The falcon's screech sliced through the clear blue sky. Fearful rodents scurried for the safety of thickets and boulders, but the noble beast paid them no mind. With the precision of an expert archer's arrow, the bird descended towards Berent's outstretched hand.
Chirping, it settled upon Berent's glove and let out a grateful squawk as he tossed it a sliver of meat. A short distance away, Duchess Sarya reclined on a blanket, sketching the scene upon a piece of parchment. Lucan sat beside her, his one good eye staring contentedly out at the countryside.
Upon his horse at the base of the hill, Caderyn paused for a moment to take in the idyllic sight of the family outing. If his sister Vienne had been there, the entire family would have been together for the first time in over a year. Despite her absence, Caderyn nonetheless pictured his wild-hearted sister bickering with Berent over the best way to guide that falcon, or urging their father to take part in a horse race across the plain. Instead she was halfway across the continent in Utresk, working alongside her husband Tancred to prepare for the likely war to come.
He lingered for a moment longer, almost not wanting to disturb their pleasant afternoon. As soon as he made it up the hill to join them, they'd expect a full report on the outcome of his mission with Baron Rathgar, and the talk would soon shift to matters of diplomacy and war.
Before he could ponder the thought of turning away and granting them a longer reprieve, Berent turned and called out in greeting. The falcon shrieked as Berent sent it off slicing into the sky once more.
Sighing, Caderyn dismounted and headed up the hill.
Sarya raised an eyebrow at the bandage upon his shoulder, which covered the wound he'd suffered during the duel to win the mercenaries' support. Casting aside her sketches, she rose and trotted over to him, a gentle hand brushing beneath the wound.
"Tell me there was not another attack, Caderyn."
"No. Just a ridiculous northern honor duel."
He shivered, not wanting to delve back into the memories of the shadowy visions he'd suffered thanks to the potion brewed by the shaman Ingolf. The blood of his opponent seemed to stain the ground before him. Celebratory howls echoed within his mind.
"But it has been settled," Caderyn said with a firm nod. "The mercenaries were wavering due to some nonsensical grim omens but I convinced them to affirm the contract. One thousand warriors will come south in small batches over the next month to take on contracts for the guilds. More will surely follow."
"More?" Lucan asked, his one good eye glaring northward. "We only wanted a small group at first. A larger group would arouse more suspicions."
"I did not
ask
for more, but..." Caderyn frowned. "Do you know that the barbarians see you as some sort of god, father? An avatar of divine vengeance?"
"I have heard a few rumblings over the years."
"Well, the son of their god's instrument winning that duel seemed to light a fire within them. I daresay we might see more mercenaries coming down, wanting to fight for our coin."
"You did not reveal the truth of the matter, did you?" Berent asked with a faint scowl.
"No, of course not," Caderyn said with a huff. "As far as they're concerned, we're just increasing the security of our caravans and mines. But..."
He watched Berent's falcon circle overheard, for a moment envying the bird for its brief stints of freedom up in the sky.
"But their omens were grim. A shaman foresaw death and dishonor. That's what had them so unnerved about the contract."
"And you believe such prophecies?" Sarya asked, cocking her head.
There was no judgment or scorn in her voice, only curiosity and motherly concern.
"The 'prophecies' of my poison-induced dreams led to the cure and to Lady Melisent, mother. So it stands to reason that there is some shard of truth buried deep within such things."
"Let them guide you, but do not let them chain you," said Lucan. "Northern sorcery can be useful, yes, but do not let it dictate your path entirely. Treat those omens of doom as warnings about what might happen if we fail."
Caderyn glanced southward at the city looming in the distance.
"And has there been any reply from our messengers and agents to confirm Melisent's story?"
"Not yet," said Berent. "But one of my spies in Thandor's court did confirm old rumors that the duke did have an affair with an Asparran noblewoman many years ago. Not a single whisper about a daughter, however."
That proved nothing either way, of course. Thandor had gone to great lengths to keep the matter buried, even threatening his own daughter's life. No doubt he'd take even more stringent measures to silence such rumors within his own realm.
"I should return to the palace, then, and see her," Caderyn said, turning about.
His mother caught him by the wrist.
"She is well, Caderyn, and is no doubt quite busy helping Ketrik: while you were away she's thrown herself into the work, helping him prepare potions and poultices. Sit for a while, please. Let us have a little reprieve from all the politics and scheming."
His frown persisted but he nonetheless obeyed, sitting down on the grass beside his father. Sarya went back to her sketches, drawing Berent's falcon in various stages of flight.
"So if father is the avatar of the northern gods, what does that make us?" Berent asked with a wry grin. "Demigods? Heavenly princes? I confess I do not remember the exact terminology from the old myths."
"I suppose that makes me what...a divine queen?" Sarya asked with a teasing smile, though she did not look up from her sketches.
"It is all northern nonsense," Lucan said with a snort. "Appointing me as some sort of divine figure is just a means of lessening the sting of their own failures. Why acknowledge their tactical mistakes when they can instead blame their defeat on the will of the gods?"
"We southerners would do the same, I suspect," Caderyn said.
"Exactly," Berent said with a nod. "When the usurper Garnoc fell in Ravenmark, some historians ascribed his defeat to the loss of divine favor, rather than father's tactics or the alliances he forged."
"Perhaps I should have blamed the gods for
my
failings, too," Caderyn said. "It wasn't my poor decisions that led me to those brothels and taverns, it was the
gods
."
Despite all the misery such antics had unleashed over the years, his parents and brother shared a soft laugh.
Though fears and doubts still lurked within him, Caderyn allowed himself to relax and enjoy his family's company. This could be their last little sanctuary of familial peace for quite some time. If Melisent's claims were confirmed, war could soon follow. And if Leopold did not come through and instead cast doubt on her claims, then his parents would seek to punish her, forcing Caderyn to heed his earlier vows to defend her, even against his own kin.
Bloodshed and grief awaited his family no matter what the next few days revealed.
"One path of many," he murmured under his breath, the sound drowned out by another shriek of Berent's falcon.
**
Caderyn slipped through the door into Ketrik's alchemical laboratory. Melisent and the shaman leaned over a table, sifting through piles of herbs. A fire roared in the hearth, above which bubbled strange substances in little pots. Bizarre ingredients filled the shelves: shriveled lizards, bright mushrooms, the limbs of frogs, wriggling worms, and a variety of feathers.
When Melisent glanced up, her brow was furrowed with annoyance at first. The frown vanished, replaced by a bright smile. Her body tensed, poised to rush across the room to embrace her lover, but she hesitated and glanced at Ketrik.
"It's no secret to me," the grizzled shaman said with a grin. "Go."
Laughing, Melisent abandoned her work and threw herself into Caderyn's arms. Caderyn grunted with the effort of remaining on his feet, and let out a delighted sigh at the scent of her dark curls, at the feel of her curves pressed against him, and at the warmth in her gray eyes.
Her smile faded, replaced by a scowl at the sight of the bandage on his shoulder.
"An injury from a duel," he said quickly. "One I fought to ensure the mercenaries' loyalty. Nothing to worry about."
Memories of that hallucination-addled fight still clung to his mind, but he forced a smile.
"Lady Melisent," Ketrik said. "I can finish up the organizing of these materials. You can...enjoy the rest of your day."
With a little twinkle in his eyes, the shaman went back to his work. Melisent pressed a warm and firm kiss upon Caderyn's cheek, and together they stepped out into the hall. Lest servants or guards notice their affection, they maintained a prim and courtly demeanor. Neither could suppress the heat in their eyes, however, and Caderyn certainly could not control the wild pounding of his heart.
"I barely slept these past few nights," she murmured. "I was so...delirious with worry. I feared that if I actually drifted off, my mind would conjure grim images of your death."
Once two servants passed them by, he allowed himself to graze his fingers over her wrist. After they passed a small patrol of guards, Caderyn took her hand and yanked her through the very first door he saw, which led into a small library.
