It appeared a very rich and prosperous place, and I wasn’t surprised that Flavan had been willing to give a daughter to so middling a House.
After allowing us time to gawk, Jusson set forth again and we entered the forest, Bertram’s pony trotting next to my much bigger charger, his pony’s hooves a counterpoint of muffled taps in a carpet of fallen leaves against the duller thuds of my and the rest of the column war-horses. It was fast approaching winter and mostly bare branches formed a canopy over us. But though it was light and airy now, I reckoned by late spring the forest would be darkly shadowed—with plenty of places for ambush. As I wondered at my thoughts of sneak attacks, I found myself checking behind tree trunks as we passed, more than halfway expecting to find someone looking back. Wyln was also looking around, while Laurel, pacing by my horse’s head, had his ears pushed forward as he scanned the trees.
“It feels almost like the forest at Elanwryfindyll,” Wyln murmured, a line between his brows.
“Yes,” Laurel rumbled. “Perhaps there’s an old circle or sacred pool, long forgotten.”
Wyln shook his head, the lines between his brows deepening. “It doesn’t feel that old or that forgotten.”
The fire enchanter was right; whatever was among the trees was very immediate. The presence increased as we went deeper into the trees and my spine tightened. Up ahead I could see tension in Jusson’s and Thadro’s shoulders, the lord commander’s hand resting on his sword. After stirring restlessly on my shoulder, the butterflies erupted into flight, winging to fly in front of the banner men riding ahead of us. Our vanguard had lowered their standards to keep them from tangling with the tree branches, but they held the poles like lances, their heads turning as they too scanned their surroundings. I glanced behind me to see that the royal guards were doing the same, their expressions more perplexed than worried. Beside me, Bertram’s eyes were opened wide and even Jeff and Arlis had lost their distant expressions as they stared about.
“We are watched,” Jeff said softly, forgetting that he wasn’t talking to me. “But by what?”
Whatever it was, it let us pass unmolested and, when we emerged out of the trees into cleared land, the feeling faded. The road, having been gently rising since we’d left the Artole, now became a switchback as it climbed the tor. But that didn’t slow us down. The horses, sensing that we were nearing the end (or at least, nearing warm stalls, curry combs, and hay) quickened their pace and it wasn’t long before we reached the top. There was a shout from the watchtower, the portcullis rose with a rattle, and, without slowing, we passed through the gate into the bailey of the castle. A few moments later we entered the second gate into the interior courtyard and were immediately swarmed by groomers and servants. A man, richly if soberly dressed in a dark green velvet robe and matching leggings, separated himself from the mob and swept a bow, doffing his feathered hat.
“Welcome, Your Majesty, to Mearden.”
“Thank you, Idwal,” Jusson said.
I stared, surprised. After Jusson’s tale of blighted hopes, I had expected the Lord of Mearden to have a crabbed and bitter appearance. But my mother’s former betrothed was a tall, barrel-chested man, with mingled gray and sandy-brown hair, a short, trim beard, and laugh lines fanning out from hazel eyes. He was smiling now as he straightened and indicated a small woman who flitted to his side. “May I present my wife, Lady Margriet.”
My surprise increased. While I’d been able to deduce that having a marriageable daughter meant that Lord Idwal had eventually wed, I’d vaguely assumed that his wife would be safely plain and somewhat soured from being his second choice. Lady Margriet was neither. She had a vivacious, heart-shaped face and dark brown eyes, and though tiny compared to her husband’s burly frame, she made up for her smallness of stature by her striking deep red gown and matching rubies that encircled her neck, dangled from her ears, were sprinkled on the gold mesh snood snug over her thick brunette hair, and even sparkled on her slippers (Mearden was truly a very prosperous place). She too was smiling as she curtseyed.
“Your Majesty, my lords, and gracious sirs,” she said, her voice a warm contralto. “You are very welcome to our home.” With a rustle of her skirts, she rose again and stood in the shelter of her husband’s body, vivid as a jeweled bird against his darker garb. I raised my gaze to the castle’s main tower, my heart thumping as I wondered what awaited me inside. Maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be as bad as I’d feared.
I was snatched out of my speculative hopes by a thump on my leg. Shifting in my saddle, I looked down to see Jeff scowling back up at me. I did my own scowl but before I could ask what his effing problem was, he jerked his head towards the king. Shifting once more, I discovered that not only had Jusson and the rest dismounted, but except for the royal baggage train that was still snaking its way up the steep road, the rest of the column had entered the inner court. Suiden and Javes stood with the king and Thadro, Wyln, and Laurel. The aristos’ armsmen had not come with us; they were being quartered in the harbor town. But the King’s Own and Freston troopers were staying at the castle and, except for Jusson’s present guard, they were now being led off to whatever served as Mearden’s barracks. Lieutenant Groskin, going with them to see them settled, gave me a frowning glance over his shoulder. The last of the horses were also being taken away to the stables, and at my horse’s head stood a groomer, patiently waiting. My face heating, I quickly scrambled down.
Jusson grinned. “And this is our cousin, Lieutenant Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan.”
I bowed. “Grace to you, Lord Mearden.”
Lord Idwal’s gaze traveled over my braid, feather, and staff, lingering a moment on the butterflies once more snuggled into my cloak, their brilliant wings peeking out about my collar. “Well met, Lord Rabbit,” he said, his face diplomatically blank. Lady Margriet echoed him, giving me an awed look.
There was a slight stir among the remaining King’s Own and Bertram’s luminous presence appeared at my side.
“Your page, Lord Rabbit?” Lady Margriet tentatively ventured.
“No,” Jusson said before I could. “His cook.”
“Cook,” Idwal repeated, his speculative gaze going to Bertram. Lady Margriet’s awed expression deepened.
Jusson’s grin widened a moment before he reclaimed Idwal’s attention “Tell me, do you have sentries in the forest? When we rode through, it felt as though we were being observed, but no one came forth to either challenge us or identify themselves.”
This time it was Lady Margriet’s face that went blank, but Lord Idwal easily nodded. “Ah,” he said. “That’s the Watcher.”
“Is it?” Jusson asked. “And what is a watcher?”
“Legend has it that if Mearden is threatened, the Watcher would defend it,” Idwal said. “For a long while we thought it was just a legend. Then, about the time of my grandfather, reports arose about a presence in the forest—not hostile, just there. Watching.”
“Your grandfather, Idwal?” Thadro asked, his blue-gray eyes curious. “Was this before or after the Border War?”
“Around the same time,” Idwal said as he allowed his gaze to drift again, this time over Laurel and Wyln. “Not everyone senses it. Just those more sensitive to atmosphere, as it were—” His gaze had traveled to Javes and Suiden and started to move on, but it snapped back and Idwal broke off, staring. “Prince Suiden?”
Suiden bowed army-style, his hand over his heart. “Grace to you, Lord Idwal.”
Jusson’s brow lifted. “You two know each other?” he asked.
“We used to trade when I was still in Tural, Your Majesty,” Suiden said.
“I had heard that you’d come to Iversterre and joined the Royal Army, Your Highness,” Idwal said, wide-eyed. “I’d also heard that you’d changed into a dragon—”
Suiden’s emerald green eyes were bright as he suddenly grinned, showing way too many teeth. “Yes.”
Lady Margriet drew closer to her husband’s side, who put a protective arm arou
nd her.
“Don’t worry, Your Lordship,” Javes murmured, his own eyes wolf yellow. “He’s safe. For the most part.”
Idwal’s arm tightened around Lady Margriet, while his other hand rested on his belt—near the hilt of his jeweled dagger. Then he must’ve realized what he was doing, for he dropped his hand, though his arm remained around his wife. His smile reappeared, somewhat strained around the edges. “Well, the wise man spoke profoundly on the folly of standing about in the cold. Please, everyone, come in. Hot drinks and warm hearths await us. As do your other guests, Your Majesty.”
The warm flush of my embarrassment fading, I fell in behind Thadro, so neither he nor Jusson saw my start of surprise at Idwal’s comment about additional royal guests. However, Suiden and Javes did. As did Wyln and Laurel. I braced myself, expecting reprimands for not paying attention to the royal plans and maneuvers.
“I say, smart move, Rabbit,” Javes said softly. “Make Mearden believe you’re a mooncalf so he’ll look elsewhere for a husband for his daughter. Doubt His Majesty will go for it, though. Wouldn’t want all and sundry to think his cousin and heir is touched in the upper works, what?”
“I don’t think Rabbit was acting, Javes,” Suiden said. “Unfortunately.”
I heard a very faint snicker from Jeff and the heat returned to my face.
“Then obviously he needs instruction on wooing the gentle maid,” Wyln said. “Something that he apparently didn’t learn on the family farm—which is surprising as I understand his father was quite accomplished.”
“It must’ve been all the manure he kicked while behind a plough, Sro Wyln,” Suiden said.
“Very likely, Your Highness,” Wyln agreed. He cast me a glance, the flames bright in his eyes. “Well, at least he doesn’t have hay in his hair and cow muck on his boots.”
There was a louder snicker and I fought a scowl.
“True,” Laurel said, entering the fray. “Rabbit has cleaned up well—and there are the butterflies and the braid. Perhaps the gaffes of so pretty a suitor will be overlooked.”
My face once more burning, I followed Jusson, Thadro, and our hosts up the stairs to the castle’s main entrance. Like many keeps, these were made of wood so that if an invading force made it into the inner courtyard, they could be fired, making it difficult to breach the castle itself. But the ones I’d seen were utilitarian affairs, with plain planks almost roughly nailed together. Mearden’s were much more finished, the varnished wood decorated with brightly painted carvings of birds, flowers, and leaves. Wyln allowed his slender fingers to brush the tops of the banister’s newels shaped as individual trees.
“Interesting,” he said.
“Yes,” Laurel said, his eyes on the coat of arms carved into the lintel over the iron-strapped double front doors. It was the same as had been on the messenger’s short tunic and the dispatch pouch eighteen days and a lifetime ago in Freston: a running stag against a sky blue field. However, the carving was much larger, allowing us to see more details, such as the fact that the stag was not a faded light brown as I first thought, but white with eyes the color of midnight. Laurel rumbled, his tail twitching as we passed underneath it and entered the vestibule. Divided from the vestibule by carved screens decorated with cavorting fauna, including what looked like a unicorn and a dragon, was the castle’s great hall—and I stopped and stared, not caring that it made me look the provincial farm boy the others had called me. But then, they also stopped, Javes raising his quiz glass.
Again like its Marcher counterparts, the hall was of heroic proportions. It held the obligatory high-backed chairs for my lord and my lady, unlit torches in wall brackets, and long tables pushed against the stone walls, showing that, also like its northern cousins, it doubled as a dining hall. However, instead of the dark, smoky caverns of the north, Mearden’s great hall was as magnificent as its exterior, from the high, arched windows with their clear glass centers outlined with panes of red and green, to the beaten cross beams of the lofty ceiling, to the glinting weaponry interspersed with colorful tapestries hanging on the walls. There was a sweeping staircase that split to the left and right after the first landing, each branch going up to a gallery that ran along two sides of the hall. And of course, there was the massive hearth that could accommodate tree trunks and whole cows. It didn’t contain burning wood or roasting bovines now; I could smell the burning of peat moss.
“This belongs to a lesser eorl?” Wyln asked.
“A human one, at that,” Laurel said softly as he examined at the carved screen. He ran his paw gently over a sprite emerging from her oak tree.
“They are of your Church, aren’t they?” Wyln asked, also staring at the carved screen, his own gaze on the antlered Lord of the Forest standing in what looked like a stylized glen.
“Yes,” Suiden said. “At least as far as I could tell.”
“Interesting,” Wyln said.
“Interesting and surprising,” Javes murmured. He stared about through his quiz glass. “And doubly surprising that such a minor House has been able to hold on to it.”
Remembering Cousin Teram’s grasping sense of entitlement, the thought flashed across my mind that Lord Idwal had narrowly escaped when my ma ran off with my da. An aristo cleared his throat and, realizing that we were blocking the entrance, we moved, giving those behind us a chance to gape in wonder.
“We did almost as much trade with Mearden as we did with the Royal City,” Suiden said as we stepped into the hall, the rushes covering the stone floor softly rustling under our booted feet. “Even then Sro Idwal had a reputation for shrewd dealing, more than holding his own with our merchants. I’m not surprised that he’s proved just as wily against any machinations of Jusson’s Great Lords—”
“Rabbit!”
Caught up into both the splendor of the castle’s interior and Suiden’s twenty-plus-years’-old reminiscences, I’d not paid much attention to the people populating the great hall. It was a sizable crowd; servants moved about with trays of gently steaming cups amid folk I took to be local gentry, officials, town elders, and prosperous merchants, all come to meet their king. However, upon hearing my name, I quickly turned, searching the mob, and my gaze lit on a four-footed figure. “Kveta?”
The wolf’s muzzle dropped in a grin, revealing sharp white teeth. “That’s Captain Kveta to you, my little Rabblet.”
“No! Really?” Laughing, I shoved through the crowd, stopping before Kveta and giving her a low bow. “Oh, most honored captain, what the hell are you doing here? Slumming?”
“I’ll have you know that I’m on an official mission,” Kveta said, her clear brown eyes gleaming. “I have the papers to prove it.”
There were quick footsteps over the rushes. “Introduce us, Cousin,” Jusson said from behind me.
Still grinning, I turned to face my king as Kveta moved to stand next to me, her head level with my waist. “This is Kveta of the Wild River pack, Your Majesty, a close family friend. At least, she was until she ran away to sea.”
Though having four legs, Kveta made a very elegant bow. “I give you good day, Jusson, son of Iver.”
Jusson gave a nod that was, despite his rather dusty and road-stained raiment, gracious. “Welcome to Iversterre, Captain Kveta. You said you’re on an official errand of the High Council?”
“An errand, yes, honored king, but not for the Council,” Kveta said. There was a stir in the crowd as those who came with Jusson joined us and her brown eyes shifted to skim over Wyln, Laurel, Thadro, and Suiden, stopping at Javes. “I am here on behalf of the Qarant.”
We all went still. “The Qarant sent you?” an aristo asked, his mouth gaping open.
Kveta’s muzzle dropped in another wolfish smile. “Amazing, isn’t it? Especially as, when all is said and done, the Qarant is a family concern.”
“And you’re definitely not of the line,” Javes murmured, eyeing Kveta through his quiz glass.
“No, I’m not,” Kveta agreed. “However, you are, honore
d Javes.”
There was another moment of stillness as covert glances and outright stares were aimed at Javes. He ignored them as he dropped his quiz glass, a line forming between his brows. “I am a sworn captain in His Majesty’s Royal Army.”
“So you are,” Kveta agreed. “Then, a person can be several things all at once. It’s what makes life interesting.” Her clear gaze shifted back to Jusson. I will present my credentials at your convenience, honored king.”
I was distracted from the boulder Kveta had just lobbed by a soft rumble and looked to find Laurel staring at the wolf, his amber eyes slightly narrowed, his mouth held as if he’d tasted something unexpected.
“Yes, of course,” Jusson said, his gaze also shifting to Laurel’s rumbling presence. “Are you and Master Laurel also old friends, Captain Kveta?”
Kveta’s grin once more reappeared. “The Faena and I have run into each other a time or two over the past few years.”
“More than a few and more than run into,” Laurel said, his voice not quite a growl. He then blinked, as if surprised at what he said. But Kveta’s grin merely broadened.
“Well, you know the old proverb about cats and dogs,” she said.
“And what do the proverbs say about wolves?” Suiden interrupted quietly.
Shadows Past: A Borderlands Novel Page 5
