Blackveil

  Sperren trembled visibly, a sheen of tears on his wrinkled cheeks. He bowed and backed away. To Laren’s mind, it was very much past time. Sperren slept through more meetings than he was awake for, and his sharp mind had dulled considerably in recent years. He’d once been indispensible in his wisdom and advice, but no longer, and with all the challenges Sacoridia faced, Zachary needed the ablest, sharpest minds around him he could muster.

  “I have been made aware of what went on around me while I lay unconscious,” Zachary said. “It saddens me that my own advisors, who knew me best, save one, had no confidence in my judgment, did not wish to take a chance in what I had or had not placed in the Royal Trust as far as a successor is concerned. I thought they knew me better than that. I had planned, in the event of my premature death, that a transition would occur as smoothly as possible. However, my advisors would not wait for the opening of the Royal Trust as law decrees must be done. Instead, they took matters into their own hands and moved up my wedding. A wedding I was not even conscious of.

  “Meanwhile, my one advisor who did exhibit trust in me was dosed and bundled away under house arrest so she could not interfere with the plans of you gentlemen. Yes, I have heard all the reasons why you chose the course you did, listened to each of you by turn, but it all comes down to trust. I cannot have people around me who disrespect my wishes, disregard royal law, and who do not trust me. Master Mender Destarion.”

  The mender stepped forward and swallowed hard. “Your Majesty.”

  “You, like Sperren, have a long history of good service to the realm. In all but this you have attended me faithfully. As you know, such actions as you took should provoke the severest of penalties. Disabling one of my officers, my own messenger, in the course of her duties is enough for the ultimate punishment.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Destarion whispered. “I am aware.”

  “Yet I hesitate,” Zachary continued, “to condemn to death a learned man who has done more good in his service than bad. Therefore, I shall strip you of your status as chief of the menders, and reassign you to the River Unit, where they’ve an outpost in the far north by the headwaters of the Terrygood. They’ve been long without a proper mender, and I expect the settlers and lumbermen in the region will find your skills useful.”

  Destarion looked humbled by the king’s mercy, but frightened as well. He was not a young man and he’d find conditions far more rugged up north than he did in the castle’s civilized, and warm, mending wing.

  “General Harborough.”

  The general clicked his heels together and bowed.

  “You thought to support the conspiracy with the backing of the military. You, one of my best strategists.” Zachary shook his head. “That is a crime that requires the death penalty. However, I shall leave your fate in the hands of a military tribunal. In the meantime, you are stripped of all command, office, and insignia, and shall remain in prison until the tribunal comes to me with its recommendations.”

  Zachary gestured and a pair of guards came to escort the former general away. He hung his head like a whipped dog as he left the throne room.

  “Colin Dovekey.”

  Colin stepped before the dais looking older than ever, his movements stiff.

  “If there is something that makes me more angry than the conspiracy you organized, it’s being forced to sit here and pass judgment on good men. You led them into it.”

  Colin fell to both knees. “I beg of you, Your Majesty, to condemn me to Saverill’s fate.”

  “I will not be so merciful,” Zachary replied.

  Merciful? The histories spoke of a traitor among the Weapons named Saverill who’d undergone weeks of torture for his crimes, only to be chained to the castle roof for the vultures to feed on. He’d still been alive.

  “You are stripped of your authority over the Weapons, and I’m sending you to Breaker Island. You will never leave that island again, and your peers will decide what to do with you. Perhaps they will choose Saverill’s fate for you, or perhaps not, but they will ensure you never have a voice in the affairs of the realm again.”

  A pair of Weapons led Colin from the throne room, followed by a dismissed Sperren and Destarion.

  Laren could not believe they were let off so easily.

  “Speak, Captain,” Zachary said. “You look . . . concerned.”

  “They all could have received the death penalty. Easily. But you did not choose that for them.”

  “It may be that I have. Destarion will find the north perilous, and I expect those judging Harborough and Colin to be very harsh. Condemning them to death all at once—men who were known to be very close to me—would raise questions I’d rather avoid regarding my close call with death and the validity of my marriage, among other things. I also took into consideration that they’re essentially good men who thought they were doing what was best for the realm, and depending on how things go for them, I may yet call on them. You can not simply replace all those years of experience, and I believe we’ve a trying time ahead of us.

  “Now, to my Lady Estora . . .”

  Estora stiffened, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the armrests of her chair. “I understand,” she said, “if you wish to invalidate the marriage contract.”

  He gazed hard at her. “That could be easily done under the circumstances. My lady, you were placed in an untenable position, and it was your cousin who set these events in motion. You were made a victim in this. However, I find it grievous you saw fit to relieve Captain Mapstone of duty and place her under house arrest.”

  “My lord,” Laren said.

  He ignored her. “Laren Mapstone is closer to me than any blood relation has ever been. She practically raised me.”

  “Zachary,” Laren tried again.

  “Furthermore, she is apparently the only one who trusts my judgment.”

  “Moonling!” That caught his attention. “Queen Estora placed me under house arrest for my protection.”

  “Say again?”

  “She knew my opposition to the conspiracy placed me in danger from Lord Spane and the others, so she placed me out of reach. It certainly made them happy I was not out there contradicting them and turning the whole messenger service against them. You know what a disaster that would have been.”

  He nodded slowly. Messengers on the loose carrying the truth to all corners of the realm—it would have caused problems on a grand scale for the conspirators.

  “She also,” Laren continued, “wished to protect me from you.”

  “What?”

  “I offered her my fealty, to help her, but she believed I’d be better off away from the turmoil because we all knew you’d be angry if—when—you recovered, and she did not want you finding fault with my conduct.”

  “I would know better,” he reflected, “or at least I hope I would.”

  “You do have a temper,” Laren said. “Though you don’t show it often.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her, then turned back to Estora, gazing at her with new respect. “I thank you then, for looking out for Laren, who supports me even if I apparently have a temper.”

  Laren smiled.

  “I know how much you value her,” Estora replied. “And I thought perhaps I should need her in the coming years, as well.”

  He nodded gravely. “Though this has not been an auspicious start to our marriage, I am not inclined to invalidate the contract. I can’t imagine the havoc that would produce, and we’ve enough to worry about between Blackveil and Second Empire without adding to it.

  “Also, between confessing to me and updating me on the realm’s affairs, Colin told me you came up with a clever strategy to trap Birch and his forces. With the loss of some very able advisors, it looks like I’ll be making use of your keen thinking.”

  “Karigan is the clever one,” Estora said, gazing at her knees. Laren sensed a subtle intensification in Zachary’s regard. “I just used her example.”

  Laren learned that Estora had been inspired by K
arigan’s actions in the fall when the Rider had rescued her from kidnappers. Karigan had disguised herself as Estora, then created a diversion that led the kidnappers away on a merry chase, allowing the real Estora to escape without harm. It had been a dangerous plan on Karigan’s part, but it had worked.

  Estora modified the plan to fit the situation in the north. Birch used trained soldiers to raid small, underprotected civilian settlements. She ordered the settlers of a few villages to evacuate and replaced them with Sacoridian troops—well trained and well armed—but had the soldiers disguise themselves as civilians in such a way that they appeared to be yet another underprotected settlement ripe for the plucking. Their watchers would alert them to Birch’s movements so they wouldn’t be taken by surprise, and they were instructed to carry on like settlers so all would appear normal to Birch’s scouts.

  A trap meant that Sacoridia’s troops didn’t have to chase Birch’s all over the north, although there was a troop that continued to do so to maintain the illusion so Birch would not suspect anything. Estora was apprehensive, but anticipated positive results.

  While Estora explained the plan, Zachary, who had already heard the details, nodded off where he sat. Laren called over Fastion and Willis to assist the king to his apartments.

  “I will walk on my own,” Zachary protested when they lifted him from his chair. When they set him down, he did leave under his own power, pausing only to kiss Laren’s cheek. She hugged him fiercely, but carefully so as not to hurt his healing wound.

  When he was gone, Laren turned to Estora. “My lady, I wish to thank you for your protection, though I did not know ultimately what might have become of me had things gone poorly for Zachary.”

  Estora smiled. “I know what it is to be a game piece on an Intrigue board, Captain. One has to move carefully. I would not have allowed you to come to any harm.”

  Laren bowed her head. “That is what I hoped, but I could not be sure.”

  “You’ve my full confidence, Captain.”

  “Thank you, and you’ve mine.”

  Estora sighed. “I fear your Riders may not think much of me, however.”

  “If that is the case,” Laren replied, “it shall be remedied.”

  Estora nodded her acknowledgment. “There is one Rider I inadvertently placed in additional danger.”

  Laren then heard about the loyal Coutre forester Lord Spane had insisted join the company Zachary sent into Blackveil.

  “I gave him my blessing,” Estora said, “not knowing what his true purpose was in going.”

  Laren vaguely remembered the man. Very ordinary, rather humble. “Which Rider was his target?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Karigan. Richmont wanted nothing to threaten the marriage contract. If Ard kept Karigan from returning home, it eliminated one of those threats.”

  “You know about . . .”

  “Zachary’s feelings for Karigan? I do. It explains much.”

  Laren nodded, not sure what to say. “I tried to keep them apart.”

  “I do not believe it worked.” Estora said it without irony, but with acceptance. Often state marriages were just that—a legal union to produce heirs and solidify alliances, not unions of love. Estora would know this. “For a moment, I . . . I wished Karigan would not come back. Only for a tiny moment,” she added hastily, and she cast her gaze down at her feet.

  “You love him,” Laren said.

  Estora nodded. “But Karigan is my friend, and I allowed an assassin to follow her into Blackveil.”

  “You did not know,” Laren replied quietly. “And though she is beyond our help, she is resourceful, and the other two Riders in the company will watch out for her.”

  “I pray it is so,” Estora said, and Laren believed her.

  Laren hesitated, then recalling something Ben had said earlier, she asked, “My lady, did you, by any chance read to Zachary while he lay unconscious?”

  “I did. Tales of the Sea Kings. It allowed me, in a way, to speak to him, give him comfort, while taking more dire matters off my mind.”

  It pleased Laren that Estora had cared for Zachary in such an intimate way. “May I make a recommendation?”

  Estora looked curious. “You may.”

  “Go to him. Go to Zachary and spend time with him. You are his wife. He may claim to be busy, but he is always busy, and always will be. You must insinuate yourself into his private world. I think reading to him is a very fine idea.”

  “But he is tired . . .”

  “A perfect time to read to him, when he is too exhausted to do anything else but sleep or listen to your voice.”

  Estora nodded, taking in the advice. “Yes, I shall do this. I shall go to him now.”

  Laren smiled, much pleased. “He is very partial to the poetry of Tervalt. It’s full of manly deeds of slaying dragons, hunting the highlands of Hillander, admiring fair maidens, and going to sea.”

  “Excellent. I shall have Tervalt’s poems brought to me from the library.” Then Estora returned her smile. “Though I myself prefer the nature poetry of Annaliese of Greywood.” Her smile deepened. “I can see, Captain, that you have already become my essential counselor.”

  Laren took her leave of the queen. She would do what she could to encourage a strong union between Zachary and Estora, to bring them closer together. The fate of the realm did not require the two get along, just that they produce heirs. Laren, however, loved Zachary too much to not wish for his happiness and promote it in anyway she could.

  Now that her interview with the queen was over, Laren was confronted with the fact she would no longer be kept under guard and confined to her luxurious prison. The first thing she would do was seek out Connly and Elgin and get updated on the doings of her Riders, then she’d visit her beloved Bluebird.

  However, when she stepped through the throne room doors, she found herself faced with two columns of green clad messengers standing at attention in the corridor. Elgin stood to the side with a grin on his face. Overcome, she could not find her voice at first. Word that she was released had reached them fast.

  “At ease, Riders,” she said finally.

  They broke out in cheers and clapping, and Laren’s cheeks practically hurt from smiling so hard.

  Connly came to her and shook her hand. “Captain, I’ve never been so glad to see you. I gladly relinquish all responsibilities back into your keeping.”

  “Not so fast, Lieutenant,” she said. “Some while ago I received an invitation to visit a friend in Corsa. Do you know it’s been years since last I took leave?”

  Connly’s expression fell. He looked absolutely horrified. “But . . . but, all those meetings, those brain-deadening meetings . . .”

  Laren smiled at him, and left him so she could greet each of her Riders individually. Yes, some leave time would be marvelous and she did not think Zachary would deny her.

  Her smile faltered, however, when she realized that when she reached Corsa, she’d have to explain to her friend, who happened to be a certain merchant, why his daughter had been sent into Blackveil. He would not, she thought, ever forgive her for that, especially if Karigan did not return.

  THE DRAGONS

  Amberhill stood in the crow’s nest, exulting in the wind that streamed through his hair and filled the sails into billowing clouds beneath his feet. He felt he walked in the sky. The horizon tilted around him as the Ice Lady plowed through the waves of the Northern Sea, the green cluster of islands that was his goal discernible in the distance.

  In Midhaven, he and Yap had disembarked from Ullem Queen to take passage on Ice Lady, a sealing vessel headed for the arctic ice, a course that took them near the archipelago. They’d not lingered on land for long before they found Ice Lady, but Amberhill had taken what little time they had to climb the Seamount Lady Estora had once so lovingly described, and he found the vistas not wanting. It seemed years, and worlds away, that day he’d sat with her and Zachary talking of Coutre Province and his plans to take a
voyage.

  His initial seasickness after leaving Corsa Harbor, too, was a dim memory, for he’d flourished at sea, his cheeks burnished bronze with the sun, and he felt alive in the salt air as he’d only felt when inviting danger as the Raven Mask. He’d taken to climbing to the crow’s nest and along the yardarms to maintain his trim and challenge his balance. His training as the Raven Mask made him as nimble as any sailor, if not more so. Captain Irvine had invited him to join the crew of Ullem Queen, and he’d only been half-jesting.

  Amberhill also exercised with his rapier, repeating lessons once drilled into him by Morry. Yap was pulled into these sessions as an awkward sparring mate, using a practice sword carved for the purpose by the ship’s carpenter, and a lid of a pot as a buckler. The crew was much amused.

  As for Yap, he was permitted to assist the crew, but Amberhill made sure he did not revert to his pirate ways, ordering him to maintain daily ablutions and to launder his clothes as frequently as he did Amberhill’s. The sealing vessel was far from luxurious, but Amberhill had personal standards that must be maintained.

  When gray-blue clouds intruded on the horizon and the sails slapped fitfully against line and timber, Amberhill climbed down from his perch and sought out Captain Malvern on the bridge. She gazed through her spyglass to the north, then turned east toward the building clouds. The captain was a small woman, but no less imposing for it. She kept her dark hair, peppered with gray, shorn short, and she looked at him with eyes that seemed creased in a perpetual squint from too many years of sun. She was another of those uncanny women, like Beryl Spencer, or the G’ladheon woman, that made him uneasy. Like the others of this ilk, she did not fall for his charms. Not that he’d tried to charm her, but he was well-aware of his own natural attributes, which were, he thought with a smile, enough to attract women like ants to spilled sugar.