Chapter Twenty-Six
The carriage started with a lurch, jerking Orval almost from his seat. He and Roth both braced Aunt Xydell, propped between them on the bench. Amari, Rosalind, and the babes had the opposite bench. Yfin was on the floor between all their knees. One fur cape wrapped around them all, the other draped over their laps, almost burying the boy.
“Safe to talk now,” Roth said as the carriage rumbled on.
“What did they do to her?” Orval took his Aunt’s cold hands in his own and tried to warm them. She wasn’t his favorite person, but to see her so frail—
“They came for her last night, before the audience. I was drawn to the ruckus, for she put up quite a fuss. She fought them,” Rosalind said, a tinge of admiration in her voice. “Gave them what-for with her cane, hollering at the top of her lungs.”
Orval snorted. “Not surprised by that.”
“I tried to stop them,” Rosalind continued. “But all they said was ‘Queen’s command’. They got the cane away from her and poured something down her throat. It had to be letheon.” Rosalind took a deep breath. “They hauled her off and fool that I am, I followed, protesting, and found myself locked in with her and informed that I now had the ‘honor’ of being your Steward.” Her voice grew bitter. “Queen’s command.”
“Bastards, to treat you so,” Orval shifted so that Aunt Xydell’s head sagged on his shoulder. He tucked her cold hands under the fur, seeing bruises on her wrists.
“Much the same for me,” Roth said. “Although it was my own men.”
“Not all,” Yfin piped up, a great grin on his face.
“Not all,” Roth agreed and gave Orval a wry look. “My youngest recruit, it appears.”
The boy just kept grinning, the edge of the cloak just over his head.
“And what are you grinning for?” Roth asked.
“Warmer now than I was,” Yfin said cheerfully. “And with ya.”
Roth shook his head. “Not sure that was the smartest choice, lad.”
“Old lady said—” Yfin protested but Roth cut him short.
“Queen Mother Tithanna said you should be trained by me, not follow me to some gods-forsaken wilderness.” Roth said dryly.
“Tithanna?” Orval asked.
“Aye,” Roth looked down at his hands. “We were the last to see her, before—” he stopped and swallowed hard.
“She didn’t—” Orval started but Roth was quick.
“She didn’t,” Roth said. “Don’t give it another thought. She was defiant and intended to endure. That she didn’t has to be laid to another’s hand.” Roth rubbed his face. “And to me, for not protecting her.”
“She gave you orders,” Rosalind pointed out. “And who would have thought…” her voice trailed off and they all sat in silence for a moment. “They didn’t even give her the rites, just said a few prayers as they shoved the coffin into the crypt.”
Orval cleared his throat. “Queen Tithanna was a true Daughter of Xy, for all that she was of House Wyvern.”
“She told me, she did, to follow him.” Yfin said. “His sword has honor, she said.” He lifted his chin with youthful defiance. “So I did.”
“Such loyalty should be rewarded,” Amari said warmly. She reached overhead and produced Winter’s basket. “Here.”
“Ooh,” Yfin said as he dug in, then held up and offered about what was left of their breakfast. Orval was impressed that the lad was willing to share, though he was clearly hungry.
Roth waved the food off and shrugged when Orval caught his eye. “I was informed I was promoted to your Weaponsmaster,” Roth said. “Stripped of my own weapons and held secure until I was escorted out to the carriage.”
“Better than disappearing.” Rosalind said bitterly. They lapsed into silent despair, for what was there to say?
Orval leaned back, shifting so that Aunt Xydell seemed a bit more comfortable. He was just as glad she slept. She’d be sure to have cutting words for all of them, and he didn’t want to hear that. But then shame replaced the relief.
He caught a glimpse of Amari, gently smiling at Yfin, watching him eat.
Orval’s heart clenched.
He’d failed Amari.
He dropped his gaze down to the stupid cape and plucked at the fur lining. He’d promised her, assured her, and he’d failed to keep her and the babes safe. Over by the next feeding , he’d said, so smugly that the memory made him sick.
His eyes fell to the baskets where his babes slept. The weight of his failure settled in his chest. He’d failed them as well, although there was still a chance one of the marcusi would appear. It would just take time. Hopefully not more than they had.
A burbling noise came from Lara’s basket. Amari leaned over, cooing at the restless babe.
Orval quirked his mouth, thinking of the Epic of Xyson tucked under Lara’s little tush. They’d missed that, hadn’t they?
What else might they have missed?
Amari nudged his foot with hers and gave him a questioning look. She glanced down at his leg and back up. Orval grimaced and shrugged. It wasn’t bad yet, but it would make him pay later.
Her expression shifted to a lovely look of gentle concern. Orval’s heart lurched again at the danger he’d placed them in.
He pressed his lips tight as he hardened his resolve. This was Satia’s doing, not Xyrath’s. He knew Xyrath well enough from their fostering days. He’d always been obnoxious, even as a youth, filled with a sense of his own importance. A rotter, true enough, but a straightforward one. More likely to punch you in the face then stab you in the back.
But Satia was an unknown, something of a mystery. Satia was sly and cunning and about as trustworthy as…a wyvern. Why had she decided Orval was a threat? How in the name of all the elements could a poor scholar be dangerous?
A quote from the Epic came to mind. Beware the learned ones, for not all warriors wield steel.
Orval spoke before his idea was fully formed. “We need a plan,” he said.
“Eh?” Roth looked at him.
“When going into enemy territory, you need knowledge of what lies ahead before you establish camp. Then you see to your warriors needs. ‘Shelter, water, fire, food’,” Orval recited.
“Where did you learn that? You never had a command, did you?” Roth asked, eyebrows jumping up in surprise.
“The Epic of Xyson ,” Orval said. “There’s also a chapter on proper privy placement,” he added dryly.
Roth snorted out a chuckle even as Yfin squinched up his nose.
“So, what do we know?” Orval repeated.
“Hmm,” Roth mused, rubbing his face with his left hand. “Well, the Barony of the Black Hills rebelled fairly early during Xykahn’s reign when the Lord High Baron died suddenly. Around the time that Xywellan was born, if I remember correctly.” Roth crossed his arms over his chest. “There were a series of High Lord Barons appointed to bring the region under control with military force. It didn’t go well.” Roth gave Orval a grim smile. “It was said that any assigned the post of Lord High Baron of the Black Hills was lost before he left the gates of the palace.”
Amari sucked in a breath, shaking her head. “All I know is something that Xywellan said once, in the battle camp. He and Kara were talking about the Black Hills.” Amari lifted a hand to smooth back her hair. “Xywellan said, ‘whatever you do, don’t mention it to Dell.’”
“What did Kara say to that?” Orval asked.
“Queen Kara just rolled her eyes and they both chuckled.”
“Xydell?” Orval asked.
Amari shrugged apologetically. “I didn’t pay too much attention, since I was tending to Dalan.”
“The people of the Black Hills have a reputation for being hard and stubborn. They are miners and stone workers, digging for black rock, gems, and marble. They have no love of Xy, Arion or Wyvern. Xywellan and Kara were going to take action to bring the Barony back under the control of the Crown, but the Blood conflict arose, and, well…” Roth shrugged.
“Their forces were stretched thin,” Rosalind offered. “They barely held their army together as it was; they couldn’t afford to send more warriors to the Black Hills, even if there was a potential for taxes and tithes from the mining charters.” She dropped her eyes at their astonished looks. “There is was very little gossip I don’t—didn’t—hear.”
Roth nodded. “There’s been no royal presence out here for at least five years. Rebels took the Keep, then the Blood besieged it and reclaimed it. When the Airion forces were pulled back, they left the Keep a ruin. Of no use to the rebels or any others.”
“So they may be taking us to a ruined Keep, dumping our ‘supplies,’ and turning tail to race back to the portal,” Orval said. “What can we do to about that?”
Yfin piped up, his mouth full of bread. “I can scout.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Amari admonished.
That brought chuckles all around, but it also broke the logjam. Ideas spilled out as they talked and discussed and argued.
“Now,” Orval said after a time, “let’s flip it around. What if there are people in the Keep? What then?”
“Our goals are the same,” Roth said. “‘Shelter, water, fire, food.’” Until we know their intentions towards us.”
Orval nodded. “We act as if they are allies until we know different.”
They tossed more ideas at one another until Yfin’s face cracked open with a huge yawn.
“Boy’s got a point,” Roth said, moving the cape so he could look out the small window. “Nothing but fields ahead. Might be able to catch a bit of rest before we arrive.”
Yfin was already curling up, head down, his hair spilling over his eyes. Amari settled into her corner after checking the babes.
“Here, let me,” Roth eased Xydell on to his shoulder. “Take a rest.” he said, digging into a pocket and pulling out a loop of string. Orval raised his eyebrows.
Roth huffed. “Old habit. Cat’s cradle. Keeps my fingers warm.”
Orval nodded, settled back, watching the man’s fingers flick through string patterns, trying to think, to plan, to…sleep claimed him quickly.
Sleep? Rosalind almost shook her head in disbelief; years of training kept her still. How could she sleep? Her heart was racing hard and fast, threatening to leap out of her chest. She’d been torn away from everything she’d known, everything she had worked for. Her keys, the badge of her office, ripped from her belt. She closed her eyes as shame washed over her.
All of her years of royal service, all her work, all her pride of place, gone.
The only thing keeping her from weeping was the quiet strength of the others. They were thinking, planning, not trembling inside.
She flushed, hot and embarrassed. She’d thrown herself at the guards, begged to be reinstated, forgiven. The Bondmaiden had smirked at her tears as she’d taken the keys.
Rosalind felt useless. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this. She’d been raised to serve the royal family; what did she know of war camps? She’d never heard of anything good coming from the Black Hills.
She knew the running of a large household, the standards that things were to be kept to. The history of the palace and its contents. Her passion for the ancient tapestries, their care and preservation: what good was that now?
Orval’s leg shifted slightly, and Amari shifted to make room for him, neither opening their eyes. Whatever the circumstances of their marriage—and there had been quite a bit of speculation about that at Court, hadn’t there—it was clear they had a bond.
Roth was concentrating on his string patterns, occasionally glancing out the carriage window. Rosalind knew that the patterns had names and stories, but she’d never seen someone so proficient. She’d have to ask him about that later.
Lara fussed in her sleep, yawning and blowing bubbles.
Rosalind gently reached in and stroked the babe’s cheek. Such a precious thing, with that shock of black hair that looked like it would be curly.
Lara yawned again and opened her eyes. Fey blue eyes.
Xywellan’s eyes.
Rosalind sucked in a breath, frozen in discovery as the pieces of a puzzle clicked together in her mind.
Lara was Xywellan and Kara’s daughter.
No, it couldn’t be. But her brain was ticking through the gossip, the rumors, as everything fell into place. Amari’s shame, Orval’s loyalty…
“I didn’t pay too much attention, since I was tending to Dalan.”
Dalan, fast asleep in his basket, was so much bigger than…
They weren’t twins.
Shocked, Rosalind opened her mouth, the words on the tip of her tongue, then froze. The more people that know a secret means it’s no longer a secret.
Lara had fallen back to sleep, her sweet cheek pressed to Rosalind’s fingers. Questions raged through her as she watched the precious babe sleep. How had this royal child, heir to the throne, been trusted to a cripple?
Desperation. Queen Kara could only have done this out of desperation and terror.
Which meant it fell to her, Rosalind, to see to the child’s welfare.
Awe washed over her. It must be so. She was meant to be here , to serve, to protect, to preserve. A new purpose filled her.
“My hand to yours,” Rosalind whispered with barest breath. “Bless you, Xylara, Daughter of the House of Xy, Daughter of Xywellan and Kara, Warrior Queen.”
Lara blew a bubble of spit.
Rosalind took a calm, steady breath. A new Queen to serve. Her resolve eased her heart. Yes, it would be hard, maybe the hardest thing she’d ever done.
Still and all, she would do it.
Rosalind relaxed into her corner as best she could and closed her eyes, holding fast to her newfound peace.
And courage.
Orval startled out of sleep, not sure what had roused him.
Roth was at the small window, pulling back the fabric. “We’re slowing,” he glanced at Orval.
“The Keep?” Orval rubbed his face as the others roused as well.
“No,” Roth said. “A village, maybe? Hard to tell at this angle.”
Orval shifted, trying to look out his window, but all he could see were a few outbuildings. The Keep was still in the distance, but much closer now. He leaned forward, straining to see.
The carriage jolted along the road.
“A stop, perhaps?” Amari asked as she covered a yawn.
“Hard to say,” Orval frowned. “Do you think they sent word of our arrival?”
“Unlikely,” Roth said. “Why give the rebels a chance to gather? I doubt they know who we are.”
The carriage rumbled on with their escort moving up to surround it. Orval watched as a wooden palisade appeared. A village then, to have such stout walls. The road appeared to run past, but they pulled to a halt before the main gates.
Ussin’s voice rang out, loud enough to be heard by all.
“Hear ye, hear ye, unto the Town of Wareington,” the Captain shouted. “By the Royal Decree of King Xyrath and Queen Satia, Lord High Baron Orval of the House of Xy and Lady High Baroness Amari, his lawful wife, have been appointed to the Barony of the Black Hills, to have and hold these lands at their gracious Majesty’s pleasure.” Ussin’s voice seemed to echo through the carriage. Aunt Xydell stirred but didn’t wake.
Ussin dismounted and approached the gate with a scroll in his hands.
“The Lord High Baron and Lady High Baroness are here to take residency of the Keep immediately. Prepare to pay thy respects and tithes in the coming days,” Ussin boomed out. “So sayeth King Xyrath and Queen Satia, by their order, command, and decree.”
With that, he let the scroll open with a flourish, and nailed it to the door with a dagger.
“On,” Ussin called as spun on his heel and mounted his horse. “To the Keep of the Black Hills.”
The carriage lurched forward.
“Well, if they didn’t know before,” Orval said, “they know now.”