Firebrand

Onions

Running around Morcaster for most of the night meant Martel slept late for once. When he felt ready, he went to the offices to take counsel with Eleanor and Lara. He had considered gathering all his legion prefects, but he had decided such was unnecessary. This did not involve the legions or matters of strategy, but rather the subtler politics that now took up his days. For all their qualities, his subordinates were men and women of the military with limited knowledge in this regard. At some point, having more voices simply added more noise.

“Good morning, sir,” Lara greeted him as he stepped into their office. Eleanor gave him a weary smile. Although they had both been up as late as him, they had still arrived before him. “No word from the prison whether she is willing to talk.”

“I imagine she’s been sleeping rather than considering her options,” Martel remarked dryly. “Let’s give her until the evening bell.”

“I could have her tortured,” the legion prefects suggested.

Martel considered it for a moment before rejecting the idea. He had seen the aftermath of battles, sometimes assisting the physicians with their amputations and other work. The agony in the eyes of the men being operated on, biting down into a belt to keep their teeth from hacking off their own tongue, or the endless screaming of the soldiers with mortal wounds taking hours to die – Martel would not inflict that even on his worst enemy. He might have hated Kerra once, and he still despised her, but her suffering would not bring him joy. “We’re offering that she might live. She’s practical enough to take that bargain.”

“Torture would help confirm she’s telling the truth,” Lara argued.

“Or she’ll say anything to make it stop. No matter who she names, we’ll have no reliable proof. She’s not a trustworthy witness either way.”

“What of the spy the captain gave you?” Eleanor interjected.

“A pity,” Martel mumbled.

“He was true in his warnings,” Eleanor pointed out. “Whatever Kerra tells us, use him to verify her answer.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Alright. Let’s meet at seventh bell and see whether the lady of the copper lanes wants to live,” Martel decided, and he went to his study, where yesterday’s reports waited for him on his desk.

***

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Martel sat in his chair, flanked by his legate and legion prefect on either side. Guards brought Kerra in and pushed her to her knees. “It’s very simple. You tell me who paid you to kill me, and I’ll let you leave the city. If not, you will lose your head tomorrow at noon.”

“What is my guarantee you’ll stick to your end of the bargain? You left me holding an empty bag last time we made a deal,” she spat out between her teeth.

One of the guards slapped the back of her head. “Don’t impugn the captain’s honour.”

“We have the same guarantee that I do on whether you’ll tell me the truth or not. We’ll both just have to trust each other a little.” He smiled briefly. “Now tell me. My patience is at an end.”

“It was the duke of Cheval.”

Martel could practically feel his officers tense up. Personally, he had suspected as much all along.

“How do you know this?” Eleanor asked.

“I had the man paying me followed. Needed to know who I was getting into bed with, didn’t I? Could have been someone working for you, trying to make me incriminate myself.”

“You needed no help in that regard,” Martel replied. “And this let you straight to the duke?”

Kerra scoffed. “Of course not. Through twists and turns, it led me to the earl of Vergne. He’d never made such a move on his own. While I’m not much for intrigues at court, I do know he clings closer to duke than duchess.”

“Do you have any tangible proof of this?” Lara demanded to know.

“What do you think, that they’d be so careless? I only know what I know, and I told you in full.” She looked at Martel, almost at eye level. “How about it, chief?”

Martel returned her stare for a moment before he grabbed a quill and signed a piece of parchment in front of him. “You have been exiled from the province of Morcaster. You have three days to gather whatever gold you have squirrelled away and leave. I suggest passage to the first ship leaving Aster.” He looked at the guards. “Escort her from the fortress.”

They grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up to stand before pushing her out the door. Martel watched her go, bereft of her influence and power. Her underlings would immediately begin fighting to replace her; he wagered she would leave the city within the day rather than risk attracting daggers at her back. One enemy declawed, but only a pup compared to the wolf that remained.

“The word of a known criminal. Hardly enough to accuse either the earl or the duke,” Lara considered.

“Cheval would never have allowed any proof or reliable witnesses pointing at him. That’s why he went through this earl, who in turn went to Kerra. Layers upon layers, like an onion.” Martel gave a bitter smile.

“He knows you will need his support during the negotiations. More now than ever. You cannot afford to retaliate,” Eleanor said.

“She could easily have lied,” Lara remarked. “Protecting her benefactor or just to spite you. Duke Cheval was the obvious man to point at.”

“Sometimes, the obvious choice is the right choice,” Martel retorted.

“The earl is not on the list the duke gave us of his supporters,” she replied.

“Just a sign that he planned this all along. Using a nobleman unconnected to him.”

“Or,” Lara suggested patiently, “we are interpreting evidence to support what we have already concluded.”

“Put your spy to work. Find a link between the earl and the duke,” Martel argued. “We have time to wait.”

“At once, sir.” She strode away.

Eleanor sat down on his desk, facing him. “If it is him, or anybody else for that matter, what is to be done? This warrants a reaction, but without proof, we cannot strike back.”

“Not in public, no. But if Cheval wishes to play in the shadows, we can do the same.” Martel looked up at her. “Once the spy has done his work, we’ll take that second meeting with Cheval.”