Taking advantage of the more relaxed atmosphere, Chadde moved through the Own to speak with Jusson. “Majesty,” she said, reaching the king, “if I may, I’d like to post watchmen at the charnel house.”
Jusson nodded, his face preoccupied. “Yes, of course.”
“I’d also like to be excused from your meeting this morning.”
That caught the king’s attention and his gaze sharpened. “Oh?”
“As I’d said, I had planned to be at the Copper Pig around midday, as that’s when its patrons start to arrive. If I go later, they’ll be rather incoherent.”
“I suppose there is an art to interrogating the drunken,” Jusson said. He stopped at the church steps, his Own bunching about him. “Well, we can speak this afternoon when you return.” His gaze rested on Laurel. “Take the Faena with you. Perhaps the two of you can find some of those puzzle pieces.”
“Honored king,” Laurel began, his brows pulling together. Apparently he’d forgotten that he had already agreed to accompany Chadde to the Pig.
“Don’t worry, Master Cat,” Jusson said. “Rabbit will go with you.”
Then maybe Laurel was frowning for a different reason. Expecting to hear the opposite from Jusson, I was suddenly leery. I’d enough of interesting events and was very willing to be bored by the three-way political maneuvering between the king, the mayor and the doyen. Besides, I was hungry. Very hungry. As if I’d not eaten this morning, last night or even last week. Realizing that it had my attention, my stomach growled.
A faint smile crossed Jusson’s face. “What are you? A bottomless pit?”
“Seems so, sire,” I said. My stomach gave another rumble. “With your permission, maybe I can join them after lunch.”
Jusson shook his head, his amusement fading. “Something is going on here, cousin. Something beyond whatever malfeasance the mayor is sunk in up to his double chins. Something that seems to want to involve you. Until we discover all the pieces of Master Laurel’s puzzle, I want you safe. And there are only two safe places I can think of— with Doyen Dyfrig or with Laurel Faena and Lord Wyln. However, I don’t know the good doyen’s involvement with Gawell and company, and so that leaves the cat and my lord elf.”
“So happy to be of service, Iver’son,” Wyln murmured.
“You think Doyen Dyfrig’s involved with whatever the head jailer had going, sire?” I quickly asked as Jusson frowned.
Jusson turned away from Wyln to look up at the church’s facade, still frowning. “As he’s pointed out, Dyfrig has lived in Freston for over eight decades, and has been part of the church here for almost seven of them. He has known Gawell and Ednoth all their lives. He saw them born, catechized and baptized them, performed their marriages, catechized and baptized their children, and perhaps their children’s children. He may even be related to them. If he’s not involved, he was still aware—if only of Menck’s activities—and has done nothing.”
I looked over at Mayor Gawell and Master Ednoth, separated from us by the royal guards. The two clerks had been sent on to the church with the chest of blessings, but the doyen had joined the mayor and head merchant. Dyfrig’s face was stern as he listened to Gawell and Ednoth, the mayor gesturing as he spoke.
“I don’t know if that’s arrogance or ignorance,” Jusson said, also watching. “To talk with them before I can, after I’d announced that I would. And to do so right in front of me.”
“A little of both,” Jeff said as he stood next to me. “Dyfrig is the Church here.” His eyes then widened and darted to the king. “Your Majesty.”
The faint smile reappeared on Jusson’s face. “So he is. Another discussion we’ll be having: what is the Church’s and what is mine.” He turned to Chadde, who was also watching Dyfrig, Gawell and Ednoth. “Go to your duty, Peacekeeper. Take my cousin and his guardians. Also take my Lord Commander.”
A light flush appeared on Thadro’s face. “Sire—”
“Is that wise, Jusson Iver’son?” Wyln asked, speaking over Thadro. “To strip yourself of your protections? Rabbit is a target, but perhaps you are one too. Why settle for the journeyman mage when the king is also vulnerable? Keep your eorl commander with you, even as you deal with the treachery of the town elders.”
Jusson’s eyes swiftly turned gold. “You forget yourself, Lord Elf.”
“No, you forget, King of Iversterre,” Wyln said, moving closer so that he and Jusson stood nose to nose with eyes blazing—one set afire, the other solid gold, neither one blinking. “You are not immortal, no matter what your mirror tells you. Do not take stupid chances.”
Figuring the last time the king had been publicly reprimanded he was still in leading strings, I started to step between them again, hoping to maybe draw some of the royal ire on me before it boiled over Wyln—and Wyln boiled back. As I started to move, though, something passed over Jusson’s face, his expression changing as it had in the derelict warehouse.
“I know you…” Jusson shook his head as if to clear it.
“Elfin families,” Laurel muttered, his ears shifting back in exasperation. “The king is not vulnerable, Wyln. There is honored Cais. You saw him when I touched Rabbit.”
Wyln eased back a bit. “Cais?”
“The king’s majordomo,” Laurel said. “He was standing next to Iver’son.”
“Ah, yes.” The enchanter was once more his gently amused self. “I did see him.”
“I—” Jusson began. Then stopped and glanced around the square, ending at Peacekeeper Chadde, who made no pretense of not listening. “We will discuss this later.” With that, Jusson gathered his Own and, sweeping up the Freston contingent, strode out of the square, leaving us blinking after him.
“That was quick,” Jeff said, watching the last of the royal guards exit the square.
Thadro ignored Jeff for more legitimate prey. “First in the warehouse and now here,” he said to Wyln. “Who the pox-rotted hell do you think you are?”
“Sir,” I said, keeping my voice low. “He’s the king’s great-uncle.”
Thadro jerked his head to me, his blue-gray eyes wide and full of anger. Chadde made a smothered sound of shock.
“He’s also an elder of his lineage,” I said, “and brother-in-law to His Grace, Loran the Fyrst, the Line’s Eldest— and Jusson’s many times great-grandda.”
“I don’t care if he’s freaking Firewalker come in the flesh,” Thadro began.
“But I am,” Wyln said. “At least, that’s what Iver Bloody-Hand called me.”
Thadro’s mouth stayed open but the words had dried up. He closed it with a snap and tried again. “Iver? The founder of Jusson’s House? The first king of Iversterre?”
“After we finally checked his army at the battle of Sorota.” The enchanter smiled. “I’ve always preferred Wyln, though.”
Thadro’s chest heaved as he sucked air into his lungs. He then looked around the square. With the insulation of Jusson and his guards gone, some people were trying to hear what had the Lord Commander so worked up. Others were staring at Wyln, pointing and whispering behind their hands, while a third contingent divided glowers between Laurel and me. I supposed it had something to do with my braid and the fact that Laurel was a cat. Or maybe it was our staves, feathers and spheres. Then again, it could be that they just remembered what happened last time I’d been in a square. One of the double church doors opened and the clerk Keeve stepped out to add his disapproving stare to the mix.