The young woman sitting next to her was a different person. Rose smiled at Bethany and pulled a small, leather-bound pocket book from her apron. She unfolded an equally small pencil, trimmed down to fit inside the notebook, and scribbled:
It is good to see you, Lady Bethany.
Relief filled Bethany as she returned the smile. “It’s good to see you, too, Rose.”
Dowager Duchess Katherine sent me ahead to give you this.
Bethany opened the proffered letter and frowned. According to the Dowager Duchess of Arsenia, her servants had seen Lord Rutherford’s steward passing coin to the less than savoury element in the city. Further, she had heard rumblings that some of the northern slave lords, Rutherford included, were unhappy with Arrago’s progressive laws. When done reading, she slapped the letter against her cheek, thinking.
“Does the Dowager suspect Rutherford is planning to make a move against the king?” Bethany asked.
Rose shrugged. Her hands blurred as she signed her thoughts. Bethany glanced at Lendra and Myra. “Help?”
Rose sighed and wrote: don’t know—planning trouble she’s sure.
Bethany frowned. “What does Rutherford’s steward look like?” Rose wrote out a hasty description. “That sounds like the man we saw. I knew I recognized him. He was Rutherford’s secretary at Castle Gree, right?”
Rose nodded.
“So there are two plans in motion?”
Rose nodded again.
“Does the king know about this?”
Rose scribbled: I got word to Lord Kiner and Sir Edmund three days ago.
Bethany swore. Experience told her attacks against Arrago was expected, but that was poor comfort. Her mind treated her to a disorienting array of images, memories, and random thoughts, all featuring Arrago’s potential demise. She had worked very hard to keep these thoughts locked away in the back of her mind, but now Rose’s information broke the locks.
She had to get to the Imperial Palace now, more than ever. She couldn’t stop an army by herself, but she knew how to raise one. She knew how to protect Arrago. She would even throw herself in front of an arrow, if needs be.
“Bethany?”
Bethany looked at her sister’s worried expression. Right. She was still sitting in the carriage with the three younger women, all of whom looked up to her. While showing weakness wasn’t always a bad thing, right now, she needed to be calm and get all of the facts. She could fret herself into a frenzy later.
“So they are planning an attack on Arrago. Okay. We’ll deal with that when we’re at the palace. That still doesn’t explain attacking Lendra. How does killing the elven ambassador help their cause?”
Rose shook her head and pointed at Bethany, a pained expression on her face.
“I know, there are people after me. So, this attack was to get me. To get at me?” Bethany turned to her sister. “Are they coming for all of us?”
Rose scribbled and held it up for Bethany. You.
A chill cut through the warm summer’s air and Bethany’s arm hair stood on end. She had been fighting this feeling since they left Wyllow, but she’d constantly dismissed it. She was the daughter of Apexia for crying out loud! Two years ago, they were whining about her being Lady Champion and wanted her to go live demurely in Wyllow like a proper female. Now what? They wanted her treasonous head on a pike?
It all went back to the lie. She had stood in front of the entire Elven Council and lied to their faces. She said it was Sarissa’s death that smashed the Blessed Blades, as a last curse upon the people she felt had betrayed her. She said Apexia’s grief was so profound that Apexia had removed herself from the world, for at least a time, to deal with the overwhelming pain of having lost a child.
Bethany stood there and told that lie again and again as they hammered her with questions. As far as she knew, there were no mind readers there. And, even if there were, many had problems over the years reading her. Even Apexia couldn’t read her thoughts.
Huh. Had she overlooked the changes to herself? Had they brought in Rygents and she’d not realized it? Normally, Bethany would have said the Council would never lower themselves to ask a Rygent for help. But, now...now she wasn’t so sure.
“Myra, can you read my thoughts?”
“Um, what? Why?”
“Answer the question.”
Myra shook her head, confused. “No, but I can’t with anyone. I just...sense emotions.”
“What’s this about?” Lendra asked.
“There was a time people couldn’t sense my thoughts. Not even Apexia could read my mind. I think the Council might have caught me in a lie, and that’s why they’re after me.”
“Well,” Myra said, with a sigh. “Your thoughts are different than your feelings, though. I think reading your mind, even with permission, would be painful for a Rygent. But, your feelings are outside of that, if that makes any sense. You carry your emotions in your expression, in your tone, and in the way you stand. Right now, I know you are angry.”
Rose scribbled: She’s always angry.
Bethany smiled.
“This is a quiet rage that’s going to boil over soon. I know, somewhere, you feel responsible for all of this since you did something. Or, you think you did something that’s caused all this.” Myra smiled. “And I know you want to roll your eyes at me right about now.”
Bethany rolled her eyes, but grew somber. “There was one traitor in the crew. Could there be more? Could that traitor be here for just me, or are they after Arrago, too? I can’t plan if I don’t know what’s going on around me.”
Myra sighed. “I’m sorry, Lady Bethany. I don’t know.”
Bethany wanted to be angry, but she resisted taking it out on Myra. Myra was risking enough by helping. And Bethany wasn’t mad at the girl for not knowing more; she was angry at the entire situation she’d been placed in.
Bethany began a checklist in her mind. Deal with the possible traitors and spies in her escort. Deal with the threat against herself. Crush anyone who tried to hurt Lendra or Arrago. Or Prince Henry. Or Amber. Or Edmund. Or Kiner. In fact, crush anyone questionable who came within fifty paces of her friends.
She needed help; this was too big for just one person. Right now, she had these three young women. She needed more allies.
Bethany looked at Rose. “Does the duchess know who you are?” Rose held up two fingers. “The Dowager, too?”
Rose nodded.
“Does the Dowager still have knights living with her?”
Rose nodded, then wrote: Prince Henry’s guard is coming with the duchesses.
“They’re coming here?” Myra asked.
Rose smiled.
“That’s perfect,” Bethany said through a grin.
****
Bethany had never met the duchesses, though both Lendra and Amber had spoken fondly about both women. Bethany had heard the Dowager, in particular, was a frail, elderly woman who couldn’t travel. Amber and Lendra brushed off those concerns and said the old woman was like any human woman of advancing years: her health was a primary concern because once lost it would never come back. However, Bethany was not prepared for the presence of the woman.
“Get those trunks on the carriage!” the Dowager ordered. She leaned her ample weight against a carved cane with a silver tip and a black leather handle. The old woman stood in the middle of the magistrate’s courtyard and ordered around about fifty full-vowed knights, plus Bethany’s own guard escort, plus the Dowager’s servants, plus the magistrate’s servants, and anyone else who dared get in the Dowager’s way.
Bethany stood off to the side, knowing better than to stand in the way. She sipped a mug of broth, occasionally having to flick out flecks of fatty bone marrow. But she was both hungry and thirsty, and the broth was helping quash both urges.
A small trunk fell to the ground, knocking open the lock. Various journals, letters, and scrolls scattered across the ground. Bethany gritted her teeth at the sight of diplomatic correspondence falling
into horse shit.
“Pick that up!” the Dowager ordered.
Darien jumped off the back of the carriage, scrambling to obey the old woman. She berated him, and the others who moved slower than Darien, until she finally threw her hands in the air. “Lady Bethany! Are all of your knights as useless as these children? Jasmine! Jasmine! I need you! Where are you?”
“I’m here, Your Grace.” Lady Jasmine was an Elorian knight around Bethany’s age. She was three-quarters human, and had lost the ear points. She kept her elven height, however, and towered over the elderly woman. “What can I do for you, Your Grace?”
“Organize Lady Bethany’s children before I lose my temper,” she instructed. She snapped her fingers at Rose. “Rose! In the carriage with us. I simply must be attended during this trip.”
Bethany didn’t bother to hide her grin. The Dowager should have been a Silver Knight. In fact, she should have been a part of the Black Hand and a spy. She would have excelled at it. No one suspects a dowdy old woman cloaked in furs even at the height of summer.
“Lady Bethany! Please, I beg you to assist me,” the Dowager pleaded.
Bethany clapped her hands and said, “Children, you heard Her Grace. Do as she says and load her trunks on the carriage.”
There were several offended mutters, and one of the apprentices said, in a loud, sullen tone, “She’s actually just Apprentice Knight Bethany now.”
Bethany winced when the Dowager whirled on the elven apprentice. “Who gave you permission to speak to me, child? Is the Gentle Goddess standing here next to us, giving you instructions over mine? No? Then shut your little trap. Lady Bethany is a hero in Taftlin. She ended the war. Do not disparage her good name with silly pointed eared politics.” She eyed the apprentice’s elven ears. “Of course, I mean no offense to your elven heritage. I’m sure you’re very proud of it.”
Bethany turned her back on the scene just long enough to cover her grin. She was relieved the old woman was on her side. When at the Imperial Palace, she would talk to Arrago to ensure he knew to do everything in his power to make this woman happy for the rest of her days.
Her Grace, Cassandra, the Dowager’s daughter and the current duchess, glided out from the magistrate’s home, the magistrate and his wife hot on her heels. The duchess held a white handkerchief to her nose as she approached the horses. She spied Bethany and said, loudly, “Lady Champion, I have asked Sir Colin to access the damages done by the savage attack upon Ambassador Lendra’s life so that I may pay the debt myself.”
Bethany inclined her head. “You are very kind, Your Grace.”
She surprised Bethany by linking arms. “I insist upon you calling me Cassandra.”
Bethany didn’t pull away from the intimate embrace. Instead, she played her part and smiled. “Then I insist upon you calling me Bethany.”
“My dear cousin wrote about you often,” Cassandra said wistfully, referring to the late Queen Celeste.
“She was very free in her praise of both yourself and your mother,” Bethany said.
It surprised her how easily she slipped into Taftlin court language. Then again, she had spent a year hanging out with the nobility. It was bound to sand away her rough edges. She wished Mother Aneese was alive to see this, though it probably would have killed the old elf.
“I feel as though we are already friends.”
“As do I,” Bethany said, inclining her head.
“Excellent,” Cassandra said.
“Rose! Rose, where are you? Why are you not in my carriage?” the Dowager shouted. “I need to be attended!”
It was approaching late-afternoon before the carriages were on their way. The Dowager, Lendra, and Rose were in the lead carriage, with Bethany, Myra, and Cassandra in the other. The caravan was surrounded by proper knights, the way it should have been from the moment they left Orchard Park’s main dock. Battle-hardened knights. Vowed knights. Loyal knights. Bethany let out a relieved breath.
Next to her, a nervous giggle escaped the duchess. She put a hand to her chest and said, “My heart is pounding so hard I may faint.”
“Don’t you dare,” Bethany said flatly, but she winked at the duchess to let her know she was teasing.
“First, Lady Bethany, you must allow me to apologize for the familiar way I spoke to you. I would have not dared do such a thing if Rose had not explained the plan. I am...humbled to be in your presence.”
Bethany clenched her jaw and forced a smile. As she stumbled for words, Myra spoke up. “Your Grace, Lady Bethany tends to be...embarrassed...when humans fuss over her parentage. She has worked very hard to be the knight everyone knows she is. She would prefer if people treated her as Lady Champion, and not as the daughter of a goddess. So, please, be in awe about her own achievements. There are plenty enough.”
Bethany felt her cheeks heat up. Myra’s words cut through the bubbling anger inside her and chipped at her very core. And she was blushing over it. Good goddess, what was becoming of her?
“Are you blushing?” Myra demanded.
Bethany began to chuckle, and it soon turned into a roaring laugh. She looked at the rather smug Myra and said, “I remember when you weren’t so mouthy and familiar with your betters.”
Myra gave Bethany an apologetic look. “Sorry, Lady Bethany.”
Bethany smiled and turned to Cassandra. “Your Grace, I was being honest when I said I’d like to be your friend. Celeste...she was a good woman. I had the highest respect for her and she spoke so well of you.”
A sad smile crossed Cassandra’s face. “I wish I could have said good-bye to her. I was with child myself and could not risk the journey. Mother was unwell at the time.”
“I’m sure she understood.”
“Thank you for saying that,” Cassandra said. “In truth, Celeste and I hated each other as children.”
“She didn’t give that impression at all. It was her idea to send Prince Henry to you and your mother.”
Bethany wasn’t sure how to continue; she was never good at this part of conversations. However, Myra stepped in and took over. She peppered the duchess with questions about the late queen, and Cassandra was happy to oblige with childhood details of two girls trying to cause trouble within the strict confines of human social rules. Bethany considered her own childhood and knew a little bit about that. Only, she didn’t have many friends to cause trouble with. She regretted that about her younger days.
After some time had passed, Bethany said, “Your Grace, I mean, Cassandra, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“How is it that you inherited your title? I thought all Taftlin titles and property went through the male line.”
Cassandra smiled. “I forget sometimes this isn’t common knowledge outside of the court. Generations ago, we were only a merchant family who did business with the royal family. There was a ball at Castle Gree—this was before the Imperial Palace was built—and there was an assassination attempt on the king. The head of the family at the time was a widow named Ester Arsenia. She pushed the king out of the way, and took an assassin’s blade for him. She died. The king honoured her sacrifice by giving the family a duchy and thousands of acres of land. And passed a law stating that the linage of the family would be passed down through the daughters, and not the sons, in recognition of her actions.”
Bethany grinned. “Seriously?”
“It’s in the historical records,” Cassandra insisted. “It’s one of the first things I learned as a child. Our family’s history. Then when I married, the title passed to me. I’m not sure why they made the law that way, but,” she shrugged. “Here we are.”
“Is that why your mother is so...” Bethany searched for a polite word.
“Impossibly bossy?” Cassandra helpfully supplied.
Bethany laughed. “Something like that. She reminds me of the etiquette tutors I had as a child. Apexia’s mercy, those women made my life a misery.”
“Yes, that’s my mother.”
Three hours later, the pre-arranged plan began. Myra pounded on the carriage ceiling, and then shouted out of her window for the coach to stop. It took a minute or so for the caravan to completely come to a stop, but it did.
“Lady Bethany is ill,” Cassandra announced.
Bethany held her stomach and groaned from pain. “I think the fish I ate was bad.”
The Dowager stumbled out of her carriage to inspect the situation. She touched Bethany’s forehead and said, “She’s warm. We should leave her behind to recover. The Prince is at the Imperial Palace and I do not wish to infect him with elven diseases.”
“Oh goddess,” Bethany cried out, stumbling out of the carriage. She collapsed to her knees and retched. Bethany focused on some of the more gory elements of warfare until her guzzled watered wine sloshed and came spewing back up. Bethany turned her head and hit several of the apprentice knights’ boots for dramatic effect.
“She absolutely cannot go to the Imperial Palace in this condition!” the Dowager demanded.
“Bethany?” Lendra asked. “Are you okay?”
Bethany spat. Vomiting on command wasn’t an easy task and Bethany’s guts really were hurting now. The moans that escaped her weren’t fake and, if she wasn’t careful, she’d start puking for real.
“We can’t leave her on the side of the road,” Darien said, wincing. “Right?”
“Father Gaston lives near here. He’s one of the Elorian priests who stayed behind after the war. He would happily let Lady Bethany stay with him until she is recovered,” Cassandra said.
Bethany continued to groan, adding in a few dry heaves for dramatic flair. The apprentices were grimacing and a few were getting the heaves themselves. The older knights were more curious than anything.
Lord Brennus, one of the Silver Knights that the duchess brought, crouched down and stared at Bethany. “What in Apexia’s name did you eat?”
“Fish,” Bethany groaned. “Kill me please.”
“Can you even get on a horse?” Lord Brennus asked.
Bethany moaned pitifully in reply.
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