She turned her head, unable to think about it any longer. Tell me it was necessary all you like, Jonik, tell me it was fate…I will hate those mages forever for what they did to me.
I never had a choice.
Lord Morwood was watching her worriedly, a deep frown etched into the flesh of his forehead. “My lady,” he began once more.
She cut him off. “My auntie is dead,” she said.
His frown deepened, confusion thickening.
“She is down in the crypts right now, wrapped in linen. The putrefaction has begun to set in, my lord. I suggest you summon the embalmers.”
The poor man was utterly befuddled. “The crypts? How is it that she’s…”
“Later. I will explain it all to you later. Where my auntie went, how I came to be here, all of it. But first, I did not come alone. I have several companions who will be returning to me soon, and they will need to be fully apprised of all of the latest tidings from beyond our borders. They have a quest of some importance to attend. Discretion is important to these men.”
Lord Morwood seemed to understand, bless the man. “They intend to pass through the city unseen?”
“They do. Though in what direction, I don’t yet know.” Jonik’s task was to gather the blades, she knew, a thankless and fruitless task that would probably just get him killed. My grandfather attempted the same for decades, she thought. Look where that got him. Whether Jonik would want to travel down through the city levels and into the south of Tukor, or through the mountain passes at the rear of the palace - a route that would take him down into Vandar via the southern reaches of the Mistwood - Amilia didn’t know. That would depend upon what they learned of the locations of the remaining four blades.
Morwood rubbed at his jowls with a meaty hand. “Might I ask who these companions of yours are?”
Amilia saw no reason to deceive the man. “One you may know, from years ago. Sir Gerrin, a former Emerald Guard. He served under my grandfather.”
“Gerrin.” Morwood considered it, nodding. “Yes, I know of him. He was one of the king’s sworn swords, for a time. And the others?”
“A sellsword named Harden,” Amilia said. “He’s Vandarian, from the Ironmoors.” And looks it, she thought. The men of the Ironmoors were known to be grim and spare. “And my cousin,” the princess finished.
“Your cousin?” Morwood asked. His face contorted in thought, trying to think of who that could be. Amilia didn’t have many cousins. “One from your mother’s side? A Kastor?”
“No, my father’s,” she said. “You’ll know him as the Ghost of the Shadowfort, Trillion, though his real name is Jonik. He is Auntie Cecilia’s son.”
The man’s befuddlement could not have been more acute. “Her...her son? I…I had no idea that she…” He wiped at his forehead, shaking his head. “Her son?” he said again, as though repeating it would somehow make it easier to believe. “The Shadowknight who crippled Amron Daecar? Who killed Sir Aleron in the Song of the…” He trailed off, staring at her. “Your betrothed. Your own cousin…he…he killed him?”
She nodded. “He did. Though under duress, my lord. I do not hold him to account for that.” She paused, wondering if she should tell him, then decided there was no harm. All the world will know soon enough. “It was not only my betrothed Jonik killed,” she said. “He also killed his own brother. Jonik is the son of Amron Daecar.”
Lord Trillion Morwood, stout old Commander of the Watch, all but fell backward onto the floor. “My gods, is that…is that quite true, Amilia? You are not having a twisted jape with me?”
“No jape, my lord. It is much to get one’s head around, I know. Believe me. I have only recently learned of all this as well.”
“Well goodness. Goodness me.” Lord Morwood staggered to the drink’s table, pouring himself a cup of wine, drinking it down at once. Then he breathed out, staring down at the lacquered wood, frowning, shaking his head. Amilia gave him a moment. “And all this…” He looked over at her, horrified. “All this by the order of your grandfather?”
She nodded. “Auntie Cecilia deceived Lord Daecar into stealing his seed, back during the last war. I am told he was not aware of it. Some drug, that addled his mind into thinking it all some half-remembered dream. She acted by my grandfather’s order, so she might birth a child of powerful blood, to be used as a weapon. In all this, Jonik is innocent, no more than a tool, as I have been. So you wonder why I say I hope my grandfather is dead? Well, wonder no more, Trillion. Everything he touches turns to ruin.”
She filled her lungs, right up to the top, and breathed out long and slow. Somehow it felt good to get that off her chest, to share with this stout old lord the true depth of her grandfather’s treachery. His devious machinations had been going on for decades. Even King Horris Reynar’s death was by his hand, Amilia thought. The Vandarian king had died during a visit to Agarath, of heart failure the Agarathi claimed, though Janilah Lukar said otherwise. He proclaimed to all the north that King Horris had been slain by order of Tellion, the Agarathi king, just as his own brother Prince Jaylor had been murdered on Agarathi lands decades before. He used it as a pretext to go to war, Amilia knew. But really, it was his own man, his own tool, who poisoned King Horris in his sleep.
It was Jonik who told her all that, having heard it first from the exiled lord, Emeric Manfrey. “He told me of his cousin,” Jonik had explained to her. “A man called Sir Gerlan Stonewood. He was Vandarian, Emeric said, the son of Lord Stonewood and his own auntie, Lady Lucilla Manfrey. Sir Gerald joined the Greycloaks and was there, as part of King Horris’s protective guard, when his delegation went to Eldurath. Apparently Sir Gerlan got drunk one night when he got back and confessed to Emeric that King Horris had been poisoned by his own men. He died shortly after. Hanged himself in a barn. Though not according to Emeric.”
“He was murdered,” Amilia said.
Jonik gave a nod. “Same as many others back then, to hide the truth. But our grandfather got what he wanted all the same. He got his war. Just the same as this one.”
She turned back to Lord Morwood, putting all that from her mind. The man was still deep in thought himself, struggling to reconcile what he’d heard, but Amilia needed his attention. She had told Jonik she would help in his quest, folly that it all was, and she would. I’ll do my bit and be done with it. Then find a handsome man, to wash the taste of Hadrin away…
“My cousin will be returning here soon,” she said, drawing Morwood’s kind eyes toward her. “Along with his two companions. They will have questions for you, my lord, about the state of affairs beyond our walls and borders. Are you willing to share counsel with these men?”
“If you ask it of me, it will be done, my lady.”
She touched his arm. “I knew I could count on you.”
That drew a smile from the jowly Watch Commander. She had known him all her life and he had a daughter of a similar age to her. In her youth they had played together. That had always made Morwood proud.
“I would like you to take them to my grandfather’s council chambers when they arrive.” There were maps there, she knew, and other materials that would be of use. “I will accompany you, my lord, but will not stay long. I feel I need some time alone.”
His face went very serious. “I quite understand, my lady.”
The wait was not so long. No more than ten minutes later, the door knocked with a forceful tap tap tap. Annabette, who was Amilia’s most faithful handmaiden, rushed to open it, already apprised of their coming.
Lord Morwood intercepted her, however. “Let me.” He ushered the girl aside, straightened out his commander’s cloak, stood as tall as his height would allow, and opened out his shoulders. Then he reached out and drew open the door. “Welcome,” he said, upon seeing the three men outside, in his most resounding voice. “My name is Lord Trillion Morwood, Lord Commander of the City Watch. Please, come in.”
The men filed past, Jonik in the lead, wearing that new, colour-changing armour of his under his cloak. The plate seemed to brighten a touch as he entered, though that might merely have been the firelight in the room. There was a hearth, burning bright, and several handsome sconces too with torches in their grasp. Jonik looked at Morwood, wordless, then came Harden and finally Gerrin, who stopped. “Trillion, good to see you again.”
“Sir Gerrin,” Morwood said.
There was a pause. “You look a tad pale,” Gerrin noted. He looked over at Amilia. “I take it you’ve been talking about us.”
“You. And a great deal more.” Morwood glanced at Jonik, assessing, though the young man had already stepped out toward the balcony, to take in the ranging view.
He returned a moment later, and looked at Amilia. “He wasn’t there,” he said to her. “No sign of him or the blade.” The disappointment was thick in his voice. “But the dragon we did find. It did not die well.”
