Royal Exile. Fiona McIntosh
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‘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