It also opened the door to another interesting possibility. He’d long since accepted the fact that, at an opportune moment, King Boudain the Tenth would have to be killed. No matter how effectively he contrived the death to look like a consequence of the man’s illness, there would always be those who would accuse him of regicide. Now that the king had been taken from his protective custody, away from the finest physicians in the land? The responsibility for the king’s health and safety resided with the misguided fools who had taken him from the palace. If the king were to die now …
Amaury smiled at the thought. Ever able to pull opportunity from defeat—save for that time in the Competition. That was the only true defeat he had suffered in life. It was something that he couldn’t let go of, no matter how much wealth and how much power he had. Even now, granted all the boons the Cup from the ancients could grant, he was sitting in his office thinking about Gill and getting angry.
Still, his hip was an unpleasant memory he could now erase. A physician would be calling that afternoon, to start instructing him on the anatomy of the hip, which seemed to be a remarkably complex system of joint, muscles, and all the various things that went with them. He knew from the Order’s healers that healing was not just about having the magical ability to make the repairs needed, it was about knowing how every element in the body was supposed to be, and returning it to that state.
Amaury didn’t have that knowledge and wasn’t willing to start experimenting on himself. Until he was confident he could properly execute the healing, his hip would have to wait. He might be impatient, but he wasn’t a fool—he had no desire to make the problem worse. Still, now that he knew the fix was at hand, it felt like far less pressing an issue. The man who had caused it, however …
He stood and swore, looking at the cracked wooden panelling and damaged plaster, signs of Gill’s impact with the wall. The memory of the look of surprise on the clown’s face brought a fleeting smile to Amaury’s. He should have drunk from the Cup earlier. Then he would have been ready for Gill when the man had had the audacity to come to the office with his cronies. He’d have been able to settle that score once and for all. As it was, all he’d been able to do was leave Gill with some bumps and bruises. The fellow had still managed to get away from the palace and disappear. He continued to be the thorn in Amaury’s side. Still, like the Prince Bishop’s hip, that was a matter that would not be long in the settling.
Amaury did his best not to dwell on his frustration. To do so caused rage that clouded his mind, a problem since he had many things he needed to focus on. At least he had taken the Cup from Gill. From everyone. They would fear him now, but as tempting as it was, he knew the time wasn’t right for a demonstration of what he could do. How he could be the great leader Mirabaya so desperately needed.
The people were afraid. They were angry. They needed the benefits the Order could bring, but they didn’t know it yet. He needed to demonstrate the wonders magic offered each and every one of them. Only when they accepted those gifts would he show them what magic could really do. What he could really do. For them, and for Mirabaya. But most of all, for Amaury.
CHAPTER 20
Gill was feeling rather redundant. He didn’t have a sword, and even if he had, there was presently no one for him to stick it in. Solène, Pharadon, and the count’s physician were in conclave at a corner table, making their final preparations. The count himself continued to absent himself, no doubt hoping not being present would limit his culpability should the use of magic later be questioned. Dal Ruisseau Noir had also vanished, Gill knew not where.
The soldiers Gill had hired to dig the hole did it quickly, eager to get their money and return to lounging by their campfire. They would have to wait a little longer, however. Not until the seamstress finished her part could the deacon conduct the rites … and Gill still had to find a few more coins to pay for it all. Now that Savin was around, Gill was tempted to put it to him—he would be bankrolling the activities of the next few weeks, until the king, once he was recovered and restored, had access to his treasury again.
He knew there was only so long he could sit in the inn with all that tension before the temptation to have a drink became too much to resist. It wasn’t something that played on his mind much anymore, but the desire still lurked there, offering to help him through troubled times. Considering the disastrous consequences of his last lapse, he wanted to put some distance between himself and alcohol.
Outside, he stared skyward at the early evening stars. He heard some noise behind him, and turned. It was dal Ruisseau Noir.
“Fine evening,” the Intelligencier said.
Gill had always thought a fine evening to be one where he could relax on his porch, in that old rocking chair, with a twist of tobacco and not a care in the world. He couldn’t imagine being much farther from that state than he was now. The thought of Amaury ruling the realm pushed him to the point of despair.
“Fine enough,” Gill said with a nod. He felt unusually talkative, eager to distract himself from dwelling on Amaury, or what might be going on inside the inn. “Tell me, where is Ruisseau Noir? I’ve not heard of it.”
Dal Ruisseau Noir smiled and tapped the side of his head.
“Oh, of course,” Gill said, then frowned. “Would you not have picked something a little easier to manage?”
The other man shrugged. “If you’re going to tell a lie, it might as well be a big one. They’re more likely to be believed. The bigger and more implausible the lie, the harder it is for a person to imagine that anyone is making up something so preposterous.
“Few Intelligenciers keep their real names when they join the service. To do so might endanger family members and such. Besides, I like the way it sounds.”
For a moment he reverted back to the foppish persona he had been maintaining when Gill had first met him.
“Makes sense, I suppose. Seems like a harsh thing, though. To have to give up who you were before.” Gill thought on it for a moment. “Perhaps not, though.”
“What brought you into all of this?” dal Ruisseau Noir said.
“Amaury,” Gill said. “The Prince Bishop. Who else? His people woke up the first dragon when they were looking for the Cup. He wanted me to try to kill it. Not sure why—something to do with the Silver Circle having been dragonslayers back in the day, he said, but most likely I expect he saw it as an easy way to get rid of me. Didn’t quite work out for him the way he hoped. Which is something, I suppose.”
“The people most unsuited for rule are often the ones who reach the top,” dal Ruisseau Noir said.
“What inspired you to mount the rescue mission?” Gill said.
“My commander’s last order was to oppose the Prince Bishop at every step, and continue carrying out our duty to the Crown. We were all but wiped out during Amaury’s takeover. A secret war was waged on the streets, and though we were ready for it, there are only so many ways to fight a power that knows almost everything about us. Only a few undercover groups, like mine, survived. You can’t stand by, hoping that someone else will take on the task that’s supposed to be yours.”
His words reminded Gill of something Val had said. Sentiment like that was a good way to get a man killed, yet it was something he couldn’t dismiss. He remembered all too clearly the time when he had lived by similar sentiments. He couldn’t decide whether there was nobility in these thoughts, that they were a good guide on how to live, or if it was all nonsense, poured into the heads of impressionable youths. Then they’d willingly march off to lay down their lives so that someone else could become a little wealthier or a little more powerful. Perhaps he was just a cynic. Perhaps he was right. Either way, the thought of Amaury on the throne was one he couldn’t stomach.