Queen (Brotherhood of the Throne) (3 page)

“
I’m fine
,” Brenna
said. “
It’s just
…” Brenna squeezed her eyes against the tears that
threatened to spill. She felt Kane’s hand on her shoulder and she sighed.

“
We’ve had bad news
from Kingsreach
,” she said. “
An old friend was taken by Thorold’s men. Someone who was kind to me a long time ago
.”

“
Ah, so he’s trying to
hurt you through those you care about
.”

“
We think so
,”
Brenna said.

“
You can’t let him
weaken you,
” Yowan said. “
You’re at war now - casualties are going to
happen
.”

“
But she died because
of me!
”

“
And you’re trying to
put things right for everyone, including her family
,” Yowan said firmly. “
You’re
almost queen now. People will die for you - you’ll need to accept that
.”

“
I don’t want to accept
it
,” Brenna said. “
I don’t want people to die for me
.”

“
That’s not your choice
,”
Yowan said. “
And it’s not about you; it’s about what you represent. People
have a right to decide what they believe is worth dying for. Your part in this
is to not let their deaths be wasted
.”

“
But I’m a healer. I’m
should be able to help
,” Brenna said. “
I don’t like that people are dead
because of me
.”

“
And that’s a good
thing
,” Yowan said. “
Others might not be so concerned. My guess is Thorold wouldn’t be. Now you make sure you get some enough sleep. Tell Kane I said so
.”

“
I heard. I’ve already
made her miss one meal for sleep
,” Kane replied.

Her grandfather chuckled. “
Good
lad.  She’ll argue but you know what she needs. Just make sure she does what
you say
.”

“
And that works with
Madelay does it
?” Brenna asked.

“
At times
,” Yowan drawled
and Brenna smiled. “
Sometimes she just needs me to remind her she that shouldn’t
feel guilty for taking care of herself
.”

 “
And how is my
grandmother
?”

“
She’s holding her own.
After we crossed the border we met up with others fleeing Kingsreach. Now we’ve
found Laurel and Clift at an encampment of some sort
.” Yowan paused briefly
and Brenna knew he was talking to someone else. “
Laurel says you’ll know the
place, Brenna. On your say so Avery had lowered the magical barrier and posted
healers with supplies and wagons to help move people further into Aruntun.
”

Brenna’s closed her eyes
and her shoulders sagged. She’d been able to change her vision from the spring.
It was a relief to know it was possible. “
And Neal and the Brothers who were
hurt during the rescue
?” she asked. “
Are they still doing well
?”

“
Madelay says Neal is still
mending as well as can be expected and those who were wounded are all on their
feet today. Avery is furious with Duke Thorold. And she blames herself for
letting Thorold have a free hand for so many years
.
”

“
He fooled us all
,” Kane
said. “
She should not waste her energy blaming herself
.
”

“
Eventually she will accept that
.”
Yowan’s voice was sad. “
But she feels that Neal suffered because of her poor
judgment. Neal feels differently - he blames Duke Thorold and High Bishop
Valden
.”

“
As he should
,”
Brenna said, angry. Only the High Bishop had ordered Neal’s body to be cut and
mutilated – and Thorold had handed him over to Valden knowing exactly what
would be done to him.

 “
Aye, but we’ll stop
them
,” Yowan said. “
We’ll head to Smithin after a few days rest. Contact
me whenever you need to, I’ll keep my knife close.
” Yowan broke the
connection.

Brenna pulled her stiff
fingers back from the knives and rubbed them together, stifling a yawn. She
picked up her knife and slipped it back into its sheath at her waist while Kane
did the same with his.

“Neal and the five injured
Brothers are still recovering well,” she said to the rest of the room. “They’re
safe at a camp with Avery’s daughter Laurel, just past the border in Aruntun.” She
rubbed her eyes with the back of one hand.

She had to get used to
people dying for her, Yowan had said. But her mother had trained her to help
people, to save lives. The thought of even one more person dying because of her
seemed like a betrayal of everything her mother had taught her. And yet Wynne
Trewen
had
created poisons for Duke Thorold - one of those poisons had certainly
killed the king - and Brenna and Madelay had both used their healing skills to
sicken men - Brenna in Godswall and Madelay when they had been captured by
Stobert’s men. She was certain that at least one of Stobert’s men had died and
that didn’t bother her way Mistress Dudding’s death did.

Brenna shook her head. But
that was different - they’d had to save themselves from their enemies. She was
too tired to think it through right now. She looked up to find Kane’s worried
gaze on her.

“How long do you think it
will take them to get Smithin?” she asked him.

“At least two weeks, maybe
three. They’ll still need the wagons. I doubt Neal will be ready to ride yet.”

“No, he won’t. Nor will
Madelay let him.”

“It’s true then,” Duke
Ewart said. “Neal Ravershaw was tortured.”

“Yes,” Brenna replied. “We
rescued him from the church of the One-God. The High Bishop had him for weeks
and we’re lucky he was more interested in causing pain than doing permanent
damage. As it is Neal is missing his thumbs and he will always bear the scars,
but his body will heal.”

“How can the church
condone this?” Ewart stood and paced the room.

“The High Bishop would say
he was offering Neal Ravershaw salvation and the chance to convert to the
One-God,” Kane said. “And the priests of the One-God not only believe him, they
participate. They have recruited One-God followers in Kingsreach to be
salvation marchers. The townsfolk call them witch hunters - they find those who
believe in the old gods and send them to the High Bishop for conversion.”

Ewart’s face paled, then
his mouth set in a grim line.

“Now I understand why
there have been so many fleeing Kingsreach,” he said. “Even though it’s in
Comack I want to send my militia to take and hold the ferry.” Ewart looked at
Kane - a long slow look. “We need to keep the road clear so refugees can escape
that.”

Kane nodded. “When we take
the ferry we must make sure we keep it. Dasid, work with Ewart to field a force
that’s made up of Brothers and Fallad militia. We might as well start working
the men together.” He turned back to Ewart. “You realize that Thorold will see
this is a declaration of war?”

“Yes,” Ewart replied. “And
he’d be right to. After word that Avery and Neal had been detained I wasn’t
planning on attending Beldyn’s coronation anyway. Do you think this could cause
Thorold to attack before winter?”

“Not if we time it right.
We can take the crossing a few days before the coronation,” Kane said. “We’ll
do it close to when Thorold would have expected you to arrive in Kingsreach.”

“Yes,” Ewart said. His smile
thinned his lips and he nodded. “It will be an emphatic rejection to his
invitation to attend his son’s coronation.”

two

For the better part of a
week Brenna stayed close to Duke Ewart’s house. She spent her time on small
domestic tasks like cleaning and mending her worn and stained clothing and
cooking nourishing soups and stews. Ewart’s cook, a competent woman with a no-nonsense
air, was grateful for the help. She confided to Brenna that feeding the many
men staying in the house would have been overwhelming without the neighbours
and Brenna’s help.

“Did you know that your
neighbours have been feeding us?” Brenna asked Ewart after he’d come into the
kitchen for a slice of pie.

“Is this from them?” Ewart
asked. He held up a plate with a slice of blueberry pie.

Brenna nodded.

 “I knew. We’ve done the
same for many of them, when it’s been needed.” He grinned. “We don’t help the church
though. Once you give them a gift they try to turn it into a duty.”

“Would they die for you?”
Brenna asked. “Not the church, but your neighbours, your subjects.”

Ewart set the pie down on
the counter and faced her, his gaze serious. “Some of them, yes,” he said. “For
every man or woman in my employ, be it my militia or my household, there is a
possibility that they could die in my service.” He sent her a rueful smile. “Up
until now that looked very unlikely.”

“How do you accept that?”
Brenna asked. “That people will die for you?”

“You never take it
lightly,” Ewart said. “You treat them as well as you can and you make sure that
if anything
does
happen to them that their families are provided for.”
He looked away for a moment. “Kane has some experience with this,” Ewart said.
“He’s led men and no doubt some of them have died. What does he say?”

“Basically what you’ve
said,” Brenna replied. “But he led men on behalf of King Mattias. It’s
different. Innocent people will die,
have died
, because of me.”

“Yes,” Ewart said. “And
nothing you do can stop that. You have to make sure that their sacrifice was
worth something.”

“That’s what Yowan told
me,” Brenna said.

“He’s a smart man,” Ewart
said. “And so is Kane. You should listen to them.” He picked up the pie and
left her alone in the kitchen.

Brenna leaned against the
work table. The kitchen was fragrant with the smells of the rosemary, thyme and
onions she’d added to the stew she was cooking. Everyone seemed to think it
normal, expected even, that people would die for her and her cause but it
wasn’t what she wanted. But she couldn’t run away, not from this. If she didn’t
become queen there would be no one to oppose Thorold - and then even more
people would die.

Brenna spent so much time
in the kitchen that eventually Kane, Ewart and Dasid converged on it in order to
include Brenna in their planning. The four of them would spread their maps on
the big oak work table and lean across it, heads propped up by their elbows, as
they discussed where to place troops once they’d taken the ferry crossing. They
knew that Thorold would try to retake the ferry – it was in Comack, he wouldn’t
just leave it in their hands - so they needed a large enough force to withstand
him.

After each planning
session Brenna tried not to think about who wouldn’t be coming back from this
fight - which soldiers would die for her cause – but it was impossible. Like
the hum of the coronet, it was always there, at the back of her mind.

She was restless. She’d
brushed both Blaze and Runner, her clothing was patched and clean and there was
no real need for her to cook. It had been five days since Brenna had arrived
and she felt rested and recovered. Kane, Dasid and Ewart were meeting with the men
they’d assigned to capture the ferry and didn’t need her. After a few moments
of wandering aimlessly through the house, she grabbed her pack and left by the
back door.

Brenna slipped over the
locked gate and dropped to the dirt of the small back lane that was used for
deliveries. With her pack slung over one shoulder she headed towards a less
prosperous part of town.

The Silverdale library had
a book about local plants and their medicinal properties that she hadn’t had a
chance to really investigate last time she was in town – she’d been more
concerned with evading Thorold’s men and dealing with Stobert’s betrayal. But after
her bout with altitude sickness, she wanted to see if there were other cures - Falladian
cures - that her grandmother didn’t know about.

The sun didn’t quite reach
into the narrow alley that ran along the back of the library. No one was in
sight and the window she’d used before was open on this late summer day. She hoisted
her head above the window ledge and peered in - the room was dark but Brenna
could still make out rows of shelves, books lined up along them. She slid her
pack off and tossed it inside before pulling herself up to perch on the
windowsill. She swung her feet through the frame and gently dropped to the
floor. Crouching, she reached out to snag her pack and … encountered nothing.
She looked around, sweeping her hand in an arc, brushing it along the floor.
Still nothing.

Frowning, Brenna stood up
and scanned the room, concentrating on the old steel in her pack. Her pack was
moving! Something scraped against wood along the back wall so she edged around
the shelves, following the noise. She dropped back down to the floor and peered
past some scattered books. There was a small hole, dark in the gloom, under the
bottom shelf. She tried to squeeze through it but her shoulders caught and she had
to back out. She sat up, her back against a shelf.

“Brothers!”

When she searched for old
steel her pack was further away - the thief must be outside the library now.
She fingered her knife. Should she let Kane know?  She hesitated then shook her
head. No, she’d follow the old steel and get her pack back herself - there was
no need to tell Kane that the mortar and pestle and Wolde’s coronet had been
stolen from her.

Brenna watched the door to
the tavern for a moment before edging away from the mouth of the alley. It was
a ramshackle place - the wooden slats of the building were weathered gray and the
door hung crookedly. The small sign out front had just a few flecks of paint
left on it, not even enough for her to decipher the name of the tavern.

But her pack was inside -
the old steel tucked inside it hadn’t moved in over fifteen minutes. She had to
assume that whoever had taken her pack used this tavern as their headquarters, just
as Eryl and his gang used the Crooked Dog.

Brenna grinned, feeling
her spirits lift. Despite its sorry state of disrepair this tavern reminded her
of home. She’d probably find the same sour beer and thin stew she was used to
at the Dog - and a gang who now had her pack. She hoped they hadn’t looked
inside it - the mortar and pestle they might not care about but the coronet,
they would know that was worth something. No matter, they wouldn’t have her
things for long. With a deep breath Brenna schooled her face, stepped into the
alley and walked slowly to the tavern door.

The inside of the tavern
was dimly lit. She lingered over closing the door to allow her eyes to adjust. Before
she settled herself at a table near the door, she surveyed the room, comparing
the layout to the location of her pack. Four large men - well into their ale - sat
at a table by the window. They didn’t look like thieves but other than the
tavern staff, there was no one else in the room. Brenna waved her hand at the
bar keep to order an ale and sat back to watch. There was a door past the bar
that probably led to a kitchen - her pack was somewhere in there.

A worn-looking woman with
brown hair tied back with a string placed a mug of ale in front of her. Brenna
slipped two coppers onto the table in front of her.

“There’s double the coin
if you can tell me who to talk to about finding something I’ve misplaced,” she
said quietly, keeping her fingers on the coins as the woman reached for them.

“You don’t want the Black
Swan for that.”

Brenna looked up into cool,
gray eyes.

 “Just drink your ale and
leave if you know what’s good for you.”

Brenna lifted her hand
from the coins and the serving woman slid them towards the edge of the table.
She bent closer to Brenna to pick them up.

 “It’s not safe here for a
woman alone,” the barmaid said before she left to tend to her other customers.

At the table of four,
despite hurrying to retrieve the empty mugs, the poor woman struggled to slap
away roving hands. She sent a worried look toward the barkeep. Brenna was
certain that he saw what was happening but he turned away and poured four more
ales. The barmaid put the ales on her tray and returned to the table, this time
her heavy load preventing her from escaping the slaps and pinches of the men
she was serving.

“Heya Neemah, how’s about
a little kiss,” one man said as his hand cupped her buttocks.

Seeing the fear and
revulsion on the woman’s face, Brenna settled her hand on her knife hilt.

“I want more’n just a
kiss,” a second man said. “We know from yer brat that ye know how t’ tumble a
man.”

The barmaid, Neemah, put
the last mug of ale on the table and tried to back away but the second man held
her wrist. Neemah sent a panicked look towards the bar keep. When the man simply
grunted and wiped the counter, Brenna stood up in disgust.

“Take your hands off her,”
Brenna said. She was over at the table and had her knife at the man’s throat in
a moment. “I mean it.” She dug the point of her knife into his skin and clamped
down as the old steel sang its bloodlust to her. She reached for old steel and
found Dasid just a few streets away. He’d lost his own sword the night of Avery
and Neal’s rescue and his borrowed old steel was very noticeable on her
internal landscape.

The man let go of the barmaid
and she darted out of their reach. Brenna backed away from the table, holding her
knife up in front of her.

“Please don’t,” the
barmaid said. “They’ll hurt you. I’m all right, I’m used to it, really.”

“No woman should be used
to that kind of treatment.” Brenna took a deep breath to calm her anger. The
man she’d blooded with her knife stood up, his face red with anger and drink.

“You should listen to her,
little girl,” he said as he took a step towards her. “She’s a witch and a whore
and she gets what she deserves.”

“My own mother was called
that by a man with a lot more power than you,” Brenna replied. Duke Thorold’s
taunts echoed in her head as she took a step back, eying the other three men, but
her opponent’s companions stayed seated, seemingly content to let their friend
handle her. “I took offense then and I take offense now.”

The man lunged at her and
a moment later he was staggering and clutching his groin. Brenna followed with
another kick to his left leg and he stumbled to the floor. Balanced on the
balls of her feet, her knife held chest high, Brenna watched the room. It was
silent, except for the man’s groans of pain - then a chair scraped across the
floor as one of the other men stood.

“What did ye do to Symes,
ye witch? I’ll get ye fer that.”

He moved towards her and
Brenna shifted her weight, staying low to the ground.

He lunged at her, pulling
out a dirty knife. Brenna hoped the man didn’t fall on it. She didn’t want to
hurt anyone, not really, but she couldn’t sit by as they harassed that poor
woman. But she
really
didn’t want to have to explain to Duke Ewart why
she was killing his people. Even if some of them deserved it.

By the time the second man
was on the floor nursing his knee, the first one, Symes, was back on his feet,
angrier than before. He’d found a long wooden club somewhere and he slapped it
lightly against his thigh.

“Give it up Symes,” Brenna
said. “You’re no match for me. I’ve been taught to fight by two former captains
of the Kingsguard.” She smiled at the look of surprise on his face.

“Yer still a witch and
I’ll make ye pay.” Symes carefully circled her.

Brenna kept eye contact
with him. The man was angry, and drunk, and she easily ducked his swinging
club.

“You’re right about that,
I am a witch. Likely the first real one you’ve ever seen.” She stepped back as
the second man joined Symes. He limped slightly but held his knife high. She whispered
a spell and the second man’s knife slipped from his hand and landed, point
down, in the floor. “There, we don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“That’s not witchery.
Osker’s jes clumsy. Pick up yer knife, Osker.”

Brenna grinned as the
second man, Osker, tried in vain to pull his knife from the floor.

“Can’t Symes. It’s really
stuck there. Maybe she really is a witch?”

“I am a witch.” Brenna
checked for old steel. Her pack had not moved, and there, very close, was
Dasid. She nudged him through the old steel and he headed her way. “If I wasn’t
a witch how would I know that my friend was about to come through that door? He
has sword, not a little knife like this.” She heard the door open behind her and
then the hiss of a sword being drawn.