Wizard's Masquerade, page 51
“Oh, as do I,” he said, rubbing his throat. “As you know, I’ve devoted a good portion of my career to improving foreign relations with Kormend. I have kept them informed of our circumstances and they are aware. I believe the important thing is to take tread carefully. In regards to the demon summonings, I am taking precautions and each contract is created with the utmost care. For instance, Prince Seth’s safety is central to every single contract. The demons cannot attack him, even if he were to strike them. And Seth has the final authority on the demons, which I felt was only fitting seeing as he is the Crown Prince.”
It was fitting for a Crown Prince. But was it fitting for a thirteen-year-old boy to be able to control a dozen demon hounds? The final authority clause meant that he could overrule even the lord regent’s command of the demons.
“It might reassure you to know,” Percy added, “that thus far, in terms of the demon hounds, there has only been one summoning. The Demon Book is a remarkable thing—it allowed me to summon an entire group in one sitting, all tied to a single contract. And as you can see, our demon program has been heralded a success.” He clasped his hands in satisfaction. “So, on the balance, I think the lord regent made the best decision. The demons are imperative to maintaining safety, especially when our enemies have an army of their own.”
Leyna was not entirely reassured, but she couldn’t help but agree. Over a week had passed without incident since the demon hounds were summoned, and so far, there was no evidence that they were anything but safe. They patrolled the grounds dutifully, and apart from their horrible appearance and sinister natures, they did nothing more untoward than to snicker at the gentry.
At risk of sounding impertinent, she asked: “Sir, why didn’t you tell me about the Demon Book sooner? When you made me an investigator, we discussed the book’s theft, but you never mentioned it was in the castle.”
“Oh. Didn’t I?” He rubbed his head, his silver hair standing on end as he did so. “It’s been a while since our last meeting, perhaps we should touch base more often? I’m afraid I can’t quite recall everything that was discussed—I know we covered a lot of information when I made you investigator. Oh, and speaking of promotions…” Percy’s face lit up as he appraised her. “Congratulations on your promotion to Head of the Arrest Unit.”
Despite the pride in his tone, Leyna shifted uncomfortably. Would she sound ungrateful if she admitted not wanting the position?
I may as well make use of my new status, she thought. For Quinn.
“I’m planning on visiting Quinn at the earliest opportunity,” she said.
Percy nodded sympathetically. “Excellent. It will be good for the investigation—and good for Huskarl Quinn as well. The poor boy…it breaks my heart to see him mixed up in all this, it must be so confusing for him.”
Leyna braced herself. “Ideally, I’d like to take Grace with me,” she ventured.
Percy’s reacted better than she’d hoped. “Oh, that sounds splendid! Yes, it’s sad to see a young couple separated so cruelly.”
“Yes, but it will be a little difficult to get past the guards.” Her eyes flickered to meet Percy’s. “They’ll know Grace isn’t supposed to be there.”
He scratched his small chin. “Hmm. That is certainly a challenge, isn’t it?”
He went quiet, lost in thought as he stared out the window. Leyna hoped he would offer a solution, but after a few awkward minutes, she felt compelled to break the silence.
“Sir, how did you convince the lord regent to give me access to the Demon Door?”
Percy’s brow furrowed. “Actually, I think it was you who convinced him.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Something about his son being lonely? That he could use a friendly face? Whatever you said, Huskarl Leyna, it seems our lord regent trusts you.” Percy tittered. “Moreover, I don’t think our lord regent had a choice. Poor Captain Marton could not cope by himself—he was at the end of his tether with the pressure of his new duties. But now, he can finally delegate some of those dungeon tasks to you.”
She tensed. She didn’t want to spend any more time in the dungeons than she already did.
As she was leaving his office, Chamberlain Percy called her back. He didn’t look up as he organised his desk, but his voice was clear: “Tomorrow evening may be an opportune time for you and Huskarl Grace to visit your friend.”
Leyna frowned as she halted in the doorway. “Sir?”
Percy looked up, his unblinking eyes locking on hers. “Tomorrow evening, you may find that there are no guards near the dungeon’s entrance. A small…lapse in security, if you will.”
“Sir?" she whispered, scarcely believing her ears. Was he really going to help them?
“While unintended, a slight hiccup with the guard roster has been known to happen from time to time. And as you’re aware, the Arrest Unit won’t be operating this week while the executions take place. So the courtyard will be rather quiet.” He paused. “I truly meant what I said to you the other week about freeing Quinn—and seeing his belle might be just what he needs to lift his spirits.”
Leyna’s eyes widened, and all she could do was stare at the chamberlain. Did he mean what she thought he meant?
He lowered his chin, his gaze piercing until the movement caused his spectacles to catch the light, and his lenses flashed blinding white.
“Tomorrow at midnight,” he said.
As Leyna left the chamberlain’s office, mulling over his words, she was startled to see Professor Fry in the corridor. Leyna stopped dead in her tracks, but strangely, without uttering a single word, the short slender woman turned on her heel and walked in the opposite direction.
Chapter thirty-four
The Executions
The Arrest Unit had the evening off to rest before the following morning’s executions. It was a welcome change to go to bed at a reasonable time, but her dreams were haunted by a small, blue-eyed boy. It was winter in the dream, and Toby was alone as he wandered the dark, windswept streets of Royad, bleating for his mother. Each time the shivering boy stumbled in the snow, Leyna’s heart broke a little more.
No child deserved to be without a mother.
When she woke, her pillow was wet with tears. She wished for Finnigan. She hadn’t seen him since the Trophy Room, and she longed for someone to hold her. How would he react if she told him she’d tried to shelter the son of a traitor? Would he be sympathetic? Or would he call her a traitor sympathiser?
She wanted to confide in him about Toby, but first, she needed to establish whether he worked for the Brotherhood. Until then, she couldn’t risk bringing more trouble upon Jill.
Her chest was tight as she waited for the dawn. The executions loomed nearer with every hour that passed, and the contentment she had felt wrapped in Finnigan’s arms yesterday was now a distant memory. Percy had shown her the engineer’s drawings of the scaffold that were being erected in the market square, and she couldn’t get the image of the sketches out of her head.
It was real—people were going to die. How in the world would she lead a living, breathing person to their death tomorrow morning?
No, not tomorrow morning. This morning.
The dawn was near.
She was amongst the first to arrive in the yards, and she paced uneasily as the early rays of light broke through the morning greyness. She felt as if she might throw up and had to clutch at the yard fencing several times to steady herself.
Captain Marton expressed sympathy in his own unique way. “Bring a bucket with you.”
“A bucket, sir?”
“For your sick. For your vomit, girl. It helps to get it all out. Think of it as a purging of the crimes wrought against us.”
She watched him stride away, speechless. One thing was for sure—she would not be riding into Royad with a bucket strapped to Budsworth.
I need to pull myself together.
The yards became busy as castle folk left for the market square, some on foot, others on horseback or in carriages. She was trying to collect her breath when the chamberlain pulled her aside for a word.
“Lord Chamberlain,” she greeted, “is everything alright?”
He was pale and dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief.
“Yes, yes, fine, thank you Leyna. I don’t much like these messy affairs. I’ll be glad when this day is over.”
“Me too,” she admitted. “Also, I’m, err, still waiting on the testimony. It never arrived last night.”
Percy startled.
“Oh yes, my apologies for the delay. I was meaning to do that for you, but last night became rather busy. In fact, that’s why I need to speak with you. There’s been a development.”
He lowered his voice, and she leant in closer.
“Last night, the lord regent arranged an expedited trial for Huskarl Beatrice, and she was found guilty.”
Leyna’s stomach dropped. “Huskarl Beatrice was found guilty?”
“Yes. And it’s Traitor Beatrice now, actually. She was stripped of her titles, and she will be the first to be executed this morning—Captain Marton is already aware, but I felt I should let you know in person.”
She swallowed. “I appreciate that, sir. But…so soon? I thought there would be more time. I haven’t even had a chance to question her. And if the trial was only yesterday—”
“She is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt,” said Percy. “And it is the Council’s opinion that given the gravity of Traitor Beatrice’s crimes, it is prudent to expedite her execution.” He fidgeted anxiously. “You must understand, Huskarl Leyna: the public is growing impatient. What you and I know to be due care, attention, and diligence to our duties, the citizens of Rosaria unfortunately perceive as inaction. I have done all I can to temper the opinion of the court, but I’m but one man. Even the Council is divided, but we must provide a united front and consider the welfare of all Rosarians. All things considered, I think we are showing a generous amount of empathy for Traitor Beatrice.”
Leyna couldn't help but agree, but even so, words failed her. “Sir, I didn’t expect this. I…sir, she’s a huskarl. I don’t know if…” I don’t know if I can do it.
“I know it is a delicate matter,” Percy said soothingly, “especially given Traitor Beatrice was once a huskarl…but remember, she is not a huskarl anymore. Now, do you feel fit to see to your duty?”
He waited for her answer, his eyes watery beyond the fogged-up spectacles.
“I…I don’t know if I can.” She shifted, and felt her damp shirt cling to her arms and neck.
“There is another thing I will mention,” Percy said, “something I have been unsure about whether to tell you. The last thing I wish to do is add to your grief, but perhaps, you have a right to know…”
She hugged herself, unwilling to hear more bad news. “What is it?”
“Traitor Beatrice is responsible for Huskarl Bancroft’s death. He died by her hands.” His hand glided to rest on her shoulder. “I know you and Bancroft were close, and I know this must be a lot to take in…”
Leyna clutched at the wall behind her, reeling. Had Bancroft truly died at the hands of Beatrice? It couldn’t be… “Are you sure?”
“Yes, she confessed at the trial. Oh, and she laughed.”
Her fingernails bit into her palms.
“She…laughed?”
“Yes. Horrible, isn’t it?
It was horrible—especially since Beatrice was not known to laugh.
“Leyna…?” Percy prompted. “Are you alright?”
She nodded stiffly. “Yes. And you don’t have to worry about the executions, sir…I’ll do what has to be done.”
“Excellent.” He gave her an awkward pat on the back, then sighed as he surveyed the yards. “I think you and I can agree that these are unprecedented times.”
The rest of Percy’s words echoed until Leyna could no longer make them out, and she was only vaguely aware of taking her place in the yards as soldiers assembled. Captain Marton ascended the raised wooden platform to address them.
“I’d like to remind you all of your duties. Each and every one of you has lost someone to the Court Massacre. Each of you has suffered. But today is your day. It is a great day, a day in which we heal our kingdom. Now is not the time to grow faint-hearted. No. It is the time to honour your people and the office you serve. Today sets Rosaria on the path of healing. Today, we step into a brighter future, and we leave old pains behind. Today is our day.”
Leyna might have been inspired had the captain ended his speech there, but he continued:
“And the executions are integral to that future. The executioner’s axe is symbolic—it is our vengeance! And it is our righteous anger!”
He beat his chest with a gauntleted fist, making the armour plate clang to emphasise his words, and many of the surrounding soldiers echoed the motion amidst cries of ‘hear hear’.
Leyna inhaled through her nose, trying to contain the nausea that was lurking somewhere between her throat and stomach. She managed not to vomit, but when the captain dismissed them, her feet were like lead as she went down to the dungeon with a small unit of guards. The captain came with her, and at first, she thought it was because he wanted to talk to Beatrice, to look his former soldier in the eye. But he did no such thing. Instead, he reminded Leyna of the standard procedure for escorting prisoners, emphasising the importance of the silencing charm.
With the captain peering over her shoulder, and fearing what the foul-mouthed woman would have to say, Leyna silenced her before the cell door had even been unlocked.
Beatrice’s condition was horrifying to behold. She’d been given no opportunity to wash, and her scarred face was made all the more terrifying by the grime that caked it. The huskarl’s appearance made Leyna feel guilty about the silencing charm, at least for a few seconds. When the former huskarl was brought out of her cell by two burly guards, her face was contorted with rage. She thrashed and fought the guards, screaming all the while, screaming words that no one could hear.
Her spittle flecked Leyna’s face, and several times, she came close to striking Leyna.
“Bloody mad,” grunted one guard, after copping a backhand across his face.
“Get her under control,” Captain Marton barked.
As they began the long journey back up to the surface, any second thoughts Leyna may have had about the silencing charm vanished, and she led the way up the stairs, a task made dangerous by Beatrice, who constantly tried to knock her guards off balance. Even the growling demon hounds did not deter the former huskarl, and she kicked at one fiercely, her boot nearly connecting with the beast’s jaw.
Leyna drew a sharp breath. Had she not missed, the demon might have taken advantage of the opportunity to ‘protect’ the castle, and there might have been one less prisoner to execute.
Beatrice was one of three prisoners to be executed that day, but it was her punishment that attracted the most interest, and as they rode to Royad’s market square, the dense streets were packed with citizens vying to get a closer look at her. The prisoners were transported by cart, partly because they were too weak to make the short journey, but also to protect them from the angry crowd that threatened to press in, kept at bay only by their dreaded demon escorts. The demon hounds’ warped appearance commanded attention, and despite the congested streets, the sight of the gruesome creatures quickly cleared a path for the wagon as it trundled towards the execution site.
As if sensing her stare, one of the demon hounds turned its squat face back to look at her, never breaking stride as its neck swivelled more than was natural, its human-like eyes already fixed on hers. She shuddered, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the reins.
The demons, the angry crowd, the executions…it was too much.
No. I can do this. I have to do this. I’m a huskarl. This is my duty.
But then panic rose, overtaking logic, and she was ready to flee.
“Steady, girl,” she said out loud, as if she were speaking to Budsworth. “You’ve got this.”
Too soon, they arrived at the market square. The scaffold was new and seemed out of place. It had been hastily erected during the night, the sawn edges of timber splintered and unsanded.
Urged on by the jeering crowd, she led Beatrice, who was restrained by the two guards from earlier, towards the scaffold.
Wooden steps creaked. The executioner waited above.
Wobbly on the steps. And not because of her bad leg. How was it that Beatrice could manage the steps so well? She was fearless, and even with the grime on her face, she looked dignified.
The lord regent, Marek Volak, addressed the crowd, shouting to be heard over the warm, howling wind that blew through the square.
Leyna felt herself swaying on the tall wooden platform, hoping she wouldn’t fall into the mass of people below. The crowd’s collective noise was as loud as a storm.
And then, she heard nothing at all, as if someone had found a way to mute the noise. There was only silence.
A deafening, noisy silence.
Everything was still.
Blue skies.
Skies so blue, it could have been market day again.
Everything was a jumble, and time lost its meaning.
Nothing was happening in the right order, and the orange juice that had seemed sweet at breakfast now churned in her stomach.
How did she get here?
She had climbed the scaffold steps, putting one foot in front of the other.
…had arrived at the market square and dismounted.
…had ridden from the castle alongside the wagon.
…had unlocked Beatrice’s cell.
…had silenced her.
…had tossed and turned in her bed as nightmares of a lost boy plagued her—another sweat-soaked nightgown joined the basket.
Standing on the scaffold, Leyna took a shaky breath. At least it wasn’t Jill’s turn yet. She had reviewed the schedule in the captain’s office last night before dinner, her finger trailing down the list of dates and names until Mrs. Jill Dobay caught her eye. There wasn’t even an execution date yet, only a trial set for next week. Relief had washed over her knowing Jill still had time.
