Orphan's Blade (7 page)

Nathaniel bent over it, as a current of sorrow drifted through his chest. He knew what it felt to be aloft, soaring triumphant and free and to be hit with an arrow through the heart, ending the dream that life once was. “Why did you fell it?”

“Don’t touch it!” Timber crouched beside him and used the tip of his bow to move the wing. He cocked its head to the side. A milky, cataract-covered eye glanced up at them. Bald spots covered its body where the feathers had been plucked, or had fallen out. The blood that oozed from the arrowhead was a black, gelatinous goo.

Nathaniel had never seen anything like this in his lifetime, but he’d heard enough stories. “An undead bird?”

Timber nodded, then watched the sky with suspicion.

None of the crows had settled in the city. They’d come and gone so quickly they wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t been standing at the back gate.

Timber glanced over his shoulder at the open gate and the moors that lay beyond. “Spies.”

Dismissal

“I do not understand why they’ll deny the future princess of Ebonvale entrance to her own council chambers.” Valoria collapsed into a velvet seat, staring down the guards on duty as they stood with their spears crossed over the doorway. The one on the right glanced down with a small amount of guilt pulling at the corners of his mouth, but the one on the left stared straight ahead as if the future queen of Ebonvale were not even present.

“Calm down. I’m sure there’s an explanation.” Cadence sat beside her and took her hand. “Perhaps they are planning the wedding and wish to keep it a surprise.”

“I highly doubt it.” If they were planning the wedding, Brax wouldn’t even bother to be there at all. “Everyone who’s important is in there. Everyone except for me.” She’d gone down to breakfast hoping to make headway with her new family only to find the room empty. A servant had tipped her off to where they all were.

“My father would never think to leave me out of meetings.” Father had included her in all aspects of running the House of Song and the outlying village. A sickening wave of melancholy overcame her. She missed his quiet, noble poise more than anything. She could use a measure of it herself.

“Perhaps they do not wish to bother you right before the wedding.” Cadence tapped the back of her hand encouragingly.

“Bother me? They’ve managed to do enough of that already.”

“Shhhh.” Cadence glanced at the guards. “You never know who’s listening.”

“Let them listen. They can teach these warriors proper manners.”

Cadence threw her hands in her lap. “Honestly, I’m not sure what Echo wants me to do. ’Tis like leading a blind goat across a cliff side.”

Valoria narrowed her gaze. “What did he put you up to?”

Her handmaiden pouted, guilt saddening her eyes. “He wanted to make sure you…followed through.”

“Followed through? Who does he think I am? The Queen of Ebonvale?”

“For Helena’s sake, pipe down.”

Guilt panged in her gut. She shouldn’t have spoken ill of her future mother-in-law. Hadn’t she told Nathaniel she didn’t judge others? Valoria behaved better than this. Circumstances had unraveled her just like the edges of that dusty tapestry of some forgotten king on the far wall.

The guards moved away from the door, and the large slabs of oak opened with a creak. The king and queen burst through, followed by a retinue of advisors. A woman so old, she could have been a ghost drifted past. Her long, white hair trailed to her ankles. Bone thin with wrinkled withered skin, she clung to a young man’s arm as if she’d fall to pieces without his strength.

Was that Sybil, the mother of the queen who’d run away with the minstrel so many years ago? It was hard to believe one waif of an old woman was the source for unending minstrel hatred.

Valoria was here to end that prejudice, to unite the kingdoms, to undo the seed that old woman had sown. If only it hadn’t grown so monumentally large.

Nathaniel emerged next. His uniform was rumpled, and a bloodied bandage wrapped around his right hand. He looked as though he’d been up all night.

Despite Cadence pulling on her arm, Valoria broke free and approached him.

He regarded her with welcome surprise. “Valoria. I did not know you were here.”

All of her frustration melted away. She touched his hand. “You’re hurt. What happened?”

Nathaniel glanced back into the room uneasily. “I am certain Brax will inform you.”

She clutched his arm, refusing to release him. The wool of his uniform felt coarse under her fingers, a barrier she could not cross. “Tell me now.”

Nathaniel sighed as though he knew he was in the wrong but could not deny her. He pulled her aside by the tapestry. “One of the raiders escaped. I cut my hand while chasing after him.”

“Is this why they had a meeting without me?”

“No.” He glanced again at the room. Indecision crossed his amber-brown eyes.

She pulled him closer. “Please.”

Nathaniel leaned down to her, so close their foreheads almost touched, and whispered, “Spies from the north have crossed into our territory. It seems the next threat to Ebonvale is closer than we thought.”

“The north?” Disbelief shocked her, followed by a dark dread, which settled in her bones. Had she awoken the threat when she called on the northern lands for help?

Nathaniel pulled away abruptly as Brax entered the corridor.

“Valoria, I must speak with you.” Brax’s voice was blunt and businesslike, as if he called on a servant.

Valoria glanced back for Nathaniel. He’d disappeared in the crowd. The old woman stared at her with large, knowing eyes that bored into her soul and upturned all her secrets. Valoria turned back to Brax and cut through the crowd. Anything to escape the old woman’s eyes.

She reached him and followed him into the council chamber. Ebonvale’s purple pennants hung from lofty rafters. An oily, vermillion scale as large as a carriage hung on a slab of wood on the wall. It must have been taken from one of the wyverns in the final battle at Scalehaven that she’d read about. Old swords lined the walls, probably the weapons of past rulers. This was a place where battle plans were laid down, a place of finality, a room of fate.

Unease crawled over her shoulders. All this time she’d wanted to be in this room, and now the urge to leave crept up her legs.

Brax gestured toward a high back chair with red jewels in the frame and a velvet cushion. “Have a seat.”

Valoria shook her head. “I prefer to stand. Why did you not include me in this meeting?”

He blinked in surprise, as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “Ebonvale’s matters are not your concern.”

Anger flared inside her. “Aren’t they? If I am to be the future queen?” It was the first time she’d directly mentioned their union to him. She felt absurd stating the obvious fact they’d both been denying. But, sooner or later they had to come to terms with their union and all that it implied.

Brax ran a hand over his face. “One step at a time. First, I must ask you to withdraw the minstrels who are able to travel. They must return to the House of Song.”

“Whatever for?”

“There is a new threat to this castle. The minstrels will be safer within their own kingdom, protected by their…” He waved his hand as if he couldn’t possibly understand it. “Songs.”

Was his skull as thick as it looked? “They should stay here to lend their aid. You will need them.”

“They have completed their mission. They’ve brought you here unscathed. At present, they are distracting my forces and causing dissent in the city when we need unity to present a strong front. Do not fret, I will send a retinue of men to protect them on their journey back.”

“They are here to preside at the wedding.” Valoria stood as if she had iron in her back. She couldn’t order the minstrels home now after they’d traveled all this way and survived such a brutal attack. Besides, she wasn’t ready to be left alone with these warriors. The minstrels gave her a semblance of community. If Brax thought he could take that away with a single order, then he didn’t know the princess of the House of Song.

“The wedding must be postponed.” Not one sliver of emotion crossed Brax’s thick nose, thin lips, and wide chin. He could have been remarking on the weather.

Relief flowed through her, and she pushed it back, ashamed of her own weakness. Father’s words from her childhood came back to haunt her…
watch what you wish for
. “Surely the king and queen disagree.”

Brax shook his head. “They have given me full authority on the matter.” He walked toward her and placed a finger under her chin, bringing her face to meet his. “Do not pretend you are not pleased.”

She pulled away and eyed him defensively. “I am not pleased. I am…” She struggled to find the most diplomatic word. “Surprised.”

He turned toward the window, and whatever openness he’d shared closed like a steel door in her face. “The king and queen are on their way to speak to your retinue. The minstrels who are able will leave tomorrow at first light.”

My Fair Lady

“What’ll it be, sir?” The man at the bar polished a tin cup and glanced at Nathaniel with a crooked smile. He had a golden front tooth, but his overcoat had seen better days. Nathaniel lamented the fact this man would get no tip from his purse.

“I’m not here for a drink.” Nathaniel ignored the heads that turned in his direction. “I wish to speak with a certain barmaid.”

“A barmaid?” The man chuckled. The top button was missing from his coat and the threads dangled loose. “Well, aren’t you a ladies’ man.”

Nathaniel’s patience wore thin. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “This is for an investigation conducted by the Royal Guard.”

“Of course, sir.” The man’s smile disappeared as he placed the tin mug and the wet rag on the countertop. “Which maid?”

“The one with the red curls tending tables last night.” He scanned the room, but didn’t see her. Fortunately, Timber stood outside the back entrance, in case she made a run for it.

The bartender nodded. “That’s Masie. I hope she hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“No. I need to ask her a few questions, that’s all.”

He nodded and disappeared in the back.

Nathaniel tapped his fingers on the counter, ignoring the stares from the other patrons.

An old man sitting at the bar sipping the leftover stew from last night turned toward him. “Is it true the minstrels are leaving?”

Nathaniel nodded, keenly aware the conversations had quieted across the room. “The king and queen think it best with the recent raider attacks.” The less the populace knew, the better. He couldn’t have panic spreading like the plague of the undead.

The old man lifted his mug. “Good riddance. Those snobby finger-pluckers told my boy his butcher shop was an ‘extravagant show of brutalism.’” He intoned the minstrels’ words in the highest, haughtiest voice he could manage.

A chorus of shouts erupted across the tavern with people agreeing and telling their own stories.

“They told me I needed a bath.” A woman in the back stood.

“Yeah, well, I caught one of them sniffing my mother’s stew like it was dung,” called out a young man at a back table.

“Excuse me.” Nathaniel held up both hands until everyone quieted around him. At least the Royal Guard still had some authority. “Your future queen is a minstrel. From now on, any insult against them is an insult to the Royal Family and will be considered treason.”

Silence fell. Nathaniel settled into a seat at the bar as he reined in his irritation. Why did the insults affect him? He wasn’t a minstrel. He wasn’t even going to marry one. But they did. They pushed the dagger straight through to his heart.

The back door opened, and the bartender came out with Masie. Her apron dripped with dishwater. She stared at Nathaniel as though he would arrest her right there. He wished he could smile to alleviate her fears, but he wasn’t certain of her innocence.

“Come with me.” Nathaniel led her outside to a bench in front of the bakery. The sweet smell of baking bread permeated the air and the midday sun cast golden rays on the blue flowers in the window boxes. If only these were peaceful times.

Masie wrung her hands in her lap. Nathaniel couldn’t tell if her worried expression was guilt, or just fear.

“One of my soldiers witnessed you serving the young man who ran away last night.”

Masie nodded. “He sat at my table, sir.”

“Of course.” He tried a small smile. “Did you recognize him from anywhere?”

“No, sir.” She glanced down. Freckles speckled the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. It could have been just a coincidence she resembled the raider. But, he’d heard of some families who’d split, half their sons residing at the castle, and the other half chancing life on the outlying farms.

“You don’t know him?”

“No.” She bit her lip.

“I see.” Was that the same expression the boy had used when he’d refused to answer Nathaniel’s questions? “What is your family name?”

“Smith.”

Nathaniel sighed. There were a hundred Smiths all over town. “Did this boy say anything to you when you served him? Anything at all?”

“He ordered water, sir.”

“Water?”

“Yes.”

“You did not think it odd?”

“’Tis my job to serve the patrons without question, sir.”

True, yet from the looks of it, this establishment survived on tips, and no barmaid would serve anyone for very long with no gold in sight.

“Can I go back in, sir? I have to finish the dishes before the dinner rush.”

Dinner was half a day away. How many dishes could a single tavern have? Nathaniel touched his forehead, massaging his temples. “Yes, of course. Thank you for being helpful. You may go.”

After the sighting of the undead bird, Brax had ordered the back gate shut for good. Nathaniel’s search for the raider had come to a dead end.

* * * *

As Valoria entered the apothecary’s shop, a minstrel pushed by her on a crutch. Her countrymen had slings across their chests and others hobbled with canes. One man, a servant to her father, had a bandage wrapped around his right eye.