Grace of the Goddess (The Death Dealer Book 3) (14 page)

              The hallway was still empty. She couldn’t hear anything from any of the other rooms. It was odd to have so many visitors, yet to hear nothing from their rooms was unsettling. She was setting off for the stairs when one of the doors opened ahead of her.

              Tristan, already in his long nightshirt, stood in the doorway. Grace had to turn away to hide her smile. How fearsome the knight was in his wool shirt, with his knees and bare feet showing and no weapon to defend himself.

              “What are
you
doing here, tramp?” he snarled at her.

              “Her Grace asked that I help dress her down for the night. With my duty done, I am going to bed, as it appears you are.”

              “Don’t you dare sass me!”

              “I am not offering any sass, Sir Knight, I am merely providing you with my purpose for being on this floor at night,” Grace retorted.

              She remembered one night, what seemed like a lifetime ago, when this same knight kissed her tenderly and escorted her around the king’s palace gardens, making advances and vying for her attention. Grace was never truly sure how she felt about Tristan until he showed himself as a hateful knave. His honor was never on the line, and if anyone should hate her, it should be Drake. However, the prince forgave indiscretions and allowed those who offended him to live and let live. At least for Grace this had been the case. Tristan had no right to stand there and act as though his knightly virtue had been beaten by a woman.

              “If you'll allow me to pass, Sir Knight, I can be far away from your virtue.” As Grace tried to walk by Tristan's room, he grabbed her by the arm.

              “I don't hold for women with attitudes, and I will
not
tolerate your presence.”

              Grace thought of Tristan's skill. She saw him compete in tournament and knew he was an accomplished knight, and she worried he may make good on his promise to kill her. It was no good showing him she was afraid, though.

              Grace pulled her arm roughly out of Tristan’s grasp. “Unhand me, knave. I am simply going about my business. You go about yours, and we will both be happier for it!”

              She stalked off down the hall to the stairs. When Grace returned to her room, she moved her trunk in front of the door in case Tristan decided to don his pants and come looking for her.

~*~*~

              The next morning started much like the one before it. The sky was gray and dark clouds in the south threatened rain as they moved closer to the castle. The relative warmth of the previous day had evaporated. Grace wore a wool shirt under her tunic and coat to keep the day's chill off. She went to the courtyard to join the morning ride, but this time some of the knight's horses were saddled as well. Grace noted with despair that Tristan's stallion was among them.

              “Don't let the brute frighten you,” said Hoburn as he led Sally to stand next to Grace and Pippin. “No one will stand for him to bring bloodshed here.”

Grace rubbed her head and groaned.

“You alright, Grace?” Hoburn asked.

“I am hungry and I feel a terrible headache coming on. I wish these blasted wedding guests would just leave already.” She felt pressure behind her eyes and her stomach rolled around, begging for food. She’d only poked at her bland porridge, not feeling much in the mood for breakfast. It was a stupid mistake, but she had no choice but to wait for the noonday meal now. 

              Then there were her nightmares, which destroyed any appetite she might have had otherwise. Grace thought of her dreams. Did the road covered in blood have anything to do with Tristan? And if it did, what did the fire road mean? Her patron goddess had given her clearer clues in the past, so why didn't she do so now?

              “He's going to disrupt the wedding,” she said in response.

              “Then Her Grace will send him packing. She doesn't seem like the kind of woman who takes tomfoolery and threats in her midst. She is a lot like my Cassandra in that way.”

              “Perhaps Cassandra should look for employ in Actis, then.” Grace smiled up at Hoburn.               “She and the duchess could spar with words.”

              “But who would keep you out of trouble if Cassandra left?” he asked with a wink.

              Grace and Hoburn waited at attention for the riding party to come out. The hostler went to each of the horses, checking to make sure saddles were secure and bridles were fastened. Finally, Katherine came out with her daughter and the rest of the gaggle streamed behind them. She had seemingly decided Deidre should stay indoors today. It would be for the best. The cold would do her no good.

              Behind the ladies came the knights. Drake, Tristan, Henry, Calvin, and even Leon came out with them. With such a trained company, Grace and Hoburn were hardly needed as guards. Everyone mounted up. Grace’s head spun as she climbed into the saddle, but she shook it away as best she could.

              As the party turned to leave the courtyard, George, with Master Broyles in tow, came hurrying out of the castle. The steward waved a letter in his hand. “A king's carrier bird arrived this morning,” George stated. He stopped a few feet before Leon's horse, who had taken the lead. “I thought you all should hear it before you ride off.” He looked at the assembled company, but his eyes lingered on Grace for a moment longer than anyone else. “The king has officially named the fifth magistrate in Glenbard.”

              “That was news when old Brayden was murdered and Lord Gregory was appointed chief,” Tristan scoffed. “But now who cares what no-name country noble has taken the fifth seat?”

              “Trust me, Sir Tristan,” George said quickly. “This is important.” He held his hand out and Broyles put the letter in the lord's hand. “‘For his service as a guard in the city of Glenbard, His Majesty names Sir Jonathan Mullery of Escion as the fifth magistrate’,” George read solemnly.

              Grace felt like all eyes fell on her, but she knew everyone was looking at Tristan. Jack was his brother, after all. She dared a look. The knight turned red under his collar, but he didn't look angry; he looked confused. She found it confusing, too.

              Under her, Pippin fidgeted nervously, intuitively picking up on her discomfort. Grace found it hard to breathe.
Jack? A magistrate?
It had to be some sort of mistake. He was stripped of his titles, his inheritance – everything – long ago. Besides all that, Jack
liked
living simply in Glenbard. He liked being a rusher. He liked serving the guard. He was happy being Jack Anders, not Sir Jonathan. They were both happy that way.

              Grace tried to suck in air, but found the whole process impossible. She was vaguely aware that someone called her name, but her vision tunneled. Everything went black except the top of Pippin's head.

              “Grace!” Hoburn shouted.

Grace felt her body slide from the saddle as the world went black all around her.

~*~*~

              Grace woke up in her room with Cassandra hovering over her. Her old handmaiden wrung out a rag and put it on her forehead. Her side ached, as did her head.

              “Did you enjoy your tumble from the saddle?” Cassandra asked. “You are lucky you didn't break anything, though I do not understand how no one came to catch you when it was obvious you were going to faint.” Cassandra turned her head to look toward Grace's door.

              Grace looked up and saw Henry leaning against the closed door. He smiled at Grace. She was glad he came with Cassandra rather than going to Leon or George. Her uncles knew about Jack's past, but only Henry knew of their relationship.

              “My dear woman, no one was near enough to catch her. Master Broyles tried, but she fell so suddenly.” He looked at Grace, his smile fading. “I'm afraid you are going to have to answer a good many questions about your reaction. Especially to Tristan.”

              “I suppose he is livid at the situation.” Grace sat up and Cassandra helped position a pillow to keep her propped up.

              “He went off riding with the prince. I think the news has come as a great shock to him and to Drake, as well. His Highness looked up to Jack a great deal, as did Tristan. He was a fine knight and one to be admired, but I think his illustrious reemergence has astonished us all.”

              “Cassandra, could you get me some water?” Grace asked her friend.             

              Cassandra nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. Henry took her seat at the foot of Grace’s bed.

              “Why would the king appoint him?” Grace asked quietly.

              Henry kept his voice low as he answered. “What he does these days is a mystery. He arrested his most loyal advisor and sent him to perform slave labor on the Nareroc Islands. He seeks to make war. Maybe he thinks Jack will bend to his will. He’s going to need allies.”

              Grace nodded. She knew of Frederick’s plan for war. “But why would Jack agree?”

              “He’s been offered a return to his post before.”

Grace cocked her head to one side. This was news to her.

Henry continued, “Not long after his exile from court, he was sought out and asked to lead a company stationed on the islands. He refused and his name was never uttered around Frederick again. As to why he accepts now? He may not have been given a choice.”

              “Should I go to him?” Grace thought of the inheritance she would gain if she gave George a solid plan for her future. She would lose her inheritance by spiriting away to the south, and it would be enough to provide a good life for her and Jack. The thought of him being strong armed and threatened into a life he didn’t want was more than she could bear.

              Henry took hold of her hands. “Not yet. Don’t run into the fire without water to extinguish the flames. Frederick will show his hand, and
that
will be the time for action.”

              Grace looked at the door. It was closed, and she knew whispers were impossible to hear through the heavy wood. She knew from a childhood spent listening at cracks, but her mind remained troubled. “Katherine thinks she has a spy following her.”

              Henry followed Grace’s gaze to the door and turned back to her, shaking his head. “Do not fret. I have many spies in my household that he sends to make sure I am being a good subject, but I believe this talk is better suited for great men like your uncle.”

              Grace knew the end of a conversation when she heard it. “I could do with some fresh air, I think.”

Ten

              The next day, Grace changed out of her uniform and into a pale green linen dress, though she kept her boots on. She slipped on an apron and made for the stables. Her left side had already blossomed into an array of greens, purples, and blues from her fall. It ached to breathe in, but it wasn’t unbearable. Nothing was broken, which was the best she could hope for.

              The chief hostler, John, and Tristan were the only two in the stables when Grace arrived. She had hoped to do some work for John in private, but she couldn’t very well command the knight to leave. Instead she went to Pippin’s stall, grabbed a brush, and started to brush down his coat. It was easy work that her body could handle. If she tired, she could sit on an overturned bucket.

              John went about his daily chores. He checked the tack, made sure the horses had water, and passed instructions to any servants that came in. Tristan remained standing as he took care of his stallion and brooded, but he didn’t say anything to Grace until the hostler left with two empty buckets.

              “Such an odd reaction to the news.” His voice was so quiet, Grace wasn’t sure she actually heard anything until he repeated himself. “What do you know of Sir Jonathan?”

              “Nothing, Sir Knight.”

              “Don’t lie to me. No one faints when they hear that an unknown magistrate has been named in a distant city. Now, I will ask again, what do
you
know of my brother?” Tristan put down his work and left his horse’s stall as he spoke. He stood outside Pippin’s stall and waited for an answer.

              To lie was to incite his wrath, but to tell the truth was to do the same. Saying nothing was the safest bet until John came back.

              “Although my brother left court, my mother continued to hear from him. She kept it from my father, of course, but I stumbled across their letters to each other. Then, about four years ago he stopped writing. It broke my mother’s heart. Two years after that, Henry wrote and said he was alive and well. Jack wrote my mother again shortly after saying he was in love. I assumed he found some barmaid; some fat, homely type who would be happy to serve a coward and a man who so soiled his good name. I never imagined it would be a witchy whore such as you.”

              Grace stopped brushing Pippin and leveled her gaze at the knight. Her gray eyes burned fury; the same fury he had showed her since he found her in Arganis. He even took a step away from her.

              “Don’t call me a whore, you sod. And don’t you
dare
say Jack soiled his name. He may not carry the title of ‘knight’, but he is more deserving of honor than a sniveling bastard such as you!”

              Tristan reached into the stall and grabbed Grace by the front of her dress, dragging her forward until her upper body hung over the stall door. Pippin snorted and snapped at the knight, but Tristan merely hauled Grace over the door and threw her on the ground. Her fresh bruises flared to life, causing white-hot pain to course up her side. She bit back a scream, refusing to give Tristan the satisfaction as he stood over her menacingly. She wasn’t sure what he’d do, but she reached into her apron pocket for a small, hidden knife. Her hand closed on the hilt and she waited.

              “You will
not
talk to me in such a way! To think I thought you a beauty once. Look at you – a witch who sullied the tournament, besmirched our good prince’s honor, and has now been entirely ruined by a disgraceful excuse for a man.”

              Grace roared and kicked at Tristan’s leg, making contact just above his knee with her boot heel and causing the knight to fall to his knees. His sword still hung by his side, but her fury fueled her to fight. With him down, she got to her feet and boxed his ears as he knelt in the dirt. He made a grab for her but she was able to jump back, just out of his reach. Her body protested each move and her head swam. It took all her might to think clearly through the fog of pain, but she took all her anger and focused it, ignoring her injuries.

              Tristan lurched to his feet. He jumped at Grace and wrapped both arms around her waist, dragging her roughly to the ground. They grappled together in the hay and dirt under the watchful, nervous nickering of the horses. It dawned on Grace that she had been in a fair number of fights lately. She would have to amend her unladylike behavior…right after she taught Tristan some respect.

              Cold water washed over them. Grace sat on Tristan’s legs with a fist raised, ready to punch his face. The knight had a clump of her hair knotted in his own fist, trying to snap her neck back. The knight didn't seem to mind that his palm dug into the needles in her bun. The Master Hostler and Drake stood by with empty buckets.

              As Drake hooked his arms around Grace's waist and lifted her off Tristan, she yelped when his arms crushed her bruises. John held out a hand and helped Tristan off the ground.

              “Whore!” Tristan shouted at her.

              “Bastard!” Grace shot back, fighting against the prince's hold.

              “What is going on here?” John demanded.

              Tristan stormed out of the stable and Grace watched him go. Her body shivered as the cold water bit through her dress, and Drake removed his coat to drape it over Grace's shoulders. The coat was far too large for her, but she appreciated the gesture.

              “Would you care to enlighten us as to what just happened?” Drake asked. He held Grace by the shoulders and turned her to him.

              “We had a disagreement over the appointment of Jack, Your Highness.”

              “Jack? So you know Sir Jonathan? Master John,” Drake said, signaling to the hostler. “Can I beg some privacy in your stables?”

              John bowed and left the two alone with the horses, and Drake led Grace to the empty stall with the trapdoor, which was filled with barrels and extra tack. Drake sat her on one of the barrels and crossed his arms over his chest.

              “That was some fine brawling.”

              “I learned a lot of it in Glenbard. I gave Calvin his black eye.” She drew in a deep breath, her ribs aching from the effort. Now that the adrenaline had run its course, she felt tired. She only came to the stables to brush Pippin because it was easy and wouldn’t put a strain on her, but here she was, adding to her injuries.

              Drake chuckled. “That was fine work, Grace. Now, if you please, the scuffle between you and Tristan?”

              Grace scrunched up her face. “I did not like what he said about his brother. Jack and I are friends.”

              “Just friends?”

              Heat flared in Grace's cheeks. Despite the chill she had from her wet clothes, she felt warm with embarrassment. It was one thing for the people in Glenbard to know of her relationship with Jack, but it was quite another for the nobility to know. A romantic relationship between two disgraced nobles? There would be no end to the gossip.

              “Friends, Your Highness, and it hurts me to hear such venom spewed about him, especially from his brother.”

              “Tristan loved his brother. I am sure you know of his past?”

              “I know what he was accused of, yes. Henry told me and Jack did not deny it.”

              “I see,” Drake said and nodded. “Well, as I said, Tristan loved Jack. He respected him. When Jack stood accused of hurting Lady Danielle, it was not the accusation that hurt Tristan. Jack didn't love Danielle, he loved her maid. That Jack would throw his life away for a mere maid angered Tristan. It angered their father too, and even if Jack had stood up for himself, he still planned to run away with the girl.”

              Grace's heart stopped and her voice choked when she spoke, “He never told me
that
.”

              Drake wiped a tear away from her cheek. “The maid is gone, so do not trouble your heart about her. But please understand, to Tristan, Jack is a black mark on the Mullery line. Stay away from him for a while. He can't abide by those who hurt his pride. I'll go see to him and smooth his wounded manhood.”

              Drake stood and Grace handed him his coat back. The prince patted Grace on the shoulder and left her alone. Despite the cold, she got up and went outside, striking out for the road to the village.

              Each step she took felt like lead weighed her feet down, but when she passed through the gate of the castle, she began to run. The chill that stung through her wet dress didn't bother her. Her side ached, but she pushed through. Even knowledge of Jack's former lover didn't bother her. It was only herself that kept getting in her way.

              Since leaving Glenbard, Grace had become more irritable. She felt listless, sometimes lost. She had an idea of why this was, but she never dared to say it aloud. She ran into the village, noting that it was near the midday meal. Hoburn ate his meals at the castle, but Cassandra always went home. Her friend said she liked the peace of a quiet house at midday.

              Grace ran up to the door of the thatch roofed cottage Cassandra and Hoburn occupied. She didn't bother to knock, but let herself in. The cottage had two rooms, the bedroom and the kitchen, with a latrine out back. The door opened into the kitchen, where Grace saw Cassandra taking a kettle off the hearth. At the table sat Donald, and Grace smiled to see him there. It seemed fitting that the two who had long bore her secrets would be together now.

              “Gods preserve us!” Cassandra exclaimed. “You are drenched. Let me find you a dry dress before you catch a chill.” The woman put the kettle on the table and started to move into the bedroom.

              “Not yet, Cassandra. Years ago you made several hoods for me. Hoods I could wear after dark.”

              Donald and Cassandra exchanged a meaningful look. Cassandra's eyebrows went up, while Donald merely smirked. Both turned back to Grace.

              “I did...” Cassandra answered tentatively.

              “Do you have any left?”

              “I might could find them. What is this all about?”

              “I have some plans for this evening and I require them.”