Swordpoint Diplomacy 33

CHAPTER 33

It boiled his blood to see the city in the hands of invaders. Marcel gritted his teeth through the feeling. That square? He'd played there often as a child, when he'd been traveling away from the capital city. It was now smoking.

He forced himself to look at it directly. They'd dug a ditch, filled it with bodies, and alighted them.

"Savages," he thought, sick with fury. They could have been sent to their homes, or the locals could have been allowed to bury their own.

He followed Kian past the great sets of gates, and noted with a sick swoop in his stomach the scratches on the second gate. Aunt Yvette had refused to speak of what had happened in detail, but he thought he could read the story from the footprints in the now-dried mud.

'They pinned my people in here,' he thought. 'Trapped between the army and our own gate. Was this my fault? If I hadn't had their princess taken hostage, would they have been motivated to sneak in?'

The sense of despair was palpable. They hadn't killed everyone, at least. It seemed like there had been no looting. The homes were all shut up, but no doors were broken in.

Everywhere he looked, guards patrolled the streets.

"We're to the keep," Kian said, at one checkpoint. He showed some papers. "I need to speak with Duke Harrod."

The woman checking his papers gave him a look over. "So I see," she agreed. She gave him a flirtatious smile. "Kian? I've seen your face before."

"That's correct,' he said stiffly. He ignored the rest of what she'd said.

The smile fell off her face. She handed back the papers. "Go on in."

'This man has no charm. Why? Why choose to be so unfriendly when it costs nothing to win an ally?'

"Thank you." They passed her. Marcel caught the guardswoman giving Kian a miffed look.

He reflexively gave her a sympathetic look, a "what can you do?" type shrug of commiseration. She nodded back at him, just as he realized what he'd done.

'What am I doing?'

He turned back forward and pushed on at Kian's heels.

'I don't need to ingratiate myself here. These aren't my friends, they aren't my people.'

This was all just so unnecessary. The injustice choked his throat.

No one had wanted this.

'One man wanted this," he corrected with a dry sort of amusement. 'And he's dead now.'

For politeness' sake, he had not shown any pleasure in front of Rose. He had enough empathy for her to do that much.

But she'd done the best thing possible, even if it was just by accident.

That thought brought to mind her instinctive reaction to a weapon being raised against her, and the unadulterated shock on her face in the aftermath.

'She had no idea that he was so fragile.'

That was sort of interesting, wasn't it? He supposed that most people put their parents on a pedestal, but Rose was so different that she ought to have known.

After seeing her up close…. Marcel felt his face heat up at the memory of how effortless her strength was, how consistently she was graceful. Thankfully, the flush was hidden. Stiff and proper Kian would likely have a fit if he knew Marcel was blushing over the princess, he thought a little meanly.

In any case.

She was not a normal human. If that gift hadn't come from her Father, had it come from her Mother? He frowned and tried to think back to his lessons. The main thing he knew about the second Queen, other than that she had three children, was that she had been politically banished but not divorced or beheaded. She was from some smaller vassal country, but he couldn't recall which one.

The topic faded from his mind as they reached the keep proper. The huffing of their breaths was the only sound around as they climbed up, up, up. Marcel's boot scuffed loudly on a loose stone. He ignored the quick glance from his companion.

'This is a farce. Is there any reason I should stay here? Why should I follow this man, especially to a Duke who might recognize me?'

He wasn't safe here. Rose wanted to end the war– he genuinely believed her on that. Marcel trusted that her word was good and her motivation was saving lives. But she was one person, and she was inexperienced and young. Could she really control her countrymen?

No matter her personal competency, the real answer was no. No one could completely manage the behavior of a country. Her Father certainly hadn't managed it– his children were dissidents from the war effort and at least one of his trusted nobles was passing information to the other side.

'It would only take one ambitious nobleman to lop my head off, and then no one would know what happened to Willame and the others.'

Gods, that was grim.

Did he trust Kian to get him out of here safely? Marcel eyed the other man's back contemplatively. That was a tall order. Was Kian competent enough? Who could possibly say. Was Kian motivated to protect him? …Only so far as he wanted to please Rose, Marcel supposed.

Even if this all went as planned, what was to happen next? He'd be going back to the other enemy camp? On to the enemy Capital?

'Rose could have communicated with me,' he thought, wanting to pull at his hair. 'I would prefer to know more.'

He had to do something. Marcel swallowed hard, swallowed down the anger and grief about being in this place in enemy hands, and steeled himself.

Kian was taking him towards the wing where the invading nobility definitely would have settled in, fat spiders stealing a web. How long to wait? How long to trust that Kian was going to keep him safe, and when to cut loose and take care of himself?

‘I know this place better than anyone else here. When we cross the blue sitting room,’ Marcel decided. ‘If he hasn’t said anything by then, I’ll duck away. He isn’t even looking at me.’

Kian’s precious military discipline worked against him here. Kian obviously outranked a foot soldier, and he therefore couldn’t walk behind Marcel to watch. Marcel would only need a moment unseen to slip away if he was in the right area. There were secret passages meant for servants and there were hidden rooms for noble indulgences. It wouldn’t work long term, but he only had to evade Kian.

‘He won’t be able to start a search for me,’ Marcel decided. ‘Even if he plans to betray me to this Duke, they can’t let the general population know against Rose’s orders.’

The tension mounted as they walked on, passing guards on rotation and pages and maids on errands. The keep was bustling. Who were these men, anyway? Marcel started consciously noting heraldic hints. There were exceptions, but almost everyone with identifying embroidery or gear was from Duke Harrod’s group.

Well. He shouldn’t have been surprised.  He eyed Kian’s back. He couldn’t see it from this angle, but he knew that Kian had the same loyalty.

‘That’s odd,’ he realized for the first time. ‘Why was he with the main camp? Shouldn’t he have been here? Why does Rose know him? He’s not that important, not anyone’s heir.’

“Hold.”

Kian finally, blessedly spoke. They were momentarily alone.

Marcel stayed a wary handful of steps back.  They were only a couple rooms away from his self-imposed deadline. “Yes?” He kept his voice as quiet.

“I’m going to order you to post up outside of the Duke’s room.” Kian sounded steady.

“That’s too risky,” Marcel argued.

“He won’t exit.”

The other man’s bored tone was infuriating.

“I am confident that he will not see you. Stand there, with the regular guards. I won’t be long. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

Marcel boiled with anger. He couldn’t speak without telling off this jumped-up little boy. He kept his mouth shut, as requested, and followed in a wave of fury when Kian started walking again. He was so angry he hardly noticed when they passed his designated spot for escape.

Not long after, they reached the hallway that led to where Aunt Yvette stayed. There were three guards posted along the wall at intervals. “Here,” Kian said, toneless, as if he was speaking to a dog.

Marcel obeyed. His jaw was clenched so tight that his teeth might crack.

Kian knocked and announced himself. The voice of an older man called him in. That was all that Marcel heard before the heavy wooden door was closed behind him and muffled all sound.

He wasn’t going to stay here.