Dare (The Blades of Acktar Book 1)

by Tricia Mingerink

  “Thanks.” She darted to the bookshelf. Silence pressed into the corners of the room and tightened along her muscles. Her back prickled with three pairs of eyes watching her. Of all nights to skip ironing her dress. Did they have to stare?

  She grabbed a book off the shelf, a book of legends she’d liked as a child. Bobbing a curtsy at Lord Alistair, she rushed to the door. “Thank you.”

  She whipped the door open, whirled through, and clicked it shut behind her. She leaned against it, her heart thudding like a fist in her chest. Now they all must think her a ninny.

  As she hurried back to the parlor, she couldn’t decide what was worse: Shadrach Alistair’s raised eyebrows or Leith Torren’s green eyes.

  30

  Leith watched Renna dash from the room. He’d scared her. He hadn’t meant to. Then again, what did he expect? That their talk in the gallery had made her like him? He was a Blade. The blood of her parents and cousin stained his hands. She wouldn’t forgive him any more than her God would.

  “Now, where were we?”

  Leith wrested his gaze from the door. Lord Alistair had already regained his seat behind his desk. Would he listen to Shad and trust Leith? They only had two weeks until Leith had to return to Nalgar Castle. He had no more time to waste.

  “You were telling me how you convinced the First Blade to return to Nalgar Castle.”

  Leith shrugged. “He left, and I waited a couple of days before I sneaked into Stetterly and told Shad it was safe. You know the rest.”

  Lord Alistair steepled his fingers. “Let’s say I trust you. You claim Blades are stationed at eighteen towns in preparation for mass assassinations. What should I do with your information?”

  “Fight back.” Leith rubbed the hilt of one of his knives with his thumb. Was the Resistance ready to fight back against King Respen? The Leader is almost ready. Was Lord Alistair the Leader? Or someone else? Leith didn’t dare ask.

  Shad rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. “We should send messengers to warn them.”

  Leith shook his head. “King Respen has one of your messages. I have no way of knowing if he’s figured out your code. If you send out messengers, the Blades will intercept several of them and King Respen would figure out that I gave information to you.”

  Leith shuddered, picturing Zed’s body writhing against the chains as the Fourth Blade slit his throat. One mistake was all it would take for Leith’s blood to join Zed’s.

  Lord Alistair tapped his chin. “We could have the riders memorize verbal messages.”

  “The Blades would torture them for information. One would crack, and we’d have the same problem.”

  Shad paced two strides before spinning on his heels. “We have to warn them somehow. We can’t let Respen kill them just because we can’t safely warn them. Is there anyway a messenger can get through?”

  “If a messenger were carrying an innocent message, something the Blade could slip into camp and read one night and find nothing suspicious, he might get through.” Leith gripped the edge of the leather seat.

  “An invitation.” Shad’s pacing quickened. “We invite all of the nobles here and warn them in person.”

  “Wouldn’t that alarm Respen and cause him to kill everyone sooner? Perhaps while they’re travelling and vulnerable?” Lord Alistair leaned his elbows on his desk.

  “Not if no one knows the invitations are for a big gathering. We send out each invitation like it’s a personal invite to spend a couple of days at Walden. The nobles—and the Blades—won’t know it’s a large gathering until everyone's here.” Shad turned to Leith. “It'll work, won’t it?”

  Leith cocked his head and grinned. So Shad had been paying attention. “It might. Even if a few Blades take the time to report to King Respen and the First Blade, it might not rouse too much suspicion. But how do I explain why I didn’t notice anything?”

  Lord Alistair’s beard bobbed as a grin spread across his face. “Lydia turns sixteen in four weeks. Why shouldn’t I host a gathering to celebrate my eldest daughter’s birthday? It would only be natural, given the significance of a sixteenth birthday, for me to host such a party.”

  What was so special about a sixteenth birthday? Leith glanced between Lord Alistair and Shad.

  Shad crossed his arms. “Means she’s old enough to be courted. Respen will know that and won’t think it’s odd if Father invites a bunch of nobles with sons and daughters around Lydia’s age to a party. Celebrations like that used to be common a few years ago.”

  “I see.” Leith churned the scenario in his head. If the Blades didn’t think anything was wrong until they arrived here, there wouldn’t be time for them to ride back to Nalgar Castle to ask for instructions. The Blades didn’t dare take action on their own, so they’d all simply observe the nobles until told otherwise. If no one reported to Vane as they passed the castle, Vane might not even show up. “I think it could work.”

  “Once the Blades realize this is a big gathering, won’t Respen order all the nobles killed on their journey home?” Shad stopped pacing and rested his hand on his sword’s hilt.

  “As Blades, we have three rules. Never fail. Never disobey orders. And never be late for a Meeting of the Blades.” Leith ran his finger over one of the knives strapped to his chest.

  He’d broken two of them in the last few months, but even he didn’t dare break the third. “The next Meeting is two weeks from this coming Sunday. If you have the celebration two evenings before, the Blades will have no choice but to return to Nalgar Castle instead of following the nobles.”

  Lord Alistair stroked his beard for several minutes. “What do we do if something does go wrong? What if a Blade does report to Respen, and he gives the order to assassinate us while we’re all together?”

  “I don’t think he will. Even if he suspects it’s a Resistance meeting—which he will if a Blade reports to him—he can’t send the Blades to kill everybody during the celebration. Too many people and guards gathered in one place. Too many things to go wrong.”

  Leith traced the length of his knife’s leather sheath. “But he will use the meeting to his advantage. When he gives the assassination order, he’ll claim you were plotting rebellion and he’s justified in killing all of you. After all, he won’t want the remaining nobles getting restless. Not all of them are active supporters.”

  Leith tapped his toes against the pine green rugs covering the stone floor. Lord Alistair placed a lot of confidence in Leith’s judgment of the king’s character. What if he was wrong about King Respen?

  His shoulders slumped. This was the best plan they had. If they did nothing, everyone would die anyway. They had nothing to lose, and over twenty lives and his freedom to gain.

  “Now that we have a cover story for the meeting, we need a cover story for you.” Lord Alistair cocked his head. “You’ll need an excuse in case a Blade ever does catch you talking to me or Shad. It won’t stop all the suspicion, but it could buy you time.”

  Shad grinned so broadly his cheeks and eyebrows squinched his eyes to slits. “The back vegetable garden still needs to be plowed and planted.”

  “You want me to plant a garden?” Were they crazy?

  “With so many people fleeing to Walden for safety, no one will notice an extra farmer. And if any of the Blades ask, you can tell them you chose the disguise to get close to the manor to spy better.” Shad scratched the scruff on his chin.

  Leith hunched in his chair. Shad made way too much sense.

  “It really would be an ingenious way to spy on us. You’d have the run of the town and the servants’ quarters of the manor. You can wander into places you aren’t supposed to without getting into too much trouble. And you can eavesdrop on all sorts of conversations. Actually, I really hope none of the other Blades have tried this.”

  Leith shrugged. “Most of them would rather hide in the grass all day watching than get their hands dirty working in a garden. Besides, none of us has any idea how to plow or plant.”


  Lord Alistair leaned back in his chair. “I like it. Keeps you where we can watch you.”

  Shad’s jaw shook as he tried to hold a fake serious expression. “So what do you say? Can a Blade handle learning how to plow?”

  Leith sagged against the back of his chair. He sensed the next two weeks were going to make six days of hard riding look like a pleasure trip. “I can handle a plow if a lord’s son can handle learning to knife fight.”

  “Deal.” If anything, Shad’s grin grew wider.

  Of course it would. Leith grimaced. Shad was getting the better end of that bargain.

  31

  Leith gritted his teeth as he pushed the plow blade into the ground. The ground was barely thawed from the long winter, the dirt hard as the rocky crags of the Sheered Rock Hills. Each jolt sent shocks up his arms into his shoulders.

  Although the sun had barely inched above the horizon, sweat soaked the homespun shirt and trousers he’d been given. As he turned to make the next furrow, he grimaced. His furrow was as crooked as the Ondieda River splashing its way down the mountains.

  “Not easy, is it?” Shad smirked as he leaned against the manor wall.

  Leith scowled at him. “How would you know? Have you ever done it?”

  “Actually, yes.” Shad laced his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. “Father assigned me the job when I turned twelve. Told me it’d build the muscles I needed to train with a sword. This probably would’ve been Jeremiah’s job this summer if you hadn’t volunteered.”

  Great for Shad’s little brother. Not so great for Leith. He maneuvered the mule into the next furrow. He could tough this out. Under Respen’s training, he’d spent days without food, learned to tolerate cold and heat, and trained with his knives for hours each day. He could handle this.

  After a few hours, Leith’s arms and legs shook with the strain of plowing. His back ached, and blisters formed on his palms.

  Shad left to drill the guardsmen, but he returned at noon, stepped over the furrows, and slapped Leith’s back. “Time to break for lunch.”

  Leith unhitched the mule and led it back to the stable, where a stablehand took over. Leith returned to the back of the manor to find Shad leaning against a tree, bread and water spread out beside him.

  Leith collapsed next to him. He picked up a glass and drained the water in two gulps. When he reached for a piece of bread, Shad raised his eyebrows.

  Leith froze. In his hunger he’d forgotten the routine they’d developed on the trail. Leith clasped his hands and closed his eyes. He listened while Shad offered a quick prayer. When Shad was finished, Leith grabbed the piece of bread and dug in. He polished off the slice in a few bites.

  Shad finished his lunch and glanced at the sky. “Better get back to work. That plot needs to be plowed by nightfall.”

  Leith gave himself the luxury of a groan as he pushed himself to his feet.

  Renna sat on the end of Lydia’s bed. Lydia whipped open the door to her wardrobe, sleeves and skirts bursting out once unconfined. “I have a couple that should work well for you. Here, this pink one will be perfect. It was always too light on me.” She tugged a pink cotton dress draped with lace along the bodice and sleeves. She held it out to Renna.

  Taking it, Renna held it against herself. “Thank you so much for letting me borrow some of your dresses.”

  “No problem. Really. I have way too many.” Lydia pulled several more dresses from her wardrobe and piled them on the bed. She drew out one last dress, a deep blue velvet edged in gold trim. The ends of the trailing sleeves flowed in ripples. “And you can wear this one at my party.”

  A lump tightened Renna’s throat. She’d never had a sixteenth birthday celebration. She didn’t have a father to present her to the other nobles.

  A spark heated her chest, but she doused it quickly. It wasn’t Lydia’s fault. Lydia had every right to be excited. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Let’s see if they fit.” Lydia helped her into the pink dress. As she’d guessed the bodice hung on Renna’s slim body. Tightening the bodice strings helped. Not a perfect fit, but Renna wasn’t going to complain about the soft fabric swishing against her skin.

  Lydia dressed in a rich, green dress and reached for her jewelry box. Pulling out a simple chain with a silver cross dangling from it, Lydia clasped it around her neck. Her fingers lingered on the cross. “Your mother gave me this necklace for my tenth birthday. She had a way of always giving the right gift.”

  Renna's mother had given her a similar necklace on her tenth birthday. A lump filled her throat. Brandi didn’t have one. She’d been nine when her parents died.

  Lydia perched on the bed next to Renna. “I miss your parents too. Your family was here so often and our fathers were so close…losing your parents was like losing an aunt and uncle.”

  Renna stared at her hands in her lap. How could she ever measure up to someone like her mother? Her mother gave so fearlessly to everybody.

  “My father doesn’t laugh the way he used to. I remember when your family would visit, and my father wouldn’t stop grinning or laughing the entire time.” Lydia’s sigh wafted air across Renna’s fingertips. “I miss it.”

  “Me too.” Renna widened her eyes to stop the gathering tears. An ache built in her chest, but she couldn’t give in to it now.

  Lydia straightened her back, her shoulder bumping into Renna. “I just thought you should know that I wish your parents were here to celebrate with us too.”

  “Thanks.” Renna smiled at Lydia. Perhaps Lydia hadn’t changed that much after all. So many years had passed since Renna had had a friend, but maybe it wasn’t too late to remember how a friendship worked.

  And maybe, while she was at it, she’d be able to recapture a hint of the laughter they’d once had in this manor. Standing, she held a hand out to Lydia. “Come on. We’re supposed to be helping your mother plan this celebration.”

  They hurried down the stairs and headed for the parlor. Through the open door, Renna spotted a pile of ribbons and lace spilling from the end table, Brandi chatting with Abigail more than sorting, and Lady Alistair shuffling through a stack of thick paper.

  Lord Alistair exited the room, smiled at Lydia, and touched Renna's arm. “Rennelda, could I speak with you for a moment?”

  Lydia brushed past her father into the parlor. Renna clenched her fingers in her skirts. What would Lord Alistair have to talk to her about?

  He closed the parlor door and glanced around as if checking they were alone.

  When he faced her, a frown dragged at his beard. “As I mentioned in Stetterly, Leith Torren has informed me that he believes Respen is planning a major strike against any of the nobles he thinks might be a part of the Resistance.”

  Renna focused on the candelabra holding a single candlestick on the wall next to the parlor door. The flame pulsed and swayed in the wispy drafts trailing through the corridor. What other danger did Lord Alistair have to tell her about now?

  “When the other nobles arrive here for Lydia’s celebration, I’m going to call a meeting after the supper to warn them about the threat.” Lord Alistair’s brown eyes demanded her attention. “As Lady Faythe, I’m going to ask you to attend.”

  Renna clenched her fists in the soft, pink fabric of her skirt. Lady Faythe was her mother’s title. Renna had never claimed it, even though it was her inheritance.

  It wouldn’t be fully hers until her eighteenth birthday in a few months, but Lord Alistair was asking her to claim it now, to take her place among the other nobles. Could she do it? Stop hiding and start leading? Like her mother and father had?

  “What do you want me to do?” Her voice scratched through her throat.

  “All I’m asking is that you come. You won’t have to say anything. Just be there and show where Stetterly stands.”

  She nodded, slipped past Lord Alistair, and hurried down the corridor. She didn’t stop until she burst out the door to the back garden.

  Letting her feet carry her a
long the paths she’d run years ago, she collapsed on the stone bench facing the tiered fountain in the center of the brown beds waiting the green of summer. The fountain remained silent and empty of water.

  Lady Faythe. Could she wear her mother’s title? Could she take her father’s place in Lord Alistair’s gathering?

  She closed her eyes and tipped her face towards the sun hanging in the southwestern sky. Songbirds chittered in the hedge surrounding the garden.

  Somewhere close by, a mule or donkey scraped a bray. The clatter of the town drifted over the manor, deepened with the rumble of the sawmill and flourmill beyond the town along the Ondieda River.

  If not for her mother’s birth as princess of Acktar, Lord Alistair wouldn’t even bother with her. While all the lords of Acktar had equal rank, the real power was land and commerce. Stetterly had a little land and some timber, but nothing compared to towns like Walden, set against the vastness of the Sheered Rock Hills.

  The mule brayed again. It sounded like it was going to burst through the hedge. Renna slid to her feet and eased around the shrubs. Crossing under an arched trellis, she halted in front of a patch of ground by the kitchen door.

  Half of the patch curled in jagged furrows. In the middle, Leith tugged on the mule’s halter. The mule brayed and dug its hooves in deeper, refusing to plow another step.

  Leith had his back to her, his homespun shirt damp between his shoulder blades. His black hair stuck to the back of his neck. He’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and sinewy muscles flexed in his forearms.

  Gripping her skirt, she forced herself to step closer. “I think you need Brandi’s help. That mule doesn’t look like it’s going to move any time soon.”

  He dropped the mule’s halter and tugged on his right sleeve, as if checking to make sure the fabric covered his marks.

  When he glanced up, his face relaxed, though his stance remained wary. “Brandi’s help would be appreciated. If anyone could get this mule to move, she could.”