Blade & Rose (Blade and Rose Book 1)

by Miranda Honfleur

  Rielle grinned. The nights they’d spent chatting and eating custard tarts she’d stashed from kitchen duty were treasured memories. “Deal.”

  With a final nod, Olivia turned toward the stairwell and made her way down the corridor. Rielle went the other way, growing the distance between them with every step.

  But she’d done what she’d come here to do. Olivia was alive, and free. And would have a best friend for a tail, at least for a month or two. Rielle grinned. If the Divinity had a problem with that, the Proctor could send someone to drag her back to the Tower. Or rather, someone to try.

  Cell after empty cell, no prisoners, until a long walk led her to the end of the corridor, with bare stone for walls. Perhaps an entrance into the catacombs. If only she could recall the maps of the lower levels with clarity. She headed toward the edge.

  A corner and a narrow passage lay beyond. A soft sobbing echoed from within.

  Another prisoner. Had the explosion come from in there? Where did it lead? Was someone hurt?

  The glow from her torch reflected from the stone wall’s harsh, wet edges as she entered. If the flooding originated here, perhaps the Crag had a mage working with them, attempting to inundate the corridor and kill the prisoners.

  “Hello?” she called. “I’m here to help.”

  The narrow passage finally gave way to wooden planks. Ahead was a small boat in a massive cave, a shadowy cavern at the end of a small waterway. Someone had arrived by this waterway. Someone she hadn’t yet found.

  With the torch in hand, she was turning when a strike to the back of her head took her off her feet.

  Dazed, she fell to the pier, landing face first onto the wood.

  Pain surged from the base of her skull and her jaw. Then gave way to a light-headed weakness.

  Managing to roll onto her side, she dumbly fidgeted with the Sodalis ring on her thumb. Her double vision focused just for a moment on the blade of the obsidian dagger, the glow of fire shimmering on its black surface from her fading torchlight.

  Firelight on a serpentine edge like black glass. A soulblade.

  She’d seen its like before. In Bournand.

  And... nine years ago, at her brother Liam’s throat.

  Chapter 69

  Jon left the paladins with orders, rejected all attempts at escort, and made his way through the ruins of an ancient crypt, passing sarcophagi inscribed with intricate vines beneath a thick layer of dust. They had lain untouched for centuries—perhaps longer—and only now, with the onset of battle, had returned to memory.

  Battle... Gilles lay dead—and Bastien at last had justice.

  A strange lightness freed his chest; the weight he’d carried for five years had seeped out, along with the general’s blood. He could almost feel content, but not until he found Rielle.

  They had planned on being together after the rite. After Courdeval. Of course, neither of them had planned on him being king. The reality still came as a shock; he’d been unprepared, and so had she.

  But it didn’t change the basic truth between them. She had said yes.

  He navigated around some rubble. Stepping through the gaping hole on the far wall of the crypt, he found himself in what looked like the dungeon, a long corridor stretching ahead of him with sparse sconces lighting the way. A strange, cold sweat coated his skin. He couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. He picked up the pace. She couldn’t be far.

  Voices sounded from farther in—prisoners calling for help.

  “I hear you,” he called back and approached.

  The iron bars seemed secure, but he rattled them anyway, hoping to find any loosened by the explosion.

  “A man carrying another man, along with a woman went down to the lower level for keys,” one of the prisoners told him. It could only be Brennan bearing Leigh, with Rielle. “Did Nicolette send you?”

  Nicolette. The Black Rose assassin who had held the southeastern gate with her troops before the paladins had entered.

  “She’s still fighting in the city. The Order of Terra has taken the palace. I’ll look for the keys, and I will see you freed.” Jon set off in pursuit. He headed to the end of the corridor and down the stairs to a split.

  A disheveled red-headed woman trudged toward him, bracing herself along the walls.

  Emaciated, she wore the torn and dirty remains of the clothes she’d probably been jailed in. She looked ready to collapse, but when she looked up at him, her green eyes were uncharacteristically bright.

  “James...?” she murmured weakly. She blinked, then frowned and shook her head. “Oh, I...”

  He looked her over and didn’t recognize her, but she seemed about Rielle’s age. “Olivia? Rielle’s friend?” When she nodded, he walked up to her. “You’re alive.”

  “Yes.” She breathed an amused snort, blinking sluggishly. “Yes, I am.”

  He shook his head. “Forgive me, I’m not myself today. Rielle—”

  “Freed me.”

  Then Rielle was not only all right but had found her best friend alive. He could only imagine the relief she’d felt.

  Olivia held up a set of keys. “I’m on my way upstairs to free everyone else.”

  “Are you certain you’re able?”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m stronger than I look, promise.”

  “Where’s Rielle? Was she to follow you?” He glanced past her.

  Footsteps approached from behind. He whirled.

  Brennan neared them, holding a torch. His leathers were still torn and caked in drying blood, but he seemed the quintessence of health, a stark contrast to the gory tale his clothing told. When he caught up to them, he inclined his head to Olivia. “Good to see you again, bookworm.”

  “And you, Marquis Tregarde.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think you had a savior complex.”

  “I don’t.” Brennan glanced at Jon. “I just came here for the magic show.”

  Her eyes widened as she looked from him to Jon. “Then you both saw the rite performed?”

  When they both nodded, she took a deep breath. Questions sparked to life in her inquisitive gaze. “When the sigil turned white, did a light then reach from the center to the lunar circle above?”

  He frowned. The sigil had glowed white, but he didn’t recall any light shining from the center. He and Brennan exchanged a look.

  She frowned. “It was done before the moon moved from the lunar circle, correct?”

  “It... it didn’t quite go that way.”

  Her eyes went wide. “What do you mean...” She mumbled to herself, innumerable inquiries.

  “The moon may have moved.” Brennan shrugged.

  “Or maybe I’m not who they think I am after all.” Jon lowered his gaze to the floor, uncertain whether he’d be grateful or disappointed.

  “You’re definitely a Faralle.” Brennan’s firm tone left no room for argument. “You’re the very image of your parents. I’ve met them. And, come to think of it, you’re as self-righteous, hot-headed, and entitled as any of the Faralles.”

  Jon stiffened, narrowing his eyes at him. The werewolf knew how to deliver a compliment with a barb. Brennan shrugged and offered a sardonic grin. With the blood flaking on his skin, the grin was eerie.

  “A Faralle.” Olivia brightened anew and searched his eyes, her lower lip trembling. “I-I see it, but... how can that be?”

  “I am the love child of Prince James and Queen Alexandrie, or so I am told.” He heaved a defeated sigh. How many more times would he relay those words?

  She gaped, her skin blanched to a sickly white. “James and... the queen?”

  He nodded. “They signed some sort of legitimization document upon my birth and left it with Father Derric... He brought it to Monas Amar.” Jonathan Dominic Armel Faralle. The name was a mouthful, with so much more weight than the name of an orphan. He was still unused to it; perhaps he always would be.

  “Your eyes—the color of the Bay of Amar at twilight. Just like your
father’s.” She stared a moment, then dropped her gaze to his feet. “The wren... Y-you are the king... Your Majesty.” She bowed from the waist.

  Jon frowned, reached out for her shoulders, and raised her. She could barely walk, and she was bowing for the likes of him? “Please... don’t.”

  She raised an eyebrow and stared. Many of the paladins had given him the same look. He supposed he would be seeing it with overwhelming frequency in the coming weeks. But first—“About Rielle?”

  Right away, Olivia turned and gestured to the corridor behind her. “She went to check the rest of the cells and look for the source of the flooding.” She paused, then gave him a slow once-over that led to a smile. “She told me to look for you... Your Majesty.”

  Rielle had mentioned him? Judging by Olivia’s face, at least it had been something good.

  Brennan took a few steps toward the direction Olivia had indicated, clearly done socializing.

  “Thank you,” Jon said. “There are paladins upstairs, at the end of a hallway, through a crypt. They should have food, water, and medical care for everyone.” He rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Terra’s blessings upon you.”

  “And upon you, Your Majesty.” She was about to bow, then caught herself and only inclined her head.

  Jon rushed through the corridor with Brennan, splashing through the water flooding the ground.

  “So, ‘Your Majesty,’ is it?” Brennan eyed him peripherally as they went deeper. “And to think, I forgot to bow when you arrived in the Coquelicot District.”

  “Considering you were lying supine in prostration, I think you can be forgiven.” Jon held back a grin.

  “You could have said something at the gate.”

  “I’d seen enough bows for one day.” He looked straight ahead, thankful for a reprieve from the archers that had lined the city’s enceinte. “At least ten for every arrow shot in my direction.”

  “Me, bowing to you?” Brennan huffed a laugh. “You were in no danger of that.”

  It was an odd day indeed when Brennan’s attitude was refreshing.

  They passed an open cell containing a box—Brennan opened it, said there was a head inside, and quickly closed it.

  They continued deeper in, finding the block empty. After the open cell, there were no further signs of Rielle. Could she have gone all the way to the end to check for prisoners? If so, he and Brennan would find her.

  At last, they reached the end of the corridor, its bars in disarray, damaged by a large chunk of stone from high up on the wall. Off to the side, around the corner, was an entrance to a dark tunnel.

  Brennan stopped next to him and held out the torch toward the entrance. There was no light to signal an end. He breathed deeply. “She came this way, without a doubt.”

  Jon stared down the tunnel, into the darkness. If she’d come this way, there would be light—a torch, a candlelight spell, something. “Rielle!” he called down the tunnel. His voice echoed.

  There was no reply. But there was nowhere else to go. “She must have entered.”

  He moved to follow into the dark tunnel when Brennan grabbed his shoulder.

  “Allow me.” Brennan raised the torch. Before Jon could object, he added, “Werewolf senses.” He took a deep breath and led the way in, lighting their path.

  Jon turned sideways to fit through the passage, ignoring the scrape of armor against stone. Misgivings swirled in his head—why hadn’t Rielle answered? There seemed to be only one exit, so there was nowhere else for her to be but ahead. Was she hurt?

  Time dragged on despite their hurried steps, on and on, until finally, they crossed what felt like a long wooden platform. A dock?

  Brennan walked to its end, holding up the torch. Off to the side, a large portion of stone had been blown away and opened to a waterway. Perhaps the explosion had caused the flooding—a wave that had surged through the stone passage and into the lowest level of the dungeon.

  Another step, and something clinked against one of his sabatons. He dropped to a knee, and Brennan approached, holding the torch closer.

  There, on the dock, lay a ring.

  Jon threw off his gauntlet and picked it up—the ring of a Sodalis. None of the paladins had yet made it to the dungeon. And no paladin who would willingly part with his ring but he.

  He closed his fingers over it.

  “Rielle,” he whispered, searching the dock for any sign of what could have happened. He peered over the edge at the black water.

  Terra have mercy—

  No. The ring on the dock had to have been deliberately placed; she wouldn’t have tossed it while falling in, and she wouldn’t have parted with it unless for good reason. She’d either left it as a message and departed, or she’d been taken and able to remove it in time to indicate her last whereabouts.

  Brennan looked out over the water and its serene surface while Jon, filled with dread, traced the edge of the dock until he came upon a horn cleat with a rope tied to it. He slipped the ring onto his finger, crouched, and pulled up the rope to its frayed, hastily cut end, crushing it in his hand to numbness.

  “She was taken.” He held up the end of the rope. He stared at the opening to the waterway. “Where does it let out?” He raked his memory of the capital and couldn’t come up with an answer. “We’ll need a boat. We’ll need to get it through that tunnel somehow.” Which was easier said than done. But it was their only option. “How long will it take? And how long to follow? If she’s not on the other end—”

  Brennan stiffened and dropped the torch with a growl.

  Jon grabbed the torch and lifted it. Brennan’s eyes turned to amber as he began to shift form; he dropped to his knees, holding his head in his hands, doubling over. He pounded a fist onto a wood plank, sending a hairline crack from the point of impact.

  When Jon lowered the torch, Brennan looked up for a moment, his face wolfish and monstrous.

  “Why are you shifting?”

  Curling up, Brennan made a sound not unlike a canine snarl.

  “The full moon, and... my control is gone,” he said in a deep, growling rumble. “Rielle... She’s... out of magic and in fureur, or... nullified with arcanir, or... dead.” An otherworldly cry punctuated his last word.

  Dead. The word reverberated inside him, an echo shuddering through his every bone. His eyes drawn to the dark water, he tried not to wonder whether she’d drowned. “No.”

  He forced an obstinate shake of his head. “There was a boat here. Rielle’s alive, and we’ll find her.”

  A search with no leads?

  No, he couldn’t think that way.

  Brennan grew still, his breaths coming slower, and looked up at him with wide eyes.

  “Come on.” Jon held out his hand; although Brennan could easily kill him instead, Rielle had trusted him, and he would, too. At least enough.

  Brennan gaped at him and hesitated before extending his own hand, the strange animal claws retracting and disappearing as they clasped hands. Jon helped him up and, when Brennan faltered, supported him.

  Slinging the werewolf’s arm around his neck, Jon held out the torch and began to head back to the tunnel. He had to make it back to Captain Perrault and enlist the help of the paladins to find any departing boats and stop them.

  As he braced Brennan, he entered the overwhelming darkness of the stone pass, bound for the paladin camp. On the way there, his mind raced. If she’d been taken, he had precious little time to find her. No time to take a boat through the tunnel. It had to let out somewhere along the bay; a few spotters on horseback could at least indicate a direction.

  At last, he exited the palace. A sea of torches illuminated the paladins, priests, and Courdevallans spread out in a makeshift camp in the palace’s upper ward. It sprawled into the middle ward and the lower, too, as far as he could see. Beneath it, Courdeval still burned, raging bright-hot fire against the black night sky.

  The black night sky... Spotters would be useless. He needed a new plan.
r />   A squad of paladins strode by with a group of prisoners while several more patrolled the area. He searched for the medical tent and, once he spotted it, made his way there.

  “Where are we going?” Brennan asked with a groan.

  “To the medical tent,” Jon answered, bearing him there. “You need to rest.”

  A few paladins acknowledged him with respect, and murmurs of his identity rippled through the camp, bending waists and knees in waves. Jon rolled away the stiffness in his shoulders and made for the tent.

  “I’ll be fine,” Brennan said, but he didn’t resist when Jon led him in.

  The tent’s large interior neared fullness; the injured occupied nearly every cot, tended by Monas Amar’s priests. Unlike the paladins, they kept their focus on the wounded and hardly paid him any mind. Jon breathed his relief and set Brennan down on a cot, then strode to the nearby supply depository. He’d start searching for Rielle, but he needed water, flint—

  “Your Majesty, what are you doing?”

  Derric. Of course, the one priest who preferred to harness his diligence for persuasive rather than medical purposes.

  Jon returned to gathering supplies. “Are you following me now?”

  “Someone has to keep an eye on the king.” Derric’s tone—calm but pedagogic—was one Jon had grown up hearing. “What are you doing?”

  Not today. It wouldn’t work on him today. Shaking his head, he stuffed a knapsack. “Packing.”

  “Why?” Such an innocent question, but Derric’s argument was sure to follow.

  Jon grabbed some rations. “On the way to Monas Amar, I... fell in love with a woman. She’s now missing.” And he would find her.

  To his credit, Derric worked through his surprise. “Do you know where she is? Where will you start your search?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied through gritted teeth.

  Derric exhaled a long breath behind him. “I taught you better than this. Do I need to point out the futility of beginning a search with no information?”

  No, he didn’t.

  With no indication of where she was or where she was bound, a search had little chance of success. But he had to try; it was all he could do.