by Jane Glatt
“That is excellent,” Brenna said. “I’ve found an inn. It’s called the White Whale. I’m going to take a room. Meet me here later. I’ll do some scouting but will be back well before dawn.”
“Be careful,” Dasid said.
Brenna checked the alley for signs of anything unusual before she strolled casually to the door of the White Whale. She pushed the door open and entered.
The room was bright, lit by a big fire in the hearth and half a dozen lamps fastened to the walls. Behind the bar a tall woman in a crisp, white apron poured ale into large jugs - the froth spilled over the sides of the jugs and pooled onto the wood in front of her. A lad took a jug in each hand and hurried over to a table. He waited politely for the patrons to fish some coin out for him before he headed back to the bar, dropped the coins into a small mug and pick up two more jugs.
Brenna walked up to the bar and waited quietly while the woman finished pouring.
“What can I do for you?” the woman said, wiping her hands on her apron.
“I need a room,” Brenna said. “Something with a window. And fresh bedding.”
The innkeep looked up and frowned. “I always have fresh bedding.”
“Good. Can you also supply a bath?”
The innkeep nodded and Brenna sighed. On the Swiftsure she’d been able to scrub herself with cold seawater, but a hot bath would be wonderful after weeks of travel.
“How much?” Brenna asked. They haggled over the price for a few minutes but when the innkeep added a bowl of fish stew and a mug of ale, Brenna finally agreed. It was more than she’d wanted to pay but the inn looked well-run and clean, and the bath would be worth the extra coin. She was planning on meeting with a king, after all.
Brenna sat down at a bench that hugged the wall and afforded her a view of the whole room. She placed her hands on the large communal table in front of her. Two men at her table looked her over for a moment before they went back to their discussion.
Brenna relaxed and surveyed the room - she missed being not noticed, missed being someone others ignored. It made her feel safe and comfortable and somehow more like herself. She shook her head. It made her feel like the old her - the thief who could steal into any room, the healer who helped folk even if they couldn’t pay. Now she was a queen and everyone noticed her. She smiled. But right this minute she was just another patron at the White Whale ready to enjoy a meal and a bath.
The lad put a bowl of stew and a slice of bread down in front of her and Brenna sighed. The stew was fragrant with thyme and garlic. She picked up the spoon and scooped some into her mouth.
“Here’s your ale,” the lad said as he set the mug down on the table. “Mistress Millings says your bath will be ready by the time you finish your supper.”
Brenna smiled and dug out a small coin. “Thank you.” She ate another spoonful of stew as the lad walked away. When she’d soaked up the last drop of gravy with bread, Brenna rose and headed up the stairs.
Hers was the last door on the right, the innkeep had said, and when she pushed the door open she sighed at the sight of a large tub of water standing in front of a lit fireplace. She walked around the room checking that the window and door were locked. Brenna dropped her pack onto the narrow bed and pulled out a handful of mint leaves. She rubbed her hands together, crushing the leaves into the steaming water. By the time she’d undressed and slid into the tub, the scent was already energizing her.
The water had cooled and she was contemplating getting out when a soft knock came at the door.
“Just wondering if you still need the tub, Mistress?” a woman asked.
“Oh, just a moment, I’ll get out.” Brenna stood up, the cooled water sluicing off her, and grabbed a cloth to dry herself with. She didn’t want the staff coming back later to fetch the tub to wonder how their guest had left the room without coming down the stairs. She dressed quickly and opened the door to the hall to let the two girls come and fetch the tub.
Once they were gone she pulled her black vest on and reached into her pack for her soft-soled slippers. Now she was ready for some night work. She slung her pack over her shoulder and gently eased the window open. Night had fallen - it was time to find King Mannel and see what Duke Thorold meant to him.
sixteen
Brenna inched back from the edge. She lay on a flat roof, one of many she’d traveled over in the last few hours. This one was part of the castle. She peered up at the tower that loomed over her, worried that despite her black clothing, someone looking out the window might see her. She wasn’t ready to use a spell, at least not yet, not when her thief skills were enough. Besides, it would feel like cheating. She’d spent years doing this exact same thing without magic and right now she was enjoying the challenge of avoiding the guards, of remaining quiet and still and then figuring out the best way to get to the next roof, the next vantage point.
She rose to a crouch and sprinted to a spot across from the next window. Lying flat, she wormed her way forward until she could see into the room across from her. A blond man wearing a white fur vest and black silk breeches rose from a chair and walked out of her view. King Mannel, Brenna thought. This man was the right age and dressed finely enough. If she were king she’d want a room in one of the highest towers. Growing up she’d often spied on Duke Thorold, hidden away on the roof so that she could see into his tower room.
A short while later the man she hoped was Mannel returned with a glass in one hand and sat back down. For half an hour he simply sipped his drink and studied a piece of paper that he held in his other hand. Abruptly he threw the paper to the floor and Brenna clearly heard him curse Thorold’s name. That was enough proof for her that Mannel wasn’t committed to Thorold – at least not yet. Brenna had started to shimmy back from the edge of the roof when she heard another voice inside the room.
“But what about me?” a female voice asked. “I’m to wed him.”
“I’ll not give you to a man who can’t keep his own land together,” the man said.
A pretty, young blonde walked into view, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re giving me to the son, not the father,” she said.
“Same thing, I’m afraid. Reports say that the boy only does what his father tells him.”
“But I could help him.”
“No doubt you could Evlan, but would it be enough? You’re too precious for me to risk and too tempting a prize for Thorold.”
As she watched King Mannel and his daughter argue, Brenna made a decision. She eased back to the edge of the roof and studied the window and the walls opposite her. She’d need to enter by the window - the corridors outside the room would be too well-guarded. She backed away from the edge of the roof and into a shadow.
Less than half an hour later she was perched on the roof directly above the window where she’d seen King Mannel and his daughter. She muttered the invisibility spell before craning her neck to see over the edge. Despite the late hour the light still shone brightly in the room below. From her vantage, she could only see a few feet into the room, but she didn’t hear anything.
Brenna eased away from the window. She uncoiled her rope and secured it to a chimney before letting the other end snake down beside the window. With her hands firmly grasping the rope, she slipped over the edge of the roof, gently easing herself down until her feet met the window casement. She crouched and grabbed the window frame before pushing the rope to one side. Silently, Brenna nudged the window open and slipped inside.
“What was that?” King Mannel stepped into an open doorway and peered into the room.
Brenna carefully backed away from the window, trying not touch the fabric of the curtains or bump into any furniture.
“I didn’t hear anything, Father - you’re just trying to evade my questions.”
Brenna moved into a corner as Mannel entered the room.
“Was that window open before?” he asked.
His daughter huddled into his back, suddenly nervous.
“No, I
opened it,” Brenna dropped her spell and stepped into the center of the room. “Please don’t call the guards,” she said.
King Mannel squared his shoulders as if to hide his daughter.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is Brenna Trewen.” Brenna bowed her head.
“The Queen?” Evlan peered over her father’s shoulder. “Are you the one who was crowned Queen in Silverdale?”
“I am. I think we have much to talk about, we three.” Brenna met Mannel’s gaze and held it and his grim features seemed to soften.
“If you are who you say you are, we do indeed have much to talk about.”
Brenna let out a long breath.
“I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who was nervous,” Mannel said and laughed. “Now, lass, I need some proof that you are who you say you are. And I want to know how you got into my tower room. If you promise not to slit my throat I’ll ask that you and come sit so we can talk.”
“I promise not to harm you,” Brenna said.
Mannel lost his smile and his face stilled at her solemn tone. Perhaps he had assumed that she couldn’t hurt him, she thought as she took a seat. To confirm her pledge she unsheathed her knife and laid it on the table, where it glittered in the firelight. As for the proof he’d asked for, she pulled her pack off, took the coronet out and placed it beside the knife. Once out in the open the coronet began to glow until it was brighter than the lamps.
“It does seem to settle down on its own after I’ve worn it a bit,” Brenna said. “But I can control it.” And she reached for the coronet and darkened it.
“What is that?” asked Evlan, her eyes wide. “Are you a witch?”
“That, if I’m not mistaken, is the old crown of Soule,” Mannel said and Brenna nodded. “It’s been lost for a very long time, if my history serves me.”
“For hundreds of years,” Brenna agreed. “Since the last king to follow the old gods died. And yes.” She met Evlan’s blue eyes. “I am a witch. My grandmother is sister to Duchess Avery of Aruntun.”
Mannel’s eyebrows lifted. “So that is how you gained her support so readily. And Ewart?”
“A cousin, on my father’s side,” Brenna said. “My mother’s father is of the royal line, not legitimate of course, and my father’s father is Duke Thorold.”
“But not legitimate,” Mannel said.
“None of it, except for the Aruntian lineage. The women of Aruntun’s line never marry.”
Mannel’s eyebrows went even higher.
“What do you mean they never marry?” Evlan asked. “How is succession secured?”
“The title has always been held by a woman. The Duchess does not marry. She takes a consort who is husband in all but name, yet has no claim to the dukedom,” Brenna said. “A girl is always named heir, so I’ve been told.”
“And never a man? Father, is that true? How can that be?”
“It’s true that the current Duchess was the heir of another Duchess,” Mannel said.
“The records in Kingsreach never once mention a Duke of Aruntun,” Brenna said. Dasid is the one who had confirmed that. She should contact him, she realized. “If you don’t mind, I need to touch my knife for a moment.” She reached out and settled her hand on her knife, calling Dasid as she did.
“Brenna, are you all right? I was expecting you back by now,” Dasid said.
“I’m fine. I’m talking with King Mannel and his daughter Evlan.” Dasid cursed and she continued. “They seem very receptive so far.”
“Be careful. You don’t know what you’re dealing with yet.”
“This is why we undertook this trip,” she replied. “You’re at the White Whale? I’ll meet you back there soon.”
“What just happened,” Mannel said when she dropped her hand from her knife. “More witchery?”
“Yes. Of a sort. I’m able to contact some of my men through old weapons.” She gestured to her knife. “I was letting my lieutenant know that I was safe, for now.”
“He’s in the city?”
“Yes, but I can contact people as far away as Kingsreach and Smithin.”
“A useful skill,” Mannel said, sipping his brandy.
“So I’ve found,” Brenna replied. She settled her shoulders and met King Mannel’s eyes. “I’ve come to discuss Duke Thorold and any agreement you may have with him.”
“I’m not sure it’s a concern of yours,” Mannel said, shushing his daughter when she was about to speak. “It’s an agreement between rulers.”
“Except Duke Thorold is not the one wearing the crown, Beldyn is. And there a few things Duke Thorold may not have told you.”
“And you will enlighten me, I suppose?”
“Yes.” Brenna took a deep breath. It was important that she convince this man to remain neutral, she had to make sure he withheld his troops from Thorold. “The first thing you need to be aware of is that Duke Thorold killed King Mattias.”
“How do you know this?” Mannel demanded. “His former captain was charged with that crime. He was found adding zarid to Mattias’ wine, was he not?”
“Yes, because it’s the only known antidote to trefell,” Brenna said. “Thorold had been poisoning Mattias for years. Feiren Rowse was loyal to his king to the end.” Brenna couldn’t quite keep her grief out of her voice. She still missed Feiren.
“Why should I believe you?” Mannel asked. “You could be lying about this.”
“I might be,” Brenna replied. “I’m not, but I might be. Here.” She opened her pack out and started pulling herbs and salves out of it. Finally, she pulled out the mortar and pestle out. It glowed with the same light the coronet had.
“More magic?” Mannel asked.
“Tools of my trade,” Brenna replied. “I’m a healer. I was trained by my mother who was Duke Thorold’s indentured servant. Unlawfully indentured, as it turned out, but nonetheless I learned poisons from my mother about seven years ago. Duke Thorold had her create a slow acting one using zarid. That was about the time King Mattias first showed signs of his illness. The disease progressed slowly from there until it killed him.”
“This is all very fine for show,” Mannel said. “Anyone could pick up a bunch of herbs and tell the same story. And even if you are healer trained that doesn’t mean Thorold poisoned his king. What is it you want from me?”
Brenna looked up at and nodded, once. “What I want from you, your Majesty, is for you to keep Langemore neutral. I have support of two of the three duchies, I have the support of many citizens in Kingsreach, I have the support of many former Kingsguardsmen, I have the support of Kane Rowse, former Captain of the Kingsguard and I even have the support of King Beldyn. I believe that Thorold is counting on you and your troops to help him regain some of what he’s lost to me.”
“How would he do that?” Mannel asked. “I’ve not yet committed and I won’t until Beldyn weds my daughter.”
“And you send her to Kingsreach, where she will be at Thorold’s mercy,” Brenna said. She leaned back in her chair. “What would you promise Thorold for the safe return of your daughter?”
“He wouldn’t dare!” Mannel said. “I would never let him get away with that and he knows it.”
“You would give him what he wants until your daughter was safe again,” Brenna said. She looked over at Evlan, who clutched at her father’s hand.
Mannel sighed and his shoulders slumped. “I would do whatever I had to in order to keep my daughter safe,” he agreed. “Even if it meant sending my troops to fight Thorold’s war.”
Brenna leaned forward. “So I ask you again to remain neutral. Without you, Thorold will not stand. Comack and the church of the One-God may have enough power to starve Kingsreach this winter but they do not have enough men to win in the spring.”
“And you say that King Beldyn supports you? How so?”
“We grew up together. I told you my mother was Thorold’s indentured servant. At the time, Thorold had no reason to believe I wasn’t h
is bastard daughter. Beldyn was my little brother. He does not want to be king and he does not want what his father plans for Kingsreach.”
“And you know this? How?”
“I have been in contact with Beldyn. My agents in Kingsreach are worried for his life. He has defied his father too many times and now is being forced to name his younger brother as his heir. We fear that once that happens Beldyn will be expendable.”
“But he was promised to me,” Evlan said. “We are to be betrothed. And are you saying that Duke Thorold would kill his own son?”
“He befriended his king, poisoned him and then watched him die slowly over many years,” Brenna said. “He sends men to High Bishop Valden when he knows it will be a slow, agonizing death. Feiren Rowse died on the High Bishop’s torture table and Neal Ravershaw, Duchess Avery’s captain and consort, will never wield a sword again because the High Bishop took his thumbs. Beldyn has met with the High Bishop many times and returns in obvious pain though there are no marks on his body. Yes, Duke Thorold would kill his own son.”
“The High Bishop is involved?” Mannel asked. “That I can believe. He was always a mean little man.”
“You know him?”
“Oh yes. He spent some years in Whitehaven as an acolyte. He has since broken with the church in Langemore. Prelate Callistus never liked the man but he was King Mattias’ choice for High Bishop of Soule.”
“I think it more likely he was Duke Thorold’s choice,” Brenna said. “He tortures those not of the church of the One-God.”
“He always was intolerant of those not in the church, and so cruel a man that I am not surprised to hear he tortures. All in the name of saving their souls, no doubt.”
“That it what he claims.”
“Well, Queen Brenna,” Mannel said. “You’ve given me much to think about but I will make no decision at this late hour. Join me for supper tomorrow and we can speak further. I would like to meet some of your companions as well.”