Only the Bold. Морган Райс

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      “We do,” Neave said. “He made the healing stone cry out. Others will join your cause too.”

      “It sounds as though you have prepared quite the army,” Royce’s father said to him.

      Royce nodded. “We’re working on it. By the time we get back, I hope that my brothers will have gathered enough to take on King Carris. We need a symbol though. We need the rightful king. We need you.”

      “You have me,” his father promised. He waded out toward the boat. “We have a long way to go, though, and a hard fight once we get there.”

      CHAPTER SIX

      Genevieve crept through the castle in the early morning light, afraid with every step, knowing that she was taking a risk just by doing this part. If Altfor realized she was here, then she would be in danger even though she was carrying his child, but he had left their rooms before she had, and Genevieve guessed that he was away somewhere with Moira.

      “I’ll kill her,” Genevieve said, although even then, she knew that she would have a hard time killing anyone directly. She’d already proved that with Altfor, when she’d found herself unable to put a knife in him even when she had the chance.

      “I’ll find something,” Genevieve promised herself, the same way she’d promised it when it came to Altfor. If she couldn’t do it directly, then she would help to bring them all down indirectly, and then she would see to it that they were executed for their crimes. They deserved it, and more.

      She hated Moira more, if it was possible, than she hated Altfor. Altfor had never pretended to be her friend; had only betrayed her in ways that Genevieve had expected him to betray her. Moira had been in almost the same position as her, married to another of the duke’s sons and immersed in a world that she should never have been a part of. She should have been Genevieve’s ally, her friend. Instead, she’d gone to Altfor, and she’d betrayed Genevieve. She’d done worse than that when she’d handed over Garet to the king’s forces.

      At least Genevieve could start to undo that.

      She continued forward, moving smoothly from hiding place to hiding place, trying to make it look as though she was running errands, off about legitimate business. Sneaking was no use in a keep building up to war, where there were too many people around and too much fear of spies to ever hope to hide completely. The best that Genevieve could hope for was to have people believe she was doing something she ought to be doing.

      She approached the dungeons, knowing that her journey through the keep had been the easy part. People would imagine reasons for her to be in almost every part of the keep, and wouldn’t dare to question the noble wife of the king’s newest friend in any case, but Genevieve doubted that anything like that would work to get her into the dungeons.

      She stood across from the entrance now, where a large guard sat as jailer on a stool, keys in his belt and a sword at his hip. Genevieve needed to find a way to get him away from that door, and right then, she couldn’t think of anything. What would move a man who had been commanded to remain in one spot?

      The answer was that nothing would. There was no subtle way to do this, no way to distract him from his post cleanly and slip inside. The only option was the direct one, and if she took that, it would be obvious what had happened. There would be no way that she could remain there. Was Genevieve really ready to abandon everything and run, when there might still be a chance to find out more that might help to win this war?

      “And what happens to Garet if I wait?” she asked herself. She could already guess at the answer to that. She’d seen what the king did to those who opposed him, and had no doubt that he meant what he’d said about the torture. She had to get Royce’s brother out of there, even if that made it impossible for her to stay.

      Maybe it would even be to her benefit. Genevieve would be able to head back to Royce’s forces if she had Garet with her. It would be proof that she was on their side, and Royce might finally believe that she cared.

      “I’m actually doing this,” Genevieve said to herself, and then strode forward to the guard at the dungeon door. The guard looked up at her with the lazy slowness of a man who had no intention of moving if he didn’t have to.

      “What do you want?” he asked.

      “What do you want, my lady,” Genevieve corrected him, adopting the haughtiest voice she could manage. “Or do you believe that we are somehow equals?”

      It was easy to think of how to do this: she simply imagined the way Altfor would have said it. It was enough to make the guard’s eyes widen in fear, or at least shock.

      “No, my lady. Forgive me, my lady.”

      “Be quiet and open the door for me,” Genevieve said. “I’m here to see one of the prisoners.”

      “I’m sorry, my lady,” the guard said. “But I’m not to let anyone in to see the prisoners. Not without permission from—”

      “From the king?” Genevieve cut in. She summoned up the nastiest smile she could manage. “The king who is my husband’s closest friend right now? The king with whom I have spoken more times in the last day than you will have in your lifetime?”

      “My lady,” the man said. He stood, but still, he hesitated.

      “I want to speak with one of the prisoners,” Genevieve said. “The new one, Garet, that’s all. I’m not planning to indulge in any torture, or demand that you escort him to the gate to free him. I want to talk to him. He knows me, and he’ll tell me far more than he ever would anyone else. Do you think the king will want to hear that you obstructed something to gain us information?”

      Now Genevieve could see the fear on the man’s face. There was a kind of power in that, and in the things that it was possible to do with just words. He moved quickly now, hurrying to the door, unlocking it with one key, then another, lifting a bar before opening the portal there to reveal dark depths within. There was a candle set in a bracket by the door. The guard lifted it and offered it to Genevieve. Genevieve took it, moving close to the man, close enough that she could smell the rankness of his breath.

      Close enough that her hand could snag his collection of keys.

      “What—”

      “I will need to go into the cell with him,” Genevieve said as the guard noticed. “I will let myself out when I am done. Unless you have an objection?”

      It was obvious that he had plenty of objections, but didn’t dare to voice any of them.

      “He’s in the cell at the end, my lady.”

      Genevieve brushed past him before he could gather the courage to say anything. She set off into the depths of the dungeons, moving quickly, knowing that she would only have so much time before the guard realized that he should probably check if she was actually allowed down there. At some point, he would think to ask the king—probably he already wanted to—and Genevieve could only hope that it would be a long time before he summoned up the courage to abandon his post to do it.

      Genevieve made her way down into the dungeons, down a winding set of stairs that was slippery in spots with mold, while she was sure she could hear water dripping from somewhere close to her. She could hear more than that too: screams came from somewhere deeper inside, and she just had to hope that they weren’t Garet’s.

      Genevieve СКАЧАТЬ