Five Lands Saga Box Set 1 (Five Lands Saga Box Sets), page 82
Perchaya ran her hand over his and squeezed. “Have some faith. Kotali chose him.”
“When we find Kotali, I’m going to have a few things to say about that.” But he turned his hand in hers and squeezed back. And she only wished she knew how to convince him that it would all be okay.
It would have helped if she’d been able to feel sure about it herself.
Thirty-six
Jaeme left Kenton and Daniella in the rooms beneath the castle and marched straight up to his uncle’s office. Jaeme meant what he said—even if Diamis did have a spy in the castle, there was no way Jaeme would believe the spy was his uncle.
Which meant he had to report Kenton’s find to his uncle immediately—not that he was going to justify Kenton’s tirade by admitting that to him. If his uncle was still at the banquet or had retired to a parlor with some of the other dukes, it would be much more difficult for Jaeme to extract him without raising suspicions.
Jaeme knocked on the carved wooden door of his uncle’s office and was relieved when his uncle’s voice replied, “Come in.” Jaeme opened the door, stepped in, and closed it behind him. His uncle sat hunched over a supply list—from the handwriting, Jaeme could tell it was from the armsmaster. He felt a pang of guilt; managing the incoming and outgoing trade agreements had been Jaeme’s job before he’d left for Drepaine. Without it, the task had fallen on his uncle, as if he needed more to deal with.
He must be woefully behind if he’d returned to his office with this work even during the tournament, and after an event of state.
Jaeme certainly wasn’t going to lighten his load today. “Uncle,” he said. “Daniella’s bodyguard has made an alarming discovery in the basement.” Greghor looked up at him wearily as Jaeme sunk into his customary chair. “He found a body,” Jaeme said. “One covered in runes that looked like blood magic.”
Greghor’s shoulders dropped further, and he closed his eyes. “I was afraid of that.”
Jaeme hesitated. “You were afraid someone was hiding blood magic bodies in the basement? Because that seems like an oddly specific—”
“I was afraid,” his uncle said, “that someone had found it.”
Jaeme’s skin prickled, and his uncle looked at him with a resigned expression. But he didn’t continue. He waited until Jaeme found his voice. “You knew it was there?”
Greghor sighed. “I put it there. Two years ago, when Diamis sent it to me.”
Jaeme ran his fingernails along a groove on the wooden armrest. His thoughts seemed to slow. He didn’t know which part of that he ought to address first. “Diamis sent you a body. By the gods, Uncle, you’ve been communicating with him?”
Greghor put his elbows on top of the desk and clasped his hands together. “Yes. We’ve been in contact for quite a while now.”
Jaeme ran his hands through his hair, not knowing which questions to ask first. “And the Council knows about this?” Jaeme asked. His blood ran cold. “Gods, did Diamis ask for me to seduce Daniella?” It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time he’d tried it, though Jaeme detested the idea that he might have anything more in common with Erich.
“No,” his uncle said. “The Council has no idea, and the Lord General only knew of your assignment because I told him myself, after it was suggested by the Council. I tried to get you out of it, but I couldn’t. Believe me, I never wanted you caught up in this.”
Jaeme wondered if he shouldn’t be running down the hall right now to find Hugh and tell him the whole story. But his uncle had always treated him like a son. He should at least find out what the whole story was. Jaeme remembered the dukes standing by, each throwing a ceremonial stone before leaving the dirtiest of work for knights of lower rank.
He couldn’t turn his uncle over to that fate. Not if he could do anything in his power to save him. And, Jaeme realized, if his own uncle could be involved, then he had no way to know for certain who else already knew. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Tell me why in the names of all hells you would do that.”
“I tried to warn them,” Greghor said. “I’ve been trying to tell them that we need to evolve with the times, since before your father died. But the other dukes—they’re just like your father. They won’t listen. They insist on tradition, when anyone can see that the standing army of Sevairn is more powerful than a handful of knights and a swarm of peasants with sticks. But you heard them at the banquet. You’ve heard them before. They’re more concerned with keeping their people poor and hungry than they are with protecting the safety of our borders. And now the Lord General is at the gates, and we’re still unprepared.” Greghor shook his head sadly.
Jaeme had heard all this before, and he didn’t disagree. But still—
“I wanted to convince them to adapt,” Greghor went on. “But it does no good to tether your rowboat to a sinking ship. If they don’t want to patch the hull, I had to cut us free. And I know which boat is going down and which will stay afloat.”
Now Jaeme was gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles hurt. “So we’ve joined Sevairn? All of Grisham?”
Greghor nodded. “I’ve promised Grisham to them, to let Diamis peacefully expand his border past Foroclae, to the edge of our lands, and then as far as he can reach. He’ll take all of Mortiche, once his army reaches our shores. The northern duchies especially won’t stand a chance. So few of their peasants can even swing a pointed stick. And in return . . .” The look of resignation returned to Greghor’s face. “In return I, and then you, will become the Lord Governor of Mortiche, like Lord Tehlran in Andronim. Mortiche is going to fall. This was the only way I could ensure that our family’s holdings would remain intact.”
“Our family’s holdings,” Jaeme said, the horror turning building into anger. “But what about our gods-damned honor?”
“Our honor,” Greghor said, “is to protect our people. Do you want me to send what little army we’ve mustered against the full force of Sevairn? Do you want that I should let our fields be burned, our people murdered just because a bunch of pig-headed spoiled brats can’t see that the way of tradition serves us no longer?” Greghor’s voice shook as he continued. “No. If we must be Foroclae or Andronim, then we are to be Andronim. Let the conquest be swift, so our people won’t be made to suffer. Outside of Drepaine, the Andronish barely noticed the change in regime. We’ll get to keep the Church, the knighthood, even.” He shook his head at Jaeme, his gaze resolute. “It’s the only honorable way.”
Gods. Was it? It was treason, real treason, not the false accusation that had been leveled against his father. By making these promises to Sevairn, his uncle had broken his highest knighthood vows. Few knights kept all of them, but Jaeme had never known anyone who had broken them like this. Jaeme had found the pack of Nichtees easier to take in stride. “I’m not sure whether to ask why you never told me,” Jaeme said. “Or why you’re telling me now.”
“War is coming,” his uncle said. “I wanted to spare you the fate that will befall me if I’m discovered before it does.”
No one would be spared if they fell to Diamis. “You’ve done blood magic,” Jaeme said. “It’s not just the Council you need to worry about.”
“Only the barest amount,” Greghor said. “Only what I had to do to attune myself to the body.”
Given what he’d seen of other blood mages and what he knew of his uncle, Jaeme believed him. “But you didn’t think that if the man wanted to communicate with you through blood magic, it might be a danger to associate with him?”
“Far more dangerous to oppose him,” Greghor said. “Especially to do so unprepared. Even if we could muster a large enough standing army without angering the other duchies, what good would it do if Diamis struck through Bronleigh, or at Jekti?” Greghor paused, resting his hands on the edge of the desk. “There may have been other ways to protect our people, but I failed to see them.”
Jaeme let out a long, slow breath. His uncle seemed so weary, so worn down under the burden of what he’d been doing to his country. The lump in Jaeme’s throat grew as he thought of a question he didn’t want to ask. But there would be no returning to innocence after this. No unknowing what he now knew. “My letters,” Jaeme said. “Kenton said they were being intercepted, and that’s how they knew how to find us—Lukos, and then Erich. But they weren’t, were they?” Jaeme’s hand gripped the armrest. “You told him where to find me yourself.”
Greghor’s face fell momentarily before he regained composure. “I had to,” he said. “You were wandering toward Sevairn. He could have found out your location from any number of sources. He might have been intercepting your letters. If I told him a lie and he learned the truth, then everything I’ve done to protect you, our people, and Mortiche would have been over.”
The whole world seemed to be crumbling away, like sand blown from the stone by the unyielding wind. Jaeme wondered how many more layers could scatter before he wouldn’t even recognize his life anymore. “You nearly got me killed,” Jaeme said hollowly. “My friends, too.” The townspeople in Ithale who’d died. Nikeanor’s father. They were all dead because Jaeme had sent those letters.
And though he’d never tell him, Jaeme wished in his heart that he’d listened to Kenton. How was Jaeme going to explain this to him? Or Daniella, for that matter?
“Yet here you are,” Greghor said, and for the first time, Jaeme felt uncomfortable at the pride in his uncle’s voice. “You’re a fine knight. I had faith you would find a way out, and you did. And also—” Greghor cleared his throat. “—I’ve instructed the Lord General that if he hurts you, our bargain is off. You are my heir, and rightfully so. It won’t be taken from you. If you were arrested, you wouldn’t have been hurt.”
Jaeme wasn’t sure he believed that, but it seemed that his uncle did. Greghor cared about him, even if his other decisions were beyond redemption.
“So?” Greghor asked, resignation etched in the lines of his face. “Are you going to turn your uncle over to the Council? Have me stoned like your father? I realize now that perhaps I was only hiding behind the excuse of trying to spare you. Perhaps deep down I always knew you were the better knight. Too honorable and moral to go along with the schemes of an old man. Maybe that’s why I’m telling you this. Maybe I’ve known all along you’d be the one who would bring me to justice.”
Jaeme stared at his uncle. This man was the traitor Jaeme had spent his life fearing to become, fearing that his father had been. But his uncle had stumbled into things that he couldn’t possibly understand. The blood magic alone was terrifying. The fact that Diamis had set up in the castle that just happened to contain the seal of Maldorath himself—
Jaeme didn’t want to get his uncle in any deeper than he already was. Better if he didn’t know what he’d truly allied himself with. If Jaeme could find the damned stone, he and the others could move on, and hopefully get to the Chamber in Peldenar before anything catastrophic happened to Mortiche.
If he told Kenton, Kenton would kill Greghor as soon as he could get in the same room as him. Jaeme didn’t want his friends in danger, but if he stayed informed by his uncle, he’d be able to tip them off to run before Diamis closed in on Grisham. What his uncle had done would be irrelevant anyway, once he and his friends reached the Chamber with the stones.
Kenton was right. Getting the godstone was the only way to set things right again.
Still, Jaeme had no idea where the jewel was. Kotali wasn’t, as far as he could tell, calling to him, so finding the god could take a considerable amount of time.
Perhaps he should tell his uncle of the true threat, so he, too, could be in on the plans. But Jaeme couldn’t be sure what his uncle would do with that information, and if he communicated more details to Diamis . . .
Jaeme had to protect them. He had to protect them all. “I won’t tell anyone. But I have one condition.”
Surprise crossed his uncle’s face, as if he’d been pardoned even as the noose tightened around his neck. “Yes?”
Jaeme needed promises for the one person he was least certain he could keep safe—the person he needed to protect most. “You have to protect Daniella. She’s desperate not to return to her father. If you ensure that she can stay with me, that he can’t get to her, then I’ll stay quiet about what you’re doing.”
Greghor hesitated. “Jaeme, it’s one thing for me to make that bargain for you. But she’s his daughter. He’s going to want her back.”
His uncle didn’t seem to know anything about why he wanted her, which was for the best. “I don’t care what you tell Diamis,” Jaeme said. “But you protect Daniella also, or I’ll go straight to the Council. If Diamis’ troops are moving in, you tell me so I can get her and her people out of here. That’s the deal.” If Daniella knew the truth, she’d run. But doing so would put her in more danger, not less. Here, Jaeme could keep an eye on the situation. Only here where he had access to his uncle did he have even the tiniest bit of control.
He had to use it to protect the people he loved.
Greghor was silent for a long moment, and Jaeme felt a spike of panic that his uncle might draw a blade on him. He could certainly best his uncle in a fight, but to have to do it would kill him. He was the only family Jaeme had left.
“All right,” Greghor said. “You love her, and that makes her family. I’ll do what I can to help you protect her.” He looked straight into Jaeme’s eyes. “But you understand that this may put our people in greater danger. He’ll come for her anyway.”
“I know,” Jaeme said. “All I’m asking is that you buy us some time and help me slow his reach.”
“I will. I’d do anything for you, boy. You know that.”
Jaeme nodded, though the lump in his throat refused to loosen. That would hopefully give him enough time to help the others finish eliminating Diamis, if Jaeme could ever do his damn job and hear the call of the bloody stone.
It did, however, mean more lying to Daniella. But what else could he do? If Daniella knew that his uncle was cooperating with her father, she’d run, no matter what anyone said. Eventually, they’d all need to run, but right now, with his uncle’s help, this castle was the safest place for her to be. Outside these walls, Jaeme had no way to know who the spies were.
Inside, he’d just joined them.
Thirty-seven
Perchaya probably should have expected the invitation to accompany Hugh at the formal tournament ball that appeared the next morning on her breakfast tray, but it still took her breath away. All the visiting nobility would be in attendance to see the final duel, and while Jaeme had secured finery for the lot of them to wear for the occasion, Perchaya still arrived at the ball feeling no less tense than she had the night before, and perhaps more so, with the tight corset restricting her breathing.
She stood at the top of a wide staircase, observing the room below her. People milled about everywhere, chatting and sipping expensive wines, all waiting for their host to arrive so they might begin dancing. Among them, she found Jaeme’s friend Stephan laughing with a lady in a ball gown with a skirt as wide as a wagon, and the obnoxious Lord Osgoode standing with his father, both of them wearing hose tight enough to show every dimple in their thighs. She even saw a couple Vorgalian mages among the crowd wearing their standard purple hoods that came down to a peak on their foreheads, but otherwise in formal clothing like everyone else in attendance. At first she was surprised that the mages would be invited to something like this—surely they were hired mages, working in the service of one of the knights or dukes here—but then she remembered that she and Sayvil and Nikaenor and Kenton were invited, and they hardly had titles or wealth to their name. Just friends who possessed them.
The cavernous room was two stories tall and decorated with garlands, ribbon, and metal lanterns of varying brightness and shape, so elaborate as to border on garish. The upper-story windows overlooked the labyrinthine garden that skirted the east side of the castle. Large, open doors led out onto a terraced patio where lovers could retire to get fresh air or slip innocuously into the garden. Slim white candles rested in bronze sconces located every few feet along the walls. High above, almost to the arched ceiling, banners and other knightly tokens hung proudly.
The staircase was covered by a rich scarlet carpet and scattered across it were hundreds of white flower petals. Down on the main floor, the musicians were setting up on a small dais and all along the perimeter of the room, cushioned chairs were placed to aid fatigued dancers. Perchaya could see that several of these chairs were already occupied and harried waiters darted about to refill goblets.
Upstairs, a balconied loft ran along three walls. The alcoves held round tables where guests could feed on the dozens of delicacies the kitchen had been preparing all week, and a room located off the balcony would house several games of chance for those who were not inclined to dance.
So many people, and any one of them might be a blood mage in contact with Diamis.
Perchaya gripped her skirts, a motion that Daniella had done her best to cure her of, though clearly it hadn’t entirely worked. Perchaya was beginning to think like Kenton, seeing blood mages around every corner. And while she admired his diligence, no good could come of her joining him in it.
One Kenton in the group was all any of them could handle.
As she stood waiting, Perchaya wished that she might slip away into the garden, away from the crowds and the thoughts of conspirators and the awkwardness of standing here alone before making an entrance. But Hugh had asked to escort her, for all that he wasn’t in sight. Daniella had assured her that it was proper for her to meet him at the ball rather than arriving with him, as she wasn’t his official courtee. She’d feared she would be late—it had taken a considerable amount of time to pin up her hair, as Daniella and Sayvil were no help with it, though they’d been somewhat more helpful lacing her into her gown. It was a crimson velvet overdress with gold piping along the edges and gold ribbons up the bodice. The neckline was square, fitted sleeves reached to her elbow, and a white silk underdress, embroidered with gold thread, peeked out through cutaways in the skirt. She couldn’t wait to see how the others would look in their finery.
