Game of Towers and Treachery (The Shadow's Apprentice Book 2) Page 2

  Another man shook his head. “The obsession with the Master of the Shadows is real. I have seen it, on my visits to the Fairoway Court. It would not surprise me in the least if copious amounts of militia have been called away from their regular posts to hunt the fiend.”

  Disbelief, and something far more exasperated, moved through Despiris. You have got to be playing... All the erstwhile intrigue surrounding the Tricovan conspiracy went out of her, as she saw where this was going.

  That’s what this was about?

  Rolling her eyes in annoyance, Despiris withdrew from the keyhole, lingering unenthusiastically. Shifting so her back was to the wall, she made herself comfortable, losing interest in the meeting. She didn’t even need to stay any longer. She could pack up this instant and go home.

  All that work…for this? She had crossed borders, impersonated a duke, infiltrated a foreign court, put on a show – and a dress! – to play a part, put everything at risk sneaking around a strange palace to uncover a scandalous plot…all to find out the conspiracy revolved around a single man. One man who had distracted King Isavor’s forces enough to leave the kingdom vulnerable.

  Because that one man was the infamous Master of the Shadows. Cerf Daine’s most wanted criminal. The greatest trickster and darkest legend the kingdom had ever known, terrorizing the capital because he did not appreciate his partner being snatched from his side and converted to lawful endeavors. Lawful endeavors that included catching him.

  Despiris was that partner. The criminal mastermind turned royal spy.

  The shadow corrupted by the light.

  And she should have known she couldn’t escape the Shadowmaster’s reach even here, across the border in a foreign nation. She should have known he would haunt her always, everywhere she went.

  You just have to be in the middle of everything, don’t you, Clevwrith?

  Irately, she picked at the carpet. To think, Cerf Daine might be conquered by invading opportunists because of authorities’ fixation on a lone troublemaker. She hadn’t heard of infantry being called away from the border to aid in the search for the Shadowmaster, but she would not be surprised if they had. The king’s advisor, Lord Mosscrow, had been obsessed with catching the Shadowmaster for quite some time. He was known to double and triple and quadruple efforts when previous efforts failed. Despiris would not be surprised to hear he’d rallied a whole army to hunt the Master of the Shadows.

  Even if he hadn’t, the rumor was believable. It might be enough to convince Tricova to strike.

  Once upon a time, King Isavor had suggested that chasing after the Shadowmaster was a costly and fruitless endeavor that diverted resources from more important causes. It was one of the key concepts that swayed Despiris from her criminal undertakings and steered her toward putting her talents to use in ways that served society, rather than detracting from it. But she never would have thought the Shadowmaster’s antics might pave the way for war.

  She listened halfheartedly as the meeting went in circles, some conspirators concerned the opportunity seemed too good to be true, and others convinced Cerf Daine was prone to foolish preoccupations and ripe for the blind-side.

  Someone pointed out that even if they could take the border outpost, they’d be hard-pressed to take the capital with so many forces concentrated there. But the queen prompted the Captain of the Guard to explain her intentions, and he outlined the plan to surround the capital, essentially holding the king hostage in his own nation.

  By the end of the meeting, it was clear Queen Alabastra was determined to at least organize a preliminary attack, a testing-of-the-waters to gauge push-back. If they caught Cerf Daine ill-prepared, they would press on. If they were met with resistance, they would pull back. She ordered the army to dress like bandits, so Tricova might deny any responsibility for the attack.

  That’s all I need, Despiris decided as they wrapped things up within. She had her intel; now she needed to get quickly out of Tricova before she was made. That condemning messenger could be riding up to the palace gates at that very moment.

  Her nerves crackled at the thought.

  It might be worthwhile to stay on and see if she could glean further details such as when the attack would take place, but instinct told her not to risk it. She’d been caught once by Cerf Dainean authorities back when she lived a life of crime, and it was one time too many. She had no wish to see another royal dungeon.

  She should never have been caught at all, really, and it irked her that she no longer boasted a perfect record.

  A perfect record like Clevwrith.

  But never mind. Now was no time for comparison, for second-guessing her expertise. She might not be flawless, but she was a professional, and she was not going to be caught tonight because she was too busy pouting about previous mistakes to master the task at hand. Confidence was key.

  So was never putting that dress back on. As far as Despiris was concerned, it could remain stashed in that forgotten vase until some meandering servant stumbled upon it. Despiris smirked at the thought, imagining the perplexed soul fishing the garment out of the clay abyss, wondering at its origin.

  Of course, abandoning the dress meant she would have to sneak out of the palace in her street clothes, but that was a risk she was willing to take. Because it had been a dress that doomed her last time she was caught, too much of an impediment when it came time for action, and she wasn’t going to repeat that mistake.

  If she needed to run, she was going to be ready to run, for she did not suppose there was much mercy spared for spies caught in the queen’s palace. She had no doubt if she were caught here, the Tricovan authorities would take pains to make sure she never saw the light of day again.

  Or the dark of night, rather, which she would miss so much more.

  Quietly re-inserting the key into the lock, Despiris smothered the beam of light and rose to make her escape. She sprinted back through the dark hallways, avoiding the ballroom to slip out into the gardens.

  From the gardens she snuck into the stable barracks, where Ander was staying. She’d paid him generously to stay on after delivering her to the royal estate, and he’d had no qualms about enjoying life at the palace as long as she wished to retain his services.

  Rousing him, she requested he ready the carriage. Groggily, he looked her up and down, taking in her unladylike attire. “Forgive me, my lady, but…what are you wearing?”

  “I’m wearing, my dear Ander, what a gaggle of pining noblemen are least likely to spot me in and give chase,” she replied. “I need some air.”

  They’d become friendly during the trip cross-country, and it was either that or his generous wages that saw Ander seal his lips without needing to know more. “As the lady wishes,” he said, pulling on his boots.

  And soon they were prattling out the palace gates, down the main avenue past a frazzled-looking messenger galloping headlong toward the palace in their wake.

  2

  Intel and Insult

  “The only thing I knew for certain was that she was no Shadhi. And then she escaped my dungeon. Rode through the palace gates without being questioned. Left a letter on my desk revealing that not only was she SFH and had devised her entire capture, but she was the Master of the Shadows himself. Mistress of the Shadows, as it would seem. And suddenly I understand. I understand how it lured you in. Got beneath your skin. Became personal. It would seem it happens to us all, in the end. That it is inevitable.” – King Isavor

  *

  Despiris had run herself sick on many occasions, well versed in extreme physical training, but nothing could prepare a soul for the kind of exhaustion that came from sleepless, cross-country travel over rugged terrain, at a breakneck pace to outrun the hounds that had no doubt been sent after her. She arrived back over the border utterly spent, collapsing deliriously.

  Never had she been too tired to even feel the thrill of the chase. But she was weary to her bones, struggling to even get back on her feet.

  She’d taken An
der’s carriage as far as she dared, but a carriage would not outrun riders on horseback, and so there came a time to cut ties and run outright. She’d sent Ander in to ‘secure her a table’ at an establishment frequented by the nobles, and had stolen the horse off the carriage while he was inside. Then she’d made haste out of the city, and across three days’ of countryside before she had to continue on foot to discreetly cross the border.

  Thankfully, the capital of Cerf Daine was only another day and a half journey from the border. It was one reason the rumor about infantry being called away from the border was so believable – it was the closest military outpost to Fairoway.

  Reminded of the sensitivity of her mission, Despiris dragged herself back to her feet and struggled on to Fairoway. She collapsed again inside the palace gates, the king’s men rushing to her aid and helping her inside. They half-escorted, half-carried her to one of the king’s sitting rooms known as the Huntsman’s Lounge, laying her to rest on a leather sofa and sending a servant to fetch her refreshment.

  Then, despite the late hour, they sent for the king, knowing he would want to debrief her.

  Despiris was sitting up when he arrived, wrapped in a fur blanket and sipping a hot cup of tea. Isavor swept in looking only a little like he’d been roused out of a dead sleep, his large hazel eyes faintly creased and his wavy ash-brown hair looking slightly more shaggy than brushed. He’d foregone his usual garish ensemble for a simple tunic and breeches, but he commanded himself as illustriously as ever, and his rich, gold velvet cloak, lined with snow-white fur and clasped with an ornate brooch, lent a royal air to his countenance that made the rest of his attire matter little. Even without the crown, he seemed to wear one.

  The king was accompanied as always by a guard, and Despiris was not surprised when Hanzel, her own personal bodyguard – who she suspected was more of a supervisor – slipped in quietly to take up station in the background.

  “I am pleased to see you safely returned to Cerf Dainean soil,” Isavor greeted, pulling a chair from a nearby table to seat himself facing her. “I trust there were no mishaps?”

  “None unless you include flirtatious noblemen getting a little too close for comfort.”

  Isavor made a sympathetic expression. “Hazard of the job.”

  “Indeed.” Despiris set her teacup on a side table. “Your Majesty, I have confirmed–“

  “The rumors of war. Yes,” Isavor said knowingly, and Despiris cut off, her brows knitting together. “That Tricova plans to strike, thinking our border unprotected because we have pulled a ridiculous number of troops away to hunt the Shadowmaster here in the capital.”

  Despiris blinked in bemusement, wondering what she had missed. How did he know?

  “I received word this morning from another…informant.”

  “I didn’t realize you had another informant.” And someone who did the job quicker than I? A pang of wounded pride went through her. She liked to think she was the best. Of course, she had been out of her element, but…

  “Don’t trouble yourself over it tonight. I admit, I was concerned when I received the intel that suggested the job should have been completed, and yet there was no sign of you. I came straightaway when I heard you had returned, but there’s no need to discuss anything now. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

  “I’m fine,” Despiris assured him flatly, still trying to puzzle out where he’d gotten his intel. Had he sent another spy to see who could complete the mission fastest? Had it been a test?

  “Yes. But exhausted. Rest up. We will reconvene in the morning, and debrief you thoroughly to ensure the intel is consistent.”

  Her irritation festered, a sense of defeat souring her mood by the minute. All that for nothing? For someone else to deliver the intel first? Everything she’d just been through, for absolutely nothing…

  She thought she might scream. But she was too tired for even that.

  Isavor picked up on her disheartening train of thought. “You did well, Lady Despiris.”

  Someone else did better. Who was this rival spy in the king’s employ, whom she had never been introduced to? I should very much like to meet this clever soul. As vexed as she was, she was just as curious. She would have thought, if there was someone better than her, he would have come into play during the hunt for the Shadowmaster. But perhaps he had already been stationed in Tricova.

  I can’t believe I just did all that as a test. And failed.

  In spite of the king’s praise, defeat set in. There couldn’t be someone better than her.

  Unless…

  Her gaze came up, out of her morose fixation on her tea, to examine the king’s face. He had hesitated before labeling his source an ‘informant’.

  Surely not…

  Before she could continue that line of thought, Isavor was rising to see himself out. “Please, if there is anything you require, the servants are at your disposal. But I shan’t keep you any longer tonight. Get some sleep, and come to the solarium in the morning.”

  Nodding just enough to acknowledge his words, Despiris tried to keep the frown off her face, her suspicious eyes following him out of the lounge.

  But if her hunch was right, she didn’t have the presence of mind to deal with that tonight. And so, taking the king’s direction, she let Hanzel escort her to her room, where a servant had already taken the liberty of drawing her a bath. She soaked in the hot water, breathing in the therapeutic oils it had been infused with, but nearly fell asleep in the tub after only five minutes. Feeling heavier than lead, she dragged herself out, wrapping herself in the plush scarlet robe that had been provided.

  Then she fell into bed, wet hair and all, and was asleep nearly the instant her head hit the pillow. Once, she would have associated the palace with such things as imprisonment, trepidation, and a place to be avoided at all costs. Now, after Tricova, it offered a sense of comfort and security that almost made it feel like home.

  *

  Morning did not find her nearly as rested as she might have hoped. While the fatigue had loosened its grip, her body was wracked by sore, stiff muscles, and a general dragging feeling persisted. Nevertheless, she rose and dressed and made her way to the king’s solarium, collecting Hanzel just outside her door.

  “Morning, milady,” he greeted cordially, falling into step behind her.

  “Miss me?” she asked, tying back her long, dark brown waves into a thick knot as she walked.

  “Hasn’t been the same without you, milady.”

  Her eyes narrowed over her shoulder. He was as bad as the rest of the nobles. Always saying something that could mean two opposite things seamlessly at once. Normally, she might have formed some cheeky response, but she was far too preoccupied with the meeting that awaited her. Last night might have found her too weary to pursue the disconcerting developments implied by his Majesty, but now that she could think straight once again, she knew she wouldn’t have another restful night until she understood exactly what had happened with the mission. And the mysterious ‘informant’.

  She made quick work of the palace halls, the violet and gold tones of runners and tapestries seemingly extra vibrant in the dreary morning light. A servant traversing the halls tucked herself away behind a pillar to let Despiris pass, peeking out from the column shadows to eye the king’s controversial spywoman. Despiris was used to the not-so-subtle scrutiny, the badly-hidden mistrust evident in the whispers and stares. No one knew quite what to make of her.

  She resisted the impish urge to cast a sly, sidelong look at the girl and gnash her teeth like some feral animal, sure to elicit a startled flinch. It was hard not to mess with them sometimes, just for the fun of it.

  At the end of the winding hall, two guards stood at attention by the door that led out to the king’s favorite rooftop haunt. They admitted her without question, and she stepped out onto the chilly platform that hosted the grand solarium. It was dazzling in the morning light, the intricate framework and varying glass panels painting i
t like a many-faceted diamond. The crown jewel of the palace.

  Shielding her eyes from the glare, Despiris crossed the platform and let herself into the gleaming chamber, a pleasant miasma of floral notes washing over her with the blissful warmth of the interior.

  King Isavor stood in the sunrays of the solarium’s northeast corner, taking in the rooftop view of the palace grounds. Taking tea at a small table across the chamber, the raven-haired Lady Verrikose glanced up from beneath her dark lashes at Despiris’s entrance. A silver-edged ivory teacup paused halfway to her lips, held delicately aloft by her lace-gloved fingers. She was picturesque – like a painting, or a statue. Aggravatingly perfect. Her handmaiden, Andreda, lurked quietly in the background.

  “The prodigy returns,” the noblewoman remarked. “Looking…” Her gaze roved critically over Despiris’s form, taking in her less-than-curated wardrobe and worn demeanor. What was probably a sneer manifested as an ever-so-slight simper, accentuating the woman’s prettiest features. Only a noblewoman could make a sneer improve upon her beauty. “…mortal.”

  “And you, my lady – looking as immortal and close to five-hundred as ever.” She might have resisted that bit of mischief with the servant, but it was not so easy to resist responding to the audacious noblewoman in turn. Even if, truthfully, the noblewoman looked positively radiant, awash with prisms and framed by a crush of winter-defying peonies.

  There would never be any great love between them. Lady Verrikose had been brought on to hunt the Shadowmaster because of a unique telepathic gift that allowed her to influence the minds of animals – or any being lesser than human, such as the creatures born of statues that depicted beasts of myth and legend, brought to life by a man commanding another extraordinary gift. The noblewoman’s expertise – which in the world of mages earned her the label of beastress – had lent the cause a secret weapon, by way of spying and hunting through the eyes and bodies of other creatures.