Raoulin

Raoulin Tower

Chapter 1 - A Soldier and his Sister

505 years after the founding of Breyconland

Sheralie refused to ever become a widow.

Truly. Who invented such hideous clothing? It was heavy, dark, and covered every inch of her body, from the tips of her boots to a high-buttoned neck. Then there was her absolute least favorite part—the scratchy, hot veil.

She should be grateful. This uncomfortable, sweltering outfit had kept her hidden for days as she and Jaron traveled on the stagecoach to Bridgewich. Heaven knew she needed to be hidden. By the time they reached their first inn, there were already wanted posters with her name and face, listing her as a traitor to the crown. Sheralie studied the poster in the common room and tried to quell the nausea bubbling in her stomach. The likeness was not terribly good, but the description included her unusual red hair. She was jumpy and refused to eat with the other guests, hiding in her room until the stage was ready to leave in the morning. But she quickly learned that her widow’s weeds guaranteed her sympathetic looks and much appreciated privacy. No one wanted to bother the recently bereaved.

Still. After four days of dusty, miserable confinement in a stage wearing such wearisome clothes, she was ready to rip them off and run about in her chemise.

Wouldn’t that shock everyone?

Jaron would probably just laugh. He took everything about their flight from the capital in stride. One would never guess he was the nephew of the queen. Jaron's carefree manner never changed. He’d discarded his expensive, tailored clothing in Whitshade and now posed as a common soldier on leave, making friends during the stage trips and chatting with other men in the common rooms until late at night. He explained that he was escorting his recently widowed sister to their family in Bridgewich and pleasantly accepted condolences on her behalf. His acting was impressive—not least because they barely knew each other, and he managed to treat her with the easy familiarity of a sibling.

Sheralie felt utterly awkward around him, but once again, her role of widow came to her aid. No one expected her to chat, even with her so-called brother.

After the first night she settled in, and her panic lessened—at least about being spotted by her fellow stage travelers. No one seemed to pay them any unusual attention. Ginny—her cat and likely familiar, though Sheralie wasn’t certain about that—traveled in a basket during the day without complaint, and at night she curled up on Sheralie’s chest. She didn’t speak to Sheralie often (except when she wanted to eat), but Sheralie could sense the cat's general contentment, which eased her mind during the trip a great deal. 

If only she could sleep as well as Ginny at night. Unfortunately, she laid in the unfamiliar inn beds for hours, worries about her friends and apprehension about the future spinning through her head without ceasing. Her last night in Stramere she had tried a desperate ploy to heal her friend Bailey’s failing mind. Sheralie’s former school headmistress had used Bailey in horrible experiments to power a device she called Doctor Bessette’s Vitality Apparatus. Sheralie had concocted a plan with Bailey’s fiancé Wyatt and her friend Emilio to borrow the vitality apparatus and try to heal Bailey during a ball held in honor of Doctor Bessette’s mother.

The attempt—only a week ago—was a horrible disaster. At first all seemed well. They were in the middle of the session when everything fell to pieces. Sheralie was still haunted by the Silver Wolves attacking Emilio. By the sight of Lady Black unleashing her magickal fury in the great hall of the mansion. Worst of all, by the memory of the tall, vicious intruder killing Doctor Bessette right in front of them.

It was no wonder Sheralie didn’t want to close her eyes at night.

Jaron—Sir Jaron, former guard to Lady Black—had abandoned his duty in order to help Sheralie escape. First, from the terrorists known as Silver Wolves who had attacked the Bessettes in order to steal the vitality apparatus. Second, from the members of the Queen’s Guard trying to hunt her down, a fugitive who once helped her father escape execution. Well, there was also the minor little detail of being a Gifted enchanter.

Queen Aston would not allow any Gifted enchanter to walk free, any more than her mother had. Queen Daria had killed all the Gifted enchanters she could find when Sheralie was a child. No doubt Lady Black, the Queen’s Inquisitor, would track her to the ends of the earth to execute the queen’s will.

If they could only reach Bridgewich. Kattie lived in Bridgewich, and though Sheralie had no love for her stepmother, she was Sheralie’s only hope of contacting her fugitive father. If she could find her father, she knew everything would be all right.

It had to be. 

***

The last night before they reached Bridgewich, Jaron joined her in her room to plan their next move. 

“The driver says the roads are clear ahead, and he expects to reach Bridgewich tomorrow by early afternoon,” Jaron said, from his spot where he lounged by the door. After a long day of travel, his brown hair was mussed, his clothes were rumpled, and he needed a shave, but he was still as handsome as ever. Sheralie perched ramrod straight on her bed, keenly aware that she was sitting in a sleeping chamber with a man, and a good-looking one at that. She wanted to die from embarrassment, and Jaron didn’t look the least bit flustered at all.

“Judging by the talk from the other guests, an express rider came through the day before us with the wanted posters,” he said casually. “No one is reporting my name officially, but I did hear a rumor or two that Queen Aston’s nephew is missing.” He grinned. “Luckily, my acting skills are superb, and no one has suspected me yet.” His grin faded into seriousness. “However, I think we can expect that Queen Aston is aware of your stepmother and watching for your arrival. She may have even ordered your stepmother’s arrest.”

Sheralie sighed. “Poor Kattie. None of this is her fault. Though heaven knows she would have turned me in personally as a child if she’d known.”

“If she’d known…?” Jaron raised his eyebrows.

“That Queen Aston was searching for girls with my, um, abilities.” Sheralie squirmed. She still danced around the issue of why she was on the run. She couldn’t quite bring herself to be frank. But Jaron obviously didn’t have a shred of timidity.

“Your stepmother did not know you were a Gifted enchanter? Was she particularly oblivious?” he asked curiously.

Sheralie slumped. She still didn’t like to remember Kattie’s insults and criticism. “My stepmother is Estrilian,” she finally said, refusing to explain more. Apparently that was enough though. 

Jaron whistled. “A Gifted child with a magick-hating foreigner for a stepmother.” He shook his head, thankfully not asking for any details. “What about your father? Surely he knew about magick, if his first wife was an enchanter.” 

“My father traveled a great deal. I didn’t see him much.” Sheralie looked at the floor. She’d already explained to Jaron that her mother had died in childbirth, and she did not know where her father was. But she was wary of providing him with too many details, lest he figure out that she was the so-called hidden princess, the fugitive enchanter with royal blood, and not just a powerful Gifted enchanter. She frowned. If she had royal blood, she might be related to Jaron’s family. That made this conversation even stranger. She knew next to nothing about Queen Aston’s family tree—or how she might fit into it herself.

Who was her mother, really?

Another question she intended to ask her father, if she ever found him.

“Well,” Jaron said, changing the subject, “when we arrive in Bridgewich I think we should keep up the brother-escorting-his-sister-the-widow ruse. I will find you an inn and then I will leave at night and check the house first, see if there is anything suspicious. If everything looks normal, you can go there in the morning.”

“No,” Sheralie said decisively. Visiting Kattie would be risky no matter what time of day she showed up, and she was not going to sit in an inn waiting politely for Jaron to declare it was safe to come out. “The more time passes, the more dangerous it will get, I think. I’ll go with you at night.”

Jaron shook his head. “You will be too conspicuous.” 

She smiled grimly in response. “Then you’d better spend the afternoon finding me some less conspicuous clothes.”

***

The final stretch into Bridgewich was completely uneventful. Sheralie half expected a roadblock with soldiers before they entered the city, searching all carriages and ordering the stage passengers out for inspection, but their slow approach to the city was caused by nothing more than congestion from a large number of wagons, carriages, and pedestrians on the road as they drew close. By early afternoon they arrived at the posting house without incident. 

Sheralie disembarked from the stage with Ginny’s basket in hand, turning a full circle while she took in the city around her. Bridgewich must have exploded in the last four years. Nothing looked familiar at all—the street was packed with wagons and carriages and horses. Tall buildings crammed together as far as she could see in either direction, and the wooden sidewalks were filled with pedestrians. The main posting house looked vaguely familiar, but it had a new wing, and the stable yard was quite busy. It was difficult to believe they actually were in Bridgewich. She’d only been to the posting house once before though, the night she left with her father for Stramere. Maybe she didn’t remember it correctly?

A moment later Jaron was at her side, their single valise in his hand. 

“Was Bridgewich always this busy?” she asked him. 

“Construction on the canal finished about three years ago, and the town has doubled its population since. I imagine it does look different since you were last here.”

She grimaced. “It’s unsettling. I guess I expected to find the quiet border town of my memories.”

Jaron laughed. “Quiet? With a bridge to Estril and the docks for the boats traveling to Kaltan?”

Sheralie pondered that for a moment. “I guess I never went near the docks. We lived not too far from the town center.”

“The neighborhoods near the town center are pleasant. We can stay at the Royal Oak—it is a nice, reputable inn right in that area."

"That sounds perfect." Sheralie squinted as she gazed down the street through the glare of the late afternoon sun. "Are we walking there?"

"No, I will hire a hackney to take us.” He proffered his arm. “Shall we, sister?” Sheralie shifted Ginny’s basket to her other arm so she could take it, and Jaron led her to the stable yard, where a driver sat waiting with a hackney.

They were the only passengers, so once they were settled in and on their way to the inn Sheralie decided to satisfy her curiosity about her escort. “So you’ve been to Bridgewich before? You seem to know where you are going.”

“I have, several times. It is a convenient place to catch a barge to Jafra.”

“Jafra?” Sheralie wrinkled her nose in thought.

“You have never heard of Jafra?” Jaron raised his eyebrows. “You did not know about the canal construction?”

Sheralie lifted a shoulder. “People mentioned it, but I didn’t pay any attention. I was only a child, and it had nothing to do with my life. On the rare occasion my father took a barge he traveled on the Vyr River to Kaltan.”

“Jafra is a military outpost to the north,” Jaron explained. “It is fairly close to the blood boundary, maybe a day or two from the Boneridge Mountains. The new Queen’s Highway passes nearby, and we need soldiers to send to the aid of the construction crews working on it.”

Sheralie knew of the road. It was a great construction project started early in Queen Aston’s reign. Breyconland was completely landlocked, bordered by Estril to the west, Kaltan to the south and east, and the Ebony Hills to the north. To trade with the great countries of the east, beyond Kaltan, goods had to be shipped across Lake Vermere and traded through Kaltan. Queen Aston wanted to build a port city on the coast, and surveyors had found a likely harbor in the north. However, it was on the other side of the Ebony Hills—which were filled with all kinds of hostile, magickal creatures. Supposedly even dragons dwelt there in the days of Queen Sephelia, though that was likely just a legend. Queen Aston determined to cut a large roadway—a highway, she called it—through the wilds of the Ebony Hills to the coast on the other side. No country claimed it—Breyconland was not the only country with legends about dragons—and Queen Aston was willing to spend a fortune and a lifetime to accomplish the expansion. Construction crews made up of desperate young men, criminal laborers, and adventurous souls had been cutting a path through the Hills for almost eight years. But it was a dangerous project, and many laborers never returned.

“You served in the Ebony Hills?” she asked. 

“Not as a soldier or laborer,” Jaron said. “I was apprenticed to an explorer charged with mapping the wilds out there until I was wounded in a boar attack. My shoulder never really healed, so I was sent home.”

Sheralie raised an eyebrow. She didn’t know much about explorers, but she did know that apprenticeships of any kind were never ended lightly. His shoulder must have been quite damaged. It made her feel a little better about healing him.

 “I thought I would never fire a rifle accurately again, let alone swing a sword,” Jaron continued, “but then Lady Black dragged me to Doctor Bessette, and you worked a miracle.” He turned toward her and offered a warm smile. “Thank you.”

“Well, I didn’t have much say in the matter, but for what it’s worth, you’re welcome.” 

Jaron froze, fixing his eyes on her face. “What do you mean, you didn’t have much say in the matter?”

Sheralie sighed and dropped her eyes to Ginny’s basket in her lap. At least now that it was over she could speak of it. “I was bound by a blood oath to serve as Doctor Bessette’s subject in her experiments for a year. I had to power the vitality apparatus, whether I wanted to or not.”

“Truly? You were not a willing participant?”

She shook her head and raised her eyes back up to his. “I made a bargain with her. She was using a friend of mine to power the apparatus, and it was killing her. I offered myself in her place if Doctor Bessette would take a blood oath not to use anyone else.” 

Jaron’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“That is monstrous! If I had known…” He looked down at her bandaged wrist. It was healing, but still very tender. “Were you trying to defy the blood oath the night of the ball? I saw the citrine bracelet. Was it used for the binding?”

“Yes. I was trying to use the vitality apparatus myself to heal my friend. We were interrupted by the Silver Wolves’ attack.” She swallowed. “I don’t know if it worked. I don’t even know if Bailey and my other friends survived.”

“I am certain they did. The only reports of casualties were among the attackers,” Jaron reassured.

Sheralie sighed again. “In any case, that is why I was so unwell when you found me. The vitality apparatus drains my magick. It was a miracle I was still on my feet at all that night.”

Jaron flinched. “I had no idea. I am sorry. Now I am even more grateful for your sacrifice to heal me.” 

When the hackney arrived at their destination, Jaron jumped out first and held out a hand to help her descend. When she reached the ground, he gently raised her bandaged arm and kissed her hand. “Thank you, again,” he said sincerely. Warmth bloomed in her skin, and her magick reacted, flaring to life and shooting down her arm and her hand and into Jaron’s hand. He sucked in his breath and looked at her, his eyes widening in wonder. For a long moment they stared at each other, the magick connecting them with an electrifying hum.

From inside the basket Ginny let out a frustrated growl.

Move! she complained.

Even though Jaron couldn’t understand the mindspeech, he must have heard the growl and recognized the cat's complaint. He broke away to pay the driver and then returned to Sheralie, tucking her hand back through his arm and leading her across the street toward the inn. Sheralie tried not to think about the fact that her hand—the one still tingling with her excited magick—was resting on his arm. But something fluttered in her midsection, and she did not think it was nerves about her upcoming visit with Kattie.

When she gathered her wits enough to notice the Royal Oak Inn, Sheralie felt a prick of nostalgia. “I remember this place!” she said. “My father brought me to see the oak tree once. He said it was the oldest living thing in Bridgewich.” The giant tree sprawled next to the inn; in fact, the inn looked bunched up next to the tree. “He told me the builder thought the oak would protect the inn from thieves or violence.”

“It also makes a convenient escape route,” Jaron added. "We can use it tonight so no one asks awkward questions."

Sheralie studied the oak with new eyes. Several large branches brushed up against the second- and third-floor windows on the side of the inn. “Hmm. You’d think the inn owner would worry about his guests escaping without paying then.”

Jaron laughed. “Perhaps that is why he demands payment up front.”

A short while later Sheralie was installed in a second-floor room with a window that did indeed open up right to the branches of the oak tree. She put Ginny’s basket on the bed and peered outside, wondering if she would truly be able to climb out her window onto a tree branch. Not in a dress, for certain. Hopefully, Jaron would be able to find her something else to wear. As soon as he had deposited the valise in her room, he’d headed back out, saying that he would return in time to escort her to dinner in the common room and she should try to sleep a bit since they would leave again in the middle of the night.

Sheralie returned to the bed and opened the basket, carefully lifting Ginny out. Ginny opened one eye and glared at her. Sheralie could sense exactly how much she had disliked traveling in the basket.

“Well, what else did you want me to do? The stage doesn’t let cats roam around the compartment, and the inn wouldn’t welcome you in either. If you didn’t want to travel, you should have stayed home.”

Home? Ginny said in disgust. Not home anymore.

“I guess that’s true,” Sheralie said in dismay. She couldn’t go back to the Rusk mansion. She hoped Deb or Sally would claim her meager store of treasures before Miss Truella or Eldra cleared out her room. She sighed at the thought. She didn’t own much, but she did have at least some gifts given by friends over the years, and the few precious mementos from her father, including a miniature portrait of her mother. It hurt to lose them.

“Why did you come with me, Ginny?” she asked, flopping down on the stiff mattress. The cat didn’t answer. Instead, Ginny stalked across the bed and settled on the pillow before starting to groom herself.

Sheralie scooted to the side to give Ginny space and then stared aimlessly at the ceiling. Assuming the queen had not sent guards to her childhood home, she would see Kattie in only a few hours. Would Kattie welcome her? Would she call for the soldiers herself? When Sheralie was very young, Kattie was kind enough. But after the death of her grandmother, Kattie grew critical and harsh. Once Sheralie’s magick started to manifest in earnest, Kattie barely allowed Sheralie into her presence. It was not likely her stepmother would have any sympathy now, especially since the one person connecting them—Sheralie’s father—had been on the run for nearly four years. She wondered why her father hadn’t taken Kattie with him. He’d told her before he left Stramere that he planned to check on Kattie before going into hiding. Yet Sheralie knew that Doctor Bessette was able to contact Kattie and get her to sign over guardianship of Sheralie shortly after they took their blood oaths to each other. That meant that Kattie was still living in their Bridgewich home, or at least she was seven months ago. Hopefully Kattie was still there, and her father had given her some way to contact him. Otherwise this whole trip would be for nothing.

She thought of Jaron kissing her hand, and her cheeks heated. Maybe not completely for nothing.

With that pleasant thought she drifted off to sleep.