Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(86)

“There’s one more thing,” Destin said, keeping his seat.

“It’s late, Lieutenant,” Granger said, “and I’ll have much to do tomorrow. Perhaps it can—”

“There is a disturbing rumor that pertains directly to you, Captain Granger,” Destin said. “I suspect you’ll want to hear it.”

“To me?” Granger said.

“You’ve told me that you grew up in Southgate,” Destin said. “The son of a merchant?”

“Yes,” Granger snapped. “What of it?”

“Yet I cannot find anyone who remembers you there,” Destin said. “Nor any family. Nor, in the temple, any record of your birth.”

“You dared to snoop into my background?” Granger stood, as if to walk out, but of course the conversation was taking place in his room. Awkward. He pointed at the door. “This interview is over.”

“It is my job to investigate those close to the king, in order to identify possible threats and conflicts,” Destin said.

“If they don’t remember me in Southgate, it’s because I left there at an early age,” Granger said. “Apparently, I didn’t make much of an impression.”

“I had better luck at Watergate,” Destin said.

That landed like a cannonball.

“Really?” Granger said, turning fish-belly pale. “That’s surprising. I’m not sure I even know where that is.” A sheen of sweat appeared on the bailiff’s upper lip. He glanced around, as if the spymaster’s minions might be closing in.

“I spoke to your lady mother, who has high hopes that you will come into your rightful inheritance one day,” Destin said.

“You spoke to my mother?” The bailiff went from pale to sheet-white. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll—”

“Tell me, does the king call you Cousin Luc in private?”

With that, Granger drew his sword and lunged at Destin, who dodged aside, stuck out his foot, and sent the bailiff flying so that he landed, hard, on the hearth, his ornate blade clattering onto the stones. Destin sent flash into the sword, heating it to a dull red. After briefly holding its shape, it subsided into a puddle.

“That was my grandfather’s sword!” Granger crawled forward, tried to pluck the precious stones out of the mess, then yelped and sat back, sucking his fingers.

“Too fancy a blade for a bailiff, don’t you think?” Destin said. “Pretentious, really. I take it you haven’t told the king who you are, which is understandable. Perhaps you find it off-putting that King Jarat’s father murdered your grandfather and seized his throne.” Destin paused, and when Granger did not respond, continued. “More importantly, do you think His Majesty would find it off-putting that you’ve been his drinking companion and a member of his privy council all this time, and never saw fit to mention your shared heritage?”

“I am here to serve the king,” Granger said sullenly. “That is all.”

“I’m sure you are,” Destin said. “But King Jarat might be uncomfortable with the notion of having a potential rival for the throne pouring his wine and sitting in on his council, let alone taking charge of his army. He may decide to house you down below, with his many other guests.”

Granger sighed and pulled out his purse. “How much will it take to buy your silence? I can offer you a small sum now, and the balance later. Most of my holdings are in land, which would take time to liquidate.”

“I am not here looking for a bribe,” Destin said. “I am here to offer you some advice—don’t cross me. I don’t know what kind of games you played in Watergate, but this is not a joust but a battle to the death. Ever since your arrival, you’ve been blundering about, bullying the help, interfering with your betters, and making the kinds of enemies someone in your precarious position doesn’t need.”

Scorn replaced the cynicism on Granger’s face. “You think you are my better? You? I come from a long line of kings. You are the son of a battlefield butcher and a round-heeled Tamric—”

Destin gripped the bailiff by his shirtfront, dragged him to his feet, and hit him, hard, crushing his nose and dislodging a few teeth. Then smashed his head against the mantel.

He heard his mother’s voice in his head. Don’t kill him, Destin. Please. Don’t kill him. It’s not worth it to me to lose you.

Destin looked into the rubble of Granger’s face. “You think you’re a deadly, vicious, pitiless bastard, don’t you?” he said softly. “You are nothing, compared to me. I learned from the master. If the reception wasn’t next week, I would kill you now without hesitation. I am offering you the gift of your life, and I suggest you take it, keep your mouth shut, and do as you are told.” Destin pulled out a handkerchief and wiped Granger’s blood from his own face. “You had better go straightaway to the healing halls and get that repaired before tomorrow. Queen Marina and I will meet you in your office at midday.”

When Destin left the palace, he walked along the river, collar up, head down, cursing himself. The meeting with Granger had been going so well, until he’d lost his temper at the end. That was always the way. Just when he thought he had the monster inside him under control, it came roaring to life.

I am not a monster. Evan had made him say it, over and over. Saying it didn’t make it true.