08 A Little Hatred: Book One (The Age of Madness)

‘Your triumph will take place in three days’ time. A parade of some four thousand soldiers, as well as foreign dignitaries and members of the Closed and Open Councils. It will begin at the palace, chart a course through the city around Arnault’s Wall, and return to the Square of Marshals. There His Majesty will give an address to the Union’s foremost citizens and present you with a commemorative sword.’

Leo couldn’t help smiling. ‘That all sounds … marvellous.’ The stuff of boyhood dreams, indeed.

‘Crown Prince Orso will ride alongside you,’ added Glokta.

‘Pardon me?’ asked Leo, smile quickly vanishing.

The Arch Lector’s eyelid flickered and a tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it gently away with a fingertip. ‘His Highness won a famous victory of his own recently, putting down a rebellion in Valbeck—’

‘He hanged some peasants.’ Leo had been so pleased with himself all day that this sudden shock was doubly disappointing. ‘It’s hardly the same!’

‘True,’ said Glokta. ‘He is the heir to the throne, after all, and you the grandson of a traitor. Great generosity, on his part, to share the glory.’

Leo’s face tingled as if he’d been slapped. He bloody had been slapped, and in his pride, which was far more sensitive than his face. ‘I beat Stour Nightfall in a duel! I spared his life!’

‘In return for what?’

‘For his father and uncle quitting our land, keeping the Dogman’s Protectorate alive and safeguarding Angland!’

‘No further concessions?’ asked Glokta, his eyes glittering in their deep, bruised sockets. ‘No ongoing assurances?’

Leo blinked, wrong-footed. ‘Well … there’s a code of honour among Northmen.’

‘Even supposing there was, you aren’t one.’

‘Among warriors! Wherever they were born. And I was raised with Northmen!’ Leo curled his lip as he looked the cripple up and down. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘No? How do you think I got crippled? Codes of honour, I fear, aren’t worth the paper they’re not written on. You could have taken Stour hostage. Could have delivered him to the king to ensure Scale Ironhand’s future good behaviour. Instead, you secured nothing but his word.’

Leo wasn’t sure whether he was more furious because Glokta was obviously wrong or because he wondered whether he might have a point. Perhaps there was more to this bureaucracy business than he’d thought. ‘I won.’ His voice had a hint of that whine it had when he complained to his mother. ‘I beat the whole bloody North! And without one soldier from Adua. I risked my life—’

‘You risked not only your life, which is yours to lose, but Union interests, too, which most definitely are not. I am prone to be more generous, but some might call that reckless.’

‘I …’ Leo could hardly believe it. ‘I made a friend of the next King of the Northmen! I’m a soldier, not a bloody diplomat!’

‘You must be both.’ Glokta was implacable. ‘You are a lord governor now. One of the greatest men in the Union. One of His August Majesty’s most important servants. You cannot simply think with your sword any more. Do you understand, Your Grace?’

Leo sat and stared, stunned by the disrespect, the injustice, the rank ingratitude. He’d been far from keen on the Closed Council when he arrived in Adua. One interview with this crooked desk-worm and he was utterly disgusted by them.

‘By all the fucking dead,’ he whispered, in Northern.

The Arch Lector either took that for agreement or simply acted as if he did. ‘I believe the lord chancellor wished to talk to you next. Some concerns over the latest tax receipts from Angland. It wouldn’t do to keep him waiting.’ He nodded towards the scroll, which Leo only at that moment realised was still in his clenched fist. ‘Perhaps you should present your war debts to him.’ Glokta plucked up his pen and slid down the next document in a heap. ‘It seems a lord governor must be warrior, diplomat and accountant.’

A Natural

Broad turned the handle, swung the carriage door open and respectfully stood out of the way.

Savine raised a brow at him. ‘And?’

‘Oh.’ He offered her his hand. ‘Er … my lady.’ He helped her down while Rabik grinned from the driver’s seat, thoroughly tickled to see the business handled so badly.

So Broad reckoned he was a coachman now. He had the livery, anyway. Bright green jacket with brass buttons, better than most officers had got in Styria. Shiny new boots, too, though they were prone to pinch. He might’ve felt quite the fool in all the finery, if it hadn’t been so clear that anyone within a hundred paces would be staring at Savine instead, and that included him.