Later that day, just before tenth bells in the evening, Berry’s procession left the palace to head for the festival. Despite all their preparations, Jonmarc still didn’t feel confident that the ceremony would finish without incident. Thanks to Hant and Valjan, Jonmarc knew that the number of soldiers who were visible in their uniforms was only a fraction of the number of their men who were dressed as festivalgoers throughout the crowd. Rigel and Tevin rode with the queen’s entourage. The others had dispersed into the crowd, without the robes that marked them as mages, indistinguishable from the celebrants. They, too, would watch for trouble, using their magic. Kolin and Laisren had agreed to meet them near the dais. Anton and Serg were already in position. Jonmarc hoped that the heightened senses of the vayash moru and vyrkin would pick up some clue before the Black Robes made their move.
Aidane also rode with the queen’s party. Unlike their entry into Principality City, when she hid her serroquette ’s outfit with a traveling cloak, Aidane seemed to flaunt her status. Whether it was bravado or Aidane knew that here at Haunts a serroquette would be welcome and not reviled, Jonmarc couldn’t say. She had a determined look, and if he watched, her expression changed so that he guessed that she was alternating with Thaine to scan the crowd as they passed.
“Smile,” Berry whispered as Jonmarc rode next to her. “This is supposed to be a celebration.”
“I don’t feel like smiling.”
Berry chuckled, but the humor didn’t reach her eyes. She patted the folds of her skirt. “I have both sets of knives Carroway gave me. Spent a candlemark last night practicing. It’s good for the nerves.”
“I wish we’d had more time. For all we know, the Durim have been planning whatever they’re going to do for months.” As he spoke, Jonmarc scanned the crowd, but all he saw were drunken revelers. He’d told the others to watch for people who didn’t seem intoxicated, who weren’t doing their best to get laid or score a free drink. If anything, this year’s Haunts seemed to be more out of control than Jonmarc remembered it to be, as if the news of plague and the rumors of war had convinced people to live it up while they still had time.
“You know, I’ve had more complaints from the constables this year than ever before,” Gellyr murmured, echoing Jonmarc’s thoughts. “It’s been like a weeklong drunken binge, and even by Haunts standards, ‘orgy’ seems too mild a word.”
“Back when we were mercs, Valjan’s motto was ‘Drink it, eat it, win it, and bed it, because tomorrow you die.’ In a business where most people didn’t live to see thirty seasons, I’d say it was taken to heart.”
“Indeed. Although I don’t think everyone here is a merc.”
Jonmarc shrugged. “If there were a year that would convince people to make the most of it while they’re still breathing, I’d say it’s the year we’ve just lived through. Or at least, it’s an excuse to get their minds off it.”
They reached the dais without incident. Soldiers in palace livery stood shoulder to shoulder along the pathway through the crowd and lined the edge of the raised platform. Behind the dais and creating a semicircle around the center of the crowd were the eight straw effigies of the Aspects of the Sacred Lady. Each effigy stood as broad as a tall man and four times as high, made of straw over a frame of wood.
At midnight on Haunts, the effigies would be lit and the revelry would reach its frenzied peak. A child conceived near midnight on Haunts was considered to be especially fortunate and said to be fated for wealth and happiness. Jonmarc noticed that more women in the crowd than usual appeared to be very near term, and he fought down a stab of loneliness, missing Carina. Beyond the dais, the white tents of the Temple Companions had long lines of both men and women, waiting to seal their good fortune for the next year by coupling with the Companions. They were going to have a busy night. Throughout the crowd, bead-draped revelers sang, hooted, and danced, and the smell of ale, wine, and stronger drink hung as heavy in the air as the incense of the Sacred Vessels. Local legend said that anyone too drunk to remember midnight on Haunts would be blessed by having their troubles erased like their memories of the evening. By the look of it, most of the crowd had a lot they wanted to forget.
Jonmarc turned his attention to the dais. Eight white pillars were draped with swags of fabric. In front of each pillar was a statue to one of the faces of the Lady, and at the foot of each statue, a brazier glowing with incense. Smaller braziers ringed the large common area, and the wood for a huge bonfire was stacked, ready to be lit at midnight. Prayers, requests, and thank-yous to the Lady could be written on scraps of wood or cloth and tossed into the braziers or into the central bonfire, and it was said that the sparks would carry the messages to the Lady Herself.
Eight women were already standing on the dais, and Jonmarc knew they were the Sacred Vessels, seers, oracles, and rune scryers who had dedicated themselves to the worship of the Lady, especially the favored Aspects of Principality: the Lover and Whore. At the moment, they wore loose white robes. Before the night was through, they would shed the robes to make their predictions sky-clad. Tonight, with the unusual circumstances of a feast night coronation, Berry would join them on the dais. Their predictions were expected to be focused more than usual on the fortunes of the new queen, and Jencin had told him that it was not unheard of for the spirit of the Lady to fall upon the newly crowned monarch with visions and prophecies. Such an occurrence was considered to be a very good omen. Jonmarc found the prospect unsettling.
Even with the guards, the crowd seemed too close, now that they knew the Durim were among them. Jonmarc scanned the crowd, but nothing seemed amiss. Still, his gut feeling warned him that something was very wrong.
When they reached the dais, Jonmarc helped Berry down from her horse, while Gellyr assisted Aidane. Jonmarc knew for a fact that Berry could have swung down on her own, but an unaided dismount would not convey the proper queenly reserve. As they had hurriedly arranged ahead of time, Berry held out her hand to Aidane, asking Aidane to accompany her to make the sacrifices that protocol demanded. Soldiers weren’t allowed on the dais, so having Jonmarc attend her wasn’t an option, and they had all agreed that Thaine would be in the best position to search for enemies, seeing through Aidane’s eyes if Aidane were on the dais with Berry.
The crowd murmured when they realized that Berry had chosen a serroquette as her attendant. Although there were plenty of whores, concubines, consorts, and plain old strumpets in Principality, real serroquette s were rare, and even more rarely seen in the company of a monarch. If the attention bothered Aidane, she didn’t show it, and then Jonmarc realized from her walk that it was Thaine in charge. He smiled despite himself. Thaine would have loved the show.
“I don’t like them up there by themselves,” Gellyr murmured just loud enough for Jonmarc to hear.
“Agreed. Let’s hope it’s worth the risk.”
Jonmarc thought he had caught a glimpse of Kolin in the crowd, but the press of people was too heavy for him to be certain. It was nearly too crowded for him to be able to draw his sword without injuring a bystander. He flexed his fingers just above the pommel of his sword. I’d much rather start a fight than stand around waiting to get hit.
Berry moved with a gracefulness she rarely showed as her tomboy self. If Jencin could see her, Jonmarc knew the seneschal would be both proud of her bearing and astounded that the lessons that had seemed to go unheeded had actually sunk in. Beside her, Aidane was doing her best to scan the crowd, even as she carried the basket with the gifts Berry brought to present to each of the Aspects.
The Sacred Vessels greeted Berry, but did not bow. “Your Majesty,” said one of the robed figures. With their cowls raised, all of the Sacred Vessels looked alike. “Have you come to make your coronation gifts to the Lady?”
“I have.”
“She awaits. May the Sacred Lady, in all of Her faces, look on you and your reign with favor, and may your life and reign be prosperous.”
Berry inclined her head, slightly, in acceptance of the blessing. The Sacred Vessels stepped aside for Berry to approach the statues and their glowing braziers. Aidane followed her, carrying the ornate basket of offerings.
Berry bowed to the statue of the Lover first, and took a flagon of wine from the basket. “My Lady, Lover of your children, grant us peace and prosperity.” She poured out the wine onto the feet of the statue and she dropped a handful of rose petals into the brazier.
Then she moved to the statue of Athira, the Whore. “Athira, most generous in your favors, give increase to our crops and herds, and to our people. Make our children fat and our women fertile.” She withdrew a bunch of plump, ripe grapes and laid them at the statue’s feet and she sprinkled a handful of cardamom on the brazier. The sweet, spicy smell spread on the smoke, mingling with the rose scent.
Berry moved from statue to statue in turn, making her gifts and asking for blessing. Finally, she stood in front of the statue of Istra, the Dark Lady, patron of Dark Haven’s vayash moru and of outcasts everywhere. Against his will, Jonmarc felt himself drawn to look up at the face of the statue, and he shuddered. Amber eyed and wild, Istra was more beautiful than any of her statues. Once, when he lay close to death, he had seen that raven-haired beauty on the shores of the Gray Sea, the sea all souls must cross at the end of their days. He had bargained with Her, and She had claimed him as Her champion.
“Istra, patron of outcast souls and Those Who Walk the Night, protector of my champion, look on us with favor. You know the dangers we face. M’lady, I beg of you, make us wise to know the vipers among us.”
Jonmarc felt a shiver go down his spine. He realized he was holding his breath. There was power in the air, and even though he had no magic of his own, he could feel something. The energy made the skin on the back of his neck prickle in warning.
When Berry had made her offerings to each of the figures, she turned and moved to the center of the dais. Aidane stepped back, her eyes scanning the crowd. The eight Sacred Vessels clustered around Berry, and the queen knelt. Each of the Sacred Vessels moved closer to lay a hand on Berry’s head. They murmured together in a language Jonmarc did not recognize, and he dimly remembered hearing once that the acolytes of the Lady spoke in a tongue all their own.
Near the stage, drummers began a complicated rhythm, and flutes picked up a descant. It started slow, but increased in tempo, and the Sacred Vessels began to sway with the music, even as the crowd felt its rhythm.
The Sacred Vessels fell silent, and one of them moved away from Berry. The white-robed woman let her cowl fall back, and she shrugged out of her robe, letting it pool around her feet. She was a beautiful woman, with chestnut hair that covered her shoulders and spilled down to partly cover her breasts. Strands of red beads draped across her chest, all lengths, falling to her navel. She lifted up her arms and let her head fall back as she let the music take her.
“A prophecy for the queen. Plague will depart from Principality, but War will take its place. Blood will feed the crops of the next harvest. Blood and flesh will fatten the birds. Death and birth begin in blood.”
Still possessed of the spirit of prophecy, the Sacred Vessel began to dance, caught up completely in the music that was moving faster and faster and in the pounding drumbeats.
A second of the oracles stepped forward, and when her robes fell, blue beads, sacred to the Mother, covered her body in a cascade like sea water, with the torchlight glinting off the facets of hundreds of beads. “A prophecy for the queen. Alliances will be forged, and new life will replace the fallen. Night and day will become one.” She joined her sister oracle in the dance as yet another of the Sacred Vessels stepped to the front.
Bright green beads and feathers festooned the oracle’s nude body, like a short, fringed dress. She threw open her arms as if she would embrace the crowd, but her eyes were distant, possessed. “Hear the prophecy of the Childe. Water births and water kills. From the waters comes darkness. To the waters return the souls of warriors. The future is born of water and fire.”
As she joined the dance, the fourth oracle left her place by Berry. She wore a more revealing cascade of yellow beads around her neck, but bracelets of beads covered her from wrists to shoulders and belled anklets chimed as she moved. “A prophecy for the queen. Hear the vision of the Lover. Hearts break. Hearts bleed. Bury love and fear together. Reap a harvest of souls, and a hollowing of spirits. Weep for the lost ones, never to wake again. Kings will fall and crowns will rise, and the old ways will be forever changed.”
The crowd, drunken as it was, had stilled despite the music that played faster and faster. Some of them were sober enough to hear the warnings in the words of the Sacred Vessels, and as much of a hush as was possible for several thousand people fell over the throng as the fifth oracle moved to the front.
Orange beads, for Chenne the Warrior, covered the prophetess. She was of mixed blood, and Jonmarc guessed she had Eastmark heritage. “Soon my horses will ride your lands, and your blood will whet my steel. Hear me, Berwyn of Principality. In the rising and the setting of the sun lies your salvation. From across the sea comes death. Look to the course of the sun.”
The sixth oracle let her robes fall. She had short, chopped brown hair and white, sightless eyes. She was thin, too thin, like an animated corpse. Vayash moru looked far more healthy than she. Clear beads, the color of Nameless, the Formless One, did little to hide her nakedness or the bluish pallor of her skin. “I ride across your land with my Host, harvesting what belongs to me. Beware the Hollowing. My servants have heard another voice, someone who would be their master. The Night Ones wake. Dread their coming. Dread and blood come and what will remain when they have passed?”
The crowd was now nervously quiet. While the oracles danced across the stage, whirling in a frenetic motion that drove out reason and opened them to the passions of the divine, two more seers had yet to speak. Jonmarc felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach as the seventh seer revealed herself.
Beads black as night covered her, making her pale skin glow in the torchlight by comparison. Or perhaps, Jonmarc thought, the seer was vayash moru. The beads made the sound of rattling bones as she moved, and unlike those that adorned the other seers, these strands seemed to move on their own, followed by a blur of shadows that almost formed a misty covering for their wearer. “Hear the words of the Sinha, the Crone. My cauldron fills with blood and spirits. Shadows awaken from long slumber. Days grow short, and night remains. The battle is coming, between day and night. Dawn and sunset war with each other. In darkness lie both defeat and victory.”
Jonmarc’s throat tightened as the eighth seer moved forward. Berry knelt alone in the middle of the dais, surrounded by a circle of skyclad dancers. Sweat formed a sheen on their bodies and their beads flew as they danced, making brilliant swirls of color in the torchlight. Tambourines had joined the drums and flutes, along with pipers, and it seemed as if the heartbeat of everyone in the crowd had synchronized with the music of the dance.
When the eighth oracle’s white robe fell, a gasp went up from the crowd. A dark-haired woman stood at the front of the stage, covered in a cascade of blood. Jonmarc blinked, and realized that it was a trick of the light, that the wash of dark red that covered the woman was made of beads, and not blood. He felt a tingle of familiar power and knew that the Dark Lady’s presence was very near. He remembered the voice he’d heard in his vision, and the amber eyes that had fixed on his as he argued for death. Perhaps others in the crowd had as clear a vision of one of the other Aspects, but for Jonmarc, it was the Dark Lady who was frighteningly real.
“Istra, protector of Those Who Walk the Night and those for whom the night holds no comfort, speaks to you, Berwyn of Principality. I give to you both blessing and curse. Your crown will be remembered forever, and until the end of the world, men will speak of the days of your rule. You do well to favor my Chosen, and my children of darkness. Remember that my strength is in the night. I am with you.” Her head turned as she spoke the last words, and although he was surrounded by a mob, Jonmarc swore that the seer stared right into his eyes.
There was a hush, and Berry rose slowly to her feet. Her face was turned skyward, and her arms were open, palms up. Her eyes were closed, and while the crowd murmured at the queen’s obvious possession, all Jonmarc could think was that she made a wide-open target. When she spoke, her voice was deep and raspy, like the voice of a much older woman.
“When the north sky drips with blood, soldiers rise and fight,” Berry prophesied. “Only the oldest magic will prevail. When the last days come and the War of Unmaking is upon you, look to the darkness. Born of curses, raised in fire, anointed with blood, the Son of Darkness may yet prevail. Before the end, you will hone your swords with tears and temper your spears with blood.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jonmarc glimpsed movement and saw a man brandishing a knife. “Get down!” Jonmarc shouted to Berry, as he barreled onto the dais to cut off the assailant as the man vaulted onto the stage. Jonmarc collided with the man before the attacker could reach Berry, and the knife sank into his left shoulder as both he and the assassin fell to the ground. Laisren seemed to come out of nowhere, adding his strength to pull Jonmarc free and subdue the wild-eyed man whose hand and shirt were slick with Jonmarc’s blood.
“Not again,” Jonmarc muttered, looking at the wound.
Before they could do anything, a scream came from the back of the dais, and all eyes went to Aidane, who was standing, stiff and staring, as if some other power suspended her on strings. She was quivering, and her eyes were wide like someone taken in a fit.
The music stopped, the drumming ceased, and the Sacred Vessels turned to stare at Aidane.
“Who has your body, serroquette?” It was the seer for the Dark Lady who spoke.
“I am Helja, the rune speaker.”
Even Jonmarc recognized the name of one of the legendary oracles of Principality, a rune speaker who had counseled the kings of Principality a century ago. Helja’s wisdom was still sought with gifts and incantations by the battle mages of every merc outfit in the kingdom. Berry rose slowly to her feet, advancing a step toward Aidane with Jonmarc right behind her. “Honored spirit, thank you for your presence. What message do you bring to us?”
Helja was pleased by Berry’s deference. Aidane could feel the spirit’s pleasure. “I have a message for you, Berwyn of Principality.”
Berry nodded soberly. “Speak. I will hear you.”
“Look to the Son of Darkness, when all is lost.”
“Who is the Son of Darkness?”
“Ask my children who hear the music. They will know. They can hear the Blood Stalker rising, and they know the Hollowing is near. Mad eyes watch the horizon, and they flee the call only they can hear. But they know. They know. Look to the Son of Darkness, when all is lost.”
As quickly as Helja’s spirit came, it departed, and Aidane staggered as the ghost left her. Thaine’s spirit rushed in to fill the void with a new and urgent excitement. “Black Robes are among us,” Thaine cried. She stared at a man with close-cropped brown hair who was standing in the crowd. “You’re one of them.” Thaine’s voice was loud and certain.
One of the huge straw figures of the Aspects burst into flames. The man Thaine accused let out a shout and hurled a knife at Aidane’s chest. Aidane barely dodged out of its way, crying out as the knife slashed her shoulder. As the crowd screamed and tried to flee, Aidane saw Berry’s hand flick once, twice, and Aidane’s attacker fell, with one of the queen’s knives in his throat. Kolin dove for Aidane, taking her down to the stage. Jonmarc, still bleeding, shielded Berry from the crowd.
Aidane felt Thaine’s death memories pour over her as Thaine pointed out the Black Robes disguised as revelers in the crowd. Laisren and the vyrkin reacted first, tackling the men Thaine identified. The crowd began to stampede toward the rear.
Amid the chaos, the Sacred Vessels had somehow gathered their robes, but they did not run. Instead, they formed a ring around where Jonmarc lay covering Berry, facing outward, peering into the crowd. Aidane felt their power, their spirits, as if they were seeking out Thaine’s ghost. Thaine spotted another of the Durim in the crowd.
“Black Robe. Murderer. I see what you are.” It was the voice of the seer for the Crone.
Guards barreled through the crowd to apprehend the man. Another of the straw effigies burst into flame.
The seer for the Formless One turned her blind eyes toward the flames. “There is death in the straw. Death in the straw.”
Flames roared to life along the straw outline of the third effigy, and then the fourth, although it was not yet the appointed time.
The first effigy began to crumble with the ferocity of the flames that enveloped it. Mats of straw and thatching fell away, exposing the burning wooden structure underneath it. Aidane had just an instant to glimpse some kind of apparatus inside the effigy, something that intuition told her should not be there, before there came a sound like swords singing through the air on a field of battle.
A hail of solid, silver objects sailed over her head, glittering in the light of the festival torches. Screams rose from the crowd. Blades. Someone rigged the effigies with blades.
She dared a glance up, to see if any of the Sacred Vessels had been hurt, and to assure herself that Jonmarc and Berry were safe. She saw a ring of coruscating light, translucent, like the film of oil on water, surrounding the seers and their royal charge. In the crowd, people were screaming and crying. Aidane strained to see. Many of the people close to the first effigy lay on the ground covered with blood. Others were shrieking in shock and terror, holding motionless bodies.
“Take down those damn effigies!” The voice sounded with authority from the crowd, and Aidane recognized it as belonging to the general with the eye patch. Her vision was limited from where she lay, but she saw a red-haired man come to a standstill facing the second effigy and raise his hands in a gesture of warding just as the straw giant began to tumble.
This time, she saw it happen. The belly of the effigy burst open and a hail of objects was propelled at high speed through the air toward the crowd. The red-haired mage moved his hands slightly, and his lips formed words she did not hear. The blades dropped from the sky as if the air itself had been drawn out from beneath them, and they clattered harmlessly to the ground.
The third effigy began to sway. A woman with short dark hair ran at the toppling figure and thrust out both of her hands, palms forward, and then brought them down sharply. Water flowed out of the nearby well and a watering trough for horses and it slammed into the burning effigy, extinguishing the flames. It groaned and wobbled, and then collapsed to the ground as the crowd fled as best they could in the press, but the deadly payload inside did not discharge.
It was impossible for Aidane to tell from the crowd who was trying to flee for their lives and who was running toward the effigies to stop the carnage. With the mages and many of the soldiers out of their normal dress, she had no idea who was who. A dozen men ran at the legs of the effigy to the Crone and brought it to the ground. It crashed with a solid thud, far too heavy for a straw shell, but none of its weapons discharged.
Two more of the effigies were burning. A dark-haired man with a determined look planted himself in front of the third effigy, the figure of the Mother. He brought his open palms up from his sides in a swift gesture. A wall of dirt rose into the air high enough to reach the effigy’s head, and then the full weight of the airborne ground struck the effigy, cracking its supports and toppling it as the crowd surged to outrun its falling weight.
Men Aidane assumed were soldiers were trying to keep the panicked crowd from stampeding, with only partial success, but they had cleared a swath around the last burning effigy, the figure of Istra, the Dark Lady. A thin young man with lank, straw-blond hair stood alone in that no-man’s area. He brought his hands together with a clap that sounded like thunder, and then pushed out with both palms at once, sending a stream of red fire to match the flames of the burning figure. For a moment, flame seemed to fight flame, and then the red fire won, consuming the figure in a blaze of lethal heat that singed Aidane’s hair although she was a distance away. The fire mage held his ground, although his clothing began to smoke. Whatever weapons the effigy might have held inside never had the chance to discharge. One moment, the figure was intact, identifiable; the next, it crumbled to the ground in a mound of cinders and ash.
The soldiers had pushed down the rest of the effigies that were not on fire, aided by some of the clear-headed men in the crowd. A thick blanket of smoke hung over the festival area, which was much emptier of people than it had been not long before. Over the din of voices, Aidane could hear soldiers shouting for order. She blinked against the smoke, amazed to still be alive.
Aidane became aware of chanting, and she looked up to see the Sacred Vessels standing in a protective circle around Berry, who was still shielded by Jonmarc. As if they had suddenly agreed that the danger was passed, the chanting stopped and the curtain of light winked out. Kolin helped Aidane stand. To Aidane’s astonishment, the seer who wore the yellow beads of the Lover’s oracle walked toward her.
“We heard your spirit, Thaine of Nargi. Know that you have the thanks of the Sacred Lady.”
Aidane’s heart pounded, and she did not know whether her own fear or Thaine’s was greater. She stammered for words, still in shock over her role in the turmoil. “Thank you, m’lady,” she managed to say.
The oracle looked at her and her eyes grew sad. “You would leave us, Thaine of Nargi?”
Thaine’s spirit came to the fore. “I’ve given you all the information I had. The men in the crowd were the men I saw in Nargi. I have nothing else to offer. I would go to my rest.”
The oracle nodded. “You did not die in vain, Thaine of Nargi. I cannot make your passage to the Lady, but I give you my blessing. May you cross the Gray Sea in safety.”
Thank you. For everything. Thaine’s voice brushed along Aidane’s mind. Aidane felt the spirit flow through her, taking one last, full breath. As she exhaled, the spirit seemed to follow the breath, gradually leaving her body, until nothing of Thaine remained. Aidane shook herself, as if awakening, and she found Jonmarc staring at her with an expression on his face that she could not read. Surprise, concern, and sadness mingled in his dark eyes.
A moment later, Jonmarc helped Berry to her feet. His shirt and coat were bloody, and he had grown pale. Berry looked at him with concern, but Jonmarc shook his head as he jerked the blade from his shoulder and threw it aside.
“Guess this one wasn’t poisoned. I’ve had worse.”
Berry turned to the Sacred Vessels. “Thank you,” she said, making a low bow.
The speaker for the Childe inclined her head, just a bit, in recognition. “This is our gift from the Sacred Lady in all Her Aspects,” the oracle said. Her eyes seemed to darken, as if she saw shadows they could not. “Darkness is coming. You must be wary, but bold in your attack.”
“Your Majesty.” It was Gellyr. He looked uncomfortable trying to extricate Berry from the circle of seers. “While the crowds are clear, we need to get you to safety.”
“Yes, of course,” Berry said. Although Aidane hadn’t seen him draw his weapons, Jonmarc stood slightly in front of Berry with a sword in each hand. Gellyr led them toward the edge of the stage, and for a moment, Jonmarc looked behind them at the soldiers who had taken command of the wreckage and the aftermath as if he wanted to join them. Then he looked down at Berry and managed a lopsided grin.
“You know how to make an entrance.”
Aidane stepped over the body of the first attacker, the man who had jumped on stage. Only then did she see the hilts of two throwing knives embedded in his chest. Berry moved past her, defying the guards, and bent over the man, removing her knives and cleaning them on the dead man’s shirt before returning them to the folds in her skirt. She straightened.
“Hant will find out who he was. If I know Hant, he’ll have the mechanism that was inside those figures analyzed by daybreak.” The queen looked up at Jonmarc, and the look in her eyes was much older than her years. “Let’s patch you up, and then I want you there when Hant questions any prisoners. I want to know who they are and what they know.” There was an undercurrent of cold, hard rage in the young queen’s voice. “I will not lose this kingdom to the Durim, or to invaders from the north. If the Lady wants a vow from me on my coronation day, then there it is. We’re going to fight this, Jonmarc, with everything we’ve got.”
Aidane shifted her attention to Jonmarc. She saw resolve in his face, and anger, but there was something more, something she might have noticed because of Thaine’s memories, something Berry did not see. He knows, even though Berry may not, that the Lady hears vows like that. And he knows just how costly that vow will be to uphold.
Jonmarc drew a deep breath and looked away. “Let’s get back to the palace. We’ve got a mess to clean up, and a war to plan.”
Early the next morning, a commotion in the courtyard roused Jonmarc from sleep. He looked out his window. Three fine carriages fit for royalty were in the courtyard. Each carriage was pulled by a team of sleek black Eastmark stallions, horses Jonmarc knew to be worth a small fortune each. With the carriages were wagons for servants and a dozen men at arms mounted on war steeds. Though the guards wore no livery, Jonmarc knew their origin from the fit of their armor and the style of their saddles. He swore profusely under his breath as he dressed quickly, belting on his sword as he left his room.
He caught up to Jencin in the castle’s grand entranceway. “Were you expecting company?”
Jencin sighed. “The delegation from Eastmark was due, but I was hoping they wouldn’t arrive until after Haunts.”
“Actually, they’re right on time.” Berry’s voice came from behind them, and Jonmarc turned to see the queen approaching, looking regal in a dress of forest-green Mussa silk. “Father and King Kalcen made several treaties and agreements after the wedding in Margolan last year. We were told that they would send an ambassador, and a gift to seal the alliance. I doubt there was time for word to reach them about Father’s death.”
Jonmarc shrugged. “Let’s just hope everyone remembers that Kalcen repealed the death warrant his father issued on me. Otherwise, there might be a ‘diplomatic incident.’ ” He looked at Jencin. “How many of them are there?”
“An ambassador, two military strategists, two of their Hojun priests, a dozen servants, a contingent of bodyguards-and Prince Gethin.”
“Prince Gethin?” Berry repeated in astonishment.
“Any idea why he came along?” Jonmarc asked.
Jencin shook his head. He seemed more nervous than usual. “No. No. The king didn’t include me in his negotiations with Eastmark. He said he still had some details to work out. The Eastmark delegation has been very polite, but they’ve made it clear their business is with the queen.”
Berry and Jonmarc looked at each other. “Well,” Jonmarc said, “let’s see what brought them all this way.”
Berry composed her face and drew herself up to her full height. Jonmarc saw her expression take on a blankness that made it difficult to guess what she was thinking. Something else he imagined that royals practiced, a necessary survival skill.
“All rise to greet Queen Berwyn of Principality.”
Jencin announced their entrance as he swung open the doors to the great room. Nearly twenty Eastmark visitors rose as the queen entered. Their dark skin made them stand out, even in Principality, which had more than its share of mercs and merchants from throughout the Winter Kingdoms. Eastmark was a proud kingdom, and under the previous king, King Radomar, it had maintained an aloofness from the other kingdoms.
Jonmarc noticed a dignified older man and a sullen but handsome young man at the forefront of the group. Behind them, two Eastmark Hojuns wore the elaborate robes that marked them as shaman-priests. The Hojuns ’ heads were shaved bald, and intricate runes covered their scalps, designs that had been cut into the flesh and left to scar. Complex patterns of tattoos wound down their arms onto their hands. The Hojuns wore carved amulets and bracelets of wood, bone, and gemstones, and disks of copper around the hems of their robes made bell-like sounds as they moved. The rest of the group looked to be functionaries and bureaucrats. Whatever servants or valets the group brought were likely to already be housed with the rest of the palace staff.
The older gentleman, a poised man with close-cut, white hair, stepped forward first. He gave a polite bow that stopped short of real deference. “Your Majesty. We offer condolences on the untimely death of King Staden and our sincere best wishes for a long and prosperous reign, even in these difficult times.”
Berry gave a polite half smile that did not reach her eyes. “Thank you.”
“I am Avencen, and I have been sent by King Kalcen as ambassador to Principality.” He smiled, and it made his finely featured face more open, although his black eyes did not soften. “It’s been long overdue. Before we departed, I welcomed my counterpart to Eastmark. You may rest assured that he is comfortable.”
“Again, our thanks.”
Avencen paused, and Jonmarc thought he looked nervous. “King Staden’s sudden death left important negotiations with Eastmark unfinished. Those negotiations must now be between you and King Kalcen.” He seemed to steel himself and took a deep breath. “It leaves us in an awkward situation.”
Berry frowned. “How so?”
Avencen stepped to the side. “May I present Prince Gethin, son of King Kalcen, third in line for the throne of Eastmark.” Gethin stepped forward and made a stiff bow. To Jonmarc’s eye, he looked to be about nineteen years old. Jonmarc saw Berry’s attention move to the prince. Gethin was a good-looking young man, and Jonmarc guessed that that was not lost on the new queen.
Gethin stood a bit taller than Jonmarc, with a trim, lithe build. His coal-black hair was shoulder length, and straight. Ebony skin indicated that he was from the highest ranks of Eastmark society, and his eyes glinted like obsidian. A medallion in the shape of a silver stawar joined the symbol of the Lady on a leather strap at his throat. A complicated tattoo on the left side of his face curled from brow to chin, and Jonmarc knew it indicated his rank in the succession. He had seen such a mark before when he had served as a soldier in Eastmark, at Chauvrenne.
Gethin was dressed in traveling leathers that were only slightly lighter than his skin. Where Avencen and the others favored the bright orange and yellow colors popular in Eastmark and loose, flowing pants and billow-sleeved shirts, Gethin’s close-fitting leather outfit seemed stark, almost military. Jonmarc noticed that he wore a scabbard and a baldric, though both were empty. From Gethin’s stance and manner, Jonmarc guessed the young man was an accomplished fighter.
Avencen cleared his throat. “King Staden and King Kalcen had agreed to all but one provision of the accord. Staden insisted that Prince Gethin travel here so that he could meet the prince and take the measure of his character.”
The same possibility seemed to dawn on both Jonmarc and Berry simultaneously, as they exchanged wary glances. Berry drew a short breath. “For what purpose?”
“To seal the alliance, King Kalcen has offered something unprecedented: the hand of his son in marriage.” Avencen swallowed. “As Your Majesty surely knows from Eastmark’s history, when the king’s sister, Princess Viata, eloped with Prince Donelan of Isencroft, the Winter Kingdoms nearly came to war. Such an alliance was forbidden until King Kalcen changed the law in his sister’s memory.”
“Yeah, and the betrothal contract that Bricen of Margolan brokered between Donelan’s daughter and his own firstborn son to stop that war almost caused another,” Jonmarc replied. That contract, which bound Kiara of Isencroft to Bricen’s eldest son, Jared, created scandal and complications as Tris Drayke fought to take the throne from his hated half-brother and found himself in love with Kiara.
Avencen shifted uncomfortably. “I believe that history was not lost on King Staden. He had no desire to see his daughter paired to a… to someone like Jared the Usurper. That’s why he insisted that the prince visit. King Kalcen had already had the good fortune of meeting Princess… Queen… Berwyn at Martris Drayke’s wedding. All that was left was winning Staden’s approval to the match.”
Gethin’s face was impassive, but his eyes flashed fire. He doesn’t really want to be here, Jonmarc thought.
“Your deal just became more complicated,” Berry said tersely. “No one asked me what I thought of an arranged marriage.” She looked Gethin over and met his eyes defiantly. “I don’t think anyone asked your prince, either. While I appreciate this historic first and am honored by the gift you offer, I’m queen now, not a princess to be bargained off. You began your negotiations with my father. Now, you’re dealing with me.” Her expression suddenly softened, just enough to give Avencen hope, and Jonmarc knew Berry was using all of her acting skills to navigate the situation.
“On the other hand, it would be unwise to reject such a historic offer out of hand. No doubt Father and King Kalcen had the best interests of both kingdoms at heart and, I would hope, the best interests of their children as well.” She paused. “Your delegation and the prince are welcome to stay at the palace while I give this matter further consideration.
“There is another complication,” Berry continued. “Our intelligence sources lead us to believe that war is imminent between the Winter Kingdoms and an invader from across the Northern Sea. Once war breaks out, you’ll be unable to return to Eastmark for the duration.”
Avencen and Gethin exchanged a glance. “We knew when we left Eastmark about the danger from the north,” Avencen said. “The kings of all the lands have been communicating with each other for some time now about the threat. King Kalcen has already committed our army to the coast.” Avencen paused. “Even knowing the danger, we came. The alliance between our kingdoms is that important.”
Berry looked to Gethin. “Does he always do your talking?”
Gethin glowered at her. “No. While I agree with what he has said, I can speak for myself.” He looked from Avencen to Berry. “The alliance between our kingdoms makes sense. It would protect both our peoples. We’re also the best available marriage partners for each other. Neither of us would consider an agreement with Nargi or Trevath, even if they had partners of suitable age. Isencroft and Margolan have only one heir, an infant. There is honor in this pairing. I am not opposed.”
But you’re not exactly jumping for joy, either, Jonmarc thought.
Berry nodded. “Your reasoning’s sound. The burden of the crown often removes choices others take for granted. On the other hand,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “I would rather rule as a spinster queen than be tied forever to a man I loathe. An unhappy consort has opened many a kingdom to disaster.”
“You dare to impugn the prince’s honor?” Avencen’s eyes widened and his cheeks darkened.
“I believe the queen has merely stated the case for getting to know one another before rushing into things, given the danger of our times,” Jencin said in a placating tone.
Berry inclined her head slightly to indicate agreement. “The coming war must take precedence over everything else, for now,” Berry said, and Jonmarc saw a glint in her eyes that told him Berry was certain that she had won this round. “You’ll be our guests indefinitely. Let’s use that time to get to know each other without the pressure of a deadline. Surely by the time the war is over, we’ll both have made up our minds.”
“That sounds fair,” Gethin said before Avencen could speak. “And it permits both sides to save face, should the alliance not go as our fathers planned.” He gave an unexpected bow, and in one graceful movement, he took Berry’s hand and kissed it. “It means I’ll have to court you and win your favor.” He flashed a rebellious grin. “I prefer to stand or fall on my own merits.”
The corners of Berry’s lips twitched as she concealed a smile. “So do I.”