Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  “I shouldn’t have come,” Jengo said. “I’m endangering you all by being with you.”

  Caireen, bushy hair spilling out of her hood, smiled. “They cart you off, they’ll have to cart me off too. My skin’s almost as dark as yours.”

  “Well, we’ll both have to register later,” Jengo said.

  “I know.”

  “Don’t worry, they won’t do anything against eight warlocks,” Haylee threw in. “We’re like a small army.”

  Augum hoped she was right. There were few Canterran troops thus far and even fewer overseers. But there was a Path Disciple on nearly every major corner with a bell in hand shouting the new rules, for most people could not read. Men, women and children passed them with bowed heads. To be safe, so did everyone in Augum’s group. No one wanted trouble. None of the women were alone, and on the opposite side of the street, Canterran military guards herded prisoners.

  “Look at that,” Augum said. “Only the second day of occupation and they’re already showing off what happens if you step out of line.”

  The prisoners’ ankles were manacled and chained to the person ahead of them. They walked in two groups, one composed entirely of men, the other of women, and although ragged blankets draped their shoulders, every single one shivered. Some were splattered with mud as if they’d been in a pig pen. They soon disappeared around a corner, leaving behind a pall.

  Augum shook his head, amazed at how fast it was all changing, with an unforeseeable outcome—and yet normal life somehow continued. A smith’s hammer clanged amidst the laughter of oblivious children playing in the snow. A dog barked incessantly. The air smelled of the markets which woke early and closed late—baked pies, fish, boiling broth, spices, all mixed with the faint but pungent stench of a tannery. That normality contrasted with the tension in Augum’s chest, with what he had just witnessed. There was so much to worry about, so much to fear, and yet life moved on as best it could. He wondered how long it would last. He wondered when the panic would set in.

  He subconsciously reached for Leera’s hand, only to have it gently slapped away.

  “Path, remember?”

  “Oh. Right.”

  They walked in four pairs, ever watchful of who was behind them, who noticed them, and especially if anyone followed. Sure enough, Augum, used to the way they moved, saw a shadowy figure tailing them in an alley parallel to the street, glimpsing him now and then in the depths of alleys. But this time, he would not keep his friends in the dark.

  “Don’t stop or look, but there’s an assassin in the alley beside us,” he murmured. But his warning had little effect, for his friends peeked when they could. And that of course scared the assassin off as he did not show up in the next alley.

  “We could run after him,” Leera said. “Get into a good arcane scrap.”

  “He’d just teleport off,” Augum replied. “They prefer one-on-one combat.”

  “How do they keep finding you?” Isaac asked.

  Augum shrugged. “Good at their job, I guess. Hey, by the way, can I have a word?”

  “Are you just going to shrug off the fact that an assassin was stalking you?” Haylee asked.

  Augum did just that—shrugged. “What else am I to do?”

  “I don’t know, talk about it? Report it to the authorities?”

  “Maybe later.” He was more than used to threats on his life, not only from growing up around bullies, but from the Legion War, and now from these assassins constantly tailing him. It was his normal. “Anyway, switch with me, Cai.” He took her place.

  While the others chatted in low voices and kept watch, Augum leaned over to Isaac. “Uh, know any games the guys can play with the girls at Haylee’s womanhood ceremony? Something inclusive, so Ordinaries can play too.”

  “Plenty. How raunchy a game were you thinking? There’s the always classic Spin the Bottle, Never Have I Ever, Makeout Fakeout, Drink and Strip, Drink and Drop, Triple Drink and—”

  “They want something a little less … tawdry.”

  “Oh. You mean wholesome.” Isaac’s face sagged with disappointment.

  “Guess so.”

  “Boring, in other words.” Isaac ruffled his red hair in thought. “Let’s see here, there’s Dice, Blindman’s Bluff, Musical Chairs—”

  “Too … juvenile. What else?”

  Isaac thought about it some more. “I got it. All the kids were playing it before the war. It’s a new game from Abrandia that what’s-her-face taught me …”

  “Sasha?”

  “Yeah, Sasha Luganov, from last term. Too bad she went back home, she was fun to wrestle with, though wow was she harsh. Anyway, the game’s called Krokta ba Trotka. I think I’m saying that right—you know how jarring their language is. Like talking with a mouthful of marbles.”

  “Does the name have a translation?”

  “You bet. Truth or Dare,” and Isaac explained the rules.

  Augum smiled roguishly. “That’ll do.” Could lead to a bit of embarrassment, but it fit the bill. Bold, fun, and definitely not a game a governess would like.

  “Think you’ll be ready to be Master of Ceremonies, what with everything that’s been going on?” Isaac pressed.

  “I’ll be ready.” He had been mentally preparing between moments, envisioning and planning what he’d say. “I can walk and talk and think at the same time.”

  “Must be that famous Arinthian skill everyone keeps gushing on about.”

  Augum snorted a laugh. “Oh, and what’s Haylee’s middle name again?”

  Isaac’s face scrunched with a frown. “Esmeralda-Ray, I think. Yeah, Esmeralda-Ray. Classic upper-crust highborn.”

  “Thanks.” He’d need it for the ceremony.

  Isaac watched Caireen saunter ahead of them, chatting with the girls. “Asked her out, by the way. She said yes. That Tiberran accent of hers is divine. And she’s got this adorable way of blinking, you know. I can’t describe it. Makes me stupid.”

  “Huh. Never noticed. And congratulations.” People noticed weird stuff. But then only he noticed how Leera crinkled her nose endearingly, and he couldn’t help but smile.

  “She’s lonely, you know. Says Solia is her home, but I think she misses Tiberra. Misses the friendships. Told me it’s more open there, whatever that means—maybe that Tiberran culture is vibrant and full of life and more honest. She misses talking in her language too.” Isaac flipped his hand whimsically. “I think it’d be fun to visit with her someday. Could you imagine?”

  “You two gallivanting about in Dramask?” Augum envisioned Isaac trying the local fare and asking loads of inappropriate questions in Tiberra’s capital city. “I think you’d have a blast.”

  The quietly chatty but alert group soon arrived at the Black Bank. It was an old building in the shape of a small castle, complete with sentry towers manned by the highest-degree warlocks available on the private market. And then there were the proprietary enchantments safeguarding the vaults, many of which were ancient off-the-books spells only special bank warlocks knew how to cast. That’s why no one had ever robbed the Black Bank—it could afford powerful protection. Not to mention the institution had spread its fingers into every kingdom, serving as the backbone of Sithesian trade amongst the seven great kingdoms. Every king and noble dealt with the Black Bank, and was reliant upon it for loans or investments. No army marched without its blessing. No king or kingdom lasted without its support, making Augum wonder if it had played a part in the Canterran invasion.

  Augum and Bridget, after making a group decision to avoid suspicion, left the others in the lobby and approached an iron-caged teller, making sure to drop their hoods. Although no Path Disciples were present, four overseers milled about in a group, drinking steaming Solian pine tea and complaining about its bitterness. Their hoods were down, revealing they were all middle-aged men. One of them eyed Augum, who turned away, hoping the overseer had not recognized him.

  “May I help you, young man and young lady?” asked a forty-so
mething teller dressed in a black-and-gold belted jerkin. He was gray-haired and had laugh crinkles at the corners of his eyes, one of which strayed from the other.

  Augum withdrew the banking document bundle from his satchel and placed it on the mahogany sill. “I’m here to withdraw all my funds.”

  The man’s lips pressed into a thin line upon seeing the bundle. He sighed and drew it under the bars, taking his sweet time unwrapping it.

  Augum stole a glance at the overseers. One of them was idly watching him, but the others were absorbed in quiet conversation. He returned his attention to the teller, who was reading the documents and glancing at Augum’s face in a way he well recognized—it was a look of disbelief and wonder, but also hesitation, as if the man expected an imposter.

  “Are you really the Augum Stone?” the teller whispered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you must be Lady Bridget Burns.”

  Bridget inclined her head. “Yes, sir.”

  The man kissed the tips of his fingers and raised them skyward, murmuring, “You have blessed me with the presence of young divinity. Three times I thee thank, Unnameables. I thank you, I thank you, I thank you for this gift.” Then he glanced at the overseers and hid the parcel. “Lord Stone, Lady Burns, it is a great honor. But I have grave news, I am afraid. Your, uh …”

  “Yes, what is it?” Augum asked in alarm.

  “Your funds … they have been frozen in preparation for seizure.”

  Augum and Bridget exchanged a horrified look.

  “It happened yesterday. By a Canterran countess, a Von Edgeworth, I believe. It made quite the stir among the senior staff—”

  Augum grabbed the sill, struggling to breathe. “No, that can’t be allowed. That’s our money, sir. We need that money for the kingdom …”

  Bridget brought her hands together. “Please, you must help us. We beg you.”

  The man gaped at them in shock. His fingers shook as he glanced at the Canterrans once more, two of whom were watching them now.

  The teller dropped his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “I could hang for what I am about to tell you, but the Canterrans are fleecing the kingdom. They are using The Path as a vehicle to siphon money from everyone except the highest tier of nobility. They want us broke and meek as lambs. And I do not know why. Some of us believe they are building a monstrous army. My daughter … I fear for her safety. I know you are young, but you are the Heroes of the Resistance. Crafters of the impossible. Of the improbable. The Unnameables have gifted you with the ability to change history. Please tell me you are going to do something.”

  Augum made sure he was gentle but firm. “We could do something if you released that money, sir.” And he let that thought hang while exchanging another look with Bridget. So it was true, they were after money. And Augum agreed with the man—it was most likely to support and continue to build their already massive army.

  “I will lose my job,” the man mumbled, staring off at nothing. “Perhaps much more …”

  “Sir …” Bridget spoke up. “We all sacrifice for our unfortunate kingdom. It is important, sir. Critically important.”

  The man glanced between them, though with the lazy eye, it was tough to figure out exactly where he was looking. “Bless you,” the man whispered. “Solian patriots to the last. And so young. You are what, seventeen?”

  “Almost,” Augum replied, giving a kind smile.

  “Then man and woman grown, but still young. Yes, young indeed.”

  “It would mean a lot to us and to the kingdom,” Augum pressed. “I assure you we won’t use that money irresponsibly.”

  The man wrung his hands. “Please excuse me,” he said, and stepped away, taking the bundle with him.

  Bridget scratched her pert nose as she murmured, “Don’t look now, but all four overseers are watching us.”

  Augum didn’t glance over, but his face heated up, for he could feel them staring.

  The wait quickly turned excruciating. Was the man speaking to a superior? Was he informing the authorities? What was going on? Why was he taking so long?

  “We should casually converse so we don’t look so suspicious,” Bridget whispered.

  “Right. Uh …” But then he remembered he did have something to discuss with her. “Sometimes I look over and see you staring off at nothing,” he began awkwardly. “I don’t mean to pry, but does it have anything to do with Brandon?”

  Bridget stared at him. He was sure she was going to tell him it wasn’t any of his business. Instead, she said, “Yes. Aug, I …” She slowly shook her head and dropped her gaze. “I have dark thoughts. And … and I’m ashamed of them.”

  Augum saw a pool of blood creeping toward his shoes in the pristine snow. “I know what that feels like.”

  “I’ve realized something …” Bridget absently clutched her chest over her heart. “I’ve realized no one will ever love me.”

  “Oh, Bridge, that’s an awful thing to say. And you know what? It’s completely untrue.”

  “I mean, I’m loved as a friend, but I’ll never have what you and Leera have. I’ll never have that kind of love. I’m destined to become a wretched old humorless spinster know-it-all.”

  “Bridge, you’re being ridiculous. Seriously. Ridiculous.” He smiled, trying to coax a smile out of her.

  She forced a smile before her gaze turned distant. “I’ve always wanted kids, you know. A whole flock of them. But I’ll be a good teacher. I’ll have a small schoolhouse in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe by the castle if we ever get it back. That’ll be my flock. A schoolyard of kids. A quaint little hut with a little chicken pen. Maybe some geese. A dog.” She nodded, throwing in a poorly executed country twang. “A big ol’ bushy dog.”

  Augum placed his hands on her shoulders. “Bridget Burns, you forget who you are.”

  She glanced up at him with watery hazel eyes. “And that is …?”

  “A strong, capable woman. A future matriarch of a great family. The mistress of her own destiny.”

  The two friends stared at each other. Augum saw everything they had gone through in the war. He saw her wasting away in a deep cave as the three of them starved. He saw her fearlessly cross an invisible bridge, daring death. He saw her become an old woman before his eyes, the side effect of an ancient spell. He saw her facing down the Lord of the Legion. He wondered if she saw the same things.

  “Someone will love you—even if I have to force them.”

  This made her burst with a cry-snort, and she gently drew him into a hug, whispering, “Thank you, my friend, my brother. Thank you …”

  “You’ll find what we have, I promise, Sister-in-war,” Augum whispered back. “And you’ll be a great wife and a great mother and a great teacher.”

  They parted, Bridget sniffing.

  “As great as Mrs. Stone. Heck, you’re already a great warlock,” he said, lightly punching her arm.

  This time, her smile was genuine. “And Leera was right about you. Part of your soul is a poet.”

  “Don’t let her hear you say you think she was right about something—her head would explode. Besides, she hates poetry. And to be honest, I do too.” He shrugged. “Mostly.” There was the odd phrase, like the one Laudine had taught him in the war. Quarrel, quarrel for the light. Know naught but darkness, should you lose the fight. His friends rubbed off on him in wonderful little ways like that.

  Augum stole another peek and saw that the four Canterran overseers had returned to their conversation. He locked eyes with Bridget and the pair breathed a mutual sigh of relief.

  At last, the teller returned. He placed Augum’s parchment bundle back on the sill and closed his eyes, murmuring, “May the Unnameables forgive me,” before gently placing a burlap sack beside the bundle. “Best put it away right quick now, Lord Stone.”

  Augum wasted no time obscuring the overseers’ view with his back while carefully stuffing the sack of coins in his satchel. But it was enormously heavy and did not fit, so
he was forced to hastily split it with Bridget.

  “Lord Arinthian Stone and Lady Bridget Burns, Heroes of the Resistance,” the man whispered, misty-eyed. “I shall tell this tale to my daughter, and to the end of my days. I shall tell it with pride.” He nodded at a piece of parchment before him. “Please sign here declaring you understand that you have withdrawn the entire sum of seventeen hundred fifty-three crowns, seven spines and four castles from your account, much of which has been co-signed as a low-interest loan for the running of your castle as per a—” He glanced at a ledger book. “—Prince Eric Southguard, Heir to Southguard and Son of King Rupert Southguard.” He winked. “Pays to have friends in high places. Young Prince Southguard can be quite persuasive, and he assured the Black Bank you would pay back the loan if you were given time to work your land.” He closed the ledger. “But be warned, if you miss three payments, the bank will consider you delinquent.” He leaned closer. “And you do not want that, Lord Stone, believe me. Even kings fear the bank.”

  “I understand, sir. I will pay back the bank as soon as possible. Whatever it takes.”

  “Praise goodness. Please sign here.”

  Augum took a well-used quill in hand, dipped it in an old glass inkbottle and signed his name. The man retrieved the signed document and sprinkled drying sand onto it. Then he held it as if it were sacred. “This is either my salvation as a man for all the sins of my life … or my death warrant.”

  Augum swallowed. “Sir, I … we thank you.” To add meaning and strength to his simple words, he inclined his head for a measure of time. To his surprise, Bridget did the same.

  The man stood from his chair and in a solemn tone proclaimed, “Goodbye, Prince Augum Arinthian Stone. Goodbye, Princess Bridget Burns. For though the king has withdrawn your titles, Prince and Princess you will always remain to those of us who know what you have done for this beaten old kingdom. Those of us who never believed the lies in the heralds. Those of us who know what sort of great teacher Anna Atticus Stone was.” And to emphasize his point, the man flashed nine rings of fire around his left forearm. “May the Unnameables grant you good fortune and watch over you in your sacred quest. Go in blessed peace.”