Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1)(50)
Blood was running down the fourth leg. Not the one with the abscessed hoof. Ash didn’t need a close look to tell that the cannon bone was shattered just above the fetlock, the bone poking through the skin. That sometimes happened when a lame horse put too much pressure on his three healthy legs. Ash pressed his fingers between the gelding’s eyes, trying to help him with the pain, but it nearly knocked him on his ass.
Bellamy walked toward him. “You all right, Adam?”
Ash shook his head, pointed wordlessly at the broken leg, and Bellamy’s face went gray. “Scummer,” the marshall muttered, and looked away.
The rider was on his feet now, brushing himself off, straightening his sleeves. He wore a fine hunting coat, embroidered with red hawks, now besmirched with dirt. A long cut across his cheek oozed blood, and his sandy hair was disheveled.
The rest of the hunting party clustered around him, chattering like sparrows. “Your Majesty? Are you injured? Shall we call Master Merrill? Thank the Maker you weren’t killed!”
Your Majesty.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl while Ash’s heart accelerated, thumping painfully in his chest. He watched wordlessly as the king of Arden shook off his courtiers, grabbed Rolley by the front of his barn coat, and yanked him close. “Imbecile. I thought you said that beast was improving. He’s worse than before.” He gave Rolley a shake.
“Y-your Majesty,” Rolley croaked, teeth chattering. “I—I’m sorry.”
With that, King Gerard backhanded Rolley across the face, sending him staggering.
A red mist collected before Ash’s eyes. This was the man who’d tried to bully his mother into marrying him. Who’d been responsible for the murder of his sister and his father. Who’d tried to murder him, and would do so again in a heartbeat.
This was the monster to blame for so many losses. The world would be a better place without him.
Taking hold of his amulet, Ash took a step toward the king, but Bellamy stepped in front of him, gripping his shoulders and glaring into his eyes.
“Don’t lose your head, Adam.”
“Get out of my way.”
“No,” the horse marshall said. “It won’t do poor Crusher any good, and you’ll likely get us all killed. I’m the one that hired you, remember.”
“It’s worth it,” Ash growled, trying to push past him, but Bellamy gripped his arm and held on.
“Not to me and Rolley, it isn’t,” Bellamy said. “And not to you, either, because you won’t touch him, not with magery. He’s got a charm against it, or something.”
“A charm against magery?” Ash looked past Bellamy to the king, once again surrounded by his anxious crew. “Are you talking about a talisman, or—”
“I wouldn’t know about such things.” Bellamy made the sign of Malthus. “If you just have to give it a go, do it somewhere other than my barn.”
The marshall turned toward the king. “I’m sorry about what happened, Your Majesty,” he said. “Rolley here was right, the gelding was improving. I don’t know what got into him today. Now we’ll have to put him down, I’m afraid.”
The king slapped his riding gloves across his palm. “Do it,” he said. “The beast is a devil.” He turned and walked away without a backward glance. And, with him, Ash’s first chance at making good on his promise.
Ash watched him go. Was he being smart, strategic, levelheaded? Or was he simply a coward?
18
LADY OF GRACE
Destin Karn was in a good mood. For the first time since arriving in Delphi, he felt he was making some measurable progress on the hunt for the rune-marked girl. Even if he never found her, he could at least prove he’d been thorough in the attempt. Not that any kind of failure would play well in Ardenscourt.
He’d just supervised the barbering of a hundred women coming off the day shift in the mines. Miners had been especially hard to reach, since it seemed that they were always either working or sleeping. So he’d set up a “hygiene station” at the army camp on the road to the mines, so it wouldn’t take them far out of their way.
Over several weeks, Destin had streamlined the hair-cutting process and handpicked his barbers, choosing the least brutal and the most skillful of Clermont’s blackbirds. Each woman treated was fitted with a pair of silver earrings to signify that she had been examined. He’d wrung the silver for the jewelry from the Lord Mayor, who was as corrupt as they come.
He hoped that by making the process as painless as possible, citizens would be encouraged to cooperate. The sooner he got it done, the closer he might be to getting out of Delphi. He only wished he could get shed of Clermont, who insisted on helping. In fact, the captain of the Guard was sticking to him tight as a horse tick.
Destin and his blackbird shadow rode through a blinding snowstorm all the way to town, the sound of their horses’ hooves muffled by the thickening blanket. When they finally reached the city gates, they had to hail the guards to be admitted, the result of Destin’s order. As they entered the city, Destin realized he was tired of the Mug and Mutton, overfamiliar with all of its marginal fare, and weary of the serving girls who scattered at their approach.
Maybe it would be worth visiting one of the smaller inns, a place they hadn’t quartered in. The food might be better, or at least different. He’d heard good reports about the Lady of Grace, in the quiet north end, so he decided to give it a try. Clermont, of course, tagged along.