Page 108 of The Sun King's Noon

“Therefore,” Richard said, “you will not put so much as a nose out of the flap. And when in the city, you will not wander even one step away from the company. Am I understood?”

Four shaking voices chorused a yes, and with a smile, Richard dropped the flap.

Beside him, Flint looked incredulous. “Are you quite well, handsome, or do you need a healer to look at whatever is the matter with your head?”

Richard shrugged. “They will stay in the wagon now.”

“They’ll never bloody leave it, more like.”

Flint quietened as they reached the gate—an enormous double arch guarded by six Estaran soldiers. They wore helmets with antlers welded atop, and their spears were lacquered black. Behind them, on the gatepost, posters fluttered of a young bald woman with deep-set eyes—‘BY ROYAL DECREE—ANY PERSON FOUND HARBOURING, FUNDING, OR ABETTING THE TRAITOROUS BAND KNOWN AS THE BROKEN STAG SHALL BE PUT TO THE PYRE. A HUNDRED GOLD PIECES FOR THE CAPTURE OF ITS LEADER, NYX.’

Below it, several names were crossed out in red ink. Three of the names had notes beside them. ‘Burned, third moon. Burned, fifth moon. Burned, fifth moon.’

At the procession’s head, Master Clemens had already dismounted with a thick sheaf of papers for the captain. The burly, armoured man leafed through them as two guards began searching the wagons. Richard saw Kaelen’s shoulders stiffen near the front by the third wagon. The knight’s hand was at his hip, no doubt anxious about the packs he’d hidden beneath thefalse bottom. They contained swords, daggers, potions of sleep and corrosives. Discovery meant far too much attention.

When the guard climbed out, Kaelen relaxed his stance. Richard only hummed. In truth, his presence provided a failsafe. If he or Kaelen were caught, he needed only reveal himself and demand an audience with Marius. Despite everything, the man would not dare hurt the king of Ardenia.

Though capture did mean mission failure. That could not be allowed to happen.

“Right.” The captain shoved the papers back into Master Clemens’ hands. “Two weeks. You perform the evening after in the castle. You billet at the Cup and Crook in the Lowmarket. Any of your lot spotted in the upper terraces or the harbour quarter after dark, and they sleep in the cells. Clear?”

“Certainly, Captain.” Master Clemens doffed his battered hat. “Tis an honour, this is.”

“Move along, Ardenian.”

The wagons creaked through the arch. Richard noted Flint’s wonder as they entered, the bandit gaping at the broad, paved roads, the tall buildings with wrought-iron balconies, the canals of dark green water with their low, arched bridges. A barge slid beneath one, poled by a man with a heap of silver fish.

“Never been to a city before?” Richard teased.

Flint gave him a sheepish smile. “Not one as big as this.”

“High Ardenia is better.” Richard tucked his hands into his pockets. “Well, perhaps the roads are not as well paved and straight, and perhaps the buildings rather mismatched, but therein lies her charm, I should think. Especially when the number of trees is taken into account. High Ardenia is blooming with trees and gardens.”

Flint ignored him, too busy staring at the domed temple to their right. Reclined on the roof was a statue of a muscled, chiselled-faced man in a simple off-the-shoulder tunic.Ignatious—the Estarans’ sole deity. He was an alternate, more savage form of Emberlain. Often seen carrying a bow of fire arrows, he represented their eternal summers and harsh retribution.

And was most likely, Richard thought grimly, the inspiration behind the burnings.

The road rose, and the sea came into view, far, far below, past tiers upon tiers of white-stoned edifices. The sun was halfway submerged by the rim of water, and the dimming light revealed an assortment of ships and fishing boats still unmoored. Where the waves broke against the sand, a brilliant turquoise blue light glimmered before disappearing as the tide lapped back into the sea.

“By the gods,” Flint breathed.

“The glimmers come from the plankton,” Richard said amidst the troupe’s gasps. “Tiny, tiny creatures not visible to the human eye. When they are disturbed by motion, such as the waves, they glow as a defence mechanism and cause such radiance?—”

“Handsome?”

“Yes?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Richard scowled but held his tongue as the procession continued. The avenue eventually curved, and wagons rolled out onto a vast open square.

Antlershield Square, Richard knew. His carriage had rattled over these same flagstones a dozen times. In the centre of the square was a raised metal dais. The tall pole was shaped like a cross, and charred ropes still looped from where the arms of its victim would have been bound. Fresh wood had been stacked at the base, ready.

His stomach turning, Richard examined the rest of the square. It was easily four hundred paces across, flanked on twosides by pillared buildings—a counting house and a courthouse—while the far side was dominated by King Marius’s fortress. Seven storeys of stone, with narrow slit windows along its lower floors and broader arched windows above. The cliff it stood on fell away into the sea, and Richard could hear the waves crashing upon the jagged rocks.

Jutting out from the topmost floor, facing the square, was the balcony. It was a half-disc, curtained in gauze. Too high up to climb, but—Richard thought darkly—offered a good view of the weekly burnings.

“Are you all right?”