“In the Hallway?” Brian asked, poorly holding in his laughter.
“Yes,” Grim muttered.
“In the Hallway?” he asked again.
Grim sighed. “I panicked.”
Brian held his head in his hands. “We’re dead.”
“If it comes to it, I’ll say I forced you to help. It was kinda fun though, wasn’t it?” he asked.
Brian stared at him. “You’ve gone mad. It’s the only explanation.”
Grim grinned, looking back to where servants were setting the stage for the contest and arranging seating in the hall. An hour late on account of his intervention, but better late than never. A small wooden stage was being quickly assembled and covered by a lavish green rug while the tables were arranged in a semi-circular pattern around the stage, to let the nobles lounge as they heckled the contestants. Most of the guests had cleared out to side chambers to continue the festivities in the interim, but the contestants seemed to be drawn to the stage like moths to a flame.
Grim understood their trepidation. Even if you had all the answers, it was still quite a thing to stand before the scrutiny of a crowd. Grim’s own unease was building in the pit of his stomach, and he didn’t even care to be liked by these people.
The servants soon finished their preparations, turning the hall into a fanciful auditorium with practiced ease. The nobility soon began to trickle back into the hall, finding seats at the two dozen tables. Grim caught Ilyena’s gaze as she found her seat next to a group of young noblewomen. She winked in return and Grim felt a small smile cross his lips.
His father found a seat with Ilyena in the front and center that seemed to have been reserved for them. The Earl’s face was impassive as he took a drink from his wine glass but, having known him all his life, Grim could sense his tension, as if he were anticipating something nasty. The thought made the hairs on the back of Grim’s neck rise.
His eyes drifted to Reginald. Nervousness bled from the young man, his eyes flitting about the room. He’d doubtless been given word of the break-in and found that the list was missing from his person. Too late to do anything about it now. Grim did his best to keep the satisfied smirk from his lips at the thought.
The Marshal crossed the hall to climb the stairs of the stage. As he took the floor, all chatter in the hall died down to a low murmur then fell to silence as he raised a hand.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, let me welcome you all, formally, to the beginning of this year’s competition, where the finer points of Venaran nobility are put on display by the nobles of tomorrow,” Longreen said.
At his words, the hall broke out into polite applause.
Longreen held up his hand once more for quiet and the sound died down. “As you are all aware, our first challenge of the night centers around the contestants’ knowledge of Venarn history and our divine right to hold dominion over all lands.”
An approving “Whoop!” came from the rear of the crowd and scattered chuckles sounded across the room.
The Marshal smiled down at them, looking every inch the approving fatherly figure. “The rules are simple,” he said. “The contestants will join me on the stage one at a time and will be provided a series of questions. They will answer and be ranked according to my satisfaction with their answers.”
Longreen let his gaze drift across the contestants, seeming to enjoy watching them squirm. His eyes settled on Reginald and Grim suspected that was not by chance. “Reginald, why don’t you join me as the first of the night and we’ll set this off to a strong start.”
Reginald affected a brave smile as he rose from his seat and strode onto the stage. His prize had gone missing, and the trial had been delayed. He’d likely put two and two together by now. The young noble took his place by the Marshall, gazing down at the assembly of his peers. Grim didn’t envy him, but knew he’d soon suffer a similar fate.
The Marshal patted Reginald on the shoulder hard enough to make the boy wince. Reginald’s spine went stiff as the Marshal dug his fingers into his shoulder, the smile never leaving the older man’s face. “Welcome Reginald. I trust you’ve spent your time here studiously preparing for this.”
Reginald swallowed and nodded. “Of course, your Grace.”
The Marshal’s smile fell away, and he stared into Reginald’s eyes. The extended silence grew uncomfortable. Grim began to wonder if the Marshal would throttle the boy. It seemed somebody else had put together the pieces as well.
The Marshal’s grip loosened. “I will give you this one chance to return to your seat and spare yourself from dishonor.”
Reginald looked to be sick, torn between fury and fear. He stiffly bowed his head. “Your Grace,” he acknowledged, taking his leave of the stage to the stares of the nobility. Hushed conversations had already broken out across the room and gazes followed the young man as he retreated from the hall entirely.
The Marshal looked back to where the other contestants stood and as he spoke, the room fell into silence once more. “I extend this offer to any who would take it.”
Nearly half the young men sitting around Grim rose to their feet and slunk from the hall, seeing the writing on the wall. Grim expected Reginald would be getting more than a few choice words in the coming days.
The next few hours were an exercise in patience and anxious waiting as Grim watched the remaining six young men called to the stage one by one. The first was thoroughly humiliated by Longreen, clearly having been one of the ones in Reginald’s scheme and hoping to skate by unnoticed. He was nearly in tears by the end.
Brian was next and did infuriatingly well, having a prompt, though not always perfect, answer to every question on topics ranging from the founding of Venar to its current legislation. He seemed to know at least a little bit about everything and was forthright about his limitations. By the end, the Marshal was smiling, and he left the stage to relieved applause. The thick tension in the air began to fade as the other nobles took their turns. None did so well as Brian, but all put on a good show.
Grim found himself sitting alone, pulse growing faster as the Marshal turned his gaze onto him. “Grim Thorne,” he called.
Grim rose to his feet, legs feeling weak as he ascended the stage, feeling dozens of eyes crawling across him, weighing him. The tension in the room came back in a rush at his appearance. The Marshal locked gazes with him, face stone cold.
Grim forced a smile to his lips and bowed. “Your Grace.”
The Marshal seemed to have no desire to waste pleasantries on him, waving him up and turning to face the crowd. He addressed them. “I’m sure we are all very aware of the limitations of Grim’s upbringing. In the interest making this a fair competition, I’ll be testing Grim’s knowledge not on this history of Venar, but on his Family’s history.”
Grim’s jaw tightened as the Marshal turned back to face him. “Tell me now,” he said, “How did the Rillish Subjugation begin?”
Grim took a deep breath. “Troops under my grandfather’s command captured the Venaran Prince and his wife in route to a diplomatic treaty in Varna and killed them.”
The Marshal’s face was iron. “Do not spin me half- answers. Spare no details.”
Grim hesitated only a moment. “Prince Valen was given his wings. His wife was raped to death.”
“How did the war end, Grim?”
Grim took a deep breath, looking across the room to where his father sat beside Ilyena. The girl was stiff as a board, hands clenched in one another. The Earl revealed no expression and nodded to Grim.
Grim looked back to the Marshal. “Our old king was captured in Varna at the end. My family was leading a relief force to the city from Bleakridge. As our army neared, my grandfather fell ill and died, leaving my father in command.”
Grim clenched and unclenched his fingers, wishing he could grasp the familiar weight of his axe to calm his nerves. “Earl Rodger Thorne allowed the city to be surrounded and watched it burn. The next day, a treaty was signed.”
A small grin spread across the Marshal’s lips, as if he were remembering it fondly. “Do you believe your grandfather died of natural causes?”
“No,” Grim answered, unwilling to say more than that.
Longreen seemed to accept that, moving to his next question. “Who was your mother?”
Grim felt his anger rising. “Her name was Ilyena Thorne.”
“What did your father do to her?” Longreen asked.
Grim grit his teeth, realizing this wasn’t just about shaming him. He glanced to his sister. Her face was tense, and a Thorne guardsman stood near her, whispering into her ear. Grim swallowed and answered the question. “He set her aside for a Southern Bride, my sister’s mother.”
The Marshal nodded solemnly and looked to where Rodger Thorne sat, face unreadable. “A wise decision.” Longreen turned to face Grim. “What happened to your step-mother?” he asked.
“She died a few days after childbirth,” Grim said.
The Marshal snorted. Some might say she mysteriously died after childbirth.” He shrugged as if it were of no consequence and moved to his next question. “If you were not born a bastard, then why are you one now?”
Grim’s brow furrowed, and he could feel everyone’s eyes drifting to the brand along his neck. “Soon after my mother was set aside, my father branded me with the mark of the bastard to disinherit me, saying I was unworthy.”
The Marshal nodded in understating, as if hearing this for the first time. “What then happened to your mother?”
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Grim had to repress the urge to punch the man. Fury was rising in him, for the Marshal, for his father, for the life ripped from his hands, and for the ambition of petty men that led to cruelty. “Stripped of land, wealth, and title, she became a whore.”
“Quite a popular one too,” the Marshal remarked, with a smile.
Grim’s hands began to shake.
“What ever did happen to her, Grim?” Longreen asked.
“She died,” Grim answered, voice close to breaking.
Longreen raised his voice, “How?”
Grim looked across the assembly staring up at him in rapt silence. “I never saw her after the war. I heard she fell sick and passed some years ago.”
Longreen took a step closer to Grim. “She was quite the stain on your family’s honor. Do you believe she died of natural causes? Some thought her death a mercy.”
Grim’s pulse raced. It was a thought he’d tried to repress for a long time. But it never truly went away, lurking like bitter poison in the back of his mind. He couldn’t remember her face. He’d never see her again. If she had been killed, the most likely person to do so was his own father. Who else would care?
Grim didn’t answer.
The Marshal waited for a long moment before addressing him. “Should you not answer, you will be forfeiting.”
Grim’s jaw tightened, and his gaze drifted to his family. Ilyena had left the room. His father seemed unfazed, his right hand twisting his golden ring around the ring finger on his left. He met Grim’s eyes and nodded.
Grim choked out the words in a whisper. “No, I don’t.”
“Louder,” the Marshal called.
Grim wondered if he could kill him before somebody could stop him. He fought to get his voice under control. “No, I don’t.”
“Thank you, Grim. I think that will do for today. I’m sure the court found the recounting of your family history very enlightening.” Longreen patted him on the shoulder and Grim fought the urge to scowl.
As Grim woodenly turned to leave the stage, Longreen addressed the crowd. “I’d also like to publicly thank Grim for bringing to my attention that this leg of the coemption had been compromised.”
Grim froze in his tracks, looking back to the Marshal. Longreen met his gaze. “He’s done me a great service.”
***
Grim stayed at the celebrations for another hour after the competition had completed out of obligation. He didn’t want Cassandra Longreen to accuse him of being ungrateful for her husband’s praise and generosity. Grim sat at one of the tables alone, nursing a glass of wine. His father had left the moment the competition was over, Brian was busy receiving congratulations and accolades for his excellent performance, and Rafe was busying himself trying and failing to charm a young noblewoman across the hall. The solitude suited Grim just fine. His mood was dark.
Somebody sat beside Grim on the bench along his table. He sighed. It was as if the very thought of solitude drew people to him like a sirens call. He ran a hand through his hair and turned to see who it was. Carys sat there regarding him, head cocked.
Grim cocked his head in turn, meeting her gaze.
They sat there for a long moment, Grim trying to figure out what she wanted until at last she spoke, “Rare that I have to start a conversation.”
Grim raised an eyebrow and turned back to his drink. “Apologies for not following the proper decorum,” he spat, wincing as the words left his mouth. He was a bit more drunk than he realized. He took another drink.
She was quiet a moment. “Is everything people say about you true?”
Grim didn’t want to talk, but knew she could compel him to if it struck her fancy. “What do they say?” he asked.
“They say you’re a drunken murderer who consorts with Sons, ” she said.
Grim grinned from her bluntness. “I didn’t realize the court had such a high opinion of me.”
She held up a hand. “Oh, it doesn’t end there. Lord Falumnd told me an hour ago that he heard from a reliable source that you were in fact here to assassinate my father, and that this was all a devious ploy.”
Grim’s eyebrows raised. “Ah, yes. All the best assassins come to their mark in chains. Provides a certain element of surprise.”
Carys snorted then continued, “Lady Proctor told me she had it on good authority that the Sons prepared a tunnel for your arrival here and that every night you sneak out through this secret tunnel to consort with whores in the Outwalls and perform demonic rituals.
He grinned. “Every night, eh? Lady Proctor is kind to think so highly of my stamina.”
Carys grinned in turn and leaned closer to Grim. “And Reginald just told me you broke into his room, assaulted his guard, and that your ‘whore’ of a sister stole his key to victory in this leg of the competition.”
Grim’s blood ran cold as he met her green eyes.
“His words, not mine,” she added.
Grim was quiet a moment, considering the weight of the lie. “Aye, that much is true.”
Carys raised an eyebrow. “I won’t tell, but I assure you my father has already put together the pieces.”
Grim sighed, the brief spirit of levity bleeding from him. He hadn’t seen Longreen since the end of the competition and he suspected the man was preparing something nasty for him. “Thanks, I suppose,” he muttered.
“Why so grim?” she asked.
Grim narrowed his eyes at her. That joke had been haunting him his whole life.
She seemed to enjoy his reaction and smiled. A moment later her smile disappeared. Grim followed her gaze to see Cassandra Longreen approaching. He braced himself as she came to a halt before them, looking down her nose at Grim.
“I think you have overstayed your welcome here, sir. The night is near its end,” she said.
Grim glanced around the nearly filled hall, celebration still in full swing. He rose to his feet, straightening his jacked as he did so. “Of course, my lady.” He bowed to her quickly, not giving her time to hold out her ring. “I must thank you for organizing this wonderful evening. Truly, your hospitality is matched only by the quality of your character.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Grim smiled dumbly as if he were too stupid to have given her a backhanded compliment. It was what she expected, and he gave it to her, cherishing the petty rebellion.
Cassandra waved at him dismissively. “Off with you.”
He bowed his head and stepped about her, making his way across the hall and up the stairs to the second floor. Truth be told, he was glad for the excuse to make his exit. Maybe he should try talking to Carys at every function. He grinned to himself as he walked down the halls.
As he turned the corner to the hall where his room lay, he caught sight of a pair of guards waiting outside his room. Both were dressed in bronze plated vests and were well-built. Even if it weren’t suicide, Grim wouldn’t like his chances if it came to a fight. They lounged against the wall in the hall, watching his approach. He sighed as he came to a halt before them. “Where are we off to?”
Neither answered, just gesturing for him to follow.
As they walked the halls, Grim was having trouble figuring out where they were taking him. They seemed to be avoiding the main hallways and an edge of discomfort was rising along Grim’s spine. His hand grasped at where his axe should be at his hip, dearly missing the comforting weight.
He peered at the faces of the guards, trying to place them. As they led him to a servant’s stairwell, the thought occurred to him that he’d never once seen one of the Marshal’s household guards lean against a wall.
He hesitated, slowing. The guard on the right glanced at him and something on Grim’s face must have given away his realization. The man cursed, reaching for his blade.
Grim shoved him with all his strength, sending the man stumbling backwards as his sword came free.
The second man reacted a moment later, sword coming out of his scabbard in a swing as Grim dove backwards, scrambling across the wood flooring as the guard advanced on him.
Grim staggered to his feet, hands grasping at one of the many paintings lining the hall. He ripped the priceless frame from the wall and flung it at his assailant.
The frame snapped loudly as the guard batted it aside with his arm, staggering and cursing. The man Grim had shoved was finding his feet and moved to join his comrade.
Grim could already hear shouts of alarm coming down the hall from the real guards. He flung open the closest door to him and leapt inside, pulling it shut behind him. A woman screamed from inside as he braced himself against the door frame. The door shook as the two men tried to rip it open and give chase.
The door buckled and wood cracked as they began to pound on the wood from the other side. Grim winced as the wood by his face splintered. Muttered voices sounded, followed by the muffled sound of boots fleeing.
Grim relaxed his grip on the door and turned his head to look in the room. An older Venaran woman stood in the foyer with her back to the wall, armed with a chair as she eyed him warily.
“Apologies,” Grim muttered to her. He turned his attention back to the door and creaked it open. Guards he recognized were running down the hall. They roared for him to stay where he was. Grim opened the door and held his hands out to show he had no weapons. A pair of men were on him a moment later, searching him for weapons.
That they assumed he’d done something wrong annoyed him, but he didn’t want to alarm the panicked armed men. A moment later they seemed satisfied and Grim recounted the events to them. As he finished, the Marshal appeared at the end of the hall, looking more than a little annoyed.
As he neared, his eyes took in the shattered frame and ripped canvas, moved to the splintered door and nervous woman inside, then landed on Grim. “Every time I look away, some new mischief seems to happen tonight, and here I am finding you in the middle of it once more.”
Longreen looked to the woman. “Are you well, lady Olentia?”
She nodded, seeming to need a moment to find her voice. “Shaken, but fine. The brute barged into my room-”
Longreen held up a hand, cutting her off. “My men will take your story and report back to me, and I will see to it that a guard is posted outside your room for your security. For now, I have matters to discuss with Grim.”
Olentia curtsied, bowing her head in deference.
Grim chose then to speak up. “The men who attacked me are going to escape.”
Longreen waved a dismissive hand. “Follow,” he ordered.
Grim took the hint and shut his mouth, following in the Marshal’s wake as he signaled for two of the soldiers present to follow. Grim trailed in his wake down the halls, flanked by the two soldiers. They crossed paths with a few nobles retreating from the night’s festivities who all but dove out of the way from the Marshal’s purposeful stride.
Within moments they had arrived at the Marshal’s study. Longreen gestured to the guards, and they fell into motion. One opened the door while the other took a position by the doorway, one hand on the hilt of his sword.
The soldier opening the door marched inside. Grim followed the Marshal through the doorway as the soldier took up a position in the corner of the room, eyes following Grim.
The Marshal took a seat on the far side of his desk and gestured for Grim to take a seat.
“Drinks,” Longreen ordered.
The soldier walked to the liquor cabinet and began to fetch a pair of glasses. While they waited, the Marshal met Grim’s gaze, eyes considering. The quiet stretched until the guard set the pair of glasses on the table. “You may leave, Dymon.”
The soldier hesitated, eyes flicking to Grim.
The Marshal leveled his gaze on Dymon. “Did I stutter?”
Dymon saluted and made a swift exit, shutting the door behind him.
Longreen picked up the glass of whiskey, swirling the brown liquid then took a drink. “You vex me, Thorne.” He shook his head. “You played in the spirit of the game, timing your move to your advantage,” he said, “but at great inconvenience to me.”
He set the glass atop the wood of the table. “I’m also reasonably sure you trespassed in a noble’s quarters and assaulted one of their household guards.” His gaze bore into Grim. “For that, I could exact punishment, per our agreement.”
Grim’s gut sank. He didn’t dare speak, but he took a drink from his glass.
Longreen continued, “Instead, I showed mercy and merely made the court aware of who had pulled the rug from beneath their feet. The repercussions will be yours to deal with.” He leaned forward. “Am I not fair?”
Grim nodded. “Yes,” he said, “Your Grace.”
The Marshal’s voice gained a hint of strain as he continued, “And yet, you needle my wife and disturb my daughter. I’ve thrown men out of the court for less,” he said, “Cassandra has had men killed for less.” He gave Grim a meaningful look.
A shiver ran down Grim’s spine.
“Fortunately for you, I still have use of you. Rather than end this as my wife would have me, I’m giving you a chance to be of service,” he said.
Longreen leaned back in his chair. “The officers of the Sixth Legion are meeting now to discuss a matter of great importance to our operations in the city,” he said, “I have had reason to suspect for some time now that there is corruption within the ranks of a particular Cohort. In two days’ time, I will embed you with them with no forewarning and you will report back to me on anything you find during the days’ events.”
“What should I be looking for?” Grim asked
“Anything that would displease me to know of,” he answered.
That hardly narrowed the list, but Grim nodded his assent.
Longreen crossed his hands atop the desk. “Should you survive the ordeal, all will be forgiven,” he said, “Your man will be released to you and will accompany you on this expedition. Armaments will be issued to you both on that date as you’ll need them for the next trial of the competition in any case.” He took a deep breath. “Am I not fair?”
Grim nodded. “Yes, your Grace.”
Longreen said nothing for a long moment before opening the drawer of his desk and pulling out a rolled sheet of parchment. He passed it across the table to Grim. As Grim took hold of it, Longreen rose to his feet. “I have more business to attend to tonight. See yourself out.”
With that, the man strode from the room, soon replaced by one of the guards. Grim ignored the man, unrolling the length of parchment. It was the results of the day’s competition. Grim’s name was second on the list, directly below Brian’s.