“A warehouse full,” I whispered.
“Of course, I was going to inform you, sire, as soon as I had gathered all the facts.”
King Jusson ignored her lie. “When was this?”
“A little over a week ago.”
It was probably the last run Lieutenant Jaxtir sent from Dornel. I looked at the clerk, wondering if she knew how close she’d come to being killed. There was no way Lord Gherat didn’t know she had absconded with his contraband and she probably was saved only by the turmoil caused by Laurel’s arrival in Iversly and Teram’s own machinations. My mind shied away from what might actually be in her warehouse.
“Whom did you lease the building from?” Jusson asked.
“It was one that the dockmaster listed as being vacant, sire. I leased it through him.” She tried an ingratiating smile. “The goods are still there.” The king ignored that red herring too. “Then who owned the warehouse that the contraband was originally in?”
“Lord Chause, Your Majesty.”
Chapter Forty-three
“I own many warehouses, Your Majesty,” Lord Maceal ibn Chause said. “I may have leased one to Lord Gherat in the past year. I’d have to have my agent check my records.”
By King Jusson’s orders, Lord Commander Thadro and Captain Suiden went with a mixture of guards and troops to Losan’s warehouse, as Laurel Faena advised that the contraband be left there until he had a chance to go. The king also sent his Own to invite Lord Chause to the palace for a friendly chat, and my uncle had strolled in, the epitome of an aristocrat as he looked me with slight disdain, as though I was just too boring for him to feel anything more.
The sun was casting long shadows outside the windows of the receiving chamber, and soon it would be time to go to Trooper Basel’s funeral. Lord Chause lounged in his chair, casting a world-weary gaze over Lord Esclaur and Captain Javes. He then looked back at King Jusson. “May I ask, Your Majesty, the nature of the charges against Gherat?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, what about Teram?” My uncle looked at me. “Tell me, Rabbit, did your cousin really try to lead a revolt wearing a Locival costume?”
I frowned at his pointing out my relationship with Flavan but Jusson spoke before I could. “Nor have I asked you here to discuss Teram ibn Flavan.”
Lord Chause smiled faintly. “I beg pardon, sire.”
King Jusson watched my uncle for a moment. “Do you know how close we stand to war, Maceal?”
“I thought you took care of that, Your Majesty.”
“No, not with the House of Flavan. With the Borderlands.”
“I’ve heard the nonsense about the spritewood and dragon skin, sire.” My uncle’s lip curled even more.
“It’s not nonsense, Maceal,” Jusson said.
“I again beg pardon, Your Majesty,” Lord Chause said. “But I haven’t been impressed with the, ah, Borderers they have sent to us.” He sneered at me. “A clodhopping farm boy and a performing animal.”
“The Border War was also unimpressive?” Lord Esclaur asked.
“A children’s tale, Esclaur,” Lord Chause said. “Fighting trees and chanting fairies? More nonsense.”
“So full of nonsense, Maceal,” Jusson said, “that we sued for peace and considered ourselves very fortunate that we received it.”
Lord Chause opened his mouth.
“I have read the firsthand accounts of the battle,” Jusson said, cutting my uncle off. He leaned forward in his chair. “Just one battle, Maceal. No others, not even an exchange of insults. Iversterre received the drubbing of its kingdom life.” The king’s eyes glittered. “It’s not just a children’s pantomime.” A line appeared between my uncle’s gray-shot brows, spoiling his sneer.
“I’ve also read the letters between my great-grandfather the king and the ‘fairies.’ And the resulting treaties.” King Jusson’s eyes glittered more. “Do you know why we have such a strong garrison at Veldecke?”
“I assumed to keep out the mad and the malcontents from the Border,” Lord Chause said, still trying to sneer over a frown forming on his face.
“Oh, come now, Maceal,” Esclaur said. “Think. Why would we need such a large force there if the Border was composed only of rabble?”
“Bandits—”
“No, my lord,” Captain Javes said. “No outlaws come down at us from the Border. All our banditry is internal. Or from the sea.”
“The garrison at Veldecke isn’t to keep the Border people out,” Jusson said. “It’s to keep us in.” He leaned forward again. “Even your brother and his wife didn’t go through the garrison to the Border. They sailed on a Qarant trading ship to one of the Border portal city-states.”
My ma always talked about that trip with a shudder, turning green at the memory of being seasick, though my da’s face glowed at the thought of being at sea.
“Have you wondered why the army sends its problems to Freston and not the garrison at the utmost edge of the kingdom?” Javes asked.
“No, Captain, I can’t say it ever crossed my mind—”
“Because we’d be bloody damned if we’d allow some gape-seed idiot in a uniform to violate the treaty because he couldn’t think beyond his arse.”
“My lord,” Javes answered.
“Or any other body part,” Esclaur muttered. “Like Groskin.”
“Only the best go to Veldecke,” Jusson said. “Yet in spite of all our precautions, my agent”—the king waved a hand at Javes—”has traced the flow of contraband from Veldecke to Iversly’s port. What do you think this means in terms of the treaty?”
Lord Chause said nothing.
“It means that we’re in deep trouble.” King Jusson leaned back in his chair. “Our army was decimated in the Border War, Maceal. We were really fortunate that Tural didn’t find out until much later, as we would all be speaking Turalian and sporting clan markings.” He rested his chin on his propped-up hand. “Now, because of some who’d looked to fund a little civil disobedience and others seeking to line their coffers, we are facing war again with—how did you put it, Javes? The only country to beat us bloody stupid.” I looked at the captain, thinking that at least one of King Jusson’s spies had been exposed.
“Even now Ambassador Laurel is with Foreign Chancellor Berle, trying hard to find a diplomatic solution, but they’re not hopeful.” King Jusson sighed. “Our great lords and senior officials involved in smuggling and slave running. Our warehouses full of body parts. Our churchmen carrying those thrice-damned corpses as Staves of Offices. Our soldiers with hauberks and shields made out of the skin of one of the treaty signer’s sons.” He saw my start. “Oh, yes, cousin. Judging by the letters she sent to my greatgrandfather, Dragoness Moraina was very much involved in the drafting of the treaty.” I frowned at that—honored Moraina did not read or write.
“I never questioned Gherat,” Lord Chause said. “Why should I have? As he is your Lord Treasurer, I just assumed anything he did had your approval.” I shifted in my chair. This was not the time to shove all the blame on the king.
Jusson considered Lord Chause. “You’re right,” he said after a moment. “Gherat is my responsibility.” He stood up. “Therefore I am declaring all profits gained from agreements with the Lord Treasurer to be forfeit due to his treason.” He smiled at Lord Chause. “Of course, if you can prove that your business with Gherat was legitimate, then you’ll retain the assets.” His smile widened. “But that means that you’ll have to open your books to our auditors.”
Lord Chause also stood, his eyes starting from his head. “Your Majesty—”