and one of them would have to kill the other after all. There was no other way any more. ‘Princess Gelisya?’ he asked, breathless.
A guard glared at him. ‘Not here.’ That was all he got.
‘Where? Where’s Syannis? Where are the servants?’
‘Gone. All gone.’
Gone. But the Bloody Judge of Tethis didn’t lose that easily. Gelisya would be near. He could almost feel her presence. She’d be here to see everything happen as she desired it. And Syannis too — he could have held off a dozen men on his own and rallied the rest — yet the guards had thrown down their swords as soon as the gates were opened. As though they knew what was coming and it was what they’d been told to do.
There was a clenched fist inside him. He paced the castle, desperate with frustration, trying to work out where Syannis and Gelisya might be, then climbed the wall overlooking the city. He stared down as if hoping to see them somewhere, staring back at him, but nearly all of Tethis was hidden beneath the cliffs. Where the coastline curved away he could see some of the fishing villages on the edge of the town, little more than grey shapes in the early morning light. Too far. No one there would be able to see what was happening; probably they wouldn’t even be able to see the smoke. No, Gelisya would be closer than that, but where? The only part of the city he could see was the market, where it spread up the far side of the gorge, and even there all was still.
As he stared out across the sea, he suddenly knew the answer was right in front of him, in the dull shapes out among the waves. He couldn’t see the harbour from the castle, but he remembered how it had been, sailing into the city, sitting in a longboat and looking up at the cliffs. She wasn’t in the city at all. She was on a ship. Safe and out of reach and there to see it all.
He jumped down from the wall and ran out of the castle into the brightening dawn. Eyes followed him but no one made any move to stop him. He was the Bloody Judge, after all, Talon’s trusted right arm. He sprinted down the steep road that wound around the side of the gorge and into the market district. Half the Thousand Ghosts were ahead of him, screaming and shouting and burning. The air already carried the taint of smoke.
There was more than one ship anchored out in the bay. He had no way of knowing which one might be hers, but that didn’t matter. If that was where she was, that was where he’d find her, even if he had to search ship by ship. Syannis? Well, no need to look. Once the thief-taker knew what he’d done, he would come.
32
Berren ran down through the city to the harbour. He had blood on his sword now from some fool who’d taken him for a looter and come at him with a knife. For a moment, through the smoke, he’d thought he’d seen Syannis, face stained with tears and carrying a body. But it couldn’t have been, and when he’d looked again it had been some stranger, lost and confused, carrying a bundle of sticks in a blanket.
From the waterfront, he knew exactly which ship must be Gelisya’s. A fast sloop lay anchored only a few hundred yards from the shore. It was the ship he’d seen years ago outside the slaver camp where he’d shot Saffran Kuy, and the colours she flew were the same colours that flew from the castle, the colours Talon had worn on the day they’d killed Meridian. Down here, amid the sprawl of the docks, the pall of smoke over the market looked distant and small, the noise from the castle muted and indistinct. A few morning drunks stood grouped together, gawping at it, raising their fingers to test the wind, idly taking bets as to which way it would turn and how the fire might spread, but otherwise the sailors and teamsters and wagoneers were already about their normal business, the air tantalising him with the smells of fish from the smoking houses and hot grease off the braziers.
He found himself a longboat, gave a couple of pennies to a pair of burly sailors who didn’t seem to have much to do, and they rowed him out to the sloop. He’d imagined he’d have to fight his way on board, yet as the boat drew close a voice from the deck shouted directions and a rope ladder was thrown down. He climbed aboard, hands always floating beside his sword. On the deck a dozen or so king’s guard watched him. He saw Lucama and they exchanged a cautious nod of greeting. A few sailors sat idly around, staring out at the city and the blot of smoke that hung next to the castle. Neither Gelisya nor Syannis was on deck, yet none of the guards seemed surprised that Berren was there.
‘Fasha!’ he shouted. ‘Where’s Fasha?’ The shouting made the soldiers stir uneasily. ‘Princess Gelisya’s bonds-maid! Where is she?’ As he moved to search the ship, the scrape of swords half drawn brought him to a halt. ‘Aimes is dead!’ he shouted at them. ‘The king is dead. The king you were supposed to protect.’
Lucama regarded him with a puzzled look. Then a door to the inside of the ship flew open, and Vallas the soap-maker emerged into the light. Berren bared his teeth. ‘No little child to hide behind this time?’ A dozen guards. He couldn’t take them all, not at once, but he could hold them off for long enough to run a length of steel through a warlock. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword.
Vallas was smiling at him. Berren had seen a warlock stabbed by a sword once before. Even with the blade sticking right through him it hadn’t been enough. The soap-maker beckoned. ‘Come inside, Master Crown-Taker. If the king is dead, come and claim your reward.’
‘Where’s Syannis?’
‘He will come. Your slave is here.’
Berren took a step closer. He drew his sword and held out in front of him, straight at the soap-maker’s face. ‘I still might kill you, warlock.’
‘You might as well draw a knife across your slave’s throat then. But try it if you wish.’ He turned his back and Berren him followed into the bowels of the sloop, sword drawn, point inches from the warlock’s skin. The guards made no move to stop him. Vallas led him down almost to the bilges, into a low cargo hold. Crates and sacks and boxes lay scattered about in the gloom. A dozen candles flickered, making a circle of dim light. The air was hazy with their smoke and Berren’s eyes burned. In the middle of the circle Gelisya sat, legs crossed, looking at him. She was holding a knife, the golden-hilted knife, the thief-taker’s knife, the blade that Saffran Kuy had used to cut a piece out of Berren’s soul. Lit up by the candles as she was, Berren could see how much she’d changed. The girl he remembered had become a woman.
‘Hello, murderer,’ she said, and even her voice had changed. Where her words had once sounded sharp and petulant, now they were languid and fleshy.
‘Aimes is dead,’ Berren said shortly. ‘You have what you wanted. Now give me what I came for.’
Gelisya smiled at him. ‘No, no. Aimes is not enough and you know that perfectly well.’ She cocked her head. ‘I tried so hard with Syannis. I sent my slave with a love potion to make you do what I wanted, but you said you’d do it anyway, so there it was, left over. After you killed my father, I fed it to Syannis. I whispered my name three times in his ear to see what would happen. I could see how much it pained him to refuse me anything after that, but he still wouldn’t get rid of Aimes. I tried to have him poisoned with the stuff you left for me, the paste you used to make your friend better, but he caught me. I hadn’t realised how clever he was. He couldn’t do anything about it, of course, but he still wouldn’t let me get rid of Aimes. I suppose he’d spent so long thinking that Saffran was going to put his little brother back together one day that he couldn’t let go of the idea. Poor little Sy. Even with Saffran gone, even after he knew that he’d been lied to for all those years, even when he was on his knees, begging and pleading and weeping for me to forgive him, he
She made a show of inspecting the knife. ‘Then I found that he had this. Saffran has one just like it. He told me about it once, what the star-knives did, and now one of them was right in front of me. So I made Syannis give his one to me and after that I had to start cutting. Little pieces. I thought, maybe, if I cut the right piece out, he’d do what I wanted.’ Her eyes met Berren’s again. ‘So much cutting and still nothing. Then I thought of you, murderer. I think of you a lot actually. But I thought of you in a new way on my birthday, you see, because I was ready to be a queen, and no one had given me what I wanted. Did you really kill Aimes?’
Berren nodded. ‘He’s dead.’ His head spun. Syannis deserved every sour twist fate could give him. Berren tried to shake it off, throw it all away, everything Gelisya said she’d done. The two of them deserved each other. But he couldn’t do it, not quite.
‘Then I suppose you’ve as good as killed Syannis as well. Aimes was really the last thing holding him together.’ She looked at the knife again. ‘You might as well finish the job.’
