Old Habits Die Hard: Reign of the Eagle, #5

By J.S. Mawdsley

In the midst of a bloody civil war, Sister Morwen just wants to focus on prayer and charity at her convent. Unfortunately, her mother, Duchess Flora Byrne, happens to be the most powerful woman in the country, and she's just switched sides in the war. As an enemy army threatens the convent, led by a brutal warrior who mocks everything Morwen believes in, young Edwin Sigor, the rightful king, struggles to hold together his fragile coalition with Duchess Flora. If only his wayward sister could be more help. And if only his uncle weren't such a terrible general.

 

Change is coming to Morwen and her little cloistered community, but old habits die hard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.S. Mawdsley
• Release date: Jun 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223515128

J.S. Mawdsley

We’re a husband and wife novel writing team and have been since about a month after our marriage in 2007. He’s a teacher of education law. She’s a Librarian. Being able to write together so happily once made a friend remark that we are as mythical as unicorns. J.S. Mawdsley live in Ohio, where they share their house with half a dozen dying houseplants, and their yard with a neighborhood cat named Eugene, a mother deer and her fawn, affectionately known as the Countess and Cherubino, and a couple of blue jays, Henry and Eleanor. 

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Myrcia and the Northern Trahernian Lands

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Chapter 1

358 M.E.

The gate seemed smaller than she remembered. But then, she didn’t remember it very well. She had been away for nine years, after all. The entry to the outer barbican was narrow and off-center. Beyond it, she found fine horses tethered, and merchants’ carts, and barrels of mead on the packed earth, and servants rushing back and forth. Then came the dry moat and the old drawbridge, which was far less grand than her childhood eyes had made it. And finally, there was the castle. A fine castle, to be sure, but not a very comfortable home. A fortress trying to dress up and pretend to be a palace. Especially with a wedding fast approaching.

Morwen Byrne had been back to the city of Keneburg several times. Never back to the castle where she’d been born, though. Even so, it had been there, hulking in the river mist, or glimmering in the spring sunlight. She hadn’t had the courage to return, in spite of the repeated and vociferous invitations. But now she had to go, because of the wedding. And if she didn’t go in and see the family, what on earth was she even doing here? The abbey had plenty of other work that needed done in the outside world, and she could get right to it, if she turned around under this mossy, dripping stone arch and turned her back on her old life, once and forever.

No. She couldn’t do that. Not after she’d been given a special dispensation to be here. Morwen took a deep breath and started over the bridge toward the inner gate. That was when the sergeant of the guard swung out of his guard shack to intercept her, politely but massively.

Pardon me, sister. Could I help you, perhaps? Then he knew her, and he laughed. Well, bless the Light! If it isn’t Lady Morwen!

Sister Morwen, now, she corrected him. Hello, Sergeant Arran. We walked over from the hostel to see if there was anything we could do.

The big sergeant wrinkled his brow and looked around her. Um... ‘we,’ your ladyship? I mean, your sistership?

For the first time in ten minutes, since she’d paused in the square outside the barbican to cast a critical eye over her family’s ancestral home, she looked behind her. No one was there.

Oh, no, she sighed. Sergeant, have you seen another girl in Leofine habit? She would have been younger than me. Blonde. Morwen paused. If Lillian had her wimple and veil arranged properly, the guards shouldn’t have seen her hair at all. Although, with Lillian, you never knew. Yes. Blonde hair, round face, freckles.

It turned out Sergeant Arran had just come on duty. He asked around, and another guard said he thought he’d seen a Leofine nun in the Court of Honor five minutes earlier. But he couldn’t say where she’d gone.

After bidding the guards farewell, Morwen crossed the Court of Honor, pausing to search the forge and the arcades for a familiar shape in gray and white. But Lillian wasn’t there.

At the far side, she headed for the entrance to the great hall, only to find her way suddenly blocked by sweating and shouting servants, carrying some massive lump of tangled wedding decorations. The traditional green boughs and the painted silk ribbons and such were all twisted into a knot, because someone had had the bright idea of bringing them all in together.

Morwen hesitated only a moment—as long as it took for her to work out the solution to the puzzle in her mind—and then she went over and took charge. Someone clearly had to. Look, if you there—yes, the housemaids—will bring that part around here. Yes, take the holly garland with you, please. And the footmen, now. Pull back on that bough there. No, lower, so it doesn’t snag the doorway. She pointed. The doorway. Gentlemen? The doorway? Look where I’m pointing. Yes, exactly. You need to go lower.

It went much quicker once they all accepted that they had to do what she told them and stop asking pointless questions like, Who are you? or Who put you in charge? Finally they had everything untangled, and Morwen went into the hall with them to make sure they put it up on the walls properly.

After another ten minutes, when it looked as if they had the decorations in hand, Morwen remembered that she was looking for Lillian. She asked the housemaids and learned that another nun had been seen upstairs. Why on earth would she go there? wondered Morwen.

But she had a duty to collect the girl, so she went up the old back stairs—the way she’d gone to bed long ago. The stairs were still worn, the floors still creaked. She knew the pattern of the mosaics, the ripples of the glass in the windows. She hadn’t even remembered that she knew these things, but it all came back to her.

Halfway down the hall, at the turn, a familiar door was open, and Morwen stopped to glance in. Sister Lillian? Her voice came out in a breathless whisper. Lillian? Are you here?

There was no answer, and Morwen was alone with her past. She turned slowly in place, taking in the cloth-of-gold bed curtains and the ivory washbasin and the gold mirror. All the books, too, on the sagging shelves. Books she hadn’t remembered owning, and blushed now to think she had read. The silk drapes—rich enough for a king’s robes. The massive carpet—thick enough for a mattress, practically. The paintings in their gilt frames—amateur efforts by a conceited little girl who had thought she was an artistic genius.

Morwen took a second look. Actually, that one landscape of the Colwinn Valley wasn’t bad.

They had kept it all. Her parents had kept it precisely where she had left it. Almost as if she had died. Or more exactly, as if they expected her to come back. She had explicitly told them that they should sell it all and give the money to the poor. They had both written—separately—to assure her it had been done. But they’d lied. Blast them both.

Morwen heaved a sigh and said a quick prayer that Earstien would forgive those sinfully un-filial thoughts.

The side door to the privy banged open. Oh, there you are! cried Sister Lillian, skipping over to join Morwen. I thought you were walking with me, and then we were separated, and I asked where to find you, and someone said I should go up here!

Morwen smiled. Listen, I need to see the chamberlain, so we know where we’ll be seated at the cathedral, and then we can go back to the hostel for prayers. Won’t that be lovely?

Lillian didn’t seem to hear her. The girl wandered around the room, looking at the tapestries, gawking up at the painted ceiling, and gazing in rapturous wonder at the massive bed. Oh, Sister Morwen, was all this really yours?

Yes, said Morwen, feeling heartily ashamed of herself and her family.

It’s beautiful, said Lillian.

It’s unnecessary luxury.

Oh, but not everything luxurious is unnecessary. Is it?

Lillian had an uncomfortable way of asking those questions—the questions that left you wondering if she was a born philosopher of rare perception, or if she had somehow misunderstood the basic point of monastic life.

Yes, Lillian, said Morwen firmly. Luxuries are unnecessary. At least for you and me.

There was a knock at the door, then a little squeal, and running feet. Before Morwen could look completely around, she was seized in a tight hug. She knew, even before she saw the face, that it was her sister Lauren. The one getting married.

Her little sister, in fact, though Lauren now stood half a head taller than her. Morwen stepped back at arm’s length to take the girl in. They had seen each other, now and again, over the past nine years. And they wrote regularly. But it didn’t seem possible that this graceful, fluttering court lady, with all her lace and jewels, could possibly be little Lauren.

She guessed at Morwen’s thoughts, and guessed poorly. You’re thinking my clothes are sinfully decadent, aren’t you?

No. I was thinking I can’t believe you’re the girl who used to rescue frogs and bring them into the tapestry room whenever it rained.

I had it on good authority that one of them might be a prince in magysk disguise, said Lauren.

They spoke for a few minutes about the old days, and Morwen introduced Lillian. Then Morwen asked how things were going with the wedding, and Lauren’s smile faded. With an apologetic glance at Lillian, she said, I’m sorry, but could we have a word...um, alone?

No one back at the abbey had ever accused Lillian Dunster of being the sharpest quill in the inkwell, but the girl saw Lauren’s point instantly. I think I’ll go see if I can find a snack in the buttery, she said, bustling out.

When she was gone, Morwen closed the door. Leading her sister over to the window seat, she asked, What’s wrong? Has Wallace done something?

Lauren’s face flushed. Er...no. Wallace is...um, fine. She took a long, slow breath. Listen, Morwen, that’s the whole problem. He seems fine. No, he’s lovely. He really is. No, that’s not true. I mean, maybe he is. My point is....

Your point is that you don’t know, said Morwen.

I feel so stupid, said Lauren, her eyes starting to glisten. I never said ‘yes’ to any of this. But I never said ‘no,’ either. Mother started talking about it one day, and next thing I knew, there was Wallace. I’ve had...I don’t know...maybe an hour’s conversation with him in my whole life! And Andras says he’s a wonderful fellow, and Father likes him, too. And the marriage is good for the Sigor cause, now that we’re supporting King Edwin in the war. And yet.... Lauren rubbed her eyes. She took Morwen’s hand. I’m being stupid about this, aren’t I? Please tell me I’m being stupid to hesitate. I should be happy about this, shouldn’t I? If you say it, it’ll have the full weight of the Leafa church.

You’re being stupid, Morwen confirmed. Then she sat up straighter and added, But not about being happy. If you read Ovida’s Second Epistle, you’ll see that a marriage isn’t really a marriage without consent. It’s your moral duty to make certain that you really want to go through with this.

She had expected that to be reassuring, but Lauren shook her head. You’re so lucky you got out of this.

The door from the corridor opened, and Duchess Flora Byrne, mother of Morwen and Lauren, poked her head in.

Oh, there you are! she said, opening the door all the way. Her dress was even finer than Lauren’s. Made of bright white silk, it had pearls in the bodice and strips of ermine on the sleeves. She swept them both into a tight hug. Oh, it’s so good to see you both like this. She let them go and looked around Morwen’s old suite, smiling. Together, like the old days.

Lauren was younger by seven years. As far as Morwen could remember, anytime Lauren had dared come in this room, Morwen had shoved her back into the hall. Morwen was fully prepared to confess that she had been a monstrous adolescent.

So, the duchess continued, did I interrupt anything good? A little—ha, ha—girl talk, perhaps?

N-no, stammered Lauren. I was, er...talking to Morwen about...um...marriage.

Their mother burst out laughing. You asked her about marriage? Oh, Earstien! The look she gave Morwen was not entirely kind. What did you tell her?

Nothing. Morwen shrugged. As she hunched her shoulders, she realized she was adopting the posture she always used around her mother, and she forced herself to straighten up.

Of course you told her nothing. A condescending pat to Morwen’s shoulder, and then a bright, beaming smile for Lauren. Now, what’s the trouble? Why do you need advice? Even as she said it, though, a reason seemed to occur to her. Like Lauren, however, she was never particularly good at guessing what other people were thinking. Oh! You want to know what will happen on your wedding night!

Mother! gasped Lauren. Her face reddened again. I’ve read...I mean, I know in theory....

You’ve read your romances, dear, said their mother. That’s all well and good. But you need practical advice. Poets and novelists always leave that out.

Morwen felt it her duty to make a contribution. Should we discuss what the Halig Leoth says about the duties of husbands and wives?

The duchess let out a snort. Oh, yes. I’m sure that will stoke Wallace’s fires. Turning back to her youngest daughter, she went on. Listen: I could tell you all day that embroidery is lovely, that it fills me with glimmering joy, that it paints a summer sun in my heart and makes the winter stars shine. But if I didn’t show you the pattern to sew, and if I didn’t tell you how to thread your needle and where to stick it, you’d have no idea what to do, would you?

Lauren’s eyes went even wider than normal. Um...what do you mean by ‘where to stick it,’ Mother?

That’s an excellent place to start, said the duchess cheerfully. Now, this might not be something that you ever covered in those little romances you and Princess Donella are always trading, but if you want a man inside you, there are three options. There are plusses and minuses to each, of course, but it’s very much a matter of personal—

Mother! cried Morwen, feeling her whole face burn. Perhaps we should stick to discussing the scriptures.

If we all learned to fuck from the scriptures, said her mother, then the human race would have died out long ago. Here, now. Why don’t you go see your father? She put an arm around a rather frightened-looking Lauren. Leave this talk to married women, and those who are about to become married.

Morwen left with as much dignity as she could, and she shut the door behind her, but she could still hear her mother’s laughter halfway down the stairs.

Chapter 2

Morwen’s face when she left the room was priceless. Shock, yes, and mortification. But also an angry crease to her eyebrows—a look of personal offense that they’d picked a topic she couldn’t pretend to be an expert on. Bless her, but Morwen always acted like she knew everything. This, however, was the one subject on which she had absolutely nothing to say. For Lauren, that look was almost worth putting up with their mother’s ensuing lecture. Almost, but not quite.

Where Morwen was blissfully ignorant, their mother was a master craftswoman. Famously so, if one listened to rumors. Rumors which Duchess Flora now happily confirmed for her youngest daughter. I regret nothing, she said, after cataloging her list of lovers, which included King Broderick Gramiren, the man now on the other side of the civil war from them. A lifetime of experience, distilled for your benefit, sweetheart. I don’t want you nervous on your first night with Wallace.

Perhaps her intention was to relieve Lauren’s nerves. But she made them much worse. By the end of it all, Lauren’s head was spinning, and she felt faintly nauseous from all the talk of gag reflexes and anal fissures and the horrors of the birth process. And then, naturally, came the discussion of how to avoid pregnancy.

There are potions, dear, but I don’t recommend them. If you don’t mind a little mess, it’s so much simpler to have the man pull out and then finish him off. In your mouth, if you like the taste of yourself on him, with your hand if you don’t.

That was bad enough, but even worse was Flora’s lecture on how best to achieve pleasure. And the worst part of it all, especially during the talk of orgasms, was her mother’s faint air of disappointment to learn that Lauren hadn’t discovered any of this on her own. Honestly, darling, don’t you even masturbate regularly? I thought those little stories you and the princess write might have given you some notions of what to do.

Ah, those little stories. Yes, some of them were a bit risqué, particularly recently, since Lauren’s best friend and coauthor, Princess Donella Gramiren, had gained a great deal of practical experience to draw from. That was something Lauren wasn’t supposed to talk about, though. Any talk of Donella, actually, was frowned upon.

Poor Donella. Lauren would have loved to have her here now. She would have loved to have this talk with her, instead of with her mother. Lauren could have admitted to Donella that she had tried to pleasure herself, but hadn’t succeeded. And Donella could probably have told her what she was doing wrong without making her want to crawl into a hole and die from shame.

But Donella wasn’t here, and she wouldn’t be. Her family was on the other side of the war, now. That was yet another bitter result of the shifting loyalties of Lauren’s family, like this wedding.

Her mother’s lecture couldn’t help Lauren—not all the anecdotes, or the bawdy little jokes, or even the mortifying little diagrams she drew on a slate at one point. They couldn’t help because it wasn’t really sex that was making Lauren nervous. Not entirely, anyway. She’d always quite liked the notion of having sex someday. She’d always enjoyed those parts of Donella’s romance stories that made her feel a little funny. The parts where brave knights received their reward from their ladies fair.

No, it wasn’t just sex. It was sex with Wallace. Not that there was anything wrong with Wallace, as far as Lauren knew. And therein lay the problem. Lauren had no idea who this man was that she would be spending the rest of her life with. She barely knew anything about him.

How strange to think she would be his wife forever after tomorrow. There were men in this castle—retainers, servants, guards—who had known Lauren for literally her entire life, but who would have blushed to hold her hand. Tomorrow, though, she would climb into bed with a virtual stranger and let him touch her in ways no one ever had before. It seemed so odd and wrong.

That night, Lauren slept very fitfully. She woke in the early dawn from a terrible dream, where she had been naked in a wide bed, in front of the whole court, while she was trying and failing to figure out how to get Wallace’s cock into her, using chalk diagrams drawn by her mother. Wallace, looking very annoyed, kept saying, Didn’t you practice how to do this beforehand? And only yards away, in the front row, sat her two sisters and her mother. Sophie was saying, I don’t remember it being this difficult. I just lay there and let him do the work. And Morwen was saying, If it had been me, I would have read all the major treatises and compiled notes. This is so typical of Lauren. Typical, agreed their mother.

After that, Lauren couldn’t get back to sleep, and she laid in her bed, worrying, until her lady’s maids came in to start filling her bath. Morwen arrived not long after and took charge—telling the girls the water was too hot, and that they were using too much perfume in the water, and ordering the kitchen maids to bring something light for breakfast, and arguing with the chambermaids about how to lay out the wedding dress. Lauren would have resented the interference, but she was trying hard not to throw up. For once, she felt happy to let her big sister lead her around, happy to submit to Morwen’s orders. She was thrilled that her sister wanted to take charge, and her only complaint was that Morwen couldn’t volunteer to be the bride, too.

The morning passed in a strange, herky-jerky fashion, like a wagon with a broken wheel. Time would stop, and she was incredibly aware of tiny things around her, like the slight imperfections in the lace of her white gloves. Then suddenly things would speed up, and she was at the cathedral door with her father and two brothers with no clear memory of the carriage ride from the castle.

The walk up the aisle took forever, with all the nobility and gentry of Keneshire staring at her. She had been told it would make her feel like a queen, but if this was how queens felt, she wanted to know how to abdicate. Finally, she was at the altar with Wallace. He was lovely, with his velvet surcoat and his sword and...oh, she couldn’t even bear to look at him. Before the two of them stood Wallace’s uncle, the Bishop of Keneburg.

He had been the one who had arranged the marriage, apparently. Something or other to do with the war and her mother needing an ally in the church or something. Oh dear. Lauren couldn’t remember anymore, and she was feeling a little lightheaded now. Why had the lady’s maids laced her bodice up so blasted tight?

She repeated her vows, barely even thinking what she said. The bishop could have been reciting the poems of Claudius, for all she knew. She only noticed the tone of his voice, which seemed quite unnecessarily severe. Like maybe he wasn’t sure anymore, having seen her up close, that she was cut out for this marriage thing. She was certainly having her doubts.

The bishop pronounced them married. She was Baroness Urcard now, not Lady Lauren Byrne. Somewhere nearby a choir broke into a thunderous hymn. Lauren turned to look up into the blue eyes of her new husband. He was smiling. She tried to smile back.

Who are you? she thought, as he leaned down and kissed her.

They rode back to the castle together in an open carriage. Half the town—half the world—seemed to have turned out to cheer them on. People threw streamers and confetti, and every couple blocks, there would be a different little orchestra of minstrels, or the brass band of some guild or other, playing their hearts out in return for a weak smile and a wave.

Awfully loud, isn’t it? Wallace observed.

She didn’t mind the noise. It gave her an excuse not to talk. The trouble would come later, she knew, in the quiet night when they were alone together. Just thinking of it made her feel sick again.

The feast seemed to take forever. The servants kept bringing an endless parade of dishes and wines. Lauren hardly ate anything, and drank even less. Her stomach couldn’t take it. There was roast boar and peacock in wine sauce and spiced puddings. On a different day, she would have tried everything, just for fun. At the lower tables, she could see her cousins and school friends laughing and enjoying themselves. Even King Edwin, here in Keneburg while his usurping cousin sat on his throne in Formacaster, looked like he was enjoying himself. She would have given anything to be smiling and eating, while some other girl sat up here.

As people got drunker, they gave speeches and toasts. At least she wasn’t called upon to give a speech of her own; that was a small mercy. Wallace got up and said some very complimentary things about her that couldn’t possibly be sincere, because he didn’t know her at all. Her father, who was very drunk, got a bit weepy. The Earl of Hyrne, King Edwin’s uncle, who was even drunker than her father, spent most of his speech complimenting Lauren’s mother, which gave Lauren sudden and alarming thoughts about the nature of her mother’s relationship with the earl.

Then, without warning, it was near midnight. Had the time really gone that quickly? Some of Wallace’s army friends threatened loudly to take the bride and groom upstairs and give them a good, old-fashioned Kenedalic bedding. Luckily, the custom had mostly died out, and no one seemed disappointed when Wallace told them all to shut up and leave him alone with his wife. She took his hand, and they left the hall to cheers and laughter and whistling.

Sorry about my knights, he said, as they climbed the stairs. If it means anything, they did all chip in to buy you a new tapestry loom. I’ll...um, show it to you...er, tomorrow. He was looking away from her; his voice was soft. Was he as nervous as she was, or was he embarrassed by this whole business? Embarrassed of her?

Her lady’s maids were in the chamber to help her undress. She almost begged them to stay, but that would have been childish. Then Wallace returned in his nightshirt, and the lady’s maids filed out of the room—every one of them smirking.

Wallace took her hand and helped her up into the huge bed, like he was helping her into a carriage. Would you like some wine? he asked.

She nodded, and when he brought her some, she finished two thirds of the glass in a single swallow.

He gave her a dubious look. Listen, if you’d prefer to, um...wait a bit....

She almost said yes, but she knew that was no good. Unpleasant things, like a visit to a physician or a test in school, only got worse if you put them off. She tugged the front of his nightshirt, pulling him close, and tried a kiss. He kissed her back, with more passion than he probably felt. He was making an effort; so should she.

He undressed her, and started kissing her all over. And using his fingers, too. Sometimes it felt quite nice, but then it reminded her of her mother’s lecture the night before, and that made it difficult to concentrate on what Wallace was doing down there. So difficult, in fact, that he noticed, and stopped to look her in the eye. Are you alright?

Mm-h’m, she said, shivering slightly.

He pulled up the blanket and lay on her, between her legs. According to her mother, the notion that a girl’s first time always hurt was a stupid old wives’ tale. But it certainly wasn’t. She let out a croaking gasp and gritted her teeth.

Is this alright? he asked. Should I stop?

Again, she would have said yes, except for the knowledge that things would be worse later. She turned her grimace into a smile and kissed him. No, dear. Please, keep going.

It hurt less after that, and there was a moment near the end when she remembered that she was supposed to be enjoying this. But then he was done, and it was too late.

He fetched the washbasin, and they both cleaned up a bit. They kissed, and he helped her back into her nightgown, and she almost felt like a wife at last.

The feeling faded later, though, when he had fallen asleep, and she lay there in the dark, by his side. She couldn’t help comparing what had happened with her mother’s lecture, and the comparison was not very flattering to her.

I must have done something wrong, she thought, as tears started welling up. He must be so disappointed in me.

Chapter 3

Y our majesty, I apologize for waking you.

Edwin blinked his eyes open, trying to understand what was happening. He had just been in Wealdan Castle, back in Formacaster, and he was king. The Palm Court in the palace was decorated for a wedding, and even though he didn’t know where she was, he knew he was about to marry Penny Ostensen. But that was only a dream.

His eyes focused in the dark and he remembered his true situation. His usurping cousin, Broderick, lived in Wealdan Castle and sat on the throne, and Penny Ostensen had slapped him when he told her his true identity. Instead, he was now in Keneburg the day after Lauren Byrne’s wedding, and Caedmon Aldred, the great hillichmagnar, who had served Myrcian kings for centuries, was waking him in the middle of the night.

Caedmon, Edwin finally answered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. What’s wrong?

Nothing, your majesty. You have a couple of visitors. They are in your sitting room. I will leave you with them and guard your door to ensure you are not disturbed.

With that, Caedmon swept from the bedroom and Edwin sat up, trying to figure out what he’d done with his dressing gown. He spotted it draped over the chair at his little toiletry table. In a moment, he had it on and went into his sitting room to find out who would pay him a surprise visit at this time of night.

With the soft moonlight coming through the tall, thin windows, he made out two figures—one female, the other male, if he wasn’t mistaken. But it wasn’t until he found himself only a few feet away that he recognized them as Sir Robert Tynsdale and Vittoria. Two very welcome visitors.

Vittoria was a young woman from the Immani Empire who had come to Myrcia to help Edwin regain his throne. Earlier that year when the usurper had sent someone to kill him, Vittoria had saved both his and Caedmon’s lives. He still shuddered when he thought about Caedmon slipping from his horse, exhausted from casting spells to protect him, and Edwin thinking he would die, until Vittoria rode up with a bow and arrow from nowhere.

And Robert Tynsdale was no less important to Edwin. Sir Robert was actually his cousin. Like Broderick, the usurper, Robert was the natural son of King Ethelred, who had been the brother of Edwin’s father. But unlike Broderick, Robert had remained faithful to Edwin and the Sigor cause. Most of the time, Robert was in or around Rawdon where Edwin’s mother was under house arrest with the Duke of Newshire. In fact, if Robert was here, he would surely have news about Edwin’s mother, as well as his sister Alice and cousin, Helena, who were with his mother.

Sir Robert, how is my mother? he blurted out, then quickly realized this was a poor greeting for two people he owed so much to. It is, of course, very nice to see both of you.

Vittoria chuckled while Sir Robert bowed. No need to pretend that you’re more interested in chatting with us than news about your family, she said. Actually, I think Robert has something for you.

He straightened up and took an envelope from the inner pocket of his well-worn cloak. Your majesty, I do, indeed, bring word from your mother.

Edwin accepted the envelope excitedly. He wanted to rip it open and start reading it immediately, but he also knew he could read it after Robert and Vittoria left. And if they had sneaked into his room at night while Caedmon stood guard, they clearly did not want to be seen, and probably wouldn’t want to stay long. I’m very grateful for this. What else can you tell me, Sir Robert?

I left Rawdon less than a week ago, and everyone was in good health, he answered. I came so that I might confer with Caedmon and Vittoria before continuing some plans I have for the safety of your mother, sister, and cousin. I came with all haste, and I hope to begin my return north before the sun rises.

What sort of plans? Are they safe? Edwin asked. Ever since Edwin had gone to Rawdon the year before to talk to Duke Aldrick of Newshire, who was also a Sigor, and nearly been caught, things had been more difficult for his mother living under house arrest in Aldrick’s palace. Since it hadn’t led to the duke offering to help him militarily and had made it harder for his mother, Edwin wished he’d never gone. Even though it had been amazing to see his mother and sister for the first time in years, if only for a few minutes.

You know your mother has good friends in the Empire, Vittoria said.

Edwin nodded. It was true that his mother had friendships in the Empire that dated back to when she had been no older than Edwin was now. And those friendships included no less than the Empress Vita and their court hillichmagnar, Faustinus. They had been the ones to send Vittoria to help the year before.

We are beginning to think she would be safer in the Empire, Robert said. Rawdon grows more tense every day, and the usurper’s agents watch her closely.

Then is it alright that you’re here? Edwin could feel the worry building in his chest.

I did not leave her unprotected, your majesty. Never fear.

If it’s so bad in Rawdon, I suppose we can definitely count out Duke Aldrick sending any troops for the next offensive, Edwin whispered with a frown. Do you think it would do any good for me to write a personal appeal?

Robert shook his head. The only reason Duke Aldrick has not received a summons from Broderick the Black to send troops to aid him against you is that he is allowing his grace a mourning period.

Edwin nodded his head. It had been shocking news about a month earlier. Duchess Rachel had gone to the duke’s estate outside of Brawley for rest due to some health problem. She had barely settled in when she fell down a long flight of stairs in the middle of the night and broke her neck.

Very well. Is there anything else you can tell me?

Only that your mother has never and will never give up the fight to restore you to your rightful position as King of Myrcia. Never doubt that for a moment, your majesty.

Robert bowed, and Edwin fought down the urge to beg him for more information, the kind that didn’t determine the outcome of a war or who would be king. Things like how tall Alice had gotten? Was his cousin Helena talking much yet? Uncle Lawrence would surely want news of his daughter. But Robert needed to return to Rawdon as soon as possible, and he couldn’t waste time telling Edwin if his mother still got to read all the new Immani books, or if Duke Aldrick didn’t get them for her.

"Thank you, Sir Robert. Cousin Robert, Edwin said around a growing lump in his throat. True family is a gift these days, and I’m glad my mother and I can count on you."

Always, your majesty. Speaking of which....

He has to run, said Vittoria. And so do I. People in our line of work have very little free time.

Of course. He nodded to them both. Thank you for coming. He gave Robert a broader smiler. It’s always good to get a letter.

With one final quick round of bows the strange, dark of the night encounter came to an end. Edwin pulled his robe a little tighter around himself and made his way to the seat in the window. He thought there would be just enough moonlight there to read his letter.

Chapter 4

The wool factor untwisted the skein and ran the yarn through his smooth, slim fingers. It’s good, he said slowly. But there’s a lot now coming down the Trahern that’s just as good. He sat back in his creaking wooden chair and gave her an avuncular grin. Now, I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the contract, but we have this one clause that—

I’m familiar with the contract, said Morwen firmly. She had spent the journey from Keneburg to Severn studying it, and she could probably have recited it from memory now. I assume you’re referring to clause eight, which says the abbey has to match the price of another seller. He started to speak, but she held up her hand. The operative part of that clause, Mr. Symonds, is that it must be a seller of wool that is of equal or better quality. She looked around. By all means, if you have a sample of this wool that you think you can buy more cheaply than ours, then produce it. We can go to the guildhall and let them judge.

She had called his bluff, and he knew it. He gave in, but in the most obnoxious possible way, acting as if he was doing the abbey a great favor out of the kindness of his heart, because of all the years he’d done business with them and his desire to support a good cause.

He certainly did seem to argue a great deal, said Lillian, when they had left the factor’s office. If he’s always like that, it’s no wonder Mrs. Gillerman didn’t want to deal with him this year.

I don’t blame her, said Morwen.

Mrs. Gillerman was a lay sister and the cellarer of the abbey. She normally handled business in the outside world, but this summer, since the civil war had begun to heat up again, she had said she was too frightened to go into enemy territory. So the abbess had been obliged to find someone else to handle things. Morwen had a sneaking suspicion that this was the real reason why she had been given permission to attend Lauren’s wedding.

One more thing, the abbess had said, as Morwen was at the door. While you’re out there in the world, I’ve got a couple little errands for you to run.

That was why Morwen was here in Severn on a sweltering August afternoon, suffering in the smells of the fetid canals and wishing for the cool shade of the convent cloister. It was a little less clear why Sister Lillian was there. She had only taken her final vows a few weeks earlier. Normally, the rule was that when one of the nuns had work outside the abbey grounds for more than a day, she had to travel with an older, wiser sister.

It suddenly occurred to Morwen that after nine years at the abbey, she was now the older, wiser one. She found this flattering, but also a little worrisome.

Four days after Lauren’s wedding, Lillian was still talking about the ceremony. She had talked about it on the boat ride down from Keneburg. She had talked about it while they sat at an army camp and waited for a very suspicious old baron to agree to let them into Severn. And now, once she had exhausted the topic of wool factors, she went right back to talking about the wedding again, while she and Morwen took a low, black boat down the thick, brown canal toward the cathedral.

Morwen let her blather on. Earstien willing, she would have it out of her system by the time they got back to the abbey. Otherwise, Sister Dervila, the circuitor, would probably make Lillian clean the latrines for a week to remind her to focus on the simple things in life.

Their boat arrived at the edge of Valamir Square, a wide expanse of yellow flagstones, framed by the palace and the cathedral, and open to the river on a third side. Merchants and burghers rushed purposefully back and forth through the square, and little stalls crowded around the edges, selling everything from flowers to tinware.

Morwen spared a quick look to her left, toward the duke’s palace. It was a rigid block of white marble and red tile, separated from the square by a moat that was fed from the river. She had visited there several times as a girl. But now it served as headquarters of an enemy army and the home of Duke Lukas Ostensen, the captain general of the Gramiren king.

No, not the enemy, Morwen reminded herself, with a little prayer for her forgetfulness. Not my enemy, anyway. Morwen wasn’t really a Byrne anymore. The Leofine Sisters of the Convent of the Blessed Fenne were her family now.

She looked around and saw that Lillian had stopped to throw crumbs to some fat pigeons near the dock. Look how tame these birds are! she said. Do you think I could get one to perch on my hand?

Come along, Sister Lillian, sighed Morwen. Under her breath, she added, There’s one in every family. Then she led the way through the square and up the steps of Valamir Cathedral.

A preost on duty in the portico found the Dean of the Cathedral, who met them among the forest of red granite pillars in the nave. And when he heard they were there on behalf of Abbess Alberta Orrick, he immediately bowed and ran to see if the bishop was available. Lillian wandered up and down the aisle, humming hymns under her breath and admiring the bronzes. Ignoring her, Morwen took a deep breath and tried to decide how to approach the negotiations.

The bishop was technically on the other side of the war; he was in Severn, while her abbey was in Keneshire. And he was known to be a close confidant of Duke Lukas and the Gramiren king. But for all that, he had placed a large order for illuminated hymnals and prayer books with the brothers of the Basington Priory, a small community under the authority of the abbess. The brothers printed the texts on their press, like any sane person would, of course. But the hand-work of the illumination was exhausting and time-consuming, and if the bishop intended to cancel his order for political reasons, then Prior Anthony wanted to know sooner, rather than later.

The dean returned and led Morwen and Lillian across the vast, echoing transepts, past little side chapels aglow with candles and through a quiet green cloister into the bishop’s house.

His grace met them in a downstairs parlor, a plain whitewashed room, simply furnished in sturdy oak furniture. He offered them chilled wine, and Morwen accepted (though not without a quick, admonitory glance at Lillian, to remind the girl that they weren’t to drink too much).

I suppose this is about the books I’ve ordered from Basington, he said, smiling. You needn’t worry. The duke’s chamberlain mentioned it in council, and can you believe what he suggested?

Morwen shook her head and smiled demurely back. I can’t imagine, your grace.

He wanted me to order them from a press in Hovedby. From those Trofast heretics, if you can believe it! Blast and damn his eyes—pardon me, sister—but the man has no idea what he’s talking about. I’d be surprised if he’s ever read a book in his life.

When they stood up to take their leave, the bishop remembered they had never given him their names. Morwen introduced Lillian, and then herself.

The corner of his grace’s mouth twisted up. Ah. Sister Morwen. Of course. I might have known. Morwen Byrne. I remember hearing you’d gone to the abbey there. He looked out his window. I suppose you’ve been told you, ah...look like your mother did at your age.

It’s been noted, your grace, said Morwen.

He chuckled to himself. The abbess is a sharp woman, sending you as her emissary. He dropped into a low and rather unclerical bow. Do give your mother my best, next time you might happen to write to her.

They left the bishop’s house and headed back into the cathedral. Goodness, it’s fortunate he’s an old friend of your mother’s, said Lillian.

Yes, an old...friend, said Morwen softly, marveling that there were still parts of her mother’s sordid history that she had never heard before.

Where do we go next? asked Lillian, when Morwen paused under the giant rose window.

Their next stop was the abbey’s wool factor in Montgomery. To get there, Morwen needed to see about passage up the River Trahern. But Montgomery was days away, and perhaps they should return to the hostel and ready themselves for noontide prayers, instead. They had done a good day’s work, by any measure.

In the corner of her eye, Morwen saw a flash of movement, and she turned to see someone looking at them from behind one of the massive pillars. There were wide blue eyes, and a troubled look on a girlish face.

Hello? Morwen called, her voice echoing on and on down the vast nave.

Hello? the girl whispered back. She disappeared for a second, then trotted nervously into view. She was tall with flowing blonde hair. Morwen looked the girl up and down for a second. Then she looked back at that face—a simple, pure, novice’s face. Young, but an early bloomer, as Morwen’s mother would have said.

This girl’s posture was hunched, almost halfway to prayer. Morwen steadied herself to hear some terrible confession of tawdry lust