“Is everything all right, sir?”
“Of course,” he said lightly. “Thank you.” He beamed at her and bade her goodnight, his smile collapsing as the door shut behind her. It was a peculiarly conspicuous location for such a secret meeting. But Bellamus had learned two things above all about his patron. The first was to trust her. The second was not to bore her.
Hilda had soon returned with the cook and two servants, who set about thawing the house. More fires were lit, food was fetched from the stores and they began to prepare a meal for the soldiers who had started to dissolve into the ragged buildings on either side of the road. They were now Bellamus’s men, all with valuable experience of fighting against the Anakim. An experienced warrior was worth two or three callow recruits, and every man here would be returning north with him when the time came. Bellamus walked past them as he headed for the hall that night, exchanging a few words as they received hot food from his kitchen. They were cheerful, a calm night in a ruined house with a warm meal representing a significant upturn in their recent fortunes.
“Where are you off to, Captain?” asked Stepan, abandoning a game of dice with three companions and getting to his feet, evidently intending to accompany Bellamus.
“Going to meet a friend,” said Bellamus. “Alone this time, Stepan.”
The knight raised his eyebrows. “These are dangerous streets,” he insisted.
“A female friend,” said Bellamus. “She’s not far.”
Stepan’s smile shone through the darkness. “Say no more,” he said, sitting back down.
Bellamus walked to the hall alone, the streets near empty. He supposed that even the roughest of Lundenceaster’s residents preferred to be huddled by a fire that night. Then he reflected that perhaps he and his band were the roughest of Lundenceaster’s residents, and it was from them that the others were hiding.
He found the hall, raising a fist to bang on the double-leaved doors. He was shocked when they were opened by two more handmaidens, both new to him. Was there to be nothing secret about this meeting?
Within, the hall was extravagantly lit by candles and a central hearth; to the extent that Bellamus had to shield his eyes for a moment. The first figure he was able to discern was the queen, who stood before him, dressed in black. Stars were embroidered into her neckline like a chain of silver, and there was a delicate crown resting on her golden hair. Beside her waited another two handmaidens. Though she was his anchor against the coming storm, he cursed himself at the sight of her.
This was a game to her. It had always been a game. He could see from the way she wore a crown to this most covert of meetings; how she had slowly begun to let her most intimate handmaidens in on the secret. Even the way she smiled as he approached. She was courting with peril. Each new partner to their secret fractionally increased the chance that the king discovered. She would grow bored and try a little more danger, liking the taste. But Bellamus had known that. And here he was, relying on her more than ever. She was affectionate enough but he could feel the fickle nature of her admiration. Every moment that he did not entertain her, she drifted away from him.
She wanted the excitement and the unknown in which Bellamus was so expert; he needed her influence at court. But his need was greater. The king doted on Aramilla who, whatever else, had a keen mind. Her hold over King Osbert was suffocating and he feared her loss almost as much as he feared the Anakim. The moment that Bellamus ceased to excite her, he would be cast aside. Or worse. A whisper would find its way into the king’s ear: allegations that Bellamus had touched her, or behaved inappropriately, and it would be over for the upstart.
This was a game to the queen, but not to Bellamus. But he had known that from the beginning, and panic would bore her. Calm, now.
The handmaidens curtseyed and left without a word, retreating discreetly into a room at the back of the hall. Bellamus walked close to her and looked down at her upturned face, overcoming his desire to ask about whether her companions could be trusted.
“I was sure you were dead,” she said softly.
He kissed her. “Without your help, my head will leave my shoulders tomorrow anyway. The king is angry?”
“Not angry, really. Horrified. He moans and he shakes and he quivers at the thought of what happened in the north,” she said, wearily. “But we’ll get to that. Tell me your stories.”
There was a couch at one side of the hall and the upstart and the queen sat together. Bellamus began to talk. He told her about his deception which had won the first battle and forced the Anakim from the field. About the tangled wilderness through which they had marched, torching and killing, looking to bleed the legions from the Hindrunn. About the wild animals that had made life so cheap and sleep so dangerous. How they had then been tricked by the new Black Lord and stripped so contemptuously of their supplies. How the army had begun to fall apart and spill men over the wilderness before they had at last faced the Anakim in a narrow pass by the sea. Here, he went into detail, knowing that the tale of how the Sacred Guard had finally seemed to lose patience with the rest of the army, and simply ripped the Suthern line apart before slaughtering Lord Northwic, would excite her. “They’re coming south, Aramilla,” he finished. “The Black Lord himself told me. They want to take this city in revenge for our invasion.”
“And what would they do?” Her pupils were very wide. He
