38. Duke’s Welcome #2
“There are always concerns about security,” Armand said mildly. “That’s why we plan for them. I’m sure Duke Hemmrich understands the value of caution in uncertain times.”
The steward’s smile came back, tighter than before and doing a poor job of covering whatever calculation ran behind his eyes. “Of course, my lords. We’ll adjust the arrangements accordingly. The Duke values flexibility nearly as much as he values the comfort of his honored guests.”
The way he said comfort made it sound like a threat wrapped in silk. I caught Maise’s eye and tilted my head toward Danzing. She understood immediately. Whatever came next, she’d keep Perrin and Grit close to our master-at-arms.
Public distance, private loyalty. The game we’d been playing since leaving home.
“Lead on,” Baldir said .
The steward turned and began walking toward the main keep, his pace measured, his back perfectly straight.
We followed on foot, having surrendered our horses to stable hands who appeared with the efficiency of people who’d done this beyond counting.
As we crossed the courtyard, I counted guards.
Twelve along the left wall, spaced at regular intervals.
Fourteen on the right, with two more at each corner tower.
Eight positioned around the main entrance, four visible and four trying to look like they weren’t watching every noble who passed through.
Too many for ceremony. Too well-positioned for coincidence.
Baldir had been right to trust his instincts.
The old soldier in my chest recognized it too, that familiar sense of walking into a prepared position while pretending not to notice the blade behind the handshake.
These guards weren’t ceremonial. Their positioning was too deliberate, their weapons too ready, their eyes too watchful.
They cataloged us the same way we cataloged them, and somewhere a list was being made of exactly how many men House de Blaise had brought and exactly where each one would sleep tonight.
The entrance hall stretched long and high-vaulted, lined with banners from visiting houses and past victories.
House Vaelmont’s silver stag hung beside House Ironhold’s black tower.
The red serpent of House Vennar coiled next to the crossed hammers of House Gorrick.
Two dozen houses at least, all represented in silk and thread.
Perfect positions for crossbowmen, if anyone decided to use them that way.
“Impressive,” Baldir murmured, though his tone suggested he found it anything but comforting .
The steward turned back with that practiced smile. “Duke Hemmrich takes great pride in his collection. Every banner represents a house that has competed in his tournaments over the years. A tradition spanning four generations of Hemmrich hospitality.”
Four generations of gathering young nobles under one roof, I thought. Four generations of opportunities to observe who was rising, who was falling, and who might be useful.
“Your chambers are on the second floor,” the steward continued, “overlooking the tournament grounds. You’ll have an excellent view of tomorrow’s opening ceremonies.”
Overlooking. Easy to watch from below. Easy to track our movements, count our visitors, note who came and went and when. Armand caught my eye and looked away without expression. He’d noticed the same thing.
“How thoughtful,” I said, letting childish enthusiasm color my voice. “We’ll be able to see everything from up there!”
Baldir shot me a warning look, but the steward seemed pleased by my response. Young and easily impressed. Exactly what a thirteen-year-old should be.
“Indeed, young master. The Duke specifically requested these rooms for service to the realm.”
Service. Another word that could mean anything and nothing. The steward led us up a curved stone staircase, each step worn smooth by countless feet over countless years. Guards stood at every landing, nodding as we passed but watching with eyes that tracked every movement.
◇ ◆ ◇
“Here we are,” the steward announced, pushing open heavy oak doors.
The chamber beyond sprawled larger than any barracks room back home.
A central living space dominated the layout, complete with a fireplace already crackling with fresh-lit flames, a dining table large enough for eight, and chairs arranged around tall windows that did indeed overlook the tournament grounds.
Four doorways led to smaller chambers along the walls. Four rooms for the three of us, and the math didn’t escape my notice.
“Each of you has private quarters,” the steward explained, gesturing to the side rooms. “The fourth remains available should additional arrangements be needed. Perhaps for a personal servant or trusted companion.”
Or a spy. Or an assassin. Or whoever else might want access to our rooms while we slept.
Baldir claimed the room nearest the main door without discussion.
Armand took the one beside it. I moved toward the third, noting how the empty fourth chamber provided clear sightlines to the entrance.
The steward watched our choices with professional interest but made no comment.
He’d probably seen dozens of noble families make the same calculations, arrange themselves in the same defensive patterns.
“Servants will bring your luggage shortly,” he said. “Hot water for bathing has been prepared in the adjoining chamber. Duke Hemmrich dresses formally for evening gatherings.”
“One more thing,” the steward said as we examined our accommodations. “Duke Hemmrich prefers an informal meeting with visiting nobles before the tournament begins. Wine and conversation, an opportunity to meet your fellow competitors before the formality of the opening ceremonies.”
His smile held steady, but all of us knew the invitation carried no option of refusal.
“When?” Baldir asked.
“This evening. After you’ve had time to settle and refresh yourselves.” The steward folded his hands in front of him. “I’ll send a page to escort you when the hour arrives.”
He bowed, precisely the correct depth for heirs of a lesser house visiting a Duke’s estate, and withdrew. The door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow managed to sound like a lock engaging.
None of us moved for a long moment.
Then Baldir crossed to the windows and made a show of admiring the view while actually checking for anyone watching from below.
Armand drifted toward the fireplace, warming his hands while examining the chimney for anything that shouldn’t be there.
I stayed in the center of the room, every instinct from two lifetimes telling me we weren’t alone.
“Nice accommodations,” Armand said, his voice carrying just enough appreciation to sound genuine to any listeners. “Duke Hemmrich certainly knows how to treat his guests.”
“Better than the tents,” Baldir agreed, still studying the tournament grounds. “Father spoke highly of Hemmrich hospitality.”
Words said for the benefit of whoever was listening. The real conversation would have to wait.
I moved toward my assigned chamber, playing the part of an excited child eager to explore his temporary home.
The room was smaller than the main space but still larger than anything I’d called my own in either lifetime.
Narrow bed against the far wall, writing desk beneath the window, wardrobe in the corner.
I ran my hands along the window frame, feeling for loose stones or hidden catches.
Nothing obvious. Desk drawers slid open smooth and silent, revealing only parchment, ink, and a small knife for cutting quills.
The bed frame seemed solid, but the space beneath was large enough to hide a man if he didn’t mind lying still.
The Red Gale would have found four ways to kill someone in this room and found ways to escape if needed. Young Danarre just saw furniture.
When I returned to the main chamber, Armand was kneeling beside the fireplace, arranging kindling while actually examining the chimney for hidden passages or listening posts.
Baldir stood by the windows with his arms crossed, watching the tournament grounds with the focus of a general studying a battlefield.
“Clean,” I reported.
“Same,” Armand said, standing and dusting his hands on his trousers.
Baldir turned from the windows, and for a moment his expression shifted. The careful distance he’d maintained since leaving home, the acknowledgment of rank without warmth, fell away.
“Close the door,” he said.
I did. The click of the latch seemed louder than it should have been.
“In this room,” Baldir said, dropping into a chair at the central table, “we’re not House de Blaise. Not senior captain, second captain, junior captain.” He leaned forward, elbows on wood. “We’re three men who need to get home alive. ”
For the first time since I’d known him, Baldir de Blaise looked worried.
“Something’s wrong here. I don’t know what yet.” His jaw tightened. “But we’re going to find out. Tonight.”
◇ ◆ ◇
「Hel’s Ledger」
Vessel: Danarre de Blaise | Year 828 | Age 13
House de Blaise | Status: Bastard (Unacknowledged)
Location: Duke Hemmrich’s Estate, Main Keep
「Knight of Swords」 — Burning
「Emperor」 — Sleeping
「Magician」 — Sleeping
Active Charge: Find the Hierophant. End what was begun.
The vessel is wary. Too many looks on with greed. Familiar places in another life.