Royal Exile by Fiona McIntosh

as the king ordered its shut down.
    Loethar didn’t answer immediately, stroking Vyk’s large head instead while he considered the situation. He too watched candlelight and torches winking out all over the massive castle, which had been so brightly illuminated for their arrival. A show of power, no doubt. He smiled in the dark. It seemed Brennus had been expecting him but if Valya’s information was correct, Brennus and De Vis were blood brothers. The king would not have expected the death of his legate and close friend.
    ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘Faren, I suspect, is a traitor.’
    ‘Having the head of the army slaughtered is certainly a daring move. He must trust you to be a man of your word.’
    Loethar shrugged. ‘De Vis is expendable. It was no hardship to me.’
    ‘So you think we can trust this Faren?’
    ‘I trust no one. But I think he will be shocked that we took him at his word and did as he requested in killing De Vis. He’ll have little choice now about opening the gate for he knows I can tell the king who betrayed him. I imagine this is a man with a grudge and that desire for revenge has now been answered. A weak man — as he obviously is — will feel compelled to obey the plan, lacking in courage or imagination to do otherwise.’
    ‘So we go?’
    Loethar nodded. ‘We only have one chance at this. If we send a scouting party, they may well get in but that won’t be enough of us to take the castle.’ He scratched at his beard, the trinkets of silver that pierced his skin making a soft jangle as he did so. ‘We all go.’
       
    There was no time to pick up anything and Gavriel was grateful that he was already wearing his sword and dagger. As they neared the kitchens, he realised he was running so hard he was almost on top of the prince. As they burst through into the main preparation area, their arrival scattered pots and pans loudly. But instead of seeing Cook Faisal and his team, Gavriel found himself staring at the person he least expected to see in the kitchens.
    ‘Master Freath,’ he said, stunned.
    ‘Your highness,’ Freath acknowledged first, before inclining his head ever so briefly at Gavriel. ‘Master De Vis.’
    ‘Why are you here?’ Gavriel demanded.
    The man looked down his aquiline nose at him. ‘I wasn’t aware I needed your permission.’
    ‘Where is everyone?’ Gavriel replied, ignoring the reprimand, looking around uncertainly. Was this a trap too?
    ‘I imagine you can work that out yourself, Master De Vis. There seems to be quite a show going on out there.’
    ‘How dare you, you bastard!’
    ‘Gavriel!’ The prince slid away from his champion and stood between the two men. ‘Be calm,’ he warned, sounding almost like his father. ‘Master Freath, where is Cook?’
    Freath nodded once politely at the boy’s manners. ‘I have dismissed most of the kitchen staff upon the queen’s orders. In fact many staff are dismissed. I think you misunderstood me earlier, Master De Vis. Loethar and his men have already breached Brighthelm. Word has come down from the battlements from King Brennus himself that we have been betrayed by one of our own. Someone opened a side gate, and too many of the barbarian horde breached Brighthelm, I gather, before we realised we had a traitor in our midst.’
    ‘Faren,’ Gavriel murmured.
    ‘I wouldn’t know. None but the key staff is required to do anything other than return to their families. We no longer have any stronghold. Our soldiers are now fighting for their lives.’
    Gavriel felt his insides twist with fear. Brighthelm breached! He thought it would be weeks, possibly months of siege before the Valisar stronghold showed any signs of weakening. And he had held to the hope that Loethar would tire of the endless waiting, that a peace could be negotiated. The vision lingered of his father’s shape being dragged behind a horse, his head in halves. ‘And you, Master Freath? Why do you remain?’ Gavriel asked