Lifting his chin, he left his room. He joined Taelia for breakfast. Slipping his amulet into Taelia’s questing hand, he whispered, “Keep it safe for me,” as he took his seat next to her, his leg touching hers. He met Marianille’s eyes, ignoring the questions and concern he could see in them. “I have an audience with the grand duke today. Hopefully, I will get an idea of the situation and what we are dealing with. I fear the Ascendants may be present and have more influence than we thought.”
“Jerrol, what has happened?” Taelia whispered, aghast as she realised what he had given her.
“Whatever happens, stay together. The Ascendants will not deliberately harm you, Taelia; you are here at the grand duke’s request. Marianille will attend you as she has done so far. There is no reason for them to suspect her.” He held Marianille’s gaze until she nodded acceptance. “Be patient, all of you. Wait for me.”
“Jerrol,” beseeched Taelia.
“There is something I have to do.” He looked at Niallerion. “Find out how the court works; see who gets into the grand duke’s presence and who doesn’t. And see if you can find a way out,” he murmured for Niallerion’s ears only, who nodded.
“Taelia, there is a reason you had to come with me. There is something here you must find. Find it for me, my love, but carefully.”
Taelia stilled as she stared at him. “Jerrol, I don’t feel good about this.”
“I know,” Jerrol sighed, “me neither. But we do what must be done,” he said as he rose. He bent and kissed her on the lips. “Wait for me,” he repeated. “I will come back to you.”
“Forever,” she breathed back, her hand rising to touch his face, but he backed away out of her reach.
He couldn’t eat the food on the table. He looked across at Marianille and nodded. Marianille watched him go, concern in her eyes.
Niallerion followed him. “What is it?” he murmured. “What do you know?”
Jerrol shrugged. “The Lady has her pieces in motion; we can but follow her commands.”
Jerrol waited at the side of the throne room. He clasped his hands behind his back and shifted his weight into a more comfortable position. He wasn’t sure what to expect. He knew nothing about the young grand duke he was about to have an audience with, and he didn’t think the wider world even knew that the old duke had died. There had been no rumours of ill health, no announcement. He wondered if it had been as much a shock to his son as it must have been to the rest of the nation.
Nikols hadn’t given him much information on the son. All he knew was that the new grand duke had a sister, Princess Selvia, who had been married to King Benedict’s son, Crown Prince Kharel. Kharel and Selvia had been part of a failed coup to take the throne of Vespiri. Kharel had died in the attempt and the king had sent Selvia back to her father. He wondered what she had been up to since she returned home in disgrace. He wondered where she was.
His heart sank as the grand duke entered the room with Selvia on his arm, escorted by the man he knew as the Ascendant Var’geris. Var’geris stood behind the grand duke’s shoulder. A position of influence; a position of trust.
Jerrol observed the grand duke closely as he settled Selvia in her chair. He was of medium height, slightly built, blond-haired, and blue-eyed, with an open face smoothed by youth. Taller than his sister, he wore black trousers and a white shirt, over which he wore an ornate jacket bedecked in glittering gems and gold braid. He didn’t look comfortable, as if he was wearing someone else’s clothes and they didn’t quite fit right. Stopping at the edge of the dais, he fidgeted with the tassel on his jacket, and observed Jerrol in return as Selvia scowled at him. “Welcome to Elothia, Ambassador Haven.” His voice was low and smooth, ‘rich in timbre’, Taelia would have said. A base note vibrated gently. Jerrol liked his voice, and he took hope.
“Your Grace, thank you for agreeing to see me. May I offer sincere condolences from myself and King Benedict for the loss of your father, Grand Duke Randolf the Thirteenth. Word had not reached us as we travelled regarding your loss, or we would not have intruded at this difficult time,” Jerrol said.
“I thank you for your kind words, ambassador. It was unexpected,” the grand duke replied. “What brings you to Elothia?”
“If it pleases, Your Grace, Vespiri would like to extend its hand in friendship; to understand the issues that drive discord on our borders and to resolve them peacefully and without harm to our people.”
“I am not aware of any discord that needs to be solved,” the grand duke said, frowning.
Selvia’s lips curved into a spiteful smile and she raised her chin. “It seems you are still seeking trouble where it doesn’t exist. When will you learn? Still interfering where you are not wanted,” she said, as Var’geris leaned forward and murmured in the grand duke’s ear. Selvia smoothed a hand down her tightly fitted bodice as she spread her fan and observed Jerrol over the top of it.
The grand duke’s frown deepened. “I understand Vespiri troops drive deep into Elothian territory. How is that extending a hand of friendship, I wonder?”
“Your Grace, unfortunately, it seems you may have been misinformed. It is Elothia that drives into Vespiri, and we are at a loss as to the reason.”
“You are mistaken. I have approved no such action.”
“May I respectfully suggest that you recall a general and ask for a report?” Jerrol suggested. He wondered how blind this youth was to his general’s plans, no doubt driven by Var’geris.
Var’geris murmured in his ear, and the grand duke tensed. “You are the Commander of the King’s Justice who annexed Terolia on a whim. Do you come here expecting to annex Elothia too, with whispered words and false treaties?”
“He’s good at that,” Selvia murmured.
“Your Grace, there is no such intent, only a desire to procure peaceful relations for the good of all. Winter approaches, your people suffer …”
“You dare preach to me about my people?” the grand duke rose to his feet, anger flaring unexpectedly. His face flushed, accentuating a fine, white scar on his forehead. He strode to the front of the dais and braced his fists on his hips. “They are my people, not yours.”
“Tch, tch, you overstep, Commander.” Selvia smiled at Var’geris, and he approached the front of the dais. The grand duke nodded, and his guards stepped forward.
“Detain this man who would threaten the peace of Elothia and mouth paltry lies to the grand duke himself,” Var’geris commanded.
Jerrol froze in shock and then found his voice. It came out in a rasp. “Your Grace, please. You would throw away a chance at peace without hearing me out?” Jerrol hissed as a guard grabbed him round the neck, forcing him to the floor. “Your Grace. I am King Benedict’s envoy. An ambassador of Vespiri. Don’t do this.” His voice was choked off as the guard tightened his grip.
“Remove him,” Var’geris commanded before the grand duke could say anything further.
Jerrol found himself hustled out of the room at sword point, his arms wrenched behind his back, his neck burning. Niallerion stood mouth agape as they passed him in the empty antechamber, the only witness to Jerrol’s demise.
At least he didn’t have his sword on him to lose yet again, Jerrol thought grimly. He had deliberately left his sword in his room.
16
Grand Duke’s Palace, Retarfu, Elothia
Taelia sat in the chair by the open window. The sun was warm on her face, and a gentle breeze played with the loose tendrils of her hair that had escaped its binding. The breeze had a bite to it, reminding her that she was far from home.
It had been two days since Jerrol had been detained. Deep down, she had not been overly surprised; nothing about this journey had gone right. Jerrol had been worried that the Ascendants were already entrenched, though the speed of his downfall was daunting. He couldn’t have had any time with the grand duke.
Niallerion was relentless in his search, his arguments, his demands, all to no avail. Eventually, Marianille had told hi
m to stop. He was drawing too much attention to himself; he had to find a more discreet method to find out what was going on. Niallerion’s opinion of that was still ringing in Taelia’s ears, but Marianille had told her that his eyes had narrowed and his face had shuttered as alternative methods had obviously come to him. They hadn’t seen him since.
A sharp rap at the door had Taelia twisting away from the window. She rose, hoping against all reason that Niallerion had returned with good news. She waited as Marianille opened the door.
There was a shocked silence.
“Marianille? Who is it? Is there news?”
“Taelia, I just heard about Jerrol. Are you alright?”
Taelia faltered as she recognised the voice. “Torsion?”
“Yes, I just arrived. I didn’t think they were going to let me in. The palace guards are in a right tizzy.”
“What are you doing here?” Taelia asked as disappointment flooded through her. She gripped the back of her chair to keep her upright. “I thought you were recuperating in Stoneford.”
“I was, but I am fine now. When I returned to the Chapterhouse, Liliian asked me to come out and help you.”
“I don’t need any help.”
“Of course you do. Liliian had intended on sending me to begin with. It was only because I was delayed in Stoneford, that she didn’t.”
“Delayed?” Taelia asked faintly.
“Tyrone wouldn’t release me.”
“You had a terrible experience. He would want to make sure you were alright. Tyrone is always thorough.”
Torsion snorted. “Busy bodies, the lot of them.”
“Torsion! You know better than that. They are only trying to help.”
“Enough of Stoneford. What about you? You look quite pale. You ought to sit down. Get your maid to send for some tea; it will make you feel better.”
“Marianille is not my maid.” Taelia replied. She smiled towards where she thought Marianille stood. “But tea would be nice, if you could send for some for me?”
“Of course, Scholar,” Marianille replied, and Taelia relaxed.
“Tell me what’s happened here. I can’t get it straight,” Torsion demanded.
Taelia hesitated a moment. “First, are you truly alright? You sound tense.”
“It was more the tussle with the guards to gain entry. Annoying.”
“There has been a misunderstanding. Jerrol came here as King Benedict’s envoy for peace, but for some reason the grand duke ordered him arrested. We can’t find out why, and now the grand duke refuses all audiences, which has caused even more confusion. I am surprised they allowed you entry, considering everyone is on high alert.”
Taelia heard Torsion’s clothes rustle as he shrugged. “They couldn’t refute my papers. No reason to deny me. But tell me more about Jerrol. What did he do to get arrested?”
“I don’t know. He went for an audience with the grand duke two days ago, and didn’t come back.”
Huffing out a laugh, Torsion shifted in his seat. “Typical. That boy always seems to cause more problems that he solves.”
Taelia stiffened. “You know that is not true.”
“Of course, it is. Taelia, when are you going to see him for what he is? You know he is always in trouble. Even Benedict wouldn’t have accused him of treason for no reason.”
“Why do you keep dragging that up when you know it was the Crown Prince, not the king who accused Jerrol?” Taelia leaned back in her chair, resting her elbow on the arm. She propped her chin in her hand and scowled towards Torsion. “Why is it you are always so eager to believe ill of him?”
“Why is it you believe he is so wonderful? Considering what he did to your father. Why do you always forgive him?” was Torsion’s sharp response.
“Because he was a child, as was I. It was an accident, you know he was only protecting me and fighting for his life. Why would I blame him for my father trying to kill both of us?” She huffed out her breath and tightened her lips, attempting to keep harsher words unspoken. Why did Torsion continue to accuse Jerrol when Torsion knew better. “He has always protected me. He is my best friend, and I love him. We were joined …”
“Your tea, scholars.” Marianille interrupted, and the rattle of crockery entered the room.
Taelia breathed in deep, calming herself. Something about Torsion set her on edge. It was like he was gloating about something. She sat in silence as she listened to Marianille pour the tea.
“Your cup, scholar,” Marianille murmured beside her, and guided her hand to the saucer.
“Thank you,” Taelia said, inhaling the calming aroma.
“Who came with you?” Torsion asked.
“What?” Taelia asked, confused.
“You were saying someone accompanied you?”
“Jerrol and I are joined. The ceremony was held on the Lady’s Miracle and blessed by the Lady. It was beautiful, I wish you could have been there.” Taelia couldn’t help the snap in her voice. She was not prepared to put up with any more of Torsion’s petty accusations.
“What?” Torsion’s voice cracked, and Taelia heard Marianille draw in her breath.
“Jerrol is my husband.”
“He can’t be. You love me.” Torsion’s voice was hard and unyielding.
Taelia almost choked on her tea. “Torsion! We’ve already been through this. I love you as a friend. No more.”
“But you could. I know you could. I came as soon as I heard you were out here on your own. You know I would look after you, protect you. You need me. Where is Jerrol? Locked up in a cell. How can he help you?” Taelia’s cup rattled precariously as Torsion removed it from her grasp and then he grabbed her hands. “You know how I feel about you. Give me a chance to prove it.”
“Torsion, stop. This is inappropriate and you know it. You promised you wouldn’t do this again. My husband is incarcerated in some dungeon and you want to make love? You should be trying to help him.”
“I think it’s time that Scholar Torsion left,” Marianille said from close by.
Torsion ignored her. “If I find out what happened to Jerrol, then will you listen to me?”
Taelia stilled. “What makes you think you can find out when we can’t?”
“I have my methods.”
Taelia shivered at the sharp tone in Torsion’s voice. She didn’t recognise him for the dedicated scholar she had known as she grew up. Something had changed, but she didn’t know what. She would worry about that later. If Torsion could find out what had happened to Jerrol, then she might forgive his forward behaviour.
“Alright. Find out how we can help Jerrol, and I’ll listen.”
Torsion released her hands and stood. “Very well. I’ll see myself out,” he said as he crossed the room, and the door opened and then clicked shut.
“His face, Taelia,” Marianille whispered into the silence. “You should have seen his face when you told him you were joined. I thought he might explode. He turned bright red.”
“He can help us, Marianille.”
“I don’t think you should have told him you and Jerrol were joined.”
“Why wouldn’t I? He’s our oldest friend.”
“You mustn’t encourage him. He thinks he can replace Jerrol.”
“Don’t be silly. I just told him I love Jerrol. He can’t just replace him.”
“I’m not sure Torsion would agree with you. Why is he here Taelia? How did he get here? There was no reason for the Scholar Deane to send another scholar, and Roberion wouldn’t have had time to return to Old Vespers yet.”
“There are other boats.”
“I don’t trust him. Didn’t you say he had importuned you before?”
“He’s a good friend, Marianille. He just got carried away. Let’s see what he can find out about Jerrol. I’ll put up with his delusions if he can help us rescue Jerrol.”
Jerrol sat on the icy stone floor, his arms bound behind him. He flicked a glance under his lashes towards the barred door. The gua
rds jeered at him as they lounged against the wall. Let them jeer. At least some other poor soul is saved from their attentions for a brief while.
The drab grey walls of the cell reflected his mood. He ached. It had been a while since his body had been used as a punching bag, though he was lucky the guards hadn’t had their heart in it. They knew he had been unarmed, and they beat him up enough to make it look bad and no more. He had a black eye to rival Carsten’s and a split lip to boot. It stung painfully. He dreamt that Taelia’s warm arms soothed his pain and kissed away his tears of frustration as he lay on the unyielding stone floor.
He had failed his mission. It must be the fastest rejection in history. He was obviously not cut out for diplomacy. War was even more likely now that the grand duke had broken the protocols. He couldn’t have sent a clearer signal to Benedict if he had tried. The king would not be happy.
He wondered why Randolf had even granted the audience. Why bother if he wasn’t even going to listen? They hadn’t even made it to the formal dinner of introduction. How would he explain that away? His stomach grumbled, a reminder that he was starving. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate.
His thoughts jumped to Taelia. He was powerless to protect his own family, his wife. The agony of failure sliced through him. At least Marianille would stay with her; thank the Lady he had made those arrangements from the off. He could still hear Marianille’s voice; her desperate concern as she struggled to hide her fear.
He closed his eyes. “My wife,” he thought and tried to remember the warm feeling he felt when she was near. His diplomatic mission was a complete failure. How the king would laugh if the situation wasn’t so dire. The Ascendants were in full control of the grand duke and Elothia. What could he do?
“Find me,” the words whispered in his head. “Follow the path. I will be waiting.”
The voice was vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place it. As he groped for the name, his cell door was opened. His heart leapt as Torsion entered and stood over him, flexing his hands. “Pick him up,” Torsion said as he moved out of the way to allow two of the palace guards to enter.
Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series Page 12
