Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Fadon
“Going to grow it out or pull it out?” Jon asked with a smirk, joining Fadon at the breakfast table in the dining room.
Fadon dropped his hands. He’d been running his fingers through his hair as if the thoughts in his head were the enemy and if he rubbed his scalp with enough force, the enemy could be destroyed.
Sitting across from him, Jon snapped open the linen napkin before putting it on his lap. His plate was stacked high with eggs and bacon. “You know I’ve always suggested going for the long-hair look.”
Fadon eyed his Second’s golden locks, which flowed over his shoulders and back. “Don’t have the patience for it.” He grabbed a roll from the basket in front of them. “And thanks for reminding me to cut my hair today. I’ll try to fit it in. What I wouldn’t do for a day off, though.”
“Any developments?” Jon asked, getting straight down to business.
“So far, no one is suspect. I sat in all day, and with the exception of breaking for lunch, I was present for every nuance or tell or eyeballing I could observe. Nothing.”
The person responsible for helping their prisoner, Servant Sarbo, escape was either a ghost or plainly just didn’t exist. It made no sense. There was no way the Servant had escaped on his own. He had been dumped in the dungeon underneath the barracks’ hold, thrown into a room with a single iron door that required a special key to unlock.
Today would be the third day of check-ins, where each citizen of Goth Mor Helle had to present themselves in front of the queen, in the throne room, their names crossed off the registry that Caziel and Zion kept records of. The whole ordeal was time consuming, and the punishment for not attending was steep.
“Well,” Jon said in between bites, “we have one more day of receiving in the throne room. As far as we know, no one has left the grounds. So unless the culprit has holed himself away somewhere, he’ll be there today to see the queen.”
Fadon nodded. He doubted they’d find the culprit. He was beginning to think the Servant hadn’t had any help at all. With how strange the past few months had gone, he wouldn’t be surprised if the Servant had used some kind of witchcraft on the locked door of his cell.
“You know,” Jon said over a mouthful of food, “it could have been a woman.”
The fork in Fadon’s hand clanged on the plate as he let it go. “For fuck’s sake. What didn’t we think of that sooner?”
Jon shrugged. “With everything going on, plus all the traveling, we haven’t been at our best, Fadon. You especially.” His eyes scanned his captain’s face, probably noting the dark circles and hollow cheeks that proved how exhausted Fadon was.
Leaving Ordelpho, leaving Sierra, the delay in getting home to the Mor… All of it had taken a serious toll on Fadon. He felt unhinged at best, and behind all the obvious reasons for his wretched state, there was a feeling of… something. Dread had been creeping in, one that kept building inside him as soon as they’d set foot back on land toward home.
Sleep had eluded him days and days ago, and tonight, if he still hadn”t found any sleep, he’d go visit Orion and see about getting his insomnia taken care of. Jon was more than right: Fadon was not at his best, and best was in dire need right now.
“A woman.” Fadon shook his head as he took a sip of the now luke-warm tea. He made a face, and a servant nearby promptly set a new mug in front of Fadon, pouring a fresh cup of tea. “Thank you, Jeba.”
“You’re more than welcome, Captain.” The servant covertly backed away, slinking off back to the corner.
“Actually, Jeba?” Fadon turned around, raising his hand.
The servant quickly stood by Fadon’s side. “Yes, Captain?”
“Who would you consider to be the biggest gossip here in the manse?”
Jeba blinked, but because the request came from a prince of House Trajan, there was no hesitation as he answered, “Dolorus, my lord Captain, from laundry.”
Ah, Dolorus. The ample-bosomed beta woman who did more than serve in the laundry. She knew her way around a bed in more ways than one.
Fadon nodded, dismissing the servant with a thanks, then turned his attention back to Jon. “You know what to do.”
Jon pretended to be bothered by this unsaid request, but Fadon knew Jon was being his usual humorous self.
“Oh, how tedious. Fine. Guess I’ll have to make a sacrifice for the good of the House.”
A snort escaped Fadon. “Get back to me later today, see if you found anything.”
“I’ll keep you… abreast, Captain.” Jon’s hands went to his chest, shaping imaginary tits.
“By Ongar, your humor is getting worse in your old age, my friend.”
“Well, you still haven’t been blessed with yours yet.” Jon ripped into a roll, his eyes dancing.
“Captain. A word?”
By the gods, the blue-eyed Servant walked on air, Fadon thought as he looked to where Demos had suddenly appeared.
“Of course.” Fadon stood from the table, then nodded a goodbye to his Second. Demos waited as Fadon followed him out to the main hall, which was empty of people. Taking a seat near the roaring hearth, both men faced each other.
“I’ll be leaving the Mor tomorrow,” Demos said, not bothering with a preamble, as usual.
“And going to?”
“Ultimately, Utilla. From there, north to Ordelpho.”
To where Sierra was. Fadon wanted nothing more than to join him, but he couldn’t leave. Not when the Owl was about to be exposed, not when a thousand-year-old agreement between the Basilica and the Ongahri was about to be officially broken.
“I’d like you to go with us, Captain.” The Servant’s eyes shone bright from the flames that danced in the hearth beside them.
“Us?” Fadon raised an eyebrow.
“Phobius and I will be traveling the majority of the journey together.”
The last time Fadon had seen the strange Phobius was on the Longest Night, and only briefly, when they’d lit the cerei outside in the main courtyard.
“Who is he to you, Demos?” Sometimes Fadon wished he had Lady Lordes’ power of reading people’s thoughts—not that the House Seer truly had such a power, only the power of intuition at best; worst were visions, and Fadon had no need for those. But to see inside Demos’ head? There were too many things the Servant was hiding, and as usual, Demos’ ability at evasion was much stronger than Fadon’s curiosity.
“We share a common goal, he and I. Other than that, there is nothing between us.”
“And that goal?”
“To make sure certain things stay set in motion.”
Fadon cursed, his lack of sleep and lack of any good news lately getting the best of him. “And is one of those things my betrothal to Sierra?” Did it even matter anymore, the Fealty? No. But the prophecy…
“Yes. It’s why I want you to come with me.”
Gritting his teeth, Fadon rubbed his head. Mari wasn’t going to let Fadon go anywhere, not now. Besides, he had too much to see to here. “I can’t leave, Demos. It isn’t poss—”
“Captain?” Tradium called, practically running toward them.
Fadon turned. “What is it?”
“Captain, a courier came to the gate and dropped off a letter for the queen. She’s requesting your presence at once in her parlor.”
“I’ll catch up with you later,” Demos said.
Fadon rubbed his head again. “Fine. In the meantime, you better have more information to give me. So help me, in Ongar’s name I’m getting tired of your evasion tactics, Servant.”
He didn’t stick around long enough to see Demos’ reaction, because he immediately went up the stairs and to the queen’s parlor, where he found Mari sitting in her nightgown, a cup of steaming tea at her pursed lips. Sitting on the other divan was Caziel, a letter in his grandfatherly hands.
Fadon shut the door behind him. “A letter?”
“An invitation,” Mari replied with cheek. “To Pastoris of the Janis clan.”
“Not following.” Fadon eyed Caziel, who handed him the letter. The words to Mari were hastily written in only a few sentences sprawled on the left side. The front and main part of the thick parchment was indeed an invitation. To a meeting in Ghypsom City. The occasion? A sit-down for the main chieftains and clansmen of the Ongahri not pledged to House Trajan.
Fadon cursed as he scanned it to the bottom where he saw a familiar name.
“Read it out loud, Fadon,” Mari said, blowing on her tea.
“Fine. ‘Due to recent events regarding the Variantia and the political landscape that is changing, it is imperative that we join forces to protect our own sovereignties before our people are used in one of the biggest post-modern power plays our generation has seen. The Owl and those who sit in power would like nothing more than to use the rebel group that call themselves the Variantia as a scapegoat in order to take down the Ongahri once and for all. Join me in Ghypsom City on the twelfth of Janus. Together we can keep what’s ours.’” Fadon dropped his hand and the paper whipped in the air. “Signed Chieftain Lucius Dega of House Dega.”
“Sovereignties!” Mari placed her cup down and curled her legs under her. “He is right about one thing. The Ongahri do need to consolidate our people, now more than ever. But why is he always one step ahead of us?” Mari’s frustration was palpable.
“Obviously, he is privy to something we know nothing about,” Caziel provided.
“Like what?” Fadon asked, crossing his arms.
“If I knew that,” the old man said with disdain, “don’t you think I would share such knowledge?”
“Fadon, when you were there, did you not at least try to find out what Lucius does all day in his little fortress?” Mari raised a hand in the air, a look of exasperation on her face.
He was back to running his hand through his hair, once again, as he mumbled something too nonsensical to decipher.
Had he underestimated Lucius? While he’d been busy trying to woo Sierra and play at warden to that perverted Owl prisoner, had he let an opportunity pass by at finding out what Lucius had been up to this whole time? The whole purpose, the whole reason, for the voyage to Ordelpho had been because Lucius had acted as an enemy, taking what belonged to House Trajan, befriending its prince, defying their queen’s rule. But after the island, when they had all crashed ashore and where Sierra’s life had been at stake, the remorse he’d seen in Lucius had blinded Fadon, had lulled him into believing that perhaps he’d been wrong about Lucius. That maybe Fadon had built the leader’s character up to large proportions, that the reality had been that Lucius was just a man-made chieftain with nothing more on his mind than being left outside the fold.
Fadon was wrong. Again. And now Lucius’ machinations, something before the island Fadon had always known was worthy of paying attention to, were in play again.
“The man defies us at every turn, Your Majesty,” Caziel said with passion. “I say you march right down to that meeting and corral everyone to your side once and for all. Do not allow Lucius Dega any more line on the leash. He needs to be pulled back, and you taking the wayward into your fold, with an army to back it, at a time like this, would be your best move. But you must move, Your Majesty.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Fadon said, finally taking a seat. “Servant Demos mentioned that he’s leaving tomorrow. And oddly enough, his destination is Utilla.”
“Utilla? Why there? Why not the Basilica?”
Again, he hated that he knew nothing about the Servant’s plans. “He’s planning on heading to Ordelpho, being that Port Minerva is blocked right now. He refuses to give up on Sierra joining House Trajan, which I’m all for.”
Mari’s dark eyes, a replica of his own, softened. She knew how much he wanted Sierra here, and she blamed the Owl for her sister-to-be’s absence. Had it not been for the blasted prisoner, Fadon could’ve stayed in Ordelpho longer.
“So you think I should go to Ghypsom City?” she asked, now looking thoughtful, as if considering all the possible things that could go well, or go terribly wrong.
“Or Fadon can go in your stead,” Caziel said.
“That letter changes things.” Fadon glanced down at the invitation still on the floor. “So I’ll be going either way. And if you go, Alpha Queen,” Fadon added, “then I will be bringing at least thirty men with me.”
“The Basilica’s right at the foot of Great Mountain. We are too vulnerable if the Owl decides to make a move,” she replied.
Fadon shook his head. “It’s too damn cold for them to come all the way up here. It would be suicide. In these storms? No.”
She pursed her lips. “Perhaps.”
The room was silent as each thought out scenarios. If only they knew the outcome of each one in advance.
“How is Lady Lordes today?” he asked. If there was ever a time for a seer, it was now.
Mari crossed her arms as if she’d suddenly grown cold. “Still bed ridden, I’m afraid. Yet she’s no worse. Same as before.”
“It’s going on, what, three weeks now?”
“Yes,” she said sadly. “Because of this blasted weather…” She paused, and her eyes sharpened. “Fadon. The prophecy.”
In his head, Fadon cursed a litany of every blasphemous thing he’d ever heard in his days as captain.
The insane cold and the non-stop winter storms could very well be the prophecy playing out. Gods, if that was the case…
He needed his faculties back. There was just too much at stake, and his mind was mush.
Standing, he bowed to Mari. “I’ll go to Ghypsom City and represent you. But I need to see Orion. Can I join you on the inquisition later?”
She snorted at the word choice. “Yes. But send in Jon to replace you. I want as many observers for sedition as possible. And thank Ongar your surly ass is finally admitting you need a rest, Brother. About time. You look awful.” She waved him away.
“Thanks,” Fadon grumbled, heading out the door.