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Bran woke with pain radiating from his shoulder into his arm. He slowly pushed himself upright with his good side. Tears stung his eyes and he wanted so much to run to his mother and cry in her lap. Every time he woke in the night, thinking he heard a creak outside his bedroom door, his mind went to his mother. But only silence came and he felt consumed by her absence.
He glanced around the dimly lit sleeping chamber. All his life, he’d slept with another person nearby, be it Mam or other boys. In this house he shared with General Asher, Lady Giselle, and Lady Giselle’s husband Lord Greenwood, he slept alone. He awoke alone. As the pain sent slivers of glass through his muscles, he suffered alone.
He rubbed the tears away. One of the maids, Elspeth, would be there soon to make sure he was awake. The last time she saw the bruises, she had told the general.
Asher questioned him for a good long while, forcing Bran to lie. The bruises came from rough housing with boys at the Academy, he explained to his adoptive father. Asher believed him and Bran felt sick about the lie for the rest of the day.
He threw off the covers and slid out of the bed. As he washed and dressed himself, his shoulder loosened and a lot of the pain went away. By the time Elspeth arrived, Bran wore his grey Academy robe and could move his arm with ease.
“Hurry,” the maid said. “Her ladyship has your morning meal ready for you.”
Bran left the room and walked quickly down the hall. As he neared Lord Greenwood’s door, he slowed and crept past it. By now he knew where every floorboard creaked, and glided past with hardly a sound.
Once at a safe distance, Bran resumed his trotting step.
Downstairs, General Asher and Lady Giselle sat at the little table where they took their family meals. They were male and female versions of each other. Today, fatigue and worry crinkled the general’s face while Lady Giselle was as fresh and beautiful as a painting of the Mother. She had curly blonde hair like the general and put a small posy of fresh flowers in her curls whenever she could. Today, she wore a few sprigs of lilac and a rosebud. She also wore the pretty forest green gown Bran once told her made her skin glow. She carried a child in her now and Bran wondered if it was going to be a boy or a girl.
“Good morning,” she said. “Did you sleep well, Bran?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Asher sat at the head of the table with Giselle on his left. Bran took the chair on Asher’s right, with Giselle across from him.
The General smiled a little and lines crinkled around his blue eyes. “You can start calling her Aunt Giselle, you know, Bran.”
“It doesn’t feel right. She’s a lady.”
“And she won’t forget it if you call her by a different title when we’re in private.” Asher leaned over and lowered his voice. “She would like it.”
“I’ll try.” But Bran couldn’t forget he came from the Low Quarters. How could he call her anything but “lady”?
Giselle shook her head as she pushed the plate of ham over toward Bran. “He’ll call me what he wants to call me, Asher. I’m not going to force him.”
Asher replied, “I want him to feel like he has a family.”
“I know I do,” Bran said, feeling half-panicked. Would they send him away if he didn’t?
“We know,” she said. “Eat your breakfast. Lord Bruin will be here soon. He said he would escort you to the Academy today.”
Asher usually walked him. Bran tried not to feel disappointed. With his belt knife, he skewered a slice of ham and pulled it over onto his plate.
“You’re not going to the palace today, Asher?” Bran couldn’t bring himself to say Da or Father. It had only been a week ago he had stopped saying “general”.
“I am but later. There are a few tasks I need to take care of first. Will you be seeing her ladyship today?”
He nodded. “Lady Clara said she was going to teach me a new way to meditate. She wants me to have a vision, maybe.”
“And you haven’t had one since the last?”
Bran fiddled with his ham. “No, sir.”
“Don’t worry about it. His Majesty tells me Lady Clara has big gaps of time between her visions as well.”
“But she can do a lot more than see the future. She said she can walk around without her body.”
“She can and it’s why she’s as sick as she is.” Asher frowned at Bran. “Don’t try it yourself.”
“I won’t, sir.”
“Good lad.”
They ate in silence for a while. Lady Giselle picked at her slices of fruit.
“Do you want me to find a few sprigs of mint, my lady?” Bran asked.
“What was that?” she asked.
“My mam would put mint on her fruit whenever we had it. She said it made it taste even better. I know where it grows in the Low Quarters. I can get it after I’ve seen Lady Clara.”
“That won’t be necessary, Bran. The cook planted a bed of mint in our garden.”
“Oh.”
“Thank you for the thought.”
A knock sounded on the door. Bran moved to stand, only to remember the footman answered it. Asher smiled a little at him.
“Lord Bruin has arrived, my lord,” the footman said.
“Bring him in,” Asher said.
Lord Bruin swept into the room, his black wizard’s robes flaring around him like storm clouds. He smiled, banishing the image of impending doom.
“Good morning, all.” He bowed to Giselle. “Best health and wishes to you, your ladyship.”
Giselle gestured at an empty chair beside Bran. “Join us, Bruin. Would you like breakfast?”
“I ate before I left the Palace but thank you.” The wizard took a seat. “I come bearing interesting news.”
Bran perked up at this, wondering what would bring Lord Bruin to their house. He glanced around the table but none of the adults appeared interested in making him leave.
“Oh?” Giselle asked.
“Jarrett has returned. Lady Clara chose him to be the captain of her guard.”
“I know,” Asher said.
Bruin’s face fell. “Are you serious?”
“I saw him myself.”
“I’m supposed to be the first one to know the comings and goings of important people.”
“Well, for once, I beat you to it.”
“When did you see him?”
“I saw him when he first arrived yesterday. He was reporting for duty at Lady Clara’s rooms.”
“I didn’t know,” Giselle said. “Didn’t Captain Jarrett accept a transfer?”
Bran, food forgotten, followed the flow of conversation with full attention. He didn’t know Captain Jarrett very well and had wondered why the soldier suddenly disappeared.
“Not exactly.” Asher’s gaze briefly flicked to Bran before he refocused back onto Bruin. “I’ll tell you more of the details later. What else brought you here? Not that we don’t appreciate your company.”
“Mostly, I wanted a chance to talk to Bran on the way to the Academy,” Bruin said. “There’s a special task for him and a select few others.”
“What sort of task?”
“It’s a hunt of sorts. I wanted to get your permission first.”
“I’ll need to know what you’re hunting.”
“That’s between Bran and me. The King wants it to be kept quiet.”
Bran’s heart quickened. He was going to be entrusted with another special secret? It was already his secret job to make sure Lady Clara didn’t exhaust herself during their sessions together. Maybe he had done such a great job, they’d decided to give him another responsibility.
A familiar set of footsteps dashed fear over Bran’s skin. He focused as hard as he could on eating as Lord Greenwood came into the room.
Bruin stood. “My lord, a fine day to you.”
“A fine day to you as well.” The top of Greenwood’s head barely reached Bruin’s chin. A wealth of light red hair covered his head and arms. If he stayed outside too long, his buttermilk white skin turned red and blistered. His green eyes were happy most times but not when they saw Bran.
“‘Morning,” Bran replied.
Greenwood kissed Giselle on the cheek and sat next to her, putting him across from Bran and Bruin. “What sort of hunting were you talking about, Lord Bruin? I enjoy a good chase. Have I told any of you about the time I chased a hart for an entire day?”
“I believe I’ve heard the tale,” Bruin replied, “but that’s not the sort of hunting I’m talking about. And I’m afraid I can’t get into the specifics.”
Greenwood shrugged and piled his plate with food.
“I’m ready to go,” blurted Bran. The adults swung their attention onto him and he felt his cheeks burn. “I can’t be late, Lord Bruin.”
“Of course. We’ll take our leave as soon as we settle the matter of permission.”
Asher sat back in his chair. “You know I trust you, Bruin. If it was truly dangerous, you wouldn’t be getting the help of children.”
“Danger is part of maturing, however.”
“He won’t get hurt, will he?” Giselle asked.
Greenwood snorted. “I’m sure Bran here is used to getting into scrapes. Happened all the time in the Low Quarters, didn’t it?”
Bran didn’t answer, only stared at his plate of half-eaten food. He wanted to leave but he couldn’t. Not yet.
“He’ll be fine,” assured Lord Bruin. “We aren’t putting him in any real danger. And there will be other apprentices.”
“In that case, consider permission granted,” Asher said. “Bran, listen to what his lordship tells you.”
“Yes, General,” Bran replied.
Bruin stood. “We’ll be taking our leave.”
Giselle came around the table to escort them out. As Bran went to step out the door, she stopped him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She smelled of everything sweet and beautiful. Bran ached for the harsher scents of lye and soapwood. That’s what his mam smelled like from being a washerwoman.
“Be good,” she said.
“Yes, my lady.”
And Bran escaped out of the door with Lord Bruin.
***
Bruin told Bran to climb in the carriage ahead of him. Protocol stated he should get in first because of rank. However, as Bruin watched Bran climb the steps, he hoped Lord Greenwood chose that moment to peer out of a window.
It wasn’t that Bruin didn’t like the man. He despised him. Greenwood reminded him of the slimy nobles who disdained him when he first came to Court as a farm boy barely able to spell his own name. Then he demonstrated his gift with strong magics and natural love of learning, shooting him through the ranks. Barely into his twentieth year, Bruin earned a seat on the Wizard’s Council before the Academy was even a dream. Now, Bruin stood as head of the Academy and one of the King’s advisors. If any nobles remembered the boy with dirt under his nails, they chose to forget it in their quest to be in his favor.
Such a quest was a delusion. No one stood in his favor. He didn’t even have “favor” in the sense they saw it.
Bruin enjoyed a small circle of friends, a wide range of colleagues, and contacts in the city’s underworld. His parents still worked the farm with five older brothers who could beat him silly at wrestling. Just because he might like one noble more than another only meant he spoke to said noble for a little longer at a dinner party.
It fascinated him that Lady Giselle chose to marry Greenwood. Surely other prospects existed in the city of Seasong, ones closer to her age and temperament. The only conclusion Bruin could come to was that Giselle loved the man. And Asher loved his sister enough to let her make her own decision in the matter. Whether Greenwood loved Giselle or the prestige the match offered still remained to be seen. One telling sign would be his reaction if her current pregnancy did not result in a male heir.
A jolt in the open carriage brought Bruin back to the present. A chilly wind blew over them, sweetened by long rows of autumn blooming hedges. It was perhaps too late in the year for open carriages but Bruin liked feeling the wind in his hair. Bran, bundled in his woolen cloak, picked at a loose thread in his satchel.
“How are you liking your classes?” Bruin asked.
“They’re fine.” Bran straightened and clasped his hands in his lap.
“I understand you’re about to take your alchemy examination.” Bruin missed teaching alchemy. His growing duties prevented him from taking on a class for the autumn quarter.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Nervous?”
“A little. What are we hunting, my lord?”
Bruin smiled. He knew an evasion when he heard it. If it involved alchemy or another matter, he wasn’t sure. “Aerials. We need to find out where they’ve gone. I’ve a suspicion they never left the city.”
“But no one’s seen them.”
“No but there are lots of places no one will go because they’re afraid of curses and ghosts. The aerials might be hiding there.”
“How can I help?”
“I’ve gotten Master Amherst and his students studying old maps of the city. You are going to try to use your abilities to contact the aerials with your mind.”
“But I can only see the future.”
“That’s Lady Clara’s gift as well but she has an amazing rapport with the creatures. Almost an affinity. I want to see if you have the same.”
“If I don’t?”
“You can help Master Amherst.” Bruin leaned forward. “This isn’t an exam, Bran. There’s no punishment if you don’t succeed. It’s part of life to try and fail. It’s the only way we can learn.”
Bran’s eyes dropped and he didn’t reply. Bruin straightened. Normally, Bran would be bursting with optimism and enthusiasm. Bruin wondered if this was a product of Bran’s transition into the nobility. When Bruin found himself more noble than commoner, feeling as if he was caught between two worlds, he responded by being rebellious and sarcastic until age and common sense intervened. Maybe Bran was still growing into his new role. The sullenness would pass.
But a worry settled into the back of Bruin’s mind, nonetheless.
“We’ll start tomorrow afternoon,” Bruin continued, as if he hadn’t noticed anything off about Bran’s behavior. “I’ll fetch you after your alchemy exam.”
“Yes, my lord.” Bran’s restless fingers picked at the thread again.
***
Bran wished Lord Bruin hadn’t let him get into the carriage first. If Lord Greenwood saw, it would mean another thrashing. His lordship said Bran didn’t deserve any more courtesy than a servant. However, maybe Greenwood didn’t see. Maybe he had been too preoccupied with breakfast. That cheered Bran a little.
He also tried not to think about how he lied to the general. Since Lord Greenwood came with Lady Giselle a month ago, Bran had received one vision. He saw Lord Greenwood slapping him.
He woke from it, shivering in the lonely dark. It felt like a vision but he didn’t want to believe it. Greenwood seemed nice and Lady Giselle, so sweet and kind, wouldn’t love anyone mean. Kicking off his covers, Bran went downstairs to the general’s study.
The last time he had been woken by bad dreams, he’d found the general working late in his study. He let Bran sit on the couch and page through a book of pictures until he fell asleep. The next morning, Bran woke in his own bed.
However, on that night, no light peeked out from under the locked door. He decided to go out into the garden and smell the night-blooming jasmine. First, though, he wanted his cloak in case he decided to sit on the grass.
Passing the parlor on his way to the small cloakroom, Bran saw Lord Greenwood drinking amber liquid from a small glass while sitting in front of the empty fireplace. A lamp burned on a table at his elbow.
“What are you doing?” Greenwood asked.
Bran bowed. “I couldn’t sleep, my lord. I’m going to the garden—”
Greenwood snorted. “Who says you may wander as you wish here?”
“General Asher.” Didn’t his lordship know? “He says this is my home. I’m his son now.” It felt odd saying so but it also filled Bran with warmth and a sense of belonging.
“You’re here because the general felt sorry for you. It was his mistake that took your mother away.”
“My lord?”
The man set his glass on a table and stood. “He was with Lord Bruin the night of the fire. They were chasing men intent on killing those unnatural creatures of Marduk. They didn’t find them. Their quarry set the fire and killed your mother.” He walked over to where Bran stood, shocked, in the doorway. “The aerials died as well and the Low Quarters will be rebuilt. It’s not that much of a loss.”
“That’s not why he adopted me!”
Greenwood stiffened and snapped his hand back. Bran recognized the moment from the dream. The hand came down. Bran stepped back and felt the wind of the passing strike across his face.
“Insolent wretch,” snarled Greenwood. He lunged forward and what would have been a backhand became a solid palm to the side of his face. Bran fell, stars sparking in his vision. “Whatever my new brother told you, he only said it to make both you and him feel better.” With his foot, he rolled Bran onto his back. “And if you tell anyone I struck you, I’ll tell them you lied. Who will they believe, a rat from the Low Quarters or a man of noble blood?”
He stalked away, leaving Bran to cry in silence on the floor, curled around his pain.
Ever since, whenever the chance arose, Lord Greenwood found ways to remind Bran of his true station. Sometimes, Greenwood made Bran sit on the floor of the carriage if it was only the two of them or simply beat him for acting “above himself”.
But maybe Lord Greenwood didn’t see Bran get into the carriage first. Bran didn’t mean to do wrong. Lord Bruin only wanted to be nice. Maybe this hunt would mean Bran could spend a few nights away from the house.
***
Jarrett knocked on Clara’s door. He didn’t wait long before one of the twins admitted him.
“She’s still in bed,” the lady-in-waiting said. “But you can see her.”
That unsettled him. When they traveled together, Clara had always been the first to rise, leading him to wonder if she hated sleep.
Clara sat up with the coverlet drawn over her legs and a grey dressing gown belted at her waist. A tray bearing breakfast sat across her lap. As he walked in, she was giving it a baleful glare.
“What did your eggs do?” he asked. “Try to run?”
She snorted. “I’m sick of parboiled eggs.”
The bed chamber felt as close and warm as the sitting room.
“Ask for a different meal,” Jarrett replied. “You know Mistress Catriona loves giving variety.”
“It’s the best breakfast for an invalid, apparently. Mother says I can eat heavier foods but Catriona is being stubborn.”
“Want me to have a word with the mistress?”
She shrugged.
Jarrett leaned against one of the bedposts. “Your two new guards are now outside your door. Philip and Antony. If anyone tries to get at you, they won’t need to draw a blade. They’ll merely glare and the assassin will drop dead.”
A small smile teased at her pale lips. “That frightening?”
“Oh. Absolutely horrifying. Antony says he’s married with two beautiful children but I don’t believe him. He’s probably eaten babies and picked his teeth with their bones.”
Clara chuckled. It gave much needed life to her face and made Jarrett smile. She asked, “What are your plans for today?”
“Captain Matthias and I are going to pay Captain Tarsus a visit to talk slaves. I want to see if there’s a connection between them and the assassin. It takes a special kind of gall to bring slaves into the Palace. It only makes sense if it’s linked with your poisoner.” He ran a finger over the new-ish scar on his jaw, obtained during his time in the Forest. “I do have a request.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going to need your mother’s tonics and herbs confiscated.”
Her brows rose. “What?”
“I seem to recall you mentioning your mother made tonics for you to drink. Is that still true?”
“Aye but my mother isn’t trying to poison me.”
“I’m not saying that.” Jarrett felt like he was treading on shifting sand. He needed to check off all possibilities but he didn’t want to make Clara angry while doing it.
“Then why do you want to treat her like she is?”
“I don’t want to. I may have been away but I know enough about the Court to know there are plenty who would accuse your mother, the foreigner witch no one knows. I want to clear her name.”
“So you intend to take away my medicine?”
He straightened and raised conciliatory hands. “Not what you already have. Only what Lady Thalia has in her possession.”
“You better send Antony.”
“I’m sure Lady Thalia will be reasonable.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Do you plan on speaking to Bruin?”
“I’ll get to him. Don’t worry. While I’m out, do you want me to get you anything?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Are you sure? I can swing by a market, fetch you a jam pie or a book.” He still remembered her relish at enjoying a jam pie while at a festival in the Larkspur Mountains. A brief taste of a childhood she never had. He wanted to see that expression on her face again. It would be a thousand times better than exhausted frustration.
“I’m not a child. You don’t need to treat me with sweets.”
“I know you’re not a child, Clara.”
She scowled at him. “Then go do your job.”
Jarrett bowed, trying to not feel hurt by her suddenly brusque manner. “Then have a lovely day, my lady.”
As he walked out, he heard one of the maids lightly scolding Clara for her tone and Clara snapped back. Jarrett told himself her words hadn’t bothered him. People who were sick for a while got testy. It was perfectly normal. And Clara without her sharp tongue would be a serious cause of concern. But when a passing servant wished him a good morning, he only grunted.
***
Dark clouds crowding the sky brought the sweet promise of rain. The wind, so common at this season, whipped through the narrow streets, adding a low howl to the rumble of horse-drawn carts and people going about their day. Jarrett pulled his wool cloak close more tightly around his shoulders as he rode Heartsblood into the city with Matthias at his side.
The new Captain of the Royal Guard came straight from the army and he rode his horse like a man used to sleeping in the saddle. From his friends’ letters, Jarrett knew Matthias to be competent, reliable, and with about as much imagination as a lump of coal.
What he didn’t know was how quiet the man was. Jarrett greeted Matthias that morning in the refectory before going to see Lady Clara and the man had been short on speech then. Now, on the way to see the Captain of the City Guard, what few words he possessed dried up completely.
“How do you like being Guard Captain?” Jarrett blurted.
Matthias blinked, as if Jarrett’s question pulled him from a reverie. “King Emmerich is a good man to work for.” He side-eyed Jarrett. “I only wish the King and her ladyship trusted me more. You’ll be taking on the search for her ladyship’s enemy?”
“I am. It’s not a matter of trust. Well. Not entirely.”
“The King granted her a guard for her own use. How else should I take it other than a sign of distrust?”
“There’s an entire Palace to guard. Keeping Clara out of trouble is an all-hands-on-deck position, trust me.”
“She’s an extension of the King’s power and, therefore, comes under my purview.”
Jarrett shook his head. “You have a lot to learn if you believe that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lady Clara is only the Court Seer because she wants to be. If she considered it a good idea, she could—and would—ride off tonight on an insane quest to find the lost Amulet of the Child. Emmerich would grumble and tell her not to go but ultimately wish her good luck on her way out. She isn’t the extension of anyone’s power other than her own.” He felt a scowl tighten his lips. “And she forgets, sometimes, how her actions or words affect others.”
Matthias glanced over at him, the first bit of actual interest lighting his eyes. “That so?”
The back of Jarrett’s neck prickled and he felt certain Matthias planned to repeat what he said. “It’s nothing important.”
“If you’re having trouble with Lady Clara, perhaps I can help. I do have the King’s ear.”
Keep telling yourself that. “Thank you for the offer, Matthias. I’ll remember it. Anyway, once you start placing Lady Clara into a role that can be understood and predicted, you’ve lost.”
“I heard she made dresses for a time before leaving on her quest last year.”
Jarrett closed his eyes for a brief moment, willing more patience than he felt. I warn the man about Clara doing as she pleases and Matthias thinks of dressmaking? “Why do people still make a big deal about that?”
“It’s a common occupation. Embroidery or tapestry weaving would be more suitable for a woman of her station.”
“She came from a common origin, Matthias, and she cares little for what is or isn’t suitable.” He smirked. “She wore men’s clothing during part of her time in the mountains.”
Matthias stiffened in shock and Jarrett hid his grin. The more he imagined it, the more it seemed to him that trousers on women should be fashionable. Not only practical but it made it easier to appreciate their figures.
Realizing his thoughts were going places other than the task at hand, he pushed them aside. “Lady Clara told me you have a sketch of the brand found on the girls.”
“I gave it to Tarsus.”
“I see. Where do you think the slaves are coming from, Matthias?”
“I don’t know. Probably from the North. Slavery is still legal there, despite the King’s efforts.”
“He has an uphill climb. At the kingdom’s founding, in order to unite the Northern lords with the Southern, they signed an agreement clearly stating, among other qualifications, the Lord of Candor has the final say over slavery. And the Lord of Candor isn’t about to do something to anger the Northern lords. He depends on their trade and support.”
The City Guard headquarters and barracks came into view. Several guards, in their trademark black and yellow livery, loitered outside it, leaning against their pikes.
“What did you and Tarsus discuss, exactly?” Jarrett asked.
“We talked about how better to stop the flow of slaves into the city and possible sources. I felt it best to let him handle the investigation.”
“But slaves came to work in the Palace. That’s how it was discovered slaves were in the city in the first place.”
“Yes but hardly my fault. Or, I dare say, my problem.”
Jarrett rolled his eyes, wondering what Emmerich could possibly see in this man.
They found Captain Tarsus at his desk, going through papers. When Jarrett entered, the older man smiled and stood to clasp hands. Captain Tarsus, despite being mostly chained to a desk, was fighting trim. He came up to Jarrett’s chin and surveyed the world with cool, black eyes. Once, he and Jarrett had gotten into a wrestling match that left Jarrett limping for a day.
“How was the Eastern Forest?” Tarsus asked.
“Full of trees, dirt, and creatures that wanted to eat me,” replied Jarrett. “Matthias tells me he’s discussed the slavery problem with you.”
“Yes. My men asked their contacts but they haven’t learned anything. Since the girls were discovered, it’s possible the slave masters have moved on.”
“Do you know where the girls came from? Do they have Northern accents?”
“No, they were local.”
“Strange.” Jarrett crossed his arms.
“Maybe the slavers thought they would attract less attention.”
“But why send them to work in the Palace?”
Matthias cocked his head. “The pay is good. Their owners wanted an easy profit, no doubt.”
Tarsus said, “I came to the same conclusion.”
“Where are the girls now?” asked Jarrett.
“One of them remains in the sanctuary of the Great Temple. Her name is Mary. The other two, who are sisters, returned to their family in the Low Quarters. They’re called Nelly and Rose.”
“And they’re still too afraid to talk?”
“Last I heard. Why does the Lady Seer want you to investigate this?”
“She was enslaved once herself and wants to see justice served. While I would love to bring slavers to punishment, I’m more concerned these slaves are connected with the attempt on her ladyship’s life.”
Tarsus’s eyes widened. “Attempt on her life? I heard she fell sick. Are you suggesting if slaves were so easy to infiltrate into the Palace, an assassin could have done it just as easily?”
“It may be more than that.” Matthias put his hands on his hips, realization dawning on his face. “Perhaps one of those slaves was put in place to poison her ladyship if the first attempt failed.”
“Precisely,” Jarrett bit out, wondering why the man hadn’t thought of that sooner.
Tarsus’s gaze went from Matthias to Jarrett and he raised a brow. “I’ll send an officer to question those girls again.”
“No need. I’ll go see them myself. Matthias, our paths part here.”
The captain bowed his head. “I have business to attend in the Palace. I’m glad I was able to help. Good day, all.”
After the door closed behind Matthias, Jarrett pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “What’s your opinion of him?”
“That he isn’t worth the gold on his chest,” Tarsus replied, referring to the golden double-headed eagle adorning Matthias’s surcoat. Only the Captain of the Royal Guard could wear the symbol. “Emmerich should have made you stay but no one asks for my input on decisions in the Palace. I receive my orders and obey them like a good soldier.”
“And that’s all we can do, sometimes. Do you know where the sisters live?”
“They’re staying in a building on Tanner Street.” He gave directions to it.
“Many thanks. Two more questions. First, I heard they were branded. Matthias gave you the sketch of the symbol?”
“Only because he was too happy to have the problem taken off his hands.” After a few moments of scrounging, Tarsus found a scrap of paper and handed it over. “I’ve asked around but no one recognizes it.”
Jarrett studied the drawing of a circle bisected by an arrow pointing downward. “Do you mind if I keep this?”
“Go ahead.”
He pocketed it. “When were the slaves discovered, exactly? Before or after word reached you about her ladyship’s illness?”
Tarsus’ eyes widened. “About a day or two before word reached me of the Lady Seer’s illness.”
So, there being a connection wasn’t an insane idea. “See you later, Tarsus.”
“Good hunting, Jarrett. Oh. And if you ever decide that Palace work isn’t for you, I always need good sergeants.”
“Funny.”
He left Tarsus to his paperwork. Two stops to make before he could return to the Palace. He hoped Clara wouldn’t get herself into any trouble, at least until he got back.
***
The Grand Temple loomed over the city. Spires and arches soared into the air, covered in intricate carvings. Over the doors, the Mother and Child, worshiped by saints who sacrificed themselves to be wholly consumed by fate, presided over an intense scene where men fought wars, planted grain, built cities, and crowned kings. Jarrett paused a moment to study the relief. It stretched across the whole front of the Temple and stood many times his height. Despite his lack of belief, he couldn’t help but feel a small bit of awe.
The doors opened into an empty foyer. Light from flickering torches played on brass basins for ceremonial washing. Closing the doors cut the sound from outside and left Jarrett in deep silence.
To the left, at the far end, a low archway opened onto the foot of a staircase. It no doubt led to the choir loft, the access to the spires, and the attic. On the other end, a scene from the Exploits of the Child awaited veneration. Jarrett wasn’t fluent in his knowledge of the Exploits but it appeared to be the story about the Warlord and the Witch. The tale ended in the Warlord becoming the first King of Lorst.
He moved from the foyer into the temple proper. Like the foyer, it too was empty. Morning prayers were done and the worshipers had all gone to work.
Graceful columns upheld a vaulted ceiling. Tall stained glass let in rivers of red, green, gold, blue, and purple light to sprawl across the pink and grey marble floor. Oil lamps hung from columns and every one was lit. The rich scent of frankincense and myrrh hung on the air. Across from the entrance, against the wall, a monolithic statue of the Mother and the Child gazed down at him. The Mother spun the thread of fate while the Child sculpted a man from a block of stone. Tall, beeswax candles crowded the edge of the statues to cast their light on the feet of divinity.
“Good morning.”
Jarrett yelped, the sound echoing through the empty space, as he whirled around. His hand fell to his sword.
A presbyter in black robes smiled at him. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“How did you do that?” Jarrett hadn’t been aware of anyone there save him.
“I suppose I’ve learned how to move quietly.”
“I suppose so.” He forced himself to release the death grip on his sword hilt. “I’m Captain Jarrett of the Seer’s Guard.”
“How can I help you, Captain?”
“I’m investigating the slaves found working in the Palace. I was told one of them, a girl named Mary, still has sanctuary here.”
“You were told correctly.” The presbyter clasped his hands.
“I want to speak with her.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. She has chosen to go into seclusion.”
“What do you mean?”
“She is considering joining our cloistered sisters. This requires a time of solitude and silence.”
Jarrett scowled. “This is vital. Lady Clara’s life is in danger.”
The man sucked in a breath. “If there is anything I can do to help the Lady Seer, I’m more than happy to oblige. I will speak to the Mother Superior and maybe we can arrange a meeting. Can I send a message to you in the Palace?”
“I need to speak with her now.”
“This is not a place where you can force your way, Captain.”
“Perhaps not but the King—and the High Presbyter—wouldn’t be pleased to know you got in the way of official business.”
The man studied Jarrett’s face, as if trying to decide if this was worth any trouble. Jarrett fought the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.
“Very well,” the presbyter replied. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll see what I can do.”
The clergyman walked past him, moving silently over the Temple’s floor. Jarrett noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes. Perhaps that explained the lack of sound. The presbyter slipped through a door, leaving Jarrett alone.
Jarrett shucked off his gloves and strolled over to one of the stained glass windows. He flexed his sweaty left hand. Mottled red skin glared at him. For a brief moment, he stood in a clearing and a salamander larger than a horse spat at him. He shielded his face with this left hand. The thick saliva fell upon him, slime and fire, and he screamed.
He shivered, coming back to himself. His time in the Eastern Forest hadn’t been all lazy patrols and drinking in taverns. Strong, midday sunlight lit most of the temple’s interior but he regarded the shadows with distrust. He tried to focus on the stained glass.
The window he stood in front of depicted a woman in a billowing gown and flowing brown hair. She gazed into her cupped hands. Streams of water flowed from them to cascade onto Bertrand. Above her head blazed a star. It made him think of Clara. He wondered if she was feeling better.
A door opened and closed. The presbyter, bare feet flashing underneath the hem of his robes, crossed the temple over to him. He held a small bundle wrapped in cloth in his hands.
“That didn’t take long,” Jarrett said when the man drew close enough.
“I caught the sisters on their way to prayers,” the presbyter said. “When I asked the girl to speak to you, she handed me this to give to you. She said she carried it as a good luck charm but no longer had need of it.”
Jarrett took the cloth and unfolded it to reveal a small black branch. A wicked bit of twisted wood, long thorns covered it. “What is this? What does this mean?”
The presbyter studied it. “It appears to be blackthorn, but what it could mean, I don’t know, Captain. However, I believe this is all the answer you’ll receive.”
Baffled, Jarrett wrapped the cloth around it.
“I saw you admiring this window when I came in. Are you a devotee of Persephone?”
“Who?”
“Tierans call her the Great Seer and claim she saved their kingdom. She was said to have lived before the first war between our lands.”
The first war between Tierans and Lorstians had been so long ago, no one was really sure what it had been over. But like all blood feuds that had gone on for too long, the origins no longer mattered, only the mutual hate and distrust.
“Did she?” Jarrett asked. “Why are we depicting a Tieran hero in our Temple?”
“Because there are two versions of the story. In the Tieran version, she helped Prince Herone unite the noble houses. That union came at the price of a few of the houses being slaughtered because they refused. To this day, an empty chair sits by the throne in Aphos and any Seer who wishes may sit there. But none have chosen to take the honor.”
“Didn’t one house secede?”
“Yes, but much later.”
Jarrett crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What’s our version of Persephone’s story?”
“It’s mostly the same, except for one important point. Persephone prevented Herone from invading Lorst by telling him it would end in the destruction of their new kingdom. She said one day Tier and Lorst would create a great empire together. We honor her for her wise words to Herone.”
“But why a window dedicated to her?”
“It’s said she received her visions directly from the Mother and often spoke to Her. In our version of the story, she died saving an emissary from the Lorstian king by throwing herself between him and an assassin.”
“How do Tierans say she died?”
“They say she died saving a Tieran king from a Lorstian assassin.”
“Ah.”
The two men regarded the image. Jarrett had never been devout, though he observed all the festivals growing up. It always seemed odd that the Child, perpetually a youth, created his own mother just as He had created the world. And it never sat well with Jarrett that someone other than himself controlled fate, which the Mother was said to do.
“If Mary decides to say more,” the presbyter said, “I will send a message to the Palace.”
“Thank you.”
Jarrett left the dark interior of the Temple. Sunlight filtering through rain clouds momentarily blinded him and he stood on the porch, blinking and waiting for his eyes to adjust. At the bottom of the steps, a group of old men gossiped. One of them resembled his father.
He knew he needed to visit his family and they did live nearby. Last night, he’d sent a message saying he had returned. His mother expected him, he knew. However, after retrieving Heartsblood from a hitching post, he started for Tanner Street rather than his parents’ home.
***
The sisters lived outside the city walls in the Low Quarters. If they came from the Middle Quarters or the High Circle, there would have been more of an uproar. The lives of the poor were not valued as highly as those of the better off. That angered Jarrett but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He couldn’t force people to give a damn about a person from a lower class.
The wooden homes of the Quarters leaned drunkenly against each other, as if the combined support kept them upright. Bakers, butchers, dry good merchants, and chandlers plied their wares from shops on the verge of collapse. This section of the Quarters appeared to be mostly untouched from the fires earlier that year.
Nelly and Rose lived in a building beside the tanner’s, whose business lent the street its name. Jarrett’s nose wrinkled at the sick, harsh scents of urine and leather. The street bustled with wagons pulled by horses and the chatter of people going about their business.
He stopped at a hitching post and four boys ran forward, all demanding to watch his horse and gear. Jarrett gave each of them a copper.
“And there will be two more for whoever is still here when I get back,” he said, patting Heartsblood on the neck.
They took their places around the post, little hawks ready to pounce on anyone who side-eyed the gelding or his tack. Chuckling, Jarrett left them to their vigil.
Most people in the Low Quarters lived in buildings divided into separate chambers called apartments. A few nobles laughingly referred to them as “stables for the nags”. He could hear distant arguing and the floorboards creaked under him. One board groaned so loudly, Jarrett lurched to the side, images of falling through to the basement filling his mind. He thanked the Mother he didn’t need to go onto the upper floors. Jarrett sent a dubious glance at the water-stained ceiling and carried on to the door furthest from the entrance. He knocked. Shuffling sounds broke out behind the door and a deadbolt slid out of place before the door cracked open. A greasy face, with a smudge of dirt on the jaw, peeked up at him.
“Yes?” the girl asked in a low tone.
“I’m Captain Jarrett of the Lady Seer’s Guard. I need to speak with Nelly and Rose.”
“Why?”
“I need to talk to them about the men who made them slaves.”
The door slammed shut. The bolt made a loud clack as it slid home. He sighed and banged on the door again. No answer and no sound of anyone moving. Raising his voice, he said, “I’m not here to hurt you. On my word.” Still no sound. “Lady Clara, Seer of King Emmerich, sent me to help you.”
Floorboards creaked and voices whispered. The door unlocked and opened enough for him to slip through. It was quickly closed again and bolted before the girl backed away to stand by her sister.
The apartment appeared to be one room. A crude fireplace sat unlit in one corner, with a few pots and cooking utensils scattered around it. Eight pallets were laid out in a neat row. Boxes and a few chests were pushed against the walls. The sour reek of sweat and unwashed clothes stung his nose.
The two young women faced him, wearing dresses with skirts speckled with filth.
“Which one of you is Nelly?” he asked.
“I am.” Nelly had dirty blond hair, full lips, and high cheekbones. She stepped forward, letting the other woman hide behind her. “This is Rose.”
“Lady Clara wants to learn who were the men that took you. She wants to see them arrested. Can you two tell me anything about them? Were they from around here?”
“We don’ wanna get in trouble.”
“You won’t.”
“How d’you know?”
“Because I won’t allow it. I can take you back to the Palace. I’m sure Mistress Catriona wants to have good workers back.”
Rose peeked out from behind her sister. “I liked her.”
“She’s a good person,” Nelly agreed.
“What happened to Mary?”
Jarrett replied, “The other girl? She’s at the Temple. She’s thinking about becoming one of the cloistered sisters.”
The two girls glanced at each other. Rose said, “She always said she wanted to.”
“I promise I won’t let you get hurt.” Jarrett raised his right hand. “You have my word. What can you tell me about the men who took you? When did it happen?”
Nelly shifted from one foot to the next. Rose tugged on her sister and whispered in her ear. He couldn’t hear everything but he caught the words “Lady Seer” and “saved everyone”.
Rose’s sister eyed Jarrett thoughtfully for a long moment. Finally, she said, “We was coming out of the Fat Man’s Folly—”
“That’s a tavern?”
Rose explained, “We all worked there as barmaids and we was goin’ home for the night. That’s when the men came on us.”
“They sounded Northern,” Nelly interjected.
“All of them?” he asked.
They nodded.
“Did you see any other girls?”
The pair shook their heads.
“Did the men talk about other girls or ask you to do anything for them?”
“Not us,” Rose replied. She stepped out fully from behind Nelly. She was shorter than her sister, with a sharper face. “But they pulled Mary aside straight away.”
He remembered the blackthorn branch. “Do you know why they wanted to talk to Mary?”
“She said it had to do with her knowing herbs but she wouldn’t say more.”
“Did Mary meet with anyone at the Palace?”
Rose picked at her cuffs, refusing to meet Jarrett’s eyes. Nelly studied her sister, as if slowly coming to a decision. She opened her mouth.
Something heavy slammed against the door. The girls screamed and clutched each other. Jarrett drew his sword and turned to face the door. The heavy item, probably a body, slammed into it again. Wood cracked and hinges groaned.
“Go into the corner,” he told them, pushing them toward the far end of the room.
A third slam and the door broke from the hinges in an explosion of splinters. Three men boiled into the room. They wore chain mail and breastplates with kettle helms and black scarves over their noses and mouths. Their clothes were plain and worn, the armor battered.
Jarrett met the first, stepping in to parry the man’s sword with a clang. Dimly, Jarrett noticed the other two men trying to drag the girls out of the corner. Their screams shattered the air. He blocked them out, focusing on the man currently trying to kill him.
The small room, with its multitude of tripping hazards, meant Jarrett couldn’t swing his sword in great arcs or dance about. Grabbing the other end of his sword with his left hand and holding it like a bar, Jarrett knocked aside his opponent’s sword as the man lunged with a stab. In the same motion, Jarrett shoved the tip of his sword into the man’s unprotected armpit, breaking rings and drawing blood. His enemy was of the same height and Jarrett’s eyes met his. They were wide with pain as Jarrett shoved his knee against the back of the other man’s leg and knocked him to the ground. The whole move was completed in two breaths.
The man rolled onto his side, struggling to regain his feet. Blood from the armpit wound smeared the floor. Jarrett kicked him in the face and sank his sword into his enemy’s throat. Blood gushed and the man made a wretched, gurgling sound. He spasmed and was still. Grim satisfaction swept through Jarrett. Pain exploded in the back of his head and he dropped boneless to the floor.
***
Emmerich stretched his shoulders as he leaned back from the pile of paperwork. He’d been working for the last candlemark on a new proposal he intended to present at the Council. He wanted to build a second wall to encompass the Lower Quarters. He knew he could commission a scribe to do this but he at least wanted to work up the first draft.
His mind flashed onto Clara. A sense of helplessness welled up in him. If he couldn’t keep her from being poisoned, or help her back to health, then how could he be a husband to her? How could he dare call himself a King?
A knock on the door prompted a glance at the candle clock. It was still a half-candlemark before his next appointment.
“What is it?” he called.
The door opened and one of his pages stepped inside. “Sire, there is a man here who claims to be an ambassador of Galeen. He requests an audience with Your Majesty on an urgent matter.”
Galeen? Emmerich glanced at the large map on his study wall, to confirm what he already knew. Galeen was a small kingdom south of Tier. It had once been a part of that country but during a war with Lorst, the Galeen family took the opportunity to rebel. Tier, unable to fight a war on two fronts, agreed to the succession if Galeen swore to stay out of the conflict.
The kingdom did not trade with anyone but Tier. Why, no one knew. It was a shame, really. It bordered the Zeben Sea in an area rich with fish and pearls. When Emmerich rose to the throne, he dispatched a letter to Galeen, offering diplomatic relations. He never received a reply. Until now.
He stood and walked around his desk. “Show him in.”
The boy stepped aside and swept an arm out while bowing. In walked a tall, red-haired man. The page left them alone, closing the door behind him.
Emmerich had always imagined the Galeenese resembled Tierans and this man possessed the same slanted eyes. But he was as tall as Emmerich, who even among Lorstians stood a head taller than most. He wore a long, purple tunic belted with a blue sash. From it hung an empty scabbard for a sword with a narrow blade. Around his shoulders was a silver gorget embossed with vines and the sigil of a spreading tree encircled with thorns. His long, curly red hair was pulled back into a queue and tied in place with a blue ribbon. In one ear, a small gold hoop caught the light. Knee-high riding boots and black trousers completed the outfit.
Emmerich wasn’t sure if he’d allowed a diplomat into the room or a pirate.
The man bowed, one leg going back and one arm sweeping outward in an obeisance unlike anything Emmerich had seen.
“Thank you for seeing me, Your Majesty,” the man said. “I am Gentius, Prince of Galeen and your humble servant.”
“Prince? No mere ambassador, then. I am pleased to meet you, Gentius. What urgent business brings you to Lorst? Last I heard, Tier didn’t allow any of the Galeenese to cross its borders and your ships don’t stray far from your coastline.”
“Both are true. But you can find your way around any obstacle, if the need is greatest.”
“Have a seat.” He gestured at the couch and chairs before the fireplace. “Are you hungry? I can order a meal.”
“No, thank you, sire. I arrived last night and dined well this morning.”
“Where are you staying?” Emmerich went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of wine.
“At an establishment in your Middle Quarters. The Dancing Yeoman?” Gentius made himself comfortable in an armchair close to the fire.
“I’ve heard of it. As you’re a visiting dignitary, I extend to you the hospitality of the Palace.” He gave the man a glass of wine and took the seat across from him. “You and your retinue, of course.”
“No retinue to speak of, sire. Only myself and my sword-arm.”
“Sword-arm?”
“Ah. It’s similar to your Royal Guard.”
“I see.” Emmerich sipped the wine, savoring the taste for a brief moment. “I suppose you can’t sneak your way into another country if you have a large traveling party.”
“If there was a way, I would have brought so many comforts of home, you’d think I packed up an entire palace.”
Emmerich chuckled. “I’m surprised you got as far as you did. Most visiting dignitaries have to arrange their visits months in advance and then petition to be put onto my agenda.”
“I met your Captain of the Royal Guard. A rather quiet fellow named Matthias. After he heard my plea, he was more than happy to escort me to the Royal Wing. He did relieve me of my sword and dagger, however.”
Emmerich was going to need to have a discussion with Matthias about protocol. “And what is your plea, Your Highness?”
Gentius rolled the glass in his hand and studied the ruby depths. “I’m sure you’re aware of Galeen’s peculiar history?”
“I’m aware of a few facts. The rest?” He shrugged with one shoulder. “The rest is rumor and conjecture.”
“Galeen chose to cede while Tier was distracted by war. But when the war ended, Tier turned their attention to us, forcing us into a treaty that benefits only them. We have, effectively, been under siege for centuries. Tier recently stopped exporting medicines to us and there’s real concern of a new epidemic. Fewer and fewer people are finding suitable work as our economy becomes ever more stifled. My family has an army of loyal and strong fighters but we’ve never been numerous. Tier could take back our kingdom in a fortnight.”
“A high price to pay for independence.”
Gentius snorted. “I don’t think it’s right to call it independence. My father is not even called king. He’s the Prince-Steward.” He spat the title. “But he’s growing old and, one day, I will take his place. But I don’t intend to be called a prince or a steward. I intend to be a king.”
Emmerich sat up a little straighter in his chair. Not only a prince, but the heir apparent. He had no idea how large Gentius’s family was but even if Gentius had siblings, he risked much coming to Bertrand. “So, your mission is to grasp power?”
“Yes. But not for the sake of it. I want power so that my people can truly be free. We cannot prosper for as long as Tier overshadows us.”
“That’s very noble. What you do you want of Lorst?”
“There’s no way we can fight Tier on our own. I will need support.”
“Why are you asking it of me? Your closer neighbor is Arvent. And then there are the Kingdoms of the East.”
“The Arventi only want to eat oysters and recline on scented pillows. The Kingdoms of the East are embroiled in their own squabbles. There will be another war among them soon. The Sunstruck Islands are too far away, as are the tribes of the Far North. But it’s not only those factors that bring me here. I know Lorst has no love of Tier. They’re even trying to force you into an alliance, just as they forced us.”
Emmerich sipped his wine as he considered his reply. “My people are only just recovering from a civil war involving a mad man, as well as other troubles. The only reason I haven’t cut off relations with Tier is because we can’t afford hostilities.”
“But you won’t be fighting on your own.”
“You said it yourself: your army is small. Perhaps too small to make much of a difference.”
“I didn’t say that much.”
“Tier could take you in a fortnight, remember?”
Gentius stood. He set the glass of wine on the mantel and held up his hands, palms facing each other. “We are boxed in, Your Majesty. We can no longer afford to live like this. We’ve heard of your military skill and your courage. If anyone can help us, it’s you.”
Emmerich had to admit that coming out in open war with Tier had its appeal. And it would be for a good cause. He doubted he could get the Council to agree but in this, he didn’t need their agreement. He needed them to legitimize a marriage but only he could declare war. How that made sense, he didn’t know.
The war didn’t necessarily have to happen all on his border. Most of the fighting would most likely occur along the border between Galeen and Tier. He wouldn’t have to outright defeat them, only force them into a position where a better treaty was more appealing than more spilled blood. Perhaps he could even use his influence to bring about a diplomatic solution that didn’t require war. Either way, he helped a people gain true independence and thumped Tier on the nose for good measure. Perhaps they would take him seriously and stop trying to pressure him into a marriage he didn’t want. Maybe it was time to let Tier know they couldn’t bully whomever they wanted anymore.
“Let me think about this,” Emmerich said. “For the meantime, it might be best if you remained at the Dancing Yeoman. If word got out that a Prince of Galeen was here, Tier would learn of it. And that would mean repercussions.”
Gentius nodded. “Thank you, sire.”
Emmerich stood. He admired the man for leaving his people on such an errand. However, his motivations remained unclear. He spoke of power before he spoke of his countrymen, after all. As Emmerich met Gentius’ pale green eyes, common sense dictated not to trust him. “I’ll send for you when I’ve made my decision.”
The prince bent his waist in a simple bow. Emmerich saw him to the door.
“Michael,” he said to the page, “make sure this man retrieves his weapons and then take him out through the servants’ passageways. Once you’ve done that, send Captain Matthias to me.”
Gentius smiled and nodded at Emmerich. The King saw in him a fire he once saw in his own eyes, years before. Despite himself, Emmerich found himself liking the young man a little bit more.
***
Thalia slammed the door behind her, the explosion of sound sending a shiver of agony through Clara’s skull. She grit her teeth.
“Your new Captain,” Thalia snapped, “sent soldiers to confiscate all my tonics, herbs, and my personal library. Did you know about this?”
“I knew he was going to take the tonics and herbs,” Clara replied, “but I didn’t know about the books.” She closed the volume of poetry she had been struggling to read and set it on her table. After Jarrett left, she managed to choke down more of her breakfast before demanding to be dressed and taken to her couch. The morning dragged by as she tried to embroider, then read.
Ever since she first fell ill, she’d begun hearing whispers and feeling increasingly uncomfortable in her own skin. Over the past week, it had gotten worse. She could almost see movement out of the line of her sight, a sensation steadily growing with each day. If this continued, she planned to sneak out to the stables, not to ride but at least to distract herself by spending time outdoors and among animals. She was pretty sure she could coerce Harmony and Melody into helping her.
A flash of pain. Clara missed Da. He would have her laughing by now or have talked Mother into letting her out of her room. He would tell everyone they were making a fuss over nothing and convince Clara of it, as well.
“Well, he did,” Mother snapped. “And you didn’t warn me?”
It took her a moment to remember they were discussing Jarrett. “Mother, I only found out this morning. I’m sorry I didn’t send you a message straight away.”
“This is an outrage. I’m not going to hurt my own daughter.”
“Jarrett says it’s for your protection. This way, the Court—and maybe even Emmerich—will know you don’t mean me any harm.”
Thalia snorted. “Maybe. But a warning would have been nice. I hope this will be enough to satisfy them I’m not an assassin.”
Ever since Jarrett first proposed the search, Clara wondered if he strongly suspected her mother. He pretended nonchalance but she saw the sharpness in his eyes. However, it was useless to object. Let them find out the truth so they could turn to the real culprits.
“He isn’t supposed to be investigating the assassin anyway,” Thalia complained.
“As the Captain of the Seer’s Guard, he’s investigating. No one will try to stop him.”
“But what if you run out of tonic? What then?”
Clara sighed and rubbed her eyes. Her hand fell limply onto her lap. “You’ll get them back soon enough.”
Contrition filled Thalia’s face. She sat beside Clara and took her hand. “I am being selfish, yelling about this, when you’re sitting here miserable.”
“I’m fine.”
Mother snorted, as if to say Clara fooled no one. “Daughter of my heart, you know I’m only concerned for your health.”
She laughed without mirth. “My health? What health? I haven’t seen the sun in days, Mother.” Clara gestured at the perpetually covered windows. “How can this be healthy?”
“People shouldn’t know how ill you are. It will weaken Emmerich’s standing.”
“Emmerich is strong enough without me.”
“Yes, but we can’t give his enemies an excuse.” She patted her hand. “You’re not experienced in politics. It’s good I’m here to guide you.”
Clara wondered if her mother’s knowledge of politics even applied here. This wasn’t Tier, after all. “I’m glad you’re here, too, Mother, but not because of that. I’m glad to have a mother.”
Thalia kissed her softly on the forehead. “And I’m glad to have a daughter. Hopefully, your brother Alexander will be able to come soon and we’ll all be a family together.”
That did sound wonderful. Clara wondered about her half-brother, the sane one who didn’t want to kill Lorstians like Remus had. But a more important thought pressed on her mind. She took a deep breath. “I want to tell Jarrett why I brought him here.”
“Why? The plan is ruined if he knows. My dear, you need to be careful, in politics and other matters, to not show what is hidden in your motivations.”
“I don’t know if I can do it, Mother. I can’t use him.”
Thalia shook her head. “I thought you understood, that you saw the sense in the idea. And you don’t have to go through with anything. It all comes to appearances. You took the first step by installing him across from your chambers. Besides, you don’t want Emmerich or the kingdom to suffer, do you?”
“At the cost of what, though? I—”
The shadows lurking at the edges of her vision rushed forward, their darkness blotting out everything. Clara heard her mother calling from far away. A falling sensation enveloped her but it felt distant as well, as if it didn’t matter.
She slowly became aware of cold stone beneath her now-bare feet. The darkness receded and Clara stood on the edge of a pool. With a shock, she recognized it as the pool from another vision, the one shortly before the poisoning.
Last time, a hulking figure, whose presence brought forth a deep, animalistic fear from Clara’s core, lurked in the shadows. She was glad to find herself alone. Kneeling, she gazed into the depths of the pool—and saw stars.
Clara awoke with a gasp, stomach churning with confusion. Her mother leaned over her, brows furrowed.
“She’s awake,” Thalia said. “Can you sit, dear?”
Clara lay on the couch. Melody and Harmony stood behind it, watching her. Slowly, she pushed herself upright. Thalia wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Did you see a vision?” Thalia asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I went somewhere?”
“Where?”
“The pool beneath the House of the Seer in Aphos. The World’s Eye.” After Clara saw it the first time, Thalia explained the World’s Eye allowed a Seer to amplify her abilities.
Her mother’s arms tightened around her. “And what did you see there?”
“Stars.”
Thalia sighed. “I’m going to the Healer Hall to see if I can hurry the inspection of my materials. If your sickness triggers out-of-body states, then I need my books.” She kissed her daughter on the head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Clara nodded, barely noticing as her mother left. To be thrown out of her body, without a say as to where she went, rattled her. It felt as if by leaving the room of her own volition, she could take back control over herself.
“Melody,” she said, “we’re going out.”
***
The walk to the servants’ stairway, and then down it, was peppered with short bouts of vertigo that turned Clara’s knees to water. They forced her to stop and lean against the wall until she recovered. However, bouts came fewer and fewer, as if the further away she was from her room, the more strength she regained.
When she stepped out into the brisk day, turned gloomy by grey clouds scudding by overhead, she took a deep breath. The air smelled almost like cinnamon and the breeze ran over her skin in silken waves, even through the heavy shawl she wrapped around her shoulders. She appreciated it all for a moment before her heart jumped in surprise.
Emmerich waited for her with a few guards and a curtained litter painted blue with silver stars. Gauzy, white curtains fluttered. He carried a heavy blanket draped over one arm.
“Where did that come from?” Clara asked. “And how did you know I was coming out?”
The sight of him almost made her giddy, even though she’d seen him last night. Clara wondered if it was just the unexpectedness of it.
He wore the scarlet robes of his office and his tan was fading from so much time spent indoors. However, the grin he turned on her was the confident expression of the Rebel General that took Castle Dwervin over a year ago. The smile lit up his grey eyes. The wind played with his dark brown hair.
“One of your guards sent a page to me,” Emmerich explained.
Clara glared over her shoulder at the guards, Antony and Philip. Both of them tried to wear innocent expressions but Antony failed miserably. He cast sheepish eyes to the ground.
“As for the palanquin,” Emmerich continued, “I stole the idea from the customs of the Arventi. Their nobles prefer to be carried by them.” He held out his hand. “I ordered it constructed not long after you came home.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Both Healer Paula and your mother told me it was a bad idea. But since you’re here and I’ve cleared my schedule for a couple of candlemarks, I thought it was time to try it.”
He led her over to the palanquin. He pulled back the curtain to reveal a short-backed seat and several cushions. He helped her into it and Clara settled into the cushions. Emmerich laid the blanket over her lap and tucked it in around her. The guards grasped the rods and lifted. Clara’s stomach did a funny jerk as she imagined them dropping her.
Emmerich’s face filled with concern. “A little late to be asking this but: are you sure you want to be moving around?”
“I couldn’t stand to be another moment in that room,” she admitted, tucking the shawl tightly around herself.
“We’ll go for a short walk. I don’t want you tiring too quickly. And your life is still in danger.”
“If I’m not safe with the King, I’m not safe anywhere. What did you cancel to make time for me?” She hoped it wasn’t anything too important.
He smiled. “A meeting with the ambassador from the Sunstruck Islands.”
“They’ve been putting you off for a month. It can wait another day. Besides, don’t you think he should be made to wait now?”
“Maybe so. Let’s go through the formal gardens.”
The guards slowly carried her along the path. The sway of it wasn’t too unlike riding a horse. Clara found herself relaxing into it.
“Your mother will hate you being outside like this,” Emmerich said.
“I’ll deal with my mother.”
“Good, because I don’t want to.”
Clara laughed. “Are you scared of her?”
“Not scared. I’m appropriately cautious.”
Clara chuckled.
She would enjoy the time they did have. Later, this memory could help soothe her broken heart when she made it clear they couldn’t be together. Or the memories would make it worse. Either way, with him beside her, she couldn’t find it in her to send him away.
Her heart ached. It felt unfair, letting him believe all was well when it wasn’t. But after everything he had been through, it felt even less fair to take away his happiness. As with the ambassador, it could wait for another day.
***
Sharp pain lodged in his skull, piercing deep, greeted Jarrett as he awoke. Groaning, he opened his eyes, wincing as light sent new slivers of pain through him. He pressed a hand to the side of his head and he slowly sat up. Floorboards creaked beneath him. His stomach roiled.
Jarrett stumbled to a corner and vomited his breakfast, sour bile stinging his throat. When he stopped heaving, he felt his scalp with shaky fingers. The back of his head and neck were tacky with blood and he winced when his fingertips found a bump and cut. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, thankfully. Sighing, he retrieved his sword from where he dropped it. He cleaned it on his surcoat and sheathed it.
He turned in a slow circle but didn’t see the man he killed. The only evidence was a small pool where the body should have been and the bloody drag marks smearing a trail from the pool to the door.
For a brief moment, Jarrett wondered if anyone came to investigate. Surely the fighting caused a great deal of noise. But most tenants would be at work and what few remained probably learned not to get involved if they heard fighting.
He searched the room. Near where the man had fallen, he found a wooden gambling chit. One side depicted a nude woman with a harp and, on the other, a sum of money scratched into the surface. He recognized the image: The Siren. That made it an illegal chit. People could only gamble in brothels. The Siren was a tavern catering to nobles in the High Circle. No one from the Low Quarters would even be allowed into The Siren. Nothing else seemed to be of interest, even after kicking around the eight pallets.
When he went into the hall, the drag marks stopped, as if one of the surviving mercenary lifted the body. Small splotches of blood led through a back door that stood ajar.
With one hand on the pommel, he jerked the door open the rest of the way. A back alley stretched to either side. The drops of blood ended beyond the threshold. A cart must have been waiting for them. Finding a particular cart in this city would be like trying to find a particular piece of straw in a horse stall. He left the alley for the front entrance.
The four boys still waited next to Heartsblood but they drew back as he approached. Jarrett realized blood splattered and smeared the lovely new surcoat Clara made for him.
Ignoring them, he tossed the promised money onto the ground. The boys scrabbled for it. Jarrett mounted Heartsblood and rode back to the Palace as quickly as the crowds would let him.
So intent on speed was he, he almost didn’t hear a cart pulled by oxen barreling through a crossing. Jarrett yanked on the reins, stopping just short of disaster.
“Have a care, you bastard!” Jarrett shouted at the heedless driver. Another stab of pain went through his head, followed by a bout of dizziness. Nudging Heartsblood, he carried onward, his mind turning back to Nellie and Rose.
He didn’t appear to be having a great track record with his promises. The words barely left his lips before those men attacked. Perhaps Nellie and Rose were going to be resold. Or maybe whoever led the slaver ring wanted to question them, then kill or sell them. Either way, the future was dim for the girls he swore to protect. On top of all that, they were taken before they could tell him what he desperately needed to know.
Yes, it was all well and good to prove at least one of the slaves in the Palace and Clara’s assassin were connected. But he needed to know how. He needed the particulars.
As he negotiated Heartsblood through the ebb and flow of the city, the noise of Bertrand—the people’s voices, horse hooves striking cobblestone—surrounded him as he navigated the streets. He passed a vendor selling sausages and dried fish, the meaty smell turning his stomach.
Jarrett mulled over what he knew. It appeared the assassin needed a person with herbal knowledge on the inside of the Palace. A person the assassin could control. The why eluded him. There were plenty of books about herbalism and more than one hedgewitch happy to impart her knowledge for a fee and with no query as to the purpose. So, it couldn’t have been for knowledge. Was it experience, then, that the assassin needed?
He touched the belt pouch containing the blackthorn branch.
***
Once he crossed through the Palace gates, Jarrett immediately went to the Healer Hall. The healer apprentice at the desk inside the main entrance raised his brows at Jarrett’s disheveled, bloody appearance.
“Do you need your wound tended?” he asked.
“No, it’s fine.”
Because of his profession, Jarrett had got to know several healers. Enoch was one such person and the one he had Thalia’s things sent to for examination. It also made sense to ask him about the blackthorn.
He took one or two wrong turns but Jarrett soon found himself on the same hall as Enoch’s office. He was passing an open door when a familiar voice called out to him.
He back-tracked and peered in through the doorway. Healer Paula sat as the calm center of a controlled form of chaos. Books, charts, and scrolls were piled into neat stacks on tables pushed against the walls, all arranged in an order that escaped him. Paula’s desk appeared to be relatively clean. At the moment, a huge tome covered it.
“Captain.” She stood. “Are you all right? There’s blood on your neck and clothes.”
“I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me, I am on my way to see Healer Enoch.”
“Healer Enoch is out for the day. I think he went on an herb gathering expedition with some apprentices.”
“I sent—”
“Lady Thalia’s items to him? I know.” She frowned. “She came here earlier today in a pure fury.”
“I did what I needed to for Clara’s sake. I’m not about to apologize.”
Paula raised a brow. She was a thin-boned woman with raven-black hair. The raised brow only made her appearance more severe. “Healer Enoch put two other masters on the task before he left. Healers Ivan and Jane, I believe.”
“Good. Are you researching something about Clara’s illness?”
“This? No.” Paula closed the book. “I’m doing a little research for His Majesty.”
Jarrett clenched his jaw. “When was the last time you spoke with the King?”
“This morning. We always meet for tea once or twice a week before his duties begin.”
A quiet wave of anger rippled through him. He closed the office door. “I need to know what your intentions are.”
“Excuse me?”
“You and the King. I need to know. Right now.”
Her eyes widened with what he assumed to be surprise at his impertinence. Jarrett, for his part, regarded her with exasperation, wariness, and general irritation. She created a potential source of a lot of pain and he wanted none of that. Clara had enough on her with her illness, after all. And there was the mystery problem requiring a friend. He wondered if Clara suspected the affair. That could be why she needed him.
Maybe she needed Jarrett to confront Emmerich. Maybe she needed him to spirit her away.
“I don’t—” Paula begun.
“Earlier this year, when I returned from the Larkspur Mountains, I was barely here a day before I heard a rumor you were the King’s mistress.” There wasn’t a need to tell her the rumor came from Valiance, who later proved to be a traitor. It only mattered that Jarrett saw enough to wonder if it was true. “Normally, I don’t care what the nobility do. As long as their trysts and romances don’t erupt into a scandal I need to deal with, they can do whatever they please. But this concerns Clara. She loves that man more than he deserves on his best day. If you’re letting him plow your field, I swear I will have you assigned to the most backwater hole I can find. And you’ll be happy to go there because it will be nothing compared to what Clara will do if she ever finds out. And she will. The other woman always does.”
“Let’s say I am having an affair with Emmerich. He wouldn’t let me be reassigned.”
Hearing her use the King’s name without the title made Jarrett want to punch the wall. He clenched his jaw. The dull agony in the back of his head throbbed along to the beat of his heart. “Trust me. You’ll beg him for reassignment. Are you having an affair or not?”
“I’m not.”
“I don’t know if I can believe you.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Why do you meet with him?”
“To discuss Lady Clara’s recovery and to talk. Emmerich enjoys spending time with those who aren’t expecting anything from him.”
“He has Clara.”
“He doesn’t get to see her often because of her illness. And there are matters he can’t discuss with her. Not yet, anyway.”
“Such as?”
Paula put her hands on her hips. “If he can’t discuss them with her, why would I tell you? If you want to know, ask him.”
Even angry and in pain, Jarrett knew that to be an insane idea, on the level of teasing a moat-monster. He raised his hand to run it through his hair and winced. He touched a knot growing beneath his scalp.
“What happened?” She came around the desk.
“I got in the way of some bad men.”
“I should treat that. Your skull could be cracked. Come. I’ll take care of it in one of our treatment rooms.”
“I’m fine.”
Paula pursed her lips. “Indulge me.”
Jarrett followed her out of the room and descended to a long chamber where several healers attended to a few soldiers. Out of habit, he scanned them for serious injury but didn’t see anything worse than bruises and cuts. Perhaps General Asher encouraged harder contact during a practice drill. Or one soldier owed another money.
She pointed him to a stool and began gathering items together: clean cloths, a bowl, a pitcher, and herbs. After laying them out on a table, she poured water into the bowl. The water steamed and smelled of herbs.
Paula ran her fingers through his hair until he winced. She soaked a cloth in the water and began cleaning blood out of his hair. When she moved to his neck, Jarrett realized he must have been a sight when he came into the Palace. No wonder the guards looked mildly alarmed.
She applied salve to his scalp. Jarrett sucked in a breath at the sharp pain but it jiggled a memory loose. “I have a plant I need to show you.”
“Oh? You’re not about to ask me if a peddler sold you an herb that will make you more virile?”
“What? No. There are still people falling for that?”
“If I gained a gold coin every time I heard complaints about an herb meant to help in the bedchamber, I could buy this kingdom. And have enough left over to pay for a sizable piece of Tier.”
He snorted. “I was given this while trying to find information on those slaves who worked in the Palace. One of them wouldn’t talk to me, only gave me a piece of a branch.” Jarrett fumbled with his belt pouch and pulled out the blackthorn. “What do you make of it?”
Paula took it from him, turning it over with a care for the sharp thorns. “It’s blackthorn.”
“I already knew that. Is it poisonous?”
“No. I mean, you could prick yourself and have the prick go bad. However, we use this a lot for people with skin or stomach ailments.”
“There’s nothing bad about it?”
“Only if you fall face first into the shrub.”
Jarrett wanted to growl. If he had been capable of it, he would have put a dog to shame. It had been a day of pain and frustration ending with two missing girls and a plant that could cure but not poison.
“And it’s not magic?” he asked, trying to find a clue.
“As far as I know, it’s a regular plant. You’ll need to talk to Lord Bruin.” A slight tinge of pink came into her cheeks. “I could, if you want.”
The pink caught his attention. Women of Paula’s age didn’t blush unless for a good reason. “Do you see Bruin?”
She concentrated on cleaning her hands with a cloth. “Sometimes.”
If she and Bruin were spending time together, then it lent credence to her claim of not having an affair with King Emmerich. Paula didn’t strike him as the kind of woman to dally with two men at the same time. And if Bruin even suspected it, he wouldn’t have anything to do with her. “I can speak to him. You don’t have to worry about it.”
She tossed the cloth down. “All right. If you become nauseous or the pain gets worse, you see me right away.”
“I will. Thank you.” He slid off the stool. “Paula, I want to apologize for what I said earlier. I’ve worked here long enough to know I shouldn’t believe everything I hear.”
“It’s all right, Captain. I understand.”
As he walked away, she called him back. He’d forgotten his blackthorn.
***
Emmerich waited until night enshrouded the Palace. Benefits came from having once been both Captain of the Royal Guard and lover to a princess. One of those was knowing the Palace better than most pages.
Emmerich knew of a sequence of hidden doors and passageways that allowed him to move from the Royal Wing to Clara’s wing with only a few chances of being spotted by servants. He did this often enough that there was little hesitation in his movements and the fine layer of dust on the floor of the passages had been long swept away by his feet.
Both Paula and Thalia warned Emmerich he could not see Clara very often. According to them, her fragile state put her at risk of catching seasonal illnesses and for easily overexerting herself. Isolation, they claimed, was the best thing for her.
He came out of the last passage into the large room Clara used as her workroom. The lantern he carried cast warm light, tossing aside shadows and darkness. Bolts of cloth sat stacked on a long table to one side. A half-finished gown was draped over another work surface beside the scissors, thread, and other tools of the trade. A seamstress’s dummy stood by the door, wearing a riding habit in dark ruby and pale orange. He ran a finger over the sleeve as he passed, as if it was a good luck token.
Coming out into the hall, he snuffed the lantern and continued to Clara’s room.
Jarrett’s men flanked the door. If they were surprised at his arrival, they didn’t show it. Neither did they stop him from entering Clara’s dark sitting room.
He set the lantern on a table and, with memory as his guide, navigated around the furniture into the sleeping chamber. Embers in the double-sided fireplace cast a faint, ruddy glow. He could just make out the outline of Clara under her covers. Without looking, he knew one of her maids slept in a small trundle bed on the far side of the room, in case Clara needed something in the middle of the night.
Going to the window, he parted the curtains to let starlight and faint moonlight spill through. Not enough to wake her but so he could make out the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. More importantly, it allowed him to be sure that the only people in the room were those two women.
Satisfied, he closed the curtains and retreated to the sitting room. No one knew that several times a week Emmerich broke the edict set down by Thalia and Paula. It wasn’t only nightmares that made him look worn and without sleep. The chairs in the sitting room weren’t that comfortable. Now that Jarrett was there, it should have put his mind more at ease, but it hadn’t.
He settled on a chair that faced the door and drew out his long knife, laying it across his lap. At some point, he would nod off, content that anyone entering would awaken him. When the maid arose in the morning, she would call his name from a safe distance—he had warned both maids about startling him—and then he would return to his rooms before his manservant arrived. Until sleep found him, though, Emmerich watched the dark for anyone who might try to harm his Clara.
