Grace of the Goddess (The Death Dealer Book 3) (22 page)

              Jack heard Lord Philip open the envelope behind him. “'By the order of His Majesty, King Frederick I, martial law is declared in the city of Glenbard. The Duke of Escion is to take immediate control. The magistrates are hereby disbanded and are to return with haste to their holdings outside Glenbard.'”

              “You planned this all along!” Jack said. He curled his hands into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms.

              “My first act is to have Sir Jonathan arrested. Guards!” Men dressed in the Escion colors swarmed into the chamber. Lords Philip and Melvin jumped out of their seats, knocking them over in their haste, while Lords Vincent and Gregory appeared to be too stunned to move.

              “Guards, arrest this man and take him to the Redbank prison. I will deal with him in time.”

              Jack didn't move. The guards forced his arms behind his back, clapping irons on him none too gently – the ones Robert obviously already had waiting. He knew there was a chance his son would vote against him. Jack spit in father's face as he was dragged out.

Fifteen

              For three days after the attack on the prince, no one was allowed to come and go from the castle in Arganis. Patrols went out routinely to sweep the forest, but no trace of the Death Dealer was found. Grace joined in a sweep or two a day, but every spare moment she had was spent in the training yard working out her anger.

              All across Cesernan, people took up the mask of the Dealer. Her work had always inspired others and it never bothered her, but the fact that an assassin paraded around as such was unbearable. Someone used the symbol of good Grace had created and bent it to their wicked purposes. Her blood boiled at the thought. Outwardly she continued to work each day, but within, a violent storm raged that threatened to rip her from the inside out.

              She saw Kara returning to the wedding feast the night the prince was attacked, and Grace wondered if the maid brought some information to the killer. Katherine didn’t trust the young woman, and from the looks of it, neither did any of the other conspirators, but to accuse Kara without evidence could cause trouble. Questions would be asked as to why she felt Kara had an interest in spying or turning over the prince, and George still didn’t know that Leon worked with the prince in breaking the king’s embargo. While she thought up a plan, Grace practiced the sword.

              “You’re going to break that practice dummy,” Henry remarked as Grace ran her sword through the cloth dummy. Henry came out often to watch Grace. If he knew about what Drake was up to, he kept this knowledge to himself.

              The day had barely begun, with tinges of pink and orange streaking the sky and Grace’s breath hanging in the air. Most of the household still slept. Henry, however, looked like he’d been awake for hours.

              “I am merely teaching it a valuable lesson.” Grace withdrew her sword and returned it to her sheath. Her anger ebbed away when she practiced. It cleared her head to be doing something that came so natural to her.

              “And that is?”

              “To be idle is to mean death.” She trudged across the training yard to sit on the fence. 

Henry leaned beside her, shaking his head. “The day after tomorrow the prince will spirit himself away to the south and you’ll return to your normal routine.”

              “I know, but I don’t care for that option either. Someone broke into my home and threatened a guest. His Highness may leave, but my inattentiveness still allowed someone to slip past my defenses and wound him.”

              “Wound him, yes, but not kill him. You are the one who raised the alarm. By your quick thinking alone, the prince was saved.”

              The thought didn’t comfort Grace. The false Death Dealer could return and succeed the next time. It was dumb luck that Grace happened to return from the woods in time, but luck never stayed.

              “Let me get my old sword,” Henry said when Grace offered no response. “You could face a real opponent for a change.”

              Henry trained in his youth as a knight. He must have been capable enough at one time, otherwise he wouldn’t have gained his shield. Still, Grace had a hard time envisioning the fat lord as anything but a scholar who preferred food and books to swordplay.

              “You really think that is wise?” Grace asked.

              “I may not ride into battle with my banner held high, but I remember a thing or two about having a civilized sparring match. Wait here, I will retrieve my sword.” Henry headed off for the castle.

              Grace put on the padded practice armor the guards wore when they sparred with real blades. When Henry returned, he wore a chain mail shirt over his linen shirt, although the chain mail looked like it was too tight across his chest. He swung his sword a few times and Grace saw that the tightness of the chain mail didn’t hinder his movements.

              “I must warn you, young lady, I used to be a fine swordsman. I even beat your father once or twice.”

              Grace raised her sword in salute to her opponent. “Then I suppose I shall fight to defend my father’s memory,” she said with a wink.

              Henry raised his sword in salute and then crossed it with Grace’s. “Have a care for my old bones, though. I do not wish to be carried home to Egona on a litter. My considerable girth will surely break the backs of my servants.”

              For an old fat lord, Grace found Henry to be quite a formidable opponent. He didn’t move fast, but he was on his defensive. He made Grace attack him, trying to wear her down. After he easily blocked several of her advances, Grace caught on to his plan. She began to circle him, making him turn to watch her movements. If she was going to tire, she would make sure her opponent did as well. Her circle around him was large, but he was forced to keep a tight circle.

              Grace made three rotations around him and struck again. Dizzy from his circle, Henry just barely blocked her swing, but Grace quickly recovered from his block and struck out for his unblocked side. She tapped him gently with the flat of her blade.

              “First blood,” she declared.

              Henry put up his hands in surrender and she saw that he sweated under his clothes. “I submit.”

              Grace shook hands with Henry. Turning toward the fence, she saw they had garnered an audience of guards. Among the onlookers was Sir Tristan. She waited for some sort of cruel remark, but the knight just watched.

              “I’d like a go against her,” Tristan yelled across the training yard.

              Grace panicked and looked at Henry, her eyes wide in fear. “He will not try anything. His threats are hollow, at best,” Henry said comfortingly and put an arm around her shoulder.

              Tristan strode across the courtyard, sword in hand, with no padded armor or chain mail. Grace marveled at his bravery. She’d never strike to wound him on purpose, but accidents happened.

              “You once bested Drake; now see if you can win against me.” Tristan held his sword up in salute.

              Henry cleared out of the ring as Grace held her sword up and crossed blades with the knight. Tristan swung first, aiming low. Grace caught his blade and backed up a step. He swung again, aiming high. Again she blocked. Then he went for her middle, only to be met with another block. Low, high, middle. He kept the routine. Grace still watched his movements closely in case he meant to switch it up when she was off guard.

              From the fence, some guards shouted for more action, but Tristan wouldn’t be deterred from his pattern. Grace was becoming quickly bored with it. Finally, she grew so tired of it she moved for the offensive. She ducked away from the high blow and aimed for Tristan’s sword.

              His movements were lightning quick. As she drove forward, he hooked her sword arm with his, knotting them together. He dragged her closer, leaving no room for him or her to swing. From the fence, Henry called “foul.”

              “Let me go, brute!” Grace struggled, but Tristan had a vise-like grip.

              “Drake’s missing,” Tristan whispered loud enough for her to hear over the shouts from the fence.

              Grace stopped fighting when she saw Tristan’s earnest face. She didn’t think he’d lie about such a thing. How did Drake get away from the castle grounds?

              “He went out with three guards this morning, but none have come back,” Tristan said as though he read her thoughts.

              He released her, giving her a shove away from him, and returned to the duel at hand. This time he broke from his pattern. Grace blocked easily enough, but he was always quick to recover. Worn down from his pace, Grace missed a block. The flat of Tristan’s blade smacked her wrist.

              “First blood,” he declared. He held out his hand for Grace to shake. She extended her own and he pulled her close again. “I want your help to find him. Come to the stables as soon as you are able. Tell no one what you’re doing.”

~*~*~

              Grace sparred against another one of her fellow guards before retiring. She meant to leave sooner, but several of the men wanted to test their skill against hers and she didn’t want them to trail her when she met with Tristan. After two short matches, she feigned fatigue and Henry called off the guards still waiting to try against her. She promised Henry she’d go to his rooms for chess after dinner that evening.

She found that Tristan was not alone; Leon waited with him. Both men were grim-faced and tired looking.

              “Finally,” Tristan scoffed when she came into the stables sweating from her workout.

              “Leave her be.” Leon gave Tristan a deadly stare that shut the younger knight up quickly.

              “Can someone please explain what is happening? If it is safe to do so, I mean.” She looked around the stables quickly and saw no one around but the horses.

              “We swept through the stables and no one has come in since I sent the hostler away,” Leon said. “Grace, I want you to take Tristan into the woods to search for His Highness. I sent two trusted men out to the village already, but they returned with nothing.”

              “I don’t understand; how could he be missing? No one was permitted off the grounds.”

              “He asked my permission last night to go for a walk before dawn, saying he wanted the forest air to clear his head. I allowed it on the condition that he take some guards with him. I did not want his absence to be noticed, so I allowed him to use the hidden tunnel.”

              Grace’s face went white. Drake would find her box at the bottom of the well – the one with her Death Dealer garb in it. Neither Tristan nor Leon noticed her suddenly pale face.

              “They went out and were supposed to be back before the majority of the household was up, but none of the party has returned. And what is worse, Katherine is missing as well,” Leon continued. “I told Master Broyles to spread the word that if anyone should ask, both the duchess and the prince have fallen ill and are not to be disturbed. I don’t want George to know; not until our need becomes dire.”

              “Begging your pardon Uncle, but I think our need is already dire.” Grace didn’t want to sound impertinent, but insolence crept into her tone. “And what help would
I
be in finding them? I am no hunter or tracker. I am likely to step on their trail and ruin it before a
real
hunting party is sent out.”

              “You know the woods, you know the hiding places, and you can be trusted.” Leon cupped her chin and made her look up at him. “If you cannot locate the prince and Katherine by sundown, we will send out a hunting party, but we must try to avoid a scandal.”

              Grace didn’t dare roll her eyes, though it took all her willpower not to. Scandal was already around their ears, and by not sending out a party of experienced trackers right away Leon only made things worse. Grace guessed the delay on his end was more because of his conspiracy than anything else. Something was being left unsaid, and Tristan and Leon intended to keep it that way. Once they were out in the woods, Grace would have the upper hand. Tristan would need her to be his guide, and she would finally be able to ask him the questions that needed answering.

              “Will you take Tristan?”

              “Keep a civil tongue, Sir Knight,” she warned. “Or I will leave you in the woods for the wolves.”

              Tristan nodded. He was obviously anxious to bring his friend home. “Consider my tongue held. Now may we go? I would like to venture out before midday, and you have already wasted enough time sparring in the courtyard.”

              Leon gave Tristan another of his fierce stares and the knight clammed up again.

              “Off you go,” Leon said. He led Tristan to the empty stall and pushed away the debris that covered the trapdoor. “Grace, will you need a torch?”

              She shook her head. “Not to get to the well; the path is straight enough.” She paused for a moment as she thought it over. “But perhaps we should take one in case there are unfriendly surprises down there.”

              “Alright, climb down. I will light a torch and pass it to you.”

              Grace went down the trapdoor first. She strained her eyes to peer down the tunnel, looking for a shaft of light from the well’s opening. Grumbling as he descended, Tristan came down. Outside of the tunnel Grace heard Leon working with his flint. After a minute or two he came down after them, holding the lighted torch. He also held a pack, which he handed to Tristan.

              Within the sphere of light Grace saw nothing amiss with the burrow, but that didn’t mean trouble wasn’t ahead. “Come along, Sir Tristan.” Grace took the torch and led them down the tunnel.

              “Gods’ speed, Grace, Sir Tristan,” Leon said at their backs.

              Grace felt the urge to hurry back and hug her uncle good-bye. A black cloud settled on her mind, but she was too angry at her uncle’s recklessness to say anything just yet.

              Tristan followed close at her heels, clutching his pack tightly, and neither said a word as they walked along. Grace scanned as far ahead as the light permitted, but there was nothing to see until they came to the well opening.