Author: Jordan Heikkinen
CHAPTER 1: LEEROY
FOUR GOLDEN CROWNS
The castle was quiet. Not even the wind was stirring as the pink of dawn crept above the looming willow trees. The small fire in the hearth was little help in keeping the morning chill at bay, but the green tapestries on either side of the fireplace flickered in the golden light, giving the illusion of warmth. The worn thread was trembling, itching to get out of reach of the flames. A gleam of burning ash burst from the fire, grasping for a man sitting in a chair of velvet as green as pine needles.
Leeroy Faay held back a yawn, his cool blue eyes watering as he wrapped his bed robe tight around him. The Lord of the Southernlands wished to be asleep, not sitting uncomfortably in a hard lord’s chair. But ruling a kingdom meant he frequently had to be up at ungodly hours. Leeroy was but one of four Ruling Lords who governed the Four Kingdoms of Neuterran, and although he had his father’s stern face and sharp jaw—even the same crease between his brows—he did not share King Peter’s love of ruling. A crown would never set easy upon Leeroy’s head of sandy brown hair.
He turned his gaze to the letter in his hand. The rough edges of the parchment scraped against the flat of his palm. Before receiving the letter, Leeroy had been sleeping hard and deep—the kind of sleep that only came along every once in a very long while. That was until his chamberlain, Ernest, had appeared above him in his black bedchamber, shaking his lord awake.
Ernest Medley stood before him now in his green solar with the silk tapestries, smiling with patience for Leeroy to break the letter’s seal. His body quivered under his worn bed robe, and his head bobbed on his short neck as if he were humming a song to himself. Ernest’s face was always calm; the only lines that spoiled his face were those of age. His pale eyes were staring intrigued at the grains of wood running along the table between chamberlain and lord. A frayed bit of rope hung from one of his robe pockets, the end of which was wound around a golden key to Faay Castle.
Leeroy sighed and held up the scroll of parchment, looking it over. His lips formed into a common scowl, but this one was not due to the natural hardness of his face. Near the center of the parchment was a round blob of golden wax, no bigger than the tip of his finger. The markings of four miniature crowns were visible in the hardened pool, and Leeroy could just make out five tiny words pressed into the wax below the crowns—no other will but ours. The motto of the Capital; the motto of the King.
Ernest stepped forward, expectant, the top of his balding head was of height with Leeroy’s chair. Leeroy paused, already well aware of what the chamberlain was going to say.
“I can never figure how they manage to squeeze four crowns onto such a small bit of wax,” said Ernest rather breathlessly. “There’s only one King…no need for such nonsense.” He shook his head.
“Yes, but four kingdoms, Ernest,” Leeroy said.
“The siren on your coat of arms does not wear a crown even though you rule the South. Nor does the fox in the West for Lord James—”
“Nor the lion in the North for Lady Eleana or the serpent in the East for Lord Russle,” Leeroy finished for him. This was an old quarrel of his and Ernest’s, which had grown more frequent with time. “I know the other lords of Neuterran very well, and I know their coat of arms as well as I know my own.”
“Ah—yes! Exactly my point, Leeroy! There is no need for four. One crown for the Capital, I say. Onecrown for the King!” His voice had begun to tremble in a way that seemed in keeping with the rest of his frail body.
“Even if the King agreed with you”—something which Leeroy highly doubted—“he is too ill to consider such a change.” He waved the letter in Ernest’s direction. “I hardly think the coat of arms will change anytime soon. It has stayed the same for almost five hundred years, since the Conquers arrived in Neuterran.”
“The Lady Eleana would agree with me,” Ernest attempted to mutter, although his voice was rather loud from his poor hearing. “She doesn’t care much for the gods. She would prefer the crown on the coat of arms, just as I would.”
Leeroy sincerely hoped he wouldn’t be this batty when he was well into old age. He was in his forty-first birth year and planned to see plenty more years of life with his mind still intact.
“Eleana Rienah has not been to court in years,” Leeroy reminded him. “One needs to be present for such a change, not walled away in a frigid castle in the North. And if she were to agree, you would still need the approval of the three other Ruling Lords before you could even bring this before the King. I’m not sorry to say that you wouldn’t have my signature.”
“Perhaps if I wrote to her—”
“I doubt she would even respond, Ernest. Now, please, I have a letter to read. This talk of crowns and coat of arms can wait. Again.”
“Yes, of course. My fault. I have taken us down a different path than intended.” Ernest bowed; the few wisps of white hair left on top of his head flew upward. “I saw the pigeon fly in myself. I was awake, of course. With my bad back…no sleep.” He wore an easy smile that irritated his lord.
If I were unable to rest during the witching hour, Leeroy thought, I wouldn’t be looking so pleased.
Leeroy took a breath and collected his patience. The chamberlain’s mind ran further and further with every conversation, but Leeroy couldn’t replace him. Chamberlains were supposed to die at their posts before another could be chosen. The man’s entire life was Faay Castle, and he did do what was expected of him—albeit more leisurely. A castle must always have its chamberlain; without one, there would be no one to order the servants about, send off the letters, or council the lords. No one to organize the household.
When Leeroy’s father, Peter, was crowned King, Leeroy had inherited the Southern Kingdom of Neuterran, its servants, and Ernest Medley. By then, Ernest’s age had slowed him down considerably, as if he were shackled by an unseen ball and chain. Even still, his spirit remained quite the same as the day he had first rode under Faay Castle’s golden sandstone walls.
Leeroy glanced at the wax seal again. The letter felt heavy in his hand. It’s just a piece of parchment, hetold himself. Not wanting to give Ernest any more time to his thoughts, Leeroy cracked the golden seal and unrolled the letter. It had been written with a neat hand; no mistakes or dots of ink besmirched the parchment. Yet, the hand was not immediately familiar. This surprised Leeroy. All letters that came out of the Capital by pigeon or rider were composed by the Royal Chamberlain, Jolland.
He began to read.
To Leeroy Faay, Lord of the Southernlands, Prince of Neuterran, and eldest son of King Peter Faay.
My brother,
It is with concern for Father that I write to you. His health has been declining at such a pace that not even the Royal Physician can assist him much longer. He is still refusing any help—not that help makes much of a difference. Each day his cough seems to worsen and he shakes with no control. Father drinks his tea of Valerian to keep him asleep and out of pain, but I fear there will soon come a day when he does not wake. I have chosen our fastest bird in the hope it will give you enough time to ride to the Westernlands and visit the Capital. Perhaps all father needs is his family. I have been praying every day to the gods and goddesses for mercy to see us through this troubling time. I begged the Siren to keep Father with us a little longer. If she does not grant my prayers, I pray Father will find his peace soon. I hope your family finds the Capital most welcoming.
Your brother,
Harland
Harland Faay, Prince of Neuterran, and youngest son of King Peter Faay.
Harland?Was their father so ill that his brother had taken it upon himself to compose a letter? That seemed unlikely, yet could it be true? Harland had never been one for prayer. If he was praying to the gods and goddesses of Neuterran, then their father must truly be suffering.
The last words of the letter flashed through his mind. I hope your family finds the Capital most welcoming…
Leeroy tossed the parchment onto the table, and Ernest gathered it up. “What does the Royal Chamberlain write about this time?” he asked, squinting to try and make out the small writing.
“It’s from my brother,” Leeroy said quietly.
A deep crease formed between Ernest’s wrinkled brows as he read. “Perhaps…the King’s health has shaken him.”
“Perhaps.” Unease was settling heavy upon Leeroy’s shoulders like a cloak. I hope your family finds the Capital most welcoming. He pushed away the selfish thoughts that were pounding through his head.
“That poor boy…all alone up there.” Ernest’s eyes looked teary. “Ever since your mother died, I’ve been concerned for Prince Harland. You have your father’s sullen face and sandy hair, but Harland, he took after your mother. The little Prince was always more of the sensitive type, just like Queen Lenora.”
Leeroy rubbed his stubbly chin, frowning. “Yes, yes…and I have heard the rumors about what goes on behind the Capital’s golden doors and marble pillars. My father cannot even speak to my brother without getting upset, as he looks too much like her. But I, too, have my mother’s eyes. Harland is not completely unlike me in looks or in honor. Although, he is ten years my younger, we share the same values, the same concerns. My brother is strong-minded, as am I. He is unaffected by loneliness.”
Ernest’s cloudy eyes were staring hard into Leeroy’s clear blue ones. “How lucky for him. It is very rare indeed to be so untouched by the feeling of loneliness, especially whilst in the middle of a crowd.” He set the parchment gently back in Leeroy’s hand. “I’m sorry you learned all this through a letter.”
“A messenger would have taken too long.” Leeroy’s father had been ill for many long years. Harland would not have risked riding to the Southernlands if he were on his last few breaths.
King Peter Faay had never been the same since his Queen had died. She had been his pride and joy, his reason for living. And just like his father, Leeroy had married the woman he had fallen in love with on sight.
Sixteen years had passed since Queen Lenora had been put to rest in the Temple of the Gods, and the King barely left his bedchamber. He had lost a considerable amount of weight and had developed a violent cough. The last time Leeroy had seen his father in the flesh six years prior, the King’s entire body had shuddered each time he hacked. He had been frail and gaunt, his white skin as thin as paper, and when he spoke, it had been but a wheeze.
Ernest walked over and laid his hand on Leeroy’s arm. “Soon you will have a great duty to take on, one that will warrant many hard sacrifices.”
Dark spots and mountains of purple veins plagued the chamberlain’s skin, and Leeroy found himself wondering if his father’s hands looked similar. The King was not so old as Ernest, but any man would lose his looks after not seeing the light of day for so long. His sandy hair had grayed years ago, and his fine cheekbones were now sunken pits. With six years gone, Leeroy could only imagine what his father looked like now.
“Everyone has struggles they must battle through in their lives.” Leeroy stood from his lord’s chair; his legs had become stiff. “I must speak with my wife now. She needs to read this.”
Did she, though? Rose would not be particularly calmed by it. Leeroy unconsciously adjusted the golden ring on his left hand. He did not keep secrets from Rose.
“Come back here with Commander Charles in half an hour’s time,” Leeroy instructed. He wanted speak to his commander about which of his men he would take with him to the Capital. The Capital had its own golden knights, but Neuterran’s roads were dangerous in winter. The commoners would do anything for food when scarce.
Ernest nodded, and Leeroy helped him slowly over to the solar door that led out to the corridors beyond. The chamberlain’s breathing was quite harsh from the short walk. He bowed a farewell, and the tufts of white hair on top of his head stood tall again.
With Ernest gone, Leeroy rolled up the parchment and slid it up the sleeve of his bed robe. His wife did not need to see the letter right away. There was no reason to alarm her. He turned around and headed toward the door that led to his bedchamber just as a pale—no, not pale, translucent girl burst through.
Leeroy felt a cold draft of air wash over him as she glided past, glowing faintly. Her right arm was twisted horribly, and there was a large rip in her serving dress. He could see the crackling fire dimly through her body as well as the graceful, dancing lords and ladies on the green tapestries behind her.
The ghost noticed him and said in a high voice, “She’s awake.”
“You didn’t bother her, did you?”
The girl narrowed her eyes. “No. I never reveal myself to her, which is a good thing. I don’t want to frighten her to death.” She swept past him dramatically and vanished into a tapestry, causing the woven fabric to ruffle in her wake as if it had been hit by an icy breeze.
Leeroy had never been particularity keen on ghosts. His heart still thrummed in his chest whenever a one surprised him, or when vacant air took a form. Ghosts had the ability to go about unseen by the living, but there was always a sorrowfulness in the air that revealed their presence. The souls of the dead were trapped in the living world until they could come to terms with their demise and ascend to Paradise…or to the Underground, for those of immoral doings. Some ghosts did not even know they had passed and went about their days per usual, whereas others understood completely but could not accept their deaths. Those souls wandered aimlessly about, bitterly pestering the lives of the living.
Leeroy said a quick, silent prayer to his goddess of the South, the Siren, before going forward. Only with her guidance would Rose be able to see his side, to understand the position he was in.
Inside his bedchamber was a land of green and gray: his Southern colors. Lush tapestries embroidered with the Faay motto—patiently hidden—hung from the walls depicting the lives of the creatures who supposedly lurked in the waters beneath the castle. Sirens sat on large rocks calling out to ships on the sea; below, men drowned, and their bodies were discarded on the bones of other unfortunate souls.
As a boy, Leeroy had been terrified to go anywhere near the swamp waters upon which Faay Castle was built. He had not wanted to be lured by a beautiful fish-woman to the water’s edge. Sirens were said to despise men, taking pleasure in pulling the unlucky under the green water to drown. It was one of the worst ways to go in Leeroy’s opinion, but no matter: sirens were but a tale from a child’s storybook. Although, according to his daughter, Ilee, Leeroy was not allowed to express such views out loud for fear that he might offend a siren or two.
Dim light poured through the glass door on the back wall of the bedchamber, which opened out onto a private garden beneath an abundance of gray clouds. A pretty woman was sitting on the large bed, propped up against gray pillows and surrounded by green bed hangings. She hugged her knees to her shift-covered chest, obscuring her growing belly. Her face was turned away from her husband as she gazed out the glass door. She watched the dull sun peak through the distant cypress trees and willows. The faint golden light of the sunrise streaked her red hair as the sun crawled skyward.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Rose kept her wide eyes on the sky as she spoke. “You’re just in time. Come sit.” She patted the blankets near her feet.
Leeroy obeyed, careful not to crush her toes. He followed her gaze and looked out upon the garden. White magnolias and water lilies, yellow horned bladderwort, purple pickerelweed, and pale pink swamp mallows sparkled with morning dew. The partially obscured sun glinted off the green hedges as it slipped into the sky. Leeroy could see it reflected in the dark water out past the garden, in sync with its position in the gloomy sky.
Rose stared with an almost melancholic look on her face. Her gray eyes were shiny, lost in a place Leeroy could not follow, but he waited with her patiently. It was easy to forget the troubles of life whilst watching a sunrise.
When the sun had fully brightened Faay Castle’s golden sandstone walls, Rose glanced around the bedchamber as if just realizing her husband was there with her. She turned to him with a disappointed look.
“I woke and you were gone. I felt the chilliest of air.”
He ignored her chill complaint. “You know I don’t like to wake you, and you don’t like to be woken.” He knew better then to tell her one of the castle ghosts had been visiting her. Rose was easily frightened, and the souls of the dead did not help her fear in the slightest.
A smile danced at the corner of her pink lips but quickly slid away. Her gray eyes, full of concern for the uncertain, were paled by the drab sunlight. “What matters did Ernest have with you? Has something happened?”
Leeroy tried to sound confident. “There is no need for you to fret, love—” But he immediately regretted his choice of words as her eyes widened, the muscle in her jaw tightening.
“What do you mean by that?” Rose asked, panic beginning to flood her eyes. “Lee?”
Leeroy swallowed, trying to gather his words. There was no right way to say it, but he also could not delay it any longer. He could not lie to Rose.
“A pigeon arrived early this morning.” He spoke abruptly, rushing his words. “Ernest retrieved me when he saw the Capital’s seal.”
Rose stilled. “The Capital? How fares your father?”
Leeroy slid the small scroll of parchment out of his sleeve. “Have a read, love. Harland sent it.”
Rose took the letter out of his hand. “Harland?” Her eyes skimmed quickly downward. When they found the bottom, she looked up at Leeroy, tearful.
“I’m so sorry, love. Oh, I am so sorry.” She wrapped her arms tight around him.
“He is not dead, Rose,” Leeroy whispered into her flaming hair, which smelled of the flowers bedded in the garden by the water’s edge. He inhaled the familiar scent, wishing for her to never let go.
“This comes out of nowhere.” Rose pulled away, setting aside the letter and clasped her hands together with agitation. “Why did he not write earlier?” Leeroy knew Rose to be cautious—even suspicious—by nature. A childhood in the Easternlands would do that to anyone.
He frowned. “I’m sure Harland was hopeful that my father would become well again.”
Or as well as he could be, Leeroy thought.
“Perhaps he only ate some tainted meat or drank some bad wine?” Rose pondered. “It takes time to recover from such things.”
Leeroy could hear her unspoken hope. “Perhaps he only ate some tainted meat or drank some bad wine?” Perhaps Leeroy will not have to ride to the Capital.
“It is possible that this is something innocent. But before we can ask further questions”—Leeroy took a deep breath—“I must first ride to the Capital.”
“Yes…the Capital.” Rose looked away. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, and her face was whiter than usual. A sheen of worry marked her brow.
His wife preferred to keep to her comforts—namely, Faay Castle. She spent great stretches of time sequestered in their bedchamber, busying herself with books, needlework, and long walks in the garden, even if it meant keeping away from their daughters for hours at a time. But she always made sure she knew where her husband was. If Leeroy had to ride to one of his Southern towns, he first had to reassure Rose that he would return, that he wouldn’t leave her alone in the world, that she had the girls and her handmaidens to keep her company while he was away.
“I—” He sighed, knowing this would not be easy. “I think it’s best if I leave come dawn on the morrow. I’ll be back as soon as I can, Rose.”
She turned back toward him. “Will you?” There was an unsettling sadness shifting behind her eyes, not unlike a storm converging on the sea.
“My father is ill, yet he still lives,” Leeroy continued.“There is no need for you to be afraid. You won’t be alone.” He had repeated these words countless times before. Leeroy had never been sure why she despised separation from him. Everyone was lonely at times. It was human nature. “You’ll have the children when I’m gone. Ernest will, of course, take care of the castle in my absence.”
“I always stay behind when you leave,” Rose said, tears appearing in the corners of her eyes. “Whether you are gathering with your green knights or speaking with a Southern mayor. I couldn’t even ride to the Capital six years ago for Ilee’s tenth year celebration. It was such a disgrace.”
Leeroy found himself wanting to say something—anything—reassuring. But no words came to keep her from thinking back to her father or her fear of memories long ago.
“But this is a different matter,” Rose continued, holding out a hand to stop him from trying to interrupt. “Your father could be on his last breaths, and I should be by your side.” She hesitated, making a decision that seemed to cost her a great deal. “No. I will be.”
Leeroy was so taken aback, he wasn’t even sure how to respond. The first day he laid eyes upon Rose at her father’s castle in the East, she had reminded Leeroy of a lost bird. She flitted from one place to the next, looking around nervously as if a falcon were about to swoop down upon her. Leeroy hadn’t been in the slightest bit bothered by her apprehensive nature. It had been love—his first true love, like something out of Ilee’s storybooks.
“You don’t have to ride with me, Rose. I will be fine riding with my men. I know how you prefer to be at home. And—” Leeroy was about to say, and I don’t know if I want you traveling with a baby in your belly, but he thought better of it.
“Don’t make me change my mind on this, Lee.” Rose looked perturbed yet determined. “This is hard enough for me as it is. I should be able to ride with you as is expected of a dutiful wife and a Lady of the Southernlands. It’s just my nerves that keep me from things…” Her voice quieted.
“Orvill will ask you to stay behind for your health,” Leeroy pointed out.
“He may. But Faay Castle’s physician does not control what I do.” Rose bit her lip. “Anyhow, the Royal Physician resides at the Capital, so I should be well cared for. He may not know me like Orvill does, but I’m sure we will get along. I can have Orvill draw up a list of my necessities.”
But there was only one real necessity. Rose’s head frequently clouded with fears of seemingly impossible situations. Each morning, Physician Orvill concocted her a mild cup of tea of Valerian. Such a small amount would not pull Rose into a painless sleep, as the drink was known to do in heavy quantities, but it would help keep her restless mind at ease throughout the day. Leeroy had spent plenty of golden coins on Valerian root, which was costly to import across the Longtall Sea from Agaeth. But he was not the only Faay to come in close proximity to the alluring tea; it was one of King Peter’s vices, just as it was now his wife’s.
“Well then,” said Leeroy. “I shall say no more on the matter. We will be back home soon, I promise.” Although that was only if his father were to get well again. But Leeroy did not voice the thought aloud.
“I do hope so.” Rose glanced down at her belly. “I have no wish to begin my confinement at the Capital.”
Leeroy could see the thoughts racing through her mind as she wiped at her tears. She was seven years younger than he, in her thirty-fourth birth year, and was concerned that she was too old to bear a third child.
“You have plenty of moons to go before the birth,” he assured her. “And the girls will enjoy a visit to the Capital.” He took her hands in his. They felt cold.
“The girls?” She withdrew her hands from Leeroy’s. “Nula maybe, but Ilee rides for the Easternlands in a week’s time. Have you forgotten?”
To his shame, Leeroy had forgotten about his eldest daughter’s travels. It was all Ilee had spoken of for the past few moons, but it had slipped from his mind with the breaking of the letter’s seal.
“I did forget,” Leeroy admitted. “But it is no matter.”
“No matter? Whatever do you mean, Lee? She cannot go now.”
“Why not?”
“How can she spend the winter with my father when you have just received this letter? How are we to tell her about the King?”
“There is no need to overthink this, Rose,” said Leeroy, in as calm a voice as he could manage. “Family is important. I would prefer her to go to Vaine Castle and enjoy the company of her cousins. She is a sensitive girl, and she would be so upset if she missed out on the End of the Year feasts. She’s only in her sixteenth birth year, Rose; we should allow her this moment of childhood. Before long, she will marry and leave us.” Leeroy hesitated, as Rose was frowning. He could see her gray eyes thinking of an argument against his words.
“I could not bear to see her wallow in a misery of my causing,” he continued. “The Capital would likely be a dull affair for her, and I’m not so sure I would want Ilee to see her grandfather in such a state. Burial ceremonies are not a place for children.” Leeroy still had the image of his mother lying in the Temple of the Gods in his mind as though he were looking upon a painting.
“Burial ceremonies? So you think he will die, then?” The panic was back. Rose gripped him, pulling him toward her. Her nails dug down through the fabric of his bed robe and into his arm, making him wince. Leeroy gently tugged her fingers from him.
“I don’t know, Rose. That is for the gods and goddesses to decide. I cannot see what is to come, for I am not a seer.” If there were one thing Leeroy knew about Rose, it was that doubt was best met with positivity. “I’m hopeful that Harland is right, and my father only needs to see his family to become stronger.”
In truth, he wasn’t sure he believed Harland at all. Leeroy wondered if at this particular moment, his father was readying himself to embrace death. But for the sake of peace, he pulled himself together and forced the words his wife wished to hear out of his mouth.
“If there is to be a coronation, I will make sure a letter is sent East, so Ilee knows she must ride to the Capital. I am certain that your father, the Lord of the Easternlands, would ride with his granddaughter to the Capital for such a ceremony.”
Rose was breathing heavily. Her lips were trembling, her voice only a whisper. “I don’t want to be Queen, Lee.”
“I know.” Leeroy empathized with this most of all. As King Peter’s eldest son and heir to the crown, Leeroy wanted to rule Neuterran as much as Rose did. Which is to say: not at all. He didn’t even allow the servants of Faay Castle to use his title of “Prince.” He desired that he and Rose be referred to as the lord and lady of Faay Castle.
They sat in silence, Leeroy waiting for Rose to say something. The clouds had moved to completely shroud the sun, as if the Siren herself were equally unhappy with the situation.
“Nula will wake soon and ask for me,” said Rose quietly after a moment.
“And I must speak with Commander Charles.” Leeroy had almost forgotten he would be needed. He stood awkwardly—his legs had gone stiff again—and took her hand gently down from where it was rubbing her forehead.
“All will be well, love. Our path may seem unpredictable now, but I believe most problems fix themselves on their own. Perhaps you will come to love the Capital. You have only been there once before. There is no need to worry about what is to come if we can’t control it.”
She nodded. He kissed her head and picked up the letter.
“You tire easily now that you are with child. Try and get some more sleep. We have a long day ahead of us.”
Rose lay back against the pillows. “I tire easily every day, Lee. Today will be no different.”
A soft knock at the door made Rose shoot back up. “Sella is that you? Do come in.”
A woman entered bearing a silver serving tray. Her skin was a deep brown, and her black hair was shaved close to her head. Like all the other handmaidens of Faay Castle, she wore a light garment of green and gray.
“My Lord Leeroy.” Sella curtsied. “I have your tea, dear lady.” She nodded toward the tray in her hands. “I’m afraid the sweet bread has not yet risen. I’ll bring you a loaf in a few hours.”
“Set the tray on the table, will you? I’ll take my tea in bed.”
“There were some oranges left over from the pies,” Sella said in her slight Formegan accent, handing Rose her tea. “It could be some time before we get another cart from South Keep.” Sella put the tray down and uncovered the oranges, which had been sliced and spread out in a circle on a porcelain plate.
“Don’t stray too far. I will want to get dressed soon.” Rose glanced at Leeroy. “And I will be needing the trunks brought out to me.”
Sella’s brown eyes widened slightly. But all she said was, “Yes, my Lady Rose,” as if it had not been six full years since Rose’s trunks had last been used. She bowed again and left the bedchamber with a smile. Leeroy appreciated that she did not ask questions. But then again, Sella had always been understanding, especially with Rose.
Rose took a sip of her tea and made a face. “Ugh! I wish Valerian root smelled as nice as it tastes.”
Leeroy, who had stopped breathing out of his nose the moment the tea entered their bedchamber, grimaced. Valerian root had an odor that reminded him of the dead.
“The oranges smell wonderful, do they not? She stared with sorrow at the fruit and finally picked up a slice, sniffing it. “Would you like one?”
“Yes, thank you.” Leeroy hadn’t realized how hungry he was. His stomach was aching at the mere sight of the oranges. He popped a whole one into his mouth; it burst with sweet citrus juice as he bit down.
“Just as good as they were in the pies,” he said.
Rose was nibbling on her slice like a mouse.
“I think I will write to Lord James and tell him of my father,” said Leeroy a bit abruptly—the idea had just come to mind.
Rose glanced up from her orange with a sour look of contempt. “Lord James Fosserd? Ruler of the Westernlands?” She considered that possibility for a moment. “I suppose it’s not a horrible idea.”
“He is my father’s friend and a trusted advisor. He should be of good counsel to me.”
“Good counsel?” she snapped.“Are you unsure of yourself?”
I am but a man and do not have all the answers, he thought. But he could not say so.
“It’s never a poor choice to seek more than one opinion on a matter. I’m sure the courtiers will all offer me wise advice when the time comes…”
Rose nodded dismissively, laying back down again against the pillows. His wife had never liked the Fosserds much, particularly Lord James’ youngest daughter, Grace. But Leeroy understood her reasons. He had been betrothed to little Grace seventeen years prior. That was until, during a ride in the Easternlands, he had come upon Rose at Vaine Castle, and his plans had changed. Rose had been about to marry a childhood friend, Thaddeus Garin, at the time, but her father, Lord Russle Vaine, had been more than happy to break off the betrothal for the son of the King.
Those days were a time of the past. But Rose’s frustrations had lingered, and Leeroy knew it was of no use to quarrel with her about it. He slipped out of his bed robe and walked over to the robing chamber.
“Your gray tunic is washed,” Rose called from the bed. “One of the ladies brought it back yesterday.”
Leeroy found the cotton tunic she spoke of and pulled it over his head. Small sirens were sewn along the sleeves, and across the collar the Faay motto—patiently hidden—readlike a warning. When Leeroy came back out, he watched as Rose tossed the gnawed orange slice into her mouth. Her cheeks grew in size as she chewed, making her small face look pleasantly plump.
Leeroy grunted, trying not to laugh as he laced his trousers. “You look like a chipmunk,” he said, pulling on a pair of old leather boots.
She ignored him, glancing at his waist. “Don’t you want your sword?”
“Rosebud? No, I’ll be back for her later. Do try to sleep now.” Leeroy grabbed a handful of orange slices before kissing her.
“I can try,” she said. “But you know I will not, Lee.”
__________
Back in his solar, Ernest stood next to an impressive man with rigid posture and a scowl that reached his eyes. Commander Charles Mercier was dressed in his emerald armor, gray hair slicked back, standing so stiffly he could have been sculpted from stone. One hand stood ready on the pommel of his sword, as if the Commander of Leeroy’s guard held no trust in old Ernest.
Leeroy threw an orange slice into his mouth before sitting back down in his green lord’s chair. He was not sure how to begin the conversation.
“My Lord Leeroy.” Commander Charles immediately began. His voice was hard, though not unkind. “I understand there has been a letter from the Capital.”
“Indeed there has.” Leeroy produced the letter for Commander Charles and felt something brush against his lower leg as he did so. Glancing down beneath the table, he spotted a gray tabby cat, her yellow eyes squinting in suspicion at the sight of the commander’s boots. Ilee must be awake, Leeroy mused. His daughter’s cat only prowled the shadows of Faay Castle when she was awake and not in dire need of protection from some unforeseen force that came with the night.
“Call upon the Knights of the South, Commander, and choose four of your finest to accompany me. I will be leaving the castle to visit my father.”
Commander Charles glanced up from the letter, peering at Leeroy with steely blue eyes. “Only four?”
“Four is Neuterran’s favorite number, is it not? Four gods and goddess and four Ruling Lords.” Leeroy softened. “But yes, only four guardsmen for now. I want to draw as little attention to myself possible.” He supposed the rest of his men would travel to meet him after the burial ceremony, should one take place. Although the Capital would have no need of Southern knights with its own golden men defending the city. He supposed his men would be required to stay in the South under their new lord, Harland.
“As soon as your party steps foot on the cobbled roads to the Capital, my Lord Leeroy, you will attract nothing but attention,” Commander Charles grunted.
It was rather difficult for Leeroy to determine the meaning behind his commander’s expression, since the permanent frown lines around his mouth made him appear continually angry. But Charles nodded at his lord.
“Bring me ink and parchment, Ernest,” said Leeroy. “I have a letter to write.”
Once more, Harland’s words flashed through his mind. I hope your family finds the Capital most welcoming.