Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

Murdered. Executed by the king’s order, or at least with his consent. From the twitch of Kathe’s lips, she knew the truth behind Dedrick’s death, too. “Does Lord Kosenmark know this?” she said. “He does,” she went on, before he could answer. “That is what happened that day. When he told us all he meant to stay at Lord Demeyer’s country estates. Then he came back for no reason at all. The day you and he talked until almost morning.” Then her gaze veered up to his. “You are Lord Gerek, aren’t you?”

He did not trust that anxious tone in her voice. “Yes. But it-it doesn’t matter. I—” Hurry. Before my tongue fails me. Before she turns away. “I wish you would consider me, Kathe. I-I am n-not rich. I am a plain man. Very plain. But I— I would be true.”

A long silence followed. Kathe stood motionless, her gaze carefully averted from his. Gerek could not breathe. He wished he could see her face, her eyes. He wanted to say more, but the wisest part of him knew he’d said everything that was important. His heart paused, it seemed, waiting for her answer.

“I must go,” she said softly.

She slipped through the door and was gone.

Gerek released his long-held breath. Nadine was wrong. I spoke too soon.

Or not. There might be a chance if he could only explain …

He rushed through the door, only to run into Kosenmark’s senior runner. “Maester Hessler. A message came for you just a moment ago.”

The man thrust a letter at him. Gerek muttered a curse in old Erythandran. He saw Kathe at the far end of the corridor, just rounding the corner into one of the servants’ passageways.

The runner jabbered at him, insistent. Gerek growled back, but it was no use. He would have to seek Kathe out later. With a curse, he fumbled open the letter, barely noticing the magic that prickled at his fingertips. Someone who knew him. Yes, yes. He was not surprised. It came from the first agent for the ship. The man had written in the house code even.

Then he read the words again. Someone had suborned one of the agents in their chain. The man could not tell which one. He wanted to consult with Maester Hessler himself, to determine what action they could take to repair the damage.

For a moment, he pretended he could ignore this information another hour. But no. Kosenmark trusted him too much. With a last curse for that trust, Gerek jogged to his office and slammed the door shut. He tried to scribble a letter to Kathe, asking her for just a few moments … No, that was no good. He crumpled the paper. He could not write what he felt. He needed to speak directly with her, to watch her face, to read the subtle alterations in her expression, some of which he had learned to decipher these past few weeks. He wanted to learn more of them.

In the end, he left word with Mistress Denk that he had errands to run and would return by evening.

He had not lost all sense of discretion, however. He took a guard with him, one particularly recommended by Ivvanus Bek. He and the guard rode to a square within a half mile of the harbor district. From there, they made their way on foot to their destination. He had worked out several meeting places with the agent, in case of emergencies. The first was a wine shop in an alley bordering the wharf district. Gerek stepped into the shadows. His guard moved past him, knife held ready as the man scouted the perimeter of the room. It was impossible to see anything after the brilliant sunlight outside. He could smell the shop. Sour wine. The reek of fish and tar. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out a few rough tables and stools, scattered about. Ahead was a plank that served as the counter. No sign of the agent, but Gerek would wait a few moments before he tried the next meeting place.

He ventured forward to the nearest table.

Several things happened at once. The door swung shut. Several tables crashed end over end. Gerek turned in time to see his guard grappling with three men. He spun around and ran into another. Gerek swung a fist and downed the man. He had just reached the door and was clawing it open when he caught a glimpse of a club arcing toward his head.

* * *

GEREK WOKE TO darkness and a ferocious throbbing in his skull. He sprawled on his stomach, as if someone had tossed him there. The ground felt cold and damp. Dirt, not plank or stone. The air stank of mud and saltwater and his own vomit. Where am I? What happened?

Vaguely he remembered entering the wine shop. Oh, yes. Someone attacked him. His head throbbed too hard for him to think clearly, but he remembered a skirmish and a sickening smell he thought might be blood.

He drew one arm close. First clue: no ropes or chains. Either his abductors had forgotten to tie him up, or they didn’t think it was necessary. The second, he decided. Not a good sign.

Very slowly, cautiously, he levered himself to sitting. Breathed through his nose until the nausea subsided. When he was certain he would not vomit, he opened his eyes to slits. Dark, dark, dark, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out gray shapes towering over him. Farther off, a thin bright line marked a rectangle. Door, he translated for the rectangle. And … and barrels?

Barrels. Laughter overtook him. Stupid, cursed barrels. He would never be free of them, even when taken prisoner by enemies unknown. He gulped down the laughter. Hiccuped. Then nearly wept. It was too absurd. Too terrifying.

Gerek bit down on his cheek. Pain revived him. Helped him to think more clearly. So. Taken prisoner near the wharves. His abductors had not removed him from that district, however. Belatedly, he remembered his guard. He called the man’s name softly.

Without warning, the door crashed open. A flood of sunlight attacked Gerek’s eyes. He flung up a hand to cover his eyes. Another crash, and the door closed. Gerek blinked, but sparks and specks danced across his vision. Dimly, he made out a monstrous figure approaching, blotting out the sunlight. Another blink, and the monstrous figure divided into three. Two smaller monsters. One leaner, taller figure that stumped toward him in a strange up-and-down gait.

The lean figure stopped. Mumbled a command. Light flared from a lamp, which one of the others hung from a hook on the low ceiling. Gerek blinked several times, took in more details. Directly in front of him stood a tall man who leaned heavily upon a thick walking stick. Thin white hair drawn back tight from a thin face, deeply scored with lines. Pale brown eyes, almost yellow.

With a jerky motion, the man pointed at Gerek. A second man, the largest of the three, strode forward and slapped Gerek across the face. “Tell me about the ship. Where is it bound?”

No need to ask which ship. A dozen different possibilities occurred to Gerek. The agent discovered. Ralf and Udo dead. The house runner taking a bribe to betray Kosenmark. His own mistakes. He shook his head. “I-I don’t kn-kn-know.”

The man slid a knife from his belt. “You should wish you did.”

He slashed Gerek across the chest. Gerek bit back a cry. The man flipped the knife around and sent the hilt crashing into Gerek’s cheek. Red washed over Gerek’s vision. He screa

med, unable to stop himself.