The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(134)

Jathekkil got to his feet and walked forward into the light of the candles.

“Did you think I would not see through your ridiculous little plot? That I would be blinded by my desire to have you captive once more?”

“I thought it worth the hazard, yes.”

“I’m afraid you’ve overreached yourself this time, Catlyn.” He smiled, and a glow began to form behind him. “Goodbye.”

“What?”

“Where do you think my court has gone? Did I spirit them away, as I did your son? Or did I perhaps send them all down to the lowest level of the keep, to sit around the barrels of gunpowder and wait for my orders?”

“You… bastard craven whoreson.”

“Farewell, Catlyn.” He turned to greet the figure forming at the other end of the tunnel. “No. Oh no. Not you again.”

Mal leapt forward, grabbed the boy-king from behind and slid his dagger across his cheek. No need to kill, not yet, but the touch of blood on steel would break any magic he tried to use.

“No!” Jathekkil squirmed in Mal’s grasp as Kiiren stepped through the portal.

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” Mal said, “but it looks like you lose after all.” He turned to his wife. “Go and free the courtiers. Kiiren and I can look after this one.”



Coby hesitated for a moment, unwilling to leave her son in the same room as that creature. Mal glared at her, and at last she turned and ran.

He’s not my son anyway, she kept telling herself over and over. He’s Kiiren now. And yet when she thought back to the little time she had spent with Ambassador Kiiren, the two were much alike: inquisitive, soft-hearted and fond of stories, but with a stubborn streak when it came to protecting those they loved. She wiped the tears from her eyes and ran on. If Henry’s boast had not been an idle threat, the lives of dozens of people still depended on her.

Down and down the great spiral stair she went, until her legs were aching and her head swimming. She passed the great hall and continued on down to the lowest level, which was above ground but with walls several yards thick and only tiny slot-like windows to provide a little light and ventilation. A flask of near-exhausted lightwater hung from an empty cresset, casting a faint bluish glow over the last few steps. She reached the bottom of the stairwell to find a solid wooden door twice her own height, barred with a great beam as well as locked and bolted.

“Oh wonderful,” she muttered, bending to get her shoulder under the beam.

It took several minutes and enough swearing to shock a Billingsgate porter, but at last she had the thing open. She heaved back the door. The darkness within was impenetrable, but the mingled stinks of gunpowder and sweat revealed the cellar’s contents well enough. She fetched the lightwater lantern, swirling it to bring it back to some semblance of usefulness, and held it up. The pallid faces of a hundred courtiers stared back at her.

“Come on,” she called to them. “All of you, out of here, quickly!”

When they did not move, she added, “The King commands it!”

At that they began to stir, and she ushered them up the stairs in ones and twos. They were all dusty and bedraggled, with puffy features as if they had been asleep too long. When she was sure that the last of them was out of there, she closed the door and ran up the stairs, leaving the barrels of gunpowder in peace.



Mal knelt, dragging the boy-king down with him.

“Undo my spirit-guard,” he told Kiiren, “and put it on our prisoner.”

“What have you done with her?” Jathekkil growled as Kiiren came round to stand in front of him, the metal necklace between his hands. “What have you done with my amayi?”

“No worse than you would have done to mine,” Kiiren replied. He looped the necklace round the struggling boy’s head and fastened the clasp. “She’s not dead, not yet.”

Mal tied Henry’s hands behind his back and secured him to one of the bedposts, then took his son aside.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Kiiren replied, his dark eyes sorrowful. “She brought it upon herself.”

“What do you mean?”

“The people in the cellar were afraid. Hrrith came… so Ilianwe had to flee. I thought she would go back to her body, but she flew up into the sky and disappeared north. I think she’s gone to find Shawe.”

Mal’s innards twisted in fear. “Come on, we have to find her body before it’s too late.”



Mal ran down through the keep, Kiiren in his arms, and found his wife waiting at the bottom of the entrance stairs. Outside, courtiers milled around in confusion. Over the hubbub came the low thud of a battering ram.

“What’s going on?”

“They’re trying to break into the Jewel House.” Coby pointed to the long building at the foot of the stairs.

“No matter. We have more important things to worry about than a bit of gold.”

“You really are a skrayling at heart, aren’t you?” she said with a grin as she ran after him.

They pushed their way out through the throng.

“We need to find Ilianwe. Olivia.”

“Her chamber is in the Queen’s apartments,” Coby said. “In the little tower room in the corner.”

“I know the place.” Mal put Kiiren down. “Look after him. I’ll see you soon.”