Queen (Brotherhood of the Throne)

by Jane Glatt

  Brenna’s gaze followed the red-hot steel as Smith Innis carefully carried it from the forge to the quenching tank. The minute the sword touched the oil in the tank, she felt it. The blazing metal hissed when it met the cooler liquid in the tank and in response her blood sang and raced through her body.

  “I think this one will work as well,” she said loudly, trying to make sure the smith heard her over the noise of the forge. “I definitely felt something when the sword touched the oil.” Absently she rubbed the bandage that covered the small cut in her hand. She’d put an extra drop of blood into the oil this time, thinking the sword needed more than a knife. Now she was worried that she’d added too much.

  “And you said this is Gaskain’s sword, not Dasid’s?” Brenna wasn’t sure she wanted the more powerful connection to Dasid that his new knife and a new sword would give her.

  “That’s right. Dasid’s is with some others waiting to be sharpened some.” Innis gestured to a corner.

  Brenna could just make out half a dozen sword blades hanging straight down from the ceiling, thick tongs clamped onto their unfinished tangs.

  Innis gripped the blade with solid iron tongs and submerged it completely into the quenching tank. Brenna shivered and her blood raced again. After a few moments she relaxed as the blood connection between her and the tank steadied.

  “I think it’s cooled enough,” she said. Innis sent her a puzzled look. “At least, the sword and the tank seem to have accepted each other.”

  “Well, that’s a good sign.” Innis nodded and eyed the tank. “But taking it out too early will ruin the blade the same as leaving it in too long. Just a little more time, I think.”

  A few moments later some sign or other seemed to satisfy Innis and he carefully pulled the blade from the tank. As he pulled it up, the oil slid down the length of it and dripped back into the tank. Peering close, Innis grunted, then nodded to himself. He reached for a soft cloth and wiped the blade clean of oil.

  “That looks about right,” he muttered. He turned his back to Brenna and walked away, the blade clutched between his tongs and resting on the cloth.

  “You think this one worked?” This was only the third attempt but Brenna was anxious to have it succeed. That lack of patience again, she thought.

  “We’ll know for sure in the morning.” Innis carefully laid the blade on top of a wooden table. He ran the cloth across it one last time before turning to her. “Come back then, Brenna, and we’ll see. I’ll have Gaskain come as well. He can handle the blade and we’ll see if it’s right before I do the rest of the work.”

  Brenna nodded, eager to leave now that the important work was done. As she headed out the door she caught sight of a familiar head of hair hiding behind a crate in the corner. Brenna slowed and kept her head turned away until she reached it.

  “I got you this time,” she said as she grabbed the small body and pulled it, wriggling, against her.

  “Only ‘cause I let you see me,” Ronan said. He slipped out of her arms and danced away from her. “If I didn’t want you to see me you wouldn’t have.”

  “You wanted me to catch you, is that it?” Brenna crossed her arms until the boy settled down in front of her. “And why is that?”

  “I thought maybe you had a sweet you wanted to share.”

  Brenna laughed at the hopeful look on the boy’s face. Even though he was likely far better fed now than he’d ever been in his short life, he was always looking for more to eat.

  “Let me see,” she said as she checked her pockets and patted down her vest. “I thought I had one of Cook’s jam tarts here somewhere.” Brenna opened her pack and looked in. “No, sorry, I must have given that to another little boy.” She glanced at Ronan. “One who didn’t follow me around and spy on me.”

  “I wasn’t spying, I wasn’t, honest,” Ronan said, his gray eyes wide with worry. “Please, don’t tell my ma.”

  “So you just happened to be outside the forge when I was inside?”

  “Well, sorta. I mean, I was outside the forge, but that’s ‘cause they’s making old steel in there,” Ronan said. “And they’s using blood for it. I seen it.”

  Startled, Brenna asked, “When did you see that?”

  “Dasid brought me down before he went away with Kane. He told me to sit quiet like in the corner while he and the old man with the apron talked. And then.” Ronan’s eyes widened even more. “Dasid took his knife and cut his hand and some blood dripped down into a bowl the other man was holding. And Dasid, he didn’t act like it hurt or nothing.”

  Brenna had to smile at the awe in Ronan’s voice. She wasn’t sure how much he understood about Dasid and Neemah’s burgeoning relationship but the boy was obviously captivated with Dasid. In turn Dasid had let Ronan trail after him.

  “Well Ronan.” Brenna crouched down until she looked him in the eyes. “Did Dasid tell you that what he was doing was a secret?”

  Ronan nodded solemnly. “But I figured you was fine to tell seeing as you’re the queen and all.” He looked at her hand. “And you cut your hand into the bowl too.”

  Brenna sighed and ruffled his hair. “All right.” She took hold of his small hand and started off. “Let’s go see if we can find something for you to eat. Where’s your mother?”

  “She’s over t’ the church with Mother Lyran and the rest of the healers. They was mixing up something that smelled really bad so I left.”

  As they walked, Ronan gleefully described the terrible smell at the healing school, his more inventive comparisons making Brenna laugh out loud. Once back at Duke Ewart’s house, Cook found a roll covered in honey and almonds for Ronan.

  Brenna left the boy to eat his prize and wandered around the house. Ewart had traveled back to his estate in the country to be with his wife and new daughter and Dasid and Kane were on their way to the ferry crossing. She idly fingered her knife, sensing that Kane was safe and well. It was only late afternoon and Brenna knew that Neemah and the healers and Gaskain would not be back at the house before dark. Until then, she had some time to fill. She smiled. Kane would tell her to be patient but she wasn’t used to being idle. Perhaps she should head over to the church and see what the healers were concocting. Brenna was halfway to the door when she sighed and stopped.

  She hated the way the women behaved around her. They were nice, too nice, really. They stopped what they were doing and made tea and showed her all the improvements they’d made since her last visit, as though she was inspecting them. Even Neemah, who treated her normally at the house, was different when she was with the other healers. When she’d complained to Kane he’d smiled sadly and told her it was something she’d have to get used to. She was their queen and they wouldn’t forget that even if Brenna ordered them to.

  With another sigh, Brenna went back up to her room. She grabbed a book from the small table - a history that Duke Ewart had given her that chronicled some of the earliest Dukes of Fallad. She settled onto the bed to read, trying to keep her mind from wandering. She’d like to tease Ewart about his boring ancestors, she thought, except that they were her ancestors too. Brenna kept her eyes on the dry prose, stifling a yawn now and then.

  She looked up suddenly, surprised to see the vaguely familiar buildings sprinkled with snow already. The square was the same - a ring of posts with animal sheds surrounding them on three sides. The few times she seen the square it had never been this busy. There were oxen and wagons everywhere - and men and women. Men who wore solemn, angry expressions and women who sobbed into thin shawls. As Brenna watched, a large man, obviously in charge, walked down the line of people. Every now and then he’d point at one of the men - those men were unshackled and herded to the middle of the square. Some of the women, the younger, prettier ones, Brenna noted angrily, were also separated from the line. The rest, fear on their faces, were put back in lines behind the wagons. Drovers took control of the oxen and led them and the wagons from the square. The line of chained men and women stumbled after them.

>   As the wagons pulled away one pretty young woman who’d been left in the square ran after them. Brenna watched in horror as the canvas covering on one of the wagons slipped back to reveal the tear-streaked face of a girl, no more than four or five. Other small hands quickly pulled the child back in but not before she saw her mother pushed to the ground by one of the handlers.

  Brenna’s stomach knotted as the crowd parted and two well-dressed men arrived. Her fury rose as she recognized one of the men. Geordie, his name was, a councilman in the mining town of Blackwall. Brenna’s anger turned to ice as, smiling, Geordie eyed the woman who lay sobbing in the dirt, nodded to the man in charge, and walked off. One of the handlers picked the woman up and dragged her with him as they followed Geordie.

  She should have killed them, Brenna thought, when she’d poisoned the councilmen’s food she should have made sure they never recovered. Her fingers trembled with anger as they clutched the book. She stared blankly at the page in front of her, still seeing the scene in Blackwall. Brenna’s fingers felt icy, as though she’d spent time out in the cold and snow. She slowly uncurled them and let the book close and drop to her chest.

  It had seemed so real this time. She rubbed her still chilled hands together. And she’d never had the effects of a vision linger so long after it was over. She shivered and grabbed the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her trembling body. Was this a Seeing of the future or had she witnessed something as it was happening? Brenna rose and peered out the window. It was early afternoon, just like in her vision. She’d contact her grandfather and get Laurel’s opinion. But whether it had happened already or was going to happen, she had to do something about it. This was where the captives from Thieves Quarter were being sent. She would stop it.

  Brenna reached for her knife and closed her eyes. Quickly she located Yowan’s sword, south, in Aruntun. She startled him, but he promised to find Laurel as soon as possible. Brenna paced her room, impatient to know if her vision had already happened. She wanted to help those people now! Kane would tell her to be patient. It would take Yowan some time to find Laurel and he would probably talk to Madelay first anyway. At the thought of her grandmother Brenna relaxed a little. Madelay knew much about patience - she’d spent most of her life calmly hoping that events she’d put into motion would prove successful. And she’d never thought to know if her sacrifice was worth it.

  Straightening her shirt and vest, Brenna headed downstairs. Either Neemah or Gaskain might have come back to the house and she could at least distract herself with any updates they might have on their tasks.

  It was late and Brenna was sitting in her room trying to read when Yowan contacted her again.

  “Brenna, Laurel and Madelay are both here,” Yowan said.

  “Thank you Yowan. Tell them hello and that I love them both.” Brenna felt calmer knowing that her grandmother and her cousin were ready to give advice. “Does Laurel think it’s possible that I witnessed a Seeing as it was happening?”

  “She’s never experienced it herself, nor could she find more than one vague reference to one of Aruntun’s visions in any of the records. She was able to speak to the oldest living Seer and she’d never heard of any visions of events as they actually happened.”

  “Could all my visions change? I don’t want to See events that I can’t stop.” The visions were hard enough to interpret but to not have a chance of changing things, of preventing them? She’d rather not See events in the first place. Brenna waited while Yowan talked to Laurel.

  “She’s just not sure, Brenna. I’m sorry.”

  Sighing, Brenna said goodbye and blew out the lamp. She sat for some time in her darkened room, seeing the woman’s face as her daughter was led away from her, seeing the child’s tears fall as she looked at her mother for what may be the last time. Eventually Brenna removed her clothes and slipped into bed. She missed Kane tonight, terribly. She wanted his arms around her and for him to tell her everything would be all right. But she knew deep down that it wouldn’t. Not unless she did something about it herself. Finally, as the sky lightened to dawn, Brenna fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Duke Thorold watched in satisfaction as Beldyn, King Beldyn, signed the papers. His son had been very co-operative since his coronation, though he’d been told that the boy was still disappearing every few nights. Thorold grunted. He didn’t care how his son spent his nights as long as he did his duty during the day. He peered more closely at Beldyn’s face and smiled slightly at the smudges under his eyes. The wenching did seem to be taking a toll on the boy’s looks but the only one who might care in the least was King Mannel’s daughter Evlan. And since her opinion on anything made no difference to Thorold, he’d let the boy play.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Thorold said as Beldyn finished signing the other two copies. “I’ll take these to the clerk immediately.” Thorold held out his hand and smiled when Beldyn obediently placed the three sheets into it. The tasks these papers approved were well under way already of course, but it was necessary to have the signed paperwork documenting the orders. Not that anyone dared to question his authority, Thorold thought as he left his son’s study. He’d been careful enough to make sure that he, and not Beldyn, was the one with the political allies and the real authority of the crown. And it was just as well he’d kept the boy in Comack, considering his hobbies. He must have Fridrick check into the existence of any of Beldyn’s bastard children in Dryannan. As he had reason to know, bastards could cause unforeseen problems.

  “Make sure one copy is sent to King Mannel as soon as possible,” Thorold said as he held out the papers for the clerk to take. Yes, he thought, as he walked past the bowed head of the clerk, bastards could cause problems. Even now he couldn’t believe the witch had been impudent enough to declare herself queen. And both Aruntun and Fallad had pledged to her. It was a rebellion against Soule and could not be allowed to continue much longer.

  Even two weeks after the coronation he was still furious. Aruntun he’d expected to lose, but Fallad? Steady trade with Fallad was the prize he’d tempted Langemore with. He could not have Mannel discover that Fallad wasn’t his to command until Langemore was fully committed. Which was why Beldyn must wed Mannel’s daughter Evlan as soon as possible.

  Thorold walked the short corridor to his own office.

  “Fridrick, I want you to find out if Beldyn has fathered any children, either here or in Dryannan.” Thorold sat at his desk.”

  “Yes my Lord.” The scholar bowed. “At once.”

  “And let me be clear - I do not want more bastards of my line alive to cause problems.”

  Fridrick paled slightly but he nodded. “I understand.” The scholar bowed again and backed out of the room.

  Better to take care of them when they’re young, Thorold thought. That way no one gets too attached. If he’d done that with the witch her mother would likely still be alive tending his ills. Or at the very least, the ills of his staff. It was very disruptive when a trusted cook or groom took ill and it happened far too often for his liking. And healers were rare and good ones even more rare. The ones trained in Kingsreach were certainly not as a good as the witches - he just had to look at how Mattias had been treated. The man had been dying for years and his Kingsreach-trained physician hadn’t been able to help him at all. Nothing had helped until the witch had arranged to give him an antidote. He never did find out how she’d known Mattias was being poisoned.

  Yes, witches were the best healers. If he could find one to trust he’d keep them for himself. As it was he’d only found one healer in Kingsreach who was suitable to work at the Blackwall mine - he’d been sent, unwillingly of course, with the first shipment of slaves.

  Thorold sighed and settled into his chair. He always felt a sense of control when he was in his own office. He picked up the pile of correspondence his clerk had left for him.

  eight

  Kane pushed his battered hat lower on his head and gripped the reins tighter. He kept his eyes on his
dirty and torn fingernails as Master Turner went over his list of goods with the Kingsguard. The two Guard who were inspecting the wagon weren’t familiar to Kane but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t recognize him. He said a quick prayer to Jik, wishing he had Brenna’s skill of invisibility. He flexed his muscles, trying to prepare himself to run if he had to, but stopped when one of the horses sensed his unease and started tossing its head.

  The horses hitched to the wagon were the most sensitive he’d ever come across. Turner had told him that they were actually very fine mounts and were far too smart to be pulling a wagon. Kane agreed. He’d had his hands full with them along the road. But any trouble they caused was made up by the fact that they were fast. Even in the traces, pulling a loaded wagon they’d shown speed.

  Turner planned on leaving them behind so his family could get out of Kingsreach if they needed to. They were favourite mounts of his brother and nephew and he was hoping they’d be able to outrun anything the Kingsguard had. Kane thought they probably could - he’d always insisted that the Guard have the best horses they could find but few rode anything near the quality of this pair. If his brother and nephew stayed behind, Turner would buy or trade for a couple of less well-bred animals for his trip back to Silverdale.

  Finally the Guards moved to the next cart in line and Turner jumped up onto the seat beside Kane.

  “To the market, driver, we’ve already lost the best part of the morning. Get on with you.”

  Kane snapped the reins and the horses moved forward, pulling the heavy cart after them. Once they were far enough from the gates he felt Turner relax beside him.

  “I hope my brother and his son are willing to leave as soon as possible,” Turner said quietly. “The questions the Kingsguard asked were about more than trade.”

  “What else did they want to know?” Kane asked quietly. He turned the cart down the street Turner indicated.