Page 5 of Court of Treachery

“Certainly not,” replied Thaeus, even though Dimitri knew it most certainly had.Such a flea-bitten coward. Dimitri truly despised them all, for the court was rotten to the core. Each of them was more self-serving than the last. They cared not for how the realm bled.

Dimitri knew he had Thaeus cornered. All the long years of gathering information, not all of which had been for the king’s benefit, would finally pay dividends. And, one way or another,he would ensure they all received their comeuppance, too, when all was said and done. He needed them to break the wheel, to remake Pelenor to his and Saradon’s visions, but he did not need them afterward. Not in their current form. They, however, did not need to know that.

“Excellent. Then I look forward to working very closely with you, Lord Thaeus.”

“Quite, Lord Ellarian.” Lord Thaeus’s watery eyes followed Dimitri as he strode away.

It marked the end of a long day of plotting, and the last noble Dimitri would blackmail, bribe, or curry favour with… for now. He considered he had collected enough of them for one day. His neck was now over the parapet, especially when he infiltrated the guilds. It would take just one of them to betray him, but he knew they would not. In implicating him, they would also damn themselves to certain death at the king’s hands. He did not know any one of them who would be so brave as to sacrifice themselves for that.

Still, Dimitri’s heart hammered as he strode to the safety of his chambers, and a wave of anxiety rushed through him when four red cloaks turned the corner, walking toward him. He forced himself to stride past the Kingsguard with his usual arrogant grace, glaring at them as he passed, then flicking his attention away as though they were beneath his notice. They did not so much as dare look at him and not one uttered a word. It was only when he returned to the safety of his own warded rooms that he at last let the mask slip and let out a great, shuddering breath of relief.

“Are you quite all right, Dimi?” Emyria asked, her greying brow raised in question.

“I shall live another day perhaps, Emyria,” Dimitri replied. A yawn swallowed his next words.

Emyria tutted and stood on her tiptoes to unfasten his cloak, sweeping it over her arm before she hooked it upon the stand. “Well, dear, sit. I shall bring you a warm drink and your slippers.”

“What would I do without you, Emyria?” Dimitri flashed her a tired, grateful smile and slumped onto his most comfortable couch.

“No doubt get into a lot more trouble,” she said, glaring at him with pursed lips and mock sternness. She had been a mother of sorts to him. Her brown, greying hair was pulled back from her kind face and swirled into braids that bobbed as she worked to pour him a sweet infusion.

“I don’t doubt it. How long have you been here now?” The years blurred into one another, sometimes. How longhadit been?

“With you? As well you know, sir. In Tournai, it will be nigh on a hundred years now.”

A hundred years serving the king’s will.Did the time fly or drag? It could not have been a century—and yet in the same breath, it also felt like an eternity. He shuddered at the thought, though he had been there almost as long, albeit in a different way. “I hope I am a better master than the king was.”

“You know the truth of it.” Her voice soured with each clipped word. Neither of them had ever truly spoken about what he had rescued her from, and she did not like to dwell on it. Unlike him, she had just the barest hint of elvish blood in her line, and thus was destined for the lowliest forms of servitude and station in her prolonged life. The gift and the curse of her heritage.

“I’m sorry, Emyria. I did not mean to dredge it up. I suppose I have been wishing for better circumstances for us all.”

“I thank you, Dimitri. I know you will deliver us through these testing times.” She had already thanked him many timesover the years for sheltering her, for giving her a comfortable life where she barely had to lift a finger, unlike her former slavery. Deep in thought, he watched her leave.

As much as he orchestrated this for himself, he also did it for the likes of her, too. Nowhere in his new Pelenor would there be bonded servants. It made him feel uncharacteristically noble, momentarily washing away the slime of the court and all its shadows, but the moment quickly passed. First, he had a mire to wade through and a realm to overturn.

4

HARPER

“Where to now then?” Harper asked. They had fulfilled their task to find a cure for the sickness sweeping the remote village. Now that that obligation had been fulfilled, her thoughts had once more strayed to Caledan and Betta—with not a small amount of guilt at what she had left behind, no matter how impossible it would be to return. The group looked to Aedon, the unspoken leader of their mismatched troupe.

Aedon blew a long exhale and spread his arms wide. “We have a whole world of potential. Now we wander until we find our next calling, as we always do—but far from Tournai.” He grinned and winked.

Warmth bloomed in Harper’s chest at his infectious optimism. They had left the village a much better place than they had found it, cured of the spreading sickness that had ailed the folk there, although there had been no time to enjoy the hospitality insisted upon by the villagers. They dallied far too close to the Winged Kingsguard’s might—and none had forgotten the threat of the Tir-na-Alathean elves that hauntedtheir steps. Their ways had parted, but neither Aedon nor his companions trusted that the wood elves had given up their hunt. Harper and her new companions had fled south, past the heart of Pelenor and toward the spur of mountains that cleaved the kingdom apart, and within which sat the dwarven realm of Valtivar.

“We can find shelter in the mountains. And perhaps even some respite at Keldheim or another hold,” Brand suggested, though his gaze darted to Ragnar when he mentioned the dwarf’s homelands.

“We would be safe from Toroth’s reach there,” acknowledged Aedon.

“If they will have us.” Ragnar’s quiet voice caught them all.

“You are not an exile or a criminal, as the rest of us are,” said Aedon gently. “You are welcome there.”

Ragnar scoffed. “Welcomeis not the word I would use.”

Aedon pursed his lips. “Perhaps. But we must lay low for a while. Tir-na-Alathea is closed to us now, and all in the realm of Pelenor or near it, save for the dwarves of Valtivar, are loyal to the king and his riders. There is nothing for us in the wilds beyond the mountains. Not with the coming of winter.”

“I did not say I disagreed with the logic of it,” Ragnar said, an uncharacteristic snap to his voice.

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