Oathbreaker

by Cara Witter

  Gods. If only she knew how thrilled most of this room was to see her.

  A derisive snort came from behind them, and Jaeme turned to see Osborne leaning across the table. “Diamis! The world trembles because of a peasant with a sharp stick. The knights of Mortiche have nothing to fear from him.”

  Jaeme had heard about enough from the Osmoors to last a lifetime, but he didn’t want to add a duel with Osgoode to the list of his troubles. Jaeme disliked all the dukes who were there the day his father died, but he disliked the Osmoors the most.

  Greghor spoke before Jaeme did. “A stick is sharp indeed to skewer both Foroclae and Andronim.”

  Jaeme nodded, and Daniella took a turn squeezing his hand.

  The stick was far sharper than any of them knew.

  Duke Osborne snorted again. “The day we need help from a woman of Sevairn will be a pitiful day for the knighthood. Pray it never comes to that.”

  Jaeme turned around with a glare, and Daniella put a hand on his arm.

  “It will be a sad day,” Stephan said, “when Diamis finally invades. If he can get enough of his soldiers into the ports at Bronleigh and Haidshir, we won’t stand a chance. Diamis’ armies not only outnumber ours many times over, but they are all extraordinarily well-trained. We’re the better fighters, to be sure, but there are so few of us by comparison, and who do we have to join us? Just passels of farmers who would pick up a sword for the first time to defend their lands—if we hand them even that to fight with. It’s fine when we’re fighting each other, but against Sevairn—the only reason we haven’t been taken yet is due to our terrain, pure and simple. That’s good, but we should be using the advantage to prepare.”

  Latimer narrowed his eyes at Stephan, even though Stephan’s insult to national security was, if anything, directed at the duchies of Bronleigh and Grisham. Greghor, however, was nodding. He, like Jaeme, agreed with Stephan’s position, which was why he’d begun training a standing army. Still, they were minuscule compared to the Sevairnese forces, even accounting for the three nations Diamis’ soldiers were busy occupying at the moment.

  Greghor wouldn’t say so, though. Jaeme had gathered today at the tournament that the other dukes already blamed him for Buras’ success. If you open the gate a crack, so went the argument, then the peasantry will flood through as if you’d flung it wide.

  So much for their confidence in the supposed superiority of the nobility.

  “He’s right,” Jaeme said. “I’ve seen the armies of Sevairn. They’re a formidable force. It certainly wouldn’t hurt us to muster some troops. Gods know we can afford it.”

  “Please,” Osgoode said. “You’d all hand over the code of the knighthood to peasants. You ought to be stoned for your heresy.”

  Jaeme spun around in his chair, and this time it was his uncle who grabbed him by the arm, reaching clear over Daniella’s plate to do so. Jaeme fought to relax, but he could feel fire in his throat.

  If he had a silver shield for every time some rival knight or another had suggested he be stoned, he could have paid a standing army himself. Still, it never failed to get a rise out of him.

  Which was probably why they did it.

  Stephan shook his head vigorously. “I’m not implying that we hand over the reins to the country, simply that we need to be training them. We need soldiers, real soldiers like Diamis has, not rabble with pitchforks, no matter how true their hearts may be. Right, Jaeme?”

  It was true, but Jaeme didn’t love saying so in this company. It would only deepen suspicions that he took after his father, even if on this subject, the opposite was true. “If we had something to offer in the way of military numbers, it might be easier to negotiate that alliance with Tirostaar.”

  Greghor looked somewhat startled at that, as did the other dukes. Jaeme had found out about the attempts at an alliance from Queen Aiyen herself, and no doubt it wasn’t something they spoke of outside of Council circles.

  “Tirostaar has been unreceptive,” Greghor said.

  They were going to hear about it anyway, and Jaeme hadn’t made it a secret that he’d been in Tirostaar. At this moment, he wanted to show the dukes that he wasn’t just their pawn, that he had more important information than they’d bargained for. “They’ve had a change of regime recently,” Jaeme said. “Aiyen’s niece has ascended to the throne. And there’s more. She’s the bearer of Nerendal.”

  Beside him, Daniella took in a sharp breath. From the shock on the faces all around, Jaeme was certain they’d beaten the news here, but he doubted it would be by much. The coup had been too dramatic for the news not to spread, and if he heard of it elsewhere first, Greghor would undoubtedly wonder why Jaeme hadn’t told him.

  Still, he should probably have prepared his uncle for this when they last spoke. Knowing which secret to tell and which to hide was far from Jaeme’s strong suit.

  “It’s true,” Daniella said cautiously, into the shocked quiet of those around her. “We saw it ourselves. But the new queen seems practical. If you have nothing to offer her, she’s not likely to take your alliance seriously.”

  “Nothing to offer?” Osborne barked from behind them. “Some of the best warriors in the world are in this room. We are the leaders of Mortiche. Her protectors. We have no need of aid from Tirostaar or from peasants. What you propose in creating this army would drain power from its rightful holders. Without our leadership, the country will collapse, just as Andronim did. I’m sure your lady here will attest to that.”

  Jaeme didn’t dignify that by turning around. It would be knights like Osborne who would keep the country at a stand-still with debates until Diamis came in and stole the nation out from under them. Jaeme had told Daniella that would never happen, but she was right. History was full of people whose confidence in their own security had been their downfall.

  “Your fear is more for your own holdings than for Mortiche,” Jaeme said. “So which of us is the traitor?”

  Duke Latimer raised an eyebrow at Jaeme. “His fear is for both his own holdings and Mortiche, and he’s not alone in it. I don’t think any one here is particularly desirous to hand over the rule of our provinces to upstart merchants.”

  A tense silence descended as no one seemed willing to reply. Even Stephan held his tongue. The truth was, Jaeme would hand over every speck of power he stood to inherit if it would mean saving Mortiche from the forces of Diamis, and that was before he’d known the man was a gods-damned blood mage. He couldn’t believe that no one else felt the same.

  “Furthermore,” Osborne continued behind them, no doubt puffed up with his minor victory, “you can’t concern yourself with Diamis’ threat without considering how he became a threat. He is a peasant, an educated peasant, who was able to rise to power through a standing military, just as you suggest creating here. This middle class had diminished the power of Sevairnese nobility, the true leadership, and Diamis clawed his way to the top unimpeded. Are we willing to risk deposing one tyrant just to be the facilitators of another?”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Daniella said.

  Jaeme looked toward her, while Osborne sneered behind them. “Please,” he said. “Enlighten me.”

  Daniella turned in her chair to face him. “It wasn’t just the creation of the standing army that allowed him to rise to power. That provided the path, but it was the nobility themselves who cleared it for him. They were so resentful of the power held by the Drim families and so blinded by their own ambitions and in-fighting that they fully supported my father, using him as their tool, their beast of burden. All so they could win and keep the power for themselves. They used him to unite the people against the Drim and then they were shocked when their beast slipped his yoke, and forcibly so.” Jaeme could hear her voice grow in strength and conviction with each word. “Leaders who fear more for their own power than the safety of those they protect deserve to have that power stripped
from them.” She raised her goblet to her lips as she finished, calmly sipping at her wine.

  Jaeme turned back to smile at Osborne, whose mouth fell open at this affront, looking somewhat like a large landed fish jawing the hook. Greghor’s lips formed a tight smile. Stephan appeared to be trying valiantly not to laugh, and even Duke Latimer looked impressed.

  Daniella looked up at Jaeme, and she smiled.

  “I should hope I never allow a woman to fight my battles for me,” Osborne finally sputtered, turning his wrath towards Jaeme.

  Latimer slapped the table, let out a hearty guffaw. “Osborne, you’d do well to start. You might actually win.” Laughter erupted at his jovial statement. Osborne’s forced smile attempted to convey a good-natured side that they were all well aware he didn’t possess.

  “Speaking of the advantage provided by women,” Latimer said, “it might be more advantageous to us if Lady Daniella didn’t defect to us. We might be able to secure a treaty from her father.”

  From farther down the table, another duke spoke up. “He’s just as likely to use this as provocation for attack.” He turned to Daniella. “What do you know of his plans?”

  Daniella blinked, clearly taken aback at the rapid change in subject.

  “Yes,” Osborne said. “If you’re really defecting, you owe us military information. Just what is your father planning?”

  Daniella looked to Jaeme, and he sputtered for a moment before Greghor jumped in to rescue him. He knew they needed to answer their questions, but he hadn’t expected to do so right here. “The girl has only just arrived,” Greghor said. “Let’s give her a moment to breathe, shall we? There will be plenty of time for questions.”

  “But really, Greghor,” Osborne said. “You can’t consider allowing your nephew to marry her. She’s a liability at best.”

  Jaeme flushed with anger and finally found his tongue. “She is not a security concern. She is my guest.”

  Osborne stared Jaeme down. He outranked Jaeme, but this was Jaeme’s home, which put them on more or less equal footing, each able to be overruled by Greghor.

  “I think their marriage will be an asset, really,” Latimer said. “Surely Diamis will be less likely to wish to destroy Grisham if his daughter is at her head.”

  “I seriously doubt it,” Daniella said. “My father will stop at nothing to get what he wants. That’s what earned him his throne.”

  That might be true, but at the moment it was hardly helpful. “Daniella isn’t a danger,” Jaeme said. “I think having her here could be an asset to Grisham, and to Mortiche as a whole.”

  Daniella glared at him, and Jaeme found himself sputtering again, instead of continuing. What had he said? Merely that they were all better off with her here—which was what they all wanted, wasn’t it?

  “Funny,” Daniella said, “how no one thinks to ask what I would think of the match.”

  Jaeme startled. “That’s not—”

  “Everyone seems to think they can decide whether I’m an asset or a threat and proceed accordingly, as if I’m a tool and not a person who might have an opinion of her own.”

  “My dear—” Greghor began, but he was cut off by Osborne, who barked out a laugh.

  “My lady,” Osborne said, “if we thought you that much of a threat, do you think we’d be dining with you? Keep your opinions, but don’t expect the knights of Mortiche to bow to them. Your position in Sevairn gives you no power here.”

  He had no idea the power she had, but Jaeme knew better than to say that aloud, to him or to Daniella.

  He reached for Daniella’s hand again, openly this time.

  But she pulled it away. “Excuse me,” she said. “I think I’ve had quite enough conversation for one evening.” Jaeme moved to stand with her, but she pushed down on his shoulder and swept out of the banquet hall with only a single glance at Perchaya, who watched her with alarm. Jaeme’s throat tightened as he watched Daniella disappear through the door. She didn’t turn to look back at him once. His shoulder still felt heavy where she’d pushed him down, indicating that she didn’t want him to follow.

  Jaeme sighed and stood anyway. Clearly no good was coming of this conversation, and even if it was, Daniella was infinitely more important, and he owed her an apology for what he’d said.

  “Excuse me,” he said. He stepped away from the table and headed off after Daniella without further explanation. As he brushed by the far table, the duke of Inwell reached out and touched Jaeme on the sleeve. Jaeme wanted to brush him off, to charge after Daniella, but the man turned toward him, a smile on his face. He beckoned Jaeme to lean down, as if to say something to him conspiratorially.

  “I—um,” Jaeme said. His heart sank even before the duke began speaking.

  “I just wanted to congratulate you,” the duke said with a knowing smile. “On the fine work you’ve done. Several of us on the Council questioned your ability to carry out our instructions.” He clapped Jaeme on his bad shoulder, which smarted. “Let me be the first to admit I should never have doubted you.”

  The room around Jaeme seemed to grow darker, and echoes of the light charms on the walls danced across his vision. “Th—thank you,” Jaeme said. He was aware that he didn’t sound the least bit thankful, but he couldn’t muster anything better.

  Gods, if Daniella had heard him say that, it would all be over. She’d left Erich for exactly what Jaeme had done to her, and that was before Erich had started behaving like a mad man. Jaeme had promised her he wouldn’t hurt her, and gods damn it, he meant to keep that promise.

  It appeared, though, that he was as miserably bad at keeping promises as he was at finding the stone of Kotali.

  Thirty-three

  While Jaeme, Daniella, and Perchaya were at dinner, Kenton dragged Nikaenor up to the castle to find Sayvil. “I still think if I’m supposed to be her guard,” Kenton said, “I should have been invited to the banquet.”

  “She’s surrounded by knights,” Nikaenor said. “But what if she needs an errand run?”

  Kenton rolled his eyes. “You just want to go for the food.”

  Nikaenor looked confused. “Yeah. Why did you want to be there?”

  Kenton set his mouth in a hard line. He wanted to be there because the longer he left Jaeme alone with these people, the more it seemed that Jaeme was forgetting what had brought them here in the first place. Being surrounded by knights wasn’t exactly a comforting proposition; they still didn’t know how their whereabouts had gotten back to Diamis, and when it came down to it, their leak—be it blood or letters—had to be either Jaeme or Nikaenor.

  Kenton found himself hoping somehow the problem was Hugh, just so he’d have an excuse to run the man through.

  “See,” Nikaenor said. “You’re also thinking about food. Your intentions aren’t any more noble than mine are.”

  “Well, kid,” Kenton said, “I suppose I have to give you that.”

  As they walked down the hallway near the banquet, Kenton had to admit that the smells that wafted their direction were delicious. Kenton craned his neck to peer through the sliver of an open doorway, hoping to catch sight of Perchaya. Hoping to catch Hugh in the act of something indecorous that would leave Kenton reason to challenge him to a duel.

  Not that they needed to draw that kind of attention. And while the lords of the house were drawn elsewhere, Kenton had something he needed to do.

  “Come on,” he said to Nikaenor, who was inhaling and rolling his eyes back like he’d just had his first hit of parchweed. Kenton charged up the stairs and down the hall to pound on the door that Sayvil was sharing with Perchaya.

  Sayvil answered the door with a scowl on her face. “What now?”

  Nikaenor took a large step back, as if he was afraid Sayvil might try to bite him, but Kenton motioned toward the hallway. “Come on,” he said. “We’re going to look for a god.” />
  That pronouncement was enough to startle Sayvil out of her glare. “Isn’t that Jaeme’s job?”

  “It is,” Kenton said. “But Jaeme doesn’t give a woltrecht’s ass about finding Kotali. And with Saara back in Tirostaar—well.” He shrugged. “That leaves you two. Come on.”

  Kenton turned and walked down the hallway. Sayvil’s door clicked shut behind them, and Kenton gave her one backward glance and was relieved to find that both she and Nikaenor were following him.

  Kenton led them to the main staircase and took it two flights down, into the darkest halls of Castle Grisham.

  “Where are we going?” Nikaenor asked, panting from the effort of keeping up.

  “Daniella said the castle isn’t as old as the Banishment,” Sayvil said. “So if it’s here, it must be in the old stone.”

  Kenton smiled. “Precisely. Most castles have been built on the ruins of others. Why start anew when there’s perfectly good mason work just waiting to be cleared and built upon? With the cliff behind us, you can’t find a more defensible position in the duchy.”

  “You think Kotali was worried about defending himself?” Nikaenor asked. “He’s a god.”

  “I think Nerendal had himself stowed in the most defensible fortress in Tirostaar,” Kenton said. “He may not be the only one of the gods who liked that line of thinking.”

  Sayvil nodded. “Mirilina was in a palace of her own sort, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Nikaenor said. “But a palace of stone would be a mountain, not a castle basement.”

  The boy had a point, though as they descended to the dark halls, here lit sparsely by light charms alone, Kenton couldn’t help but think that the hewn granite walls were mountain enough.

  “What are we looking for?” Sayvil asked.

  “A sign,” Kenton said. He grabbed one of the hanging light charms by the chain affixing it to the wall, and pulled it down. Stopping in front of a large stone door, he reached for the metal handle and found it locked.