The Orphans' Promise (28 page)

“Her Majesty will join you shortly. You must leave your weapons with the guards.”

Léti waited to see Grigán’s reaction before removing her sword. The warrior surrendered his weapon but, as expected, kept his sheath. The Junians thought nothing of it.

Corenn pushed open the door and entered what appeared to be a reception hall. Wood crackled in a huge fireplace. Despite the warm sun outside, it was cold within the castle walls. Seven lavish chairs were placed around an equally stunning table, which was filled with an array of porcelain dishes and the finest silver cutlery. The walls were decorated with hunting trophies, magnificent paintings, and tapestries that represented several of the Baronies’ significant historical events, such as the signing ceremony of the First Treaty.

The heirs marveled at it all as they waited. Grigán nudged Yan and pointed at a mounted
acchor
head, unable to hold back a smile. The young man wondered if the artisan who made the trophy had a tendency toward sensationalism or if he had only preserved the animal’s dying expression. Without question it was a terrifying beast. A sort of giant wolf equipped with a boar’s defenses. Yan thought he recognized its skin as the same material that Grigán’s leather outfit was made of, but he didn’t have the time to ask. The door opened.

An elderly woman dressed in a classic Junian robe walked toward the center of the room with two well-built guards on her either side. The only things that distinguished her from commoners were her elaborate hair and the modest crown she wore.

“You’re not Séhane,” Corenn stated, to her companions’ surprise. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I’ve met her.”

The woman turned to the nearest guard, unsure of how to react. Grigán took a step back and placed a hand on his sheath, his fears suddenly materializing.

After a prolonged silence, another woman made her entrance looking so tired that even walking seemed difficult. The guards respectfully cleared the way for her. No crown sat upon her head, but there was no question she was their queen.

“Lady Corenn,” she greeted in a shaky voice. “I’m happy to see you again.”

“Majesty,” the Mother said with a bow. “It’s an honor that you remember me.”

“Oh! My memory isn’t as perfect as you might think. Indeed, it’s my mistrust in it that made me resort to this scheme. I feared that I wouldn’t recognize you and that I could be tricked or harmed. The sound of your voice alone was enough to convince me.”

Séhane thanked the guards and the lady who had so bravely, though unconvincingly, played her role. The queen knew that she had nothing to fear of Corenn and that she could certainly trust her friends too.

The Mother took it upon herself to introduce everyone, which she did with the respect and graciousness fit for a queen.

But Séhane found her friend’s formality out of place. “Corenn, during our conversations in Kaul, you called me Séhane. Have I aged so much to lose your friendship?”

The heirs liked her right from the start. Although she was a queen, and much older than anyone in the group, Séhane was an heir too. Her ancestor, King Arkane, had lived through the experience on Ji and had come back with an arm missing. As punishment for his refusal to relay the events that occurred on Ji, his peers had made him an outcast. He had suffered, and passed on a memory of this suffering to later generations. Indeed, Séhane endured this strange curse like the rest of them. They didn’t know
each other and perhaps only had this one thing in common, but it was more than enough to make them feel close.

Séhane had never participated in the reunions on the Day of the Owl. She had no idea what happened on Ji during the gatherings. And she had never, at least up until now, been threatened by the Züu.

“You hid yourself behind plenty of mysteries in order to meet with me. I suppose there was a reason for that…” Séhane began.

“The worst possible reason, Séhane. We’re in danger, and we think that you are too,” Corenn explained.

The queen listened with an attentive ear as Corenn filled her in on how the Züu had launched a war against the heirs. She didn’t leave out any details, telling her everything from their individual experiences in the Small Palace to their episodes in Berce. She paused only when the servants brought the courses to the table. By the end of her story, Séhane had heard all there was to tell. Almost. Corenn intentionally left out their escape from the island of Ji.

“What a frightening story,” the queen commented. “Who could this mysterious enemy be? Why is he after the heirs?”

“We’re searching for the answers, Séhane. We must find other survivors. One of them might know something.”

“On that point, this could be a great help,” the queen began, pulling a parchment from her pocket. “A boat from Mestèbe delivered it to me a few days ago. For a moment I thought that you might have been the sender, but I realize now that is not the case.”

Uncertain, Corenn took the paper Séhane held out to her and quickly read over it. There were only a few words in Ithare. “There’s some hope that we’ve found another heir,” Corenn announced. “The letter reads:
Your Majesty, if the name Ji rings like a curse in your mind, we can be of service to one another. Send a reply with the bird that I hope has survived the journey.
And further
down it reads:
If you live in peace, then please, do nothing. Either way, may Eurydis hear your prayers.
It isn’t signed. I’m guessing the letter arrived with some kind of carrier pigeon?”

“Indeed. Does this mean something to you?”

The heirs exchanged curious looks but offered no answer.

In her mind, Corenn sifted through the names of the few heirs who might still be alive. There was no way to guess who the author of the message was. And why send it to Séhane, the person who was the least involved?

“Have you sent a reply already?” Grigán asked, concerned.

“No. I more or less live in peace; I heeded the advice. The bird is somewhere in my aviary.”

“We must reply without delay… if you allow it.”

“Of course. I’ll send for the bird to be brought right away. I hope that it isn’t too late to warn this stranger about their peril.”

“Given the letter’s tone, I’m guessing they’re already in the know,” Rey said. “When someone starts calling on the gods like that, it means they’ve seen death up close.”

The actor was so excited by this new development that he had lost all restraint. Séhane remained silent, and it was her stillness that reminded Rey that everyone was talking about her dying, and he blushed in embarrassment, a rare occurrence.

A servant brought the bird, and the heirs carefully crafted their message, which was short but critical. They then tied it to the bird’s foot and released it through a window. They watched as it found its bearings before flying toward the north.

The letter had brought them some hope, and they hoped theirs would bring the same to the sender.

A bird flew toward Mestèbe carrying their message: “Come to Junine. Be discreet. Friends await you.”

Séhane offered to let the heirs stay in the Broken Castle while they were in Junine. Her hospitality was sincere and friendly, and the heirs accepted her offer without hesitating. Grigán saw it as a strategic advantage, but the others were simply excited about staying in a palace and the nice days to come.

“Going from a smuggler’s cellar to a royal bedroom; that’s what I call a social upgrade,” Rey joked. “I wonder where we’ll be in a dékade?”

His quip had a lukewarm effect. Everyone was too worried about the future to smile.

Séhane was generous with her good deeds, and as soon as the servants were alerted, they immediately prepared their new guests’ bedrooms and dressing rooms, as was customary in the Junian palace.

After getting the heirs’ permission, the queen sent three men to find their baggage at the inn. Grigán and Rey offered to accompany them. The actor couldn’t trust some unknown servant, as honest as he may be, with his sack of gold.

Choosing rooms proved to be a briefly embarrassing moment for the heirs since the intendant had to ask if there were any couples among the queen’s guests. There were none, at least not officially, but Léti didn’t like the idea of sleeping alone in an enormous room, and would have liked to ask Yan if he could make some room for her. Only as friends, of course. They had done it so often…

But that was in Eza, or in the heirs’ makeshift encampments. Here, her question would seem out of place. As the silence dragged on, the intendant felt guilty for asking the question. He hadn’t expected it to cause a dilemma!

Corenn finally spoke up, “I would like to have my niece near me tonight. I am growing old, unfortunately, and don’t handle
changing beds very well. Her presence will put me at ease and help me sleep.”

Léti laughed to herself, and gave Corenn a smile, full of gratitude for the lie. She always seemed to know everything. Léti cursed her fear of solitude, but at least the others didn’t suspect anything.

Soon Grigán and Rey were back, and the heirs took leave of Séhane; they each parted with a few words of thanks. It was the first time that someone had offered to help, without expecting anything in return.

That night, Léti dreamed that the Züu had disappeared, that Ji was engulfed by the sea. She dreamed that Yan asked for her Promise and that they moved to the Broken Castle with their friends, to stay. The sun shone brightly the next morning, but none of her dreams came true with the dawn.

Except, maybe, the part about the Züu. Determined to take another lesson with Grigán, she dressed quickly and grabbed her broadsword, which had been returned the night before. The Züu could disappear. It was only a question of
firm footing, steady hand, and sharp mind.

Séhane informed her friends that she would be busy all day and apologized for her absence. She assigned them a full-time intendant whose only job was to make the heirs feel at home. In the days that followed, the heirs witnessed firsthand the queen’s devotion to managing Junine’s domestic affairs, and to a certain degree, the affairs of all the Baronies. Her persistence, which showed despite her age and sickness, increased their admiration for her.

Their intendant was a Junian through and through: proud, sometimes condescending, but always polite and obliging in his
acts and words. Crépel was his name, and Séhane had chosen him because he spoke perfect Ithare, the only common language among the heirs.

Léti and Grigán were the first to ask him for a favor, namely finding a suitable spot for them to train. Crépel didn’t say a word, simply leading them to the castle’s armory. The warrior pulled Bowbaq along after them, and Rey joined them of his own accord. No one minded.

The room was huge, large enough even to practice archery. Weapons of all sorts hung on the walls: swords, broadswords, dirks, daggers, axes, maces, flails—all the tools of man’s destructive genius were displayed here. Grigán, himself, was surprised to not recognize some of them. The master-at-arms informed him these mysterious items were a thistle, a lowa, and a spitter, respectively, all weapons coming from Eastian peoples on the other side of the Curtain. The room also had numerous chests full of projectile weapons, shields, light armor, and thick training outfits.

“We’re not going to wear those,” Grigán told Léti. “You wouldn’t have them in a real fight. I don’t want you to develop any bad habits.”

Léti nodded silently, a gesture she had grown used to in fulfilling her role as a student. She had stopped doubting the warrior’s decisions a long time ago… at least those relating to her training.

“You could also kill her right away,” Rey mocked. “I mean, that’s what you would do in a real fight, right?”

“If we’re talking about another possible reality, I would have relieved our group of your unbearable presence a long time ago.”

“I’ve heard that our ancestors were the closest friends in the whole world,” Rey continued, keeping his cool. “Rafa Derkel and Reyan the Elder. Doesn’t that make you wonder? Couldn’t you make an effort to like me even a little?”

“I haven’t struck you yet. That seems like sufficient proof of my affection, or at least, of my attempts at it.”