“We know everyone that we should, and if there are any that we don’t, we are sure that they will be made known to us in due time.” The king’s voice was as dry as the major-domo’s face. Jusson then looked us over, his gaze sharpening as he took in the picture we made. He slowly stood. “What has happened?” His brows met. “What are Royal Garrison soldiers doing here and why are they taken prisoner?”
“A garrison trooper collapsed the moat bridge while we were crossing it, Your Majesty,” Suiden said. “While his fellows blockaded us.”
“What?” The king hadn’t raised his voice, but it echoed through the chamber.
Lord Commander Thadro came to the foot of the dais and bowed. “It’s true, sire. If it weren’t for the magical, we would’ve been fish food.” The wind murmured at the stealing of its moment of glory and I looked at Laurel to see if he heard it. Apparently he hadn’t as he still watched the king, his ears pressed forward.
“I’ve just been informed that a couple of guards were sent to Commander Loel when my second saw the garrison troops go out.” Thadro said. “They haven’t returned.”
“Are we cut off from the city?” King Jusson asked, starting down the stairs.
“No, sire. Our men hold the gate, and we don’t have to raise the bridge—another one sort of grew there. It seems sturdy enough.”
“Bring our armor. We will meet whatever is coming to greet us.” The king’s eyes blazed gold. He then caught sight of the ghost and stopped on the dais steps. “Who is that and why is he here in our throne room?” The Court froze, their heads turned towards us.
“He was Trooper Basel, Your Majesty, of the Freston garrison, the Mountain Patrol,” Suiden said. He pointed over to the bier. “He was killed today.”
“Let us see,” Jusson said, continuing down the steps. A royal guard walked over to the bier and pulled back the flag shroud.
“Well, we may be mistaken,” the king said, “but that looks more like a stag than a soldier. Though we’ve known men who …” Jusson’s voice trailed off along with the nervous laughter that had started at his remarks as Basel’s shade shifted back into his stag persona. At that the wind swept through the entire throne room, once more smelling of sweet grass and plowed earth.
“He was murdered by Lieutenant Slevoic, Your Majesty,” Suiden said.
“Was he?” Jusson asked as he reached the bottom step. Then he got close enough to see Suiden’s eyes and his own widened. “Captain Prince?” His gaze shifted, taking in Javes and Esclaur, before lighting on me. “Cousin?” The wind laughed and swirled around me, lifting my hair while the butterflies danced.
“He is come into his full power, honored king,” Laurel said. “Each mage is marked in some way, and Lord Rabbit’s hair appears to be his, hmmm, badge.”
Running footsteps sounded and several servants came into the throne room, carrying the king’s battle dress. A couple of them tried to remove Jusson’s coat and shirt, but he impatiently pulled away. “We’ve been told. But what has happened to Prince Suiden and the rest?” He took his sword from a servant and allowed the scabbard to slide to the floor, baring the blade. “Is this your doing, Faena?”
“No,” Laurel said. “It’s not.” He lifted his paw, his truth rune alight, and I could hear the runes in the Witness Circle on the floor start to softly hum. I moved a little away.
Jusson’s eyes snapped to me. “Do you know why this has happened, Rabbit?” He glanced at Basel. “And why is the murdered trooper’s ghost hanging about you?” The Court’s attention returned to me and I heard mutters of “Sorcery” and “Witchcraft” with a couple of “Necromancies” thrown in.
“Your Majesty—” Suiden began.
“Silence!” Jusson said. “We asked our cousin!”
“It’s a long story, Your Majesty,” I said. “But I am your man.” I went to grab my own sword but my hand closed over empty air, and I remembered that I didn’t have one any longer. I looked around, wondering if flourishing Jeff’s sword would have the same effect, and my eyes collided with the rune circle once more. I looked up. Most of the Court wouldn’t meet my eyes—and those who did made warding signs against evil. I felt the force of their rejection and suddenly I had enough. For years they’d turned a blind eye to Slevoic and the merry house of Dru, yet here I was being treated like the chief demon from hell. I was ready to walk away and leave them to their insurrections, their corruption, their looming war with the Border. They weren’t my problems.
I started to turn and came face to face with Basel, watching me. Dead because of Slevoic’s malice towards me, and now wanting me to make it right. I looked beyond him and saw Jeff and the rest of the troopers, their eyes on me also. Dragged into this solely because I was part of their troop. None of them were warding, none were turning away. I met Suiden’s green gaze, his face calm as he watched to see what I would do, while Javes, quiz glass forgotten, did the same.
“Are you, Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan?” Jusson asked. “Are you mine?”
I looked back to the king. I hesitated, then swallowed and stepped onto the mosaic scale, a foot on each weighing pan. And the hum burst into a full chord.
A gasp went through the room and King Jusson’s mouth parted in shock as I stood in the middle of glowing runes. “Once for memory, twice for witness, three times to establish, Your Majesty.” I raised my hand and the rune on it shone bright, as bright as the ones on the floor, as bright as the sun, written in light. “I swear to uphold all oaths that I have made to you, in all my offices. Fiat.”
“Rabbit,” Laurel rumbled—and stopped, becoming thoughtful.
I stood in my own personal windstorm while Jusson stared at the rune circle. “Only in the tales of Locival has it ever done that.” He raised his eyes and considered me for a moment, then turned his head, looking at his Court. “Well?” he asked.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Diligent questioning of the prisoners had elicited the information that the plan was to take me captive, to be produced at a later time as proof of both the Border’s and Jusson’s degeneracy. But if they couldn’t take me, then I was to be killed to keep me from corrupting the army and throne further. And while the regular troopers bought into the story that the Royal Army was both purging itself and protecting the kingdom, the major muttered a name: “Lord Teram.” Esclaur had been right. My lines to the throne had made someone very nervous—my Flavan cousin.
The wind was quiet as I listened, the butterflies on one shoulder, rooting me to the earth. I looked away from the soldiers kneeling on the floor with their hands bound behind their backs, and my eyes met Groskin’s. He blinked and then lowered his head.
After the prisoners were herded down into the palace dungeons, I picked over their swords, choosing one that felt balanced in my hand. I also found something to tie my hair with again, though it seemed to have stopped growing. It was a thick braid that reached my waist, playing havoc with my hauberk. I had to leave the hood down and my helm off as they wouldn’t fit, and I prayed very hard that no one would take a swing at my neck or head. Laurel watched my preparations from where he stood next to Foreign Chancellor Berle. “You will return from this, honored Rabbit,” he rumbled.
My brow quirked. “Farseeing or wishful thinking, Laurel Faena?”
“Perhaps a little of each.”
I shrugged at him as I buckled on the new sword belt. “Maybe so, maybe no. What will happen, will happen.”
Laurel’s whiskers swept back. “And fatalism does not become you at all.”
I laughed and left him to join my troop.
“You will stay here,” Suiden said to Groskin as I walked up.
“Sir,” Groskin said, “Let me—”