Page 33 of The Twisted Throne

Delivering news of the fallen.

An older woman appeared, taking the baby, listening to whatever words of comfort James gave as he handed her coins. He inclined his head, said a few more words, then descended the steps and continued down the street.

Ahnna didn’t follow. This was miserable work, though she respected him for doing it himself rather than delegating it to an officer, because it did mean something to hear the news from the one under whom your loved one had served. Perhaps not in the moment, but later.

Or so she’d been told.

Watching until his long strides took him out of sight, Ahnna sighed, then retreated to the main street, and then followed it down toward the sea. It wasn’t long until the street grew more crowded and raucous, drunk men and women spilling in and out of brightly lit buildings loud with music and laughter. It smelled of ale, vomit, and humanity, and Ahnna scanned the names of the various establishments, trying to decide which one to enter.

The Fabled Flask seemed a good mix of sailors and merchants, so Ahnna went inside. It was full of circular tables surrounded by mostly men dressed in stained shirts and baggy trousers, the floppy hats the sailors favored on the tables next to them. They were either conversing or playing cards or dice. None paid her any mind. A hearth burned low against one wall, though the addedheat was hardly necessary, for the room was so thick with the scent of sweat that Ahnna nearly walked back out again.

She wove between the tables, heading in the direction of the bar, where she saw some empty space. Only to draw up short as a man stuck a thick leg out in front of her. He was heavyset with a bushy mustache, the front of his shirt stained with grease, his piggy eyes looking her up and down. “Why don’t you have a seat, lass,” he said, patting his lap. His hand bore a long scar down the center of it, though it was hard to see through the grime.

His friend laughed, the sound nasal as a result of a nose that had been broken and poorly set. His other companion only shook his head and said, “You never learn, do you, Jasper? Keep your hands for the barmaids.”

Jasper belched, then slapped his knee again. “Have a seat, girl. I don’t mind that scar of yours none. Let’s have a visit.”

Lifting one eyebrow, Ahnna looked Jasper up and down, then said, “I’ll pass,” and stepped over his outstretched leg.

Only for his hand to crack hard against her backside.

He’d notified the families ofthe eight men from Sableton who’d lost their lives to the Amaridians, the process having drained James worse than the battles themselves. What were words and coins compared with a lost husband or son?Nothingwas the answer, but words and coins were all he could give.

The clock tower at the center of the city began to toll the ninth hour. The note hadn’t given a location, but James knew that it wasn’t about him finding the agent. It was about the agent finding him.

James reached the end of the street, his skin prickling with the sensation of being watched, and then a soft whistle caught his attention. He turned his head to see a shadow standing between two buildings, and his stomach clenched at the familiar height and breadth.

His uncle Cormac.

Cutting into the gap between buildings, he followed his uncle until they reached a side door, which Cormac opened, revealing adirty kitchen lit by a single candle. Taking a seat at the table, his uncle gestured for James to sit.

He did so. “What are you doing in Sableton, Uncle?”

“I’d ask you the same, except I’ve heard.” His uncle rested his elbows on the table, face faintly illuminated by the candle as he said, “Scrapping with the Amaridians, theDefiantsunk, dozens of men lost.” Cormac tsked with dismay. “Yet in the midst of all that, you didn’t find a way for the Ithicanian woman to fall over the side so that we might be rid of the problem she causes?”

James realized he was standing, though he had no memory of rising. “I’m not murdering a woman in cold blood.”

His uncle shrugged. “Which is why you should have let the Amaridians do it.”

“Standing by and watching a woman be murdered is no better than doing it myself,” James snapped. “Besides, it wasn’t Ahnna they were trying to kill. It was me.”

That made Cormac sit up straight. “Now, why would they be wanting to do that?”

“You tell me. Because I can think of only one reason they’d try to kill me and frame the Ithicanians, which is that Katarina has discovered our alliance. That she knows we plan to redirect trade north to Cardiff rather than south through the bridge. That she knows I’m at the center of the negotiations, which means she knows that my connections to Cardiff didn’t die with my mother. If Ithicana knew the same, it’s feasible that they’d ally with Amarid to stop it.”

“Do you believe Ithicana suspects? Do you believe they planned the attack together?” His uncle’s voice was toneless, and James’s skin crawled.

“No.” He hesitated, then added, “Ahnna saved my life. If she knew our plans, she’d have let the sharks feast.”

Cormac made a noncommittal noise, then said, “Perhaps. However, the fact remains that promises have been broken, nephew. Your father, through you, indicated that this betrothal would never be seen to fruition. Spoke with such confidence that the Ithicanians would never send their princess, giving him a viable reason to look north to Cardiff as a consequence of the slight. But they have sent her, and if an Ithicanian woman becomes queen of Harendell, everything your mother dreamed of will be dust on the wind.”

James’s mother had died when he was only four years old, but while his memory of her face had faded, how much he’d loved her, and she him, remained as vivid as though it were yesterday. The idea of failing her in any way never ceased to fill James with a desperate panic, as though doing so would erase that love entirely.

“Get rid of Ahnna Kertell,” his uncle said, “or I’ll be forced to report to Ronan that your loyalty to your blood, and to the people of Cardiff, is nothing but empty words. He will not take that news well.”

“My loyalty is as strong as it has always been,” James growled. “But it does not come at the cost of my morals. I will not see any harm come to Ahnna Kertell. There are other ways to break betrothals than murder, none the least that she is a poor match for William.”

“I agree with that. It seems the Ithicanians breed them as fierce and fine as we do in the north.” His uncle whistled between his teeth. “That princess has legs that any real man would dream to have wrapped around him, but William has no taste for a woman he has to look up to.”

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