Blood and Memory by Fiona McIntosh

but you never know what a servant overhears. I will look into it. Thank you, your highness.”
    “Good. Now, about my lost taxes and revenue. Any progress?”
    “I have men infiltrating the entire Legion, sire.”
    “You remain convinced it is someone from within our own?”
    “Yes, sire.”
    Celimus became quiet for a few moments. Jessom knew something bad was coming, although it had nothing to do with him. Tax collectors from all over the realm were being ambushed far too regularly for it to be merely random bandit raids. It had to be someone from the inside leaking information.
    “In that case,” the King finally said, “today and for every day that we do not know the culprit, two men from the Legion—I don’t care how they are selected—will be wheeled. Take strong, healthy men. Fear will spread like the plague. They’ll yield the perpetrator very quickly.” He took another cake.
    His servant bowed, hoping to be given permission to depart. As he moved toward the door, the King stopped him. “And Jessom?”
    “Sire?”
    “When you find Ylena Thirsk…”
    “Yes, your majesty.”
    “I want her killed.”
    “Consider it done, my lord.”
    Jessom left the King’s chambers troubled. He had not successfully deflected Celimus from his desire to meet Leyen. It was going to be hard work to persuade her to come to Stoneheart, but he had no choice now but to try. She had to be tracked down.

 
    Chapter 4
      
    Cailech stood over the prone figure that was slumped amid the filthy straw of the tiny cell that saw neither day or night. Buried in the mountain out of which the fortress had been hewn, it might as well have been a tomb. Gueryn, the prisoner, hoped it would be.
    “Is he dying?” the King asked, his jaw working to temper the anger he felt. Cailech rarely wasted words and the man he spoke to knew to offer the same courtesy.
    The jailer nodded. “Willing himself to death, my lord. He hasn’t taken food in a long time.”
    The jaw worked harder. “Water?”
    The man shook his head. “Doesn’t talk, doesn’t move much either.”
    “I should have been told,” Cailech said, disgusted. “Summon Rashlyn immediately. Leave us.”
    The jailer disappeared, well aware that he had not pleased his King. He called for a runner and a message was sent for the strange, dark man nobody cared for but who was barshi to the sovereign.
    Inside the cell, Cailech paced as he thought. He had no idea who this man was, other than a soldier in the infamous Legion. Initially his delight in capturing the soldier had been purely because he could make an example of a Morgravian through torture and humiliation…salvage some sense of revenge for his people, who had lost a fresh group of their own to the cruel King from the south. The senseless slaughtering of innocent youngsters, not even warriors, offended Cailech deeply. He had planned to make the brash new King pay. Except then he had been distracted by the curious behavior of Romen Koreldy toward this same man. Why Koreldy had returned to the Razors after the intense warning he had received at the time of his previous visit remained a mystery. Romen—whom Cailech could not help but like and to some degree admire—had spun a web of excuses, none of which resonated as truth to the Mountain King, although he could not prove otherwise. Until Romen had fled the Razors. Cailech had not relished the thought of killing a Grenadyne, and the Koreldy family had already lost too many members by his hand. But now his life was forfeit. Koreldy’s odd attitude to this Morgravian soldier when they had met on the night of the great feast piqued the King’s attention. How and from where did they know each other? Why had Koreldy stepped in for the prisoner and argued to save his life? And why, in turn, had this man given up his own chance at living, squandered his brave escape attempt to lead mountain warriors away from the trail of the other escapees, Koreldy and the woman, Elspyth of