Shadows Past: A Borderlands Novel

by Lorna Freeman

  And the royal party was right in the middle of all the chattering and chewing.

  Jusson hadn’t hesitated at Idwal’s announcement, but headed for his rooms, telling Idwal that we’d be ready very shortly in one breath and calling for Cais in the next. The rest of us also scattered, Suiden coming with me to my room, where we were greeted by Finn presiding over hot water, shaving kits, and freshly pressed uniforms.

  A very short time later we all were dressed and ready to be escorted down to breakfast by our host. Except for Laurel, who’d stayed behind with Javes.

  “I will send up our healer to assist, Master Laurel,” Idwal had said, frowning as he was told about Javes’ illness. Shifting, he stared through the archway into Javes’ room, his eyes narrowed. But if he could see the lines, runes, and spheres of earth surrounding the captain, he didn’t say. “I will also have my steward question around, see if he can discover what Captain Javes drank and where.”

  “If they find any bottles, honored Mearden, please have them sent up to me immediately,” Laurel said with a brief bow. “If I can discover what contaminated the spirits, perhaps it will help in honored Javes’ recovery.”

  When we entered the great hall. Bertram immediately went to the tables and began assembling plates for us, while our host guided us to our seats with his wife and daughter. Dressed in another arse-ugly brown dress, Berenice gave me a decorous greeting with her eyes modestly lowered. To my surprise, whatever reservations Lord Idwal had about me as a potential son-in-law were set aside. I was directed to sit next to Berenice by Lady Margriet, with whom I enjoyed innocuous conversation accented with Lord Idwal’s genial smiles with my breakfast. And when we arose a short time later, Berenice accepted my arm and offer of escort to the fair.

  And now the daughter of the House walked sedately beside me, her hand still firmly tucked in my arm. She seemed to have thrown off any lingering stiffness from the pummeling she took from the scrum last night and moved easily, her head turning as she took in the sights, sounds, and smells. There was plenty to take in—strolling musicians competed with the shouts of tumbling acrobats that mingled with vendors calling out about their wares. The town’s baker and his assistants were busy measuring and mixing, kneading and pouring, comfortable in the warmth put out by the brick oven erected in the back of their corner booth. Despite my very recent breakfast, I inhaled deep, enjoying the aroma of their baking mixed with the spice of the hot cider that wafted from the booth next to them. There was a thunder of hooves and a roaring cheer as someone flashed by on horseback over on the tilting run, lance lowered as he aimed at the ring that hung in front of the straw man. In the farthest yard, a strongman was displaying feats of strength; in the near yard a sword contest was starting while a little ways away brightly painted clubs were being tossed in the air by jugglers, and off in the distance I could see blanketed horses being led off to an unseen starting line.

  And mixed into all this were people. Lots and lots of people.

  Some were the same folks from last night: the lords in Jusson’s train, the local gentry, the town’s upper crust—bruises and all—and Princess Rajya and her entourage. But there were also some of the less exalted from the seaport town, along with local farmers and their families, all in their fair best. And threading in among them were castle and royal servants, the lords’ armsmen, troopers, off-duty royal guards, Turalian soldiers, and sailors with a polyglot mixture of faces, forms, and features. There were red-haired, beard-braiding Svlet, Qarant sailors with their distinctive breeks, jackets, and striped hosen, dark hued and tattooed Turalians from the warships, and a mishmash of Border races off Kveta’s the Good Jest who walked, trotted, pattered, flew, and darted through the crowd, eyes bright with excitement. To my surprise, Idwal’s people took their appearance in stride; there were none of the shrieks, snorts, and starts that had accompanied Laurel’s journey to the Royal City just a few months ago. As I watched, a stout farmer’s wife bobbed a curtsey at a bowing winged faerie, the woman’s broad vowels flat against the piping tones of the fae as they wished each other good day.

  “This is the best part of living near a harbor,” Berenice said, watching a group of Turalian sailors passing by. Their tattoos of fish, dolphins, and sea dragons were brilliant in the sunlight while the liquid tones of their speech were accented by the clatter of bangles on their wrists, the clacking of metal and bone bits woven into their hair, and the jingling of the mixture of bells, shells, and beads worn around ankles. “You never know what you’ll see when you turn a corner.” She looked back at me. “Was it like this where you grew up?”

  “Yes and no,” I began.

  “Oh, how I enjoy your ambiguous answers!”

  Grinning, I glanced at a cluster of Border crew clustered around one of the stalls. “While my Weald has multiple races, it’s rather … well, parochial in its outlook.”

  “Really?” Berenice asked. “That is not something I’d expect from the tales I’ve heard of the wild, wild Border.”

  “If it wasn’t done by someone’s great-great-grandsire, then it was newfangled and suspect,” I said, “and folks were very militant about the ‘proper’ way of doing things. Which made for some very interesting Weald council meetings.” I watched the local doyen walk by with one of the townspeople, both of them holding hot drinks, the marks of last night still prominent on their faces. “Speaking of sires—were you able to make it back to your room all right?”

  “Yes,” Berenice said, her own gaze on Wyln and Kveta doing their own meandering through the crowd, and I idly wondered if Kveta was finally delivering her messages. It didn’t appear that the she-wolf had any of whatever Javes drank; she looked hale and hearty, her winter’s coat thick and shiny as it rippled a bit in the breeze.

  “And you, my lord? How did you and Princess Rajya fare?”

  I slid a glance back at Berenice’s demure face, keeping my own expression bland. “I didn’t stay long but left soon after you did.” Just not soon enough.

  “I see,” Berenice said, now looking in a different direction. “Well, it looks as though Her Highness wants to pick up where you left off; she’s heading our way.”

  Now keeping the alarm out of my face, I glanced to see that Princess Rajya was indeed walking towards us, her tunic a palette of fall colors over reddish orange trousers. She wore another gold torque around her neck, this one made of what looked like braided gold, with matching earrings dangling from her ears. Beside her walked Munir, who had forgone his gray robe for one of sapphire blue embroidered with silver runes and symbols. Over it he wore a heavy cloak of black, its hood thrown back to show his bald head and flowing tattoos in the same blue as his robe. The wizard and the princess made a striking appearance, and the crowd moving out of the way had little to do with Her Highness’ Turalian soldiers surrounding them. Wyln paused to watch their progress, giving the Turalian wizard an assessing look. Munir looked calmly back. He then shifted his gaze to me, his eyes going to the air and fire spheres hovering over my shoulder. He smiled and nodded, but at that moment Captain Suiden walked by with Jusson, and Lord Thadro, all of them escorted by Lord Idwal and Lady Margriet. Princess Rajya immediately changed course, the determined expression back on her face as she stalked her father. Without missing a beat, the Turalian soldiers changed directions with her. Munir, however, was caught off step. He hesitated a moment, looking between me and Suiden, before joining Her Highness in her new mission.

  “Reprieved,” Berenice murmured.

  “I’m sure Her Highness will get back to us,” I murmured back. And thinking that it might be best to be somewhere else when she did, I looked around for a safe place. Over in the sword ring, two of Idwal’s armsmen were going at it with dulled blades. They weren’t half bad and I stopped to watch a moment, but my attention was caught by a glimpse of someone on the opposite side of the yard in dark, nondescript clothes with pale smooth skin, slipping through the crowd. Frowning, I turned my head, tracking him, shifting a bit as the man disappea
red behind a clump of people.

  “The archery range is clear,” Berenice said.

  Distracted, I once more slid a glance at Berenice, who looked back with a faint smile.

  “So it is. Are you two going to give us a demonstration?”

  I looked down to see Kveta had trotted up beside me, Wyln having abandoned her for Jusson’s group. Or maybe the king had nothing to do with it. The royal train had merged with Her Highness’ entourage and the enchanter now was behind the king, his gaze on Munir.

  “No—”

  “Sure,” Berenice said over me. Her brown eyes sparkled merrily as she pulled me away from the ring. “Do you shoot, Lord Rabbit?”

  “My skills lay more with the sword than the bow, Lady Berenice,” I said. “And the little bit of bow skill I have is with crossbow.”

  “Good.” Berenice didn’t slow down but continued tugging me towards the archery range, air and fire spheres, guards and servants streaming out behind us. “Then we should be evenly matched.”

  “You shoot?” I asked.

  The merry spark in her eyes turned wicked. “Some.”

  Kveta gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Perhaps I should find Javes Wolf Damas’son and place some bets on the outcome.”

  I stopped short, Jeff, Arlis, and Berenice’s servants nearly crashing into me. In all the excitement of the fair, I’d forgotten about Javes.

  “Was Captain Javes with you last night, Kveta?” I asked.

  Kveta’s ears pushed forward though her grin remained in place. “Wyln asked the same question, but he took off after Munir before I could answer. Yes, Damas’son brought me confirmation last night of our meeting with His Majesty. Why?”

  “He’s very ill,” I said. “Laurel thinks he might’ve drunk tainted wine or spirits.”

  “Tainted spirits?” Berenice echoed, her hand tightening on my arm. “Does Papa know?”

  “Lord Idwal was told when he came to fetch us to breakfast this morning,” I said.

  Kveta’s smile disappeared. “I wondered why I wasn’t summoned to the royal chambers this morning. But then I figured it was postponed in favor of the fair.”

  “Some,” I admitted. “But fair or not, your meeting with the king probably wouldn’t have happened. At least, not with Javes attending.”

  “Damas’son’s uncle Jakub had sent him a half dozen bottles of spiced rum and he insisted on opening one immediately.” Kveta made a face. “I declined joining him in lifting a glass, but it seemed to go down all right with him. And he seemed just as all right when he left—a little on the go, yes, but still steady in his step.”

  I frowned. “Javes didn’t have any bottles with him when he returned to the king’s chambers. Did he leave them with you?”

  “No, they’re not in my quarters,” Kveta said, scanning the crowds. “You two go on and enjoy your archery bout. I’ll go tell your king about Wolf Damas’son.”

  With that, Kveta disappeared into the crowd. I stood there a moment debating whether or not I should follow. Then deciding that, one, Kveta didn’t need me to hold her paw and, more important, two, I didn’t need to be in reach of Princess Rajya, I continued towards the archery range, Berenice with me, her hand still clutching my arm.

  “Papa needs to know about the rum,” Berenice said.

  “And that it didn’t come from his cellars.”

  “Your father is with the king, so I’m sure he’ll hear all about its origins,” I said. “I’m more concerned about where it is now. Six bottles is a lot to go missing—”

  “Five and a half,” Berenice said, the merry sparkle returning.

  I grinned. “Probably more like five and three-quarters,” I said. “Judging from His Majesty’s comments last night, Captain Javes is not much of a drinker.” My grin faded. “But however much he drank, he did not have the remainder with him and Kveta said she didn’t have them, so that means that those bottles are floating about for someone else to pick up and take a swig.”

  This time it was Berenice who came to an abrupt halt. She stared up at me in alarm, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Then turning, she beckoned her maid Godelieve to her and quickly gave her instructions to tell the castle steward about the stray bottles. As the maid took off at a surprising brisk trot, Berenice tucked her hand more firmly into the crook of my arm and continued walking. The troubled look remained on her face, however.

  “The last thing we need is for guests to become sick, no matter where the tainted rum came from,” she said. “There have been enough catastrophes, beginning with last night’s disaster of a dinner.”

  “The fair seems to be going well,” I offered. I caught another whiff from the baker’s stall and made a note to wander by later. “Very well, in fact.”

  Berenice gave a sigh and seemed to shake herself. “You’re right. So why search for trouble? It’s a glorious day—”

  “So it is,” I agreed.

  “—with plenty of sunshine and just the right amount of wind—”

  “So there is,” I agreed once more.

  “—and I’m about to engage in my favorite sport.”

  “So you are—Wait, what?”

  Laughing, Berenice pulled me to where bows of various sizes and shapes were overseen by the castle bowyer. I expected her to choose a dainty shortbow, but instead she picked up a longbow that was nearly as tall as she was and, with casual expertise and surprising strength, strung it. She then wandered over to the arrows and began to competently sort through them.

  “Uh—”

  Jeff and Arlis had been quiet as they trailed behind Berenice and me during our journey over the fairgrounds, but I now heard snickers coming from their direction.

  “Does my lord have a preference?” the bowyer asked.

  The snickers increased and I glanced over my shoulder to see not only my personal guards grinning like loons, but also Berenice’s remaining servant with a smirk on his face. I let out a sigh. “Whatever you suggest—”

  “Is this a closed contest or can anyone join?” Princess Rajya said.

  Oh, hell. Turning, I saw that not only Her Highness, but also Jusson, Thadro, Wyln, Suiden, Lady Margriet, several aristos, and a double handful of Turalian soldiers and King’s Own. But no Lord Idwal or Kveta and, as the bowyer placed a bow in my suddenly nerveless hands, I vaguely wondered if they’d gone off to search for the missing bottles of rum.

  “Do you shoot, Your Highness?” Berenice asked.

  Princess Rajya flashed her teeth in a smile. “A little.”

  Berenice smiled back, her teeth just as white. “Then how about a friendly three-way match—”

  Wyln appeared at my side. “This is open to all?” Both Princess Rajya and Berenice blinked at the elf. “Well,” began Berenice.

  “Good.” Wyln looked down at the bow I was just given. Lifting one brow, he pulled it out of my hands and gave it back to the bowyer. He then looked over the bows, selecting one for me before choosing a bow for himself. “Best of three, Rabbit and me versus Princess Rajya and you, honored Berenice?”

  Berenice drew in a breath, then let it out, the corner of her mouth kicking up. “Yes, that sounds good, Lord Wyln.”

  After a little discussion, it was decided that the two women would go first and, after further discussion, that Berenice would start. Planting her arrows in the ground before her, Berenice stood at the agreed distance from the target that seemed a long ways away against an apple tree. Bringing her bow up, she swiftly pulled back the string, the muscles of her arm briefly outlined against her sleeve before she loosed her arrow. There was a soft thump and the small group of spectators around us, who had become steadily noisier, fell abruptly silent, all staring at the arrow sticking out of the center of the bull’s-eye.

  “Bones and bloody ashes, did you see that?” Jeff whispered from behind me.

  “I would have trouble with the pull on that bow,” Arlis whispered back, “yet she makes it seem easy as cake.”

  Though I’d grown up in t
he Border where weapon mastery wasn’t gender specific and had spent my soldiering career posted in a part of the kingdom where women were prized just as much for their archery as for their housekeeping skills, I found that my mouth had dropped open. I swiftly shut it again, hoping no one had noticed.

  Smiling a little, Berenice lowered her bow and indicated to Princess Rajya that it was her turn. Unfazed, Her Highness sauntered up to the line. Playing to the crowd, she held a wetted finger up to the wind and a smattering of laughter broke out.

  “It’s fascinating to watch women play at war.” Wyln’s gaze remained on Berenice and Princess Rajya, but Jeff, Arlis, and I all turned to see that Munir had moved away from Suiden to stand next to us.

  “I don’t think either is playing, Lord Munir,” I said.

  “Got that right,” Jeff muttered. “This looks like it’s for keeps.”

  “You have much to learn about the fair sex, Sro Rabbit,” Munir said, ignoring Jeff.

  Thinking the same about the wizard, I opened my mouth, but Wyln spoke before I could.

  “Stop teasing the child, Adeptus,” he said as he watched Princess Rajya nock the arrow, lift the bow, and pull. She stood for a moment, suspended between two heartbeats, the breeze teasing strands of her hair about her face, her dark eyes narrowed in concentration. Then she released the arrow and an instant later there was another soft thump as it bloomed right next to the other. There was a muted roar from the steadily thickening crowd and Princess Rajya turned and gave Berenice an abbreviated arm-waving bow.

  Munir ignored the byplay as he grinned at the enchanter. “ ‘Child,’ Sro Wyln?” he asked under the noise of the crowd. “Sro Rabbit is grown enough to shave every morning and have a healthy if uninformed interest in the opposite sex.” He gave me an appraising stare. “Though he is cousin to an elfin king, who doesn’t do or have either.”