Defender of Walls, page 3
His father loved to test his moral compass.
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
Harlan stepped back from the door and lowered his voice. ‘On whether they have family or friends already hanging on the wall.’
‘And how is that relevant?’
‘A lifetime of grief is a harsher punishment than anything we could inflict.’
Nothing moved on his father’s face. ‘There is that compassion again.’
Harlan drew a breath. ‘What are your orders?’ He would remove their fingers or cut out their tongues. Whatever his father instructed him to do, he would do it. That was what it meant to be a defender: following orders without question or conscience.
Shapur took the keys from the wall and held them out to him. ‘You will decide the fate of these prisoners, the ones who wished your men injured or dead. It is your responsibility to ensure the merchants never draw a weapon on a defender again.’
Harlan closed his hand around the key and stared at the cell door as his father’s footsteps descended behind him.
Chapter 5
Blake’s father had always been the one to answer the door once the shop was closed for the day. ‘Easy now,’ he would say when the children leapt to their feet and ran ahead of him into the shop. ‘We want to welcome guests, not scare them away.’ The children would peer through the window while their father navigated the locks. It was usually Thea and Birtle from next door. Occasionally it was a defender seeking information, and the children would hide in the next room and listen in on the conversation.
After their father passed, Kingsley had answered the door. If it was a defender, he would tell them nothing, because it was more valuable to have a favour owed by the wrongdoer. Plus, the point of a community was to look out for one another. Yes, the defenders were there to protect, but they were also the biggest threat to their survival. They stood between the merchants and the food.
Two weeks after Kingsley’s death, the Suttone women were gathered in the main room by the hearth. Another evening of silence. No one really knew how to mourn him. They only knew that being together was better than being alone with one’s grief.
Candace sat sewing. Lyndal had her legs tucked up and a book open on her lap—not reading. Eda was stretched out on the floor, poking a stick at the hearth as she studied the flames. Blake watched her, one finger tapping the arm of her chair, wishing she could climb inside her youngest sister’s mind.
A loud knock came at the shop door, making the women jump. It was not Thea’s soft tap or Birtle’s cheery rap. This was the trademark thud of a defender announcing his arrival.
Blake pushed herself up from her chair. ‘I’ll go.’ Yet another reminder that Kingsley was no longer with them.
She smoothed down the skirt of her simple dress as she made her way through the shop and began the tedious task of unlatching the door. It always needed a good tug to get it open after being locked. Blake sent the bell flying as she jerked the door open. She winced as it landed, then turned her attention to the defender standing before her. Her eyes widened as she recognised Commander Wright.
‘Merchant,’ he said by way of greeting.
It took her a moment to reply. ‘Commander…’ She looked past him to the horse and cart parked on the street, and nerves fluttered in her stomach. ‘What are you doing here?’
The commander gestured to the two men seated in the cart. They jumped down. Blake’s hand went into her pocket, grasping her knife; then, realising she stood no chance against the three defenders, she let go.
‘We’re disposing of the bodies from the wall,’ he said, looking back at her. ‘I thought you might want to bury your brother. You have my permission to enter the cemetery. Might be better than a mass grave.’
Blake exhaled, hardly believing what she was hearing. ‘You brought him here?’ She had been avoiding the square ever since the crows arrived. It was the one time birds were safe from being eaten—when they were eating the merchants first.
‘I had him put in a body bag.’
That was the moment Blake realised she was witnessing an act of kindness from a defender. Her brain struggled with that. ‘Are you delivering all the bodies to the families?’
He shook his head. ‘Merchants aren’t exactly stepping up to claim the corpses of traitors right now.’
‘Kingsley’s not a traitor,’ she said with conviction. ‘He just couldn’t watch his family go hungry.’
The commander said nothing as he stepped back from the door to let his men pass. The defenders laid the corpse out on the floor in the middle of the shop, then left.
‘Do you have someone to dig the grave?’ Commander Wright asked when they were alone.
She tore her gaze away from her brother’s remains to look at him. ‘I will dig it.’
His eyes moved between hers. ‘Make sure it’s deep enough or animals will dig it up.’
‘Animals? Shallow grave it is. I’ll take my bow and hide in the trees. Meat sorted.’
A joke.
A joke as her brother lay dead behind her.
A joke with a man she did not know and who cared nothing for jokes—especially ones told by merchants.
She looked down at the ground between them. ‘It’s not my first time burying someone. The grave will be deep enough.’
He nodded, handing her a piece of parchment. ‘Show this to the defenders at the gate.’
She unfolded it and read aloud. ‘Cause of death—drowning.’ Her eyes returned to his. ‘Drowning?’
‘Any hint of disease and your entire household will be quarantined in the lazaretto borough.’
‘Kingsley suffocated to death in an illegal tunnel.’
The commander’s eyebrows came together in annoyance. ‘Again, not going to help your family. I can take him with me now, if you’d prefer.’
She shook her head, realising she was being difficult when she ought to be grateful. ‘No. Thank you for bringing him. And for this.’ She held up the parchment.
Commander Wright looked past her to where her sisters and mother now stood in the doorway, staring down at the corpse. His eyes returned to Blake. ‘Merchant,’ he said, nodding once before leaving.
She watched him climb into the cart. Leather slapped rump, and the cart lurched forwards before disappearing into the darkness. Closing the door, Blake secured the locks, then turned to face her family, who all stood with hands over their noses and mouths. The room smelled of death.
Blake swallowed. ‘Help me take him out back into the courtyard. We’ll bury him in the morning.’
Chapter 6
Defenders trained seven days a week—no excuses.
A typical day for Harlan began with a three-mile run followed by sparring with a variety of weapons, such as sword, battle axe, mace, dagger, and lance. The last part was strength training, horsemanship, archery, hand-to-hand combat, or long-distance swimming, depending on the weather and his father’s mood.
Harlan was carrying weapons to the armoury when Prince Borin and Astin approached on horseback. The commander exhaled, then placed the weapons on the ground. He turned and bowed before the prince before nodding a greeting at Astin, who gave him an apologetic look in response.
‘Commander Wright,’ the prince said, pulling up his horse. ‘I have business in the merchant borough. Fletcher here thinks I should take extra precautions, given recent events, so you will accompany us.’
Harlan was staring at Borin’s new haircut. The straight fringe made the prince look like a twelve-year-old boy. ‘Of course, Your Highness. I’ll have a horse saddled and meet you at the gate.’ What he actually wanted was a wash and a few hours’ sleep before he reported for night duty, but that would have to wait.
Harlan returned the training weapons to the armoury and fetched his sword and daggers. After collecting a horse from the stables, he headed to the gate.
‘Sorry to throw you in it,’ Astin said when they were out of earshot of the prince. ‘He’s insisting on going into the merchant borough to ensure his people, and I quote, “do not feel abandoned during these troublesome times”.’
Harlan winced.
They walked their horses beneath the archway, the prince adjusting his cloak and brushing his hair forwards. Somehow, he had made that fringe of his even straighter.
‘Might have been better off on foot,’ Harlan said as they entered the square. ‘The merchants haven’t seen meat in some time. I wouldn’t blame them if they disembowelled our horses before we had a chance to dismount.’
‘As long as they don’t eat the prince,’ Astin whispered. ‘Or your father will have me disembowelled.’
Harlan bit back a grin.
Men stood talking in groups. Women gathered around the well on the other side of the square, full pails at their feet. The conversation died when the merchants caught sight of the prince.
‘Good day to you,’ Borin called to one group of men as he passed by. His hand rested on his hip the way his father’s always did, but instead of looking powerful, he looked like a pompous fool.
The men said nothing as they lowered into a bow that barely passed as respectful.
They went by a group of children Harlan had given mussels to a few days earlier. Recognising the commander, they made a move towards him but stopped in their tracks when they caught sight of the prince. Harlan nodded at them as he passed.
As they reached the first street, merchants exited the timber-framed shops and congregated on creaky verandas. No one waved. No one spoke. They simply watched. The mud-splattered children playing gameball in their path ran to their beckoning mothers.
As the three men neared the end of the street, Harlan’s gaze drifted to the shop where Blake lived. He had watched the merchant carry her brother to the lazaretto borough with the help of her sisters. Their mother had trailed behind with an older couple he did not recognise. He was still not entirely sure why he had taken the corpse to her. Pity was never a good look on a defender. Nor was guilt.
His father had been right. He should never have broken the line to fetch that girl from the wall, should never have handed her over. Grief or no grief, she had broken the rules. Yet as he stood on that wall watching the family dig a grave, he could not bring himself to regret his actions.
Blake had popped into his mind several times since that day. That smart mouth with its ill-timed humour. Those intelligent eyes assessing him, judging him. Even in her filthy, dishevelled state that day he had come across her in the forest, with water dripping from her face and lips purple from the cold, she had made him pause in a way he rarely did with women. Perhaps it was the novelty of conversation with a merchant woman who was not afraid of him or trying to sell him sex. There was something honest about her—even when she was lying straight to his face.
He was used to mingling with noblewomen who hid behind their expensive gowns and painted faces. Daughters of lords dumbed down by well-meaning mothers and governesses, highly trained in the art of husband catching. A defender was an adequate choice for any noblewoman, as long as another sibling had already secured someone with a title. The family only needed one advantageous marriage.
Whenever a bit of fun in bed threatened to turn serious, Harlan disappeared into his work. It was easier to find companionship in the port taverns than navigate the games played by nobility.
A woman exited the shop, pulling Harlan from his thoughts. It was one of Blake’s sisters, the blonde one.
‘Wait,’ Blake hissed, stepping out onto the veranda in pursuit of her sister. She stopped when she spotted Harlan.
‘This is no time for pride,’ the blonde called over her shoulder.
Blake did not move off the veranda, whereas her sister marched straight out into the middle of the road, forcing the horses to pull up.
Astin moved in front of the prince, hand going to the hilt of his sword. ‘Move aside, merchant.’
The girl ignored him entirely. ‘Your Highness, might I have a word?’
It seemed the entire family was a little crazy.
‘I said move aside,’ Astin repeated.
‘That is quite all right,’ the prince said, walking his horse closer. He looked the girl up and down and relaxed in the saddle.
The blonde gave him a wide smile before lowering into a curtsy. ‘I told my sister, “Prince Borin is not here for show. He’s the people’s prince.”’
Blake blinked slowly, crossing her arms in front of her.
‘You’ve chosen a glorious day to visit our borough,’ the girl continued, looking up at the dense grey clouds above threatening rain.
Harlan moved his horse next to Astin’s to better hear the exchange.
‘What is it you need?’ the prince asked.
The blonde clasped her hands neatly in front of her. ‘We’re trying to reach my uncle, who resides in the nobility borough, but my sister here’—she gestured to Blake—‘keeps getting turned away at the gate. It’s my understanding that we’re still permitted to communicate with people on the other side of that wall. Am I wrong?’
Merchants were getting turned away at the gate because more and more nobility were cutting ties. Simply put, every merchant needed food, and the moment the shortages began affecting the nobility, they quickly withdrew their charity.
‘Your uncle lives in the nobility borough?’ the prince asked.
‘That’s right.’
‘Then how is it you came to live this side of the wall?’
Her smile never faltered. ‘Love, Your Highness. My mother married the man who sold her cotton. She was blessed with a happy marriage for many years before his passing.’
Harlan found himself watching Blake instead of her sister. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, clearly not enjoying her parents’ scandalous history being aired on the street for all to hear.
‘Our only brother passed recently,’ the girl went on. ‘My uncle has yet to hear of the tragic news, and I know he would want to pay his respects.’
Borin regarded her for a moment. ‘How did your brother die?’
Blake stepped off the veranda onto the street, hands falling to her sides. ‘He drowned, Your Highness. A fishing accident.’ She glanced at Harlan.
‘I hear the rocks in the port borough are very hazardous for novice fisherman,’ Borin said.
The blonde nodded. ‘Indeed.’
‘I am sorry for the loss of the head of your family,’ Borin said. ‘Of course you must notify your uncle, as the shop is now legally his. He must oversee the running of it.’
Blake spoke up at that. ‘My sisters and I are more than capable of managing things here, Your Highness.’
‘That is for your uncle to decide,’ Borin replied.
Blake bit her lip.
The prince pushed his cloak back. ‘I will have Commander Wright here personally deliver the letter to your uncle.’ He spoke louder than necessary, ensuring that every spectator watching from the safety of their verandas heard.
All eyes went to Harlan.
So much for sleep. ‘Bring me the letter,’ he said with a resigned breath.
Blake hesitated before disappearing inside, returning a moment later with it. She stopped at the shoulder of the horse and passed it to him. ‘My uncle is Lord Thomas Welche.’
‘Of Cardelle Manor?’
She nodded. ‘Lady Victoria is my mother’s sister.’
He tucked the parchment inside his cloak, feeling Astin’s eyes on him. ‘I’ll bring you his reply.’
‘Be sure to tell him I’ll happily accept grain in place of patronising words.’
He noted the humour in her eyes. Pretty eyes too. ‘Next time ask for me at the gate.’
She looked genuinely confused. ‘Why?’
‘Because I’ll make sure the letter gets through.’
She stared at him a moment. ‘And why would you do that?’
An excellent question. ‘To prevent you starting an uprising.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘Was that… was that a joke?’
He did not reply, just gathered the reins in preparation for departure.
Blake stepped back from the horse. ‘Thank you.’
‘Just following orders.’ He had not meant that to sound so cold.
She nodded, then turned and walked off. He watched her all the way to the shop door. When he finally looked away, he found Astin smirking.
Harlan glared. ‘What?’
Astin glanced in the prince’s direction before replying. ‘Is that the girl you broke the line for?’
Harlan’s mouth flattened into a line. ‘Focus on your job, would you? These women carry knives beneath their skirts.’
‘I get it now. A pretty thing like that throwing herself at your mercy.’
‘She didn’t throw herself at anything.’
Astin’s grin widened. ‘So defensive.’
Blake’s sister finally moved aside, and the prince nudged his horse into a walk.
‘You’re lucky you’re on duty,’ Harlan whispered to his friend, ‘or I’d knock you from the saddle.’
Astin laughed silently.
Chapter 7
Lord Thomas showed Harlan to the library, then sat across from him to read the letter. Harlan stared at the elaborate collection of books covering one wall while Thomas learned of his nephew’s death. The commander wished he had waited outside to give him some privacy.
He need not have worried.
‘That is all I need,’ Thomas said, dropping the letter on the desk with a loud sigh. ‘Another business to manage. More mouths to feed. Do you know if the shop is presently turning a profit?’
Harlan shifted in his chair. ‘I’m not acquainted with the family. Prince Borin asked me to deliver the letter.’
That made Thomas sit up. ‘The prince asked you?’ He leaned forwards. ‘What does His Highness have to do with all this?’
‘One of your nieces spoke directly to him on the matter.’
