The Twelve Kingdoms

by Jeffe Kennedy

  Though in the cold light of day, it seemed clear that had been a ruse to cover his spying. What had he hoped to learn by following me?

  “I know from traveling with you that you like to have hot tea before you work out with your Hawks,” she returned mildly. “It’s no trouble, as I was getting my own, too.”

  “After our morning warm-up, I’ll see if I can’t look into getting at the books before formal court convenes. See me there if you haven’t heard from me.”

  Deciding I hadn’t been wearing these clothes all that long, certainly not the kind of wear my traveling leathers and fighting gear had seen, I gulped the tea and headed directly to the practice yard. By cutting through the arcade and the attached courtyard—banishing the uneasy body memory of the mercenary’s strong arms holding me against him—I managed to avoid running into anyone on the way.

  Several of the Hawks were already running warm-ups. Jepp ran the twelve sword forms, well into the third. The mercenary captain was also there, setting a squad of his men to sparring with heavy broadswords that matched their bulk. If he thought to intimidate us with the display of brute force, he was deeply mistaken.

  “Marskal!” I called out as I approached.

  He switched from exercise to a salute so crisply it impressed me. He always paid attention, which was why I’d made him my lieutenant.

  “How about a bit of boxing to start the day?”

  “Always a pleasure, Captain.” His gaze flicked to my swollen cheek and the bluing bruise under my eye, but he said nothing. He’d seen such before and knew better than to comment. They all did. The King was above the law.

  We squared off. Over Marskal’s shoulder, I noted the mercenary captain positioning himself to keep an eye on both his men and me, and I found myself mentally measuring the slighter Marskal against the Dasnarian’s bulk. Good preparation, I told myself, as Marskal and I struck and parried, to imagine how he’d use that power and reach to overcome this guard or that maneuver. After a few exchanges, I dropped my guard and Marskal’s fist flew through, glancing off my cheekbone exactly as I’d intended.

  The Hawks watching hooted with glee, congratulating Marskal on getting one past me. I clapped a hand over my eye, making a convincing show of pained chagrin. It stung like Danu’s tits—far more than I’d expected, which meant Uorsin had really walloped me one—so that made it easy for me to act dizzied by it.

  I straightened and gave Marskal the Hawks’ salute, fist over heart. He returned it, expression somber. “That’s my cue to take it easy today,” I said, then took the excuse to signal them to a quiet corner, indicating a meeting. The ones that hadn’t been watching the match swiftly convened, gathering around me in a tight knot, Marskal and Jepp front and center. I’d lost a number of the Hawks on our campaigns to relieve the siege at Windroven and attempting to take Odfell’s Pass. We’d barely been at Ordnung long enough since to hold trials for new members. I hoped we wouldn’t be here long enough this time, either, much as I’d like to build up our forces again. Recruitment and training took time we didn’t have.

  Only the very best could become one of my Hawks. Something we all were proud of.

  I cut to the bare bones of our situation. “Settle in.” I hesitated to put it too strongly, as they’d hate the sense of confinement as much as I. Still, they were mine and what applied to me included them. “No one is to leave Ordnung.”

  They all nodded, with expressions of dawning frustration that echoed my own. Few of them were privy to what had actually occurred at Windroven, but none of them liked that Ami and her son were unaccounted for. Smart warriors all, they’d no doubt pieced together quite a bit.

  “Jepp—any messages from your scouts?” I asked, so they’d all hear the answer.

  Jepp shook her head. “Nothing, Captain. You’ll be the first to know.”

  I nodded. Even knowing that was what she would say didn’t ease the sting of it. Not for any of us, judging by the restless shifting of my Hawks.

  “There’s no official word on Princess Amelia, either.”

  “It could be,” Jepp tendered, “that I could get better unofficial word than the people I sent.”

  Since Jepp was the craftiest scout I’d had the pleasure to know, I believed that. And was tempted.

  “Yeah—what if someone accidentally slipped out?” one of the other scouts asked, exchanging looks with Jepp.

  “That person could not get caught.” I tipped my head toward the mercenaries, grunting and clattering broadswords ostentatiously. All I needed was to give Uorsin any fuel to feed his suspicions. He might not remember about books, but he knew soldiers and he’d be alert to the movements of my elite crew.

  Jepp’s smile sharpened. All of my Hawks possessed a keen love of danger that bordered on recklessness. “Who said anything about getting caught?”

  “Come up with some options. Run them by me. In the meantime, stay sharp.”

  The Hawks returned to their workouts, breaking into groups to spar or run forms and strengthening exercises. Wary of not asking too much of my back again, I resisted Jepp’s invitation to run the twelve sword forms. A decision I immediately regretted when—no surprise—the mercenary captain strode over. His keen gaze went to my throbbing cheek. “Mission accomplished?”

  “I check in with my Hawks every morning, as a rule, so yes.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “Do I? Perhaps it’s the language barrier. Though you speak our Common Tongue passably well.”

  “Do you routinely ask your Hawks to cover for you in this way? They should be defending you.”

  “They do. That, mercenary, is true loyalty. The kind that’s not for sale.” I more than halfway hoped he’d take that bait, but he declined.

  “How’s the back?”

  “I’m feeling very well this morning. Fully recovered from my journeys.”

  “I’d like to have a word with you before court convenes.”

  “You’re having one now.” As close as he stood, I had to tip my chin up to hold his gaze. Taller than Uorsin, even. “Well?” I prompted.

  He assessed me, picking his approach. “Last night—”

  “We sat next to each other at the feast, yes. The Dasnarian acrobats were most diverting, indeed. Ordnung appreciates your generosity in treating us to the display.”

  A muscle bulged at the corner of his jaw. He shifted tactics. “Indeed, Your Highness. You also mentioned that you don’t spar unless teaching, yet you did with your man this morning.”

  Isn’t that what we’re doing now? I waited without reply.

  “I renew my invitation.” The mercenary deliberately left it open, baiting me this time.

  “I reiterate my disinterest.”

  Nearby, Jepp ran Danu’s Dance, the graceful movements soothing and even meditative. The form is mellower in style and physical demand than her sword forms. In fact, some court ladies have been known to perform it at her midsummer festival, entirely as a dance, usually holding lit candles in the palms of their hands rather than the slim, two-edged knives we used in combat.

  “A pretty dance, that,” he commented.

  “Yes. That pretty dance would cut you to ribbons.” I indicated the paired fighting daggers I wore at my hips.

  His expression sharpened with interest and challenge. “Show me.”

  “Why should we share our secrets?”

  “We are your allies, Princess Ursula. Not the enemy. Even you admitted to that. Your guard is the best I’ve seen among your people, and that’s just in drills. The better we understand each other’s skills, the better we can mesh our forces when battle comes.”

  “There may not be a battle.”

  He grinned then. “There’s always a battle. The only question is when and what kind. Spar with me. Show me what those delicate, sharp edges can do.”

  “I told you, I don’t spar with anyone but my Hawks.”

  “Ah.” He nodded sagely. “Then you cannot back up your claims. I unders
tand.”

  The Hawks near enough to hear growled low in protest. Now I’d have to let them prove themselves. The mercenary knew it, too, a smug curve to his masculine mouth.

  “All right, then. Your pick against mine.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it and shook his head. “As you will, Your Highness. Blagor! To me.”

  One of the men with the broadswords bowed out of his match and jogged over. A big guy, though not as big as his captain. And slow with it. Perfect. I called Jepp and she coiled to a halt, her face lighting in delight. Good enough. I cocked my head and she came forward, borrowing my knives.

  “First blood?” I asked the captain and his man both.

  The man looked Jepp over with an incredulous expression. “Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but I’ll crush her with the first blow.”

  One of the Hawks barked out a laugh, and Jepp, a head shorter than I and slender with it, grinned easily.

  “You’d have to hit her first. And out here I’m just Captain. If you’re both agreed, square off.”

  We cleared a circle around them, mercenaries and Hawks alike gathering in interest.

  “You didn’t tell me I could call you Captain,” the mercenary said quietly, folding those massive arms to watch.

  “Maybe I like it when you call me Your Highness.”

  He made a sound that could have been a laugh and it occurred to me that I’d once again said something that might have come across wrong. Something about him. The fighters engaged. With an impressive bellow that would have startled a less experienced fighter, the mercenary swung his broadsword in a skull-shattering sweep. Jepp, in an agile blur of speed, spiraled in and under the arc of it, spinning out to dance away again. He charged at her.

  “Hold!” I called, which he did, with admirable discipline.

  “Why did you stop the match?” Captain Harlan demanded.

  I raised my eyebrows. “First blood.”

  The fellow with the broadsword scowled, then looked down to see the bright red stain seeping through the sliced leather of his shirt. The expression of consternation on both men’s faces was a sight to behold, and I burst out in a belly laugh. The mercenary captain glowered at me, but the corners of his lips twitched. “I concede. You’ve had your fun with us. A nice trick, but she couldn’t do it twice.”

  “Jepp?”

  She gave me a crisp nod and they squared off again. Her opponent took her measure more carefully this time, and they circled each other warily, he staying well back from her.

  “Do the Dasnarian women not fight?” I asked the captain.

  “No,” he replied in an absent tone, attention focused on Jepp.

  “Such a waste.”

  “The women might agree. The men don’t think so.”

  His man moved faster this time, which was to say, not fast at all. He thought to take Jepp by surprise, wielding the broadsword in a more intricate maneuver. She sidestepped it, flickered in and out, leaving a bleeding slice down his arm. The Hawks hooted in approval and the bulk of the mercenaries looked impressed. A few exchanged coins.

  “That was, if anything, easier for her that time.”

  “Not true,” I countered, signaling my Hawks that they should disperse. “She showed off less. Your man didn’t underestimate her a second time, which partially redeems his judgment.”

  Jepp gave me a cheeky grin of agreement as she came over to return my knives, saluted, and walked off to collect her due. In congratulations and coin. She’d cleaned the blades, but I checked regardless.

  “May I?”

  I hesitated and the captain observed it, waiting with bland courtesy. And a hint of an ironic glint in his eye for my not wanting him to touch my weapons. Giving myself an internal shake, I reversed the blades and handed them to him by the hilts. He handled them with due respect, holding the blade edge up to play the morning sunlight against it.

  “Razor sharp,” he noted. “I should likely thank her for not gutting him.”

  “Jepp has excellent control and doesn’t rattle easily. That’s one reason I picked her.”

  “And the other was to prove to me that a woman fighter can best a man.”

  “Draw whatever conclusions you like.”

  “You could have proved the same by sparring with me.”

  “Not going to happen.” Unable to stand it a moment longer, I held out my hand for the knives. With a quirk of his lips, he handed them back. “Besides, I have no need to prove anything to you.”

  “Ah.” He nodded as if I’d confirmed something. “But I have a great deal to prove to you—that I and my men are both capable and trustworthy.”

  “Both of which are impossible to prove definitively.”

  “You would not get past my guard so easily.”

  “We’ll never find out,” I replied easily. “Unless you do fail me if it comes to the real thing, in which case you’d be dead before you had a chance to guard yourself.”

  “You’re so certain you could best me?”

  “Not at all.” I let him see me scan his bulk. “I have as healthy a respect for your strength as you do for my speed. My best odds with a fighter like you lie in taking you by surprise.”

  “You already have, Your Highness.” The warmth of his tone sent an unaccustomed flutter through me, and I looked away, deciding it was irritation.

  “I must be going. I’m afraid I have several appointments more to keep before court. Good-bye, Captain.”

  “You could call me by my name. It’s Harlan.”

  “I know what it is.”

  “And you have no intention of using it.”

  Without bothering to reply, I saluted my Hawks and headed for the castle. I began to see how the mercenary captain had succeeded so well in his profession. He was nothing if not dogged.

  8

  The man irritated me no end with whatever game he played. No hired mercenary should have an agenda, but he certainly did. A spy for one of the Twelve? Or, a more daunting possibility, for the Dasnarians or some other foreign power, eyeing our state of unrest as an opportunity to step in and annex us to another empire. He thought to manipulate me, to make me question the King by insinuating I’d been mistreated.

  That was what came of the mercenary lifestyle. He could not understand true loyalty. Nothing could shake my faith in the High Throne. If I couldn’t hold on to at least that much, I didn’t deserve to be heir. And him, making all those flirtatious comments, egging me on to spar with him. If he thought me an easy mark, he’d find his man wasn’t the only one to make a grave error in underestimating us.

  Yet I found my black mood had dissipated somewhat and I felt more clearheaded. The tea kicking in, no doubt. I swung by my chambers to gulp down some more from the teapot Dafne had thoughtfully left for me, and clapped some mostly melted ice from the insulated bucket on my throbbing face. Marskal hadn’t held back. As well he shouldn’t have. If the Dasnarian knew anything about true loyalty, he’d have understood that.

  A little more than an hour past sunrise still and the castle mostly quiet, this would be the perfect time to check Andi’s rooms. Taking my ring of chatelaine’s keys—the set I’d acquired upon Salena’s death, along with her thrice-cursed jewels—I headed up the tower to Andi’s old rooms.

  The lock resisted but then gave with a firm twist of the key, to my great satisfaction. The rooms sat oddly silent, dim and covered in dust. Clearly no one had been in here since the servants packed in the books and draped the windows. I’d been preoccupied in those days after Andi fled Ordnung, disguised as one of Amelia and Hugh’s entourage of servants. We’d had the aftermath of the Tala attack on the castle to deal with and prisoners to question. Though the Tala had retreated—withdrawing far too quickly and completely, it was clear in retrospect—we’d spent days chasing them through the countryside, clearing the forests of stragglers and ensuring the safety of both the townsfolk and the outlying farms.

  They’d toyed with us, leaving just enough of the
m behind to entice us to believe they’d bought the ruse that Andi remained inside the castle. But they’d gone after her, following her to Windroven and laying siege before we even began assembling troops.

  Uorsin’s rage in those days had nearly driven us all over the edge.

  The books and scrolls had been piled on every available surface and in stacks on the floor, with no apparent regard for order. Dafne would have quite a chore ahead of her, sorting through these. Something she could do far better than I, so I might as well get the key to her.

  Nevertheless, I lingered a moment longer, for no good reason. Standing in front of the cold fireplace, I recalled that night I made Andi burn the feather she’d hidden. She’d been so angry at me, but I’d been angrier. And baffled at her disloyalty. The feather had come from Rayfe’s bird form. I knew that now. Then, I understood only that something about the King of the Tala called to her, meant more to her than her loyalty to the High King. To me.

  I missed Andi. Had started missing her at that moment.

  Of course, even if she were here, she would have done her utmost to avoid court and would have failed to pay attention to most of what went on. Still, when she did pay attention, she had excellent insights. I could use that from her. Along with her company.

  Shaking off the mood, I locked the door again and descended the steps to my own rooms. Dafne had returned and I undid the mechanism that kept the ring closed, removing the key to Andi’s rooms.

  “Don’t lose this, librarian. I don’t have to tell you to be circumspect, correct? Lock yourself in. Don’t be seen coming and going. You’ll find the books are all over the place. I’d like your impressions on court this morning, but you’re probably better doing this while everyone is occupied.”

  She tried not to look too appalled, but the thought of the rare documents in disarray bothered her. “Would you mind if I put them in order as I look?”

  “As a secondary goal, that’s fine. Priority is any and all information on the Dasnarians. Bring those here, if you can do so discreetly. As you’ve likely noted, my chambers are not a whirl of social activity.” Though, compared to Andi’s abandoned ones, they were.