The Blackest Heart

by Brian Lee Durfee

  Tala felt immediately stifled by the place. There were too many people. Her heavy velvet dress didn’t help. She wanted to seek the balcony and breathe in the fresh air. Her mind had been on Squireck all day, heart in her throat. She’d been thinking of Lawri, too, worrying. Thinking of the cruel things Seita had said about the Ember Gathering, growing angrier by the moment. Yes, the entire castle is naught but a stuffy, inescapable prison full of confusion and pain.

  Lawri Le Graven entered the chamber from one of the side doors. She wore a peach-colored gown, white lace at the neckline. Seita was with her in a slim black dress. Tala wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk to her cousin or the Vallè again tonight at all.

  Tala made her way in the opposite direction through the stuffy room toward Lawri’s mother, Mona Le Graven. Mona stood near Jondralyn and young Ansel. Tala’s sister was dressed in full Silver Guard armor, shined and polished, eye patch covering her eye, long scar from Gault Aulbrek’s blade trailing angrily across her face. Ansel clung to her armored leg.

  King Jovan sat just behind Mona and Jondralyn at the long table on the raised dais next to the always shrouded Silver Throne. Jovan wore black pants and a black tunic trimmed with silver secured at the waist with a belt of shiny silver looplets. The royal crown rested upon his head.

  “Attention!” There was an official-sounding shout from a Dayknight just outside Sunbird Hall’s open entry doors. Every royal who was sitting stood, including the king.

  Glade Chaparral’s entrance into the hall was met with the rolling of the orchestra’s drums, heavy and deep, followed by the tremendous, gut-punching gong of the orchestra’s centerpiece, a large iron bell. Glade was dressed in full Dayknight black-lacquered armor, a black war helm in the crook of his arm, as were the three men marching just behind him with the confidence of newly knighted Dayknights: Tolz, Alain, and Boppard. To most in Sunbird Hall, they looked like the most dashing heroic men in all Amadon.

  But Tala was not fooled by their looks, for she knew them all to be naught but thugs, wretches, and utter lackwits in every way. In days past, Tala herself had felt that mysterious cloud of heavenly air engulf her every time those bold eyes of Glade’s met hers. But when the four young Dayknights stepped up before the king, a smug smile was on Glade’s face, and Tala could do naught but shudder in revulsion.

  Grand Vicar Denarius and the Quorum of Five Archbishops of Amadon entered the chamber next, the orchestra swelling with a sweeping sound.

  The four new Dayknights turned to face the vicar as Denarius beckoned for silence from the orchestra. When the music died, Denarius bowed to Jovan, then made a sweeping motion with his hand, including all four Dayknights in the gesture. “If it please your Excellency, may I present Ser Glade Chaparral of Rivermeade, Ser Tolz Trento of Avlonia, Ser Alain Gratzer of Knightliegh, and Ser Boppard Stockach of Reinhold. Gul Kana’s newest Dayknights. Blessed and knighted by my hand in the Hall of the Dayknights earlier today as you bade me do. From this moment henceforth, all four are now beholden to Laijon and the Silver Throne.”

  Tala detected a few disapproving looks among some of the older Silver Guard present and even a few of the Dayknights. Mutters and low murmurs spread throughout the hall. At the unfavorable reaction of the crowd, Glade grew abruptly full of fidgety impatience. Tala felt a hollow sort of melancholy, for she understood the unfairness of what the king and vicar had done in knighting these four so early. Most had come here expecting to mourn the death of Squireck Van Hester, not celebrate the promotion of four undeserving Silver Guard. The murmurs continued to grow around her.

  “Hush!” Jovan shouted, sweeping the assemblage with an unforgiving glare, the timbre of his voice strong and commanding. “As His Grace clearly stated, he merely did as I bade him do!” His gaze darkened. “These four valiant young men brought the ones responsible for the murder of Ser Sterling Prentiss to justice. ’Twas these four who rooted out the foul assassins who sought my own death. Never before have any four knights done so much for the Silver Throne. They have earned their place as Dayknights!”

  The king’s eyes narrowed to calculating slits. “And if any of you take issue with their advancement, feel free to work it out with me in the arena!” His voice had almost turned into a low growl as he unsheathed the blue sword, Sky Reaver, with a hiss of leather on steel. “Lest any of you forget, I have seen war! I have fought in battles! I fought and bled at my father’s side in Wyn Darrè!” He stabbed the sword into the table before him, plates, mugs, and crockery jumping. “With Aeros Raijael’s sword I shall take the head of the next man who utters his disagreement!”

  A stunned silence followed his words. Every face in the crowd looked upon the king with as dignified and grave deference as they could.

  A desperate wretchedness filled Tala’s heart, for she knew Jovan walked a razor’s edge. Her brother was going against custom in granting Dayknight status to one so young as Glade, denying the grandest of knightly accolades to those more seasoned and worthy, those who had served and worked their entire lives for such honor.

  And again, Tala felt as if it were all her fault, as if it had all come about through the Bloodwood’s machinations, all through her own meddling in the affairs of the realm. Indeed, an unspeakable desperate wretchedness filled her. I’m so alone! No mother. No father. A brother and sister so close yet so far removed from me, I’ll never again reach them. A suddenness of terror unlike anything she had ever before felt seemed to assault her entire body. The sad thing is, the Bloodwood’s games have been my only company, my only sustenance. The Bloodwood’s machinations were nothing more than a weak thread to sew shut the wounds her parents’ absence left, a salve for the pain of her fractured family and heart.

  Jovan wrenched the blue sword from the table, stabbing it back home into the sheath at his belt with authority. “My four new Dayknights are heretofore charged with hunting down the criminals, Lindholf Le Graven, Gault Aulbrek, and the wench Delia, and whatever traitor to the Silver Throne helped the three escape the hangman’s noose. Glade Chaparral and his fellow knights have the full backing of the Silver Throne and will be given full authority and access to every quarter of Amadon, full authority to investigate, interrogate, and execute anyone involved in this treachery.”

  Jovan glared down at Mona Le Graven then, as if her son’s many alleged crimes against the Silver Throne were all her doing. He smiled wickedly then, knowing that he had just thrown Glade’s advancement in her face. Then he yelled, “Now let us celebrate the knighting of these four Dayknights with food and wine and dance!”

  The fickle crowd’s mood instantly changed, sensing a grand party was about to begin. The orchestra again swelled to life, and trays of food were carried in.

  Her brother had not even mentioned the death of Squireck in the arena yesterday. How can the royals so callously have forgotten him so soon? Tala asked herself, disgusted. Can a man truly be a hero one day, nothing the next? The last few years of Squireck’s life had been unconventional and heartbreaking. Tala wished for at least just a candle to light in his memory, or better yet, a wreath of white heather to place upon her own head. Swiping the tears from her eyes, she found Denarius was staring right at her, leering with a gross lust, his gaze sliding over her body from head to toe and then back again, lingering on her lips, then her eyes.

  Tala whirled in disgust, only to find Lawri standing behind her. Seita, too. Seita’s father, Val-Korin, approached. The Val Vallè ambassador wore a long black robe, the red brass pendant of his rank hung casually about his neck from a slender gem-studded silver chain. “A shame about your arm,” he said to Lawri upon arrival. “The loss of a limb is tragic indeed, more so to one so young and of such divine health. ’Tis a shame Seita did not return to court earlier. Perhaps she could have helped stave off the horror of you losing that arm.”

  Lawri looked at the Vallè princess. “Whatever could Seita have done?”

  “Well,” Val-Korin said, also looking at his daughter. “I suppose we shall ne
ver know. I have not had much of a chance to speak with my daughter since her return.” Seita’s face was impassive. Val-Korin continued, “But before she went east with Val-Draekin, my daughter mentioned that she’d a dreamed a dream, and in that dream you, young Lawri, were minus one arm. I find that curious.”

  “ ’Tis true.” Seita bowed to Tala’s cousin. “I had just such a dream.”

  Lawri’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “Really?”

  “I only blame myself,” Val-Korin continued. “I should have paid more attention to my daughter and perhaps Val-Gianni could have gotten you the right medicines for your infection sooner. I’ve forgotten how awfully accurate Seita’s dreams can be.”

  Seita added, “I also dreamed you had green eyes, but everyone knows both you and Lindholf have the most beautiful of dark eyes. Like ink they are.”

  Tala’s own vision swam as she tried to focus on her flaxen-haired cousin. They play with you, Lawri. The Vallè play with us all!

  “I’ve similar dreams as Seita,” Lawri mumbled, her dark Le Graven eyes on the bandaged stump of her arm. “Dreams that my eyes have turned to green gemstones.”

  Val-Korin’s gaze narrowed as he seemed to study her. “Look at me, girl.”

  Lawri looked up.

  “Well,” Val-Korin said. “I must say, you and my daughter are right, for you’ve the most alluring green flecks dancing in your eyes, Lawri Le Graven. Just like gemstones, most alluring and mysterious indeed.”

  †  †  †  †  †

  The newly made Dayknights—Glade, Tolz, Alain, and Boppard—were the center of attention in the midst of Sunbird Hall, smoke and food and music and dancing aswirl around them. But Tala had turned her back to the festivities hours ago. Jovan and Jondralyn sat at one end of the king’s table. Tala sat at the other end of the long table with Ansel, the ruins of their dinner spread before them, the stone dais underfoot strewn with thick white rugs, soft to her bare feet. She had kicked her shoes off earlier.

  “I’ve begged aid from every corner of Gul Kana.” Jovan’s tone was brusque, making scant effort to conceal his impatience. “Fighters and warriors have flooded into Amadon from afar. Leif Chaparral should have already arrived in Lord’s Point. The defense of our borders against Aeros Raijael is the priority of my armies, not Hragna’Ar oghuls in the north.”

  Jondralyn sat back, Silver Guard armor creaking against the chair, a look of exasperation dropping over her. “But rumors grow in the north that entire towns are being overrun by oghuls. Cities as large as Tevlydog and Wroclaw are coming under threat.”

  “The threat from Sør Sevier is a thousand times greater. And that is where I shall send my resources, not some piddly outposts in the north.”

  “I warned you moons ago that Hragna’Ar was getting out of control. Why don’t you send Glade Chaparral north with a legion of knights to stave off the problem? It’s a fool’s errand sending him off hunting Gault and Lindholf and the barmaid. Those three are long gone. Send me north if you must.”

  “Ha.” Jovan snorted. “I doubt I’ll send you anywhere ever again.” Then a bored, almost lazy smile spread over his countenance. He didn’t even look up from the table, almost as if he found it tedious to meet Jondralyn’s eyes. “But I imagine, if Squireck still lived, I could send him north to fight oghuls for you, and all would be well.”

  Jondralyn fell silent at her brother’s cruel derision. To Tala, the whole tenor of the discussion was now growing unfavorable to say the least. And it was clear Jovan was thoroughly bored with the conversation, which was never a good sign. He glanced back at the row of Dayknights standing at attention behind him, their backs to the velvet-draped wall, arms folded over black breastplates and mail, longswords in silver-studded baldrics slung over their silver surcoats.

  Then he finally looked at Jondralyn. “I will not have you question the decisions of the Silver Throne any further. And that is an order.”

  Jondralyn straightened in her chair, gathering courage. “I merely wished to beg favor of you—”

  “Enough!” Jovan slapped the table, his voice strident. “Enough begging of favor already! You’ve completely ruined my dinner with your ceaseless prattle about all the numerous things you think I should be doing better! There is nothing more pathetic than a woman trying to gain the king’s favor—”

  “I seldom seek the king’s favor,” Jondralyn sneered. “I only try and offer counsel as any good sister would offer her brother. It’s all I’ve ever done since father died. I thought I had gained some trust in your eyes. ’Twas you who knighted me, lest you forget. As one of your knights, what would you rather have me do?”

  “What would I rather have you do?” Jovan, both elbows planted on the table before him, pointed at her sharply, silver bracelets around his wrist ajingle. “I desire you renounce your vows as a Silver Guard and again become agreeable and genteel and mannerly and such, you know, as any good sister would for her brother the king.”

  Jondralyn said nothing in retort, her face red.

  Her silence seemed to placate him as he continued more softly, “See. I daresay you know me to be quite amiable when you merely do my bidding and shut the fuck up.”

  Nobody spoke for a moment after that.

  “They are fighting,” Ansel said, concerned little eyes focused on his older siblings at the end of the table. “They fight and argue and be cross with each other.”

  “Yes,” Tala said, grabbing Ansel by the arm and standing him up. “Let us go, we needn’t listen to them bicker.”

  Jovan abruptly stood, pointing at Tala. “Don’t think this doesn’t concern you either.” Tala blanched as he made his way toward her. Seems we are both always condemned in his eyes, Jondralyn and me, Jovan’s two sisters, his chattel. Every bit of her body and soul shrank as he approached, towering over her. She was suddenly deeply upset by the sheer unease he inspired in her.

  “You are the most vexing of all, Tala,” he grumbled. “A secret keeper. Slinking about like a thief in the night. You’ve become naught but a sullen, sneaky, cumbersome burden to the Silver Throne.”

  She scarcely dared speak. Sneaky, yes, she could agree to that. But cumbersome? That she vexed him so thrilled her somewhat. A defiant flame of pride sparked in her chest. “So what? Perhaps I like to sneak.”

  His face reddened.

  “Leave her be,” Jondralyn pleaded. “Don’t drag Tala into this.”

  “Yes, you two sisters of mine are sneaky,” Jovan said, eyes bouncing between Tala and Jondralyn. “But I fancy I am trickier than you both. Your constant stubbornness and betrayals avail you nothing, the both of you.”

  “We only want what is best for our family and kingdom,” Jondralyn said.

  “No!” came Jovan’s swift retort. “I don’t believe any of that. You are still my sisters, are you not? It is your duty to make yourself humble and pleasant before me. Your chances to prove your value to the Silver Throne are becoming few. And once those chances run out . . .” Jovan left the threat hanging as he whirled and strode from Sunbird Hall, the line of Dayknights marching at his heels.

  A moment passed.

  Jondralyn stood and moved down the length of the table, grasping Tala by the forearm. “Heed me now, Tala. The castle may soon become too dangerous for either one of us. We must think of what alternatives are left. It is clear, our only worth to our brother is what marriage value we bring to the Silver Throne. Whatever plans he has, though advantageous to him, shall be less than promising for either of us. One day”—her voice dropped to almost less than a whisper as her eyes roamed the hall—“I fear we must conspire to either kill him or flee.”

  * * *

  When the innocent are found guilty, how art thou cut to the ground. One of Laijon’s anointed can always pay penance and satisfy the law. But death of the anointed is the price.

  —THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  AVA SHAY

  2N
D DAY OF THE FIRE MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON

  MONT SAINT ONLY, ADIN WYTE

  As Ava Shay hiked the cobbled footpath with Mancellor Allen, Enna Spades, and the Spider, she took in the spectacular vista. The cloistered trail that wound up the side of the Mont to the fortress above was lined with garlanded trellises of arched wood resting upon slim columns of stone, weeds and thorny briar growing about their base. It was also lined with apple trees that swayed gently in the wind, their white summer blossoms pungent. Through the vaulted arches of the cloister’s outer wall, she had a grand view of the stable and cathedral two hundred feet below and the half-destroyed city of Saint Only even farther down the mountainside.

  Several hundred of Aeros’ warships were anchored in the western bay. The Adin Wyte peninsula stretched green and hazy to the north beyond the city. The canvas tents of two hundred thousand Sør Sevier soldiers peppered the peninsula’s landscape, little white specks receding into the distance as far as the eyes could see, every fighter down there awaiting the siege of Lord’s Point that was soon to come.

  The lofty castle of gray stone, jagged battlements, and narrow towers rose up magnificently before Ava. The beacon atop the tallest tower burned bright. It was the grandest structure she had ever seen, a marvel that swept her breath away. It was called the Fortress of Saint Only. And for good or ill, it was her new home.

  Upon their arrival days ago, Aeros had gifted her with many fine gowns, insisting she wear them at all times, as she did now, a pale green affair that clung to her bodice and hung to her feet. Beside her, Enna Spades wore her traditional Knight Archaic blue cloak and armor. Her fire-red hair almost glowed in sunlight. Mancellor Allen wore the livery of a Knight of the Blue Sword, and Spiderwood wore his black leathers.

  Mancellor led the group up the Mont and under the spiked portcullis of the outer gate and into a cramped warren consisting of many squalid alleys and winding staircases. Ava’s gown billowed dust at her feet. Up they ascended through narrow streets toward Bruce Hall, the bulky structure that dominated the grand fortress, Ava realized this would only be her second time inside the hall since Aeros’ arrival in Adin Wyte.