“Because she killed him.”
Jerrl scowled. “Maybe. It’s still ridiculous.” He shouted a correction at one of the soldiers, then nodded at Vern. “They liked seeing the Queen fight. Some of the Escorts have been training here more often, and it seems to help. Do you have time right now?”
Vern shook his head. “Unlikely until the Queen returns.”
“Damn. They’re betting on who can take you.”
“Do you need anything else, Baron?”
Jerrl searched the ranks. “The general approved one of the dissenters as a co-leader. That one. Morwen.”
He nodded at a woman leading a routine. “She has a temper, but she's loyal and smart. Would've made captain with Damon if… Anyhow, a spar with her would help earn her respect. She wants another round with the Queen, and she's held her own against Darius.”
The young Escort was a decent duelist with a penchant for showmanship. Besting him was nothing impressive.
“I'll consider it,” Vern said. “Remember that Escorts are not a military rank. Respect is not owed to skill alone.”
“Yeah. But the sword is all that keeps us alive.”
The truth of that statement followed him through the day. He reviewed documents and copies of letters that the duchess had sent, conferred with Laureline's spies, and spent hours deciphering code.
Soldiers lived by the sword – and loyalty. Without faith in their leaders, soldiers were useless. They would break. They would not follow orders. The chain of command relied heavilyon the faithful execution of duty down to the last foot soldier. When a soldier disobeyed, people died. When a clerk was corrupt, they left discrepancies that gave him a headache.
This particular headache might get people killed. Land distributed to a dead noble. It was a strategic fort to the south. The Queen would take care of it. Loyalty and trust were both rare commodities; in that, he and Satryani agreed.
At breakfast the next morning, Octavius sat hunched over a book, absently chewing on cubes of cheese. He lifted his head when Vern took a seat across from him.
The healer stabbed a finger at the book. “You hauled this back from Nadraken? I have a copy, though without the madman’s notes.”
Vern drank water and bit into a sausage. He finished half his food before speaking. “Anais believes the books describe what was done to Castien. He is below.”
Bread and cheese fell from the healer's fingers. He stared at Vern. “He – as in, Castien? Is below? In the dungeons?”
Vern nodded.
Octavius took a deep breath. He grumbled, “Some of us cannot read minds, Vern. How long has he been there?” After a second’s pause, he stated, “He traveled with you.”
Since he had answered his own question, Vern said nothing.
Octavius’ hand formed a fist beside his book. “You could have mentioned that in your note. He should not be in the dungeons. I understand containing him, but he needs light, fresh air, a friendly face that he has clearly been lacking for weeks. I am bringing him up.”
The man shoved his chair back.
Vern lifted his hand. “No, Escort. He stays where he is.”
A few servants paused their conversation. They quickly moved along.
Octavius was already standing. The dark glower on his face matched his low tone. “Did the Queen order you to lock him in chains and put him in the dungeon? Did she read any of this? He’s not a threat, Vern. He should not be sleeping in the dark or rotting in the cold.”
Wiping his fingers on a napkin, Vern gestured for the other man to sit. “When Anais returns, we can revisit my decision. Until then, unless there is an imminent risk of his death, he is not to be moved. We cannot afford more mistakes.”
The healer’s face went blank. He returned to his seat. “As you command, Steward.”
In other words, Octavius was allowing Vern to take responsibility for the choice. The Queen's anger would fall on his shoulders.
Chapter 34
Castien