Five Lands Saga Box Set 1 (Five Lands Saga Box Sets), page 79
“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.
Sayvil made an exasperated noise. “Jaeme’s the one who’s supposed to get the signs. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my room before some servant unwittingly spills my fresh-cut farflower all over the Grishams’ illustrious rug.”
“Does it stain?” Nikaenor asked.
“No,” Sayvil said. “But it causes somnolence.”
Kenton wrapped the chain around the door handle and jerked upward, listening to the satisfying pop of the mechanism. A few quick yanks on the handle and the thing fell off in his hands, allowing him to reach in and pull the bolt from the stone.
Kenton pushed the door open, revealing a long, dark corridor. There appeared to be some light spilling from far at the end, but the charms on this level of the castle were likely more spaced out—probably because few people would have cause to come down here, other than to retrieve wine or food from storage or pay respects to the dead nobility whose ashes were entombed in the basement vaults.
“Well,” Sayvil said. “I suppose that rules out covering our tracks.”
Nikaenor rubbed his arms. “Do you think Jaeme’s uncle will put us in the stocks? Because Saara’s aunt—”
“No one is going in the stocks,” Kenton said. “Come on. If we can at least find someplace for Jaeme to look, we can tie him up and drag him down here.”
The corridor smelled vaguely of mildew, and Kenton wondered what water source could be dampening the stone with the castle being so high on a hill. Perhaps one of the sewer canals had a leak, though the tunnel didn’t smell at all like piss or excrement. Somewhere ahead of them Kenton heard the slight tunk tunk tunk of fat drops on stone. He held up the light charm as they walked forward.
Come on, Kotali, he thought. Work with me.
“If I didn’t know better,” Sayvil said, “I’d think you were leading us into a trap.”
“Believe me,” Kenton said, “you aren’t the bearers I want to trap.”
“Maybe I should have brought Mirilina,” Nikaenor said.
“Why?” Sayvil asked. “Do you think they can smell each other?”
“No,” Nikaenor said. “But they’re gods. They know everything.”
Given the way things had been going, Kenton doubted that. And even if they did know everything, they seemed to have given up the ability to communicate clearly along with their physical forms.
Also in question was their ability to make even the simplest of decisions.
“If they know everything,” Sayvil said, “why didn’t Mirilina warn you about the enormous eel?”
Kenton smiled. They’d all been hassling him about that story since they’d left Haidshir. Kenton was sure there had actually been eels in Mirilina’s resting place, but if they’d been as big as Nikaenor said, there was no way he could have taken the things.
“It was a test,” Nikaenor said. “And I passed.”
“Speaking of passing,” Kenton said, stopping at a juncture in the hallway, “there’s a large crack in the stone down there. Why don’t you pass by and see if you can shimmy through?”
Nikaenor looked doubtfully down the corridor. One side of the crack was lit sharply by a light charm around the corner, and from the crevice emerged enormous roots, black like the Grisham tree above. Nikaenor was the thinnest of them, so if anyone was going to fit through, it’d be him.
“Do you think there’s rats down here?” he asked.
“Probably,” Sayvil said, shoving Nikaenor forward by the shoulders. “Now off with you.”
Nikaenor shuffled reluctantly toward the end of the hall, while Kenton took a corner and came to another door. He tried the handle, but again found it locked.
He wrapped the chain carefully around it.
“At this rate you’re going to owe Jaeme’s uncle a fortune in locksmithing,” Sayvil said.
Kenton blew air through his nose. “Don’t you have some kind of herbal remedy for this? Lock-lily powder? Salve of gear greasing?”
“No,” Sayvil said.
Around the corner, Nikaenor gave out a small yelp, followed by the pattering of gravel on stone.
“I’m all right!” he called.
“Not that we asked,” Sayvil said.
Kenton glanced at her over his shoulder. “What’s wrong with you, anyway?” he asked. “You’ve been in a foul mood since we joined you in Haidshir.”
Kenton pulled up on the chain. This time, though, the mechanism didn’t break under the strain. Kenton reached into his pocket, wishing he’d brought at least a wire with him for picking. He was also certain there were Vorgalian charms that could help with this, but he wasn’t about to go hunting for a mage shop in the city right now. Though that wasn’t a terrible idea to do before they left Grisham.
“I’m fine,” Sayvil said. “Sunny as ever.”
“Right. You’re beginning to rival me for grumpiest of our group. Keep it up and Daniella and Jaeme will give up mocking me and start in on you.”
Sayvil shrugged with her whole arms, so her hands flopped at her sides. “Fine. I know you don’t care, but since you asked, I miss my husband. That’s all. I haven’t been away from him for this long since we were kids.”
