Page 14 of Court of Treachery

“No one before you, sire.” Dimitri’s words held truth, in a way, for he stoodbesidethe king, notbeforehim. He suppressed a grin at his duplicity. “They are fearful of the rumours of a sickness sweeping the city. They can talk of little else.”

Toroth clenched his jaw. “I would know more. This is unlike ought I have seen before. Never has my court been so empty when all are ordered to remain by my side. You must ascertain the truth of the matter, Dimitrius.”

“Of course, sire.” Dimitri bowed. Glee bubbled up inside him—Toroth had no idea he had orchestrated it all, and he would have no idea what struck him.

12

DIMITRI

The hood shadowed Dimitri’s face as he hunched in the corner of the tavern. It had been a long while since he had ventured out under such guises. No one approached him. He exuded hostility. He was quite looking forward to finding out the lay of the land, listening to the reports Rook and his other associates usually fetched. Rook, displaying a prominent limp, edged over to join him. They sat in near silence, breathing in the stale, smoky, sweaty air. There was much talk of discord, but little of war, and none of rebellion. The common peoples were not naïve. They knew the king’s men had ears everywhere. That was as telling as anything. Dimitri stirred.If they’re not discussing war and rebellion here, wherearethey discussing it?He had caught a few grumbles about the king’s rising tithes from the group of mortals propping up the aged bar, but those had been swiftly quashed.

They moved through the city to even more unfavourable locations and ever worsening beer, until their tankards were just for show, their contents too bitter to stomach. The mood was noticeably sourer there. Right by the walls of Tournai, this inn held the lowest echelons of Pelenori society, and they were none too pleased with their load.

“If they raise those damnable tithes one more bloody time.” One of the men swore.

“Saradon-cursed greedy pig swill,” another growled.

Dimitri sidled closer to the group.

“Steady on, Fen,” one of the man’s companions said, having a strong southern accent from the farmlands. Unbeknownst to them, he was Dimitri’s man, Raven. “Ain’t no good mouthin’ off ‘gainst the king like that. His rats are everywhere! Yer want to watch yer tongue.”

“Says who?” Fen challenged, drawing himself up tall.

“Ah, nobody, lad. That’s who. I ain’t no better off than th’ lot o’ ye, but if ever I knew a thing, Saradon would ha’ brought us more fortune, goin’ by th’ old tales.”

A spike of appreciation rose in Dimitri.I could not have worded it better myself.

Fen looked around nervously. “Don’t be saying stuff like that in this city, man. The kingwillhave you for that.”

“Not afore he ‘as you! I tell thee, Saradon would ha’ brought us better luck.” Raven muttered darkly to himself, almost unheard by the rest of them. They drew closer to listen. “Th’ ol’ tales say Saradon wanted peace for this land, but not theking’sversion.”

Dimitri nodded to Rook—a signal. The man slid to the opposite side of the tavern, behind Raven.

“Hear, hear!” cried Rook in a city accent, then moved to one side before anyone could note him. “I’ve heard it. Tis true,” he said again, now with a sharp, stern voice.

“That’s codswallop,” said Fen dismissively, batting at Raven with a giant hand. Raven stepped back to avoid the clumsy Fen, jostling someone, who spilled his pint over the sticky, stone floor. Raven was repaid with a punch to the jaw, much to Dimitri’s regret. Before he and Rook could intervene, the entire tavern descended into a riot, with fists and furniture flying.None shouted in defence of the king, to Dimitri’s pleasure, but all were keen to affirm their true knowledge of the legend of Saradon—and claim recompense for the number of spilled pints soaking them all. Dimitri, Raven, and Rook dodged through the mess outside and into an alley, where Dimitri stopped, bent over in laughter. “Oh my. I forgot how much fun that sort of thing was.”

Raven grumbled, rubbing at his jaw.

“M’lord?” Rook raised a brow.

“Oh, lighten up, Rook. It’s not all treachery and treason. Sometimes, a good, old-fashioned fight is enough of a solution.” Dimitri grinned at his nonplussed associate. “Come on. We have other places to spread this malarkey before our night’s work is done.”

“I don’t follow, m’lord.” Raven’s dark brows creased with confusion.

“And you don’t need to. The king thanks you for your service,” reassured Dimitri. He dismissed Raven, who still grimaced and rubbed his jaw. As the man walked away, Dimitri beckoned to Rook, who followed him back into the higher levels of the city, to the tavern where he knew the guildsmen were to meet to discuss their latest business at home and farther afield. When they entered The Dragon’s Horn, the front of house was packed from wall to wall with a mass of bodies. Dimitri held back a gag as he pushed through their sweaty, unwashed ranks to the back, where he then settled by the open arch that led to the back room.

Inside it crowded more men, but the ale was thin between them, and they spoke of business and affairs beyond the ken of the drunkards on the other side of the wall. Dimitri and Rook lurked outside their ranks, the solid line of backs facing them, listening with care to what passed within. Dissent was clear within the merchant and craft guilds. It seemed none couldescape the effect of the goblins closing Valtivar’s trade routes. Dimitri shared a meaningful look with Rook upon hearing that. Their unruliness grew with the flowing beer until their presiding head, the blacksmith master Dimitri could not name, stood and raised his hands to quiet them.

“I hear your concerns, my fellow guildsmen. Know that I respect all your views, and all said herein is held in confidence between us, as brothers in trade. Valtivar’s troubles are our own, it is true. Yet we cannot continue to pay the king’s tithes as our businesses wither.” His gaze passed across them all as they listened, waiting for what he would offer them in hope. Dimitri and Rook shuffled closer, peering over the shoulders before them.

“I will speak with the head of the Kingsguard,” the blacksmith offered. “I’ll tell him of our troubles, and ask that he escalate it to the king’s ears.” He was drowned out momentarily by a round of disgusted murmurs. “I know. I know, brothers. We have no love for the red cloaks, but might I remind you, they are a hearty source of business for us all.”

His warning glare raked over them, then flicked to the back of the group, catching sight of Dimitri and Rook lurking. His eyes narrowed, before he glanced away and continued. “I will also ask him the best way that we might approach the king most humbly to beg for his assistance with this matter, since it affects us all. I can only imagine that if the trade routes remain closed, the kingdom will struggle over winter at a time we need provisions more than ever.”

It was well-worded.Carefullyworded. Dimitri wondered if the smith had recognised him. If he had, well-worded indeed. Discontent still rumbled through the sullen ranks, mutterings of the king’s greed and laziness, as well as their own complicit meekness in not acting more strongly. Yet a vote was taken and cast, and the smith’s words chosen as their way forward. Dimitrislipped away before the guilds dispersed, buzzing with euphoria at the prospects.The trade routes are closed.Pelenor would be crippled by the winter solstice if they were not to reopen, if the king did not act. It was another weapon to arm himself with.

By the end of the night, six taverns had erupted in riots over the king’s tithes, Saradon’s name ringing in curses upon Toroth and his greed. Moreover, Dimitri now knew the guilds might be receptive to his work, if it would allow them to continue trading in prosperity. It had been a productive night, Dimitri reflected as he sank gratefully into his sumptuous bed as the sun rose, with orders to Emyria for no one to disturb him.

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