The Last Cup
The knight fretted over where to begin, lips working soundlessly. He bit down once, hard, and started his report.
“We seized one of the servants who had been outside the palace.”
Maeve drew a sharp breath. Servants belonging to the imperial household were forbidden from leaving the palace grounds without a regular pass or special permit. Of late the atmosphere had grown so vicious that permits had been banned outright; only those holding regular passes could step beyond the walls.
Yes—today was the day Jack, the crown prince’s personal attendant, regularly left his post. Jack had served the prince longer than she had. Warm, easy to like, and utterly obedient to orders.
Surely not. Maeve held her breath.
“He claimed to know the crown prince’s whereabouts. When we went, we found His Highness already dead—a knife wound to the abdomen.”
“⋯⋯!”
Maeve nearly shot up from her chair without realizing it. Impossible! She did not speak the word, yet the raw shock on her face said everything. The knight’s eyes flicked toward the duke, gauging whether to continue. The duke gave a careless wave of his hand, ordering him on.
“⋯⋯Judging by the wound, it was not the work of a skilled hand. ⋯⋯It appeared to be that servant’s doing.”
“Where is the servant now?”
“We have him held upstairs for the moment.”
The duke studied the woman’s shattered composure and spoke with unhurried calm.
“Bring him here.”
The knight bowed to the duke and hurried out of the dungeon, climbing the stairs at once.
Maeve tried to force the situation into order. There was no proof the servant was Jack, and a blood-soaked robe alone did not confirm death. She knew she must not let herself be shaken, yet her heart refused to settle.
Footsteps descending the stairs drew steadily nearer.
Maeve closed her eyes and forced herself to picture Count Iron, still somewhere in this dark prison. What would he have done? The thought stretched until the door opened again. The knight returned, dragging a man in servant’s clothes.
“This is the one.”
The servant was forced to his knees on the floor beneath Maeve and Selber, who remained seated. The knight tore away the hood, revealing the face.
“⋯⋯Jack.”
At the sound of Maeve’s voice the servant looked up at her, startled. Had Jack truly betrayed them? Yes—he might have seized the chance for a fat reward. But after serving his master so long⋯⋯. Watching the woman’s stricken expression, Selber let out a short, deflated laugh.
“M-Miss Maeve⋯⋯.”
Jack called her name in a trembling voice. His restless guilt was plain to see.
“You know each other, I take it?”
Selber asked. Maeve looked down at Jack once and struggled to keep her tone level.
“It is my turn to ask questions. Therefore I will not answer.”
The duke, chin propped lazily on one hand, regarded Jack as though the reply had been pure nonsense.
“Very well. You informed on the crown prince. You must have wanted something in return. Speak.”
Maeve knew a great deal about Jack. War had taken his parents and even a younger brother near the prince’s age; he had lived alone ever since. It might have seemed calculating, yet Maeve had used that very fact to arrange for Jack to aid the prince. A man with nothing left to lose would never betray.
“I need nothing. Now⋯⋯ I have no regrets left.”
“Then why in the world—!”
Maeve cried out. The force of her own voice startled her; her eyes flew wide. Jack kept his head bowed, face thick with guilt.
“I only wanted revenge on the emperor⋯⋯. My parents died in the war⋯⋯ my brother fell ill⋯⋯.”
He seemed to be explaining himself to the duke, yet the rambling sounded more like an apology aimed at Maeve. She could not look at him.
“Medicine prices soared⋯⋯ where was a commoner like me supposed to find that kind of money? After my brother died I entered the palace in despair, only to find the emperor living in every luxury on tribute from the defeated nations.”
Maeve squeezed her eyes shut. But you saw it—how desperately the crown prince wanted the war to end, how he longed to change this country. Did the fact that he was the emperor’s son matter more than the man himself?
“Ordinarily it would have been unthinkable, but when word of rebellion came⋯⋯ I thought it was my chance⋯⋯.”
“Your fate will be decided later. Take him out.”
Jack was hauled roughly to his feet. As he was dragged away he added in a small voice,
“Miss Maeve⋯⋯ I am sorry⋯⋯.”
She blamed herself. It was as good as if she had killed him. She had misjudged the man and entrusted the prince’s safety to him, never realizing she had set a cat to guard the fish. Strength drained from her body; she sank back against the chair.
“You are more naïve than you look. Did you never foresee this?”
Maeve gave no answer. There was no need. Selber seemed to read the silence and smiled faintly. He looked thoroughly entertained by the entire scene.
“You have a fair talent for weighing interests. But when it comes to reading a person’s heart, you are hopelessly ignorant.”
“Ha.”
“The world does not turn on simple arithmetic and reason alone. If it did⋯⋯.”
He paused for breath, then continued.
“You have been lucky until now. Or perhaps merely soft.”
Maeve said nothing more. If the crown prince was already dead, she had no reason left to keep playing this game. With a hand that still shook she lifted the final cup to her lips.
The duke’s brow furrowed; he snatched her wrist and forced the cup back down.
“What do you think you are doing? The game is still underway. Continue with your questions.”
“⋯⋯What meaning does any of this have now? You proposed the game because you wished to find the crown prince. You have already achieved your purpose⋯⋯.”
“I said I would test your loyalty with this game.”
Maeve closed her eyes and exhaled. It was little better than surrender.
“⋯⋯Ask your question.”
“Your master is already dead. With nothing left to hold you back, why not help me change this country?”
Maeve gave a hollow laugh. It was his second offer of betrayal. She looked at the hand he held out. Take it and she would live—perhaps even more comfortably than before.
Yet choosing to raise rebellion at this moment for personal vengeance was far from the mark of a wise ruler. Exhausted by endless wars, the Rodenya Empire had already lost the trust of its neighbors and stood diplomatically isolated.
If internal chaos were added now, the empire would become easy prey and a ready pretext for war. Even a war hero would not last long.
Had he foreseen that as well? If so⋯⋯ was this some form of atonement? Maeve thought briefly. In any case her mind was already set.
Her hand seized the last cup and thrust it straight to her mouth before he could interfere. A sensation like her organs twisting rose through her; blood began to trickle from the corner of her lips.
Selber watched and withdrew his hand. His expression was both displeased and somehow envious. Maeve cut off any further thought.
“⋯⋯Yes. Perhaps you and I might have made good friends.”
Without lingering the duke rose, turned his back, and walked out through the dungeon door.
Maeve felt her breath catch and spat the rising blood. In the darkness a quiet voice reached her.
“You made a mistake, my friend.”
“⋯⋯Yes. It seems so.”
She answered through the twisting agony in her gut. Maeve knew her own limits with perfect clarity. She was well-versed in intrigue from serving the central nobility and the crown prince, yet experience itself was still lacking.
“Maeve⋯⋯. People are all swayed by emotion in the end.”
“Because he had nothing left to lose⋯⋯ I grew complacent⋯⋯.”
She twisted as the pain intensified. With every word blood spilled between her lips.
“⋯⋯Having nothing left to lose means one can make any choice without hesitation.”
Feeling her consciousness fade, the woman closed her eyes. Even the terrible pain gradually receded.
Count, it seems you will have to deliver your regards in person after all. The final words never left her mouth. She slumped lifelessly from the chair.