Angel's Deceit (Angelwar Book 2) Read online

  ‘But you knew, didn’t you, that they would chafe at each other?’

  The duke smiled beatifically. ‘That was just a happy coincidence, dear. Our daughter did, after all, need some of that pride knocking out of her.’

  ‘Because you spoiled her,’ his wife muttered. She stared into her husband’s eyes. ‘There is another solution.’

  The duke sighed. He knew he wasn’t going to like it.

  ‘I have been loyal to you, husband, and our cause. I have never asked for anything, but if you have ever loved me you will do this one thing.’

  ‘Grace…’

  ‘Stonepoint is only two days from Meracia, close enough that a small force could garrison itself there and be ready should our children need help.’

  Duke val Sharvina considered it. Stonepoint was a tiny island five days sailing from Jhanhar. Sudalra had claimed it over a century ago, and with no resources and precious little land that could support any kind of arable crops, other nations had let the island nation keep the rocky outcrop. A small but stout castle dominated the island. Over time, a small town had sprung up at the docks and the population made just enough coin from passing trade ships to eke out an existence. At least, that was how it appeared. In reality, Stonepoint was the training ground of the Sworn, the town’s businesses staffed entirely by loyal relatives and other retired assets of Sudalrese Intelligence. The island’s location also provided the Sworn with a useful base of operations close to Serria, Vrond and Meracia.

  ‘How small would this force be?’

  ‘Just you and a few bodyguards picked from the Sworn. You are, after all, the country’s only duke.’ His wife appeared to consider the matter for a moment. ‘About fifty, I should think.’

  ‘Fifty? That’s nearly every Sworn man in Jhanhar!’

  ‘I suppose it is. A ship is being loaded as we speak.’

  Duke val Sharvina scowled, recognising he had been outmanoeuvred by his wife. ‘And I suppose my opinion—’

  ‘Your opinion,’ the duchess interrupted, ‘is that this is a grand idea and you wish you had thought of it first. I’m sure you would have, dear, if you weren’t so busy, so perhaps you should just tell the men it’s your idea?’

  ‘That might be for the best,’ Duke val Sharvina muttered as he stood up. ‘There are matters here to be taken care of.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll muddle through.’

  The duke grinned broadly and opened his arms. ‘I’m sure you will,’ he smiled as his wife rose and embraced him.

  ‘Make sure nothing happens to our children,’ she whispered.

  40.

  Tol awoke as the door flew open, struggling upright as Stetch barged into the room, a tight expression on his face.

  ‘Downstairs,’ the warrior grunted, turning and leaving as swiftly as he came.

  Tol blinked the sleep from his eyes and clambered off the bed. He glanced out the window, and saw the sun low in the sky; he had slept most of the afternoon. Nearly dying tires you out, he thought as he rubbed his face. He took a step towards the door and Stetch reappeared.

  ‘Now.’

  Tol hurried after the Sworn man, striding along the upper level of the Ninety-Third Passage, and taking the stairs two at a time to catch up with Stetch. He almost crashed into him as Stetch stopped at the foot of the stairs, barely stopping his momentum to land next to the warrior and finding himself face to face with Katarina, a familiar portly figure standing nervously at her side.

  ‘Lord Calderon?’

  The Meracian mopped sweat from his brow, his face ruddier than usual. ‘Sir Tol. I – I didn’t know who else to turn to. Please, I need your help. No, Meracia needs your help.’

  Tol nodded, the short journey leaving him almost as breathless as the Meracian lord who stood before him, rivulets of perspiration pouring off his face.

  ‘There’s little time,’ Calderon began without preamble, ‘if it is not too late already. I just received word from one of my informants: Drayken plans to kidnap Prince Julien while the prince is out hunting this afternoon.’

  ‘Where?’ Tol asked.

  ‘The royal family maintain a hunting reserve north-west of the city,’ Calderon told him, ‘an hour or so march from here. But.. you must be quick, the light is already failing and the prince is likely on his way back. If you cannot foil the kidnappers, you must track the prince and rescue him.’ Calderon leaned forward, and grabbed Tol’s shirt. ‘If the prince is taken, it could change everything.’

  ‘I’ll leave at once.’

  ‘Stetch and I will accompany you,’ Katarina said.

  ‘My lady,’ Lord Calderon said, aghast, ‘you must not risk yourself in such an endeavour! Your father would never forgive me were anything to happen to you. I would never forgive myself.’

  Katarina rounded on him. ‘My sister may be with the prince.’

  Calderon only hesitated a moment. ‘All the more reason to stay, Lady Katarina. Your father would be furious were I to allow you to risk yourself alongside your sister. Please, return to my estate, and we can await word from Sir Tol and your man.’

  Tol watched as Katarina clenched her jaw, struggling with her decision. Her eyes met those of Stetch briefly. ‘Go,’ he told her gruffly.

  ‘She’ll be fine, won’t she?’ Katarina asked him, her voice almost pleading. ‘Her bodyguard won’t let any harm come to her, will he?’

  Stetch seemed to hesitate for a moment, but he finally gave a grunt of assent.

  ‘Bring her home, Stetch.’

  The warrior nodded and turned to Tol. ‘Well?’

  ‘We’ll find them,’ Tol assured Calderon and Katarina.

  Lord Calderon grabbed Tol and thanked him profusely. ‘Hurry,’ he urged him, ‘you’ll have to fly like the wind to…’ He broke off, his face transforming into a mask of hope. ‘Fly…’ he repeated. ‘Your angel,’ he said, ‘she could perhaps reach them in time. Will you ask her to aid us?’

  ‘I’ll ask, but I wouldn’t count on her help,’ Tol said, wincing as he saw Katarina’s expression sour. ‘I’ll try,’ he repeated, trying to sound more confident than he felt. Kalashadria had ignored him since his arrival in High Mera, but if anything might bring her back to him, then a plot that threatened the monarchy of Meracia – one that could change the outcome of the war – might be it. Tol took a breath. ‘Go,’ he told Katarina and Calderon, ‘we’ll be right behind you, I just need to get my sword.’

  Lord Calderon thanked him again, and then led a dazed Katarina away. Tol watched her go, and realised that although present she had not said a single word to him. There was no time to think about it now though, and he turned round and raced back up the stairs, Stetch trotting along beside him.

  ‘Prince will have bodyguards,’ Stetch said as Tol ducked into his room and gathered up his weapons.

  ‘We’re going to need help,’ Tol agreed. A lot of it.

  *

  Tol picked up his bow and quiver of arrows and hurried out of his room. Stetch hadn’t waited for him, exiting his own room and crossing the corridor. Tol caught up with him just as Stetch kicked the door open and they both heard the rasp of steel being drawn.

  ‘Know how to use that?’ Stetch grunted through the doorway.

  ‘Don’t you know how to knock?’

  Tol stuck his head round Stetch’s shoulder. ‘We need your help,’ he told Vixen.

  She slammed the sword back into its scabbard. ‘Well, why didn’t you say?’

  ‘It’s going to be dangerous,’ he warned her.

  ‘About time,’ she muttered. Her hand gravitated towards a bow propped against her cot, fingers brushing the supple wood. ‘Weapons?’

  ‘Bring everything.’

  Vixen smiled, and followed Tol and Stetch as they hurried downstairs, through the inn and out onto the street. Tol turned right, the bridge to the central district at his back, and turned right again at the crossroads, striding past the western face of the inn and heading north.

  ‘What’s goin
g on?’ Vixen asked.

  Tol explained quickly, outlining the plot to kidnap the king’s youngest son and how it could affect Meracia’s involvement in the coming war; with the prince held to ransom, Tol thought there was a good chance that the price of his freedom might be Meracia distancing itself from the conflict, or not sending its full force against the Gurdal. Maybe sending just enough to fail, he thought, but not so few that it appears purposeful.

  Vixen listened silently, and when Tol finished she asked only a single question: ‘What if we’re too late?’

  ‘We have to find him.’

  ‘Any idea how many we’ll be up against?’

  ‘No,’ Tol admitted.

  ‘Dozen,’ Stetch said.

  ‘A dozen?’ Tol repeated. Three against twelve? The bodyguards might get one or two, I suppose. Even with Stetch at his side, Tol still didn’t like those odds.

  ‘Standard bodyguard of six,’ the Sworn man explained. ‘Figure double it to take them down.’ He gave Tol a searching look. ‘Could use another sword.’

  Tol gritted his teeth. ‘The Feral Badger. It’s on the way.’ He led the pair at a fast march, not daring to risk garnering unwanted attention by running through High Mera’s crowded afternoon streets. Assassins would already be out looking for him, and a running man was always noticed. No need to make things more difficult.

  He struggled to even maintain a brisk walk as they wound their way north, the after-effects of his encounter with hanwell root still plaguing him. His breathing was fast and laboured and Tol could feel a sheen of sweat already forming on his face. Stetch studiously ignored it, but Vixen kept glancing at him, and he could concern etched in her face.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said.

  ‘Before lunch you were nearly dead.’

  Tol forced a grin. ‘See? Better already.’

  ‘We’ve got half a dozen miles to cover and then a fight at the end of it. You look fit to drop already.’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ he said, trying to ignore the doubtful grunt from Stetch beside him.

  ‘Is there no one else?’ Vixen asked. ‘What about the Reve?’

  ‘They’re based in the eastern district, it would take too long to reach them and then come back this way. And… I might not be their favourite knight at the moment; probably best to avoid them, I think.’

  ‘Might not be their favourite…’ Vixen repeated with a dark look. ‘And just what have you done to piss them off?’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Tol said. ‘They just… they just think the church is better off without me.’

  ‘They’re jealous, aren’t they? Worried that you’re a threat to their power?’

  Tol shrugged, cursing inwardly. When did Vixen get so smart? ‘Just concerned,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it will work out in the end; if we save the prince, they’ll see the truth.’

  ‘People see what they wish to see,’ Vixen said bitterly. ‘Trust me on that.’

  She earned a grunt of agreement from Stetch. ‘What about you?’ she asked, turning her attention to the Sudalrese warrior. ‘Surely some of your folk are waiting around here somewhere?’

  ‘Too far,’ Stetch said, one arm gesturing off to the east.

  Vixen quietened, clearly out of ideas, and Tol found himself glancing at Stetch every few paces. The warrior had been quiet – even by his own tomb-like standards – since leaving the Ninety-Third Passage, and there was a fresh layer of tension to the man. Nerves, Tol might have thought had it been anyone else, but with Stetch… concern was probably the right word.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Tol told the warrior, earning a stupefying glare for his efforts. ‘She has one of your brothers with her, he’ll make sure she escapes.’

  Stetch gave a noncommittal grunt.

  ‘Do you know the man with her? Is he a friend?’

  The Sworn man kept his eyes on the road, leading them north towards the city gates. He didn’t answer, and Tol remembered how he had paused before reassuring Katarina in the inn.

  ‘Katarina’s sister does have a bodyguard, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Victoria,’ Stetch told him bluntly. ‘Lady Victoria to you.’ He mumbled a curse. ‘No bodyguard.’

  ‘And you let Katarina think her sister has one?’ Tol whistled. ‘She’s going to be furious.’

  Stetch wheeled and grabbed him by the collar. ‘Not if we bring her back alive.’ His eyes bored into Tol’s skull. ‘That’s what we’re going to do – understand?’

  Tol nodded, sensing Vixen stir on his other side. Please don’t attack him, he silently pleaded. It wasn’t hard to work out who would win that contest. ‘I assumed… the duke’s other children would be protected.’

  Stetch released him and resumed his march through the afternoon crowds. ‘No.’

  Tol hurried after him, ignoring Vixen’s suggestive look that hinted the pair might be better off without Stetch. ‘So why does Katarina think otherwise?’ Stetch just ignored him. ‘Why you – why did the duke send you?’

  Stetch spared him a pitying glance as he shouldered a passing merchant out of his way. ‘Headstrong.’

  ‘And you’re supposed to keep her out of trouble.’

  Tol saw Stetch’s shoulders tighten and knew he had hit the mark. He sympathised with the warrior; trying to restrain someone as wilful as Katarina couldn’t be easy.

  ‘Her own father doesn’t trust her.’

  Tol winced at Vixen’s statement, but Stetch didn’t react at all. And that might be worse, he realised. Katarina’s bodyguard was a difficult man to read, but Tol suspected that, like Kartane, he could switch effortlessly from peaceable calm to unrestrained violence without warning. He shot Vixen a warning glance, but his childhood friend’s attention was firmly on the road ahead and she looked like she was trying to hide a smile. Could she be right? Tol wondered as the sly grin began to anger him. ‘No,’ he said after a moment, ‘I don’t think that’s it.’

  ‘It certainly seems that way,’ Vixen argued. ‘How well do you really know her?’

  ‘The duke would never let Katarina leave Sudalra if he didn’t trust her,’ Tol said. ‘It’s not about trust.’ As he said it, Tol realised it was true. The duke trusted his daughter, and had even forgiven her for bringing Tol to his home. Would he have been so forgiving if it had been another who delivered me? he wondered. Would I have been allowed to leave alive?

  ‘If you say so.’

  Tol opened his mouth, but closed it again as he realised the truth: Stetch’s presence wasn’t a result of doubts about Katarina’s abilities, but a father’s concern for his youngest daughter. A rare sign of weakness in the Black Duke.

  Tol glanced at Stetch and found the warrior studying him carefully. Stetch nodded once, and Tol knew he was right. And Stetch knows the real reason he’s here, too.

  They turned a corner and arrived at the Feral Badger, and Stetch strode ahead, turning as he reached the cracked paint of the door. His eyes flicked over Tol once and the Sudalrese warrior grunted. ‘I’ll get him.’

  Tol nodded his thanks and leaned against the cool stone wall as the afternoon heat fled High Mera’s streets.

  ‘See if you can get some food,’ Vixen told Stetch. ‘He might not make it otherwise.’

  There was a moment of perfect stillness, and Tol stopped breathing, sure Vixen had pushed Stetch too far. He could see the man’s muscles tightening like a cat ready to pounce. Stetch exhaled slowly, the moment passing as the warrior turned his head fractionally to meet Tol’s gaze.

  ‘Won’t wait for you,’ Stetch told him bluntly.

  ‘I won’t slow you down,’ Tol promised.

  The answering grunt sounded less than certain.

  41.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’

  After Kraven’s first duelling opponent had finally realised that Rachel and her sisters weren’t going to leave her alone, the Meracian noblewoman had reluctantly agreed to take them to the part of High Mera where, she assured Rachel, they would find Tol Krav
en. Somehow – and Rachel still wasn’t sure how it had happened – Suranna had led the three nuns into several of the city’s shops. Despite Rachel’s protests, the noblewoman had insisted on buying new clothes for the Sisterguard. After the scratchy discomfort of dirty, travel-stained church woollens, the lighter cotton fabric was a welcome relief to Rachel. Bruna seemed ill-at-ease in her new, more practical garb, but Morafin at least seemed slightly less sullen than usual. The Sisterguard now found themselves accoutred in ankle-length grey dresses – cut in a manner Rachel was sure would mortify Mother Beatrice – and supple doe-skin boots. Suranna dol Carasiddio had chatted amiably throughout the whole process, somehow putting all three of them at ease – so much so that none of them had noticed how tightly the dresses hugged their figures until they were already leaving the store. By the time Suranna had finished with them, all three of the Sisterguard had three dresses – in church grey, Rachel had drawn the line at summer colours or anything that “brought out the colour” of her eyes – along with assorted smallclothes, comfortable boots, and a grey hooded cloak that although lighter than the heavy church woollens, offered a good deal of comfort and looked, Rachel had to admit, rather fetching.

  Suranna’s constant chatter had acted as a lullaby, and while Rachel and her sisters listened to the noblewoman, they had heard the woman’s opinions on a number of matters, from the latest styles favoured in High Mera to which lords were cheating on their wives and with whom. In amongst this, however, Rachel had also learned a little about their new friend. She thought altogether too much of Tol Kraven – something Rachel found incomprehensible based on her single encounter with the young lout – but it was also clear that Lady dol Carasiddio was a devout follower of the church, practically burning with faith. It was only after they had returned to the streets that Rachel noticed Suranna had also acquired a cloak identical to those now worn by her fellow nuns.

  True to her word, Suranna had led them quickly to the western district of High Mera, and the four had spied Tol Kraven leaving an inn near the bridge. They had followed him north through the city until Kraven – and two surly looking companions – stopped at another inn. Curiously, only the man had entered, while the tall, blonde woman had waited outside with Kraven.