Blackstone

by Shea Godfrey

  Bentley smiled. “I put it on just for you, my Lady.”

  Nina let out a startled laugh and closed her eyes as her good arm went about his neck and held tight.

  *

  Jessa waited within the doorway of Emmalyn’s washroom as Darry stood behind her sister, her bloodied hands fisted at her sides. Emmalyn stared in the basin of water on the table beside the tub, and her hands trembled upon its edge.

  Jessa noted the blood that stained Darry’s tunic at the small of her back and followed its sticky path to the back of her head, Darry’s hair soiled as it clung to her shoulders. Jessa knew of several blows that might have caused the wound, and none of them had been any less than wicked.

  “Emma,” Darry said in a quiet voice.

  Emmalyn let out a stifled sob and then sucked it back down.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough.”

  “They didn’t…” Emmalyn turned and looked at her sister, her face pale as tears hovered for a moment and then slipped free. “He didn’t rape me.”

  Darry held out her hand. “It’s all right to cry, Em. Perhaps I’ll even join you.”

  Emmalyn gave a startled smile and took her sister’s hand. “No, you won’t.”

  “I might…I’ve caught a splinter from that damn railing.”

  Emmalyn took a step and Darry gathered her close in response.

  Jessa turned away and searched the wreck of Emmalyn’s chamber, Arkady Winnows and Etienne Blue ready to command amidst the destruction their battle had wrought. Her mind worked at a furious pace and after a moment she stepped forward. “Where are the rest of us?”

  “They breached the walls, my Lady,” Darry’s third in command, Arkady, answered. “It is the wall that took our numbers from the residence, for we thought the Palace Guard was here.”

  “Most of them are dead though, Lady Jessa,” Etienne added.

  “I want”—Jessa shook her head—“I need more men, please. Find as many of our number as can be spared. I want a guard upon this room, on the balcony, and at the door, until we ready another chamber for the princess to stay in. I want someone to get these bodies out of here, I want them out of here now.”

  Etienne glanced at the nearest body. “Yes, my Lady.”

  “On your oaths, not a word to anyone,” Jessa ordered in a strained voice. She felt a bit overwhelmed as she looked to Arkady and he took her elbow, not waiting for her permission. “There is a corpse below the balcony, on the stones. I want these bodies placed with his, or what’s left of him, for Emmalyn to burn if she so desires. No one touches them until she is given the choice, understood?”

  “Aye,” Arkady replied in a dark voice.

  “Find Bentley,” she ordered. “Find out what has happened to Darry’s cousin, Lady Nina Lewellyn.”

  “Bentley will find her,” Etienne assured her.

  Jessa’s expression was fierce. “That is all well and good, Etienne, but find them anyway. These men were Fakir. Do you know what that means?”

  “No, my Lady.”

  Jessa thought hard and quick about her brother, Prince Joaquin, and doubted very much if Joaquin understood his true place within the hierarchy of power that was suddenly playing itself out.

  “They are Fakir, they are of Lyoness. The Lord Serabee El-Khan is a priest of the Fakir and councillor to Bharjah. He is here, do you see? He has to be here. He is not in the Green Hills with Joaquin, he cannot be, not when his servants are here and dying. He must be found. My Lady Radha must be found.” She knew her mind as she met Arkady’s eyes. “No one is safe here until they are found. This is not over. It has only begun.”

  “And your brother? What of him?”

  Jessa considered the question. “Where is the king?” she demanded. “You must get me to the king. You must get me to him now, Arkady.”

  *

  Nina studied Bentley’s strong hands as he tied the torn strip of bedding about her wound. It hurt terribly, but he had stopped the flow of blood with a keen knowledge of such things, and he had gone about it in silence and deference to her comfort. He had spoken only to ask if he caused her more pain. She had lied and said no. She studied his damp blond hair as it fell across his forehead, his brown eyes intense as he concentrated upon his task. She had not known that hands so strong could be so gentle as well. Her gaze fell to his chest and the wound that cut across his skin, though it skipped over the valley between the defined muscles.

  “You’re hurt,” she whispered.

  “Just a scratch.” He glanced up with a smile beneath his mustache. “Did you cut your hair?” His voice was filled with sweetness as he changed the subject. “I remember it being very long when I saw you last.”

  “Yes.” Nina wanted to laugh. It was an odd feeling, amusement in the midst of what had just happened.

  “I like it very much, Lady Lewellyn.”

  Nina hated being called that. She had always hated it. It made her feel very unlike herself and caught within something not of her own choosing. Her heart beat fast at it now, however, and she felt the words deep inside. “Thank you, Lord Greeves.”

  “Was your mother angry?”

  Nina couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I thought she’d give birth to Amar his bloody self on the floor of my father’s study.”

  Bentley laughed his boyish giggle and sat back. “I was thinking of a change, as well. I’ve been thinking of shaving my mustache.”

  “No, don’t,” Nina said at once. “It looks quite fine.”

  “I’m thinking it makes me look like my brother Sebastian.”

  “Is he handsome?”

  “Yes, but he’s a dimwit. If he looks up when it rains he would stay so until he drowns, a bit like a cow.”

  Nina smiled, and though she was still afraid, it seemed entirely acceptable that she was.

  Bentley stood up and drew his sword. “We’re going to run now, like all seven hells, for the Great Hall and the warm bosom of Granny Longshanks.” He held out his free hand to her and met her eyes with a charming smile. “How does that sound to you, Lady Lewellyn?”

  Nina took his hand and got to her feet. “That sounds bloody splendid, Lord Greeves.”

  “Off we go then.”

  Chapter Six

  Owen Durand paced before the dais as Grissom Longshanks entered the Great Hall beneath the main arch. “Where are my children, Gris?”

  “Still within the east wing, my Lord, and well guarded,” Grissom responded as the queen pushed through the kitchen doors with her lady Margery a quick step behind. Cecelia’s dress was hastily worn and there was a long bandage near her collarbone that carried the stain of herbs. He gestured to the bloodstains upon Owen’s leg. “Crossbow?”

  “Aye. My guard?”

  “Dead. Every man so far, though we’ve yet to find them all.”

  Owen turned slowly and surveyed the massive chamber, the doors to the minor halls barred shut. “The kitchens?”

  “Access for us and no one else.”

  “The staff quarters?”

  “Secure. The residence was their target.”

  “How in the bloody hell did they get in? And don’t tell me that my walls were breached.”

  “They breached the wall at the southern gate.” Grissom ignored him. “Twelve men dead, and two at the armory. The portcullis is up but a foot or two. I have no idea as to their numbers. We must search everything. Everything.”

  “My children, Owen!” Cecelia called out, and it was not a request. “And where is Nina? Where are my girls?”

  Owen looked to his wife. She had not stopped in her duties and as she and Margery began to push one of the heavy tables along the floor, Owen wondered what he would have done if she had fallen prey to a quicker blade.

  He had practically carried her to the Great Hall, and quite against her will. She had wanted only to find her daughters, despite the danger of such an endeavor. Such a blatant assassination attempt had spoken of a larger attack, and he had no intention of stepping into an
even worse situation with his beloved in tow. He had told her that she must trust in Grissom, and that his men would see to her daughters. It was no matter that he, too, had felt a dark panic that reached into his very bones. Emmalyn was no match for a sword, and even Darrius could eventually be outnumbered by a greater force, no matter her skill.

  He would not have his love in the midst of battle yet again, however, and so he had forced her through the residence to the Great Hall. “My sons, Grissom?”

  “I’ve sent the Thirteenth. They ride with all speed to the Green Hills, prepared for battle if need be.”

  Owen wiped at his face with both hands and pushed his hair back. “I want a tally of their dead. Poll the men and find out.”

  “From what I can tell, so far it’s mostly Darry’s doing.”

  Owen’s temper flared but he bit back his words. That Darry had stood alone against an unknown force of intruders tipped his anger with a sickness he had a hard time trying to conceal. She was not untested in battle, but as far as he knew, she had never before encountered such as this. It did not surprise him that she had prevailed, but such violence had never been what he wished for her.

  He stared past Grissom and into the distance. He had expected it though, from that first terrifying moment he had seen her wield a sword. And when it became apparent that she was a singular talent, he had started to count the days. In that secret place within his heart, where not even Cecelia was allowed, he had marked the passage of time until Darry’s dance with death would begin.

  He could not have been more proud of the warrior she had become, and that she had used her deadly skills to protect their home and their family; he could not even decipher the many levels of pride and anger, both, that swarmed through his heart. But her dance had begun, and Lord Death, be he a servant of the god Gamar, or a deity all his own, he knew her name now. And no doubt he would hear it again and again until he felt compelled to come for her.

  Owen refocused his gaze on Grissom.

  “Owen, the guards who were on duty are dead. They didn’t move on the family until there was no one here to protect them. Darrius was the only one here, aside from you, whose blade would truly count in the thick of it.” Grissom made a face that Owen had seen but a few times before. The commander of his guard was uncertain. “And the Lyonese princess,” he added. “She’s got majik in her, Owen, the likes of which I haven’t seen since I was a boy.”

  “She’s of the Vhaelin.”

  “Well, whatever she is, I’m thinking she took out her fair share as well, for all that she’s a slip of a girl. How many did you count?”

  “Four,” Owen responded. “Two in my own chambers and one of those with his hands about my wife’s throat.” He stalked away in a few long strides as he tried to shake the image from his mind. “One in the corridor and two more after we met up with Captain Sol and his men.”

  “They wear a brand upon the chest,” Grissom informed him. “A circle with a spar through it, broken in the middle. I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Hired swords?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I want one of them alive, do you hear me?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Why aren’t there more men here?”

  “The Thirteenth rode north and the rest walk the wall and comb the grounds. We’ve been breached, there’s no choice, my Lord. We must search everything and guard the staff on top of that. We were unprepared for this.”

  “Call up the City Guard.” Owen was angered at Grissom’s comment, though he knew it for the truth. He should have seen this, or at least had some vague suspicion of it. It pricked him hard and he let it. “I want Joaquin’s men at Los Capos taken prisoner and secured. He brought nearly a hundred men with him. I want them all accounted for.”

  “It appears we were right to house them away from Blackstone,” Grissom said in a grudging tone. “All the men we could spare have been sent. Belkip rouses the City Guard and they’ll be on the way quick enough. These weren’t the men Joaquin brought with him…these men were something else entirely.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.” Owen acknowledged Grissom’s opinion. “I want word sent to Colonel Winnows at Falkus and Wyatt in the east, and every outpost along the way, Tomms Town, Baylon and Lockley, Avin-Dell and Genoa. I don’t want just the Kingsmen, I want you to give the call, Grissom. Raise my army.”

  “Many are here on leave for Solstice.”

  “I don’t care if they’re hiding beneath your mother’s skirts, Grissom, find them. I want the warning bells of Gamar’s Temple ringing by the end of the hour.” Owen turned to his left and stared long and hard beyond the garden doors. There was torchlight and the grounds were lit as they had not been in many years. It was close to three hours until the dawn. “This is Bharjah.”

  “Perhaps,” Grissom replied. “But with his own daughter here?”

  Owen frowned, for it was a good point. “I don’t know. But it was convenient, yes, that the women of my family were here alone?”

  “Darry was here. I am thinking that it was her call that roused the guard.”

  Owen’s lips curled in a smile and he could feel the danger of it in his very bones. “Aye, it was her, Gris. I heard the call, even as I stuck my fool head out the door like a fucking green recruit.”

  “If it is Bharjah?” Grissom asked with a lift of a white-haired eyebrow.

  “My Lord!”

  Both men turned to the archway as one as the Princess Jessa-Sirrah of Lyoness moved with confidence into the Great Hall, flanked by Arkady Winnows and Tobe Giovanni.

  Jessa’s neck and right arm were stained with blood, and Owen let out a hard breath at the sight of it. “Are you wounded?”

  “No,” she replied, “the blood is not mine.”

  “Darry?”

  “First things first,” Jessa said evenly, and Owen lifted his brow in surprise. Cecelia approached, her eyes filled with fear. “Will you try and take her from me?” Jessa’s voice was clear, and in want of an immediate answer. “For I warn you now that if you ever try such a thing, I will pull the stones of your palace down about your ears.”

  Owen let out a huff of surprise. “No, I’ll not take her from you,” he answered truthfully and wondered where she led.

  “The word of a king means very little to me,” Jessa continued, and though her hands trembled where she held them to her skirt, her spine was straight and her shoulders back. “My own father is a murderous bastard and would not know honor if it woke up beside him. I am thinking, my Lord, that you are very different than him, though you’ve made your share of mistakes.

  “If you give me your word that we are safe to live as we choose, without interference or plotting against us within your lands,” Jessa said, “then I am yours. And I will keep your daughter yours as well, no matter what it may cost me, short of her love, of course. There is the condition to my allegiance and those are my terms. My oath will not go beyond that provision.”

  Owen realized at once that he bargained with a queen. No matter her lack of the title, at the moment she was exactly that, and she was using her power to protect his daughter, while giving him another chance in the bargain. “You have my word, whether you choose to stay or not. Though it is my hope that you will stay.”

  “Then I am yours, my king.” Jessa bowed her head, Tobe and Arkady pulling their shoulders back as she did so. If they were surprised, they did not show it. “You have my oath of fealty to the land of Arravan and the crown of Durand. Upon my mother’s name, Jhannina de Cassey LaMarc, who was once of the Red-Tail Clan and Queen of Lyoness, I swear it.”

  “Do not bow, Princess. Please.”

  Jessa straightened and held out her hand to the queen. “My Lady, you are needed upstairs. Tobe will take you where you need to go.”

  “What, what is it?” Cecelia’s fingers tightened upon Jessa’s. “Where is Nina?”

  “Lord Greeves sees to her safety.”

  “The blood you wear?�
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  “It is not Arravan blood, my Queen. Darry is with Emmalyn. She was…Emmalyn was assaulted, my Lady,” Jessa explained with great care. “Though violence was done to her, she was not taken against her will. Tobe will take you to them.”

  Tobe Giovanni stepped forward and extended his hand.

  “I know the way,” Cecelia said in a terrible breath of a voice.

  “Yes, but Tobe will take you nonetheless,” Jessa repeated and glanced to the High King. There was disbelief in his eyes, and confusion, perhaps. “We are not safe yet.”

  Cecelia lifted her hand and Tobe took it in a gentle manner. The High Queen allowed herself to be led, the color gone from her face and her bold strength of but a few minutes before vanished from her demeanor. Jessa noted Owen’s struggle, his rage at war with his shock as both emotions fought for control of his expression.

  “She was…” Owen began and then cleared his throat.

  “There were three men in total.” Jessa’s voice was calm, though she had no idea if that would help lessen his distress. “She was fighting them off when Darry and I arrived. They are dead now.”

  His eyes darkened and his chin quivered, though only for an instant. Grissom reached his hand out but stopped short of the king’s arm.

  “Might we sit down, please?” Jessa noted the blood upon his trousers and the way he favored his right leg. She took hold of his hand and wondered how severe the wound might be. “I’m very tired, my Lord, and I feel somewhat weak.” It was but a small lie and Jessa felt justified in its use. She had used powers she had not known she had and woven spells that had always been a mystery to her, though Radha had made her learn them regardless. She had no idea how—or when—she would pay the price.

  Owen’s eyes cleared somewhat at her words.

  “Please, might we sit down?”

  “Yes,” he answered, and his fingers closed gently about hers.

  She walked beside him to the nearest table, her gait equal to his own. She let him sit first before she let go of his hand and took the chair next to his. Grissom had followed, with Arkady but a few steps behind.