Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(72)

It was Lieutenant Destin Karn, the king’s spymaster. Son of Hal’s nemesis, General Marin Karn.

The situation had rapidly gone from bad to worse.

Hal opened his mouth to speak, but Karn raised a hand to stop him. “Please,” he said. “It’s beginning to rain. We’ll talk later.” He turned to the commander of the blackbirds. “Take them to Newgate. Put them in the Aerie.”

“Newgate? But—”

Now Karn’s voice turned deadly cold. “Was there something you didn’t understand about that order, Sergeant . . . Levesque, is it?” The way he said it, he was taking down names.

“No, sir, it’s just that it’s unusual to—”

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

Levesque reddened. “No, sir, but—”

“Then why are we still standing here in the rain? Now, go. Set a close guard on them and make sure that they are well provisioned and comfortable. I’ll hold you personally responsible if they are not in good condition for interrogation.”

“Yes, sir.” Levesque turned to his men. “Bring them, and follow me.”

Karn turned with a swirl of his cloak and stalked off down the street in the other direction until he was lost in the darkness between the streetlamps.

“Do you know who that was?” Robert said into Hal’s ear as they marched down the narrow street.

“That was Destin Karn, the king’s spymaster. At least, I assume he still is, under the new king.”

“Karn? But that’s—”

“This is his son. He was in Delphi for a while. I don’t think you ever met him.”

“Oh.” A few more steps, and then, “Have you heard of Newgate?” Robert whispered, trying to sound nonchalant.

Hal nodded. “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know much about it.”

What he knew about it was mostly rumors, and mostly discouraging. Newgate was the prison used by the king’s intelligence service for prisoners thought to have valuable information that needed extracting. Or political prisoners too valuable to mingle with the general prison population.

He tried to lighten the situation by saying, “Well, you’ve been trying to get more information about the king’s prison. Now we’ll see it for ourselves.”

“I’m sorry, Hal,” Robert said.

“Don’t worry,” Hal said, though he actually had plenty of worries. How was it that he’d ended up leaving one prison only to end up in another? And he had a feeling that this one would be worse.





29


CAPTIVES


When Lyss awakened, she was immediately sorry. Everything hurt—her head, her back, her arms and legs. She was one big mass of bruises, and one of her arms seemed to be immobilized, strapped to her side. Worse, she was aware of an unpleasant sensation, as if the world was rocking under her.

I must’ve taken a really hard blow to the head, she thought, fighting back nausea. The last she remembered, she’d been on the beach near Chalk Cliffs, trying to keep the busker out of the hands of the empress Celestine.

“You’re awake,” Breon said. His anxious face came into view. “How do you feel, Your Highness?”

She propped up on her elbow. “I feel horrible. Somebody needs to put me out of my misery.”

“There’s a lot of rum around, if that’s appealing,” Breon said.

“No!” Lyss said sharply. She lay back down, waiting for the world to stop spinning. “Where are we?”

“We’re aboard the empress’s flagship,” Breon said. “The Siren.”

Now that he’d mentioned it, she could hear the wooden hull creaking and complaining all around them.

“Damn,” Lyss muttered. “Another bloody, gutter-strumming boat.”

“Looks that way.”

“I assume we’re under way?”

He nodded. “We’re a day out.”

“So I guess there’s no swimming back.” Lyss tried to laugh, but it was so painful that tears came to her eyes. More than one rib cracked, probably.

“How about some water?” Breon said.

“Hang on.” Lyss took one breath, then another, getting ready. “All right,” she said. “I’m going to sit up, and I apologize in advance if I spew all over you.”

“Turnabout is fair play, I guess,” Breon said.

Happily, she managed to sit up, and there was no spewing.

To her surprise, she was actually lying in a bed, in a fairly plush cabin with a tiny round window that displayed an angry gray ocean.

Breon had shed the filthy clothing he’d worn in their small boat and was dressed plainly but finely in a white linen shirt and loose, drawstring breeches. He’d washed his hair, so that the gold streak stood out. Despite his plain clothing, he resembled a demigod out of stories, one of those beings with one foot in the human world, the other in the divine.

When Lyss looked down at herself, she saw that her blood-mucked uniform was gone, replaced by a white silk gown. She wondered who’d done that, and decided she didn’t really want to go further with that investigation.

Breon brought her a cup of water and then perched at the foot of the bed, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.