The sky beyond the narrow windows of the lord's solar was only just beginning to pale when I stood across from my father, the candles still guttering low in their sconces. My broken lance from the tournament, hanging like elk antlers on the wall, cast a jagged shadow across the wood panneling.
Selwyn Tarth stood with his hands braced on the table, hair unbound, his surcoat cast over the back of a chair rather than properly donned. I had pulled him from his bed, and it showed.
"Well?" he said. "You've had me dragged from sleep before the cocks have even found their courage. Speak, then."
I swallowed. "I have a man in Weeping Town," I told him. "He sent me word last night. Urgent word."
My father's brows drew together. "A man?" he repeated. Then, more sharply, "A man, Galladon? You mean spies?"
I bit at my lower lip before nodding. Selwyn Tarth was a sharp man, a good knight, and a great lord. But he was a Stormlander to the core, wrapped himself in notions of honor and strength of arms much like good old Ned Stark was.
I would see that my father did not have the same ending as Ned, even if he hated me for it.
"Aye, Father," I said. "A spy, if you will. You know I've been gathering men—"
He cut me off with a lift of his hand. "Aye, men," he said, voice edged with irritation. "Soldiers. Men-at-arms. Knights. Had I known you meant spies—" He shook his head once, slow and disappointed. "We'll speak of this later. Go on. What was so dire it could not wait for daylight?"
I let out a breath. "It's about Mother."
The change in him was immediate. His shoulders squared, his spine stiffening as though a blade had been laid across it. "What about her?" he asked. "Be specific, Galladon."
"I don't know enough to be," I admitted, choosing my words carefully. "Something has gone awry involving her. She might be in danger."
His eyes sharpened. "Might," he repeated. "That's thin ground to stand on."
I had hardly ever seen Lord Selwyn Tarth like this, but I supposed I should've known if there was one thing in this world that could unbalance him, it was the Lady Addison.
"The message was thin as well," I said. "My man has no access to the castle. He hears things, that's all. He doesn't know for certain what's happening."
Selwyn was already moving. He crossed to the desk by the window and pulled open a drawer, taking parchment and a quill. "Rowen will send a raven at once," he said, dipping the nib. "If we hear nothing within two days, I'll take a ship myself and—"
"Stop," I said, more harshly than I intended.
He froze, quill hovering above the page. "What?"
"They could be involved," I said. "The Whiteheads."
The word hung between us like a gut punch. Selwyn turned slowly, disbelief plain on his face.
"What makes you say that?" he demanded. "Lord Elmar is a true friend. Your own grandfather knew him well, and Addison loves Lenora like a sister."
"It's what the message says," I replied, keeping my voice level. "That they might be involved. I don't know for certain." I reached into my sleeve and produced the scrap of parchment, holding it out. "Here."
He took it, eyes scanning the short lines.
Strange happenings at the Weeping Town. Lady Addison might be in danger. Whiteheads possibly involved. Awaiting further instructions. Sent on the fastest ship.
I watched his jaw tighten as he read. In my mind, I saw myself forming those letters by candlelight only an hour earlier, purposefully messing up my handwriting. When he finished, Selwyn crossed to the hearth without a word and cast the note into the fire. The parchment curled and blackened, the words vanishing into ash.
His lips pressed into a thin line. "If they are involved," he said slowly, "then you are right that we should not send a raven. Best they think us unaware."
I nodded. "Not the Whiteheads, then. But perhaps Lord Baratheon? If he were informed—"
"No," Selwyn said at once. "We will not impute another noble house on rumor and half-heard warnings from spies. That way lies chaos."
He fell silent, staring into the fire, the crackle of burning parchment loud in the still room. When he spoke again, his voice was measured, resolved. "We will call up the men."
I stared at him, taken aback. "The levies?"
"No," he said, glancing back at me and catching my surprise. "Knights and men-at-arms. Only the closest to us. Our own men, Kellington, and Tudbury. A small force. In two weeks' time, I can have two hundred men sailing to the Weeping Town. An escort for your mother's return, should anyone ask."
My stomach tightened. I knew it might come to this, but hearing the words still chilled me. Two hundred men arriving uninvited at another lord's port was no small thing. Had it truly come to war?
I thought I still had time. Years. When rebellion broke the kingdoms in half, I would be as prepared as a man in my position could be.
"Aye," I said slowly, feeling the weight of it all settle heavy in my gut. "Father… I didn't expect—"
He waved that aside. "If my wife is in danger, I will not dither."
I drew a breath. It was not the time to get a weak stomach. Father was right. If someone was threatening my mother, whether in dream or reality, we had to answer it decisively.
An idea quickly came to me.
"Then let us seize the initiative now," I said out loud. Father turned to me. "Let me send a ship today," I continued. "Quietly. Jace is good at this. You know him, one of the twins. Blending in, listening. I'll send him and a few of mine, without our colors. They're young, but capable. Give me five of your best swords to go with them."
Selwyn studied me for a long moment, as though weighing not just my words but the man speaking them. His own son. I could see none of the levity he usually held himself with.
Then he nodded once. "Do it."
After leaving the solar, I rode straight to the Just Companions manse. This time, our morning jaunt was not a pleasant outing on meadows and hills. Smoker could feel my tension above him, and he galloped without stopping the whole way there.
My men were well-trained and well-disciplined. When I arrived, Jack, Jace, and Grey were already awake and at work, and I swiftly pulled them up to my solar where I went over the situation.
Unlike with Selwyn, I did not need to tip-toe between messages and dreams. My word was law as I laid out what I wanted from them. Along with five of my father's soldiers, they were to gather ten men between them, good fighters all, but also lads clever enough to be discreet.
As this was a reconnaissance mission more than anything, Jace would lead them. What I wanted from him was not simple, but it was necessary. I needed information about my mother. How and where she was, and what, if anything, had happened to her.
And before myself, my lord father, and our force left Tarth, I wanted to know specifics on the Whiteheads and the Weeping Town. How many guards were in the town and castle? What did the fortifications look like? How easy would it be to dock at the wharfs and storm the defenses? Could they open up the gates from the inside once an assault became obvious? Any useful information to faciliate my mother's forceful rescue, if it came to it.
To accomplish this, I would be giving him something very valuable in this world: two ravens trained to fly back to Tarth.
"It is a heavy duty I'm putting over your shoulders," I told them once I was done explaining.
I had made it clear how dangerous this infiltration would be. If the Whiteheads had truly turned on us and they were caught spying on them, they were certainly bound for the rope.
But there was no doubt in their faces. Jace nodded once. Jack grinned, excited. Grey nodded solemnly. Then Jace straightened up and the others followed suit. Fists thumped against hearts.
"It shall be done, my lord," they chorused.
I saluted back, proud battling worry, and they sailed away that same day with a captain on our payroll, the men aboard it taking the place and clothes of most of the usual sailors.
xxx
The days after the Companions slipped quietly from Tarth blurred together in a way that made my skin itch. Time moved with the stubborn, grinding patience I had come to expect of a medieval world.
Messages were sent and waited on. Men arrived in dribs and drabs, some on foot, some on borrowed horses, each needing to be counted, fed, armed, assigned. Armor had to be fitted, blades sharpened, provisions tallied. Capable captains were sent for, plans discussed and rediscussed.
The logistics were dreadful, at least to someone who had served in a modern military. Nothing happened quickly, no matter how urgent it all felt in my chest.
To any outside eye, we were not raising a force at all. My father had called for a feast instead, and so Evenfall Hall was loud with laughter every night. We feasted the men generously, but the wine was watered and the beer thin and weak, enough to keep spirits high without dulling wits.
It was a careful fiction I had insisted upon, even when my lord father did not like it.
The waiting was the worst. I found myself pacing the yards, dodging questions from Arianne and Alysanne, as they both grew increasingly frustrated with our tight lips. Sometimes, I'd ride down to the docks at Dawnrest to watch the two galleys, one new and one captured, take on stores for our journey. Everything was almost ready, and yet we remained rooted in place.
More than once I found myself wishing I had gone with my men to the Weeping Town. At least then I would be doing something, anything, rather than waiting for the world to decide how hard it meant to strike us.
Ten days after Arianne's dream, the waiting ended. And it did not end well.
The messenger arrived near midday. He was a nondescript man in dark wool, no sigil on his cloak, no colors to mark him, and he carried no letter with him.
"I will speak it only," he said, "and only before Lord Selwyn Tarth."
I made sure precautions were taken before that happened. The Whiteheads likely had not the means to retain one, but Faceless Men were still a thing. The messenger was searched thoroughly before he was finally admitted into my father's solar.
The door closed behind them and stayed closed for less than five minutes.
When it opened again, the man walked out unmolested. Father himself ordered the guards to let him go despite my own protests. They died out when I really looked at him.
Lord Selwyn's face was gray, a sheen of sweat clinging to his brow despite the cool stone of the room. He did not speak until the solar was empty but the two of us, my mother's signet ring laid across the desk between us.
When he spoke, the terms came like hammer blows, hitting my chest worse than the giant pirate on the deck of the Western Will.
All Tarth trade was to be redirected through the Weeping Town. Taxes and port fees here would be raised, so that Dawnrest would deliberately bleed incoming ships and silver. One daughter of House Tarth was to marry into House Whitehead when she came of age, but would be sent at once to ward under Lady Lenora, with ten thousand gold dragons as her dowry.
I felt sick before he even reached the next part.
I was to be fostered under Lord Elmar for a few years myself despite having already turned six and ten two moons earlier. Only then would my mother be released.
The messenger would return the next day. If we accepted, we were to come to the Weeping Town aboard a single ship, with no more than a modest guard, bringing the girl to be married, and me.
Until then, no ravens were to fly. No messengers were to ride. No levies or men were to be raised. Any who were already in the castle grounds should not be allowed to leave. Eyes would be on our ravenry and castle grounds at all hours.
Should word get out of what was happening, he had said, Addison Tarth would pay the ultimate price.
xxx
POWER STONES!!!!
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