“He is some years older than me,” Dorrin said. “I had met him at the Falkian Hall, where we both took training—he being already a veteran, having fought with Halveric Company a season or two in Aarenis. I was one of the youngest accepted, as he was one of the oldest, so it was years before I saw him again. I needed work, and the Captain-General of Falk sent me to Aliam Halveric. He knew Phelan was looking for a junior captain, and recommended me. It was his first independent command.”
“I know about that,” Kirgan Marrakai said. “My grandfather gave him a horse.”
“I didn’t know a Verrakai was in his service until he told us, the day the sword proclaimed him,” Duke Mahieran said. “And yet I’ve seen Phelan’s troops coming through Vérella spring after spring, and you were sometimes with them. To my shame, I saw only the mercenary captain.”
“It is no shame to you, my lord,” Dorrin said. “That is what I was, most of my life, and you saw the truth of it. I never expected to use my family’s name again or take any part in the life of nobles.”
“It did not bother you to set that wealth and luxury aside?” High Marshal Seklis asked.
“Marshal, if you knew what it was that you call luxury—I was glad to escape, and that was not my only attempt. I wanted nothing they had to offer me.” Dorrin clenched her fists in her lap to stop them trembling. “The current Knight-Commander of Falk knows some of it. I told him, and Paksenarrion. If I must—”
“Not if it pains you,” the prince said, holding up a hand. The two older men looked as if they would hear more.
Dorrin shook her head. “It pains me, my lord prince, but it is what made me what I am. I would prefer not to have it become a … a tale of dinner gossip. It is not trivial to me.”
High Marshal Seklis frowned at the younger men. “Can we trust you youngsters not to chatter?”
They nodded. Dorrin looked them each in the face. They had been someone’s squires, or were now: they should know how to keep secrets. She repeated again what she had told Kieri Phelan and Paks; the telling was no easier for being repeated. From their faces, they were first disbelieving, then horrified, disgusted.
“That’s horrible!” the younger Serrostin burst out. His brother put a hand on his shoulder. “How did you—how could a child—survive—?”
“I don’t know. I can remember little—so if there was someone who helped me, taught me—I do not know who it was.” She went on, as quickly as she could, ignoring their exclamations and finished with the story of her final, successful escape and the sanctuary Falk’s Hall had given her.
“A remarkable story,” Duke Mahieran said, with an undertone of if true.
The young men were looking at her as she had had young men look before: squires to captains who had just revealed something of their own youth. High Marshal Seklis shook his head. “I believe it is true, Sonder. And the paladin is her friend. Whatever the other Verrakaien believed or believe, this one is not like them.”
“There’s still that story of conspiracy,” Duke Mahieran said. “Mikeli’s my nephew, my prince, and soon to be my king. We must know what she knows about that.”
“I do not know what you have heard,” Dorrin said. “But in my uncle’s study in the house in our domain, I found proof of … of something. I don’t know exactly what; I brought … things … here, to give to the prince.”
“Liart’s foulness, I suppose.”
“No, my lord. I would still rather show, than speak of them. They are at the house, under guard.”
“Back east, or here in Vérella?”
“Here. Paksenarrion has seen them; she thinks something is missing, something she once found, but then forsook.”
“Do not play with us, Duke Verrakai,” Mahieran said, turning sharply to face her. “Do you so distrust the prince and his closest companions—?”
“I distrust the air itself,” Dorrin said. “I believe this matter will and should be made public, but what I think of these things will be nothing to the experience.”
“Then let us go to your house here in the city,” said Duke Mahieran. “Or just me and High Marshal Seklis, if you will.”
It was late now, long summer twilight shading at last to dusk, but Dorrin nodded. “As you wish, my lords. The prince should come, as the matter does touch on royalty.”
“Royalty!” Mahieran’s eyes widened. “Then we will come, at once, and with us what force we might need. Can I trust you to tell us truly?”
“Truly, I do not know. The house itself still holds traps and dangers, as I’ve told the Marshal who visited today and your guard-captain. But what I brought should be safe enough to open.”
Dorrin set out three wrapped bundles on the table. “I found these in my uncle’s study, in a vault in the wall, behind a … painting that had been there when I was a child. I must warn you—blood magery was used on at least one of these things. And they have their own magic.”
She unwrapped the goblet; when she touched it, she felt the now-familiar tingle. “This looked like a small urn when I first saw it; it was full of blood that then vanished in a mist.”
“Holy Gird’s protection be on us,” High Marshal Seklis muttered.
“The inscription on the rim of the cup changed from a script I could not read to one I could,” Dorrin said. She handed it to the prince, who took it gingerly and peered at the script.
“I can’t read this,” he said.
Dorrin quoted it for him. “Do you feel anything as you hold it?”
“Other than astonishment, no,” he said, handing it back. “Do you?”
“Yes,” Dorrin said. She unwrapped the box.
High Marshal Seklis peered at the designs. “That pattern—it reminds me of a drawing the Marshal-General sent, of something found in Kolobia.”
“Paksenarrion said the same,” Dorrin said. She ran her finger along the pattern on the box, and once more it unfolded to reveal the treasure within. “Paks and I think this is royal regalia from somewhere, but where, neither of us knows. Paks thinks the necklace found in a robbers’ den near Brewersbridge was in the same set—see this empty space?”
The prince looked eager and interested; Duke Mahieran reached toward the box, perhaps to touch the lining, and the box snapped closed so fast it bumped his finger.
“What was that! Did you think I was going to steal it?”
Dorrin shook her head. “It never did that before—though this is only the second time I’ve had it open. The other time, Paks was there. I don’t know, my lord—”
“You claim it did that by itself?”
“As it opened. Try tracing the pattern on the top, with your heart-hand finger, and then touching that blue stone in the center.” Dorrin stood back, giving him room.
Scowling, he traced the pattern as she directed; the box opened very slowly, but when he tried to touch the lining it snapped shut once more. “It doesn’t like me,” he said.
“Have you taken anything out of it?” High Marshal Seklis asked.
“No. I’ve touched the inside, though, and it never closed on me like that.” Once more Dorrin opened the box and stroked the blue velvet lining. The box did not move, until she touched the two ends, when it folded again.
“And the third thing?” Seklis asked.
“Ah. That’s two mysteries in one,” Dorrin said. She unfolded the cloth and spread it flat. “Paksenarrion says this design resembles one found on a cloth in Luap’s Stronghold, laid on a stone bench in a room otherwise empty.” She paused. They were all staring. “And then there’s the crown.”
As she spoke, the crown rose in the air and moved toward her. You are mine; I am yours. The voice in her head was so clear she thought the others must have heard it.
“How are you doing that?” All three were gripping their Girdish medallions as if for protection.
“I’m not,” Dorrin said. “It is. It is very old, and obviously magical—” Put me on. “—and you should also know that it speaks to me.”