Rook and Ruin
an excerpt

“You’re clever, I’ll give you that,” said Liette.

“Not that clever though, eh?” Isarien replied dryly, gesturing down at his shackles.

“This drug you think you may have been given – presumably, you suppose, doled out by this other assassin; the one who tried to kill my brother?”

“For a certainty,” said Isarien, “I’m not skilled with potions or alchemy, I’ve never killed with poison, but I don’t know many sedatives that, when blended with wine, do not emit some sort of odour, or discolour the drink. I can think of only one, in fact; Cressis. It’s from the north, and I’ve no idea what it’s made of, but I do know that it knocks a man out cold for hours. I also know its presence in a substance can be tested, with standard alchemical distillation processes. Get one of your people to test it – I’m sure you have at least one adept potioner at court – and if it’s Cressis, then that’s what’ll prove my innocence, beyond a doubt.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it renders the victim unconscious, for hours,” said Isarien, emphatically, “Your agents arrested me the evening of the assassination attempt, and I was just coming round when they burst in on me. Now, had I been at the coronation and shot your brother before being drugged, there’s no way I’d have been conscious when your men found me. I’d still have been dead to the world for a few more hours at the very least. I passed out in the morning, after breakfast. That wine was light, morning wine – and you can check up on that too – the very weak stuff, the kind innkeepers give to their guests with a pitcher of water. I took that potion at breakfast, which explains why I woke up around early evening, and proves that I was flat on my back, unconscious, at the very time your little brother took a crossbow bolt to the chest.”

“How do you know it was a crossbow bolt?”

“Why else would your Lord Gyffard be so keen on finding out whether I was the Arrow of Dyden? An assassin who only kills by arrow? Not many of those around. Plus he told me that it was one of my darts that killed the prince; the speckled fletches are something of the Arrow’s trademark, right? Wrong, it’s not, I never cared what kind of darts I used, so it’s someone’s idea of compounding the evidence against me by replicating the arrow I used when I took out the King of Tyrth – yes, I’ll admit to that one, what are you going to do, cut off my head? – don’t look at me like that, the Tyrtheieds are no friends of Besenland; I probably did you a favour offing that fanatic.” Isarien paused to take a sip from his cup. Liette was utterly speechless in the corner, but wouldn’t have dared interrupt him, even if she could find her voice.

“My theory is that I’ve been double-crossed by Dyden. Another assassin must’ve found out that I was in Rayningham, and fancied setting me up for his crime. A bit of extra insurance against being caught, after all, but this theory – if you choose to believe it – really does throw up some food for thought, because it implicates Lord Dyden himself. You see, only he knows where his agents are at any given time; if another one knew where I was, then it’s because Dyden told him, and if he’s sold me out, then he’s backing your enemies. Not that it’s anything to do with me, just something you might like to mull over when you have the time. Liette, this is the truth of it, I’m convinced; some other assassin drugged me and then pretended to be me – well, more than pretended, since you’d have to be a fearsome marksman to pick out the prince in the midst of a crowd.”

“What makes you so certain this other assassin was masquerading as you?”

“Did your men happen to find my crossbow in amongst my belongings?”

Liette’s jaw dropped. The room at the tavern had been bare. Freakishly bare.

“Thought not,” said Isarien, draining his cup.