“I don’t know any—”
“The Vendan soldier who was here!” I grabbed his vest and yanked him forward. “Where is she?”
He screamed in pain. His eyes rolled in his head. “I swear—” he gasped. “I’ve been on the mountain. On patrol. I haven’t seen her. But Banques—he has prisoners. Some of them he’s already hanged—”
“Hanged?” Wren yelled. “Hanged who?” Her normally cool temperament cracked with desperation.
“Loyalists,” Hagur gasped.
“Where are they? Where is he holding them?” I demanded.
“Some in town. Some at the arena. Some at—”
He hadn’t had time to explain more when Synové demanded a different answer. “Who is Banques?”
“The general,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Second in command.”
A general? Every answer he gave us only created more questions. “Who is first in command?” I asked. I knew there was precious little time left for answers. He was barely conscious. “Paxton? Truko?”
“He’s smarter than you think. He won’t ever—”
His eyes closed and his head rolled to the side, and I slapped his face, trying to wake him. “Who? Tell me, you bastard!”
I grabbed his vest again, lifting him forward, ready to shake him awake, but Wren stopped me, pushing him back to the floor. “Don’t waste your energy, Patrei. He’s dead.”
I stared at him, my fists still curled in his clothing, not willing to let go of this two-time traitor. I was ready to cut him open and dig out the answers with my fingers. Where is she?
“Leave it, Patrei,” Wren said softly, pulling my hands loose from Hagur’s vest. “Let’s go catch ourselves a live one. One who can talk.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
KAZI
Paxton’s secrets came out over the course of the day, only when we could manage safe moments to talk alone. It began in the solarium, where we tossed rubble and overturned furniture as we talked, so it would appear we were searching the house—and not conspiring—in case anyone listened from below. Most of the windows of the solarium were still intact, but cold wind whistled through a broken one, keeping the air crisp. Our movement helped keep the frost from our bones.
The bush I had seen Jalaine meticulously clipping in the corner was now dead, its leaves brown and curled. We only had a little time to talk before the king would return to Tor’s Watch and we would return to the inn with him. I tried to absorb everything Paxton told me, even as I studied him, trying to understand who he was.
He told me that contrary to the official report issued by Banques, Rybart hadn’t led any attacks on Hell’s Mouth. He was just a convenient scapegoat, and once he and his men were dead, they couldn’t defend their names or intentions. The depth and breadth of Montegue’s conniving made me marvel. He was shrewd, patient, smart. He knew how to deceive and play people. He understood misdirection as well as I did.
It was the king who had murdered Rybart—or at least one of his guards did by his order—because the king never got his hands dirty. It could have just as easily been Paxton or Truko, but Rybart had made the mistake of standing to leave first. That was his downfall—his utter disgust with the king.
Paxton explained how they had all been called to the king’s chambers. None of them liked being summoned, Truko least of all, but Montegue was staying at the Ballenger Inn in unusually luxurious quarters that they knew were well beyond his means. That alone had piqued their interest. They joked about it as they walked there, wondering if he would stiff the Ballengers or pay his debt by washing dishes. Once they were seated in the posh parlor of his suite, the king said he had a generous proposal for them all. He was taking over Hell’s Mouth and Tor’s Watch, and he was willing to cut them in on a percentage of arena profits in return for managing it. The king knew little about the trade business, and he needed their expertise to keep the revenue flowing. He told them he had the army and weapons to carry out his plan, and it was about time that the Ballengers were ousted.
Paxton remembered exchanging a snide glance with Rybart and Truko. He said they were probably all thinking the same thing—the king was insane. Paxton had stifled a laugh and was thankful now for that small bit of wisdom. Rybart stood to leave first, saying, “Not interested.” He didn’t try to hide his cynicism or offer the king even minimal respect. Though they all wanted a greater piece of the arena trade, they knew better than to try to steal it from the Ballengers, and the bumbling king was the last one they wanted to partner with.
“Bumbling,” Paxton repeated, his gaze briefly unfocused, like he was reliving the moment his eyes had been opened to the king’s true nature. “None of us could have been more wrong about him. Our biggest mistake was underestimating him.” He said he was on the verge of standing to say the same as Rybart when, the next thing he knew, blood was spraying across his lap and face, and the end of a sword was jutting from Rybart’s chest. The guard behind him pulled it free, and Rybart crumpled awkwardly back into his seat. Dead. And the king continued the meeting with barely a blink.
“What about you two?” Montegue had asked. “Interested?”
Yes was obviously the only answer—at least temporarily—or so Paxton thought. But again, he had underestimated Montegue. The army, for one thing. Before the meeting was over, they were already marching into town, and their numbers and weapons were formidable. The king had also known exactly how to sow doubt, turning one comrade against another, already bribing Paxton’s own men to turn each other in for disloyalty. Everyone now was on the king’s side, at least by appearances. Those who thought they could conspire with a colleague against the king found themselves being turned in and hanged. He’d been infiltrating Hell’s Mouth for months with his own men. Plants. It made everyone tight-lipped and afraid to talk with anyone.
“I only have two in my crew that I still have regular communication with and I’m certain I can trust—Binter and Cheu. Other than that, I’m cut off from everyone. I think I can trust Truko, but we don’t talk much. I think he’s afraid too, but I can’t be sure. His straza have definitely turned. The king has infiltrated or subverted nearly everyone and everything. Whether they like him or not, they’re afraid to step out of line because they don’t know who is waiting to stab them in the back.”
“How does he get these backstabbers’ loyalty?”
“Greed and fear. He’s made extravagant promises, and more frightening threats—and he has the power to back up those threats.”
Paxton berated himself for not figuring it out. He had become suspicious when he was suddenly