by Megan Derr
"Yes, please. My superiors will want to question this man themselves, and we'll search the bodies as well. I appreciate your assistance."
"Of course. We'll need an official statement from you for our reports, but we can get that at the palace, if you don't mind."
Jac nodded. "Happy to. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get my horse and then I'll travel back to the palace with you."
"We'll secure a cart to haul them and meet you at the end of the street—I presume that's where you left your horse?"
Nodding again, Jac strode off, reluctant to let her assailants out of sight but willing to trust the city guards.
Thankfully, there was no further incident getting to her horse. The guards appeared as promised on horses of their own, hauling a small, rickety cart that held the bodies. The man Jac had managed to secure was thrown over the back of the lieutenant's horse.
Jac led the way out of the city and all the way to the palace. The guards and residents and guests filling the pavilion moved well out of their way as they passed, whispering in their wake, more than a few scurrying off to be the first to spread the gossip.
Reaching the palace steps, Jac motioned to one of the guards. "I need the High Commander immediately."
"Yes, Sergeant." The guard slipped inside, while his partner blew a whistle that immediately brought another guard from the nearby guardhouse.
Thankfully, it didn't take Jader as long to appear as it sometimes could, given he was often required to be ten places at once. His brows rose as he took in the sight before him, and he came down the stairs with a hand resting on the hilt of one of his swords. "I'm afraid to ask what they did. You don't usually pick fights unless they're twice your size, Sergeant."
Jac didn't roll her eyes, but only barely. "These men attacked me while I was out shopping. I killed two of them, secured the third. Though I can't say for certain, I don't think the attack was random. They were a standard kill team and seemed to know how I'd attack and tried to disable that."
"Not a very good kill team if they failed so miserably, but I prefer that to them being excellent at their job." Jader motioned to the city guards. "Take the bodies to the execution grounds. Tell them I'll want a look at them. Have they been searched?"
"We gathered everything they had here," the lieutenant said and tossed Jac a leather bag that clinked and rattled as she caught it. "What do you want done with the live one, Commander?"
"We'll take him." Jader motioned to the guards who had followed him outside. "Put him downstairs." Looking back at the city guards, he said, "Thank you for your assistance. Leave your names with the head executioner and you'll be compensated for your trouble."
"Commander," they said and bowed their heads.
"Jac, with me." Jader turned and swept off back into the palace.
Heaving a sigh at High Commanders and their dramatics, Jac ran after him.
Jader led the way through the palace to his office, where he told his secretaries he was not to be disturbed until further notice. Draping his sword belt over the back of his chair, he sat and motioned for Jac to hand him the leather bag and then for her to take a seat on the opposite side of the desk. "Tell me everything in detail. Were you able to glean anything about the men?"
"Not much, Commander," Jac said, and once more told her story. "They seemed mid-rate assassins at best, and definitely weren't familiar with the city. There were much better places to have attacked me just on that one street. They also didn't talk, which seemed strange. The one I captured muttered something at the end, but I didn't catch what."
"Probably foreign and trying to hide that fact," Jader said, mouth flat. "I've heard more than a few rumors that I don't like, and this makes me think a few of them are all too true. It's standard procedure to cripple defenses by taking out the best bodyguards. Make certain you're well-armed and armored tomorrow and remain in the palace the rest of today."
Jac nodded. "Yes, Commander."
"Report to Captain Sheva so the Dragons are fully apprised, and I will take the pleasure of informing Their Majesties."
Mouth twitching, Jac replied, "That's kind of you, Commander, but I'm certain Allen will have me summoned all the same."
"Probably, but I'll try to soothe ruffled feathers before you arrive." Jader winked. "Dismissed, Sergeant."
She stood and bowed. "Commander."
Leaving his office, she headed for the Dragon barracks and hunted down Sheva to give her report. That took another two hours, and she'd only just made it back to her room when she got the expected summons from Allen. Stifling a sigh and several choice curses, she nodded at the waiting servant. "I'll be right there."
Once she left, Jac settled for changing into a clean tunic and boots, resettled all her weapons, and headed out. The bath she'd been hoping for would just have to wait.
"Jac!" Allen burst out as she entered the imperial offices, racing across the room to hug her tightly. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she said, smiling at how quickly and easily Allen did such things. When they'd met, he'd been much more closed off and rarely touched anyone. Drawing back, she squeezed his shoulders reassuringly. "Like a handful of cheap assassins had any chance of hurting me, let alone killing me. All they did was get my clothes dirty."
Allen frowned. "Cheap or not, I don't like you being attacked by assassins because of me."
"I'm a bodyguard—it was always a risk, and it will be again. Don't get fussy now, Majesty."
Allen opened his mouth but closed it again and relented with a nod. "You're certain you're all right?"
"Yes, I promise." Jac hugged him again, and Allen finally seemed content.
Sarrica joined them, his thunder and lightning scowl on his face. As she had expected, he demanded the whole story that Jader had probably already told him twice. Nearby, Lesto leaned against Myra's desk, chatting quietly with Charlaine and casting her sympathetic looks.
Behind them, still at his desk, Myra was hard at work. Jac looked away, refusing to be hurt. What had she expected? For him to panic and fuss? She hardly required fussing, and there was still plenty of work to be done, and he could hardly make a production in the middle of the High King's office.
By the time she was finished recounting the attack yet again, Jac was ready for a nap.
Instead she was dragged over to the sitting area, pushed into a chair, and had tea and food all but thrown at her.
"I'm glad you're all right."
Jac looked up and smiled faintly at Larren, Allen's eldest brother. He had Allen's stunning blue eyes and gold-toned skin, but his hair was a reddish-blond and slightly curly even trimmed short. He had a crooked nose and a long scar on his neck, like someone had once dragged a knife across it but not deeply enough to kill him. He was dressed plainer, more like Sarrica favored, fairly typical of royals and nobles who also served in the military. Jader and his lavish clothes were an exception. Larren also had Allen's contained demeanor, along with the military mien Sarrica and Lesto possessed. The only jewelry he wore was the famed Gaulden torc of braided gold, an emerald at each end, resting in the hollow of his throat.
Allen had told her about it one night. Back when Gaulden, Mesta, and Gearth were still the kingdom of Pemfrost, the royal family had possessed three divine treasures, gifted by the Temple of Lenaara as a show of support, implying the royal family had the approval of the gods: a crown, a torc, and a ring. When Pemfrost split into three during the War of the Last Rose, the first king of Gaulden wound up with the treasures. As a show of peace and good faith, he gave the ring to the newly established Mesta and the crown to the newly established Gearth.
A few decades later, a civil war erupted in Mesta and somewhere in the strife the ring was lost. A century after the end of Pemfrost, war returned to Gearth as well, and the crown was destroyed in the struggle. Gearth was eventually split in two, the new kingdom becoming Outland.
That Gaulden had retained the torc and never suffered an internal war (had only ever gone to wa
r to help allies), built into a superstition: so long as the royal family possessed the torc, Gaulden would always know peace.
The torc was worn by the crown prince or princess as a promise to the people that the next generation would strive to maintain that peace. It was a promise so far kept, and Larren showed every sign of continuing it.
From what little Jac knew, Larren was greatly admired in Gaulden and throughout the imperial army. Rumor had it he was soon leaving the military to take up his duties as crown prince full time, but Jac had not yet had the chance to ask Allen if that was true. "Thank you, Your Highness."
Larren scoffed at the formality but did not say anything, merely leaned toward the table to refill his own cup of tea. "So who do you suspect is behind this?"
"Hard to say," Jader said. "I'm going now to see what examination of the bodies has turned up. I'll return when I have answers. Jac, did you want to come?"
"Yes, Commander, thank you." She finished her tea hastily as Allen's worried frown deepened again, took a spicy chickpea samosa for the walk, and made her escape.
Myra looked up briefly as she passed and smiled. Jac smiled back but couldn't slow as Jader continued walking faster than was really necessary.
She nearly had to run at his side to keep pace and was grateful he didn't seem to require conversation at the same time because she would have been biting it out between pants. Instead she hastily ate her samosa and longed for a good beer.
The dungeons were as damp and depressing as ever, lit only by torchlight and the way it reflected off the stone. Jader led the way down a narrow hallway to where two Dragons stood guard. "Jac," they greeted, clapping her on the back and shoulders. "Heard your knives flew as perfectly as ever. Way to hit'em."
Jac playfully punched their arms before following Jader into the cell.
The man she'd wounded was chained to the wall, and another Dragon stood nearby guarding a table where the belongings of all the attackers had been gathered, including the contents of the leather bag she'd left with Jader.
"Has he said anything?" Jader asked.
"No, Commander," the Dragon, Tomer, replied.
"Thank you." Jader motioned for him to go. He turned to Jac once the door was closed. "What do you make of all this?"
Jac looked at everything on the table. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be much to their possessions. Daggers that could have been bought anywhere, swords the same. The clothes were old, probably bought second hand. Only the shoes were of excellent quality, but she knew the maker's seal on the heel. "This is all local."
"Every last bit made right here in Harken City, or one of the nearby towns that come into the city to sell their wares. Mercenaries and assassins are much more piecemeal than this, unless the job requires they dress a certain way and this one didn't. These men definitely are not from Harken. I doubt they're from Treya Mencee, though I wouldn't be surprised if Treya Mencee paid them. They could also be working for Benta."
"I thought we were on good terms with Benta now."
Jader made a face. "We're on good terms with Benta, but the Bentan rebels are another matter entirely, and they are still after Harken blood." He picked up a piece of paper neatly placed at one end of the table. "No identifying marks on the bodies, so they were somewhat professional, I suppose." He finally glanced at the prisoner. "Do you speak Harken?"
The man replied in rough, guttural informal Harken, "I don't speak to Harken birds."
"And yet you speak passable birdsong. Unfortunately, you aren't good enough to leave off your accent. He's from Soltorin."
Jac swore softly.
Going to the door, Jader said, "Find me a silver tongue who speaks Soltorish. The High Consort will best be able to help."
"Yes, Commander!" replied one of the soldiers, followed immediately by the sound of him running down the hall.
Jader returned to the table and examined the weapons.
"I'm surprised Lesto and Sarrica aren't here," Jac said.
"Lesto considered it, I think, but he is retired, and I think Shemal would have had a few words if he'd gotten involved—especially as he filled in for me while I was stuck in Benta. Sarrica is generally content to leave such things to me. If the assassins had attacked Allen, it would have been a very different matter."
"Well that goes without saying," Jac said with a laugh. Movement caught her eye, and she turned slightly to see the sneer on the assassin's face.
Jader shook his head slightly. Someone rapped on the door, and he went to open it. "Yes?"
"Silver tongue for you, Commander. His Majesty said he was the closest and most capable person for Soltorish."
Jader pulled the door open—and they both froze in surprise to see Myra step into the cell. "I didn't know you spoke Soltorish."
"It's not a skill I boast, for various reasons," Myra replied quietly. "How can I be of…" He trailed off, staring at the man chained to the wall, a look coming over his face that Jac didn't understand.
The expression was gone in the next breath, though, as Myra stepped forward.
Jader shot a hand out and caught his arm right as Jac did the same on his other side.
"Don't get any closer," Jac said. "We like to think the prisoners are secure, but they've escaped before. Their Majesties could tell you that."
Myra nodded. "Thank you." He stared at the man again, then started speaking in the rolling, almost musical words of Soltorish. If he struggled or faltered at the language, Jac couldn't tell.
The man on the wall froze, then seemed to bristle like an angry cat—and then started snarling and shouting, the words spitting out like venom.
Myra's breath hitched, and he flinched back as though struck, but then set his shoulders and started replying.
The conversation—argument—continued for some time, until the man finally snarled a last few words, snapped his mouth shut and half turned away, ignoring everything Myra said thereafter.
Finally, giving a sharp jerk of his head, Myra led the way out of the cell once Jader pounded for it to be opened. They left the dungeon entirely and walked in silence back to Jader's office. Once the door was closed, Jader took his seat and said, "What in the world was that all about?"
Mouth flattening, Myra said, "I'm from Soltorin. That is not something I have ever shared with anyone but Sarrica and Lesto. I ran away a long time ago and landed in Harken. I have lived here ever since and prefer to think of myself as Harken. He recognized my accent, though, and I don't have to explain to anyone here what Soltorin thinks of so-called traitors."
"Pantheon," Jader said. "Did he say anything useful?"
"Not much, but more than he meant to because he was so angry. There is definitely an assassination planned, though of the High Throne or someone else, I could not say for certain. But given they went for Jac today…"
"Marvelous. And right in the middle of the festival, no doubt, to make the greatest and most damaging show of it." Jader stood. "I must go speak with Their Majesties. I'll walk back with you, Myra."
"There's a book or two I wanted to fetch from my room that might be useful," Myra said. "I'll fetch them quickly."
Jader nodded. "Jac, you're free to go for now, though it's likely you'll be summoned before the day is out to be dragged into security plans." He smiled sympathetically. "But I'm certain you would like a moment to bathe and catch your breath, so I suggest you take it."
"Yes, Commander. Thank you."
Nodding again, Jader swept off, pausing only to speak with his secretaries.
Myra and Jac departed at a more sedate pace, though they still walked the halls quickly. Silence reigned between them until they reached the imperial wing and turned down the hall where their rooms were located.
"I'm glad you're all right," Myra said softly as they slowed to stop in front of her door. "I wanted to speak with you in the office, but you already had so many people fussing over you, I didn't think you needed one more."
"I wouldn't have minded," Jac said with a smile,
eyes crinkling. "At least you don't seem likely to forget I can handle myself."
"No, I'm not likely to forget that," Myra said softly. "Still, even Lord Lesto does not come out of every fight feeling like a victor. Whatever happens during the festival, I hope you are not harmed." He leaned down then, and Jac's breath caught.
The soft, whispering kiss was over nearly before it began, and then Myra squeezed her hand and was gone.
Jac yanked open her door and dashed inside, closing it behind her and leaning against it, face hot with disbelief and elation. Myra had kissed her. He'd been worried about her and he'd kissed her.
Maybe her infatuation wasn't so hopeless after all.
She looked across the room to where she'd left her dirty clothes and satchel on the sofa, smiling at the thought of the box of ribbons still safely tucked inside it.
All she had to do was get through the festival, and then they'd have tea—and hopefully that would be the start of so much more.
Humming softly, Jac went to get cleaned up.
Chapter Four
Myra closed the door behind him and leaned against it, thoughts in tumult. He would love to linger over the brief, barely-a-kiss he'd given Jac, and how badly he'd wanted to properly kiss her.
But it was impossible not to think about that awful encounter in the dungeon. He'd stepped into the cell and as simple as that, his whole life was falling apart. He wanted to cry. He looked around his chambers feeling like someone had carved a hole in his chest. Was this the last time he'd see this place? His books? His furniture? This little space that had been his home in a way Soltorin never came close to.
Twenty years. Such a long span of time, and yet now it felt as though it were only yesterday that he'd arrived in Harkenesten.
Myra had been inserted as a cadet in the Harken Imperial Army, his identity stolen from a man who would never be missed. He'd left the man's body in the night-soil dump of a small town where nobody would find it for months—if they found it at all. That was the day he'd become Myra, unremarkable citizen of the Harken Empire.
