Higher Power (Prophecy Of The Cataclysm Book One), page 2
“It was Chancellor Rhine,” Anastasia said. “But Father hasn’t yet told me why he was here.” They both turned expectant gazes on their father.
He sighed and so much weary pain lay behind the sound Anastasia almost didn’t want to hear what he had to say. “Come up to my study, both of you. This is something better discussed in private.”
The siblings exchanged a worried look as they followed Ulric up the stairs. His study lay at the end of the hall. It was a cozy room, warm and comfortable, a place Anastasia usually felt safe. Today, the walls seemed much too close and the air too thin. She didn’t know what could possibly be worse than news of her Uncle’s death, but she was afraid she was about to find out.
Ulric slumped into the chair behind his claw footed desk. The window behind him allowed morning sunlight to fill the room, but it did nothing to dispel the pall of gloom which had fallen over them all. The last time Anastasia had seen her father in such a state was in the weeks following her mother’s death. She’d never thought to see him this way again.
“I can think of no easy way to say this.” Ulric spread his hands out on top of the desk and looked at them rather than at his children. “Richard has asked for Anastasia’s hand in marriage.”
“What?” Anastasia dropped into the nearest chair. Her father could not have shocked her more had he sprouted wings and flown around the room.
“Of course you told the Chancellor no.” Charles studied their father’s face. “Right?”
Ulric’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“Father,” Anastasia leaned toward him, “please tell me you aren’t actually considering agreeing to such a thing.”
His gaze met hers briefly before he looked away again. “Once Richard is king - and he will be king no matter what pointless protocols must be followed first- he will hold the fate of us all in his hands. And you both know too well what is he capable of doing once he attains such power. If I refuse his request then I place the lives of every man, woman, and child under my care at risk.”
“And what about Anastasia’s life?” Charles stepped up beside the desk. “Would you really see her married to such a monster?”
“I would sooner die,” she said, clutching the arms of her chair.
“I’m sorry. I...” Ulric shook his head. His face was etched with lines of agony. “The Chancellor didn’t come right out and say it, but he intimated what would happen if we refuse. Richard will lay his wrath on my people. People who look to me for protection. Innocent people who do not deserve to suffer.”
Anastasia sank back in her chair. “You’re saying we have no choice.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Never.” Charles slammed his fist on the desk, making the ink blotter jump. “I will have Richard’s head on a pike before I allow him to lay one finger on my sister.”
“Charles, please,” Ulric folded his hands together, “try to see reason.”
“You ask me to see reason?” Charles’ face was twisted so he was hardly recognizable as the brother Anastasia knew and loved. “What reason is there to this madness? I tell you, I will never allow it.” He jabbed his finger toward his father. “I will not see my sister sacrificed to him. Never to him.” He spun on his heel and stormed from the room.
Ulric ran his hands through his thinning hair and cast a pleading look at Anastasia. “You must speak to your brother. Make him understand. Please. Yours has ever been the more level head.”
“And what will I say to him, Father?” Tears pricked her eyes. “Should I tell him I won’t mind being married to Richard? That I’ll be perfectly safe with him in the castle? He wouldn’t believe such lies any more than you do.”
“I’m sorry.” Grief coated Ulric’s voice. “I love you. You know this. But a single life, even that of my own daughter, cannot be placed before the well being of thousands of others.” He turned his hands over palm up on the desk. “My hands are bound in this matter. I dare not refuse what amounts to a command from my future king.”
“I know.” A single tear slid down Anastasia’s cheek as she stood. “And I understand why you must do this. But I want you to understand something as well.” She turned toward the door, unable to look at him any longer. “I will never forgive you for this.” She walked out the door.
CHAPTER TWO
Because it was situated in the one spot where the borders of Hyacinth, The Dells, and The Wild Lands met, the city of Marigold was forever teeming with travelers. Especially on the main street, which was lined with all manner of shops. With horses and wagons crowding the narrow street, a man would be taking his life in his hands by attempting to cross on foot. Most pedestrians preferred to use the walkways connecting the buildings high above, despite the constant pall of coal fog which lingered there.
Jesse never used the walkways. Better to breathe in the dirt and the scent of horse manure in the street, in his opinion. His mare snorted and tossed her mane as they made their slow progress through the crowd.
Of all the places he’d traveled in Hyacinth, he liked Marigold best. Partly because a man could never fail to find whatever kind of good time he was looking for in the dingy, crowded city, and partly because of the mixture of people. Marigold was a melting plot, a place where a man could move freely without people staring at him.
Jesse didn’t have too much trouble in that department, because he looked mostly like his father. But he did have some features of his Dell born mother, particularly his green eyes, which marked him as different whenever he traveled deeper into Hyacinth. The further you traveled from the border city, the less likely you were to see any deviation from dark hair and eyes. He’d heard it was different on the coast, but he’d never gotten far enough north to see for himself.
The crowd thinned out when Jesse turned his mare down a street which was less frequented this early in the morning. Here were Marigold’s brothels and taverns which catered to mainstream tastes. For something more exotic, and in some cases also illegal, one had to travel into the darker parts of the city.
Three men in ragged clothes stood at the mouth of an alley and watched Jesse pass with hooded eyes. On the balcony of a nearby brothel, a curly headed whore in a revealing dress leaned against the railing.
“Hey, Jesse, how about a little morning delight?” She shook her ample bosom at him suggestively.
Jesse laughed. “No thanks, Honey Bell. I’m a man on business today.” Also, a man with five hundred king’s marks in his saddlebag. Even a sweet tempered whore like Honey might be tempted to slit a man’s throat for so much paper.
She pouted prettily. “You know what they say about all work and no play.”
“No need to worry about that,” he called back. “I get plenty of play.” Her laughter followed him down the street.
The Mercenary’s Guild was housed in an unassuming two story building of gray slats and shuttered windows. A shield bearing a pair of crossed swords hung over the door to announce the services provided within. Being a mercenary was a perfectly legal, if somewhat looked down upon, profession. Nothing wrong with hiring yourself out as a bodyguard, a bounty hunter, or even hired muscle for a little personal war.
That the swords were crossed left over right, stating this particular Guild wasn’t above work of a less legal nature, went unnoticed by the town guard. And they were well paid to ignore what was right before their eyes.
Behind the house, a small stable stood at one end of a fenced yard. Only two of the dozen
stalls were currently occupied. One by a flea bitten mare on her last legs and the other by a gray gelding who was well past prime himself. Jesse’s mare was in better shape, but due more to youth than breeding.
After settling the mare into her stall and giving her a quick rubdown, Jesse took the brown wrapped parcel and entered the house through the back door. Deke sat at the kitchen bar, trying once again to teach Brandon the ins and outs of playing Liar’s Dice. Judging by the disgruntled expression on his weathered face he wasn’t getting any further than he ever had. Jesse didn’t know why the man even bothered.
“Damn it, you stupid, knot-headed pup.” Deke slammed his cup down on the bar. “Have you got anything between them ears, or is your head nothing but an empty gourd?”
Brandon replied with a good natured grin. He looked up and his eyes lit when he saw Jesse standing in the doorway. “Hey, Jesse.” He unwound his legs from the barstool and stood. “Do you need me to go out and take care of Lily for you?”
Jesse gazed flatly back at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. You know I mean your mare.”
“I don’t know any such thing.” Jesse tucked the parcel under his arm and reached for the bottle of ale sitting on the counter. “My mare is a horse. An animal. It doesn’t have a name, and even if it did, it would certainly not be Lily.”
Deke swiveled around and slapped his ever present riding crop on the counter between the bottle and Jesse’s reaching hand. “No drinking until you tell me what went on in your meeting with the Lady.”
Jesse would have knocked most men flat for pulling a stunt like that, but one did not punch the head of the Mercenary’s Guild if one wanted to remain in good health. Besides, Deke might be old but he still carried much of the muscle and skill which had helped him into the position he now held. And even though Jesse was mostly sure he could take the man in a fight, it wasn’t worth the risk.
“The mare is fine.” Jesse stepped up to the bar and dropped the parcel onto its scarred surface. “I took care of her already.”
“Oh. Okay.” Brandon dropped back onto his barstool. “So, was the Lady a great beauty like everybody says?”
Jesse shrugged. “I suppose I wouldn’t want to gouge my eyes out to keep from looking at her.” Truth was, much as he hated to admit even to himself, he’d been a little dazzled by Lady Anastasia DeHaviland. It wasn’t every day a man like him got so close to a woman like her. And in riding leathers no less.
“What was the job?” Deke asked, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.
“What you thought,” Jesse said. “It was about the rebellion.”
“Shitfire,” Brandon said with a grin. He dug a hand into the front pocket of his vest and pulled out a flat, metal coin, which he then pressed into Deke’s waiting palm.
“Never bet against a man who knows what he’s talking about.” Deke dropped the coin into the leather pouch attached to his belt. “I’d like to hope you told her no thanks, but this,” he tapped the parcel, “makes me think you didn’t. Putting down a rebellion is no easy thing. We’re mercenaries, not peacemakers.”
“I was all set to say no,” Jesse said. “But it turns out you were only half right.”
Deke frowned, deepening the creases around his eyes. “How do you mean?”
“She does want me to sniff out whoever is backing the rebellion,” Jesse slowly unfolded the
parcel, enjoying the expressions on the other men’s faces as they stared at the paper, “but she doesn’t want me to stop it.”
“How...How much is it?” Deke asked hoarsely.
“Five hundred king’s marks.” Jesse spoke the words slow, relishing the way they felt in his mouth. It would have been nice if he could have kept every bit of it. More than nice. But he could settle for his cut, which was still bound to be more money than he’d ever had.
Brandon whistled. “Who does she want you to kill?” He reached out to touch the paper. Deke brought his riding crop down across the back of the younger man’s hand. The sound was a sharp crack in the still air.
Brandon snatched his hand back with a yelp. For a split second, the fool’s grin vanished and something dark flashed through his eyes. But the look was there and gone so fast, it might never have been there at all. Then he was grinning again as he pressed his bleeding hand to his lips.
“She doesn’t want me to kill anybody,” Jesse said, eyeing Brandon warily. “Although, I definitely got the feeling she wouldn’t shed any tears if the Crowned Prince ended up with a bullet between his eyes.”
Deke grunted. “Like I told you boys a thousand times,” he picked up the bottle of ale and handed it to Jesse, “it’s always personal. So, if she doesn’t want you stopping the rebellion, what does she want?”
Jesse took a drink. “She says she wants to help whoever is backing the rebellion. I’m supposed to spy them out and give her names.”
“Spying on the nobles is tricky business,” Deke said. “It’s takes subtly and finesse. Not two of your more prominent traits.”
“Don’t I know it.” Jesse leaned back against the bar. “I thought I’d cut Ethan in. He might have already heard something I can use anyway, and if not, then he can find something out.”
Deke nodded. “Sounds good. But in case you need more help, maybe you better bring in a couple of others.”
Jesse lifted the bottle to his lips again to hide his expression. The more people brought in, the smaller his cut would be. “Do you have someone in mind?”
“What about me?” Brandon asked. “Come on Jesse, I want in on the fun. I get bored working alone all the time.”
Jesse hesitated. The wiry little assassin made him nervous. He might have killed a few men in his time, but at least he did it face to face in a fair fight for his own life. As it should be. He’d never knifed anybody in the back. Besides which, he had the feeling Brandon’s multitude of problems stemmed less from being stupid and more from being a few cards shy of a full deck. Still, he wasn’t the kind of man Jesse wanted to insult by turning down. For some reason, Brandon was under the delusion they were friends and Jesse figured for his own peace of mind, it might be best to keep it that way.
“Sure.” Jesse had to take another drink to steel himself against the idea of working with Brandon. “Why not?” His only hope was Ethan would know something and this job could be over and done with quick.
Brandon hooted, leaning his barstool back so far it seemed assured he would slip and crack his head on the floor. At the last possible instant before disaster, he brought the front feet of the stool down with a thump. All while still grinning his fool’s grin.
“So what do you think, Deke?” Jesse asked. “You know I’ll have Manny with me, it practically goes without saying. Is that enough?”
“Might be you could use one more.” He studied is nails. “Kat got back from The Dells while you were out meeting the Lady.”
“No.” Jesse straightened and thumped the bottle onto the counter. “You have to be out of your mind to even suggest it. I’d sooner work with a rattlesnake. It would be safer. Besides, she’ll never agree to it. No way. No how.”
Deke got this certain look on his face. One Jesse had come to know well since he joined the Mercenary’s Guild. A look which meant he’d made up his mind and there would be no swaying it. And in this house, Deke’s word was law. “Kat will agree if I tell her too.”
“With my luck,” Jesse lifted the bottle again, “you’re probably right.”
CHAPTER THREE
Charles stormed into the armory. “I’m going to kill him.”
Simon slid the last sword onto the rack and turned to face him. “Who are we killing?”
“My cousin.” Charles gritted his teeth so hard it made his jaw ache. “He will never get away with this. I won’t allow it. I don’t care what Father says.”
“Get away with what?” Simon frowned. “I can see you’re upset. But you aren’t making much sense. Have you spoken to Ana? Old wattle neck was here earlier talking to the Duke and it had her worried.”
“Yes, I’ve spoken to Ana. She’s the reason I’m going to kill Richard.” Charles paced back and forth, his hands clenching and unclenching with the urge to hit something. To hit someone. He was not normally a violent man, but this was too much to bear without taking some kind of action.
“Okay, you really must calm down and explain yourself,” Simon said. “Because now I’m getting worried.”
“You should be worried. The Chancellor came here to...to tell my father... Ugh, I don’t even want to say it.” He pressed both fists to the sides of his head. “Richard has asked for Anastasia’s hand in marriage.”
“What?” The word slipped through Simon’s lips with a gasp of breath. “The Duke said no, right?” He took one look at Charles’ face and sank onto the nearest bench. “Good God Above. He didn’t say no. But why? Why would he ever agree to such a thing?”
“The Chancellor insinuated Richard made some thinly veiled threats towards Father’s vassals if he refused.” He sighed, lowering his hands. He was angry. So angry. And yet some part of him could not help but understand his father’s position, much as he didn’t want to.
“Father wants to protect his people,” Charles said. “But what about Ana? Who is going to protect her if she’s married to that... that...” He shook his head. “I won’t let this happen. I can’t let this happen.”
“No.” Simon stared thoughtfully at nothing for several seconds, then nodded his head as if coming to some conclusion. “All right, I’m in. How do you suggest we go about assassinating a Crowned Prince?”
Charles could not help but hear the absurdity in the words. “It would be a suicide mission. Even if we could get close enough to kill Richard, we’d never leave the castle alive. I couldn’t ask you to make such a sacrifice.”
“You didn’t ask,” Simon said. “I’m volunteering. Ana is as good as my own sister. I would rather hang than see her forced into marriage to that monster. Besides,” he grinned, “you aren’t exactly the brains in this friendship. You’re going to need my help.”
Charles found himself smiling back, despite the nature of the conversation. “So if you’re the brains, then how do we do this?”
