The lonesome crown, p.58
The Lonesome Crown, page 58
Recognition filled Jubal’s eyes when he saw Liz Hen, Dokie, and Beer Mug.
Mancellor was surprised to see Jenko Bruk’s bearded father lounging on a bench near the king, silver daggers still protruding from the stumps of his arms. Mancellor could still remember Jenko sawing the limbs from his own father that frightful morn in Gallows Haven. What would the baron think of his son now? Mancellor wondered if the man even knew his son was fighting for the enemy. An image of Enna Spades flashed into his mind. I wonder if he knows his son is sleeping with the enemy.
“And it’s Leif Chaparral,” Liz Hen hissed, finally recognizing the knight. “Dokie, look, it’s that foul knight, the one who hung Bishop Godwyn.”
Mancellor soon realized it was Grand Vicar Denarius at the table opposite the king. The five archbishops of Amadon—Vandivor, Donalbain, Spencerville, Leaford, and Rhys-Duncan—were likely the men who stood there behind the grand vicar in robes and necklaces of equal finery.
Overawed, Mancellor dropped to one knee before the vicar and the quorum of five. He did the three-fingered sign of the Laijon Cross over his heart, not quite believing he was seeing the grand vicar with his own eyes.
“Stand, Ser.” Jovan’s harsh-timbred voice rang through the hall.
“Indeed, rise before us,” the grand vicar followed, tone more inviting and laced with a reverent concern. His eyes were fixed on the covered form of Jondralyn atop the pony. “What news have you brought us, good Ser?” he asked Mancellor.
“If it please Your Grace.” Mancellor stood but bowed low before the vicar, doing the three-fingered sign of the Laijon Cross over his heart again, his soul brimming, knowing this moment was the culmination of so much perseverance, sacrifice, and faith. A lump grew in his throat as he thought back on his strange and arduous five-year journey to this place, the levels of personal integrity he had forfeited, all the battles he had fought at Aeros Raijael’s side just to keep himself alive to reach this place. “You must know, ’tis an honor to be in your presence,” he said. “ ’Tis seldom one such as I can kneel before the grand vicar. I am your servant till the end.”
Denarius beckoned him stand with a quick wave of his hand, eyes still lingering on Jondralyn’s body. When Mancellor stood, he realized every eye in Sunbird Hall was fixed on the covered body slung over the back of the pony. The king’s brow furrowed, his countenance pained, yet skeptical.
“Is it true?” Leif Chaparral stepped up next to Jovan. “Is it the king’s sister you have brought us?” His dark-rimmed eyes were fixed on Mancellor, his face a mix of cold fascination and surprise.
“It is her.” Liz Hen’s red-shot eyes blazed pure anger at the tall Dayknight.
Mancellor knew of the strained history between the two. Leif would have hung the girl in Lord’s Point if not for a bishop’s intervention. A bishop named Godwyn.
“She’s truly dead,” Jovan muttered as he stepped from the dais toward the body slung over the pony.
“She was killed in Savon,” Mancellor said nervously. “Or at least, that is where we found her body.”
Jovan reached forth one tentative hand and tried to pull away the white canvas covering from his sister, struggling with it. Mancellor had wrapped the body tight. “Help me free her, Leif,” Jovan beckoned.
The tall Dayknight leaped to his king’s aid. Together they folded back the canvas, revealing the armored form of Jondralyn Bronachell. She was folded stomach-down over the swayed back of the pony, feet and legs hanging over the right side of the beast, head and arms dangling over the left. One bare hand along with the long locks of her dark hair hung almost to the floor of Sunbird Hall. Her other hand was shorn at the wrist.
Jovan lifted the hair away from his sister’s face. “I cannot tell if it is her,” he said, voice atremble now. “The face is all purple and bloated from hanging upside down like this. But she wears an eye patch.”
The king stepped back from the body, a dull, faraway stare in his eyes. It was a familiar stare, one that Mancellor had seen before. It was that glazed-over look soldiers ofttimes had after battle, after having witnessed their friends and companions hacked to death in the most gruesome of ways. Hammerfiss called it the thousand-mile gaze. And to Hammerfiss’ estimation, a soldier wasn’t a soldier until that shocked look was a permanent fixture in their eyes. It was clear to Mancellor: Jovan Bronachell had seen war, and seeing his sister dead like this was swiftly bringing back that trauma.
Leif covered his nose as a gamey, rotten stench wafted through the chamber all at once. “We must lift her from the pony.” He summoned a group of Silver Guards standing nearby. “Lift her. Gently. Set her on the floor.”
The handful of knights hauled Jondralyn’s covered body from the pony’s strained back. The princess’s body was somewhat stiff and bent in the middle as they placed the wrapped bundle on its side.
Leif knelt by her body. “If this is truly Jondralyn, it does not bode well, especially with the rumors of Vallè warships off the coast up north.”
“They are but rumors,” Jovan said, irritated. “The stories of those ships are lies.”
As Leif cut what remained of the canvas from Jondralyn’s armored figure, it swiftly became evident to all that the blood-coated body was indeed that of Princess Jondralyn Bronachell. The black eye patch Jovan spoke of still covered her one eye. Her other eye was naught but a gaping dark hole, and a puncture wound under her chin. As the knights continued to unroll the canvas down the length of her legs, a severed hand spilled out onto the floor. Liz Hen had insisted they gather the hand from the gutter in Savon and wrap it up with her body.
Mancellor heard the sniffles and cries of some of the nobles and their women in the background. It was a sad sight. Pale-faced, King Jovan Bronachell turned his back to the chamber, dropped to his knees, and vomited onto the white rug. The sound of his strained retching echoed through Sunbird Hall. This was followed by a deep silence.
“Everything shall be okay, son.” Grand Vicar Denarius drifted toward Jovan, placing a comforting hand on the broad back of the king. “None of this is your fault. You needn’t blame yourself. Your sister was headstrong and brash. She was as Laijon hath made her. Thus all that has transpired, well, ’tis naught save her own God-willed destiny, ’tis naught save the desires of our Lord the great One and Only. However it was that she hath met her fate, ’twas Laijon’s will. In that we shall take our solace.”
Liz Hen’s brow furrowed and her face darkened. Mancellor knew the girl disliked any talk of Laijon or his will. She stepped toward the pony and picked up the severed hand. With a great deal of reverence, she placed the severed appendage gently next to the princess’s body.
Watching her, Leif Chaparral’s dark-rimmed eyes narrowed. “What makes you think you can just touch the flesh of royalty?” His question was almost a bark. He stared at the girl with an unflinching self-assurance that reminded Mancellor of Aeros Raijael.
Liz Hen met Leif’s self-assured gaze firmly. “It just didn’t seem right to leave her hand in a gutter in Savon. We’ve carried it this far. I don’t want to see it sullied. Placing it next to her, I’m only making things right.”
“Making things right?” Leif huffed. “Don’t think I have forgotten your fat traitorous face, girl.”
“My traitorous face?” Liz Hen countered, rage washing over her. “I saved your life during the Battle of the Saint Only Channel! Bishop Godwyn died because of you!”
“That bishop died because of you!” Leif fired back. “ ’Twas you who broke the laws of Laijon! The man was hung because of your deception and sins!”
“But I saved you in that battle!” Liz Hen growled again.
“You did no such thing!”
“I did exactly such a thing!” she raged. “And Bishop Godwyn also fought at your side, and still you hung him. He fought valiantly at your side, as did I, as did Dokie, as did Beer Mug. We fought against Aeros Raijael and the entire might of his armies.”
Her blazing red eyes found Jubal Bruk sitting at the table. “Your son was there too, Baron Bruk! But Jenko fought at the side of the White Prince, wearing the colors of the enemy! He tried to kill me!”
“My son is alive?” The baron’s voice was gruff and pressing.
“Alive and a traitor!” Liz Hen blurted. “Jenko Bruk is a true traitor to Gul Kana, unlike me and Godwyn and Dokie and Beer Mug, who fought for our homeland.”
Horror was etched on Jubal Bruk’s face. “Jenko fought for the White Prince?”
“He did. And he was a traitor.”
“I cannot believe such of my son.”
“The girl is full of lies, Baron Bruk,” Leif said. “Everything out of the bitch’s fat face is a lie! None of us need listen to her filthy lies!”
“I am no liar.” There was dark danger brewing behind Liz Hen’s red-shot gaze. Mancellor could sense it. Next to her, Beer Mug could sense the anger too. His hackles were raised. “I fought in the Battle of the Saint Only Channel. And it was I that saved you! I fought the armies of Aeros Raijael in defense of my homeland and I saved you! Me, a fat-faced girl wielding a sword, saved you!”
“Women do not fight in my armies!” Leif gestured to the body on the floor in disgust. “Women do not fight in the armies of Gul Kana. Women do not fight in defense of their homelands or in defense of Laijon. And lying there between us is all the pathetic evidence you need, proof that allowing women in battle is naught but folly in the eyes of your king and in the eyes of your grand vicar, folly in the eyes of your god, Laijon!”
“Folly in the eyes of Laijon?” Liz Hen growled. “Do not speak to me of Laijon!”
“I’ll speak to you of whatever I damn well please, you fat shit.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck me?”
“Yes, fuck you and whatever gutter dog pissed you out of its malignant little pee hole, you bitch-made motherfucker.”
“Enough!” King Jovan shouted, storming toward Leif and Liz Hen. “Enough bickering and petty fighting!”
Sunbird Hall fell into silence again. Jovan appeared to prowl about the body of his sister like he wished to attack someone with his bare hands. “Everyone just hold your tongues! Can’t you see that my sister has been killed?” He turned to Leif. “Can’t you see that these good folk have brought her back to us at great peril to themselves? We should be thanking them, offering them the hospitality of the Silver Throne, asking them how they came to know Jondralyn, how they came to find her dead. We should be asking them if they saw her die, saw who killed her.”
“Was that red-haired Sør Sevier bitch who likely killed her,” Liz Hen said.
“ ‘Red-haired Sør Sevier bitch’?” Jovan met her gaze curiously.
“Aye.” She nodded, then stared at Leif, venom in her red-shot eyes. “ ’Twas a warrior woman who likely killed the princess.”
“Likely killed the princess?” Jovan asked. “Did you not see my sister’s murder?”
“No, Ser,” Liz Hen replied, eyes still laced with anger as she glared at Leif. “I jumped into the river because Dokie is afraid of sharks, and I missed the whole damn fight. Beer Mug jumped in after me, so he also saw nothing. And Mancellor was already in the river. But I am sure it was that Sør Sevier bitch who done the killing.”
“Her name is Enna Spades,” Mancellor Allen offered, bowing to the king. “If I may speak, Your Excellency.”
“Go on.” Jovan motioned to him. “And state your name.”
“I am Mancellor Allen,” Mancellor continued, nervous now. “Mancellor Allen of Wyn Darrè, at your service.” He paused. All eyes were on him now. “The Sør Sevier woman Liz Hen speaks of was none other than Enna Spades, one of Aeros Raijael’s famed Knights Archaic.”
“I am familiar with the name,” Jovan said. “Proceed.”
“ ’Twas Enna Spades who tracked us and the weapons and the angel stones to Savon and killed your sister.”
“Weapons and angel stones?” the grand vicar interjected, eyes now fixed on Mancellor with no small measure of intensity.
“Yes,” Mancellor answered. “The weapons of the Five Warrior Angels.”
“You do realize that what you say smacks of blasphemy,” Denarius said. “For the weapons and stones of the Five Warrior Angels were translated into heaven at the time of Laijon’s death.”
Mancellor shrank under the vicar’s cold, crisp gaze. Then he felt a thrill course through his body. I’m actually sharing words with the prophet of Laijon! In all his life he had never dreamed of meeting Laijon’s mouthpiece in the flesh, let alone becoming engaged in a conversation with the man, especially not about the weapons of the Five Warrior Angels. Then his enthusiasm dimmed at that thought. How do I convince the prophet of god that I truly have seen the angel stones, that I truly have seen the weapons of the Five Warrior Angels when The Way and Truth of Laijon claims it is impossible?
It stung that the vicar had so casually dismissed his story as blasphemous. But Mancellor knew what he had seen and could not deny it. “You must, um, believe me, Your Grace,” he began, stumbling on his words. “Enna Spades followed me—well, rather followed me and Liz Hen and Dokie—to Savon because she believed we carried Lonesome Crown and Forgetting Moon along with two angel stones. I kept the stones in a pouch. I swear it to be true. All of it.”
The chamber was silent. The grand vicar furrowed his brow.
“Go on,” Jovan finally ordered Mancellor. “How did you come about these weapons and stones?”
Mancellor swallowed back the lump of nervousness growing in his throat. “I stole the weapons and stones from Aeros Raijael during the Battle of the Saint Only Channel. I fled toward Amadon in an effort to bring the weapons and stones to the Silver Throne. Liz Hen and Dokie traveled with me.”
“Beer Mug joined us too,” Dokie said. “Don’t forget that, Mancellor.”
The dog wagged his tail. Liz Hen patted his head.
“The dog too,” Mancellor added. “Enna Spades hunted us the entire way. She tracked us to Savon. In Savon we met a young man by the name of Lindholf Le Graven. Lindholf carried with him what he claimed to be Ethic Shroud, Afflicted Fire, and Blackest Heart along with three angel stones similar in shape and brilliance to the two stones I carried—”
Leif laughed. “This story has officially ventured into the realm of the absurd.”
“Shush.” Jovan motioned to Leif. “We will hear him out.”
“You don’t actually believe this tall tale?” Leif asked.
“What I believe is not in question.” Jovan’s voice was infused with impatience. “The man is recounting the story of my sister’s death and I wish to hear it, no matter how outlandish.” He looked to Mancellor. “Carry on, Ser.”
“Lindholf stayed with us at the Preening Pintail in Savon,” Mancellor said. “Your sister, Princess Jondralyn, eventually found us at the Preening Pintail, believing the five weapons and angel stones we had with us were real. She died atop a stone tower above the tavern, trying to guard those weapons. She was killed by Enna Spades.”
“And where were you all when my sister was slain?” Jovan asked.
“We were all in the river below the tower,” Liz Hen answered. “Including Beer Mug.” The dog wagged his tail, hearing his name again.
“Why in the river?” Jovan asked.
“Because Dokie doesn’t like sharks,” Liz Hen said.
“These are crazy people,” Leif said mockingly. “Especially the girl. I knew her in Lord’s Point. They are deceivers and liars.”
“They are not crazy,” the vicar said. “They believe what they say is true. And the news they bring, true or not, is ill tidings indeed. For if Enna Spades takes these five weapons back to Aeros Raijael, he may believe that they are real. And having weapons that he believes are the weapons of the Five Warrior Angels will only bolster his confidence. It will speed his advance across the Saint Only Channel and into Gul Kana.”
“Yes.” Jovan looked at the vicar. “Yes, it will.”
“This story proves that Absolution is upon us,” Denarius said. “It proves that great and glorious day of Laijon’s return is nigh. We should all of us rejoice at what news Ser Mancellor Allen has brought us today. It is all as Laijon wills it.”
Jovan looked down on his sister lying in awkward bloodstained repose on the floor at his feet. “We shall thank Ser Mancellor and his travel companions for their bravery and heroism in bringing back my dear sister. In fact, we shall throw a banquet for them, hail them as the heroes that they are.”
Mancellor felt the pride swell up inside. He felt the confidence in himself grow, knowing he had done the right thing. All the pain and heartache since being taken captive in Wyn Darrè had led him to this moment. Maybe it wasn’t perfect. But it was validation. Laijon had truly watched over him.
Jovan addressed the chamber. “For now we shall honor my sister with the proper funeral rites set aside for those of the kingship. We shall have Val-Gianni and Val-Korin prepare her body, and she shall lie in state in Tin Man Square at the bottom of the Long Stairs. We can all pay homage to her there.”
“My father returned to Val Vallè some weeks ago,” a silken voice sounded from somewhere in the chamber. “Or did you forget?”
“Seita!” Liz Hen’s face was a mask of sheer happiness as her eyes roamed the crowd. Then the most striking Vallè maiden Mancellor had ever seen pushed her way through the throng.
“Seita,” Dokie gasped, grin as wide as Liz Hen’s. “It’s Seita!” Even Beer Mug wagged his tail at the sight of the Vallè maiden.
“You know these people?” Jovan asked Seita.
The Vallè bowed to the king. “ ’Tis a long story, Your Excellency, perhaps for another time. And yes, they are my friends. But as you say, today is for grieving the loss of our beloved Princess Jondralyn.”
Jovan bowed to her. Seita bowed in return. “If it please Your Excellency, I would offer my father’s own chamber for my friends to stay in whilst they recover from their travels.”
“An admirable idea.” Jovan nodded his approval. “I shall leave it up to you to see that all their comforts are met during their stay here at the king’s court.”
