Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(84)
It was Tamric custom to seal a bargain by putting money on the table. An ante, so to speak.
Marina did not hesitate. She laid her coin beside his.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will keep you apprised of my progress.”
He rose, bowed, turned to leave, then swung back toward her. “One more thing,” he said. “I’m very fond of masquerades.”
34
THE KING’S SPYMASTER
Destin Karn eased his body over the edge of the roof, careful not to send any of the tiles crashing into the castle courtyard below. Anchoring his toes on the stone sill, he poked a foot through the window, verifying that the shutters were open to the breeze. Traveling the high roads of the palace was always easier when the weather was warm.
Gripping the top edge of the window, he swung his lower body through and dropped to the floor, mildly pleased with this accomplishment. These days, he spent less time in operations and more on politics and espionage. It was good to know that he hadn’t lost his touch completely.
It was an opulent suite of rooms by any measure, especially for a bailiff. The king’s gaoler generally had quarters in the finest part of the dungeon, which, to be honest, wasn’t all that fine.
This apartment offered a lovely view of the river, yet was high enough so that the stench of that open sewer wouldn’t reach it, even in midsummer. It was in the same wing as the royal suite, a sign of the king’s favor. The furnishings were rich, some of them centuries old, though they’d seen hard use since this tenant moved in.
Destin picked his way through a rubble-field of dissipation—empty wine casks, dirty plates, spilled cups of ale and bingo, random pieces of clothing. The velvet bed curtains had been yanked down and spread before the hearth for a makeshift trysting place. Destin tried not to look too closely, tried not to breathe in the reek of lust and licentiousness.
Not that Destin had a problem with a bit of licentiousness. He did have a problem with the man who lived here.
Luc Granger had begun as an officer in the King’s Guard who’d managed to get himself assigned to young Prince Jarat at a time when nobody else wanted the job of babysitting the royal brat. In that role, Granger had spent considerable time wooing the young prince—mostly by enabling Jarat’s worst instincts. With Jarat’s ascendance to the throne, Granger’s star rose rapidly. He’d been named captain of the blackbirds, and then bailiff, giving him responsibility for the Guard, the royal prisons, and the courts. Jarat had recently bestowed on Granger a large holding that belonged to the Matelons. Since Arschel Matelon had been one of the founders of the Thane Rebellion, Jarat felt free to give his estates away. The king had also approved Granger’s betrothal to a rich widow, thus ensuring him a title and a fortune to go along with his estate.
That caused some grumbling among the loyal thanes, who disapproved of handing such a fine estate to a commoner. Their outrage was dampened by the fact that the holding was still occupied by Matelon’s bannermen, who showed no sign of giving way. Granger seemed to spend much of his time at court trying to persuade King Jarat to send an army to enforce his claim. That and abusing prisoners and tumbling any servant girl he could trap in a back corridor.
Granger resented the spymaster’s independence from the Guard hierarchy. A few months ago, the bailiff had thought he could blackmail Destin with some scandal he’d unearthed. Granger found a dead rat in his bed the next night, tagged with his name. And then his fiancée, a fierce and formidable heiress from the down-realms, found one in her bed. When she threatened to break off the engagement, Granger reconsidered his choice of a target.
More recently, the young thane had been pressuring Jocelyn Fournier, one of the palace seamstresses, to provide an expanded range of services when he came for a fitting. She was another poor choice of a target, because Jocelyn was Destin’s friend, and one of his most reliable sources.
The next time Granger was on his way to a fitting, he was waylaid by a hooded assailant who beat him soundly and promised to improve the fit of his breeches with a quick bit of surgery if he didn’t find another tailor. It was possible that Granger suspected Destin’s involvement, but he couldn’t prove it, which was what counted, for now.
Destin despised Granger, but he’d learned a long time ago that even the most despicable person could be useful. Especially a despicable person with a secret.
Now Destin settled in to wait. He might have been tempted to sample some of the bailiff’s top-shelf wine, but the risk of poison was too great. Granger had made lots of enemies on his way up.
It wasn’t long before Destin heard fumbling at the door—somebody who’d been drinking, judging by how long it took for him to manage the latch. The door slammed open and Granger stumbled in. Thankfully, he was alone. He kicked the door shut, which nearly put him down on his back. He stumbled to the garderobe and unbuttoned his breeches, hurrying to unburden himself of excess ale.
When he turned back around, he found himself facing Destin Karn. “What the devil are you doing here, you scummer-sucking, backgammoning molly?” He dragged at his breeches, hurrying to fasten them again.
“I’m not the one with his breeches down,” Destin said.
The bailiff blushed hot pink. “This is my apartment,” he said. “You’re the intruder. The king is going to hear about this, I promise you.”