In the weak light Janessa could see she had been saved by a woman; blonde, beautiful, her shoulder rent and torn from a recent wound. As the woman turned, Janessa was startled by her golden eyes gleaming through the dark.
‘Your Majesty,’ said the woman with a humourless smile. She nodded her head in the mockery of a bow. ‘My lord will be overjoyed that you decided to accept his offer.’ With that she gestured towards the camp. ‘If you please.’
Janessa followed the woman, all the while keeping her head raised, fighting the fear. As they made their way through the sea of tents, Khurtas gathered, some looking on with interest, others with a baleful hunger. On they went, wending their way through until by the time they had reached the midst of the camp there were hundreds surrounding them. Janessa could tell many of the Khurtas wanted to harm her, to fall upon her and do unspeakable things, but this woman with her eyes of gold seemed to have a strange power over them. They feared her, that much was obvious. As much as she knew the woman was her enemy she could only be grateful that she stood beside her now.
Eventually they came to a massive pyre in the centre of the camp. Khurtas milled around it impatiently, as though a night without battle made them agitated. As Janessa approached the fire one of them, a giant compared to the rest, glanced towards her, his face a torn and scarred mess. He grinned hideously and Janessa almost felt herself weaken under that gaze. For a moment she wondered if this was Amon Tugha, but as another figure stood up from his crouched position beside the pyre the Khurtas hushed.
He walked towards her and she knew this must be the Elharim warlord. His hair was spiked, the colour of it seeming to shift in the light of the dancing flames, and his bare torso shone, the thick sinews of his arms and chest glistening. He fixed her with eyes that sparkled gold and as he approached he greeted Janessa with a welcoming smile. It did nothing to put her at ease.
‘Such bravery,’ he said in a deep and thick accent. ‘The Mastragalls are truly a courageous line. You have come to save your city?’
‘You know why I have come,’ Janessa said, in no mood to parlay. ‘End this, and send your horde back from where they came.’
‘Your father was not a man to bandy words either. I liked that about him. But you shouldn’t be so eager for this to be over. Not before you have seen the parting gift I have for you.’
Amon Tugha gestured away from the fire. A group of Khurtas moved aside as he did so, revealing a wooden frame erected in a clearing. Lashed to it, his arms and legs secured with rope, was a broken figure.
Janessa took a step forward, squinting through the light of the fire. As the man lifted his head she gasped and moved towards him, forgetting all else as she did so. River tried to speak but his mouth was filled with blood, his face encrusted with it. Janessa ran to him, cradling his head in her hands, her eyes filling with tears.
‘As you see,’ said Amon Tugha, now standing behind her. ‘I am no monster. I have reunited two lovers for the last time.’
Janessa tried to ignore him; all she could do was stare at River as he looked back from a beaten and bloody face. She could tell he was in pain but would not show it. Could tell he was trying to be courageous for her sake.
‘You will let him go,’ she said, turning to the Elharim warlord. For a moment she realised how ridiculous it was that she would make demands of this creature. He was a beast, there was nothing she could do to intimidate him, but it didn’t seem to matter now.
‘Doubtful,’ said Amon. ‘It is inevitable he will one day return to avenge you. And there will already be enough men out there ready to kill me once I have laid waste to your city and taken its crown as my own. Now come. It is time for this to end.’
‘No,’ she cried, but there was nothing she could do as the Elharim took her by the arm. She had never felt such strength, and bit back a cry of pain as he dragged her away from River. ‘You promised Steelhaven would be spared. You made a vow.’
Amon drove her to her knees, staring down with those golden eyes, so cold in the firelight. ‘Your city will surrender to me, as you have done, or I will raze it to the ground. Every last stone. Every man, woman and child will be crushed.’ He held out his hand and one of the Khurtas brought forth a massive spear which Amon took. ‘Now, bow your head with dignity.’
Janessa stared up at him. Through the tears in her eyes she saw that she was surrounded. There was no escape, nothing she could do.
A tear rolled down her cheek, but it was not for herself.
Janessa Mastragall shed one final tear of sorrow for Steelhaven.
THIRTY-ONE
She was no interrogator. Kaira had already proven that with her failure to infiltrate the Guild. It had taken a child to help her find Friedrik and then he had simply laughed in her face when she tried to question him. And yet here Kaira was, in a cold chamber beneath Skyhelm, alone with a grieving old woman.
Kaira’s guilt bit at her but she pushed it aside. Janessa had almost died in the gardens. Leon Magrida’s complicity with Amon Tugha had fooled them all, but Kaira should still have been vigilant. It was why she took this burden as her own and felt the need to question Isabelle herself.
Baroness Magrida sat in silence. The haughtiness was gone. Her arrogance evaporated with the death of her son. There was still steel there behind the cloudy eyes. Still an element of determination. She was strong, of that there was no doubt, but was she guilty of involvement in a conspiracy to murder the queen?
Janessa had said Isabelle tried to stop her son when he made his attempt at the queen’s life. Whether that was enough to prove her innocence remained to be seen.
‘You say you had no idea your son was in league with the enemy?’ Kaira asked. As much as she felt sympathy for the old woman losing her only child, she knew she couldn’t show it. ‘How can you expect us to believe such a thing? You arrived here together. Were constantly at one another’s side.’
Baroness Magrida glanced at Kaira, looking her up and down as though appraising this woman, this mere bodyguard who had come to judge her. She opened her mouth to speak but changed her mind. Perhaps she considered Kaira beneath her. Despite the grave situation she was in, she still considered herself a noble. But then Kaira supposed she still was. Even if she was guilty of a conspiracy to kill the queen of all the Free States she was still a Baroness of Dreldun. Still had bannermen. Still had her subjects.
‘You understand I must be sure?’ said Kaira. ‘I cannot allow you to walk free until you can prove you were not a part of this. That there are no further conspirators within the palace.’
Magrida smirked, her fingers tugging at the hem of her dress. It no longer looked as regal as it once had. Now it was dishevelled, hanging off her shoulder. The sleeve was torn, though whether it was damaged during the attack in the gardens or the old woman had done it herself out of grief and anger, Kaira could not tell.
‘My son lies dead,’ said Isabelle. ‘The only heir to the Barony of Dreldun. Its villages and farms have been burned. Its capital razed. Even if the Khurtas are defeated, the province will be plunged into anarchy and I will be the one who has to govern in the chaos.’ She fixed Kaira with a stern look, fire in her eyes. ‘Do you think I give a damn about the safety of your queen? Do you think I care if you think me guilty of treason?’
‘I think you are still a noblewoman of the Free States. Protest your innocence or admit your guilt, but say something. It’s better you tell me. Were Seneschal Rogan here with his Inquisition-’
‘He can’t hurt me and neither can you. I owe you people nothing.’