Saint's Blood: The Greatcoats Book 3 Read online

  The Bardatti tell us life is sweeter in those precious minutes after narrowly escaping death. In my experience, however, ‘life’ during that particular moment mostly smells like sweat, drying blood and . . . other things. Ethalia, though? She was the exception. I felt a sudden desperate desire to hold her, to sink my face in her long black hair and breathe her in. Had my shirt not been covered in blood, and had I not been having the greatest difficulty standing, I would have run to her. Fortunately, she came to me.

  Everything about Ethalia is in the eyes. They’re pale blue, like the line where the sky meets the sea on the horizon, and beautiful, of course, but that’s beside the point. It’s the way she looks at me. When she first sees me there’s this immediate flash of joy that brightens her irises, an effect so profound it completely contradicts all those people who firmly believe the world would be a better place if I were dead. Then comes the harder part, when she sees the results of my most recent foolishness. I see the first tears forming in the corners of her eyes, then concern and sorrow give way to determination as her eyes narrow and start moving from bruise to cut to scrape as she determines where to begin.

  ‘Thank you, Doctor Histus,’ she said, picking up a chair and bringing it to me. ‘I’ll take care of our patient now.’

  Histus had an unrelenting disdain for the training Ethalia had received in the Order of Merciful Light. Like far too many people, he considered her order to be nothing more than a brothel with high-priced prostitutes. I suspect it didn’t help that Ethalia was a far better healer than he would ever be.

  ‘Try not to give him an incurable infectious disease,’ Histus grumbled, closing his bag.

  ‘I’ll make sure his wounds are properly cleaned, Doctor.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Histus said, and walked away.

  Ethalia gave a laugh. ‘You can’t fault the man’s sense of humour.’

  ‘I can fault it a great deal,’ I countered.

  She sat me down and helped me remove my shirt, then took out a dozen blue jars from her bag. They all looked the same to me, but I knew from bitter experience that they weren’t. She set them in a line on the floor. ‘I know what he meant, Falcio. Do you think there’s anything that Histus could say to me that I haven’t heard since I was thirteen years old?’

  Thirteen years old. Saints. What kind of world makes a—?

  ‘Stop,’ she said. ‘You’ll open your wounds again if you keep tensing your shoulders like that.’ She selected one jar, examined it, then exchanged it for the one next to it.

  ‘I wish you’d give some of these to Histus. His salves don’t do me any good at all.’

  ‘I’m afraid they wouldn’t work very well for him.’ She scooped out a generous amount, closed her eyes and spread the salve on a large cut on my stomach that I hadn’t even noticed during the fight but which had been stinging like a devil. ‘The salve is a bridge between the healer’s heart and the patient’s wound.’ The instant her fingers touched my stomach a surprisingly warm sensation spread along the cut, taking a good deal of the pain away.

  ‘You know what I think?’ I said, a little uncomfortable about how I was feeling, especially with so many people in the room. ‘I think you’re making that up. You just have better drugs than Histus!’

  ‘Shush,’ she said, ‘or I’ll use the strongest of the salves.’

  ‘What does it do?’ I asked.

  Abruptly she reached her arms around me, buried her face into my neck and held me. ‘It makes a man come to his senses, Falcio,’ she said, crying softly. ‘It makes him admit that he’s hurt, that he’s haunted by memories of the past. It makes him stop trying to get himself killed just to prove he isn’t scared. I’m not sure your foolish heart would survive it.’

  I reached up awkwardly with my right hand, holding her head as I ignored the pain in my shoulder. Now, you idiot, I told myself, stop hesitating. Stop finding excuses. Ask her to marry you.

  I swear the words were about to leave my lips, but unfortunately, that’s when the Realm’s Protector’s not inconsiderable patience came to an end.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Wounded

  ‘First Cantor,’ Valiana said, her voice flat as she approached us.

  It’s never a good sign when she addresses me as ‘First Cantor’. I rose unsteadily to my feet. ‘Realm’s Protector?’

  Before Valiana could get to me, Aline ran in front of her and came in close to hug me. ‘You’re getting a little slow, Falcio,’ she said.

  I wrapped my arms around her. ‘I could’ve used a throwing knife in there, you know. Where were you when I needed you?’

  Aline stepped back and gave a decent imitation of shock and dismay. ‘Falcio val Mond! You would ask your future Queen to help you cheat in a duel?’

  ‘The First Cantor would never cheat in a duel,’ another voice said, with all the assured confidence that only a twelve-year-old boy can muster. Tommer, heir to the Ducal throne of Rijou, walked over to join us. In recent months he’d taken to wearing a long leather coat that looked suspiciously like my own, much to the chagrin of his father. Duke Jillard was at that moment chatting with Duchess Ossia; he glanced over briefly, just long enough to convey his ambivalence about the outcome of my duel.

  ‘Falcio cheats all the time,’ Aline said, a little dismissively.

  ‘Now you listen to me,’ I said. ‘I’m the First Cantor of the Greatcoats and therefore a true magistrate and it’s my considered legal opinion that it would be entirely proper for you to have tossed me a knife. Maybe even two or three.’

  ‘That,’ Aline said, grinning, ‘is probably why people aren’t very keen to have the Greatcoats administer the King’s Laws any more, don’t you think?’

  I gave a mock growl and gently pushed her away. ‘Don’t you have lessons in maritime geography or some such thing?’ Aline winked and curtsied before backing away, taking Tommer with her. She’d done what she’d come to do, which was to delay Valiana long enough to give her time to calm down before starting on me. It was a nice thought. I felt Ethalia’s hand slip into my own, both for support, and as a reminder that I should keep my temper.

  ‘Your third duel in less than a month, First Cantor,’ Valiana said, and pressed her lips together so tightly that you might never have known that at one point she’d actually looked up to me. ‘Not once have you sought out my counsel, never mind my approval, before risking the reputation of the Greatcoats over a petty grudge.’

  Brasti stepped between us. ‘Now, sweetling, don’t blame Falcio. The Margrave had the right to demand trial by combat in his appeal of your decision. Under the King’s Third Law of Property we had no choice but to grant—’

  ‘No, you idiot,’ she said, infuriated, ‘it’s not the King’s Third Law o—’

  ‘Perhaps this is a conversation for a later time?’ Kest suggested.

  ‘No,’ Valiana said. ‘No. If I’m going to be forced to deal with the Crown’s own magistrates fouling up my every effort to get the nobles under control then we’re at least going to get the names of the damned Laws right!’ She turned on Brasti. ‘The King’s Fifth Law of Property deals with appeals. The King’s Third Law governs agreements for sale and trade.’

  Brasti backed up a step. ‘Well, now you’re just being—’

  ‘Furthermore, the King’s Fifth Law doesn’t grant the Margrave of Gerlac the right to trial by combat. It only says he can request it, and only in the event that there is insufficient evidence with which to demonstrate the right of the case in either direction. I don’t suppose you noticed when the Crown presented three hours of evidence proving Kunciet had been withholding his taxes illegally?’

  ‘Ah,’ Brasti said, ‘it’s possible I wasn’t paying attention during that part.’

  It was Kest’s turn to intercede. ‘There’s still an argument to be made that—’

  ‘Don’t you start,’ Valiana said. ‘Do you really think I’m so stupid that I can’t see how this works?’ She pointed at me. ‘He g
oes off and does something incredibly foolish, and the rest of you try to deflect me until I’m forced into doing something of actual consequence for the Kingdom.’

  Brasti grinned. ‘So it’s working then?’

  ‘Kunciet had no case,’ Valiana said to me, almost despairingly. ‘There was no need for this duel. If you’d lost, then every other nobleman in Tristia could have started making the same deals with their churches to avoid paying taxes.’

  ‘Also, Falcio might be dead,’ Kest interjected.

  ‘That possibility is bothering me less and less,’ Valiana said.

  Darriana emerged from the shadows and said, ‘Maybe we should be asking why the so-called “greatest swordsman in the world” isn’t taking on these idiotic duels?’

  ‘Easily answered,’ Kest replied, holding up his right arm, showing the stump where his hand used to be. ‘I would have lost.’

  It was a surprisingly effective way to stop the conversation. No one wanted to ask the question why?, because by rights, Kest should still have been the finest swordsman in the country. He’d spent years perfecting his ambidextrous coordination – hells, half the time we’d been in fights for our lives he’d fought left-handed just to stay in practise. So why was he so unsure of himself now, just because he’d lost his hand? It was strange: it wasn’t just that his fighting skills were off, more like he was in pain every time he held a sword. But every time we tried to talk to him about it he shut us up by saying he ‘just needed time’.

  Valiana turned back to me, her eyes betraying both fear and desperation. ‘I’m hanging on by my fingernails trying to get the nobles to accept the reinstatement of the King’s Laws, Falcio. You’ve got to stop letting them goad you into chasing symbolic victories; it just makes them want to see us fail even more.’

  I shrugged, which proved to be a mistake since it made all those little cuts scream at me in protest. ‘Symbolic victories are important. Men like Kunciet need to learn that they can’t—’

  ‘Oh, forget it,’ she said, and started to walk away. ‘You win.’

  I felt horribly uneasy at my apparent victory. ‘Valiana, the other nobles will think twice now about trying to—’

  ‘No!’ she said furiously, spinning back to me, ‘no, they won’t. Maybe I can’t stop you doing these reckless, foolish things, but I can stop you from pretending this had anything to do with the Law. This is just your damned need to show everyone how tough the Greatcoats are.’

  ‘He threatened Aline—’

  ‘In fact, he didn’t actually threaten Aline. He said, “the safety of a fragile monarch depends on the goodwill of the Gods and the nobility”.’

  ‘Couldn’t that be interpreted as a subtle threat?’ Kest asked.

  ‘Of course it was a bloody threat,’ Valiana replied. ‘It’s the same kind of threat that every Duke and Duchess tosses around during every council meeting. It’s politics. It’s what they do.’

  ‘Well, then,’ I said. ‘Now they can do it a little less.’

  ‘How many of the people who don’t like Aline do you plan on killing, Falcio?’ All the anger was gone from her voice and I paused a long time before answering. I thought back to all the nobles who had clapped and cheered when the army had come to arrest King Paelis in preparation for his execution.

  ‘All of them,’ I said. Her jaw tightened and she opened her mouth to speak but then she stopped. ‘Say what you want to say,’ I told her.

  ‘Fine. In the four months since the Ducal Concord, those few Greatcoats who have returned have been unable to restore the Rule of Law to the country. People are losing faith, and you—’

  A spark of anger lit in my belly, making my wounds hurt. ‘You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t spend my nights trying to find a way to put a stop to it?’

  Valiana matched me, fire for fire. ‘I think that’s all you think about! I think you believe that if you can fight just one more duel, put down just one more Viscount or Margrave or Lord’s champion, then maybe, just maybe you can prove the Greatcoats are still relevant. You’ve got Nehra and the Bardatti running all over Tristia singing songs, telling people “the Greatcoats are coming” – is that what you mean by it? Is that what you want people to think?’

  I wasn’t sure how to reply, but Valiana was already striding away. This had become something of a pattern between us lately.

  ‘Falcio . . .’ Kest began.

  I looked at him and then at Brasti. ‘Go,’ I said, and the two left to see if there was a way to smooth things over – until the next time I screwed up.

  ‘I must say, First Cantor,’ Duke Jillard said, walking towards me, ‘I’m surprised you went to all the trouble of saving the country from civil war if your plan was to start a new one all by yourself.’

  I sighed, feeling suddenly very tired. ‘Is there something you would like to say to me, your Grace?’

  I expected another self-satisfied remark from him, but instead his expression turned deadly serious. ‘The girl is right, Falcio: there are five Dukes left alive, all of whom agreed to your choice of Realm’s Protector on condition that you restore the Rule of Law to the country. Did you really expect to do that with just a handful of Greatcoats and the occasional fit of pique?’ Before I could reply, he glanced back to the dais. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe Duchess Ossia and I have much to discuss.’

  A wave of nausea threatened to overtake me and I remembered that it was never a good idea to stand around for too long if you’ve been bleeding from half a dozen wounds. Ethalia tried to get me to sit back down, but I couldn’t: Darriana was still standing there, which meant there was one more part of this ritual left.

  She launched straight in with, ‘If you weren’t half-dead already, I think I’d kill you here and now.’

  Darri’s recent protectiveness towards Valiana was something I couldn’t pretend to fully understand. Was it simply admiration, or guilt for having betrayed her to the Dashini Unblooded, when Heryn had come perilously close to killing Valiana? Whatever the reason, Darriana appeared to have decided she would repay any real or imagined harm done to her tenfold.

  In my case, that meant abusing me publicly until she ran out of synonyms for ‘idiot’ and ‘coward’.

  I leaned a hand on the chair, feeling as though a strong breeze would send me flying. ‘Right, let’s get this over with.’

  ‘No,’ Ethalia said, which took me by surprise, and I nearly lost my balance. Ethalia had only slightly more tolerance for bickering than she did for duelling, but it was utterly unlike her to interfere in these matters. She gently but firmly pushed me back down on the chair and began the lengthy process of bandaging my cuts.

  Saints, just how bad are my wounds?

  ‘No?’ Darriana asked. ‘Has our precious Sister of Mercy decided at last to become involved in affairs of state?’

  ‘It’s enough, Darriana,’ Ethalia said absently, even as she placed a new length of white fabric over the cut on my belly. ‘I understand that these are difficult times. I understand that you want to protect Valiana, but Falcio is injured, so I’m going to have to insist that you stop threatening him.’

  ‘And if I were to refuse?’

  ‘I would become displeased, Darriana. That should be enough.’

  Darri gave out a dismissive, almost barking laugh. ‘Well, now, I wouldn’t want to earn the displeasure of a benighted whore of Saint-whoever-the-hell-cares. Perhaps you’d like to go a few rounds in the circle?’

  All right, that’s too much. ‘Darriana, shut your—’

  Sounding perfectly placid, Ethalia said, ‘It’s probably best not to make idle threats whilst standing in a duelling court.’

  Darriana’s eyes went wide, no doubt as shocked as I was. ‘Is that so? Look around you: thousands have died in courtrooms like this one. How many duels do you have to your name?’

  ‘None,’ Ethalia conceded. She pinned the bandage on my shoulder before turning to face Darriana. ‘So I suppose I’m due for at least one,
don’t you think?’

  Of everything that had happened that day, nothing had terrified me as much as this. ‘Could I respectfully ask that neither of you kill the other until my wounds are dressed?’ I said, as firmly as I could manage.

  ‘Shush, darling,’ Ethalia said. ‘The women are speaking now.’

  ‘You’d do it, wouldn’t you?’ Darriana asked incredulously. ‘You’d accept a duel from me?’ For the first time since I’d met her, she looked genuinely uncomfortable. ‘You fool – you don’t even own a sword!’

  ‘I imagine that will make the outcome all the more embarrassing for you, won’t it?’

  The two of them stared at each other as I sat there, dizzy and confused, convinced there was something I should be doing and yet utterly baffled by what that might be. I saw Darriana’s hand move to the sword at her side and reached down for my own – I’d have to take her quickly, before she drew, otherwise I didn’t think I’d last a single exchange with her.

  Then Darriana stopped and said, ‘Some other time, perhaps. Once you’ve found yourself a weapon.’

  She waited for a reply but got none, and having lost whatever battle of wills had just taken place, she left the room while Ethalia, as if nothing at all untoward had happened, picked up another length of bandage and began wrapping my other shoulder.

  ‘Well, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?’ I said.

  She smiled. ‘I’m inscrutable, Falcio. It goes with being a Sister of Mystery.’

  ‘I thought you were a Sister of Mercy?’

  She kissed me on the cheek. ‘I can be more than one thing.’

  It was her way of telling me to leave the matter be, and for a few moments, as she finished dressing my wounds, I did. In the end, though, I couldn’t let it rest. ‘I’m still not . . . since when do you go around challenging former Dashini assassins?’