Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series

by Helen Garraway

  “Tali, did you pack any pain relief powder?”

  Taelia raised her brows. “Of course I did,” she said as she went into her room. She came back slowly, a packet in her hand. “Jerrol, someone’s searched through our things.”

  Carsten flinched under Jerrol's grip. “You won’t be in any trouble if you tell me who told you to go through our things and why,” he said, keeping his voice gentle.

  “She can’t see; how does she know? Is it magic?” the boy blurted, his gaze darting between them.

  “Of course not. Being blind, she needs to know where things are so she can find them,” Jerrol said with a soft laugh. “You must have moved something. Who told you to search our things?”

  “Master Thorsten. He said I should do it cos I let you leave the hotel. But it was the port master who said to look for papers.”

  “Any particular papers?”

  “He wanted to see if you had anything from a king.”

  “And when you didn’t find anything, he punished you?”

  Carsten nodded gingerly.

  “Where do you live?”

  The boy stared at him. “Don’t get me in trouble with me mam. My money’s the only brass we got. Please, sir, I’ll do anything you say. I can’t lose me job.”

  Jerrol poured a glass water and shook the powder into it, stirring it briskly. “Drink it,” he said. “All of it.”

  Carsten swallowed the draft without complaint.

  “What time do you finish?” Jerrol asked.

  “Not till midnight. I got to clear all the grates and lay the fires first.”

  “And when do you return to work?”

  “Five in the morning, sir.”

  “Every day?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And how much do they pay you?”

  “Two coppers a se’nnight, sir. It’s all we got; me mam, m’sister, and me.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Ten, sir,”

  “Very well, off you go.” Jerrol released him from the catechism.

  Niallerion spoke quietly. “They have him spying as well. There are narrow crawl spaces in the ceiling. He can hear every word we say in here.”

  “And even if you try and help him, his place will be filled by another desperate volunteer immediately,” Marianille said.

  Jerrol twisted his lips in agreement and then he changed the subject. “It must be time to prepare for our wonderful dinner. I wonder what delights they have in store for us.”

  “And how many people are going to starve because of it,” Taelia said.

  “A sobering and worrying thought,” Jerrol replied.

  “I’ll see if I can find out,” Marianille promised.

  “Where have they billeted you?”

  “We have rooms over the stables. Niallerion, you’d better eat in the kitchens. Get them to keep me a plate,” Marianille said.

  They sat at the small table, candles already lit as the dark clouds drew the night in early. The wind was picking up and a loose board tapped repeatedly against the window.

  Jerrol smiled at his wife. “Hear that wind? I am glad we are not on the Miracle tonight,” he said, stroking her hand.

  Taelia laughed. “I doubt you would have noticed,” she replied, a gleam in her eye just for him.

  Jerrol laughed in return. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have.”

  Dinner arrived on a trolley pushed by a scrawny-looking man in a long-tailed black uniform. He placed a tureen in the centre of the table and proceeded to ladle a sweet-smelling soup into the bowls in front of them.

  Jerrol watched the ladle with a slight smile.

  “Oh, that smells delicious. Pray, what is it?” Taelia asked, looking up at the man.

  The man swallowed as her bright eyes looked straight at him. “Sweet potato and leek, madam; a local specialty.” He handed over a basket of bread and wheeled his trolley back out.

  “It is delicious,” Taelia murmured as she cleared her bowl.

  “Would you like some more?” Jerrol asked, amused.

  “Please. You never know what the next course might be, and after all, I need to build up my strength,” she said, swallowing a laugh.

  Jerrol gave a crack of laughter that made her grin as he stood and ladled some more soup into her bowl. “Just hope you never have to face any of their fish gruel,” he said as he sat back in his chair and picked up his spoon in his left hand. Even though he hardly noticed the damage to his right hand now, he tended to default to his left for most things. “It’s full of fish bones.” He shuddered delicately. “Supposed to give it more flavour.”

  Taelia nodded. “Makes sense. You always simmer chicken bones to make a broth for the same reason.”

  “But you don’t leave them in it.”

  “True.”

  “More bread?” he asked as he placed a slice of the dark rye bread on her plate.

  “We ought to leave it in case the staff need it.”

  “I have a feeling the staff wouldn’t see any of it anyway. Don’t fret. Marianille will let us know,” he reassured her.

  “When do you think our escort will arrive?”

  “Depends where they are coming from, but probably tomorrow.”

  Taelia bit her lip. “And then onto Retarfu.”

  “Yes. I have the introduction to Grand Duke Randolf. I wonder if his daughter will be to court.”

  “Preferably not.”

  “Indeed, she was not particularly pleased with any of us by the time she left. With the death of Crown Prince Kharel, it left her exposed. Having shown her sympathies lay with her husband and the Ascendants, she couldn’t back track from that. She had no choice but to return to her father.” Jerrol stared off into the distance. “I know she was upset, but do you think she would encourage her father to go war?”

  “Are you sure the grand duke will?”

  “I hope not. He knows Benedict. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to clash unnecessarily. He should be trading for goods not war. He needs to be preparing for winter.” He frowned down at his empty bowl.

  Taelia reached for his hand. “You’ll make him see reason. After all, he wouldn’t have granted you an audience if he wasn’t prepared to listen.”

  Jerrol caressed her hand, drawing circles around her knuckles. “But why request your presence? Doesn’t he have his own scholars?”

  “I suppose we’ll find out when we get there.” She smiled at him, letting her hand drift down his thigh. He shivered beneath her fingers, and her smile deepened.

  Jerrol and Taelia sat drinking their coffee as the dishes were cleared. Jerrol watched his wife with pleasure, a small smile hovering over his mouth. He dismissed the manservant with soft thanks and shut the door.

  He pulled Taelia up out of her chair and hugged her close. Kissing her, he scooped her up in his arms and strode into one of the bedrooms before putting her down. He closed the door and slid the bolt before returning to stand before her.

  He extended a trembling hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, leaned forward, and breathed gently as he kissed the edge of her ear. She quivered in delight. He kissed his way across her eyebrow, to the end of her nose, which made her smile, and continued all the way to the other ear, his hand caressing her face. “You complete me,” he whispered as her fingers attacked the silver fastenings on his jacket.

  And that was all it took. They shed their clothes and embraced. The touch of skin against skin set them on fire, and their bodies responded immediately to the touch of a fingertip, a tongue, or a lip. Jerrol led the way to the bed and lay down, surrendering to her completely as her hands worked her magic and he was lost in an overload of sensation and lust, his body responding to her slightest touch.

  Jerrol lay replete with Taelia sprawled over him. She wriggled to keep him in place and then kissed the hollow of his throat as he slid his fingertips down her satin smooth back. The hair on his arms stood up on end as he shivered. She had captivated him, and he was her prisoner forever. Wrapping hi
s arms around her and breathing her scent deep into his lungs, he rolled her over. She lifted her face and kissed him thoroughly as she wrapped her warm body around him, and he relaxed into the comfort of her arms as they snuggled down to sleep together.

  12

  Grand Duke Hotel, Pollo

  The next morning Marianille checked one room, found it empty and went to the other. She discreetly knocked on the door. There was no answer. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and strode in to wake them. The words died on her lips as she saw them drowned in sleep, peacefully entwined around each other. She didn’t want to disturb them.

  Flipping a mental coin, she shook Jerrol’s bare shoulder. “Captain, you need to wake; our escort has arrived.”

  Jerrol opened an eye, assessed his current position and sighed, his breath ruffling Taelia’s hair. She was curled into his body, and he didn’t want to move. “Very well, I’ll be there shortly,” he murmured, his reluctance obvious.

  “You’d better be or I’ll send in Niallerion,” Marianille threatened.

  Jerrol sighed again and stretched. His body ached deliciously, stirring pleasurable memories and promises of ravishing, but he heard the guards arriving in the courtyard below and levered himself up. He washed and dressed before turning to wake Taelia.

  He woke her with a well-placed kiss, and she rose to the surface laughing, her arms reaching for him.

  “Time, Scholar Haven, to rise and shine. Our escort has arrived.”

  “That sounds so nice. Scholar Haven,” she said as she stretched luxuriously, her fingers caressing his neck as he leant over her, her face reflecting the pleasures they had shared. She sighed, staring up at him, her blue eyes sparkling with love and contentment. Truly you would never know she was blind. She smiled. “Good morning, my love.”

  “Good morning to you,” he replied, kissing her on the lips.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “This is just a delay. You owe me big time,” she said as she rose and moved over to the washbasin.

  “Deal,” he whispered as the door snicked shut behind him.

  She smiled as she raised the washcloth to her face and inhaled the scent of him. Taelia closed her eyes. She was in so much trouble; she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off him.

  Jerrol and Taelia were sedately finishing their breakfast when Captain Ragthern of the Second Chevron arrived in their parlour. A waft of cold air preceded him, and Taelia shivered. He saluted briskly. “Sir, Grand Duke Randolf the fourteenth sends greetings. Your escort is ready. We leave in ten minutes. Your baggage is being transferred as we speak.”

  “Stay a moment, captain,” Jerrol said as Ragthern turned to leave. “Grand Duke Randolf the fourteenth? I thought we had an audience with Grand Duke Randolf the thirteenth?”

  “He died. His son ascended the throne four months ago. Get ready. We leave now.” He saluted again and turned on his heel before leaving them staring at an empty doorway.

  “What?” Jerrol said into empty air as he sat back in shock.

  “A man of immediate action,” Taelia said as she placed her cup back in its saucer. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin as Jerrol rose.

  “Lady help us, we’re meeting the son. I have no idea what he is like or what he wants,” Jerrol said, aghast. “Our hopes just went up in smoke.”

  “Maybe the son will be more reasonable?” Taelia suggested.

  “I suppose we will have to find out. Shall we?”

  “I suppose we ought to. Best not to upset the captain straight away,” she murmured with a slight smile as Jerrol wrapped her cloak around her.

  “Jerrol, they do not want you to ride us. Why is it wrong to ride? They have brought a carriage with them.” Zin’talia’s peevish voice filled his head.

  “I don’t know. I’ll find out,” Jerrol replied.

  As they left the hotel, Taelia raised her face to the weak sunshine that was trying to break through the thick clouds. Her breath plumed on the chill air and Jerrol stiffened beside her. “What?”

  “They have a very antiquated carriage for us,” he murmured. “It is going to be a most uncomfortable journey.”

  “Oh dear.” Taelia twinkled at him. “But surely any journey with me would be a pleasure?”

  “Of course, my dear, just don’t expect to walk straight when we get there.”

  “Why, Commander Haven, what do you have planned for me? And in a carriage as well.”

  “Behave,” he murmured as he escorted her to the carriage.

  She laughed as they came to a stop.

  “Captain Ragthern, are you expecting us to ride in that to Retarfu?” Jerrol asked.

  “Yes, sir, the grand duke sent it especially.”

  “Now, why would he do that?”

  The captain flicked a glance at him and tightened his lips. “If you and the lady would board, we’ll make a start.”

  “We brought horses with us. We could ride; it may be quicker,” Jerrol offered.

  “Your horses will stay here until you return. You won’t need them at the palace.”

  “You should be riding me, not in a carriage,” Zin’talia said.

  “Zin’talia. It looks like Niallerion will have to ride you.”

  “Why? Why can’t you ride me?”

  “You were the one who wanted to come with us. Allowing Niallerion to ride you is the only way to get you to Retarfu,” Jerrol replied. He caught Niallerion’s eye. “Make sure you ride Zin’talia,” he said in an undertone.

  Niallerion nodded and moved towards the stables.

  Jerrol assisted Taelia into the carriage, and then walked around to the front, where the horses steamed in their traces. He peered up to where Marianille sat on the roof. “Marianille, all good?” he called.

  “Yes, sir,” Marianille replied, her face expressionless.

  Jerrol grinned at her discomfort before returning to the door and climbing into the antiquated vehicle. He sat opposite Taelia. The captain slammed the door, and the carriage lurched into motion. “Well, isn’t this pleasant? A dark and dingy carriage carrying us off into distant parts,” Jerrol said as he leaned back.

  “And such nice cushions to sit on.” Taelia smiled as she prodded the hard seat.

  The carriage lurched again as it turned onto the easterly road towards the city of Retarfu. Taelia flailed at the unexpected movement, losing her balance, and Jerrol caught her in his arms before twisting to sit beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist and holding her steady against him. He braced his arm and a foot against the side of the carriage.

  “Well, a timely bump,” she exclaimed, shoving her hair out of her face. “I am glad you came, Commander Haven.”

  The carriage wended its torturous way through the Elothian countryside; bleak and open for the most part. The wind howling across the plains buffeted the carriage making it sway and creak alarmingly. The snow-covered plains extended as far as the eye could see. Small destitute villages clung to the edges of the road or near an icy river crossing; all looking grey and dejected.

  Zin’talia’s running commentary interspersed with complaints and observations kept Jerrol amused as he tried to protect Taelia from the worst effects of the journey.

  They had been travelling for at least three hours when the carriage finally came to a stop. Jerrol had to shove the door to open it, ice cracking as he gingerly climbed down. He stretched out his aching back and thighs. Captain Ragthern stopped beside him, a brief flash of sympathy in his eyes. “We stop to water the horses. The scholar can freshen up in the inn. We have a room for you.”

  “Thank you,” Jerrol said as he turned to assist Taelia out of the carriage. He shivered as the icy air worked its way into his clothes.

  Taelia staggered as she reached the ground, her legs trembling. “I’m glad he didn’t suggest I be watered to,” she said with a wry twist of her lips as she grabbed his arm. “Please don’t make me get back in there.”

  “Come, there is an inn. Maybe we can find
some hot tea inside,” Jerrol led her towards the grey brick building standing back off the road. A large cartwheel leaned against the wall and someone had tried to decorate it with dried flowers, but the tied bunches sagged in dreary defeat, faded and weather-worn. “Mind the ground; it is uneven and a bit icy,” he murmured, and she lifted her feet a little higher.

  The innkeeper met them inside, offering refreshments. The ceilings were low, pressing down on the occupants of the dim taproom. The furniture was made of dark wood and sturdy, adding to the repressive atmosphere. Taelia gripped Jerrol’s arm as they paused, and she raised her face, breathing in the stale air.

  “Marianille, assist the scholar,” Jerrol said as Marianille appeared behind them. He followed the innkeeper into the bar.

  “Whereabouts are we?” he asked, as he continued to stretch, disguising it by removing his cloak.

  “Pul.” The innkeeper slapped an empty mug on the bar.

  “Pul?”

  “Yes, Pul. Last village before the ruins of Cerne and the road to Retarfu.”

  “Ruins of Cerne?”

  The barkeeper pursed his lips and gave Jerrol a searching glance. “Yeah, miles of ruined buildings. Ghosts up there. Never travel at night, you won’t come out again. Many a man’s been lost in there. Confusing they are.”

  “What is so dangerous about the ruins?”

  “Well, legend says,” the innkeeper poured some ale in the mug and shoved it in front of Jerrol, “an ancient ancestor of the grand duke once had his palace there; amazing palace it was, spires and towers, houses and shops. A right town grew around it, and all prospered,” the innkeeper expanded, warming to his theme.

  Jerrol wrinkled his nose at the ale; it smelt stale. “Any chance of some hot tea? I am sure the lady would prefer it.”

  The innkeeper frowned at him for interrupting and yelled something out of the side of his mouth before resuming his tale. “Of course, it couldn’t last.”

  “Why not?” Jerrol asked.

  “The duke crossed the Lady Guardian, and she grew wroth with him and caused the land to heave and buck, destroying his wonderful city and burying the poor people in the rubble.”