humid inside, despite the autumn cold, and stank of horse manure and rotting meat. The first thing a new arrival would see, upon throwing open the great double doors and stepping into the gloom, would be the words painted in a furious scrawl on the barn wall.
Blood Until Justice Be Done
.
The second thing a visitor would see was the bodies.
Three of them, stripped naked and bound, their throats slashed. Their guardsmen’s armor and green and black tabards lay in a messy pile at their feet. Upon their chests, crude blades had carved parodies of the Itrescan griffin into their flesh. The men hadn’t been dead for long. The flies clung to their neck wounds, feeding, laying their eggs, giving them black, squirming beards.
* * *
“Another one,” Rhys said, staring down at the parchment. Across the strategy table, Merrion wrung his hands, nodding.
“Yes, sire. Three guardsmen. The barn’s owner found them at daybreak. Same carvings as the incident yesterday, same manner of killing.”
Rhys tapped the page with a blunt fingernail.
“House Argall.”
Merrion squeezed his hands together harder, like they were trying to strangle each other.
“While we captured the Argall patriarch, his wives and first sons at Livia’s coronation, and the bulk of his extended family when we sent troops to reclaim Colwyn Keep, more than a few slipped away. They are a most populous clan, sire.”
“And eager to feud, always have been.” Rhys took a deep breath. “
Damn
it all. This was supposed to be clean. Bloodless. All they had to do was give back my family’s land, and I would have let them walk free. What do they think they can accomplish causing this kind of trouble?”
“To be fair, sire, these aren’t the acts of a rational strategist. These are acts of rage.”
Rhys leaned his palms against the table and sighed. “This was
politics
. I was more than a gracious victor. Why can’t they just accept that?”
“A thought…did occur.”
“And?” Rhys said. “Spit it out, man.”
Merrion glanced up to the black iron chandelier. Fat candles cast shifting shadows across the strategy room, wreathing the ceiling in a faint smoky haze.
“Your wife, sire,
did
escape custody. And she
may
have found a way to reunite with the rest of her kin. And given that you had her arrested by the inquisition, she might be, that is to say…a tiny bit irked at you?”
Rhys stared at him. “Irked?”
Merrion nodded. “Irked.”
“Gardener’s balls. All right, so how do we fix this mess?” He held up a finger as Merrion started to reply. “
Without
giving the land back. That’s a matter of family honor.”
“Due respect, sire, but ‘family honor’ just gave us two barns filled with slaughtered men.”
A hard knock echoed at the door. With a nod from the king, Merrion shuffled over to open it a crack. Cardinal Yates’s pinched face glared through the opening, and he all but forced himself through the door.
“We
have
to see him,” he said in an impatient, reedy voice, “at once.”
Merrion looked to Rhys, who rolled his eyes and gave a resigned beckoning wave of his hand.
Yates stormed in with another man in tow, the only one in the room better dressed than the king himself. Guildmaster Byvan smoothed his rich velvet vest with gold-ringed sausage fingers, his rust-red beard close-cropped.
“A visit from my priest
and
my banker,” Rhys said. “How lovely. I don’t suppose either one of you has anything pleasant to share.”
“Livia,” Yates said, “has to be stopped.”
“The woman is a menace,” Byvan grumbled. “We’re holding you responsible for this mess, Rhys.”
Rhys arched an eyebrow. “Which mess in particular?”
“All of it,” Yates said. “She’s taken away the College of Cardinals’ discretionary funds. Outlawed the sale of indulgences. We actually have to
justify
our expenditures. In
writing
.”
Byvan paced the room. The compass-shaped medallion around his neck swung
Blood Until Justice Be Done
.
The second thing a visitor would see was the bodies.
Three of them, stripped naked and bound, their throats slashed. Their guardsmen’s armor and green and black tabards lay in a messy pile at their feet. Upon their chests, crude blades had carved parodies of the Itrescan griffin into their flesh. The men hadn’t been dead for long. The flies clung to their neck wounds, feeding, laying their eggs, giving them black, squirming beards.
* * *
“Another one,” Rhys said, staring down at the parchment. Across the strategy table, Merrion wrung his hands, nodding.
“Yes, sire. Three guardsmen. The barn’s owner found them at daybreak. Same carvings as the incident yesterday, same manner of killing.”
Rhys tapped the page with a blunt fingernail.
“House Argall.”
Merrion squeezed his hands together harder, like they were trying to strangle each other.
“While we captured the Argall patriarch, his wives and first sons at Livia’s coronation, and the bulk of his extended family when we sent troops to reclaim Colwyn Keep, more than a few slipped away. They are a most populous clan, sire.”
“And eager to feud, always have been.” Rhys took a deep breath. “
Damn
it all. This was supposed to be clean. Bloodless. All they had to do was give back my family’s land, and I would have let them walk free. What do they think they can accomplish causing this kind of trouble?”
“To be fair, sire, these aren’t the acts of a rational strategist. These are acts of rage.”
Rhys leaned his palms against the table and sighed. “This was
politics
. I was more than a gracious victor. Why can’t they just accept that?”
“A thought…did occur.”
“And?” Rhys said. “Spit it out, man.”
Merrion glanced up to the black iron chandelier. Fat candles cast shifting shadows across the strategy room, wreathing the ceiling in a faint smoky haze.
“Your wife, sire,
did
escape custody. And she
may
have found a way to reunite with the rest of her kin. And given that you had her arrested by the inquisition, she might be, that is to say…a tiny bit irked at you?”
Rhys stared at him. “Irked?”
Merrion nodded. “Irked.”
“Gardener’s balls. All right, so how do we fix this mess?” He held up a finger as Merrion started to reply. “
Without
giving the land back. That’s a matter of family honor.”
“Due respect, sire, but ‘family honor’ just gave us two barns filled with slaughtered men.”
A hard knock echoed at the door. With a nod from the king, Merrion shuffled over to open it a crack. Cardinal Yates’s pinched face glared through the opening, and he all but forced himself through the door.
“We
have
to see him,” he said in an impatient, reedy voice, “at once.”
Merrion looked to Rhys, who rolled his eyes and gave a resigned beckoning wave of his hand.
Yates stormed in with another man in tow, the only one in the room better dressed than the king himself. Guildmaster Byvan smoothed his rich velvet vest with gold-ringed sausage fingers, his rust-red beard close-cropped.
“A visit from my priest
and
my banker,” Rhys said. “How lovely. I don’t suppose either one of you has anything pleasant to share.”
“Livia,” Yates said, “has to be stopped.”
“The woman is a menace,” Byvan grumbled. “We’re holding you responsible for this mess, Rhys.”
Rhys arched an eyebrow. “Which mess in particular?”
“All of it,” Yates said. “She’s taken away the College of Cardinals’ discretionary funds. Outlawed the sale of indulgences. We actually have to
justify
our expenditures. In
writing
.”
Byvan paced the room. The compass-shaped medallion around his neck swung
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