by RJ Metcalf
Slate looked to the sidewalk at the aggrieved-looking street cleaner boy who watched them go by, his scooper and brush in hand. Slate chuckled. “It would put our street cleaners out of work, but I think it would be a great addition, for all of those reasons.”
As they neared City Circle, Slate scanned the perimeter for anything amiss while their guests looked about, admiring the stone designs laid into the ground and the sweeping architecture around them. Nothing blatant, or even subtle, lurked in the shadows between buildings, and when they passed the familiar burgundy brown building of the Crimson Hawk, he mentally promised himself a visit there soon.
Slate blew out a nervous breath as they neared the palace, and he consciously kept himself drawn up, tall and confident, despite the concern singing through his bloodstream. They’d arrived safely, but now came a different danger. A much more unpredictable tension. Not a threat of her personal safety or a chance of political incident due to the Reformers. No, this was the fear of political incident due to those who resided within the very royal walls.
Palace staff had kept their opinions mostly to themselves in regards to their wish for more time on Richard’s behalf before remarrying, but it was a known undercurrent that wove a unique tension in the day-to-day palace life. But now she was here. And it was uncomfortably real, leading her through the hallways in which so many had seen the late Princess Rose, and now the same staff paused and stared, drawing their own conclusions to seeing Rose’s sister here.
Violet’s steps slowed as they neared the gilded double doors, and Slate looked back in time to see Deisy touch Violet’s arm in a sign of comfort. The princess drew herself up, her face a mask of serenity. She nodded regally at Slate, and Samuel lifted his chin, calm strength radiating from his posture.
Here goes nothing … or everything. Slate nodded to the doormen and stepped forward the moment the doors were opened enough for him to go through. Head held high, he marched through the elegant room, passing the nobles that puttered on either side of the aisle, and Richard, Brandon, and Sapphire. He bowed to the king and queen once he reached their dais, and then he turned, facing his sister as he projected his voice for the doormen to hear his queue. “May I present the Princess Violet, her Emissary Samuel Thistle, and entourage.”
Slate wasn’t sure who gasped at the sight of Violet as she glided into the room, her retinue following. Luminary crystals overhead cast a rainbow of colors in her hair, highlighting her cheekbones and giving her a glow of youthful vitality and grace.
Slate watched out of the corner of his eye as Brandon clasped his brother’s shoulder.
Even King Rupert seemed at a loss for words. Queen Victoria spoke in his place. “Welcome to our kingdom, princess. It’s been nearly two years since we’ve had the pleasure of your company.” Her Majesty’s voice was gentle, yet businesslike. “We hope your stay here will be refreshing and enjoyable, and that you will come quickly to view this palace as your own.”
Princess Violet curtsied deeply, her lilac dress swishing against the floor. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
A strangled sound came out of Richard, drawing all attention to him. His eyes were large, his face tight and pale, utterly stricken as he stared at Violet. He broke free of his brother’s hand, stepping forward, hand reaching toward her for a moment before he stopped abruptly, swaying in place as he pulled back.
Is he going to pass out? Slate took a half step closer to Richard just in case. The prince spoke, his voice rasping. “You look like her, and yet not. How is that possible?”
Violet flinched, her eyes wide and dark, searching his as the two of them stood there in awkward silence.
Slate threw a desperate look at his sister, as if she could do something to break the slowly growing tension of the room. She looked at him, biting her lip with concern.
“I’m sorry. I can’t—” Richard’s voice broke as he shook his head vehemently. “Please excuse me.” He retreated from the room, his steps echoing in the chamber as nobles gasped and tittered.
Brandon looked at Sapphire and murmured something in her ear that she nodded to before he bowed to Violet. “Pray, excuse me as well, princess.” Ignoring all decorum, Brandon sprinted out of the room after Richard.
To Slate’s relief, Sapphire stepped forward before anyone could add to the already uncomfortable situation. She got closer to Violet and offered her a small curtsy. “Seeing as how this day has already been rather unprecedented, I’ll go ahead and further set aside proprietary.” Slate’s baby sister offered the princess a welcoming smile. “You may not remember me, but I am Sapphire, Brandon’s wife. Welcome to the palace. We would love to have you join us in our chambers tomorrow evening for supper, if you would be willing.”
Slate could see Queen Victoria settle back in her throne, seemingly appeased that someone had the grace and dignity needed for this. He breathed out a small sigh of relief. Good save.
“That sounds delightful, thank you. May my handmaiden accompany me?” Violet inquired softly.
Sapphire’s welcoming warmth didn’t waver. “Of course. Whatever would make you feel most comfortable.”
A genuine smile broke across Violet’s face. “Thank you very much.”
Samuel stepped forward and bowed deeply, then started signing. “Thank you, Your Majesties, for having us here.” He paused until King Rupert nodded in acknowledgment. “We wish to present a gift from our kingdom to yours.”
Samuel gestured, and one of the soldiers stepped forward, his steps silent on the glossy floor. He set an ornately carved wooden box on the floor between Samuel and the dais and opened the lid, revealing a silver circlet resting on a deep purple satin pillow. The soldier bowed and retreated to his previous position.
“This is what is called a Dream Circlet. When worn, the wearer is sent into a dream-like state, unaware of whatever pain or distress they are in. We have found this very useful in the medical field for surgeries and procedures that would otherwise be unpleasant for the patient. We hope you find this as beneficial as we do.”
“Thank you for such a lovely gift.” Queen Victoria leaned forward in her throne and intently studied the slender circlet. “This sounds like an amazing bit of technology, and we greatly appreciate your generosity in sharing it with us.”
Samuel bowed before he lifted his hands to speak again. “It is our pleasure to share what we’ve learned with our neighbors and allies.”
Initial formalities out of the way, King Rupert finally spoke, addressing Princess Violet. “I’m sure you are worn from your travels. Lieutenant Stohner will escort you to your rooms while we talk with Emissary Samuel.”
Slate stood at attention and stepped forward with a sweeping bow, hand held out to the main doors. “If you will follow me, Your Highness?” As they stepped away, two Perennian guards followed, their stern gazes sweeping everything in sight.
Slate glanced back briefly before leading the princess out the main doors. Samuel’s hands were moving in conversation with the king and queen, yet Slate couldn’t hear a word of it.
Please, negotiate a long engagement. Our nerves need it.
Chapter Fifteen
Cole
Cole followed Roney into the comfortable din of the Crimson Hawk, relieved to surrender some of his burden of Captaincy at the door. Here, tonight, he could just be Cole, a friend and fellow soldier, not the one who gave orders or disciplined his men or determined how to fill ranks. Just Cole.
Roney angled toward a table in the corner by the fireplace, and Cole lifted a hand in greeting to Katrina. She raised her eyebrows and motioned to the tap. He nodded, and she spun away, pulling two mugs off the shelf on the wall.
Cole sank into the booth across from Roney and allowed his tense shoulders to relax, little bit by little bit. A stab of pain shot from his shoulder blade, and he stretched his arm back, trying to reach the tight muscle. Today’s drills took a bit more effort than his body had expected.
“Ozly asked me if I thought the crown had
something against us.” Roney’s bulky arms crossed as he scowled at the gleaming table. “I told him he was being paranoid, but …” he glanced up at Cole, his expression dark. “I have to wonder that a bit myself.”
Cole grimaced. He’d wondered that exact question himself after Selvage, but he’d never share such a thought with his men. “The order would’ve gone to whichever garrison was closest to the problem, and unluckily for us, we were the closest. There’s nothing more to it. We followed orders, and we may have hit a bad streak of luck, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
Roney’s gaze tracked over Cole’s head, and Cole leaned back, expecting Katrina to slide their drinks across to them in just a moment. Instead, a smooth, male voice spoke, “Cole, wasn’t it? We meet again.”
Cole looked up, surprised. Vincent dipped the edge of his top hat in a polite gesture. Cole hesitated, then scooted down the bench and slapped a hand against the thin cushion. “Join us.”
Roney’s eyebrows rose, but he reached his hand across the table. “Roney,” he introduced himself.
“Vincent.” Vincent shook Roney’s hand with an easy smile. “I was a childhood friend of the late Captain.” He gestured at Cole. “We met the other day, and I promised him a drink.”
“So you did,” Cole replied, amused. “I wasn’t going to remind you, but since you brought it up …”
Vincent flashed his teeth. “I’m a man of my word. I said I’d buy you a drink, and I meant it.”
Katrina walked up at that very moment, a drink in each hand. She set them on the table in front of Cole and Roney, then turned to Vincent. “What would you like, sir?”
Vincent’s gaze rested on their drinks for a long moment. “Are you familiar with the blue mage?”
She grinned. “Is that your poison of choice?”
“Please.”
Katrina looked to Roney, then Cole. “Anything else?”
Cole shook his head as his stomach twisted in bittersweet memory. Blue mage had been one of Captain Stevens’s favored drinks, even though his men sometimes teased him about the overt sweetness of the alcohol.
Katrina left and Roney’s lips quirked to the side as he looked at Vincent. “A blue mage, huh?”
Vincent shrugged, his fitted shirt sliding loosely with the movement. “It tastes good.”
Roney snorted and shook his head.
“How are you doing?” Vincent asked Cole, his gaze shifting over to include Roney. “I know I miss him, but I didn’t work with him like you two did. Your grief must be more acute than mine.”
Cole traced a bead of condensation on his mug and shrugged. “It’ll fade eventually.” He didn’t want to follow that line of topic. Discussing how he missed Stevens was bad enough with Roney. There was no reason to share such things with a stranger. Even if they did have several ties binding them together. “You mentioned when we met that you worked in the Aerugan military, and now you’re a purveyor of dragon novelties?”
“Indeed.” Vincent settled back in the booth as Katrina set down his drink. He thanked her and took a sip before continuing. “I served my time, doing what was asked of me and my skill set, and once I decided to come back home to Doldra, I realized I needed to learn a new talent. So now I work for myself, selling dragon teeth for weapons, dragon blood for medicines, dragon scales for clothes, you name it, I’ve probably sold it.”
Cole’s attention snagged at the mention of weapons. A brief memory of the scout and the odd crater in the road flashed through his mind, and he shot Vincent a hard sideways look. “Seeing as you were in a different military, would you by chance be familiar then with some of their most recent tech?”
Vincent blinked. “Of course. But I don’t think they had anything with dragon teeth that’d be new. You already use electro-staffs, don’t you?”
“Electro-staffs became available for us about two years ago.” Some of the color drained from Roney’s face, and he swallowed hard as he studied Cole. “You’re thinking of the scouts?”
Vincent cocked his head. “Scouts?”
“When we had our last mission.” Cole kept his tone even, trying to not letting it betray his unhappy memories. He could hear the edge in his voice regardless. “We found one of our scouts, and several of our men by large pits in the ground.” He blew out his breath. “None of our men were … in one piece.”
“Ah.” Vincent’s face hardened. “Yes.”
Cole studied Vincent as the man tapped his fingers against the table. Vincent looked up, his dark eyes arresting Cole. “Bombs. That was new steamtech in Aerugo. Meant for mining at the Hollows, adopted by the military.”
Roney swore into his mug and Cole’s spine stiffened. “Any way that can be proven?”
“Do you have any of the debris from the battle?” Vincent hunched over his cup, giving Cole and Roney an earnest look. “If you have any of the pieces, I may be able to identify them for you.” His face fell. “But my word probably wouldn’t mean too much, considering I just left Aerugo.”
Cole rubbed his jaw, trying to not let himself jump to instant conclusions. Did Aerugo have anything to do with the ambush at Selvage? How? Was it actually Aerugan based, or were Reformers now getting weapons from Aerugo? How could they afford that? Or was Aerugo funding the Reformers now? He hesitated. It was unlikely they’d be able to find anything from the bombs. Nothing had stood out to him when they were gathering their dead to bring home, and he doubted they’d know what to look for even if they sent someone to search.
He made a mental note to send two men in the morning, just in case.
“Or your word might carry more weight, since you’re fresh from there,” Roney pointed out.
“Perhaps.” Vincent shrugged. “If it’d help to right the wrongs of Captain Stevens’s death, I’d be happy to help.” He fell silent for a moment. “The newspapers say he died during a raid on Selvage, right? But he didn’t die in Selvage?”
“It was an ambush by the Reformers right after, while we were chasing them down.” Bile bittered Cole’s throat. “They had a bard and these bombs, and we don’t know how they could afford both.”
“I know the crown allowed much to happen while I was gone, but who ordered the attack?” Vincent looked aghast. “To slaughter an entire town?” His voice lowered. “Just like Kilenst.”
Cole gulped down his ale. “Prince Richard’s orders.”
Sorrow aged Vincent for a long moment. “I would’ve hoped the son wouldn’t be so like his father.”
“Well, Brandon’s not so bad,” Roney interjected. He gave Cole an apologetic wince. “His choice of bride aside, he’s actually pretty thoughtful and pragmatic in comparison. He tried to negotiate peace with Selvage. It almost got him killed too.” He lifted his mug toward the palace in salute. “Him, I respect.”
A flash of relief shone on Vincent’s face. “Well, that’s good to hear. At least there’s someone we can support. Are they doing anything to look into the bombs?”
“Well, until just now, we didn’t even know what they were called, let alone what they were or who made them.” Cole stared into the bottom of his mug. “But now I have a lead for the trail, so there’s that.”
Vincent frowned, lifted his hand, hesitated. “Just be careful, investigating anything with Aerugo. They don’t take kindly to outsiders looking in.”
Cole smiled grimly. “And I don’t take kindly to those who murder my men.”
Chapter Sixteen
Brandon
Brandon hoped all the décor would be adequate. If nothing else, it smelled like a florist shop, and he’d helped rearrange more vases of blossoms than he’d ever thought he’d have to touch in his lifetime.
Sapphire had insisted that they decorate their room with flowers and colors reminiscent of Perennia, so when Violet came over for dinner, she’d feel at home and welcome. Thanks to Sapphire’s planning, their sitting room now resembled a greenhouse, with blossoms and greenery covering almost every available surface.
An emerald t
ablecloth covered their private dining table, an arrangement of daffodils, daisies, violets, and goldenrod gracing the center. Lady’s mantle, oak flowers, and yet more goldenrod were carefully arranged on the hearth mantle, draped over the edges just so. Vases of various shapes were scattered throughout the room, on end tables, window mantles, shelves, and every other ideal location for greenery, each filled with some plant or another whose meaning had some sort of encouragement to it.
Sapphire had been very thorough in picking what to decorate with tonight, proving that she could be a good student of floriculture when she wanted to be. Brandon plucked a red geranium from its holder and twirled the stem in his fingers idly, a trace of amusement running through him. It’s a good thing Slate isn’t eating dinner with us—he’d die of allergies before he even made it through the door. Brandon smoothed the petals, then set the flower aside to watch Sapphire bustle throughout the room, straightening perennials and fussing at an invisible wrinkle in the tablecloth.
“Gem, it looks wonderful. Sit down and rest a moment.” He hugged her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder as he reached out to still her fidgeting hands. He pressed a kiss against her neck. “There are enough plants in here to spread some to every corner of the palace after this. Violet will either feel right at home or she’ll laugh at the fact that some Doldras royalty have greenhouses in their chambers.”
He could feel the pull of her cheek as she smiled, and he just knew that her eyes were likely darting around, looking for something new to fuss over. “I just want this to be as relaxing as possible,” she muttered. “I know this entire arrangement must be horrible for her.”
Brandon twirled Sapphire around and clasped his hands at the small of her back, trapping her close to him. He looked at her firmly. “Believe me. Things will turn out fine. If nothing else happens tonight, she’ll see that we at least, are trying to put effort into making our relations good.”
