Duchess
Author: Nicolette Andrews
Date: 2014-05-09 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Historical Romance; Historical Fiction; Mystery; Romance
Description: A murder confession was all he left behind. She thought she knew her husband. But everyone has secrets, and some secrets can kill. Damara had the perfect husband. Ever since the war started, she’d been prepared for this moment: when a messenger arrived to inform her of his death. What she hadn’t expected was his sister, the Queen, to deliver the news. And nothing could have prepared her for the truth: he was a murderer and the king’s spy. While trying to uncover a plot against the king, he was killed. Before he died, he left evidence behind and put his wife and son in danger. Now it’s up to Da
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Rights: All rights reserved (#2144856852863368)

Contents

Copyright

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Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About the Author

Cast of Characters

Copyright © 2014 Nicolette Andrews

Cover Art by Nadica Borshivka

Edited By Pauline Nolet

All rights reserved.

This novella would not be possible without the following people: Mel for her love of Damara, this book is for you. I want to thank Monica for her enthusiasm as she read my first draft. I thank Nadica for another gorgeous cover and Pauline for her editing and great feedback. I cannot neglect to mention my husband and children who are endlessly supportive. And last but not least, you dear reader, without you all of this would be for naught.

Be sure to check out Diviner’s Prophecy the first book in the Diviner’s Trilogy and for a limited time you can get the second book in the diviner’s trilogy for free as well when you sign up for my reader’s newlsetter.

Click here for Diviner’s Prophecy: books2read.com/divinersprophecy

Click here for a free copy of Diviner’s Curse: http://www.fantasyauthornicoletteandrews.com/diviners-curse-free-ebook/

Chapter One

There are moments that change your life forever. The day my husband had ridden off to war I had known this moment was coming. Every day that passed, I was waiting without realizing what I was waiting for. The messenger was shown into the parlor by my maid. I was working on a bit of embroidery when my maid announced him.

The world slowed down around the two of us. I stood up, my heart thumping in my chest. In his hand he clutched a roll of parchment; the royal seal dangled from the ribbon that tied it. I had known this message was coming, but I still denied the truth. It’s just a letter. Someone is inviting me to a party, perhaps.

The messenger fidgeted, stepping from one foot to the other. He squeezed the parchment tight as he held it out to me. His garments were blue, with silver stitching on the border. On his breast was a silver oak tree. He was a palace messenger. It was strange that I would focus on such a small detail at a time like this, but I did. I reached for it, my fingers touching the soft vellum of the parchment. He avoided looking me in the eyes, but I saw the pity reflected there. I don’t need your pity. I have been waiting for this moment. I broke the royal seal with shaking hands. My eyes scanned the paper, devouring the words written there.

I wanted to deny the truth, to lie to myself, but lying would do me no good. No matter how much I had prepared myself for this moment, it did not make it hurt any less. The truth was printed there in an elegant hand.

Duchess Damara Florett,

We regret to inform you of the passing of your lord husband, Duke Artor Florett. His grace died valiantly in his service to King Dallen Raleban, King of Danhad. It is in part because of his efforts that we are winning in our fight against Neaux…

I could not stomach reading the rest. I crumpled the paper and considered tossing it into the fire.

“I’m sorry to bring you these sad tidings, your grace,” the messenger said. His voice sounded as if it were a thousand miles away underwater.

I felt as if I were drowning. I couldn’t breathe.

I glanced up at the messenger. He was wringing his hands, perhaps for want of something to say. Nothing you can say will restore his life. The messenger was young, perhaps in his fifteenth year, not even a man. All the men are dead because of this bloody war. They only have boys left to comfort widows like me. I swayed on my feet and collapsed into a nearby chair. An embroidery needle stabbed me in the thigh. The pain brought me back to reality. I pulled the needle from my flesh, and my hand was streaked with blood.

I stared at my bloody hand, and a host of horrible images flashed through my mind: Artor lying on the ground, blood congealing around him. Artor’s body twisted, his limbs bent at unnatural angles, his clothing torn and bloodied. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. He’s dead. Artor is dead… I had been expecting this for so long, yet I had also prayed that I would never have to face this moment.

“Your grace, is there anything else I can do?” the messenger asked. His voice was hesitant, uncertain.

He sees me as breakable. He’ll return to the palace, and the rumors will fly about how I lost control when Artor died. I will not let them think me weak. Under normal circumstances, I would not have shown my true feelings so openly, but no matter how you prepare yourself, you cannot harden your heart to the death of a loved one.

I reached into my pocket where I kept my coin purse. I stood up and tossed my hair back over my shoulders. I am strong. I will not let anyone think otherwise. I crossed the room to the messenger and pressed a coin into his hand. “You may go. The cook will see you fed, and my housekeeper can find you a place to stay the night.” I showed him to the door. Even in times of grief I must show hospitality.

He sputtered his thanks upon seeing the silver coin. I smiled as he bowed out of the room.

I closed the door after him and leaned my forehead against the polished wood. I let go a ragged breath. This has to be a nightmare. I will close my eyes, and he’ll come through that door and tell me everything is going to be fine. I stayed there a moment and let my breathing return to normal. Artor didn’t come. He wouldn’t ever come again. I have to tell Layton. Emotion was tangled in my throat. Be strong. You are a rock. I checked my appearance in the mirror above a table on the far wall. My eyes were swollen and red with unshed tears, with bags beneath them besides. I straightened a stray auburn curl and dabbed my eyes where the tears had gathered against my lashes.

The servants were whispering in the entryway as I exited the parlor. When they saw me, they scattered. Either they had heard from the messenger about Artor or they had made the deduction themselves. No one received a royal missive during times of war unless it was ill tidings. The servants were well trained enough to stay clear of me.

My son, Layton, was in his chambers with his tutor. I eased the door open and stood watching him for a few moments. His hair was long, down to his shoulders. Its hue was similar to mine, but his had less red and more blond. His cheeks were round and flushed. I suspected he had just come in from practice with our master of arms. Short curls framed his face and softened his features.

At least I still have you. The emotions were threatening to bury me once more. I clutched at the front of my bodice; the fabric threatened to tear beneath my fingers. Perhaps this should wait until my thoughts are more organized. Then Layton turned his head and spotted me. His emerald eyes lit up, and he ran for me, hands outstretched.

“Mama!” he cried.

I kneeled down and gathered him into my arms. I buried my face into his neck and inhaled his scent. He smelled like grass and the faint scent of lye soap.

I must have hugged him a little too tight and for too long because he asked, “Mama, what’s wrong?”

I gazed upon his face. His eyebrows were pulled together, and it pinched his features, but I thought him precious despite it. He looked so much like me. I saw so little of his father in his features. Just the sweep of his nose and those darling rose-petal lips belonged to Artor. The rest—his chin, his eyes, his hair even his temperament—all me. Goddess, help me.

I brushed a few errant tears away.

“Layton, there’s something I need to tell you,” I began.

He clutched my hand tight. His shoulders tensed as he frowned at me. I led him over to one of his child-sized couches. We sat down, with him in my lap. Since it was made for a child’s size, the skirt of my gown enveloped the entire thing. I pulled my son close to me and nuzzled him, breathing in the scent of him. My boy.

“Mama?” he questioned me.

I took another deep breath. I must be strong for him.

“Layton, darling, I received a letter from the king… about Papa.”

His small body tensed against mine. “When is Papa coming home?”

Never again. I looked away to collect myself lest the tears fall unbidden. I pushed back his curls from his face to avoid answering for a moment. “Papa is not coming home, darling.”

“He promised me!” He pushed against me and withdrew from my grasp. He stared at me with hands balled into fists. Tears were brimming along his lashes and falling over his cherubic cheeks.

“Darling, I know it’s hard to understand, but Papa went to fight for the king. He fought very bravely… however, even brave men die…” My voice shook, and it was difficult to continue.

Layton took a step back, shaking his head. “No. You’re lying. Papa wouldn’t leave me.” Layton ran from me and out of the room. I watched him go with tears falling down my face.

The tutor had snuck out some time after I had come in. I was left alone among my son’s things—his petite writing desk, the books and parchments with childish scribbles strewn about. I sat there a while, letting the tears fall and focusing on nothing in particular. I should move, go find my son. But I did not have the energy to do anything but sit and cry.

After a while, I stood up. I had to find Layton. I couldn’t let our conversation end this way. I had to help him accept the truth.

When will I be able to accept the truth?

I went out into the garden. I knew where he would go. Whenever he was upset, he always went to the same place.

The garden was empty. The gardener had finished for the day. My footsteps echoed off the paving stones, and in the distance, I could hear the ocean’s roar. The manor was not close enough to see the ocean from the garden, but I could smell the salt in the air and the slight tang of fish. At the edge of the garden, beside a wall, was a large oak tree. It was ancient, and if you climbed up high enough, you could see the ocean, and that is where I found my son.

He was sitting in the crook of the tree, his knees drawn up to his chest as he stared at the ocean in the distance. I sat down at the base of the tree and said nothing. I spread out my skirt to give my idle hands something to do. Layton did not acknowledge me. His feet scraped along the branch as he shifted about to turn further away from me. We sat like that in silence for some time, both lost in our thoughts.

“He promised me he would come back. He said he would take me on one of the ships when he came back,” Layton said after a long time.

“I know, darling,” I said. I would not make excuses for my husband. I had known the risk when he had marched off to war.

He was silent for a while longer. After a few more minutes, I heard the scrape of his shoes upon the bark again, followed by a few leaves drifting down. He plopped down on the ground beside me. He stood a few feet from me, and under one arm he carried a small carved box.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Our secrets,” he replied. He glanced down at the box with a frown wrinkling his cherubic face.

“Secrets?” I asked, trying to inject some levity into my tone, but I feared it fell flat.

He nodded. “Papa asked me to guard his secrets. He told me I was to protect them with all my might.”

My heart skipped a beat in my chest. He left Layton something to hold onto, but me, nothing at all. It was a selfish thought that I had to squash quickly. Layton was a child, and I was his wife. I knew the risks, I reminded myself.

“Are mothers allowed in on the secret?” I asked.

He nodded his head. “Papa told me you could see it, if you wanted.”

He slid the box over to me across the grass. I took it with shaking hands. It was like holding a part of Artor. I opened the lid of the box. It was, as I should have expected from a box belonging to a little boy, full of odds and ends: a seashell, a wooden soldier, a few sticks and leaves, and then, in the corner, a locket. It had a stylized flower, the symbol of our house, House Florett. I plucked it out from the bric-a-brac.

Layton inhaled. “Papa said this was my magic necklace. If I was ever missing him, it would bring him back to me.”

I touched the flower, outlining the petals and then the stems and leaves with my fingertip. “Do you think it works?” I asked. My voice shook.

He shook his head. “No, I’ve been holding it all day, and nothing has changed.”

I put my arm around his shoulder and brought him close. We didn’t say anything for a long time. I stroked the locket, thinking of better times. My thumb caught on the edge of the locket, a latch to open it. I pressed it, and the locket opened. Inside there was an inscription.

Remember the old oak tree. That is where I’ll be.

I sat up straighter and stared at the words carved into the locket. They seemed familiar, but why? I must be grasping at straws. I’m desperate for a final message from him. I should save myself the heartache and quit looking for one. My husband was dead.

Chapter Two

As expected, the entire house had gone into mourning. We wore black, the paintings were hung with black sheets, and the entire manor seemed encased in silence, as if everyone feared to raise their voices. I spent much of my time in Artor’s study. It was a large room lined with books. The centerpiece of the room was the fireplace carved from stone with the stylized representations of the twelve houses of Danhad. In the center was a large oak tree. Its twisting branches reached out to the sides of the fireplace, and tangled within the limbs were each house symbol: a flower for House Florett, a craggy mountain for House Slatone, a bird in flight for House Magdale, and many others that had been worn smooth by time. The oak had a thick trunk with a round knot in the center made of granite.

What do I do now? I wondered. Where do I go from here? Artor had raised me above my station, and now that he was gone, I was not sure I could stand alone. A knock at the door drew me from my own thoughts.

I glanced up, startled. “Come in,” I called.

My chambermaid slipped into the room. Her feet hardly made a sound as she crossed the floor. She carried in her hand a silver tray with a chalice and some meat and bread. She set the platter down at my elbow. I had no appetite, but I accepted the food without complaint. I would nibble on it, just for show. I refused to let anyone, even my staff, think that I was weak and let them see how this tragedy had affected me.

“There is a letter that came for you, your grace,” she said in her soft voice.

A folded piece of parchment was set on the tray beside my food. “Thank you, you’re dismissed.” I waved her away.

She curtsied and slipped back out without another word. I ignored my food and stared out the arched windows that the desk faced. I could see the hint of the sea on the horizon, and gulls were wheeling through the air. If I could fly away, I would. I would sprout wings and rise above this grief. I would never look back, just let the wind carry me where it would.

Tears were threatening once more, but I dared not let them fall. I am strong, I told myself; it was my twisted mantra. I can stand on my own without him. There was a stack of paperwork waiting for me. Until Layton reached his majority, it would fall to me to make household decisions—I must agree to the price for wool that our tenant farmers were selling. I had to decide if the tax for the merchant ships heading north to Jerauch was enough or not. We had a seneschal for these things, my husband had appointed one before he had left for war, but if I was to prove I could be mistress of this household, I needed to take a firmer hand with the running of the estate. The numbers and words only seemed to swirl about in my head. I pinched my brow and leaned my elbows on the tabletop. I have to keep moving forward. If I don’t, my grief will catch up with me and I will drown.

I stayed locked in the study for hours, trying to work. I pinched my brow. The light was starting to fade, and I had to squint to see. I had not touched my food or the missive which had arrived with it. I stood up and stretched, letting the tight muscles relax.

What am I doing? I should leave this to more qualified men. I looked back to the desk and sighed. I’ve done enough for tonight.

I went to bed and spent a restless night under the covers. Despite my best intentions, sleep often evaded me. My nights were haunted by Artor. Once I dreamed he rode back to White Crest on a white horse. When I cried and told him I thought he died, he only laughed and pinched my nose like he often did. When I woke from that dream, I cried bitter tears only to scrub them in the washing dish so my maid would not see that I had cried. Other nights I dreamed of his death. The official letter did not give details, but my subconscious was happy to supply a host of gruesome images to fill in the gaps. I returned to the study, exhausted, and my limbs leaden. Despite my fatigue, I was determined to get through the paperwork.

The maid knocked at the door at her usual time. I called for her to enter and squinted at a document about the previous year’s barley harvest. The sums may have been in Neaux for all the sense I could make of them. The door creaked open, but I paid it little mind. I got up to look for a book that might help me translate the figures. I let my hands roll over the spines of Artor’s books. Artor appreciated the written word. He loved to read. He even collected books. He had a variety of first editions, everything from religious texts to collections of children’s stories.

The footsteps had stopped, and the chambermaid cleared her throat.

“Just take away the dishes, and don’t bother with supper. I haven’t much of an appetite,” I said without turning around.

“I did not come here to clean up after you.” The voice was cool, and a chill ran up my spine.

My back was rigid. My hand fell to my side. No. She wouldn’t come here, not now…

I turned slowly. Hoping I was imagining things. It is my tired mind playing tricks on me, surely. She stood in the center of the room, her head tilted upward so she could look down at me over her nose. Her gown was violet with folds of velvet and intricate beading on the bodice. Her blond hair was braided into a cornet on top of her head. She looked composed and at ease, though I knew she must have travelled several days to get here.

I bowed, my black gown nearly brushing against the parquet floor. I stared at the floor to avoid her seeing my shocked expression. She knows Artor is dead, and she’s come to blame me for it.

“Your Majesty,” I said to the floor, “to what do I owe the honor?”

The queen sniffed. “Sit down, Duchess Florett; this is not a social call. From your black gown, I can see you’ve received the news of my brother’s death.”

She spoke the words casually, as if we were discussing the color of her gown. Which was not black, I could not help but notice. How dare you come here as I grieve! You never loved him—he was a tool to you.

“Did the servants inform you of your brother’s death upon your arrival? That can be the only reason you are not wearing mourning.” My words had more bite than I intended. I had no need for nice words for her now that Artor was gone.

She glared at me and then swept over to a couch nearby and sat down. “I instructed your maid to bring us tea. We must talk.”

My hands were shaking, but I hid them in my gown as I sat down across from her. “I thought you said this was not a social call.”

She did not dignify my rudeness with a reply. “I take it you read my letter?”

I glanced at the letter unopened on the desk, then back to the queen. “I hadn’t the chance. It was kind of you to give me so much warning before arriving while I was in the midst of mourning. It was… generous of you.”

Her lips compressed, and her eyes narrowed. “If there was time to delay, I would have taken it, but given that there is no time to spare, I had to dispatch with the niceties.”

I was opening my mouth to reply when the maid came in with the tea things. Do not let them see your anger. I bit down on my lip and waited for her to serve the tea. The chambermaid’s hands shook so bad from nerves, she sloshed tea over the side of the cup. A brown stain spread across her apron and onto the linen set across the tray. I stood up and took the kettle and the cup from her, with a smile. I must be a gracious hostess. Don’t let her see how she affects you.

“I’ll serve the queen,” I said.

The maid gave me a grateful smile before bobbing a bow and exiting quickly out the door.

I poured the queen her tea and added a few lumps of sugar. Sugar was an indulgence I had denied myself. Sugar and other spices were scarce with trade routes from the north and west cut off by the war. Given the status of my visitor, I suspected my maid thought it prudent to provide our best rations.

I handed the queen the cup, and as I did so, our eyes met. I looked away, disgusted by the judgmental stare I received from her.

“Since you did not take the time to read my letter, I suppose I will need to fill you in on the details,” she said before taking a sip of her tea. She grimaced. “It’s bitter.” She set it down on the tray with a small clink.

“If you must,” I replied as I took a sip of my tea. It was too hot, and it burned my tongue. I choked it down to prove a point, just like I had been choking down the withering gazes she sent my way.

“I only heard a week ago of my brother’s demise. It seems he was stationed with a garrison of soldiers just outside of Keisan, in a town called Redfield. They were set upon in the night by a group of unidentified men, almost every man was slain.”

I stared at the fireplace as I let her words wash over me. “Why do you say ‘unidentified’? Surely they were Neaux—it must have been some sort of sneak attack.” I gripped the handle of my teacup hard enough to snap it. I would rather not be discussing this—anything other than the details of my husband’s death.

“Officially, it was a Neaux attack,” the queen replied.

I glanced at her for the first time. She was sitting with her hands folded in her lap, her gaze focused on me.

“And unofficially?” I asked. My heart seemed to have leapt into my throat. Why did she come here, really? Why would she risk travel in the middle of a war to tell me about my husband’s death when I’ve had it all written down in a letter from the Commander of the Army?

“Unofficially? We are not sure. There was one survivor, and he claims he saw Danhadines before the attack started.”

I toppled my teacup in surprise. The tea soaked the fabric, and the warmth radiated through me. “You mean Artor was killed by our own men. Why would someone do this?”

“That’s what I don’t know. The source is somewhat… unreliable… I was hoping you could help me answer that question.”

I stared at her for a moment, my mouth gaping open. “Why me? Artor never wrote to me about the war. I had not heard anything from him in months…”

She pursed her lips and sighed. “The truth is my brother wasn’t fighting. He was investigating something for the king, and I want to know what it was.”

My stomach dropped. I had suspected as much. Artor kept strange hours when he was at White Crest, our home, and he would often be up late writing letters. Messengers came and went often. He spent much of his time away and left me behind, far from the eyes of court—at first I thought he was ashamed of me, because of my low birth. Then one night I saw him speaking with a strange man in his study. It was past midnight. They were talking about a ceremony or a ritual, I was not certain—whoever he was, he was gone the next day. I tried to ask Artor about him, but he denied the entire thing. After that, I pretended not to notice, but I had long wondered why the king would call forth a man to fight who was more inclined to books than swords.

“What could I possibly do?” I croaked.

“Did my brother tell you anything about his work for the king?”

“Not in so many words.”

She chuckled. “Typical.” For a moment, I saw past her prickly veneer to the woman beneath it. Artor’s sister, the girl he had grown up with. She looked up at me, and the mask replaced her real face once more. “I think Artor was killed to cover up a secret. Anything you know could help me discover what it was.”

I felt cold all over as if a bucket of sea water had been dumped over my head. “Are you saying Arthur was murdered?”

She nodded. I closed my eyes. The truth was harder to swallow than I thought. I had known yet refused to acknowledge the truth: my husband was a court spy.

“Why me?” I asked. “You made no illusions regarding how you felt about Artor and my marriage.”

She stiffened and looked past me and out the window, as if she could not face me. “You were beneath his station. He was a duke, and you were…”

“Descended from Danhadine royalty,” I said. I stood up and walked over to the fireplace. If I was too close to her, I might do something I would regret.

“Your father is a merchant—”

“And my mother was a princess of Danhad. You can discount my paternity, but you cannot deny my mother’s line.”

“Your mother was a princess of Danhad. She gave up her title when she was disinherited for her choice of husband. House Florett is one of twelve, and we have had a place at the right hand of the throne for generations of kings. Artor would have been better to find a less…”

“Scandalous bride?” I supplied.

She frowned. “Someone who could further his political career.”

“Damn him for marrying for love!” I took a step towards her. “How dare you come here and speak so callously of him. He was your brother, even if you dislike me or think I am beneath you. You could at least do him the respect of honoring his memory and wearing the mourning black, for a week at least.” I pointed a finger at her gown, with its embroidery and beads. Just the sight of her disgusted me.

The queen did not flinch at my tirade, and I had to admit, I was impressed she could withstand my temper.

“Are you quite finished?”

“No! We are not your pawns. I am not to be used and discarded as you wish.” I would have demanded she leave, but she was still the queen.

“I know we’ve had our differences.”

I scoffed.

She sighed again. “I have nowhere else to turn, no one I can trust. Artor should not have died in vain. I need to know why they killed my brother.” There were tears gathered along her lashes. Despite that, I was not moved.

I shook my head. I could not. No, I would not. This is the world that killed Artor. He was murdered for whatever he was investigating. I had Layton to think of and White Crest. I leaned on the fireplace as I looked away from her, and my hand pressed against the round knot in the center of the oak tree. It moved, and then a small door popped open, revealing a hidden compartment. I gasped. There was something inside. I closed it before the queen could see.

“My place is here with my son. I am sorry, Idella. I cannot help you.” I used her given name as a barb, to turn her away.

That ended the conversation. She would leave, and I would settle into my life as a widow. I need to be here for my son, to watch him grow up.

She sighed again, and the sound grated against me. She was judging me again, and I did not measure up. “I will stay the night and leave in the morning. If you change your mind, you can come with me to the palace.”

I looked her in the eye. “I won’t change my mind.”

She smiled, or something like it. She pulled her lips back, revealing her teeth, but it was more a grimace than anything.

“Before you make your final decision, read the letter I sent you.”

I showed her to the door and instructed the staff to set her up in the best guest chamber. When she left, I walked back over to the table where the letter remained unopened. I picked it up off the table and broke the wax seal. Inside was a note from the queen announcing her arrival, and beneath that was another sealed envelope with my name, Damara, written on it. It was written in Artor’s hand.

Chapter Three

My hands shook. Are these words from Artor beyond the grave or a trick conceived by his sister? I cracked the seal. It was House Florett’s seal, a stylized flower. Pieces of wax crumbled and fell to the floor. It’s old; how long ago did Artor write this? I read the first few lines, and tears clouded my vision. I took a seat on the couch and continued reading.

Darling, it began, I will not mince words because by the time you receive this letter, I will be gone. I imagined a hundred different ways in which I would deliver this news to you. I wish it could have been different. You know how I feel about you, and I hope you will not hold it against me that I do not waste time with long good-byes. To cut to the heart of it, I have for some time now been in secret employ of our king—the past two kings, to be exact. I am a spy. My family has for generations dedicated themselves to the service of the throne. We find information on behalf of the royal family.

I write this to you now because I am leaving on a mission I suspect I will not return from. There are things happening here in the kingdom which I have only scratched the surface of. Darling, if I were not desperate, I would never dream to ask this of you. I need your help. There are those in the kingdom who wish to do harm to us and to change our very way of life. I plan to stop them, for what little good that I can do, and when I perish, find out who killed me and stop them from doing what I suspect they are about.

I promised I would be there for you always, and I am sorry I have to break that promise.

Remember the old oak tree. For there I will be.

Yours eternally,

Artor

I crumpled up the paper, and hot tears slid down my face. Nearly twelve years of marriage and he could not spare a line to tell me he loved me? I was hurt, and more than that, I was angry. I was angry at him for dying, for keeping secrets from me, and most of all angry that he would ask this of me.

He knows I can deny him nothing. That is why he sent this letter to me. He knows I will not refuse.

I looked down at the parchment. Before I could think twice about it, I threw the parchment in the fire. The edges smoked and curled in on the center. His signature remained as the rest burned, taunting me. I watched as my husband’s final words to me turned to ash. I should not have burned it; it was all I had left. I panicked and nearly reached into the flames to retrieve the ashes but thought better of it. What’s done is done. Artor is gone. I stood for a long time, watching the flames with my arms wrapped around myself.

When I had the courage at last, I pressed on the knot in the oak upon the fireplace. The hidden door swung open, and I reached inside. The stones were warm from the fire as I groped within. At first I thought it was empty, and then my hand closed around a warm metal chain. I withdrew my hand, and out came a chain with a pendant. I swung it before my eyes to examine it. A long silver chain, it seemed for a woman’s neck, and the pendant was a silver circle. I flipped it over. The image was an oak tree; spreading branches touched a raised circle that surrounded it.

Remember the old oak tree. For there I will be.

I put the chain around my neck. It settled between my breasts. He’s left me clues, but I know not how to puzzle them out. I threw my head back to stare at the long shadows dancing along the ceiling. What does this mean? An oak tree? A necklace? None of it makes sense. One thing was clear: I would have to journey to court to find the answers.

I waited until morning to tell Idella of my plans to join her at court. She seemed unsurprised by my declaration, which only infuriated me. She played me, and I danced to her tune. Despite my frustration, I could not get Artor’s words out of my mind. If I were not desperate, I would never dream to ask this of you… Artor was a resourceful man. If he was leaning upon me, he must have been desperate. And if I was being truthful, I wanted vengeance; if I found the people responsible for his death, then maybe I could find closure and an escape from my grief.

Arrangements were made for travel. I was to bring my lady’s maids and a few of my household. Prior to her arrival, Idella had arranged for Layton to foster with Duke Ilore. The duke had married King Dallen’s only sister, Princess Florian. They had one son, who was Layton’s age. The child, Prince Adair, was heir to the throne after King Dallen. In Danhad the throne passed to the king’s sister’s oldest son. It ensured a purer succession in case a queen made a cuckold of her king.

”Your son is of an age where he should be fostered out,” Idella had told me over breakfast. As much as I hated to be parted with him, I knew it was for the best. The war was raging, and though White Crest was far removed from the fighting, I would feel safer knowing he was with the prince, who had his own guard to protect him. I will find Artor’s killers and make them pay, and then I will return for my boy.

We arrived at court with little fanfare, not that I was expecting any—who was I but another war widow? Queen Idella arrived on her own a day before me in secret. She refused to have us seen together, in case those I was to investigate grew suspicious of my connection to the queen. I took up residence in the apartments set aside for House Florett at the palace. Artor and I had rarely used them, and the neglect showed. The couches were covered in sheets, and the fireplace was dark and smudged with black from past fires. I walked about the room, my heels clicking on the stone floors. The area rugs had been rolled up and leaned against a far wall.

“So it begins,” I mused aloud.

“What’s that, your grace?” my lady’s maid asked. She pulled a sheet off a nearby couch and shook it. Dust clogged the air.

“Nothing.” I smiled and went towards my room to escape the dust.

The four-poster bed had been stripped of linens, and the curtains were pulled back. I shouldn’t be here. I should be back at White Crest with my son. I should be grieving, not chasing shades.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and cradled my head in my hands. I wanted to weep, but to do so would be admitting I was weak, and I refused to do that. There was a knock on the door. I glanced up. My lady’s maid hovered in the doorway.

She was flushed as she said, “There’s a man here to see you, your grace.”

The vultures do not wait long. Who could be here so soon? “Who is it?”

“He did not give his name, your grace. Should I send him away?”

It was strange but intriguing. This may well be my first lead. Perhaps the survivor of the battle of Redfield has sought me out. Maybe this will be easier than I thought.

“No, show him into…” I paused; none of the rooms were ready for entertaining. “Let him know I will be with him shortly.”

“Yes, your grace.” The maid disappeared in a swirl of skirts.

She seems eager. I wonder why.

A gilded mirror was hanging on a nearby wall. I checked my appearance within. My hair was simply done with no artifice. I had lost weight as I grieved. My cheeks were hollowed, and black bags persisted beneath my eyes. I was not at my best, and I knew it. Maybe I should send him away. I tilted my head. A strand of hair fell loose and bisected my face. Perhaps he came now for a reason. I’ve only just arrived, and this is someone who wants to disarm me while I am unprepared. I’ll play his game. Let it be known that I am not a vain woman.

I headed out into the receiving room. My visitor was looking out a window that faced the ocean. He wore a maroon doublet with black checks and gold stitching. The slashes were black, and his sleeves and hose were of good quality. He’s someone highborn, I would suspect, from the manner of his dress. He leaned upon a walking stick, which explained why he was not out fighting like the other men his age. His long black hair was tied back in a tail at the nape of his neck.

“My lord?” I greeted him.

He spun around to face me. His walking stick clacked on the stone floor. He smiled, and his dark brown eyes were rich, and his smile inviting. “Duchess Florett, I apologize for arriving unannounced, but I heard you had arrived at court, and I could not miss an opportunity to introduce myself.”

He is presumptuous, as handsome young men often are. What does he want with me? I wondered. “I wish you would have given me notice; I might have been given some advantage since you know my name and I do not know you at all.”

He laughed, a husky, pleasant sound. “I forget myself; forgive me. I am Tomas Deane. I was a friend of Artor’s. I came to give my condolences.”

He speaks of Artor in a familiar way. “Lord Deane, I am afraid my husband never mentioned you. Did you fight in the war together?”

He smiled again as if enjoying some private joke. “I am not a lord, your grace.” He emphasized my title as if he were making a point. “No, my family is rather new, actually. I am not associated with any of the twelve Great Houses.”

I frowned as I puzzled out the mysterious Tomas Deane. A man who knew my husband yet was not from one of the twelve Great Houses. Then it dawned on me. “You are a merchant.”

He tapped his walking stick on the ground. Tap. Tap. Tap. “My lady has it correct! I suppose my lady knows from experience.”

He is trying to shame me, but there is no shame in who I am. “Yes, my father runs a successful trade in the north. You seem to know much about me. I can presume you already knew that as well?”

He chuckled. “I did. He specializes in potions and rare poisons if I am not mistaken.” He grinned at me. “It must be disarming, having a stranger know so much about you.”

My heritage was not a secret. What concerned me was why this man felt the need to throw it back at me as if it were an insult. “Perhaps it is.”

He smiled back at my coy response. “Well, I suppose I cannot keep you with my flirting all day. I came to give my condolence, and now I have. So I shall let you settle in.”

His manner was disarming. He is playing a game in which I know not the rules. “I appreciate you coming to call; perhaps you might come again when I have properly settled in.” He knows something. Why else come when I have only just arrived?

My lady’s maid returned to show him out. She was fluttering her lashes at him. He’s even charmed my servants.

“You are very kind,” he said with a bow. He headed for the doorway but stopped before he passed through it. He tapped his walking stick on the floor once more. “I almost forgot. If you need to find information, the best place to start is in the Hall of Entertainment. Games of chance seem to loosen men’s and women’s tongues alike.” He smiled.

“Who says I came here looking for anything?” I replied, in part curious and in part wary. This man knew too much and revealed too little.

“As I said, I was a friend of Artor’s.” He winked and swung his walking stick as he strolled out the door.

Chapter Four

There may have been a war raging outside the palace walls, but within the palace you would be hard-pressed to believe it. Women, the old, and the injured enjoyed endless parties and frivolity. The parties may have been leaner, with fewer guests than before the war, and the food may have been bland for want of spices and more meat, but the courtiers continued on with life as it were.

I decided to take Tomas’ advice and paid a visit to the Hall of Entertainment. It was a good place for a man to lose his purse and for a maiden to flirt under the watchful eye of her chaperone. Everyone was looking to make a marital alliance in those days. A quick marriage and bedding would hopefully win a lady a title and an heir in case her husband did not return from battle. There were few eligible bachelors, and the competition was fierce. The ladies outnumbered the men three to one, and they were bedecked in their finest splendor. The Hall of Entertainment was awash with breathy giggles, lace, and pearls.

I felt out of place in my black gown; it covered me from throat to wrist. The young women were bedecked in their springtime best—fuchsia, violet and cerulean—and they fanned themselves as they watched the men play cards, cheering their favorites.

I was unsurprised to see Tomas among the other young men, smiling as he played cards. There were four other men with him, varying in age from early twenties to middle age. I knew none of them upon sight but made my way to their table nonetheless. They sat at a round wooden table polished to a high gleam. Cards were laid out upon the table along with markers, which I assumed they were using to place bets. He led me here, so I shall play into his hand and see what he wants to show me.

When I approached their table, Tomas looked up at me and grinned. “Your grace, well met.”

The other men at the table regarded me as well. A man near thirty glanced at me briefly, but I got an impression of his blue eyes, House Raleban’s eyes. Many of the ruling house had dark blue eyes. He must be Prince Garrison, King Dallen’s younger brother. Tomas has powerful companions.

“Yes, what a happy coincidence,” I replied with a smile.

“Would you like to join our card game, your grace?” Tomas offered me a seat beside him with a sweep of his hand.

“You are very kind to offer, but I fear I have no head for games,” I demurred.

“I’d be happy to teach you how it is played, your grace.” He flashed me another wolfish smile.

He certainly loves to play games, that much is clear, but what is he playing for?

“I fear you have me beat. I shall play if you will teach me the rules.” I took a seat beside him.

He introduced me to his companions. As I had suspected, the man with the blue eyes was Prince Garrison, and beside him sat Lord Everth and Herald Bane. The former was a son of a minor branch of house Quentin, and the latter was the baseborn son of the Duke of Nanore. They were not injured soldiers as I had first surmised but were on leave from the fighting and would return with the prince when he led his next attack against Neaux.

“Your Highness, I must compliment you on your prowess upon the field. I hear none are as fearless as you nor have so many victories,” I said to the prince as I laid my cards down on the table. I smiled at the prince, who returned my praise with a blank expression.

“His Highness does not take well to praise.” Lord Everth chuckled. “He’s more a man of the sword than words.”

I laughed at Lord Everth’s jest. Prince Garrison continued to stare at me. “When do you leave for battle? I am sure your lady wife must miss you terribly in your absence,” I remarked to the prince. Someone of his position must have known what Artor was investigating.

“My wife has been dead these past thirteen years,” he replied. His tone chilled me to the bone.

I bit my lip and pretended to straighten my cards. “My mistake. I had forgotten she had passed.” I cursed myself for my foolish faux pas. The prince had married a few years before I had married Artor, but unlike us, he had not married for love. His bride had been the Jerauchian Regent’s daughter. Jerauch was our neighbor to the north and our ally in the war. Prince Garrison’s brother, King Dallen, had arranged the match shortly after he had taken the throne. Prince Garrison’s wife had died in the childbed, I now recalled.

“I have not forgotten, not for a moment,” he whispered.

It may not have been a love match, but he seems to have cared for her to have never married again, and he only has the one child, a son if I am remembering correctly.

The game ran its course, and I lost three silver coins and a few coppers to Tomas. I had learned little and made more of a fool of myself than I would have liked. I decided it was time to call it quits before Tomas took my entire purse. This is going to be more difficult than I imagined.

“I am sorry to have taken your coin,” Tomas said as he scooped my coins and the others across the table.

Herald Bane was muttering about losing to a swindler, and Prince Garrison was speaking with Lord Everth about horses. I got the impression this was not an uncommon occurrence.

“I was bound to be taken, having no knowledge of the game from the start.” I stood, and the men stood with me. I bowed to them. “My lords, thank you for indulging me.”

“The greatest pleasure was mine, your grace,” Tomas said. He took my hand and pressed a kiss to it. He rubbed my palm, and my pulse quickened. My impulse was to pull away, but I dared not let him realize how his touch affected me. He’s a valuable asset. He knows something. I just need to play his game to win the prize.

I turned to leave when I saw a man sitting in the far corner of the room. He had brown hair, long and tied back in a tail at the base of his neck. A few strands had escaped and fell in front of his eyes. He did not seem to notice me as he brooded over a marble table with chess pieces set upon it. I meant to give him a passing glance when I noticed the mural he sat beneath was one of the Oak Tree of Danhad. The branches painted upon the wall spread out behind him like a canopy.

Remember the old oak tree. That is where I will be.

It was more like a mere coincidence, but I decided to speak to him nonetheless, just to prove to myself that it was nothing but my imagination. I sauntered over to his table. He did not glance up once as I approached. His brows were pulled together as he stared at the pieces arrayed before him. I took a moment to study his face. He was perhaps in his thirtieth year, with a square jaw and stubble across his chin. His hands were large and calloused.

I cleared my throat. He did not so much as twitch. The pieces were arranged as if he were in the middle of a game, but there was no one around to play the other pieces. The queen piece was right in front of him. She was ivory with streaks of pink in the marbling. He moved the queen forward three spaces and knocked aside the pawn in its path. That is how I feel, like the pawn of a queen, to be cast aside as soon as my use runs dry. This will happen soon if I do not find anything about Artor’s death or what he was trying to discover.

“Do you often play alone?” I asked, hoping he would answer a direct question.

He glanced up at me then. He had a thick brow and dark haunted eyes. His hair, I realized, was greasy and unkempt, and there were food stains on his doublet.

“My lady?” His voice croaked as if it had been a long time since he had spoken aloud.

“I noticed you sitting here alone. I thought you might like a partner?” I motioned to the tabletop with a sweep of my hand. In my clumsiness I knocked over the chattel and the knight.

I swore under my breath—a bad habit from my youth—and picked up the pieces, righting them in what I hoped were the right positions.

He stared at me. His eyebrows nearly touched; his dark brown eyes were searching. Despite his disheveled appearance, he had a shrewd gaze. His eyes look intelligent enough.

“I only play experienced players—it’s not a challenge otherwise.” He looked away from me and back at the table.

I scowled at the top of his head. “What makes you assume I am inexperienced?” I bristled.

“If you were an experienced player, you would have seen that I am not playing alone, I play by correspondence.”

Perhaps he is mad. War does that to men. They see too much death and come back with their minds lost. I should have walked away, but I could not discount that shrewd look in his eye. What if he had known Artor and he had been placed here as a message to me? It was a preposterous thought. I was desperate enough to ignore the madness of it.

“How does one play by correspondence?” I asked.

He laughed, and it was a rich velvet sound that seemed at odds with his unkempt appearance. “Leave me be, my lady. You have better things to do than banter with someone of low birth like myself, surely.”

I was being dismissed, and that galled me. I balled my hands into fists to stop myself from lashing out. Instead I asked the question outright, “Did you know my husband, Artor Florett?”

“No, my lady.” He looked away back to his chess pieces. He had a piece of parchment that he withdrew from his pocket. He scribbled the positions of the pieces upon the board.

I was fuming as I turned to walk away from him. I am a fool for thinking someone like him could possibly be holding a message from Artor. I am reading too much into this; the necklace, the locket and his letter may very well not be connected.

As I was walking away, Tomas stepped into my path. “Your grace, you seem to be in a hurry. I hope that brigand did not upset you.”

I glared at him for a moment before taking a deep breath. Tomas was not rude; it was that man. Don’t let them see you lose your temper.

“I thought he may have known my husband. It was just a widow’s folly. Do not trouble yourself with me,” I said with a forced smile.

Tomas glanced over my shoulder towards the man in the corner. “He told you about the battle, then? I’m sorry. A woman should be spared such details.”

“He did not tell me about any battle. He said he did not know my husband.”

Tomas tapped his walking stick on the ground. “That is a lie. Hilliard Gullen was the only man found alive when your husband’s van was attacked.”

I bit down on my shock. I did not want Tomas to see me as anything other than calm and collected. “Why would he lie?” I felt like a foolish child for asking.

Tomas shrugged. “Maybe he has something to hide?”

I looked over at Hilliard Gullen. From a distance, he seemed very small and hunched as he stared at his chess pieces alone in a dark corner. The courtiers all kept a fair distance from him. I could not help but wonder why. Is this my husband’s killer? I had to find out.

Chapter Five

I returned to the Hall of Entertainment the next day. Once again, Hilliard was sitting at the chess table. The pieces were not out as they had been the day prior but lined up waiting to start a new game. He was contemplating the pieces, lost in his own world. Why did you live while Artor died? Did you hold the blade that slit his throat, or were you a coward who plotted his murder? I sat down across from him. I slammed both hands on the tabletop, and his head snapped up to meet my determined gaze. His eyes were large and wild as he stared at me without seeing. He is mad! He will strangle the life out of me; I can see it in his eyes.

“Your grace,” he said in his rumbling tone. He was tense in his seat, watching me with hooded eyes. That hint of madness had vanished, but it lingered in my memory.

It was too late to turn back now. “My lord husband, Duke Florett, often told me I had quite the skill at playing chess. I thought you might be so good as to lower yourself enough to play a game with me. Prove to me that my husband was not a liar.” I emphasized the last word.

He did not notice my underlying meaning or chose to ignore it. His expression was difficult to read.

I scanned the board to avoid staring at him. I was afraid if I looked at him too long, I would demand the truth. He would not blurt out the truth no matter how much I begged. He even refused to acknowledge that he knew Artor.

A smile curled his lips as he chuckled. “I don’t suppose I am going to get you to leave anytime soon, am I?”

I scowled at him. “No.” Do not try to charm me. I know what sort of monster you are. Even if you did not kill him, you must be a craven for escaping where Artor did not.

“Shall we play, then?” He swept his right hand across the board. His hand was scarred; I had not noticed that before. He had a fresh pink scar on the back of his hand.

“How kind of you to ask.” I could not disguise the venom in my tone. Calm yourself. Do not let your anger bleed through. Keep a clear head.

I sat before the ivory pieces, and him the ebony. “Ladies first.” He nodded in my direction.

I stared at the board, considering my first move. The chess pieces were finely crafted. They were perhaps the size of my pointer finger. They were made of pink and white marble for the ivory, and the ebony had flecks of gold veins along with ruby eyes on the knights. It was not chess that I was concerned with but the battle of wits I was about to enter. Hilliard was hiding the truth from me, and I was determined to find out what he was hiding and what it had to do with Artor’s death.

“Maybe we could sweeten the game?” I said. I rolled one of the ebony pawn pieces between my thumb and forefinger.

He raised a brow and watched my hands as I fiddled with the piece. I set it down and smiled at him. “Aye?”

I laid my hands on either side of the board and leaned forward over the pieces. “If I win, I will ask you a question, and you must answer truthfully, no matter what I ask.”

He scratched the stubble on his chin and regarded me. I realized today his doublet was clean and his hair seemed to have been washed. “You can ask me anything without games, milady.”

“I don’t think that is true, sir. But since you are being so forthcoming, might you tell me what happened at the battle of Redfield?”

His face blanched, and I saw that madness glimmer in his eyes once more. He knows I know that he is the only survivor. He crossed his hands over his chest and regarded me. “Very well, then. I will counter your wager. If I win, I want a kiss.”

I blushed, and speech escaped me. How dare he ask such a thing! I pushed my chair back, thinking to leave before I slapped him. Artor was the only man I had ever loved. I thought I would spend the rest of my life with him, give him ten children and die in his arms when I was a very old woman surrounded by all of our grandchildren. But the Goddess had only given us Layton. We had tried for other children, but after four miscarriages and a stillbirth, we decided to stop trying. Then the war came, and any hope of future children was dashed. It’s an innocent request, and I will not lose. Artor taught me well. Despite that, I still felt like a traitor for even considering such an offer.

“Not as brazen as you were before.” He grinned at me.

He had a pleasing smile, and he was handsome in a rough sort of way. Artor’s hands were soft; this man’s hands are rough and calloused. I hardly ever saw Artor with stubble or long hair; this man looks like he shaves with a jagged stone. This man lived while Artor died. How could you agree to such an unseemly wager?

I inhaled to clear my thoughts. Don’t let him see your fear. “I shall not lose, so there is nothing to fear.”

“I did not think I was so ugly that a kiss from me would be terrifying.” He chuckled.

I smiled despite my hesitance to do so. “You are not ugly. I cannot lie and say you are. However, a man with honor would not ask that of a widow.”

“I lost my honor some time ago. Besides, it is not often a beautiful woman offers such enticing stakes.”

Did you lose your honor when you murdered my husband? He could very well banter, but I must remember that he was no friend of mine; he might very well be my husband’s murderer. I was flushed from embarrassment, but I refused to drop my gaze from his. “Shall we begin?”

He nodded his head, signaling me to start. I moved a pawn forward, and the game began. The start was slow. He did not make any move without careful thought. He was a meticulous man, to say the least.

“You labor over your moves, so I think you take me as more of a threat than you initially thought,” I teased. I hoped that my banter would distract him enough into making an error in my favor.

He moved his knight and looked at me. “Call it an occupational hazard.”

I studied the board. His knight was positioned to take my magiker, but if I moved it and took his chattel, then I would leave my king exposed. He had pinned me. Or so I thought; I spied my queen, diagonal to his chattel, which was guarding his king. I moved towards his chattel and then looked up at him with a smirk.

“I may well have you in check soon. You are a deceptively poor player, if you are a professional chess player as you claim.”

He was studying the board and did not seem to notice my gibe. I watched him as he gazed at the board intently; his entire focus seemed to be upon the pieces. He is very strange—focused and yet playful. He surprised me by moving a pawn and taking one of my own pawns. Is he toying with me? Why take out such a weak piece when I am in position to win?

“I am not a professional chess player; I’m a strategist,” he replied at last.

I jumped in surprise. I accidentally knocked over the pieces that I had lined up alongside the board. He leaned over to help me pick them up. His big hands swallowed up the pieces, but he handled them with reverence. We set the pieces upright, and once again he was watching me, his hands folded on the table in front of him.

I am playing chess against a strategist! I am a fool! I assumed he was a soldier who turned cloak and helped murder Artor. I should have asked others about him, learned more before I jumped in without thinking. I looked back at the board, a long hard look. I will win. If he is a strategist, then my victory will be all the sweeter.

“Should you not be in the field?” I asked, feigning casual interest, but my hands were shaking. He must have something to do with Artor’s death. It was my turn, but I found myself questioning every possible move.

“The king asked me to return to Keisan. He wanted my counsel on some matters of war.”

My stomach tightened in knots. It is him. Artor was working for the king when he died. What did he learn that this man killed him to silence him?

“You’re an important man. I feel lucky to have a moment of your time.”

He shrugged. “I’m just a man.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. There is nothing worse than a falsely humble man.

I moved my chattel in my continued attempt to pin his king. I decided my original tactic would work best. He may have been a strategist, but I had a natural knack for games. Six times out of ten I would beat Artor, and anyone else that I played against lost to my quick thinking. I took his chattel by knocking it from the board with a flourish. The piece flew off the table and clinked on the ground. He did not move to pick it up. I smirked at him, and he smiled back before reaching down and moving his pawn.

“Checkmate,” he announced.

I stared at the board in disbelief. “No, this can’t be, my chattel…” Then I saw my error. He had snuck his pawn around behind my king. My king had been corralled by other pieces meant to protect it. I made my own death trap. Just as I have backed myself into a corner.

I dared not look at him. He had played me from the start. He must have suspected that I knew nothing of his identity, and arrogant as I was, I had fallen into his trap. “I suppose you would claim your prize?” My voice shook.

He stood up, and his chair scraped along the stone floor and made a screeching noise. He stepped around the table towards me. I scrunched myself into a ball, tensely awaiting his touch. He leaned on the table over me. I could smell his musk—he had an earthy scent mixed with some kind of oil scent. I swallowed hard and looked up at him. It’s just a kiss—innocent enough. I am no longer a maiden, besides.

He leaned in, and I closed my eyes. His whiskers brushed my face. I felt his hot breath against my cheek. My stomach fluttered. I’m sorry, Artor. I do this for you.

But his lips did not touch mine. Instead he leaned close to my ear and said, “If you want to know more about the battle of Redfield, look to the Order of the Oak.”

When I opened my eyes, he was walking away, leaning heavily on a cane.

“Good day, your grace,” he said with a backward wave.

I stared down at the pieces upon the board. I must be as easy to read as an open book. I cradled my head in my hands. He had handed me the next piece of the puzzle, but it would be some time before I knew where everything fit together.

Chapter Six

I sent a message to Idella. She would be expecting a report on what I had learned. My message was returned unopened. The man who delivered it to me took the brunt of my temper.

“Her Majesty humbly requests that you do not send her missives at this time.” He bowed and left the note I had sent to her.

I crumpled it up and tossed it against a far wall. My maid was so frightened of me that night as I dressed for bed she was walking around me on tiptoes. I was seething. She brought me here, but she cannot take a message from me? Why did she bring me here, just to further my misery? I was homesick and heartsick. I missed my son, and I missed my home, and most of all, I missed Artor. I lay in bed holding a pillow to me. It was no replacement for the comfort of my husband’s arms. I did not weep. I would not allow myself that even in the dark. I am strong, I told myself, but the words rang hollow.

I did not go out the next day. I had no leads, and I was dwelling on my failings. I gave my maid the day off so I could be alone. I spent most of the afternoon reading or sleeping. That night when I was preparing for bed, my maid returned to dress me. She was quiet and would not meet my eyes.

“What has gotten into you?” I demanded at last when she dropped the brush for the third time.

“Nothing, your grace,” she mumbled. She fidgeted with the handle of the brush and looked at her feet.

“Is it a boy? I will not be cross with you if it is. I am sorry I snapped. I’ve been under quite a bit of pressure lately.”

“No, it’s not a boy, your grace,” she said to her shoes.

“Then what?” I asked gently.

She burst into tears. I stood up and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “Tell me what’s wrong.” My tone was softer, but I made sure it was a command not a request.

She sniveled. “I heard the most awful things from Lady Welton’s maid about your grace. She said the queen had shunned you because you had made Artor a cuckold.”

My skin flushed, and it took all my self-control not to lash out at my maid. It was not her fault. She was just the messenger. I refuse to play Idella’s games. I will march up to her chambers and tell her I am going home. Artor may have asked me to do this thing, but he was wrong to choose me. I want no more part of this intrigue.

“I told her it was not true, that you loved his grace, but she laughed at me and said, ‘Tell that to half the court.’”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me this. I want to be alone now.”

She skittered away and closed the door after her. I went and threw myself down on the bed, but still I did not cry. I will not shed tears. I am stronger than she thinks. I will overcome this. I do not care if half the court thinks I am an adulterer; I know the truth.

Late that evening I received a message. I was sleeping in my chamber when my maid in her nightclothes woke me.

“There is a man here with a message for you, your grace,” she told me.

“Take the message. I’ll read it in the morning.” I tried to roll over, but she shook me again.

“He says he will only give it to you.” She was wringing her hands again.

I sighed and climbed out of bed. I donned a housecoat and went with her. The man was waiting in the receiving room. He stood in the center of the room and faced the door, with the missive gripped tight in his hand. He was of middle age, with plain features and a forgettable face. He wore a brown tunic and leggings. His shoes were caked with dirt, I saw, and upon closer inspection, his clothes looked worn and frayed at the edges. When I was close, I could smell a faint scent of manure that clung to him.

“Milady,” he said, “I was told to deliver this to you and no one else.” He offered me a piece of parchment sealed with red wax.

“And who gave you this mysterious letter, may I ask?”

The stable hand shrugged. “Some man, didn’t give me his name. Just said I should see this to your hand.”

Did Tomas send this? His smiling face flashed through my mind. No, he is much too theatric to use a stable hand to deliver a message. Perhaps it was Hilliard? I had not seen him since our meeting in the game room, and I wondered if he was avoiding me.

“Thank you.” I gave him a copper coin and had my maid show him out.

I dismissed my maid and read the missive alone by candlelight.

Come and meet me tonight in the garden beside the central fountain.

I turned the document over, looking for a signature; there was none. Dare I venture out to find out who sent this message? I had to admit a certain curiosity. I decided to take the chance. I burned it in the fireplace just in case and told my maid I was going to bed. I lay awake, dressed, and waited for her to fall back asleep. I occupied my time by watching the shadows dance across my ceiling. The moon was full, and pale pearlescent light fell onto the coverlet. A secret rendezvous by moonlight, this sounds like something Tomas would concoct. I knew little of the man, but since I had met him, I had gotten the impression that he enjoyed a show.

When the hour came, I pulled on my hooded cloak and slipped out of my chamber. The halls of my apartment were dark and eerie with shifting shadows created by moonlight. I stopped outside my maid’s chamber to ensure she was asleep. I listened to her snore for a moment or two before heading to the door.

Outside my apartment, the palace halls were empty. Moonlight fell from an arched window at the end of the hall and left the walls and niches in shadow. I stuck to the shadows on the off chance someone woke and saw me skulking about.

The garden was at the center of the palace. It was a half circle and edged by a sheer cliff that looked out onto the ocean. I did not go so far for my rendezvous, but I could hear the thunder of the ocean nonetheless as I stood beside an ornate fountain at the garden’s heart. The wind whipped through the ornamental bushes surrounding the fountain, and I pulled my cloak tighter. I scanned the entrances to the fountain, waiting for my secret correspondence. The minutes seemed to tick by, and I fidgeted, trying to keep warm. Did I wait too long and they left before I had a chance to slip out?

A shadow moved just beyond the hedges, and my skin prickled. A female form stepped out from behind the bushes and walked towards me. She pulled back her hood, revealing her head of golden hair. It was braided. Her gown was plain with no adornment and made of dark cloth. She held her head upright and marched across the space of grass between us. Nothing could hide the regal air about her, even her plain clothing.

“Idella, I thought I had displeased Her Royal Highness. How kind of you to come,” I sneered.

She smiled thinly. “You should never have written to me so blatantly. There are eyes everywhere.”

“So you say, but somehow you are blind.”

She pursed her lips. “If anyone suspects we are working together, then doors will be slammed in your face and you won’t find out who killed Artor.”

I laughed. “Is that why you recruited me, because no one would tell you the truth? Could you not stand not knowing? Just as you could not stand controlling who Artor married? Is that why you spread those hideous lies about me! I have a mind to leave Keisan and wash my hands of this business.”

Her eyes were large in the moonlight. Good, I have frightened her. “You cannot do that. I will not allow it.”

“You do not own me. I am free to go where I please. I have committed no crime.”

I motioned to walk past her, but she threw up her arm to stop me. “One word and I can ruin you.”

I spun to face her. “What else can you possibly take from me? I lost my entire world when Artor died, and I am beginning to realize that even if I find out why he was killed, it will not bring him back. Let me mourn and raise my son.”

“If you will not do it for yourself, then do it for your son.”

“Do not presume to threaten my son!” I took a step towards her, and Idella took a step back.

She appeared unruffled. She straightened her shoulders and smiled a thin, wicked smile. “There have been whispers about Artor. He had been seen around men whose grumblings borderline treason. If these men implicated Artor and his wife… well, your son would lose his place among the twelve, and you, at best, would be exiled.”

I balled my hands into fists at my sides. “You said that Artor was working for the king. Are you telling me that he was doing the opposite? Why did you lie to me?” Who did I marry, a spy or a traitor? Either one went down like a stone in my stomach.

“I did not lie. He worked for the king, but he was trying to uncover the traitors. Dead men cannot defend themselves, however. If any of them were to implicate your husband, and you by association, it would not fare well for you and my dear nephew.”

I don’t care about my reputation, and I never had let them stain my already stained character. I never measured up to Idella’s ideals, and this court is prickly and fickle. They all want to use me to their own ends, Idella included. I clenched and unclenched my fists. “Tell me the truth. What was Artor doing for the king? You said you didn’t know, but I suspect you do.”

“I know that he was trying to uncover a group who were suspected of treason, but I do not know who they were or what their plans were. That’s what Artor wanted you to find out.”

“Why me! I am no better suited than anyone else.” I threw up my hands in frustration and stomped away from Idella and towards the fountain. I stared down at my moonlit reflection. The pale light made me look sickly, along with the dark circles beneath my eyes. I look like a shadow.

“Who would confide in the queen about treason?” she replied. “You are young and comely and a vulnerable widow. You have certain charms that a man might whisper his secrets over a pillow.”

I reacted without thinking and smacked her across the face. She wheeled back from the blow. My hand stung where our flesh made contact.

“I am not a whore that you can slide into a man’s bed at will. I came here to help you find my husband’s killer, no more.”

She touched her cheek and glowered at me. Beneath the pale moonlight I could see the flesh around her eye turning pink and inflamed.

“That was poorly done, sister.” She removed her hand and tilted her head.

“You are not my sister. I am nothing but your pawn,” I spat. The blood was pounding in my ears, and I was flushed with anger. I thought about striking her again.

“I will not ask you again. Do whatever it takes to get the information. If you don’t, your son’s life and yours are forfeit.”

That gave me pause. “You would threaten your own kin? He is your nephew!” This is why she insisted on putting Layton with the Ilores, to control me.

“I will not hurt him because you will obey, won’t you?” She stared at me like someone might a bug in their path. I was easily squashed and replaceable; I was worth less than nothing to her.

“You’re a monster.”

“Name-calling will get you nowhere. If you love your son, find out what I ask and do not write me again. I will contact you; have no doubt about that.”

She turned away. The wind caught her cloak and swirled it around her. For a moment I considered picking up a rock and bashing her head in with it. She has my son; what choice do I have? I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. I had fallen neatly into Idella’s trap because Artor had asked me. How could you do this to me, Artor? I thought you loved me.

Chapter Seven

The locket. My necklace. Artor’s words: Remember the old oak tree. That is where I will be. A group who called themselves the Order of the Oak. That was all I had to find out who killed my husband and why. Hilliard had disappeared. I went back to the Hall of Entertainment several times but never saw him again. Those who would talk to me had either never heard of him or did not know where he had gone. Tomas, on the other hand, seemed my constant shadow. He stumbled upon me in the garden. We met by chance in the halls. Everywhere I turned, there he was, watching me, baiting me with his smiles and his casual touches. He knew something, but I had been hesitant to call upon him, in part because he was overly friendly with me. I kept thinking about Idella’s threats. What choice did I have?

He sent me an invitation to a gathering at his home. I labored over my answer for longer than I liked to admit. He wanted me, that much was plain, but how much of my self-respect was I willing to give up for the truth? In the end, I replied that I would attend.

The gathering was at his home, and I hired a carriage to take me into the city. Unlike many of the peerage, Tomas Deane did not have accommodations at the palace. Apartments in the palace were reserved for those that were of noble birth or title. I watched the city pass by as I rode to the gathering, questioning if I had made the right decision in agreeing to his offer. The city was in poor shape. A Neaux attack had cut the city off from the supply route to the west, and food was being rationed. Those of the upper class did not feel it as heavily as the citizens of the city did. Even in the merchant district, where Tomas lived, I saw boarded-up houses left vacant, children with gaunt faces wandering the streets begging, and small folk who were starving without enough to eat. Mangled and maimed men leaned against alleyways with beggar’s bowls thrust out, looking for a few coppers. I closed my curtains on them; there was little I could do. This was war. You cannot save them all. Whatever my noble intentions, I had little power and less knowledge.

When I arrived at Tomas’ townhouse, he was standing outside, waiting to greet me. He wore a dark black doublet with gold checks and slashes of gold in the sleeves. He descended the steps and helped me from the carriage. He held my hand as he led me up the steps.

“Your grace, what an honor it is to have you in my home.” He pressed one hand in the small of my back as he showed me into the receiving room.

His servants, two men and an older woman, were waiting when we entered. The woman took my overcoat, and the first man held a tray with a goblet of wine. The second man held open the door to the parlor.

“The honor is mine,” I replied as I took the wine. I took a sip. It was a good vintage. “This is a fine wine. How did you manage to get something so luxurious during times such as these?”

He smiled and held his pointer finger to his lips. “I have my ways, your grace.” He motioned for me to enter the parlor before him.

Inside the parlor, a party of ten sat about the room. There were a few minor lords along with their wives. I knew them by sight but had never been introduced. At the center was Prince Garrison; he was speaking with a few of the lords in low tones. I heard just snatches of the conversation; words like war and Neaux floated around the room. He saw me enter and paused for a moment to regard me. I smiled at him as he and the other men rose when I entered the room.

“Your grace.” Prince Garrison stepped forward to acknowledge me. I was surprised he had come forward. When we met in the Hall of Entertainment, he had seemed indifferent at best.

“Your Highness, I did not expect to see your royal person here.”

He waved away my comment. “I heard you and Her Majesty have had a falling out. I wanted to tell you that my brother’s wife and I disagree on many things.” He spoke the word wife like a curse.

It seems the prince and I have something in common. “Thank you, Your Highness, you are kind to be concerned.” I held my tongue. I would rather have those here make their own conclusions about the relationship between Idella and me. It may serve to bring those that were her enemies forward. If I knew something about her, I might be able to convince her to set me free. It was a fleeting thought. Idella was much more experienced in playing this game of intrigue.

“I neglected to say this upon our last meeting, but I will say now, Artor was a good man, and his death was a great loss to our kingdom.”

The prince’s words touched me. “Thank you.” I lowered my lashes to hide the tears that had gathered along them. Don’t let them see your weakness. They will use it against you.

Prince Garrison wandered back to his companions, and Tomas led me to a couch in the corner of the room. He sat me beside two women who had no male companions. They introduced themselves as Lady Lillian of House Tantorell and Lady Welton. We talked for some time, and I discovered that both women had lost their husbands in the war. I was surprised at first until I saw Tomas smirking at me from across the room, and I realized he had invited these women for some purpose of his own. I smiled back at him and continued talking with the two women. We talked of a number of things, everything from flower arrangements to child-rearing.

“How do you know one another?” I asked them.

Lady Welton giggled. “We are sisters. Before we married, we were from House Florett. I suppose we are like cousins, Duchess.”

I smiled and took a sip of my wine. They are House Florett? Artor had one sister who made it to adulthood, his older brother had died when they were children, and two younger brothers and a sister had passed in infancy. These two must have been from a different branch of the family, one I had not met before.

“Are you in service here at the palace?” I probed further. Why are they here? What game is Tomas playing at putting me with two widows who were maidens from my husband’s house?

“Her Majesty found us both places at the palace after our husbands died. I am her lady-in-waiting, and my sister, Lady Welton, is Princess Florian’s lady-in-waiting,” Lady Tantorell explained.

“What a small world, indeed. Of course, Her Majesty was a maiden Florett as well. Were you three close as sisters when you were children?”

Lady Welton giggled, but it was Lady Tantorell who replied, “We met a time or two as children, but we never knew her until we were grown. Our grandfather was her grandfather’s brother; we are distantly related. Our father bears the Florett name, and he holds an estate in Grey Harbor.”

“My husband spoke of that place often. I hear it is beautiful,” I said to flatter, wondering what else these creatures of Idella’s might reveal.

“Oh, it is!” Lady Welton gushed. She gave me a long account of their growing up at Grey Harbor. It seemed they had nothing to speak of but themselves, at length. I let my mind wander, and occasionally my eyes flickered over to Tomas. Are these two Her Majesty’s pets as well? I could only suspect they were. Does she make a habit of collecting war widows to bend to her will? If I could split them apart, I might be able to question them about the queen’s movements, but it did not seem these two had many thoughts in their heads at all. It might be a wasted effort.

Tomas’ servant announced dinner was being served in the dining room, and we all filed out. Tomas caught up with me as I was entering. He touched me lightly on the elbow.

“I would be honored if you would sit beside me, your grace,” he purred in my ear.

I pulled my elbow away from his grip. I am not a whore! “You are gracious to offer.”

Tomas sat at the head of the table, and I was seated to his right. To the left, Prince Garrison sat. I was seated next to an aging lord who was dozing before the first course arrived. When the first course of a thin fish soup was served, I was glad for the distraction, but my appetite had seemed to escape me. I thought to come here and speak with Tomas and convince him to give me more information, but it seemed Idella’s eyes were everywhere. The ladies seemed kind enough, but I did not doubt they would report my every movement to Idella. I took a few sips of my soup for show before pushing it away.

“Is the soup not to your grace’s liking?” Tomas asked.

“Forgive me.” I touched his arm. I can get information with harmless flirting; surely I do not need to sleep with him. “I have the stomach the size of an acorn, and I can eat only small bites at a time.”

He rested his hand over mine. My stomach fluttered, and I began to doubt myself. He gave me a hungry look. “Oh, I would hate for you to fill up too soon.” He ate his soup, and I busied myself talking with the dozing lord, who roused himself to eat. He had a mustache that draped over his mouth and glistened with broth caught in it.

The second course was a fish dish with lemon and peppercorns. The fish was cooked perfectly and flaked apart beneath a fork, but I mostly pushed it around my plate. I felt Tomas’s eyes on me, though he made no more comments as to my appetite. I feel as I did the night of my wedding. I pushed the thought aside; I would not do as the queen bid. She could keep me here working for her, but I would not become a concubine. There were three more courses, ending with a dessert that was made of pastries, a fluffy cream and a fruit compote.

When dinner was finished, Tomas invited his guests to retire in the drawing room. The servants led them out, and the guests were making contented sounds. I went to follow them when Tomas grabbed my wrist.

“I hope you are enjoying the evening.” He rubbed my hand with his thumb. His touch was featherlight.

I shifted away and smiled. “You are a gracious host.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” He smiled again, and his gaze lingered along the line of my bust. My breath quickened. A man may reveal much over a pillow. Idella’s words echoed in my ear. You will find out the information for me.

I brushed his sleeve just for an instant. I just need to get him alone and ask him a few questions. I will lead him along, and once I get the information, I will leave. “I’d love to have the chance to look around your home. Perhaps a servant can give me a tour?”

“Your grace, I would be honored to show you about my humble abode.”

I smiled past the racing of my heart. He took me by the hand and led me out the back of the room opposite from where the guests had left. Out in the foyer, he linked arms with me. He showed me around the rooms, from the parlor to the library. We stopped in his study, where he had papers scattered about on a desk. I eyed them, wondering what I might uncover in those correspondences.

“You have a beautiful home,” I commented. His fireplace was large, with carvings of trees and vines. The desk was oak with a lacquered finish. He may have been born to a merchant, but he lacked none of the opulence the nobility enjoyed.

“Your grace is very kind to say so.” He was watching me still with that hungry gaze. It made me uncomfortable. I turned to look at his bookshelves. His collection is not nearly as impressive as Artor’s.

I looked up again, and he was standing beside me, perhaps a hand’s breadth away. Firelight fell on his features, and the tilt of his lips was playful and damnably enticing. He was a handsome man and bold with his touches when we were in public. I had been lying to myself to think that I could flirt and not have him pursue me for more.

“You are a very beautiful woman, Damara.” He reached out to touch my face, tracing the back of his hand along my cheek.

My breath hitched. Too close. This is dangerous.

“You presume much to speak my given name, sir.” I took a step back, and my thighs hit the desk. I grabbed onto the edge of the desk, and he steadied me from falling with a hand around my waist.

“Careful,” he whispered.

Of falling or be careful of you? I wondered.

“Sir, you are touching me.”

“I would do more than touch you, if you allowed me, your grace.” He purred your grace like a caress. I realized that was how he always said it; over and over he had called me your grace. I thought he was mocking me, but I realized it was his own form of seduction.

I swallowed past a lump in my throat—the threat and promise in his voice was a dangerous and heady temptation. How long has it been since I felt a man’s touch, had someone tell me I am beautiful? Even before Artor passed, he had been warring for the king for almost a year, perhaps more. What secrets would you whisper to me between the sheets?

He leaned in. I turned my head to avoid his kiss.

“Those women, they are both from House Florett.”

He laughed. “So you found out. I’m pleased you realized so quickly.”

“You invited them here on purpose; why?”

“They are the queen’s pets, as are you. I thought you would like to see who else is spying for Her Majesty.”

My heart jumped into my throat. He knows! What else does he know about me?

“Do not fear; your secret is safe with me.”

“At what price?” I asked.

He had not pulled away, and I stared at his lips so close to me. I could smell him, his sweat and the hint of pine. He was handsome, I could not deny that, but I was just barely out of my black mourning clothes. If I let him seduce me, I am no better than a whore for the queen.

“Not everyone has a price. Have you not considered that I might want you just for the pleasure of your company?” They were sweet words meant to seduce, but I wanted to believe them, badly.

I scoffed, and he kissed me. I knew I should have fought him off. Instead I thought about the ache Artor’s death had left in me, the need to be touched, to be loved. His lips brushed mine, soft and probing. I was hesitant at first, my body stiff in his embrace, and then he parted my lips with his tongue, and I melted. My arms went around his neck, and I clung to him, my fingers running through his long hair.

“Come with me to my chamber,” he said in a husky whisper.

I was panting for breath, and my head was screaming no. All my protests had flown from my mind, however.

“Yes,” I whispered back.

Chapter Eight

The palace boasted one of the world’s greatest libraries. It was there I searched for more information about the Order of the Oak. It was in part a way to escape Tomas and his knowing looks, and the way people avoided me in the halls of the palace. The queen had openly shunned me. I had few friends and it seemed more enemies than I could count. How does she think I will find anything when she makes me a social pariah? I leafed through a tomb about religious sects. The book itself was ancient, the pages yellowed with age and brittle. I turned the pages gingerly, careful not to tear them. The text was ponderous, and I found my mind wandering.

Why am I wasting time here? I should look for Hilliard and demand he explain his actions during the battle of Redfield. I should be questioning Tomas about what he knows, not running away from him because I lay with him. Hilliard had disappeared without a trace, and I was too ashamed that I lay with Tomas to face him. All that was left to me were the books.

I brought out the necklace my husband had hidden in the fireplace and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. I touched the oak and followed the branches where they met the circle on the exterior. What am I to make of this?

“Remember the old oak tree. There I will be,” I murmured to myself.

“Do you enjoy poetry, milady?” A scribe had approached without me realizing it. He held a tower of books in front of him, likely to tumble over.

I stood up to help him. “I suppose I do. You know that limerick?”

“Your grace is kind,” he said as I took half the stack from him. “I remember that line from a poem by Artor Oakhem. It’s in a collection of his from the thirteenth century, I believe.”

I stilled for a moment. This cannot be a coincidence. “Do you have a copy here, by chance?”

The scribe nodded his head. The hair on top of his head was snow white, as was the hair coming from his ears. His face was creased with lines, and he had a copious amount of skin hanging from his neck, which jiggled as he nodded. “I believe so. Let me find it for you.”

I followed him as he put the stack of books he was carrying down. I piled my own on top of them. He led me back into the furthest reaches of the library. The torches here were not lit, and the only light came from thin windows along the walls. “We keep the older works back here to avoid damage from the sun. They are very old,” he explained as we trotted back further. There was a door at the end of the shelves. The scribe removed a ring of keys and unlocked the door. The door creaked in protest as he opened it.

Inside, it was dark, with a cold wind blowing from below. I shivered with anticipation. The scribe retrieved a torch from a few rows back and led me down a stairwell into the storage area. There was a short series of uneven steps, which ended in a small room lined with shelves. The scribe put the torch in a sconce along the wall. It cast long shadows, which only added to the haunted look of the room. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. He stopped beside a shelf that was made of large oak timbers and built into the wall. The books here looked as if they had not been touched since Sir Oakhem’s time. The scribe ran his hands along the spines of the crumbling books until he found the right one. He removed it from the shelf and blew on it to rid it of dust.

He wiped some stuck-on dirt with his sleeve before handing it to me. “Here you are.”

I took it and stared down at the cover. It had started to rot away, and it appeared some creature had nibbled at the pages, but the design on the cover was hard to ignore. It at one time had been a deep navy blue like House Raleban’s colors. In the center was an encircled oak tree.

“Do you know this symbol?” I asked the scribe.

He looked down at it and frowned. “I do not, my lady, but I have a book on old symbols. Maybe it was Sir Oakhem’s family sigil.”

“It reminds me of the royal family’s sigil,” I mused.

“That it does. Let me find you the book of symbols.”

I thanked him and took the book back to the desk where I had been reading. I cracked open the spine and felt the binding rip as I did so. I half expected to find a note from my Artor tucked between its pages. There was no such note, but I found the poem in which the inscription from the pocket watch had come.

I spy you by morning light. O what a radiant sight.

I long for your caress. In your arms forever I will rest.

Remember the old oak tree. There I will be.

Meet me there, my maiden fair.

And together forever more shall we be.

The scribe returned with a few more tomes for me to look through. “May I ask what you are looking for, your grace?” The scribe spied the open book with its crumbling pages, then looked back to me.

“Nothing in particular, my husband often said these words to me, and he gave me this necklace on the night of our wedding.” I showed the scribe the necklace I wore about my neck.

He nodded his head but did not react further. “Well, I shall leave you to your studies.” He hobbled away, and I spent several hours searching through old books, looking for the symbol. I found nothing in the Greatest Houses of Danhadine History or Scions of the Twelve Great Houses. I looked for the name Oakhem but found nothing in the lists of any great houses.

Who was this Artor Oakhem, and why did my Artor have a line from his poem inscribed in the locket?

I read through the poetry book; they were mostly love poems and a few war sagas. There was little enough about the poet in the book but a short description of his life. Artor Oakhem was beloved of his king and would often write poems to please his majesty and his queen. He chronicled the rise of the Danhad Empire and the founding of many of the great houses. At the back of the book there was a poem where a majority of the page was missing. All that remained was the title: “The True King”. It sounded like a war saga or some other thing meant to flatter a ruler. It seemed my search here was as fruitless as any other inquiry I had made thus far.

I was squinting at a volume of ancient houses when someone tapped my shoulder. I jumped up, knocking over a pile of books in the process. I whirled in place to see who had touched me.

Tomas grinned down at me. “Did I startle you?”

I pressed my hand to my chest and felt my heartbeat racing. The room had gone dark around me. When did the sun go down? Have I been here all day?

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He picked up Sir Oakhem’s book of poetry. It was open on the table to the poem about the oak tree. He held my place with a finger and looked at the cover. His eyes grew wide for a second before he smiled to cover up his reaction. “I should ask the same of you. I came to call, and your maid told me you were in the library. What can possibly hold such a fascination for you?”

I brushed my thumb against the chain of my necklace. “I was looking for something.”

He leaned on the table in front of me. His mouth was near mine. “You need look no further; I am right here.”

I turned away from him. No, once was enough. I was weak; I will not continue this affair. He may have answers, but I was not willing to pay with my integrity to get them.

“Are you? Then tell me, do you know this symbol?” I pulled my necklace out from within my bodice.

He took it lightly between thumb and forefinger. He studied it for quite a while before looking back at me. “Why are you interested in this symbol?” His tone was soft and coaxing.

“My husband gave it to me. I was reading this poetry book and saw the same symbol on it. Have you seen it before?”

He stood up and regarded me for a moment. I wiped all expression from my face. He knows something about this symbol.

“I have,” he said, “but I will not speak of it here. Come with me.” He held his hand out to me, and I took it hesitantly.

He led me out of the library and down the halls. He did not say anything more but smiled back at me as he led me to my own apartments. My maid let us in, and she smiled at Tomas and offered him refreshment.

“We would like to be left alone,” I told her with a look that was not to be disobeyed. I did not need my maid fawning over Tomas, not when it seemed he was willing to talk.

She flushed, nodded her understanding and left us.

“What is this all about? It’s just a symbol, is it not?” I asked Tomas.

He sat down and crossed his legs. He set his cane to one side. “I think you know it is more than a symbol, your grace.” He loved to say your grace, as if it were some pet name between us. His lips turned up at the corners, and I thought of his kiss and the way his hands had slid over my body. That was a mistake. I should not have let him do that.

I decided to dissemble. “It has something to do with the Order of the Oak. What is this order?”

“Artor said you were clever, but I must admit, I am surprised how quickly you put the pieces together. Then, I should have known you would find us out eventually after you talked to Hilliard.”

“You sent me to him; you led me to the Hall of Entertainment.” I sat forward in my seat, inching closer to him. I felt a rush of excitement as if everything were falling into place.

“That I did, but I did not intend for you to speak to that broken man. I wanted you to meet Prince Garrison, and I wanted to see you again.” He smirked at me.

“You say you know Artor; how?”

“He was part of our Order. He was a founding member alongside Prince Garrison and me.”

I found that difficult to believe. Idella said Artor was looking into some sort of treason; could it have been the Order? “What are the aims of this order?”

He chuckled. “Nothing unseemly, I can assure you. We are merely supporters of the crown. We work to maintain peace in the realm at His Majesty’s behest.”

“Why have I heard nothing of this before?”

He stood up and came to sit on the couch beside me. I scooted away. He only laughed. “You did not fear my touch that night at my villa, your grace.” He brushed a hand along my arm. I shivered, remembering all the touches he had bestowed upon me that night. Don’t let his charm cloud your judgment.

“That was then, and this is now.” I have more resolve now. I will not be wooed a second time.

He sighed and sat back on the couch. “You would not have heard of us because it is a secret order. We can work more effectively from the shadows. Those who would plot against the rightful king do whatever they can to stop us, and so we hide.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because Artor was a dear friend, and before he was killed, he asked me to protect you.”

I inhaled sharply. Artor had sent this man to protect me. That was why he had come to me the day I arrived at the palace. He had pointed out Idella’s pets to me and introduced me to the prince. He had been helping me every step of the way while Idella had only hindered my search. A terrible thought was creeping into the back of my mind. “Do you know who killed him?”

“I do.”

“Tell me!” I grabbed his hand and squeezed. I knew the truth, though I was trying to convince myself it was not true.

“It was his sister, Idella.”

Chapter Nine

Idella summoned me after that. Once more she sent a secret messenger; this time it was a washing woman with red-stained hands and missing teeth. She said a woman had given her the note. I burned the note without reading it. Idella had ruined my reputation and stolen my son. I could only assume that she had lied to me as well. What benefit did Tomas have in lying to me? Tomas promised to help me save my son. He swore we could get him away from Idella’s clutches, and I believed him. I became his paramour after that. Many nights he snuck into my apartments and into my bed, and I welcomed him there. I drowned my grief in his arms. I was drunk on his kisses and his sweet words. Let Idella see me with him, and let her think I am doing her bidding when I am working to destroy her. I cared not who knew about our affair. I had lost everything: my husband, my son, my freedom. I knew eventually I would have to face Idella or else she would become suspicious.

Tomas took me to dinner parties every night of the week. I was his acknowledged paramour. No one seemed to care. I was treated kindly, perhaps better than I had been when I was Artor’s wife. Tomas helped me search for proof of Idella’s involvement in my husband’s murder, some cat’s-paw that she had used to turn the tide and bring the attack down upon Artor and the other soldiers, but everyone was dead but Hilliard, and he had disappeared as if he never existed.

Some weeks later, Prince Garrison was holding a fete for his son’s natality. I came with Tomas. He had bedecked me in emeralds and a gown of a similar hue. I wore my hair loose and flowing over my shoulders. I felt like a queen in my own right.

“You look beautiful, your grace,” Tomas purred in my ear as we marched our way up to greet Prince Garrison and his son. He nipped at my neck, and I batted him away playfully. I still had reservations about public affection, even if I was his recognized paramour.

We were next to meet the prince and his son. The boy was a scrawny child. He was older than Layton by a few years, but it was difficult to tell. He had large blue eyes and light golden hair. He was pale. I wondered if he got out in the sun often enough. It made me think of Layton playing in the garden at White Crest. Layton loved to sword fight and climb trees. This child looked as if he hardly ever saw the light of day. He shared little resemblance to his father other than the blue Raleban eyes he had inherited. His mother had been Jerauchian. The country of Jerauch was north of us in the mountains, where it was snowy nine months out of the year. The child had inherited his mother’s fair complexion and the blond hair their people were known for. He appears more Jerauchian than Danhadine.

He bowed in a courtly manner. “Your grace,” he said in a soft voice, his eyes cast down. He seems so gentle. His father would do better not to bring him to court. They will devour him whole here.

“Happy natality, Lord Johai, did you get everything you wished for?” I kneeled down so I was at eye level with him.

He looked to his father briefly, his face sad and drawn. “Yes. Father gave me a pony and my own sword.”

He looked as pleased with a sword as if he had been given a bowl of maggots. Definitely not a swordsman, this one.

“How very nice.” I smiled at the child. I got the impression he did not see much kindness. Prince Garrison was busy with the war, and I imagined he had little time for his son. “There is lots of land up north where I come from, and my son Layton has his own pony. Mayhap you can come visit sometime.”

He smiled politely. “Thank you, your grace.”

I stood back up and greeted his father. “Your Highness.” I bowed to him. Prince Garrison was handsomely dressed in a doublet of Raleban blue and silver.

“Duchess, it is an honor to have you in my home.” His words were spoken in a flat tone without feeling. I took it as a compliment; he was not a man of much emotion, I had learned.

The gathering was held at the palace proper, and I was not surprised to see King Dallen and Queen Idella among the revelers. I danced with Tomas and avoided Idella’s glare as she watched us move about the room. She would not risk the charade and approach me in public. She would expect me to leave to keep up the charade, but I will not be cowed. We danced until dinner was announced, and then, laughing and breathless, Tomas and I entered the dining room. We were sat at a table near Prince Garrison. He sat at the head table with his brother and the queen. The king had the same look as his brother, with chestnut hair and a beard trimmed to a point. He wore the Raleban blue and silver as well while Idella wore a gown of silver. She had pearls in her hair that glimmered in the candlelight.

Beside the queen sat King Dallen and Prince Garrison’s sister, Princess Florian, my son’s foster mother. She was newly returned to court from her country home. She was a comely woman, with dark hair that bordered on black, and lighter blue eyes than her brother’s. She had brought Layton back with her, and he was seated beside her son, Prince Adair. The prince had a similar cast to his mother with the blue Raleban eyes and chestnut hair. Across from Princess Florian was her husband, Jon Ilore, the Duke of House Ilore. He had light brown hair and a clean-shaven face. Beside Idella was a petite blonde child who I took to be Queen Idella’s only daughter, Princess Sarelle. She looked much like her mother, with golden curls, but she smiled prettily. Johai sat beside his father but removed from his royal cousins. He pushed his food around his plate and only looked up when someone came by to wish him a happy natality.

There were several courses served, from rosemary soups to a shaved ice with cream for the final sweet course. I ate and laughed with my companions. Every so often I would look up and see Idella glowering at me. I would smile in return and let Tomas feed me a bite off his fork.

When dinner finished, Prince Garrison opened up the dancing once more, and the guests returned to the ballroom. I motioned to follow them, seeing Idella go that way. Tomas stopped me, however.

“Not yet, your grace, I have some people I would have you meet.”

“Oh?”

He led me through a side door into a hallway attached to the dining hall. We made our way down the hall to a large wooden door. Tomas knocked three times, and a man poked his head out.

“Were you followed?” the man asked. He had mousy flyaway hair and a pinched red face.

“No, we were not. Let us in,” Tomas replied.

The man stepped aside and let us in. It was a plain room, with wood paneling and a fireplace roaring at one end of the room. Prince Garrison was sitting in a chair by the fire. I had not even seen him leave the fete. Tomas led me to a seat. I took a seat, and Tomas joined me on the couch. He grabbed my hand and squeezed. The prince turned to face us. The door behind us opened and closed, but I did not look to see if someone was entering or leaving.

“Thomas tells me you have been asking questions about the Order of the Oak.”

I had been expecting this moment for some time. I asked Tomas about the Order often enough, but he always put me off, saying the time was not right. It seemed the time had come at last. “Yes, my husband left me this necklace after his death. In my grief, I thought there was a message he had left me, some love note beyond the grave, so I looked into the meaning of this symbol and discovered the Order.” I took off my necklace and handed it to the prince.

He held it up to the light, letting the charm spin. The flames glinted off the silver charm, streaking it with orange and red.

“Tomas has suggested you join our ranks,” the prince said. He handed me back the necklace, and I clasped my hand around the cool metal.

“If your highness would agree, I would be honored to join your ranks. The realm’s safety is my number one priority.” And getting revenge against Idella.

“Is that true?” Prince Garrison’s gaze flickered to Tomas. “Well, we shall see.”

I was suddenly plunged into darkness as a bag was thrust over my head. I shouted in surprise. Someone grabbed me from behind and tried to drag me to my feet.

“What are you doing? I was going to join your Order!” I shouted.

Someone groped for my hand and squeezed. “Shh, your grace. We must make sure your heart is true before we can allow you to join us. This is just the initiation.”

My heart was hammering. I was wild with panic. What does he mean see into my heart? Will they see that I am harboring ill will to Idella?

I went along meekly. I had no choice. I needed the Order to help me find proof of what Idella had done to Artor. They could have asked me to walk through fire, and I would have done it if it meant I would get my vengeance.

Tomas led me out of the room once more, and we went down a long corridor, which seemed to twist and turn endlessly. More than once, he stopped to open locked doors. I heard the jingling of keys, and my own breathing echoed back at me through the burlap over my eyes. I deduced Tomas and I were alone. I heard no other voices, and no other footsteps echoed around us. He did not speak, and I did not ask questions. He would stop me with a touch and then urge me on with a gentle nudge.

We stopped, and he worked with the keys for several moments. I felt a cold breeze tickle at my ankles. Are we outside? Where is he taking me? A door swung open with a groan, and he nudged me forward.

“I’m going to hold onto you. We’ll be taking stairs downwards for quite a ways,” he whispered to me.

I moved my feet along the steps, trusting Tomas to guide me safely. I put one hand along the stone wall and felt the rough stone scratch at my palms. Our footsteps echoed back at us, and we seemed to descend downwards for an eternity. With each step it grew colder, and the flickering light I could see through the burlap faded.

“We’re near the bottom now,” Tomas said. At the bottom of the steps, we stopped after a hundred yards or so. “Wait a moment,” he murmured. He clinked with the keys, and the light flickered as wind whipped through the place we stood. I shivered and rubbed my arms to try to keep warm. He removed the sack, and I was staring at a rough wooden door. It was falling apart with decay. There was one rusty handle and hinges that looked ready to break apart. “Here we are,” Tomas announced.

“What is this place?” I asked. A tingling of foreboding crawled up my spine.

He only laughed and pushed open a rough wooden door. It screamed in protest, and I thought it would fall off its hinges, but by some miracle it stayed in place. Inside was a circular room made up of stone. It appeared to have been carved from the cliff that the palace sat upon. In the center of the room was a stone basin set upon a pillar. Water dripped from the ceiling and into the basin.

“What is this place?” I asked again.

This time he answered, “Where our kingdom began.” He held my hand palm up. He pressed a kiss to my palm and looked at me. Then before I realized what he was doing, he brought up a dagger and slashed my palm.

I cried out and tried to pull away, but he held me fast. “We need to see inside your heart, your grace.” He had placed the torch in a sconce by the door, and the light fell on his face and cast his features in shadow. He looked manic and sinister.

I shook my head to try to tell him no, but my protests had shriveled up in my throat. He tugged me gently to the basin. Blood was pooling in my hand. The place where he had cut me burned from the sting of the blade.

“Put your blood into the water,” he instructed.

I tilted my hand, doing as I was told. The water was dark as night. The light from the torch reached the basin, and it seemed that the water drank it up, leaving darkness behind. The water swallowed up my blood; three drops fell in before Tomas took my hand away.

“Not too much or else the darkness will grow hungry for more.” He wrapped my hand in a bandage.

“What now?” I trembled but managed to keep my fear from my voice.

“Look in the water.” He motioned me to the basin. I glanced into the water. It was dark, but I saw my face reflected on the surface. My eyes were large and frightened, and I hardly recognized myself with the shadows the torch threw over my features.

Dark shapes danced across the water’s surface. I saw what appeared to be a masked face before it disappeared behind a curtain of darkness. There were other images beneath the murky depths of the water, but I could not clearly say what. For a moment I thought I saw a company of men, banners flapping in the wind. I could not see the sigils on their banners, but I knew instinctively that they were our enemies. They marched over a hill and disappeared. The water returned to inky blackness.

“What is this?”

“It is the diviner’s basin.” Tomas placed his hand at the base of my nape.

I shivered. “There have been no diviners for a century.”

“That is true, but their legacy remains. Do you know what they locked in the dark?”

I looked away from the water. A creeping sensation was settling on me, and I wanted nothing better than to flee. “What?” I asked to appease him.

“It is said they banished the first king beyond the veil. But what we know is that there is a great power hidden here, one that is waiting for us to unleash it.”

“What sort of power is this?”

“One that wins wars and makes kings.” He was standing over the basin, looking into the dark water. I was afraid to look, but I felt drawn to him. The torchlight had silhouetted his features as he gazed deep into the ebony water.

“That is a powerful creature indeed,” I replied. There was a creeping sense of foreboding that latched onto me and would not let go; this was a haunted place. I felt fear clinging to my skin. This was an evil place.

“I have a task for you as the newest member of the Order. You saw the army marching in the water?”

“Yes,” I said in a hushed tone.

“We’ve received intelligence that Neaux is set to attack within the next fortnight. We need you to take the royal family to White Crest to keep them safe. Can you do that?”

“Even the king?”

He smiled, and in the flickering light of the torch, he reminded me of the mask I had glimpsed in the water. “No, not the king. His Majesty would not bear to be parted from his throne. I need you to separate him from his queen.”

“From Idella? Why?”

“Because she is planning his assassination. She wants to put her daughter on the throne in place of Prince Adair. She wants to change the succession so she can rule as regent.”

I felt fury churning in my gut like an inferno. “Is that why she had Artor killed?”

“Yes. She wanted to keep him silent, and she would silence you as well, but we will do her one better. Take this.”

He handed me a dagger with a decorative hilt inset with rubies and other semiprecious stones. I stared at the blade glimmering in the dim torchlight.

“What am I to do with this?”

“I think you know, Damara. You will take your vengeance for your husband’s murder.”

Chapter Ten

When I dreamed of returning to White Crest, it was not like this. I swayed in the saddle of my gelding. In front were a line of soldiers. To my right, the queen sat straight backed in the saddle. She wore a long gray cloak, which trailed over the rear of her mount. Beyond her were Princess Florian and her husband, Duke Jon Ilore. Their son Prince Adair—who was heir to the throne—rode ahead of me with my son, Layton, and Princess Sarelle, Idella’s only daughter. The children cantered ahead. A soldier in the blue and silver cloak of House Raleban rode beside them, ever wary for roadside bandits. Sarelle raced the boys for the lead, and the two boys had become fast friends. They were hard-pressed to keep up with the little princess. The wind was ripping through Layton’s hair, and the small tail I had helped him tie that morning was ripped loose. Sarelle’s golden hair rippled behind her like sunlight.

I had imagined a triumphant return with Artor’s killer in chains or, better yet, dead, and I would return to raise my son and mourn my husband. Now I returned with the woman who had ordered his murder and the means to her death hidden inside my trunk.

Idella had her own brother killed to keep him silent. Should I kill her? Did one life avenge another? I looked at Idella from the corner of my eye. She had said little enough on the journey, keeping her chilly silence to continue the charade. When it was announced that the royal family would travel north to White Crest, the queen made it seem she wanted to return to her maiden home and we had put aside our differences. If it were not for the cold silences, a bystander might believe her. Before we had left, I had spoon-fed her lies about the Neaux attack, enough to keep her compliant and unsuspecting. The dagger only seemed to wear me down like a lead weight around my neck.

Reports that came to the palace before we left said the war was coming closer to home. A branch of the Neaux army had been spotted burning villages and crops a few hundred leagues south of Keisan. The reports had only hastened King Dallen’s resolve to send the royal family away: his wife, his daughter, his sister and her husband, their son, and his nephew, Johai. Prince Garrison had argued to leave the boy behind. He did not want him to leave his side. It was surprising seeing as how little attention he seemed to pay to the boy, but the king had insisted. Everyone must go but those that would remain and fight if need be. Johai was a strange child. He spoke seldom but when spoken to, and though the other three children spent countless hours playing along the road, he hung back, often glued to his Uncle Jon Ilore’s side.

Princess Florian confided in me that Johai and Jon Ilore were close. Johai had spent some time at their country estate when he was a boy. The boy and his uncle had found a common interest in scholarly pursuits before Prince Garrison had taken him back with him to court.

“The duke was never one for the sword,” Princess Florian had admitted to me. “He should have been a magiker had his father permitted it, but when his brother died during a tourney, he had to take over as heir to House Ilore.”

I watched Johai as we plodded along. His pale golden hair was braided neatly, not a hair out of place. He held the reins loose in his hand, and he stared out across the ocean. Gulls were screeching along the coast. In the distance I could see ships coming into the harbor at White Crest. I’ll show Johai the library at White Crest. It may not be as large as the one at Keisan, but he may enjoy it.

A horse cantered alongside mine, and I looked away from Johai. Hilliard smiled at me,. He rode past to speak with the captain, I presumed. He had changed his appearance since we first met. He had trimmed his beard, and his hair was clean and tied back. He wore mail and leather along with the royal crest across his chest, the silver tree upon a navy field intersected with the golden axe of Ilore. He had returned to Keisan along with the Ilore household. It seemed he had been assigned to Prince Adair’s personal guard.

He was a strange choice for a guard. He had only just healed from his war wounds and still rode stiffly in the saddle. We had plenty of soldiers to guard us from bandits and rogues. We were separated from the war by leagues upon leagues, countless rivers and armies. We had nothing to fear from Neaux or the war, in White Crest. It was a safe haven.

When we arrived at White Crest, the staff awaited us on the gravel lane that led up to the manor house. They were arrayed in a line; at the center was my seneschal and my housekeeper. Layton and Prince Adair were the first to jump down from their horses. They ran off shrieking into the foyer. Princess Sarelle made to go after them but stopped when her mother put a restraining hand upon her shoulder. The girl shot her mother a sullen look but obeyed.

I greeted my seneschal and spoke with him on some matters of wool and barley trade. While I was getting caught up on household matters, my housekeeper led the guests to their chambers. The soldiers were given rooms in the servants’ quarters, and the royal family given the best rooms, including my own, which I turned over to Queen Idella and her daughter. When my seneschal was appeased, he left me on my own. Though I was tired from the journey, I could not rest. Guilt was weighing heavy upon me. Can I kill her? I hated Idella, but I was not sure I could drive a dagger through her heart while she slept. I tried to imagine the scenario in which I could find her alone and do the deed. If I slit her throat under my own roof, they will discover it is me, and then I will be tried for treason.

I lay in bed, trying to rest before supper; instead I wrestled with my tormented thoughts before giving up on resting. I climbed out of bed to go for a walk. I went to the ramparts and looked out at the sea. The ocean was calm that day, and the breeze blowing off of it rustled my hair. It was well past noon, and the sun was already making its descent behind the mountains, though it not quite touched the top of the peaks. It left ample sunlight falling on the water, which looked blue green in the late afternoon light. This is a moment’s respite. Soon I will have to return and face the task that has been set before me. I thought of the dagger locked in my trunk. I cannot do this. I am not a killer!

“Your grace seems troubled.”

I turned to find Hilliard staring at me. He had changed out of his armor and wore a plain tunic in brown with black breeches. His gait was still awkward, and he leaned on his good leg as he walked over to me. Seeing him again, I felt tainted. I was not the shy widow he had met in the Hall of Entertainment.

“War troubles us all,” I said.

“That is true, and you most of all, I expect.”

I grabbed the stone of the ramparts. The stone had been smoothed by the sea, and it was warm from the sun. I studied the swirling patterns the sand and sea had made upon the granite before I answered. “Mayhap. What else do I have left to fear? My husband is already dead. What do they have left to take from me?” They can take my life for treason.

“Much, I expect.” He seemed to echo my thoughts.

“Did you come here to make me worry, sir?” I asked, half jesting. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. He was not smiling.

“Even the best swimmer may drown if they swim out too far, your grace.”

“Sometimes we must swim into deeper water to escape what is upon the shore.” If I do not kill Idella, then she will get away with murdering my husband.

He chuckled, and the sound made my stomach flutter. He never did claim his kiss. He won the match, and I never saw him again after that. “Why did you leave court?” I asked.

“The king asked me to guard the young prince; I could not refuse my liege’s orders.”

“A convenient assignment that let you escape my questioning,” I teased. I knew the truth now, and what Hilliard could tell me made little difference.

“Aye, it was.”

I frowned at him. I did not think he would admit the truth. He was a puzzle. He was pensive, staring out across the harbor and to the ocean beyond. He shielded his eyes from the sun and squinted.

“What is it that you are studying so intently?” I asked.

“I see a ship on the horizon.”

I laughed. “This is a busy trading port. It is not uncommon to see ships coming into the harbor; it happens quite often, actually.”

He dropped his hand and looked at me. The look in his eyes scared me. “Yes, but I am sure few sail in fleets with crimson sails.”

I felt the blood rush from my face. “Neaux—but how… they are not seafaring people. I’ve never even heard of them having a navy!”

“Well, either they do now or someone is playing a cruel jape. I saw the rearing stallion flying from their mast.”

I squinted at the horizon. There was indeed a ship coming into the harbor. In fact, there were several of them coming at a quick speed. I could not make out the standard with the banner flapping in the wind.

“We have to gather the small folk. The soldiers will raise the town when they get here. It’ll be easier to defend them if they are all in one place,” Hilliard instructed.

I was busy counting the sails. There had to be at least half a dozen ships. I was no seaman, but my father had a fleet of trade galleys, and those needed at least twenty to man properly. These ships dwarfed those.

“How many are there?” I whispered.

Hilliard grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. “It does not matter. You are in charge here. Protect your people, send soldiers down into the village, and bring the small folk here. We will defend your home.”

I was in a daze. This cannot be happening. We are safe here.

“Do you hear me?” he asked.

“What can we do? We don’t have enough men to arm properly. The battlements are in ill repair, and the walls could be easily breached.”

“We’ll fight to the death if we have to. Artor wanted me to keep you safe, and that’s what I intend to do.”

I whipped my head towards him; everything came into sharp focus. “Artor told you to keep me safe?”

“Aye, your grace, now come with me. We have a manor to defend.”

Chapter Eleven

The house erupted in a stream of chaos. Hilliard shouted commands to men who hopped to obey; even the captain of the guard King Dallen had sent ran to do Hilliard’s bidding. I felt as if I were walking through pudding; everything around me was moving in slow motion. The men were armed from the vault beneath the castle with decorative swords that had belonged to generations of House Florett past. Some of the blades had spots of rust. A few would not even come loose from the sheath. Others took maces and axes that were double the length of a man’s arm. They were relics of the past. No one had used them as weapons since the time of the first king, I suspected. The men of the household were given the option to arm themselves, and many of them did, except for the infirmed or elderly. All hands were put to work building hasty barricades out of furniture in case the invaders broke through the gates that led into the estate. There were three different gates: one was made of wood; the other two were made of iron and were more decorative than made for security.

I helped push furniture in front of the doors that led into the parlor and grabbed whatever could be used as a weapon—candlesticks, old family busts—and armed the women.

“In case it comes to the worst,” I told the maids as I handed them blunt objects.

Hilliard shouted for some servants to barricade all entrances; then to me he said, “Take the woman up to the second floor. Barricade yourselves inside along with the children. Don’t come down no matter what you hear.”

“What about you?” I gripped a candlestick tight. What happens if they get inside?

“Don’t worry about me. The men can hold them off.”

I took his hand and squeezed it before hurrying up the stairs. I went first to Layton’s nursery to collect him, but I found it empty. I tried not to panic. He was playing with Adair. They must have heard the alarm and joined the others. I went in search of our guests. I found Princess Florian and Jon in their chambers. Florian was in a panicked state.

“Duchess, have you seen Adair? He’s gone missing. We heard the alarms, and when I checked his rooms, he wasn’t there.” Her face was pale, and her eyes bright with tears. Her husband had an arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

“I’m sure he and the other boys are somewhere around here. Please stay in your room; I’ll go and look for them.”

I left, my heart pounding in my chest. I went to Johai’s room; he was missing as well. Where are the boys? Where could they have gone? Panic was rising as I stumbled from room to room, throwing open doors and searching under beds and in wardrobes. They were all missing.

The garden, he must be in the garden. I ran down the stairs and out one of the last open doors; people from the village were running towards the castle, looking for asylum. They were terrified. A woman shushed a crying child in her arms, and I pointed her towards the house all the while looking for the boys among the stream of villagers. He would not play out here if he saw the villagers, would he? A young man was helping his grandfather, who was wobbling and shaking on his feet. The villagers were practically trampling him to get inside.

I looked down the road where they were coming from. Smoke was billowing into the sky, thick and gray, choking the air. Beyond that I could see the ships, seven in all, anchored in the harbor, their red sails flapping in the wind and the banners with the proud stallion of Neaux rearing. This has to be a nightmare. I’ll wake in my bed, and all of this will have been a bad dream. I turned away from the village road and went to Layton’s favorite place in the oak tree. What greeted me were bare branches, the fall was upon us, and the leaves had fallen onto a carpet on the ground. The bare branches were stark against the sky gray with smoke. Where could they have gone? I spun around in a circle, helpless and worried.

I went back to the house; they had to be there—where else could they have gone? The villagers were running to the manor now. I could hear screams carried on the wind, and the smoke was only growing thicker and getting closer. I could have imagined it, but I thought I heard the ring of steel upon steel. This was supposed to be a safe haven, a way to escape the war. When had it gone all awry?

Inside, all the doors had been barred; villagers were only trickling in through the castle gate. Anyone who was still outside either would not come or could not come. I found Hilliard directing groups of villagers, arming the men. I grabbed him by the shoulder.

“My son, Layton, Prince Adair and Johai are missing. Have you seen them?”

Hilliard shook his head. “We will find them; don’t worry. Maybe they’re playing down below somewhere and they did not hear the shouts and the alarm.”

I thought I might weep for fear. What if he went outside the castle gate? Please, goddess, do not take my son from me as well.

“Mama!” Layton ran through the door, the prince heir hot on his heels.

Tears burst forth, and I grabbed him and held him in my arms. I squeezed him hard. I did not want to ever let him go. He sniffled and nuzzled his face into my neck. I pulled back and visually checked him for wounds. He seemed unscathed though a bit shaken. “Where have you been?” I asked, my voice thick with tears.

“I took Adair and Johai to the shore. I did not think there would be any harm in it… then the ships came… Mama, I am so sorry,” he cried. Prince Adair was watching me with a guilty expression, but Johai was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is Johai?” I asked.

“He was right behind us,” Adair said and then looked at his feet “And then he wasn’t…”

“The boy was left behind?” Jon Ilore had come down the stairs. He looked to his son and then to me.

“I’m sorry, Father. We were running, coming to warn the house. We did not realize he fell behind,” Prince Adair explained. He looked up at his father, beseeching.

“We have to send someone out to rescue him,” Jon said. He looked to the spattering of armed men that were about. They looked at their feet or at the walls, anywhere but at the duke.

“We cannot spare the men,” Hilliard said reasonably. As much as I regretted to admit it, it was true. Johai was one child, and I would not risk my entire household for one. “The prince’s safety is paramount,” Hilliard continued. “The prince heir and I will leave, and once I do, the gate will close, and no one else shall be let in or out. Even if we let someone out to find him, they would not be back in time before the gate closed,” Hilliard said and looked to the prince heir. I felt as if he had struck me. He’s leaving? Why risk taking the boy away from here?

“What?” His father bristled. “You said we cannot spare a single man to look for my nephew, but you would take my son out there in harm’s way?”

“The king has ordered me to protect the prince heir at all costs. I have to take him from here for his safety.”

My stomach sank. This is madness! The prince would be safer within the castle walls than defenseless outside them. But my fear clamped my mouth shut. I wanted to command him to stay, but what was one woman’s desperate order against the king.

“You’re not taking my son. If you leave, you will surely be killed. We are safe within these walls,” Lord Ilore began, but Hilliard interrupted him.

“If the prince and I flee, then everyone else may be spared,” Hilliard explained. “We can ride for help and send reinforcements.”

“And what if you are stopped?” I asked. “What if you are killed? Duke Ilore is correct; you would be safer here.”

“We’ll travel west, through the foothills. The barricades will protect you for a time, long enough for me to bring Duke Magdale’s force. He is supposed to be a few leagues from here. I shall lead him down here with reinforcements.”

“They are leagues away, and the Neaux are at our doorsteps,” Jon Ilore argued. His face had turned red.

Prince Adair was watching the exchange with wide eyes. His face was pale as new milk. He inched towards his father and grabbed onto the hem of his surcoat. “Father, I don’t want to go.”

“Hilliard, this is madness!” I shouted. Is he in Idella’s pocket? Is he taking the boy to kill him?

Jon Ilore knelt beside his son and spoke to him in low tones.

Hilliard pulled me aside and whispered in my ear, “This attack is not coincidence. Someone is trying to hurt the royal family. I fear there is an assassin among us now; the prince is not safe here. I have to take him away. If the Neaux lay siege and the killer is within these walls, he may be slain, regardless. I swore to protect him, and this is the only way I know how.”

I wanted to confess to him that I was the assassin, that the boy would be safe from me, but with Idella here locked inside, the child might not be safe. If I cannot kill Idella, will I let this child’s blood be upon my hands, like Johai’s? How many children must die? I had no choice but to let Hilliard go. There was a chance they might get away and find reinforcements.

“Come,” Hilliard said and held his hand out for the prince. Adair took Hilliard’s hand hesitantly, with one last look to his father.

I watched the exchange, feeling numb. I thought he was going to protect me, but he has abandoned me like all the rest.

“I cannot let one child’s life be spared while another must be sacrificed,” Jon announced. “I need a sword.”

A fisherman’s son ran forward with a rusted blade and handed it to Jon. The scabbard was half decayed, and the belt was too big and hung loose as Jon buckled it around his waist.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“I’m going to find my nephew. He is out there alone and in danger. He is no less important than any of these here.” He swept his hand around the room.

“If you go out there, we will close the gates behind you,” Hilliard said.

“Father!” Adair shouted and tried to run to his father, but Hilliard held him back.

“I have to do this,” Jon said.

He strode to the door and pushed back the chairs and table that were in the way so he could slip through the crack into the dying light of the day.

“We have to stop him!” I said. I looked to the others around me. No one made a move to stop this madness. And that was all it could be called, Jon’s suicide mission and Hilliard’s; they were both mad to risk their lives, for what? If it was Layton, would you not do the same? my subconscious reminded me. But neither of these boys are their sons, I thought.

“We cannot stop him; his mind is made up. He’s going for Johai,” Hilliard said. He laid a hand on my shoulder.

I shook my head. I did not understand it. Hilliard gathered some things, a cloak for Adair and himself, a sword for him, and a short sword for Adair. “You will not use this unless I give you leave, understand?” he said to Adair, kneeling so they were eye to eye.

The young prince nodded his head solemnly. Tears were gathering in his eyes as he looked to the door where his father had disappeared.

He turned to leave, and I grabbed his hand to stop him. “You will come back, won’t you?” I asked. Desperation made my voice thick. I do not think we will make it out of here alive, was what I wanted to say, but I dared not voice my fears lest the others went into a panic.

“Don’t worry, your grace. I have made more than one oath. I will not let you die here.”

He and Adair went out the same door that Jon had gone through. I watched them go through the crack in the door and out the gate. I could see the town below through the open gate. Smoke was rising on the horizon. I heard people screaming and children crying. I am in command here now. I took a deep breath. Goddess protect us. We will survive this.

“Bar the door. Close the gate. Let no one else in,” I instructed the servants. The servants closed the door and blocked it with whatever was left that was not nailed down.

I turned to the captain of the guard who had escorted us to White Crest.

“I leave our defense in your capable hands.”

He bowed. “Your grace, I will see you through this, believe me.”

I smiled, but it was forced. I will be strong. Do not let them see your weakness. Death was at our door, but I would not let it see how much it terrified me.

Chapter Twelve

Boom. Boom. Boom. The ram knocked upon the gate below. I heard men shouting orders in foreign and familiar tongues. I held Layton close, he did not cry but trembled each time the ram made contact with the gate. He was trying to be brave, and for that I was proud of him. Let him live to be the rightful Duke of Florett as his father was before him, please.

Boom. Boom. Boom. The battering ram continued its ceaseless knocking upon the gate.

Florian was nearby sobbing and rocking back and forth. Her face was red and streaked with tears she did not even bother to wipe away. Idella sat on one of the few chairs in the room. Her hands were folded in her lap. She spoke with her daughter in low tones and jumped every so often when the ram creaked and the men shouted. Her daughter, Sarelle, was a miniature of her mother, though her hands shook and her eyes often strayed to the barricaded door. We had locked ourselves in the study. The doors were made of thick oak, and the desk and furniture were best placed to keep out intruders.

Inside, we were a motley group of women, from queen to kitchen helper. We arranged ourselves about the room, sitting in circles or alone as we chose, some praying while others stared at the doors. The windows had been boarded up, and we were left in near darkness. We lit a few candles but dared not light the fire in the massive stone fireplace, where once I had found the necklace. My hand groped for it in the dark and held on tight. Meet me beneath the old oak tree. That is where I will be. I rubbed the smooth back side of the pendant and thought of the inscription in the locket. All that searching had led me to naught. I thought I wanted vengeance, but sitting here on death’s doorstep, I have lost the taste of it. Idella will die here along with the rest of us, and Artor and I will be together once more.

Boom. Boom. Boom. The battering ram roared out in protest. I tried to convince myself we would be safe, that help would come, but night had fallen, and the siege had come to the castle. It was only a matter of time before the battering ram broke through the gate and the invaders poured through. After that, there was little to stop them from slaying all of us. We were few in arms, and those we had were untrained. Inside awaited a motley crew of soldiers armed with antique swords and kitchen knives. On the landing outside our door were a few more soldiers, perhaps two or three dozen, better armed but no real match for a full attack from a Neaux army intent on pillage and rape.

We had been besieged for forty-eight hours before they built the ram and began the ceaseless knocking. The gate had held up this long, but I feared it would not hold much longer. Help is not coming. Hilliard lied. He took Adair because he knew that we were all going to die in here. I took a deep breath, trying to seem calm. I must be in control of my fears. Do not let them see how terrified you are. Be strong. Each boom of the battering ram seemed to ripple through me, and the dread slipped deeper and deeper into my gut.

Florian jumped up. “I’m going mad locked up in here. My husband is lost, and my son has been taken! They are both out there. I must go to them!” she shouted.

“Calm yourself, sister,” Idella said, her tone was more reprimand than soothing. “We cannot do anything for them now. Adair is in good hands, and your husband is a capable swordsman.”

Florian laughed, and it was the cackle of a mad woman. “He is a capable swordsman against a straw doll in the practice yard. My husband has no head for battle. He will die looking for Garrison’s goddess-cursed son!”

“Hush,” Idella reprimanded again.

The servants were huddled in one corner, looking at Princess Florian with wide, terrified eyes. Layton shifted in my lap and grabbed my hand. I wrapped my arms around him tighter.

“Don’t worry; we are safe here,” I whispered in his ear.

“We should flee.” Florian wrung her hands as she spoke. She continued to rock back and forth, now on the balls of her feet. She would stop only to pace back and forth the length of the room. Everyone watched, captivated by her movements. “We are trapped here like rats. Do you know what they will do when they find us?”

Boom. Boom. Boom. The battering ram answered. Someone cried out only to be hushed by another. Idella was staring coldly at the princess. The others only watched in mute terror.

“Nothing will happen. We have the best of the king’s army here to protect us,” Idella said. She placed a hand on her daughter’s head. Sarelle was crying and trembling like a leaf.

Even I could see the lie for what it was. We had old men who had grown fat in their lazy posts, men that were meant only to be here to keep a minor force around the royal family—no one had known and no one had suspected that we would fall under attack here, not in such a safe place.

“You can lie to yourself, but I will not sit here and wait to be used by some Neaux barbarian,” Florian declared. She walked over to the door and began pulling down chairs and dragging the desk away from the door.

“Stop!” I shouted, but she did not heed me. I stood up, intent on pulling her back, but a few of the servants got to their feet and beat me to it. When they wrapped their arms around her, she clawed, kicked and scratched at them.

“You cannot do this, Florian,” Idella said, her voice rising above the din. Panic was rising like the tide in the room. The servants were arguing; everyone was making for the door. “We are safe here. Once the king’s reinforcements come, we will be fine. We must wait.” Idella tried to shout above the noise, but her voice was drowned out. She made her way over to Florian, pushing back the servants, who were squabbling amongst themselves.

The princess swung around and broke free of the cook’s thick arms. She rushed forward, back to the door. Idella managed to get in her path. Florian stopped. Her hair was a tangled mess, the strap of her gown was torn, and she was red-faced and heaving for breath.

“Stop this madness,” Idella said to Florian.

Florian reached back and slapped Idella across the face, as I had once done in the garden. The sound rang out across the room, and the chaos seemed to fade away.

“Don’t stop me, or I will kill you and then escape.” Florian stared at Idella with murderous intent in her gaze.

She has lost her mind, I thought. Why would she want to go out there?

“She will get us all killed,” one of the servants wailed.

“I agree with the princess,” said a villager. “We are trapped here. We should escape while we can. There’s still the servants’ stairs. The soldiers won’t want anything with that; they’ll be after the tapestries and silver. We can go out through the kitchen and run for the foothills.”

“You will be killed the moment you leave this room. Did you not see what they did to the village?” I said. I gestured in the direction of the village, though they could not see it through the dark and the barred window.

They ignored me. “The prince and his guard escaped, and so can we,” someone replied.

Three servants joined Florian in pulling the blockade down, despite our pleas. They would hear nothing of it. When they had all but the massive oaken desk pulled back, they stopped. Florian looked up.

“Do you hear that? The pounding has stopped. We are saved.” Her face was flushed as she and the three servants grunted as they pulled the desk back and ran out.

The sound had stopped, and there was silence. They would have come for us if we were safe. Why have the soldiers not come?

“Wait!” I ran to try to grab the princess, but she slipped through my fingers, following the servants. I stopped in the doorway and looked out onto the landing. There was something dark red puddled on the ground. Florian ran through it before stopping and examining the substance.

She screeched in terror. It was blood covering the landing; it lay in dark puddles all over. Then I saw the bodies bristling with arrows. Men shouted and steel rang out. Someone was begging for mercy, but no one came to his aid. A man came up the stairs, an axe in hand, with olive skin and dark hair. He saw Florian and smiled a salacious smile. She tried to run but slipped in the blood. I tried to run out and save her, but before I could get out the door I was pulled backwards violently and the door was slammed shut. Florian screamed.

“Hurry, put back the blockade,” Idella instructed. It was she who had pulled me back into the room.

Florian’s screams filled my ears.

“Please don’t!” she cried. “Ahhhhhh!”

This cannot be real. I must be dreaming.

Idella and the others piled the furniture back in front of the door. I stumbled away from the door, listening to Florian beg and plead with her attacker. He grunted and groaned as she cried out for us in turn, asking us to save her. I wept, and it was Layton who wrapped a small arm around my waist and coaxed me into sitting down. I should have stopped her. I could have saved her. We all huddled together. The men outside were shouting, and the women who were being raped screamed and cried, begging for mercy. All the soldiers are dead—all our supposed protectors—and we will be next.

I kept thinking the same line over and over. This was a safe place—we should have been safe.

The men tried to get into the room, but their efforts were minimal. Eventually Florian’s cries halted, and I feared the worst. No one dared check the door even after the sounds of the attack faded away. The soldiers were looting the manor. We heard glass breaking and men shouting to one another. Layton grasped my hand, and I held him tight. Princess Sarelle cried quietly. The candles burned out, and no one move to relight them. We waited and waited for the end to come, for them to tire of their looting and to break down the door.

Then the sound of looting died away. Someone cried out in alarm. We heard a scuffle outside our door before the sound fell away. I dared not hope, but I listened as the foreign invaders shouted and booted feet ran up and down the landing. For a long time we heard the sounds of fighting, and I was not sure if our invaders had turned upon one another or if our salvation had come at last, but many hours later, when everything had gone quiet, there was a knock at the door.

“Your grace, the fighting is done. You can come out.”

I could have wept just from the sound of his voice. I instructed the servants to remove the barricade one last time, and we moved everything aside. Hilliard stood in the doorway, covered in gore but smiling. He had a tooth knocked out in the fighting, and his lip was swollen. There was a cut on his shoulder, which was bleeding copiously.

I fell into his arms, and without thinking, I kissed him on the mouth. He was stunned for a moment before pulling back.

“You came back, and I owed you that.”

“I promised you I would, and so I did.” He smiled, and it was strange against the gore on his face but so welcome. So very welcome.

Chapter Thirteen

The aftermath was in many ways worse than the actual battle. The bodies and the blood I was spared as much as possible. They could not hide Florian from me. She had survived her ordeal, but the magiker that rode with Duke Magdale’s infantry had to sedate her. The man who had raped her beat her black and blue, and her clothes were torn to shreds. She had a black eye and a motley of bruises all over her body. She slept in her chamber alone.

Jon’s body was found along the shore. He had taken hundreds of sword wounds to the torso and legs. There was one small mercy, Johai had been found alive. They found Johai alongside Jon’s body. JohaiH was covered in blood, but none of it his own. The magiker examined him and found no injury on him. The boy would not tell him where the blood had come from.

“They found him with the duke’s body, covered in blood and a least a score of dead men around him. He won’t say a word or tell us what happened,” Hilliard told me.

This event will change him as it has changed us all. Nothing will be the same for any of us, I expect.

Prince Adair had been taken back to the palace by a hundred of Duke Magdale’s men. I stood in the doorway of Layton’s room, watching him sleep. His chest rose and fell in a deep slumber. He is safe but for how long? Idella still holds my life in her hands. I could not kill her, and because of that I will be forever beholden to her.

I would have stayed there by my son’s side forever, but duty called. A soldier came for me. He was one of Duke Magdale’s men, I knew, from the black bird upon the maroon field on his surcoat.

“The queen would speak to you, your grace,” he said. His tone was formal, but it left no room for argument.

I went with him, ready to face the reprimand and the threats Idella was sure to deal out to me. I found her in my chambers that I had surrendered to her upon arriving at White Crest. She was wearing a nightgown and being examined by Duke Magdale’s magiker. When I entered, Idella wrapped herself in a robe and dismissed the magiker. He bowed to me on his way out and left me alone with the queen.

“You summoned me?” I asked.

She was facing the fireplace with her arms wrapped around herself. “I did.”

There was something altered about her, though I could not place it. Her golden hair was turned orange by the firelight, and she looked small and fragile in her nightgown. Her arms were thin and her body slight. She is a woman just as you are. Do not let her see your fear.

“I would be grateful for your haste, Your Majesty. There is much to tend to, dead to prepare for burial, and a house to set to rights.”

She turned to face me then, and tears were fresh fallen on her cheeks. I was struck by her show of vulnerability. She had shown me no other face but one of a cold hard ruler, one who meant to use me for her own ends and the woman who had ordered her brother’s death. This fragile crying woman was a stranger to me.

She brushed away her tears, and her expression returned to that old cold and hard ruler I knew. “I’ve received news from Duke Magdale. It seems the Order of the Oak had a hand in the attack here.” She picked up a piece of parchment from a writing desk nearby and handed it to me.

I took it from her and read the correspondence over. “Tomas informed His Majesty of an attack upon the royal family at White Crest, orchestrated by Prince Garrison and the Order of the Oak,” I read aloud. “This cannot be true!” Tomas and the Order sent me here to kill the queen. Why send Neaux as well?

Idella nodded. “It is as we suspected. Tomas came forward with the information and accused several minor lords of conspiring to overthrow the throne.” Idella balled her hands into fists. “They planned the attack with Neaux both here and south of Keisan. Duke Magdale captured a Neaux commander who corroborated the story. I’ve spoken with Hilliard, and he says much of the same.”

She let her words hang in the air. He knew. Tomas planned this. He knew I would not be able to kill the queen. That was his plan from the start, to distract me and then kill me along with the royal family. I felt weak. I fell into a nearby chair.

“What will happen to the prince and the Order?” I asked. I hope they all burn for what they have done.

“Tomas will give us the names of the members, and they will be tried for their crimes.”

“And me? Where does this leave me?” I glanced up at her. She was not looking at me but had returned to staring at the fire.

Idella ignored my question for a moment and poured herself a cup of wine from a decanter on the table. She took a long draught before setting the empty cup back on the table. She filled it again but did not drink any more.

“You will need to return to Keisan and possibly stand trial. You were one of them. We cannot expose your place before then.”

I stared at the cup. It was pewter with the stylized flower of House Florett upon it. I am not free of their web, not yet.

My next question came unbidden. “Is that why you killed Artor? Because he was a member of the Order?”

Idella’s shock was real. She threw out her hand in surprise and knocked both decanter and glass onto the ground. The wine pooled there like dark blood in the moonlight.

“How dare you! I loved my brother… I cannot say as much for you. You threw yourself at the first man who paid any attention to you.”

I wanted to choke the life out of her. I threw my head back and inhaled and exhaled. Look and see the truth. Idella was flushed with anger. She stood over the puddle of spilled wine. I had never seen her undone before, but now I did. She did not have anything to do with his murder. Everything Tomas told me was a lie, I realized. I have been a fool. They tricked me from the beginning.

I bowed my head. “I apologize, Your Majesty. I spoke out of turn.”

She was flushed as she glowered at me. “Yes, you were. Leave me now before I send you back to Keisan in chains.”

I let myself out of the chamber. I walked without purpose; I needed distance both from Idella and from my own folly. Tomas had played me as easily as Hilliard played his chess pieces. I thought I was doing what my husband had wanted, and what I had done was aid the very people who threatened to destroy our kingdom.

I found myself in the entryway. Men were working to carry away bodies by torchlight and clearing away the debris. The doors that led into the manor were nothing but splinters, and the ram was lying discarded over the threshold of the front door. They had rammed down the entryway in order to get into the main hall. Hilliard was working with the other men. He had removed his shirt, and his chest glistened with sweat. His chest was marred by white scars. I wondered for a moment how many battles he had won. He had saved us all with his valor. If he had not risked himself to bring the prince to safety, we may yet have perished. I refused to give Tomas any credit. This was his plot from the beginning.

“May I speak with you, sir?” I called out to Hilliard.

He hefted a plank of wood onto his shoulder. He then wiped his brow with his free hand. He gave me a tired smile. “Of course, your grace.” He gave a few instructions to the men who were working with him.

We left the entryway, and he followed me into a nearby room. At one time it had been a parlor, but the furniture was torn and broken. All that remained was the unlit fireplace.

I cast about for a place to sit, but there was nowhere. Instead I looked up at Hilliard. His face was grimy and smeared with blood and soot.

“I would have you answer me truthfully. Do not try to dissemble; I will know if for a lie.” I was hoping his exhaustion would disguise the fact that I had no way of knowing for sure if he lied to me, but I thought him a truthful man either way.

“As you wish.” He nodded his head.

“You know about the Order of the Oak.”

I meant it as more a statement than a question, but he answered nonetheless. He nodded in response. “That I do.”

“Were you a member?”

“No. I was recruited and went to a meeting but decided it was not something for me.”

“Was my husband the one who recruited you, then?”

“No. It was Tomas Deane who did the recruiting.”

Tomas. I thought of his face, his body pressed against mine. The smile he shared with me and the way he called me your grace, as if it were his own pet name just for me.

“How did you know my husband? Why are you sworn to protect me?” Tomas had said the same, and he had tried to kill me. What makes Hilliard any different? My words were coming out rushed and jumbled. My emotions were welling up inside me, and I feared I would lose control.

“I was at the battle of Redfield, that much you know. I suspect that is why you sought me out in the first place.” He smiled at me, revealing his gap tooth. It was endearing in its own way.

He is a good honest man. Why did I not see it before?

“Artor was in command at Redfield, and I was there as his second. We were set upon in the night by Neaux attackers, or that’s the official report. What really happened was half of our force turned on us and slaughtered all our men. We were fighting them off the best we could. I somehow managed to get astride a horse when the battle began, but halfway through, my horse was killed, and he fell on top of me, crushing my leg.

“Artor came and found me. He moved the beast off me and got me to my feet. We were trying to flee when the traitors found us and tried to fill us full of arrows.” He paused. “I’m not sure if you want to hear the rest…”

“No. Please, I need to hear this.”

“Well, they got Artor in the gut. He pushed me into the saddle of his horse and told me to run. I refused at first; I wanted to fight. He made me swear I would protect you and your son in exchange for my life. I swore an oath on my sword, and I fled. I was found by Duke Wodell’s infantry days later, burning up with a fever and babbling nonsense. I went to a dark place after that. I was a coward. I should have fought with my men not taken an oath to spare my goddess-forsaken life… that’s how I felt until I met you. I knew I needed to full fill my oath or my life wasn’t worth living at all. I took assignment as the prince’s guard so I could get stronger and serve you in truth.”

Hot, angry tears rolled down my cheeks. Artor was killed by our own men! Hilliard reached out for me and held me in his arms. I wanted to fight him off; men had been the source of all my troubles, Artor, Tomas, even Hilliard. I had kissed Hilliard in a moment of relief, but I did not want him to think it meant any more than that. I would be better off staying alone forever, but in that moment it felt good to be held, to lean on another man’s strength for a moment. I collected myself and pulled away as was proper.

“I must tell you that kiss meant nothing. I was just repaying my debt.”

He smiled. “I know, your grace.”

I laughed. “You said when you took the prince that there was an assassin you were trying to save him from. Who was it?”

“Does it matter? He’s safe now.”

“I need to know.”

He sighed. “It was one of your maids; she had been bribed by Tomas to murder the prince.”

I shook my head. My lady’s maid had been among those who had run out with Princess Florian. Unlike the princess, she had not made it out with her life. She was counted among the bodies of the slain. “I have one more thing that I would ask of you,” I said.

“Ask it.” He was searching my face with an almost longing expression.

“Fulfill your oath and stay with me; remain as my guard. You saved my life and many others. I would have you run my household guard.”

“What household guard?” He laughed.

I laughed too. “I would have you make my guard. We will hire men, lots of men, and I will have you train them. White Crest will never fall under attack again as long as I breathe; this will be a safe place.” From the ruin, we will rebuild.

He bowed down onto one knee. He pulled his sword from his belt and laid it at my feet.

“Damara Florett, Dowager Duchess of Florett, I swear my life and my sword to your service until I draw my last breath.”

“Rise. I am no queen, just a merchant’s daughter who rose too high and fell very hard.”

He stood back up. “You are not a queen but a better woman than most. You may have made mistakes, but we all do.”

I laughed again. “I suppose you’re right.” And I will correct them the best I know how, starting with Tomas.

Chapter Fourteen

We returned to Keisan a near moon’s turn later. This time Layton came with me. Princess Florian was in no shape to care for him. The return trip was an arduous one. Princess Florian was sick, and the magiker had to keep her sedated much of the time. A carriage was found, and she travelled within it. We stopped quite often when a wheel would get stuck in the mud, or once, when a horse threw a shoe, the carriage tipped over and broke a wheel. It took two days to make the repairs, and we stayed at a roadside inn while we waited. Florian screamed every night. At first it was unsettling, but after hearing it night after night, I covered my head and drowned it out beneath my pillow. The magiker thought she might never recover. When she was awake, she cried.

Our party was a somber one upon our return, even the children were subdued. Princess Sarelle did not often stray from her mother’s side, and Layton never went far from the caravan. Johai had spoken little since we left. He had been a quiet withdrawn child before, and he seemed to have retreated even more so into himself since the attack at White Crest. I found my own thoughts often wandering, wondering what awaited me at Keisan. The Order tried to kill me along with the royal family. I was blind before, but I will not let this go unpunished. My son could have lost his life, and that I cannot ever forgive. Hilliard stayed by my side. He would laugh and sing songs off-key as we rode, in an attempt to coax me to smile. Sometimes it worked, but more often than not, I was too absorbed in my own thoughts to pay him much mind.

Our return to Keisan found it little changed. Many a familiar face was missing. Tomas wasted no time in implicating those who were part of the Order, it seemed. We were told upon arrival that the prince had been tried while we travelled and been found guilty. He was locked in the tower, as befit his status as royalty. He had been stripped of land and title, and everything was left to his young son. Johai was now the Duke of House Slatone. A thirteen-year-old child was to rule one of the oldest houses in Danhad. Other members had been found, tried and executed. King Dallen had lessened his brother’s sentence to imprisonment. Of the Order members I knew, two had escaped trial and imprisonment: myself and Tomas.

I was furious when Idella told me. “He must be punished for his crimes! He is the reason Artor is dead!” I yelled at her.

“He informed us of the attack on White Crest. If he had not, we would all be dead,” Idella replied, her tone calm and collected. She barely raised her gaze to me as she sat serenely on the couch in her receiving room.

“It was his plot. Can you not see!” I insisted. “He was trying to silence me as he did my husband.”

“I understand why you are angry. Artor was my brother, and I want vengeance as much as you, but the king has pardoned Tomas for his assistance. He prevented Prince Garrison’s coup and sent men to save us at White Crest. We cannot accuse him for possible past crimes that are unfounded. Tomas has sworn it was Prince Garrison’s plot that killed Artor, and I believe him.”

“Then you are a fool!” I snarled and stormed out.

I refused to let it go. I knew Tomas was the man who had given the order to butcher my husband. Prince Garrison was nothing but a figurehead, someone Tomas would put upon the throne so he could control him. I knew Tomas. I knew what he was capable of. He had used me to his own ends, and I suspected he had used Artor the same way before he killed him out of hand. He would have killed me and my son in our beds if Hilliard had not seen the ships. Florian was raped and my household was slain because he wanted to silence me, I know it. I needed proof, something that I could use to implicate him. There was none to be found, however. Tomas was too smart to leave a trail. Everyone he had named and who had been tried for treason were the only ones who had known about his plots, and now they were dead. All that remained was the man himself and me.

I went to his chambers late that night. The king had granted him lands and a lordship for his part in saving the kingdom. As such, he was given a place in the palace. I knocked on his door, the secret knock we used when meeting for a late night rendezvous. No one was up at this hour, and the hall was empty and dark. I stood shivering in my nightgown, with a housecoat wrapped around me. I brushed my hand against the hidden pocket within my cloak; the bulge within gave me comfort and strengthened my resolve. I had come to him like this dozens of times, slipping into his bed in the dead of night, letting his body warm me. He answered the door looking disheveled and dressed only in a nightshirt.

“My lord,” I whispered.

“Your grace.” He gave me his crooked grin. He stepped aside to let me in.

Once inside, he embraced me, capturing me with a kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my hands in his hair. We pulled apart, panting. “I’m sorry for the lateness of the hour. I’ve only just gotten a moment away.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I am glad you came.” He kissed me again, a lingering kiss that under different circumstances would have led to more. Even now I felt my body betray me by responding to his touch. I broke our kiss and pressed a finger to his lips.

“I have to speak with you.”

He smiled. “We can talk afterwards.” He leaned in to kiss me again, but I dodged him. I thrust my hand into my pocket and took a grip upon the handle of the dagger concealed within.

“I need you to alleviate my fears. Order members have been killed. Prince Garrison is imprisoned. What’s happened while I was away?” My hand was slick with sweat as it grasped the dagger. I concealed my grip by crossing my arms over my chest and pulling my overcoat closer to my body.

He shook his head as he reached for me. He took my free hand and pulled me down onto a couch nearby. He sighed. “It is a terrible business. Someone betrayed us and made horrid accusations. Many of the Order members were pulled from their beds in the middle of the night and locked in the tower, including the prince.”

“How did you manage to escape capture, and the king has made you a lord? I hear people say awful things about you. They are saying you lied about our friends for your title.”

“Those are lies. I would never betray those I am close to,” he murmured. He dipped his head down to nip at my neck.

I squirmed away. Lies like the ones you’ve fed me for months?

“Your grace, what is the matter?” He was a good actor. For a moment I almost believed he cared about me, but that was the biggest lie of them all. I had been nothing but a tool for him.

“I’m afraid. What if they accuse me of treason? What will happen to my son?”

“I will not let that happen. You are safe, as is your son; you are both under my protection.”

I dabbed at my imaginary tears and turned away from him. I sniffled as I brushed away tears that had not fallen. “I knew I was right to come to you. I thought I would never see you again when the Neaux soldiers were ramming the gate.” It should have been your name I cursed as they raped the princess.

He wrapped his arms around me and brought me close to his chest. It pinned my arm against him and made my grip upon the blade awkward. “Don’t worry. I am here now.”

“Why did you do it?” I sniffled.

“Do what, darling?” he asked as he stroked my hair.

“Have Artor killed. What did he know that you disliked?”

His hand paused for moment before continuing. “You’ve been through a traumatic event, and now you’re talking nonsense. You’re obviously distraught. Maybe it would be best if you returned to your chambers.”

“So you can write to the king and accuse me of treason as well?” I tilted my head so I was looking up at him.

He tightened his grip upon my shoulder and balled his hand in my hair, which was tied in a braid. I wriggled, pretending to struggle against his grasp when in truth I was removing the dagger. I pressed it against his gut. He felt the prick of the dagger as I pierced his skin. His eyes grew wide.

I pressed the blade against his flesh. “Tell me.”

“He was a spy, a turn-cloak. He was going to tell the king of our plots for the throne. We could not have that.” He smiled and did not pull away from my blade.

“And you silenced him for good?”

“No, that was Prince Garrison’s plot. He could not stomach a turn-cloak. Funny, isn’t it? He wanted to kill his own brother, and he hated a turn-cloak.” He chuckled.

“And you would have killed him the moment King Dallen’s blood was pooling on the ground, so you could put yourself upon the throne in his stead,” I guessed.

“That I would have. Why do you think I insisted that his son go with you to White Crest? I could not have any pesky heirs tainting my claim to the throne.”

I was disgusted by him. He used his words against me as a distraction. For a moment my grip slipped, and he took the opportunity to slide away from me. He wrestled the blade from me and pointed it at my breast. I took a deep breath, and the blade rose with it. It brushed the fabric of my nightgown but did not touch the skin.

“You wanted to kill me to keep me silent? Did you fear I would discover the truth?” Keep him talking. Just keep him talking.

“I did not want to, believe me. You are a vixen in the sheets, but you’re too strong willed for your own good. I had to.”

“And my son?” I did not take my eyes from him. Sweat was gathering along his brow, and his hand was trembling.

He shrugged his shoulders. “A casualty.”

“You’re a snake.”

“You knew that from the start. That’s why you bedded me. You knew where to place your token.” He laughed, but it transformed into a choking gurgling sound. He reached for his throat as his face purpled. He dropped the dagger with a clatter, and I kicked it across the room with my foot.

He fell to his knees, clawing at his throat and gasping for air. But all that came out was a high-pitched squeak. He looked at me as his eyes bulged and his face turned bluer.

“You underestimated me from the start. I would never have had the strength to kill you with a blade. Nor Idella, but you knew that, didn’t you? You thought you knew everything. What you forgot was my father shipped poison, and when you are a merchant’s daughter, you learn your father’s trade. I know more poisons than you could possibly imagine. And the strangling vine is something I know very well.”

He grunted and then fell over dead.

Chapter Fifteen

I was summoned to Idella’s chamber the next morning by a messenger in royal livery. I had slept little that night and wept much of it. Tomas’ blood is upon my hands. I am a murderer. I thought I would feel justified in taking his life. No matter how I looked at it, I only saw a murderess staring back at me. Artor was dead, and no matter how many I killed, it would never change that. I was expecting an escort to the tower. Instead I was whisked to the queen’s chambers. The queen was alone when I entered. She was dressed in violet. Her golden hair was piled on top of her head in artful curls. She appeared relaxed, but her posture was tense. Her lips were a thin line as she regarded me.

I bowed as I entered, low enough that my knees almost touched the ground and my gown pooled around me. I wore a gown with a high neckline in a pale green. The gown was meant for an innocent maid, not a vile murderess. I felt Tomas’ blood upon my hands like a spot that could not be washed out. I will carry this burden with me until the end of my days.

“Rise,” she said.

I did as my queen bid but dared not speak. She may not know yet. She may have wanted to speak on some other matter, maybe discuss Johai’s fostering or some other such thing of little importance.

“Do you know why I summoned you?” she asked.

I kept my expression blank. “No, Your Majesty.”

She smiled, but it was false and full of venom. “Prince Garrison was found dead this morning, and Sir Tomas has gone missing.”

She looked at me for an explanation. I had none to give. I had left Tomas’ body where he had been poisoned. I could not move the body alone. I dared not involve anyone else. The more people that know, the more likely someone will betray me. I arranged his limbs to make his death look like an accidental choking. I spilled wine on the carpet, and grapes and cheese were left on a platter. I moved his body near the table and left. It would not pass careful scrutiny.

“Do you care to explain yourself?” Idella pressed.

“Am I being accused of a crime, Your Majesty?”

“No. Not yet. The investigation has not even begun, but I would like to have it from your mouth first so I know how we can prepare a case to prove your innocence.”

I took a step back. “I did not kill the prince!”

“So you say, but I have a half a dozen men from the Order who are willing to swear you were one of them and in bed with Tomas. What else can we think?”

I opened and closed my mouth for want of something to say. There was no rebuttal I could give. I could absolve myself of one murder by confessing to another. Where has Tomas’ body gone? Did someone find it and hide it? To what end?

“Do you have evidence to prove your innocence? Anyone who can vouch for your whereabouts last night?” she asked.

I shook my head. Layton was abed, and no one had seen me sneak out. I had given Hilliard the night off, but if I asked him to lie for me and say he was with me all evening, I knew he would. I dared not bring him into this. He had saved my life.

Idella sighed. “You are making my life most difficult.”

“I apologize. It was not my intent to make your life difficult,” I said with rancor. My hand itched to slap her once more, but I suspected that would not benefit my case.

She stood up and walked over to her desk in the far corner of the room. She pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it to me.

“The prince gave this to me before he was murdered.”

I held up the parchment and glanced at it.

I commend you for playing the game. Like Artor, you tried and failed to stop us. No one can stop the rise of the True King. He will come; he lives within my legacy.

“What is this?” I asked. I reread the lines over and over.

“The end of the game. Prince Garrison is dead. The Order is destroyed, and whatever plans they had for Danhad have been squashed.”

“And me, does this mean I am free to return to White Crest if no one remains to accuse me?”

“I am afraid you shall not be returning to White Crest for some time.”

My stomach clenched. “Are you planning to try me as a traitor?”

“Oh no, I have need of you.” The queen took the parchment from me and set it to the flames. Smoke curled around the edges and burned away the last trace of Prince Garrison’s message to me, or was it to Tomas? Either way, they had lost the long game. They were both dead.

“I did as you bid, Your Majesty. I found out why my husband was killed, and we caught those who were responsible and plotted to overthrow the kingdom. What more could you want from me?”

“I still have need of a spy, and you have need of a protector. Do you think we caught all of them? Hardly, Tomas proves that. You will not be safe without me.”

Tomas is dead! I wanted to shout, but her words were true. Garrison and Tomas were not the only ones; there were many members I had never met before. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you will be tried for Prince Garrison’s murder.”

“He was an accused traitor!” I balled my hands into a fist.

“He may have been a traitor, but the king granted him his life in the tower. You took away what life was left to him.”

I glared at her. I thought I was free, but I had only been led into a longer trap. “I did not kill him.”

“There is no proof that you did not.”

“There is no proof that I did.”

“It is my word against yours.” She gave me a long look, and I turned away. She had me cornered; it was my word against the queen’s. She must have planned this from the start. She knew that I would never escape her clutches. She continued, oblivious to my thoughts. “You will remain at court at my pleasure, and your son, Layton, shall return to his fostering in House Ilore.”

I clutched my bodice, and the beading cut into my hands as I gripped it. “You would take my son? As a mother, you must understand what that means.”

“It means you will remain loyal. Layton shall grow alongside Prince Adair. He will be given every advantage.” She sat down at a desk beside the fireplace and scribbled something on a piece of parchment.

“Princess Florian is not fit to raise her own child. Why would I want her raising mine?”

“Because I have ordered it,” she said, her voice like a whip crack across the room.

I glowered at her, hating her for everything she had done to me. I should murder her as I did Tomas. It was a passing thought, however. I would leave Layton without a mother if I followed such deadly thoughts. Once was enough to leave a stain on my soul. I cannot keep going down this road, or I will lose my self completely.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said, my voice dripping with disdain. I wanted to scream, to retch, to do any number of things, but instead I said, “As you wish.”

She stood and came over to me.. She touched my shoulder, and I shrugged her off.

“You will not believe me, but everything I do is for the good of the kingdom. You have a gift, a rare one that saved this kingdom from destruction from within.”

“I believe you do what you think is best.” I went to the door. “Please excuse me, Your Majesty.”

I had set out for revenge, and in a cruel twist of fate, I had put myself in bondage. Hilliard was waiting for me in the hall. His expression was vacant, but I suspected he had heard some of what had been said behind the door.

“Your grace?” he prompted me.

“Let’s go, Hilliard. There is work to be done.”

“Oh, what work is that?”

I smiled and tossed my hair. Do not let them see your fear, lest others rule you with it. I learned that lesson the hard way. I let my grief rule me, and in the end, I lost everything. I would be her spy but on my own terms. “I have been given the honor of being a Queen’s Spy. You will be tested on your oath, sir.”

He chuckled. “I look forward to the challenge.”

Be sure to check out Diviner’s Prophecy the first book in the Diviner’s Trilogy and for a limited time you can get the second book in the diviner’s trilogy for free as well when you sign up for my reader’s newlsetter.

Click here for Diviner’s Prophecy: books2read.com/divinersprophecy

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About the Author

Nicolette is a native San Diegan with a passion for the world of make believe. From a young age, Nicolette was telling stories whether it be writing plays for her friends to act out or making a series of children’s books that her mother still likes drag out to embarrass her with in front of company. She still lives in her imagination but in reality she resides in San Diego with her husband, children, a couple cats, and an old dog. She loves reading, attempting arts and crafts, and cooking. Connect with her at her her website, on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest!

Cast of Characters

Damara Florett –Dowager Duchess of Florett; Mother of Layton Florett and widow of Artor Florett

Artor Florett –Husband of Damara Florett; Father of Layton Florett; former Duke of Florett; deceased

Layton Florett—Duke of Florett; Son of Damara and Artor Florett

Idella Raleban Florett --Sister of Artor Florett; Queen of Danhad; Mother of Sarelle Raleban; wife to Dallen Raleban

Tomas Deane— A merchant's son

Hilliard Gullen— A soldier

Florian Illore— Princess of Danhad; Sister to Dallen Raleban; Mother of Adair Illore Raleban; Wife to Jon Illore

Jon Illore—Duke of Illore; Father of Adair Illore Raleban; Husband of Florian Illore Raleban

Adair Illore –Prince of Danhad; Son of Florian and Jon; heir to the throne

Dallen Raleban—King of Danhad

Garrison Slatone Raleban –Prince of Danhad; brother to Dallen and Florian

Sarelle Raleban—Princess of Danhad; Daughter of Idella and Dallen

Johai Slatone— Son of Garrison Slatone Raleban