Oathbreaker

by Cara Witter

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll try.”

  Jaeme smiled, though it still looked forced. “Thank you. And if you find you’re uncomfortable, tell me. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. It all still felt like it was too good to be true, but that was just her past talking. Things were different with Jaeme. “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you, too.” His voice sounded troubled, despite the sentiment.

  “Are you worried about Kenton?” she asked. “The others are willing to give you time, but I don’t think there’s much to be done about him.”

  Jaeme shrugged. “I talked to Sayvil about it, and that clarified things for me. It’s like we discussed on the boat. I’m not sure I believe in a god who protects my people, much less that he would have chosen me.”

  Daniella was quiet for a moment. “Have you read much of the Chronicle?”

  “I’ve been at plenty of readings in my—”

  “No,” Daniella said. “Have you ever read it. Like, really read it and paid attention.”

  “No,” Jaeme said. “I can’t say that I have, which only goes to show that—”

  “Kotali was a skeptic,” Daniella said. “The man, I mean. Before he was a god. Perhaps even after—there’s some evidence of that, even though the Drim authors tried to obscure it.”

  Jaeme looked at her. “Kotali didn’t believe that he existed.”

  She smiled. “He didn’t believe in the powers they were given. And he was the last to take on the appellation of godhood. Nerendal claimed the title first, but Kotali claimed it was something else until well after the other three—well, four—had embraced it.”

  Jaeme appeared to think about that, and Daniella wished she’d mentioned it before. “It’s not just you,” she said. “I was thinking about it on our journey here. Arkista was always the practical one, and Mirilina was playful. Nerendal was focused, always charging ahead.” She hoped she’d found an answer to Jaeme’s question, even if it didn’t help him find the stone. “So perhaps that’s why he picked you. Because you’re like him.”

  Jaeme rolled his eyes. “Of all the traits to want your bearer to emulate—”

  “What if it was you? What traits would you pick in a follower?”

  Jaeme seemed to think about that. “Someone like Nikaenor,” he said finally. “Or Hugh. Someone pure in heart.”

  Daniella smiled. “You seem pretty damn pure in heart to me.”

  That earned her a cocked smile in return. “I can’t say that anyone’s ever accused me of purity before. Especially as it relates to the intentions of my heart.” He shook his head. “Besides which, if I’m such an ideal bearer of Kotali, why don’t I know where he is?”

  Daniella considered. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to find your faith.”

  Jaeme snorted. “If so, you’re right. He’s as much of an ass as I am, possibly more.”

  She elbowed him. “Maybe he wants you to find your humility.”

  Jaeme laughed. He stood and took both her hands, pulling her up beside him.

  “We’ll all grow old waiting for that. Come on. Let me show you the woods outside the castle. They’re beautiful this time of year, especially at dusk.”

  Daniella wrinkled her nose. “Haven’t you had enough of woods by now? I still see Nichtees behind every tree, swamp or no.” She paused, giving him a look she hoped approached seductive. “Besides, I’m not sure I’ve seen nearly enough of your bedchamber.”

  Jaeme grinned and wrapped his arms around her. “As you wish, my lady,” he said. As he swept her off to his room, his arms encircling her waist, Daniella felt as if she was floating. She’d grown up in a castle. She was the daughter of the ruler of Sevairn, a king in all but name.

  But at that moment, Daniella had never felt more like a princess.

  Twenty-seven

  Late in the evening, Jaeme extracted himself from his bedroom, leaving Daniella reading a book she’d chosen from the stack she’d hauled in from the library on their tour of the castle. He knew better than to try to distract her while she was reading, and he needed to talk to his uncle anyway.

  He was on his way to do so when Kenton cornered him. He stuck out like a woltrecht claw, still wearing his traveling clothing, which he hadn’t even washed yet.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in the barracks?” Jaeme asked. “I’m sure we have a spare uniform or something lying around.”

  “Yeah,” Kenton said. “Thanks for insisting I needed a room by Daniella. Nice of you to keep us all close.”

  Jaeme faked a smile. He could have done that, but even now Kenton was reminding him why he hadn’t. “Yes,” he said. “A pity we’ll have to keep these chats to a minimum.”

  Kenton stepped close enough that Jaeme felt like drawing his sword. But he hadn’t put it on—he was only walking from his room to his uncle’s office, for the gods’ sakes. He should be able to do that in his own home without being intimidated.

  But instead of glaring, Kenton lowered his voice, speaking conspiratorially. “Where’s the stone, Jaeme? You said you felt pulled to come home, and here we are. What do you feel now?”

  Jaeme rolled his eyes, and though he was careful not to show it, he did think about it. But the only thing he felt was a rightness about being here, not with Kenton, perhaps, but with Daniella. In his home. In what he hoped in time would be hers.

  Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he needed to find faith or humility, or just take a moment to breathe after these last months of travel.

  Regardless, he wasn’t going to discuss it with Kenton. “I feel pulled,” Jaeme said, “to my bedroom. With Daniella. Away from you.” He pointed down the corridor in the direction of the barracks. “You are pulled that way.”

  Kenton raised his hands, and for a second Jaeme thought he might shove him. But instead he just held up his palms. “I’ve tried to be patient with you. But no one can do this but you. Help me out.”

  Because Jaeme had no answer for that, he turned on his heels and strode away toward his uncle’s office.

  Thankfully, Kenton didn’t follow.

  Jaeme took deep breaths all the way there. He stopped in front of the carved oak door. The etched wood featured an image of a knight standing in full armor, Grisham crest emblazoned on his shoulder. He remembered running up and down this hallway with a wooden practice sword, pretending to be that knight until his father emerged and took him down to the practice rooms for a sparring match, saying with a wink and a smile that he wasn’t going to get any work done anyway with all that racket. He couldn’t help but wonder, now, what his father would think of Daniella. Or his mother, were she even able to recognize her own son.

  Thanks to the dukes of Mortiche, many of whom would be in attendance at the tournament, Jaeme would never know.

  Jaeme raised his fist and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” his uncle called.

  Jaeme pushed the door open, and his uncle stood from behind his desk, raking a hand through his graying hair. Jaeme thought it looked even more gray than it had when he’d last been home, but it could have just been the difference between the uncle of his childhood and the man who now stood before him. Jaeme didn’t like to think about his uncle getting older. The room was well-lit with a number of lamps containing Vorgalian light charms, the same that lit the castle halls in the evenings. Behind Greghor, nearly every surface of the office was adorned with detailed figurines the size of Jaeme’s palm. Each one depicted a style of armor from Grisham’s history.

  “Jaeme,” Greghor said. “Come in. I was hoping to have a word with you.” He moved to the side table and poured them each a drink. Jaeme noticed his uncle place his hand on his back as he lowered himself into his chair again—another casualty of his age, no doubt.

  “Of course,” Jaeme sai
d. “We have a lot to talk about.” He stepped into the office and looked over his uncle’s shelves. There, at the center, was a new figure, one on horseback, the tiny knight’s armor and shield carved delicately from wood, with all the engravings of the ceremonial armor of some bygone era. The horse had been made with real hair—probably a rodent, from the look of it—with tiny glass marbles for eyes.

  Next to it was the most prized doll in his uncle’s collection, and also Jaeme’s favorite: an automaton made from wood and brass, wearing the current military uniform of Greghor himself, whose careful mechanics caused it to walk several feet when it was properly wound—no speck of magic involved. Its commission had cost more than the rest of the collection combined.

  “I see things with Daniella are going well,” Greghor said. “Though tell me how you ended up traveling to Tirostaar instead of Peldenar, as expected.”

  “Daniella wants to defect,” Jaeme said. “She’s willing to provide us with information about her father if we can use it against him.”

  Greghor nodded. “So you said in your letters. That’s a better reception than the Council expected, but since she’s no longer near her father, she has less access to the most recent information. Still, the Council can hardly blame you for that. I’m sure if I bring them some information to placate them, they’ll recognize your success. Perhaps about your journey to the island?”

  Jaeme wasn’t ready to tell his uncle about Saara. Besides, that was the least of Jaeme’s concerns. “About the Council . . . Daniella wants to help us. But I’m only going to give them the information that she’s willing to part with. I—I can’t betray her trust.”

  Greghor looked up, and Jaeme felt his uncle weighing him, though he seemed to have become distracted from Tirostaar, at least. “I believe that a betrayal of trust was the point of your mission, much as neither of us liked the concept.”

  Jaeme cleared his throat. He wanted to tell his uncle about his feelings for Daniella. He only wished it wasn’t muddied up by the messy business of his orders from the Council.

  But there was no use mincing words. “I’m in love with her,” he said. “My seduction was an utter wreck. She wasn’t interested in any of my advances. She let me accompany her to Tirostaar, though, and along the way, we really got to know each other.” Jaeme shook his head. “I want what’s best for Mortiche, but I have to put her first. She’s willing to cooperate, so the Council can have what they want—what we all need to keep Sevairn at bay. I just can’t turn her over. Please understand, I’d do anything for you, but—”

  Greghor’s face softened and he held up a hand. “Stop,” he said. “If you love this girl, of course you can’t betray her. As long as you’ve got the information, the Council doesn’t need to be troubled with why she gave it to you.”

  Jaeme squirmed. “Perhaps. But I need to make sure that she never knows why I was accompanying her in the first place.”

  Greghor leaned back in his chair and rubbed her forehead. “Good gods, boy. You’re in love with her, but you haven’t been honest with her?”

  Jaeme’s stomach sank, not in the least to be confessing this to his own uncle, who had always thought well of him. He hadn’t been honest, but the quest hadn’t been his idea in the first place. It wasn’t as if he’d wanted to seduce her. It wasn’t as if he’d even succeeded. The fact that he’d once meant to was irrelevant to the way he felt about her now.

  But after what Erich had done to her, he was certain Dani wouldn’t see it that way.

  “She’s a princess,” Jaeme said. “I’m not the first person sent to seduce her. Her own father assigned one of his soldiers to do it.” He leaned forward. “General Dektrian of all people. They were lovers, until she found out that he’d been working for her father all along.”

  Greghor blinked at him. “That is quite the assignment for a general. And a decorated one at that.”

  “Don’t sound so impressed,” Jaeme said. “Apparently he was awful to her. Threatened her, stalked her—she’s terrified of him. Of course, I would never do those things, but I’m afraid if she knows—”

  His uncle looked at him, and Jaeme had the feeling of being weighed again and this time found wanting. Finally, Greghor sighed. “All right. I’ll help you keep your secret. The gods know the other dukes will want to help you keep up the ruse, so they’ll take care not to give it away. Don’t give them any speeches about not being willing to betray her, and I’ll see if I can’t turn the situation to your favor.”

  Jaeme sighed. His uncle hadn’t been able to get him out of the assignment, so he didn’t have great hope that he could sway them now. But if his uncle intended to be quiet about Jaeme’s motivations, and none of the dukes wanted Daniella to know what they were up to, he had a fighting chance to get out of here without her discovering the truth, and that he was grateful for.

  Before he could express that, his uncle smiled gently. “I am happy for you, Jaeme. To have found love . . . It’s a rare gift. Your parents would be happy for you, as well.”

  Jaeme felt his eyes burn. “Thank you. I hope you’ll get to know her better while we’re here. She’s wonderful.”

  Greghor raised an eyebrow. “Will you be leaving soon?”

  Jaeme hesitated. He didn’t love keeping secrets from anyone, not Daniella, not his uncle. But he hadn’t told the story of what had happened with Saara in his letters, hadn’t written since Nikaenor had claimed his own stone. He hadn’t dared assert in writing that he was the bearer of Kotali when he hardly believed it himself.

  “Daniella wants to travel,” Jaeme said carefully. “That’s why we went to Tirostaar. To work against her father. She won’t want to stay here forever. She has other work to do.”

  “Of course,” Greghor said. “Though I trust this time I’ll get some warning before you go tromping about the Five Lands with your true love.”

  “Of course, Uncle,” he said. “I would have given you warning before if I could have.”

  Greghor nodded, satisfied, and Jaeme sighed in relief.

  There would be future questions, of course. But for tonight, he could extract himself without saying anything that was untrue in the strictest sense, and without his uncle deciding that he’d lost his mind on his travels for declaring himself to be the bearer of Kotali.

  Jaeme considered that a success.

  Twenty-eight

  Kenton let Jaeme have a full day to settle in at home before he concluded that the bearer of Kotali wasn’t going to do a gods-damned thing to help them find the stone. Cursing Kotali for choosing Jaeme of all people, Kenton left Nikaenor asleep on his cot and headed up to the castle to find Perchaya. At least she was generally helpful. Why the gods couldn’t have picked people more like her to bear their stones was completely beyond him.

  Sayvil answered Kenton’s knock, then dusted orange powder from her hands right onto her skirts. “Sorry, I was just working on some—” When she looked down at the dust spread over the cream-colored satin, she swore. “Where did my apron go?” she asked, looking back behind her, then frowning. “Probably still in Daniella’s rooms, where I had to take a break from crushing my herbs to do her hair. Did you know Daniella needed us to do her hair? By the gods, how am I supposed to know how to do something like that?” She glared at Kenton as if all the responsibilities of a lady-in-waiting were his fault.

  Perchaya approached from behind her, looking even happier to see Kenton than usual. He wondered if Sayvil had been blustering like this all morning long.

  “So far hair is apparently all we’ve been doing here,” Kenton said. “I’ve tried to talk to Jaeme about our supposed mission, but he’s acting as if he’s abandoned it. It was one thing for Saara. We always knew where her stone was, and at least she secured it before she—”

  Perchaya shook her head at him. “It’s only been a day, and you know Jaeme wanted to be here for the tournament, regardless.”
>
  Kenton was more inclined to think it had already been a day, rather than only. They hadn’t been in Foroclae for a full day before Nikaenor had emerged from the ocean, stone in hand. “Diamis isn’t resting.”

  Perchaya gave him a look of consternation. “Let Jaeme have his tournament, will you? It’s one week, and we’re safe here, for the first time . . . ever.”

  Kenton opened his mouth to say that they couldn’t consider themselves safe anywhere, but Perchaya continued as if she hadn’t noticed.

  “Sayvil and I were just heading to get some lunch. Jaeme told us there’s food set out in one of the parlors for the guests when there isn’t a formal meal. Would you like to join us?”

  He supposed there was little he could do about it at this moment. “Of course,” he said and offered her his arm in the way Hugh had done yesterday.

  Perchaya flushed, and for a moment his arm hung awkwardly in the air. He wondered if he should just drop it again. When Hugh had done that, she’d taken it so naturally. Was it her or him who was—

  Perchaya stepped suddenly forward, bumping past Sayvil, and put her hand on his arm. She stepped into the hallway with him, and Sayvil shut the door behind them with some force. He wasn’t sure what bee had crawled into her kerchief, but he also didn’t have the patience to fish it out.

  They settled into a leisurely pace down the hallway, and for a moment, Perchaya’s arm almost felt natural on his, though he didn’t remember his heart beating so fast at a woman’s touch since he’d been seduced by his first uniform chaser during his training as a soldier.

  Perchaya cleared her throat lightly. “I wanted to thank you for the gift. It’s beautiful. You couldn’t have had time to make it yourself, could you? Did you buy it in town?”

  Kenton blinked at her. “What gift?”