Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1)(34)

Promises, promises. Destin crossed to the wardrobe and chose another shirt, then played valet, helping Karn into it. Fetching a towel, he blotted sweat from his father’s face and neck. Karn slapped the towel away.

“Stop that,” he said. “A man sweats. But maybe you wouldn’t know that.”

Destin could tell that his father was nervous because he was being nastier than usual. Which meant he was worried about this meeting between his son and the king. Worried that his own position was precarious enough without collateral damage from the failures of his son.

At last, the general was committed, laced into his final choice of shirts. Destin handed him his uniform tunic.

“Belt first. Then the jacket,” Karn said through gritted teeth. “Are you ever going to get that straight?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Destin said stiffly. “I don’t often wear a uniform myself, so—”

“Oh, that’s right,” Karn said, as if it had just occurred to him. “You don’t.”

Destin clenched his teeth. They could never seem to have a conversation without a dig from his father. Instead of the army, Destin had chosen the clandestine service, which reported directly to the king. Though his rank was lieutenant, he wasn’t a real soldier in his father’s eyes. Plus, his father didn’t like Destin being out from under his direct supervision.

Destin, on the other hand, liked it very much.

The bells of the cathedral church bonged the quarter hour.

“It’s nearly time to go,” Destin said. “Do you have any advice?” That, in fact, was why he’d come. Somehow, his father had managed to survive thirty years in service to this king. He must have developed some sort of strategy.

“Stop quaking like a girl,” Karn said, his usual disappointment plain on his face.

“You are mistaken, General,” Destin said evenly. “I am not quaking. Merely concerned.”

Karn snorted. “If the king means to kill you, you’ll never see it coming. So relax.”

That wasn’t exactly helpful.

“Second thing, whatever the king asks you to do, say yes. If he asks you to dig up your mother and hang her body from the ramparts, say yes. If he wants you to make him a coat from the carcasses of kittens, your answer is yes. If he wants you to kiss his royal ass, say yes. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” Destin said. Then couldn’t help adding, “And if he asks me to kill you? Should I say yes to that as well?”

Their eyes met. Held. Then Karn barked out a bitter laugh. “By all means, boy, do the deed if you think you can pull it off. If you say no, the king will find someone else to kill us both. One of us may as well come out of it alive.”

Destin and the king were to meet in the royal gardens. King Gerard liked the garden for discussing what he called “delicate matters,” like assassinations, kidnappings, betrayals, and the like. When it came to keeping secrets, there were fewer eyes and ears in the garden than in the palace.

It was also a good place for acting on delicate matters. There was always a risk that if you went into the garden, you wouldn’t come out again.

Destin awaited the king in the private courtyard that led out to the royal gardens. A raw wind from the north brought the promise of the season they called winter in the south. He shivered, regretting that he hadn’t dressed more warmly.

Finally, a half hour past their meeting time, Montaigne descended the steps from the terrace, wearing a nondescript woolen cloak, a hood covering his damp-sand hair. He was accompanied by a tall, rangy girl in prim scribe blue.

It was Lila Barrowhill.

For a long moment all Destin could do was gape. Until he remembered himself, closed his mouth, and went down on one knee.

Well. That answered one question, at least—she was still alive.

“Lieutenant Karn,” Montaigne said, waving him to his feet. His cold gaze flicked over Destin, stinging his skin like tiny needles. “Lila and I were just talking about you.”

“Karn!” Lila said heartily. “I’ve wondered where you’ve been. How are you?”

Destin swallowed hard. “Never better,” he lied. He met Lila’s gaze. “It’s good to see you looking so well.” No lie there.

She raised an eyebrow. “As opposed to dead?”

“As opposed to dead, yes,” Destin said. “When you disappeared after that unfortunate incident in your dormitory, I feared the worst.”

“As I told His Majesty, I feared the worst as well,” Lila said.

“As you know, the son of one of our military officers died that night,” Montaigne said. “Colonel Tourant has been pressing for an inquiry. Lila agreed to answer some of his questions about what happened.”

Destin stared into Lila’s face, trying to read it. So there had been a meeting—one he had not been invited to. That was never a good sign.

“Wonderful,” Destin said. “I stand ready to be enlightened.” He fought the temptation to locate the dagger hidden under the black wool of his tunic or bolt like a deer through the garden.

What had she told the king? Was he dead or alive?

Lila leaned against the courtyard pillar. “I think you already know part of the story,” she said, “so I’ll make it short. When I returned to the dormitory, there were dead bodies all over, and Hanson was missing. I worried that he might be out hunting for me.”