The line of petitioners seemed endless, and that was with the castle guards filtering out some of the more unkempt individuals.
Once the sun had finally set, Gerand spoke to the king, whispering lies in his ears about how the people still respected him. Back in his chambers, a full bottle of wine awaited him, as per his orders to his servants. Just what he needed to relax.
“Fucking thieves,” he muttered as he shut the door. The past five years had filled his head with gray hair, and the marriage with his wife had plummeted into occasional nights spent together, but mostly him sleeping in the castle, her in their mansion. Removing the cork, he poured a glass and toasted the empty room.
“To you, Alyssa,” he said. “For destroying in two days everything I built in five years.”
“To Alyssa,” someone whispered, their breath upon his neck.
Gerand nearly choked on his wine. He spun, torn between diving for a weapon and falling to his knees to beg for his life. The last time a thief had snuck into his room, it’d been Thren Felhorn and a female companion. They’d kidnapped his wife to make him enforce certain desires of theirs. The first thought that ran through his mind as he saw a man cloaked in gray was that they’d have to kidnap someone better if they wanted him to obey.
“Thren?” he said, startled by the sight. It looked like Thren, only much younger. He had a sudden fear that the man was immortal, immune to time, and that he might never be rid of him. As a wolfish grin spread across the intruder’s face, he choked down such irrational thoughts. This wasn’t Thren, no matter how much he looked like him.
“No,” said the man. “Close, though. I am the Watcher. Perhaps you have heard of me?”
“I have, though I’ve wondered if you were actually real.” He chuckled. “I guess this should count as proof?”
The Watcher snatched the glass from his hand and drank the remaining half. As he smacked his lips, he tossed him a scroll.
“Read it,” he commanded.
Gerand did, his eyes growing wider with each sentence.
“You want the credit of the idea to go to the king?” he asked when finished. “But why?”
“The more involved, the better,” said the Watcher. He leaned against the wall, to the inside of where the door would open. Even if Gerand managed to call the guards, and not die doing so, the man would still get the jump on them. “Besides, I need someone neutral in all this, someone both sides trust. You’ve accepted bribes from both the thieves and the Trifect. Both will think you’ll be in their pocket once the smoke clears.”
“But Edwin will never agree. He’s terrified someone will poison his tea or put shards of metal into his bread. By the gods, he thinks every shadow in his bedroom is a man poised with razor wire.”
“He has something more real to fear, and we both know it. Veldaren is furious. You’ve failed to protect its people, and this time it’s gone too far. Fires have burned down a quarter of the city. Innocent men and women died at the hands of mercenaries, and they come here finding no justice, no empathy. They have no one to turn to, no one to trust. Do you remember the riots five years ago? They will make those look downright orderly.”
Gerand nodded. He remembered how much anger simmered in the many waiting in his line. They’d certainly not left in a better mood after discussing with him, either. Getting King Vaelor to agree would involve marginal effort at best. Once he played on his fears, then offered him the deal as a way to come out a hero, he’d agree in a heartbeat. Gerand glanced down at the parchment in hand, still trying to decide the loophole, the underhanded secret hidden beneath the words.
“What do you gain from this?” he dared ask.
“We all want a legacy,” the Watcher said. “This will be mine. The arrangement will rely on you, once everything is in order. Can you enforce it?”
The way he said it sparked a memory, and coupled with the face, he couldn’t keep it in any longer. For a time, he had tried to capture Thren’s son, Aaron, and had even used the king’s old advisor, Robert Haern, to aid him in the task. Time had dulled his memory, and no doubt the child had grown, but still…
“You have to be Thren’s kin,” he said. “His long lost son, Aaron, perhaps?”
The Watcher pulled his hood lower over his face, and his mood seemed to sour.
“I would keep such thoughts to yourself, friend. They are dangerous.”
Gerand felt his blood chill.
“Of course, of course. I guess it is no matter. But can you pull this off? A bluff won’t work with either side.”
“I have lived on the streets, hunting them like dogs. Every single guild has initiated me into their order without knowing it. I know where they live, where they hide. Few can challenge my skill, and none my determination. I will kill them, all of them, if I must. Make the king listen to you.”
He stood and put a hand on the door.
“I’ve already delivered the rest of the messages. They’ll bring their answers to you. Come tomorrow, I’ll check here first, to see who is safe and who must be dealt with.”
“I understand.”
As the door opened, Gerand couldn’t hold in a chuckle. The Watcher stopped, as if he suspected a trap.
“No, it’s not that,” he said as the man closed the door. “I just found it humorous, is all. A long time ago, your father came to me, threatening my life to help him escalate his conflict. Yet now you come here, seeking to end it. I guess you aren’t your father’s son, are you?”
This seemed to put a smile on the Watcher’s face.
“Good night, advisor. Do your part, and trust me to do mine.”
He vanished out the door. Gerand plopped down onto his bed, and now that he was alone, he felt his hands start to shake, his nerves finally getting the better of him. It seemed, despite the guards and walls, those with enough skill could still reach him. Perhaps the king’s jumping at shadows wasn’t so irrational after all…
“Where’s that damn wine?” he asked. Seeing it, he held it by the neck and drank straight from the bottle. Given what he was about to go through the following day and night, he’d need all the courage he could get.
25
Delysia stumbled upon him getting ready as night fast approached.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He’d shared Senke’s room, but the other rogue had gone out to spend a night relaxing in the taverns.
“I’ve got some business to take care of,” he said. Brug’s trunk of weapons lay open before him, and he slid several daggers into his belt, plus another into a pocket of his boot.
“My brother did some digging, and he says the mercenaries won’t be going out again tonight,” she said, crossing her arms underneath her breasts. “What is it you’re planning? For once the night might be peaceful.”
Haern felt a half-smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
“The nights are never peaceful here. Quiet, perhaps, but killing can be silent work when done right. Never mind that, though. Promise me you’ll stay inside. Things are about to get very dangerous.”
She put a hand on his arm. “For you as well?”
He shrugged. “Can’t help it. I have a chance to do something great, Delysia, something real.”
“Will you kill?”
He rolled his eyes.
“This isn’t the same.”
“Then what is it?”
“Safety,” he said. “For all of us. My father wants a legacy, and I’ll deny him it. What he started, I’ll end, or I’ll die trying.”
“You don’t have to do this alone,” she said. “Let us help. Let me help.”
“You lost enough because of me. I won’t risk the life you’ve rebuilt here.”
“Who said you had a choice?”
He winked at her.
“Where I’m going tonight, I don’t think a priest or priestess has ever been. Good night, Del.”
