Traitor's Blade

THE GATES OF RIJOU

‘And I swear to you, your Ladyship, you don’t want any part of Rijou,’ I shouted back. ‘They don’t call it the “City of Strife” for nothing.’

The voice in the carriage was even, but I could hear an edge of anger as she said, ‘And I have told you, my tatter-cloak, that we have business with Jillard, Duke of Rijou, and we will enter the city tonight.’

‘My Lady … he’s not completely wrong about this.’ Even Feltock was with me on this one, and he never contradicted the Lady. Rijou was a city with nineteen noble houses, all of which fought with each other in endless cycles of intrigues, assassinations and occasionally outright war. The Duke of Rijou did nothing to stop the violence and everything to encourage it, not least because the murders kept those vying for his position in check and the wars kept their private armies small and manageable.

But, for everyone else, Rijou was an awful place. From a distance it gleamed. I don’t mean it shimmered, nor did it shine; it gleamed, the gleam of oily skin on a corpse, or the gleam in the eye of a man who fancies he can kill you without consequence. The city might be rich and opulent, but it was treacherous for anyone without a sheriff in their pocket and an army at their back. In Rijou there was nothing to stop a landlord from changing the terms of a lease anytime he wanted, so long as he could get authorisation from the sheriff. The King had sent Brasti and me there once to hear a jeweller’s dispute with his noble landlord. In this case he had changed the terms to allow himself to set the jeweller’s prices. We heard the case and passed judgement in the jeweller’s favour, only to find him dead the next morning. The Duke paid the fine without question, and the smile on his face told us we were welcome back anytime we wanted to see someone else killed. I had sworn then that one day I would come back and bring justice to this shithole. But I had failed in that, as I had in so many things since. How much justice could I hope to bring to an entire city if I couldn’t even keep one old man alive?

‘My Lady,’ I tried one last time, ‘no one can promise to protect you once we are inside the city gates.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘We have ten good men with us and you’ve done an admirable job so far of fighting off brigands.’

‘But you see, we can’t take the whole caravan into the city. The Duke’s men won’t allow it. And if you try to enter with more than two or three men-at-arms, someone will think you’re starting a house war and you’ll be killed.’

I waited as she considered this behind her curtains. Finally she said, ‘Very well then. Feltock, take this tatter-cloak and two others and follow my carriage into town so that I may conduct my business with the Duke.’

It was my turn to pause as I tried to find the right words. ‘My Lady, it’s unlikely the Duke will agree to see you. I have no doubt that in your home of Orison you are a person of great consequence, but in Rijou you will be nothing more than another target.’

‘Nothing more?’ she said from behind the curtains of the carriage. The tone of her voice didn’t bode well for me. ‘Feltock?’ she asked after a moment. ‘Tell your pistolman to put a steel ball in that man’s head if he does not immediately mount his horse and lead us down into the city.’

Feltock didn’t hesitate to signal the little man who carried the pistol. He turned to see what I would do. He liked me better these days, and he probably agreed with me about Rijou, but he was a military man and he followed the orders he was given.

Kest was standing by my left shoulder. I couldn’t see Brasti, so I assumed that he had hidden himself, his bow at the ready, behind one of the trees that lined the road into the city.

‘I think I might be able to stop the ball from the pistol,’ Kest said matter-of-factly. ‘Using the angle of the barrel, I should be able to figure out roughly where the ball should hit.’

‘Roughly?’ I asked.

‘It’s never been done before. You’ve got to take a few chances with this kind of thing.’

‘For what it’s worth, my advice is let’s not die right now and save that idea for another day,’ I said, and mounted up on my horse.

I looked around and saw Brasti resting on top of some blankets on one of the open wagons.

‘That’s some fine cover you were giving me there, Brasti.’

He yawned and patted the bow that rested against his leg. He had ten arrows arrayed in front of him so I suppose I should have been grateful for that.

‘I have every confidence in your diplomatic skills,’ he said, ‘especially when it involves following orders. But you’re crazy if you think going back into Rijou is better than trying to parry pistols. Don’t worry. I’ll stay here and guard the caravan.’

‘Get off your ass, boy, you’re comin’ with us,’ Feltock growled. ‘Since you all appear to know so much about it, I’m sure you’ll do a fine job of guarding the Lady’s dignity along with your own skins.’

‘The three of us could always kill you and leave once we’re away from the rest of the caravan, you realise,’ Kest said.

‘True,’ Feltock said. Then he started laughing. ‘But then you’d still have no money and no employer and, from what little I’ve heard, Duke Jillard don’t waste a lot of sentiment on tatter-cloaks now, does he?’

‘I may just kill you on principle if you keep calling us that,’ I said, but Kest, Brasti, Feltock and I led the carriage along the wide, tree-lined avenue that leads from the caravan route, past the first gates and into the city proper. Rijou isn’t exactly a fortress town, but it does have three sets of iron gates. The first we passed through looked unguarded, but the trees that grew alongside the road provided excellent hiding places for the half a dozen guards with crossbows. If you don’t look suspicious enough to be shot on sight and no one has paid the guards to kill you, you can carry on to the second gates, where the men are armoured and the gates run on a sliding track between stone pillars. When the lever is pulled, the gates can come down in a second, instantly impaling anything caught in their way. The guards of the second gate have this great joke: you don’t need to ask permission to enter Rijou; you just walk under the gate. If they decide to drop it on your head, that means admission is denied and you should come back tomorrow and try again. Well, it makes them laugh …

Feltock didn’t favour that approach. Instead, he handed one of the guards the packet of credentials he carried on the Lady’s behalf. The guard looked them over and then passed them on to another man who scrutinised them more closely. The first guard walked up to us and stared me up and down. He was a younger man, with dark hair and a short, sparse beard that didn’t favour him. But he carried himself confidently, and looked like he must be solid under his plate-armour.

‘You’re one of them tatter-cloaks, is that right?’ His accent was thicker than I had expected. It reminded me that the three weeks we had been on the road had taken us far from the caravan market, and even further from Baern, where we should have been by now.

‘We don’t use the term, but yes, that’s right.’

The guard stared at my coat and then reached out casually and pulled at a piece of it, examining it closely. A few of his mates were gathering around us. ‘Is it true then that you sleep in them coats?’ He turned to his fellow guards. ‘Sure smells like it!’

Now the fact is, the greatcoat is the single most valuable thing a travelling Magister owns. It’s made of leather, but the thin, very light plates made from some kind of bone and sewn into different panels can ward off the occasional blow – if you’re lucky, even a knife-thrust in the back from some disgruntled plaintiff. And it can keep you alive if you’re stranded on the road in the cold.

‘And is it true,’ the guard went on, ‘that you hide a hundred weapons in those coats?’

According to the stories, there were more hidden pockets in my coat than even I had ever been able to find. No one is entirely sure how they’re made, because there was only ever one Tailor of the Greatcoats and no one knows what happened to her after the King died.

‘No,’ I answered, ‘but I do keep a hundred chickens in my coat.’

Brasti spoke up. ‘I keep a hundred fish in mine. I don’t eat chicken.’

The other guards laughed at that, but we had stepped on the first one’s effort at a joke.

‘Well, maybe I should take me both of them coats, then. I like chicken and fish.’

‘Only one problem with that, friend,’ I said calmly.

He looked at his fellow guards and then at me. ‘Yeah? What’s that?’

‘Well, if you had my coat, you’d have to wear it.’

The rest of the guards broke out laughing again and the first one decided he’d had enough. ‘Damned right. But if I did want it, you’d hand it over quick enough, that’s for sure.’

It was an idle threat – not because everyone knew there were more than a few weapons hidden inside our coats, but because no one has ever stolen a Magister’s greatcoat. In the old days, when we were admired, everyone knew that a man or woman who managed to take one from a Magister would be hunted down to the ends of the earth. Nowadays, no one wanted to be seen dead with one. So fame and infamy really weren’t that different after all.

Eventually his commander let us through and we wound our way to the third gate. There are no armoured guards at the third gate, no crossbows, arrows, pikes or swords, just a small man with a quill and journal who sits at a small desk at the end of a thirty-foot-long tunnel. The ceiling is about twelve feet high, and both walls and ceiling are peppered with dozens of small holes and slots. The whole thing might look like it’s made from grey cheese, but everyone knows that if you irritate the little man at the desk, you will very quickly discover that there are a remarkable number of deadly things that can be shot, dropped or poured out of small holes in the stone.

Feltock handed over the same credentials he had shown at the second gate. The little man barely looked at them before he said, ‘Denied.’

Feltock stepped down from his seat at the front of the carriage and looked at me with raised eyebrows. Neither one of us knew what to do. We both knew for certain that arguing with the little man would be a grave mistake.

‘With respect, your Lordship,’ Feltock began.

‘Not a Lord. I’m a clerk,’ said the man behind the desk.

‘With respect, your – ah, clerkship, they … Well, they accepted our credentials at the second gate.’

The clerk looked up at us. ‘Of course they did, you idiot, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You’d have steel bars going through your skulls. If it makes you feel better, you can go back and I’ll pass a message down for them to drop the gate on you.’

Brasti smiled at me. ‘I like him. He reminds me of you.’

The look Feltock shot us was half-threatening and half-pleading.

‘Right Honourable Clerk of the Gate,’ I began, using his formal title, ‘although there is no requirement of you to tell us, might we enquire the reason for your very reasonable decision to bar us from the city? Can I assume that we are “of person but not purpose”?’

The clerk snorted. ‘Hah! Trattari, eh? You can always count on a Greatcoat to parrot the laws back to you. Yes, you are indeed “of person but not purpose”. So you can turn yourself around or we can see what this lever does.’ He motioned to a stout piece of wood inset into the stone wall by his desk. I already had a suspicion as to what the lever did, and I had no intention of being there to see what exactly would drop on my head from the ceiling if he pulled it.

‘Feltock,’ the Lady’s voice called from the carriage, ‘what is the reason for our delay in this dank little cavern?’

Feltock looked at me. ‘You better tell her,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know what all this business of “persons” and “purposes” is about.’

I walked back to the carriage. ‘My Lady, the clerk informs us that your credentials of person, that is, who you are, are fine for entering the city. It is the credentials of purpose, the reason why you are asking to enter, that are being disputed.’

‘Disputed? I’m coming to see the Duke! Who is this little worm who questions me?’

I prayed that the clerk couldn’t hear us.

‘I heard that,’ he shouted back. Then he hopped off his chair and half-waddled towards us. He came to a stop in front of the curtains. ‘You go home now,’ he said in a tone suggesting she was a half-witted child. ‘Crazy Lady no see Duke today. Duke important man. Has important things to do. Hump Crazy Lady some other day.’

Then the clerk smiled and looked up at me. ‘I like you, Trattari. You know the law and that makes me happy. But either you turn her around, or in about ten seconds you’re going to discover which hurts worse – burning oil on your head or a dozen crossbow bolts in your chest.

‘It’s the oil,’ Kest said.

‘Enough!’ her Ladyship shouted from the carriage. I had never heard her shout before. She sounded almost childish. ‘You will admit me to the city this instant. You will signal ahead for an escort, and you will ensure we have the smoothest of journeys to the Ducal Palace.’

The clerk looked like he was about to signal to someone I couldn’t see when the curtains of the carriage drew apart and the Lady emerged.

I confess I’d had a small fantasy that the Lady Caravaner was actually Trin in disguise. After all, we saw a lot of Trin going into and out of the carriage, but we never saw the Lady herself. Trin, though she lacked the demeanour, certainly had the looks and grace for the daughter of a noble house. More importantly, it would have been nice to think that the woman in charge of this emerging disaster was actually capable of being sweet, even if only as part of some kind of elaborate game.

The woman who exited the carriage wore several different shades of purple. Her silk blouse was fashionably low and her silk trousers were cut for travel. Her head was uncovered, but she wore a necklace and bracelets of cut gems, and rings sparkled from the middle fingers of each hand. Her hair was a rich shade of dark brown and almost as silky as her clothes, which surprised me because even inside a carriage it’s hard not to get messy travelling for weeks on end. For a brief moment I thought it might indeed have been Trin herself, emerging triumphant from her cocoon, but this woman was taller and more assured, and besides, Trin herself came out of the carriage behind her. Oh well, so much for that fantasy.

It occurred to me that the Lady must have been very careful to ensure her men – or most of them, at least – never saw her. Feltock didn’t look especially shocked, so I assume he had, but none of us had seen her even once in all the weeks we had been on the road. We certainly wouldn’t have forgotten, for she was a stunning beauty, with bright ocean-coloured eyes and delicate features. She saw me staring and smiled, and for some strange reason it hurt me more than she could possibly have intended. I looked at Kest and saw that even he was overtaken for the moment.

The clerk wasn’t. ‘Yes, dear, you’re quite pretty, and I imagine you’re very rich. But the Duke is pretty too, and probably a lot richer, so you still can’t see him.’

‘And why not, little man?’ Her voice sounded the same but now I could hear it was younger than I had previously thought.

‘Well,’ said the clerk, ‘because you kind of look like a whore and the Duke is a married man with several important mistresses and we wouldn’t want to offend any of them, would we?’

I expected the Lady to launch into a tirade at that point, but instead she calmly held out her hands, clenched into fists, in front of the clerk’s face. ‘Little man, look closely at my rings.’

The clerk did so, and then he looked as if he’d seen the end of his life, right there in front of him. ‘Damn me,’ he said.

I stepped behind him and got a look at the rings just before she pulled them back and crossed her arms in front of her. The ring on the left was the Ducal ring of Hervor, meaning her mother wasn’t the Duchess of Orison, as we had suspected, but was in fact Patriana, Duchess of Hervor.

‘Bloody hells,’ Kest said. It was unusual for him to swear, but I echoed the sentiment. Patriana was the worst of the nobles; it was she who had put the spine into the other Dukes and persuaded them to move on King Paelis. I could have slit her daughter’s throat right then with less regret than I had for the axeman in the market.

‘Hervor,’ I said to Kest, who was shaking his head.

‘No, you don’t understand. The other ring: it’s the Ducal ring for Rijou. She’s claiming to be the daughter of Patriana, Duchess of Hervor and Jillard, Duke of Rijou. She’s claiming transcendent blood!’

The Lady smiled at us, then back at the clerk. ‘Do my “credentials” satisfy you now, little man?’

The clerk sputtered for a moment. ‘Well, that is – I mean, I cannot verify – that is to say … Welcome, welcome to Rijou, your, ah, Ladyship.’

‘Highness,’ she said. ‘The term you are groping so ineffectually for is “your Highness”. Or if you prefer, your Royal Highness Princess Valiana.’

The clerk bent down to one knee. Feltock, who didn’t look at all surprised, did the same, as did Trin. Kest, Brasti and I stayed standing. By King’s Law, Greatcoats bowed before no one, not even the King himself. And besides that, I was probably going to kill her.

Despite my prejudice against the place, Rijou is really a very beautiful city at twilight, if you can forget where you are for just a moment.

The Clerk of the Gate had sent word for one of the Duke’s advisors, and a man named Shiballe arrived to escort us into the city. Shiballe was overfed and too well dressed for a messenger, but it wasn’t really my problem at this point. The worst he could do would be to assassinate Valiana, which might not be such a bad thing.

When Shiballe kissed her hand, the Lady looked at me and smiled as if this was all a grand joke she’d played on me personally, as if I should somehow be stunned senseless by her cleverness. That itself would have been enough to make me dislike her, not to mention the fact that her mother was the bitch who helped kill my King. But for some reason what offended me most was watching Trin humble herself, walking three feet behind her mistress, as docile as a lamb off to be sheared. If we did decide to go back on every vow we’d ever taken and kill Valiana, we’d have to kill Feltock first – that wouldn’t be such a hard thing to do; the man was a soldier and he’d made his own bed. Trin would die too, though, before letting anyone touch Valiana, and that was just a shame. When Shiballe kissed Trin’s hand she looked as if a horse had just shat on it, which only served to make me like her more.

The Lady stopped for refreshment with Shiballe. Feltock and Brasti stood guard while Kest and I were sent to scout the rest of the way. I took the opportunity to enjoy the city between sunset and moonrise: twilight in Rijou is quite possibly the only time when, for reasons only the Saints know, the nobles of the city don’t feel the same need to murder their fellow citizens. Unfortunately, we weren’t fellow citizens.

‘We have to do this, Falcio,’ Kest said for the hundredth time. He rarely repeats himself because he eventually just does whatever it is he thinks needs doing and deals with the consequences later, so I had to assume he wasn’t trying to change my mind so much as ease me towards the inevitable conclusion. ‘You know this is what they’ve been planning while we’ve been fumbling around the country,’ he went on. ‘To set up a new monarchy – one completely controlled by the Dukes, so they never have to fear the rise of a new King like Paelis.’

‘The Dukes run everything as it is,’ I said. ‘So what’s the difference?’

‘The difference is that their rule will be entrenched across the entire country, not just in their individual Duchies any more.’

‘Look around,’ I said. ‘The world has become as corrupt and oppressive as any of us could ever have imagined.’

‘Yes, and if we let them sit this girl on the throne it will get much worse. As bad as they are right now, the Dukes still shy away from actively breaking King’s Law. They know it would put them in jeopardy if a strong, decent Duke comes to power or, Saints hope, a new King rises. But if we let them get away with this then the most self-serving, oppressive rule in our history will become law. King’s Law, Falcio.’

‘If it goes that way then we’ll fight, won’t we? And we’ll win – we always win in the end.’

‘Don’t make Brasti right about you,’ Kest said. ‘You know as well as I do that there aren’t that many of us left. We were a hundred and forty-four at our peak and now we’re fair game for anyone with a blade. I doubt there are still fifty Greatcoats left. And who knows what most of them have turned into? I can beat anyone with a sword, Falcio, but I can’t beat ten men with pistols. The old rules won’t work for us. We can win the fight, but I don’t think we can win fair.’

I stopped my horse for a moment. ‘You want to pass judgement before she’s even committed a crime. The King never would have allowed that. It would have destroyed him. It would destroy us.’

‘What about Tremondi?’ he asked.

‘Tremondi? What’s she got to do with him?’

Kest sighed. ‘You really haven’t figured it out?’

‘Pretend I haven’t.’

Kest pointed at the carriage. ‘We know Tremondi was having an affair with the woman who killed him. Who fits the old pervert’s tastes? Valiana does. Who benefits by his death? She does. Who, when we appeared at the market in Solat, managed to find a way to both keep us on a short leash and to ensure the rest of the caravan guards hated us? It was her, with that challenge she put you up to.’

‘Which you made me accept,’ I said.

‘Nothing gets by you, Falcio, except for the bloody obvious. Almost as soon as we left the caravan, once we were away from the city and anyone who might have believed our story, Lynniac and his Knights show up – and what does she do? She makes us fight them barehanded.’

‘She could have just let them take us.’

‘No – too much chance we might’ve escaped on the road. This way she’d know for sure we were dead. It’s her, Falcio. She’s the one who killed Tremondi. If it wasn’t for the aeltheca she hit us with, we’d be able to identify her. But it’s likely that she kept hidden from us as long as necessary to make sure any partial recollection we might have had would be well and truly gone by the time we saw her.’

I had nothing to counter with. Everything Kest said made perfect sense. We’d probably convicted men on lesser proof – Saints know the Dukes would have convicted us on less. But we were supposed to be different. We were supposed to be better.

‘It’s all right, Falcio,’ Kest said quietly. ‘I know you can’t do it. I’m not asking you to.’

‘Do what? Commit murder?’

‘Set things right. But I’ll do it. I can do this by myself, when the time is right, when we can be sure. But for the sake of our friendship, don’t try to stop me when it happens.’

I stared at him. ‘What kind of friendship will we have then?’

‘The same kind we had before we became Greatcoats. I know you loved the King, Falcio. I did too. But they killed him. They can’t kill his dream, too.’

No, I thought as I pushed my horse forward, they can’t. We’re doing that ourselves.

Half an hour later I signalled a stop to the carriage. A group of men in black uniforms were surrounding a large mansion. They had pikes in hand and were blocking the windows and doors with great slabs of stone that were arriving on ox-carts. There was also a wagon filled with casks.

I motioned to Feltock to come forward and asked, ‘Do you have any idea what’s going on?’

‘You’ve seen what a war looks like, haven’t you?’ said the captain.

I ignored him and dismounted. I walked over to the man driving the wagon with the casks. Two of his fellows stood in front of me with short-swords in hand, but I called out to him, ‘What’s going on here?’

‘What do you think is going on, man? Come midnight it’ll be the first day of Ganath Kalila, so keep to your own affairs if you don’t want to find yourself on the wrong side.’

That was strange. It almost sounded as if the man had said ‘Ganath Kalila’. But of course that couldn’t be possible, because if it turned out we were here during Ganath Kalila I would simply have to concede that at this very moment a thousand virgin brides were cursing my name …

‘Sorry,’ I said to the man, ‘I think I misunderstood. I thought you might have said—’

The two men with short-swords pushed me back.

Feltock came after me and Kest followed, a hand on the grip of his own sword.

‘What’d he say?’ Feltock asked.

‘Ganath Kalila,’ I replied. ‘The Blood Week. We’ve come here just when the Duke has called the Blood Week.’

‘What in the five hells for fools is that? Try and remember that I haven’t been to this city before, boy, and this’ll go faster.’

‘Ganath Kalila is a tradition in Rijou,’ I told him. ‘The Duke’s father brought it back with him from his travels in the East, from Avares. They call it the Blood Week because for seven days there are no rules except one: what you can’t hold, you don’t own.’

An old soldier sees a lot of insanity and violence in a long career, but this took Feltock aback. ‘How is that supposed to work? The man with the biggest army takes what he wants? It’d be mayhem.’

‘The Duke likes mayhem,’ I replied.

‘Not necessarily,’ Kest said. ‘I’ve read about the politics of this, and it’s actually quite complex. A series of alliances and patronages ensure that most people fall under the protection of someone above them, who has protection from someone else above them, who—’

‘Eventually has protection from the Duke. So he gets to shake a few more pieces out of his flock, is that right?’

‘Only sometimes the Duke makes it known who he doesn’t plan on protecting, you understand?’

Feltock did. ‘So hunting season has arrived in Rijou for a few poor buggers.’

‘These buggers don’t look that poor,’ I said, looking at the mansion. It was elegant in the Rijou style, but it also looked well fortified. They probably had bows and maybe even pistols. But the men surrounding the building wore armour and they were beginning to roll the carts with the stone blocks up to the doors and windows.

‘I don’t understand the point of the blocks,’ Kest said.

‘Fire,’ Feltock said. ‘They’re going to smoke them out.’

‘Or burn them alive,’ I said.

‘Or perhaps they’re going to build them a nice guesthouse here in the street,’ a jovial voice called out from behind us. Shiballe eased his way out of the carriage, followed by Valiana. They were taking sips from tiny cups containing some kind of bubbling liquid.

‘Feltock,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to disappoint my Saint-blessed father, the Duke. This reunion must happen tonight.’

Kest and I looked at each other. She must be here for her confirmation, legitimising her lineage: so that meant she was exactly eighteen. If she really was the offspring of two Ducal rulers, then nineteen years ago Jillard, Duke of Rijou, must have been secretly – and briefly – married to Patriana, Duchess of Hervor – and then he must have divorced her almost immediately, because he married his current wife shortly after. It was possible, but an odd thing to do: to sire a child and then immediately go and marry someone else. I suppose it did make a twisted kind of sense if what they really wanted was to raise a royal-blooded Princess in secret – but that conspiracy had to be planned long before Paelis took the throne, during Greggor’s reign, and it didn’t make sense because the Dukes had never had any complaints with Greggor. He had let them run as wild as they pleased on their own lands.

‘Aye, your Highness,’ Feltock said. ‘No point in sitting here watching these people shoot at each other all evening.’

‘Oh, I hardly think there will be much shooting,’ Shiballe said, smiling amiably.

‘Why not?’ Kest asked.

‘The Tiarren family guard aren’t in the city, you see.’

‘The Tiarren family?’ I looked at Kest. ‘Amongst the lesser nobility, Lord Tiarren was counted one of the King’s closest allies.’

‘Really?’ Shiballe said casually. ‘How interesting. I believe the Duke ordered Lord Tiarren to send his men off to deal with a dispute on the border. His wife has been quite vocal on local politics in Rijou in her husband’s absence.’ The fat little man smiled up at the house. ‘I do believe someone is about to learn a harsh lesson.’ He glanced at the darkening sky. ‘Oh, in about two hours.’

‘So no one can start fighting until midnight?’ Feltock asked.

‘That’s right, not until Ganath Kalila begins,’ he said with a sly smile.

Feltock pointed at the men unloading blocks on the sidewalk in front of the house. ‘Then what are they doing?’

‘Silly man. There’s no harm in getting ready now, is there? So long as no one fires a shot or strikes a blow.’

I looked up at one of the open windows. A woman in her late thirties was looking out, the crossbow in her hand dangling helplessly. She must be Lady Tiarren. Children were arrayed behind her, and I could see them pulling at her robes.

‘You’re telling me she and her children and her servants have to stay there watching these men begin blocking their exits and readying the fire intended to burn them all alive?’ The Tiarrens had been allies of the King. What if they knew the location of the King’s Charoites? What if one of the jewels was in the house even now? I stepped towards the men setting the blocks.

‘Keep your place, Trattari,’ Shiballe warned. ‘That’s exactly what I said. But don’t worry; Lord Tiarren has a big family. And I’m sure the Duke will allow him to remarry in due course. No doubt this time he will choose someone who will advise him better – and show greater fidelity – than Lady Tiarren did.’

I turned to Kest immediately. ‘Get back outside the city. Get as many of the guards as will come. Make sure to bring Blondie and Krug; see who else they can convince.’

I motioned to Feltock. ‘Take Lady Valiana to the Duke’s home. Kest and I will follow as soon as we can.’

Feltock pulled on the lead horse’s reins on the carriage to get them ready, but Valiana turned on him. ‘Stop this instant,’ she commanded.

‘My Lady, it won’t be safe,’ I began.

‘It will be safe – perfectly safe,’ she said, ‘because you and your men are going to accompany us, right now. You work for me, not for this Tiarren woman. Do you understand?’

I felt heat rise in my chest. ‘Are you mad? They’re going to burn them alive! They’re going to block the doors and windows and wait until they burn or jump out the windows to their deaths!’

‘You do not speak to me in such tones, Trattari,’ she warned.

‘You want to be a Princess?’ I shouted. ‘You want to rule over your subjects? Well, there they are.’ I jabbed a finger at the woman and her crying children framed in the window. A couple of the older-looking boys held swords in their hands: man enough to carry a sword and boy enough to believe it would do any good. ‘You want power? Stop thinking about how you’re going to get it and start thinking about what the Saints want you to do with it!’

I had overstepped my bounds by miles, but she looked for a brief instant as if she might be swayed. Then I heard a cough and turned.

Shiballe had a pistol in his hand, pointed at my chest. ‘Don’t be so dramatic, my tattered friend,’ he said. ‘If the Tiarren woman is not stupid she will drop her family crest from the window and show defeat. And even if she is stupid, she still has several servants in the building, many with military training, and they will force her to surrender for her own good.’

‘And then what happens?’ Kest asked, sizing up Shiballe.

‘Then the Tiarren name will be struck from the noble lists and she and her brats will live out their lives as well-fed servants to the victors.’

‘And who are the victors, in this case?’ Feltock asked carefully.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘As you can plainly see, these fine men aren’t wearing any crests on their armour.’

Kest whispered in my ear, ‘This is what the whole world will be like, Falcio, if the Dukes get their way.’

My head was spinning and I struggled to keep myself under control.

Shiballe was having no difficulty managing the situation, however. ‘Now, my fine tattered birds, I suggest you do exactly as Princess Valiana has suggested, and do your jobs.’ He wagged a finger at Kest. ‘And don’t waste your time in idle fantasy, my friend. There are several of my men with crossbows stationed in the building behind us. I never travel without guards during the Blood Week.’

I knew we had to comply, but for some reason I couldn’t move. My legs were rooted to the ground and my right hand refused to stop its gradual progression across my body towards my rapier.

Valiana stepped in front of me. ‘Falcio, stop.’

It was the first time she had ever used my name. She had always called me ‘Trattari’ before.

‘I am … not insensitive to your concern for these people. But Shiballe is right: the woman will surrender before blood is spilled and that will be that.’

I tried to speak but it came out in a whisper. ‘And what then, your Highness? Servitude? Slavery?’

Valiana stared into my eyes. She was a beautiful woman, but beauty had long ago lost its hold on me. ‘I will speak to my father the Duke on her behalf. I promise you that if you come with me I will secure his guarantee that she will not be enslaved. I promise.’

I realised she had moved beyond simply placating me. I looked back into her eyes and saw something there I hadn’t seen before: not frustration, but fear. She wasn’t sure about Shiballe, and she didn’t believe herself safe with only his men and Feltock as an escort.

I would have left her to his machinations – but then what? I didn’t have enough men to fight off the entire city of Rijou, and if I did try and fight, I might end up making things worse for the Tiarren family. Right now they were headed only for poverty; if they were seen as allies of the Greatcoats they would fare far worse.

I felt the ground release my feet from its hold and my hand relaxed. ‘Thank you, your Highness. We will do as you suggest.’

Shiballe secreted his pistol somewhere in the folds of his shirt and clapped his hands together. ‘Excellent!’ he said. ‘So good to see a man who knows his place in these troubled times.’