PROLOGUE
Lord High Constable
**TWELVE YEARS AGO**
John Thursby crossed the bridge astride his turbulent horse, whom he’d nicknamed Truck, short for “truculent.” The soldier had ridden Truck all night to reach Kingfountain, and neither of them were in a cheerful mood. The smells coming from the food stalls along the bridge wafted pleasantly to his nose—the grease of fresh sausages, the fragrance of freshly baked muffins. He’d get food on his way out, though. He had a duty to perform for his master, Lord Devereaux. The roar of the waterfall against the flagstones jarred him.
He passed the gates to Our Lady of Kingfountain, casting a wary glance at them. The worst thieves and villains lurked there, protected by the deconeus from the king’s justice by the rules of sanctuary. It was said many a soldier had taken refuge there after the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross. They’d feared the young king’s first acts of justice, but Eredur had been surprisingly lenient. John Thursby had no reason to object to that mercy since he’d benefited from it directly. His master had been elevated to lord high constable, a member of the king’s privy council. Protector of the city of Kingfountain. Or was the reward merely an excuse to keep a closer eye on him? John Thursby thought that might be nearer the truth.
After crossing the rest of the bridge, he reached the gate leading to the fortress. The knights on guard wore the king’s badge, the Sun and Rose. When one of them caught sight of John Thursby’s badge, his lip curled slightly and his brow wrinkled, hinting at disdain.
“Is there a problem?” he demanded of the fellow. Truck stamped a hoof and looked ready to bite the man on the arm.
“Go on,” said the knight, waving him through.
John Thursby nodded and continued on his way. He shouldn’t have demonstrated his impatience. But he was right sick of the arrogance of the king’s knights. Proud cocks, the lot of them, strutting and squawking. On occasion, they’d provoked John Thursby to the point of defiance. Devereaux had reprimanded him for the brawls, none of which he’d started. All of which had ended unfavorably for the instigators.
Truck grunted at the slope of the road leading to the palace atop the hill. His muscles quivered, and he tossed his mane with annoyance.
“Almost there, Truck,” John Thursby soothed. “Steady on.”
The palace loomed above them, turrets and spires and battlement walls that were impregnable. No enemy had ever taken this fortress by force. It was the seat of Argentine power and had been for generations, since the first of their brood had held power. Truck slowed pace and groaned again, and this time John Thursby had to offer a little coaxing with his spurs until the beast snorted at him and reluctantly obeyed, bringing him to the climax of the journey.
At the gates of the palace, he was met by more guards. He rode beneath the portcullis and then dismounted when one of the king’s groomsmen arrived to take his mount.
“He’s a nasty temper. Have a care or he’ll bite.” John Thursby thought it proper to give a fair warning.
Then he tugged off his riding gloves, stuffed them in his sword belt, and marched into the palace.
When he’d stopped at the lord high constable’s den at the outer walls of the city, he’d been told that Devereaux was at the palace this morning for an early meeting with the king’s council. Rather than wait, he’d opted to pursue his master thither. He hadn’t been to the castle often and was impressed by the tapestries, the polished floors. His boots clipped on the stone as he walked to the great hall, but the doors were closed, and servants were gathered outside.
He approached one, a lass with a jar of flowers, and asked, “How long have they been meeting?”
She gave him a curious look and said she didn’t know, but the meeting had been going on for a while.
He nodded and began to pace. He’d sleep in the barracks after getting some breakfast, unless Lord Devereaux had another duty for him to perform.
Devereaux had been Duke of East Stowe under Queen Morvared’s reign. Eredur had stripped that title from him and given it to one of his lackeys, but he’d made him Earl of Oxgood instead, along with its hefty income, and provided an additional title of lord high constable. But those glories didn’t quite measure up to losing a dukedom. He was no longer equal in rank with the king’s uncle Warrewik. Or the king’s brothers. Eredur’s own father had been Duke of Yuork, not a king. Though he’d rebelled against one.
The more time passed in waiting, the more frustrated John Thursby became. He regretted not stopping for food on Bridge Street now that the gnawing pit in his stomach was tormenting him. He didn’t know the castle cook, nor could he guess how generous she’d be with an outsider, so he didn’t bother asking.
“You’re one of Lord Devereaux’s men,” said a woman to him, intruding on his thoughts.
“I am,” he confirmed. She was a pretty thing, a lady’s maid by the cut and elegance of her gown. The sleeves were tight at her elbows, but the fabric flowed long and loose by the time it reached her wrists. A subtle perfume tickled his nose pleasantly.
Her expression wasn’t condescending, which was a first since he’d arrived. “I’m Mathilde, I’m a maid for the Duchess of North Cumbria. I don’t recognize you.”
“Lord Devereaux sends me here and there. I’m not often in the city.”
“He must trust you, then.” She gave him a pretty smile. It made him instantly suspicious. He wasn’t an unhandsome man, as far as such things went, but his surly demeanor tended to frighten off all but the truly intrepid. Besides, Warrewik ran the king’s Espion, and there appeared to be a ring on her littlest finger.
“I’m on an important mission,” he said, dropping his voice confidentially.
“Oh?” Her eyes gleamed with interest. “Do tell. I can keep a secret.”
Oh, he doubted that very much. . .
“Well, I’d tell you, Mathilde, but Lord Devereaux would be angry with me. Everyone knows he’s easily vexed.”
“He’s quite a temper I hear,” she said, dropping her voice in a conspiratorial manner.
The opposite was true. She was obviously trying to get him to divulge information. He decided to toy with her a little further to pass the time and take his mind away from his stabbing hunger.
“Well, a shipment of Occitanian wine was seized at the docks this morning on the way to the Vintrey ward. Only. . . one of the kegs wasn’t full of wine.”
“Really?” she asked, looking even more interested. News like this would appeal to someone in the Espion. A clue to be investigated. “What was inside it?”
“Ale. Isn’t that terrible?” He grinned at having tricked her. “Next time, lass, remove the Espion ring first. It was a dead giveaway.”
Her cheeks flushed with startled surprise. He snorted and shifted away from her, shaking his head.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“I’m not telling you that, lass. I’m a soldier. Nothing more.”
“You’re from North Cumbria, though. I can tell by your accent. The duke’s family is from there.”
“What of it?”
“The duke is in need of. . . loyal men. . . such as yourself.”
He wrinkled his brow and turned back to her. “You’re trying to recruit me now, lass? You think I can be bought?”
“You’re a soldier, as you said.” The look of intrigue was gone from her face. She’d been caught in the game and was now trying a different approach. She wanted to be useful to Warrewik. What better way than to have one of Devereaux’s soldiers in his employ?
“I’m a soldier, it’s true. And I do know something about loyalty. Which is why I’m going to tell my master about this little conversation, Mathilde. And you tell your master I’d sooner swallow a barrel of vinegar than betray Devereaux. You tell him that, lass.”
“What’s your name?” She pressed once again.
“John Thursby, at your service,” he added with a tone of contempt. The door to the great hall groaned as it opened. The murmuring in the entryway turned into chatter and discussion as the various household members rushed in to serve those they’d been waiting for.
“I beg your leave,” he said, nodding to her formally before walking into the great hall. King Eredur and Queen Elyse were sitting on their thrones, hands interlinked. The various benches where the privy council sat were being carried away by speedy servants, who were also spiriting away the food. He gritted his teeth, wishing he’d been quicker.
He saw Lord Devereaux approaching him, wearing a hauberk beneath his tunic, hand on his sword hilt. He was a handsome fellow, about ten years older than John Thursby, and his face lifted in a smile of recognition.
“You’re a long way from Beestone castle,” Devereaux said. “Did something happen?”
“Aye, but we shouldn’t talk here. I just met one of Warrewik’s Espion strumpets, and she tried to recruit me.”
Devereaux laughed out loud. “Did she now? Were you tempted?”
John Thursby gave him an insulted look.
Devereaux clapped him on the back in a friendly way. “Let’s get out of here. If I have to listen to Warrewik drone on about affairs of state one more moment, I’ll throttle him. You look exhausted. Have you slept yet?”
“I rode all night.”
“Have you read any good poems lately?”
“How do you think I managed to stay awake all night? I think of nothing else!”
Devereaux laughed again. “Come on. I didn’t dare eat any of the food. Warrewik wants to send someone to Pisan to the poisoner school. A young lady in his employ. I’m going to be wary of eating at the palace now. It might not be good for my health.”
“You think Eredur wants you dead?”
“I’m jesting. No, but it will give Warrewik too much power if he pulls it off. He’s paying for her training after all.”
“Was her name Mathilde?”
Devereaux looked confused. “No. That wasn’t it. It’s Trynow-something. She’s from the North. Like you.”
“All the best come from the North,” John Thursby said with good humor.
“Can’t argue there. Let’s be on our way.”
They went out to the courtyard, and the grooms retrieved their mounts from the stable. Truck did not look pleased to be saddled again so soon.
“You’re still riding that awful beast?” Devereaux said in surprise.
“We get along well. The problem’s with everyone else.” He patted down Truck’s withers, scolding the horse when the beast tried to bite him.
Lord Devereaux mounted his bay, and the two left the palace, passing the guard house and starting down the road. They were alone now, away from ears and eyes. The sun was bright overhead. The smell of the trees flanking the road was pleasant.
“Did you warn the king about trusting his uncle too much?” John Thursby asked, cocking his head.
Lord Devereaux chuckled softly. “No, John Thursby. No, I did not. And even if I did, he wouldn’t listen to me.”
“He’d be a fool not to.”
“Well, then he’d be in good company, for most men are fools. I tried to be helpful in the beginning. But after three years in this post, I can tell who he listens to and who he doesn’t. He’ll not listen to me. He won’t ever trust me.”
“But he listens to Warrewik?”
“Well, he has to. But no. There has been strain between them lately. It’s naked as a babe fresh from the womb.”
“If he doesn’t trust Warrewik, who does he trust?”
“The queen. His father-in-law. He doesn’t trust his brother, although I can’t say I blame him. Dunsdworth is a. . .” He stopped, sighed. “He’s a miscreant, let’s just say. Quite a fellow. And the king trusts Sir Thomas Mortimer. I’m keeping my eye on that one. Something is off. I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure I’m right.” He brightened. “So. . . did you bring me a message, John Thursby, all the way from Beestone castle?”
“I did. An emissary arrived from King Lewis’s court. Lord Hux. He’s on his way to Kingfountain right now, but I beat him here.”
“Ah, Lord Hux. Lewis’s poisoner. He didn’t offer you a drink, did he?”
“Thankfully, no. I didn’t know he was a poisoner, so I might have taken it. He wanted to get you a message from Queen Morvared.”
“And? What’s the message? I know he wouldn’t be foolish enough to write it down.”
“The message was plain. No tricks. Queen Morvared wanted to know if you were ready to be a duke again.”
Devereaux listened keenly, and a little smile played on his mouth.
And that was all the answer John Thursby needed, to know what had to happen next. He held Truck’s reins loosely in one hand and dropped his other to the hilt of his sword.
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