Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
HUCKLETON WAS SMALL, WITH MAZE-LIKE STREETS THAT PROVIDED excellent cover. The mayor lived in a stone manor at the town center; they presumed this was where Oskaren was most likely being held, as it was the only guarded building in the area.
The plan was simple enough: march to the gates and demand that Thia Witch-Slayer and her attendants required lodging, counting on rumors of her royal visit to have spread. Once they were inside, she would keep the mayor occupied while the others slipped away to find Oskaren.
They left their packs and weapons in the woods, save for knives the men strapped to their bodies and the bow Thia wore that she expected would be taken from her by the guards.
Dess swore no one would recognize him as the map thief, as he’d been wearing his hood, but Thia was still buzzing with nerves as she watched him stuff his pack into the shadows of a large shrub.
There was some debate as to what to do once inside. Dess thought faster was better, as it gave them less time to be discovered. Thia conceded that point, but worried they’d never be able to get out with Oskaren in tow.
She frowned, chewing her lip. “The guards have to switch at some point, right?”
Dess, shrugged. “I guess. Why?”
Thran watched Thia carefully. “I’d expect them to change at dawn. What are you thinking, lass?”
She blew out a breath. “I’m thinking if three of us go in, four of us going out is going to be suspicious. But if we go in twos and wait for the guards to switch, maybe they won’t notice.”
They would have to time it right, maintaining the charade for most of the night. Thran noted that an alarm would sound after Oskaren was discovered missing, which meant they probably had minutes to get her out in pairs.
Who was she kidding? There were far too many things left to chance. It would never work.
“It’s a good plan,” Thran said, surprising her.
Dess shrugged. “It could work,” he reluctantly agreed. “It’s not what I would do, but it could work.”
Thia bit down the urge to tell them that what he would do—fighting their way in and out—would get them all killed. It wasn’t unlikely her plan would have the same results.
She swallowed, forcing her mind to empty. If she started thinking about the fact that their lives were in her hands, she would crumble.
“Let’s go.”
They left Mavrel in the woods after Thran said he would likely be taken to an aviary if they arrived with him in tow.
The walk through town passed quickly, Thia’s anxiety building with every step.
When they reached the manor, it was late afternoon.
The portcullis was open, but a guard stood in the entrance, holding a hand to stop them as they approached.
She spoke before he could, keeping her voice haughty.
“I am Thia Sanbrooke, Witch-Slayer. I am dirty and tired, and in the name of the Mage King Caradoc, I demand shelter for the night.” She met his eye, willing her face not to redden as it usually did under pressure.
Against her will, heat pricked her skin.
The guard snickered. “Witch-Slayer, eh? And I’m King of the Losrohir.” His eyes flicked over her, from her sweat-induced halo of frizz, to her boots that were too tight in the calf. She had never felt so small and soft in her life.
But the guard next to him nudged his companion. “My cousin works in Cyning,” he said quietly. “Said it was all the talk last week. A girl killed Asha Würmeart, and King Caradoc thanked her ‘imself.” He bowed his head to her. “Lady,” he said. “Tales of your prowess precede you.”
She inclined her head, glaring at the first guard. “I am pleased that at least one man here understands civility. Now, if you don’t mind, I am tired of standing out in the cold in this godforsaken town, when the king himself hosted me mere days ago.”
“Of course,” the first guard said, properly chastised. “Forgive me, milady.”
Thia expelled a breath.
“Come with me,” the second guard said. “I’m sure Mayor Henson will want to see you personally.” He held out a hand. “Your weapons.” He had the good grace to look sheepish. “You may retrieve them when you depart.”
Thia obligingly turned over her sword and bow. To her relief, no one patted them down and, as they followed the guard through the gate, Dess and Thran remained armed under their shirts.
Inside, the layout was simple, a rectangle of straight halls and large, stony rooms. The guard kept up a steady stream of chatter, asking about their journey so far and what it was like to face Asha. Eventually Thia interrupted, eager to glean what information they could in turn.
“Do you like being a guard?” she asked pleasantly.
“Oh yes, milady,” he said. “It’s difficult work, but it pays well.
It can be very exciting.” She didn’t even have to prompt him, because he added, “Why just today, we thought we were taking in a common thief. Turns out, we have Oskaren Alinac in our grasp! We’ve had her warrant notice from the king himself pinned up in the barracks for two years. ”
Thia struggled to keep her breathing even.
“Dunno what she’s done,” the guard continued, oblivious to the look Thran and Dess exchanged. “If you ask me”—he bent conspiratorially toward Thia—“she tried to kill the king.” He paused. “But my comrade back there—Jran—thinks Alinac was involved with the Phantom Guard.”
Thia could feel her forehead creasing. She forced it smooth, voice light as she asked, “The Phantom Guard?”
The soldier raised an eyebrow. “Them that want the Dómgeorns back on the throne. You must have heard the tale?”
She nodded. “Bits and pieces in my travels. But I gather you know more than I.”
He seemed pleased by that, puffing out his chest. “Well it was about say, twenty years ago now? Maybe not quite. Anyway, rumors spread one of them Dómgeorns was still alive. We had another mage at the time—Melina, I think her name was. She formed the Phantom Guard to find and put that one back on the throne. ‘Course, King Caradoc made short work o’ that.” He grinned, and the air rushed out of Thia’s lungs.
Her mother wasn’t just killed for bearing the Storm Crow. She was what, a hero?
She didn’t know if she was relieved or not.
That aligned more closely with Grandma Winnie’s tales of her angel.
But it also made Thia even more aware of how little they shared.
Nothing about her was daring. She was what her grammy intended her to be: quiet, contained.
Kind, maybe, but not in any sort of revolutionary way.
She realized the guard had stopped talking and was waiting expectantly. She had no idea what he’d just said. Judging by his expression, he wanted her awe, so she said, “Fair Havens,” and forced her eyes wide. “It sounds like a difficult job for you,” she ground out. “Do you ever get to rest?”
“Oh yes, don’t worry about me, milady.” He smiled good-naturedly. “My shift ends at sundown.”
“That is a long day.”
He shrugged. “Not too bad. Start at midday. Worst shift is midnight to sunrise; don’t sleep a wink.”
“I’m surprised they don’t have someone of your obvious talent guarding Alinac,” she said. “Don’t you worry she might escape?”
The guard beamed under her praise. “Unlikely, milady. She’s locked in the holding cells downstairs, and she’s gonna be transferred to Cyning tomorrow.”
Dess snorted behind her, and Thia resisted the urge to elbow him in the stomach.
“This is where I leave you,” the guard said, pausing outside a set of large doors. “The mayor is just inside. I’ll announce you.” He bowed, shoulders curved a bit bashfully. “Honor to meet you, milady. I’ll be telling my we’uns about this.”
Even though he smiled recounting her mother’s execution, she felt a flash of guilt as she said, “Thank you,” and returned the bow with a dip of her head.
Then the guard straightened and pressed open the doors. “Thia Witch-Slayer and her attendants,” he bellowed, then stepped aside to usher them into the room.
Inside, the mayor was reclining on a large, fur-covered seat. A tall man with a large beard, he wore a tunic of deep purple inlaid with gold. He jumped at the sound of her name, attention flying to where they entered.
He recovered quickly, shifting into a more upright seat and spreading his arms out in welcome.
Thia caught several large rings as they glinted under the light of the iron chandelier above.
“Witch-Slayer,” he said. “Welcome.” His voice oozed charm.
“My apologies. News of your prowess has reached us, but we were not expecting a visit.” Oil slicked his gray hair back, and the pale skin of his cheeks was ruddy from the bottles of empty wine on the table in front of him.
Thia lifted her chin, giving a pointed sniff. “I am surprised King Caradoc did not send ahead. Surely his majesty knew we would pass this way.”
The mayor smiled. “You are close with his majesty?”
She could practically see the dollar signs flashing in his eyes—or whatever the equivalent was here. Gold coins? “I have his ear, if that’s what you mean,” she said haughtily. “I am his Witch-Slayer after all.”
The smile grew. “Wonderful. We would be happy to accommodate you on your travels. When you return to his majesty, you will remember our hospitality, will you not?”
Thia gave a gracious bow. “Of course.”
“Good.” The mayor clapped his hands. “Then get our guests some food!” he bellowed, and Thia nearly flinched at the sudden noise.
Servants appeared from side doors, hands laden with a variety of dishes.
The mayor instructed Thia and her companions to sit and eat, which they did.
She could tell Dess was getting antsy from the way he jiggled his legs.
When he bumped the table, she locked a vise grip around his thigh, obscured by the ledge.
Thran slipped back into his childhood accent, mercifully carrying the conversation when Thia faltered.
When it was finally over, the mayor summoned a servant to take them to their chambers for the night. Thran and Dess were given one room, and Thia was put in another across the hall.