“I see, sire,” I said.
“And what do my advisors say? Muster a force and bring it to Veldecke, just in case Chancellor Berle fails. Never mind that increasing troops there might provoke the Border to attack. I know it would provoke me.”
“The Marcher lords, sire?” I asked, remembering who pushed for the last war.
“Everyone who’s finally realizing that the Border is more than a once upon a time in the land of make-believe.” Jusson sighed. “It feels like I’m riding a runaway horse with no saddle, no reins, no bit. Those I once trusted have proven false, and even those that, haven’t—” The king’s eyes now went to where Admiral Noal and Chancellor Berle were talking. “Well, there are ways of controlling wild horses, just as there are others who have proven true.” His black eyes began to gleam again as he looked back at me. “You are my man, thrice sworn, the last time in that runic circle, damn near lighting up the sky. So I also name you my emissary, Rabbit. Bring me peace!”
“Me? Uh, sire?” I stared back at him, startled.
Jusson turned and beckoned Thadro, who stood a distance away. The king held out his hand as the Lord Commander approached and Thadro gave him a knife. My knife. “We had taken this so that if any had accused you of witchcraft in the defense of yourself, we would be able to produce it as proof of your innocence.” He held the knife out and I took it, holding it with a limp hand. “It has been cleaned.”
“Sire,” I tried again. “I’m just a farm boy. I know nothing of diplomacy.”
“Correction, cousin. You were a farm boy. Now you’re my sworn liegeman, truth written on your right hand.” He clapped me on the shoulder, once more grinning at my expression.
“Your Majesty,” I tried a third time,”I wouldn’t know where to start,how to start—”
“Do you think Berle has an inkling?” Jusson asked. “You know these Border people. She doesn’t. A word, a gesture, an expression, and she could precipitate the very thing she’d come to prevent.”
“So could I! I’d be a minnow swimming with sharks, sire—”
“Oh, I’d trust you to hold your own, cousin,” Jusson returned. “You did here.”
“But nothing depended on me here,” I said, desperate.
“Lord Esclaur would argue with you, Rabbit,” Jusson replied. “So would your troop, so would the haunt following you about. I argue with you, liegeman. You never give an inch, no matter who pushes at you. No matter what is pushed at you.” His smile softened. “Don’t worry, cousin. I’m not asking you to replace Berle. But I am asking you to make sure that no one forgets why they were sent. All of the reasons why.”
I wanted to tell the king that being a plain horse soldier in a backwater mountain trade town suited me fine. The power and the glory I’d gladly leave to others more skilled—and ambitious—than I. I had opened my mouth when a dock worker trundled by with a cart piled with more pelts, the fur rippling in the harbor breeze. I caught a glimmer hovering over the boat and my heart stopped for a moment, afraid. Then I realized that I was seeing Laurel Faena’s wards—and not, as I first thought, ghosts.
I dragged in a breath through my still opened mouth, and let it out through my nose. “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said, giving in. “I will do my best to bring you peace.”
“Swear to me, Rabbit,” the king said. “To me.”
I raised my hand, and I felt the warmth flow down my arm, across my body. “I so swear, Jusson. Fiat.”
“Good,” King Jusson said, satisfied. “Very good.” He looked beyond me. “And just in time, as I think His Holiness wants us to join him.”
The patriarch did want us, along with all the other troopers, to come together so that he could hold an impromptu service on the dock. After he finished, he had us line up and he laid hands on each one as he prayed. When he reached me, he hesitated. “Will you permit me to pray for you?”
I was standing with my head bowed in anticipation of the patriarch’s blessing and raised my head in surprise. “Yes, of course, Your Holiness.”
“I wasn’t sure that you followed the teachings of the Church.”
“Yes, of course I do,” I said again.
“No ‘of course’ about it,” Archdoyen Obruesk muttered. “He looks a pagan.” He stood behind Patriarch Pietr eyeing the feather and long hair with contempt.
I didn’t see the look the patriarch gave the archdoyen over his shoulder, but Obruesk shut up. However, he held his mouth closed like a steel trap while his cavernous eyes burned. It was an easy guess whom he blamed for his fall from grace.
The patriarch turned back to me. “Who was your catechist?”
“Brother Paedrig, Your Holiness.”
“Short, round man with red hair?” the patriarch asked, a smile lighting his face.
“It was red when I was little, Your Holiness, but by the time I left it had turned mostly white.”
The patriarch laughed. “So that’s where the good brother went.” He looked over his shoulder again. “Even you can’t question Brother Paedrig’s orthodoxy, Archdoyen Obruesk.” He faced me once more. “He taught both me and the archdoyen.” He raised his hands, preparing to lay them on my head. “I wish, young lord, that we had time to talk both about my old teacher and what it was like growing up in the Border. Perhaps we can when you return.”
I set aside the question of whether or not I would return, and closed my eyes as the patriarch prayed, asking God to bless and keep me safe, and give me strength, wisdom and guidance. Standard fare. He started to take his hands away, then stopped. “I also ask that what is torn be mended, what has been done in secret be brought out in the light, what needs to be loosed, be loosed, and what needs to be bound, be bound.” My eyes flew open. Great, now the patriarch was spouting cryptic rot.
Patriarch Pietr frowned, his eyes catching mine in a glare, as one hand came down from atop my head and gave me a sharp tap against my cheek. “And finally, I beseech that Lord Rabbit learn respect for his elders.” He then smiled even as his brows stayed knitted in a frown. “I wouldn’t be surprised if some of Brother Paedrig’s white hair was your doing.” He tapped me again, this time more gently. “Blessings, young lord,” and he moved on to the next trooper.
That night I stood at the railing of the largest ship, the Dauntless, having braved the boat trip out into the harbor. The two other, smaller ships, the Valiant and the Adamantine, were part of our escort, the king and the Lord Admiral deciding that it was better to be safe than sorry, and that three ships were a much harder morsel for pirates to swallow than just one. I was alone—Basel’s haunt was inspecting the galley and Jeffen was stowing his gear in the soldiers’ berth.
As I stared out towards the black expanse of the open sea, I heard the click of claws against wood and turned around.
“And so it continues, no?” Laurel stopped beside me and leaned against his staff.
“Yes, honored Faena.”
“Have you meditated this evening?”
“Not yet.”
“But you will?”
“Yes, honored Faena.”
“It is important, Rabbit. It was only through blind chance that you were able to deflect what Slevoic threw at you. Right now you are like a child with a sharp sword, more likely to behead yourself than anyone else.”
“Yes, honored Faena.”
We were silent, listening to the sounds of the sailors preparing for tomorrow’s sailing, their shadows passing in front of bright lanterns and backlit windows.
“I felt the power of your oath when you stood with the king,” Laurel remarked.
“He wished my efforts for peace, honored Faena.”
“I see.”
There was a burst of laughter somewhere behind us, voices raised in the excitement of a joke. Then they faded into the night.