Blade of Glass: Chapter 46

Queensfane Village lay at the core of Ravenswall’s crescent design. Geneve kept her eyes open and her mouth shut as they entered the city. They needed to pass three more walls to get to the hub of the city. Almost fifty thousand souls called this place home, and many would sell out a fallen Knight for a single silver regal.

Her helmet drew the odd passing eye, but not so much as Armitage’s bear, Beck. People looked on in awe or scurried away in fear as their personal stock of courage allowed. Children followed in their wake, wide-eyed at first, then with laughter. Geneve felt her shoulder blades tense until it felt like they’d meet in the middle. 

“Relax,” Meriwether suggested from where he strode by Tristan’s neck. His shiny boots walked the cobbles easy enough; she’d never have guessed they were fake.

“I don’t—”

“Because nothing draws the suspicious eye like a suspicious person.” He winked. “You belong here. Your city, your mission. Trouble will come soon enough without looking for it.”

He’s right. If the Three meant to cast her down here in Ravenswall, then she’d fall. But their mission was to help the Tresward, weed out corruption at the highest level, and return things to the way they should be. If they failed… Life without Meri. She bit her lip, thankful her helmet kept eyes off her face. He’s nothing to me. Just a vagrant conning the world. A sinner, stealing truth from the Three.

The words sounded so good she almost believed them and hated herself for it. A different, quieter voice spoke at the back of her mind. He’s been a good and loyal friend. Meri’s agreed to help the Feybrind no matter the cost to him. He held me in a desert while the dead hungered and hasn’t even asked for thanks.

Those words rang of truth, but her heart felt sick to hear them. A Knight could never be anything to a sinner. Not friend, or … something more.

“This will do nicely.” Meriwether broke her train of thought, and she looked up, startled. They’d arrived at the front of a massive inn. It had the look of luxury: drapes were visible through clear glass windows. Lazy smoke curled from three chimneys. The main door was polished oak. A sign inlaid with copper proclaimed it the Half-full Chalice. A wide area welcomed their horses in, with clean stablehands ready for their reigns.

Ready, at least, until they saw the bear. Armitage slung himself off Beck’s back, shooing a lad away. “I’ll tend him.”

“What does he eat?” the boy asked.

“Small children,” Armitage rumbled. He crouched before the terrified stablehand. “You’re too big, though. How about a ham hock?” The boy nodded like his head would pop off, then ran off. Armitage hustled Beck into a stall, ignoring the bear’s grumbling. “Be quiet. I’ll be just inside.”

Geneve wondered how she’d never known Vhemin to be caring. This one is different. Special, like your sinner. She cringed. Like Meri. And like Sight of Day. They don’t command the Storm or Sway, but they sit in your heart anyway.

Meriwether was waiting by the door. “Coming, Knight Adept?”

She nodded, following on his heels. Sight of Day and Armitage brought up the rear. The inn’s common room was a confusion of bright light and loud noise, a contrast to the lonely quiet of the desert lands. For a moment, she missed the sand, its desolation, and its peace.

Meri leaned against the bar, a golden sovereign spinning between his finger and the bartop. The innkeeper watched the coin as if hypnotized. Geneve took off her helmet, shook out her hair, and joined his side. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem,” Meri assured her. “Keller was telling me about the menu, and I don’t think I can decide.” The coin continued to spin between his nimble fingers. “What’s best?”

The innkeeper—Keller—looked between the coin, Geneve, and Meri. “Aye, uh. That is, I mean. There’s boiled mutton and soft cheese. We’ve had a load of pickled oxen come this morning, and fresh leeks from the docks. My lad’s got a brace of pheasant, and we’ve done those with pear. The lamb stew is excellent, but I’m also partial to the eggs and chestnut bread.” The coin continued its travels. “We, uh, also stock a fine selection of regional wines.”

“None of that Tebrani nonsense?” Meri leaned close to Keller, as if conspiring. “I can’t stand their reds.”

“Of course not, master du Reeves.”

Meri beamed. “Call me Meri.” He cast a glance at Geneve. “All my best friends do.”

All his best friends. Geneve tried to find something that wouldn’t make her sound like a hick from the outlands. “I like the sound of pheasant.”

“So do I, but a bird’s not going to go very far,” Armitage rumbled. He’d snuck up quietly for a big man, but of course his armor wasn’t real. It didn’t creak like it should.

{We’ve not had lamb on the road. I like lamb. Things that stupid shouldn’t taste so good.} Sight of Day’s golden eyes held mischief.

“Begging your pardon, but I don’t understand the People’s handspeak.” Keller bobbed his head, as if he’d offended Queen Morgan herself. “Lamb and pheasant, and..?”

He left the question hanging. Meri scooped up the coin in a fist, and when he opened his palm, the gold nestled beside a silver regal. “Why not send up one of everything. We’ll need the top floor, of course.”

“Of course,” Keller agreed, eyes fixed on the coins. When Meri put them on the bar, the innkeeper made them vanish as if by magic.

Meri headed through the crowd. Geneve spied a woman sharing a plate of meat with a shorter man, both intent on a conversation about something terribly important. A man leaned by the common room’s hearth, looking down his nose at Geneve as if her Adept sash were beneath him. She felt her fingers clench.

“Easy,” Meri said, and she realized he’d materialized by her side. “That’s Jorni. Perog,” he pointed with his chin at a serving boy, “said he’s a real jerk, but a wizard at the forge. Don’t hit him, because he’ll have powerful friends, and we don’t. Not until we meet the queen.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“You were about to punch him in the teeth,” Armitage said. “If you didn’t, I was. He makes my skin itch.”

{Could be the sand.}

The stairs welcomed them. Two short flights and they were on the top floor. Meriwether turned a key in the lock, and with a click, they were in paradise. Private rooms lay off a central area with its own fireplace. Geneve spied two rooms with what looked like baths. Long couches waited, and low tables held a selection of candied fruits and nuts. “Is this … heaven?”

“It’s a middle of the road tavern in a nice neighborhood.” Meriwether helped himself to a fig. “Upper Whitestone Avenue, I think the sign said. Nice place to live if you can afford it.”

“It is,” she breathed. “I’m going to have a bath.”

“We could eat—”

“After a bath.” Geneve slung Requiem from her hip, dropping Tribunal beside it. She shed armor all the way to the baths. Hot water, soap, and heaven awaited.

* * *

Sleep was deep. Breakfast was delicious. Eggs and salted pork, thick crusty bread, and cheese. The four ate like it was their last meal. Meri smelled like roses after his bath, and Armitage smelled less like sand, which was a step in the right direction. Sight of Day still smelled like cinnamon, despite not having taken a bath.

“How do we get to the queen?” Geneve spoke around a mouthful stacked with eggs, bread, and pork.

{I think she asked how we get to the queen,} said Sight of Day. {She’s got so much in her mouth it’s difficult to tell. Perhaps it was a cry for help.}

“We call a carriage.” Meri slathered too much bread with far too much butter. “We don’t send a messenger. We just turn up. It’s what all the royal assholes do.”

{He’s right.}

“I’ll stay here,” Armitage offered. “Look after things.”

“Bad idea.” Meri shook his head. “If we get too far away, your glamor will fade, and then people will ask questions about how a Vhemin ate an entire Knight.”

“I don’t think I could do a whole Knight in a sitting,” Armitage mused. “You’re right, though. Encourages the wrong line of inquiry.”

* * *

She watched their trip through Ravenswall through carriage windows. It took them down toward the port district, then into the walled enclosure that was Queensfane Village. The Village hugged the water, taking up half the innermost area of Ravenswall.

The other half was—or so claimed their carriage driver—given over to artisans on the queen’s whim. He seemed surprised by this, as if giving over the best real estate in the city to a bunch of penniless musicians was craziness.

The castle was what she’d expected. Twin crenelated spires reached for the Three’s benediction. Gardens surrounded the keep, tended in what was no doubt a pleasing style. Geneve didn’t have time to garden. She knew what grass to feed a horse looked like, and that knowledge served her well.

A man in a rich red robe met them at the main entrance. There were guards everywhere. The queen’s man eyed Sight of Day, Armitage, then Geneve. “No weapons inside the queen’s presence.”

“We’re not armed,” beamed Meri. “Do we look like rubes from the marshes?”

The man sniffed. “Knights like to come prepared.”

“And prepared they are. Prepared, I’ll say, for the queen’s fine hospitality.” Meri ran fingers through his freshly trimmed beard. “Where is the old girl, anyway?”

The man’s eyes bulged. “Queen Morgan is—”

“Not her, you imbecile. Bela Ernan, Keeper of her Secrets.” Meri smiled on, like this was all part of the play.

Geneve shifted her weight. “Lord, uh, du Reeves—”

“Because Bela Ernan is the one who makes sure only the right people get into the queen’s presence. You’re not her.” Meri steamed on. “Unless you’ve gotten very good with the rouge, in which case, I apologize, Keeper Ernan.”

The red-robed man swallowed, eyes wide. “Bela—”

“She’s listening, isn’t she?” Meri turned, arms wide. “Have you seen enough?”

A woman stepped out from the shelter of a decorative suit of armor. She was old, yes, but unstooped by time. She strode forward on shoes that clacked against the marble floor. “Du Reeves, is it?”

“Yes.”

“And,” her eyes roamed them, “two Knights and a Feybrind?”

“Yes. The Feybrind is known to the queen, because she sent him to find me.” Meri beamed. “I’m so glad we got to the end of this quickly. I’d hate to have spent the day in a waiting room, only to be told to come back tomorrow.”

The old woman peered at the Feybrind. “Sight of Day?”

{Hello, Keeper. It’s been a long time.} His golden eyes held warmth. {I come on the queen’s orders, but also those of the Feybrind Kingdom. We’re here to stop the end of all things.}

Meri’s smile caulked a bit. “A long time? You know each other?”

“Fifty years,” Bela said.

Fifty … years? Sight of Day doesn’t look old at all. Geneve stepped forward. It was time to get to business, before Armitage was discovered, or something else happened. “I’m Knight Adept Geneve of the Tresward. We’re here to help.”

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