They continued down the hallway and eventually came upon the large wooden doors that led to the great hall. The last time she was there was when she informed her parents of her engagement to Patrick. Now, here she was, about to marry him. She marveled at how terrible it would have been had she not been able to wed Patrick until the spring. Her life would have been ruined, the wedding called off, her family put to shame, and any other list of things that could go wrong might. Roselyn’s emotions were a tumult. She was grateful, yet heartbroken at the turn of events that made her wedding night so close to her conception. Or at least near enough as to make no difference.
Two lutes accompanied by a chorus of violins played loud music on the other side of the doors, the excess noise surely in Roselyn’s head as she came closer and closer to the entrance. Two servants pulled the doors wide, exposing a room full of the royal family’s closest relatives and friends. Roselyn stared down the long flowery aisle leading to her patient groom and smiled dutifully. She did not bother to make her smile reach her eyes, for it was obvious to everyone that the purpose of this immediate wedding was due to a sad event.
Patrick looked elated at the sight of his royal bride and this gave her some comfort. He was a decent man. Every man beside the young nobleman wore black, somber colors that took precedence over their house colors on a day such as that. King Philip wore black as well, his garb being the only clothing among the men to rival Patrick’s own with silks and linens imported from the best clothiers in the archipelago. Jewels were kept somber in their own right as well, with many of the wealthy men in the crowd wearing brooches or chains with jet being the main focus.
The princess continued her walk down the aisle and smiled for appearance’s sake, all the while wishing for her brother’s presence at the altar. Tears silently began falling down her face. She finally reached Patrick and he held out his hand. She took it, and with his other hand he gently wiped away her tears.
Xander
The castle was dark and the only light came from the moon’s shafts through the windows. Xander walked cautiously, he was unsure of what it was he was wary of but it seemed important to tread softly. The only sounds from the hallway were the rustlings of mice on overhead rafters. Xander came to the end of the black hallway and there came the footsteps he had been dreading. He softly pulled his iron longsword from its leather-lined scabbard. The grey blade rasped loudly despite his best efforts. The watchman grimaced with the noise. With his left hand he pulled the flintlock from the strap across his chest and leveled it into the darkness.
The moonlight shimmered along the iron and cast a pale glow upon the blade. Xander’s pistol shook as he held it before him and he felt his stomach rumble as it turned sour. He continued forward then, walking around the corner to enter the eastern hallway of the castle. Victor stood there with his own sword and pistol drawn.
“What are you doing here?” Xander asked the young guardsman.
Victor passed his officer on the left without so much as lowering his gun or meeting Xander’s gaze. “The same thing you are.”
Xander kept walking with raised weapons, each step in silence as he listened intently for someone else. A fire was burning somewhere, for he heard a crackle get louder as he continued down the hallway. Dying ginger light cascaded from the dining hall to spread along the floor like waves. Xander approached the entrance when suddenly the light was blocked. A woman stood there with folded hands over her stomach as if awaiting his leisure. Xander approached and lowered the pistol when he saw Roselyn’s face.
“Where were you?” the princess asked. Her blue eyes were as sapphires leaking icy water down her pink cheeks.
“I was patrolling the castle,” Xander began.
“No,” Roselyn said. “Where were you when this happened?” She motioned inside the room and Xander followed the direction of her index finger beyond the blazing brazier to the throne.
Xander entered the room, holstering the flintlock pistol and sheathing his sword. His steps stuttered as he realized who was seated on the king’s elaborate chair. Xander knelt down on one knee at the edge of the dais two yards from the throne.
“I… I can’t believe you’re here,” Xander said. “Why are you here?”
Daemyn looked down at his friend with his pale blue eyes whiter than ever. Dried brown blood was caked in streaks down his expressionless face. “You know I did not do this.”
*
Xander woke with a start. Sweat fixed his tunic against his chest. He sat up in bed and looked out the window to find that dawn was still hours away. Sleep would not come again after that dream, of that he was certain. The watchman climbed out of bed and decided that while he had time he would have breakfast for the first time in two weeks.
The iron pots and pans clanged together as he searched for his skillet, and the excessive noise helped to drag his mind free and beat the slumber out. Xander yawned as he pried a couple strips of bacon apart and placed them into the skillet, moving it off to the side to be seasoned later while he left to get a flame from an outside torch. He brought the fire back and set it up in his hearth, resting the skillet on top and seasoning as the bacon began to sizzle and pop.
Daemyn’s death weighed heavy over Triton for everyone, though the last two weeks Xander especially had been dwelling on it. He knew the prince better than most everyone and it seemed ludicrous to think he would take his own life. All the signs showed that that was indeed what had happened, but anyone who knew Daemyn knew he had more life in him than even the happiest of men. He may have been a drinking, whoring, scoundrel, but that’s what he wanted to be. Wasn’t it? Xander wondered. Could it be possible someone killed him and wanted it to look like a suicide?
Yet again he went down the path of analysis. Yet again he tried to examine his royal friend’s mentality in order to grasp the motive. If Daemyn had no reason to want himself dead, though, who did? There were few among the Thalassans who disliked the prince at all, and even then it was more commentary on irresponsibility than actual loathing. Daemyn was almost always surrounded by those he loved. The only Thalassan Xander could remember being agitated with the prince was Constable Aldous. Xander pushed that absurdity from his head as he removed the finished bacon from the flames.
Then there are the Gaians, the watchman realized. He knew that Daemyn always reserved a level of insolence specifically for the Mainlanders, but would any of them have the audacity to act on mere dislike? Xander recalled the mocking way Prince Daemyn had entered that last meeting, rowdily embracing the guards before relaxing in his chair. It was plain that neither guardsman wanted to be touched but that would hardly justify murder. Nicolette, though, Xander thought with his mouth cocked.
Gaia’s newest diplomat had despised Thalassa’s prince. That was plain. Xander remembered a comment Daemyn had made about her backside a while back. Would one meeting filled with sexist thoughts and racial prejudice be enough for Nicolette to order his death? Xander slowly realized that it might be. Although her exterior was soft and pleasing, the Gaian woman’s eyes spoke of greed and hatred. It was doubtful she would be willing to risk war with Thalassa, but that was where the suicide came in. Still, more was missing.
Xander leapt from his newly furnished dining table and ran to his room, throwing his sweaty tunic into the corner and pulling on a fresh white one. With his promotion, he was no longer confined to drab grays and blacks of the Guard’s standard issue, but could actually afford to throw away a silver coin for a new linen tunic every so often. The watchman laced up his black breeches swiftly and threw his mail habergeon on. He did not even bother strapping his weapons into place, but carried them when he locked his front door and sprinted to the embassy. As he ran, he passed the men just entering the training yard and his four guardsmen hailed him. He had no time for training today.
The watchman burst in through the embassy’s entrance and scared the constable half to death as he sipped his tea in the main hall. “What the hell are you doing, soldier?”
Xander steadied his breathing. “I think I may have discovered something.”
“The prince’s death again?” Aldous asked. It was almost a whine. “Xander, you need to let that go. These things happen, every day. No one knows why, they just do.”
“I’m telling you I think I may have something against the Gaians,” Xander said.
“You’re sailing dangerous waters, boy,” the constable warned. He sighed. “What is your theory?”
Xander knew that at the moment he had nothing. “I don’t wish to waste your time with theories, so I’d like to ask your permission to allow me to investigate Daemyn’s death and talk with any possible witnesses there that night.”
“Permission I have denied in the past,” Constable Aldous said.
“You have denied it a week ago, on account of trauma. Look at me now. I’ve been eating regularly again and training every day, strong as an ox,” Xander proclaimed and flexed his bicep. His commander laughed and the tension eased. The young watchman smiled. “I will not let you down, sir.”
“You have my permission,” Aldous conceded. “And thus you have the day to investigate.”
“Thank you, sir,” Xander exclaimed. He buckled his sword and pistol belts on and strolled into the day’s light with a deep breath. It was time to get to work.
* *
“Well, you were in here much of that night,” the innkeeper began with a shrug. He leaned against his bedroom doorframe with sleep still lingering in his gaze. “Did you notice anything strange?”
“If I had noticed something I would come out and say it,” Xander answered. “Do you recall any new patrons that night?”
“Just the usual, I think,” Jed replied. “That’s all I remember until your guard came to take him home, at least. We have been over this, if you recall.”
“I do,” Xander said. “However, I have been granted permission to look a little further into the matter. Some things are just not adding up for me.”
Jed shrugged.
“The guilt…” Xander continued.
At this the innkeeper nodded sullenly. There was an agitation in his gaze but sympathy there too. “I may not be of much help, Xander. However, Marie might know more.”
“Who is she?” the watchman inquired.
“One of my serving girls,” Jed replied. “She does the tables while I tend the bar most nights.”
“Thank you for your time,” Xander said quickly.
The innkeeper nodded and shut his bedroom door. Xander walked stiffly down the stairs to where the morning shift was preparing for their easy day. People rarely came into the Blue Dolphin until nearly dusk, but noontime gave enough of a surge to keep them open most hours of the day. The daytime workers informed him where Marie lived and he strolled in that direction. He thought of speaking to Victor again but did not want to mess up the flow of reconstructing Daemyn’s night.
A breeze had blown the clouds in front of the sun as morning progressed. Autumn had arrived and with it the days were short and the sea’s winds chilled. There were yellowing leaves from the beech trees swirling around the street as no one bothered to pick up what would just come back in a week.
Marie’s residence was located in a two-story edifice that appeared run down and unkempt. No one was there to greet the watchman as he came in, looking for the room with a three on the door. He found it on the first floor, the last room before a wooden staircase leading up to four more living quarters for the impoverished. Xander knocked on the door and waited with his left hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
The door opened and a pretty girl stood in the entrance. She had a tousled mess of black curls atop her head that barely came down to her shoulders. A few light freckles speckled around her pointed nose and did well to accentuate the gold flecks in her light brown eyes. “May I help you, Watchman?”
“I hope so,” Xander replied. “May I come in?”
Marie was nervous for a moment but ultimately opened the door wider for the young man. He entered and looked about the girl’s living space, expecting to find it ramshackle but shocked to see that she actually had quite a few niceties here and there. They were mostly paintings of scenery around the island, including life’s simplicity on Triton’s streets as people walked to work or farmed their small plots. There was even one of a ship in the harbor.
“You have a nice place,” Xander commented as he moved to a low couch in her living room.
“They’re all mine,” Marie said abruptly. “I mean… I did not steal anything, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Xander cocked his head in perplexity. “I did not assume otherwise. I’m here regarding Prince Daemyn’s death.”
Marie appeared relieved for half a heartbeat. She seated herself on the other end of the couch. “’Twas tragic.”
“You saw him the last night he lived,” the watchman continued. “Can you tell me anything about that night?”
The serving girl chewed her lower lip. “It was a fairly typical night, I believe.”
“Nothing unusual?” Xander asked. “Was there anyone that you might remember having seen?”
“There was one fellow,” Marie began. “He was a bit of a prick, pardon my language.”
“You’re fine. Go on.”
“I remember he sat in the corner where it’s dark, so I couldn’t much see his face. He just sat there all night though, and only had two cups of wine,” Marie said. She paused in thought. “He wanted it watered too.”
That means little, Xander thought. Plenty of people ordered their wine diluted. “Do you remember him ever coming in before?”
“No,” Marie answered. “He only came in that night. He was wearing leather armor and a gray tattered cloak, but he had no weapons so I knew he was not a soldier.”
Leather armor, Xander pondered. Wasn’t one of Nicolette’s guards wearing leather? His cloak would have been green though. “You never caught a glimpse of his face?”
“I did but only for a second,” Marie replied. “Come to think of it he left when that cute guard took the prince back to his room.”
“What do you remember?”
“He was handsome,” Marie said, “but intimidating. I’ll admit I was a trifle scared. He had blue eyes, a straight nose with a round end, and I think he was pale with a thin mouth. Tall too,” she added, “I’d say six feet.”
Xander tried to picture the man but could not match his face to anyone. The fact he had left at the same time as Daemyn meant something, but it was still not proof of anything. The watchman stood and took the leather purse from his side but she motioned the gesture away. “You’ve been helpful,” Xander argued. “Let me give you something for the information.”
“No, truly it’s fine,” Marie said. “Do you think the prince was murdered?”
The watchman looked at her quizzically. “What makes you say that?”
“I still cannot imagine why our prince would prefer death to a life of… luxury.”
Xander nodded. “I don’t know yet.” He looked at the painting of the ship in port again. “How did you pay for these?”
“I did them myself,” Marie beamed, plainly happy with the compliment.
“Can I buy one from you then?” Xander inquired. They were good, very detailed portraits of Triton’s life. It was also a way to pay her for her candor.
Marie was excited. “Um, sure! Which one do you want?” Xander pointed at the painting of Triton’s shabby harbor. The serving girl smiled wide. “How much do you think?”
“Two silvers?” Xander inquired, plainly overshooting the value but he did not care. His house was dismal with only the bare necessities of living.
“That would be,” Marie exclaimed. She calmed herself. “I think that would be fine.”
Xander opened his purse and took two coins from it to place in her waiting hand. She took the painting from the wall and laughed with exuberance as she handed it over. The watchman smiled, said a farewell, and tucked his new décor under
his arm when he left.
On his way to the northern watchtower, Xander dropped the painting off at his house. He walked to look for Victor and as he expected the young guard was in the tower. Xander emerged from the staircase and nodded to Marcus that it was time to do a round. The older guard saluted and left.
“I’ve been examining the details of Daemyn’s death,” Xander said once Marcus was gone. He and Victor were now alone in the tower’s top.
The young guardsman took his weight off the railing and turned from the rolling sea to look at his commanding officer. “If I may, I hope you’re not wasting your time. I know this whole business seems fouled up but it’s possible that it is exactly what it looks like.”
“Hear me out,” Xander began. “First I talked to the innkeeper but he remembered nothing suspicious, but then I talked to the serving girl, Marie.”
“That cute one?” Victor asked.
“Funny, she said the same about you,” Xander said.
“Who wouldn’t?” Victor said with a chuckle.
“Anyway, she said she remembered a shady individual there that night. He left around the same time you took the prince to his room.”
Victor shrugged. “I probably would have noticed being followed, and no one entered The Trident Inn when I left.”
“Suppose he got in a different way,” Xander suggested. “Are you certain you weren’t being followed?”
“It’s possible I may not have picked up on it,” Victor allowed. “I was mainly focused on not letting the prince fall on the way to the inn.”
Xander stood in thought. After a long pause he nodded. “All right. I suppose that’s enough questions.”
“Are you going to tell Aldous?”
“Not yet,” the watchman answered. “We don’t have anything substantial, and I have an idea for how I’m going to go about this that he would not agree on.”
Severance (The Sovereign Book 1) Page 14
