Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(87)



“That was my grandfather’s sword!” Granger crawled forward, tried to pluck the precious stones out of the mess, then yelped and sat back, sucking his fingers.

“Too fancy a blade for a bailiff, don’t you think?” Destin said. “Pretentious, really. I take it you haven’t told the king who you are, which is understandable. Perhaps you find it off-putting that King Jarat’s father murdered your grandfather and seized his throne.” Destin paused, and when Granger did not respond, continued. “More importantly, do you think His Majesty would find it off-putting that you’ve been his drinking companion and a member of his privy council all this time, and never saw fit to mention your shared heritage?”

“I am here to serve the king,” Granger said sullenly. “That is all.”

“I’m sure you are,” Destin said. “But King Jarat might be uncomfortable with the notion of having a potential rival for the throne pouring his wine and sitting in on his council, let alone taking charge of his army. He may decide to house you down below, with his many other guests.”

Granger sighed and pulled out his purse. “How much will it take to buy your silence? I can offer you a small sum now, and the balance later. Most of my holdings are in land, which would take time to liquidate.”

“I am not here looking for a bribe,” Destin said. “I am here to offer you some advice—don’t cross me. I don’t know what kind of games you played in Watergate, but this is not a joust but a battle to the death. Ever since your arrival, you’ve been blundering about, bullying the help, interfering with your betters, and making the kinds of enemies someone in your precarious position doesn’t need.”

Scorn replaced the cynicism on Granger’s face. “You think you are my better? You? I come from a long line of kings. You are the son of a battlefield butcher and a round-heeled Tamric—”

Destin gripped the bailiff by his shirtfront, dragged him to his feet, and hit him, hard, crushing his nose and dislodging a few teeth. Then smashed his head against the mantel.

He heard his mother’s voice in his head. Don’t kill him, Destin. Please. Don’t kill him. It’s not worth it to me to lose you.

Destin looked into the rubble of Granger’s face. “You think you’re a deadly, vicious, pitiless bastard, don’t you?” he said softly. “You are nothing, compared to me. I learned from the master. If the reception wasn’t next week, I would kill you now without hesitation. I am offering you the gift of your life, and I suggest you take it, keep your mouth shut, and do as you are told.” Destin pulled out a handkerchief and wiped Granger’s blood from his own face. “You had better go straightaway to the healing halls and get that repaired before tomorrow. Queen Marina and I will meet you in your office at midday.”

When Destin left the palace, he walked along the river, collar up, head down, cursing himself. The meeting with Granger had been going so well, until he’d lost his temper at the end. That was always the way. Just when he thought he had the monster inside him under control, it came roaring to life.

I am not a monster. Evan had made him say it, over and over. Saying it didn’t make it true.

Remodeling Granger’s face might prove useful, in the short run, if it frightened the bailiff enough to secure his cooperation. In the long run, however, Granger would never forget his humiliation and would eventually seek revenge.

One more task for Destin’s mental list: kill Granger. After the reception.

Unlike many at court, who tried to spend as much time in front of the king as they could, Destin valued his privacy. So, in addition to his apartment within the palace, he kept a suite of rooms at the Cup and Comfort Inn on the riverfront. Any kind of pleasure could be had at the Cup and Comfort for a price, but what Destin treasured most was anonymity. This was a place where he could be himself.

So it was with not a little alarm that he unlocked the door to his rooms at the inn to find Lila Barrowhill sleeping in his fireside chair.

He froze in the doorway, but she must have heard him, because she opened her eyes and smiled at him sleepily. “I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in. I didn’t want to draw attention by sitting outside your door.”

Destin stepped inside and shut and locked the door behind him. Then turned to glare at her, his arms folded.

Lila grinned when she saw his expression. “Blood and bones, Karn, I’m so glad you’re still alive. It always seems that I’m a lot happier to see you than you are to see me. Well, except for that time you came to Oden’s Ford. Then there was that time in King Gerard’s garden—”

“How did you find this place?”

“I needed a cup and some comfort, and this place was recommended,” she said. She held up a cup she’d no doubt filled down in the taproom. “It’s truly amazing. You really can get anything you want here.” She winked at him.

“If you’re thinking that you can blackmail me, you—”

“Heavens, no!” Lila actually looked offended. “If you think I have any interest in your private life, so sorry, I don’t. And I don’t want you to have to ‘disappear’ me. The best thing about being shameless is that I have no interest in shaming anyone else.”

Destin couldn’t help thinking that she was not quite as shameless as she made herself out to be. But he sighed and slid out of his court coat and hung it up carefully. He then walked around the room, creating wards to frustrate eavesdroppers. Then poked at the fire.

Cinda Williams Chima's Books