Shawna raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”
D’Jenn shook his head, regarding her as if she was stupid. “Let’s say you go to the King, you make your case, and he offers you his protection. That will be fine right up until he starts getting letters from the Galanian Emperor. I don’t know what sort of man the King of Cambrell is, but I do know that he has more than you to worry about. If the Empire starts making noise about moving an army onto Cambrellian soil, what recourse would your King have?”
Shawna tried to follow the Sevenlander’s logic. “If the Empire threatens invasion, it would mean war.”
“Right.” Dormael nodded. “Cambrell is a prosperous country. No offense, Lady Shawna, but your armies haven’t seen combat in a very long time. Every soldier under the King’s command is untested. The Galanian Empire has the might of three nations behind it, and their armies have been making war for years. They have a clear advantage.”
Shawna scowled. She wasn’t stupid by any stretch, and she could see where they were going with their arguments. It didn’t make the conclusion any more palatable.
“He won’t sacrifice the thousands who’ll die in a war, not to mention the peace we’ve seen for so long, simply for one minor Baroness.” The words tasted like ashes in her mouth. “He will give me up to the Empire rather than go to war.”
“He would.” Alton nodded. “It pains me to agree, but he probably would.”
“What’s more, the Red Swords are spinning some tale about you being a criminal,” Dormael said. “The Emperor will write to the King, demanding your extradition. If he refuses, Dargorin can offer him gold, titles, a political alliance, or maybe a treaty—perhaps even to protect his borders.”
“Everyone in Alderak is afraid of going to war with the Empire,” Alton said. “Keeping the borders of Cambrell inviolate, even for a short time, would be a powerful motivation to give you up.”
“The borders have already been violated!” Shawna regretted the comment as soon as it passed her lips. “I’m sorry, Alton. It’s just—”
“I know, cousin,” he said. “No need for apologies.”
Dormael shrugged. “Emperor Dargorin holds all the advantage in this game. We’re on our own as long as we stay in Cambrell.”
The crushing weight of it all came down on Shawna’s shoulders, and for a moment, quivering emotion welled up in her chest. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream at the gods in frustration. She wanted to put her swords through every Galanian she could find.
“What am I to do, then?” she asked. “If not the King, then who can help?”
“We are not entirely without options.” Alton’s tone was full of reluctance.
D’Jenn nodded. “There is one place on Eldath even the Empire would fear to tread.”
Shawna looked at him. “Where?”
“Ishamael,” Dormael said. “We can take you to the Conclave.”
Shawna’s insides went cold.
“The Conclave?” Shawna covered her discomfort with a deep breath. “Why would I travel so far from my home? How am I to reclaim it from half a world away?”
“Reclaim it?” D’Jenn scoffed. “Do you have any fighting men?”
Shawna grimaced. “No.”
D’Jenn raised his eyebrow, his expression grim and weighted. “Then how—”
“I know what you’re going to say.” Shawna scowled. “I’m not a fool. But leaving, it’s just…it just seems—”
“Like the only choice open to us,” Dormael said, giving D’Jenn a disapproving glare.
Shawna looked at him. Is it ‘us’ already?
“Right now, you’re wounded.” D’Jenn’s expression softened at Dormael’s glare. “You’re an animal being hunted, and you’re running out of places to go to ground. Fight if you wish, but you must strike from a position of strength. You’ve no major political allies. You have no fighting men and no marks to your name.”
Shawna grimaced. “Strike from a position of strength—my Master used to say something like that.”
Dormael smirked. “Ours, too.”
“I’m worried for you, cousin.” Alton put his hand on Shawna’s shoulder. “I can’t protect you from the Empire—not alone.”
“But the Conclave can protect you.” Dormael met her eyes. “And it’s the only place where you can learn the true nature your mother’s heirloom and why the Empire wants it.”
“The true nature of—” Shawna shook her head. The memory of her father’s bruised face flashed through her mind. His words echoed with the memory. If they find what they’re looking for, everyone here has died for nothing!
Shawna took a deep breath to calm her beating heart. “If I come with you to the Conclave, can you tell me why this happened? Why this piece of gods-forsaken jewelry was so important?”
“It’s the only place you’ll find someone who could.” Dormael nodded. “You could find solace there.”
“And what if solace isn’t what I want?” Shawna held his eyes. “What if I want blood?”
D’Jenn raised his chin. “Then the best thing is to choose your own battleground, not to have it chosen for you.”
Shawna furrowed her brows and nodded. She resituated her seat on the bed, clenching her teeth with pain. Alton helped support her and pulled the blankets up to cover her legs. Her side throbbed, and her muscles were protesting with painful spasms. She let out a relieved breath when she was comfortable again.
“Very well.” Shawna looked at Dormael and D’Jenn. “I’ll come with you.”
Dormael smiled. “Good.”
“Speaking of departures,” Alton said, “I’ve found you a ship. It’s called the Squidchaser, captained by a man named Roldo. He’s not the most honorable type, but he knows his business, and doesn’t ask troublesome questions.”
Dormael looked at him. “What does that mean—not the most honorable type?”
“It means he’s all I’ve got.” Alton winced. “The other Captains are staying on this side of the Stormy Sea for the rest of winter. No one wants to sail west at this time of year.”
D’Jenn shrugged. “It’s not called the Sea of Storms for nothing.”
“I told him to make ready for a departure tomorrow night, and he’s agreed to take you all to Duadan. He’s moored at wharf sixteen. I set up a meeting tomorrow night in front of the Happy Lad on Whiskey Row.”
Shawna gave Alton a suspicious look. “The Happy Lad?”
“It’s…well, it’s a brothel, cousin.”
“I see.”
“He chose the place.”
“I’m sure he did.”
Alton rolled his eyes. “I’ve also put together a number of supplies for your journey, taken from my company’s assets.”
D’Jenn raised his eyebrows. “Supplies?”
“Sundries.” Alton shrugged. “Horses. Your passage overseas is paid for—and Roldo was paid a substantial bonus to keep quiet, just so you know.”
Dormael put a hand on Alton’s shoulder. “We can’t thank you enough.”
“You can, and you are,” Alton said. “Repay me by protecting my cousin.”
Dormael bowed his head. “We’ll do everything we—”
Both the Sevenlanders stiffened and turned to look at the wardrobe on the far wall.
The sight made Shawna’s limbs go cold. “What?”
“Is that—” D’Jenn gave Dormael a sharp glance.
“Aye, that’s it.” Dormael’s eyes were locked to the wardrobe.
“Lady Shawna,” D’Jenn said, “can we see this heirloom? It’s time we got a look at what the Empire is after.”
Shawna shared a wary glance with Alton. “It’s in my saddlebags. Alton, could you—?”
“No need.” D’Jenn beckoned at the wardrobe, and the doors creaked open. Shawna’s saddlebags floated out and plopped gently on the bed at her feet. She shied away from them but was immediately embarrassed by her reaction. Shaking her head, Shawna reached into the bags.
Gods, I thought I tossed
more clothing in here. She rummaged around the different pieces of clothing, scoffing when she felt something inside made of fine silk. Her hands alighted on the silver box and she drew it out, pushing the saddlebags aside.
Dormael’s eyes were pinned to the box, his expression confused.
Shawna lifted the latch and opened the box. The ruby gleamed, twinkling as it refracted the room’s ruddy light. She made to pull out the armlet, but D’Jenn stopped her with a cautionary hiss.
“Don’t.” D’Jenn peered at the armlet. “Don’t touch it, Lady Baroness.”
Shawna recoiled from the box and placed it at the foot of the bed. “What? Why not?”
Dormael took a step toward the bed, his eyes locked to the armlet. His eyes seemed brighter than normal, focused, but his body swayed on his feet. He reached toward the box, titing his head as if listening to a distant noise.
“Dormael, wait.” D’Jenn put a restraining hand on Dormael’s shoulder.
Dormael ignored him, continuing to move forward with unconscious steps. The light in the room intensified, and a glimmer blossomed in the depths of Dormael’s eyes. Shawna felt a trickle of sweat run down the side of her face. The fireplace crackled, and the flames grew brighter, filling the room with heady warmth.
D’Jenn’s hand tightened on his cousin’s shoulder. “Dormael!”
Steam rose from Dormael’s shoulders. A flickering wave of fire rolled over his clothing, like the fuzz burning from a wool garment. Shawna scooted further away, and her side twinged with sharp pain.
D’Jenn grabbed Dormael’s shoulders in both hands. “Look at me! Wake up, you—”
D’Jenn turned a sudden, confused glance on the armlet. Dormael stumbled against D’Jenn and shook his head, blinking down at his cousin’s hands, which were tangled with his shirt. The two of them shared a grim look, and D’Jenn released his grip. The flames receeded to their normal intensity, though the room was cloying.
Alton cleared his throat. “What, in all the names of the gods, was that?”
Dormael looked at D’Jenn. “You felt it.”
“I felt it.” D’Jenn narrowed his eyes at the armlet. “What in the Six Hells was it?”
“That’s what I asked.” Alton looked between them. “Don’t you know?”
The ruby still glimmered, reflecting the flickering light of the fire. It was muted, though, compared to what it had been before. Shawna pulled her saddlebags into her lap, if only to put something between her and the armlet.
Dormael let out a cleansing breath, stepping back from the bed. “That thing is powerful.”
“It sings.” D’Jenn regarded the armlet with a mystified expression. “It has its own song.”
“What in Evmir’s name does that mean?” Alton asked.
D’Jenn fixed Alton with a level gaze. “It means we need to get that thing to Ishamael as soon as possible. I don’t know what it is, but I know I’ve never seen its like before.”
Shawna stared at the box, her body gone cold. “Put it away. Please.”
D’Jenn shook his head. “We dare not touch it. Not right now. Please, Lady Baroness—shut the lid and stuff the box into the deepest part of your bags.”
Shawna scoffed. “You want me to touch it now?”
“It’s gone quiet.” Dormael put his back against the far wall. “It shouldn’t hurt you.”
Shouldn’t hurt me? Shawna shook her head and did what he asked—neither of them would come near the bed, in any case. She handled the box like a poisonous scorpion and stuffed it to the bottom of her saddlebags. When she was done, D’Jenn was kind enough to float them back into the wardrobe for her.
“That settles it, if it wasn’t settled before.” D’Jenn turned away from the wardrobe. “We must reach Ishamael with all possible haste.”
“In that case, we should let Shawna get some rest.” Alton brushed off his clothing, though it wasn’t dirty. “I don’t know if anyone could sleep after that, but—”
“Wait.” Dormael held up a hand. “There’s something else. We found a girl in the castle.”
“A girl?” Alton asked.
“A child,” Dormael clarified. “We found her in the Colonel’s rooms and brought her back with us.”
Alton looked at Dormael like he’d said the gods were coming back. “You what?”
“Believe me,” D’Jenn growled. “It was a worthy thing to do.”
Dormael nodded. “She was a prisoner there, Alton. She’s not the Colonel’s child.”
“I see.” Alton let out an all-suffering sigh. “Nan is aware of this?”
“She is.” Dormael winced. “Apologies, Alton, but we couldn’t leave her there.”
Alton held up a dismissive hand. “In the face of everything else, feeding a child is a small concern. Nan will see to her. You can tell me more later.”
“Thank you.” Dormael nodded.
As if mentioning her name summoned the woman herself, Nan came bustling into the room with a steaming plate of food and two mugs. The old chamberlain favored Shawna with a bright smile and sat the dinnerware on the bedside table. Shawna’s stomach growled.
Nanathelle put her hands on her hips and faced the three men. “I’m sure you’re all worried about Lady Shawna, but the Baroness needs her rest. The rest of you ought to get some food in your bellies, too.”
Alton smiled. “I’ve already eaten, Nan.”
“A bit more fat around the midsection wouldn’t hurt, my Lord.” Nan smiled. “Now—if there’s nothing else, I’ll respectfully ask you boys to say your good-nights.”
“Not even the master of my own home.” Alton enfolded Shawna in a light embrace. “I’m glad you’re awake, cousin. I’ll see you soon. If you need anything, just let someone know.”
“Thank you,” she smiled, “for everything. And you two—Dormael and D’Jenn. Thank you as well.”
Dormael’s responding smile was distracted, his eyes flicking toward her wardrobe. D’Jenn gave her a friendly nod.
“We’ll speak in the morning, Lady Baroness.” D’Jenn went through the doorway.
Dormael turned before leaving. “I’m glad you’re healing, Lady Shawna.”
“Thank you.”
Once the men were gone, Nan sat a steaming plate of food in Shawna’s lap and fussed with the bedding while she ate. The food tasted wonderful, but her stomach was too nervous to handle even half the plate. Nan gave Shawna the mug of firewine before bustling from the room with the used dinnerware. Shawna gulped the alcohol down as soon as the old woman was out the door.
She lay awake for some time after the candles had been snuffed. She hadn’t had a chance to grieve for the loss of her family, and as the dark closed in around her, the weight of their loss pressed down like an invisible pile of stone. The twisted, bleeding bodies flashed through her mind again, and visions of the men she had killed paraded before her eyes.
It was long into the night before she fell asleep.
Quitting Sanctuary
All Dormael wanted was to finish his breakfast.
“All I’m saying is that she’s your problem.” D’Jenn chewed on a mouthful of eggs. “You got us into this, so you get to do all the babysitting.”
Dormael rolled his eyes, chewing on his bacon. The morning light streamed through the narrow windows of the common hall and stabbed into his eyes. D’Jenn had been grumbling about Shawna all morning, but Dormael had yet to summon the energy to form a coherent response. After the night’s excitement, he had slept like a stone.
The dawn had brought soreness, stabbing light, and D’Jenn’s grumbling.
Bethany sat beside Dormael, toying with the length of his beard. Once she was bathed, dressed properly, and fed, she didn’t look quite so pitiful. She’d sought out Dormael and D’Jenn with the dawn and hadn’t left their shadows since. She was quiet, but she managed a reluctant smile here and there.
Bethany’s eyes flashed to every noise in the hall. When she’d eaten, she had guarded her food as if it was going to
run away. Dormael watched her while he ate, smiling when she looked up, but he didn’t bother her with questions.
“Are you listening to me?”
Dormael turned back on his cousin. “Aye, I heard you.”
He tried to spear some eggs onto his utensil with his left hand, scowling at his plate as the food fought to stay clear of his attack. With his right hand bandaged and his arm in a sling, eating was an exercise in frustration. He muttered a curse and chased the eggs across his plate.
Bethany reached up, flipped her fork into her fingers, and held the eggs in place for him.
Dormael smiled. “Thanks, little one. You’ve got deft fingers, don’t you?”
Bethany shrugged.
“You owe me, Dormael.” D’Jenn tapped a finger on the table to accent his point. “Don’t forget that.”
“Owe you? For what?”
“Helping you.” D’Jenn smirked. “You ruined my holiday.”
Dormael shook his head. “Alright, I owe you.”
“And since you’re the one who’s sweet on Her Ladyship, you’re the one who has to deal with her—that’s the rule.”
“Why are we suddenly making rules? And who said I’m sweet on her?”
“When she needs handling, you’ll handle her.”
“Handling?”
“You know what I mean.” D’Jenn gave him a flat look. “When Her Ladyship needs her questions answered, it won’t be me doing the talking. When she wants to spit fire at someone, that someone is you.”
Dormael shrugged. “Very well. I can deal with that.”
D’Jenn peered at him. “I’ll bet you can.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Of course not.” D’Jenn shook his head. “You just like the sight of Her Ladyship’s legs.”
Dormael scowled. “That’s not why we’re here.”
“Oh, of course not. My cousin, the paragon of virtue. It’s not as if you’ve ever done anything stupid for a pretty face and a nice pair of—”
Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1) Page 15