Rare Things for a Rare Life

The Knights of J'shua Book 1

by Tiana Dokerty ©2023

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Chapter 17: Long Live the King

Updated 11/29/23

Mate in 5

 

Farr Castle

Like every other peddler, trader, and merchant, Rebekah had come to Farr Castle to watch the festivities of the Royal Annual Hunt and take advantage of the opportunities that arose when so many gathered together. However, she wasn’t interested in sales but in collecting and disseminating information.

Each year she accidentally encountered either Commander Peter Taelor or Colonel Patrik Gonnels. Then, as the commander’s kinsman or the colonel’s friend, they would have dinner, appear to get drunk, and exchange stories interspersed with intelligence reports late into the night.

The most recent special order from Peter Taelor stated he had duties that kept him at High Keep, so she was on the lookout for Patrik. However, it was early in the evening, so she ambled through a nearby market.

She kept an eye out for certain hard-to-find objects that Licht Gegen needed, the foremost of which was weapons. She couldn’t purchase them in bulk, nor could she buy them everywhere she went without drawing attention.

In the temporary marketplace established on the outskirts of Farr Castle, wares were on display that were not seen at any other time of year. Amongst them were Esthlani short swords. The foreign merchant appeared rather dejected.

“Why the long face?” Rebekah asked.

“I listened to my cousin. ‘Aodh,’ he says, ‘go to Farr Castle. Make a killing at their Annual Hunt Fair. You’ll sell more there in a week than anywhere else in Freislicht in a year.’ Sheisse! That last might be true. I’ve made a few sales, but the others selling swords derided me for wasting my time. No one wants our humble weapons here.”

“Well, every merchant wants to undermine the other’s confidence.” Rebekah chuckled. “I sell plows. Some of the tricks my competitors have tried…” She shook her head.

“I suppose it’s the same everywhere,” Aodh grumbled.

“Mind you,” she picked up one blade and examined its workmanship, “I can think of several farmers and their wives who’d think these fine weapons.” She grinned. “Perhaps I could buy you a drink, and we could chat about a profitable arrangement?”

Aodh scratched his chin, then nodded. “I—”

The herald’s shout drowned him out. “Hear ye, hear ye. Be it known: King Edal is dead, gored by a rogue boar. Long live King Sagen!”

Rebekah gasped.

Would the new king protect the people? He was Jon’s good friend. Would he support Licht Gegen?

The listening crowd chanted the new king’s name, but their cheers were weak and unenthusiastic. Shopkeepers and merchants began covering their stalls. No one would sell today. No one would insult King Edal’s memory by doing so. The only people to profit would be tavern keepers.

“That drink sounds like a good idea.” Aodh threw tarps over his wagon. Then he turned to a red-haired lad. “Aaren, look after things. I’ll be back later.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said and went back to whittling.

“Bring one of your blades, so I can examine it,” Rebekah suggested, wondering how the king had really died. She’d bet half her fortune there’d been foul play. She’d bet the other half she could predict the gossip that’d be flying around by nightfall.

 

***

Sagen’s eyes followed a hawk as he sat on the window seat, a spot he hadn’t moved from for hours. He hadn’t attended the hunt. After an argument with Gaelib, he’d decided not to go. Instead, he had roamed the quiet castle and the gardens, pondering the best way to respond to the steward’s uncharacteristic, barbed words.

Guilt consumed the prince.

I would have saved him. Together, we’d have killed those boar.

He stared out the window, unable to cry.

Through all the arrangements for the funeral and the coronation, he was mute, numbly following Gaelib from one meeting to the next. He only nodded or shook his head.

Sagen was afraid to assume the throne. Although he was thirty-five, he wasn’t ready.

Father should still be alive, should have lived many more years.

Everyone told him the feeling would pass, that the grief would become bearable, that it just required time. He sent them away.

He’d not prayed for years. “Father God, forgive me. I’ve forsaken you. Help me; I drown in guilt. Sycophants surround me. Who can I trust? Show me, in J’shua’s name; I beseech you.”

 

***

The castle halls channeled a cool breeze as Blackhawk watched quietly, completing his guard duties. All the usual suspects strutted and performed their roles as expected. Under Gaelib Melazera’s control, his officials and servants of Farr Castle hummed along as if nothing had happened except for an abundance of quiet voices and furtive glances.

That Melazera was behind King Edal’s assassination was ever clearer to Blackhawk.

Several of the new king’s closest friends suddenly left Farr Castle to attend to family matters. This further isolated Sagen while increasing his dependence on Melazera.

Blackhawk couldn’t stop what was happening, nor could he act openly. Instead, he undermined several of Melazera’s pawns using tactics he’d learned from the earl himself as his squire.

For example, a moneylender on Melazera’s payroll found himself inundated by people demanding repayment of their investments after they learned the fellow was skimming their profits. And a prominent courtier found himself without funds or political backing after his wife and her wealthy family learned of his repeated infidelities.

Most dangerous of all, Blackhawk set himself up to be accused of being one of Melazera’s agents. His aim was simple: to control the stories circling him. So that any future actions attributed to him would be easily dismissed as falsehoods.

Only days later, he was summoned to his commanding officer’s rooms late at night. Entering, he stood at attention.

Commander Taelor spoke to Major Blackhawk, his face showing his disappointment. “I’ve heard some disturbing news. Things that I find especially troubling given what you brought to my attention about the late king’s death.”

Blackhawk frowned. “I’m aware that there’s been some gossip about me lately. I usually ignore such things. Is this about Fortuch blaming me for his demotion to lieutenant again or his banishment to the outskirts of Farr? Or perhaps about my excessive gambling winnings? Maybe it’s someone who’s taken offense at my being a major so young? Of course,” he mused, “it could be one of the more insane rumors.”

“Such as…?” Taelor’s tone was still neutral, but his face had become inquisitive.

“Let’s see…how extreme do you want?”

“Get carried away, Major.”

“As you command, sir. The more common of those rumors suggest I’m secretly spying for Gaelib Melazera. Others suggest I was King Edal’s agent. There are tales that I’ve acted as an assassin…for one or both of them.” Blackhawk snorted out a laugh. “As if the late king used hired killers. He was a good man.”

“That he was. Is there more?”

“Oh, yes. I seem to attract all sorts of unlikely speculation, such as, I’ve bribed and blackmailed people, ignoring the fact that I have neither the funds nor access to anything more than gossip. Once, I heard I am Earl Gaelib Melazera’s bastard son, despite there being no physical resemblance between us except the color of our hair. What else? Oh yes, that I’m Caileagh Melazera’s lover, and have had her in my hand ever since. Should I continue?”

“Is there more?” Taelor chuckled.

“It gets ever more ridiculous. For instance, I’m Gaelib Melazera’s adopted son. Yet if that were true, his patronage would have opened doors for me that have remained shut in my face. Not to mention that, as he has no heir, my status would free him from what must be endless harassment from relatives to produce an heir or nominate one of their sons…if he can’t or won’t.”

Taelor shook his head as a smile spread across his face. “This talk did not go as I expected or feared. If you’d given me the slightest reason to link you to Melazera, my only option would have been permanently assigning you to the remotest outpost. As it is,” he gestured to a seat, “will you have a drink? Are there yet more?”

“That depends entirely on how debauched your interest is. They have said things about me that…let’s get drunk first, shall we? I don’t like to discuss them sober.”

Taelor rose and fetched a bottle and two glasses. “Now you really have me intrigued…”

 

High Keep

Six weeks later, Sagen was crowned King of Freislicht at the capital. He was still numb but performed every ceremony, met with nobles, and waved in every parade for the benefit of his people.

He was glad Gaelib was by his side. The royal steward was his only constant—the only person not trying to push him this way or that to further some private agenda—the only person who had not changed since his father’s death.

As for those who sought to undermine Gaelib with suggestions that he had been behind the corruption of the contract laws, each had proven fickle or unreliable in their loyalty.

King Sagen had thought he could just imitate his father, but there was still so much to learn. As King Edal had, he retained Gaelib as his royal steward. He was Sagen’s closest advisor and spoke frankly to him. His other friends fawned over him or left him.

Over the following weeks, the new king reserved less and less time for those so-called friends.

As soon as his dressers left, Gaelib entered with a lengthy agenda.

“Sire, here is a scroll that I found that relates to our struggle with the Mestels.”

Sagen took the parchment. “Thank you Gaelib. I so appreciate that you seem to know what worries me most.”

“It is my duty, my king. After you have finished studying that, our horses are ready for a ride. A great flock of geese has landed nearby. Perhaps we’ll have a goose feast tonight.”

“That does sound good.” Sagen said with a sigh.

“Then this afternoon, your King’s Guard wish to work with you on their sword defenses. If that would please you, I will have your armor prepared.”

“It would.”

With a sweep of his arm, Gaelib urged him toward the hallway. “Breakfast awaits you in the rose garden.”

Sagen was so busy he almost forgot his grief. It always came back with the cold and dark of night, only for Gaelib to rescue him each morning with another day’s rigorous schedule.

But as weeks passed, the new king contemplated the advice his steward had given. For example, there were subtle alterations to the contract laws that would benefit his lords. Simple things designed to reduce duplication. Yet, the more he examined them, the more he realized that they also reduced his subjects’ ability to appeal rulings and query fines. And every change was to his subjects’ detriment.

He re-engaged his old friends in casual surroundings, giving them opportunities to prove their integrity. He watched for examples of responsibility, perseverance, and wisdom. In public, he sought kindness and grace. He also observed their interactions with Melazera. When alone with a friend, he knowingly stated something unwise to see if they’d correct him.

Slowly, he built an inventory of those he might trust, those who had sold themselves to one master or another, and those in between.

 

Last Half-Moon, Spring

The Royal Tour

During the preparations for his coronation, King Sagen had planned to tour his kingdom in the Spring as soon as the roads were dry. He needed to see things for himself without Gaelib’s perspective clouding matters. Thus, he left his steward behind without the authority to change laws or make edicts.

Despite those restrictions, Melazera was overly happy with the arrangement.

Commander Taelor had recommended Major Blackhawk be the leader of the king’s escort.

The tour would take several weeks, as the king intended to visit his highest nobles’ homes. He’d stay only one night at each so as not to overburden them or show favoritism. He’d be accompanied by a minimal entourage of servants—his butler, cupbearer, page, personal cook, and coachmen, besides the cook’s kitchen hands, grooms to tend the sixty horses, and the wagon drivers needed to haul supplies—plus thirty-six soldiers, most of whom he knew well.

When King Sagen arrived at the Earl of Sandria’s estate, he announced his intention to inspect the nobleman’s township dressed as a commoner. He wanted to see the true state of his people.

Are they happy? What concerns them? What changes would improve their lives?

He watched the earl’s reaction with amusement: a wringing of hands and furtive glances. Yet the question persisted. Why did the nobleman react so? Was he concerned for the king’s safety? Or did he worry the king might learn too much?

Major Blackhawk also frowned at this announcement. But he dressed as a commoner like His Majesty, chatting amiably by his side so the king did not stand out. A third of his men, similarly dressed, formed a loose cordon around them. The rest, armed and ready for battle, waited for Blackhawk’s signal that, thankfully, never came.

Impressed by the major, Sagen had watched Blackhawk for weeks. A moon before departing on the royal tour, he’d requested every record available on his would-be-protector. Blackhawk was young for his rank, but Sagen was even more shocked to learn the officer was only twenty-five. He’d assumed at least thirty.

The major is remarkable and a potential ally. Clearly, my father saw valor in him.

Sagen observed Blackhawk closely as he performed his duties as leader of the caravan. While traveling to the Duke of Wooster’s home, he sent for him. “Major, join me in my carriage. I wish to talk with you.”

Blackhawk hesitated, surprised, “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

The king rapped on the coach’s roof, and the carriage stopped.

After tying his horse to the coach, Blackhawk entered and sat.

“Continue,” Sagen instructed the driver, causing the coach to lurch forward. He examined Blackhawk.

He has self-control, looking straight at me with a slight smile. His breathing is slow. He seems content.

“Tell me how you’re a major at twenty-five.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Blackhawk tilted his head, “I’m not prepared to answer well, but I’ll try.”

“I simply want to know who you are.”

Blackhawk spoke well and concisely, despite claiming to be unready. He conveyed his story amusingly.

If this is how he speaks when caught off-guard, I want to see how well he does when he’s prepared.

“I tire of hearing the same stories each evening. Major, prepare some amusing anecdotes. At dinner, ensure the stories are suitable for a lady’s ears. For later, something spicier.”

Blackhawk excelled that evening. He held everyone’s attention while they sat at the banquet tables. Sagen even noted that a handful of maidens, whose sole focus was to become the next queen, swooned at the major’s words.

This man is indeed someone I want to serve me, but I need to know more.

By the time the royal tour was half-complete, Sagen had decided, instructing the major, “I have another task for you. When we return to High Keep, you are to meet me once a week to discuss the state of the kingdom. I need to know the unfiltered truth. Given the breadth of your experience, I want to view Freislicht through your eyes.”

“Happily, Your Majesty,” Blackhawk replied.

 

Amidst the Atmosphere of Lorness

Owakar tucked the luach in his tunic, hoping he wasn't bending the rule to breaking. But he just had to see this defector up close. He decided to interact in the Density.

Looking for a clump of brush near the cooks wagon, Owakar hid himself as he materialized. He popped a warm macaron in his mouth when the cook turned his back. Then he grabbed a waterskin from a hook and walked briskly to catch up to Blackhawk. He tingled as he followed him, gathering courage.

Finally, he ran up to the soldier, smiled broadly, offering him the skin.

The big, dark-headed man drank deeply.

“Thank you, I needed that. I haven’t seen you before. What’s your name?”

“I am Owakar, sir. A water-boy for the cook.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Blackhawk eyed him up and down. Then he clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the drink.”

Owakar bowed.

"He touched me. It felt... heavy, and warm…pleasant." He scurried off, happy to get a close look at this one who J’shua says seeks the truth.

As he left the Density, his luach flashed a message:

[That ye put off concerning the former ways, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts; And be renewed in the spirit of your mind; And that ye put on the new, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.]

Steven Blackhawk seemed to be straying from blind devotion to his lord. Was he choosing to be freed from his past?

 

***

As the tour turned toward Lexandria, King Sagen took stock of what he’d learned so far and the things he’d had time to ponder. He discovered several of his noblemen remained true to his father’s ideals and would support him. He’d identified more who were Melazera’s creatures. Then there were those who would go with the wind, regardless of where it blew.

That just left those who followed Duke Gregory of Lexandria. Sagen had already learned that he’d badly underestimated their hatred of the Melazeras. They seemed loyal to the Crown, but their famed independence clouded matters.

The situation is both graver and better than I’d imagined.

I have enemies. Real enemies who want my throne and all my royal line has built. Enemies who…did they kill you, Father? Or did they just take advantage of the situation?

I have allies—or would-be allies—but have no way to rally them, nor even meet with them regularly without drawing attention.

How do I begin?

Sagen remembered the passage:

[Except the God of Truth build the house, they labor in vain that build it: except the God of Truth keep the city, the watchman wakes but in vain.]

 

Full Moon, Early Summer

Blackhawk strategized how to meet with the king safely.

Melazera can’t find out I’m working with the king.

It would be relatively easy at High Keep. But at Farr, it would be nearly impossible to do covertly. Something overt would need to occur. Then he had an idea.

Blackhawk approached the king and kneeled on one knee. “Your Majesty, may I have a private word?”

“Yes, ride with me again.” 

In the coach, Blackhawk suggested, “You could meet me, or anyone that you wish to talk with privately, by holding regular chess matches. I can play, and I have seen you do so. What do you think?”

“An excellent idea. My nobles also play. I could invite them regularly.”

“Sire, I am here to serve you,” Blackhawk responded, bowing his head, “but must return to my duties; people will talk. What shall I tell them you commanded?”

“That I wish to have a grand feast at our next stop in the public square. All should attend, noble and commoner alike.”

 

***

Sagen marveled at the reception awaiting him as they neared Lexandria. Most times, his entourage had surprised the lords they were visiting. Others had a scant few hours’ warning due to alert sentries. However, it was clear even before entering Gregory Locke’s domain that preparations had been going on for days, possibly since the royal tour began.

Three dozen men from noble households greeted the royal caravan a day away from Fairness Crossing. Its leader was Gregory’s eldest son and heir, Danyth, a handsome lad half the king’s age. With long flaxen hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a suntanned face, he was typical of that family.

Nor had the riders come alone. Cresting a hill before sunset that night, Sagen beheld a tent city waiting for them. The smells of food carrying on the soft evening breeze made his mouth water. Servants had laid out tables covered in heavy brocade.

“I apologize for the paucity of this small reception, Your Majesty—”

“Small?” Sagen interrupted.

“Yes, Sire,” Danyth affirmed. “With barely any time to set up this staging point, we have only tents for your comfort this night. The inn at your next waypoint has been refurbished, so it’s fit for your royal presence.”

“I see…” Sagen kept his face impassive. As a display of wealth, it was impressive. As an example of how well-informed the Lockes were, it was far more so. “And what can I expect upon reaching Lexandria?”

“We’ve bedecked the city with the banners of all your southern lords. The duke, his earls, viscounts, and barons, plus their ladies, are already in attendance and awaiting your arrival. A royal ball is planned for your one night with us. I know the duke would have you stay longer. It’s so rare for the king to visit the south.”

Sagen smiled. “That sounds wonderful, but I can’t believe all your preparations have gone to plan. Tell me one thing that isn’t ready as your father would wish.”

Danyth bowed. “If I must, Sire. There are many petty things I could bring to your attention. However, the most galling—from my parents’ perspective—is that Uncle Bradley’s wife, Aleyn, is unwell. The result being my unmarried sisters have gone to be with her. They expected to return in time for your visit, but it seems Aunt Aleyn has taken a turn for the worse. Thus, my sisters won’t be there to greet you. Mother is furious.”

“A pity,” Sagen replied neutrally. In truth, he was relieved. It would be one less set of daughters paraded before him, their parents seeking a royal alliance.

A messenger approached and handed a note to the Duke of Lexandria’s son, who skimmed the missive, then frowned. “I also regret to inform you, Sire, that we have no performers to entertain you tonight. The axle on their wagon broke. However, we’ve added them to tomorrow’s line-up. I wonder,” Danyth hesitated, “I know it’s a poor substitute, but…do you play chess?”

Sagen smiled and shot a knowing glance at Blackhawk. “I would enjoy a game. Perhaps a wager?”

 

***

Intent on completing a last circuit for the year, Rebekah had tried to avoid the excesses arising from the royal tour. It might be all well and good for the new king to travel throughout the land and learn about his people, but it was inconveniencing her and a lot of other traveling salesmen. All of whom had to find alternate accommodation because the tour was in town, was about to be in town, or had just been in town.

Worse, it was affecting sales and…

When did I get so caught up playing Tomas Bekh? My old life has utterly disappeared as if stolen away by sorcery or an evil mastermind.

If I met my younger self, would she be able to see through my disguise? Or would she see just another—aye, a relatively successful—seller of plows and merchandise? Could she guess I am a spy? That I own enterprises?

What has become of Rebekah, the wife and mother?

Where are you, Sarah?

It’s been ten long years of searching. You’re sixteen. But I will never stop while there is breath in my body.

 

High Keep

Gaelib strutted around the castle. He’d dismissed the guards he didn’t own. Then he sat on the bright blue velvet cushions of the great throne. Running his hands over the throne’s jewels and carvings, he imagined the day it would be his. He dared those who witnessed it to underestimate him, to think him just another with ambitions that exceeded his abilities. As for those who knew the truth, for them, his playacting spoke of such confidence that he didn’t need to be subtle.

I want to celebrate, but Caileagh didn’t come with me.

She continued to pester him about her vision of the golden bride. It was nonsense. He would get Sagen a wife, then an heir. There would be no blonde girls for him to choose from. The vision could not come true. He would not allow it.

I no longer have any orphans here. Caileagh takes them all for her Order. Something else will have to suffice.

“Bring Macom’s woman up from the dungeon. The one he so inconveniently returned while we were on the road here.”

She’ll have to do.

He had taken the maiden in a debt collection, then sold her to Lord Macom, who’d demanded a refund when she refused to submit to him. None of her family had survived, leaving her despondent.

I doubt she’s much fire left in her. She’ll be poor sport.

Guards delivered the woman in due course, washed and draped in finery. She was bound and terrified. Her blonde hair was very long, still damp, but combed and scented with roses.

Oh, she has the look of a Locke. Quite a beauty. This might entertain, after all.

Gaelib motioned for the guards to leave. Then he added a potion to a cup and approached her. “You can earn your release from the dungeon today,” he crooned. “Would you like that?”

She nodded meekly, eyes on the floor.

“You must be thirsty.” He put the cup to her lips and, after she drank, removed her loose gown. And dropped it to the floor. She stiffened at his touch, but he continued to explore. Cradling her in his arms, he laid her on a table, pushing parchments to the floor. He removed her bonds and coached her to do what he liked.

He enjoyed her, despite her inexperience.

Then he plied her with more drugged wine and sent her to the Red Madame, along with a note that read: “Train this one. Keep her for me. I want to see what you can make of her.”

Elated and pleasantly exhausted, he sank back onto the throne and let his eyes trail over the banners of the dukes, earls, and lesser nobles that had pledged their fealty to Freislicht. Soon, very soon, all of them would bow to him.

Yet, when his eyes rested on Caswell’s colors, he recalled Drake’s perfidy. But although Drake did not reveal the wedding of Jon’s son, the spy brought a delightful idea: capturing the boy’s new wife.

I can deal with Drake at my leisure. Even if the girl is dull, it will spur the younger Otual into action…into some ill-considered…oh, yes! I can turn a single kidnapping into the end of “my old friend” and his entire line. When I’m done…

 

Waning Crescent Moon

High Keep

Blackhawk looked away from the chessboard. Having recently returned from the royal tour, he pondered how best to begin a delicate, perhaps even dangerous, conversation with the king. His hands were sweaty, and his gut was in a knot. Yet, he kept his expression neutral and polite.

“Check.” Sagen scolded, “Pay attention. Is something on your mind?”

Blackhawk smiled back. “Sire, you know I like to play lax throughout the first half of the game and then try to recover.” He moved the knight to king’s-bishop-three with a wink.

“That’s more like it,” Sagen laughed.

Blackhawk didn’t care who won. That he could play chess, and win, was important to Gaelib Melazera. There’d been consequences whenever Blackhawk lost. So, everything he’d learned to do, he excelled at. It was the only way to avoid painful repercussions. But, with the king, he felt free to lose. It was a powerful and intoxicating pleasure.

However, it’d been six moons since King Edal’s murder. Everything that could be investigated without raising suspicions had been. They had found and questioned witnesses and, where necessary, put them into hiding. Accounts were cross-checked. And the size of the conspiracy to murder the former king had only grown larger. Thus, Blackhawk and Commander Taelor had agreed Sagen must know the truth soon or else feel betrayed.

They sat in the reception hall, near the window, basking in the warmth of the sun. All the servants flew about the other side of the room like bees as they dressed the dining tables. The nobles would not be arriving for an hour.

Whenever the king was far from listening ears, he would quietly share with him his concerns about Gaelib Melazera. Likewise, Blackhawk shared the names of those he’d ascertained were or were not Melazera’s tools.

Blackhawk pinned Sagen’s bishop and knight with his pawn. “Sire,” he paused, “I have something to tell you that will be upsetting. I beg you, listen to the entire story before responding. The kingdom is counting on your wise response. Check.”

Sagen glanced up from the board, then moved his knight to block the attack, pinning his knight before his king.

“Commander Taelor and I have evidence your father was murdered.”

Sagen stiffened. His face grew red. “What?” he whispered.

Blackhawk leaned in, examining the board. “We suspect Melazera was behind it but have insufficient proof to accuse him. Nor have we discovered the perpetrator, although we have identified several all-too-prominent people, both officers and nobles, who were involved. Given their power and influence, we have had to search carefully without alerting them to what we know.”

Blackhawk told the story.

Sagen’s expression did not change, nor did he utter a word while Blackhawk spoke. Then he rose from his seat. “Let’s have an intermission.” He walked to a side table and picked up an apple.

Blackhawk watched the king’s expression change ever so slightly as moments passed. His eyes, first wide with shock, narrowed in anger. Drumming his fingers on the table, his brows slowly came together as his jaw set. Yet Blackhawk needed some sign, some response, to show what the king had perceived. “Your Majesty, we’ll beat them.”

“We shall, Steven,” Sagen replied as he walked back to the chessboard and then moved his queen to king’s-rook-two. “Check. Mate in three moves.”

 

First Half-Moon, Summer

Lexandria

Gregory Locke paced around the bedchamber, wearing only his breeches. He turned to his wife, Ellyth, holding the summons. “I don’t care what this says. I’m not sending a daughter of mine to the king to become a tool of Melazera. I should’ve hidden the girls away when the Earl of Lorness visited. We did so when the king was here. No! No, I simply refuse.”

His wife drew close, responding calmly, “Dear, we’ll find a way to prevent this. The local daikon visited yesterday before you arrived home. He says there’s a suitable girl who’s willing to go in Melyssa’s place.”

Gregory rounded on her. His fists clenched, crumpling the letter. “Did you seek the daikon’s help? I’ll not have one of those navy cloaks meddling in my affairs. Caswell has been needling me to follow him for years.”

“No.” She placed her hand on his chest, soothing him. “He sought me out, saying J’shua had heard our prayers and provided a substitute. I’ve told no one, so he quite surprised me.”

“How’s that going to help?” Gregory sat down hard on a couch. “The girl would need to know our family’s history, our ways, and all the little things that make a Locke, a Locke.”

“She’s my midwife’s daughter, knows our family, and has been in and out of our houses all her life. She even has the right complexion. She looks very much like Melyssa and is fifteen as well.”

“Sounds far-fetched,” he grumbled.

Ellyth looked down into the courtyard. “Oh. She’s here.” She pulled him up and smiled. “Get dressed. We’ll go down together.”

 

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