Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  “Inchworm!” Hemmett shouted to attract his attention.

  Borsen turned, an unaccustomed scowl on his face. Hemmett felt a moment of fear, wondering if something was wrong. Then Borsen grinned and started toward him. With a sigh of relief, Hemmett swung himself and his duffel bag to the ground.

  They gripped forearms briefly. Hemmett shouldered his bag and they started out of the station. To his surprise, Borsen walked over to the line forming at Customs.

  “They’ll dog you, so just keep a cool head,” Borsen muttered as they entered the line.

  “I already went through Customs when I came into port at Wenslas,” Hemmett said in surprise.

  “They hit you again here. Just give them your documents and don’t let them rile you,” Borsen muttered. Hemmett noticed him reaching into his inner coat pocket. He nudged his friend curiously, but Borsen kept his eyes straight ahead.

  When they reached the customs agent, the man gave Hemmett a nasty look. His false documents identified him as Mordanian.

  “Well then, here in Artreya for business or pleasure?” the agent asked snarkily.

  “I’m joining my family here in Simeridon,” Hemmett answered. Suddenly he felt Borsen stepping on his foot, gently.

  “I didn’t ask that. Business or pleasure?” The agent was smirking.

  “Yes sir. Pleasure.” Hemmett immediately shifted his face to a bland smile and his manner to earnestly wishing to please.

  “Been sent to take a look at our military?” the agent queried.

  “No, sir.”

  “And why not? There’s a spectacular Changing of the Guard at the palace,” the agent said, acting ruffled. He was not convincing. His performance was as stale as a children’s puppet show.

  “Is there? I didn’t know. I’d like to see that,” Hemmett smiled, picking up the cue.

  “Might learn something of how a real military works,” the agent taunted.

  Again, Borsen’s small foot pressed down on Hemmett’s.

  “I’m always interested in how other nations do things,” Hemmett groveled.

  “Well your sort can afford to learn.” The agent gave him a look that dared him to be angry.

  At that point, Borsen subtly slipped a large gold coin from his pocket onto the agent’s counter. The man instantly leaned forward and put his elbow on it, trying to look as if he was lounging and having a nice chat with the traveling gentleman.

  “All right, move on,” he said abruptly.

  Hemmett and Borsen followed his advice, ignoring him saying, “Scum” after them.

  “Nice welcome,” Hemmett said once they were in the street.

  “That’s far from all of it,” Borsen responded gloomily. “Here, this tavern is friendly, run by a Samorsan. Let’s have a drink. I need to talk to you.”

  Hemmett gladly sat at a table while Borsen went to the bar. He came back with a tankard of beer for Hemmett, whiskey for himself. As he sat down, he looked closely at Hemmett.

  “Who’s the lucky lady?” he asked, starting to grin.

  “How the hell can you tell, you wily Thrun?” Hemmett laughed.

  “Never seen you look so contented,” Borsen shrugged. “Who?”

  “Luntigré.”

  Borsen’s elegant eyebrows went up in approbation.

  “Just right. Heading for marriage?”

  “No. For as long as the joy lasts, she in her place, me in mine,” Hemmett answered.

  “Endless joy to you both.” Borsen shook Hemmett’s hand and then sipped his drink.

  “So what’s going on?”

  “Oh, this place. The famous Artreyan sense of humor grates. It’s not really humor, it’s endless taunting and picking. At the University it never stops. Some of them never stop twitting about me being nancy.”

  “Oh for Grahl’s sake – what complete prats,” Hemmett scowled.

  “I’m used to it. There’s always some idiot in the room who’ll make remarks about sore knees or a sore backside. Not worth bothering with. What’s really bad is that Katrin has fallen in with a group of rich little shits who are not the thing for her. Not at all.”

  “In six weeks?”

  “They’re the type who can smell money,” Borsen said with distaste. “They sense that she’s somebody important in Mordania and they’re climbers. They included her right away, couldn’t be more friendly. Katrin’s never dealt with a truly manipulative or malicious person, Hem.”

  “Marvelous,” Hemmett sighed.

  “Then there was some stink from the priest in Fambré,” Borsen continued. “Seems she automatically signed her real name to one of her letters and he got his nose out of joint. Wrote her a letter about how he didn’t know who he was addressing. Full of betrayed rebuke.”

  “I don’t think she loves him,” Hemmett said after some thought.

  “No, but there was potential for it. She was hurt. Their letters made her happy and she’s afraid he won’t write again. So when she suddenly made all these new friends…”

  Hemmett closed his eyes. He felt responsibility and duty settling over his shoulders.

  “Poor girl,” he sighed. “If she’d been raised like a commoner she’d have learned about false friends by now, but I can’t remember one incident. She’s so open and ready to love everyone. Well, let’s see about getting her head turned back in the right direction.”

  Borsen nodded and indicated to the barkeeper that they’d have another round.

  “One other problem,” he said as their drinks were set before him.

  “Kaymar threw a tantrum?” Hemmett wasn’t willing to deal with more and resorted to making a heavy-handed joke.

  “No. Wait until you see him. Ermand Godson.”

  “Sounds like a twit.”

  “Worse. He’s rich, girls think he’s handsome, he can spout authors and poets and philosophers, the big heartthrob at the University. All the girls there think he’s wonderful. He’s got his eye on Katrin.”

  Hemmett groaned.

  ***

  “You’re going to take all your days off together?” Katrin asked in surprise. “Why, Bumpy?”

  “So I can go to Samorsa,” Hemmett replied.

  “Why?”

  Hemmett crossed his legs and looked at her.

  “Willow, I’ll be spending as much time as I can with Luntigré and her daughter,” he explained, taking out a cigar. “We’re a couple now and part of our arrangement is that I’ll spend my days off and leaves with them.”

  A smile of genuine happiness lit her face.

  “Oh, how wonderful!” she said, sitting beside him on the sofa. “Are you getting married?”

  Hemmett shook his head. “Not for now.”

  “Oh, they have to come visit us here! That would be so much fun.”

  Hemmett hesitated.

  He’d been back with the family in Artreya for a week. He understood that his negative feelings about the country were influenced by Mordanian nationalism. He wanted to give it a fair chance for Katrin’s and Eiren’s sakes, as they were both wildly enthusiastic about the culture, landmarks and museums.

  During that week, he had heard many nasty remarks directed at Borsen on the street. People didn’t immediately identify him as Thrun because of his size, so the epithet heard most often was “Surytamian bastard”.

  How could he bring Luntigré and Flori here to be subjected to that, much as he missed them and wanted them to be with him? He’d heard threatening remarks leveled at a black-skinned Samorsan stevedore as well and Ifor had told him many of the taverns excluded dark people.

  “Bumpy, you can tell me what’s worrying you,” Katrin said, taking his hand. He started. He must have been looking dire.

  “We can think about it – maybe during the Lunar Festival,” he said. Then he looked into her eyes and told her why he was concerned.

  “I haven’t heard anything like that!” she gasped. “Why wouldn’t Borsen tell me about this?”

  “I guess he doesn’t want to spoil
things for you,” Hemmett answered bluntly.

  “Should I hear anything like that, you’d better believe I won’t just tolerate it, whether I like Artreya or not,” she flared, her face going pink.

  “What will you do, give them a whack on the karzi with your sunshade like Princess Dorlane trying to discipline Kaymar?” Hemmett burst out laughing at the image of Katrin taking on an Artreyan street tough with one of her frilled parasols.

  “Absolutely!” She sprang up and grabbed one of her sunshades out of the rack, going on the offensive by assuming a fencing stance and poking at him.

  “You meddle with a military man!” Hemmett roared, snatching another sunshade and defending himself.

  She was a formidable opponent, as Menders had taught her the art of fencing just as he had the two boys in his care. She scored an immediate point with a sudden thrust at Hemmett’s chest.

  “Touched,” he laughed. “Beware!” Having given the traditional warning, he went after her with every bit of skill he had. He was more in condition for the sport but Katrin was more ruthless. They trampled around the room, hooting and whooping, using the furniture as barricades. Pillows were hurled.

  Menders opened the door in time to see Katrin disabling Hemmett with a swift jab from the tip of her sunshade to the back of his knee. Hemmett nearly fell and immediately retaliated with a broadsword swipe across her backside.

  “Captain! Your Royal Highness!” Menders managed to sound stern.

  Katrin flung one more pillow, directly impacting the back of Hemmett’s head, knocking his hair wildly askew. He didn’t dare another whack across her rear in front of Menders, but stood comically to attention, holding his sunshade like a rifle. He saluted.

  “Good gods,” Menders smiled, shaking his head. “It sounded like a groundquake.”

  “Her Highness was demonstrating how she would deal with anyone who makes remarks about those with darker skins, sir!” Hemmett barked.

  “I’m just glad I was the only one home,” Menders answered, picking up several pillows and putting them in place. “You’d have had Kaymar in here with his knives.”

  “I’m only thankful my sunshade didn’t pop open during the duel, sir!” Hemmett replied. “Far too music hall for words, sir!”

  “Where is everyone?” Katrin asked, wrenching the sunshade away from Hemmett and putting it back in the stand.

  “Out and about. Varnia went to see the orphanage with Ifor. She’s heard it’s a model facility and wants to observe how they do things. Eiren has her literature class, Borsen went out somewhere. Same for Kaymar.”

  “I hope he’ll be all right,” Katrin said worriedly, looking at Hemmett.

  “Kaymar?” Menders asked incredulously.

  “No, Borsen. Hemmett has heard people saying some ugly things,” she explained. “I wish Willem was here and could go around with him.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Hemmett said. “He told me he stays in the parts of town where that doesn’t go on. It’s only rough down around the docks and train station. I didn’t mean to make it sound like Simeridon was a seething kettle of prejudice.” He returned to his neglected cigar.

  “Let me see – so you’ve told Katrin about Luntigré and Katrin suggested that she and the little one visit us here,” Menders said.

  “How you do that I will never know.” Katrin went to the floor to ceiling windows opening onto the iron grillwork balcony that ran the length of the second floor of the house.

  “I know the current topics, I knew he hadn’t told you about Luntigré yet and I’m fairly certain that indignation about the remarks and prejudice Artreyans can show to people with dark skins led to your great fencing match,” Menders explained. “Knowing you both very well helped too.”

  “Pah!” Katrin imitated Chetigré perfectly. “I’d rather believe you’re able to read minds.” He had often dazzled them with that particular trick when they were younger and at one time had them worried that he could tell what they were thinking at any time.

  “Well, it did keep some of the mischief down to a reasonable level when you were small,” Menders smiled. “Are you worried about bringing Luntigré and Flori here, Hemmett? I can guarantee them safe passage. That’s what private train carriages are for. I can have Kaymar and Ifor accompany them if you don’t.”

  “That makes sense!” Katrin added. “It would be wonderful to have the entire family together sometimes.”

  Hemmett felt a swift sting of tears and blinked as he stood and put his arms around her.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. Then he rapidly retrieved his cigar and went out onto the balcony to finish it and get control of his emotions.

  ***

  Dear Abbot Fahrin,

  I would like to explain what must be a very puzzling situation to you and see if a potential rift between you and the young lady you know as Emila de Cosini can be repaired.

  In reality, Emila de Cosini is an assumed name, necessary to make it possible for Her Royal Highness, Princess Katrin Morghenna of Mordania, Second Heiress to the Ruby Throne to travel as a normal young person. Our entire party is traveling under aliases. I am Aylam Josirus Shvalz, Lord Stettan, Prince of Mordania, known as Menders, the Head of Household of Princess Katrin’s estate. I have been Katrin’s foster father and guardian since the night she was born. My wife is Eiren Spaltz, Headmistress of The Shadows Academy, housed on the estate.

  Our three children are Katrin (Emila de Cosini); Hemmett Greinholz, Captain of Her Highness’ Personal Guard (Rodrigo de Cosini); and Borsen Menders (Georgio de Cosini) who is my nephew and a High Chieftain of the Thrun.

  During our Katrin’s lifetime, there have been nearly one hundred plots against her life. Her mother, Queen Morghenna VIII of Mordania, consented that Katrin should take the Grand Tour of the Middle Continent when she came of age (sixteen in the Mordanian Royal House) only under the condition that she travel completely incognito. This arrangement has worked well until her unintentional error of using her true signature on the letter that upset you.

  Katrin immediately shared your response with me, and I asked her permission to write to you directly.

  Katrin is very concerned that not only did she inadvertently hurt you, but that she might have endangered the rest of the family as well. I have assured her of my confidence in your discretion and explained to her that your letter was the initial response of someone who feels as if he was deliberately betrayed. As a man, I am also aware that there is an element of anger and disappointment that a young lady for whom you have tender feelings is now irrevocably beyond your reach, and that she seemed to be toying with your affections while knowing such a thing would not be possible.

  All I can say, Abbot Fahrin, is that Katrin is not that sort of young lady. In many ways she is very innocent, the result of being brought up far from the Mordanian Court. Her position places limitations on her activities and friendships and also limits her experience. She is not ignorant of matters between men and women, but her knowledge is entirely theoretical. She has no romantic experience whatsoever.

  Katrin is a very honest and forthright person. She would like to write to you, but is reluctant to take the first step. She not only values your friendship and your interests in common, but also respects your expertise in managing charitable concerns. It is her wish to emulate some of your endeavors on her own estate.

  If nothing else, I would like to encourage you to contact Katrin to let her know you understand she did not deliberately deceive you. She was under her mother’s orders and mine. The name wasn’t the truth, but everything else you learned about her during your association is. She is a decent, caring, loving young woman and was proud to call you her friend. In her position, true friends are very valuable and rare.

  Should you have further questions about Katrin and her situation, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I do hope that Katrin will hear from you soon.

  Your servant,

  Menders, Lord Stettan

  My dear Menders,

/>   Your letter of explanation was much appreciated. I acted rashly in writing to Katrin while angry. The letter had not been gone from here for ten minutes before I regretted sending it. I looked back on the time we had all spent together and realized there must be an explanation for the assumed name. I felt as if I had done something irrevocable and hurt a young lady we both care for greatly.

  I have written to Katrin and asked that she also share the letter with you. Essentially, I have apologized and outlined my hopes that we will remain friends and collaborators in the future.

  You are correct – I was developing romantic feelings for this lovely young lady, though I knew it would be a long time before any courtship would be appropriate. I regret the circumstances that make such a future impossible, but still wish to remain in contact with Katrin and the rest of your family.

  If you should visit Fambré in the future, you will be most welcome at my home or mission. Thank you for your honesty and trust.

  Galanth’s Protection to you,

  Abbot Fahrin

  Dear Katrin,

  As you doubtless know, I have heard from your foster father, Menders, about your situation and the reason you were using an assumed name during your visit to Fambré. I wanted to tender my apology to you, my dear little friend.

  I reacted badly to the surprise of seeing your real name. I had barely sent the letter out when I regretted having done so. I nearly ran down the street to catch the letter carrier, but he had already moved along out of sight. What a spectacle that would have made, the priest of Galanth racing along, his skirts held up around his knees, shouting, “Wait! Wait!”

  There, I hope that brought a smile. I hope you have no hard feelings. Please rest assured that I have none. I hope you will be content to continue corresponding with me. I take great pleasure in your letters.

  All goes well at the feeding station. We are serving nearly two hundred people a day and half that many take advantage of the opportunity to bathe and wash their clothing. We are looking into the possibility of acquiring an inn that is closing down, so we may offer shelter more permanent than short periods of rest in the Temple itself.