by Morgan Rice
“He didn’t do that,” Sophia said again.
“But all the rest is still true,” Kate pointed out. “If we’re who we are, then we’re his enemies by default. Loving him will only make that harder.”
“Or maybe loving him is what a situation like this needs,” Sophia countered.
Even so, it hurt. Finding out that Sebastian was going to marry Angelica felt like the biggest betrayal there could be. How could he do a thing like that?
“Come on,” Kate said, reaching out to put an arm around her. “We’ll get you back to the castle, and then… well, I’ll get the twins to keep an eye on you. I have to get ready to do something.”
On another occasion, Sophia might have asked what, but right then, it felt as if the world were collapsing in on her. She pulled away from her sister.
“I’ll be all right,” she said. “You go do the things you need to do. I’ll get back to the castle by myself.”
I don’t want to just abandon you, Kate sent, but at the same time, Sophia could sense that whatever her sister had planned, she wanted to do it almost more than anything.
“I’ll be fine,” Sophia said, even though she felt she would be anything but fine right then.
She watched Kate hurrying off, obviously consumed with whatever this thing was that she had to do. She stood there, trying to look strong and untouched by the news, even though she felt she might shatter at any moment, like cracked glass in the cold.
She kept wondering how Sebastian could do it, and there was only one answer that she could think of: he thought that she was dead. There was a kind of protection in that, in the world beyond Ishjemme not knowing about her, but if it also created a place where Sebastian could marry Angelica, Sophia didn’t want any part of it.
She had to find a way to let him know that she was alive.
She made her way to the castle, and from there, it only took a little asking to find the place where the messenger birds were kept. They squawked in their cages at the sight of Sienne by Sophia’s side, and the noise of it pulled their keeper from the half slumber that he was in.
“My lady…” the man said. “I never thought… your animal, is it watching me?”
In fact, Sienne seemed to be watching the birds as if wondering why so many snacks were in one place. Sophia calmed her with a pulse of her gift.
“I need to send a message,” she said. “And I need to make sure that it reaches Prince Sebastian. Not his mother, not one of the people who might tear it up, but Sebastian. Is that possible?”
The master of birds considered it. “You could send a note with a messenger,” he said, “but if you wish to use a bird, the best that can be done is a sealed message, marked for him alone.”
It would have to be enough. Sophia took a quill and parchment, setting down her message in small script and hoping that this time, Sebastian would receive it.
Sebastian, I love you. I am alive, and in Ishjemme. I am carrying our child. Please, if you love me at all, come to me. Sophia.
There was something about writing a message for a bird that reduced even the most important thoughts to brief, incomplete things. As Sophia sealed the message and wrote Sebastian’s name on the outside, then lifted the bird and let it fly, she could only hope that it would be enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lord Cranston was drunker than he should be, but that seemed to have become the norm in the preceding days. It was a poor Free Company that couldn’t find wine when it needed it, and he had taken full advantage. It helped to numb some of the feelings of loss.
“My lord,” an adjutant said, “a royal official has arrived. The same messenger before, and he’s smiling in a way I really don’t like.”
“Thank you Kate, I’ll be along directly.” Lord Cranston realized too late what he’d just said. “Damn it.”
“Possibly better not to mention that name in front of the queen’s man, sir,” his adjutant said.
“I know that,” Lord Cranston said. “Go see if you can slow him down. I should at least try to look presentable.”
“Yes sir,” the man said. He put a flask on the table. “The cook said to drink this. That it never fails.”
“Thank you,” Lord Cranston said. If they were resorting to homemade recipes to sober a man up, things truly were getting desperate. “You may go.”
The man saluted, and Lord Cranston waited until he’d gone before standing unsteadily. It was hard sometimes to see how far you’d let yourself fall until someone pointed it out. He’d been this way…
Well, that was easy enough to pinpoint. He’d been this way since Kate left.
He’d told her not to. He’d ordered her not to, and the fact that she’d gone anyway had been more than bad enough. Yet the truth was that this wasn’t about anger at being disobeyed. He could even admire the bravery it took to row away, stealing a boat like that and cutting herself off from all the people who might have protected her.
“I miss her,” Lord Cranston said. On impulse, he drank down the cook’s concoction. It tasted every bit as bad as he felt right then. He straightened his clothes and walked out from his tent, into the camp.
The men were training hard there, working with weapons, drilling formations. Almost automatically, Lord Cranston sought out the spot where the boy Will was working with the cannon crew, moving woodenly, as if he didn’t care. He was probably the only one there more hurt by Kate’s departure than Lord Cranston was.
Lord Cranston had lost more than enough in Kate. She’d been such a brilliant student, and she’d saved all of them in the battle at the New Army’s harbor. She’d been like the daughter Lord Cranston had never had, an apprentice worthy of following in his footsteps, and now she was gone.
Lord Cranston saw the queen’s messenger standing ahead, delayed by his men but looking more impatient by the moment. On impulse, Lord Cranston turned away from the man, setting off through the camp. Let the messenger chase him for a while.
“News, lads,” he called out. “Someone tell me the news.”
His sergeants came up. Harris, who handled the training of raw recruits. Berrus, who ran the artillery. The quartermaster and the cook followed, because there were some things at least as important to a company as its fighting strength.
“Who wants to go first?” Lord Cranston asked.
“They’re saying that the New Army has taken Dathersford,” Harris said. Lord Cranston had heard that part already. “They have enough men to fight in a dozen spots at once, and they are. Every time a force tries to sneak in on them, or get around them, there they are.”
Lord Cranston nodded at that. He could believe it after what had happened on the beach. If the man genuinely could see through the eyes of his crows, then tricking him would be nearly impossible.
“It’s pretty dire,” the quartermaster said. “I’ve heard stories from the farmers who bring in the food to the queen’s men. They’ve been pushed back, mile by mile. Half the time, they aren’t even bothering to defend anymore. And food prices are going up too.”
Lord Cranston knew that was more than just the griping of a man who had to find the coin to pay for it. Food prices were going up because of the land being taken by the enemy, because of the refugees running ahead of them, and because the queen’s forces were taking what there was.
It suggested that this was a long way from simply repulsing a few raiders. They were losing this war, and the effects were starting to show.
“There are other rumors,” Berrus said. “A man I get powder from does business over in Ishjemme. The stories say that Kate is there. In the castle.”
“Our Kate?” Lord Cranston asked. “What did she do? Try to assault it single-handed?”
It sounded like the kind of thing that she might do. Even so, Berrus was already shaking his head.
“No sir. They say that she and her sister… they’re the Danses’ daughters. They’re royalty.”
That was a phrase that might get a man hanged in another context, bu
t around him, Lord Cranston’s men knew that they were safe.
“Have you mentioned this to young Will?” Lord Cranston asked.
Berrus shook his head. “No sir.”
“See that you don’t. Not until I work out what to do with news like that. You’re sure it’s her?”
The other man nodded, as Lord Cranston had guessed he would. Even so, it seemed incredible that Kate, the girl who had escaped from the House of the Unclaimed, should turn out to be someone on whose existence whole countries might turn.
“Say nothing for now,” Lord Cranston said. He glanced back toward the messenger. “Especially not to our friend there.”
He could see the man looking over, his anger palpable. There was no putting off the need to go and talk to him any longer, so Lord Cranston marched over, trying to look as composed and worthy of respect as he could. He wouldn’t be cowed by the fact that this man served the Dowager.
“Ah, hello again,” Lord Cranston said. “So soon after the last time that we met.”
It was designed to be deliberately disconcerting, and honestly, maybe it had a little to do with the drink, as well. Still, the messenger managed to maintain his composure.
“My lord,” he said. “You have kept me waiting intolerably.”
“Only as the needs of my company have required, I assure you,” Lord Cranston said, sweeping a hand around the camp. “As you can see, we take the preparations for war very seriously.”
“And its execution as well,” the messenger said. “My mistress, your queen, would like to congratulate you on your successes against the New Army.”
“And yet I am not summoned to the palace to receive a medal,” Lord Cranston observed. What was it about this man that irritated him to indiscretion? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he wouldn’t be here without a reason. “What is it that our beloved Dowager requires of me and my company?”
The other man looked at him, stony-faced, then took out a letter. “Commands from the palace. Your free company is to travel south to hold the bridges over the Sessert River, between Ashton and Dathersford. Upon receiving further instructions, it will advance to engage the enemy, as part of a coordinated strike with others of your ilk to drive back the foes. You will receive further instructions once you are in position.”
Further instructions? They would have to be good ones, because the current set seemed to be simply to move forward to fight the New Army in the open. It was madness, because even if it somehow succeeded, even if the Master of Crows didn’t outmaneuver them, it would mean losses for the companies on a scale that was impossible to contemplate.
“Is the plan to simply throw paid men at the enemy in the hope that you don’t have to pay them when they die?” Lord Cranston demanded. It was impolitic, but it was a suicide mission on a scale at least as great as the attack on the docks had been, and this time, Kate wasn’t there to save them.
“It is not my place, or yours, to question our queen’s plans,” the messenger said. “These orders have come from the palace, and your company has already been requisitioned under lawful orders signed by the Assembly of Nobles. To fail to obey would be treason.”
Lord Cranston might have been drinking, but he was still sober enough to notice the fine detail in that. This wasn’t something that had specifically been agreed with the Assembly then. Nor, now he thought about it, had the man said that the queen herself had commanded this.
The trouble was, despite all of that, the man was correct. The free companies had been called up for the war, the mandate of the Assembly unequivocal, and disobeying now would put all his men at risk.
All or some; it hardly seemed like a good choice, but it was the kind of choice a commander had to make. Of course, the best found other ways; ways that made a mockery of the choices put to them by others.
“When do we need to be in place by?” Lord Cranston asked, trying to stall for enough time to find that third way.
The messenger smiled. He was enjoying this, damn him. “You told me before that your company could move in mere hours if you commanded it. Give the order now, please, Lord Cranston. Or should I tell my superiors that you refuse to obey?”
He had said as much, and now he was paying the price. Lord Cranston looked around, seeing his men there, some still training, more staring at him. They might not be able to hear every word of this, but they must know what was going on. It was impossible not to. What could he do other than give the order, though?
What would Kate do in a situation like this? Lord Cranston smiled at that, because now he had his plan.
“Men,” he called out. “Form up and prepare to strike camp. We need to be ready to march. I’m taking you to Ishjemme!”
There was a moment of shocked silence, and then Lord Cranston heard the cheers starting at the back of the ranks. In spite of his orders, it seemed that more than a few knew what was waiting for them there.
“But…” the messenger began, “… you can’t do this. It’s treason. I’ll see you hang for this. I’ll—”
Lord Cranston struck him then, barely more than a push that sent him sprawling.
“You’ll go back to your masters, and tell them that Lord Cranston’s company is unavailable for their war. That it will be going to seek an engagement with rulers it actually respects. That Lord Cranston wishes you all luck in trying to win without our help. Now, I think you should go, don’t you?”
The other man scrambled to his feet, seemed to think about striking back at Lord Cranston, and obviously thought better of it. Lord Cranston waited for the man to go, then turned to his troops.
“Pack your things, boys, and be ready to move. We’re going to serve Kate and her sister, and I doubt the Dowager will like it much!”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Sebastian was more nervous than he’d thought he would be, even given that it was his wedding day. His stomach was aflutter with the thought of it, and just trying to imagine standing beside Angelica, swearing his vows before the Masked Goddess, set his heart racing.
“Is there anything that still needs to be done?” Sebastian asked. “Are there any preparations still to be made?”
The servants around him shook their heads. Some even looked mildly insulted that he would ask.
“Everything is in order, your highness,” a valet said. “The Dowager is seeing to the preparations herself.”
Probably driving Angelica mad by doing it. The wedding had seemed like a battle between the two of them from the beginning. Even that battle seemed preferable to standing there while everyone else fussed around him. It seemed as though there was nothing more useless than a prince on his wedding day.
“The people have turned out in droves, your highness,” the valet went on. “I imagine for many of them it will be the biggest event of their lives.”
Sebastian went over to the window, looking out over the city. There was indeed a sea of people spread out in the streets, and to his surprise, there didn’t seem to be guards herding them into position. He’d been half expecting his mother to make people celebrate, forcing them to under threat of incurring her displeasure.
“The people out there,” he said. “They do want to be there?”
“Of course they do, your highness,” the valet said. “Why would you doubt it?”
Sebastian fixed him with a level stare. “What’s your name?”
“Moore, your highness.”
“Well, Moore, can we assume for a moment that I’m not an idiot? People talk about how beloved my family is, but that’s just something my family’s supporters say.”
“I couldn’t comment, your highness,” the man said. Sebastian had the sense of a man caught in a dilemma, unable to comment without the prospect of being heard by the other servants.
“Don’t worry,” Sebastian said. “I’m not going to make you say something that could get you dismissed, but those people out there… they aren’t being paid to be there?”
“No, your highness,” Moore said.
“Or forced, or herded into place by the guards?” Sebastian pressed.
The man shook his head. “If I were to guess, your highness, I would say that it is because they love you and Milady d’Angelica. They think you are a beautiful couple, and they are hoping to be distracted from the news of the war.”
Sebastian swallowed at the thought of being the main distraction for so many people. Of course, soon he would be a lot closer to them, because his mother had arranged for him and Angelica to ride through the city in one of the royal carriages, making sure that they would be seen by as many of the people as possible.
“Are you sure that there is nothing for me to do?” Sebastian asked. “There must be all kinds of things that still need to be done.”
“Certainly, your highness,” the valet said. “But I was explicitly told that you weren’t to be—”
Sebastian set off through the palace, hoping to find something that could take his mind off the wedding nerves. He wasn’t surprised to find that, the moment he stepped out of his rooms, the palace was alive with servants working on every aspect of the wedding preparations.
There were men and women carrying food and setting up decorations, turning the palace into a confection of gold and silver that seemed like something out of a dream. A whole team of servants with dusters and cloths were cleaning every surface they could find, while more were trying to find places to entertain guests who had arrived far too early. It reminded Sebastian a little of the preparations for the banquet that seemed like a lifetime ago, only this was a hundred times more complex.
“I shouldn’t be thinking about that,” Sebastian told himself. Thoughts of the banquet brought with them thoughts of Sophia, and those were thoughts he shouldn’t be having on his wedding day. “Think of Angelica.”
He would have gone to find her if he could have, but the tradition was not to see a bride in the hours before her wedding. Once the veil of the goddess went on, she ceased to be the person she had been, and it was the worst of luck to so much as glimpse her before the wedding.