Homegoing (The Tall Ships of Saradena Book 1) Read online

“But—”

  “You did not listen before,” I said. “Listen now. Carefully.”

  I waited.

  Finally he realized I expected a response. “Yes? Lady?”

  “Books live on shelves of the right size, out of sunlight but in open air. How big will our books be?”

  Panic bloomed in his face. He hadn’t listened this time either. His hands half-lifted, fluttering uncertainly. I muttered a few of the Brusterian words I’d been thinking as I stood before the Roth that morning.

  He did not understand but the substance must have been evident. “I’m sorry, lady,” he said, more contritely than anything since he arrived. “If you would tell me once more?”

  “Quartos.” My hands inscribed a book-sized square. “About this high. This wide.” His attentiveness cooled but did not quell my irritation. “You should have done your work right the first time. Now build what I need, not what you think best. Or easiest.”

  “Yes, lady. They’ll be what you want.”

  “They had better.”

  “Yes, lady.” He bowed, and I nodded his dismissal.

  I went to the window, hearing the door close as he left. It was late afternoon, when the low-arching sunlight burnished the brown stones of Rothbury castle until they gleamed like bronze. This was not the Black Keep of Bruster, the elegant pale gray stronghold of Ferrant, or the shining white city of Vere. But it had its own beauty, that of a well-balanced, keen-edged sword, unadorned at the hilt but not diminished by that lack of embellishment. Rather its own grace seemed the more evident in the plainness of the design.

  As I was about to turn away, sudden movement caught my eye.

  A messenger galloped through the gates, hardly drawing rein though he had entered the courtyard. It was too far to hear the rapid clatter of hoof beats or his feet upon the stones as he flung himself down. But I could see the rolled parchment in his hand.

  Chapter III

  As I watched, the messenger strode towards the doors, passing beneath the raised portcullis. He must not have been a messenger long, or else had not been sent to Rothbury before. I saw him catch himself as his foot snagged on the uneven paving stone before the doors. Perhaps the tread of many men had pushed it askew. Perhaps its slight lopsidedness was intentional, one of the many unobtrusive defenses built into castles. I had nearly pitched over the same stone myself my first pass through those doors.

  I turned from the window and left the library, heading for the Roth’s audience chamber. Another written message had come. Why wait to be summoned again?

  A second, arriving so soon after the first...surely they were related. Perhaps Saradena had sent letters by an overland route as well as by ship to ensure at least one arrived?

  Rothbury castle was bigger than the Black Keep but not by much, which made the Roth’s giving half the third floor for his library all the more noteworthy. A short walk took me to the staircase, which spiraled downward as steeply as either of the Black Keep’s. On the second floor, passages led from the small landing to a public reception hall, a smaller audience chamber, and the Roth’s private rooms.

  I had come from the library so quickly I wondered, as I approached, whether the rider had brought the letter yet. As soon as I drew near enough to see the doorward, I knew he had.

  The doorward stood before the entrance to the audience chamber, as he did any room when the Roth was present. The most trusted retainer, the last man between an enemy and his lord, the doorward was as suspicious as a Brusterian under-king and as watchful as a gossip-hound. I had never seen emotion in his face any more than in the stones of the wall beside him. Today, he shifted as I came closer, one side of his mouth twitching. His evident worry shook me almost as much as the letter had.

  I was admitted as soon as he announced me.

  The Roth and his wife sat, as they had earlier, before a brazier in which a small pile of charcoal glowed. It was chilly enough in Elbany and Bruster to warrant a fire for another month. The audience chamber was in the castle’s only tower, about fifteen feet across at its widest. I could see Elbs Bay through the windows in the curving wall behind them.

  “Forgive my impertinence,” I bowed. “I saw the messenger from the library window.”

  “Which messenger?” the Roth said.

  They let me braise in surprise for half a dozen heartbeats.

  “Probably the first,” Lady Elsbeth said. “We sent Seamus to fetch you. He’d scarcely left before the second arrived. You didn’t see him?”

  I shook my head. Two messengers? Had they both brought letters?

  Her eyes narrowed, not boding well for the fosterling who had dallied in bringing the summons.

  “More letters?” I said at last.

  “One, at least. We have not received either rider formally yet, but the first was seen holding a scroll.”

  “They’re taking hospitality,” Lady Elsbeth said. “Then they’ll come before us.”

  That was customary. Carrying news and messages from kingdom to kingdom, particularly in spring, was difficult, dangerous, and filthy. Messengers were given time to eat, drink, and have a rudimentary wash, before delivering their burden.

  “They’re from Logan and Ragonne,” she said.

  “Ah.” The soft exhalation drew out as I considered the implications. Elbany’s only two allies in Valenna. Perhaps Saradena’s aim was wider than we’d assumed.

  Lady Elsbeth nodded. “You guess our thought.”

  “If you suspect Saradena threatens not just Elbany but her friends, then yes,” I said.

  There was a rap on the door. “Enter,” the Roth called.

  The doorward appeared. “The messengers are returned.”

  “Show the Logane in.”

  I moved to the side, clearing the reception space before the brazier. The messenger was splattered with mud from shoulders to boots, but his face and hands were clean. He made a deep bow. “I am James, lord, son of Methel. He has served the King of Logan since he came to the throne, and his father before him.”

  “I remember him. Good man. One of the quickest hands with an axe I’ve seen. Almost as good as Lord Garland himself.”

  “Thank you, lord.” His credentials accepted, the messenger’s stiff stance eased. “The king of Logan and his lady, your sister, send their greetings. Something strange has happened. They ask your help.” He drew something from his belt pouch. A scroll, somewhat squashed. “This was...brought by...a very large...ship.” He spoke as if he did not quite believe what he was saying. “Vere has not yet sent Logan a new clerk. My King asks if you could have your clerk read it.”

  A ship? To Logan? If the letter were from Saradena, we should be even more worried. Brusterian longboats never ventured into the western sea, where mountains studded the waters thick as acorns in fall. If a ship got to Logan, it had been made and steered by hands more cunning than ours. Which meant their weapons probably outstripped ours as well.

  The Roth stretched out his hand. The messenger stepped closer long enough to give him the scroll. From where I stood, the seal looked identical. The Roth looked it over and passed it to Lady Elsbeth, who studied it before breaking the seal and unrolling it. She nodded to him, then gestured for me to take the letter and confirm her assessment.

  I scanned it. Except for the greeting, it was the same. I dipped my head to them in confirmation.

  “James of Logan,” the Roth returned his gaze to the messenger. “I thank you for your service. Elbany can aid our neighbor in this matter. But first we must give ear to a second rider. Step aside and wait.”

  The Logane looked bewildered, almost certainly wondering why he would be allowed to hear another kingdom’s message. But he bowed again without speaking.

  As he straightened, he glanced at me, standing to the Roth’s left. Puzzlement, and then realization, swept over his face, and he pointedly crossed to the other side of the audience chamber. I looked down at the letter, grappling humiliation and rage, not just because of the insult but because I fe
lt it.

  I looked up as the second messenger was brought in. He was the man I had seen, who nearly fell headlong over the paving stone. He was as road-worn as the other but it was evident he was a different class of man, and no mere messenger. Though grimy, his clothes were well-cut from good cloth, and the brooch closing his cloak was gold inlayed with garnet. He stood straight before the Roth, not bending slightly in unconscious subservience, and his bow was respectful but not deferential. “I beg your forgiveness in coming before you so unseemly. I bring grave news. I am Orlo, son of my lord King Philip’s sister Rosara.”

  The Roth’s eyebrows rose. “Lord of Kolon. You honor me, cousin. It has been several years since I saw you last.”

  I stumbled over that ‘cousin’ until I remembered the Roth’s mother had been a sister of King Philip as well.

  “Yes, lord. But since you call me by that title, you know why. King Phillip’s affairs in Kolon keep me well occupied.”

  “Some pressing need must call you from that duty.”

  “Indeed.” He let his gaze travel the room, lingering meaningfully on myself and the Logane messenger.

  “I think I can guess your errand.” The Roth motioned for the doorward to bring forward another chair, then dismissed him. “Sit, cousin. Elbany also received a letter.”

  Glancing around again to register his concern about continuing this discussion with others present, Lord Orlo sat beside Lady Elsbeth. “From...the same source?” In his wariness he did not say the name. He was a handsome man, more striking than the Roth, black hair and eyes, or so dark a brown they appeared black. His gaze went again to the Logane messenger in growing comprehension. “Perhaps more than our two countries?”

  The Roth looked at me, then flicked his gaze towards Lord Orlo. I stepped around the brazier to hand the Ragoni lord the letter the Logane messenger had brought. Lady Elsbeth drew out the other and gave it to him. He raised his hand and showed a curling, but no longer sealed, scroll. Laying all three on his lap, he looked between them. He couldn’t read, of course, but he needn’t to examine whether they were the same. “I see. What is your counsel, lord?”

  “Most immediately, we must send word to Logan of what the letter says. And that they were not alone in receiving it.” He summoned James of Logan with a gesture.

  “Go now. My doorward will direct you to the steward. When you’ve slept and are ready to leave, I will tell you what message to deliver to the King of Logan.” The Roth’s voice dropped. “Messengers are chosen, among their other skills, for discretion. We—your King, the King of Ragonne, and myself—rely upon yours in this matter.”

  “Yes, lord.” He bowed, and was excused.

  “Logan’s clerk died, and has not yet been replaced,” the Roth said after the door closed. “The strangeness of receiving a written letter was obvious but they had no idea what it said.”

  Lord Orlo pursed his lips, considering. “So a trusted, but not noble, messenger was sent.”

  “Have any other kingdoms received them?”

  He shrugged. “There’s no way to find out. Ragonne will not tell her neighbors she lies under such a threat.” He leaned towards the Roth. “You believe it?”

  “Yes.” His hands, resting on the arms of his chair, twitched with some suppressed passion. “Does Philip?”

  “Oh, yes,” the Ragoni lord breathed. “I saw the ship myself. I was in Boltar when it arrived. It was too big to land. It carried another boat the size of a Brusterian longboat. Half a dozen of them rowed to shore in that, but only one got out.” He shook his head. “They left as soon as he gave me the letter. They didn’t stay to hear that I could not read it. I rode to Peran immediately. Domon, Philip’s clerk, was well into his day’s bottle when I got there, but it sobered him up in a hurry.”

  I tried not to stare, shocked by his calling a Vere-trained clerk by his given name. Vere scholars and clerks chose a second name, and were called by that name and their title. I’d picked my great grandfather’s, who’d defeated Ludlow, under-king of Eban, to become High King.

  But I could understand the clerk’s reaction.

  “What are Philip’s thoughts?” the Roth asked.

  “Gather a force, sail east, and attack them first.”

  East...a tendril of memory stirred.

  “What is it?” Lady Elsbeth asked.

  Silently I cursed my indiscrete face and her inveterate quickness. “East...sounds right, lady.”

  “Why?”

  I looked out the windows. Beyond Elbs Bay, south and east, lay Bruster. Beyond Bruster, lay Vere. Beyond Vere...who knew? I recalled, now, stopping short in the passage, straining to listen as two scholars chattered around the corner, gossiping about a story the cook’s oldest son had heard from one of the new boat slaves about a place far in the eastern waters, somewhere even colder and more mountainous than Bruster. In Vere, eavesdropping had proven a crucial skill. “I overheard the story. I was not told it.”

  The Roth’s forehead creased. Lady Elsbeth was nodding. Lord Orlo was on his feet.

  “This is Doctora Bann?” He froze for a moment, then bowed. “Lady, I am pleased to meet you.” He paused, again looking at me so intently it might justly be called staring. “I had hoped it would be sooner, and under other circumstances.” He moved closer, one hand stretching out towards me. “When your father was arranging your marriage I wanted to offer for you. King Philip would not allow it.”

  I stepped back, unable to decide if he were serious. “It is as well for you he did not.”

  “Maybe.” His gaze met mine. “But I am not in need of heirs. My lord Philip has plenty of nephews.” Black fire glinted in his eyes.

  Mockery, then. He wasn’t the first to amuse himself by prodding my injuries. “Lord—” I began, trying to contain my annoyance.

  “Is there a chair, cousin?” he interrupted. “It’s not right to leave her standing like a servant.”

  The Roth looked both irritated and abashed. I’d never been invited to sit in his presence. Princess and queen I had been but now I was a clerk. A valued, trusted clerk, but a clerk. The Ragoni lord did not wait for an answer. He went to the door, returned with a fourth chair, and brought it to where I stood.

  He smelled of travel—horse sweat and saddle leather and half-dried mud, and his own sweat, a muskier, softer scent than the horse’s. Beneath all, something else. Like cloves or ginger, but honey-laced. I thought of feast-day dishes, savory and sweet. Him, I realized the next moment. It was the aroma of the man himself. I felt myself flushing and took another step back, nearly bumping against the windows.

  Strange. His eyes laughed at me but he insisted on greater courtesy than the Roth, whose graciousness towards me was undeniable. It was vexing. But I had more important concerns than trying to plumb the mind of a Ragoni lord. I waited until he returned to his own chair before glancing sidelong at the Roth for his quick nod. With that permission, I sat.

  “East makes sense,” Lady Elsbeth said.

  “Oliver,” Lord Orlo said. “That was our thought.”

  “Yes,” the Roth said after a moment.

  I looked between them. Who was Oliver?

  If my confusion was visible, as was likely, Lady Elsbeth gave no sign. Neither did she explain. “‘East’ is better than nothing,” she said, sliding her toes closer to the brazier and crossing her ankles, “but not much.”

  “The letter came five days ago,” Lord Orlo said. “Philip has already begun preparations for our attack.”

  The Roth stroked his beard. “That is not an approach I would recommend.”

  “It’s a plan good for nothing but stoking my lord king’s pride.”

  This time I stared openly, at his blunt assessment and that he spoke it to us.

  “Is he being discrete?” Hot concern spilled through Lady Elsbeth’s outward calm. “If the other kingdoms of Valenna...”

  “My lord king says he will ready our forces in secret.” Lord Orlo’s gaze sought a corner of the room. “But...”


  “Subtlety is not known to be a strength of Philip of Ragonne,” the Roth said. “You must persuade your king against this foolishness.”

  “I saw the ship. He didn’t.” Lord Orlo spread his hands. “If we take the battle to them, I fear they’ll cut us down like grass.” His fingers tapped his leg. “They may anyway.”

  “Or we may attack people who have no quarrel with us,” Lady Elsbeth said. “If there’s land to the east, why should Saradena be the only country in it?”

  “The same worry has troubled me.” His eyes avoided theirs again. “It does not trouble my king.” He looked back at the Roth. “What will Elbany do?”

  “Prepare to defend ourselves.” The Roth’s jaw tightened. “While trying to prevent the attack.”

  “How?” Lord Orlo got the question out before I did.

  The Roth turned to me. “You are going to find Saradena.”

  Chapter IV

  I stiffened, watching for a sneer beneath the Roth’s words. His expression was smooth, but nobles were taught from birth to cloak their thoughts in disinterest. Unlike me, most learned the skill. He might mean what he said. Or he might be following Lord Orlo’s example and indulging a fit of mockery.

  To search for Saradena. To help Elbany. To show my new lord that his trust in me was justified—and my father’s rejection hasty. I clenched the arms of my chair, grasping what might be grasped, as if to sit unmoving would mean I did not desire it enough. Surely my lord Roth would not make such an offer in jest.

  I clicked my tongue in irritation, but self-directed. The Roth had never made sport of me. Why would he start now? The Ragoni lord had galled my nerves.

  Lord Orlo narrowed his eyes. “How?” he said again.

  “We must have had contact with them before. Years ago,” Lady Elsbeth said. “Otherwise their letter makes no sense.”

  I gave a quick nod. I’d walked this path already.

  The Ragoni lord’s head tipped as he considered. “That stands to reason.”

  “We’ve forgotten them. But they don’t know that.”