Covenants (v2.2)

by Lorna Freeman

  It was the same with the rest of the witnesses—they had bits and pieces of the puzzle, but not the whole. In fact, the only information that all of them shared was that Javes was the king’s agent.

  “How?” Jusson asked. “Not even my Lord Commander knew.”

  “I bet Gherat did,” Berle said, her voice soft.

  “We received a letter over two years ago, Your Majesty,” the furniture dealer Guarez said. “And when the captain and Lord Rabbit came to my shop, I sent word.” The old man stood with his hands shaking from fear and the palsy. “I received instructions back that if either ever returned, I was to delay them and send a message quick, and they would be taken care of.”

  I glanced at King Jusson, then averted my eyes from his face. There was nothing like betrayal by a close and trusted friend. Someone so close that he was allowed to stand beside the throne and join any of the king’s conversations. Someone so trusted that he was given the keys to the kingdom’s strongbox—which he then used to overthrow the king.

  “Perhaps Teram knows more, Your Majesty,” Lord Esclaur said from the other side of the dais as the guards escorted the furniture dealer out of the room.

  “Perhaps,” Jusson said, nodding. “We were going to wait and question the rebels separately, but as Flavan’s and Dru’s affairs do seem to crisscross, we should examine the pretender Locival.” He looked at the Lord Commander. “Please bring Teram to me.”

  It didn’t surprise me to see that the Flavan lord had regained a measure of his arrogance as he came into the chamber, his gait strong despite his broken nose and bandaged hand. However, it did surprise me to see who had arrived with him; Archdoyen Obruesk walked in behind Lord Teram, his cavernous eyes sweeping the room until they lit on me. If his glare had been a sword, I would’ve been skewered to the wall.

  “We only recall asking for Teram ibn Flavan, Your Reverence,” Jusson said, a brow rising.

  “We were praying together in his cell, Your Majesty.” Obruesk’s deep voice boomed out in the chamber. “He asked that I accompany him.” Teram stood next to the archdoyen, his face pious.

  “Does the Church support this rebel in his effort to seize the throne?” Jusson asked, raising the other brow.

  “I am only providing spiritual comfort and guidance, Your Majesty,” Obruesk replied. “As I would to any poor soul in need.”

  “There’s a multitude of ‘poor souls’ in our dungeons at this moment. Why this particular one?”

  Obruesk’s face went stern. “He has been threatened with sorcery, Your Majesty. The so-called Witness Circle?” he added at the king’s blank look.

  King Jusson’s brows snapped together. “Lord Teram’s life is forfeit to us, to do with as we please.”

  “My only concern, Your Majesty, is the purity of your rule—”

  “You should be more concerned with the purity of our anger.”

  The archdoyen opened his mouth but the king cut him off. “You have made your apprehensions known, Archdoyen Obruesk. Now please leave.”

  “See how the Holy Church is barred from the palace, yet the king’s sorcerer cousin stands next to the throne!” Teram said, his face gone beyond pious to saintly.

  “You are close to having your head barred from your body, Flavan e Dru,” Jusson said, his eyes glinting down on Lord Teram. Lord Commander Thadro drew his sword and, standing behind Teram, forced him to his knees, placing the sword edge against his neck. Teram glared back up at the king, unrepentant.

  “Your Majesty, forbearance, please—” Obruesk began.

  “Thank you, Your Reverence,” Jusson said. “Please rest assured that we will inform Patriarch Pietr of your assistance.” Obruesk hesitated, then bowed and, after another glare at me, walked from the room, his robes flaring out behind him.

  “Very clever, Lord Teram, to involve the Church.” The king shifted in his chair and placed his elbow on the chair arm, propping his chin against his fist. “But we suppose that His Reverence hasn’t told you: The patriarch has found sprite bodies throughout his See, each one donated by Lord Gherat of Dru. His Holiness wasn’t too thrilled by that.”

  Teram did a credible job of sneering, even with the sword at his neck. “There’s only the freak cat and Border bumpkin’s word what they are.”

  “Such a brave man!” Jusson marveled. “Or a very stupid one. Tell us, Flavan, whether or not it’s spritewood, did it come from Iversterre?”

  “How should I know—”

  “Be aware that we’ve just finished questioning not only your, ah, witnesses but Losan eso Dru too.”

  “Losan eso Dru—” Teram broke off, his sneer faltering.

  “Kings tend to frown on smuggling as it both diminishes their revenues and promotes lawlessness. But it disturbs us even more that our Great Houses are involved in something so tawdry as poaching.”

  “Poaching, hah!” Teram managed to get out, now trying for scorn.

  “We suspect that’s what the Border would call it, as they didn’t give permission for anyone to have what was taken.” Jusson brought his brows together again. “Didn’t you catch a poacher on one of your estates a few months ago, Flavan? If we remember correctly, you had your game wardens hang the man there and then, after chopping off a few body parts. As a deterrent, you said.”

  “Uh—”

  “We raided the House of Dru and have confiscated all records.” The king gestured at the crates and boxes lining the wall behind Chancellor Berle. “But it would be easier for you to tell us who else is involved, Flavan—with your oh so close ties to Dru—rather than shift through all of them, even with the clerk’s help.”

  Teram’s eyes skittered over me and settled on the boxes. Color drained out of his face, leaving even his lips bloodless.

  I frowned. The archdoyen’s support or no, the man was already under a death sentence for his failed rebellion. Yet he seemed more afraid of whatever he thought might be in the boxes.

  Jusson slowly straightened in his chair as he also took in Teram’s terror, his own frown becoming real. “You know, Flavan, we were surprised that we did not see your gracious wife and lovely children earlier today when your household was—moved. Where are they?”

  “I—” Teram swayed, cutting himself on Thadro’s sword. Blood seeped down his neck.

  “Where are they, Flavan?” Jusson leaned forward.

  “Gherat—” Teram stopped, his chest heaving in his fright.

  “Lord Gherat has them? Why?”

  Teram shook his head wildly, cutting himself again on Thadro’s sword. Jusson gave an impatient gesture and the Lord Commander moved his sword off Teram’s neck.

  “Are they hostages? Against what?”

  “Your Majesty, please. He will kill them.”

  Murdering must run in the family.

  “He may think I’ve talked anyway,” Teram said. He glanced again at the boxes. “Or told you where to find those.” Sweat rolled down his face. “Why didn’t you let Obruesk stay? He could have vouched for me—” Teram’s eyes widened and he folded his lips together, refusing to say any more.

  “The archdoyen is involved in this?” Jusson asked, his voice soft. “Perhaps we were too hasty in dismissing him.”

  “Archdoyen Obruesk isn’t related to Dru, is he, sir?” I whispered to Javes.

  “My word, no,” Javes whispered back. “The House of Dru has never been interested in the Church.” He frowned. “At least until now.”

  “I don’t think we can question clergy, Your Majesty,” Lord Esclaur said at the same time.

  “Pox take it, no, we can’t,” Jusson said, his voice still soft. “But if His Reverence insists on thrusting himself into our affairs—” He sighed and settled back into his chair. “We will talk with the patriarch.” He glanced back down at the trembling lord in front of him. “You have raised so many new questions, Flavan. Please rest assured that we will find answers to all of them.” Jusson nodded at Captain Thadro. “Take him away.”

  I watched cousin
Teram be escorted out, back to the palace dungeons and the king’s interrogators, who wouldn’t be near as gentle as Jusson had been.

  “Think they’ll get anything from him?” Javes asked Suiden.

  “A couple of days ago I would’ve said yes,” Suiden replied. “Now, I don’t know.”

  “I didn’t realize he loved his family that much, sir,” I said.

  “It’s not love, Rabbit,” Suiden replied. “It’s the fear of the demise of his House and all its lines to the throne. That there will be no one to carry on his greatness. Lord Gherat knew what to lay hold of to ensure Teram’s silence.”

  “But silence for what?” I asked. “The rebellion is failed, the smuggling ring is exposed, and Lord Gherat is fled. What’s left?”

  Chancellor Berle, listening in, sighed. “Well, for one thing, if Lord Teram won’t talk, then not only don’t we know who else is involved, but we don’t even have proof against Gherat. It’s all supposition.”

  “There’s Losan’s witness,” Javes said.

  “Peepholes and secret cubbies.” Berle gave a scornful laugh. “But not one scrap of real evidence. Who’d believe just her?”

  A thought emerged and I looked up at the king. “What about asking Losan who owns the Iversly warehouse the smugglers used, Your Majesty?”

  “Front men and sham companies,” Chancellor Berle said, but she looked thoughtful.

  “Maybe,” I said. “But someone has the title—”

  “Or the building was leased,” Javes said.

  “Then there’s a record of who leased it and who it was leased from, sir. And I bet she knows.”

  “You’re damn shrewd when you want to be, cousin,” the king said. He motioned to a guard. “Bring the clerk.”

  As Losan was escorted back, Jusson once more rested his chin on one fist, while the fingers of the other hand drummed on the chair arm. He frowned at her, radiating annoyance. “We find that you have not been forthcoming with us, Losan eso Dru.”

  “Your Majesty—” she began.

  “You will tell us about the warehouse.”

  Her mouth parted in shock. “How did you know? How did you find out?”

  “Never mind how!” The king slapped his hand on the chair arm, hard. “Tell us!”

  Losan jumped straight up, and as her feet touched the ground, she was talking, giving us so much more than we expected. “I overheard Lord Gherat talking about a shipment of goods and I was concerned because there was nothing in the official records regarding it. So I discovered which warehouse the shipment was delivered to and went there to investigate. I realized that all of it was smuggled and so I confiscated and moved them to another warehouse.”

  “A warehouse full,” I whispered.

  “Of course, I was going to inform you, sire, as soon as I had gathered all the facts.”

  King Jusson ignored her lie. “When was this?”

  “A little over a week ago.”

  It was probably the last run Lieutenant Jaxtir sent from Dornel. I looked at the clerk, wondering if she knew how close she’d come to being killed. There was no way Lord Gherat didn’t know she had absconded with his contraband and she probably was saved only by the turmoil caused by Laurel’s arrival in Iversly and Teram’s own machinations. My mind shied away from what might actually be in her warehouse.

  “Whom did you lease the building from?” Jusson asked.

  “It was one that the dockmaster listed as being vacant, sire. I leased it through him.” She tried an ingratiating smile. “The goods are still there.” The king ignored that red herring too. “Then who owned the warehouse that the contraband was originally in?”

  “Lord Chause, Your Majesty.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  “I own many warehouses, Your Majesty,” Lord Maceal ibn Chause said. “I may have leased one to Lord Gherat in the past year. I’d have to have my agent check my records.”

  By King Jusson’s orders, Lord Commander Thadro and Captain Suiden went with a mixture of guards and troops to Losan’s warehouse, as Laurel Faena advised that the contraband be left there until he had a chance to go. The king also sent his Own to invite Lord Chause to the palace for a friendly chat, and my uncle had strolled in, the epitome of an aristocrat as he looked me with slight disdain, as though I was just too boring for him to feel anything more.

  The sun was casting long shadows outside the windows of the receiving chamber, and soon it would be time to go to Trooper Basel’s funeral. Lord Chause lounged in his chair, casting a world-weary gaze over Lord Esclaur and Captain Javes. He then looked back at King Jusson. “May I ask, Your Majesty, the nature of the charges against Gherat?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Well, what about Teram?” My uncle looked at me. “Tell me, Rabbit, did your cousin really try to lead a revolt wearing a Locival costume?”

  I frowned at his pointing out my relationship with Flavan but Jusson spoke before I could. “Nor have I asked you here to discuss Teram ibn Flavan.”

  Lord Chause smiled faintly. “I beg pardon, sire.”

  King Jusson watched my uncle for a moment. “Do you know how close we stand to war, Maceal?”

  “I thought you took care of that, Your Majesty.”

  “No, not with the House of Flavan. With the Borderlands.”

  “I’ve heard the nonsense about the spritewood and dragon skin, sire.” My uncle’s lip curled even more.

  “It’s not nonsense, Maceal,” Jusson said.

  “I again beg pardon, Your Majesty,” Lord Chause said. “But I haven’t been impressed with the, ah, Borderers they have sent to us.” He sneered at me. “A clodhopping farm boy and a performing animal.”

  “The Border War was also unimpressive?” Lord Esclaur asked.

  “A children’s tale, Esclaur,” Lord Chause said. “Fighting trees and chanting fairies? More nonsense.”

  “So full of nonsense, Maceal,” Jusson said, “that we sued for peace and considered ourselves very fortunate that we received it.”

  Lord Chause opened his mouth.

  “I have read the firsthand accounts of the battle,” Jusson said, cutting my uncle off. He leaned forward in his chair. “Just one battle, Maceal. No others, not even an exchange of insults. Iversterre received the drubbing of its kingdom life.” The king’s eyes glittered. “It’s not just a children’s pantomime.” A line appeared between my uncle’s gray-shot brows, spoiling his sneer.

  “I’ve also read the letters between my great-grandfather the king and the ‘fairies.’ And the resulting treaties.” King Jusson’s eyes glittered more. “Do you know why we have such a strong garrison at Veldecke?”

  “I assumed to keep out the mad and the malcontents from the Border,” Lord Chause said, still trying to sneer over a frown forming on his face.

  “Oh, come now, Maceal,” Esclaur said. “Think. Why would we need such a large force there if the Border was composed only of rabble?”

  “Bandits—”

  “No, my lord,” Captain Javes said. “No outlaws come down at us from the Border. All our banditry is internal. Or from the sea.”

  “The garrison at Veldecke isn’t to keep the Border people out,” Jusson said. “It’s to keep us in.” He leaned forward again. “Even your brother and his wife didn’t go through the garrison to the Border. They sailed on a Qarant trading ship to one of the Border portal city-states.”

  My ma always talked about that trip with a shudder, turning green at the memory of being seasick, though my da’s face glowed at the thought of being at sea.

  “Have you wondered why the army sends its problems to Freston and not the garrison at the utmost edge of the kingdom?” Javes asked.

  “No, Captain, I can’t say it ever crossed my mind—”

  “Because we’d be bloody damned if we’d allow some gape-seed idiot in a uniform to violate the treaty because he couldn’t think beyond his arse.”

  “My lord,” Javes answered.

  “Or any other body part,” Escla
ur muttered. “Like Groskin.”

  “Only the best go to Veldecke,” Jusson said. “Yet in spite of all our precautions, my agent”—the king waved a hand at Javes—”has traced the flow of contraband from Veldecke to Iversly’s port. What do you think this means in terms of the treaty?”

  Lord Chause said nothing.

  “It means that we’re in deep trouble.” King Jusson leaned back in his chair. “Our army was decimated in the Border War, Maceal. We were really fortunate that Tural didn’t find out until much later, as we would all be speaking Turalian and sporting clan markings.” He rested his chin on his propped-up hand. “Now, because of some who’d looked to fund a little civil disobedience and others seeking to line their coffers, we are facing war again with—how did you put it, Javes? The only country to beat us bloody stupid.” I looked at the captain, thinking that at least one of King Jusson’s spies had been exposed.

  “Even now Ambassador Laurel is with Foreign Chancellor Berle, trying hard to find a diplomatic solution, but they’re not hopeful.” King Jusson sighed. “Our great lords and senior officials involved in smuggling and slave running. Our warehouses full of body parts. Our churchmen carrying those thrice-damned corpses as Staves of Offices. Our soldiers with hauberks and shields made out of the skin of one of the treaty signer’s sons.” He saw my start. “Oh, yes, cousin. Judging by the letters she sent to my greatgrandfather, Dragoness Moraina was very much involved in the drafting of the treaty.” I frowned at that—honored Moraina did not read or write.

  “I never questioned Gherat,” Lord Chause said. “Why should I have? As he is your Lord Treasurer, I just assumed anything he did had your approval.” I shifted in my chair. This was not the time to shove all the blame on the king.

  Jusson considered Lord Chause. “You’re right,” he said after a moment. “Gherat is my responsibility.” He stood up. “Therefore I am declaring all profits gained from agreements with the Lord Treasurer to be forfeit due to his treason.” He smiled at Lord Chause. “Of course, if you can prove that your business with Gherat was legitimate, then you’ll retain the assets.” His smile widened. “But that means that you’ll have to open your books to our auditors.”