Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  He had retired from service years ago, once Menders recruited Menders’ Men – and he had done so gladly. He much preferred functioning as The Shadows’ gardener and woodsman.

  He knew the estate intimately and claimed to feel what was happening on it through the soles of his feet as he walked across the land. His instincts had been right so often that no-one scoffed anymore when Lucen claimed, with a smile, that something was afoot.

  “I’ve seen nothing when out early in the morning,” he continued. “No signs in the woods of anyone watching or moving about.”

  “Nor me,” Villison added. “We’ve been keeping double patrols with Hemmett’s Men and Menders’ Men are doubled up as well. I think if she’s around, she’s keeping her distance.”

  Haakel looked at Gladdas, whose face was frozen in careful neutrality.

  “Glad, this needs to come to an end – a favorable one,” he said. “Do you want us to take action or do you want to deal with it?”

  Gladdas showed all the animation of a stone statue for at least a minute, while Villison and Lucen waited calmly and Cook began to fidget. Erlen Haakel settled back in his chair. He was accustomed to the intensity of people in his business and had worked for many years with Menders, who always deliberately thought out things before making a plan.

  “I can’t deal with it alone,” Gladdas finally admitted, her face falling into lines of defeat. “Running from her all these weeks let me know that. I haven’t been an active assassin for more than ten years and I’m too old. Alazaria is twenty-three. She’s fast, she’s strong and she’ll never turn aside. I need help.”

  Only Haakel knew what it took to make Gladdas admit this in front of others. He smiled at her and reached out, putting his hand over her clenched ones.

  “We’ll help you,” he said. “We’ll get a plan set and begin going after her. That will alert her to the fact that we’re aware she’s in the locality and it might drive her here – or it could drive her away.”

  “It will drive her here. I’ll face her here,” Gladdas said, her face gone as cold, white and hard as marble.

  The Shadows, Mordania

  17

  Lucen

  “L

  etter from Menders,” one of the Men said, handing an envelope to Haakel. “Came over fast. He sent Petroff back to be relieved.”

  Haakel nodded, tearing the communication open. He read fast, while those at the breakfast table for the Mens’ sitting watched him intently. His face didn’t show the effect the words had on him, but his hands tensed.

  “There was an uprising in Fambré,” he said, filling in the rest of Menders’ Men. “They’re safe. They avoided the mobs and got out on a fishing trawler.”

  “Ifor would have been in his element,” one of the younger Men joked weakly, referencing Ifor’s love for fishing.

  “That he would,” Haakel smiled. “They’re back in Surelia with no harm done. The newsheets are due on today’s train and should have news of the uprising. Menders says it was eventually quashed, but there was enormous loss of life. It won’t be long until there’s a full scale Revolt again and that fat fool of a King will be deposed.”

  He looked at the Men around the table.

  “Volunteer to replace Petroff? Three months with the family in Surelia. Menders isn’t going to move them for a while. He wants to let the young ones settle down and feel safe.”

  Haakel went back to breakfast, but scanned the disturbing letter again. He was surprised at Menders staying so long in Fambré, which sounded like more of a tinderbox than anyone in Mordania suspected. Then, things might have seemed outwardly calm, though the terrible disparity between the wealthy and the impoverished had been blatantly obvious from the outset of their journey.

  Of course, the uprising had been sudden. Menders would never had kept Katrin within reach of harm if he’d had any suspicion such a thing would occur.

  Sometimes it was best not to try to decipher Menders’ motivations. Haakel had accepted long ago that his one-time student was deeply complex – and sometimes inscrutable.

  ***

  Lucen walked through the misty woodlot at a leisurely pace, using a pocketful of variously colored thumbtacks to mark trees. Black signified a tree that should come down as soon as possible. Red indicated a tree to be taken down in the spring. Green meant a tree that bore watching and might improve enough not to be cut. He tapped each carefully selected tack into the tree trunks with the butt of his broad bladed axe, which he always carried when working in the woodlot.

  He wasn’t one for breakfast most days and liked to spend the early morning out and around the grounds. He’d been handed a letter from his son, Hemmett, that morning and enjoyed reading it while drinking from his bottle of hot coffee that his wife, Zelia, made up for him every day.

  Knowing Hemmett and the rest were out of Fambré was a relief – and the mystery of how Katrin knew that the peasants were coming was interesting. Lucen had known her since the day she was born. She had not been a typical child at any point in her life.

  She had been an exceptionally bright infant and little girl, with a bad bent for mischief and misbehavior as she grew toward her teens. It was easy enough to understand. The child didn’t like being restricted as a Princess was, even under Menders’ very loving guardianship. It was a sad thing to put such a burden on a child and Menders had done all he could to give her freedom.

  As she grew into a young woman, a lot of her mischief calmed down. Lucen thought again of Hemmett’s description of Katrin calling Menders “Lord Stettan” and giving him a royal command that ended up saving everyone’s skin. He would have loved to see that.

  Lucen chuckled to himself and then looked toward the house. Motion had caught his eye.

  It was Gladdas, following her usual routine of a ramble in the garden after a light breakfast. She was a strong woman but very worn down by running from the young woman assassin. She usually throve on company, but was seeking solitude lately.

  Lucen rose, rubbing his bad knee, the result of two members of Queen Morghenna VIII’s Court dueling in the Great Hall of the Palace shortly before Princess Katrin was born. A ricocheting bullet had struck Lucen, then a Palace Guard.

  Palace Physician, Doctor Franz, refused to remove the bullet or amputate Lucen’s leg, which all the other quacks wanted to do. Lucen regained his ability to walk but could never stand to attention for hours on end again. He ended up sent to The Shadows with the original household assigned to Menders and the little Princess.

  Lucen began marking trees again, keeping a steady eye on Gladdas, keeping his mind on something else. His feet were talking to him and had been for a while. Something was afoot.

  He remembered coming here to this house. Menders, a stripling of twenty for all he was the greatest assassin in the world, a newborn baby girl, Doctor Franz, Cook and Lucen’s own family, his wife and three year old son, Hemmett made up the household.

  Lucen had become a father unexpectedly after marrying in later middle age. His wife, Zelia, had been married previously but had never conceived. They were delighted with an enormous, healthy baby boy – and found out just how tired they could be as new parents with Zelia in her late forties and Lucen in his mid-fifties. He had been lying about his age for years to retain his position in the military.

  Hemmett was intelligent and strong willed. Zelia believed any misbehavior on his part would eventually be outgrown. If Lucen disagreed and wanted Hemmett disciplined, there was an argument. Hemmett learned rapidly how to pit one parent against the other. By the time he was three years old, he was a holy terror and was running the family to suit himself.

  The new Master of the Princess’ household wasn’t going to have Hemmett running The Shadows – and Lucen was glad of that. Menders was kind and caring to the little boy, but set firm rules for him that he upheld unflinchingly. Before long, though Hemmett was still a handful and would be for some years, he was a happier and more tractable child. Zelia was relieved and Lucen w
as eternally grateful to the younger man for stepping in.

  It never bothered him that Hemmett became strongly attached to Menders. Lucen knew his son’s love for him was deep and true. Menders had given the boy every advantage and opportunity, including getting him entry to the Mordanian Military Academy where the young man had graduated as a Captain, becoming the commanding officer of Katrin’s Personal Guard. That was something Lucen and Zelia would never have been able to provide – nor this wonderful tour around the Middle Continent and possibly beyond.

  There it was again, a presence, something here that normally wasn’t. Lucen stepped behind the shelter of a small thicket, his brown clothing making him disappear. He moved nothing but his eyes, scanning, watching Gladdas, who had wandered to the edge of the woodlot. Lucen knew where she was going – there was a chatterbird nest in a particular stand of saplings.

  He waited as she checked on the nest, then was attracted to a thunder tree, its flower buds red against the late winter sky. She gazed up at the display and Lucen reflected, not for the first time, on just how much this lively woman loved beauty.

  Suddenly Gladdas went stock still and moved her head very slowly toward her left – but Lucen had already sensed the invading presence. He also turned his head with the slowness of a lizard, wanting to bring the intruder into view.

  By design she was out of Gladdas’ line of vision. An early flush of green buds in the underbrush at the edge of the woodlot hid her. Her fawn shirt and trousers matched the early spring landscape perfectly.

  Lucen flicked his eyes toward the Menders’ Man on the roof, then realized this young madam was out of his view as well. She was using the budding shrubs to good advantage. If she was armed with a pistol, any attempt on Lucen’s part to alert the guard would lead to Gladdas’ death.

  The young woman in the underbrush crept toward Gladdas, who was looking around her more overtly. She saw nothing, but she knew her executioner was there – oh yes, she knew.

  Mirroring the young woman’s movement, Lucen eased toward Gladdas, staying behind cover, grateful he insisted on sticks and leaf litter being removed from the woodlot regularly. He could move in silence despite his size, if he didn’t become impatient. He’d learned it from Menders years ago, in this very woodlot as they’d worked together to keep the original household warm, endlessly cutting wood to feed The Shadows’ fireplaces and stoves.

  Lucen breathed evenly, moving only when the young woman did.

  Gladdas was backing toward the house, keeping her eyes on the woodlot, scanning, looking for her pursuer. Lucen knew she was hoping her movement would draw attention from the house, that the Man on the roof would notice her peculiar method of travel. He glanced at the roof.

  The Man there was watching and had his gun up. Good!

  Suddenly the young woman, now quite close to Gladdas, stood boldly upright. She was hidden from the Man on the roof by a tall evergreen tree. Lucen knew she had planned this meticulously.

  She was close enough that if Gladdas ran, she would overtake her in a couple of strides. If Gladdas drew her knife, the same thing would happen. She had stalked as successfully as a Surytamian crocodile and was closing on her prey.

  She didn’t know that by being so intent on Gladdas she had neglected to notice she was being stalked as well.

  “Alazaria – you don’t need to do this,” Gladdas said, her voice very calm. “If it’s money you want, I have access to plenty here. Lord Stettan has a great deal of money in the house.”

  Alazaria Fentez didn’t speak, only moved gradually closer to her quarry. Gladdas was trying to prompt her into conversation, to distract her.

  Another quick glance at the house let Lucen know Villison was aware of the situation. He was at the Rose Garden door, his gun in hand and another on his hip, but he knew Fentez was close enough to kill before he could get past the door and fire. The Man on the roof was aiming at the wrong part of the woodlot, unable to see what was happening.

  “Alazaria – please. What does this give you other than money? Didn’t we try to give you every opportunity and advantage? Is this about nothing but money?” Gladdas’ voice was tightening, betraying emotion.

  The young woman, well trained, continued advancing on her teacher, a long dagger held low. If Villison came through the door, she would strike. She had seen him, but had no fear. She kept moving infinitesimally closer to Gladdas, their eyes locked.

  Like a snake stares at a bird it’s going to attack, Lucen thought. But that means she has not seen me.

  Four swift steps brought him close. Startled, the young woman turned toward him. She saw him coming, axe raised behind his left shoulder.

  Their eyes met, even as she raised her knife to strike him. Her eyebrows went up slightly, calmly, as if to say “well played.”

  Lucen swung the axe at the full length of his arms. Sunlight touched the blade as it removed Alazaria Fentez’s head. He saw Gladdas close her eyes at the fatal blow.

  Villison exploded out of the door, gesturing to the Man on the roof to lower his weapon. He was closely followed by Cook, who was tearing her apron off.

  Gladdas opened her eyes and looked at Alazaria’s headless body. She sobbed aloud.

  “Oh gods, why couldn’t I help her?” she cried. “Why this?”

  Lucen stepped forward as Cook flung her apron over Fentez’s body and head. He put an arm around Gladdas as Cook embraced her.

  “Don’t look, Miss Glad,” Cook said, turning Gladdas away from the body. “It’s all that could be done, dear. There’s some you can’t pull from the fire, no matter how hard you try.”

  ***

  Gladdas collapsed and couldn’t leave her bed. Haakel wrote to Menders, who sent Doctor Franz to see her.

  After examining the distraught woman, Franz sat across from Haakel in The Shadows’ office.

  “It’s to be expected,” he said without his usual verve. “This woman has been stalking her for over a year. You know what it is to have someone hunting you with the intention of doing you in. Combine that with horror over the way Fentez was stopped and guilt because the child she tried to help turned out as she did. Emotional collapse. The only thing I can recommend is rest and support. If I give her something, it could make it worse, or she could become dependent.”

  So Gladdas spent her days escaping through sleep, only to wake to endless, tearless guilt. She had little interest in food. She wanted only to quench the exhaustion that was dragged at every fiber of her body.

  Doctor Franz lingered for weeks until she ordered him to leave her alone. He spoke with the group who had started to call themselves “The Hub” – Haakel, Villison, Lucen and Cook, who were running The Shadows as a group.

  “I don’t know if there’s a point in me staying,” he said, gratefully accepting a cup of coffee from Cook. “It might be making her even more resistant. Gladdas Dalmanthea is a powerful person. I never dealt with her, but I’ve heard a great deal from Menders and the other men here. Short of hauling her out of bed bodily, there’s little I can do.”

  “If you tried, it would be most unwise,” Haakel replied, not smiling. “Men who have laid hands on Gladdy have been very sorry they did. She doesn’t kill them, but she comes painfully close.”

  “I think the poor thing just needs rest,” Cook countered. “That situation was a terrible strain on her – and seeing the girl killed. I know Lucen had no other choice, because she would have killed them both in seconds, but Miss Glad loved that girl and tried to raise her. Mother love isn’t always logical.”

  “No Cook – and you’re right, rest is part of what she needs,” Doctor Franz replied. “But she also needs some exercise and she needs food. She’s resistant to my suggestions, so I think I’m going to make the trip back to Surelia to rejoin the family. Why don’t you see if you can interest her in food?”

  “That I can manage – and no invalid pap either. She needs real food,” Cook said stalwartly.

  “Exactly!” Franz smiled. “Invali
d meals aren’t doing anything for her appetite. I know you’ll find something to tempt her into eating. Who can get her to exercise?”

  “I’ll deal with it. I caused this situation.”

  Lucen, usually silent during these round table sessions, spoke softly but his voice carried a serene authority that put a stop to further discussion.

  ***

  Gladdas sensed movement in her room and woke abruptly, her assassin’s instinct placing her instantly in time and place. She looked directly at her wardrobe, where Lucen Greinholz was going through her dresses.

  Before she could ask him what the hells he was doing, he took out a dress, held it up for a moment and then laid it out on the bed.

  “That’s a pretty one,” he said, giving her a smile. “Get up now and put it on. I want to take you somewhere.” He left without another word.

  Gladdas sat up against her pillows, blinking a little. She saw her washstand bowl filled with hot water, steam rising from it and from the pitcher beside it. A towel and fresh cake of soap were placed conveniently next to her hairbrush and comb.

  Undecided whether to be amused or angry about this invasion of her privacy, Gladdas spent a few moments looking at the dress he’d laid out on the bed. A brief inspection revealed shoes ready on the floor. Lucen hadn’t gone so far as to select her underwear – or perhaps she’d wakened before he had a chance.

  She realized that for the first time in weeks, she had not seen Alazaria’s death in her mind at the moment she opened her eyes.

  Gladdas knew when to take action. She swung around, letting her legs dangle for a few minutes before padding down the bedstairs. As she approached the washstand, she could smell lemons – Katrin’s soap, made in the shed behind the house by the Princess of Mordania.