coming through from relatives or traders from the other realms that they know Vorgaven has fallen, Dregon is crushed and cowardly Cremond simply handed over rule without so much as a squeak. I’m sure very few know how dire the situation is in Barronel.’

Brennus grimaced. ‘Ormond might hold.’

‘Only if we’d gone to his aid days ago, majesty. He will fall and our people will then know the truth as we prepare to fight.’

The king looked broken. ‘They’ve never believed, not for a second, that Penraven could fall. Food is plentiful, our army well trained and well equipped. Lo strike me, this is a tribal ruffian leading tribal rabble!’ But as much as the king wanted to believe otherwise, he knew the situation was dire. He no longer had options. ‘Summon Gavriel and Corbel,’ he said sadly.

De Vis nodded, turned on his heel and left the king alone to his dark thoughts. Minutes after his departure, Brennus heard the telltale lusty squall of a newborn. His new son had arrived. Not long later the senior midwife eased quietly from behind the doors. She curtsied low, a whimpering bundle of soft linens in her arms. But when she looked at the king her expression was one of terror, rather than delight.

‘I heard his battlecry,’ the king said, desperately trying to alleviate the tension but failing, frowning at her fear as she tiptoed, almost cringing, toward him with her precious cargo. ‘Is something wrong with my wife?’ he added, a fresh fear coursing through him.

‘No, not at all, your highness. The queen is fatigued, of course, but she will be well.’

‘Good. Let me see this new son of mine then,’ Brennus said, trying to sound gruff. His heart melted as he looked down at the baby’s tiny features, eyelids tightly clamped. The infant yawned and he felt an instant swell of love engulf him. ‘Hardly strapping but handsome all the same,’ he said, grinning despite his bleak mood, ‘with the dark features of the Valisars.’ He couldn’t disguise the pride in his voice.

The midwife’s voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. ‘Sire, it … it is not a boy. You have been blessed with a daughter.’

Brennus looked at the woman as though she had suddenly begun speaking gibberish.

She hurried on in her anxious whisper. ‘She is beautiful but I must warn that she is frail due to her early arrival. A girl, majesty,’ she muttered with awe. ‘How long has it been?’

‘Show me,’ Brennus demanded, his jaw grinding to keep his own fears in check. The midwife obliged and he was left with no doubt; he had sired a girl. Wrapping her in the linens again, he looked mournfully at the old, knowing midwife — old enough to have delivered him nearly five decades ago. She knew about the Valisar line and what this arrival meant. How much worse could their situation get, he wondered, his mind instantly chaotic.

‘I fear she may not survive, majesty.’

‘I am taking her to the chapel,’ he said, ignoring the woman’s concerns.

Their attention was momentarily diverted by Piven scampering up, his dark curly hair its usual messy mop and his matching dark eyes twinkling with delight at seeing his father. But Piven gave everyone a similar welcome; it was obvious he made no distinction between man or woman, king or courtier. Everyone was a friend, deserving of a beaming, vacant salutation. Brennus affectionately stroked his invalid son’s hair.

The midwife tried to protest. ‘But the queen has hardly seen her. She said —’

‘Never mind what the queen instructs.’ Brennus reached for the baby. ‘Give her to me. I would hold the first Valisar princess in centuries. She will go straight to the chapel for a blessing in case she passes on. My wife will understand. Tell her I shall be back shortly with our daughter.’

Brennus didn’t wait for the woman’s reply. Cradling his daughter as though she were a flickering flame that could be winked out with the slightest draught, he shielded her beneath his cloak and strode — almost ran — to Penraven’s royal chapel, trailed by his laughing, clapping five-year-old boy. Inside he locked the door. His breathing had become laboured and shallow, and the fear that had begun as a tingle now throbbed through his body like fire.

The priest came and was promptly banished. Soon after a knock at the door revealed De Vis with his twin sons in tow, looking wide-eyed but resolute. Now tall enough to stand shoulder to shoulder alongside their father like sentries, strikingly similar and yet somehow clearly individual, they bowed deeply to their sovereign, while Piven mimicked the action. Although neither Gavriel nor Corbel knew what was afoot for them, they had obviously been told by their father that each had a special role to perform.

‘Bolt it,’ Brennus ordered as soon as the De Vis family was inside the chapel.

A glance to one son by De Vis saw it done. ‘Are we alone?’ he asked the king as Corbel drew the heavy bolt into place.

‘Yes, we’re secure.’

De Vis saw the king fetch a gurgling bundle from behind one of the pews and then watched his boys’ brows crinkle with gentle confusion although they said nothing. He held his breath in an attempt to banish his reluctance to go through with the plan. He could hardly believe this was really happening and that the king and he had agreed to involve the boys. And yet there was no other way, no one else to trust.

‘This is my newborn child,’ Brennus said quietly, unable to hide the catch in his voice.

The legate forced a tight smile although the sentiment behind it was genuine. ‘Congratulations, majesty.’ The fact that the baby was among them told him the plan was already in motion. He felt the weight of his own fear at the responsibility that he and the king were about to hand over; it fell like a stone down his throat to settle uncomfortably, painfully, in the pit of his stomach. Could these young men — still youthful enough that their attempts to grow beards and moustaches were a source of amusement — pull off the extraordinary plan that the king and he had hatched over this last moon? From the time at which it had become obvious that the Set could not withstand the force of Loethar’s marauding army.

They had to do this. He had to trust that his sons would gather their own courage and understand the import of what was being entrusted to them.

De Vis became aware of the awkward silence clinging to the foursome, broken only by the flapping of a sparrow that had become trapped in the chapel and now flew hopelessly around the ceiling, tapping against the timber and stone, testing for a way out. Piven, nearby, flapped his arms too, his expression vacant, unfocused.

De Vis imagined Brennus felt very much like the sparrow right now — trapped but hoping against hope for a way out of the baby’s death. There was none. He rallied his courage, for he was sure Brennus’s forlorn expression meant the king’s mettle was foundering. ‘Gavriel, Corbel, King Brennus wishes to tell you something of such grave import that we cannot risk anyone outside of the four of us sharing this plan. No one … do you understand?’

Both boys stared at their father and nodded. Piven stepped up into the circle and eyed each, smiling beatifically.

‘Have you chosen who takes which responsibility?’ Brennus asked, after clearing his throat.

‘Gavriel will take Leo, sire. Corbel will …’ he hesitated, not sure whether his own voice would hold. He too cleared his throat. ‘He will —’

Brennus rescued him. ‘Hold her, Corbel. This is a new princess for Penraven and a more dangerous birth I cannot imagine. I loathe passing this terrible responsibility to you but your father believes you are up to it.’

‘Why is she dangerous, your majesty?’ Corbel asked.

‘She is the first female to be born into the Valisars for centuries, the only one who might well be strong enough to live. Those that have been born in the past have rarely survived their first hour.’ Brennus shrugged sorrowfully. ‘We cannot let her be found by the tyrant Loethar.’

De Vis sympathised with his son. He could see that the king’s opening gambit was having the right effect in chilling Corbel but he was also aware that Brennus was circling the truth.

In fact he realised the king was distancing himself from it, already addressing Gavriel.

‘…must look after Leo. I cannot leave Penraven without an heir. I fear as eldest and crown prince he must face whatever is ahead — I cannot soften the blow, even though he is still so young.’

Gavriel nodded, and his father realised his son understood. ‘Your daughter does not need to face the tyrant — is this what you mean, your highness … that we can soften the blow for her, but not for the prince?’

De Vis felt something in his heart give. The boys would make him proud. He wished, for the thousandth time, that his wife had lived to see them. He pitied that she’d never known how Gavriel led and yet although this made Corbel seem weaker, he was far from it. If anything he was the one who was prepared to take the greatest risks, for all that he rarely shared what he was thinking. Gavriel did the talking for both of them and here again, he’d said aloud for everyone’s benefit what the king was finding so hard to say and Corbel refused to ask.

‘Yes,’ Brennus replied to the eldest twin. ‘We can soften the blow for the princess. She need not face Loethar. I have let the realm down by my willingness to believe in our invincibility. But no one is invincible, boys. Not even the barbarian. He is strong now, fuelled by his success — success that I wrongly permitted — but he too will become inflated by his own importance one day, by his own sense of invincibility. I have to leave it to the next generation to know when to bring him down.’

‘Are we going to lose to Loethar, sire?’ Gavriel asked.

‘We may,’ was Brennus’s noncommittal answer. ‘But we can do this much for the princess. Save her his wrath.’ His voice almost broke upon his last word and he reached to stroke her shock of dark hair, so unlike Leo’s and Iselda’s colouring.

‘And Piven?’ Gavriel enquired.

All four glanced at the youngster. ‘I am trying not to worry about this child,’ Brennus replied. ‘He is harmless; anyone can see that. He is also not of our blood,’ he added, looking down awkwardly. ‘If anything happens to him he will know little of it and if he survives, nothing will change in his strange internal world. It’s as though he is not among us anyway. I am prepared to take the risk that the barbarian will hardly notice him.’

The De Vis family nodded in unison, although whether they believed him was hard to tell.

‘The queen, er …’ Gavriel looked from the king to his father.

‘Will be none the wiser,’ De Vis said firmly. ‘It is enough that most of us will likely die anyway. We can spare her this.’

‘Die?’ Gavriel asked, aghast. ‘But we can get the king and queen away, taking Leo and the baby across the ocean to —’

‘No, Gav. We can’t,’ his father interrupted. ‘The king will not leave his people — nor should he — and I will not leave his side. We will fight to the last and if we are to fall, we fall together, the queen included. But we cannot risk the royal children.’

Brennus took up the thread again, much to De Vis’s relief. ‘Piven is not seen as an heir but he is also no threat. And while I sadly must risk that Leo is found, tortured, abused and ultimately exploited for the tyrant’s purposes, I am giving him a fighting chance with you, Gavriel. That said, I won’t risk the possibility of my daughter falling into Loethar’s hands.’

That sentence prompted a ghastly silence, broken finally by Corbel, who looked uncomfortably away from the dark eyes of the baby that stared at him from the crook of his arm. ‘Tell me what I must do,’ he asked.

The king sighed, hesitated. De Vis’s encouraging hand on his arm helped him to finally say it. ‘Today, my daughter must die.’

Corbel stood alone with the tiny infant, hardly daring to breathe. He wasn’t sure she was even breathing, to tell the truth, and for a minute he hoped that she had stopped of her own accord. But her tiny fingers twitched and he knew she clung stubbornly to life.

He made no judgement against the king. He imagined that if he was hurting this much over such a traumatic task, then surely the king was hurting twice as hard to demand it of him. His father must believe him more capable of being able to carry out the grim request than Gavriel and he understood why. His father probably anticipated that he would be able to push his guilt into a deep corner of his mind, perhaps lock it away forever and never think about it, let alone speak of it. Corbel knew he gave this impression of being remote, capable of such hardness, but he was no such thing.

The baby girl, swathed in soft, royal birth linens, shifted gently in his arms. It was time. No amount of soul searching was going to get this job done and the responsibility rested with him alone.

Just do it, he urged himself. Leave the recrimination for later. His job was to hand the dead child to Father Briar, who would take her to the king so that he could allow the queen to say goodbye to her. Meanwhile his father would be waiting in the preserves cellar to brief him on where he must flee. Nobody must ever connect him to the dead child. He wanted to say goodbye properly to Gavriel but their sovereign and even their father had not given them time.

He picked up the blanket and said a silent prayer with his face buried in it for a few moments. Easy tears were not something Corbel suffered from but although his body didn’t betray him with a physical sign of his grief, he felt it nonetheless as he placed the blanket over the now sleeping, very weak child’s face and begged Lo to make this swift. He tried to blank his mind as he pressed on the blanket but thoughts of Gavriel surfaced. How would his brother protect Leo? Would they survive the coming conflict? He might never know; he was being sent away — far away…and he didn’t know if he would ever return. Accepting this felt impossible and grief began to mix with anger as he sped the child to her death.

Gavriel De Vis had watched his father leave with his brother. There had not been time for he and his brother to share anything more than a look, but that look had said droves about the terrible action that was about to be taken. In that moment in which he and Corbel had learned of the king’s plan, Gavriel had despised Brennus for forcing them into this corner. Perhaps Brennus sensed it for as the legate and Corbel left, the king had held him back.

‘Gavriel, a word if I may?’

‘Of course, highness,’ he said, curtly.

‘I’ve asked a lot of you today.’

‘You’ve asked me simply to keep guard over Leo, which is no trial, majesty. What you’ve asked of my brother is completely different. Enough to shatter anyone’s soul, if you’ll forgive my candour, highness.’ He felt proud of himself for saying as much.

‘You understand it could not be done by my hand?’

‘I’m not sure I understand it at all, your highness. But I will take care of Leo as my king has asked and because my father demands it.’

‘I know you will protect him with your life.’

‘Of course. He is the crown prince.’

‘There is something else I need to share with you. It is a delicate matter but I can share this information with no one else.’

Gavriel’s anger gave way to confusion. ‘Your majesty, whatever you tell me is in confidence.’

‘I mean no one, though, Gavriel. This information is for your ears alone — not your father, not your brother, no one at all. Not even Leo. I am entrusting a great secret to you alone. I would ask you to swear your silence.’

Gavriel frowned. ‘All right, highness. I swear you my silence. Whatever you share remains our secret.’

‘Not here,’ the king said. ‘I shall send for you. Come to my salon. Right now I must away to my good wife. Await my message.’

Gavriel bowed, baffled.

The queen’s convalescing chamber was attended by various servants and officials who the king had insisted upon. Its atmosphere was frigid, the awkward quiet punctuated only by the sounds of embarrassed shuffles or coughs over the mournful toll of a single bell. The only focus of activity or brightness was Piven, who gently stroked his mother’s hair. No one could be sure of the sound, but he was humming tunelessly as he did so.

‘And tell me again, Hana, why my newborn child is not at my breast and you cannot find my husband?’ Iselda demanded, her face wan from fatigue and worry.

Hana fussed at her queen’s coverlets before pressing a warm posset of milk curdled with ginger wine and honey into her mistress’s hands. ‘I’ve heard the king is on his way, your highness. Now I beg you to drink this without fuss. You need to regain your strength.’

In a rare show of anger Iselda hurled the cup across the room, its contents splashing in all directions. Piven sat back in what could only be described as amusement, while Hana flinched in astonishment. The cup shattered against the stone, the liquid soaking into the timber beneath the herbs that were strewn underfoot. Its heat instantly released the sweet smell of lavender mingling with mint and rosemary.

‘I shall take nothing, eat nothing, say not another word until my daughter is returned to me. Find her! Do you hear me?’ the queen yelled, coughing on the last word as she dissolved into tears. Piven returned to stroking his mother’s hair as though nothing had happened.

‘As does the entire palace, my love,’ Brennus said, finally arriving. Hana visibly relaxed at the sight of the tall, dark king whose beard had recently erupted new silver flecks, whose once broad shoulders now appeared to sag, and whose laughter, which had boomed around the walls of Brighthelm, was now only an echo.

‘Brennus!’ Iselda took his hands as he settled to sit beside her. Piven leapt onto his father’s lap. The queen accepted the soft kiss Brennus planted on her cheek, mindful of their audience, and pulled back to search his face. She found her answer in the set of his mouth, the grief in his eyes. She asked all the same. ‘Where is our daughter? Why the mourning knell?’

‘Iselda,’ Brennus began gently. The hurt in his voice was so raw it hit her like a blow and her eyes spilled, tears coursing down her cheeks and finding a path through the fingers she clamped to her mouth to prevent herself from shrieking her own grief. ‘Our baby died not long after her birth,’ Brennus finished. ‘In my arms.’

Iselda shook her head slowly, repeating the word ‘no’ over his soft words.

Brennus wiped away his own tears and over her denials he continued. ‘No daughter has ever survived. The Valisar line seems to have its own self-defence for the female line — but you already know that, my love.’ He took her hands, squeezing them, gently kissing them. ‘She didn’t suffer, my darling, I promise. She simply fell asleep as Father Briar blessed her with holy oil. She heard her name spoken and I’m sure she heard me tell her that we loved her with all our hearts.’

Iselda’s lips moved but no sound came. The death bell tolled mournfully through the difficult silence.

Brennus pressed on. ‘I knew this might occur and that is why I took her from you, my love. I needed her to be blessed before … before …’ He was unable to finish, his voice crumbling.

‘Before the devil stole her soul?’ Iselda asked, her voice suddenly hard, her cheeks wet. ‘Do you really believe that something so small and beautiful and pure would be ignored, cast aside by Lo? Is he really that cruel, this god we pray to and put all our faith in, to not only murder my baby but then refuse her soul passage into heaven?’ Her voice had changed into a hissing shriek at his apparent insensitivity. She was very well aware it was unseemly to unravel emotionally in front of the palace servants but she no longer cared. Three children were all Lo had given her to love; of those, one was a grotesque, and now her only daughter was already dead within hours of her birth. Precious Leonel, their hope, was likely as good as dead anyway.

‘Perhaps our little girl is the lucky one, taken by Lo peacefully. Where is Leo? Does he know?’ she begged, her voice softer now.

The king’s red-rimmed eyes closed briefly. ‘De Vis is with him now but will leave Gavriel with him.’

‘That’s good,’ she said, relieved, giving a watery smile to Piven. ‘Leo does love that family as if it’s his own,’ she added absently, before dissolving into quiet weeping.

The king cleared his throat, looking towards the queen’s overly attentive aide hovering nearby. Freath was a good man, only slightly older than himself and although not handsome in a traditional sense, there was an enigmatic quality to his dry, reserved manner that was appealing. ‘I think we’re fine here now, Freath. You can organise for us to be left alone.’

‘Yes, majesty,’ the man replied. ‘Er, Father Briar awaits.’

The king nodded, waiting for the servants to shuffle out at Freath’s murmured orders.

‘Why were these people allowed in my chamber? I can understand Physic Maser, but the others?’ Iselda asked through her tears as she counted almost eight others being herded out by Freath.

‘I must be honest with you, my love. I had no idea how you were going to react. I needed people here for various contingencies. But as always you surprise me with your courage.’ She watched him hug their vacant little boy close to his chest and inhale the scent of his freshly washed hair. She was glad Piven did not have the mental capacity to understand any of this.

‘I don’t feel very courageous, Brennus, and I am sure the real pain has not yet hit me. I feel too numb right now.’

Brennus nodded in shared pain. ‘There will be no shame if you prefer not to see her, but I have had our daughter brought up from the chapel. Father Briar is outside.’

‘He has her?’ Iselda asked, tears welling again.

‘I thought you might like to hold her, have some private time with her,’ Brennus said, choking as he spoke. ‘I’m so sorry, my love. I’m sorry I’m not being strong for you.’

‘I have always maintained that one of the reasons I have loved you, Brennus, 8th of the Valisars, is because you are capable of such emotion, and are not ashamed to suffer it. I’m surprised you’ve been so open with it in front of others, just now. But you don’t have to be outwardly strong for me, my king.’ Iselda reached out to stroke his beard. ‘Just be strong for our people. What’s ahead is …’ She shook her head. ‘Unthinkable,’ she finished. Then a hint of her private courage ghosted across her pale face as she stiffened her resolve. ‘I would like to hold her and kiss her again. Please ask Father Briar to come in.’

The king nodded, touched her hand and rose from her bed. ‘I’ll fetch him.’

* * *

Iselda’s heart began an urgent ache for the sister Leo would never have, for the daughter she would never fuss over gowns with, for the little girl Brennus would never know the special joy of being a father to, for the realm that would never have the glamour and excitement of the first living princess in centuries … but especially for the future. Because there wasn’t one. Without a royal line — and Leo would surely be put to the sword if Loethar found him — Penraven and the prosperous era of the Valisars was destroyed for ever.

She watched her husband usher in the priest, and trembled to see him lightly carrying a bundle draped with cream silks. Giving herself entirely over to her grief, Queen Iselda took the tiny corpse of her infant daughter and cradled her tightly against her breast, praying with all her heart that the long dark lashes would flutter open. Her prayer fell on deaf ears. The child’s eyes remained determindedly closed; her lips were now blueish in colour. Tufts of hair escaped the silken cap, their darkness making her dead daughter’s waxy skin look even paler, when only a couple of hours earlier she had been a dark pink with her efforts to be born. Iselda wanted to touch the fairy-like fingers and toes again that had looked so perfect, so tiny, earlier. She was unaware that she was sharing her thoughts aloud.

‘We wrapped her up in the silks you’d made,’ Brennus admitted, then shrugged awkwardly. ‘It seemed right to do so.’

Iselda watched with a broken heart as Piven gently curled the little girl’s dark hair around his small fingers and smiled at his mother before he bent and gave the corpse a loud wet kiss on her forehead. His father eased him back onto his lap to give the queen a chance to say her final farewell to her daughter.

Iselda stroked the silken cape she had sewed and then painstakingly embroidered through her confinement the last three moons of her pregnancy. ‘I unpicked this rosebud so many times,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘Just couldn’t get it to sit right.’

Father Briar stepped forward, bowing again. He glanced at Brennus, who nodded permission. ‘She was blessed, majesty. She died gently in the arms of our king — a little sigh and she drew her final soft breath. Lo has taken her, accepted her soul with love.’

The queen grimaced. ‘I wish he hadn’t, Father. I wish he’d given me even just a few more hours with her. I had barely moments before she was whisked away from me and now she’s dead. I can hardly remember how it felt to hold her while she breathed or fix a picture in my mind of how she looked when she was alive.’

Father Briar shifted uncomfortably. ‘Forgive me, highness. Perhaps it is Lo’s way.’

‘You mean our god deliberately steals her memory from my mind to make it easier on me when he steals her soul?’ Iselda asked, her expression hardening, lips thinning.

The priest looked between king and queen before awkwardly saying: ‘Yes, that’s a rather nice way to put it, your majesty. I may — if you’ll let me repeat that — use it in a sermon sometime.’

Brennus blinked and Iselda knew this to be a sign of frustration at the priest’s clumsiness. ‘Thank you, Father,’ the king said. He turned to her. ‘Enough?’

She shook her head, not even conscious of her tears. ‘I could never have enough of her.’

‘Just remember we have Leo to think about. He must be worried, confused as well. I don’t think he needs to see her but he will want to see you, know that you are safe.’

She sniffed, unable to tear her gaze away from the child. ‘You’re right. I can only imagine what he’s thinking. Bring him to me, Brennus. Let me smell the hair and kiss the pink skin of the living.’ She sounded resolute and Brennus thanked her with a squeeze to her hand.

‘Shall I take her?’

Iselda nodded, too frightened to speak, fearful that treacherous tears and fresh, uncontrollable emotion would threaten her fragile resolve. She bent and kissed the baby’s forehead. It felt like marble and her tears, which splashed onto the infant’s skin, rolled off, barely leaving a trace. No, there was no warmth, none of the porousness of life present — of that she was sure now and the tiny irrational flicker of hope guttered in her breast and died too. She gave her daughter a final squeeze, hating the stiffness of her tiny body and suddenly grateful to Brennus for having the child swaddled so tightly. She knew now that was his reason for doing so — so she would not have to feel rigour claiming her daughter.

And finally she handed the doll-like infant back to its father. ‘All this time I haven’t asked and you haven’t offered,’ she said sadly.

‘What, my love?’ he enquired, looking ashamed, she presumed because he genuinely didn’t know what she meant.

‘Share with me the name you gave our daughter.’

He found a sad smile and whispered it for her hearing alone.

‘Very beautiful,’ Iselda admitted. ‘A choice I certainly approve of. But I would now ask a favour of you, Brennus.’

‘Anything, my love.’

‘Send out an edict that no child of Penraven will ever bear that name from this day. It belongs only to her.’

He nodded. ‘It will be done, I promise.’

‘You’d best ask the funerary to prepare our tombs, including Leo’s. I can’t imagine we are long for this earth.’

‘Come now, Iselda. Rally, my queen, for the sake of your son. All is not lost. Loethar will have a tough time breaching our walls.’

‘How is that supposed to cheer me? Loethar has only to sit us out. Our supplies will dwindle soon enough.’

‘I promise you this: whatever happens, Leo will escape the tyrant’s touch.’

‘How can you know that? In the same way you knew that the barbarian could never succeed in taking the Set?’ It was a low blow but well deserved. He shouldn’t have been so arrogant to Loethar. The warlord had called his bluff. She wasn’t finished with him yet. ‘And your other son?’

‘The barbarian will not bother himself with the boy.’ Brennus took her hand.

She shrugged it off. ‘If you could keep that promise I could go to my death happy. But how can you be so sure?’

Brennus paused. She imagined he was weighing telling the truth against saying something to make her heart beat easier. ‘I have already taken steps for Leo’s escape. He doesn’t know it yet, of course, but should Loethar enter the palace, no matter what else occurs, Leo will be protected. In time he will carry the torch of the Valisars against the tyrant. We, my love, are expendable — as is Piven — and I intend to see that Loethar burns all his energies on enjoying my demise, while our healthy son slips his net.’

None of it sat easy in her heart, especially the betrayal of Piven. He was an invalid but he could still feel pain and fear. She was weary of grief. ‘Perhaps her death is for the best then,’ she said, as he opened the door to leave.

‘Why do you say that?’ he asked, glancing at the dead girl in his arms.

‘Because she would have been a complication to your plan. If she hadn’t have died, you might have had to have her killed … to be sure she would not be used as Loethar’s tool. I would offer Piven the same courtesy if I only had the courage.’

Brennus blanched, stared at her with such apology in his painful glance before he left wordlessly that in that heartstopping moment of his pause Iselda believed she had stumbled upon the real truth of her daughter’s demise. As the door closed on her chilling revelation the Queen of Penraven knew she had no further desire to live — the Valisar name and its sinister secret suddenly no longer mattered.

2

‘My sister’s dead,’ Leo said in the bald way that any twelve year old might comment.

Gavriel nodded. ‘I’m sorry for your family … for you, majesty.’

‘I was hoping for a brother — not like Piven, but one like you have.’

‘Girls are fun too,’ Gavriel replied, knowing the youngster probably wouldn’t catch on fully to his innuendo.

Leo screwed his nose up. ‘They’re not much good at fishing, archery, riding, fighting —’

‘Ha! Don’t you believe it, majesty,’ Gavriel said. ‘They’re pretty good at most things and very good at others.’

‘Like what?’

‘Er, well, like looking beautiful, smelling nice …’

The boy obviously thought about this for a few moments as Gavriel helped to hoist him up to balance perilously on his shoulders. ‘Get that one, your majesty,’ he said, pointing to a particularly fat, ripe-looking pear. The pear landed in Gavriel’s outstretched hand. ‘One more, over there.’

As he stretched to reach it, Leo continued, ‘Smelling good isn’t much help in a battle, though, is it?’

Gavriel liked the way Leo’s mind worked. He still had that direct, slightly unnerving manner of all children but the crown prince was a thinker and often amused Gavriel and Corbel with his opinionated insights. He was maturing fast, too. Gavriel was still young enough to recall how quickly one could turn from a youngster disinterested in anything but boyish pursuits into a young man whose every thought seemed to focus around women and enjoying them.

Gavriel could almost yearn for that carefree way of even five anni previous but it was lost to him. And not just because of the toll of years; Loethar was stealing the Set’s future, might well steal their lives if he was gauging the mood of his father and the king correctly. The palace was preparing for siege, and the word was already going out that, impossible though it seemed, Barronel’s fall was now inevitable. Penraven’s people should flee, preferably via the sea, since Loethar had no ships, and no sailing prowess even if he could secure vessels. Penraven’s coastline was so vast that anyone who wanted to leave the realm could, finding safety in the Taramanian Isles to the west, or in the eastern kingdom of Galinsea.

But there would be no escape for the De Vis brothers. The sovereign was counting on them to behave as men now; the innocence of childhood was a luxury long behind them.

Leo leapt down from Gavriel’s shoulders, ignoring the hand of help. ‘Eat your pear,’ Gavriel said, crunching into his. He wondered how he was going to live up to the task asked of him by his king, but was quickly reminded of what had fallen on Corbel’s shoulders and shuddered. His brother’s task was far more daunting.

‘What do you mean?’ Leo asked.

‘What?’

‘You said you wondered how he could kill something so tiny.’

Gavriel realised he must have spoken the final thought about his brother aloud. ‘Nothing. I don’t remember.’

‘You remember everything, Gav. Dates, debts, all sorts of facts.’

‘Quite. And speaking of debts, you owe me two trents.’

‘I haven’t forgotten. Where’s Corbel?’

‘Running an errand for our father,’ Gavriel answered, suddenly unable to swallow his mouthful of pear. He spat it out.

‘Worm?’

‘No, just suddenly tasted a bit acid.’

‘Mine’s sweet, just like Sarah Flarty’s backside,’ Leo said, then burst into laughter at Gavriel’s astonished expression. ‘Well, you told me so.’

Gavriel sucked in a breath at the notion that he’d probably never pinch Sarah’s pert bottom again and her promised tumble in the hayloft was likely not to happen, now that he was a full-time babysitter to the crown prince. Every hour of the day you watch him, you guard him, his father had impressed after the king had told him what it was that they expected of Gavriel. He is never to be far from you. And when the time comes you must disappear with him. No farewells, no packing, no notes left behind. He is all that matters. Protect Leo with your life. Raise him.

Raise him? He wasn’t ready to be a father figure. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to see to the boy’s needs for a full day. He often still felt like a child himself, usually deferring to Corb’s cunning. And now his brother was gone.

‘Did you see your sister?’ Gavriel asked, not meaning to ask something so blunt but needing the image of his brother close. How would they manage without each other?

‘Mother doesn’t know but father allowed me to see her because I wanted to. She doesn’t — didn’t — look like me. Did you see her?’ Gavriel shook his head, unable to utter the lie. ‘Well, she had dark hair. Father told me to kiss her but —’ he made a sound of disgust — ‘I didn’t want to. She felt stiff, cold.’

Gavriel silently praised the emotional armour with which childhood still protected Leo.

‘They’re burying her in the family crypt. She has her own tombstone being carved. I’ll kiss her tombstone perhaps, shall I?’

‘Good idea,’ Gavriel said. ‘I saw Piven earlier today. I suppose he doesn’t know much about it.’

The shrug Leo gave was nonetheless rueful. ‘Piven doesn’t know much of anything. Can I ask you something, Gav?’

‘Anything. You are the heir to the throne, after all.’

Leo grinned. It was an old jest, which the twins used ruthlessly against him. ‘Is the tyrant going to kill us all?’

Gavriel sighed. ‘Not you.’

‘Why not?’

‘You have me.’

‘I know you’re the best swordsman we have, but —’

‘Of the cohort only,’ Gavriel qualified, recalling with pride how his father, the best known sword in the land, had marvelled at the result of his concept to train a small group of youngsters into an elite faction. His eldest son’s escalating skills were the most impressive of all.

‘That’s what I mean.’

‘In that case, best sword, best archer, best rider.’

‘Ah, but not best climber.’

‘No, but that’s because you’re still relatively puny…your majesty.’

Again Leo smiled. ‘Well, when I’m your age I’ll be a better swordsman, and I’ll shoot arrows longer and straighter.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ Gavriel said, playing along, glad that he’d sidetracked the prince from the threat of death that loomed over all of them.

‘But you do think others will die … that the tyrant will win?’ Leo continued.

It seemed Gavriel had congratulated himself too soon. ‘I don’t think we’ll come out of this without some death, no.’

‘So my parents and brother will be murdered probably.’

Gavriel didn’t answer.

‘And likely your father because he’s legate.’

‘I —’

‘And perhaps all the people of Penraven because they are loyal to the crown.’

‘Leo.’

‘It just doesn’t seem fair that I should survive, does it?’

Gavriel wanted to say that there was absolutely no guarantee that he would — in fact there was an all too real likelihood that he wouldn’t — but that was hardly the encouraging sentiment that his father wanted from him. De Vis had warned him to keep the boy’s mindset strong, far away from thoughts of siege or death. So instead Gavriel placated Leo with the obvious. ‘You are the heir. You are even more important than the king because you are the realm’s future. If he died without an heir, that would be disastrous, irresponsible and unforgiveable. But if his heir survives, even if he himself dies, there is hope.’

‘And hope is a good thing,’ Leo said, as though finishing Gavriel’s sentence.

‘It is everything for a kingdom facing such a threat.’

‘Tell me about Loethar. Everyone ignores me, says I don’t need to worry.’

‘Not your father and certainly not mine,’ Gavriel replied, surprised.

‘No. They’re worse. They tell me that Loethar can be beaten and yet their faces say something different. I know they’re pretending, shielding me from the truth. I want the truth, Gav. I’m not just a child, I’m the crown prince. I have to know what we face. And I’m twelve now, almost thirteen. That’s ancient!’

The prince was correct; he did have a right to the truth. Gavriel wasn’t sure he was the appropriate person to deliver it. He swallowed. The reality of the weight of responsibility given to him slotted into place in his mind and made him feel dizzy with fear. He would give Leo the truth as he understood it; the boy needed to know precisely what journey lay ahead of them.

‘I’ll tell you what I know, what my father has told me.’

Leo settled back against a tree. ‘Start from the beginning of Loethar’s life.’

Gavriel stretched out his long legs, crossed them at the ankle and knitted his hands behind his head as he leaned against the tree trunk. He didn’t feel relaxed but he needed to give Leo the impression that he was. ‘Loethar’s background is murky. No one really knows who he is but we know he hails from the Likurian Steppes.’

‘A tribal warlord,’ Leo muttered with awe.

‘If you want to give him a title, that certainly fits, although “lowlife thug” is my best definition.’

‘A masterful thug,’ Leo suggested and at Gavriel’s look of disdain, added, ‘Well, he certainly called the Set’s bluff. Why didn’t we all just kill him and scatter his mob to their arid lands moons ago?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You do. Stupidity. Obviously each of the kingdoms — and Penraven surely must take the most blame — believed itself invincible simply because he brought a seeming rabble. We didn’t respect their determination.’

All true. Gavriel sighed silently at Leo’s grasp of the situation and continued. ‘We know of no family and to my knowledge we don’t even know why or how this campaign of war began but we assume he dreams of empire. His intention is to cripple the power of the Denova Set, with Penraven the jewel of his new crown.’

‘Because politically and financially we’re the most powerful of all the realms.’

‘Correct.’

‘Yes, but why?’

‘Lo help me — what is your history teacher doing with you, majesty?’

‘He’s so boring I don’t pay attention. Out here with you it’s more fun.’

‘All right, let’s see,’ Gavriel began. ‘Penraven, Barronel, Dregon, Gormand, Vorgaven, Cremond and Medhaven make up the Denova Set.’

Leo made a sound of exaggerated exasperation. ‘I know that much.’

Gavriel ignored him. ‘Of the seven, Penraven is the largest, the most powerful and the most wealthy. And Penraven was the first of the realms, so the others tend to look up to the Valisar crown. However, each is its own sovereign state, governing itself. You’ve seen the seven Kings coming together for the Denova Meet every three years, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, although I was never allowed to be involved.’

‘No, well you were ill for the last one I recall and barely six for the one before that, still, I might add, sucking your thumb! The King of Gormand disapproved.’

Leo sniggered. ‘So another is due.’

‘Yes, it was meant to happen last moon but Loethar’s actions have changed everything.’

‘I still can’t believe we didn’t take action. And he now controls the other realms.’

‘Medhaven is hardly a stronghold or much of a prize but my father heard through runners this morning that Barronel was set to fall — probably later today. We have to hope that some renegades somewhere are hatching plans for overthrow in the various kingdoms. It’s to those rebels we must look, find them somehow, link up if we can.’ Gavriel was thinking aloud. No one in authority had said as much but he believed there had to be survivors who were not prepared to succumb to the tyrant’s rule.

‘And so now he wants to rule Penraven.’

‘Yes, but …’ Gavriel stopped himself too late.

‘But what?’

‘What do you know about your family, majesty?’

Leo spun around to face Gavriel. ‘That’s an odd question.’

‘Do you know its history?’

Leo began reciting the Kings. ‘My father is the 8th. Before him, my grandfather, King Darros, and —’

Gavriel interrupted him. ‘I mean do you know what makes the Valisar Kings so revered … and feared?’

The boy shook his head, looked down. ‘A secret, no doubt.’

Gavriel nodded. ‘You should be learning this from your father, not me.’

‘But you can give me a hint.’

The eldest of the De Vis twins — by just three minutes — felt a stirring, a premonition perhaps. ‘It’s known as the Valisar Enchantment. I’ve never heard much about it to tell you the truth, but my father told me rumour abounds among the people.’

‘What is it?’ Leo asked, frowning.

‘I was told it is a powerful magic that belongs to the Valisar line alone.’

Leo’s eyes were shining with the intrigue. ‘So father has it. What is it?’

Gavriel shrugged. ‘The power of coercion.’

The boy frowned, looked at him quizzically. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Well, with it presumably you can bend people to your will.’

‘Make them do what you want?’

‘You could put it like that.’

Leo whistled. ‘Imagine that power!’

Gavriel’s mind drifted momentarily. As Leo threw out suggestions of how it might be manipulated to their own ends, he imagined instead what could happen if such power fell into the wrong hands.

‘… and Sarah Flarty could never refuse you.’ Leo finished, breathless, grinning.

‘What?’ Gavriel’s attention had returned just in time to hear the last few cheeky words.

‘Well, you want to kiss her, don’t you?’

‘I don’t think that’s any of your business, your majesty. I should never have mentioned her to you,’ Gavriel replied.

‘She’s pretty. I like her. You should kiss her anyway and then you can teach me how to because I’d quite like to kiss Duke Grendel’s daughter but she thinks I’m dirty.’

‘Dirty?’

‘Says I always smell of horses and mud.’

‘Young girls can be a bit priggish, Leo. Older ones are more fun,’ Gavriel added with a wink. ‘Like that delicious new girl, Genrie.’

Leo screwed his nose. ‘She’s hideous!’

‘Hardly.’

‘Old!’

Gavriel shrugged. ‘Only to you.’

‘And you … ugh!’

‘Older women have experience, Leo. Something you can’t quite appreciate yet.’

‘She hates me.’

‘Ah, here’s the truth of it. She doesn’t hate you, she’s brisk with everyone, very efficient, very … desirable. I wouldn’t mind her ordering me around —’ He stopped, catching himself in time. ‘Er, where were we?’

Leo didn’t seem to mind the abrupt halt and he hadn’t forgotten where they’d left their previous topic. ‘But if the Kings of Valisar have this … this power of —’

‘Coercion,’ Gavriel prompted.

Leo nodded. ‘Why hasn’t my father used it to stop the tyrant?’

Gavriel stood, dusted off his trousers and hauled a reluctant crown prince to his feet. ‘Because your father does not possess this power.’

‘But I thought you just said —’

‘I told you what the Valisar legend says. The reality is that we don’t know what it is or who possesses it, how it works, or how to stop it working. Your father told my father that he does not wield any magic that he’s aware of, cannot wield anything more dangerous than a sword.’

‘So it’s a lie, then.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Gav, you’re confusing me.’

‘It’s a confusing subject. Come on, majesty, we’re late. I promised Morkom I’d have you back to take supper with the queen.’ He gave the crown prince a gentle push. ‘We can talk as we walk but keep your voice low — what we discuss is secret.’

Leo fell into step alongside his tall keeper. ‘So if it’s not a lie, what is it?’

‘No one knows. Your father believes that it is a contrary phenomenon, er … by that I mean it’s a thing that can appear whenever it chooses. No one knows for sure but I’m told it can skip generations, lie dormant for endless years if it wants.’

‘How does someone know if they have it?’

‘I presume, majesty, they can test it by trying to compel people to do their bidding.’

‘And my father cannot.’

‘He denies any ability and I think he would have used it if he did possess such a thing, don’t you?’

‘Lo sod it! I definitely don’t have it. But where does the power come from?’

Gavriel shrugged. ‘Search me. Born with it, I guess. I learned today that the first Valisar king — Cormoron — who was supposedly bristling with this power — made a blood oath on the Stone of Truth at Lackmarin that he and no other Valisar king would ever be able to use their power against their own.’

‘Does that mean family?’

‘I think it extends to his people.’

‘Go on, this is good,’ Leo said, leaping onto a low wall and frowning as he listened, balancing alongside Gavriel.

‘When his blood was spilled upon the stone it is said that a serpent appeared and drank the blood. It told Cormoron that his blood oath was accepted and the magic would remain true to the Valisars and their heirs would be impervious to its power.’

They’d reached the stairs that led to the royal apartments. Leo touched the carved pattern in the stonework that was a familiar design throughout Brighthelm. ‘Is that why we have a serpent alongside the winged lion in our heraldry?’

‘That is precisely why. It was incorporated by Cormoron in a proclamation that the serpent would join the winged lion on the family crest.’

‘Did the serpent say anything else to the first king?’

Gavriel smiled. ‘I don’t know, majesty, I wasn’t there,’ he admitted, ending their conversation.

He saw how Leo, while making his way up to his private rooms, acknowledged various servants who were passing them — one carrying linen, another with an armload of tallow candles, and still another with a basin of water. Even though the crown prince said nothing, he found a smile or a nod to let that person know he noticed them. It was a small gesture and yet its consequences were far rippling. For Leo to have the presence of mind already to look beyond his own world and his own needs, to remember that others made his life so easy, boded well for him as future king … if Gavriel could keep him alive that long.

‘No one seems scared of Loethar,’ Leo admitted, echoing Gavriel’s thoughts.

‘That’s because we’ve never given them reason to be … until now. Be assured, majesty, the panic will hit soon enough. I think we’ve been wrong to ignore the threat but my opinion is worth little.’

‘Not to me,’ Leo said and then froze as one of the servants appeared, walking so briskly she was bringing behind her a draught.

‘Prince Leo,’ she said, nodding her head, ‘Morkom has been looking for you everywhere.’ Her tone was filled with accusation.

Gavriel saw Leo’s eyes narrow. ‘And he can continue to look, Genrie,’ the prince said coolly. ‘He is, after all, a servant. One I appreciate and like very much but a servant all the same … just like you.’

Genrie bristled and Gavriel found her all the more alluring for her pursed lips and frostiness. The fact was Genrie was efficient, keen at her job, and liked by all the senior people in the palace because she was discreet and pragmatic. But she had an abrupt, at times superior manner that he understood would certainly rub the youthful prince the wrong way. ‘Er, his majesty is late because of me, Genrie,’ he chimed in. ‘Forgive me. He’s here now and well aware that he is due for supper shortly with the queen. Who are you having supper with? Perhaps I could —’

‘Master De Vis,’ she began, her tone wintry, ‘I was expressly sent by the queen to find his majesty and I —’

‘And he is found.’ Leo cut across her words with a sardonic smile. ‘Thank you.’

It was a dismissal and she had no option but to curtsey and move on, but not without throwing a glare at Gavriel.

Gavriel sighed. ‘Now she’ll never let me feel her pert —’

‘Ah, the kitchens have sent up some berry liquor,’ the prince said, ignoring his friend’s moans as they entered his suite. ‘Want some?’

‘No, majesty, but you go ahead.’

Leo gave him a look of disdain. ‘Gav, it sounds to me like we’re going to be together for a while.’

‘I should be honest and tell you that I’ve been instructed by your father and my father not to leave your side. We’re as good as glued together from hereon.’

That caught the prince’s attention. He gawped at Gavriel. ‘You jest.’

Gavriel shook his head. ‘New rules. You now have a full-time champion.’

‘What about Piven?’

‘He has his nurserymaids. You need a man!’ Gavriel said the last with a flourish, flexing the muscles in his upper arm in a light attempt at humour he didn’t feel.

The boy gave a low whistle. ‘In that case can we drop the majesty title? It makes me feel awkward. You and Corb never used to call me that. Your doing it now makes me feel like my father.’ He tipped water into the small measure of dark syrup he had poured into a goblet.

‘In front of others I must show respect, you know that.’

Leo drank the contents of the goblet, giving a sound of pleasure as he swallowed the last mouthful. ‘Fine, but when we’re alone I want to be just Leo or dunderhead to you as I’ve always been.’ He pushed back the fringe of his sandy-coloured hair. ‘So is that all you know about the Valisar magic?’

Gavriel thought he’d got away too easily on the previous conversation. ‘I know that it’s whispered about as the Valisar Enchantment. Your father told me only today in fact that it’s the magic that kills the females of his line. Whether they die in the womb, at birth or beyond it, none has survived more than an hour or so.’

‘Why? The magic is too powerful for them?’

‘Seems so.’

‘Or perhaps it chooses only the boys to live.’

‘Yes, more likely.’

‘My poor sister,’ Leo mused. ‘I’d like to have taught her how to shoot a catapult. Piven just can’t get it.’

‘Even if she had survived, Leo, I wonder whether your father could have risked her being found by Loethar.’

The boy looked up, surprised. ‘You mean he’s pleased she’s dead?’

‘No,’ Gavriel hurried to say. ‘But I think I sensed that he felt relief that she could not be hurt by the barbarian.’

‘But why couldn’t my father have protected us all if she’d lived?’

Gavriel shrugged. He too wasn’t sure about this. ‘I imagine because a baby is dangerous. It can give you away with a whimper if you’re hiding; it needs its mother and the kind of care that if we were on the run we couldn’t give. I think your sister’s death released your father from having to make that decision,’ he said, hating the lie as it treacherously left his lips. ‘I’m calling Morkom for your bath.’

‘But how is my father going to protect my little brother?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m not privy to that,’ Gavriel replied, utterly sure now that Piven would be ignored and left to Loethar’s discretion. No one wanted another child’s blood on his hands by killing Piven to save him from the barbarian.

‘I shall speak to him about Piven. Where is the king, do you know?’

‘I imagine he’s at the barracks. Our army is going to be facing the marauders soon. He’s probably doing his best to ensure their spirits are high, and their courage.’

‘What about ours?’

‘We’ll have to help each other.’ The words sounded prophetic as he said them. ‘And I think we have to get used to it.’

Loethar licked the blade, enjoying the sensation of the metallic tanginess in his mouth. Blue blood. Regal blood. He could get drunk on it. He looked at Stracker. ‘Impale him and all the family in the central square. That should reinforce who now controls Barronel and loosen a few tongues as to where any of the Vested may be.’

‘I presume you want a spectacle made of the rest of the family?’

‘Cross them. That always humbles an audience. And don’t hasten their deaths. No mercy.’

Stracker nodded, glancing at the enormous raven sitting on the back of Loethar’s chair.

‘I want sorcerers, witches, wizards — call them whatever you will, they’re all the same to me,’ Loethar continued. ‘But I want to know who the Vested are and where we can find them. Offer rewards, spread fear, use whatever tools necessary but I hunger for my knowledge. I must be fed.’ He grinned and the malevolence behind his words was heightened by the sight of his bloodstained teeth. He wiped his tongue along them, licking his lips at the residue of taste.

‘I shall see to it,’ Stracker said.

‘I plan to be alone tonight,’ Loethar added, then changed his mind. ‘Actually, send me up that cowering little princess. And have a barrel of wine brought up with her. Maybe it will help dull the sound of her shrieks.’

Both men laughed. Once his Right had departed, the contrived smile froze on Loethar’s face. He was close now. Very close. He hoped the Penravians were suffering in their dreams with images of the havoc he was going to loose upon them. He hoped they had heard the stories of what he had unleashed upon the rest of the Set, the terror he had achieved and the torturous pain he had heaped on each realm. Word ran ahead of him, he knew, and he hoped the people of Penraven were listening carefully, for he wanted their king … but most of all he wanted what the Valisar royals possessed. He stroked the raven’s head and it blinked its pale eyes.

‘Almost there now, Vyk,’ he cooed.

A knock dragged him from his thoughts. ‘Who is it?’ he yelled, convinced it could not yet be his entertainment for the evening.

‘It’s Valya,’ came the reply.

‘Come!’

Vyk swooped down to stand by the corpse as the door pushed open and a woman stepped through. ‘Am I interrupting, Loethar? Ah, I see it’s all over.’

‘Would it matter if you were?’

She smiled, slow and familiar, as she crossed the room, not at all fazed by the large bird or its warning caw at her approach. ‘I thought this too important to wait on. Being this close to Penraven, news travels fast.’

‘And?’

‘One of my spies in the city tells me that a death knell has been sounding for hours. Double shock for the people — you on one side of the walls and a royal death on the other.’ She laughed.

Loethar’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who? Surely not Brennus.’

‘No one’s ever said the man’s a coward. I doubt he’d kill himself to prevent your having the pleasure.’ She looked down at the dead king at her lover’s feet but her expression remained unchanged, unmoved by the sight of the decapitated royal. ‘But I have to wonder yet again why he didn’t try to dissuade you from your path.’

‘Because he’s been too comfortable wearing that all-powerful Valisar crown for too long. He believes in its invincibility. Only now might he be realising that I plan to teach him that even the Valisars can be toppled.’

She gave him a wry glance. ‘You know the Penravians will flee by ship.’

‘Yes, I do, because you’ve already told me that much. It’s not the people I care about, Valya. It’s the Valisars.’

‘So all this death and destruction has been about Brennus,’ she said, baldly.

‘It always has been. Him and his offspring and those who support them.’

None of the wryness had left her expression. ‘Just leave Cremond alone.’

‘I did. I don’t break promises. Do we know who’s dead in Penraven?’ he asked again.

She shook her head. ‘It could be any of them, but my guess is it’s the queen.’ She turned and spat onto the corpse, surprising Loethar. He wasn’t sure whether she was disgusted by the Queen of Penraven or by the King of Barronel, or whether she’d actually intended to hit Vyk. Whichever it was, it was a gesture of genuine viciousness.

‘Why would it be the queen? Too frightened of what I might do to her?’ he asked.

She ignored his query. ‘If they’ve got any sense they’ve already gone on one of their sumptuous royal schooners.’

‘He’s too proud to flee,’ Loethar replied.

‘I agree. The Valisars are stoic — even those who marry into the family. She would not lose face by taking her life. Don’t you see?’ She gave a rueful shrug. ‘I suspect the Valisar courage in the face of certain destruction will inspire their people.’

‘We’ll see how long that inspiration lasts when I have what I seek in my possession. Tell me why you think the queen is dead.’

‘Childbirth takes many victims,’ she said, her tone casual, disinterested.

‘Childbir—?’ he repeated, interrupting himself as the realisation dawned. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ His tone was threatening.

‘Sorry, did I fail to mention that the Penraven whore was spawning another brat? She is mother to the heir and also stepmother to a halfwit orphan she took pity upon. Now there is another who probably hasn’t survived birth. For you there’s only the eldest to worry about. I probably didn’t consider it important.’

‘You surprise me, Valya. I allow you to be my eyes and ears because you’re good at it but I expect you to tell me everything you learn. If you don’t, your skills are of no use to me, no matter how cunning your mind. I really should punish you,’ Loethar said, his mind already racing.

‘It doesn’t change anything,’ she countered, still sounding confident.

‘The news has ramifications.’

‘Not really. You plan to kill them all anyway, I assume.’

‘I don’t have any plan at this point,’ he reprimanded, ‘other than to watch Penraven’s famous walls be breached. Beyond that I shall wait and see.’

‘So, is this our new home?’ she asked, trailing her hand across a highly polished marble surface, the top to an elegant piece of furniture that had probably served as the king’s private dining table. ‘I rather like this — what an amazing colour it is.’

He forced his anger to cool. This was not the moment to lose his temper. ‘The famed Barronel marble from the deep earth quarries in its Vagero Hills.’

‘Stunning,’ she said absently, already moving to study the books in the small library the king had kept on hand in his suite. Vyk followed, hopping behind her.

‘Yes, Barronel will be our base for the time being. Make yourself at home, Valya, but not in here,’ he cautioned.

‘Why?’ she asked, stopping her slow movement around the bookshelves.

‘You are not a king.’

‘Neither are you,’ she said lazily, but added, before he could reply, ‘you are an emperor in the making. You’d better get used to such surrounds and lay your own mark against it. No more caves and tents for you, Loethar.’

‘And although you are used to the finer things in life, may I suggest that you discover them in another quarter of the palace.’

‘Where will you be? Perhaps I could —’

He cut her off. ‘I don’t know where I’ll be. I may travel to Penraven to get my first glimpse of the Valisar stronghold.’

A knock at the door interrupted them. ‘Come,’ he said, tiredly, and a burly warrior, his face scarified and coloured with inks, entered, dragging a terrified child behind him. The girl was barely more than twelve summertides and was dressed in royal finery but Loethar noticed that her gown was torn, her face stained with tears.

‘Stracker said you asked for her, my lord,’ the man said gruffly in the language of the steppes.

‘I have changed my mind. Give her back to the mother.’

‘Already dead.’

Loethar sighed, irritated. ‘Then send the girl to her god as well. Do it immediately, no pain, make it swift.’

‘In here?’ the man asked, surprised.

The girl began to wail, having caught sight of the headless body that remained of her father.

‘No, not here,’ Loethar said slowly through gritted teeth. ‘Take her away and arrange for him to be removed as well.’ The man nodded. ‘And Vash, speak only in the language of the region now.’

‘Very good, my lord,’ he answered in perfect Set, exiting the room, dragging the screaming girl behind.

Valya wore a look of disgust. ‘Oh, Loethar, were you really planning to amuse yourself with a child? Have you no conscience?’

‘About as much as you have,’ he replied.

She laughed and he heard the false tone she tried to hide. ‘None, then.’

‘Precisely. What I actually do and what I want my men to think I do is something entirely different.’

‘Because if what you’re looking for is some companionship of the skin,’ she began flirtatiously.

He blinked with irritation. ‘I’m looking to sleep,’ he said, cutting her off again. ‘Close the door behind you. Tell no one to disturb me unless it’s about who has died among the Valisar royalty. Otherwise I don’t anticipate hearing from anyone, including you, for the next six hours.’

Loethar didn’t wait for her response, but turned and strode away into the former king’s bedroom, Vyk swooping behind him.

3

Corbel rode hard. He knew not just his survival but the survival of many depended on his making his destination. He was riding to a place he had never seen, following directions his father had made him repeat several times over until the legate was sure his son could reach the meeting point.

‘Ride for your life, boy,’ his father had said, his voice gruff from the emotion he was controlling. Corbel had never seen his father cry and it seemed Regor De Vis had had no intention of allowing him to glimpse the depth of his sorrow at farewelling his child. Both knew they would never see each other again. ‘This will save Gavriel’s life as much as your own,’ De Vis had added. In his father’s eyes Corbel had seen the glitter of hope and for that alone he would ride to the curious coastal location and find the man they called Sergius.

‘But how will I know him?’ he had questioned.

‘He will know you,’ the king had replied.

‘And we trust him?’

His father had nodded. ‘Implicitly.’

He had waited. Neither had added anything.

‘You know this is madness, don’t you?’ Corbel had replied, keeping his voice steady. He was not prone to outbursts. He had wished Gavriel had been present to do the ranting.

‘And now you must trust us,’ his father had added, so reasonably that whatever objection Corbel had wanted to make had remained trapped in his throat.

‘Magic?’

Brennus had looked at him sadly. ‘I envy you, Corbel.’

‘Really.’ In his fury — fury that no one but Gavriel might have noted — Corbel had wanted to demand of Brennus whether the king truly envied him the memory of killing a newborn child but his father must have guessed his son’s thoughts and had glared at him. ‘Why don’t you use it to escape, your highness?’ Corbel had said instead.

The king had sighed. ‘What a surprise for the bastard warlord that would be. Go, Corbel. Nothing matters more than your safety now. Lo’s speed.’

‘Father —’

‘Go, son. We are as clueless to your future as you. But we trust that you will be safe and remember your task. It is something worth committing your life for. One day it might restore Penraven.’

Corbel had begun to speak but his father held up his hand. ‘Not another word, Corb. I have always been proud of you and Gavriel. Make me proud now. Do as your king and your father ask.’

Forbidden further protest, Corbel De Vis had bowed. And then Brennus and Regor De Vis had embraced him.

Now Corbel’s mind felt liquid, spreading in all directions with nothing to hold it together but his aching skull and the determination to fulfil what had been asked of him, the burden heavy in his heart, its reality terrifying him.

He sped northwest, changing horses at Tomlyn, where a stablemaster was waiting for him, giving Corbel a small sack of food that Corbel ate in snatches without stopping. Once again he changed mounts, this time at Fairley, as instructed, in an identical experience.

Leaving Fairley village behind, Corbel swiftly began to follow the coastline. He rode hard, knowing only that a stone marker would tell him he had arrived. His eyes searched the side of the track, constantly roving ahead for the clue. Daylight was fast dwindling. He wondered if he’d make it in time. Minutes later, in the distance he saw a man. Slowing the horse, he finally drew alongside the figure.

‘Welcome, Corbel. I am told you are burdened with a heavy responsibility.’

Breathing hard, Corbel nodded, said nothing.

‘Ah, my eyesight is so poor that I see little but I see enough. Come, help me down the track.’

‘Track?’ Corbel repeated.

The man chuckled. ‘You’ll see it when you dismount. It leads to my humble dwelling. It’s treacherous only for me; I imagine you’ll find the descent relatively easy on your strong, young limbs.’

Corbel swung off the horse and saw steps cunningly cut into the cliff face. He could see the hut and hoped they could get there before the wind became any more fierce. The sun was setting in a fierce blaze of pink on the horizon but it was not going to be a still night.

As though he heard his thoughts, Sergius yelled above the roar of the wind, ‘Storm tonight. Bodes well for what we have to do. I think we’ll have some awakening.’

‘Is that a good thing?’

‘Perfect. This sort of magic works best when the elements are stirring, roaring their power.’

Corbel wondered if anyone was telling Gavriel about this. Mostly he wondered if he’d ever see his brother again.

‘What about my horse?’

The man pointed. ‘It’s going to be too fierce to leave it outside but your father took the precaution of leaving feed and water in that tiny barn — can you see it?’ Corbel nodded. ‘Good, because I can’t. It’s a blur at that distance. Anyway, tie your horse up in there. Arrangements have been made to collect it.’

‘Give me a few moments,’ Corbel said, the wind whistling now around his ears. He guided the horse to the barn and secured her inside with a bag of fresh feed and a pail of sweet water. He hoped she would be collected soon. He wished he could rub her down but there was plenty of fresh hay that she would no doubt enjoy rolling around in anyway. And this was not the time to be fretting over a horse. He secured the door and trotted back to his host. ‘It’s done,’ he said.

‘Let’s go,’ Sergius replied. ‘How pleasant to have someone to help me make that wretched trek back.’

They moved in silence, concentrating on the descent.

‘When?’ he asked as they finally arrived at the door of the hut.

The man smiled. ‘Now. Come in; I need you to drink something.’

‘What?’ Corbel asked, following Sergius into the hut.

‘No questions, no time. This,’ Sergius said, reaching for a cup on the scrubbed table, bare but for a few sweet sea daisies in a jug, ‘will cast away your resistance.’

Corbel frowned, looking inside at the contents. The liquid looked harmless and had no discernible smell.

‘You must drink it all,’ Sergius urged.

‘Only me?’

The man nodded. ‘I control my magic but I need you not to fight it. You look strong enough to do just that.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘This potion breaks resistance by making you compliant. Without it your body will instinctively fight the magic. We need you to go calmly.’

‘Where?’

‘Into the sea.’

‘Are you mad?’

‘Most people think so,’ the man replied, smiling kindly. ‘But that suits me.’

‘To drown,’ Corbel said flatly.

‘Trust me.’

‘Trust magic, don’t you mean?’

Sergius nodded, his expression filled with sympathy. ‘That too.’

‘Where am I going?’ Corbel pressed again.

‘In a way, you will choose, but whichever way you look at it, it’s away from here.’

‘Sergius?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m frightened.’

The old man smiled softly, placing his warm, dry hand on Corbel’s arm. ‘Don’t be, son. What you are doing is heroic. What I suspect you have already done was extremely courageous, more brave than either your father or the king could have managed — and they are both men of valour. You are doing this for Penraven … for the Valisar crown. Drink, Corbel.’

Mesmerised by the old man, oddly comforted by his lyrical voice and stirring words, Corbel drained the cup.

And as a bright, sharp awakening lit the night sky, Corbel De Vis walked into the sea, still burdened and filled with sorrow.

Brennus had just finished a rousing speech to his captains. The men had applauded him loudly off the makeshift podium and he could still hear their whistles and cheers. But no matter what he said or however much he had rallied their courage, even they sensed the cause was hopeless. He moved gloomily from the barracks; he had lied to the men and the only one who knew the truth of what was coming next was the man who strode in an angry silence alongside him.

Brennus broke into the awkward atmosphere between them. ‘There is no point in everyone dying, De Vis.’

‘Why do only you get to be the astoundingly brave one, your highness?’ his legate replied and his sarcasm could not be disguised.

Brennus knew his friend was hurting deeply. Sending Corbel away in the manner they did, with little explanation and no sense of what it might lead to, was taking its toll on De Vis. ‘This is not about bravery —’ he began.

‘It is, sire. We are all men of Penraven and we all feel the same way as you do. Why do you think your men proudly cheered for you? They admire your courage, and it provokes their own. We do not cower to any enemy, least of all the barbarian of the steppes.’

‘He will kill everyone who puts up resistance.’

‘So we’re already positive of failure?’ De Vis asked, his tone still sarcastic. ‘What happened to the mighty Penraven spirit? And, that aside, let us not fool one another, highness. He will kill everyone anyway! We might as well all die feeling heroic, fighting for something we believe in. I have to be honest — with my wife dead, my sons …’ He couldn’t finish.

‘What about that beautiful young thing whose hand has been offered. Are you going to ignore her?’

De Vis waved his hand as though the king’s comment was meaningless. ‘Let’s just say I have nothing I truly love to live for, other than to serve Valisar. I’m ready to die defending the crown.’

‘You always have been, Regor.’ Brennus shook his head angrily. ‘No, Loethar will not kill my people. I won’t permit such pointless savagery.’

‘He is a savage!’ De Vis spat, forgetting himself.

Brennus ignored the offence. ‘Listen to me, Regor. We know what he wants. We shall give it to him without a fight. But the terms are that he spares my people.’

‘He will not agree to such terms.’

‘You’ll be surprised.’

‘How can you be so sure, your highness?’

‘Trust me. He wants only one thing. And we know he is intelligent. What point is there to razing a city, killing all its inhabitants, when you want to be emperor? He needs people to rule. I’d rather Penravians answered to him until Leo is old enough to know his duty, to take action and avenge my death. This way at least there is hope for the Valisar resurrection.’

‘You truly believe Leo will claim back the realm?’

‘De Vis, don’t ask me such a question as though you yourself cannot believe in it! I have to hope. It’s all I have left.’ He shook his head, still very much in a state of disbelief. ‘I killed a baby!’ He didn’t admit that he’d had someone else do it and De Vis did not remind him who would truly bear the burden of that murder. ‘My wife …’ the king began, his voice leaden with grief.

‘She does not know, highness. She will never know. Gavriel will keep the secret.’

‘And Corbel … the murderer? How will he live with himself with an innocent’s blood on his hands? How can I? Corbel is as innocent as the child. The guilt is all mine.’

De Vis grit his teeth. There was no time now for this indulgent self-recrimination, especially when the child involved was his. The truth was that he did not know how he would come to terms with allowing his son to be given the task and then, in the midst of the young man’s fear and loathing, sending him away from everything familiar. ‘Corbel is gone, your highness. He is old enough to deal with his own demons. He will seek Lo’s forgiveness in his own way.’

‘I’ve asked too much of your family, De Vis.’

‘We always have more to give, your highness.’

Brennus stopped, took his friend’s hand and laid it against his heart. ‘Let me do this alone, Regor,’ he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion.

De Vis shook his head sadly. ‘I cannot, your highness. I took an oath before your father as he lay dying. I intend to remain true to that promise and to my realm. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it is now time to hand over all hope to our children. But we must make one final sacrifice in order to buy them time, give them that chance to avenge us.’

The king finally nodded. ‘Then organise a parley. Make Loethar an offer he finds irresistible. Surely even the barbarians grow weary of battle.’

‘I shall send out a messenger.’

‘No need,’ Brennus said, smiling sadly in the torchlight. ‘He will already be here, watching us.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘He took Barronel. I don’t imagine he could be this close to his prize and not search it out as fast as he could.’

‘Why has he not shown himself then, made demands?’

‘Because he’s savouring the moment, I imagine. I can feel him out there. He’s watching, waiting, enjoying our fear.’

‘What do you want me to do, highness?’

‘Ride out. He’ll meet with you. I’ll tell you what to say.’

De Vis shocked the king by dropping to one knee. ‘Your majesty, I beg you. Those who chose to flee already have. They’ve had enough time to reach the coast. Others, well,’ he shrugged. ‘They’ve decided to remain, take their chances, and they already know not to take arms against him. He will not slaughter them. But he cannot take Brighthelm with such ease. If it falls, let it fall with honour, nobly fighting. I shall go and meet with him — if he is to be found outside the city stronghold — but rather than making offers let us listen first to his demand.’

Brennus looked pained. ‘We already know what he wants, man! We can give it to him immediately and avert any further bloodshed.’

‘Your highness, humour me in this last request. Let me look our attacker in the eye. Let me fully understand what motivates him before I make any offer. If we are to die, let’s do so in the full knowledge of his reasoning.’

Brennus hesitated. He knew that De Vis’s plan was flawed, for it would only prolong the agony of what they faced. It was the vision of Iselda clutching the baby daughter that prompted him to agree. Surrendering slightly later rather than now would give him a few more days with the woman he loved, a few more days to ease his deeply troubled soul … a few more days to make his peace with Lo.

‘As you wish,’ he said, sighing softly.

De Vis kissed his king’s ring. ‘Thank you, your majesty.’

4

Del Faren was in love. The object of this love was the daughter of the sculptor Sesaro, who had been commissioned no fewer than three times to produce a likeness in polished stone of King Brennus. Not even into his sixth decade and young for someone already of his stature, Sesaro’s soaring career as one of the realm’s most popular artisans had already been cut short by fear of war. He had been working on a new fountain, a vast piece that was to grace one of the new squares that the crown had commissioned be built. The city had sprawled way beyond its original boundaries and the central marketplace no longer offered ease of access for people. King Brennus, who prided himself on design, had made a bold decision to re-model the city. He had drawn up his ideas and a city architect had been appointed to oversee the grand project that would yield three main squares. The current central square would function solely as a meeting place for Penravians, while one of the new squares would become the political area of the city, where the realm’s dignatories, councillors, and lords would meet for discussion and where formal ceremonies would take place on behalf of the crown. The other new square would be purpose-built for the new covered marketplace. Brennus’s recent extended voyage and stay at the city of Percheron — as a guest of Zar Azal — had opened his eyes to the beauty of a bazaar. Although Penraven’s market would hardly be filled with the aroma of Percheron’s mysterious spices, Brennus wanted to borrow the concept that people could do their marketing under cover and that permanent shops could be set up for the wealthier merchants. He was intrigued by the cunning use of wind-driven wooden sails in the Percherese bazaar, which brought fresh air through the covered alleyways and drove the stale air back outside. The coolness of its marble impressed him and more than anything his breath had been taken away by the souk’s sheer beauty, and the idea that something so functional could still be a piece of art. He wanted to leave a similar legacy to what Azal’s great-grandfather, Joreb, had begun, in ensuring that Percheron would be a place of singular beauty for its people as much as the visitor. Brennus hoped that Penraven and its capital of Brighthelm would be talked about as a city of bold beauty and although his city would not sparkle pale and pastel as Percheron did, he had hopes that it would be nonetheless dazzling in its use of the local multi-coloured stone.

But all of these plans, including Sesaro’s beloved fountain featuring the famous serpent of Valisar, had now been suddenly made irrelevant by the arrival of war. The threat had not arrested the soldier Faren’s love for Tashi, however, and he still planned to ask for her hand in marriage, despite her protestations.

‘Del, you are very sweet and very handsome but my father will want to give my hand to someone who can afford me the type of life that he wishes for his only daughter,’ she had explained gently, once again, only the previous evening. ‘And now with war all but upon us …’

‘Don’t speak of that, my love,’ Faren had beseeched. ‘Let us only focus on how much we love each other.’

‘I cannot deny that I have had feelings for you but we must be sensible. You are a foot soldier.’

‘An aspiring archer,’ he corrected.

She had nodded her acknowledgment as she continued. ‘Nevertheless, if I am to marry a military man my father would agree to nothing less than commander. I hear the legate needs a new wife,’ she had admitted, laughing coquettishly.

He had known in his heart that Sesaro would not be impressed by a mere archer, but he had remained undaunted, determined that he would win her, come what may. He had grabbed her around the waist and kissed her neck as she had tried to squirm away from his touch. ‘Bah, surely your father would want you to marry someone who is nineteen, not thirty years older? I will give you strong sons who will continue your father’s art and my military career, and daughters as beautiful as their mother to take care of their grandfather in his dotage.’

She had smiled at this. He had continued. ‘I have prospects, Tashi. I can be a major in a few years. Just watch me rise through the ranks with my courage and cunning.’ He had arched an eyebrow on the last word, laced his voice with a conspiratorial tone to amuse her, and pressed on. ‘We can have our own farm. I will ensure I’m based here in Brighthelm, we can —’

‘Del, you are dreaming. The barbarian is on our doorstep. This is no time to talk of marriage or children, farms or futures. We have to worry about surviving tomorrow. I beg you, stop this.’

‘I shall speak to your father.’

‘No!’

‘Why?’

‘I have told you why. Now, please, you must leave. I have errands to run and you surely have somewhere to be, knowing what our realm faces.’ And she had pulled herself from his grip, clearly growing tired of the ardent kisses he had been peppering on her sweet-smelling neck.

‘Tashi, I love you!’ he had called to her retreating back.

And she had turned. ‘I know, but it’s hopeless. You’re a boy. My father wants me to marry a man. I cannot see you again.’

What Tashi hadn’t explained to her besotted young lover was that Sesaro had already promised her to another, and it was only by chance that Faren discovered the truth later in the day. His commander had taken him off his usual duties to help another unit that was working on the battlements. ‘Your archery skills are put to far better use up on top, Faren,’ the commander had said. ‘Tell Commander Jobe that I have sent you. We need keen eyes and steady hands up there.’

Faren had leapt at the chance. If he acquitted himself well he could leapfrog perhaps even to captain, and that alone would prove to Tashi’s family that he was worth taking note of. Arriving at the battlements, he had presented himself to Jobe, who had nodded his happiness to have another talented archer at his disposal. He had been told to meet the others and to choose a weapon that suited his preferred weight and bow tension.

Faren had been in the process of doing this when he overheard several of the men joking together.

‘… she’s a beauty, ripe and ready,’ one of the men had said.

Another gave a low whistle. ‘She makes me feel weak whenever I glimpse her running through the market on her errands. The old man’s already given his permission, even provided the ring. It was her mother’s apparently so the lucky arse doesn’t even have to buy that and let’s face it he can afford anything he likes with who his friend is.’

The first nodded. ‘I’d give my left nut for a night with her.’

This had made the four men laugh and prompted a rush of lewd comments.

‘Ssh, here comes the captain.’

Faren had noticed a tall man walk up. ‘And what are you lot up to?’

‘Just checking the tensions on the bows, sir.’

Faren watched the captain’s scowl soften. ‘Listen, I know this is a rough time for all of us so I don’t mean to spoil what little time you have left for normal life. It’s all about to change dramatically and I wish it wasn’t so, but the legate’s aiming to have a parley. We should know by tonight exactly what we’re in for.’

‘Is he marrying her, then, captain, before the parley?’ the first soldier had asked, cheekily.

‘That’s none of your business, Brek. What the legate does is his affair.’ The captain’s mouth twitched at the corners. ‘But I think I would, war or not!’

This comment appeared to give the men permission to relax and they began to chuckle among themselves about how the ‘old man’ would need to take horse pills to keep his new bride satisfied in the marital bed. The jesting had turned darker, one man commenting that he’d better hurry up and enjoy her delights because Loethar wouldn’t spare him once the barbarian arrived.

Faren had only been half listening to the jesting when he heard one of the men mutter the name Sesaro. And then he heard the captain murmur ‘Tashi’ and his attention was more than pricked — it had become riveted. The more he listened, the more his mood had plummeted from intrigued, to alarmed, to dismayed and finally to enraged. They were talking about his prospective wife; it was Tashi to whom they had been making bawdy reference. And if he was to believe their gossip, then Sesaro had promised Tashi to Legate De Vis. It couldn’t be true!

‘You, Faren! What are you staring at?’ The captain shouted, noticing Faren’s attention.

‘Sir! Er, sorry, I was far away.’

‘Lo strike me, soldier, how can we rely on you to shoot straight if you aren’t even focused on your bow?’

‘Sorry, sir.’

The captain had sighed. ‘It’s all right, Faren. I think we’re all a bit jumpy.’

‘I couldn’t help overhearing, sir.’

His superior’s expression had turned sour. ‘Well, we shouldn’t be discussing Legate De Vis’s personal life.’

‘Do you mind my asking, though, sir, was this Tashi, Sesaro’s daughter? I know her but she hasn’t mentioned anything about a betrothal to me.’

‘It’s not my business to pass on private information, Archer Faren. You know that.’

‘I do sir, sorry sir, but Tashi is a friend and it might explain why she has seemed distant and worried,’ Faren had lied. ‘I thought she was fretting over the war —’

‘And I don’t doubt she is!’ the captain cut in.

‘Yes, sir, but I think from what the other men were saying that she’s probably upset about the legate.’

‘And you think you can help, do you, Faren?’

Faren shrugged, his rage burning but tightly disguised. ‘I can try. We grew up together, you see, so she trusts me.’

‘There’s really nothing you can do, Faren. You misunderstand. The reluctance is not on the part of Sesaro’s daughter. Her hand is already given. She is — from what I can gather — the enthusiastic partner to this potential marriage. It’s Legate De Vis who hesitates, so unless you have the ear of the legate and can advise him in his love life, I would suggest you get back to tightening that bow and worrying about landing real arrows into the hearts of our enemy rather than make-believe ones into those of lovers.’

So it was true. As the captain left him with a friendly squeeze to his arm, Faren had bristled with fury. That was why Tashi had cooled off toward him these past few weeks; she had only been playing with him, teasing him and enjoying his attention, his gifts, his youth. She’d hinted as much earlier today. He had to see her again; hear it from her lips, watch her head hang with shame as she explained herself.

‘Sir?’

‘You again, Faren?’

‘The wax is a bit dry. I think I shall need a fresh pot from the stores.’

‘You don’t need my permission,’ the captain had said, his tone brisk and slightly annoyed.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Faren said, hurrying towards the stairs.

‘Why they send up the dungeon boys I don’t know,’ the captain murmured under his breath. ‘I think they get overawed, shooting their bows up this high.’

‘They’ll be the death of us, right, captain?’ someone had quipped and everyone who heard it grinned, including Faren. But Faren’s had been the grim smile of the executioner.

The day had passed in a strange string of hours for Gavriel, linking weapons practice, a brief ride around the castle park, and kicking around leather stretched over a ball framework of the dried, highly flexible asprey reeds that held an inflated, waxed sheep’s bladder. This more frenzied activity had been punctuated by various meals, a visit to the chapel to say a prayer and light another candle for the dead princess and a meeting with the royal tutors who apologised that studies had been cancelled until further notice. All of this was highly unusual for Gavriel, of course, but for the prince much of it was a normal day’s proceedings, without the dreaded letters, numbers, and language. After the main meal of their day, which they had shared alone in Leo’s chambers, and as dusk gave way to twilight, Gavriel saw to it that the prince cleaned himself up, changed into fresh clothes and was presented neat and tidy to the queen. It had been an hour, probably more, since Gavriel had delivered the boy to the hollow, all-knowing aide known simply as Freath who greeted them at the entrance to Queen Iselda’s suite.

‘Good evening, majesty,’ he had said in his slow baritone. He glanced toward Gavriel, his gaze sliding quickly away.

Young though he was, Leo was a perceptive child and missed little. ‘Hello, Freath. I now have a full-time minder. This is Gavriel De Vis — I think you know his father.’

‘Indeed, I do,’ the man had said, not offering a hand. ‘You may wait outside for Prince Leonel,’ he said to Gavriel, who sensed the prince wince at the use of his full name.

As far as Gavriel knew, everyone disliked Freath, including Gavriel’s father, who was arguably the most generous person he knew. Seemingly ghostlike, the servant had been at the palace for a long time and never seemed to change his intimidating demeanour. Why the queen tolerated him was a mystery but he had been her right hand since Brennus had made Iselda his bride, fifteen years previous.

Leo had been swallowed up into the doorway that Freath now blocked so Gavriel could do little more than snatch a glimpse inside but he smelled the waft of perfume, and spied soft colours and flower arrangements. The door was closed by Genrie as she emerged from the queen’s chambers.

‘You again,’ she said.

Gavriel saw no smirk, heard no disdain in her tone, but even so the greeting was hardly friendly. ‘Yes. Consider me Prince Leo’s shadow.’

She regarded him, saying nothing and Gavriel felt his throat go dry. She really was very pretty. ‘Is that what you always aspired to be, Master De Vis? A nurserymaid to Prince Leonel?’

Gavriel adopted one of Corbel’s famous expressionless stares, refusing to be baited. ‘Firstly, he’s almost thirteen and needing to mature fast considering the situation we find ourselves in. Secondly, Lo willing he’s our next king and the more palace people who treat him as a potential ruler and not a child, the better.’

‘And you believe that the crown prince will make it to the throne?’ Again, she spoke evenly, no derision in her tone at all. And yet somehow it still sounded like a rhetorical question.

He answered it anyway. ‘I do. One day.’

She considered him with interest, a hand on her hip. ‘And the marauder they call Loethar can —’

‘Kiss my arse,’ Gavriel finished for her. He grinned and was delighted to win a smile from her.

She nodded. ‘I hope your humour keeps you safe.’

‘Marry me, Genrie,’ he teased, moving quickly to stand by her, even daring to circle her waist. ‘And we can run away from war and —’

‘Raise the crown prince together, I suppose?’

Gavriel laughed.

‘You’re not much older than he is,’ she said, a trace of condescension in her voice.

‘I’m seventeen summertides,’ he protested, feigning indignation. ‘More than enough.’

‘Not for me, Master De Vis,’ she replied, not unkindly. Untangling herself, she made to move away. ‘It takes more than bravado to impress this servant,’ she added.

‘Like what? Oh come on, Genrie. May I kiss you — not here, admittedly, although if you insist —’

‘I like older men, Master De Vis,’ she cut him off.

He made a face of disgust. ‘Like Master Freath, perhaps. Skin like parchment, teeth in decay, that hunched back.’

Her amusement vanished. ‘He’s none of those things. I’d hazard that he’s barely a few years older than our king.’

‘I was jesting, Genrie. But don’t be fooled by Freath. He strikes me as slippery, and I don’t trust him. Be careful.’

Genrie’s gaze narrowed. ‘I have no reason to mistrust the queen’s aide, Master De Vis.’

‘Just be warned. Now how about that kiss?’

Genrie flashed a brief smile, which was gone in a blink. Suddenly she was back to her briskly efficient self. ‘Good day, Master De Vis. In case you were wondering, there are no access points into or out of the queen’s chambers other than this one. Prince Leonel is safe.’

Gavriel nodded. ‘For now perhaps,’ he replied sadly, settling back to wait.

Leo finally emerged from his mother’s suite. His once almost white infant hair had darkened to a deep golden and the soft sprinkling of freckles had been lost beneath the browning of the sun. Gavriel felt sorry that the young prince needed to grow up much faster than even a royal normally would if he was to survive.

Leo looked grave; all the former bravado and humour had fled.

‘How is she?’ Gavriel asked, pushing away from the wall against which he’d been leaning.

‘Miserable. Lost, I think.’

‘Is she coming to your sister’s funeral?’

Leo shook his head. ‘Mother said she died without her help and hardly needs her now. Is that cruel, do you think?’

‘No, Leo, that’s grief. You’ll learn all about this in years to come,’ Gavriel said, feeling far too wise for his years all of a sudden. But then he’d learned enough about grief through his father, who had never stopped mourning Eril, their mother. He could counsel with genuine wisdom on how grief hardens someone, as it had hardened Regor de Vis. ‘Come on, I’ll take you up to the roof. It might be a while before we can do that again and then you can have some supper.’

‘Gav, when the time comes that you keep speaking about, what is the plan?’

Gavriel looked around, ensuring they could not be overheard. ‘We escape through the kitchens and the cellars. My father has worked out our route. We take nothing, Leo, remember that. Just the small sack you’ve already assembled.’

‘It’s just that when that time comes it probably means my father will be dead.’ He said it so flatly and it sounded so raw that Gavriel could do little other than to take a breath. Leo continued, unaware of his keeper’s discomfort. ‘And if father is dead that means only one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I am king,’ he replied, his large blue eyes looking up at Gavriel intently.

‘Yes, but —’

‘And a king does not run from his own palace.’

‘Leo, you know we cannot risk you,’ Gavriel said, feeling flustered. He ran his hand through his long hair. ‘There isn’t a good time to discuss what might happen should your father die but you have raised the issue so let’s talk about it now.’

‘Should father die, I would be King of Penraven,’ the prince reiterated. ‘That means you will do as I say, rather than the other way around,’ he added. There was nothing overbearing in what he said even though the words sounded high-handed, and yet Gavriel felt a fresh chill of worry creep through him.

‘But while your father is alive we all have to do as he says — and he has instructed that no matter what you say or do, I am to get you away from here once the fighting begins.’

‘But listen, Gav —’

‘Leo, if we leave it too late, then they will kill you too. Do you understand this?’

The prince nodded solemnly.

‘We cannot risk that the entire Valisar line is ended. You have to accept this. I know it’s hard and I know you want to be brave and be like your father and stay. I know you don’t want to leave your mother either but you are portable, almost invisible. They are not. I will carry you on my back if I have to but I know I can get you away, no one else. This is what everything is about — it’s about saving your life, protecting the line.’

‘And you would give up your life for it?’

‘If I have to, yes. That’s what honour is about; it’s what loyalty is and it’s the responsibility that comes with being one of the king’s nobles …’ He could see he was losing the boy’s attention with the rhetoric but he was thinking aloud for his own benefit now. He didn’t want to die. He certainly didn’t want his father to lay down his life so easily. And he definitely didn’t feel as brave as Corbel seemed to think he could be. The truth of it was that Gavriel was feeling sad. That was it. It hit him hard and he took a deep breath, only realising minutes later that the prince was shaking him.

‘Sorry, highness.’

‘Leo,’ the prince corrected. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Just thinking. Nothing important,’ Gavriel lied bleakly.

5

That evening, up on the battlements, standing briefly alongside his father while the prince was kept well out of sight admiring the weapons and talking to some of the soldiers, Gavriel watched with a sense of doom as a rider approached the main gate. He wore the insignia of Barronel but carried no weapon and yelled to the gatekeeper that he was one of the captains from the Barronel Guard. He looked so bedraggled that it was little wonder he drew only jeers from onlookers. But he persisted, until Gavriel heard his father say to one of his own captains that someone should see what he had to say. One of the archers listening nearby, spoke up hesitantly.

‘Er, sir?’

‘Yes,’ the legate said brusquely, annoyed by the interruption.

‘I think I know that man.’

‘You do?’

The archer nodded. ‘I think he is my brother-in-law.’

‘What?’

‘Sir, I, er, I think he’s married to my eldest sister. She left to live in Barronel a decade ago. I’ve only met him twice but I think it’s him.’

‘It’s dark, man. How can you be sure?’

‘His horse, sir,’ the archer said. ‘It’s a cantankerous brute. I recognise it by that white flame on its forelock and the splash of white at its right ankle. It was always an odd-looking beast.’

‘You’re sure now?’

The archer shrugged. ‘I believe it’s him.’

‘Captain, send this man to see what the rider has to say. It will be easier if relatives speak, rather than sending a stranger. Well done, soldier. Your name?’

‘Del Faren, Legate De Vis.’

De Vis nodded. ‘I won’t forget that name. Take precaution. They’re obviously using your relative as a messenger; they must be frightened we’ll attack one of their own. Find out what the barbarian wants.’

‘Sir,’ the archer said. ‘Ah, may I give him a note for my sister?’

‘You can write?’

The archer nodded. ‘A little, sir.’

‘You have one minute to scrawl something and then I want to see you out there and finding out more from him.’

The man nodded again, bowed and Gavriel was sure he must have imagined that the archer scowled at the legate as he pushed past.

The expectant hush that had fallen across the city over the past few days had infected the palace as well. Gavriel was sure that even from this height if he listened hard enough he could probably pick up the creaking of the rider’s saddle. A lot of people had fled the city but the majority had remained, trusting in their army’s strength, the impregnability of Brighthelm and their king’s ability to achieve a settlement. Gavriel reckoned many of them believed that Brennus had disguised his magical ability to coerce others but that he would now unleash it to negotiate a peaceful retreat of the barbarians. The De Vis family knew better.

‘Taking a long time,’ the legate muttered to the captain nearby.

‘Probably the note, sir,’ the man answered candidly. ‘Or he’s scared.’

‘He didn’t seem scared when he volunteered.’

‘He’s out, father,’ Gavriel offered and the conversation was forgotten as everyone leaned over to watch Del Faren approach the rider. The population on the battlements became so still and silent they could just catch the murmur of the two men.

‘Not very friendly are they, considering they’re family,’ De Vis commented.

The captain shrugged. ‘Perhaps his sister has been killed in the fighting.’

De Vis ignored the response, turning back instead to see the rider hand Faren a note in return which Faren pocketed.

Gavriel thought the spectacle was done with, and had just raised his hand to the rider who gazed up at them forlornly when a sound whistled out of the nearby woodland. In the blink of an eye the tip of an arrow had punctured straight through the rider’s heart and out between his ribcage. As the rider slumped forward, revealing the stub of the arrow’s shaft protruding from his back, the horse obediently answered a whistle, turning to canter back into the shadows of the trees.

‘Bastards!’ De Vis growled. ‘Get that archer before me, now!’ he ordered. ‘In the garret.’ He turned to his son. ‘Get the prince and follow me. And someone fetch the king!’ Runners took off in various directions.

In the quiet of the garret, De Vis addressed his son and the prince alone. ‘Your highness. Gavriel. I suspect the moment for your escape approaches. Do you understand, both of you?’

Gavriel glanced at the youngster. ‘Yes, father. Leo, er, the prince and I have discussed it. I know what is expected of me.’

‘Don’t even look back, son,’ De Vis replied, his voice suddenly tender. ‘All our hopes are riding on your shoulders and the courage of Prince Leo.’

A man appeared at the door. ‘Tell him to wait until the king arrives,’ De Vis called, returning his attention to the pair of youngsters. ‘All right, then. My prince, your father has been summoned and I’m sorry but this will be your best opportunity to say farewell to him before I ask Gavriel to remove you from here. The secret of your escape will be known only to myself and the king. Your whereabouts I take with me to my grave.’

‘Don’t, father —’ Gavriel began but was silenced by a fierce glance from the older man.

‘No pretence now. We know what we face. We each have our duty. Don’t let our deaths be in vain.’ He cleared his throat of the emotion that had begun to sound in his voice as the king arrived.

‘I heard we’ve had a rider,’ Brennus said, striding into the garret and bringing the smell of the queen’s perfume in with him. Gavriel inhaled it as though taking in the essence of life. When would he smell something so beautiful again? He glanced at Leo and could imagine the boy thinking much the same and perhaps silently fretting over his mother.

‘Your majesty,’ De Vis, began, ‘a rider has delivered a note to us.’

Gavriel watched Brennus’s expression darken.

‘Terms, you think?’ he asked.

De Vis shook his head. ‘Where is Faren?’

The archer was almost manhandled in.

‘Well, show us, then!’ the king ordered, more ferociously than perhaps he intended. Faren flinched.

It was De Vis who snatched the note and read it. ‘Well, it seems Loethar has perfect command of our written language. Or he had someone write this for him — perhaps the poor sod recently slain. Either way, majesty, he requests that you meet him for a parley.’

The king looked surprised. ‘But this is what we want.’

‘I can’t allow you to take him up on the offer, your highness. I will go in your stead. I agree it’s important we meet but we cannot risk you.’

Brennus nodded. ‘Has he said when, where?’

De Vis handed the note to the king. ‘He is bold. He is happy to meet in front of Brighthelm, in full view of Penraven but obviously out of range of archers.’

‘Doesn’t trust us?’ Brennus said, his tone laden with sarcasm.

De Vis gave a grim smile. ‘Seems not.’

‘It says here he will meet at the sound of a bell. His, I presume?’

De Vis shrugged. ‘I’ll be ready.’ He turned to Faren. ‘You may go.’

Once again Gavriel saw the man glare defiantly at his father, although Legate De Vis hardly noticed the archer’s expression. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘One more thing.’

‘Yes, legate.’

‘How is your sister?’

Faren shrugged, slightly embarrassed. ‘He wasn’t my brother-in-law, sir. The horse wasn’t the one I thought it was once I got up close.’

‘I wouldn’t think your brother-in-law would have a horse that answers to the whistle of our enemy.’

‘No, sir.’

‘But if it wasn’t your family why did you give him the note?’

‘He said he would find my sister for me if he could.’

‘I see. And are you aware the man was shot in the back by our not so gallant enemy?’

‘I am, sir, yes. Shocking.’

De Vis studied the archer. ‘I trust nothing incriminating or dangerous was in that note, Faren?’

The archer looked deeply affronted. ‘Why would I do such a thing?’ he demanded, adding ‘sir’ as an afterthought. ‘He got killed after I’d given it to him, sir. It was too late to worry about it then.’

Gavriel couldn’t help but mistrust the man. There was something cunning lurking behind that innocent expression, something directed at his father that he couldn’t for the life of him work out.

‘All right, Faren. Back to your post.’

The man bowed to his king, banged his fist against his heart to the legate and departed.

‘Something’s amiss there, father,’ Gavriel said, unable to stop himself.

‘Yes, I noticed. All the more reason for you to take your leave. Your majesty, I have instructed Gavriel to put the plan into action. The prince and he should leave immediately.’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ Brennus agreed.

The Valisar king turned to his son. ‘Come here, Leo, my boy. We must now say goodbye, you and I.’

Gavriel was as unhappy as Leo was to be hurrying down the stone steps away from where all the action was about to take place. The farewell between both pairs of fathers and sons had been stilted as each individual did his best to quell his emotion. Gavriel felt the goodbye as a pain at the back of his throat, as though grief had taken a form and now resided as a diseased lump … a cancer.

‘Gav, we have to watch what happens,’ Leo suddenly said, stopping short. ‘If we leave right now we’ll have no idea what has occurred, and therefore what are the best decisions to make once we’re on the run.’

The prince was right. Gavriel bit his lip as he thought it through. ‘I was going to give you time to speak with your mother.’

‘When I hugged her tonight I already felt like I’d said goodbye. She was so sad. I don’t want to see her crying like that again … unless we can take her with —’

‘We can’t,’ Gavriel interrupted. ‘I’m sorry, Leo.’

The prince’s lips thinned. ‘But you agree we need to know what’s happening, don’t you?’

‘Yes. I’m thinking we can see it from the spare watchtower.’

‘The one with the broken hinge on the door, you mean?’

Gavriel nodded. ‘No one uses it but we can probably get a reasonable view of what’s happening. We’ll also be out of everyone’s way.’

‘Come on!’ Leo said, bounding up the rest of the flight of stairs.

They encountered no one of note on their way; a few servants passed, rushing about their business, but they hardly glanced in the boys’ direction. Until of course they ran into Genrie.

‘Majesty, Master De Vis,’ the servant said, striding in her usual manner, arms laden with heavy linen. She curtsied to the prince as she stopped.

‘Genrie,’ Gavriel said as they approached. Leo said nothing but Gavriel could all but see smoke erupting from his ears at the delay. ‘Need help?’ he offered.

‘I can manage, thank you,’ she replied. ‘Where are you hurrying to?’ She cast a stern glance towards the prince but she addressed Gavriel. He wished she hadn’t done either.

‘Actually, none of your business,’ Leo replied.

‘Well, can I let someone know you are in this part of the palace, your majesty?’ It was offered sincerely, no hint of curiosity in her voice. Gavriel believed she was genuinely being polite.

‘Why?’ Leo asked.

She was undeterred by his uncharacteristically brusque manner. ‘This area is mainly storage. I just thought —’

‘Don’t think, please, Genrie, not on my behalf anyway,’ Leo said and Gavriel frowned as the prince moved on. He threw a glance of apology toward Genrie but she appeared unimpressed by his politeness or by the prince’s rudeness. She’d already turned her back on him.

Once inside, Gavriel pushed the door closed quietly. ‘Why are you so determined to be rude to Genrie?’

‘I told you. She dislikes me and it’s obvious. And that’s fine, I don’t care. But I don’t appreciate her snoopy ways. She’s far too interested in my life, always giving me looks of disapproval.’

Gavriel sighed and when Leo pointed toward a candle, he shook his head. ‘No flame. We’d light up like a beacon from outside and I just know my father will know who it is.’

‘Mine too,’ Leo said, conspiratorially. ‘Have we missed much?’

‘Nothing as far as I can tell. If you stand on that old crate, you’ll see better,’ Gavriel said, pointing. ‘That window will give you a good view.’

Leo did as suggested and a silence fell over them both as they spotted Legate De Vis guiding his horse slowly out from beneath the great gates of Brighthelm. He held himself proudly erect and Gavriel noted that his father had shown immense faith in the barbarian leader’s request for parley, taking himself unarmed toward the enemy.

Leo seemed to read his thoughts. ‘Your father is not wearing his sword or any armour,’ he said, awe in his voice.

‘It’s a peaceful discussion,’ Gavriel said, although the callous death of the Barronel rider suggested it was anything but that.

‘A peaceful discussion?’ The prince scowled. ‘Before we all start trying to kill each other, that is.’

‘There’s Loethar,’ Gavriel said, pressing forward, squinting as he saw a shadow move against the line of trees.

‘Does he really think he’s out of range of our archers?’

‘No. He knows he’s not. He won’t take any chances. They’ll talk, that’s all.’

‘I wish I could hear their conversation.’

Gavriel nodded silently in the dark of their tower. The torch his father carried threw a bright glow around the parley spot, which was well past the halfway mark between the castle and the woodland. Once again he felt a surge of love for his father’s bravery. Loethar moved his horse forward into that circle of light now and Gavriel held his breath, certain that every other person watching — especially the king — did the same.

Initially both men sat seemingly relaxed in their saddles, leaning slightly toward each other. But the language of their bodies quickly changed when the barbarian stiffened. Alarm pulsed through Gavriel as he saw his father open his arms at his side, in a strange gesture that echoed of an attempt to convey innocence. And then, suddenly, the marauder reached behind his back and lifted a mean-looking blade clear of a hidden scabbard. It was a fluid movement, clearly one he had performed countless times previously and Loethar didn’t break speed or rhythm as he brought the blade down onto the legate’s head with all of his body’s force, cleaving a grisly path that ended midway through the soldier’s neck.

Gavriel let out a sound of anguish and then his stomach heaved at the momentary glimpse of one side of his father’s head falling away before his body slumped unnaturally sideways. The legate’s horse started at the unnatural movement, turning a frantic circle before dashing off toward the trees. Gavriel could see little other than what the moon and the torch — now smouldering in the grass — could highlight, but the vague shapes told him that his father had fallen to the ground. The legate’s foot was still stuck in the stirrup and although it was bent at an unnatural angle, it clung doggedly and his body was being dragged behind the now panicked horse.

Loethar was yelling from somewhere in the dark. Gavriel could no longer make out his shape but his voice carried through the still, suddenly unnaturally silent night.

‘I demanded to see you, Brennus, not your lackey! And now that you have insulted me, not even paid me the due respect, I will slaughter every member of your family and one member from every family who lives in Penraven. Do not let it be said that I am not a magnanimous emperor of the Set for I shall let them choose who dies. But there will be no mercy for the Valisars.’ He spat, turned his horse and rode for the trees, long before the first archer could refocus sufficiently to unleash a single arrow into the darkness.

Gavriel stood unsteadily, swallowing back the desire to vomit, to scream, to hurt Loethar. Breathing shallowly he gasped, ‘Leo, we go now.’

‘Gavriel,’ an equally shocked prince began.

‘Now!’ Gavriel yelled into Leo’s face and the youngster fled toward the door.

And then they were running.

With the trees to shield them Loethar stood with Stracker at the head of the two units he’d ordered to follow him to Penraven. It had not been his intention to try and take Brighthelm this night but golden opportunities rarely flagged their arrival in advance. And today a particularly precious one presented itself to him via a curious note that had been given to the Barronel prisoner. The Barronel prisoner they had made use of had been swiftly despatched in front of the Penravian audience but the horse had brought his body back and with it a note from a disgruntled soldier called Del Faren. Faren had curiously offered to open the eastern side gate. In return he requested they slaughter Legate De Vis publicly.

‘Do you think it’s a trick?’ Stracker mused, watching lights being extinguished all over Brighthelm as the king ordered its shut down.

Loethar didn’t answer immediately, stroking Vyk’s large head instead while he considered the situation. He too watched candlelight and torches winking out all over the massive castle, which had been so brightly illuminated for their arrival. A show of power, no doubt. He smiled in the dark. It seemed Brennus had been expecting him but if Valya’s information was correct, Brennus and De Vis were blood brothers. The king would not have expected the death of his legate and close friend.

‘No,’ he said finally. ‘Faren, I suspect, is a traitor.’

‘Having the head of the army slaughtered is certainly a daring move. He must trust you to be a man of your word.’

Loethar shrugged. ‘De Vis is expendable. It was no hardship to me.’

‘So you think we can trust this Faren?’

‘I trust no one. But I think he will be shocked that we took him at his word and did as he requested in killing De Vis. He’ll have little choice now about opening the gate for he knows I can tell the king who betrayed him. I imagine this is a man with a grudge and that desire for revenge has now been answered. A weak man — as he obviously is — will feel compelled to obey the plan, lacking in courage or imagination to do otherwise.’

‘So we go?’

Loethar nodded. ‘We only have one chance at this. If we send a scouting party, they may well get in but that won’t be enough of us to take the castle.’ He scratched at his beard, the trinkets of silver that pierced his skin making a soft jangle as he did so. ‘We all go.’

There was no time to pick up anything and Gavriel was grateful that he was already wearing his sword and dagger. As they neared the kitchens, he realised he was running so hard he was almost on top of the prince. As they burst through into the main preparation area, their arrival scattered pots and pans loudly. But instead of seeing Cook Faisal and his team, Gavriel found himself staring at the person he least expected to see in the kitchens.

‘Master Freath,’ he said, stunned.

‘Your highness,’ Freath acknowledged first, before inclining his head ever so briefly at Gavriel. ‘Master De Vis.’

‘Why are you here?’ Gavriel demanded.

The man looked down his aquiline nose at him. ‘I wasn’t aware I needed your permission.’

‘Where is everyone?’ Gavriel replied, ignoring the reprimand, looking around uncertainly. Was this a trap too?

‘I imagine you can work that out yourself, Master De Vis. There seems to be quite a show going on out there.’

‘How dare you, you bastard!’

‘Gavriel!’ The prince slid away from his champion and stood between the two men. ‘Be calm,’ he warned, sounding almost like his father. ‘Master Freath, where is Cook?’

Freath nodded once politely at the boy’s manners. ‘I have dismissed most of the kitchen staff upon the queen’s orders. In fact many staff are dismissed. I think you misunderstood me earlier, Master De Vis. Loethar and his men have already breached Brighthelm. Word has come down from the battlements from King Brennus himself that we have been betrayed by one of our own. Someone opened a side gate, and too many of the barbarian horde breached Brighthelm, I gather, before we realised we had a traitor in our midst.’

‘Faren,’ Gavriel murmured.

‘I wouldn’t know. None but the key staff is required to do anything other than return to their families. We no longer have any stronghold. Our soldiers are now fighting for their lives.’

Gavriel felt his insides twist with fear. Brighthelm breached! He thought it would be weeks, possibly months of siege before the Valisar stronghold showed any signs of weakening. And he had held to the hope that Loethar would tire of the endless waiting, that a peace could be negotiated. The vision lingered of his father’s shape being dragged behind a horse, his head in halves. ‘And you, Master Freath? Why do you remain?’ Gavriel asked rudely.

Gavriel knew that the Valisar family liked Freath but the manservant worked primarily for the queen and none of the De Vis family came into contact with him much. Gavriel had never fully warmed to the wintry, somehow superior, expression Freath wore most of the time. If he were honest, on the occasions he did come into contact with him, he found the man’s acute intellect unnerving.

‘I have no family, Master De Vis. The palace is my home, the royals are the people closest to me in the world.’

‘Indeed. Did the king tell you anything else?’

‘That I was to await your arrival and give you a message.’

Leo stepped forward. ‘What is it, Master Freath? Does he wish me to go to my mother?’

‘No, your highness. His message was rather cryptic. He wishes you to follow the plan, but not to leave as originally arranged. He believes the marauding barbarian to be far more cunning than we have given him credit for. We already know from his recent action against the legate that he has no honour whatsoever.’ Gavriel bristled. ‘Master de Vis, forgive me if I sound insensitive. The fact is your father is dead and nothing can be done to change that. Couple this with the fact that time is of the essence and you have a situation in which my words sound harsh … cruel, even.’

Gavriel clenched his jaw, unmoved by the hollow apology. ‘What are the king’s instructions for our crown prince, Freath?’

The queen’s aide straightened. ‘He suspects we are already surrounded. You cannot hear it down here but the fighting is fierce. Do not set foot out of Brighthelm.’

‘Did he tell you what we should do?’ Leo asked, aghast.

Freath shook his head, his expression grim. ‘I’m sorry, your highness,’ he said, looking only at Leo. ‘He seemed to think that you alone would know.’

Leo turned to Gavriel. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Where?’ Gavriel asked, feeling helpless. He ran a hand through his hair, glowering at Freath. ‘You’d better return to her highness.’

‘Oh, I intend to, Master De Vis, now that I’ve fulfilled this errand. Your highness,’ he bowed low, ‘may Lo light your path and keep you safe.’ At Gavriel he simply nodded as he pushed past them. Gavriel mumbled a curse under his breath at the aide’s tall, narrow frame.

‘Come on!’ Leo urged. ‘We have to go back into the castle.’

‘You know if we do that we’ll be trapped. There’s nowhere to hide indefinitely.’

Leo frowned. ‘There is a way out — it’s risky, a bit dangerous, too, but we have no other choice.’

It didn’t sound very encouraging but Gavriel had nothing else to offer. He ran out after the youngster and behind him heard the main kitchen door smash open.

Gavriel felt a surge of panic break through the stupor he had begun to drift into. ‘Run!’ he growled.

6

Loethar felt a pulse running through his body that he could liken only to the flashes of awakening that the sky experienced from time to time during a storm. Although he showed little in his expression, he was elated to finally have his prize in front of him: the King of Penraven, 8th of the arrogant, powerful Valisars that had ruled the region and virtually controlled the Set for centuries. He smiled at Vyk, who was awkwardly hopping around the king.

‘Hurry up, Loethar,’ Brennus said testily, as though bored with a game. He ignored the raven that now flew to sit on the barbarian’s shoulder.

Loethar certainly admired the man’s composure. It was true, he was prolonging this, savouring the moment he’d dreamed about from angry childhood into bitter adulthood. ‘Forgive my amusement. I expected someone tall and imposing. Instead, here you stand, not so far off my own age I’m guessing, of unimpressive height, with no distinctive features.’

Brennus returned the marauder’s stare with defiance but also bafflement. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’

‘Are you so tired of life, Brennus?’

‘I’m tired of you,’ the king replied and his tone was caustic.

‘Yes, I’d noticed. But that’s another secret isn’t it?’

Brennus sighed, sounding bored. ‘You have visions of empire and yet you are not honourable enough to lead anything more than the pack of rats you call your people. We think of them as vermin. Don’t get too comfortable, barbarian. Someone, somewhere, sometime will deal with you.’

‘One of your own perhaps?’ Loethar asked, enjoying the conversation.

‘Who knows? I’d like to think so. I’d like to go to my god imagining a Valisar blade cutting through your head in the same way that you brutalised a good man just an hour ago. A man who did not deserve such an ignoble end.’

‘Your soulmate’s blood is on your hands, Brennus, not mine. If you had not insulted me he would not have had to die in the manner you describe. Your lack of courage killed him.’ He was amused to watch the king’s face redden with rage. It was obvious Brennus did not lack for courage but it was fun to bait him all the same.

‘You’re too good for beheading, barbarian. The Set will yield someone who will find a way to give you a death that you justly deserve.’

‘So you keep threatening, Brennus. I will not be quaking in my boots and looking over my shoulder, that’s a promise.’

‘At your own peril, then, barbarian.’

Loethar laughed. ‘You know what I’ve come for, Brennus.’

‘A wasted journey. I don’t possess what I assume you are referring to.’

‘The Enchantment is what I chase. With it I shall control the Set without so much as a squeak of trouble from its people. After I’ve finished with them they will be none the wiser that they ever had separate realms or royals. I will be their ruler, judge, jury and executioner.’

‘You are delusional, barbarian. I have nothing of what you seek and if I did I would die before I allowed you to use it. Surely if I had any power I would have used it against you already.’

‘Perhaps I am unreceptive?’ Loethar suggested.

Brennus smirked.

‘Well, at least you concur that such a power exists.’

‘If it does I have no knowledge of it. You are chasing an unreachable dream. None of the people of the Set will ever give you loyalty. They will bow to your supremacy, right now, I’m sure of it, but they will hatch plans around you. You are already a dead man. It is simply a matter of time.’

The king’s threat smacked of truth. Loethar’s eyes narrowed. ‘Bring me the queen.’ He watched all the bravado that had fuelled the king’s fighting speech instantly dissipate from Brennus’s eyes; although the king said nothing, his expression betrayed him as he warily looked to the doorway of the salon where he had been brought.

Loethar continued conversationally. ‘This is a magnificent chamber, Brennus. I applaud your realm’s artistic skills.’ The king ignored him, his eyes searching the doorway. ‘I thought Barronel had enviable style but I’d hazard Penraven has everything a barbarian tyrant could possibly want. I’m going to enjoy making this my seat of power.’

He watched Brennus fight to find anything to say and then lose the battle, his shoulders slumping as Iselda was escorted in, her hand tightly holding that of Piven, who was skipping at her side, heedless of the tense atmosphere.

‘Iselda,’ Loethar said, deliberately dropping all formality. ‘The descriptions of your beauty do not do you credit.’

The queen had eyes only for Brennus. She said nothing to Loethar. Vyk’s interest had turned to Piven; the bird swooped down to the boy’s head, hopping onto his outstretched arm. The boy seemed mesmerised by the great bird.

‘And this I imagine is the freak adopted son,’ Loethar continued.

Iselda’s jaw tightened. ‘Call your filthy vermin off!’ she said, flapping at Vyk, who swooped away, landing not far from the child. ‘This is Piven. He is a simpleton, yes. He is also harmless and deserves none of your attention.’

As if on cue, Piven broke from her grip and ran toward Loethar, leaping onto the man’s legs. Loethar, taken by surprise, was astonished that he managed to catch the child. He laughed as he lifted him into his arms. ‘Now you see, Brennus, if only all your people were cretinous like your son here, we could all be friends.’ He put Piven down but the boy continued holding his hand, smiling angelically. ‘I’m going to enjoy killing you in front of him.’

Loethar believed it was likely the presence of the innocent child that finally broke the king’s spirit. Without warning Brennus lunged toward one of the barbarian’s guards and grabbed a dagger. Plunging it into his own neck, he ripped it angrily across his throat, a guttural noise directed at his queen accompanying his final act.

Loethar was upon him in a moment, ignoring the queen’s shrieks. Piven, too, moved to the king’s side, dipping his fingers into his father’s blood as it spurted impressively from the king’s neck. The boy grinned vacantly toward his mother and back again at Loethar. Loethar stared down upon the dying king, angry that he had not suspected Brennus was capable of this.

‘Your days are already numbered,’ the king groaned defiantly, his eyes closing as death claimed him.

Loethar roared his anger and ripped his sword from its scabbard. With a howl of fresh ferocity he brought the blade down to sever the king’s head from his neck. The queen swooned but she clung nevertheless to one of her enemy minders, clearly determined to remain upright and strong in the face of such barbarity. She did, however, close her eyes as Loethar reached for Brennus’s head.

Holding it by the king’s wavy, ever so slightly silvered hair, he handed the head to Piven, who couldn’t hold it but dragged it over to his mother with a curious look of wonder on his face. Her husband’s royal blood streaked the bottom of Iselda’s pale gown as Piven tried proudly but failed to lift the head.

Loethar turned to Stracker and murmured, ‘You know what to do.’

Stracker nodded and left the chamber.

Loethar returned his attention to the struggling queen. She was pale and trembling, and seemingly too shocked to weep, but she impressed him all the same with her dignity.

‘You’ll have a chance to farewell your husband properly, your highness,’ Loethar said. ‘I will see you in a few hours. Take the time to compose yourself, change your gown, perhaps.’

He watched her take a long slow breath, her eyes still closed. He had imagined she would scream hysterically when he killed her husband before her. But it appeared the queen had gathered all her pain inside while forcing her courage to the fore. He admired that. She was certainly far more beautiful than he’d imagined. Valya would be even more jealous than she already was of the Valisar Queen.

‘Take the queen to her apartments,’ he ordered, ‘until I call for her.’ He watched as her husband’s headless corpse was unceremoniously dragged away by its feet, no doubt on Stracker’s instructions.

‘Come, Piven,’ she said softly, finally opening her eyes, looking only at her child, ignoring the object to which he clung.

‘I’ll be needing that head, majesty,’ Loethar said.

‘Leave that down now, Piven,’ she said to her boy, her voice as gentle as a soft summertide breeze. Her kindness reminded Loethar briefly of how he’d often wished his own mother had treated him. For a moment he felt envious of the halfwit.

‘Leave the boy, too, your highness.’ He raised his hand as she swung around, startled. ‘I will not harm him. He’ll be a nice playmate for my raven. They seem to suit one another, don’t you think?’

‘What do you want with him?’ she demanded, glancing down at Piven, who was still clinging to his father’s hair. Loethar noticed she had to stop herself from retching as she finally looked upon her husband’s remains. He could almost feel sorry for her.

‘I like him. He shall be my new pet, alongside Vyk.’

‘Pet?’ she echoed, aghast, her face a mask of despair. ‘Sooner you kill him, barbarian. He has no concept of his life, in truth. Perhaps he is best dead.’

‘Fancy a mother saying that,’ Loethar replied, derision in his voice. ‘Tsk … tsk. Even stepmothers should offer some love.’

‘He bears the Valisar name. For that you should accord him just a little respect, even if you will not show that same respect to his father or his mother.’

‘I shall send for you soon, your majesty. I thought that by keeping your son with me it might prompt you to stay obedient. But now that I know you have a heart of stone — that you would wish your own child dead — I can tell you would likely follow your husband’s theatrical lead and kill yourself. That would be most disappointing for me. Guards! The lad remains here, chained like the little beast he is now for me. Escort the queen to her rooms. She is to be treated with care and kept under watch at all times. She is not to be left alone — no matter how she begs — for so much as a heartbeat. Take her. Piven?’

The youngster turned and Loethar, pleased that he at least recognised his name, was amused beyond belief when the boy ran to him open-armed.

‘Leo, steady!’ Gavriel hissed, reaching awkwardly for the prince.

‘My father,’ Leo whispered, his distraught young face ghostly in the dim light of the one low candle they permitted themselves.

Gavriel squeezed the boy’s shoulder. ‘You should never have seen that.’

‘Now we have both had to watch our fathers die,’ Leo said, his whisper unable to hide his grief.

There was nothing Gavriel could say to ease the pain. He was still trying to deal with the recurring image of his own father’s brutal slaying. He wanted to say that at least King Brennus had taken his life on his own terms but was afraid his words would sound callous.’ What about Piven?’ Leo groaned.

Gavriel peeped through the holes bored into the stone. ‘He looks happy.’

‘He always looks like that.’

‘True, but he’s safe for now. I think if Loether was going to kill your mother or brother it would already be done.’ He saw Leo nod, felt a tiny measure of relief. ‘Let’s think about our own situation,’ he said, hoping to distract his charge.

‘What do you think of my hiding spot?’ Leo asked, following Gavriel’s lead.

Gavriel was sure they’d be whispering like this for days to come. ‘Inspired. Who knows about this?’

‘Only my father.’

‘So now only you?’

‘It’s a secret known only to the king and heir, passing down through generations that way.’

‘So that’s why Freath was given such a cryptic message.’

Leo nodded. ‘father showed it to me when the troubles in the Set began several moons ago. He called it the ingress. It was built into the castle walls by King Cormoron centuries ago.’

Gavriel looked around at the narrow corridor in which they found themselves. Leo had had the forethought to grab a lantern as they ran into it via an exquisitely disguised entrance that even someone lifting the tapestry would likely not notice, and had used its flame to light a few tiny candles, that threw a ghostly glow but one still low enough not to attract attention through the peepholes they were now using to spy through. There was not sufficient room for the two of them to stand side by side and Gavriel thanked his stars he didn’t suffer Corbel’s dislike of enclosed spaces. He touched the cool stone. This hidden walkway had been deliberately designed and built for spying he now realised, exactly as they were, into the king’s main salon where presently Loethar presided.

‘Cormoran was obviously a man who trusted no one.’

‘Father used to play in these tiny spaces when he was a boy. His father told him about it when he was much younger than I am. I wish I’d known about it longer. I could have listened to so many conversations.’

‘Perhaps that’s why he didn’t mention it earlier,’ Gavriel whispered, his gaze never leaving Loethar. The barbarian sat quietly in a high-backed chair, watching Piven paint pictures on the floorboards with his father’s blood. ‘Is it limited to just behind this chamber?’

A cunning smile broke across the prince’s mouth. ‘No. There are several access points and all the main public chambers have these hidden chambers in the walls. So do some of the more private ones — my father’s salon, my mother’s apartments…’ Gavriel immediately decided Cormoron hadn’t trusted his queen. ‘… kitchen. I haven’t seen them all. But they’re all this tiny and uncomfortable.’

Gavriel’s attention returned to what Leo was saying. ‘No complaints,’ he admonished in a tight whisper. ‘It has saved not only your life but the Valisar line. There’s enough room to lie down, so we can sleep. If we keep the candles low and small, and only lit during daylight hours, we should go unnoticed indefinitely.’

‘What about food?’

‘I’ll have to think about that.’

‘I know how to get into and out of the kitchens. I’ve stolen birdcakes when Cook’s back was turned but this is obviously more risky.’

‘We’ll work something out,’ Gavin replied noncommittally.

‘Gavriel,’ the prince said solemnly. ‘I will never lose that image of father killing himself.’

‘I know, Leo. Look —’

‘No, wait. What I was about to say is that I’m deliberately going to carry that memory. Although few people take me seriously yet, I am a Valisar. That has been drummed into me since I was old enough to pay attention. Whatever I have to do to stay alive and make the barbarian pay for his cowardly deeds, I will do. So I’ll find us food and I’ll get us out when the time is right. We’ll have to learn the movements of their guards first.’

Gavriel wanted to cheer for the prince but his throat tightened with emotion at Leo’s stirring words and he just nodded, before saying, ‘We have to take off anything that could make noise, Leo. We’ll have to move around these narrow spaces in silence. If you’re going to sneeze or cough, you’ll have to smother it. We’ll need to tiptoe and whisper at all times.’

‘Lucky we had on our travel coats,’ Leo added.

And that reminded them both of being on the battlements and what had happened since.

Gavriel deliberately distracted the boy’s thoughts again, as well as his own. ‘We’ll have to pick a place to leave our waste. It’s not going to smell very nice soon but —’

Leo shook his head. ‘My great-grandfather thought of that,’ he whispered. ‘He and his son built an opening to piss down. It links up with a drophole.’

‘Ingenious,’ Gavriel muttered.

‘I’ll take you later to a spot where we can even sit down to take a shi —’

‘Surely not?’ Gavriel said, genuinely impressed.

Leo actually grinned. ‘It’s true, I tell you. The kings before us have thought of everything.’

‘They obviously enjoyed spying on people.’ Gavriel’s attention was grabbed by movement at the side of the room. The man called Stracker was back and the raven, which had been sitting quietly, was suddenly alert on its perch on one of the high-backed chairs. Gavriel nodded at Leo, and put a finger to his lips.

‘Back already?’ Loethar asked.

‘The cook is planning a feast for you tonight … if he can stop himself from gagging. He’s taken the king’s death hard.’ Stracker laughed.

‘Good,’ Loethar said. ‘I can still hardly believe I allowed it to happen that way. I should have known better.’

‘There’s someone waiting outside I thought you should meet.’

‘Who?’

‘The name’s Freath. Says he thinks he knows where you can find the other son.’

Gavriel stiffened behind the wall. ‘I’m going to kill that bastard,’ he hissed.

‘Lo save us!’ Leo murmured as Freath was brought in before Loethar. The aide did not look at all frightened. ‘But he doesn’t know where we are!’

‘Are you sure?’

Leo nodded, his mouth set. ‘I told you — no one else alive knows about the ingress except us two. And Piven, actually — he came exploring with me a couple of times.’

‘He doesn’t count.’

They heard Loethar’s voice and turned their attention back to the king’s salon.

‘And you are?’

‘The queen’s aide. Er, how should I address you, Master Loethar? Forgive me; I’m unsure of the protocol toward overthrowers of kings.’

Gavriel watched Loethar’s head snap sharply up from papers on Brennus’s desk to the man before him. He couldn’t see Loethar’s face but he imagined the barbarian’s eyes had narrowed as he scrutinised the servant, the silence lengthening. Meanwhile Vyk gave the newcomer a onceover, swooping down to hop around him.

‘I wish he’d peck his eyes out,’ Gavriel murmured to Leo.

‘You could call me emperor,’ Loethar finally replied, as though testing the word on his tongue. ‘Yes, emperor has a nice sound to it, don’t you think?’

‘Indeed it does, although “sire” is perhaps easier for your new people to stomach … so soon after conquest. I presume all realms now answer to you?’

‘You would be right in that presumption.’

‘Then, as the new head of the Set, perhaps you would call off your intimidating crow and we can talk about how we can help each other?’

Loethar laughed. Gavriel, appalled by Freath’s confidence, almost hoped the barbarian would pull out that mean-looking dagger and drag it across the traitor’s throat right now.

‘Call me sire, then. And Vyk prefers “raven”. What makes you think there is a we?’

‘Well, sire,’ Freath began, pushing once at the bird with his foot as a warning and then ignoring it, ‘I have walked among the power brokers for more than two decades. I am an aide to the king and queen of the most influential and powerful of all the realms of the Set. I would urge you not to waste this resource. I have knowledge of a like you can’t imagine.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as who might bend easily to your will.’

‘And who might not?’

Freath smiled. ‘It seems we understand each other. There will always be rebels. I can help you with them. For starters, the De Vis boys will almost certainly find a way to rise against you.’

‘You bastard son of a whore, Freath,’ Gavriel growled. This was followed by a threat as to what he was going to cut off Freath’s body first and where he planned to put that spare bit of flesh. Leo glanced at him, worried.

Stracker laughed. ‘That is a jest, of course,’ he said to Freath, his words threatening.

But Freath seemed unimpressed; his expression remained unchanged while Loethar remained motionless.

‘I’ve never been known as a man of comedy, sire. The De Vis family is fiercely loyal to the Valisars. And your somewhat theatrical murder of their father is not something the sons will be easily able to come to terms with, I hazard.’

‘Tell me about them.’

‘The boys?’

Loethar nodded.

‘They’re twins. They look similar but are not identical and they have vastly different personalities. Corbel is the serious one, the younger one, I believe, by just a few minutes, but still waters run extremely deep with that boy. I say “boy” but he is a man and if my instincts serve me right, he is capable of being single-minded and ruthless.’

Gavriel realised Leo had grabbed his arm. He’d had no idea that his own fists were resting white-knuckled against the stone. He forced himself to relax and felt Leo’s relief beside him.

Freath continued. ‘The other boy, Gavriel, is outspoken, has opinions and expresses them. He’s more showy than his brother. They’re both handsome but one tends to notice Gavriel more. He is an excellent swordsman, I believe, skilled with most weapons, in fact.’

‘How old are they?’

Freath frowned, thinking.

‘A rough estimate will do,’ Stracker chimed in.

‘Actually, I can tell you exactly how old they are. They are turning eighteen in leaf-fall.’

‘And you believe these De Vis boys should be of concern to me? Are you suggesting I should be fearful of mere nestlings?’

‘Not afraid, no. Aware perhaps is more appropriate. They will not pay you any homage, sire. They worshipped their father, respected their king and are devoted to each other. Kill one and I suspect you’d kill the other fairly effectively. I doubt very much, considering the way they’ve been raised and by whom, that they would be frightened to die for what they consider their honour.’

‘And what is their particular focus of honour?’

‘Why, the Valisar king of course.’

‘King? Did you not spy Brennus’s corpse, Freath?’ Stracker asked in an acid tone. ‘There is no Valisar king.’

Freath ignored him. Gavriel couldn’t help but be impressed by the aide’s composure, even as he hated his treachery. ‘Sire, I do not refer to King Brennus but to his son, King Leonel.’

This created a tense silence during which Gavriel felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. Until now all the people in authority had been talking about Leo as the young prince — keep him safe, he’s the future, perhaps one day … But now, for the first time since the attack on Penraven had turned from threat to reality, Gavriel felt the full weight of responsibility that was resting on his shoulders alone. Leo was no boy prince, a young sapling to be protected simply because he was a Valisar. He was now the sovereign, and while he remained alive, Penraven had its Valisar king.

Leo whispered into the dark. ‘That’s scary to hear.’

Gavriel felt a rush of rage crystallise into something hard and unyielding. They would have to kill him to get to Leo.

Loethar’s voice broke through the silence. ‘You call him King Leonel?’

‘I don’t, sire. But everyone other than myself will behind your back. And as long as he breathes, he is the king — sovereign of this realm, and figurehead to the Set. As long as people keep faith with that they will carry a torch that the Set will rise once again and that you will be vanquished.’

Loethar banged his fist on the table. ‘I could have you gutted before me, throw your entrails onto a fire before you’re even dead.’

‘I know you could, sire. I suspect you won’t, though, because as I mentioned earlier I know everyone there is to know in this realm. I am familiar with most of the nobles and dignatories — certainly the royals, if any survive — in the rest of the Set. The transient pleasure of opening my throat would be a shameful waste of the resource … sire.’

‘Brazen, indeed. You impress me, aide.’

‘Thank you, sire. My previous employers were not so mindful of my use to them … or how I could damage them if I chose to.’

‘I will kill him,’ Gavriel hissed.

‘You’ll have to line up behind me,’ Leo whispered angrily and Gavriel, in spite of his fury, felt a spark of satisfaction at the youngster’s threat.

‘I shall give you first hack at him,’ Gavriel muttered back, ‘but only because you’re king,’ he added before returning his attention to the men they spied on.

Loethar regarded the servant. ‘And you want me to guarantee your life if I allow you to … er, how did you say it … share how you can damage the remaining Valisars?’

‘My life at the very least, sire. I am suggesting you take me on as your personal aide.’

Stracker laughed but there was no mirth in the sound, only menace. Piven chose this moment to reach up from the floor where he had been amusing himself and wipe his hands, sticky from his father’s blood, against his white shirt. Clutching Freath’s robes, he hauled himself to his feet.

‘Ah, Piven, you have been spared, I see,’ Freath commented, staring at the boy as though he were an insect. ‘Why is that, I wonder?’

‘He amuses me,’ Loethar said. ‘I like the idea that once I’ve dealt with the heir the only remaining Valisar left — although not of the blood — is a lost soul. He can be a symbol of the former Penraven, equally lost.’

‘Very good, sire,’ Freath said, finding a tight, brief smile that was gone almost as soon as it arrived. ‘Shall I make myself useful and have this child cleaned up for you?’

Loethar stretched. Gavriel felt sick. It seemed as though a bargain had somehow been struck during that conversation. He could sense Leo looking at him for explanation but he couldn’t speak.

‘You may take him and bathe him but put that shirt back on him. I want his father’s blood on show for all to see.’

‘Very ghoulish, sire. Appropriate humbling for watching eyes.’

‘But first, the daughter.’ Loethar paused.

Freath filled the pause with a nod. Then added, ‘Now that you’ve seen the corpse shall I inter it into the family tomb?’

‘No. Burn it. Then scatter the ashes from the castle battlements. Or, rather, I shall. We’ll have her mother present too.’

‘For the final humiliation?’

‘Not quite. I have one left.’

‘Will you be killing queen Iselda, sire?’ Freath asked conversationally.

‘I’m not sure. I haven’t yet made up my mind.’

Gavriel closed his eyes. He wished Leo did not have to share this.

‘May I suggest that if you’re keeping Piven as a symbol of the downfall of the Valisars —’

‘He will be my pet.’

‘Indeed, sire. I was going to say that perhaps you should keep the queen as your servant. That would be a most degrading role for her.’

Gavriel watched Loethar walk around the desk. He could finally see the barbarian’s face and it was filled with amusement as he considered Freath’s remarkably distasteful idea. The raven was back on his shoulder. If the scene were not so sinister, the pair would look comical.

‘Or as your concubine,’ Stracker added.

Freath said nothing to this, simply blinked in irritation.

‘It’s just a thought, sire,’ he said instead to Loethar.

‘I shall consider it,’ Loethar said. ‘But before you go,’ he said to Freath, who was bending to take Piven’s hand, ‘I want to know about the eldest son.’

‘My apologies, of course,’ Freath said, all politeness.

Gavriel bent down to Leo. ‘At least your mother remains alive another day.’

‘What is a concubine?’

‘Another word for servant. She takes the night shift, cares for his needs when the day servants are asleep,’ Gavriel explained carefully, glad it was so dark that Leo could not search his face for the truth he had sidestepped so briskly.

‘… twelve summertides, frail and still very much a child,’ Freath was saying. ‘His head is filled with horses and bladder ball games that he plays badly. Useless with weapons.’

In the ingress Gavriel felt astonishment at this comment and knew Leo would be feeling the same.

‘But Brennus would surely have been training him for his role.’

‘Oh, yes, but only in a mild way, sire. Leo is still just a boy. He hardly knows his head from his arse, if you’ll pardon my language.’

‘You don’t have to worry over my sensitivities, Freath,’ Loethar reassured.

The aide nodded. ‘What I mean is that he’s extremely immature — still something of a mummy’s boy. We’re talking about an indulged brat more than capable of throwing tantrums while incapable of manoeuvring a horse or his weapons with any dexterity.’

Leo turned and glared at Gavriel. ‘Lying bastard!’ he hissed.

‘It seems Freath is out to impress the barbarian. Don’t worry about it, Leo. We’ll kill him with our bare hands if we must, as soon as we get the chance.’ Gavriel knew his words were an empty threat but he felt better for having said them.

‘So while the De Vis twins are a threat, you are saying the heir to the throne is not.’

‘No, sire, that’s not what I’m saying. The De Vis family is your enemy, and they would have been without your splitting the legate’s head in half,’ Freath warned. ‘The heir is not a physical threat to you. He wouldn’t know how to attack, how to rally a force, how to even plan beyond where to play on a given day. He’s still in that childish mindset of the world revolving around his selfish needs, especially his belly.’

Loethar looked amused but Gavriel bristled. Freath knew Leo well and he could have been describing a stranger for all his words resembled the prince. ‘He struggles to make his verbs work, so he is hardly ready to make a realm work for him,’ Freath continued with utter disdain. ‘Brennus never expected to lose his throne. The threat from the Steppes was always that — just a threat. It hadn’t sunken past the shallowest of consciousness that you might succeed in your desire for empire and that the prince might need to be fully readied in all aspects of sovereignty.’

Again Gavriel caught a glance of bewilderment from his new king.

‘Your point?’ Loethar asked.

‘My point, sire, is that you have nothing to fear from Leonel in person. It’s what he represents that should trouble you. No one will let go of the fact that the heir exists — if they believe that to be true — because that means the Valisar dynasty is alive.’

‘I want to know where he is.’

‘And I believe I can help you. But I do require guarantees, sire.’

‘So you say. Give me your terms.’

‘I have heard a rumour that you are gathering all the empowered people from the conquered nations.’

For the first time since Freath had arrived Gavriel noticed the barbarian lose his casual stance. Loethar stiffened. ‘And what’s that to you?’

Freath gave a sly shrug. ‘Well, I can’t imagine you’d go to all that trouble and not make use of that collected power.’

‘And?’

‘I want some of it.’

Stracker grabbed Freath by his shirtfront, pulling him close to his pockmarked face. ‘You don’t demand anything. You’re lucky to have lived this long.’

Freath remained undaunted. ‘Phew, we eat the leaf of the cherrel to keep our breath fresh, Stracker.’

Loethar ignored their barbs. ‘Explain what you mean, Freath, before I allow Stracker to gut you as he so desperately wants.’

Freath straightened his clothes, amazing Gavriel with his audacity. He watched the aide take a breath and paste another cunning smile on his face. ‘Two sorcerers, witches, whatever you care to call them, of my choice and at my behest.’

Gavriel watched Loethar’s mouth twitch. ‘What makes you think they exist?’

‘Oh, they exist all right, but they are cunning. They will go to extraordinary lengths to disguise their skills but that they exist in the Set …’ he smiled as he paused, ‘… of this there is no doubt.’

Loethar’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know who these people are?’

‘I may have suspicions, sire, but no, I don’t know anyone specifically practising magic outwardly. There is the usual band of hedgewitches and herbalists, conjurers and magicians. But what I’m talking about are the thaumaturges, the genuine weavers of miracles — phenomena that can’t be explained. I’m certain you’ve already discovered a few. I want a pair.’

‘And what do you plan to do with them?’ Loethar enquired, sitting against the king’s desk. His arms were crossed in a deliberately casual pose but Gavriel was sure the barbarian was anything but relaxed.

‘They will offer me protection.’

‘From me, I presume.’

‘Correct, sire. And from your bad-smelling lackey and your hideous crow.’

Stracker scowled but Loethar gave a sharp, tight grin. ‘I see. And in return you will give me the boy.’

‘I will try, that is my promise.’

‘Try?’ Loethar’s tone was now fuelled by disdain.

‘He has gone to ground, sire. I have already seen your men searching the palace. I presume they are searching the immediate area and nearby woodland as well. He could not have gone far because I saw him quite recently.’

Loethar stood up. ‘You saw …!’ he began, breaking off angrily to say: ‘Where was he?’

‘The kitchens.’

Gavriel took a step closer to Leo, grinding his jaw as he put an arm around the new king. It felt like hollow reassurance but it seemed more meaningful than words right now. His mind was racing. Should they attempt an escape now or hold their nerve a short while longer? Freath couldn’t possibly know where they were … could he?

Leo echoed his thoughts. ‘He doesn’t know anything,’ he said.

‘They took fright at the sound of your men closing in on the palace and ran off. I tried to follow but I’m an old man by comparison, sire. I couldn’t keep up.’

‘They?’

‘Pardon, sire?’

Loethar’s expression darkened. ‘You said they — who were the others?’

‘Just one other. Gavriel De Vis.’

‘Are you telling me they ran back into the palace?’

Freath shrugged lightly. ‘They headed in, but, sire, we have many entrances and doors that lead to other courtyards. They could be anywhere. Though they won’t have had time to get far.’

‘Have you a suggestion of where they may go?’

‘I have plenty. But I need a show of good faith, sire.’

‘I see. Something in writing? A mix of our bloods perhaps, palm to palm?’

‘This man knows nothing that I, given a room with a pair of heated pincers, couldn’t find out for you,’ Stracker threw at Loethar. Gavriel gave a humourless smile at finding himself momentarily on side with the barbarian’s lackey.

Freath smiled tightly. ‘No need for torture or indeed any loss of blood. My request is very simple and easy for you to provide. When you have finished with her, I want the queen.’

‘What?’ Loethar roared. His surprise turned into a tumult of laughter. ‘Iselda?’

Freath kept his face impassive. ‘She is beautiful. Why not?’

Loethar studied the aide carefully. ‘No, Freath, this doesn’t fit. You’re not that displeasing physically, I’ll grant you, but I see no passion burning in these eyes of yours — other than for your own safe skin. I don’t suspect there is a romantic or even sexual urge in your body. You are lying.’

Freath remained unfazed, his voice calm. ‘You are jumping to conclusions, sire. I said nothing about romance or desire. I simply want her.’

‘What for?’

‘Purely for self-satisfaction. I have served queen Iselda since she came to the palace, sire, and King Brennus even longer. They were the usual arrogant inbreds that seem to take the throne…’ Leo gasped and Gavriel had to put a hand over the boy’s mouth — a hand that was trembling with anger. ‘… services were always taken for granted. Although it’s too late to tell Brennus, now it’s time for me to share with her all my rage. I come from a distinguished line, sire. I deserved better.’

‘This is about not being thanked?’ Loethar asked, incredulous.

Freath blinked slowly. ‘Perhaps put petulantly you could describe it that way, sire. I see it as retribution. I am not a man to be toyed with. I deserved better than I got in my years of service. I kept hoping I would be rewarded for my attentiveness, my loyalty, and, above all, my discretion. But each year passed without so much as a glance of appreciation my way.’

‘You’re a servant, for Lo’s sake!’ Stracker chimed in. ‘What do you want, a manor in the country?’

‘Why not?’ Freath demanded, scowling at the man. ‘The legate was a servant too but De Vis was not only paid handsomely, he was rewarded with horses, land, servants of his own, wealth far more than he’d ever need. And his family line is no finer than mine. He was simply a soldier. I am a man of language, of letters … truly, sire, I was the more versatile if you compare me to De Vis. Yet he dies a hero — a wealthy one. If you slew me now, sire, I would die penniless. Pathetic isn’t it?’

‘Can you kill a man, Freath?’

‘If I had to, yes,’ the aide bristled. ‘Killing doesn’t give you superiority, sire, surely?’

‘And have you ever killed anyone, Freath?’

‘No, sire.’

‘It sounds a lot easier than the doing of it, trust me…not that I suffer the squeamishness of most.’

Freath ignored Loethar’s explanation. ‘If you don’t need her for any other purpose, sire, I would have her.’

‘To humiliate her?’

‘To do whatever I please with her. She will become my slave, follow my orders, answer my desires … however dry they may appear to others.’

‘And so for the queen, two Vested and my word, you will help me hunt down Leonel?’

‘Yes, sire. And there are so many more ways in which I can help you … be assured of that. At no further cost to you than what I’ve already asked for.’

‘You intrigue me, Freath.’

‘So we’re agreed. Iselda is a show of goodwill on your part.’

‘Bugger her senseless for all I care, Freath, although I will be wanting her for tonight myself.’

‘Of course you do, sire,’ Freath said, as though they were discussing the shared use of a horse or plough. ‘In fact I won’t lay a finger upon her until you have. Is that fair?’

Loethar nodded. ‘It is.’ He looked at Stracker. ‘How many have we rounded up?’

‘In total, about thirty-four who seem genuine in their talents.’

‘Have them brought here. I’ll leave you to pick out the best — and show them to Freath. He can choose from your selection. Order it now.’ Stracker nodded and left the chamber. Loethar looked at the royal aide again, then grinned. ‘I need men with your agile mind, Freath. I’m sure I should just slit your throat here and now but there’s something about you that tells me I should stay my hand a little longer.’

‘That’s convenient for me, sire.’

His words amused Loethar further. ‘For both of us, I hope. Stracker can be …’ He searched for the right word.

‘Spontaneous?’ Freath offered.

Now Loethar smiled genuinely. ‘Precisely. And on occasion I need someone who can act upon more considered information, someone who thinks through a situation.’

‘Less of a blunt instrument. I understand. But that doesn’t necessarily make me feel safe.’

Loethar’s smile broadened. Gavriel realised that Freath’s cunning made him a perfect match and someone who had, over the last few moments, changed from aide’s executioner to new employer. The barbarian called in some of his henchmen.

‘This man has access to Queen Iselda. Him alone.’ He had obviously changed his mind about wanting Iselda for the first night. He turned back to the aide. ‘You amuse me, Freath. I like your mind, if not you.’ Freath inclined his head, obviously deciding to take the barbarian’s words as a compliment. ‘As long as you continue to amuse me and keep me informed of everything around this palace and the realm — as I assume you have a well connected spy network — you are safe from my blade.’

‘In that case, sire, we shall take each other on his word. So, for the young prince, let me suggest you try the secret corridor.’

Gavriel felt Leo’s mouth open in terror behind his hand.

‘Show them!’ Loethar ordered Freath, pointing at his men.

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