Chapter 9
Richard’s boots rang over the flagstones as he crossed the outer courtyard with Dain. Servants in the midst of chores bowed in his wake, some flashing smiles at Kaelen, who trailed behind.
“It was Galdran,” Richard said to Dain, keeping his voice low.
“It is no coincidence that the Sanguis Order is a western coven. Galdran must have spoken to them in their dreams. Promised them power, perhaps. He is laying stones across a river. It matters not that the veil has not yet fallen. He can still reach me. Reach my people—”
“Don’t be thinking that, lad,” Dain said firmly. “Maybe it was Galdran. Maybe he did try to get the little one’s blood, but he failed. You made him fail. Remember that.”
They quietened on entering the castle’s hallways and had just neared the royal quarters when one of Dianara’s sorcerer apprentices hurried towards them.
“Your Majesty!” he blurted, dipping into a half-bow over the box he carried.
“We received a falcon an hour ago.” He straightened, a shock of freckles across his cheeks.
“The Chief Mage is on their way back from the veil. They intend to speak to you, Your Majesty. Said the matter was too important to put in a letter.”
Richard’s heart lurched. That meant bad news.
“Do we need to rely on falcons?” Dain frowned at the sorcerer. “Don’t you magic people have a crystal ball or something?”
The sorcerer quailed. “N-no, my lord. I mean, crystal balls can only receive a message as far as a wellspring stretches, and it needs both mages to be able to hold the connection. With such a distance, the Chief could manage it, but we’ve none on our end to hold it.”
Richard studied the shrouded box in the sorcerer’s arms. Something within glowed. “What do you carry?”
“Two of the recovered items, Your Majesty, from the witches.” The sorcerer shifted the cloth aside to reveal a bone—a human’s mandible—bound with dark hair, and a pair of shining orange gemstones.
“A leech-anchor.” The sorcerer pointed at the bone. “The hair and bone belong to a Threadbourne. It is worked with runes, so the witch might pull at the victim’s tie to the Threads. Enough to leech and borrow power.”
Richard grimaced. Such practice had been outlawed for sixty years, but clearly, the Sanguis Order cared little. He nodded at the gems. “And those?”
“Tracking gems, Your Majesty,” the boy said eagerly. “A rare matched pair. A very gifted and old hedge witch has blessed them. When close together, they grow hot, and when far apart, they become cold.”
“Pass me them.”
The sorcerer used the cloth to place the stones in Richard’s palm. They were hot as potatoes baked in the oven. Richard separated them, holding one in each hand, and their glow faded a smidge.
“I shall keep one,” he said, placing the other in the box. “Have the other set into a necklace. Something fine and pretty to wear beneath a dress. Have a word with Master Katherine, the goldsmith. It is to be done by tonight.”
“At once, Your Majesty.”
The boy trotted away. Richard watched him go and tucked the remaining stone into the inner pocket of his tunic.
Dain leaned against a tapestry of Eirwen, the god of winter, slaying the ice dragon of Aberon. “A necklace’s a fine idea. Especially with the lassie’s tendency to get into trouble.”
Richard sighed. Would that he didn’t need it. “Keep an eye on her, Dain. I do not want her leaving the castle until we have this coven captured entirely. And assign her a personal guard to follow her at a distance.”
“Aye, I’ll ensure it, lad.”
The sound of children laughing from the courtyard drifted through the arched windows, and the smell of baked bread filled the air.
But otherwise, the hallway was quiet, free of others, and in that quiet, Kaelen’s silence became impossible to ignore.
The knight stood there, at his father’s shoulder, his jaw tight and eyes stern, and Richard’s temper, worn thin already by the dungeons and Dianara’s ominous return, frayed.
“What?” he snapped.
Kaelen blinked. “My king?”
“Do not pretend.” Richard’s lip curled as he stalked closer. “You have been sulking like a child since we left the dungeons. If you have something to say, Sir Knight, say it. I am in no state of mind to interpret your silences.”
For a moment, it seemed Kaelen would hold his tongue. His jaw clenched tighter, and his gauntleted hands flexed at his sides. But then, his eyes flashed, and the dam broke.
“You toyed with him,” Kaelen spat. “You sat before a broken, chained man, held his face, and spun lies about his lovers being enslaved, spoke of gelding a man. Can you not see, my king, you were not yourself?”
Richard gave a disbelieving laugh. “Truly? This is what vexes you so?” He spread his arms. “That man abetted witches who almost gutted my sister. Had my sword been a heartbeat slower, Briony’s blood would have flooded the yard.
What would you have had me do? Entreat him gently?
Offer him tea and biscuits and hope he feels generous? ”
“Do not make me seem a fool!” Kaelen’s cheeks coloured. “There are depths to which you, of all people, ought not lower yourself. You used a man’s love as a blade against him. That is not—”
“Not what?” Richard sneered. “Not seemly? You naively cling to honour as though that would stop Gloamvarn’s forces. Think you Galdran respects those same principles? He will flay your skin and use it as kindling.”
The mention of Galdran made Kaelen gnash his teeth. “Then we must fight without becoming such filth!”
A serving girl who’d been approaching from the far end squeaked and fled the other way.
Richard closed the distance and thudded his fist against Kaelen’s breastplate.
“There is a war coming.” He struck the breastplate again.
“And if your father falls—” Thud. “If General Barlow falls. If Sarn falls—” Thud.
“If Ivelle falls—” He seized the rim of Kaelen’s breastplate and wrenched him down so their eyes were level.
“It will be you who must lead the armies that remain. You. A knight of twenty-four who now whines to me about ugly words spoken to an accomplice to treason. I suggest, Sir Kaelen, that you grow up. And that you do so quickly.”
Kaelen breathed hard. “I will lead if called upon, Your Majesty.” Each word was gritted out. “But I will not shed my beliefs, for we are nothing without our compassion and mercy.”
Disbelief blistered through Richard. How? How could one man be so infuriating?
“Very well,” Richard hissed. “Cling tight to your morals.” He shoved Kaelen back, though the knight stayed rooted. “And may you be there with those spotless hands of yours when Galdran mounts my body on a pike.”
Kaelen flinched even as his glare deepened. Richard glared back, and for a moment, neither spoke—
“That’s enough!” Dain wedged between them, one brawny palm flat against Richard’s chest, and the other against Kaelen’s breastplate.
“Gods be damned, the pair of you, barking like dogs in a place where half the bloody castle has ears. You—” He jabbed a thick finger at Kaelen.
“Go walk the perimeter and cool that head of yours.”
Kaelen’s mouth opened with a scowl.
“Now, boy.”
Kaelen’s jaw clamped shut. He bowed stiffly and strode away, his cloak billowing.
Dain rounded on Richard, brows furrowed so deeply that they almost touched. “And you. Go rest.”
Richard huffed, his knuckles throbbing from where he’d struck Kaelen’s armour and the furious words he’d not had a chance to say writhing in the cage of his ribs. “I am perfectly well—”
“To bed, boy. Now.”
With a final glower at where Kaelen had stood, Richard turned on his heel and marched towards his chambers.