by Jane Glatt
against the doorframe and smiled. Brenna was curled up in the chair, fast asleep. Her brown hair fell softly across her cheek and her eyelids were closed over those incredible eyes of hers. Her mouth was open slightly and when he heard the small sound, he stifled a laugh. She must have heard him because her eyes opened and she squinted up at him. Then she yawned, stretched her arms wide and untucked her legs from beneath her.
“What are you laughing at?” she asked, her voice husky.
“You snore,” Kane said. He stepped into the room and dropped into the chair beside her.
“I do not!”
“You do.” Kane looked at his uncle. “Uncle Feiren will agree.”
Feiren nodded. “I’m afraid it’s true lass, although it’s not something a gentleman usually points out to a lady.” He fixed Kane with a glare. “At least not if he knows what’s good for him.”
“Huh. Well, no one ever complained before,” Brenna said. “I’m going to bed, where my snoring won’t disturb anyone.” And then she rose and left the room.
Kane stared after her. No one had complained before? By the old gods what did that mean? Was it just Eryl or had Brenna had other bedmates? His stomach knotted and his breath caught in his throat. She’d had a life before she’d been discovered as the Caller. A rough life in a rough part of town. His chest tightened at the thought of her with a man. And that was because she was heir to the throne and would need to make a political marriage, he told himself. Not because he felt anything other than fondness and fealty to her as the Caller. But he remembered how he’d felt when he’d seen her slump to the floor in the cavern. Remembered how his heart had stopped and time had crawled until he could make it to her side, make sure she still lived.
“Kane.”
Kane looked up and met his uncle’s speculative gaze.
“I asked if you thought Brenna had recovered from her faint tonight,” Feiren said.
“Oh, um,” Kane mumbled. “Yes. She seemed to be. A little tired, but otherwise fine.”
“Good. That’s what I thought,” Feiren said. “Now to the records. I’d like to finish this off before dawn, if you don’t mind.” He handed Kane a stack of papers. “You check those.”
ten
Incompetents, that’s what he was surrounded with. God cursed incompetents. Thorold’s arm swept the top of his desk. The wine glass crashed to the floor and papers scattered about the room. He needed answers and he needed them now. Feiren Rowse had hosted a large gathering the night before last. Apparently it was to congratulate some old warrior’s retirement from the Kingsguard, but it didn’t ring true. Reports said the house was quiet all night long, odd for a gathering of over three hundred Guardsmen. And not one unruly incidence was reported in Kingsreach afterward. He didn’t think that was because the Guard hadn’t reported on its own. No. Some of them had found their way into taverns, but they were quiet in them and sober when they arrived. It was unusual. So unusual he didn’t believe it was a simple a retirement.
“Boy,” he shouted. The door to his study opened and a youth crept in, head bowed.
“Yes, my Lord Duke.”
“Get me Fridrick. Now!” With a quick nod the boy scurried from the room.
He’d have Fridrick look into this party. Thorold had long been suspicious of Feiren Rowse and his nephew. Both of them professed belief in the rights of the common man, but Thorold knew what lay in the hearts of the common man - greed and lust. He believed that even the Rowse’s held something or someone dear enough to lie, cheat and kill for and he was determined to find out what that was. Feiren Rowse had already caused him enough set backs. He would not allow the man or his nephew to cause any more.
Thorold had first met Feiren when he had newly inherited his title as Duke of Comack. Though he was young and had just lost his father, Thorold knew exactly what he wanted when he arrived at his proper place in the king’s council- power. Feiren had been the Captain of the Kingsguard of course, and old King Bodan made it obvious he considered him first amongst his advisors.
Ten years Thorold’s junior, Prince Mattias was a sickly young man. Thorold made sure he befriended him and the prince had been forever grateful. When Thorold’s oldest son had died, it had been easy to play on Mattias’ sympathies, just as it had been natural for Thorold to comfort Mattias when his father, King Bodan passed away. Thorold had thought his closeness to King Mattias enough to secure his way in council, but the new king had still looked to Feiren Rowse for advice.
He’d persevered and when Feiren Rowse finally retired it was Thorold who had become the king’s most favored advisor. But he’d underestimated his control over the king - Mattias had ignored his advice and appointed Kane Rowse to the Captaincy. He’d hidden his fury and outwardly welcomed the new Captain Rowse - his plans were so close to fruition that even Kane Rowse couldn’t change things – but the man was a daily reminder of his failure to control Mattias.
The Captain of the Kingsguard was always part of the king’s council and there had been a Captain Rowse for generations. Unfortunately the nephew had shown more subtlety and political awareness than his uncle. He was no match for Thorold though, and as soon as he held the throne he’d banish the Rowse’s from Kingsreach, or worse. He didn’t have long to wait now.
There was a knock on Thorold’s study door and Fridrick entered.
“My Lord. You sent for me?” the scholar asked, bowing low.
“Yes. Get over here.” Thorold motioned and Fridrick quickly moved to stand in front of his desk.
“I need to know what Feiren and Kane Rowse are up to,” Thorold said. “I want to know where they go, who they see and who visits them.”
“Of course my Lord,” Fridrick said. “The Kingsguard are extremely loyal to them. I’ll need to be very cautious.”
“Just see that you’re not so cautious you don’t find out anything. Start with the party they held the night before last. It was more than it seemed, I’m sure of it.” Thorold grabbed a paper from his desk and held it out. “This has some details. I need to know more.”
“Yes my Lord.” Fridrick shuffled forward, grasped the paper and stuffed it into the wide sleeve of his robe.
“On a different matter,” Thorold said. “What else have you found out about this Brotherhood?”
“My Lord,” Fridrick said. “I’m afraid I’ve been unable to find much else. Only the one family history that references a call or saying that will trigger the Brotherhood to action. Assuming they still exist. I’ve been looking for more on Wolde’s daughter, Aruntun. Another passage refers to a vision she had of a new king.”
“What about names? I need to know who belongs to this Brotherhood.” Thorold clenched his fists. “I don’t care if they’ve been dead for a hundred years. I need names.”
“I apologize my Lord,” Fridrick said and nervously bobbed his head. “I have not yet come across any family names, but I have hopes for a section of books in the Collegium library. They were found in a vault in the castle a short time ago and sent to the library. Apparently they’ve not yet been read and catalogued by the library clerks. I’ll be looking into those very soon.”
“Do it now. I have no time to wait.” Thorold sat back as Fridrick scuttled from the room. No doubt the scholar was on his way to the Collegium even now. Good. What he’d told the man was true; he didn’t have time to wait. King Mattias’ health was deteriorating quickly, maybe even more quickly than he wanted, and he needed the information on the Brotherhood before the king died. If he could find the saying that triggered them, Beldyn could use it to solidify his power. Or more precisely, his father’s power.
The moon was only at the quarter and hung low in the sky when Brenna exited the tunnel. This exit was one she’d used often in the past. It opened up into a dark yard near Collegium. She checked again for old steel. Good, there was none close by. She hunched her shoulders and entered the street, trying to look like another student hurrying to the library for some last minute studies. Her pack was s
lung over her shoulder, a small lamp tucked inside and her knife was belted at her waist. She pulled her shirt down to cover it.
Two streets later she walked along a wider, grander thoroughfare. She was now on the grounds of the Collegium. The large buildings were made of gray stone from the quarries in the Godswall Mountains. The fronts of the buildings were imposing with high columns flanking massive wooden doors. Stone steps worn by the feet of generations of scholars led into each of the five main Collegium buildings.
Originally each building had been dedicated to the discipline of one of the five old gods. Brenna could still make out the worn symbols of each god carved in stone along the roofline. A sheaf of wheat and a mortar and pestle for Ush the god of health and plenty; a scale and sword for Jik god of balance and order; the moon and fire for Anu, god of community; an open palm for Simi, god of understanding, and there, over the library, was the open book of Toru the god of knowledge. Even though students didn’t necessarily worship the old gods they still learned their respective disciplines inside the buildings. The building marked with Ush was where healers were trained and every time she passed it Brenna wondered what potions and treatments could be found inside. No doubt many of the remedies that were common knowledge to the students would be new to her.
She entered the
