Dusting his hands off, Jon rose from the stool and began the trek back to the war room.
Derric rose to follow. “The plan is sound, and it should keep the peace for some time, but how long until that time runs out? You will still need to marry.”
Hopefully long enough to find Rielle.
He was no prize—illegitimate, raised as a peasant, and with a precarious hold on the throne—but many kings longed for their daughters to become queens, to gain some power in another country’s affairs, to add to their own. And he would use whatever time the plan could earn him to see that Rielle was found.
From down the hall, a messenger hurried to him and handed off a roll of leather-wrapped parchment, which he opened and read as he walked. Not the word he’d been waiting for, but good news. “I am not entirely without allies.”
“You do have the paladins on your side, but the Order of Terra cannot protect a kingdom on its own,” Derric remarked.
The Order had been apolitical for a very long time, and its recent actions were anomalous. How long would Paladin Grand Cordon Guérin assist the Crown and allow Jon to recruit from his ranks?
“The Order isn’t our only ally,” Jon said, with a smile. “Three days ago, I sent a dove with a message offering Pons Olivier the position of Lord Chancellor of Emaurria. He just accepted.” He handed off the message to Derric, who received it and read it wide eyed, his countenance brightening. The taut lines of his face softened.
It was true, then. When the Proctor had spoken of Derric, Jon had wondered about their relationship. And it was clear now, in Derric’s face. After a long separation, they would be reunited. While a benefit to the kingdom at large, it was undoubtedly a personal boon for them both.
“I’m also retaining Olivia Sabeyon as Archmage of Emaurria,” Jon added. “At the very least, we know the Divinity protects its hold on power. I’ve also sent word to Magehold asking for aid. I think that the Grand Divinus will happily acquiesce to offset the negativity surrounding the Moonlit Rite.”
Quiet lingered for the brief period until they made it to the war room, still bustling with activity. He looked ahead to see Olivia striding toward him, a worried frown on her wan face.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Word from Bisclavret, Your Majesty,” she said.
He knew Bisclavret as a march near the Marcellan Peaks.
“Strange creatures have been spotted there—massive giants radiating cold. They’ve been attacking flocks of livestock and scaring the surrounding villages. Some of the villages’ militias are mobilizing and the marquis has sent some forces, but...”
Jon grabbed a nearby quill, dipped it in ink, and bent over a desk, hastily scrawling a note on some paper for a paladin captain. He folded it up, called over a nearby clerk to pour hot wax over it, and sealed it with a press of his royal signet ring. He blew on the wax to harden it before handing the note to Olivia.
“See what information you can uncover about them today,” Jon said, “then take this to Captain Perrault and tell him what you know. He should send paladins.”
Olivia brought the sealed note close to her chest, hesitating before her next words. “Your Majesty, there is one other matter... would it be possible to discuss it in private?”
Jon exhaled heavily. There were endless matters. His day was filled from before dawn until well after dusk with matters. But Olivia had been indispensable the last few days, and if she had a concern, he would hear it—as long as it wasn’t about releasing Leigh again. That was not going to happen.
“I will call on you when I am done here,” he said, ignoring a critical sniff from Derric behind him, “if that is all right.”
She nodded and bowed before departing.
“Your Majesty,” Derric scolded, his voice a hiss, “if you frequent a woman’s quarters at night, you risk the appearance of impropriety.”
There was no chance of impropriety. At all. And in times like this, practicality prevailed over appearances. “You do realize that actual impropriety requires neither night nor quarters?”
Derric’s mouth dropped open.
It had been a long time since he’d dropped Derric’s jaw like that. That one’s for you, Bastien.
Jon stared into space, filled with the span of memories. “And I was a paladin for nearly a decade. To abandon my troth to Terra, it took falling in love with a woman who is... irreplaceable to me.” He twirled the Sodalis ring he’d given her. It belonged not on his finger but hers. “Since meeting her, my heart threatens to crumble and burst all at once. The loss of her would be my undoing... And anyone who has known love could not imagine I would mark her disappearance by tumbling her dearest friend.”
Before Derric could reply, another messenger came running and held out a note.
“From the Principal Secretary, Your Majesty,” he said with a bow.
Brennan.
“Wait here.” Jon cracked open the wax seal and read the contents, his heart racing. A lead—a ship seen departing the docks the night of Spiritseve.
He darted to the desk, scribbled two short notes, sealed them, and handed them off to the messenger.
“One for the Principal Secretary and one for the Captain of the HMS Isabelle,” Jon said. “May Terra speed your steps.”
The messenger nodded and sped off.
The chains of duty were invisible, but with Brennan doing what the man in Jon—and not the king—longed to do, they felt just as heavy. Jon stared after the messenger, shutting out the voices in the room for a moment, his eyes open until the world before him became a blur.
Chapter 74
The salt on the air was thick as Brennan boarded the carrack’s gangplank. The HMS Isabelle was the only ship from the Royal Emaurrian Navy to have returned to the Bay of Amar since the loyalists had retaken Courdeval.
The waterway from the hidden cavern had let out to the bay. The Siren, an independent Kezani caravel, had been the only ship seen on the Bay of Amar by the militia fighting near the docks. If he could find where the Siren made berth, then perhaps he had a chance of finding Rielle. When he had sent Jon a note with this information, the king had offered the HMS Isabelle to him at once.
After Spiritseve, the full moon had brought suffering the likes of which Brennan had nearly forgotten, crippling nights from nearly a decade ago, but now he had about a month’s time before he would be forced to Change again. Before then, he would be in Suguz, and he would find out what he needed to know by any means necessary. By naming him Principal Secretary, a mere formality, Jon had nevertheless given him carte blanche to reacquire Rielle.
And that was exactly what Brennan intended to do.
He pulled on his hood and descended below deck.
END OF BOOK ONE
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Author’s Note
Thank you for reading Blade & Rose, the first book in the Blade and Rose series. If you’d like to find out about new releases, you can sign up for my newsletter at www.mirandahonfleur.com. As a thank-you gift, you will receive “Winter Wren,” a prequel short story to the Blade and Rose series, featuring Rielle’s first meeting with a certain paladin.
If you enjoyed this book and would like to see more, please consider leaving a review—it really helps me as a new author to know whether people like my work and want to read more of it.
Rielle’s adventure continues in By Dark Deeds, the second book in the Blade and Rose series, available now. You can turn the page for a short preview.
I have a lot of people to thank for this book. Firstly, my husband, Tony, whose encouragement to start writing again made this book possible and whose constant patience in entertaining my brainstorming is proof positive of his love. Thanks also
go to my mom, who listened to my cockamamie plan to trade in law for writing fiction and had the grace to ask, “So what’s your book about?”
And huge thanks go out to my close friends at Enclave, whose feedback and enthusiasm has made this book a thousand times better—Ryan Murree, Katherine Bennet, and Emily Gorman, I couldn’t have done this without you, and there’s no one else I’d rather be taking this journey with… all the way to the French castle and beyond. Thanks also to my friend, Gwynn White, who’s guided me, been with this book since the early drafts, and given me the tough love that set me on the right path.
Thanks also go to Imogen Keeper, for ripping this manuscript to shreds, just like I asked. “Out of the hottest fire comes the strongest steel,” and thanks to you, this steel is the strongest I could make it. Thanks also go to my critiquers and beta readers: Susan Stuckey, Sue Seabury, Deborah Osborne, Zeta Lordes, Elkin Kennard, R.A. Winter, William MacBride, Ernesto Victorio, Ray Harmeyer, L.R. Todd, M. Lavena Murray, William Huffam, Monalisa Foster, and Maria Arnt, whose feedback encouraged me to keep at it until I got it right.
And you, my readers. I couldn’t do this without you! I love hearing from you, so please feel free to drop me a line on: www.mirandahonfleur.com, Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest. Thank you for reading!
About the Author
I’m a born-and-raised Chicagoan living in Indianapolis. I grew up on fantasy and science-fiction novels, spending nearly as much time in Valdemar, Pern, Tortall, Narnia, and Middle Earth as in reality. I write speculative fiction starring fierce heroines and daring heroes who make difficult choices along their great adventures, all with generous doses of romance, action, and drama.
When I’m not snarking, writing, or reading my Kindle, I edit professionally, hang out and watch Netflix with my English-teacher husband, and play board games with my friends.
Reach me at:
www.mirandahonfleur.com
[email protected]
Also by Miranda Honfleur
Blade and Rose Series
“Winter Wren” (available on www.mirandahonfleur.com)
Blade & Rose (Book 1)
By Dark Deeds (Book 2)
Court of Shadows (Book 3)* Available February 2018
Enclave Boxed Sets
Of Beasts and Beauties* Available April 2018
Preview of By Dark Deeds (Blade and Rose Series Book 2)
As Rielle sat chained to a twelve-pound cannon, a shadow covered her almost entirely. She rattled her arcanir shackles at the towering figure, the captain of the Siren, who outsized even the large chair behind him. Throne, more like.
He peered down at her from that throne, surrounded by the riches adorning his cabin, extolling his brutal triumphs—antiques, no doubt pillaged from once-hallowed places desecrated by these most brutally pragmatic of men; exotic rugs and expensive cloth; and heavy, ornate precious metals. All stolen or paid for by the trade in human lives.
Crumpled in a ragged pile against the cannon, she looked him over through her tangled hair. Dressed like a king—in a stunning black brocade overcoat, silk breeches, polished black leather boots, a crisp white shirt, and the most garish captain’s tricorne she’d ever seen—he ought to be holding court in some nightmare realm, not captaining a pirate ship. But in the pirate world, captains dressed as richly as their reputations allowed.
She shivered. He was a powerful man.
As he rubbed the ebony-and-gray stubble on his jaw, his calculating eyes raked over her frame. On any other day, she would have met such a gaze with unflinching disdain. Today, however, her dry throat betrayed her as she swallowed.
Water… Divine, just a drop—
And they’d taunted her with it. Bound in arcanir, she couldn’t use her magic. For three days, she’d been neglected. And she’d spent the last half-hour being unceremoniously washed and scrubbed by a pirate—water all around her but not a drop to drink—and stuffed into a threadbare scratchy cotton dress before being brought here.
And here was a place of dread.
The excess, the silence, the posturing, the shackles—all of it made their disparate bargaining positions clear. But her former captor—that vengeful harpy, Shadow—planned to assassinate Jon. And she had a head start.
I need to stop her. Yesterday.
She suppressed a grimace. Calm, collected reason first. She needed to negotiate her release.
Licking her cracked lower lip, she raised her eyes to the captain. She spied a full bottle of wine upon his desk and salivated.
Not now. She focused on the captain; it was time to open the door to negotiating her ransom. I can do this. “Captain, if I may—”
He dragged in a breath, and she paused. For a man of near silence, even a breath was deafening.
Leaning back in his chair, he regarded her coldly, with a small glimmer in his dark eyes. “Do you know what they call me, girl?”
His voice was weathered, always low. Not in a way that would ever go unheard. When he spoke, people quieted. She quieted.
“Captain Sincuore.”
A measured smile cloaked his mouth. In his youth, he might have been handsome, until the years and the cruelty of the life he’d led etched in the lines and shaded in the furrows. “And do you know what sincuore means?”
“Heartless.”
He grinned. But it wasn’t happiness behind the grin. It was victory.
Her heart raced, and she clenched her teeth to stop her lips from trembling.
“Do you think that’s my real name?”
Of course not. “I—I don’t know, Captain.”
Coolly, he rose from the chair and looked out at the Bay of Amar through the square windows astern.
Everything about his erect posture—stony, towering, still—directed her to remain quiet, but she couldn’t. Shadow had sworn to assassinate Jon.
Her heart twisted.
She needed to get off this ship.
It was time to appeal to greed. “There is a massive sum of gold coronas awaiting you should you ransom me to the March of Laurentine. You would be paid quickly and permitted to depart unhindered.”
Captain Sincuore let out an amused breath through his nose.
She stilled her trembling body by pressing it against the twelve-pounder. “The Duchy of Melain, the March of Tregarde, and”—she paused—“the Kingdom of Emaurria itself would pay you handsomely for my release.” Jon would do anything for her, including pay a ransom… Of that, she was certain.
He will forget about you between the thighs of many women. Shadow’s words echoed in her mind anew.
But they were lies.
Jon loved her, and she loved him; they could overcome anything. Including this.
The captain didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t give any indication he’d even heard her.
Did he care about coin? It wasn’t as though he were—
Her eyes darted around the room. All the riches… All the gold he likely possessed…
The stupidity, the foolishness of attempting to sway this man with more riches…
But she’d needed to try.
“Do you know on whose order I bear you to your fate?” His voice was even, business like.
Her chin quivered, and she clicked her teeth together, clenched her jaw, willing it to stop. The answer was obvious. “On the order of Shadow, Mage Captain of the Crag Company.”
He laughed. “It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long, girl.” He turned to her at last, arms behind his back. “The one I work for, I would not cross for all the gold in your country.”
Whose power outstripped even that of a whole kingdom?
And why was she—one of hundreds of master mages, a disgraced marquise, removed from court and all its schemes—their target? To have crossed someone of significance, she would have had to move in the same circles. And she most certainly didn’t. “Who, then?”
Silence.
A shiver snaked down her spine and slithered through her limbs. She crumpled h
er fingers into fists. There would be no negotiating her way off the ship. No magic. No fighting. She’d tried them all to no effect.
She had a powerful unknown enemy, one even these pirates wouldn’t dare cross. A serpent.
But that wasn’t the problem before her now. Focus.
Her options were few—finding some way to jump ship… and, being shackled, drown… or holding out for a better chance of freedom at her destination. And although death could be preferable to the things she might endure, she was the only one who knew about Shadow’s treachery, the only one who could now protect Jon, and the only one who could atone for the massacre at Laurentine nine years ago.
And she was no coward.
Raising her head, she met Captain Sincuore’s gaze without fear or hesitation. Whatever lay ahead, she would persevere. She had to. For Jon’s sake. She needed to live to escape. She needed to live to save herself, and him.
And someday, she would see this captain reduced to no more than a red stain on all his expensive possessions.
A red stain. Someday, he would be no more. So would Shadow. And the serpent who’d ordered this. She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin.
“Such fury.” His grin turned predatory. He uncorked the bottle of wine, poured a goblet, and rose.
He strolled toward her and stopped two feet away, a giant.
She looked away. Obvious posturing. Unnecessary, too, as she was already well aware of who had all the power here. At least while she was shackled in arcanir. Remove these shackles, and then we’ll see how strong you think you are.
When he crouched and grabbed her face, angling it upward, she heaved deep breaths. Whatever happened, she would endure. She would endure, see him dead, herself freed, Jon saved, Shadow defeated.
“You have no hope of escape, girl.” His grip on her chin tightened. “But I am not entirely without heart.” He smiled with cold eyes, a chilling mixture of malice and joy. “The Rose of Laurentine. A lady such as yourself shouldn’t have to countenance the horrors of piracy. It’s cruel, even for me.”
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