Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series

by Helen Garraway

  “Her tower?”

  “Yeah, she had a tower; the Tower of Larne. That’s what she named it.”

  “Leyarne,” Marguerite corrected.

  Finn glanced around, but no one else seemed to have heard the voice.

  “There’s nowhere on the map called that,” Finn said.

  “It’s not on any map. No one’s found it,” Erik said. “No one’s stupid enough to try and climb that ridge. That’s why it’s called the Unworthy Man’s Drop. Everyone who has tried has fallen to their death. They weren’t worthy enough to reach her tower.”

  There was a short silence as Erik sipped his soup.

  Finn frowned at the fire. “Is that it?”

  “Well, others can tell it better. They add all the flowery descriptions and stuff, and the tale takes a couple of hours when it’s told in full story-telling mode, but that’s the basic story.”

  “Thank the Lady,” Denning said, rolling his eyes, “Who’d want to sit and listen to that for two hours?”

  “You’d be surprised.” Finn laughed. “What about the Guardians that did reach her; what happened to them?”

  Erik shrugged. “Died, probably.”

  “Maybe that’s why spring don’t come no more?” Denning said as he poked the fire, causing a shower of sparks to light up their tired faces in the damp gloom. On that sombre note, the men broke into smaller groups settling down for some much-needed sleep.

  “Denning, make sure the watches are no more than two hours. Wake me at third chime, and I’ll take over. You can get some shut-eye then.” Jerrol wrapped himself in his bedroll and settled down to sleep.

  “Yes, sir,” Denning replied.

  Owen woke him at third chime. “I don’t know how you do it,” he murmured.

  Finn yawned and reluctantly rose. “Do what?”

  “Goat soup? They wouldn’t have made it for me.”

  “Of course they would, if you made an effort to get to know them,” he said, watching Owen wrap himself in the warm blankets he had just left.

  “What’s the point? I don’t want to be a captain. Too much like hard work.”

  Finn snorted. “You already do the work. May as well get paid for it.”

  Owen propped himself up on an elbow. “Conscripted remember? We don’t get paid.” His blond eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  “Well, apparently you do if you make officer rank. Not that there’s anywhere to spend it.”

  “Now he tells me. Just wait till you get to Retarfu, plenty of shops there. You’ll have a ball there.”

  “And you won’t?”

  “Nah. I’m just a peasant.”

  Shaking his head, Finn tugged on his fleece lined jacket. “Why do you always pretend you don’t care?”

  Owen hunched his shoulder. “Doesn’t pay to care,” he replied and rolled over leaving Finn staring at his back.

  26

  Ball Room, Grand Duke's Palace, Retarfu

  Taelia sipped her glass of wine and concentrated on identifying the voices around her. Over the past few months she had made sure that Torsion had introduced her to everyone in the grand duke’s court. She always spent a few moments in conversation each time, giving her time to learn their typical cadences of speech, their perfume, and, for some, tobacco smoke or alcoholic fumes to catalogue who socialised with whom. She soon found it easy to identify the groups of people around her. The swish of cloth or the staccato of heels narrowed the possibilities by half, and often, it was Torsion’s reaction that gave her warning.

  Tonight, the ball was in honour of the grand duke’s sister, Princess Selvia. She was celebrating her borning day, though she was being coy about how old she was. As Torsion had led her down the reception line, the waft of musky perfume had made Taelia choke as it caught the back of her throat. The princess had inquired if she was alright, her voice filled with bored condescension as Torsion had hurried Taelia away to get a glass of water. He had been mortified and had been quick to berate her.

  Fortunately, he had been called away from Taelia’s side and left her to her own devices, so she began drifting around the edges of the dance floor, trying to track down the princess. Short bursts of conversation flitted past as dancers twirled on the dance floor.

  “… time to take the next step …”

  “... doesn’t she look exquisite? Though don’t you think that necklace is gaudy?”

  “… I hope we don’t have fish again tonight …”

  Heavy footsteps approached and she turned, smiling in welcome. The slight irregularity in the steps identified the man approaching as the grand duke’s steward, Ulfr.

  “Scholar Taelia,” Ulfr said, clearing his throat.

  “Ulfr, how are you?”

  “Fine, fine. Princess Selvia was asking if you had recovered? If you are at liberty, she would like to speak to you.”

  “Of course. I’d be honoured,” Taelia replied, extending her hand.

  Ulf tucked her hand under his arm and patted it. “Just a note of warning, I would avoid mentioning Ambassador Haven, if possible.”

  Taelia stiffened. “May I ask why?”

  “She blames him for her fall from grace in Vespiri. Sore subject,” he replied, and Taelia heard the amusement lacing his voice.

  “I would not wish to spoil her party,” Taelia said, a small smile hovering over her mouth. Ulfr repressed a snort, and Taelia waved a hand. “Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. The grand duke does like lavish events.”

  “He doesn’t. He just puts up with them. Easier to cope with than Selvia’s tantrums,” he replied in a low mutter.

  Taelia choked in surprise.

  “Sorry, that slipped out. The woman is a nightmare. I’m not surprised King Benedict got rid of her.”

  A delighted chuckle escaped her, but she straightened her face as Ulfr squeezed her arm in warning. His arm rose beside her and she fumbled for the step that she knew must be before her. “My apologies, scholar,” Ulfr said, tightening his grip as she tripped. “There are three steps to the platform and the princess is seated in the middle. Her ladies are behind her.”

  Taelia’s face heated as the ladies tittered as she approached, but she lifted her chin and glared at them. Silence fell. When Ulfr stopped walking, she dropped into a curtsey, saying as she rose, “Princess Selvia, Lady’s blessings on your borning day.”

  “Thank you, m’dear. Ulfr, you may leave us.” The Princess sounded bored. Taelia heard the snap of a fan being opened and then the slight puff of air it generated as it wafted past her. She thankfully sat in the seat Ulfr guided her to, and after another gentle squeeze of her arm, he left.

  “How did a blind girl ever become a scholar?” the princess asked. Taelia heard the hiss of breath as the princess yawned behind her fan. Her ladies tittered again behind her, like a chorus of empty-headed chimes clacking in the breeze.

  Taelia smiled, turning towards them. “I was fortunate to meet Scholar Torsion when I was a young girl, and he sponsored me into the Chapterhouse.”

  “I’m sure he did; he likes you, doesn’t he?”

  Taelia blushed. “We are good friends. We’ve known each other a long time.”

  “Oh, more than good friends, I think. He is looking for you.” A trace of amusement threaded her voice. “He doesn’t like you out of his sight for long, does he?”

  Taelia shifted in her seat. “He is attentive,” she admitted.

  “I wonder what he sees in you?” the princess mused. “He is no longer a scholar, you know. He uses his Ascendant name now, Tor’asion. You should use it too.”

  “I only know Scholar Torsion,” Taelia said.

  “Really? It’s the same man. How can you not know Tor’asion?”

  “He will always be Torsion to me. We share a love of antiquities and language. That is the man I know.”

  “Antiquities? What use are they?”

  “Understanding our history and where we come from, helps us understand where we are go
ing,” Taelia replied.

  The air sharpened. “And you know where we are going?” the princess asked.

  Taelia had the impression that the princess was staring at her and tried to keep her expression smooth. Jerrol was always telling her that she expressed all her thoughts on her face. “I have no idea. Do you?” she asked with a laugh.

  “A new path,” the princess breathed. “A new leader to raise us.”

  Taelia tilted her head at the reverence in the princess’ voice. “Who?” she asked.

  The air changed again, and the aroma of oak moss and green leaves replaced the musky perfume. The princess tapped her fan against the arm of her chair. “Randolf! Where have you been?”

  “Selvia, my dear. Are you enjoying your ball?”

  “You promised me entertainment. Where is it?”

  “They are just setting up. They were delayed by the snow.”

  “It’s snowing? Again?” Selvia tutted, diverted from her complaint. “The generals won’t like that.”

  “No, their progress south is delayed. More expense,” the grand duke said. “Var’geris promised …” he caught himself. “But enough of that. Have you been dancing?”

  “There is no one to dance with,” Selvia replied, her voice cutting.

  “What of your new friends? Aren’t they paying you enough attention?”

  “They are our friends, Randolf. They have our interests at heart.”

  “Yeah, right,” the duke breathed, too quiet for Selvia to hear, but Taelia’s lips twitched. She felt his regard on her. “Scholar Taelia, how is your research going?”

  Taelia blinked in surprise. “Slowly, Your Grace. I have not been granted access to all the lower levels. That is where the history will be found, in the older sections of your palace.”

  “Has your man not reported? He seems to find access wherever he chooses.”

  Taelia grimaced. “Niall does tend to be a bit enthusiastic. I hope he has not offended, Your Grace?”

  “No, not really. I am only hearing good reports from my staff. I believe you may find it difficult to tear him away when you leave us.”

  “Are you leaving us, Scholar Taelia?” Selvia asked, her voice sharp.

  “I have not completed the work the grand duke requested of me,” Taelia replied.

  The grand duke shifted, and Taelia knew with certainty that he hadn’t requested anything, but he was polite, and said, “Well, there is no reason for you to be refused access. I will let it be known that you have my permission, so you can complete your work,” he said.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Ah, here comes Tor’asion, at last,” Selvia said, a coquettish note to her voice.

  “If your highness wishes to dance, you should ask Tor’asion,” Taelia said. “He is an accomplished dancer.” Among other things, she thought as Torsion stomped up the steps. He was not happy.

  The grand duke sighed beside her, and she tilted her head towards him.

  “Do you dance, scholar?” he asked.

  “I would love to, Your Grace.”

  Warm fingers grasped her hand. “Then maybe I should lead by example and Selvia can snare her partner,” he said, his voice serious, though Taelia knew he was silently laughing at his sister.

  “It would be my honour, Your Grace,” she said as she rose, and the grand duke guided her down the steps and away from Tor’asion for a little while longer.

  “You dance very well,” the duke said into her hair.

  Taelia smiled. “I learned to dance from an excellent teacher,” she said, remembering the endless lessons Jerrol had insisted upon. He had said that dancing should be instinctive, and only practice would help her anticipate what her partner’s body was going to do. As she twirled around the dance floor, she recognised the tension in the grand duke’s body.

  “Is something amiss?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” the grand duke replied, gallantly.

  “Did your sister manage to convince Tors-Tor’asion to dance?”

  The grand duke chuckled. “Oh, yes.”

  “Will she enjoy your surprise, do you think?”

  “She’d better,” the grand duke said, a note of grimness entering his voice. “Var’geris was insistent.”

  Taelia shivered. “Your Grace, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but do you hold the Lady close?”

  The grand duke stiffened. “What?”

  “The Lady. She will always help, if you ask her.”

  Before the duke could respond, they were accosted by Selvia, and Randolf was forced to relinquish her to Tor’asion. And it was Tor’asion, not Torsion.

  “What were you talking about with the grand duke?” he demanded.

  “We talked about dancing,” Taelia murmured, refusing to enlighten him further.

  The following morning, Marianille watched Taelia paced the parlour as she finished dictating her report. “The grand duke mentioned his generals were delayed by snow, but they continued south towards the borders. Princess Selvia continues to court the Ascendants, though the duke does not seem so enamoured. It seems the Duke may not be such a willing participant after all. I wonder if he has discovered Selvia’s allegiances.”

  Marianille sat back and stared at what she had written. “Maybe it’s just common sense prevailing!” she said, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice.

  Taelia grimaced. “Maybe. It confirms what Niallerion heard.”

  Marianille sighed and rolled the paper up, calling the Arifel.

  “Send him to Jennery and Jason. They are going to take the brunt of any action on the borders. They need to be warned the troops are massing.”

  “They ought to know by now. We’ve been saying this for months,” Marianille said.

  “I know. It just feels more definite. Niallerion is observant; he’s quite good at spying.”

  “When he doesn’t get caught!” Marianille said, rolling her eyes. “He is going to get us into trouble if he’s not careful.”

  Taelia smiled. “No, he won’t,” she whispered, as the little mackerel-striped Arifel flickered into the room and perched on Marianille’s hand.

  “Ari,” Marianille crooned as she slid the message to tube on his back. “Find Alyssa and tell her to pass on the word.”

  The Arifel chirruped and flickered out of sight.

  Marianille rose and placed another log on the fire, using the poker to wedge it in place. She watched the golden firelight flicker over Taelia’s face as she stared blindly at the flames, a silver hair clip rotating between her fingers, brooding again. There was a tightening around her jaw and her shoulders had slowly stiffened. The high-backed chair dwarfed her; it made her seem small and vulnerable.

  She considered mentioning that she thought she had seen Taurillion in the square earlier this morning. She had been so surprised that he had slipped away before she could accost him. They hadn’t seen him since he had stepped in to rescue Niallerion all those weeks ago, but he and Yaserille were still in the city somewhere. Niallerion was out searching for them. They could use the back up if he could find them.

  The floor creaked as she moved, and Taelia turned her head. Marianille caught her breath at the sight of her face. Taelia’s eyes were luminous, filling her face, and they stared straight through her.

  “They come. We must wait.”

  Marianille froze. “What?”

  “The sword and the shield; they will return soon,” Taelia said, her voice soft. The fire crackled loudly, and she turned her head back towards the flames. She seemed to shake herself, and then she relaxed back into her chair.

  “How do you know?”

  Taelia shrugged, and then smiled impishly, her eyes twinkling. “The Lady moves in mysterious ways.” She laughed. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  “The Lady told you that Jerrol and Birlerion will come here?”

  “Not in so many words, but yes, she did.”

  Marianille rubbed a hand over face as her heart thudded in her c
hest. Her brother was coming here? He was well enough to travel? “When? Are they alright?”

  “I don’t know. We have to wait.”

  “We have been waiting,” Marianille said, bitterness and hope warring in her voice. Could it be true? She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but they could do with some good news. “How long are you going to continue with this, Taelia? We can’t wait here forever. You can’t keep leading Torsion, well, Tor’asion on. I still can’t believe he is openly flaunting himself as an Ascendant. Jerrol swore by him. He was his friend, and he’s been an Ascendant the whole time.”

  “You know, I don’t care. He betrayed Jerrol.” Taelia’s lip trembled. “He betrayed me.” She lifted her chin. “He has no right to anything. It’s like he’s two different people. I can feel the change in the air when Torsion leaves and Tor’asion ascends. I’m cautious around Tor’asion; he is not so considerate. But most of the time, he is oblivious to me being there. He is arrogant, rude, forgets to guard his tongue. Which is all to the good as he says things he wouldn’t normally.

  “In a way I wish he hadn’t come back from the front, but at least we know where he is. Combined with the information Niallerion is picking up, Vespiri is warned, at least.” Taelia shivered. “Let’s not talk about him anymore. Come sit with me, Marianille, talk to me. You promised to tell me about yourself. How did you become a Sentinal?” She pointed with the slender hair clip at the chair positioned opposite her. “Sit.”

  Marianille sighed. She had managed to avoid this conversation on many occasions. She could see that, tonight Taelia was determined, but she had to admit, her thoughts returned to Birlerion often; it would be comforting to talk about him. “There’s nothing much to tell,” she said as she sat. She leaned forward and stared at the flames, her expression serious.

  Taelia tilted her head. “Of course there is.” She smiled, her eyes bright. “Tell me about your family and where you come from.” She reached forward and gripped her hand. “Tell me about Birlerion.”