Is it always like this?” Aidane swiveled from side to side in her saddle as they rode into Principality City. Although it was night, the view was still impressive. Colorful flags, banners, and streamers waved from every building and post. Music filled the air, along with the sound of raucous laughter. The night air smelled of incense, perfume, and roasting meat. Crowds jostled the riders. Many of the festivalgoers wore elaborate costumes to the Eight Faces of the Sacred Lady. The vast majority celebrated the Lover or the Whore. Some wore barely any costume at all. More than a few men staggered down the sidewalk gripping a tankard or bottle, while others walked arm in arm with one or more female companions, all, by the look of them, equally inebriated. The alleys they passed smelled of vomit and urine, the byproducts of a successful feast. Sounds from the doorways indicated that strumpets were busy seeing to the needs of the festival crowd.
Jonmarc gave a protective glance toward Berry, who seemed preoccupied. She noticed his attention, and forced a smile. “I grew up here, remember? You look as though you’d like to put a bag over my head, but believe me, I know what goes on at Haunts.”
Jonmarc shrugged. “Just doing my job.”
Berry sighed. “It’s really all the same to them, isn’t it?”
Jonmarc followed her gaze to the merrymakers. “What do you mean?”
“One king’s as good as the next, so long as the taxes don’t rise,” she said softly.
Jonmarc could see the sadness in her eyes. “I told Kiara once that until I traveled with the lot of you, it never occurred to me that a king was a real person, someone’s father or husband. Kings were like statues, up on high, not quite real. You paid your taxes to them and vowed loyalty and if it came down to it, you died for them. But loving them? I didn’t understand that until I saw how things affected you and Carina and Kiara and Tris. Don’t be too hard on them. They mean no offense.”
Berry nodded. “And until I was captured by the slavers and spent time on the road with you and Tris, and then at Dark Haven, I don’t think I realized just how far away the palace seems to most people. Like something out of a storybook. Not real at all.” She swallowed hard. “Father loved Haunts. When he was a prince, he used to slip out into the crowd unannounced and have a grand time until the guards found him and dragged him home, usually drunk and singing.” She chuckled, despite herself. “I wish I could have seen that.”
“Look at that!” Aidane was pointing, her voice amazed. A huge stage had been erected in the center of the city for the appearance of the Sacred Vessels, the Lady’s oracles. It was an elaborate dais with eight pillars and eight statues, one for each of the Lady’s faces. Diaphanous cloth wafted between the pillars in shades of red and yellow. Behind the dais, a small city of white tents marked the area where the Temple Consorts welcomed those who sought to make a more personal, intimate connection with the goddess.
Above the sound of the crowd came the ringing of the chimes that marked the brothels. Legend had it that wenching was especially encouraged at Haunts to replace the lives of the departed. Jonmarc had always suspected that the prodigious consumption of alcohol had more to do with it than any religious significance.
All around the city’s center, giant straw effigies of the Lady in all of her eight Aspects towered over the crowd. Bonfires flared into the sky in front of the empty stage, and musicians were playing a lively dance song. Many of the revelers wore the beads that signified their devotion to the Lady. At least for this night, everyone appeared to be quite devout, festooned with dozens of strings of the many-colored beads. Some of the women wore little else.
“Nice beads,” Jonmarc commented.
Berry chuckled. “Good thing for some of the women out here that it’s not any colder. They aren’t wearing enough beads to stay warm. Do you remember what the colors mean?”
“It’s been awhile. Red for the Whore, right?”
Berry nodded.
“Yellow for the Lover. Istra’s beads are dark red like blood. I remember that from Dark Haven. Black is the Crone. Picked up on that in Nargi.”
“Orange for Chenne and Green for the Childe,” Berry prompted.
“Blue for the Mother,” Jonmarc added, searching his memory. “I know I’m forgetting one.”
“Clear for Nameless,” Aidane supplied. “The Formless One.” She shrugged as they turned to her. “I saw clear beads on one of the Black Robes. It stuck in my mind because, in Nargi, wearing anything except the black beads could get you flogged.”
Costumed dancers twirled and shook tambourines or dried gourds filled with seeds. Puppets large and small entertained the crowd. Some were doll sized, telling stories from a movable stage on a cart. Others were child sized, suspended by strings. Still others towered above their handlers, worked by a clever series of pulleys and wands. Food vendors offered every type of repast imaginable from stalls and carts along the street, while ale, wine, and stronger spirits sold at a brisk pace from taverns as well as from barrels on the backs of wagons.
“How are we ever going to spot the Durim in this mess?” Jonmarc murmured to Gellyr.
“If they’re clever enough to leave their black robes behind, they could be anywhere,” Gellyr replied. “We’ll see what my wife’s uncle, the general, has to say. Maybe he’ll have a good idea.”
They made their way slowly through the press of the crowd. Berry and Aidane were in the middle, with their traveling cloaks drawn up around them to avoid attention. Jonmarc, Gellyr, and the soldiers formed a knot around them, but even so, Jonmarc’s hand never strayed far from the pommel of his sword. As they followed the road uphill, toward the palace, the crowds thinned out. They rounded a bend, and Lienholt Palace came into view, lit by torches and a bonfire in the bailey.
Berry caught her breath. A gray flag of mourning flew from the palace’s highest tower. In stark contrast to the colorful banners in the city below, gray banners flew from every window and post. As they neared the gates, Jonmarc could see that a large wreath made of dry vines had been placed above the archway, signifying that there had been a death. Principality City might be going about its festival as usual, but it was clear that the palace was in mourning.
Jonmarc and Gellyr flanked Berry as she rode forward, dropping her hood. The gate guards bowed low, and the captain of the guards came out to greet them.
“Your Majesty,” he said, making a deep bow. “We were expecting you. You must be tired from your journey. Everything is ready for you.”
The large wooden outer gates creaked open. Jonmarc stole a glance at Berry as they entered. Her face was stoic, but her eyes were filled with grief. As the massive gate shut behind them, Jonmarc and Gellyr looked around, scanning for danger. Jonmarc had been a guest of Staden’s for nearly six months when Tris was preparing for his return to Margolan. He’d gotten to know the palace well. Now, he planned to use that familiarity to protect Berry.
Servants ran to take their horses. Jonmarc and Gellyr stayed beside Berry, while Kolin, Laisren, and Aidane came behind them with Anton and Serg, and Gellyr’s soldiers walked ahead and behind. A man in his middle years was striding down the palace steps toward them, and Jonmarc recognized him as Jencin, Staden’s seneschal. He looked exhausted, and his face was drawn.
“Your Majesty,” he said and greeted Berry with a hurried bow, as if he was reminding himself about her recent change from princess to queen. “It’s so good to have you home again, although I wish it were under other circumstances.”
Berry’s gaze strayed past Jencin, to a scorched mark on the cobblestones of the bailey courtyard where Staden’s pyre would have been. “Me, too, Jencin. Me, too.” She collected herself, and her features slipped into regal neutrality. Jonmarc began to wonder if it was something royals practiced from birth. “You remember Jonmarc Vahanian, my Champion, and Captain Gellyr?”
Jencin smiled. “Of course. I’m glad your ride was a safe one.”
Jonmarc nodded. “So far.” Jencin looked at him as if he suspected there was a story behind the comment, but he said nothing as Berry continued with the introductions.
“Kolin and Laisren are emissaries of the Blood Council,” Berry said with a nod. Both men inclined their heads in greeting. “And Anton and Serg represent the vyrkin packs. Aidane is the liaison for the dead,” Berry said with a totally straight face. Aidane swallowed wrong and began to cough; Jonmarc suspected she was utterly unprepared to be introduced as a visiting diplomat.
“M’lady, do you think it wise-”
“I do, or I wouldn’t have brought them.” Berry’s voice was sharp. She might have left Principality City as a girl, but she was returning as a queen, and as fond as Jonmarc knew she was of Jencin, old roles had to change. “I am queen of Principality, the living, dead, and undead. These are difficult times. If we expect the allegiance of all our subjects, then we must recognize and reward their fealty.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Jencin led them into the palace. The servants they passed made low bows, welcoming Berry. Jonmarc watched as she swept by them, acknowledging them and thanking them. He wondered how many of them could see the strain in her face, the effort it was taking for Berry to return home, knowing that Staden was gone forever.
Jonmarc had a chance to brief Berry before they arrived on the plan he and Gellyr had concocted, and she agreed with him. Best not to start off her reign by forcing the military into something, even if she turned out to be right. They’d see if Gellyr’s uncle would act as a go-between with Hant. If not, Berry would take the issue to Hant herself. “The festival was well attended when we rode through,” Berry commented.
“Yes, m’lady. We didn’t think it wise to cancel festivities, even with your father’s passing. Such energy needs a release.” Jencin looked nervous, and Jonmarc wondered if the seneschal was fully prepared for Berry’s sudden return.
Berry gave a sad smile. “Father would never have stood for the festival being changed. It was one of his favorites. Better to remember how well he loved a feast.”
“That he did, m’lady, better than anyone.”
“Still,” Berry said, pausing as if the idea was only just occurring to her, “it might do to have more guards about, to keep the peace.”
“M’lady?”
“I’m not yet formally crowned. As the vyrkin say, the most dangerous time is between what was and what will be. It might tempt some revelers to get out of hand, knowing that Father is gone.”
Jencin gave her a look that said he suspected there was more to it, but he did not question. “A wise observation, m’lady. I’ll notify the guards and ask for additional men. I’ll request that they remain vigilant but not heavy-handed.”
Berry nodded. “Thank you.”
They had moved out of the public areas of the palace and into the private rooms. As they walked, Jencin assigned the visitors to their rooms, with Aidane’s quarters on one side of Berry’s rooms and Jonmarc’s on the other. “As for the vayash moru, I can open the crypts in the cellars. You won’t be disturbed.” Jencin glanced from Kolin to Laisren. “And for meals, am I correct that deer or goat blood is acceptable?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Jencin looked relieved, and Jonmarc suppressed a smile. “The vyrkin will be quite happy with meat, so the deer and goat will be appreciated,” Jonmarc said, with a nod in the direction of Anton and Serg. “Tell the kitchen not to bother cooking it.”
Jencin glanced at the vyrkin. His hand fluttered a bit at his side, but he controlled his nervousness. “Absolutely. I’ll see to it right away.”
“Jencin, what are the coronation plans?” It was Berry who spoke, and Jonmarc could see in her eyes the strain of maintaining her composure.
Jencin’s voice softened as he turned to her. “We’re all agreed that soonest is best. Your father left some unfinished business that can’t wait. Now that you’re here, I’ll convene the nobles at the tenth bells. You’ll find the robes of office in your room. I’ve taken the liberty of choosing a coronation gown. I hope it’s to your liking.”
Berry nodded, as if the selection of a dress was the furthest thing from her mind. “We’ll have the ceremony here at the palace,” Jencin continued, “to make it official with the nobles and the heads of the merchant guilds. Then tomorrow night, the custom is for the new monarch to journey to the Lover’s Temple to receive the crown from the Sacred Vessels and perhaps receive a blessing from the Lady. In this case, falling on the Feast of the Departed, we’ll go to the dais in the city for you to make your offering and hear the prophecy.”
Having the Black Robes disrupt the festival is bad enough. Having them endanger the new queen makes this a whole new game. Jonmarc looked at Gellyr, and from the look on the captain’s face, Jonmarc guessed Gellyr was thinking the same thing.
“Is it really necessary? I mean, the part about going out to the dais in the middle of the festival?” Berry’s voice suddenly sounded fatigued, and while Jonmarc was sure that some of it was real, he was aware of just how good an actress Berry could be when necessary. He was betting she’d realized the danger as well.
“Without it, you haven’t fulfilled the requirements of coronation, Your Majesty,” Jencin said apologetically. “I can only guess how much strain you’re under, especially after your ride. But we must do everything correctly, to avoid a challenge.”
Berry nodded. “I’m just not in a festival mood this year. You understand, I’m sure.”
“Of course, m’lady.”
“With the queen’s permission,” Gellyr said, clearing his throat, “I have some duties to attend to and some things to arrange.”
“Yes, please,” Berry replied. Jonmarc knew Gellyr went to send a message to his uncle to arrange a meeting after the coronation.
“I’ve had servants draw baths for you, to refresh you after your ride,” Jencin said with a glance to Jonmarc and the others. “You’ll also find food and drink in your rooms.” He looked to Jonmarc. “As Queen’s Champion, you’ll have a role in the ceremony. I remember that you had a fondness for wearing your sword even in the presence of the king,” he said with the barest trace of a smile. “That won’t be a problem.”
“Good, because I’m wearing it anyhow.”
The candlemarks passed quickly, and tenth bells found a group of twenty people convened for the coronation. Some of the nobles looked vaguely familiar from his stay in the Principality court, but Jonmarc could not put names with the faces. He fervently hoped that the nobles would defer to Berry and that he would have no reason to get to know any of the nobility better. In his experience, the only reason for one of the Council of Nobles to come to his attention would be if they caused a problem. They had enough problems with the Black Robes.
Jencin led the procession into the room. All the waiting guests stood. Berry followed Jencin, looking regal in her elegant gown of Mussa silk. Her elaborate royal robes were covered with Noorish embroidery that seemed to move and shift. Berry wore the gold circlet that she had received in Dark Haven. Jonmarc followed in the procession, wearing all black, as he preferred when forced to be at court. Gellyr and three other guards followed, and while they were in their dress uniforms, Jonmarc noticed that they were all well armed. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, making him feel ever-so-slightly more at ease. The doors shut behind them.
Berry had given Jonmarc some insight into the audience. Eight of the guests were seated in the front row. Jonmarc was sure that meant they were the Council of Nobles. Aside from the fact that each one was dressed in enough lace, velvet, and brocade to cost a master craftsman a full year’s wage, Jonmarc saw nothing remarkable or memorable. They were unarmed, and they looked slightly bored. Behind them were five more finely dressed men and women, Staden’s favorites among the lesser nobility, lords and ladies whose loyalty and allegiance were as certain as their friendship with the late king. These guests appeared to be more interested in the proceedings, although once again, aside from their obvious affluence, nothing marked them as a threat or worthy of notice in Jonmarc’s mind.
Six prosperous-looking merchants sat behind them, and Jonmarc noticed with a smile that one of the merchants was quite probably the head of the Whores Guild. She was a blonde woman with a figure to rival Jolie’s and, like Jolie, was in her middle years, although a casual glance might have said otherwise. Her dress was expensive and revealing, and her jewelry attested to a wealthy clientele. Beside her sat a man with a scarred face who was dressed in leather armor but lacking his weapons; obviously, the Master of the Mercenary Guild. The portly man next to him wore rings set with large gemstones, stones that also glittered from a pendant at his chest. Gem mining was the main industry in Principality, and the reason it had been carved out as its own territory centuries ago by agreement of the other six kingdoms, to stop the endless battling over its precious resources. The Gem Master looked wary and uncomfortable.
The head of the Brewers Guild was a thin man who looked more like an exchequer than an ale master. To his right was the Merchant Guild master, a man Jonmarc knew was in the pay of Maynard Linton. It didn’t guarantee his friendship, but it would keep him from siding against them in a dispute. The head of the Smiths Guild was a strongly built man. Although Jonmarc did not doubt that he had cleaned up before the event, telltale soot still lingered beneath his nails.
To Jonmarc’s surprise, Sister Landis, head of the Citadel of the Sisterhood in Principality City, sat apart from the others. He’d glimpsed her at court, and Carina and Tris had told him quite a bit about her after Tris had trained for months at the Citadel. Taru had added her own comments. Jonmarc remembered that Landis had been cool to the idea of training Tris even though the crown of Margolan was at stake. Landis was in her seventh decade, with short gray hair and a determined expression. Would the witch biddies really stand by and let the Black Robes bring about a War of Unmaking? He met Landis’s cool blue eyes, and decided that he didn’t want to bet money on the answer.
Kolin and Laisren sat behind the guild masters, along with Anton and Serg. They were dressed in somber finery and looked to be the noble equals of the Council. Aidane sat beside Kolin. To Jonmarc’s surprise, Jolie had acquired a traditional serroquette ’s gown for Aidane. Dressed in the colors of flame, Aidane’s dark complexion was set off to its exotic best. Her black hair was loose, with golden combs. A river of fine gold strands seemed to nearly fill the deep-cut bodice of the gown, and gold bracelets on each arm attested to a position of status and wealth. Jolie never misses a trick, does she? Jonmarc thought and smiled to himself. The head of the Whores Guild had definitely noticed Aidane, and the look was both intrigued and hostile. I’m going to guess there aren’t a lot of serroquettes in Principality City. She’s probably worried Aidane will be a competitor.
Jencin cleared his throat. “We’re gathered here to crown Berwyn, daughter of Staden, as the new Queen of Principality,” Jencin said in his most formal manner. He made a gesture that indicated that the guests should take their seats. “Since she has already received a field coronation upon the news of the king’s death, she wears the circlet. Today, she receives Staden’s crown, forged for King Vanderon, father of Aesille, father of the late king.”
Jencin removed a velvet cloth that covered a carved wooden box that stood on a pedestal in the center of the room. Next to the pedestal was a cushioned kneeling rail. The cushion was a deep red velvet, and the crest of the House of Principality was worked into the finely wrought support for the gold railing.
“If you please, Your Majesty,” Jencin said, with a fluid gesture motioning for Berry to kneel.
Berry took a deep breath and made the sign of the Lady, and then knelt. She removed the circlet and gave it to Jencin, who put it into the box.
“With this crown, I accept the throne of Principality. I will be the guardian of all its residents, living, dead, and undead. I will keep the covenants my fathers have made with the guilds, especially the Mercenary Guild, that protect our lands. I will honor the treaties with our allies, and so far as it is in my power, I will strive to live at peace with those countries with whom we are not allied.” Berry’s voice was clear and strong as she recited the vows, but Jonmarc could see tears glistening, unshed, in her eyes. “I will preserve the sovereignty of Principality and defend it with my life. Before the Sacred Lady in all her Aspects, I make these vows.”
Berry accepted the ornate crown from Jencin and turned it, feeling for a hidden clasp. A small, sharp point sprang from behind a gemstone, and Berry took another deep breath and then pressed the palm of her right hand against the point. She winced, and when she withdrew her hand, a few drops of blood ran down her palm. Berry turned the crown so that the large gemstone on the front faced her, and she covered the stone with her bloody palm. The crown seemed to glow in her hands, and the elaborate symbols on her cloak swirled, making it clear that their movement was not a trick of the imagination.
The temperature in the room plummeted. Jonmarc saw Aidane grip Kolin’s arm, her eyes wide. A glowing mist began to form between the kneeling rail and the audience, and Jonmarc’s hand gripped the pommel of his sword, although he doubted it would be of use against a spectral foe. As they watched, forms took shape in the mist, growing more solid and identifiable.
The figures of three men stood in front of Berry, and behind them, more shapes were obscured by the mist. Two of the men Jonmarc did not recognize, but the third he knew well. Staden.
“I am King Vanderon, your great-grandfather, and in my time, ruler of all Principality,” the first ghost said, his voice clear and strong. Vanderon laid his ghostly hand on Berry’s shoulder, and Jonmarc could see her repress a shiver.
“I am Aesille, your grandfather, also King of Principality, like my father and forefathers.” He laid a hand on Berry’s other shoulder.
Berry’s eyes were fixed on only one of the ghosts. Staden’s spirit came to stand before her, and his eyes were sad, although he managed to smile. “My daughter,” he said, taking the hand Berry held out to him. She did not try to hide the tears streaming down her face. “How I wish that I did not have to leave you in such troubled times. This burden should not have fallen to you for many years.” He shrugged. “But our days are in the Lady’s hand. I will miss you, my dear.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” Berry managed to whisper.
Staden’s ghost placed a hand on Berry’s head. Jonmarc guessed it was the touch of blood that activated the crown’s magic, enabling the spirits to be seen and heard, and he wondered if it worked as well at coronations that were not on the eve of the Feast of the Departed.
“The blood of the monarchs of Principality runs in your veins,” Staden said. “You’re our flesh, our bone, our breath. Let there be no doubt that you are the rightful ruler of Principality. You are Berwyn, Queen of Principality. May the Sacred Lady smile upon your rule and give you long life, good health, and a peaceful and prosperous reign.”
As Berry looked up at Staden’s ghost with tear-filled eyes, the three specters began to dissipate. A moment later, the mist and the ghosts were gone. Jonmarc glanced at Jencin, trying to decide whether the seneschal had expected the ghostly visitors. Jencin did not seem to be as amazed as their audience, and Jonmarc wondered whether Jencin had actually seen something similar at Staden’s coronation, or merely read about the possibility. From the nervous way Jencin handled the wooden box, Jonmarc guessed it was the latter.
“All hail Berwyn of Principality. Long live the queen!”
Berry stood, and once again, the onlookers lined up to make their vows of loyalty. Jonmarc was first, and he gave Berry’s hand a reassuring squeeze as he took it to press her signet ring to his lips. She returned the squeeze, and the look in her eyes told him silently that she appreciated his presence even more than he might have suspected. Jencin followed, then Gellyr, and then the rest of the guests.
Aidane was the last to pledge her fealty. Jonmarc heard a low buzz of conversation as the nobles and merchants remarked on the newcomer. He could tell that Aidane was nervous, but she walked forward with assurance and knelt gracefully in front of Berry. She looked up at Berry and took her hand.
“What gifts I have, I offer you, for the protection of your kingdom,” Aidane whispered. A flash of understanding seemed to pass between Aidane and Berry, although what the others made of Aidane’s pledge, Jonmarc could only guess.
“I accept your pledge,” Berry said, and clasped Aidane’s hand with both of her own for a moment. A murmur spread through the nobles and guild masters, but Berry did not look up.
Let them think what they want to, Jonmarc thought. Right now, Aidane just might be the key to saving Berry’s life, and the Winter Kingdoms.
It was after midnight when Jonmarc, Gellyr, and Aidane slipped through the palace gates without fanfare. Aidane wore a traveling cloak that covered both her dress and her head, sparing them the glances of curious passersby. Gellyr led the way as they left the palace walls behind them and wound through the cobblestone streets to the grand homes and villas of the wealthy and powerful.
“Are you sure he’s still awake? The coronation took longer than I expected.” Jonmarc looked around the alleyway cautiously.
Gellyr nodded, and pointed to the lit downstairs windows of the home in front of them. “He’s awake.”
As was the fashion, the house had its own outer wall around a small courtyard and an iron gate with a guard. Gellyr spoke to the guard, who opened the gate for them. Jonmarc looked around at the garden with its fountain and benches. If this was a general’s home, then he had been successful by any standards.
The polished wooden door to the home opened, and the shadow of a broad-shouldered man stood in the entranceway. Jonmarc turned to look at their host, and froze.
“By the Crone’s tits! Is that you, Jonmarc?”
Gellyr turned to look at Jonmarc. It took Jonmarc a moment to find his voice, but then he smiled broadly.
“Valjan! So this is what becomes of an old War Dog!”
Gellyr and Jonmarc were welcomed into the house with backslaps and embraces. “Dark Lady take my soul! I’d heard that you’d been at the palace with Martris Drayke last year, but I was leading a patrol out on the western border, and I didn’t get back until after you’d gone. They told me Staden made a lord of you, and gave you the biters’ refuge in Dark Haven.”
Valjan was half a hand taller than Jonmarc and twenty years older. He wore a patch over one eye, and Jonmarc knew Valjan had lost that eye to a raider long before Jonmarc had joined his merc group. Although he was dressed informally in trews and tunic, the cut of his clothing and its cloth further attested to his success. He was tanned from years out of doors, and his arms and face carried the scars that marked him as a military man every bit as much as his stance marked him as a fighter.
“Lady Bright! It’s true then? You’re the Queen’s Champion?”
Jonmarc chuckled. “It’s true, all of it, although I doubt Staden expected it to come to this when he made me his liegeman.”
Valjan brought a hand down on his shoulder, and he was still strong enough to have knocked Jonmarc off balance if he hadn’t braced for it. “Gellyr told me you had information, a source who says we’re in for trouble.” He looked toward Aidane, who had still not removed her hood. “This is your source?”
Jonmarc nodded.
Valjan drew them into a sitting room. To Jonmarc’s surprise, Hant was already seated there, along with one man Jonmarc had seen at the coronation, the head of the Mercenary Guild. “I took the liberty of asking them to join us, as they may have a stake in what’s afoot.”
“Hello again, Jonmarc.” It was Hant who spoke, and a half smile crossed his thin features. His small, intense eyes seemed to look through the visitors as if he could see their bones. Staden might have considered his head of security as his “chief rat catcher,” but Jonmarc knew that for a spymaster to live to be Hant’s age, he must be very, very good at his job.
“Hello, Hant.”
“This is Exeter, head of the Mercenary Guild,” Valjan introduced the man who sat next to Hant.
“You don’t remember me, I wager, but I knew of you when you were a merc,” Exeter said, with a glance that seemed to appraise Jonmarc head to toe. “I heard about Chauvrenne and Nargi. Your friend, Harrtuck, rode with us to the Margolan border when Martris Drayke took back his throne.” A dangerous smile crossed Exeter’s face. “If you recall, we were insurance, in case something went wrong.”
“I remember.”
“My nephew says that your source might not get a fair hearing from some at the palace,” Valjan said with a shrewd look toward Gellyr. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
At Jonmarc’s nod, Aidane lowered her hood and set her cloak aside. She was still dressed from the coronation, and it was clear from the reaction of the three men that they knew immediately what she was.
“ Serroquette,” Exeter murmured, but Jonmarc could not tell whether it was recognition or a curse.
“Aidane is a true serroquette,” Jonmarc said. “We’ve proven her ability to channel spirits, and we’ve tested her messages. Her power is real. She’s harboring the spirit of a vayash moru named Thaine, who was murdered by the Black Robes. While Thaine was a prisoner of the Durim, she overheard their plans. I’d like for Thaine to tell you for herself.”
At Jonmarc’s nod, Aidane closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and let her head fall back. Her whole body trembled, and she startled, eyes wide, with a sharp inhale. As they watched, everything about Aidane’s manner changed, until Jonmarc knew before she spoke that it was Thaine, and not Aidane, who stood before them.
Jonmarc and Gellyr watched the men’s reaction as Thaine told her story. Hant leaned forward, tenting his fingers, his lips pursed. Exeter’s arms were crossed and his face had a hard set to it. The eye patch made his expression difficult to read. Valjan’s frown grew deeper as he listened, and his face colored with anger. When Thaine finished her tale, Valjan rose to his feet.
“On Chenne’s sword! If they mean to move on Haunts, it’s tomorrow night.”
Exeter had not unfolded his arms. He had not moved at all. “How do we know she’s telling the truth?”
Jonmarc and Gellyr exchanged knowing glances. Aidane moved forward, and her expression and bearing shifted, letting Jonmarc know she was herself again. She concentrated for a moment, as if listening to voices they could not hear. Then she met Exeter’s eyes unflinchingly.
“You lost a lover when you were eighteen, before you ever thought to become a merc. She died in a house just beyond the city walls, trying to bear your child. She died cursing your name. Her parents cast her out because of the baby, and your parents withdrew your birthright. You were alone with her when she miscarried, when she bled to death on the floor. Would you have me bring her to you now? Do you remember Bellajera?”
Exeter had gone pale. “No. No, I believe you.” He took a shaky breath and pulled himself together. “I believe.” He was quiet for a moment, and then he looked up at the others. “Gentlemen, we have a very large problem.”
It was third bells before Jonmarc and the others returned to the palace. Come morning, Hant and Valjan would take the news to the other generals, hiding Aidane’s identity as the source. Exeter also vowed to have his mercs among the feast day crowds, watching for signs of danger amid the throng. Gellyr had delivered the letters of introduction Sister Taru sent with them, and Jonmarc fervently hoped that there would be some word awaiting him back at the palace. They were too tired to sleep, and too exhausted to function, but they headed back to the palace knowing that they had done everything possible to guard against the Durim’s attack.
“That went reasonably well,” Gellyr remarked.
Jonmarc sighed. “Considering that they didn’t throw us out, laugh in our faces, or pack us off to the madhouse, yeah, I’d say so.”
“Tomorrow, once I’ve rested, I’ll see what the spirits can tell me,” Aidane said quietly.
Jonmarc gave her a sideways glance. “Can you do that? I mean, with Thaine already in there?”
“Being possessed by more than one spirit at a time isn’t comfortable, but I’ve done it before.” A shadow crossed her face, giving Jonmarc the idea that “not comfortable” was an understatement. “What choice do we have? If the Black Robes are in the city, then they may have done some killing. Their victims might want revenge.” Her eyes became distant. “So many ghosts, calling. Oh, yes. Fresh kills.” She began to shake her head. “Buka. Buka.”
Gellyr came to a dead stop, with a look of horror on his face. “Buka,” he whispered.
Jonmarc looked at him warily. “What did you say?”
Gellyr shook his head as if to clear it. “Sweet Chenne, I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. What Aidane just said about the Durim killing here in the city. She’s right.”
They were nearly at the palace walls. Gellyr indicated for them to get inside the palace before he finished. “I’d had some word of it before we came back to Principality City, from the couriers who came to Jannistorp, and the letters my men got from home. There’s a murderer loose in Principality City. He’s a slippery one. I’m ashamed to say it, but since he tends to prey on cutpurses, drunks, and the absinthe strumpets, it hasn’t gotten an all-out manhunt. They call him Buka. It’s a lowlands term for ‘slayer.’ ” Gellyr shook his head. “He’s a butcher, that’s what he is. Make a career in the ranks, and you see a few of that type. I thought he was just a madman. But now-”
“Either it’s an amazing coincidence, or he’s working with the Black Robes,” Jonmarc finished. “Maybe even part of the Durim themselves.”
Aidane’s eyes were haunted. “We knew that kind in Nargi. Not long before I was captured, there was a killer loose there as well. I lived among those cutpurses, drunks, and absinthe trollops,” she said, quietly reproachful. “Sometimes the whole bodies would show up; other times, only pieces.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “No one looks too hard when they think the killer is only hunting vermin.” Her voice was soft, but there was a note of hurt in it, and the last word stung.
Gellyr swallowed hard. “Apologies, m’lady. ’Tis too easy, sometimes, to forget that the victims were people.” He took a deep breath. “I knew about the problems in Dark Haven, but I never put the two together.” He shook his head. “I know we’re running out of time, but we all need to get some sleep if we’re to fight tomorrow. If Aidane can manage it, I’d like to find out anything we can from Buka’s victims. It may give us a clue about the Durim’s plans for the festival, or at least we might get a break in trying to catch the bastard.”
“I’ll help if I can,” Aidane said. Jonmarc could hear the strain in her voice. He knew from the time he’d spent with Tris Drayke how much of a toll magic took, and while Aidane’s gift might be slightly different, he bet it came with a cost.
“We’re no good to anyone if we’re too tired to move,” Jonmarc said. “Let’s get some sleep.”
The next morning, Jencin knocked on Jonmarc’s door. “You’ve got visitors.”
Jonmarc dressed quickly and stepped into the hallway, where Gellyr was just closing the door to his room. He looked at Gellyr, who shrugged. “I’m not expecting anyone,” Gellyr said. “Are you?”
“Who are they?” Jonmarc asked as Jencin walked with them down the corridor.
“Mages, by the look of them. Said you’d called for them.” His tone clearly gave Jonmarc to know that a warning would have been appreciated.
“Sorry for not mentioning it, but I had no idea they’d show up this quickly,” Jonmarc said. He glanced at Gellyr. “Looks like your messages got through.”
Jonmarc followed Jencin into a parlor off the main corridor. He was surprised to see a dozen people waiting for him. Some of them dozed in chairs or on the floor, while others looked up from where they had been talking in low tones. All wore mage robes. One of the men rose and started toward the door to greet them. He looked to be in his third decade, with reddish-blond hair that fell to his shoulders. His eyebrows were almost white, and he was clean-shaven.
“Lord Vahanian?” The mage looked from Jonmarc to Gellyr.
“Are you Rigel?”
The mage smiled. “I see Taru mentioned me. She’s well, I hope?”
Jonmarc nodded. “Very well. I’ll give her your greeting. You’ve brought friends?”
Rigel swept his arm in a gesture to include the others in the room. “Landis wouldn’t approve of our being here. Some of us have already left the Sisterhood; others were planning to do so sooner rather than later. We don’t agree with Landis’s notion that mages should lock themselves in a tower and refuse to use their magic to help.”
“I never thought I’d be so happy to see a room full of mages, but you’re a welcome sight,” Jonmarc said. Two servants entered the room, bearing trays of bread, cheese, and sausage and a large kettle of kerif. One of the servants brought Jonmarc a cup of kerif, and Gellyr also accepted one. They sat down as the mages grouped themselves into a circle. Rigel made introductions, but Jonmarc was tired enough that the names didn’t stick in his mind. He paid attention to the color of their robes. Rigel’s robes were light blue, and he remembered that Taru said that Rigel was an air mage. Not quite the powers of a summoner, but magic that was closer than any other type. He spotted a couple of green robes, indicating healers. Nice to have in a fight. Light brown robes usually meant a land mage. There were three of them. Tired as he was, Jonmarc began to smile when he saw six mages with dark blue robes. Water mages would come in handy if they faced an enemy from across the Northern Sea. The twelfth man wore red robes, and Jonmarc frowned. Fire mages were trouble.
Rigel seemed to follow his gaze, and guessed his thinking. “That’s Tevin. He’s a fire mage.”
Jonmarc’s eyes narrowed. “The last fire mage I met was Foor Arontala. It wasn’t a good experience.”
Tevin seemed to wince at the name. He was very pale, with lank, straw-blond hair. He might have been anywhere from seventeen to just under thirty. Jonmarc bet he was older than he looked. Tevin didn’t look up, and he spoke just above a whisper. “We’re not all like that. We choose what we are.” His voice was quiet, but when he looked up to meet Jonmarc’s gaze, Tevin’s eyes were determined. Jonmarc guessed that he wasn’t the first to question Tevin’s integrity, or the first to suspect a fire mage’s motives.
“We’ve got trouble at the festival,” Jonmarc said. “If you’ve got the stomach for a fight, it looks like there’s more bad news coming from across the Northern Sea. Help us, and I’ll ask the queen to find patrons who’ll take you out of Landis’s reach.”
Rigel was silent, looking from face to face, and Jonmarc wondered if he had the ability to mind speak with the other mages. Finally, he met Jonmarc’s eyes and nodded. “You have yourself some mages. There’re more coming. They couldn’t be here this morning, but they should arrive before the festival begins.” He smiled then, a look that seemed to anticipate the danger and accepted the risks. There was a glint in his eyes that told Jonmarc that Rigel knew what they were signing on for, knew before they set foot in Lienholt Palace.
“All right then,” Jonmarc said, setting his empty cup aside. “Let’s get started.”