Queen (Brotherhood of the Throne) (12 page)

“I think this one will
work as well,” she said loudly, trying to make sure the smith heard her over
the noise of the forge. “I definitely felt something when the sword touched the
oil.” Absently she rubbed the bandage that covered the small cut in her hand.
She’d put an extra drop of blood into the oil this time, thinking the sword
needed more than a knife. Now she was worried that she’d added too much.

“And you said this is Gaskain’s
sword, not Dasid’s?” Brenna wasn’t sure she wanted the more powerful connection
to Dasid that his new knife
and
a new sword would give her.

“That’s right. Dasid’s is
with some others waiting to be sharpened some.” Innis gestured to a corner.

Brenna could just make out
half a dozen sword blades hanging straight down from the ceiling, thick tongs
clamped onto their unfinished tangs.

Innis gripped the blade
with solid iron tongs and submerged it completely into the quenching tank. Brenna
shivered and her blood raced again. After a few moments she relaxed as the
blood connection between her and the tank steadied.

“I think it’s cooled
enough,” she said. Innis sent her a puzzled look. “At least, the sword and the
tank seem to have accepted each other.”

“Well, that’s a good
sign.” Innis nodded and eyed the tank. “But taking it out too early will ruin
the blade the same as leaving it in too long. Just a little more time, I
think.”

A few moments later some
sign or other seemed to satisfy Innis and he carefully pulled the blade from
the tank. As he pulled it up, the oil slid down the length of it and dripped back
into the tank. Peering close, Innis grunted, then nodded to himself. He reached
for a soft cloth and wiped the blade clean of oil.

“That looks about right,”
he muttered. He turned his back to Brenna and walked away, the blade clutched between
his tongs and resting on the cloth.

“You think this one
worked?” This was only the third attempt but Brenna was anxious to have it succeed.
That lack of patience again, she thought.

“We’ll know for sure in
the morning.” Innis carefully laid the blade on top of a wooden table. He ran
the cloth across it one last time before turning to her. “Come back then,
Brenna, and we’ll see. I’ll have Gaskain come as well. He can handle the blade
and we’ll see if it’s right before I do the rest of the work.”

Brenna nodded, eager to
leave now that the important work was done. As she headed out the door she
caught sight of a familiar head of hair hiding behind a crate in the corner.
Brenna slowed and kept her head turned away until she reached it.

“I got you this time,” she
said as she grabbed the small body and pulled it, wriggling, against her.

“Only ‘cause I let you see
me,” Ronan said. He slipped out of her arms and danced away from her. “If I
didn’t want you to see me you wouldn’t have.”

“You wanted me to catch
you, is that it?” Brenna crossed her arms until the boy settled down in front
of her. “And why is that?”

“I thought maybe you had a
sweet you wanted to share.”

Brenna laughed at the hopeful
look on the boy’s face. Even though he was likely far better fed now than he’d
ever been in his short life, he was always looking for more to eat.

“Let me see,” she said as
she checked her pockets and patted down her vest. “I thought I had one of
Cook’s jam tarts here somewhere.” Brenna opened her pack and looked in. “No,
sorry, I must have given that to another little boy.” She glanced at Ronan.
“One who didn’t follow me around and spy on me.”

“I wasn’t spying, I
wasn’t, honest,” Ronan said, his gray eyes wide with worry. “Please, don’t tell
my ma.”

“So you just happened to
be outside the forge when I was inside?”

“Well, sorta. I mean, I
was outside the forge, but that’s ‘cause they’s making old steel in there,”
Ronan said. “And they’s using blood for it. I seen it.”

Startled, Brenna asked, “When
did you see that?”

“Dasid brought me down
before he went away with Kane. He told me to sit quiet like in the corner while
he and the old man with the apron talked. And then.” Ronan’s eyes widened even
more. “Dasid took his knife and cut his hand and some blood dripped down into a
bowl the other man was holding. And Dasid, he didn’t act like it hurt or
nothing.”

Brenna had to smile at the
awe in Ronan’s voice. She wasn’t sure how much he understood about Dasid and
Neemah’s burgeoning relationship but the boy was obviously captivated with
Dasid. In turn Dasid had let Ronan trail after him.

“Well Ronan.” Brenna
crouched down until she looked him in the eyes. “Did Dasid tell you that what
he was doing was a secret?”

Ronan nodded solemnly.
“But I figured you was fine to tell seeing as you’re the queen and all.” He
looked at her hand. “And you cut your hand into the bowl too.”

Brenna sighed and ruffled
his hair. “All right.” She took hold of his small hand and started off. “Let’s
go see if we can find something for you to eat. Where’s your mother?”

“She’s over t’ the church
with Mother Lyran and the rest of the healers. They was mixing up something
that smelled really bad so I left.”

As they walked, Ronan
gleefully described the terrible smell at the healing school, his more
inventive comparisons making Brenna laugh out loud. Once back at Duke Ewart’s
house, Cook found a roll covered in honey and almonds for Ronan.

Brenna left the boy to eat
his prize and wandered around the house. Ewart had traveled back to his estate
in the country to be with his wife and new daughter and Dasid and Kane were on
their way to the ferry crossing. She idly fingered her knife, sensing that Kane
was safe and well. It was only late afternoon and Brenna knew that Neemah and
the healers and Gaskain would not be back at the house before dark. Until then,
she had some time to fill. She smiled. Kane would tell her to be patient but she
wasn’t used to being idle. Perhaps she should head over to the church and see what
the healers were concocting. Brenna was halfway to the door when she sighed and
stopped.

She hated the way the
women behaved around her. They were nice, too nice, really. They stopped what
they were doing and made tea and showed her all the improvements they’d made
since her last visit, as though she was inspecting them. Even Neemah, who treated
her normally at the house, was different when she was with the other healers.
When she’d complained to Kane he’d smiled sadly and told her it was something
she’d have to get used to. She
was
their queen and they wouldn’t forget
that even if Brenna ordered them to.

With another sigh, Brenna
went back up to her room. She grabbed a book from the small table - a history
that Duke Ewart had given her that chronicled some of the earliest Dukes of
Fallad. She settled onto the bed to read, trying to keep her mind from
wandering. She’d like to tease Ewart about his boring ancestors, she thought,
except that they were her ancestors too. Brenna kept her eyes on the dry prose,
stifling a yawn now and then.

She looked up suddenly,
surprised to see the vaguely familiar buildings sprinkled with snow already.
The square was the same - a ring of posts with animal sheds surrounding them on
three sides. The few times she seen the square it had never been this busy. There
were oxen and wagons everywhere - and men and women. Men who wore solemn, angry
expressions and women who sobbed into thin shawls. As Brenna watched, a large
man, obviously in charge, walked down the line of people. Every now and then
he’d point at one of the men - those men were unshackled and herded to the
middle of the square. Some of the women, the younger, prettier ones, Brenna noted
angrily, were also separated from the line. The rest, fear on their faces, were
put back in lines behind the wagons. Drovers took control of the oxen and led them
and the wagons from the square. The line of chained men and women stumbled
after them.

As the wagons pulled away
one pretty young woman who’d been left in the square ran after them. Brenna
watched in horror as the canvas covering on one of the wagons slipped back to
reveal the tear-streaked face of a girl, no more than four or five. Other small
hands quickly pulled the child back in but not before she saw her mother pushed
to the ground by one of the handlers.

Brenna’s stomach knotted
as the crowd parted and two well-dressed men arrived. Her fury rose as she
recognized one of the men. Geordie, his name was, a councilman in the mining
town of Blackwall. Brenna’s anger turned to ice as, smiling, Geordie eyed the
woman who lay sobbing in the dirt, nodded to the man in charge, and walked off.
One of the handlers picked the woman up and dragged her with him as they
followed Geordie.

She should have killed
them, Brenna thought, when she’d poisoned the councilmen’s food she should have
made sure they never recovered. Her fingers trembled with anger as they
clutched the book. She stared blankly at the page in front of her, still seeing
the scene in Blackwall. Brenna’s fingers felt icy, as though she’d spent time
out in the cold and snow. She slowly uncurled them and let the book close and
drop to her chest.

It had seemed so real this
time. She rubbed her still chilled hands together. And she’d never had the
effects of a vision linger so long after it was over. She shivered and grabbed
the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her trembling body. Was this a Seeing
of the future or had she witnessed something as it was happening?  Brenna rose
and peered out the window. It was early afternoon, just like in her vision. She’d
contact her grandfather and get Laurel’s opinion. But whether it had happened
already or was going to happen, she had to do something about it. This was
where the captives from Thieves Quarter were being sent. She
would
stop
it.

Brenna reached for her
knife and closed her eyes. Quickly she located Yowan’s sword, south, in Aruntun.
She startled him, but he promised to find Laurel as soon as possible. Brenna
paced her room, impatient to know if her vision had already happened. She
wanted to help those people now! Kane would tell her to be patient. It would
take Yowan some time to find Laurel and he would probably talk to Madelay first
anyway. At the thought of her grandmother Brenna relaxed a little. Madelay knew
much about patience - she’d spent most of her life calmly hoping that events
she’d put into motion would prove successful. And she’d never thought to know
if her sacrifice was worth it.

Straightening her shirt
and vest, Brenna headed downstairs. Either Neemah or Gaskain might have come
back to the house and she could at least distract herself with any updates they
might have on their tasks.

It was late and Brenna was
sitting in her room trying to read when Yowan contacted her again.

“
Brenna, Laurel and
Madelay are both here
,” Yowan said.

“
Thank you Yowan. Tell
them hello and that I love them both
.” Brenna felt calmer knowing that her
grandmother and her cousin were ready to give advice. “
Does Laurel think it’s possible that I witnessed a Seeing as it was happening
?”

“
She’s never experienced
it herself, nor could she find more than one vague reference to one of
Aruntun’s visions in any of the records. She was able to speak to the oldest
living Seer and she’d never heard of any visions of events as they actually happened
.”

“
Could all my visions
change? I don’t want to See events that I can’t stop.
” The visions were
hard enough to interpret but to not have a chance of changing things, of
preventing them? She’d rather not See events in the first place. Brenna waited
while Yowan talked to Laurel.

“
She’s just not sure,
Brenna. I’m sorry.
”

Sighing, Brenna said
goodbye and blew out the lamp. She sat for some time in her darkened room,
seeing the woman’s face as her daughter was led away from her, seeing the
child’s tears fall as she looked at her mother for what may be the last time. Eventually
Brenna removed her clothes and slipped into bed. She missed Kane tonight,
terribly. She wanted his arms around her and for him to tell her everything
would be all right. But she knew deep down that it wouldn’t. Not unless she did
something about it herself. Finally, as the sky lightened to dawn, Brenna fell
into an exhausted sleep.

Duke Thorold watched in
satisfaction as Beldyn,
King
Beldyn, signed the papers. His son had been
very co-operative since his coronation, though he’d been told that the boy was
still disappearing every few nights. Thorold grunted. He didn’t care how his
son spent his nights as long as he did his duty during the day. He peered more
closely at Beldyn’s face and smiled slightly at the smudges under his eyes. The
wenching did seem to be taking a toll on the boy’s looks but the only one who
might care in the least was King Mannel’s daughter Evlan. And since her opinion
on anything made no difference to Thorold, he’d let the boy play.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,”
Thorold said as Beldyn finished signing the other two copies. “I’ll take
these to the clerk immediately.” Thorold held out his hand and smiled when
Beldyn obediently placed the three sheets into it. The tasks these papers
approved were well under way already of course, but it was necessary to have
the signed paperwork documenting the orders. Not that anyone dared to question
his authority, Thorold thought as he left his son’s study. He’d been careful
enough to make sure that he, and not Beldyn, was the one with the political
allies and the real authority of the crown. And it was just as well he’d kept
the boy in Comack, considering his hobbies. He must have Fridrick check into
the existence of any of Beldyn’s bastard children in Dryannan. As he had reason
to know, bastards could cause unforeseen problems.