Vow of Thieves (Dance of Thieves) Page 7

He sat opposite from me and explained that almost two months ago, Hell’s Mouth had come under siege by miscreants who raided businesses, burned homes, and preyed on its citizens. He was in Parsuss, and by the time news reached him, the lawlessness was out of control. A league run by a fellow named Rybart was conducting an all-out war, trying to gain control of Hell’s Mouth and the arena. Citizens were panicked. Some were dying. Worse, the Ballengers were doing nothing to help them, instead demanding more protection money first.

  Impossible. Jase would never do such a thing—but would Gunner? I already knew he was impulsive and short-tempered. Trying to blackmail me to send a letter to the queen had been his idea. And I would never forget how low he had stooped when he held Zane out to me as a bribe. But would he break the Ballenger vow to protect the town and hold the citizens hostage for more money? Surely the rest of the family wouldn’t allow him to do that.

  “It seems they had to find some way to finance their latest illegal endeavors,” the king went on. “As you are aware, they’d been harboring fugitives for some time, but it was for a very specific purpose. They conspired together to build weapons. They had stockpiled quite an arsenal.”

  “But that’s not possible. There were no weapons. Beaufort said—”

  “They were there, all right. Luckily one of General Banques’s advance squads of soldiers found the stockpile in a Ballenger warehouse and confiscated them. There was some damage done to the town in the battle for retrieval, but we used the weapons to eliminate Rybart and his ruffians. That’s what the army’s using now to protect the town.”

  My mind reeled with a different truth. I knew what I had heard. Kardos had complained that Jase had taken their only working weapon, and we had arrested them before their arsenal could become a reality. There were no weapons, except for the one prototype that Sarva had fashioned—one weapon—and Jase had taken and hidden it. Who had made additional weapons? Had it been Rybart’s league all along, working with Beaufort to terrorize the town and turn them against the Ballengers? And now a whole army was—

  That was another thing that made no sense. “But you don’t have an army,” I said. “How can—”

  “I do now. I needed one quickly and had to hire private militia. My advisors recommended it and—”

  “Mercenaries? You have hired mercenaries roaming the streets of Hell’s Mouth?”

  “I’ve been assured they are professional qualified militia, and really, I had no choice. You have to understand, there was a war going on here. As I mentioned, property was being destroyed. Citizens were dying. I had to do something. It’s costing me a fortune, but Paxton assures me that profits from the arena will help me recoup some of the expense. If not, I will have no fields to plant next season.”

  Everything had spun out of control. “You’ve taken control of the arena too?”

  “Someone had to. Too many citizens rely on it for their income. If the arena fails, so does the town.”

  “And the Ballengers? Where are they?” I asked. “Are they the prisoners you spoke of?”

  He shook his head. “As soon as they knew their scheme had been uncovered, the whole clan managed to retreat into that vault of theirs in the mountain to avoid arrest. They won’t come out, and there’s no reaching them without blasting our way in, and that might bring the whole mountain down on them. We don’t know exactly who all is in there, and I really don’t want innocents to die.”

  “You can’t blast through a mountain of solid rock.”

  “The weapons we confiscated are frighteningly powerful. Some are handheld, but a few are similar to ballistae. They’re not like anything we’ve ever seen. We don’t know what the Ballengers planned to do with them. My one fear is that some papers have gone missing. I’m afraid the Ballengers may still have the plans in their possession in order to build more. We need to find those papers.”

  “I burned the plans.”

  He set his fork down and his chin lifted slightly. “So it was you who did that? I saw the burned-out workshop.”

  “How did you know it was a workshop? Did Oleez tell you that too?”

  “No, it was another servant. Several of the staff were left behind when the Ballengers fled. We’ve taken them in and given them work to help make their lives normal again. That’s what we’re trying to do with the whole town. We mostly have it back under control now.” He sighed and took a long drink of the wine he had poured. He added more to my untouched glass, filling it to the brim. “The problem is, the Ballengers have a few loyalists,” he explained, “and those few keep stirring up more trouble, making it harder to calm nerves. Commerce is suffering. Livelihoods diminished. Some citizens are afraid to go about their business as usual. I can’t blame them. The few violent loyalists are keeping the whole town hostage. I understand their loyalty. It’s all they’ve ever known, but the Ballengers have sealed their own fate. Their reign is over, and my loyalty is to Hell’s Mouth, to get it back on its feet again. What the townspeople need is some sort of conclusion. A finality to this horrible mess, so they can move on.”

  He looked down and scooted a potato across his plate, examining it like it held the answer to his problems. “I may as well say it right now. I need your help. I’m ashamed I didn’t tell you up front.” His gaze rose to meet mine, the candlelight flickering in his pupils. There was a weight in them, something that made him look younger, a boy king who was overwhelmed. “This is all new to me,” he finally admitted. “I’m trying to step up and do what I should have done all along. Be the leader my subjects have always needed me to be, even the ones in the far reaches like Hell’s Mouth. Maybe if I had done it sooner, none of this would have happened.”

  His dark eyes never left mine, searching my face like I held some coveted key that would fix everything.

  “What do you want from me?”

  He was direct. “Tell the town that the last Patrei is dead. But say that Jase Ballenger was found guilty of crimes against the Alliance of Kingdoms and executed in Venda by order of the queen. That justice has been served.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KAZI

  I stared at him, unable to look away. Say that Jase was executed in Venda? Was he serious? His eyes remained fixed on mine, unflinching. Long seconds passed as I tried to absorb why he would want me to tell such a ludicrous, evil lie.

  “But we both know that is not what happened,” I finally answered.

  “Is the truth really better? Torn apart by animals? Tell the town he was a scavenged meal in his last valiant effort to return home? I don’t want to make a martyr out of him like the first Ballenger—the mythic man who died saving the last remnant of humanity. That only begs for the loyalists or another Ballenger to rise up with more self-righteous violence. This senseless war could go on forever. Is that really what anyone needs? For the good of the town, it’s best that this chapter of history be closed for good. Seeing him as a convicted criminal who was served justice by the Alliance would do that—especially hearing it from the queen’s own guard who witnessed the execution. It will be done and over with. It’s the kindest truth, and will help the town let go and move forward into a new era. I’m only asking you for the sake of the people. They’ve been through so much, and the seer has already predicted a bitter season coming. We don’t want a starving winter ahead of us. The people need closure.” He reached out and squeezed my hand. “Can you help me give them that?”

  I looked at his hand clasping mine. Large, warm, gentle. I slowly pulled mine free. “Closure,” I repeated, a placeholder for the storm whirling in my head.

  He nodded.

  “I’m wondering … just how did you know the Patrei was returning?”

  “He sent a message.”

  “A message that you intercepted?”

  “The man in the message office who had been on the take from the Ballengers turned it over to us. He wanted the bloodshed to end too.”

  “And that’s when you ordered the ambush.”

  “The last thing we
needed was for him to rouse more violence in the town. Or bring commerce to a halt again. Revenue was just beginning to pick up again. Too many have been hurt already. We didn’t know you would be with him.” There was no denial in his answer, only justification. He had murdered Jase.

  I stood and wandered around the room, feeling the wobble of my knees and the shallowness of my breaths. The wound in my gut stabbed again, reminding me I was weak. I was nothing. The king was right. Food. I needed food. Strength.

  I felt Jase’s arm’s around me, holding me, keeping my head above the water.

  Steady.

  I’ve got you. I promise.

  I turned to face the king.

  I smiled to reassure him.

  Juggled the words in my head into the perfect order, then stacked them into a neat pile. These were the things I knew how to do, the things that were second nature to me while everything else swirled wildly out of control.

  I needed control.

  “I do see your point,” I said. “The town does need to move forward. Into a new era.” I walked back to the table, the king’s plate empty, mine still full. I remained standing and stabbed a quail’s egg and ate it, then stabbed one of the tiny potatoes. I ate it too and washed it down with a long sip of wine, draining half the glass. Some of it dribbled down my chin, and I wiped it away with the back of my sleeve. Heat and recklessness rushed into my fingertips and toes. “One thing surprises me, though, Your Majesty. You’re a gambler, aren’t you? I wouldn’t have expected it.”

  “No,” he replied uncertainly, “I never gamble.”

  “I killed at least three of your soldiers, and yet you took a chance that I wouldn’t kill you the minute you stepped into my room earlier.” I looked around the empty dining room, my hands raised in a question, the fork still in my hand, acting as a pointer. “And here? No weapons? No guards, even though you just admitted murdering the Patrei of Hell’s Mouth, the true ruler that my sovereign entrusted me to return to his home. Yes, you’re a gambler, a foolhardy one perhaps.” I leaned forward on the table. “Or maybe you’re just a very stupid one.”

  His chin lifted. Angled.

  The sly king. Ah, there he was. Back again. Slinking out from the shadows. All he needed was a little prod.

  My gaze burned into his. “You’re nothing but an opportunist who moved in on an unstable situation for your own gain and employed wolves like Paxton and Truko to help you get it. All you care about is your newly acquired wealth at the arena. You think you can tell me you are responsible for orchestrating the ambush of the Patrei, without benefit of trial, and I will just lie and do your bidding?”

  He pushed against the arms of his chair and slowly stood, the sly king unfurling, taller, imposing, in control. No juggling. Not caring. He was fully exposed. His skin seemed to stretch tighter across his face, his cheekbones sharper, his eyes darker and deeper.

  “I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. Your vacillations between kissing, attacking, and arresting the Patrei left me with some doubt about which side you were really on. Vendan soldier—or traitor to the Alliance in league with the Ballengers? I guess I have my answer now.”

  He stepped toward me, and I jerked the fork in my hand upward, a warning.

  A grin lit his eyes. “You think you’re going to kill me with a pickle fork?”

  “You’d be surprised at the creative places I know to shove a simple small fork. I’m not saying your death would be quick. On the contrary, it would be ugly and slow—maybe something like being torn apart by animals.”

  I swallowed, the last few words clawing in my throat.

  “I didn’t order that part,” he said. “That was fate, ordered by the gods.” He took another step toward me. “Put down the fork. You know that I’m stronger and could overtake you easily.”

  “And yet here we are,” I replied. “I’m the one holding a pickle fork, and I can see the veins rising in your neck. Your pulse is racing. There are many kinds of strength, Your Majesty. Maybe you should become acquainted with them all instead of dwelling on your biceps and that useless muscle between your ears.”

  The door to the dining room flew open, and his cronies rushed in.

  “I should have known,” I said. “Listening in?”

  They slowed when they saw the fork in my hand. They began to spread out. “Not behind me,” I warned. “In front of me where I can see you—unless you want me to plunge this fork into the king’s throat immediately.” I was closer to him than they were to me, and I was still a lethal yet unknown factor who had killed at least three of their soldiers.

  “Stay where she can see you,” the king ordered.

  I really had no plan beyond this moment. Wren would hate this. No escape. No juggling. But if I were to die, the king would die first. Of that much I was certain.

  They created a half circle in front of me, and I eyed each one carefully. Banques, Truko, Divot Head. And Paxton. My eyes rested on him the longest. My only regret was I couldn’t kill them all.

  “Put the fork down,” the king repeated. “You’ll never get out of here alive.”

  “Maybe that was your greatest miscalculation. That I ever planned to.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” Paxton warned, edging closer. “The king might have a position here for you, one that could be lucrative. He’s very generous. You’re looking at this all wrong. Don’t make a rash decision.”

  I glared at Paxton. “You just might be the worst of them all, you worthless pile of dung. You’re a Ballenger too.”

  “Barely,” Paxton answered. “My family was cast out generations ago.”

  “Let’s show her,” Banques said. “Show her why she should agree to your proposition.”

  I felt the numbing heat of the wine in my belly, wishing it could numb far more. “I will never agree to any proposition.”

  Banques smiled. “Oh, I think there’s something that might change your mind.”

  “Maybe I’m a bit of a gambler after all,” the king said, stepping forward, unafraid, “and the best gamblers always hold back a bit of negotiating gold.”

  I stared at him, his eyes like hard glass, and icy fingers clutched my spine. Was his bumbling, oafish manner just a part of the façade he had carefully groomed for years? Suri. Such is the life of a farmer king. I remembered his shrug and clownish grin. That was not remotely the man who stood before me now. There was awareness in his gaze, and a swagger in his stance. He knew what I was thinking, and it seemed to energize him, the sly king at last taking center stage.

  “Go,” he said. “Look out the window. There are other guests here at the inn whom I think you know.” He nodded to Truko.

  Truko was a hulk of a man with unruly hair and wiry black brows always pulled in a scowl. His eyes were wide and unblinking. When I had told Jase about one of my rules of survival, blink last, he was amused, laughing that it was one of the things he hated about Truko—the man never blinked. Jase never knew what was going on in his head. As I met his frozen stare now, there was nothing amusing about it. His steps wheezed against the floor as he plodded to the window and whisked back the drapes.

  This was no bluff. I knew before I even lowered the fork or walked to the window that the king had won. That Death had seen all of this coming and that was why he shook his head at me.

  “Go,” the king repeated. “See who is out there. I think you’ll be surprised.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JASE

  It was the sound of water rushing over stones. A sucking, gurgling noise like a tide rushing out. It came again. And again. It ebbed and rose with the stab in my chest and then I realized it was not stones and water I heard. It was my own breaths, liquid, wet, the sounds of me trying to breathe.

  There were other sounds, distant, garbled voices, but those didn’t matter.

  Only the stones, the water, the next breath.

  Write it down, before you forget.

  And each day we do.

  But we can only write about
Now.

  Before is already gone, except for the nightmares.

  Every night we must comfort the younger ones.

  All they know of Before is the After.

  They are afraid it will happen again, that our new family will be torn apart.

  That is the reason we hide in here, Nisa cries.

  She is right.

  I am afraid too.

  My grandfather believed in me.

  I try to believe like he did, but some nights, after Nisa is asleep, I cry too.

  —Greyson Ballenger, 14

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  KAZI

  The window looked down on a small enclosed courtyard. A guard stood in each corner. Long swords hung at their sides. In the center two children played, rolling a hoop back and forth to each other. Oleez sat off to the side. She saw me looking down from the window, but her expression remained blank.

  Someone took the fork from my hand. Paxton, I think. I didn’t resist. The message was clear, and the king held the winning card. Do as he said, or there would be consequences. There was no changing his mind. I felt like I had been caught, a quarterlord passing sentence, and a fingertip was about to be snipped. I couldn’t talk my way out of this one.

  The king came over and stood close behind me. His chest was fire at my back. He pushed the drape back farther. “They look happy, don’t they? They’ve actually become very fond of me. I give them attention, presents. More than he ever did. They’re quite content. Trust me on this.”

  I could barely absorb his nonsense. I only imagined their faces as I told a crowd that Jase was a convicted criminal who had been hanged. “Don’t make me say it in front of them. I don’t want them to hear.”

  “They have to know about their brother sooner or later,” Banques said. “They’ve mostly forgotten him already. They’ll take it well.”

  “Please,” I said.

  The king stepped away and said to Banques as he left, “Explain to her the rules of the game. Make sure she understands them, then return her to her room.”