The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(65)

“I bring grave news from my kinfolk on Sark. And from your friends, Catlyn-tuur: Parrish and Faulkner.”

“Something has happened to Ned?”

“Your friend is well, and his heart-mate also. But they have brought news of Captain Hennaq, and Ilianwe.”

“Olivia escaped. Yes, we know.”

“You knew and did not tell us?” Adjaan got to her feet. “Are we not allies, then?”

“I only found out a few weeks ago, and when I came to the camp I was told you had been called away. To Sark, presumably.”

“I needed to bear my child amongst my own people, as far from yours as possible lest one of the senzadheneth try to take the place of the intended soul.” She folded her arms across her full breasts. “I only returned to convey this news. It seems I should not have bothered.”

“Forgive us, honoured one.” Mal gestured for her to sit down again. “I should have told the elders in your absence, but since Olivia – Ilianwe – has not been near London yet, we thought the news could wait.”

“You have seen her?”

“Yes. She is disguised as a young man, but I have no doubt it is her. She admitted as much to me herself.”

“You must take me to her,” Adjaan said.

“We must do nothing.” Grey rapped his cane on the wooden floor, and Adjaan flinched. “This woman is dangerous, and I want her out of my kingdom. If it can be contrived, we will clap her in irons and hand her over to you for transportation to the New World.”

Adjaan frowned. “I do not think that would be wise.”

“What?”

“My people are mistrusted by yours as it is. How will it look if it is found out that we helped capture a human woman and took her over the sea?”

“We’ll tell them she’s a traitor.” Even as Mal spoke the words, his conscience pricked him. How many lies am I prepared to tell, to keep the truth from those who would never believe it?

“The outspeaker is right,” Grey said. “It’s one thing to accuse a foreigner of treason, but why would we hand her over to the skraylings for punishment? The people will expect a public execution.”

“We could fake her death and smuggle her out of the country,” Mal said. “We’ve done it before, for our own people.”

“I am well aware of your methods, Catlyn. I do not think they will help us in this case.”

“With respect, my lord–”

“Enough!” The rap of the cane echoed like thunder in the little room. “Outspeaker, can I call upon your people to be vigilant? We need to be certain that this woman is not using her witchcraft on the Prince of Wales or his family.”

“Of course, Suffolk-tuur.”

“For my part, I will arrange for her to be brought to London, so you can do just that. Catlyn, I want a detailed report on her mundane activities. Who she speaks to, where she goes. If I am to arrest the Princess of Wales’s pet, I need cast-iron evidence, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. My wife already working on it.”

“Good, then we are agreed. Outspeaker, it has been a pleasure.”

After the skrayling had been escorted out, Mal sank to one knee before the duke’s chair.

“My lord, if you have any mind to clemency… Faulkner and Parrish–”

“A pardon, is that what you’re asking?” He barked a laugh. “I should have all three of you hanged. I have not forgotten that you disobeyed my orders.”

“I know, my lord.” Mal swallowed his hatred of this man who held all their lives in his vindictive grasp. “I am most truly sorry, my lord. Loyalty to my friends is my besetting sin.”

“Get up.” Grey prodded him in the shoulder with his cane. “I cannot abide false modesty.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Mal got to his feet and stood at attention, though he kept his gaze on the floor.

“Mayhap,” said Grey, “these friends of yours know more about what happened than the skrayling woman can or will tell us. Whoever brought the charges against them never did put forward any evidence, so I don’t suppose it will be difficult to persuade Robert it was all a mistake.”

“Thank you, my lord. I and my friends will be eternally in your debt.”

“I shall remember those words, Catlyn, you can be sure of that. Now get out of here. I have work to do.”

Mal backed out of the room, bowing low, and strode off down the corridor, whistling a merry jig. Ned and Parrish back in London! It was the best news he had had in months.



Life at court did not come to a standstill, however, whilst Mal waited for his friends to return. The Prince of Wales had announced that his younger son would be breeched on his next birthday, and that a tournament would therefore be held in the little prince’s honour, in addition to all the usual court ceremonial. The Princess of Wales had of course come back to London for the occasion, and Mal had at last been able to join his wife and son in their guest apartments at Whitehall Palace.

“What’s beeching, Daddy?” Kit asked as they set off for the tiltyard.

Mal smiled. “Breeching. It’s when a boy is put into grownup clothes.”

Kit nodded. “Will I be beeched, um, breeched?”

“Soon. When you’re old enough.”