KINGMAKERS PART 5.1

Part 5
Quentin

It's getting harder and harder these days to keep up with all the lies I tell.
When I saw the ragged red beacon hanging from the chimney of my parents home this morning, I left a note for the King that it was the anniversary of my parents' deaths. I would go and stand vigil over their graves. Their graves, in which they are surely rolling over.
The streets are no longer filled with dead rebels, but their presence remains. In the presence of the red-stained grout of the cobbled streets. In the absence of their spiced foods that used to cover up the stink.
I nod to the king's men as they pass. The battle was short yesterday and the soldiers awake this early look bedraggled from celebrating their victory into the night. I can't stand to look at their bloodshot eyes, so I hurry from the citadel and onto the sparkling black road that leads to my parents' estate.
A skew arch bridge of whitewashed stone spans the length of the stream, trickling down from the mountains at the citadel's back end. The bridge gives way to fields of wheat, rustling in the autumn breeze.
Men and women who've worked for my family longer than I've been alive smile and lift their hands in pleasant greeting as I pass. Most of them stayed during the uprising at my request. But there are gaps in the field here and there, where a face or two are missing and probably now dead.
Franck opens the door to my parents' green-roofed chateau before I make it across the wide lawn.
"Good morning, sir." Franck stands aside so I might enter. "If you'd sent a note, I would have brought the carriage for you."
I remove my shoes out of habit and Franck takes them from me with my coat. "I didn't want it to be an affair."
Franck nods and bows at his waist and his shoes click against the floors of the dark entryway as he leaves me. "Oh," he stops and glances back. "Forgive me, sir, I nearly forgot. Your guest is waiting for you in the office. I'll have brunch up shortly."
"Don't trouble yourself too much, Franck," I call after him.
It is always strange, standing outside the frosted glass doors of my father's old office. Stranger, still, when I push them inward and don't find him there. Instead, another old man sits in his place, puffing on a weed cigar.
I close the doors firmly behind me and switch on a lamp. "You're like a roach, Yanic," I say as I sit in the worn leather chair on this side of the desk.
"Because I scurry around in places I shouldn't?" Yanic blows out a cloud of smoke.
"Because you never die no matter how many time my King stomps upon you."
Yanic's grave expression splits into a hardy grin. But there's something behind his eyes. Something I mightn't have noticed if this old man weren't my dearest friend.
"What's wrong?" I ask him.
"Can't come for a friendly chat, boy?"
"Not today," I say. "Not after yesterday."
Yanic grunts, stabbing out his cigar even though it's only half smoked. "Gods rest their poor spirits. I should have never led them into battle in the first place." He runs his hands over his face, heaving a great sigh. "But that's not why I'm here, Q."
"It's not?"
Yanic shakes his head. He opens his mouth to speak but I hold up a hand. Cheerful whistling comes from the hall beyond. There's a brief knock against the glass.
"Come in, Franck," I say.
The willowy old man enters the room, nodding to me first and then to Yanic. He sets out a spread of biscuits and jam with a French pressed pot of coffee and two thick mugs. He pours the coffee and sets one before my guest before handing a mug to me.
"Thanks, ole boy," Yanic says, taking a drink.
Franck bows his neck and backs out of the office. "Let me know if there's anything else you need, sir."
"This is sufficient, Franck," I tell him. And at Yanic's eye roll, I add, "Thank you."
Yanic and I drink from our mugs in silence, both of our ears perked until we can't hear Franck's whistling anymore.
Yanic sets down his mug and catches my gaze. "The girls and Solene are in the citadel."
I choke on the sip of coffee I've just taken and set my mug aside with a thunk. "I beg your pardon?"
Yanic merely nods. "We're breaking into the castle at nightfall."
"Nightfall?" I push up the sleeves of my jacket, suddenly hot. "Amelie is here? Does she know what you—what I-- well, of course, she knows what I..." I trail off when Yanic nods. "And yet you are here, whole, with no bullet holes or knife wounds that I can see. How?"
Yanic clenches his jaw. "She has decided to spare my life until I help her depose the king."
"Depose the king," I repeat. "At nightfall. This evening?" Yanic nods again. I stand up to pace. "And that's why you're here. To ask for my help."
"Your role in the palace is finished," Yanic says. "Your promise to my sister and to me is fulfilled. Help us from the inside, but stand with us, your old friends. You were there when it all began. You should be there when it ends."
"She will kill me if she sees me."
"Perhaps," Yanic agrees. "Or perhaps she will keep that hot head of hers cool long enough to recognize her true enemy. That is, after all, why she's come. For him, not you."
Yanic doesn't know, but his words cut me deep. Always for him, never for me. I scowl at my own selfish thoughts and take a seat again.
I clear my throat. "Of course, I will help." I take a breath and let it out, feeling the poisonous truth ready to roll from my tongue. "There is another way I might be able to help you evade death at her hands, Yanic."
He raises a brow. "Why is it I'm always surprised that you have an ace in the barrel?"
"In my pocket, you mean," I say, rising. "If I am not here come tomorrow, you must do one thing for me. Take Amelie to the homes of the people who work my fields."
The old warrior's brows cross. "What?"
"You must promise." I hold out my hand. "If I die, promise you'll do as I say."
Yanic looks at me strangely, not understanding. But he nods and shakes my hand.