Blood & Stone: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 3

by J. V. Roberts

“Your confidence is misplaced, I’m afraid. I’m barely holding on.” She sighed. “What was so important that you couldn’t be here?”

  He shook his head. “Just following up on some leads of my own.”

  “You have men for that.”

  “I don’t trust them to be thorough.”

  “Yet you’ll trust them with your life once you take the throne?”

  He reached out and cradled her face with his hand. “Have you eaten?”

  Inside the dining hall, the kitchen staff was standing around the dining table as if they’d been anticipating Byron and Roserine’s arrival.

  “I’m absolutely famished. Please, feed me,” Byron bellowed.

  The staff smiled at his familiar joviality and went about setting the table with plates and forks.

  “Are you dining, my lady?” She was a plump woman in a light, blue dress.

  “Yes, she is,” Byron said, stepping in and pulling out a chair for her.

  “May I take your armor, sir?” the plump woman asked, roses blooming on her cheeks.

  “Thank you, Magdalene.” Byron laid his leather chest-piece over her forearms and sat down across from Roserine, slapping his palms down on the table. “So, let’s hear the bad news.”

  “You make it sound as if there is any other sort.”

  “There’s always good news if you’re willing to search for it. You’re here. I’m here. We’re about to share a delicious meal, gods willing.”

  “How you can even think about food right now is beyond me.”

  “Because I have to. And so do you, for that matter. If we can’t pull ourselves out of the mud and muck, how do we expect to pull anyone else out?”

  “How is it that you always know the right thing to say?”

  “Blind luck,” he said with a wink.

  She laughed and set an elbow on the table, resting her cheek in her open palm, the exhaustion of the day washing over her like a fever.

  “So, let’s hear it.”

  “This wasn’t just another raid. Men were taken.”

  “How many?”

  “Twelve dead, two taken. Various pieces of equipment destroyed.”

  Byron sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Should we be expecting a ransom demand?”

  “The Eval have no use for our coin. They want what they’ve always wanted: to drive us into the sea.”

  “They’ll be prying our men for information.”

  “My first thought as well.”

  “Hmm,” Byron scratched at his chin, “we’ll need to prepare for whatever comes next. That means replacing the men we lost and we should probably double the wall guard.”

  “Already done. I’ve also ordered more men placed around the mine.”

  “Tell me why you need me again?”

  “Eirik didn’t like taking orders from me. Said he’d have to run it by you. I had to grind my heel a bit to get his cooperation.”

  “But you got it, nonetheless. And that’s what counts.”

  “Byron, I need you present. The people of Anthena need you present. Doubling our guard comes at a price. We have to pull men from the market, from the fishing boats. That means less production, which means less coin in the coffers. We’re already hemorrhaging from the mine attacks. People will take their business elsewhere if we can’t make good on our contracts; Uncle has already threatened as much.”

  “Uncle was here?”

  “He was. He was in rare form.”

  “Sorry I missed that show.”

  “Byron, listen to me. We’re at war. We’re barely keeping this thing above water. If we lose our trade partners, if we’re isolated, we’re finished; Anthena won’t be able to survive. And like it or not, you’re our leader. We need you. I need you. Please? Take this seriously.”

  He reached across the table and took her hand. “Sister, I’m here.”

  She sighed and squeezed. “Thank you.”

  The kitchen staff arrived with steaming plates of food and took to spreading the feast across the table between them.

  “How’s Father today?” Byron asked, gnawing on a piece of beef.

  “I don’t know. I was waiting for you.”

  “Well, I’m here. Let’s finish eating and go look in on him.”

  3

  The tavern was loud and crammed with merchants, dockworkers, and fishermen. The atmosphere was loud and jovial, lots of neck hugging and flushed cheeks, lots of feet being stomped to the rhythm of the fiddles being played near the bar. The tension of the attack had been washed away by cheap barrel brew and spiced wine. Women hung from the arms of their men, steadying themselves between drinks, while the men belched tales of conquests dreamed, yet meagerly pursued. As usual, there were foreign faces in the crowd; merchant crews passing the night before their ships followed the first light of dawn out of the harbor.

  Emily sat across from Coen, a half-bottle of wine fueling her squealing laughter.

  “So we’re all standing back and watching as Gresty tries to operate this pulley. We told him the load was too heavy for one man, even a man of his size. But he just kept pushing us away, cursing at us, determined to prove us fools. Now, remember, this was a full crate of Red Spots straight from the coasts of Lokavia.”

  “Oh no!” Emily was shaking with laughter; the wine in her cup had begun to jump the brim and spatter the wooden table.

  “Aye, it was the good stuff. And to his credit, he managed to get the crate halfway home before he lost his grip on it. The rope tore his hands to shreds. The crate splintered against the side of the dock and sent every one of those fish splashing back into the sea. The Lokavian captain was in Gresty’s face just screaming and waving his hands, demanding payment for the lost load. Gresty was in no mood and ended up swinging on him. The soldiers had to break it up. It wasn’t pretty.”

  Emily set her cup on the table and wiped her eyes, the laughter rattling to a halt. “So what happened?”

  “The Lokavians got paid and last I heard Gresty was shoveling horse pens at the castle.”

  “Never a dull day on the docks.”

  “We find ways to escape the monotony.”

  Emily reached for the wine and drew her hand back. She’d had enough. The more she drank, the more her eyes drifted to the thick veins that coiled Coen’s forearms, and the tanned plate of muscle beneath his loosely tied tunic, and his full lips—

  “I’m really glad you came out tonight,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah, me too. Nice to get a break once in a while.”

  “Lady Roserine doesn’t let you out much.”

  “On the contrary,” Emily instinctively reached for the wine again and pulled back, wringing her hands together on the table, “she’s constantly trying to push me out the door, telling me to make a life, to meet people. She insisted I come here tonight.”

  “Oh,” a shadow of disappointment swept his features, “I guess I should be thanking her.”

  Emily clamped a hand over her mouth, wishing she could grab her words by the heels and force them back down her throat. “No. No. That’s not what I meant at all.” The same wine that had set her eyes to wandering had also caused her tongue to become clumsy. “I’m having a great time with you. I’m happy I came. I just have a hard time leaving her side, especially now. She needs me more than ever.”

  “Does she, though?”

  “Of course she does!”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Coen went to reach across the table and Emily moved her hands before he could touch her; she wasn’t that comfortable with him, yet.

  “I know it may not seem like it looking in, but I love my life. I love serving the lady. It’s my purpose. It swings my feet from the bed and sets them firmly against the floor. I don’t want to be one of those women, the type that spends her days prowling the market for the perfect fruits and vegetables and her evenings stringing wet clothes across the balcony. I want my life to count for something, to make a difference.”

  “
So having a family, caring for them, that means nothing?”

  “That’s not what I’m trying to say.” What was she trying to say? She could see it there, floating beneath the surface of a half-bottle of spiced wine. “I’m saying that, for me, I wouldn’t feel like I was…like I was living up to my potential. Don’t you have something in your life that does that for you? Something that you can identify as your reason for being here? Your work on the docks, for example.”

  He shrugged and took another drink. “Aye, I love being out on the docks. Being in the sun, smelling the salt on the breeze, working with my hands, there’s nothing I’d rather do. But that’s only one part of me, maybe half. The other half of me enjoys diving from the eastern cliffs on a warm afternoon, dancing to good music, and having a drink with a gorgeous girl.” Emily had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from breaking into a big, stupid smile. “You take away any one of those things and I wouldn’t be living up to my potential. You’re more than just the lady’s handmaiden. You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re tough. You’re also a beautiful woman that, perhaps, drank a bit more than she intended.”

  Now there was no holding back the big, stupid grin. Electricity charged through her body. She was suddenly aware that the green dress she was wearing fit much tighter around her midsection than it had the last time she’d put it on. She hadn’t been paying attention when she’d picked her outfit. But how quickly a few drinks and a little conversation had changed things. She was falling for the fool the same way Ina and all the rest of them had. With that in mind, she gathered her wits and firmly met his eyes with her own; she stuffed away the blushing damsel, stilled her wobbly knees, and strengthened her defenses. “Thank you for your kind words, Coen. I’m not quite sure what to say.”

  “Say you’re having a nice time.”

  “I am. I’m having a really nice time.”

  “That’s all that matters to me.” He kept his hands open in the center of the table, perhaps hoping she’d take them.

  “I just have a hard time shaking my concern for lady Roserine. Even now, I keep wondering how she’s holding up. With her brother constantly disappearing, all the responsibility has fallen on her. She tries to hide it from me, but I can see it breaking her down.”

  “Perhaps her uncle can help.”

  Emily shook her head. “He was only in port for the day. He has no concern for her or this land. For him, it’s all about his coinpurse. Thankfully, his visits are few and far between.”

  “That’s not what it sounded like to me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I overheard Osiris talking to Eirik on the docks today before setting sail. They were talking about lady Roserine and voicing displeasure about her leadership. Osiris mentioned returning soon.”

  “That pompous…” Emily pounded the table with a closed fist, drawing a few sideways glances.

  “Easy there.” Coen wrapped his hand over hers. She didn’t pull away this time, she was too busy fuming.

  “Lady Roserine holds this land and its people together! How dare he! And what was Eirik doing talking with him? Why wasn’t he speaking in her defense? He sees what she has to deal with. That treacherous…I’m going to break words with him tonight, I’m going to—”

  “Slow down. Just breathe. You’re getting way too worked up over nothing. It was just two guys talking.”

  “Eirik has no business talking to Osiris about the lady behind her back!”

  “Everyone talks behind everyone’s back, it’s what people do. The people of Anthena love the lady.”

  “Some more than others, perhaps. What was Eirik doing down there to begin with?”

  “Seeing Osiris off, from what I could gather. It looked like a couple of old friends talking.”

  “You don’t know Eirik. Eirik doesn’t have old friends.”

  “Emily, listen, you’re reading way too much into this.”

  She was suddenly aware of his hand on hers. It’d been there long enough that she decided to just leave it. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Don’t do anything rash tonight. Go to your quarters, get some sleep, and if you still feel strongly in the morning, decide what to do then. But trust me; you don’t want to make any big decisions with a belly full of Lokavia’s finest.”

  She laughed and nodded. Coen wasn’t so bad after all. She could see herself getting used to his company.

  A skinny fisherman with sunken eyes and a slobbery grin bumped their table and leaned in between them. “Coen, if you don’t ask this lovely creature to dance, I will.”

  “As a matter of fact—”

  “Actually, I need to be going,” she said, cutting Coen off at the knees.

  “Let me walk you, at least,” he offered, joining her in standing.

  “Let’s save the walk home for the second date.” Visions of Ina behind the smithy were at the forefront of her mind.

  “The second date,” he parroted. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Gentlemen.” She gave the two men a weak curtsy before turning and making a quick exit from the tavern.

  4

  Byron and Roserine stood on either side of their father’s sickbed, their hands folded neatly at their waists. The room was dim, a single candle burned on a bedside table, casting disfigured shadows across the walls and ceiling. The air was stale and thick, Roserine could feel sweat beading beneath her collar and armpits; she was suffocating slowly. King Valerick’s eyes shifted between his children. His eye sockets were bruised, his face was gaunt—a bony map outlined beneath a tightly wound layer of liver-spotted skin—and his teeth were yellow and crooked.

  “Damnable Eval! A man is supposed to find peace on his deathbed,” he croaked and coughed.

  “Father, please. You can’t work yourself up like this.” Roserine tried to lower his arm back across his heaving chest, but he turned his body, ripping it from her grasp.

  “Don’t you dare try to placate me, girl! Those animals slaughtered your mother. Every time they’re allowed to breach our border, they’re laughing in our faces, dancing on her grave, and you allow it!” Blood speckled the front of his gown as he broke into another fit of coughing. “Leave it!” he barked at the diminutive servant that started in from the corner of the room.

  “I allow nothing, Father. I spend my days in the market, maintaining our trade relations so that we have the resources to fight this war!”

  Valerick rolled his head toward Byron as if he hadn’t heard a word Roserine said. “And what of you, my successor? You are aware that the throne is more than a place for you to rest your arse, yes? You’re supposed to lead, to inspire, to keep our mine from being burned to the ground. Next time you should just open the gates for them, perhaps that would even save a few lives.”

  “Father, I—”

  “Byron has shown exceptional leadership, Father. He’s ordered men conscripted from the market and the fishing vessels to help secure the wall and mine. With our resources stretched so thin, he’s had to make some very difficult decisions, but you should be proud of his resolve.”

  “Is that so?” Valerick’s tone was cryptic.

  “Yuh…yes, Father. It’s as Roserine says.” Byron’s head was down, his eyes obscured by his hair.

  “I suppose you were bound to get it right eventually.” It was as close as Valerick would come to complimenting his son.

  “Father, if I may offer up another course of action?” Byron’s arms were wrapped across his chest.

  “There’s only one course of action when it comes to dealing with the Eval.”

  “Yes, but it has proven ineffective.”

  “What do you know, boy?”

  “I know they still attack. Our men still die. I know a single one of their archers outmatches ten of our own. They know where we sleep. They seem to know our manpower. Our strengths and weaknesses. But what do we know of them? How many of them are there? Who leads them? They’re fighting a war of attrition and if things keep up the w
ay they’re going, they’ll win it.”

  “Then we’ll die fighting! Strong, proud, and loyal! Anthenians till we draw our final breath!” Valerick growled as if he still thought himself capable of holding a sword and shield.

  “No father, we’ll just die.”

  “Gods know, you won’t. You’ll be too busy pissing yourself, your arse glued to the throne, dependent upon better men to protect you.”

  Byron raised his head, taking the familiar blow on the chin.

  Valerick continued. “Let’s hear this grand idea of yours. Brace yourself, Roserine, your brother is about to change the very course of this Kingdom.”

  “We send a small group out to make contact. We carry a flag of truce. Try talking to them for once. There must be reasonable men among them. Men that are tired of war. That want peace. They can’t all be the same animal. What I’m saying is that we attempt to know our enemy. We’ve all made mistakes. Us by trespassing on a land that was not our own. Them in their response to that trespass.”

  “Byron, have you lost your mind? The words you speak are treason!” Roserine gasped.

  “It’s okay, dear.” Valerick was surprisingly calm, hushing Roserine with a gentle rise and fall of his left hand. “Your brother is clearly in a rare state this evening. So you think we should try negotiating with our enemy, is that right? You think Anthena and its people have somehow transgressed the barbarous hoard? I am old and hard of hearing, so I’m just trying to be clear.”

  There was some hesitation in Byron’s response. “I don’t think it could hurt to try a different path.”

  “You don’t think it could hurt?” Valerick’s right arm shot out and his fingers—which had appeared frozen by illness—wrapped around Byron’s collar and yanked him toward the bed. “You don’t think it could hurt! Tell me, does it hurt now?” He reached around with his left hand and slapped Byron across the face. “Does it hurt? Tell me, boy!”

  “Father, stop!” She reached out to grab one of Valerick’s spindly arms.

  “Roserine, don’t,” Byron said through gritted teeth. “I’ve got this.” He wrapped two hands around his father’s wrist and began to pull.