The Lantern-Lit City

by Vista McDowall

  Sandu, long experienced in melting into crowds, allowed himself to be swept up along Ogden's Crest all the way to High Road, and then to the gates at the bottom of the plateau.

  Near the gates was a low, simple building with the sign of the Realm's Protectors hanging from the gutter. Inside was as dreary as the outside. Torches lined the walls of a small room, doing nothing to dispel the air of gloominess. A Protector sat at a small table, a red badge pinned to his tunic. Quills, ink, and parchment filled the table's surface. The Protector glanced up from his work, looked Sandu up and down, and said, "Bottoms Tavern is next door."

  "I'm here to join the Protectors," Sandu said, trying not to shift from foot to foot like a child in trouble.

  "Is that so? Have you any pedigree or experience in the field?"

  "I have some arms training, sir, though no pedigree. My father was a brewer." Sandu licked his lips nervously. The Protector's stern mouth betrayed no hint of a smile.

  "What makes you think that we'd be in want or need of a scrawny thing like you?"

  Sandu shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant way. "With so many nobles in one place – including the king and queen – the Protectors need all the men they can arm. I may not look much, sir, but I have fought against prowlers and lived." That was a stretched truth at best, but Sandu was not above small falsehoods.

  "Why do you want to join, Master...?"

  "Crin, sir. Sandu Crin. I want to make coin, sir, and earn an honest living. My father is in debtor's prison and I mean to earn his freedom." With these soldierly types, blunt honesty could sometimes be the best tactic.

  The Protector deliberately placed his quill on the table, then leaned back in his chair. "Not the most honorable of answers."

  "If all men claimed to be of the highest honor, there'd be no criminals in this world. I've met plenty a Protector who values coin and loose women over any sort of glory." Immediately after he spoke, Sandu winced. He'd let his mouth run away from him, and the Protector did not look amused.

  "Look, sir," Sandu said, "I've spent the last few quinns traveling with a scholar, an expert on the prowlers. He taught me much on what they are and how to defeat them. They'll be in the city soon enough. I can teach your men how to fight them. In return, I want to be one of you."

  "Why should I believe you?"

  This is hopeless, Sandu thought. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly. He hesitated, unsure what to say.

  "Crin...why do I feel I've heard your name before?" The Protector leaned forward, his eyes intense in the torchlight.

  Sandu bit the inside of his lip. Might as well tell him. He said, "I'm the peddler who gave the location of Fauste's Shiv to your company. I'm sure you received a report about the attack on Daggenhelm."

  "Hm. I have heard those reports." The Protector dipped his quill in ink, moved a few papers around on his desk, then looked expectantly at Sandu. "Our rate of pay is five copper pennings per quinn. You'll be given full livery and a standard weapon, and a bunk if you need one, though that'll be four iron pennings deducted from your pay. All meals are your own responsibility."

  "So...you'll accept me?" Sandu didn't dare believe it.

  "Hmph. I will, but you still need one of our captains to take you on. If none of them want you, you're shit out of luck. Captain Dirgard is off his patrol; I'll see if he's interested in you."

  "Where does he patrol, if I may ask?" It would be worthless to join only to be assigned to a district far from the palace walls.

  "In the palace. Night shift." The Protector rose as Sandu took a silent sigh of relief. When the Protector came back, he was accompanied by a tall, lithe man of Skallish descent.

  Captain Dirgard was only about as old as Sandu, though he was a good bit taller. He had a carefully trimmed golden beard and strangely soft grey eyes.

  "So, Kenning here tells me you're the man responsible for the Daggenhelm incident," Dirgard said. He had a melodious tenor, not unlike a singer's. "And that you've experience with the prowlers. Thank you, sir," he said to Kenning, "I'll take it from here. Follow me, Master Crin."

  Sandu followed him past the table and into a long, low hallway. They entered the first room on the right, which had a small bed, a table, a washbasin, and a bookshelf, all very utilitarian. Dirgard sat on the edge of the bed, waving at the only chair in the room for Sandu. Feeling self-conscious, Sandu sat down and placed his pack on the floor.

  After a moment's silence, Dirgard said, "Is it true that you know about the prowlers?"

  "Yes," Sandu replied. "My companion fought against them, and then she and I met a scholar who had studied them."

  "Tell me what you know."

  Though much had happened in the intervening days, Sandu did his best to recollect everything Alex had told them. When he finished, the captain gave him an appraising look and asked, "Is that all?"

  "Yes. I might be forgetting more, but I wasn't always listening to the lessons Alex gave to Cara."

  "Your companions, I assume."

  Sandu hesitated, but Dirgard appeared a good, honest man. He said, "Yes, sir. To tell the truth, I'm here in Riverfen because we became separated. I hope to find them in the palace. When I do, I can bring them to you to give you more information on the prowlers."

  Dirgard laughed. "So you need a way in. Well, we're as good as any, I suppose. If you serve me well, I'll allow you some time before and after each shift to roam and find your friends. I might even use some of my contacts, if I'm really pleased with you." Dirgard offered his hand. Sandu shook it; the captain had a strong grip.

  "Thank you, Captain. I can't express how much this means to me."

  "We'll make a soldier of you, and if you're true to your word, your friends will make us better fighters against those foul creatures. Now come on; we'd best get you armored."

  "I've always wanted to wear the Protector's red cloak. Thought I'd look rather dashing," Sandu said as he followed Dirgard to the livery.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Seanna

  THOUGH SURROUNDED by gay laughter and the clinking of metal goblets, Seanna was unhappy. Her food lay mostly untouched and her eyes had dark circles under them. She slumped in her seat feeling none of the merriment. All the while she dwelled on the thought of Maeria cavorting in the gardens with Mavian like a bitch in heat. All that talk of affection, of loyalty...it meant nothing to the girl. And she has turned her friends against me now, too, I know it. The cohort of young ladies had stopped coming to Seanna's soirees and ignored her notes.

  Henrik thumped his hand on the table, catching Seanna's attention. He growled, "She's just a common whelp! Why are you entertaining your brother's latest tumble in the palace?"

  Druam shook his head. "Your Grace, I've told you that she's not a simple peasant. My brother–"

  "Your brother is love-addled." Henrik waved his hand dismissively. "I want no more time wasted on this rustic girl. Throw her out and be done with it."

  "With all due respect, this is my palace and my lands. If I choose to keep her here, there is little you can do to stop me."

  Intrigued, Seanna asked, "Are you speaking of the peasant girl paraded to the palace?"

  Henrik's eyes flicked to her, then back to Druam. "Yes, wife. We speak of this whore that Lord Strilu dragged out of the wilderness. Earl Seastone, I advise you, I implore you, rid yourself of her. Imagine the scandal if she convinces Alexandro to marry her."

  Druam chuckled. "I'm not worried in that regard, Your Grace."

  "Perhaps you should be," Seanna said, surprised to find herself siding with Henrik. "Alexandro is your heir, and if Gwen should not give you a child...then the line would pass to him, and subsequently, the girl should she marry into your family. There is precedent of low women doing so, and once the vows are made, there is no turning back for Alexandro."

  "Seanna is right," Henrik said, though grudgingly. "I will hear no more talk of it. Do what you want with the girl, Seastone, but do not expect any help from the crown when it goes w
rong. And it will go wrong, I promise you that."

  "When did you become so cynical?" Druam asked in a low voice. "You never had such pessimism when you were younger."

  Seanna grew bored with their conversation. She didn't really care about the rustic girl nor what would happen to her. She rose from her seat, curtseyed to the king and earls, then made her way to the lower tables. There, she chatted amiably with her supporters and friends. She was delighted to eavesdrop on neighboring conversations and hear talk of Rask and Druam spreading among them.

  Seanna paused, though, when she heard two lords speaking quietly together. One said, "I find it incredulous that these earls that we've known for so long are behaving so erratically. I don't believe what the queen says."

  "Neither do I," replied the other, but before he continued, his companion hushed him and pointed to Seanna standing nearby.

  Seanna strode away. It does not matter what those oafs believe, she thought as confidently as she could. Then a small worry surfaced: They're not the only ones. I've gone too far, and now I will be shunned again. She shook that thought away and beamed at a passing noblewoman. I am the queen. They will respect me.

  Near the back of the hall, she came to a halt. Maeria and Mavian sat together, whispering and giggling. Seanna's throat tightened. Feeling a flush rising on her cheeks, she turned swiftly and left the hall.

  "Is everything well, Your Grace?" Sir Chadron stood a little beyond the hall door, holding a long pipe and blowing smoke into the air.

  "Yes," Seanna muttered. "The baby is moving around too much for comfort. A bath, I think, would be apt now."

  Chadron inclined his head and returned to his pipe. Still sickened from seeing Maeria, Seanna walked as quickly as her pregnancy allowed. Sir Eric emerged from the shadows of a column and joined her, her silent companion.

  What's so wonderful about a man, anyway? Seanna thought miserably as she walked. The member is nothing special, and a man's whiskers are nowhere near as pleasant as a woman's lips. What does she get from Mavian that I could not provide her? She recalled Maeria's wish for children. But she doesn't have to grope at him at every turn to achieve that.

  Rounding a corner, Seanna saw a young man of the Realm's Protectors wandering around. He snapped to attention when he saw her. Maybe I just need to try a man other than Henrik, Seanna thought as she paused in front of him. He was not bad-looking at all; in fact, he had a rather handsome, rustic look about him, with sandy hair and soft brown eyes.

  "What's your name, soldier?" Seanna asked.

  "Sandu Crin, Your Grace."

  "How long have you served with the Protectors?"

  "Less than a quinn."

  "Hm." For a second, Seanna debated with herself, but the idea of Maeria in Mavian's bed pushed her to say, "Escort me to my chambers, Master Crin."

  "Yes, Your Grace." He offered his arm to her, and she leaned on it gratefully. Sir Eric trailed behind, and Seanna could sense the questioning in his eyes. No answers for you, my knight.

  As they walked, Seanna asked the Protector, "Where do you hail from?"

  "Dunfrey."

  "Ah, Sir Vlasimir's lands! My sister lives there now, did you know?"

  "No, I've not been there for many years. Sir Vlasimir was a kind lord; I am sure Your Grace's sister is most pleased living there."

  "Oh, she is, according to my father. Why did you join the Protectors?"

  "For coin."

  Seanna laughed. "An honest answer, if not a noble one. Not for the honor, or the women, or even the tournaments? Surely a man like you had other opportunities to make coin."

  "I was a peddler once."

  "Peddlers get to wander, see new places, trade with all sorts of people. A far more exciting life than spending days at a time cooped up in a palace with silly ladies and blockheaded lords. Are you married, Master Crin?" Seanna took a deep breath; he smelled like apples and fresh hay. A rustic smell, though not a bad one. She tried to imagine laying beneath him, and was not wholly disgusted by the idea.

  "I was. A long time ago."

  Good. Then he knows a little of how a woman is in bed. "Have you been with anyone since?"

  "I...no. I have not found another woman like her."

  "Tell me of her." By this time they had arrived at Seanna's chambers. The soldier opened the door, and Seanna beckoned him to follow. Sir Eric stayed in the hall, shutting the door behind them.

  Seanna led the Protector to a couch and motioned for him to sit. He did, and she looked at him expectantly. He blinked, then said, "Her name was Tambrey. She was a sweet girl from the next village over, the baker's daughter. I wooed her for half a year before she agreed to marry me."

  There was a bittersweet longing to his tone. This won't do. I need him to be raring and eager. Seanna poured them each a glass of wine. "She sounds absolutely lovely. I can see why you would not want to replace her."

  Seanna allowed the heady feeling from the wine to overcome her, and prodded the soldier to drink of his own cup. He did so, though somewhat reluctantly. When both their cups were nearly empty, Seanna put hers down. The soldier followed her lead, then rose. Seanna grabbed his tunic and pulled him back down onto the couch. Without thinking, without second-guessing herself, she kissed him deeply. His lips tasted of wine, a scent of lotion on his cheeks. He did not move.

  Seanna awkwardly pushed him down into the cushions and straddled him. Her hands explored his neck and hair, reaching inside his tunic to feel the hard metal of his mail. He gasped when she bent to kiss his throat. His hands gripped the cushions as if afraid to touch her. She kissed him again, her tongue darting inside his mouth, her teeth biting at his lips.

  As quickly as she'd started, Seanna sat up and adjusted her diadem on her hair. Though she had kissed him as passionately as she had Maeria, she felt nothing. She had no attraction to this man, no desire to feel him moving inside of her.

  "Sir Eric will send you back to your post," Seanna said, failing to notice the soldier's horrified expression. She did not wait to see him leave her chambers before she went to her washroom. The maids had already brought hot water for the copper tub, and the room had grown steamy with it. Seanna slipped off her clothes and stepped into the warm water. She sat down and stretched out her legs, feeling her normally heavy belly float, taking some of the pressure off her spine. Closing her eyes, Seanna tried to relax.

  Heavy footsteps came from behind her. Her eyes still closed, Seanna said, "I have called for no one. Leave at once."

  The footsteps came closer. They were a man's, heavy with a long stride. Likely just Sir Eric. Before Seanna could twist around and tell him to go, large hands grabbed her bare shoulders and pushed her into the water. She let out a short, high scream before her head submerged.

  Seanna's mouth gaped, her hands struggling fruitlessly to find purchase, to lift her back to the surface. The hands on her shoulders kept her down. Flowery soap stung her eyes, water flowed past her tongue and filled her ears. The baby kicked once, twice, a third time. Water crept into her throat, forcing itself down. She couldn't breathe, soap blurred her eyes, the world swirled.

  The hands were gone for a moment, then returned. Seanna fought against them, though the hands scrabbled at her arms instead of her shoulders. The pressure released again, and gloved hands gripped her now, strong hands that pulled her from the water, back into the precious air. Seanna coughed and retched, throwing up water and shaking the drops from her eyes. She heaved water until her head no longer spun and her vision cleared.

  Sir Eric was there, holding the Realm's Protector's arms behind his back. Both were sopping wet.

  "I didn't do it, I swear, there was–" Sandu Crin shouted, but Sir Eric punched his stomach, causing him to fold over in pain.

  "Your Grace," Sir Eric said, somewhat breathless, "I heard your scream, but feared I came too late. I found him kneeling over you."

  Seanna shivered; the water did not warm her now. "Get me a robe, then take this scum to the dungeons. Do what you pl
ease with him until he confesses."

  "As you will it, Your Grace."

  Alone in her washroom, Seanna realized how close she had come to death. Tears came to her eyes as she held her belly. You would have died before you'd ever seen the world. She shivered. Nausea threatened to empty her stomach as blind terror scraped up her throat.

  Would anyone have mourned me if I had died? Somehow, she didn't think so, and that frightened her even more.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Cara

  WHEN CARA woke, Alex had gone. Her bedchamber was lit with beautiful morning light. The whole room was nearly as large as her and Merick's whole cabin at the Nellestere Manor, and that was just one of the few in her suite.

  And this is all just for me? It seemed horribly wasteful, and the abundant comforts didn't help her sense of not belonging. A warm bath waited for her, as did a tray of breakfast. As she ate, she looked at a note the earl had sent to her. It described when and where she could meet the wizard.

  Two days, Cara thought. He'll see me in two days. She hardly thought she could wait, but she had to admit to herself that she was excited to have time to explore. When they were young, she and Renna had been told many stories about Riverfen and its beautiful marble palace. Never had she imagined she would ever come here, much less be dressed in finery and given leave to go wherever she pleased.

  She wished that Alex had stayed, though. He'd left a note that, as Lord of the River Valley, he must attend duties while at the palace. Apparently, these duties started quite early in the morning. While maids helped her to dress, Cara wondered how long it would take to find Alex in the vast palace complex.

  Letting her steps carry her wherever she pleased, Cara wandered the stately halls and marveled at the architecture, the tapestries, the mosaics, the finely carved furniture. She cast her gaze demurely down whenever someone approached, and found that no attention was paid to her.