Knight and Nightrider: The King's Daughter, #4

By J. Kathleen Cheney

A country braces for war…

The former cadets of the war college of Amiestrin know their king isn't just royal. He's a Seer of profound talent and, quite possibly, a madman as well. But for years now, the king and the other Seers have been predicting war, and they're the ones who will have to fight it.

 

Llelas Sevireiya has spent the past year preparing his home province for that war. When a young Seer shows up at his door with orders for him to take time out to seek out a wife, he travels to Perisen and brings one home, not one anyone expected.

 

Thomas Farrier has plans for his life, but the marshals seem determined to upend them. Now he must adapt to a political role helping refugees who are fleeing over the border into Jenear. That assignment takes him to Sandrine, the home of his friend, Llelas.

 

Ellis Dantreon serves as a member of the King's Bodyguard, guarding her own father. When the king decides to visit the border, the only question he has for his daughter is whether she's ready. Now she, Thomas, and Llelas must become what the Seers expect of them: the princess, the knight, and the nightrider.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Kathleen Cheney
• Release date: Sep 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393746034

J. Kathleen Cheney

J. Kathleen Cheney is a former teacher and has taught mathematics ranging from 7th grade to Calculus, with a brief stint as a Gifted and Talented Specialist. She is a member of SFWA, RWA, and Broad Universe. Her works have been published in Jim Baen's Universe, Writers of the Future, and Fantasy Magazine, among others. Her novels, The Golden City, The Seat of Magic, and The Shores of Spain, are published in by Ace/Roc books. Her website can be found at www.jkathleencheney.com

Book preview

Part I

On the Home Front

1

October 12, 496

Sandrine Province

Llelas wearily regarded the morning sun through gaps in the broken glass of the manor house’s sunroom. And the new glass does not work?

Verin Dantreon crossed his arms over his chest, his mouth set in a thin line. Llelas had convinced the engineer to come to Sandrine to work on roads and towns—infrastructure—but Verin had volunteered to take on the renovation of the manor house as well, an effort that could be spread out over years while the roads must come sooner.

Verin had forgotten his coat back in the entryway, though, and looked appropriately chilled by the Sandrinian fall morning bite that crept into the sunroom since there was so little glass left. It will work, he said. My men will have to cut it, though, to fit these old frames. Are you certain you want this whole side encased in glass?

Llelas sighed and impolitely scratched an itching spot in his beard—nearly a year later, and the scar along his jaw still itched and pulled.

He had no strong attachment to this house and, barring the expense, would not mind tearing the entire building down and starting again. But this room, the sunroom, had been his mother’s domain. It held all his happy memories from this place, just as the front stairs held most of his fears. It had been his grandfather’s favorite room as well… and reportedly his grandfather’s mother’s.

Now that the essentials of making the manor house safe, cleaning the chimneys, and locating enough furniture to make the place livable had been completed, it was time to tackle the actual restoration of the building to its former beauty. And modernizing it as well, since Verin had drawn up a plan for a furnace in the basement that would heat the whole house—not just the new wing. It would be much like the one they had at the garrison back in the capital of Jenesetta.

This room would be the first one refinished. The broad floor was stone, so a rug would be needed at some point, and the current furnishings were tired old pieces he had brought over from his grandfather’s hunting lodge not far to the east. The children did not mind the aged sofas, though, and wore coats when the wind blew in through the broken panes. And the many windows of the southern wall would be double-paned to reserve some of the heat in winter… apparently a challenge with the condition of some of the old window frames.

Take out the old frames if you need, he told Verin, replace them with newer, but I still want the wall and that angled part of the ceiling glassed in.

Verin nodded, his dark visage caught in what Llelas called his problem-solving face. He had met Verin while they were both at the war college, Llelas as a cadet and Verin as a lieutenant assisting with the engineering classes. Even then Verin had expressed interest in the challenges Llelas faced in trying to modernize an entire province while still maintaining its character and upsetting its inhabitants as little as possible. Especially Grandfather, who complained over every little thing that happened in the province as if it was his alone. Llelas hoped that the resurrection of the sunroom might appease Grandfather a little.

After a moment, Verin announced, I can get two men out here to work on it tomorrow. Would that do?

Llelas held in a laugh. Verin was always rushing about, trying to work five miracles at once. Tomorrow would be fine.

Llelas? a voice called from beyond the sunroom door.

In here, Liana, he called back.

His brother Sovre’s wife entered the sunroom, her tan apron showing signs that she had interrupted her breakfast preparations to come find him. Sovre’s wife was a clever woman of Jenear birth. Like many Jenear, she carried a mixture of Menhirre blood and Versh, and thus had dark hair and fair skin. She also had enough of a sense of humor to tolerate living in this ramshackle house. Fortunate for me.

Breakfast will be served in a few minutes, she said, sparing a warm smile for Verin. Will you join us, Mr. Dantreon?

Verin opened his mouth to answer, struggled in indecision, and then opted for the politest decision. Yes, of course, Mrs. Sevireiya.

Verin had made the mistake of making goat eyes at Llelas’ sister too soon after meeting her, and ever since she had treated him as if he had some manner of pox. Siva was not comfortable around men, and Llelas had some doubt she ever would be.

It will be fine, Llelas told him. Verin’s eye had already moved on to one of the Ironwright daughters, another lost cause, since theirs was a wealthy family, and Verin was just starting his career. And Siva might simply avoid the table, knowing Verin was present.

Liana wiped her hands on her apron and turned to Llelas. Also, it seems we have been mailed a boy. Did you perhaps order one instead of a new stove?

"A boy? You cannot mail children, Llelas protested. The rail-line cutting through Sandrine Province was in its infancy, less than two years old, so irregularities happened, but Jenear’s mail system was longstanding enough to know better than to allow the mailing of a child. Can you?"

Liana’s hazel eyes wrinkled at the corners. He has a label and everything. Delivered to the station with the rest of the mail, and the stationmaster sent him up just now on the wagon. Little Menhirre boy, says his name is Jesse?

Llelas licked his lips. Of course, it would be Jesse. Excuse me, Verin. I should go look into this.

Verin waved him on, his eyes fixed on the offending window frames. I’ll be along in a moment.

Once Verin’s mind started working on a problem, a moment often became an hour or more, so Llelas left him to muse over the problem. He fell into step with his sister-in-law instead, heading back to the kitchen. The undecorated hallway was warmer, although his bare feet were chilled on the runner-less wood—yet another thing he needed to purchase. Did you feed Jesse?

I did, Liana said. He is on his second serving of cakes by now, I suspect. He is Revasien’s little boy, is he not?

Liana knew Sirien Revasien via their mutual work on the Sandrine Trust; Liana had studied economics at the university where she and Sovre had met, while Sirien provided investment advice suggested by his Seer’s Gift instead. "Well, I cannot imagine it being a different Menhirre boy named Jesse, Llelas said. Honestly, if a child can be mailed, why can we not mail an order for the new stove?"

Liana chuckled and turned down the steps that led into the kitchen. She paused at the base of the steps to put on her clogs and then stepped out of Llelas’ way, sweeping one hand graciously toward the kitchen table where a young boy sat.

It had been almost a year since Llelas last saw the boy. Now eleven years old, Jesse Revasien was beginning to show what he would look like as a young man; not particularly tall, stockier than the average Menhirre, and with curling dark hair and bright green eyes. He looked nothing like his father, the king, save for a new hint of squareness to his jaw. Jesse glanced up from his meal of oatcakes, grinned broadly, and held out the postal tag still pinned to the shoulder of his brown jacket. Llelas! Look, I mailed myself!

Llelas pinched the bridge of his nose but went over and peered at the scribbled postal tag. Surely someone in authority somewhere knew this idiocy was possible.

The children have already taken breakfast up to the dining room, Liana interjected with a wave toward the dumbwaiter. Why not join us there?

Llelas glanced over at his sister-in-law, who apparently had come down to the kitchen merely to remove her apron and fetch a bottle of honey. We will be there soon.

She inclined her head, left her clogs at the bottom of the stairs, and softly padded back up to the hallway.

Llelas turned his attention back to their visitor. Jesse, does your Uncle know where you are?

Jesse’s grin faded, and his eyes darted to the corner of the room, a sign that he was considering lying.

So, he does not, Llelas guessed. That explains mailing yourself. How did you manage that?

I read the newspaper, Jesse said with a shrug. "The Versh one. See, I am studying. They said people mail their children to their family all the time, so I borrowed the money and paid for the mail."

Llelas groaned. He suspected the newspaper article in question had run more along the lines of People Should Not Be Allowed to Mail Children. From whom did you borrow the money?

Jesse’s eyes flickered away again. Um…

Llelas spared him the effort. Whoever it was, you will pay them back.

Jesse nodded quickly. Yes, sir.

So… what are you doing here?

I need to tell you to do something, Jesse said, grin fading. Uncle said not to bother you, but… it is important. You have to go.

Jesse was already a Seer, although it was difficult to judge his strength since he often elaborated on his powers. Then again, if he had stolen money—Llelas would bet that came from his uncle’s housekeeper—and risked posting himself in the mail, Llelas supposed he could hear the boy out. Where do I have to go?

Jesse swallowed and nodded his head jerkily. To Perisen. It is important.

Llelas groaned and sat down on the bench across from the boy. Perisen was currently one of the places he should not go. The duke and his brother Hessien both wanted him dead, not a secret. Why?

To… um, to find your wife. Jesse licked his lips. It is important.

Llelas covered his face with his hands. Ah, God help me.

He did need to find a wife. He needed a child to carry on the stewardship of Sandrine Province. He needed help to pull this ruined monstrosity of a house into order; he could not lay that burden on his brother’s wife forever. And since he had vowed celibacy until he did marry, there would be other advantages to having a wife.

But he had thought perhaps to wait until spring, or perhaps summer. Or next fall.

When he lifted his head a moment later, Jesse still gazed at him, a narrow line of worry between his brows. How am I supposed to find a wife in Perisen?

At the palace, Jesse said. "She will be there."

Now that was Jesse’s Gift speaking. Jesse was not the sort who took interest in social affairs, so he would not know there was to be a ball at the ducal palace in Perisen to celebrate the city’s three-hundredth anniversary. The duke, Llelas’ cousin, had invited him, fully expecting him to decline. Llelas had not even bothered with that formality. The invitation—for two days hence—still sat on the desk in Llelas’ cluttered office.

Two days. Enough time to take Jesse back to his uncle, take the night train to Perisen, and… avoid the duke and his brother while attending a party in their home. And while he was there, find a woman who would be willing to live out in the countryside in a drafty manor house that was halfway burnt down.

Who would be willing to marry a man she had just met?

What sort of woman would do that? A reckless woman? A woman desperate for the relatively meaningless title of duchess?

Jesse, one does not simply pick a wife out of a crowd, he pointed out.

You have to go, Jesse whispered. Please, Llelas.

Jesse had said it was important more than once, but it was equally possible that Jesse had no idea why. Seers never seemed to have complete road maps.

Llelas let out a pent breath. How will I recognize this woman?

Jesse’s eyes slipped away as he searched through his mind for some answer. The boy finally answered, She needs you.

2

October 14, 496

Perisen

Jesse was wrong.

Of all cities, Perisen was currently Llelas’ least favorite, and the ducal palace one of the last places in Perisen he would choose to be. Still, here he was, amidst a crowd of people he neither knew nor wanted to know.

The ducal palace itself glowed with gaslight, giving the white-plastered hallways a warm look. The rugs, the landscapes on the wall, the occasional draperies that hid alcoves and windows and balconies—all were of the finest quality, mostly imported. White-and-gold liveried footmen carried trays filled with sweets and glasses of wine, none of which Llelas would touch.

The majority of the guests had dressed in the blue and white of Jenear, making Llelas feel like a raven in his blacks. They danced in the ballroom and milled about the hallways, spilling wine and crumbs in their wake. Perfume and perspiration filled the air, and the chatter in the entryway drowned out the chords of the string quintet in the ballroom.

Most were also trying to get close to the duke. The few who recognized Llelas were little problem. They either knew he had little to give or knew him well enough to know that, at a ball like this, he was always in an unapproachably foul mood.

After enduring half an hour of the overwarm air and crowded rooms, Llelas found a stairwell that led out toward the servants’ wing of the house. Following what he considered the most logical plan, he quickly located a stairwell that led to the roof.

The duke, he had heard, sometimes used the palace’s roof to entertain. At the apex of the steep copper rooftop, a large flat area was surrounded by a low, stone wall. There had been fireworks earlier—likely enticing a few people out here to watch—but Llelas had missed those, and now the rooftop was abandoned. A cool night wind had set up, and most of the guests were not warmly dressed enough to stand outside. Llelas found himself alone in the chilly air.

Half-hidden in the lee of the stairwell, he stood and gazed out in the direction of Sandrine. Three hours by train to the station, then an hour’s ride toward the manor, where he had far more business being than here. At least on the rooftop, the air was clean after a light rain, and cool enough to remind him of home. He found the dark quiet comforting.

The door swung open abruptly and slammed back against the wall. A young woman ran out onto the roof. She scanned the rooftop briefly and then ran to one of the walls and peered over its edge. At first Llelas thought she meant to cast up her meal. Then, with a feeling of dread, he watched as she used an urn to step up onto the low wall. Kijal.

The full skirts of her blue gown fluttered in the wind, making her balance on the wall precarious. Llelas kicked off his shoes. If he could get to her before she jumped, it would not do to startle her into falling. He crossed the flat part of the roof and stopped only a foot behind her.

Her arm shot out. Something flashed in the moonlight as it clanged against the copper roof and fell into the gardens below. She stood very still then, her shoulders slumping in an attitude of defeat.

He reached out his hands to stop her, only to have her turn back toward him. Her surprise at finding him standing so close behind her almost accomplished what he had tried to prevent. She jerked quickly away, losing her balance, and would have fallen had Llelas not gotten his arms around her in time. He pulled her back to the roof and set on her own feet.

She began crying in earnest then, so Llelas did the only thing that seemed sensible at the moment; he put his arms around her.

She needs you. Why was this young woman important to Jesse?

Her sobs subsided, and the hands clutching at his jacket let him go. Llelas stepped back and tipped the woman’s chin up to look at her face. It was a rude familiarity—touching her without permission—but once he saw her features, he realized she would not think so.

She was Versh, her fair skin and soft, round cheeks showing none of the angularity common to the olive-skinned Menhirre. Her fine gown suggested she was from one of the city’s better families, but the style had been chosen for an innocent. It was not cut in the current fashion that displayed the attributes which he, having held her in his arms, was aware she possessed. She was young, perhaps only sixteen or seventeen. Far too young to be throwing herself off a roof.

So, he said quietly, now you will tell me what is wrong.

Her eyes suddenly took on a look of desperation, a line appearing on her smooth brow. I can’t, she whispered, her voice lower than he had expected given her petite size. The top of her head barely reached his nose, and he was not tall.

I am a useful person. That idiom meant nothing in Versh, he recalled, so he tried again. I am willing to help you if I can. I cannot, though, if I do not know what the difficulty is.

You’re Menhirre, aren’t you? she asked, eyes narrowing.

Fairly obvious. Yes, I am, but I have many Versh friends, so I do not think that signifies anything for my understanding if this is a Versh problem.

You talk like a Menhirre, she noted in wry tone, but then added, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.

He laughed softly. This conversation was already ridiculous. I am difficult to offend. However, you have not told me why you came out here tonight. And that is what I want to know.

The quizzical look on her face faded into determination. I can’t tell you, sir.

Of course, it would have to be a secret to send a well-bred girl out here alone. Are you afraid I will tell someone? If you wish, I will give you my oath of secrecy, but I can be of no use to you until you tell me.

She bit her lip and suddenly tried to edge past him.

He stepped that way, hands up so she would see he was not threatening her. Please. I want to help.

For a moment she merely stood there, lips pressed tight in indecision. Then her eyes flicked up to meet his, uncertain, evaluating him. In the moonlight, he guessed they might be blue.

No one can ever know, she whispered.

That was progress. If you tell me, I promise I will not tell it to anyone else.

He took her hand and drew her toward the stairwell, gesturing for her to sit on the low wall near the door. He stepped over, picked up his shoes, and then put them on despite his wet stockings. She watched silently as he did so, waiting until he joined her sitting on the wall, not too close.

I’m with child, she finally admitted, and I can’t hide it much longer.

That was what he had expected she would say. It answered the question he had held in mind since Jesse suggested this—why she might marry a man she hardly knew. How long?

Almost four months, she admitted.

And what of the child’s father? Can I assume he will not marry you?

Oh, no, she said with the ghost of a laugh. I am nothing to him.

A fickle lover? Not unheard of. Did you love him?

No! She shook her head and wrapped her arms about herself. I’d never met him before that night. I would not have come here but I thought he might be willing to help me to find a place to live in the city until my child should be born. I thought he might have that tiny bit of decency. She fell silent. He laughed at me. He took me for a housemaid or a lady’s companion dressed up in someone else’s finery. He told me it was just as easy to end a life as it is to begin one.

Llelas had a bad feeling about this. Did you go to him willingly?

You mean that night? No. She gazed across the roof, a bleak expression in her eyes. He and his brother had come visiting my father for business, and since we live in the countryside, they were staying at our home. He called for water, late at night. I had been working in the stables—a mare giving birth—and I saw that all the maids had already gone to bed, so I took it up. That was my wrongdoing, my stupidity. She licked her lips. "Afterward… when I came to, I do not even remember what happened, but I knew what he had done to me."

Came to. That was the Versh idiom for regaining consciousness, not merely waking. Surely, she had been drugged. And you were afraid your family would not believe you?

"No. They would believe me. She stared at that low stone wall on which she had stood. My father, my brothers, they would go after him. But his family is powerful. Should my father seek justice, they would crush my family. Everything father has worked for and built, they would destroy. They would ruin my brother’s career."

Llelas felt his jaw clench. There was only one family in Perisen powerful enough to crush a man who sought justice from them. Only one brother in that family callous enough to handle such a young girl in that manner.

Her face turned toward him. I did not ever believe that man meant to do right by me, nor would I want to marry him should he offer. I am not that much a fool. If I go to a workhouse, she said quietly, I can stay there for some time, but I am afraid my father would find me. I don’t know how long I can hide from him in the city.

It was a logical plan. Unwed girls often made their way to the workhouses if their families forced them out. She had been in a stable before, assisting with the horses. In the moonlight, he could make out a faint trace of freckles across her nose. She was not a pampered child. She could likely survive the workhouse, as so many did not. But there were other options, Llelas knew.

So you see, she went on, I know what I must do now. She said that forgivingly, as if to reassure him she would not need his aid after all.

Hessien and I do not like each other very well, he said quietly.

And he was proved right in his awful guess. Her eyes widened and she blanched, turning even paler in the moonlight. You’re not… Her brows together fiercely. …a Marisi, are you?

No, I am a Sevireiya.

Oh, she said as she considered that. She had likely heard his name or seen it in the newspapers but might not have made the connection to who he was.

Did he drug you? Llelas asked her then. He is a purveyor of several of the city’s more exotic drugs. It would not be unlike him to use such things to have his way with women. Your father should know of that…

Her shoulders squared. Father didn’t know.

Llelas sighed. She was wary of him now, knowing he was on any terms with the duke’s family, and very defensive of her family. I am sorry. It is an open secret here what sort of man Hessien is. The duke himself should know better than to take his brother into an honest man’s home.

She made a soft scoffing sound.

Llelas swallowed. I cannot believe I am about to do this.

I will offer a different solution to your problem, he said. I was sent to Perisen with instructions to bring back a wife. I live out in the countryside in Sandrine Province. If you were to return there with me, no one would know the child is not mine.

After a few seconds of silence, she said, You can’t do that.

Why not?

This isn’t your responsibility, she said firmly, chin lowering. You don’t even know who I am. Why should you even think of such a thing?

It will sound absurd, I know, miss, but a Seer sent me here in search of a wife. Why should that not be you? I can help you. It would please me to do so.

She shook her head quickly. But you know nothing about me!

That was untrue. I know you are brave enough to face this on your own to protect your family. I know you must be intelligent enough to keep this hidden from your family and your servants for this long. I know you are willing to work hard enough to live in a workhouse. What I need to know is whether you would be willing to try to make a good marriage with a man you barely know?

She gazed at him, eyes glistening with tears.

I am twenty-four years old, he said, knowing most people looked once at his white-threaded hair and thought him much older. My home is in the countryside. My brother’s family sometimes shares my home, as well as my sister. By Versh standards both of them are bastards, so I am not one who would blink at a child’s irregular birth. I have a terrible reputation, which I earned when I was younger. I doubt that your father, if he knew of me, would like me in his household. And I have a poor temper. But I have tried for the last few years to become as respectable as I can be. I will keep my vows, should you agree to marry me.

I don’t know what to say, she said quietly.

Perhaps, he said then, you might consider my offer, and I could speak with you again tomorrow.

She looked relieved at the offer of a reprieve.

I shall take you back down to your father now, but will call on you in the morning, perhaps around ten?

Yes, she said, jaw firm. We are staying at our house here on Dayes Street. Number 507.

Now why does that sound familiar?

He took her hand and led her down the staircase, halting at the landing before an ornate mirror that hung on the wall. He handed her his handkerchief. She quickly straightened her hair, evidently realizing that should she reenter the ballroom in such a state, her virtue might be called into question—unfair though that might be.

She was pretty in a Versh way, her dark hair showing a tendency to curl. There were, indeed, freckles running across her nose and cheeks, and a light tan colored her skin, unfashionable among the Versh, who cherished their paleness. Her garb was tasteful and well-made, agreeing with his earlier estimate. She might be older than he originally guessed, perhaps even eighteen or nineteen. When she had finished tucking the loose tendrils of hair into place, he put her hand back on his sleeve. She peered up at him, getting her first good look at his face in the candlelight.

How did you get that scar? she asked as he led her down to the next staircase.

His short beard did not completely hide the scar that snaked along the left side of his chin. In a fight, he offered, with Hessien Marisi. Several months ago. If I had killed him that day, you would not have had anything to worry about now.

Her mouth opened into an O. What… what happened?

He abducted a young woman, and I went after them. I should have simply shot him, but I hoped he might reconsider and let her go. He almost killed me, then. In the end, his own brother shot him to save my life. He paused on the stairwell. But you must not tell that to anyone; it is a secret.

Her brows drew together. His brother shot him?

Jerin—the youngest of them. He shot Hessien to save me, so you must not think that all of them are bad.

Are you and Lord Jerin friends, then?

He could safely claim that. Yes.

Her shoulders relaxed at bit, as if she knew that was a favorable sign. My brother is a friend of his, too. Perhaps you know him? His name is Thomas.

His blood pounded in his ears. God help me.

Of course, the house number had seemed familiar—he had stayed in that house just over two years ago. That explained her being in the stables late at night as well. If she was Thomas Farrier’s sister, she would have spent a good deal of time around horses. Had Thomas not once said that they all had to work? And there was a slight resemblance to her brother, something about the eyes and the nose.

While his mind was spinning in consternation, they had come down the stairwell and now found themselves among other guests, who did not seem to note anything untoward in their slow pace around the edge of the crowd. She leaned toward him and pointed discreetly, There is my father, she said in a whisper.

Her father must have missed her long ago, Llelas suspected from the frown on the large man’s face. He led her through the crowd