“I’m grateful to you, my Lord,” Solène said. “Have you anything to eat? I’m starving.”
Guillot raised a hand in apology for this second omission. He handed her some bread, cheese, and an apple from his saddlebags before sitting down again. Solène started on the food with intent, pausing only to give both men a brief, foul look as they stared at her. As she worked her way through his provisions, Gill’s hopes for a decent breakfast faded.
“What’s a banneret of the white?” she said, between mouthfuls.
“It means you’re a very good swordsman,” Guillot said. “That you’ve been to a special school and trained for years to earn the title. Bannerets are good; Bannerets of the White are even better.”
Dal Sason cleared his throat. “The trouble in Villerauvais?” he said, changing the subject. “Is that what convinced you to come back with me?”
“Should it have convinced me?” Guillot said, his simmering suspicions heating.
“I have no idea, I only wondered. It was all anyone was talking about in the tavern; animals burned to a crisp in the middle of the night. The people were afraid.”
“I’m going to try to bring back some soldiers to deal with it.”
“Any idea what was doing it?” dal Sason said. “Some of the villagers thought it was a demon.” He laughed, but with a hesitant, nervous quality to the sound, as though he had not quite discounted the possibility.
“They’re a superstitious lot. The village chaplain reckons half of them still pray to the old gods behind closed doors. No, it wasn’t a demon.”
Dal Sason smiled and nodded.
“It was a dragon.”
Dal Sason’s face went white. Solène stared at Gill with wide eyes.
Guillot studied dal Sason long enough to be certain this was the first he had heard of the dragon. That didn’t absolve the Prince Bishop, however. He was never one for keeping underlings informed of the bigger picture.
“I’m going to turn in for the night,” Guillot said. “Sleep well.”
Dal Sason made no mention of Guillot’s dragon comment the next morning, although Guillot could tell that he was itching to. It amused him to have made such a profound statement so casually, but the stilted conversation at breakfast was probably his fault. They ate what little remained of their travelling rations after Solène’s meal the previous night, then prepared to set off.
Guillot had not slept well and was irritable as a result. He had woken regularly during the night, either too hot and sweating profusely, or freezing and shivering uncontrollably. He found himself longing for a drink to take the edge off. One voice in his head said he had to stop, that drink would be the ruin of him, while another said that deep down, he didn’t want to stop. He could control his consumption if he chose, so there was no good reason why he shouldn’t allow himself just a taste. Enough to settle him.
He squeezed his eyes tight and massaged his temples. The only thing the first voice had in its favour was that he was miles from anywhere he could get a drink. The fact did little to improve his mood, however.
“I think we’ve put more than enough distance between Trelain and us,” Gill said as he mounted. He turned in his saddle to face Solène. “You are free to go.” Before she could answer, he turned to dal Sason. “The Prince Bishop is paying all the expenses of this mission?”
Dal Sason nodded.
“Excellent. Solène, please keep the horse. It’s a gift from the Prince Bishop of Mirabaya, Arch Prelate of the Unified Church. He can be an incredibly generous man at times. This too.” He tossed her the extra purse of coins he had brought with him, which he would be sure to charge to the Prince Bishop when they got to Mirabay.
Solène caught the purse, looking confused. “Where should I go?”
Guillot shrugged. “Does it matter? You’re alive and free. Do as you like. Go wherever you wish.”
“What’s Mirabay like?” she said.
“It’s an open sore on the face of the world,” Guillot said.
“I heard it’s called the ‘Jewel of the West,’” she said.
“It all depends on your perspective. However, we really must be going. It was a pleasure,” he said, feeling a touch of panic that he might be burdened with a greater responsibility than he had foreseen. He doffed his wide-brimmed hat, which had long since lost the feather that had once decorated it, and spurred his horse on at a trot.
Dal Sason had to canter to catch up to him.
“Are you just going to leave her there?”
“Yes,” Guillot said. “I thought you’d be glad to be rid of her. What more am I supposed to do? I risked my life to save her from being burned at the stake. I can’t be responsible for her forever.”
“You’re a Chevalier of the Silver Circle. There’s a higher standard. I didn’t think we should have gotten involved, but we did, and now? It’s just not the done thing, leaving a young lady alone on the roads, is it?”
“I was a Chevalier,” Guillot said. “The last I heard, they are no more. And if you think they held themselves to a higher standard, you’re sadly mistaken. A greater bunch of poxed-up whoresons you were unlikely to find.”
They rode in silence for a time.
Finally, Gill said, “Don’t sulk. If I was going back to Villerauvais, I’d probably take her, but I wouldn’t bring my worst enemy to Mirabay. I’m doing her a favour. Gods only know where she’d end up, in that city with no money or friends. This way, she has a horse. She has some coin.”
“Mirabay’s not that bad a place.”
“As I said, it all depends on your perspective.”
“The full story got out after you left,” dal Sason said. “People really felt for you.”
“That was decent of them,” Guillot said, his words full of venom. “I’d been disgraced, arrested, and had to fight for my life by that point. Hindsight is lovely, though.”
“People thought it shameful. The old king was losing his mind, though no one realised it then. We learned later that the Prince Bishop and the new king, gods favour him, were pressing him to abdicate. It was only his sudden death that stopped that from happening.”
“He shouldn’t have been so quick to judge,” Guillot said sharply. “I served him with every ounce of myself up to that point.” He paused for a moment, not confident of his statement. He had certainly been more diligent than the others, had always taken his duties seriously, but every ounce? That was what was expected of someone in a king’s service; what should be expected of someone in a king’s service, and deep down, he knew he had fallen short. Had he been too proud, too confident? Would anything have made a difference on that day?
“I wasn’t supposed to be on duty that day,” Guillot said, “and I got drunk the night before. It had been my wife and child’s funeral, after all. It’s always struck me as curious that of all the Chevaliers guarding the king’s person that day, I was the only one arrested for negligence. The one who wasn’t supposed to be on duty. What of the man who was absent—the man I filled in for while he was cuckolding the Count of Harvin at his country estate? Was he arrested?”
Dal Sason shrugged. “You were the old king’s favourite. They said you were the one he felt most let down by, fairly or not—”
“Enough,” Guillot said. “I’m not interested in talking about it. The king to whom I pledged my life turned his back on me when I needed him the most. And don’t think for a second I don’t know that bastard Prince Bishop was involved up to his neck. He always hated me, and he twisted the knife the first chance he got. I should have killed him before I left the city. I’d have been doing a public service.”