“My sin is one of omission, Your Majesty,” Dyfrig said. “I wasn’t involved, but I knew. Not the particulars, not that. I knew my people, though, and did nothing.”
“You knew,” Chadde said, aiming that brilliant gaze at the doyen. “Hell, yes, you knew. And you let them hobble me anyway. Now we’ve sorcery and murder flourishing like a green tree, with Keeve and Tyle slain right before you. What will you tell their parents? That you omitted to do what’s right?”
“Chadde,” murmured Jusson, not very hard.
The peacekeeper didn’t hear the king. Maybe. Those gray eyes flashed around at the town elders. “Who else? Give me names.” She waved a hand at the hearth. “Including those who are pursuing Lord Rabbit to the gates of hell—”
Normally, we wouldn’t have heard the small gasp. But the preternatural quiet made each noise stand out, even in its muffled flatness, and the intake of breath filled the room. We all turned to the kitchen door. There were sounds of a short scuffle, then Finn walked into the kitchen, a bundle of crossbow bolts in one hand, and dragging Gwynedd with the other.
“Ah, Mistress Gwynedd,” Jusson said. “We were just talking about you. Please. Come in and join us.”
Chapter Thirty-four
At Gwynedd’s entrance, Jusson once more retook his rightful place by leading us out of the kitchen. Refusing a guard’s arm, Wyln was able to walk on his own with only a little unsteadiness in his normally graceful gait. But both Ranulf and I needed all the help we could get, Ranulf leaning heavily on Beollan while Thadro kept me from falling over my own feet as we followed the king into the guards’ quarters.
The quarters looked exactly like what they were: a barracks. There were long tables with wooden chairs, a stone floor and braziers for warmth. A second set of doors opened onto a small armory and along one plain, white wall were stacked cots, indicating that when the Own were finished eating, their mess became their sleeping room. At Jusson’s direction, Thadro opened the armory and set guards sorting through the surplus weapons. As swords, maces, axes and other instruments of mayhem were laid on one of the tables, Jusson pulled out a rather battered chair from the head of another table and sat, indicating that we were to join him. His nobles did so promptly, their faces shining with the knowledge that the misdoings in Freston couldn’t be laid at their feet. The town elders, though, seated themselves at the far end of Jusson’s table—and did that only when prodded by the guards standing behind them. Dyfrig, however, remained in the kitchen.
“A moment, Elder Dyfrig,” Laurel said, stopping the doyen, and Dyfrig joined the Faena and majordomo at the fire—not reluctant, but not showing any great enthusiasm either.
Not knowing what else to do, Arlis followed me into the mess and now stood behind my chair. And I, also not knowing, didn’t prevent him. After seeing me seated, Thadro took his accustomed place at the king’s back and now considered Arlis over my head. He then let his gaze drift over the Freston folk before coming to rest on Gwynedd, placed at the king’s left. Finn too had remained in the kitchen, leaving the player in the stewardship of a King’s Own. Though it had been three days since I’d been co-opted into the Royal Guards, I had yet to learn any of the Own’s names, let alone who they were as people, and the guard was a face in the ranks of many. He too stared over my head with just a hint of a sneer on his face and I wondered whether he were making his opinion known of me or Gwynedd. Then I realized that he was staring at Arlis.
“Guardsman Hugh,” Thadro said, and Hugh’s expression went properly blank.
Instead of choosing a place near the king, Wyln sat next to me. Glancing down, I could see a fine tremor in his slender hands, and I started to ask him something really intelligent, like if he were all right, but was distracted by a commotion at the door. It was servants bearing food, and I set aside all thoughts of my wounded cyhn, betraying friends and corrupt towns. In moments a full plate was placed before me and I fell on it with knife and fork, ignoring the stares from those who’d seen me eat enough for a company of grown men a short time ago. Beollan’s attention, however, was on the growing arsenal on the adjacent table.
“We’re still going to the garrison, Your Majesty?” he asked.
“After Rabbit finishes eating,” Jusson said.
“Oh,” Beollan said. “I thought that we were in a hurry to get there.”
“We were,” Jusson said. “Part of the earlier urgency was because I didn’t know what had befallen my soldiers. The other part because I was concerned about what would happen after Master Rodolfo’s rising at the church— Ah,” he said to Gwynedd. “Knew that, did you? Was it from eavesdropping or do you have direct knowledge?”
In all the times I had encountered Gwynedd, she always retained her self-possession, even when she’d viewed her brother’s murdered body. However, now the street player’s eyes went wide. “Rolly risen, Your Majesty?” she gasped. “He’s not dead—?”
“We’ve already had someone try to play the part of ignorance,” Jusson said, nodding at Arlis. “He didn’t do well, either. Choose another persona.”
Wyln, seated beside me, lifted his head to stare blindly at Jusson. Beollan and Ranulf seated across from me went motionless, as did Peacekeeper Chadde standing with Thadro. My chewing slowed, my gaze going between the king and the player.
Gwynedd stopped in midgasp. “Your Majesty?”
“I watched you yesterday eve in the doyen’s office, Mistress Player,” Jusson said. “So skillful you were in your role of grieving sister that most everyone believed it—believed you—and were falling over in their eagerness to offer comfort and aid.”
“Surely, sire, you’re being harsh?” Beollan’s voice rose, questioning.
Jusson didn’t bother to answer him. “See?” he said to Gwynedd. “A Great Lord experienced in kingdom politics setting aside common sense in your defense. Even my peacekeeper bought into your act.”
A faint smile crossed Chadde’s face. “Despite the slurs and innuendo, Your Majesty, not only do I like being a woman, but I enjoy men.” She very obviously did not look at Thadro. “A lot.”
“Oh?” Jusson asked. “Still, you and the others were fooled.” His brows crooked for a moment. “I don’t see it myself—she’s not that pretty.”
Wyln gave a soft, whispery laugh. “Jusson Iver’son is young,” he murmured in my ear.
I supposed in a race that typically married after they entered their third century, Jusson was a babe in arms. But I also figured that now wasn’t a good time to discuss certain aspects of the king’s maturity and I kept my face politically blank.
“I’m not, Your Majesty,” Gwynedd agreed. “And I assure you—”
“No, don’t,” Jusson said. “Don’t assure me. Tell me what you know. Start with these gentlemen here. It must’ve been a shock for them to look up and see you sweeping into the church. But then, it probably was a shock for them to see Rodolfo’s body in the morgue.”
It was the town elders’ turn to become still, and in the hush I could hear another whoosh, as if the fire in the kitchen hearth had flared up. I turned my head to the wall where the back of the hearth was delineated in brick, my eyes wide as I pressed my hand against my side.
“What is it, Rabbit?” Jusson asked.
“I think they’ve just burned the crossbow bolts, sire,” I said.
Jusson’s eyes flicked up to Arlis standing unaffected behind me before returning to the player. “You hear, Mistress Gwynedd?” he asked. “Or did you already know that too? Ambushments that wounded several of mine, including my cousin. My cousin who, from the very beginning, has been a target of attacks—like the one that is even now draining him so that he’s starving as he gorges. And from the very beginning there have been you and your players.”