The Sworn fkc-1

by Gail Z. Martin

  The next night, a small group gathered behind closed doors in Dark Haven’s great room. Jonmarc and Carina were dressed for court. Carroway and Macaria came at Berry’s personal invitation, both as her guests and to play a favorite song in tribute to Staden. Kolin and Jolie were present, as was Captain Gellyr, whose soldiers guarded the door. Raen, one of Dark Haven’s resident ghosts, glowed a faint blue in the corner. Berry wore one of the gowns she had disdained all season, a fitted dress of Mussa silk in a deep emerald color that set off her auburn hair. Carina had plaited Berry’s hair and covered it with a mesh of gold. Dressed for court, with a new somberness in her manner, Berry looked older than her fourteen years.

  “Where’s Gabriel? Did the Blood Council refuse the invitation?” Berry’s voice had a nervous edge to it that told Jonmarc that she would have found something to fret about even if the full Blood Council was already in attendance.

  “I’m sure they’ll be here,” Jonmarc said, although he was not as confident as he sounded.

  Just then, the doors opened and Laisren ushered in their guests. Riqua went straight to Berry.

  “I’m so sorry about your father,” Riqua said, giving Berry a hug. During the months Berry had been at Dark Haven, she and Riqua had often helped Carina tend to the refugees. Now, Jonmarc saw genuine sorrow beneath Riqua’s usually unreadable expression. “I’ve seen many kings rise and fall over the last several hundred years. Staden was among the best to rule these lands. He will be missed.”

  “Thank you,” Berry murmured.

  Jonmarc had his eye on who was entering behind Gabriel. Rafe slipped in quietly, murmuring condolences. Uri followed, but he remained at a distance. Behind him were Vigulf and Sior from the vyrkin, followed by Sister Taru and Lisette, who brought with her the chalice that the investiture ritual required.

  “Astasia didn’t come,” Gabriel murmured from behind Jonmarc. “In fact, she and her brood appear to have gone missing. Her manor house at Airenngeir is empty.”

  Jonmarc turned to meet Gabriel’s gaze. “Do you think she’s sided with the Durim?”

  Anger glinted in Gabriel’s eyes. “We must assume so. Rafe agrees. Given the circumstances, we’ve voted her outlaw to the Council, which means her lands are forfeit and she’s lost any protection as a member of the Council until she explains herself. If she really has sided with the Durim or the invaders, we’ll be bloodsworn against her and her brood. That’s not a step we take lightly.”

  When the guests had taken their places, Carroway and Macaria played the song Berry had requested. To Jonmarc’s surprise, it was a bawdy tavern song, not one of the pieces of chamber music often favored at court. Despite the solemnity of the moment, the song brought a smile to many faces in the small crowd, even Berry, who managed a smile although a tear was on her cheek. Jonmarc wondered how much Macaria’s music magic had to do with the feeling of calm that seemed to settle over the room. When the music ended, Carroway came forward and knelt in front of Berry.

  “Let me be the first with a coronation gift,” he said, and while his manner was solemn, a glint of mischief sparkled in his eyes. From inside his vest, he withdrew a velvet-wrapped bundle. Berry undid it to find a beautifully made set of throwing knives with inlaid handles. Despite the occasion, Berry giggled.

  “You’ve used the first set so much, I figure they’re scratched by now. I was going to give them to you at Haunts, but since you’ll be in Principality City, I thought I’d do it now. I hope you never have to use them.”

  Berry threw her arms around Carroway’s neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. You never know when they’ll come in handy. I’ve kept in practice. I’m afraid Carina will find new holes in the beams in my room.”

  Taru cleared her throat, and the room fell silent. Lisette handed the chalice to Taru, who held it up. “We are here to crown a new queen. Tonight, Berwyn, daughter of Staden, will accept the throne of Principality for all subjects, living, dead and undead, mortal and immortal.”

  Berwyn rose and walked slowly to where Taru stood beside Jonmarc. Lisette took the circlet crown Gellyr had brought with him from its velvet pouch and handed it to Jonmarc.

  Berry knelt in front of Jonmarc. He swallowed hard. Berry had been a courageous tomboy when he and the others had rescued her from slavers. He’d watched with the pride of a godfather as she returned to court and grew into her responsibilities. Now, he felt both pride and apprehension, and he knew that it was just a shadow of what he would someday feel for his own girls. He took a deep breath and was pleased to see that, as he accepted the circlet from Lisette, his hands were almost steady.

  “Berwyn, daughter of Staden, heir to the throne of Principality and to the crown of your ancestors. Staden, King of Principality, bestowed on me the title of Lord of Dark Haven. By that power, whose source is the king’s authority, I give to you the crown of Principality and name you Queen Berwyn.” Jonmarc felt relief sweep over him that the long memorized piece was at an end. Berry rose, and everyone in the room knelt. Jonmarc met Berry’s eyes as he sank to one knee, and she held out her hand. Jonmarc took her hand, kissing the signet ring.

  “As I was to your father, so also to you,” he murmured.

  One by one, the others in the room made their oaths. Finally, when everyone had vowed their fealty, Carroway and Macaria struck up a festive tune, one that heralded the arrival of the king at festivals. Neirin leaned into the room.

  “I’ve taken the liberty to prepare a repast suitable for our new queen,” he said. “May we all toast the good health and long life of Queen Berwyn.”

  At that, servants entered, bearing platters of roasted venison, ramekins of baked onions and leeks, and a large pudding, along with pitchers of wine. Jonmarc nodded his approval, knowing how little time the staff had had to prepare for the occasion.

  The evening passed in subdued gaiety. Staden’s death cast a pall over the celebration, and Jonmarc, seated at Berry’s right hand, often caught a glimpse of Berry sniffing back tears or struggling to maintain her composure. Still, she did her best to rise to the occasion, and Carroway and Macaria kept the music festive. Jonmarc noticed that Carroway was playing better than ever with his injured hand, and he wondered when, given the plague in Margolan and the possibility of war throughout the kingdoms, the two bards would attempt to return home. After hearing about Carroway’s valiant efforts to protect Kiara while Tris was besieging Lochlanimar, Jonmarc found himself hoping that Carroway and Macaria might stay in Dark Haven until he returned from Principality City.

  As was the custom, the guests departed just after midnight, having kept watch with the new queen into her first full day as monarch. When the last of the guests had gone, Berry leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

  “Well, that’s done,” she murmured, massaging her temples. She opened her eyes and gave a wan smile to Carina and Jonmarc. “I appreciate everything you and Carroway and Neirin did on such short notice. It was wonderful, all of it. But everything’s happening too fast.” She sighed. “By the time we get back home, they’ll have burned Father’s body. I won’t get to say good-bye.”

  Berry glanced from Carina to Jonmarc. “I thought I’d spend a few candlemarks down in the chapel, making an offering to Istra for Father’s soul. With the way Principality celebrates Haunts, I know I’ll have plenty of opportunity to make offerings to the Lover and the Whore.” She paused, thinking. “Do you think Aidane will decide to stay in Principality? After all, Athira the Whore is our patron Aspect of the Sacred Lady. What Aidane does isn’t that different from the way the Sacred Vessels prophesy. They claim to be possessed by the Lady, or the spirits. And the Temple Consorts believe it’s their divine duty to couple with as many pilgrims as possible.” She giggled. “Principality has its own ways of celebrating a holiday, that’s for sure!”

  Jonmarc had to chuckle. “I was an eighteen-year-old merc in Principality once upon a time, or had you forgotten? Harrtuck and I served with the War Dogs, and you won’t find a mer
c company with a more sullied reputation for drinking, wenching, and dice. Our commander, Captain Valjan, told us that our lives were going to be short and our deaths painful, so we had the Lady’s blessing to enjoy every moment until then as if it were our last.” He shook his head. “I’ve often wondered what became of Valjan, and whether he stayed true to his own words. He was the Crone’s own in battle.”

  Carina fixed both of them with a playful glare. “And did you both forget that Cam and I joined up with a Principality merc group as well, when we were just Berry’s age? It was my duty to patch up the sorry lot of them after they staggered back to the barracks. At least the Temple Consorts are divinely immune to the clap. Can’t say the same for the rest of the whores in Principality.” She shook her head, and her eyes seemed to see something far away. “Gregor was just a merc commander then, with Ric as his captain. Goddess! How were we brave enough to fight, not even twenty seasons old?”

  “I suspect most of us were running from something, or somewhere,” Jonmarc said, slipping his arm around Carina. “I was. And for many of the men in the War Dogs, Valjan’s prediction was true.” He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the gloomy mood. “We leave early tomorrow, Berry, so don’t stay too long in the chapel. We’ll have Gellyr’s soldiers to ride with us by day, and Laisren and the vayash moru will join us each night. Sior said he’d give us a vyrkin escort until we were close to the city, but only a couple of the vyrkin- in their human form-will stay with us once we get to Principality City. They’re not as comfortable there, and it’s harder for them to hunt.”

  “Thank you,” Berry said, giving both Jonmarc and Carina hugs. “I’m going to miss Dark Haven.” The look in her eye gave Jonmarc to suspect that it wasn’t just the people Berry would miss. Gone forever was her chance to move among a crowd anonymously, to be free of the strictures of court and the burdens of the crown. Once they entered Principality City, “Berry” would be replaced forever by “Queen Berwyn.”

  “We’ll miss you, too, Berry.”

  The next morning was crisp and clear. Neirin, Carina, and Jolie saw them off. Although he and Carina had made their good-byes in private, Jonmarc could not resist a backward glance as the group rode out. Although the odds were against it, he fervently hoped that he would be home for the birth of his daughters, and that the war that seemed inevitable could somehow be averted. Neither possibility seemed likely.

  The main roads were crowded with pilgrims headed to the festival in Principality City. While the proper name of the holiday was Feast of the Departed, most people knew it as Haunts. It was a time when the ghosts of the Winter Kingdoms became visible to everyone, without the aid of a summoner. During the rest of the year, only those spirits who had enough power to manifest themselves were visible. The other ghosts were present year-long, but invisible to all who did not have the magic to see them.

  It had been at Haunts two years prior that Jared the Usurper had murdered King Bricen of Margolan, sending Tris Drayke, Soterius, Harrtuck, and Carroway running for their lives, and beginning the adventure that had changed Jonmarc’s future. Last year, Jonmarc had celebrated Haunts in Dark Haven, which tended to keep its holidays differently from the rest of the Winter Kingdoms, due to the centuries-long existence of many of its vayash moru residents. Now, heading to Principality City, Jonmarc tried to recall Principality’s customs beyond wenching, games of chance, and drinking to excess, and remembered little else. He glanced at Berry. Returning to the city during its most excessive and licentious festival as the guardian of a young queen suddenly made the city’s high spirits and wanton revelry seem more dangerous than exciting.

  Jonmarc and Gellyr rode point. By day, Anton and Serg, the two vyrkin representatives in human form, rode at the back, with Berry and Aidane in the middle. At night, Kolin and Laisren rode behind the group, while Anton and Serg went hunting.

  They stopped for a cold lunch of sausage, bread, and cheese in a clearing along the road.

  Jonmarc sat down next to Berry. “How are you?”

  Berry took a deep breath before she replied. “Struggling. It’s just-I never really thought he’d die while I was gone.” She squeezed her eyes shut, but a tear slid down her cheek. After a few moments, she looked up, but from her reddened eyes, Jonmarc knew she had probably been crying for much of the ride.

  “I hope Jencin knows what’s been going on while I’ve been gone,” Berry said, taking an all-business tone. “When I left, Father was deep into the negotiations with Eastmark.”

  “Do you know what that involved?”

  Berry shook her head. “They’d had a few meetings face-to-face, and there were lots of messengers back and forth. I had the feeling it was still coming together. I asked him, but he said he’d tell me more when I got home, that he still needed to check into some things.” She sighed. “That’s why I hope Jencin knows where he left off. The last letter I had from him said that he was expecting a delegation from Eastmark for Haunts to finish the negotiations.”

  Jonmarc took a swig of wine from his wineskin. “So we could get to the palace and find a bunch of Eastmark diplomats waiting on the doorstep?”

  Berry giggled. “I think Jencin might let them in the door. But, yes. They could show up on our heels, or beat us there. If they were already on their way, there’d have been no way to tell them not to come, to tell them about Father’s-” Her voice trailed off, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say “death.” Jonmarc took her hand and squeezed it, and she turned her face for a moment until she collected herself.

  “I have to do better than this,” she said, swallowing hard. “This won’t do at all for a queen.”

  Jonmarc smiled and took a kerchief from his pocket to wipe her face. “Maybe not. But until we get to the palace and have the second coronation, it’s not totally official. So you’ve got a little longer to just be Berry, and no one here will tell anyone if you need to grieve.”

  Berry stretched up to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  They headed back onto the road. The next candlemark passed without incident. Jonmarc was still thinking about what Berry had said when he saw Gellyr riding up alongside him.

  “ Skrivven for your thoughts,” Gellyr said.

  Jonmarc shrugged. “Just wondering how in the hell we’re going to keep Berry safe in the crowds at Haunts. She told me that after the coronation, it’s her duty to go to the Temple of the Sacred Vessels to make an offering, and that it’s considered a good sign if the spirit of the Lady falls on the monarch to make a prophecy.”

  “Please tell me that the monarch gets to keep his or her clothes on,” Gellyr said. “I’ve seen the Sacred Vessels prophesy. For some reason, shedding their clothing seems to help them, um, make the connection to the afterlife.”

  “I already asked. Yes, she gets to keep her clothing.”

  “Thank the Goddess for something.”

  “We’re going to have thousands of drunken revelers in the costumes of the Aspects, and wagons pulling huge effigies of the Aspects, and one big street party throughout the entire city with enough ale to give the whole place a monster-sized hangover.” Jonmarc shook his head. “How are we going to find the Durim in all that and stop them from whatever they mean to do?”

  Gellyr grimaced. “I’ve been wondering that myself. Isn’t there a Citadel of the Sisterhood in Principality City? Can they help?”

  Jonmarc shrugged. “Taru sent letters of introduction with me to the mages she thought would help us. Some of them are as powerful as she is, and others are more on the hedge-witch side of things. On the other hand, I’ve seen what a hedge witch can do when she decides to kick up a fuss, and it’s not something to dismiss. Unfortunately, none of them are summoners. But Rigel is an air mage, and if he agrees to help, Taru said that a good air mage has some power to attract and repel spirits and dimonns, though nothing like a full summoner can do. The problem is, we don’t know what the Durim plan to bring against us.”

  Gellyr looked at him thou
ghtfully. “You know Martris Drayke in Margolan well, don’t you?”

  Jonmarc chuckled. “Carina and Queen Kiara are cousins. So Tris and I are kin. Donelan certainly sees it that way.”

  “If war comes, is Martris Drayke as powerful as the rumors say?”

  Jonmarc raised his eyebrows. “Truth be told, I’d say Tris is much more powerful than I’ve heard the rumors give him credit. I was there when he called the ghosts of the Ruune Vidaya forest and set them on the slavers who’d captured us. It was sheer, raw power that let him do that. He barely had any training. I’ve seen the worst war has to offer, but I’d never seen anything like that, and I hope to never see anything like it again.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen Tris go up against magicked beasts, and I was in the room when he fought Foor Arontala and the Obsidian King. If there’s a war, he’s definitely the guy you want on your side. What worries me is the idea that there might be someone just as powerful going up against us.”

  They were quiet for a few moments. “How connected is Gregor? How much trouble can he make?”

  Gellyr gave him a sideways glance. “You mean, how much of a pain in the ass can he be for you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Gellyr shrugged. “You’re the Queen’s Champion. Even he wouldn’t dare move against you. Within the ranks, he can spread the usual rumors. Gregor’s a good soldier. He’s tough, he treats his men decently, and he gets the job done. I’ve never known him to play politics, and I’ve served under him for years now.”

  “When did he come across from being a merc into the service of the crown?”

  Gellyr thought for a moment. “Not long before I was assigned to him. The merc group he led disbanded after his brother died, or so I heard. Principality doesn’t have much of a formal army. We rely on the merc groups for defense, in exchange for a safe haven for them. But there are a few hundred troops that owe allegiance only to the king-or queen. Maybe Gregor just got tired of the merc business. It’s a young man’s game.”