Page 89 of Queen’s Gambit

Chapter 25

Reynard

Tymon, former Master of the Mules, welcomed us at Shipwreck Cove with a bow and a smirk. He was the last person I expected to coordinate our landing.

‘What prompted your help?’ I asked, unsure whether the Crown’s treasury could handle the expense.

‘Roksana freed me, and Irsha promised the Brotherhood would trade with my smugglers once the war was over,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Not that it really matters who wins, though Dagome winning would make life easier.’

Sometimes I wondered what guided Roksana’s hand. The day she freed this notorious schemer, I thought her mercy was misplaced. Now I was benefiting from it.

‘Do you know where Tangra will land?’ I asked.

‘In Tivala’s port. They dredged it so heavy galleons can dock at the wharf. Nowhere else is suitable,’ he answered, and I trusted his expertise.

‘Dragon ballistae?’ I considered strategies.

‘One on every galleon, three on the flagship, and the turrets of Tivala’s castle each have one, so another four,’ he counted, and I staggered when Cinared’s voice boomed inside my head.

I’ll burn it anyway. I promised.

Not if it means risking your life. I’m not dealing with an angry Roksana if she finds out someone killed her dragon. I don’t think the world is ready for that. I’m certainly not.

This is true. My Sanika loves me, he answered, and I wished I could smack his scaly head.

Patrol the sky and let me focus, I scolded him, but the contentment that blazed in his mind put a smile on my face.

My smile promptly died when I met Tymon’s questioning gaze. The Mule’s former master stared at me as if I were a madman.

‘How guarded are the roads?’ At my question, he glanced at the army disembarking from the boats, moving into ranks with trained precision.

‘Tivala pulled everyone back to the castle, but the roads are full of refugees. Nothing survives close to the pillars. When the blight spread, people left, seeking protection in the cities.’ His next words, though, curled my fingers into fists with the urge to punch him, no matter how helpful he was. ‘The price of food is at an all-time high. Early spring and war are good for business.’

I calculated the days. A horseman could travel to Ernesto Tivala’s castle in two days. For the entire army, the journey would take four, maybe five days, if I didn’t want them to arrive too tired to fight.

‘If you have food stored here, organise a refugee camp,’ I said. He opened his mouth to protest, but I raised my hand. ‘If you want to trade on my shores, you’ll follow my orders. Be my corsair, and you can trade with whomever you want.’

His eyes flashed at my remark, and a wolfish grin lit up his face. ‘Fine, King of Dagome. I’ll follow your orders… for now, but I expect you to cover the cost.’

‘Always the mercenary…’ I sighed. Tymon smirked and gestured for me to follow.

‘Not just mercenary. Come, let me show you why my men are willing to risk our ships for Dagome.’

His sudden admission, and even more so his sombre tone, made me frown. We climbed slippery, moss-covered steps until we reached the entrance to a grotto in the cliff.

It was full of bones.

‘Your… graveyard?’ I asked, but he shook his head.

‘Not mine. Hers. Those men died over Roksana. Each trying to capture her.’ He led us deeper inside until we stopped close to the wall, and a chill ran down my spine.

Jagon’s body lay there, untouched by time. His eyes were closed, a serene smile still on his lips despite the many wounds to his body. It looked as though he slept in a place where pain couldn’t reach.

‘We left before he died, but Roksana stayed. We heard her song drifting over the waves, and when my men returned, this is what they found.’ Tymon shook his head. ‘Sailors believe in signs. They called her the Songstress. To them, she blessed Jagon with a good death. Now they carry their dead here and pray for those lost at sea. When I mentioned the King of Dagome was coming here for the Songstress, they all set their sails.’

I was speechless. Sana told me about Jagon and how she couldn’t force herself to leave him to die alone. A spark of compassion for a man unworthy of her tears was like the beating of a butterfly’s wings causing a storm.

I had to grasp the sharp edge of the wall to keep myself upright. Fear reared its ugly head, fuelling doubts I had carried since she had descended to the palace dungeons, ready to sacrifice everything for people she barely knew.