The Complete Broken Empire Trilogy: Prince of Thorns, King of Thorns, Emperor of Thorns. Mark Lawrence
a kitchen-boy for the guards and have you arrested, if we don’t meet any on the way.’
So we walked side by side through the corridors and down one flight of stairs after another.
‘My brothers call me Jorg,’ I said. ‘How are you called, lady?’ I found the court-speak awkward on the tongue, especially with my mouth so unaccountably dry. She smelled like flowers.
‘You can call me “my lady”,’ she said, and wrinkled her nose again. We passed two of the house guards in their fire-bronze plate and plumes. Both of them studied me as if I was a turd escaped from the privy, but she said nothing and they let us pass.
We passed the storerooms where the salt beef and pickled pork lay in barrels, stacked to the ceiling. ‘My lady’ seemed to know the way. She shot me a glance with those emerald eyes of hers.
‘So did you come here to steal, or for murder with that dagger of yours?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps a bit of both.’ I smiled.
A good question though. I couldn’t say why I’d come, other than I felt somebody didn’t want me to. Ever since that moment when I found Father Gomst in his cage, ever since that ghost ran its course through me and my thoughts turned to the Tall Castle, it felt as though someone were steering me away. And I don’t take direction.
We passed Short Bridge, little more than three mahogany planks over the great iron valves that could seal the lower levels from the castle main. The doors, steel and three feet thick, would slide up from the gaping slot in the corridor floor, so Tutor Lundist told me. Lifted on old magic. I’d never seen them close. Torches burned here, no silver lamps for the servant levels. The stink of tar-smoke made me more at home than anything yet.
‘Perhaps I’ll stay,’ I said.
The kitchen arch lay just ahead of us. I could see Drane, the assistant cook, wrestling half a hog through the doors.
‘Wouldn’t your brothers miss you?’ she asked, playful now. She touched her fingers to the corner of her mouth, where the red pattern of my fingers had started to rise. Something in her gesture made me rise too.
I shrugged, then paused as I worked the straps of the vambrace over my left forearm. ‘There are plenty of brothers on the road,’ I said. ‘Let me show you the kind of brothers I meant …’
‘Here,’ she said, impatient.
The torch-light burned in the red of her hair. She undid the clasps with deft fingers. The girl knew armour. Perhaps Sir Galen was for more than just beheading ill-mannered louts?
‘What then?’ she asked. ‘I’ve seen arms before, though maybe not one so dirty.’
I grinned at that and turned my arm over so she could see the Brotherhood brand across my wrist. Three ugly bands of burn-scar. A look of distaste furrowed her brow. ‘You’re a sell-sword? You take your pride in that?’
‘More pride in that than in what true family I have left.’ I felt a bite of anger. I felt like sending this distracting merchant’s daughter on her way, making her run.
‘What are these?’ She reached out to run her fingers from the brand up to the small of my elbow where the armour stopped her. ‘Jesu! There’s more scar than boy under this dirt!’
At her touch a thrill ran through me, and I pulled away. ‘I fell in a thorn bush when … when I was a child,’ I said, my voice too sharp.
‘Some thorn bush!’ she said.
I shrugged. ‘A hook-briar.’
She twisted her mouth into an ‘ouch’. ‘You’ve got to lie still in one of those,’ she said, her eyes still on my arm. ‘Everyone knows that. Looks as if it tore you to the bone.’
‘I know that. Now.’ I set off for the kitchen doors, walking fast.
She ran to catch me, silks swirling. ‘Why did you struggle? Why didn’t you stop?’
‘I was stupid,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t struggle now.’ I wanted the silly bitch to leave. I didn’t even feel hungry any more.
My arm burned with the memory of her fingers. She was right, the thorns had cut me deep. Every few weeks for more than a year the poison would flare in the wounds and run through my blood. When the poison ran in me I’d done things that scared even the brothers.
Drane lumbered out through the doors just as I reached them. He pulled up short, and wiped his hands on the soiled white apron stretched over his belly. ‘Wh—’ He looked past me and his eyes widened. ‘Princess!’ He seemed suddenly terrified, quivering like a blob of jelly. ‘Princess! Wh-what are you doing in the kitchens? It’s no place for a lady in silks and all.’
‘Princess?’ I turned to stare at her. I’d left my mouth open, so I closed it.
She gave me a smile that left me wondering if I wanted to slap it off her, or kiss it. Before I could decide, a heavy hand landed on my shoulder, and Drane turned me round. ‘And what’s a ruffian like you doing leading her highness astray …’ The question died in his throat. His fat face crinkled up and he tried to speak again, but the words wouldn’t come. He let me go and found his voice. ‘Jorg? Little Jorg?’ Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Will and I had watched the man throttle a few chickens and bake a few pies: there was no call for him to start blubbing over me. I let him off the embarrassment though, he’d given me the chance to see her royal highness look surprised. I grinned at her and gave a court bow.
‘Princess, eh? So I guess that means the road-trash you wanted to have the palace guards arrest is in fact your step-brother.’
She recovered her composure quickly. I’ll give her that.
‘Actually, that would make you my nephew,’ she said. ‘Your father married my older sister two months ago. I’m your Aunt Katherine.’
20
We sat at the long trestle where the kitchen skivvies ate their meals, Aunt Katherine and I. The servants cleared the low vault and brought in more light, candles of every length and girth in clay holders. They watched from the doorways at either end, a shabby crowd grinning and bobbing as though it was a holy day or a high day, and we were the mummers to entertain them. Drane hove into view and crested through the skivvies like a barge through water. He brought fresh bread, honey in a bowl, golden butter, and silver knives.
‘This is the place to eat,’ I said. I kept my eyes on Katherine. She didn’t seem to mind. ‘Bread hot from the oven.’ It steamed when I tore it open. Heaven must smell like fresh bread. ‘I knew I missed you for a reason, Drane.’ I called the words over my shoulder. I knew the fat cook would bask in that for a year. I hadn’t missed him. I hadn’t spared him but one thought for every hundred times I dreamed of his pies. In fact I’d struggled to remember his name when I saw him in the doorway. But something about the girl made me want to be the kind of man who would remember.
The first bite woke my hunger and I tore at the loaf as though it were a haunch of venison and me huddled on the road with the brothers. Katherine paused to watch, her knife suspended above the honey bowl, her lips twitching with a smile.
‘Mmmfflg.’ I chewed and swallowed. ‘What?’ I demanded.
‘She’s probably wondering if you’ll go under the table when the bread’s gone and wrestle the dogs for bones.’ Makin had come up behind me unnoticed.
‘Damn but you’d make a good footpad, Sir Makin.’ I swung round to find him standing over me, his armour gleaming. ‘A man in plate-mail should have the decency to clank.’
‘I clanked plenty, Prince,’ he said. He showed me an annoying smile. ‘You had your mind on more pressing matters maybe?’ He bowed toward Katherine. ‘My lady. I haven’t had the honour?’
She