Bonemender's Oath (6 page)

A few minutes later Gabrielle hurried into the barn. One glance was enough to see that something was wrong.

“Gabi, what it is?”

“Derkh’s gone.”

Misunderstanding her anxiety, Féolan said, “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably just gone for a walk or a swim...” He broke off, interrupted by Gabrielle’s impatient head shake.

“No, Féolan, he’s really gone. I think he means not to come back.” She held out a curl of birch bark. “He left this and all his Verdeau clothes folded in a pile.”

Féolan unrolled the white bark and stared at the brief message, crudely carved into the surface:
GOOD-BYE
. And underneath that:
SORRY.

Fear washed through him—could the boy mean to take his own life? Then he remembered how Derkh had lingered by the food table at last night’s celebration, to the point that Danaïs had teased him for his bottomless stomach. He had been stashing food, Féolan now realized. Preparing for a journey, then, not death. In the wake of his relief came a deep regret. He knew where Derkh must be headed, and what awaited him there. It wasn’t a life he would wish for a friend.

Gabrielle was fighting tears now. Féolan liked and cared for the quiet young man, but Gabrielle, he saw, had come to love him.

“We have to go after him,” she said. “He can’t just run off like this!”

Féolan was doubtful. He draped a comforting arm around Gabrielle’s shoulders and tried to gather his thoughts. He understood the desire to follow Derkh, and since he had a good idea where the trail headed, there was a decent chance he could find it. But would Derkh thank them for it?

“Gabrielle,” he offered. “Let’s think a moment. If you meant what you said when you offered Derkh a home in Verdeau, then he is as free as anyone to go where he wishes, is that not so?”

“Yes, bu—,” Gabrielle began, but he held up a finger to forestall her.

“And if he wishes to leave without long explanations and goodbyes, much as we might wish it otherwise, is it not his right to choose?”

“Yes, I suppose—but Féolan, why would he want to?”

He could no longer hide his dismay. “I think he has decided to go back to
Gref Oris
. That’s why he left from here—less country to travel on his own. And if I had to guess, I’d say he felt he could never explain to you why he was going, or maybe he was afraid of losing his resolve. So he slipped away late last night, while we were distracted by your party.”

“But why?” she blurted out. “If that place is as bad as you described, why would he go back?” He felt her unspoken question as a wave of hurt:
Could it have been so bad in my own home?

“I don’t know, Gabrielle,” Féolan said softly. “Derkh’s old life was very...defined. Maybe he didn’t know how to make a new start.”

Gabrielle pressed her hands to her eyes and took a deep slow breath, and Féolan felt her clamoring emotions become quieter. She stood that way for some time. “I don’t mean to stop him,” she said finally. “But I do want to say good-bye, if he’s really bent on leaving. And does he even know where he’s going? We could ride him to the border,” she suggested.

“That’s what worries me,” confessed Féolan. “I expect he’s a competent navigator in his own country. But he doesn’t know the deep forest, and if he’s making north for the mountains he’s going through miles of wild terrain.”

“You think he’s in danger?” she asked.

“This land is dangerous for any but experienced woodsmen,” he replied. “And what I saw of
Gref Oris
is mostly open plain. Yes, I think he could easily get himself lost, and I doubt he has more than a few days’ worth of food. So I agree with you, after all. I’ll have to go after him.”

“We,” she corrected.

“Gabrielle, I’ll move faster without you. I really think—”

“We.”

He took in the squared shoulders, the lifted chin, and sighed.

“Pack a blanket, a change of clothes, and wear good boots. Meet me at the kitchens. I’ll have packs for both of us.”

Her grateful smile lit up the barn.

“I won’t hold you back.”

D
OMINIC
leaned against the fence, his hands steadying Matthieu where he balanced on the top rail. Inside the ring, perched on her fat pinto pony, Madeleine tried to follow the riding master’s instructions:

“Heels down, Mademoiselle! Always your heels down. Now, pretend you have no reins. Can you turn the horse toward me without them? Use your legs and knees to tell him where to go...”

Though Madeleine squeezed and nudged mightily with her thin legs, the pony walked stolidly on, straight ahead. Madeleine squealed in frustration, and Dominic hid his smile behind Matthieu’s back.

“Dominic!”

Tristan loped across the field to the ring. A piece of parchment flapped in his hand.

“What is it, Tristan? You look... Have you had bad news?”

Tristan nodded. “From Rosie. Dominic, would you read this? I need your advice.”

“You want me to read your love letter?”

“It’s not... Look, just read it, okay?”

“Sure. Take Matthieu.”

Rosalie’s letter explained the tense look on Tristan’s face:

Oh, Tristan,

We are in the most awful bind. Even now, it doesn’t seem possible that this has happened.

That man I told you about who wished to marry me—his name is Pierre LaBarque. I didn’t tell you before, but when I refused him he was very angry. It scared me in a way I can’t quite explain.

Now he has come to Father and threatened to ruin him if we do not wed. The threat was carefully veiled and hidden, but he hinted at fires and other “accidents” and even our deaths.

I don’t know what to do. I said we should go to the Regent’s Guard, but Father says there is no witness and that LaBarque’s words were so indirect that he could deny it and say he was misunderstood. But there was no misunderstanding his meaning. I am sure the man is dangerous—there is something so cold and calculating about him. We might hire guards for our house, or even move to the safety of Chênier, but he could still destroy our fields and warehouses or even harm the farmers who work our lands. Father says he is powerful enough to buy any kind of evil-doing.

Tristan, if there is anything you or your brother can do, please help us. I’m so frightened.

Your love, Rosalie

T
RISTAN WATCHED
D
OMINIC’S
mouth set in a grim line as he read. He forced himself to wait until his brother looked up from the letter, then asked, “Do you know this man?” Dominic had been in Chênier since before the war, having been left in charge of the protection of the royal city—and the queen—in the event
Greffaire forces broke through the main line of defense. But as regent of the south coast, he and his family lived in Blanchette.

“Oh, yes,” Dominic replied. “Everyone on the coast knows LaBarque. I have thought more than once that his wealth grows beyond the pace of honest trading, but there has never been any evidence of crime attached to him. He is careful, as Rosalie says.” He shook his head and muttered, “I’ve been away too long.”

“Dominic, he must be stopped.”

“Of course he must. One of us must go down there.” Dominic eyed his younger brother. “I suppose it is of no use asking you to stay here for the joint defense meetings? I am the territorial regent, after all. This is my rightful concern.”

“You’re kidding, right? If some old maniac threatened Justine, would you head off to a meeting?”

“No. Not if I had a brother to send in my place,” Dominic conceded. “But Tris, you will have to be very canny—you can’t just charge in brandishing your sword. You should take a guard to protect the Martineau manor, though, and if you can possibly persuade André and Rosalie to come up here for the time being, it would be wise.”

“So you agree with Rosie that the man is dangerous?”

“I do. He is ruthless and smart. When a man like that puts his own desire above all else...”

Dominic hoisted Matthieu off the fence and settled him onto his shoulders. “C’mon Matthieu, let’s go find your grandmama. Your Uncle Tristan and I need to have—”

“I know, ‘nother meeting.” Matthieu brought his small fist down on his father’s head like a gavel as he passed judgment: “Meetings, meetings, smelly old meetings!”

T
RISTAN WAITED IN
the spacious front hall while the maid announced him. The men of the Royal Guard who had accompanied him to the coast remained on duty outside the door. He had seen nothing amiss as they rode up the long lane to the Martineau manor, except perhaps a certain closed brooding look to the house itself—he had imagined that, no doubt. But there was no mistaking the way the maid’s uneasy face flooded with relief when she recognized him.

“Tristan!” Rosalie appeared in a rush and flung herself around his neck. Tristan took his time with their greeting, holding her close, kissing her thoroughly and enjoying every minute of it. He saw no reason not to mix business and pleasure, if chance allowed. A measured tread on the stairs alerted them to André’s arrival, and Tristan straightened up to greet his future father-in-law.

He was a little shocked at André’s appearance. Drawn and stooped, André seemed to have aged a decade. It was the mark of fear; anger flared in Tristan against the man who had caused such a poisonous change.

Rosie would not sit in the parlor—”It reminds me of that odious man,” she sniffed—so they ensconced themselves in André’s study. Tristan listened carefully as first Rosalie, then André, recounted all they could remember of their dealings with LaBarque. He felt his face stiffen with disgust and outrage; never had he encountered such cold rapaciousness.

André’s voice trailed off, and Tristan felt the man’s cautious eyes upon him. “Tristan, I am grateful for your presence here. But I beg you to cool your blood. If you openly confront LaBarque, you could harm us as easily as help us.”

“I do propose to pay the man a visit,” Tristan confessed, seeing that it was time to unveil the plan he and Dominic had crafted.
“Not,” he reassured, “to teach him a lesson with my sword, though I long to do so.

“No,” he mused. “In fact, I don’t believe we will speak of these matters at all. I am here, as a matter of fact, on official business. As future regent of Crow Island and the Blanchette coast,”—here Rosalie gave a gasp of surprise, and Tristan allowed himself to bask just for a second in her delighted pride—”I feel it my duty to make the acquaintance of the prominent personages and business interests in the region. Moreover, as the current regent will be required in the defense talks for some time to come, he has asked me, acting in his stead, to ensure that the governing of the region continues in good order.”

It was true that Solange had proposed that the regency go to Tristan. Though more than capable of carrying the crown of Verdeau alone, she needed someone at her right hand, ready to step in if anything should happen to her. It made sense for that someone to be Dominic, the heir to the throne. Within the year then, barring another invasion, Dominic would move his family to Chênier and begin to acquire an intimate knowledge of the players, issues and duties of the royal court, while Tristan would take over the governance of the country’s most important region.

The mood had changed in the little room. André sat straighter, his manner attentive now. Tristan flashed him a tight smile. “Baron LaBarque, I understand, is an influential and wealthy merchant. I am called upon to introduce myself, I think, and to discuss with him my plans for improving the area’s prosperity. I will ask his advice on the troubling reports I have had of shady dealings, intimidation and outright crime among some of the merchants. I fear an intensive investigation may be required. He will be glad
to hear, also, that although he missed the last call to arms it is not too late to support the country’s defense efforts. We will need a continuing supply line for the forces posted at our borders, and while it goes without saying that a man of his wealth will want to contribute heavily toward our material needs, I think I might also be able to pull rank and secure him the honor of establishing and overseeing the transports himself. Surely he can spare the time away from his own thriving businesses to ensure the well-being of our troops.”

André gazed at Tristan, as though for the first time. “I have underestimated you, I think,” he said softly.

“Let’s hope LaBarque has too,” replied Tristan. “I am being a little flippant here, but this is a deadly serious game. I’ll be honest, I’d be happier fighting him. But since he has not yet openly broken a law, we must turn his own methods against him. I expect he will recognize a veiled threat when he hears one.”

Rosalie broke in. “It’s nearly dinnertime. Do you want to put your things in your room and freshen up first?”

“I’m afraid I must stay at the regent’s residence, at least for the moment,” said Tristan. “This is to be a proper royal visit, after all. But dinner sounds good. Oh, and it being wartime still, I traveled with six guards. I wonder if four could be billeted here, as the castle is full of Dominic’s people.” Rosalie and André appeared confused at this request. “If you divide them into night and day shifts, they will only require two beds,” he prompted them, “and they can make themselves useful by keeping an eye on things while they’re here.”

Rosalie sprang into action, bustling off to see the guards—and their horses—housed and fed. They would all sleep better with seasoned soldiers patrolling the grounds.

André pushed himself to his feet as well and opened a glass-fronted cabinet tucked into the corner of the room. Returning with glasses and a brandy bottle, he poured out the dark golden liquid and offered a glass to Tristan. Tristan was relieved to see that the older man, though still careworn and drawn, had regained his usual firm manner. “Your plan is sound, Tristan,” said André. “But watch out for yourself, boy. Don’t let down your guard.”

“Yes,” agreed Tristan. “Friendly visit or not, I believe I will go in full dress uniform—sword and all.”

T
HE NEXT AFTERNOON
, Tristan followed LaBarque’s house-maid down a dark hallway, leaving his two guards posted at the door. Like the meeting he had held this morning with the head of Dominic’s council, the escort was mainly for appearances. His discussion with LaBarque would be private.