“I think we can handle it, Pic, can we not?” Jory ruffled the hair of the serving boy, who stumbled under the weight of a pair of gauntlets. “Be off, my prince!”
“Janto!” He sprang into a run. One did not keep a king waiting, and this might be the only chance he’d get to see Serra before he left.
Janto did not slow as he neared the castle gate—a shimmering curtain of thin rods of Wasylim timber, reinforced with platinum and gold threads strong enough to withstand an army’s assault. None had ever come this close to the seat of Lansera, though Gavenstone Manor had nearly been overtaken by less traditional methods, and it lay but two day’s ride to the southeast. By the time Janto reached the gate, the guards had already partway reeled the metal threads in, pulling the rods back enough for him to sprint through. He hurried past them, shouting thanks as he made his way to the stone well in the center of courtyard. Drenched in sweat was no condition in which to see the king. Janto splashed his arms and face with the lukewarm liquid, taking care not to spill any on his tunic. The plain shirt he wore beneath wicked up most of the sweat, so the tunic was clean enough. The handful of water he scooped into his mouth was barely enough to satiate, but he did not have time for a lengthy draught. King Albrecht waited.
Janto vaulted up the stairs to his father’s chamber. His mother sat near the window, her skin the brownish-green of Ashran marshweeds in winter. The tight, copper-colored curls on her head contrasted with her skin. She wore bell sleeves to cover dimpled arms; few things made Queen Lexamy feel self-conscious, but her weight was one of them.
She moved from the window. “Come closer, Janto.” “Father called me.”
“I know. He had to take care of arrangements for the council. Ser Allyn fetched him moments ago.”
“Where did they go?” Janto kissed his mother’s cheek but kept his eyes on the doorway, ready to resume his search for his father and Ser Allyn, the king’s most trusted servant and unquestioned head of the castle’s affairs.
“To the scroll room, but you needn’t go after him. He told me why he called for you.” She paused. “Serra needs you.”
Janto swallowed. “Is she unwell?”
“No.” His mother took his hand and rubbed a thumb over his knuckles. “Agler is dead.”
Suddenly, the Raven’s appearance made sense. Serra’s brother, Agler, had joined the band of spies last summer, determined to prove his loyalty to the king. Agler had been sent on this mission, his first, at the onset of winter, and the hanging balac vines had only now begun to bloom. But something more than a failed mission must have happened; Meduans did not kill the spies they caught. Rather, Lanserim scouts found them in the mountain woods, their minds addled by the wizards’ torture, or they disappeared completely. It took months or years before the Ravens declared one of their own gone with finality. “How do they know he’s dead?”
His mother handed him an unrolled parchment bearing the broken seal of a raven in flight. The words were written in the thrushberry’s violet ink:
Your Highness, King Dever Albrecht, ruler of the meritorious people of Lansera and keeper of the needful peace with the inconstant villains of Medua,
I have received unfortunate news for your charge, the Lady Serrafina of Gavenstone. It is grievous to me that I must send lamentable tidings to one who has already borne such sorrow, but as our leader has already departed for your council, this duty falls to me.
This morn, we found a strange box with a viper burned into its lid. The attached letter bore the words, “This bird sang too sweetly.” The box’s contents were harder to fathom than the container that held them. There was naught but a fine dust inside, which I took to be ashes, though they sparkled with a silver glint when placed in the light. I sifted through the ash and pulled out a gold ring. On it, a cluster of grapes and the initials A. G. were inscribed. I believe Agler Gavenstone took this ring with him on his recent mission and hid it from sight beneath his clothes—a foolish thing to be certain, but he was newly winged. I surmise it was discovered and the young lord slain by the Meduan lord to whom he was sent to gather information.
The Ravens in the Perch reported seeing a man in forest green. His cloak also bore this viper sigil. The man did not dismount but flung the bound box from his seat and galloped away at a breakneck speed. I have sent men to search for him, but I doubt they will overtake him before he reaches the mountains.
Please make certain Ser Swalus is advised of this development. May Madel grant you the fortitude to tell the young princess-in-waiting.
Ser Quentynil Werbose
“Father said I could go to her?” Janto placed the parchment on the desk.
His mother nodded. “But Janto, you must be censured, even in this hour. Comfort her as you will but do not lose your restraint. This is a time of trial for Serra as well as you, and how you both weather it is of utmost importance to your futures.” She kissed his forehead. “Now, go.”
He hurried back into the courtyard. Several servants were preparing for tonight’s council feast, but he did not slow to speak with them. Eddy, the head stableman with hair smooth and full enough to rival the manes of his horses, stepped forward in greeting, but Janto waved him off. His lungs still throbbed from the run, and he leaned against the marbled stone wall of the courtyard to catch his breath and his thoughts. What can I say to her? Janto had never lost anyone closer to him than an aging servant, and Serra had already lost so many people. No matter his lack of understanding, she would need him, and he would be there as long as his father allowed. Serra had been his best friend since he was twelve and had walked her to her new room, grasping her hand so she would not feel alone.
That room’s entrance was through the southern end of the courtyard. Serra’s maid Bini, a woman of thirty years, sat at the table beside it. She held a black cloth in one hand and used the other to rip it in strips about an inch wide, the sound like ice crushed underfoot.
“My prince!”
He had reached for Serra’s door, startling Bini in the process.
“You cannot go in. Your Murat, it’s so soon!” She put down the cloth to wave him away.
He shushed her. “Father sent me, Bini, I promise. You are not doing any wrong by letting me through. Is she inside?”
“Yes, yes, but you are certain the king has allowed it?” Her eyes conveyed suspicion. She was from the northernmost tip of Lansera, the port town of Elston, and her people did not usually travel so far abroad as Callyn.
“I am certain.” He gingerly pushed open the door, cringing when it squeaked. A crack of light fell on Serra’s writing desk, bare as the bench in front of her mirror where he next cast his glance. Where is she? The room was too dark. Serra never closed the thick, rouge curtains. She loved the light and warmth the sun brought to the cold, stone rooms of the castle.
As his eyes adjusted, her unshod, pale-peach feet appeared on the bed covers. He lingered by the door, her refusal to acknowledge a visitor redoubling his worry. Serrafina was always decorous, even in the face of tragedy. Comforting her would be a harder feat than any Murat endeavor.
CHAPTER 3
SERRA
Serra? May I come in?” Janto’s voice, not so high since adolescence, betrayed his apprehension. His bronze-colored tunic hung over black pants, and his sword dangled from his belt, unsheathed.
He must have been at the field sparring when he’d heard about Agler. Words reminding him to wipe the blade came to her lips, but she let them fall away unspoken. The heavy door closed as he stepped fully into the room.
“Serra?”
She met his eyes but returned her head to the tear-dampened pillow. Her fingers folded a handkerchief into eighths over and over again.
“Oh, Serra.” Janto leaned his sword against the marbled stone wall and placed a hand on each of her cheeks. Amber eyes focused on hers. “I am so sorry.” He traced a finger beneath her bottom lashes, wiping stray tears. “Please, what I can do to help?”
She said nothing, her fingers
folding the cloth—Agler’s handkerchief. She had not pulled it out of her dresser in close to a year.
Janto swept her hair behind her ear. “What can I do?”
She considered how to answer. Propriety told her to make him leave right away. He shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be concerned with her right now when preparing for the Murat. She should tell him to go back to the field and train, that she needed some time alone to come to terms with what had happened, that she’d be better in a little while. What did it say of her that she would not?
“Kiss me. Kiss me and hold me close.”
He withdrew his hands, shocked, though his eyes conveyed a desire to obey. “I cannot.”
“Yes, you can. Forget your honor for a moment and comfort me.” Her own boldness surprised her, but still, she hoped he would.
“I cannot. You know that.”
“I don’t know anything right now.” She put the handkerchief down. “No, that’s not true. I know my brother is dead and my betrothed is here, and I need him to comfort me.” She took Janto’s hands and pulled him down beside her. “No one could rebuke you for holding me a while. Not today. Please.”
“You know I cannot.” He whispered the words through strained lips. “It’s not that they wouldn’t understand—Father granted me leave to see you—but I must be pure of heart for the Murat to keep my mind clear. I cannot be so like this.” He placed a hand on the small of her back. “All I breathe is you when you are anywhere near me.”
A sob built in her chest and she did not try to subdue it. Janto dried the new wave of her tears before they could fall. His resolve fading, his arms clasped tighter around her trembling frame. “I would forget it all to stop your grief for a moment.” Lips brushed over hers. “I am so sorry.”
She buried her head into his chest and cried. “It’s so wrong. It’s all so terribly wrong.” Her fingers clenched and unclenched on his thigh. “I would never have let him go if I knew this would happen. I would have demanded he stay with me. He was all the family I had left—his place was with me!”
“Shh, love.” He soothed her, running fingers through her ochre hair. “There was nothing you could do, you know that. Agler was making amends for his trespasses. Joining the Ravens was the only way he felt he could gain my father’s trust again.” His arms clasped around her tightly. “He was restoring his honor—your honor. He asked for the mission himself, you know. Father had to grant Ser Swalus permission to send him out so soon.”
“He did not ask to die!” Grief overcame her rage. “It was only supposed to be a short mission. He was supposed to come back.” Hiccups swallowed her words, and she buried her face in her hands.
“Shh, stop talking. Be calm for a moment.” Janto rubbed her back, and she relaxed into the steady movement of his fingers. “I’m here. I will always be here for you.”
A creaking door announced King Albrecht’s arrival.
“Son.” His steady voice resounded through the bedchamber. Janto pulled his arms back to his side in an instant. Serra did not. Her brother was dead; Janto was there. Holding onto him could not be so wrong.
King Dever Albrecht stood taller than Janto by half a foot, his features starker. Thick eyebrows made his brow always furrowed, and his long hair was the gray of ashwood. He had kept it so since his studies with the Order, the Lanserim priesthood, when he was Janto’s age.
The king’s blue velvet cloak hung over his shoulders, swans embroidered on the black trim with rhodium threads. Their goddess, Madel, brought forth a three-headed bird to win the Battle of the Gods in ancient days, or so the myths went. Many lieges honored Her by taking birds as their sigils.
The king spoke to Janto. “I need you in the council room. There will be time for this”—he gestured toward Serra with his characteristic briskness some described as cold—“later.”
“Yes, Father, right away.” Janto went to kiss her goodbye, but she knew he thought better of it when his arms wrapped around her in a parting hug instead. Some pink fluff clung to his tunic from the feathers laced into her gown. He tried to brush them aside before exiting the room.
The king placed his gloved hand on Serra’s shoulder. She shivered at the cold touch of its metal studs.
“Lady Serrafina.” His voice was not unkind.
She returned his gaze but did not wipe her tears. Let him see them. “Yes, my king?”
“I want you to know my son is not the only member of the royal family who feels your loss.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “Lord Agler Gavenstone will be remembered as he wished, as a brave and loyal man who served Lansera and its king.” His eyes were warm, the same shade as Janto’s. “All has been forgiven. It was forgiven years ago, though he could not accept that mercy.”
She nodded and tried to contain her grief so she could show the gratitude she should at this kindness. Only an hour ago, such attention from her fiancé’s father, the closest she’d had to one of her own since coming to Castle Callyn, would have thoroughly pleased her.
“I know he was the last of your family, and I cannot imagine how you must feel, but I want you to know you have family here.” He squeezed her shoulders and made certain she looked him in the eye. “You will be a strong queen, Serrafina, a woman I will be proud to have bear my grandchildren. The wait is only another month.”
He slipped back into his customary manner, his voice raised and firm. “I will let this moment of indulgence go unnoted—I should have expected your restraint to be relaxed when I sent for him—but Janto’s focus must be unadulterated for the Murat so Madel can best influence him there. Do not seek him out again.”
“I understand. I was weak with grief.” The ache in her bones did not make it easy, but she stood beside the bed, clasped her hands together and raised her elbows toward him, holding them up a moment longer than customary in deference. “I will not let it happen again.” She hoped she spoke the truth—she’d never dealt with emotions so choking before.
“I know you love him well. Think of this separation as a final hurdle that will strengthen your marriage. Even when absent, your love should be his strength.” A moment later, he added, “I am truly sorry, daughter.”
He released her shoulders and left the room with no further words.
“Let my love be Janto’s strength as seeking your forgiveness was my brother’s? That did not end so well for him.” The angry words escaping her lips made her gasp. Her cheeks colored, and she whispered a prayer of thanks to Madel that the door had closed before she uttered them. The royal family had never been anything but honorable to her. They’d accepted her into their home, called her daughter, praised her worth as a suitable mate for Janto even after Agler had—
She had to steel herself through this grief. It made her rash. Agler died to redress his mistakes. She must be careful not to make any of her own.
CHAPTER 4
JANTO
He hesitated, hand on the iron handle of the council room door for the second time that evening. Ser Allyn had barely laid eyes on him before scowling and waving him back to change his grass-stained pants and tunic, which was plagued with feathers despite attempts to brush it. One more glance will not hurt. Janto hurried to the mirror hung on a column near the western archway. Luckily, he was alone, the servants in the kitchen or throne room preparing for tonight’s feast. Janto did not wish to appear vain.
Comforting Serra had done nothing to calm the flush on his face from running. Otherwise, he was passable. Regal even, with his mother’s chain hanging around his neck. She would be pleased, but Janto suspected she already knew the gold-flecked stone brought out the color in his eyes when she gave it to him two weeks ago, in case she did not make it home before the Murat. Queen Lexamy had been at Lady Xantas’s annual raccoon festival, an event Janto had been excused from ever since throwing up the seventh course all over the banquet table at six years old. The queen knew better than to offend Lady Xantas by declining herself, even if it meant missing her son’s farewell. He would return home in
a few weeks; Gella Xantas’s grudge-holding endured for decades.
“Son, it is time to go in.” King Albrecht waited at the council room door, his voice startling Janto away from his reflection.
“Of course, Father.”
Inside, a chorus of “Long live Albrecht!” greeted them. The king stifled it with a raised hand. The room was barely large enough to fit the heavy table made from the green-veined kratomwood of the Ertion Mountains. Ten chairs in all for the five provinces’ lieges, the Ravens’ chief, the army commander, the king and his servant, and a guest. There were no windows, only stifling air that held the smell of stale liquor from meals and councils past. Prying ears were not likely to find satisfaction here.
Two chairs at the table sat unclaimed. Serra’s aunt, the Lady Marji who served as Meditlan’s liege in Serra’s absence, should have filled one. A king’s messenger had probably stopped her on the road with news of Agler’s death, turning her back to prepare her people for it. Lord Rufalyn was also absent—Elston was far, and making the trip twice in a little more than a month was a sacrifice. He and his wife would be at the wedding.
“Gentlemen and Lady Farami,” his father began. “I’ve invited my son to attend our council as he will soon leave for the Murat.”
“Here, here!” All the councilors shouted, except for Lady Gransyl Farami, liege of Neville, who clapped her hands instead. “Good for you, Prince!”
“Janto will return to us an accomplished man, and thus, a taste of his future duties as king is appropriate.” His father took his seat.
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