Oathbreaker ch. 10.7 - In The Court of the Silver Queen (Patreon)

Rosanna’s prediction turned out to be prophecy, and my lance strode through the gates of Harren’s Pinnacle the following afternoon. They were dirty and exhausted, but Emma was clearly pleased with herself and strut before the Empress’s throne with all the arrogance of a young lioness returned from the hunt.

For her part, I think Rosanna played along. She could have taken the report in the privacy of her solar or the council chambers above the throne room, but instead she had her knights appear in their silvered steel, in their black-and-blue cloth and tasseled capes, in peaked helms with dyed plumes and aventails that would have been just as natural in the court of an Oroion basileon a thousand years before. The scouting band was welcomed home with drums and the piping of silvered flutes.

The council was there, including royal guests like Desmond Wake, clad all in black like a man in mourning, and Princess Snoë of Graill in her wolpertinger pelt, and Arlock Drachen, son of the Lord-Regent of Duranike, standing with his cousin. Tzanith watched demurely from the shadow of the throne, clad in a dress of midnight blue, her black hair bound into a braid long enough to trail to the floor and wrapped in golden leaf. The High Queen’s premier vassals from Houses Claywulf, Karling, Myst, Spruce, Cymorin, Andrachne, and other Daler clans watched from beyond the honor guard, arrayed in twin rows down the central aisle leading to the Amarant Throne.

Emma and Hendry came in first, walking side by side like equals. I smiled at that. Emma was still a squire and from no lineage anyone in that room acknowledged, and there were some mutters over what most assumed to be a bastard without House or name to approach the throne so brazenly.

But then, Hendry Hunting was from a House in disgrace himself, and behind the pair there came an acolyte of the Aureate priesthood in yellow and white cloth who was known to be a spy, assassin, and former inquisitor. At her side walked another killer, a tall man dressed in browns like a hunter with false eyes of silver that glinted beneath the brim of his bycocket.

All four took a knee before the steps of the royal dais. Hendry, Lisette, and Penric knelt with the alacrity of habit, while Emma did so with a touch of irony. Rosanna was clad that day in a gown of deepest green festooned with cloth-of-gold, the tall crown of her ancestors burning auratic blue. Rings decorated every finger, and her black hair sparkled with gemstones. Though she spoke in barely more than a murmur, her voice carried across the great hall from where she stood at the top of the steps.

“We welcome you, servants of our Accord.” Her regal countenance unmoving as a statue, the Empress lifted her left hand as though to deliver a blessing. “And we recognize the peril you have faced to bring us news. What say you of our neighbor to the north?”

“Your Grace,” Hendry said without lifting his head. Though he tended to speak softly and without arrogance, his voice carried well in the hall. “Osheim is in great turmoil. Desperate bands, brigands and deserters, roam the countryside and take what they can to survive. There are monsters and strange beasts threatening every road and wood, and the towns have all closed their gates. A pestilence sweeps across the country, and it…” His voice hitched, but he mastered himself. “There are many dead.”

“What of the capital!” One of the lords called out. “What of Baille Os, and this new duke!”

Hendry shook his head as though to clear it. From where I stood off to the side, in a shadowed gap between two columns, I thought he looked harrowed. “We attempted to approach the city by boat, but there are barricades over the river. They are allowing no trade or passage, and the gates are shut to keep the plague out… or so we think. There were lights in the citadel, and the mark of the Red Trident flew above the walls.”

Discontent rippled through the courtiers. The Red Trident was the symbol of the Aureate Inquisition

“We did meet a band of knights,” Hendry continued once the court had settled. “Bannermen of House Stour. They told us that the master of Baille Os has given the inquisitors the run of the city, that he’s a devil in the skin of a man, and that he sends mounted riders out at night to raid villages and bring captives back into the city. They told us that the Knight-Captain of Tol opposes him and that the two have taken blood from one another. Osheim presently has no master, Your Grace.”

Ser Moonbrand — Lord Moonbrand now, I reminded myself — turned to the Empress from where he stood opposite the First Sword. “This knight-captain in Tol is likely Ser Cyril Stour, Amaranta, if he still lives.”

“King Kale’s nephew?” Rosanna nodded thoughtfully. “A potential ally, then. What else, Ser Hendry?”

“Your Grace,” Hendry said, using the more common honorific. He was not a Daler. “The knights we spoke with say that they came from Tol. They told us that the plague is strong there… strong enough that the bodies are piling up in the streets. Despite this, Tol’s gates remain open and the commander has sent out a call to the whole country to seek refuge within the walls. There are agents in every village that isn’t burned or abandoned bearing the mark of the White Stork. They wear masks, and people say they’re healers, but they’re like no clericons I’ve ever seen.”

As the young knight spoke, I thought through what I knew. The Inquisition had all but controlled Osheim when I’d been there, operating out of underground facilities beneath the Cathedral of St. Lyda in Tol. In retrospect, it must have been with the knowledge and consent of either the mayor or the knight-commander. Probably both, though my impression of Ser Cyril Stour had been that of a zealot so my silver was on him.

But now, it seemed that Tol and Baille Os were rivals and that the Stork of Osheim was fighting the inquisitors, who were behind this new regent in the country’s capital.

I also knew that the Inquisition were heavily infiltrated by the Crowfriars of the Credo Ferrum, missionaries from the Iron Hell. Chamael, the Saint of Blood and a member of the Choir, had been working with them at the time we’d come into conflict. Priory clerics had been using infernal alchemy to make Knights Penitent out of condemned criminals.

Chamael had died, or worse. I watched the Gorelion defeat him when the demon lord attacked Tol, and then the Abgrûdai brought his corpse out like a puppet during my confrontation with the Crowfriars beneath the Grand Basilica of Baille Os.

So who was really in charge of that city? If Cyril Stour still ruled Tol, then did the Credo Ferrum rule the capital? They’d failed to bring their god into this world when Delphine Roch and I infiltrated the crypts, but I’d been warned that some infernal spirits might have slipped through during the ritual. Or had the leaders of the Inquisition wrestled control back from the servants of the Iron Hell? I hadn’t seen what happened to Oraise after that drama played out. He was the Presider of the Priorguard. For all intents and purposes, he was the Inquisitor.

These thoughts chewed through my mind. I didn’t much like hearing about how ruined the country I’d tried to save had become in less than a single year.

Only, the Choir never cared about saving Osheim, did they? They just wanted to stop their counterparts in Orkael. What do they care who rules one of our kingdoms, or how many people die while we figure it out?

I was pulled from my thoughts when someone came to stand beside me. Other members of the court were plying my lance with questions, and I tuned it out as I glanced sidelong at the man now standing to my left. The castle’s seneschal watched the proceedings with a bland expression, apparently unmoved by the horrors Hendry described.

My gaze returned to the discussion beneath the throne. “Shouldn’t you be writing all this down or something?”

“Or something?” There was a sneer in his words that didn’t quite touch his face. “I taught you to be more precise. Vagaries mask ignorance…” He trailed off when I started chuckling. “What’s funny?”

“You haven’t changed,” I told him.

“…Perhaps not,” Aven admitted.

He shuffled and leaned on his cane, his attention straying back to the court. He tapped the stick a few times lightly against the ground and shifted his weight. I folded my arms and shifted my weight.

“What of Kingsmeet?” Asked the court clericon, Ioannes. His calm, grandfatherly voice cut through my distraction.

It was Emma who answered him. The girl — a young woman now — spoke with the clipped inflections of a Westvaler aristocrat, in many ways the archetypal bluebloods in all the realms. She wore red and white armor fashioned to look like an anatomical model flayed of its outer skin, all white fiber and red muscle done in painfully articulated ribs of metal. She did not lower her head as Hendry did when she spoke.

“There was an army gathered in the old capital,” Emma said. “Irks and humans, far as we could tell, and elves out of the Ignited Lands. We assume they are all the Gorelion’s thralls. There were fires burning beyond the lakes.”

Princess Snoë took a step forward. Her face had gone taught with tension, and after a moment’s silence she wheeled on the Empress. “My people may be under attack. If the enemy is preparing forces in Kingsmeet, then Graill will certainly be under siege.”

“And the Emperor has his attention on the Baern Cities,” Moonbrand told the Empress darkly. “This strikes me as a strategy, Amaranta.”

Rosanna nodded. I watched her lift her hand to her lips to bite at her thumbnail, but she suppressed the old habit in view of her court and instead made a fist. “We are inclined to agree. You have done well, you four.”

She glanced at me then. I nodded. It seemed the best time.

She made to speak again, but just then Lord Sasan, speaker for House Cymorin, stepped into view and let his high voice carry across the hall. “Amaranta, if the High King in the north cannot come to Osheim’s aid, and if there is no power in that land to counter the Adversary, then the Accord must take command! House Cymorin says that we should gather our forces and launch them across the River Os.”

Moonbrand narrowed his eyes. “And do what, my lord? Besiege Osheim? Bring more death to people already preparing for a hungry winter?”

Sasan drew himself up. “If the city is not Recusant, then they will welcome our aid!”

“And what of this plague?” Desmond Wake added. The old man did not speak loudly, but all chatter fell silent as his words carried to the court. “The cold months draw near, Lord Sasan, and any assault on Osheim will be long and costly. You would risk forces we have arduously gathered for this expedition.”

The Cymorin sneered. “And you would resent that, would you not, Desmond Wake?” He placed special emphasis on the clan name. “I suppose you would rather waste them to reclaim the lands lost to your own kinswoman’s treachery?”

Moonbrand stiffened. “My lord, those are words worth a blood challenge. I request you rescind them.”

Sasan nodded easily and smiled, as though it had been a jest. “Of course. I speak from a place of passion. Please forgive me, Lord Wake.”

Desmond inclined his head. “Of course, young man. I take no offense at the excesses of youth.”

It was a clever riposte. Sasan went pale with anger, but the Empress lifted her hand and the court fell silent.

“We are not blind to the issue of Osheim,” she said in a voice calm as glacier ice. “Should the kingdom fall, then it will sever the northern allies of the Accord from the south, which would benefit only our enemies. However, a military invasion would set a dangerous precedent and cause more death. We will not do it without consensus from the Emperor.”

Sasan frowned disapprovingly. “That could take months! You know messengers are struggling to get through the heartlands.”

“We have spoken,” the Empress said, the glacier shifting. Then she spread her hands out in a benign gesture. “These four have traveled far and faced hard roads. Let us adjourn for now and give them rest and food.”

“That Cymorin is treading water,” I noted as the court began to disperse.

“Many in the Dales agree with him,” the seneschal said. “They have no love for the authority of Markham Forger. For every visionary like our queen or her husband who wish for Urn to be united, there are ten who would prefer the southern realms be their own master. Besides, Osheim is a powder keg waiting to explode.”

“So you agree with him?”

“Merely playing devil’s advocate.”

“I think I have enough of those.” I caught sight of something in the panoply of well-dressed courtiers and turned to go.

“We should talk,” Aven said.

“Isn’t that what we were just doing?” I spoke lightly, but I wanted to be anywhere else just then.

“We thought you were dead.” His voice was strained. “For years.”

“I wasn’t. Lias never told you? He knew.”

Again he tapped the cane, only once this time, and seemed to settle his weight on it. “No, and I shouldn’t have needed to hear it from him. Deirdre held a wake for you, did you know that?”

“Don’t do that.” I turned to face him. “Don’t pretend like I’m the goring villain for staying away. Do you have any idea what the last ten years have been like for me? What I am now?”

Aven shrugged and glanced away from my face. “You are a soldier. It’s the life you chose.”

Rage boiled in my gut, but I suppressed it and spoke with ice in my voice. “The life I chose? Are you serious?” He started to speak, but I cut him off. “Look into my eyes and tell me why anyone would choose this?”

He did. Aven stared into my face — he had to look up to meet my gaze — and for the first time he seemed to see the molten light burning in my irises, the livid scars that marked me from left temple to cheek, the old burns and the muscles bloated with violent magic. His own eyes, an ordinary brown and human, widened and his face lost a shade of color.

I looked at him in turn. In his sixties, he still stood straight and had that same leanness I remembered, though a bit of it had gone soft at the belly and chin. He dressed better than he ever had, but behind the finery he still looked like the dour clerk of my youth. He wore glasses, and his hair was silver and pulled back neatly, tucked into his collar exactly the same way I remembered. He’d grown a beard, which was new, and it gave him a certain distinguished aspect. He and I shared the same winged eyebrows, and perhaps something in the shape of the ears and jaw.

But the similarities ended there. He’d always wielded formal education and sharp words rather than swords. He’d once seemed so tall.

“I didn’t choose this,” I snarled. “You and the Herders chose this, and the Karlesians and—”

I bit my words off and took a deep breath before I could say more. Aven seemed to gather himself and cleared his throat. I turned to leave again. There were more important things to do.

“Son,” he said before I left. Against my better judgement I paused.

“Yes?” I asked, feeling more tired than angry.

My father had re-armored himself by then. “We should talk when we can find the time. This wall between us does no good for the realm.”

I scoffed. “Sure. We’ll talk sometime, for the realm.” Then, unable to help myself I asked, “How is Dee?”

“Married. Her husband rears cattle and she keeps his books. They’ve even started breeding riding chimera. They’re on their way to becoming some of the wealthiest landowners in the Herding.”

“She always did take more after you. You must be proud.”

“Alken, don’t—”

But I didn’t catch what he’d meant to say, because just then my lance spotted me and came tramping over. Emma didn’t even look at Aven as she came to a stop and lifted her chin, her pride shining through the layers of grime.

“I thought I’d find you lurking in the shadows,” she said tartly. “You couldn’t even greet us in our hour of triumph?”

“I didn’t want to overshadow you, squire.” I spoke dourly, but after a moment we both traded grins and I clapped her into a firm hug.

“You did good,” I told her. “I spent every day worrying I’d have to come and rescue you, princess.”

She pulled back and sniffed. “You wish. The day I become a damsel in distress will be the same one I fall on my own sword. What were you and that old clerk arguing about? You looked distraught.”

I glanced to where my father had been standing, but he’d strode off by then. I just shrugged and clasped hands with Hendry and Penric.

“I’ll bet you’ve been bored,” the old archer said with a grin. “Cooped up in this castle all these weeks.”

“I’ve kept myself occupied,” I said enigmatically, then nodded to the young cleric hovering at the back of the group. “Lis. Kept this old man here from falling apart?”

Lisette smiled weakly. “He doesn’t make it easy. None of them do.”

“Hendry almost had his arm torn off by this monster that came out of a river,” Emma told me. “The choir girl had to sew it back together. If he didn’t have metal in him instead of bones, he would have lost the whole thing.”

Hendry grinned. “I was trying to keep it from tearing your head off.”

“I would have given it indigestion,” my squire said primly. “But it was very gallant. You make a good shield, Hunting.”

“We shouldn’t abuse his condition,” Lisette said with some heat. “I don’t know how to repair his bones if they get damaged like I do yours, and besides—”

“Do we have to do this dance all over again?” Emma rolled her eyes. “You’re not our mother, though you certainly make a good impression of it.”

The cleric glared at her. Before their banter could escalate into argument — Emma and Lisette argued quite a lot, and that didn’t seem to have changed — I interrupted them. “You all stink. Get yourselves a bath and a change of clothes. The Empress plans to have you dine with her family tonight.”

Or that was the plan, I thought dryly, assuming it hadn’t changed. We’d planned a surprise for Emma, which Sasan Cymorin had ruined by diverting the court’s attention to war.

“What an honor,” Emma drawled, and I couldn’t tell if she was making a joke or not.

“It is,” I said. “Go clean up. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

Emma gave me a mock salute, Hendry gave me a genuine one, and Lisette gave a priest’s bow. The four of them made their way off to some well earned rest. I was still watching them when I felt the presence draw close.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t kill any of them during your assault on the Herald’s Keep. It would have made our recent conversation more… awkward.”

I cast a glare at the figure next to me. She was dressed as a servant, with her blond hair pulled back into a tight braid and a glamour to hide the mark of undeath, but Sidsel Mabsworn was easy enough to recognize.

“I told you and your brother not to come here,” I said and placed my gaze back on the lingering courtiers. Rosanna was speaking with Ioannes and Snoë. I wouldn’t leave until she did.

“You are very loyal to her, aren’t you?” Sidsel asked her own question rather than answering mine.

“Is that a threat?” I kept my voice calm, but the vampire shifted away a step.

“No, no. Just an observation.” She flashed a smile. “You’re malingering until she’s back in the safety of her private rooms, like a good dog. It’s cute. Are you two lovers?”

“What do you want?” I asked.

“My brother is out looking for the one who tried to kill you. I’m making sure no one else tries in the meantime. We are your sworn swords, don’t you remember? I’m doing my job.”

“How did you even get into the palace?” I asked. The undead could not enter any domicile without invitation.

“A pleasant boy with the most adorable freckles let me in.” She sighed contentedly. “I think I’ll taste him later. I won’t kill him!” She added hastily as I turned my gaze on her sharply. “But we do need blood, my lord. We’ll die without it, for real.”

“If I find out that you’ve harmed anyone in this city, I’ll burn you both to ashes. I’m still not sure I shouldn’t have done that last night.” I watched Rosanna finish her conversation and move to one of the exits, shadowed by Kaia. She would expect me to join her for dinner along with the lance as well.

Before she left the throne room, another met her at a side door. It was Gallow. The two exchanged some words, and the wizard took the Empress’s arm like a sister — a shocking breach of propriety by Karlesian standards — and the two left together.

“Something wrong?” Sidsel asked, glancing between me and the departed Empress. “Oh, are they lovers? Are you jealous? Do you want me to kill her?”

I sighed. “You and your brother aren’t killing anyone unless I tell you to. And no, they’re just…”

The Magi had insinuated themselves into Rosanna’s confidence in the span of a conversation. Their excuse for waiting so long to reveal themselves rang hollow to me, and of all the ways to earn Rosanna’s trust, I knew that offering a solution to the seemingly impossible problem of her ghoul-tainted son was a sure method. They were also Lias’s parents, and they’d known about his scheme with the Credo Ferrum. I’d been turning over the implications since that meeting.

“I do have a task for you and your brother,” I told the vampire. “Keep an eye on Gallow and Wynn. They’re both wizards, so be careful, and tell me what they do.”

“Consider it done,” she sang. Then, almost uncertainly she asked, “So can I feed, or do you plan to starve us as some sort of test?”

I almost told her that she could starve, but some old wounds started to ache. One on my neck, and one over my heart.

Don’t be a hypocrite, I thought, and said, “So long as you don’t kill anyone, do what you have to.”