by Katie Roman
Though, catching sight of the crowd gathered at the docks, Grace could see peace shattering before her eyes. A royal messenger dressed in the red and black of the King’s house jogged by, looking entirely intent on his task at hand. Grace watched him pass without as much as a “good morning” to any of the passersby. He ran along, heading toward the castle. A royal messenger would not go over well with George. Hoburn picked up his pace and Grace trotted along next to him to keep up.
A large trade ship flying the flags of Cesernan was anchored, its gangplank down, and men unloaded the supplies they brought. George’s steward was at hand, marking up his ledger and checking each crate that came off the ship.
“Master Broyles.” Grace bowed to the man.
Master Broyles was a rotund man. His hair was once black, but over the years it grew steadily white. He had been the steward of Arganis when Grace’s father was still the lord, and George saw no reason to replace him. Grace liked Broyles. He always smiled and took care to ask her about her day. Unfortunately, today he looked frustrated.
He looked over his ledger and raised an eyebrow. “Sir Leon could not spare more than you two ruffians?”
“We are the finest of the ruffians by far, Master Broyles,” Hoburn said, puffing out his chest in mock bravado. Grace elbowed him in the stomach. He made an “oof” sound and sputtered out a cough, and a few of the sailors chuckled. Broyles turned his steely glare on them, stopping their laughs in their throats.
“Thank you, Grace,” he said, turning back to the guards. “And none of your sauce today, Hoburn. We’ve lots to do before the guests arrive tomorrow, and my lord informs me that His Highness is to join the festivities. Then there was that messenger who sped off after flashing a letter with His Majesty’s seal, without so much as a ‘by your leave’. So mind your manners, sir, or find yourself thrown into the deepest hole I can find.”
“Where would you like us, Master Broyles?” Grace asked.
“End of the gangplank. There are a few of this lot that look like they’d steal from their own mothers.” Broyles’s comment caused a few sailors to grumble and growl. There was always one bad apple on a crew, but Broyles didn’t have to announce his lack of confidence in front of all of them.
Grace and Hoburn took up spots on either side of the gangplank, where the sun managed to shine in both their eyes. A clever man would take advantage of their blindness, but Grace didn’t count too many as clever in this group. Port duty was often like this; Broyles looking in the crates, Grace keeping an eye out for weapons, and Hoburn making jokes. Today would be no different.
“Gracie!” Grace turned her head up, shielding her eyes to get a look at the lanky creature hanging over the side of the ship near the gangplank. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. The man remained a shadowy figure as long as the sun shone in her eyes. “I know it’s been some months, but don’t you remember me?”
“Sir, if this is some trick…”
“So untrusting.” The figure moved toward the gangplank, laughing as he walked. He came down to the dock, his stride long and confident. His brown hair was long and untamed, his skin was darkened from hours spent in the sun, and his white shirt had the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, an odd choice for weather so cold. Grace almost didn’t recognize him, but his blue eyes, full of laughter, gave him away.
“Donald!” Grace threw her arms around his neck. As he returned the hug, she felt the muscles in his arms. He had gotten stronger since their last meeting. He lifted her easily off the ground, giving her a quick twirl. Hoburn guffawed and Grace heard him slap his knee at the spectacle.
“Donald!” Broyles snapped. “You may not serve the Hilrens any longer, but while you are in Arganis you will not distract a guard of their house!”
Donald put Grace down and bowed contritely to Broyles. “Master Broyles, please forgive my poor manners.” He straightened and turned to Grace.
“I had hoped you’d come for Calvin’s wedding. He will be so pleased,” Grace said.
“I wasn’t sure if I would be able to make it, but I managed to gain passage on this ship leaving Glenbard just a week ago. It was a stroke of luck, make no mistake.” He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. Life as a sailor had turned Donald into a wild-looking man. Had he stayed on as Calvin’s manservant, he’d never have been allowed to appear in such a state of disarray. Grace liked the wild look, though. It suited Donald.
When Grace decided to masquerade as her cousin at the King’s tournament, Donald was the one who helped her with the armor. It was because of this act that they’d both been banished for her foolishness. He was also in her confidence when she first took up the executioner’s hood to become the Death Dealer. Eventually he took a job on a trade ship and they drifted apart. Her return to Arganis without waiting for his return from the Nareroc Islands almost ruined the friendship they had, but lately they’d enjoyed a quiet correspondence through letters.
“I’ve brought letters from your friends,” Donald said.
Grace’s heart pounded against her ribcage. “And what news of the south?” She wanted so badly to rip the letters from his hands and read them now, but duty had to come first.
Donald’s face clouded and he lowered his head a little. “Nothing good. His Grace, Duke Brayden, has been murdered.”
Broyles nearly dropped his ledger before pushing Grace aside and getting right up in Donald’s face. The men stood eye level, but Broyles managed to dwarf Donald with his presence. “His Grace was murdered?” he asked incredulously.
“Messengers have been dispatched throughout Cesernan to all the lords. Lord Gregory of Grayshead is to be made the new chief magistrate in Glenbard, but His Majesty is looking for someone to take Grayshead’s place.”
“Who would kill Duke Brayden?” Grace asked. She wanted to knock Broyles over for getting in her way. Instead, she folded her arms over her chest.
“The Death Dealer.”
Three
Donald locked eyes with Grace, whose first instinct was to hide her shock so Broyles and Hoburn wouldn’t be suspicious. Donald, Calvin, and Cassandra knew Grace’s secret, Leon suspected it, but the rest of Arganis was oblivious. She didn’t want to show how upset she was in front of anyone.
Broyles reached over and cuffed Donald upside the head. Donald put a hand to his face and his mouth hung wide open in shock. “Broyles!”
“Don’t spin tales, boy,” Broyles barked and shook an accusing finger at Donald. His face steadily grew red. “The Death Dealer has saved many from bandits and fiends. How dare you bring false tales here!” Broyles reached to hit Donald again, but Donald grabbed his wrist this time.
“Duke Brayden’s personal guards said they saw a hooded figure stab His Grace and flee, and all of Glenbard is alive with the news. I’d hardly make up such a story.” He let go of Broyles, giving him a shove as he did so. He kept his eyes trained on the steward just in case the older man tried to hit him again.
Broyles inhaled and let out a deep breath, and his face slowly turned from red to pink as his anger subsided. He dropped his eyes and shook his head. “Apologies, lad. The Death Dealer saved my girl Nina from trouble once, and I don’t like to think of people besmirching his name.”
“And they’re sure it was him?” Grace asked. She tried to keep her feelings of anxiousness out of her tone, but she couldn’t keep from wringing her hands.
“Maybe an imposter.” Donald shrugged. “Maybe not.” He blinked and looked away from Grace. Of course it was an imposter. “There seems to be a wealth of Dealers across the country now. Imposter or not, this one took a blade to the duke.”
A tense silence spread between them. There were imposters everywhere now. Grace never imagined her simple acts against highwaymen would lead to anyone mimicking her. She’d just been a girl dressed in black, with a sword, scaring away those who wanted to cause misery to others. The name ‘Death Dealer’ came later as stories spread; outlandish stories. But someone murdering the duke, the c
hief magistrate in Glenbard, was more serious than stories of her being a ten-foot tall man who came from among the stars.
“I best leave you to your work,” said Donald. The tension broke, drifting away on the sea breeze. “I’d like to see my da.”
“He’ll be happy to see his son turned into a heathen in his absence.” Hobrun patted Donald on the back, his laugh driving away the last bit of tension and uncertainty that clung to them.
Donald gently pushed Hoburn away, which had the effect of looking like a tree trying to knock over a mountain. Donald waved and headed off into town.
“The Death Dealer,” Hoburn mused.
Broyles looked over at him, eyebrow raised. “Don’t you start spreading falsehoods in this town, Hoburn.”
Hoburn shook his head. “I’d not dream of it. But if one of the maids up at the castle hears what that messenger says, it’ll be all over town in no time.”
Grace turned away to watch the sailors as they resumed unloading the ship. They’d stopped to gawk as Donald recounted news from Glenbard. They all would have heard it already, but were probably interested in seeing how folk elsewhere reacted. Grace turned her expression neutral as she pondered the news.
~*~*~
The sun was setting and the sky was on fire with streaks of orange, red, and pink. Grace stamped her feet, trying to get warmth back into them. She’d just gotten off duty and Donald was late coming in from town. George had invited Donald to the castle to say hello before dinner, and then Grace and Donald planned to head to Cassandra’s to enjoy their own meal.
From the gate, Grace caught sight of Donald sauntering up the road. He’d wrapped a cloak around his shoulders.
“Did the cold finally get to you?” Grace asked when he came up next to her.
“After so long on the islands, I forgot how frigid the air is up here.”
“Well, George has a fire in the private dining room, so it will be plenty warm up there.”
Grace led the way into the castle, taking the same route she took that morning as she led Deidre back to her chambers. She and Donald exchanged polite gossip on the way, although they both knew there would be time to discuss more serious matters later.
Leon, Calvin, and George were in the family’s private dining hall when Grace and Donald were shown in. They sat at a long oak table that had seating enough for ten. George sat at the head, Leon to his right, and Calvin to his left. The servants had already brought up the first course, a weak soup. The soup was little more than broth, and the chicken that would be served next was mostly bone. All the good stores were saved for the wedding. However, as promised, a fire roared in the fireplace. A shield painted with the crest of Arganis hung over the fireplace with a portrait of Grace’s grandfather next to it.
Donald and Grace bowed upon entering, though George was the only one to stand to greet them. “Donald, how fine it is to see you looking well.”
When Grace first returned from Glenbard, she wasn’t sure in what mood she’d find her uncles. Leon put her in the guard immediately, whereas George smiled, patted her hand, and told her to mind her manners. Neither one seemed inclined to bring up what happened at the king’s tournament. It seemed the same held true for Donald.
George crossed the dining room to shake Donald’s hand and pat his shoulder. Leon slowly rose from his seat and put his right hand to his heart, inclining his head slightly. Only Calvin remained stone-faced in his seat, eyes focused on his broth.
“My lords, I am glad to be home.” Donald returned the gesture to Leon.
George beckoned Donald and Grace to come closer to the table. “Should I have the maids bring something up for you?” he asked, settling back into his seat as Leon did the same.
“Please, don’t bother anyone, my lord,” Donald said. “We are going to Cassandra’s; I just wanted to make my presence known and to wish you well in person. You have, after all, been very good to my family.”
“It is good to see you,” Leon said. Still, Calvin did nothing. “Calvin’s wedding is soon, if you haven’t heard.”
“I had, in a letter from Grace.”
“Then your arrival at this time is no accident, I presume,” Leon remarked. He smiled without showing any teeth.
“I came up especially for it.”
“No!” Calvin shouted; slamming his fist on the table, making the soup bowls jump and broth spill out over the edge. Shocked, no one moved for a moment. Calvin took advantage of the silence to continue. “It is bad enough you have allowed Grace to serve as a guard during the wedding, but now this rogue shows up expecting to be a witness? I won’t have it!”
“Rogue? My boy, Donald was your manservant, and you were the one who said you wanted Grace around,” George said.
“I have to want Grace around because she’s family, and unfortunately I’ve encouraged her delusions all these years, but Donald embarrassed our family by allowing her to make a fool of this house. It’s taken so long to undo their damage, and now everyone who witnessed my shame will be reminded of them anew.”
Calvin had never spoken of the tournament where Grace entered the sword ring disguised as him. She only did it to bring honor to Arganis when he had to withdraw due to an injury. When they parted he was warm, supportive. Not once did he ever mention the incident. At times he seemed distant, but Grace always believed it was because he was busy planning his wedding and helping to manage the estate. It never occurred to her that he harbored resentment. He never bothered to hint at it before.
“Shame?” Grace asked, stepping forward. “You never said anything.”
“Don’t be dense, stupid girl!” Calvin shouted. He rose out of his chair, anger flashing in his eyes, and planted his fists firmly on the table. “I thought a year in that cesspool Glenbard would wake you up, but you come back and instead of looking for a respectable job in town, you join the guard! And you allow it, Father! And you, Uncle George! What madness takes this house?”
“Calvin!” Leon snapped. “The gods gift people, and they gifted your cousin with the sword. She’s a fine fighter, and it’s only an accident of birth she was not born a man. You would do well not to question my choices.”
Although meant favorably, Grace bristled at the comment. George put a hand on his nephew’s arm, trying to pull him into his seat, but Calvin shrugged the hand off and stalked around the table to stand before Donald and Grace. Both were too shocked to say anything.
“I spent months at court with people whispering that I was bewitched; that I was half a man. All because of you two.”
“Sir Calvin,” Donald mumbled. Grace could hear his voice shaking with rage. “I did only as my better commanded, and even now if Grace asked for my aid, I would gladly give it. As I see it, she saved me from a lifetime of service with an obvious brute.”
Calvin balled his fists and punched Donald in the nose before anyone had a chance to react. Blood sputtered out, all over Calvin’s hand and Donald’s face. Thinking only of her friend, Grace punched her cousin back and heard a satisfying crunch as her knuckles made contact. Calvin staggered back, grabbing his face, and blood seeped through his fingers. Before anyone had a chance to throw another punch, Leon and George put themselves between the three.
“I should throw you all in the stocks!” Leon roared.
Grace turned away in disgust and annoyance. A few terrified maids stood in the doorway, no doubt called up by the raised voices. “Move on, girls, or you will meet my fists next!” she growled. She turned her steely gray eyes on them, making them flee at the sight of her icy stare.
Leon held Calvin firmly by the shoulders, his knuckles turning white from holding too tightly. Calvin tried to hold his nose still, while at the same time trying to wriggle out of his father’s grasp. George held Grace by the elbow on one side and Donald by the collar on his other.
“Sir Calvin,” George snapped. “You act beneath your station!”
“And you two,” Leon growled, “forget your places.”
“Forge
t my place?” Grace managed a strangled whisper. “By rights I should be heir to Arganis, not Sir Calvin. It is only an accident of birth, as you say, Uncle, that I was born a girl and not a boy.” Being passed over because of her gender was one thing, but the way her uncle now spoke to her made her insides burn with a white-hot rage.
“A disgraced girl; a girl who threw away the chance at a good marriage and a title when she brought dishonor on this house. You are not a lady anymore, Grace. You are a guard here, and you will address me as your commander.” Leon released his son and glared down at Grace.
Grace squared her shoulders, moved her feet shoulder width apart, and assumed the guards’ rest pose, her hands clasped behind her back. Her body shook with rage, but she remained where she was. It would only make matters worse if she argued now. “I await your punishment, my Lord George, Sir Leon.”
She cut her eyes sideways. Donald shook his head and lowered his gaze.
“By your leave, my lord,” Leon said. He was only a knight. George was the lord of the house, and without his say-so, Leon could do nothing.
“Remember we are family here, brother.” George squeezed Grace’s elbow once before walking to stand next to his brother.
“Calvin, you are to report to midnight duty at the gatehouse. Maybe the cold night air will cool that temper of yours. Donald?” He took a few steps forward to stand before Donald and used his fist to raise the young man’s eyes to his. “You are no longer in service here, but you were once a valued servant. You have a choice: muck out the stables in the morning and see to every saddle, bridle, and other piece of equipment, or spend tomorrow morning in the stocks for speaking out of turn to a knight of the realm.”
“I’ll clean the stables, Sir Leon.”
“Smart lad.” Leon let his hand drop away from Donald’s chin.
Donald didn’t lower his eyes this time, he just looked to Grace. She stood, shaking where she stood, trying not to lash out at her uncle.
“And you.” Leon planted himself firmly before Grace. He put his hands on his hips and pursed his lips. “You’re too much like your father; reckless, needing to be knocked down a peg. You will report to the armory at dawn. Polish every piece of armor, sharpen every blade, take inventory of everything you find, and give your report to Master Broyles. Off with you.”
