A Promise of Iron by Brandon McCoy

Author:Brandon McCoy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-12-22T03:47:43+00:00

Chapter Twenty and Five

Summer 1272, Cyllian Imperial Count

Judging by the path of the sun, it was a few hours past midday. I wiped the sweat from my brow and wished I wasn’t wearing a coat. I looked down from my perch at the top of the hill. There was a slow-moving procession of carriages making their way up the cobblestone pathway. It was like watching a line of ants marching from one set of walls to the next.

I turned to where the others chatted in the shade of the elder tree. Monroe was seated behind a long table; Patricia sat to his right, Crylwin to his left. Richard was there too, nodding and smiling at all the appropriate times as his lord regaled the Lady Delcroix with adventurous tales of his youth.

Crylwin rolled his eyes and excused himself. “I hope you washed your ass,” he said as he approached. “It’s about to be kissed by every noble in Belen.” He gestured to the line of carriages. “Hopefully, she’s in one of them.”

I rubbed at the wound concealed beneath my gloved hand.

“You nervous?” He asked. “You look nervous.”

I shrugged. “Not really sure what I am supposed to do.”

“These leeches love nothing more than to put you under their heel. They will flatter you with insincerity and mock you with their indifference.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Stay close to Richard. He will keep you out of trouble.”

A broken-note carried on the wind, courtesy of a group of musicians practicing below. I turned towards the inner courtyard where the many-colored pavilions of the Seveli caravan dotted the landscape. Shops and stalls lined underneath, their wares displayed on collapsible wooden counters.

Crylwin followed my gaze. “It’s been a long time since we had something worth celebrating. Father has called in a lot of favors to make this happen on short notice.”

I felt compelled to say something in response; some words of gratitude, but no words came to mind. I didn’t ask for this—for any of this.

I watched as a pair of jugglers worked on an upraised stage, tossing wooden dowels back and forth. They stepped back with each throw, increasing their distance until they were at the opposite edges of the stage. A man dressed in long purple robes was seated at the center between them. He paid no attention as the dowels spun past, doing little more than fan himself with his open book.

“It’s going to be quite a night,” I said, turning back to the line of carriages. I hoped he was right. Hope was the operative term; I couldn’t expect her to be there among the mass of well-wishers and sycophants that grew ever nearer—but I could hope. No matter the spectacle, the music, the feasting, tonight would not be the same without her by my side.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Crylwin said. “You want anything?”

I shook my head. “Better to keep a level head tonight.”

I spoke on my own behalf, but the message carried more than one meaning.

“You worry about yourself, princess,” Crylwin said with a wink.

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