Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(95)
“If the guest quarters are suitable for families of noble birth, I have no doubt I’ll survive,” Marina said. “His Majesty gave me very little notice that they would be attending this reception, and we must be as efficient as possible.”
“In other words, lead the way,” Destin said.
To Destin’s surprise, Granger did not lead them to the dungeon’s main entrance two floors below the Great Hall. Instead, it soon became apparent that they were on their way to the royal wing of the palace—a place frequented only by the royal family, their most trusted servants, and their most servile favorites.
Was Jarat really housing the hostages in the royal apartments? How was that possible, without Destin knowing about it? Without the entire world knowing about it? Not to mention that it would be totally out of character for the brutal young king.
The way in was through the apartment once occupied by King Gerard’s mistress, Estelle DeLacroix. DeLacroix was no longer in need of it, since she’d been executed on suspicion of plotting to assassinate the king. At the rear of the poor lady’s bedchamber, where the king once found an adder in his bed, was a locked door. Granger unlocked it and motioned them through.
The door opened to a surprisingly large chamber occupied by four blackbird guards, playing cards around a table. They nodded to Granger like they knew him, and one of them handed him a ring of keys.
“This way,” Granger said, opening yet another door to a tiny chamber. From there, a staircase descended into the dark.
It must be a Montaigne family secret, the kind of place you’d keep your brother until you murdered him. Or a traitorous mistress. Or an uncooperative wife.
Or an unscrupulous minion of the king. Destin smiled benignly at Granger.
As they descended the stairs, Granger grew more relaxed, almost chatty. Definitely a bit more daring when it came to taking pokes at Destin. Maybe it was because he was on his own turf. It was disturbing that he’d recovered from yesterday’s interview so quickly.
“So, as you’ll see, the hostages are safe and sound, right under the king’s eye, and totally secure.”
They’d finally reached the bottom of the staircase. Granger drew a second ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. After that, it was down another corridor and through another set of doors. Here the air was dank, thick with moisture, and the walls gleamed with sweat. Destin could hear water trickling, and several times they crossed streamlets running across the floor. It was cold, too—a damp cold that penetrated all the way to the bone.
That’s when Destin knew: King Jarat was stupid enough to keep his hostages in the Pit—only a remote, secret part of it, unconnected to the rest. A place where they would never be found by anyone who didn’t know where to look. He sent up a prayer of thanks to whatever god had persuaded him not to bring Matelon along. Even a stoic soul like Matelon couldn’t help but react to this.
He glanced at Marina. Her face was smooth, unreadable. She’s not surprised, he thought. She knew the Montaignes better than most—at least among those who were still alive.
Finally, they reached another checkpoint staffed with blackbird guards—none of whom were known to Destin. They all seemed to know Granger, though. After some whispered discussion, the group passed through.
Lila had been amazingly silent so far, but now she spoke up. “How many hostages are down here?”
Granger lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Probably thirty. That’s not counting the lytlings.”
Marina’s head came up. “The children are down here?” This revelation had broken through her wall. She’d always had a soft spot for children.
“They’d want to be with their mothers, wouldn’t they?” Granger said. “I’ve asked the guards to gather everyone up for a count.”
The next area was better lit, and the air seemed a little more breathable. Destin could see evidence that the families, or their captors, had tried to make their prison more comfortable. Here and there, a rug centered a gathering of random furniture. Families had set up in some of the side chambers, with beds lining the walls, tables and chairs, and draperies hung over the entries to provide a bit more privacy.
“Many of our guests have apartments here in the capital,” Granger said, “thus, we were able to bring in their own furniture so that they would feel at home.”
“A few months down here, and their furniture will be fit for the midden heap,” Destin said.
“Hopefully, peace will be restored before then,” Granger said. “It was their choice, of course, whether to bring their belongings in.”
“What are they eating down here?” Lila said.
“They are supplied from the kitchens,” Granger said. “They do much of their own cooking, since we cannot exactly serve formal meals—that would draw too much attention, all that coming and going. Fortunately, goods keep well down here.”
But people don’t, Destin thought, pressing his lips together. The families would never forget this, and the thanes would never forgive it. This is not how you treat people that you might want as your allies later on. But maybe Jarat doesn’t care. He has Granger, after all, who is probably plotting his overthrow.
Destin could hear voices from farther on. The blackbirds had gone on ahead of them, no doubt to begin the “gathering” process.
The families were assembled in a larger chamber in the cave—what seemed to stand in for a great hall. A table—not large enough to accommodate everyone at once, but sizable—stood at one end. Destin smelled woodsmoke, and realized that there must be some sort of kitchen nearby.