Oathbreaker

by Cara Witter

  Jaeme was looking forward to seeing him again.

  “Breaking waves,” Nikaenor said behind him, shielding his eyes to look at the horizon. “Is that it?”

  Jaeme smiled and slapped the boy on the back so hard that Nikaenor took a step forward. “That it is,” he said. “And we’ve made it just in time.”

  “Gods be praised,” Sayvil said with a groan, rubbing the small of her back.

  Jaeme concurred. Even injured as he was, he’d wished they could travel at a faster pace. He wasn’t going to get so close to Grisham only to miss the damned tournament by mere days.

  Perchaya shaded her eyes against the sun, taking a good look. “It’s beautiful. What a place to grow up.”

  What a place, indeed, and it would someday be his. And while he didn’t tend to think he needed the approval of anyone, least of all Kenton and company, he found himself glad to have the chance to show it to them. To Daniella, especially.

  Kenton stepped up next to Nikaenor, surveying the castle. “Any sense of where the stone might be?” he asked Jaeme.

  Good gods. They hadn’t even arrived yet, and already Kenton was badgering him. Jaeme would have thought Kenton could be content for a moment, now that they were out of Diamis’ reach.

  “Not yet,” Jaeme said. “But I’m eager to get to the castle.”

  Jaeme had no faith that this was any kind of magical call, but it seemed to satisfy Kenton. “Good then. Let’s keep moving.”

  Nikaenor and Sayvil both groaned at this, but Jaeme had to chuckle. Kenton had been instrumental in convincing the group to keep pace. Jaeme had spurred them on with descriptions of fine food and valiant battle, but it was clear they followed Kenton forward because if they didn’t, he would leave them behind.

  Daniella stepped up to Jaeme’s side as the others continued ahead. “So that’s home,” she said, fidgeting awkwardly with her skirts. “Your home, I mean.”

  Jaeme didn’t think she’d intentionally insinuated she’d like it to be hers, but he wouldn’t have minded in the least. He hoped more than anything that she would love it as much as he did. “That it is. You ready?”

  Her head wobbled non-committally.

  “It’ll be fine,” Jaeme said, with far more conviction than he felt. “My uncle will love you.” He fought a wince. That was a more outright lie than his previous assurances. His uncle would be pleased at Jaeme’s success at “seducing” her. He’d be less pleased when he discovered the truth—that Jaeme had no intention of using Daniella to get to Diamis—at least not any more than Daniella herself wanted to volunteer for that purpose.

  But Daniella wanted to defect, his uncle and the other Council members wanted their information, and Jaeme wanted them all to forget that they’d ever sent him on that quest to begin with. He wasn’t likely to get that—the other dukes would probably decide that the mission was a success and command him to continue in that capacity. That, at least, would require them to keep their mouths shut about it around Daniella so as not to give him away, and Jaeme would settle for their silence.

  With no small amount of finessing on his part, hopefully they could all have more or less what they wanted.

  Daniella’s tense smile relaxed somewhat. “Well,” she said, gesturing ahead. “Lead the way, Lord Jaemeson, and I shall follow.”

  He offered her his arm in the courtly fashion, and together they continued up the road toward Grisham.

  Jaeme expected to see the tents in the fields outside the town wall, but he hadn’t expected there to be so many. There was a tournament in one of the duchies of Mortiche for every month of the year. But the big tournament—the one attended by the other Council dukes and knights who were old enough to be done with their errant year—rotated around the nation from year to year.

  This year was Grisham’s turn. The knights and nobility would be staying in the city or at the castle, of course. But Jaeme had underestimated the number of peasants who would come to observe the tournament. The fields were lined with large merchant tents, some of which, Jaeme learned from their banners, were acting as portable inns. All across the fields lay clusters of bedrolls and pits for campfires. People milled about, lounging on the ground between patches of wildflowers or turning spits over fires. Several people—both male and female—wore wreaths of flowers in their hair that one of the vendors must have been picking and weaving on site. A pair of young boys ran by with a set of sticks, imitating a joust against a nearby bush, and ended up tangling themselves in the branches.

  “I’d say the bush won,” Sayvil said.

  Jaeme had to agree. He took Daniella’s hand and followed Kenton up the main road toward the city gate. Beyond the wall, Jaeme could see the houses and shops of the upper city, and above that, the lush, green groves of oak and maple trees that surrounded the castle. They turned into a dense forest on the other side of the castle itself, and Jaeme had loved to play there as a child, climbing trees and building forts out of sticks and jousting his share of vicious bushes.

  He wished he could go there now, take Daniella off into the trees and disappear, safe from the scheming knights and the threat of Diamis and, most of all, Kenton.

  But Daniella had said many times how much she was looking forward to a real bed, with no small amount of suggestion of what they’d be doing in it. Jaeme could hardly complain about that, but he imagined that after their journey, an excursion into the trees would be the farthest thing from her mind.

  Several people nodded to the group as they passed, but none of the peasants seemed to have recognized Jaeme. He was wearing common clothes, after all, and traveling among foreigners, and most of these people would have traveled some distance to be here. There was even less likelihood that anyone out here would recognize Daniella.

  Inside the castle would be another story.

  Jaeme stepped up beside Kenton, who kept glaring daggers at everyone they passed, twitching this way and that like he couldn’t stand to turn his back on even one of them.

  “There’s no soldiers after us here,” Jaeme said to him. “I outrank them all.”

  Kenton grunted, but the assurance didn’t appear to make him feel better.

  “Unless you’re afraid to meet the same fate as those boys,” Jaeme said. “We do grow a mean bush here in Grisham.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Kenton muttered. “I’ll just be happier when you find that damned god of yours and we can be on our way.”

  Jaeme sighed and fell back beside Daniella, who was watching a group of girls dancing a weaving dance, done with yards and yards of ribbon around a set of poles. The ribbon crossed over itself as they danced, each dancer with her own color, and wrapped around the poles creating a pattern that resembled the wings of a butterfly.

  “He assumes the stone is here,” Jaeme whispered to her. “When really I’ve just been traveling too long and missing home.”

  Daniella gave him an uncertain look. “You don’t think this is where you’re drawn to?”

  “I’m drawn to lots of things,” Jaeme said, putting a hand at her waist. “Long baths. Late morning walks in the garden. Days where the longest space I have to journey is down the main stairway of the castle—”

  Daniella elbowed him. “You’ll be fighting my father’s soldiers as they charge up those stairs if you don’t feel something else soon.”

  “Mortiche will hold,” Jaeme said. “We’ve never been invaded because between the mountains and the swamp, no one can move fast enough to overtake us.”

  Daniella shrugged. “History is full of people who thought their walls were impenetrable. Few proved to be right.”

  Jaeme had no response to that. He didn’t want to believe that Diamis could penetrate the borders of Mortiche, not across the swamp, or over the mountains, or through the pass at Jekti. But she was right. History was a cautionary tale for the overconfident.

  “Well,” Jaeme
said. “I hope that Kenton can find some idea of where the stone might be. Because I, for one, don’t have any.”

  Daniella hesitated, then lowered her voice further. “Don’t you believe yet that you’re the bearer? You have the god sign.”

  Jaeme felt like the Earthstone was even now settling in his gut. He did have the sign. But the idea that he was going to save the world—it didn’t sit well with him. Saara and Nikeanor had felt the pull, had known what to do. Jaeme, on the other hand, had never been very good at knowing anything besides where to pick up women and when to bow out of a card game without losing everything he’d brought to the table.

  He took Daniella’s hand, and she squeezed his. He wanted to be more than that for her, but the only thing he felt now in regard to the stone was the nagging, wriggling fear that perhaps, after all they’d been through, he wasn’t going to be able to find it.

  They reached the front gates to the city, and the gate guards, unlike the citizenry, recognized Jaeme immediately. “Lord Jaemeson,” one of them said. “Welcome home!”

  Behind them, Jaeme heard whispers among the common people. He didn’t turn around to look, but he noted that Kenton did.

  “Thank you,” Jaeme said. “I’ve brought a guest to meet my uncle.” He gestured to Daniella, and she nodded to them slowly and deliberately, in the way a noble condescended to one below her station. For one who detested the games of the nobility, she could certainly play the part when she wanted, even if she was dressed like a peasant.

  The guards opened the gate for them to pass, and as the six of them strode into the town of Grisham, Jaeme had the overwhelming feeling of being home. Even Kenton seemed to relax a little as the gates closed behind them. He joined Perchaya in surveying the wares of the street booths they passed—an extra layer of merchant shops set up in portable stalls along the edge of the street for the tournament. Sayvil paused briefly at a kebab stand and bought a skewer for herself and one for Nikaenor.

  “We’ll feed you up at the castle, you know,” Jaeme said.

  Nikaenor’s mouth was already filled with tender beef, juice drizzling down his chin. He said something through his food. Jaeme only made out the last two words—“hungry later”—and he had to admit that he didn’t think a loss of appetite would be a problem for Nikaenor. The death of his father had made him more somber, but no less ravenous.

  “You’ll fit right in,” Jaeme said. “You should see how knights dine when they’re competing. I bet they could out-eat even you.”

  Nikaenor grinned through his mouthful of chewed beef, and despite the image, Jaeme was glad he’d extracted a smile from him. Nikaenor almost seemed like his usual self.

  The road wound through the town, whose cobblestone streets bustled more than usual. They passed several inns, each with a “no vacancies” sign affixed firmly to the door. It was a good thing they weren’t needing lodgings in town, or they would have been here at exactly the wrong time.

  Perchaya slowed a bit, and Kenton fell in step beside her as they watched a pair of knights sparring inside an empty sheep paddock, cheered on by a crowd of what looked like half the ten-year-olds in the city of Grisham. As they neared the castle, several people nodded to Jaeme in recognition. He smiled and nodded back, though he didn’t recognize any of them in return until he was passing the makeshift practice yards outside the gate. A group of younger men leaned against the fence rails watching an informal bout—from their ages, Jaeme gathered they were the squires and page boys of the men who were sparring. Beside them stood Jaeme’s friend Stephan, a tall man with a short brown beard and a nose that had been broken at least once—Jaeme had seen it happen when Stephan drunkenly walked into a tavern pillar, and not, as Stephan would later claim, in a tournament duel. The knight waved when he spotted Jaeme.

  “Well, well,” Stephan called in Mortichean. “Finally drag yourself back from your adventures?”

  “Stephan!” Jaeme called. “Have you even set foot out of the gate since I left?”

  Stephan laughed good-naturedly and indicated for Jaeme to join him. Under ordinary circumstances Jaeme would, but Stephan was his closest friend in Grisham. He knew the reason Jaeme had been sent out, and Jaeme would much rather explain the situation to him privately and not introduce the woman he loved to a friend who thought she was only a tool. Gods knew he was going to be doing enough of that. At least he’d be able to tell Stephan the truth. Most of the others would have to be kept in the dark for the time being.

  “I’ll see you in a bit,” Jaeme said. “Just strolled into town and haven’t seen my uncle yet.”

  Stephan nodded and turned back to the bout, though Jaeme noticed him turn back to look at them as they passed, taking stock of these strange people Jaeme was traveling with. Jaeme wondered how much Stephan knew about what he’d been up to. He’d told his uncle that he was traveling with Daniella, who had fled from her father. His uncle had likely told Stephan, even let him see the letters if he’d asked.

  Neither of them would know about this bearer business, though. Jaeme hadn’t mentioned it in his letters, and he wasn’t in a hurry to bring it up now, not in the least because they’d all find it as insane as he did. He almost wished he hadn’t seen Saara with the stone in her hand in Tirostaar or seen the Seastone that was currently in Nikaenor’s pack, because then he could go back to disbelieving entirely, which was much easier than the confusion he felt now.

  Still, Jaeme meant what he’d said to Daniella. If Kenton wanted him to find the damned stone, he’d better have some idea of how to do so, because Jaeme didn’t.

  The group wound up the road that led up the hill to the castle. Above them, gray stone loomed against blue sky. Atop the ramparts Jaeme could see his uncle’s archers, lazing on their elbows in the afternoon sun. They passed the gatehouse at the castle wall, which only ran partway around the castle—the steep cliff at the back of the castle provided protection there. The guards outside nodded to Jaeme and let them pass.

  There, outside the reinforced wooden doors of Castle Grisham, stood his uncle. He was no doubt on the way to an official event, judging by his ceremonial robes and the way his graying beard was fastidiously combed and oiled. He was talking to an olive-skinned man wearing a suit of Bronleigh blue, a color so brilliant he would have blended in against the sky. Neither of them appeared to have spotted Jaeme, but Jaeme smiled at the sight of them. Duke Hughsen of Bronleigh was the same age as Jaeme, but he’d already inherited his post from his father two years ago after his father fell from horseback. He and Jaeme had been page boys together, even traveled together a bit on their errant year when they were both eighteen.

  Hugh was a bit on the boring side, but he was as honorable a man as Jaeme had ever met—one of the few knights Jaeme knew who actually kept his vows. While Jaeme had mostly gambled and whored his way through his errant year like everyone else, Hugh had somehow found little services to do everywhere they went. He’d once dragged Jaeme along to harvest the root of some hornthistles for a healer who was running low on supplies. The damned thistle had stuck Jaeme in the heel clear through the sole of his boot, but they’d emerged victorious. Jaeme still counted that one of the more epic fights of his life, blood mages and Nichtees notwithstanding.

  Jaeme strode to the front of the group as they approached the castle steps, and his uncle Greghoran looked down at them, his face registering surprise first, then breaking into a smile, his blue eyes crinkling at the sides.

  “Jaeme!” he called, descending the steps with his arms outstretched. Jaeme jogged up the first few stairs to meet his uncle, and they embraced. There were few things that made Jaeme feel like a boy again. One was walking through the grove of trees behind the castle, and the other was being engulfed in his uncle’s arms.

  A throat cleared behind them that could only have been Kenton’s. Jaeme sighed and pulled away from his uncle, who surveyed Jaeme’s bandaged shoulder and then looked over at
Kenton’s bruised face with concern.

  “We had a little trouble passing through Foroclae,” Jaeme said, speaking in Sevairnese so they all could understand. Unlike the rest of the mainland, Mortiche hadn’t switched over as readily to Sevairnese common—and that was before they became the last holdout in Diamis’ takeover. Now speaking Mortichean was even more a point of pride than before, and most commoners only knew their country’s native language. The nobility, however, were all fluent in Sevairnese as well—pride or not, cross-border business still had to be conducted.

  “But it turned out all right,” Jaeme continued. “Let me introduce you to my friends.” He sure as all hells wasn’t going to introduce Kenton first. He met eyes with Daniella, who was so stone faced Jaeme could only assume she was terrified. He tried to smile encouragingly. “Uncle,” Jaeme said. “This is my paramour, the lady Daniella Diamis. Daniella, my uncle Duke Greghoran of Grisham and Duke Hughsen of Bronleigh.”

  Hugh looked surprised at Jaeme’s announcement, but Greghor’s face brightened, as if he was pleasantly surprised. Jaeme couldn’t imagine that was his uncle’s authentic reaction—not in the least because he’d had ample notice via Jaeme’s letters—but he moved forward and embraced Daniella as well.

  “My dear,” Greghor said. “You must have had quite the journey.”

  Hugh clapped Jaeme on the back and gave him a nod that Jaeme prayed didn’t look knowing. Hugh had been a member of the Council for over a year when Jaeme had been given the assignment to seduce Daniella. According to his uncle, Hugh had been the only voice in the Council besides Greghor’s own that had opposed the assignment, finding it distasteful.