Gail Martin - The Sworn

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?”