“Another truffle?” Barnol Friaz asked, holding out the tray to him.

Dyle shook his head, and Barnol offered it to the others. Sam also passed it up, but Vellon grabbed a handful. Barnol actually looked displeased by that as it left fewer for himself. Their other companion didn’t even bother to decline. He just sat there, unmoving.

“They’re good,” Vellon said, stuffing his disgusting face full of the truffles. “Give your cook my compliments.” He sprayed bits of the food around him as he spoke.

“I’ll be sure to tell him,” Barnol said, wiping bits of the sprayed food off his jerkin before popping a truffle into his own fat face.

“So, who exactly is going on this trip?” Dyle asked. Nothing could have been more ill-timed and inconvenient than this sudden move by the Volgs. Damn them! What were they playing at? Someone should have warned him. Someone was going to pay.

“The King and Queen, of course,” Barnol answered once he’d finished his next truffle. “Prince Cerus as well.”

Dyle raised his eyebrows. “The King and his heir?”

Barnol nodded. “Oh yes, his Royal Highness was quite insistent on it. It was debated for quite a while, but eventually it was agreed to let him go. With Cerus going, that meant they had to decide to take Garet along as well. He’s far too emotional to be left here in charge.”

“And Quilla?”

“Naturally, she’ll be going, too. Garet doesn’t go anywhere without her.”

Dyle nodded. That was perhaps for the best. He was far too tempted to pay a visit to Quilla and her husband-to-be, but he’d worked too long and too hard to throw it all away with a stupid move like that. With them gone, so was the temptation. The joy of killing Prince Garet could wait for another time. “How about Felitïa?”

“Oh, she’s going, to be sure.”

“Damn!” Dyle said. “This ruins everything.” He looked over at their silent companion, lounged out in the chaise longue. “So much for your plan.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” their companion said, speaking for the first time since they’d arrived. “Hear out your friend first.”

Dyle looked back at Barnol, who continued, “Princess Felitïa argued quite vehemently that she and her companions should be allowed on the journey. The Queen, you might guess, was opposed.”

“You, of course, argued that she should not go, as well,” Sam said.

“Oh, naturally,” Barnol told the bald man. He popped another truffle in his mouth. Dyle rolled his eyes. No wonder he was so fat.

“But you weren’t convincing enough, I take it?” Sam said.

“Alas, no,” Barnol said. “The King has a soft spot for his daughters, especially Felitïa. In the end, he agreed to let her and one of her companions go. The others have to stay behind.”

Dyle leaned forward, intrigued. “Which ones?”

“Initially, that woman Cerus has been flirting with was to go, but oddly, the next morning Felitïa announced that the Eloorin fellow was going with her instead. The others remain behind.”

Dyle sighed with relief. “Then not all is lost.”

There was a knock at the door. “Come!” Barnol yelled.

A guard wearing the trout sigil of House Friaz entered. A brown-haired boy of about sixteen stood behind him.

Barnol smiled. “Calvan! Do come in!”

The boy passed the guard and entered the room. Once he was in, the guard stepped back out and closed the door. “Hello cousin,” the boy said. “I came as quickly as I could. What’s the matter?”

Barnol patted the seat beside him. “Please, have a seat, my boy. Truffle?”

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

“Thank you.” Calvan took one from the tray and sat beside his cousin. “Who are these people?”

“Oh, these are just some friends of mine.”

“But they’re Eloorin. The Queen will not be happy to have them in the palace.”

Definitely his father’s son, Dyle thought.

“Oh, now now,” Barnol said. “You know the Queen and I are on the best of terms. I’m her most trusted confidante. You don’t think I’d do something without her sanction, do you?”

“I suppose not,” Calvan said. “What did you want?”

Barnol pointed across the room to Dyle. “This is Dyle Aderman. He has something he’d like to say to you.”

“Mister Aderman,” Calvan said.

“I know we haven’t met, Calvan,” Dyle began, “but your father and I are associates of a sort.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” Calvan replied.

“So did your father apparently. You see, several months ago, we reached a little agreement, he and I. However, just as I’d left Tyl, your father saw fit to breach that agreement by sending his cronies to kill me. Now, normally, I’d respond by having your father killed. Unfortunately, I still need him. However, he does need to be taught a lesson.”

The boy recoiled. “How dare you threaten me! Cousin, how can you let him speak to me like that? I’m a Folith! When my father finds out—”

“I fully intend for your father to find out, boy,” Dyle said.

The boy never saw it coming. He opened his mouth to spew more drivel, but all that came out was blood. He looked down in shock at the dagger sticking out of his chest and then at his cousin’s hand still holding the hilt. “Cousin, why?” he gurgled, and died.

“Oh dear, dear,” Barnol complained. “You’ve gone and got blood all over my nice, clean doublet.” Grumbling, he let go of the dagger and grabbed for the tray of truffles. “Damn! It’s all over my tray of treats, too.” In disgust, he tossed the tray and its contents onto the floor and looked accusingly at Dyle.

“Don’t blame me. Blame Mitchal Plavin.”

“You’ve certainly made an enemy of him today,” Barnol said.

Dyle shrugged. “Send him the boy’s head. Dump the body in the sea.”

Barnol nodded. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled. The door opened and the guard from before entered. “Get rid of this thing, will you? Save me the head, but dump the body.”

The guard bowed, and picked up Calvan Plavin.

“Oh, and make sure you’re not seen,” Barnol added.

“Of course, my lord,” the guard said, then left the room carrying the boy’s body.

“Now then,” Dyle said, “I believe you were telling me who was going on the trip to Scovese.”

Barnol dabbed at the blood on his clothes with a kerchief. “Oh yes. Princesses Annai and Sinitïa will also be going. The rest of the Royal Family is staying here. With Gabriella still in Dorg, that leaves Malef in charge.”

“How malleable is Malef?” Sam asked.

“A damn sight more so than the Queen, I’ll tell you that! We could use this to our advantage. Alternatively, this might be the time to make a bigger move. I’m sure you’ve heard how much Malef loves to hunt. I’m sure I could arrange for something to happen to him. Hunting accidents are known to happen. No one is likely to question it.”

It was tempting. “No,” Dyle said. “It’s too early for that. Just see to it that Prince Malef doesn’t do anything that might…bother us.”

“As you wish,” Barnol said.

“What of Felitïa’s latest cronies?” Sam asked. “That army captain and his three men.”

“They’re Kingsguard now,” Barnol replied. “They go where the King goes.”

“Which means they won’t be with the Isyar and the others who stay behind,” Dyle said. “Good.”

“Just what are you planning to do?” Barnol asked.

Vellon laughed, showing those horrid, filed-to-a-point teeth of his. “Should we tell him?”

Dyle shook his head. “Let’s just say I intend to give them something they’ll never expect. You don’t need to know any more. Just inform me the moment Zandrue, Rudiger, and Jorvan leave.”

“Of course,” Barnol said. “Anything else?”

Dyle shook his head. “That will be all. We should be going now.”

“One last thing,” their quiet companion said, standing up from the chaise longue. He walked over to Barnol Friaz, patting Sam’s bald head as he went by. The huge Eloorin did not look impressed.

“What would you like?” Barnol asked cheerfully.

The man dropped a small velvet pouch on the fat Folith’s lap. Barnol looked at it with interest, picked it up and went to draw the string. “Ah ah!” the man said, stroking his moustache. “Wait until after we’re gone to look at it. Just know that it’s to be kept safe until I return for it.”

“Of course!” Barnol said. “Anything you say!”

“What are you up to?” Dyle asked.

“Just preparing for eventualities. You don’t need to know anything else,” the man said, mimicking Dyle’s words the same way he had done in Tyl with Lidda Plavin’s.

Dyle scowled and the scar on his cheek began to itch again. This was another man he was growing impatient to kill.