Fire and Thorns 00.7: King's Guard Read Online Free Page A

outburst. After serving three kings, it takes an extraordinary event to rouse him beyond bemused detachment. But the conde is openly furious.
    Conde Treviño of Basajuan is a self-aggrandizing man who likes to overspend—thus the problem of Lucio, whom he can neither handle nor dispose of without upsetting the boy’s wealthy father. He seldom leaves Basajuan to come to the capital, and I’m never glad to see him.
    Ignoring the conde’s glare, I say to Enrico, “I was summoned, my lord.” I hold up my note.
    Enrico snatches it from my hands. “What’s the meaning of this?”
    “I don’t know, my lord.”
    The general reads over his shoulder. He glances at the Invierno ambassador, who suffers the scrutiny unflinchingly. “Let the boy go, Rico,” the general says after a moment. “We have other things to discuss.”
    “And I could use a smoke,” Conde Treviño says. “Let’s talk about that little problem you’re taking care of for me over cigars.”
    “Of course,” the lord-commander says. He takes one last glance over his shoulder at me as the general and conde lead him away.
    The gem dangling from Vicenç’s nose ring winks in the torchlight as he sits down to work. He pulls reports from a locked drawer and gets busy ticking off numbers and accounts. I approach him. He barely glances up, grumbling, “What now?”
    “I’ve been summoned to the king,” I say.
    “Well, fetch yourself to him, boy.”
    “That’s not proper procedure, and you know it,” I say, unable to keep the anger from my voice. I am not, at the moment, technically a member of the palace household, and security protocol demands that I be escorted.
    He doesn’t look up a second time. “If I don’t have a page or squire to spare at the moment for Ambassador Wafting . . . er, Wind and Thunderstorm”—he makes a vague waving gesture—“then I don’t have one for you. So you can stand there all day, or you can obey his summons.”
    “Yes, my lord,” I say, and turn to go.
    The Invierno ambassador blocks my way.
    “Perhaps I could go with the young gentleman,” he says in a fluid, hissing voice. I’m careful not to make eye contact. “It’s important that I speak to the king today. It will only take a moment.”
    “I’m terribly sorry, my lord-ambassador,” Vicenç says, “but this is just an errand boy, not even a member of the palace staff. Look at his uniform! I would never embarrass you by sending you without a worthy escort.” To me, he says, “Hurry on, boy.”
    I dash past the Guard, who curls his lip at the sight of my recruit uniform, and I leave the ambassador fuming at my back.
    The private quarters of the palace are a maze, deliberately so—no assassin or enemy could make their way in quickly—but I know each turn well, and I head left, past the nobles’ quarters, up the stairs, and around the corner to the queen’s chambers.

5

    D R. Enzo, the royal physician, is leaving as I arrive. He wipes sweat from his forehead, looking preoccupied, but forces a smile when he notices me. A smile from Enzo is never a good sign.
    “What’s wrong?” I ask.
    “I should be asking you that,” he says with forced conviviality, his razor-thin mustache twitching. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the barracks? I didn’t expect to see you again until the inevitable training accident. Did you know that training accidents are disfiguring twenty-three percent of the time?”
    “The king summoned me.”
    “He’s in there.” He rests a hand on my forearm. “Speak quietly,” he says in a low voice. “And do not upset the queen.”
    I frown. This is a worse sign.
    Inside, Queen Rosaura is propped up in her bed, which has been pushed to the glass doors overlooking the balcony. Before her pregnancy, she spent all day outdoors, in the garden or on horseback, and the enforced bed rest has not sat well with her.
    One of her maids, Miria, wipes her forehead. When Miria sees me, she makes quick, tiny adjustments to the