“I’m sure Duke Iorwin will compensate you once you’ve proven your worth,” Landor said. “Our lord is a generous man.” He turned away from Jona’s sneering face and calmly made his way to a desk at the end of the tavern, one which the patron had cleared for him. He began to arrange his papers and ink.
“Fucking noblemen with sticks up their asses,” Jona snorted. “And we haven’t decided who we’re supposed to follow. What the fuck did Oswyn go and get himself killed for? At least I respected the fellow. Not unlike some people here.” He sneered at his own men before allowing his eyes to flicker momentarily towards Tasha.
“I will fucking gut you in your sleep,” Tasha hissed.
“Not before I fuck you in yours,” Jona sniggered. “Not that it’ll do my cock any good. Probably snap it in half inside your cunt, you gnarly bitch.”
“I sense, perhaps, that you’ve both got issues you have to work with,” the redheaded man spoke up. “Maybe in another place and time? We all want to get paid, don’t we? The most important thing here is the coin.”
Jona snorted.
“Now—Tasha, is it?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“You may call me Caiso,” the redhead said. “I’d rather you don’t, but since everyone insists on doing it anyway…”
“Maybe you want to lead us,” Hana broke in. “Tasha doesn’t really care, one way or another—”
“Not him,” Tasha said, staring at Jona. “He doesn’t get to run things.”
“Why the fuck do we have to listen to you?” Jona asked. “What’s to stop me from killing you and taking this job for ourselves?”
“You would’ve never heard of this in the first place if not for Oswyn.”
“And I’ll thank him when I see him,” Jona grinned.
Her face tightened. “I know our client. Kill me and he wouldn’t want to speak with you. And he wants enough of us for what he needs. At least ten men, he said. More would be better.”
The mercenaries fell silent. Roena could see them mentally counting the heads among them. She found herself doing it, too. Jona and Caiso’s group comprised of five men in all. The women arrived with three other men, which made…
She only counted nine.
“Where the fuck is Lucky?” one of the men from Tasha’s group asked.
Roena realized he meant the Gorenten. He was missing. She craned her head to the side and found him signing something on Landor’s desk.
The mercenaries had spotted him, too. She heard someone swear. The man they called Lucky placed the quill down and reached out to shake hands with Landor. She could see the surprise on Landor’s face, which was followed by a soft smile.
“What did you do, you son of a bitch?” Tasha exclaimed as Lucky returned to their table.
“I signed us up,” he said. “Caiso over there was correct. You just want to get paid, right? I put myself in as the contact.”
Jona grabbed him by the shirt. “I’m not following some milk-faced babe—”
“Contact,” Lucky said. “I don’t know what you think that means, but it’s all just about me dealing with them from now on. You can continue to argue about this leadership thing. I’m not interested.”
“I thought you just wanted to take us here and leave,” Hana said. She looked amused.
Lucky rubbed his nose. “Do my reasons matter? Besides, I don’t get paid if you don’t get paid.”
“He doesn’t even have a sword,” Jona growled. “Smooth-cheeked fuckface’s probably only good for warming one of these men’s beds. He looks nimble enough. Hey, who’s in the mood for some Gorenten ass? How about you, Caiso? We all know what you really prefer under the sheets.”
“You’re all…” Lucky began.
“What?” Jona sneered.
“Not thinking straight,” he continued. “Start fighting here and you’ll all find yourselves arrested within the evening. Tasha, do you want a repeat of Crossfingers?”
She grunted.
“Like the good Master said, we have to be at the castle tomorrow morning. I think maybe we should just leave you all here and return to our inn for tonight. Does that work?” There was an air of cool confidence about him. The mercenaries must’ve noticed it, too, because they didn’t protest now, and Roena fully expected them to.
Jona crossed his arms. “Get the hell out of here,” he hissed.
“We have to talk,” Tasha said, grabbing Lucky by the arm. They walked out of the tavern.
~~~
Roena returned to her food, which had grown cold in her fascination with the scene down below. She managed a few bites of the chicken and cheese, washed down with a whole mug of the thick, black beer. And then she pulled her cloak back on and made her way down the stairs.
“Your father is looking for you,” Landor said as she passed by his desk. He didn’t even look surprised to see her. “There will be an announcement soon.”
“Lovely,” she grumbled. She turned for the doors.
“Didn’t know this place had wenches,” someone called out from behind her back. Roena recognized the mercenary Jona’s booming voice. “Lovely wenches, at that. A moment, darling. Hey!”
She found herself out in the street and took a deep breath. The sky had darkened considerably since she had been inside. She tightened her cloak around her throat and turned at the alley.
“That what you do when someone calls for you?” Jona thundered.
She glanced back, one hand automatically dropping to the handle of the small dagger she had at her belt. The nerve of the man to follow her—why hadn’t Landor stopped him? She watched his face widen into an unsettling grin. He must’ve spotted her dagger, too, and she could see him wondering whether she was skilled enough to use it.
“Relax. I’m not going to rape you,” Jona said. “I just wanted to talk. Buy you a drink.”
“People fall for that a lot?” she asked.
Jona laughed. “I know a lot of better uses for a smart tongue than—”
“Away from her, scoundrel!”
Roena’s fingers tightened around the dagger as she managed a sigh of resignation. It was Lord Draigar’s voice that came stampeding through the shadows with the force of at least a dozen hooves. Draigar was her father’s closest confidante these days and was a well-built, if plain-faced man ten years her senior. His zealous dedication to her father had all but made it impossible for her to hear his voice without wanting to throw herself off a cliff. She remembered how he had followed her around when she was little, remarking every which way about all the things she ought to do or not do because it would make her father happy or upset.
“I’ve got this under control, Draigar,” she said under her breath.
“Do you?” he snorted, drawing his sword. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
“I needed a breather.”
“Getting yourself harassed by scum from the streets is what passes for a breather to you?”
Jona extended his arms out and took an awkward, almost insulting, curtsy. “I made a mistake,” he said with a grin. “With all due respect, my lord, my lady.” He sauntered back to the tavern.
Roena pressed her fingers over her forehead. “I’m going home.”
“I’ll ride with you.”
“I walked, Lord Draigar.”
He frowned. “Alone. As usual. Do you know what your father will say if he—”
“I know what he’ll say, Lord Draigar,” she said. “I’ve heard it a thousand times before.”
“Then maybe—”
She flashed him a look, which probably reminded him of her father enough that it stunned him into silence. He gestured at his soldiers to go on without him, shuffled his feet, and fell in a step behind her.
“You really don’t have to do this,” she said. “The roads are safe. I do believe we have you to thank for that.”
“The city wasn’t crawling with mercenaries before,” Draigar replied with a frown. “That man was clearly one of them. There’s al
ready been a dozen reports at the guardhouse.”
“And here my father was bragging about how this was all your idea.”
Draigar’s face barely flickered. “Had to be done. We’re starved for men, and those attacks aren’t going to go away anytime soon.”
“I thought you and my father just made all of that up for attention.”
He gave her a sharp look. “You dare say that? Real children have been lost, my lady. I’ve listened to the grieving mothers and fathers myself.”
She gave a small shrug. “And I feel for them, I do. Only—this didn’t use to be a problem, did it? We’ve had stories, and we’ve had attacks here and there, but…”
“That’s what we want to find out,” Draigar said, pausing long enough to swipe a torch from the city gates. He saluted the gate guards before turning back to her. “There’s been no sight of these creatures at all. We assume it’s the beasts, but that’s only because the villages that have been attacked are those right at the edge of that forest. We need to know more. If possible, we need to catch whoever—whatever—it is red-handed.”
“How very noble of you to spare our soldiers for what sounds like such an unpleasant job.”
Draigar cleared his throat. “What seems to be the problem, Lady Roena?”
“I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”
He held the torch up high, casting shadows on the road around them. “You seem to believe this is all a farce.”
“It obviously is,” she sniffed. “My father calls in mercenaries and makes an announcement for my betrothal to—whoever—all on the same day? Nothing but a show. That’s how he likes to play it, Lord Draigar. I know you think my father shits gold and farts rainbows, that he can do no wrong in your eyes, but I’m his daughter. The wise things he says, the way he makes the whole realm think he has all these elaborate plans…Duke Iorwin is concerned about nothing but his image.”
“My lady,” Draigar said. “You do not mean these things.”
“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t mean. I’m his daughter. I’ve seen what the man really is. And I’d be all right with all of that—he can do whatever he wants, pretend he’s king for all I care, as long as he doesn’t drag me with him. But no. I am Roena Blackwood, and it seems I am doomed to dance to the tune my father plays. That priest…” She gritted her teeth. “The high priest back in Tilarthan. I’m convinced my father paid him off to say those things about me.”
Draigar breathed. “My lady, that is a horrible thing to accuse of both your own father and a holy man.”
“I saw them chatting during the king’s ball afterwards,” Roena said. “You don’t chat like that with someone you met just that day. Especially not after he had just elevated your daughter in front of the entire court. My father thinks he’s smart, but I can see right through him.”
“The attacks are true, my lady. Children have been lost in these villages. I can assure you, on my honour…”
She watched him carefully, an idea forming in her mind.
They were quiet for the rest of the walk back to the castle. The guards looked startled at her arrival, but not overly surprised. Lord Draigar exchanged words with them before he accompanied her all the way to her bedchambers. She wondered, briefly, how her father would react if she took Draigar to bed. Probably better than Draigar himself. She had never known the man to take a peek at her, not even when she had started growing bosoms. No, this was something that had to be handled with finesse. If her father insisted on bandying his sharp wit about, then she needed to do the same thing.
She got dressed and returned to the hall. The dancing was at its peak—she could see Ylir yn Garr with her mother’s arm hooked through his elbow and managed a quick frown. Draigar excused himself to join her father.
“A moment, my lady,” Ylir said, bowing towards Duchess Branna. He extracted herself from her and crossed the hall to meet Roena. “I’m glad to see you back. I was afraid this morning’s festivities might have been…too much for you.” His eyes twinkled.
“Oh, drop the act,” she murmured. “I’m not in the mood for what you think is witty banter.”
“So you do keep me around for something else.”
“I keep you around for the off chance that my father might think chopping heads off is in fashion again. I’ll volunteer you to be the first.”
“Ah. Well, let’s hope Duke Iorwin doesn’t decide to bring back such a despicable practice. Let me give you an update of what has transpired since you’ve been away. Lord of the Bear Heads over there crossed words with Lord Fringe-face, and there is the possibility of a duel, I think. Maybe a duel of poetry. I admit I wasn’t paying as close attention as I could’ve, because Lord Crooked-nose over there had a bit too much to drink and was seen behind the curtains with one of your maidservants. They were a little too exuberant and had to be escorted out of the castle.”
“I see.”
“Also—” He paused to take a long drink from his cup. “Your father became involved in a very heated debate with Lady Isobel Dahrias over his new contract with Duke Rohn Beeching. Blackwood will be supplying Cape Beeching with lumber now—local lumber, harvested right from the Kag wilderness. The price is really quite good—I was surprised to hear it myself. No wonder Rohn Beeching couldn’t resist.”
Roena tried to digest his words. “He did what? But we’ve never tried harvesting from those woods before. Everyone has always assumed it would be too dangerous. Is he—” It dawned on her. “That’s what all of this is for, then. The mercenaries.”
“Maybe your father is more intelligent than I’ve given him credit for. Clear the villages using the mercenaries…if these beasts do exist. Or at least assure investors and workmen that they don’t exist. Either way, he’ll be able to start cutting into that forest where no one has dared tried in over a century.”
“There’s a reason we haven’t. Superstition—everyone knows the story of what happen when you send people too deep into those woods.”
“Do you really think your father believes in superstition?”
She snorted. “The sneaky bastard.”
“He knows everyone else does and he’s using that to his advantage. And a wonderful advantage it is, if he can get it to work to his favour. The price is nearly half of our own. Yn Garr Industries harvests lumber right along the base of the mountains around the city-states, and it costs a fortune to transport them down the river and to the coasts. But your father has all this wood right at your doorstep—all he needs is a way to get to it without spending the coin or the manpower. This contract with Beeching along—I wouldn’t be surprised, dear lady, if your father doubles his army within the year.”
“He announced this to everyone? Today?”
“Indeed. I believe he’s using it to set you on an even higher pedestal than you already are. You should’ve seen the lords licking their lips, Roena.” He nodded towards the crowd. “I think Duke Iorwin will make the announcement soon. Duke Ossus Farr from over there…”
“That bloated whale. He must be older than my father!”
“And also recently lost his wife to childbirth. He wasn’t interested in what he considered a flighty young thing before, but all this talk about Duke Iorwin’s new fortune has him all up in ears. We all know your family had only gotten this far because the king’s father favoured your grandfather. This elevates the Blackwoods into something else.”
“I’m not his brood mare,” Roena hissed. “He can’t just sell me off to the highest bidder.”
“I’m afraid he already has, my lady.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“He wants you to choose a husband by the end of the night. We both know you’d rather dramatically kill yourself, but Duke Ossus isn’t a bad catch, if you think about it.”
She had left him, drifting off to where her father stood—exactly in the same spot where she had left him hours ago. Did he never tire of his games? “My daughter,” Lord Blackwood said, breaking into a grin for the firs
t time she had seen that day. “Finally, you grace us once more with your presence.” He clinked his fork against his wine glass, causing everyone to turn their heads in attention. “You’ve all come here to join our celebration. My daughter Roena, after years of deliberation, has finally made her choice on who she shall marry. It is with great pleasure that I announce her engagement to—”
“Lord Draigar,” Roena said out loud. “Lord Draigar Blackmarsh, of the lands south of my father’s. For I have not known a more honourable man in all my life, and tonight he saved me from a man who would’ve done me harm and brought me safe back to my father’s castle. Lord Draigar—” And she turned to gaze at him from the crowd, a smile on her lips.
Draigar’s face was sheet-white. Around them, the crowd fell silent.
Chapter Eight
Luc didn’t know what came over him that evening. He had watched with a measure of distaste as Tasha argued with the big, angry fellow they called Jona, and then he found himself in front of the steward, writing down the name bequeathed to him by his father—a man who, at that very moment in time, was probably laying out an extra plate on their scratched wooden table just in case his son came strolling back in for breakfast. A man who deserved a better son. If he knew what Luc was really up to, it would break his heart.
He tried to drown the thoughts back with a grimace. It was dawn and he was waiting in line with a group of the grimmest, roughest-looking people he had encountered in his life. Already, he had been jostled twice, and a fight had almost started when he was pushed by one large man against an equally fat one. The scratchy beard Hana had insisted he grow along the road and the sword they had managed to procure for him last night didn’t seem to stop the other mercenaries from treating him like the farmer’s son he really was.
“This is your first job, isn’t it?” Master Landor said as he came up to the end of the line.
Luc blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Landor glanced at the others. “You stand out. That stare of yours. You look like a kitten that just opened its eyes.”
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