Book Preview - Duchess Rising

Chapter One

The Black Panther silently stalked the child, who was methodically sliding forward on her belly through the wet grass. The Great Cat scrutinized each of the girl’s movements down to the last twitch of her smallest finger.

The sounds of stone sharpening steel, metal spoons clanking against cook pots, and quiet conversations surrounded the still form as she waited for the exact time she could inch one hand forward, possibly accompanied by a knee sliding silently through the mud.

When the muscles of her right arm tensed in anticipation, the Panther whispered into the girl’s mind. To your right. Do you see the man moving into the brush to relieve himself? Wait for his return.

Kaiti slowly released her breath and closed her eyes. Her Spirit Guide, the Black Panther, Denabi, had taught her to do this whenever she found herself hiding in an enemy encampment.

Too often, the whites of your eyes give you away. If you stare at an enemy while you wait, your prey feels your presence, even if he never sees you. Still your heart and mind while you mark time.

She opened her eyes when she heard the man return to his tent. Her target was still twenty paces away, seated on a log next to his son, who was methodically sharpening the thirteen-inch dirk he held in his lap. The fire in front of them crackled, sending off wisps of light that created shadows behind them where assassins could lie in wait.

The child edged to her right, using the long shadow stretching out behind the King to mask her movement. Members of the Imperial Guard stood sentinel, their swords buckled at the ready and their shields held stiffly by their sides.

When Kaiti came within striking distance, the Panther cautioned her, Move quickly and be sure of your thrust.

The killing strike was quick and sure. The second the tip of the stick punched into the back of the King’s gambeson, he leapt to his feet, sword drawn and ready for battle.

The Guards also reacted, instantly surrounding their liege and his attacker.

The prince jumped to his feet; the dirk he’d been sharpening held ready to defend his father.

Kaiti froze. Although she didn’t fully understand the Anacafrian language, she’d been told to expect this reaction. Denabi had drilled her on the exact response she should have when the King and his guards turned on her.

“Your Majesty! Hold!”

The King swung around to face the Lord Commander of his Imperial Guard. “Jathez! What is the meaning of this?” He turned and bellowed for his cousin. “Bree!”

Jathez calmly walked forward and pushed the tip of the King’s sword away from the child’s throat. “Your Majesty, as you know, Queen Desdamea has sent assassins into Anacafria. I have increased the amount of training for the Royal Guards. As such, I asked the Duchess Makena if her daughter would attempt to assassinate you to test your guard’s abilities.” He glared dangerously at his men. “Obviously, more training is in order.”

The King sheathed his sword, his irritation showing as he rammed the blade down into his scabbard. “A child! You used a child to assassinate me? I could have killed her!”

Duchess Aurelia “Bree” Makena stepped out of the shadows and approached him. “A child we’ve discovered is a better tracker and hunter than most of the men and women in your royal retinue of spies.” She smiled wickedly. “Besides, her Spirit Guide would have bitten off your arm before you could have done any real harm.”

The King and his men nervously glanced around the encampment, none really believing in Spirit Guides but spooked by their mention, nonetheless.

The prince, on the other hand, excitedly squinted into the shadows, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kaiti’s Black Panther.

To the Anacafrians, up until a few months ago, Spirit Guides were a myth, a fable made up by the Shona as part of their mystical beliefs. When Duchess Makena had been wounded in battle and brought to her castle in Orinshire, King Leopold, his Queen, Arabetha, and many from the King’s retinue rode from Cafria to Danforth to hold vigil while the healers fought to keep her alive.

During that time, Bree’s friend and healer, Becca Solárin, regaled the court with the stories of what became known as The Battle of the Seven Realms, where Anacafrians and Shona alike fought beside their Spirit Guides to stop the incursion of the black Teivaiedin from Morgrad’s unholy realm.

The King angrily waved his hand, palm down, silently telling his guards to resume their posts.

The biggest guard, Rocca Andresen, walked behind Kaiti and stationed himself in the gap she’d used to infiltrate the King’s defenses.

Jathez watched him set himself in the guard position, legs shoulder-width apart, back to the fire. “Too little, too late, Rocca.”

Rocca turned and fixed somber eyes on his commander, addressing him with the dialect peculiar to the people of the Ironmoor Forests in the Northern regions of Bree’s Duchy of Danforth. “T' other’s meight seh t' bairn played 'em for fools. Not uz. I’m not ta chuffed ta learn fra t' bairn, Commanda. I’ll learn fra anyone who’ll 'elp wee protect t' King.” He looked down on Kaiti then. “If anyone gives theur grief for lakin' 'em eur fools, theur cum finn' owd Rocca. I’ll set 'em straeight.”

Very few people outside of the Ironmoor Forests understood their jargon. The people of that region were strong and hearty, and many served in the various divisions of the King’s armies. Jathez preferred to use Ironmoor’s men and women in the Imperial Guards because they were fiercely loyal and trained many candlemarks after most soldiers quit for the day.

Ten-year-old Prince Darius pursed his lips, trying to decipher Rocca’s words. He finally gave up. With brow furrowed, he turned to look at his father, who chuckled when he saw the boy’s comical expression.

The King smiled at the big guard. “I don’t think my son quite understood you, Rocca.” To his son, he said, “He just told Kaiti that he didn’t care if she showed him to be a fool. He’s determined to learn from what she just did, and if anyone bothers her because she broke through their defenses, she’s to come to him, and he’ll have a word or two with them.”

Darius nodded solemnly. He took the duties of crown prince seriously, and one of the tasks he’d set for himself was learning all twelve dialects spoken throughout his father’s kingdom. He glanced at Kaiti. “She won’t understand what he said, but I’ll remember to ask Becca to translate the next time she’s here.”

He turned his attention back to Rocca and spoke with all the dignity a ten-year-old could muster. “I want to know if anyone bothers her. She is under my protection.”

Rocca faced the boy, then dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I’ll inform theur, thy 'ighness, bur t' ‘uns whoa should be worried is t' 'un who bothers 'a. She’s eur 'ellion, 'a' 'un is.” He regarded Kaiti a minute, then returned to his guard position.

Unsure why everyone kept looking at her, Kaiti walked over and stood next to Bree, who laid her arm across the girl’s shoulders.

The King turned and settled back onto the log, with Darius taking his place beside him. “While you’re here, Bree, Jathez, come sit by the fire a while. There’s a lot we need to discuss about Organdy. And there’s something else I have to get off my mind.”

Eavan, the King’s squire, ducked inside the pavilion, brought out two stools, and set them near the fire. She smiled and winked at Kaiti, then returned to the pad she’d been sitting on before the child had stabbed the King. She patted the spot beside her, inviting Kaiti to sit next to her while the others sat around the fire and talked.

Kaiti glanced up at Bree, who nodded her approval. When Kaiti saw Eavan cleaning and oiling the King’s leather, she quickly ran to Bree’s tent to retrieve a bridle before joining Eavan on her blanket. Since Eavan didn’t speak Shona, and Kaiti didn’t understand Anacafrian, the two worked in companionable silence as they listened to the King’s conversation.

Seeing that the lessons were over for the day, Kaiti’s Spirit Guide, Denabi, quietly faded from sight.

Bree watched her disappear before turning to Jathez. “So, Desdamea’s sent her Sabers after Leo. Does she honestly think her assassins can penetrate this far into Anacafria?”

Jathez motioned for Bree to take one of the stools, which she did. He pulled his black cloak tighter around his muscular frame and lowered himself onto the other.

Bree still suffered from stabbing headaches as a result of being clubbed unconscious with a stone mallet during their battle with the Teivaiedin. She rubbed the back of her head to ease some of the pain.

Jathez sympathized as she applied pressure to a spot just above her neck. He’d had his fair share of concussions and knew firsthand how bad the pain could be. “Not just the King. Do you know Ruthok, the commander of the Fourth Contingent of the Archers?” He paused to see if Bree knew the man he was talking about.

Bree let her hand drop to her lap. “I know him well. He served as the assistant armorer at Orinshire before he joined the Archers. He’s a good man.”

Jathez raised bushy eyebrows. “I didn’t know he was an armorer. That explains how he knew the difference between a trench knife and the saluri skivvers the Sabers use during close-in assassinations. He and his squad captured a Saber coming off a ship at Port Emnal, just south of Moorhaven. The idiot wore his skivver under his cloak, and a gusting wind blew the cloak open far enough for Ruthok to look at the blade. It took a little…convincing, but the Saber eventually admitted that Queen Desdamea sent several assassins, like himself, after the King and Queen, the Prince, and you, as well, Duchess.”

Prince Darius, who was just now learning that he and his mother were targeted, spoke up. “Why would an assassin tell Ruthok anything? How do you know what he said is true?” The slight tremor in his voice revealed just how much the news from Jathez had unnerved him.

The King placed his hand on the prince’s knee. “Now, son, there’s nothing to fear. We have the best Imperial Guards of any of the surrounding kingdoms, and they’ll not get within a hundred leagues of here.”

Darius studied the men and women standing guard around the royal tents. “But how do you know she’s targeted us? Why would an assassin tell Ruthok who his target is?”

The three adults in the group exchanged glances. Jathez opened his mouth to speak, but the King held up a hand to silence him. “There are many ways to make a man or woman speak, Darius. None of them fit for the ears of a ten-year-old boy. Suffice to say, we trust the information Jathez has been able to gather, and we’ve taken the appropriate steps to protect everyone.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Including you. But I want you to be on guard—more so than usual. If you see something that just doesn’t sit right with you, tell whatever guard is assigned to you at the time.”

Once again, the prince studied his guards. Nordin and Kalsik had been chosen to protect him during the long ride back to King’s City with his father. His mother, the queen, had left a week earlier to attend her best friend's wedding, and he was ecstatic to be allowed to travel with the King.

Tonight, Nordin stood guard over the prince. Darius watched him while the others continued on the topic of the Orgundian queen. The dark-skinned guard stood straight and tall, his overly muscled arms almost blending with the gambeson dyed the black and jade of Darius’ heraldic device. Like the prince’s older cousin, Bree, Nordin wore a bandolier of throwing knives crossed in front of his chest. He also carried a long sword and a shield bearing Darius’ insignia of a Jade Silvermoor Leopard Rampant.

The prince’s father didn’t believe in Spirit Guides. Still, he was fond of telling his son about the day Taklishim, the most revered shaman of the Shona tribes, had come to visit the newborn prince. Taklishim had held Darius in his arms and proclaimed to the assembled courtiers and advisors that his Spirit Guide was one of the famed white Silvermoor Leopards.

Whenever the healer, Becca Solárin, was at the castle, Darius wouldn’t let her rest until she once again explained about the Spirit Guides and how he could learn to see and hear his Leopard. He glanced around now, wishing his Guide would appear and teach him what he needed to know about being a brave and noble soldier and, someday, a fair and wise ruler like his father.

King Leopold noticed him and misinterpreted the action. “There really is no need to worry, son. You are well protected.”

Darius glanced down at the fire. He saw no reason to explain what he’d been looking for. Even though Bree and Becca told the King about their experiences with the Guides and the Teivaiedin, his father still didn’t believe. He might never come to acknowledge their existence, but that didn’t keep Darius from expecting to see a Silvermoor Leopard come strolling out of the darkness some starlit night.

He stared out at the surrounding landscape. The soft yellow glow of fifty or more cookfires hovered over their encampment. This was a soldier’s bivouac, something very different from the camps he’d been in with his parents when they’d been on summer holidays. Tents were picketed in ten consecutive, concentric circles around the King. If a spy studied the encampment from the top of the tallest Runyon Tree, the formation would look like a giant target with Leopold’s pavilion sitting as a bullseye in the middle.

Darius glanced up at his father’s golden pennant fluttering in the breeze. Taklishim said that his father’s Spirit Guide was a Therian Mountain Goat, one of the hardiest and most steadfast animals in all the Kingdoms.

The greatest artisans in Anacafria had embroidered a powerful Goat standing with his front hooves elevated on a giant boulder. The maroon Goat’s horns circled backward and down over muscular shoulders to form the deadly weapons that made the Mountain Goat a formidable and much-feared opponent. Very few men fought a Teyvardian Mountain Goat and came away unscathed. That was true of those who opposed his father as well.

He turned and watched his father speak to his cousin and the commander. Leopold’s broad shoulders and powerful arms were a testament to the candlemarks spent in the practice pens wielding his heavy sword and shield. His hands were thick with callouses, and the heavy knuckles crisscrossed with jagged white scars from sword fights—both practiced and real.

But while Darius admired his father’s prodigious fighting skills, the ends of his short, blunt fingers—stained with ink from the many candlemarks spent pouring over old records in the royal archives—impressed the young prince the most. His father was a warrior and a scholar, a man respected by the nobility, as well as the peasants and soldiers.

The prince’s gaze moved from his father’s hands to his handsome face. Court gossip said that the King’s strong, straight nose, high cheekbones, and dark, wavy hair were proof that somewhere far back in his lineage, one of his ancestors had taken a Shona princess to his wedding bed.

Darius retrieved the stone he’d been using to sharpen his belt knife before Kaiti had attacked the King. He methodically slid the blade over the rough surface, thinking about his Spirit Guide and how his life had begun to change when he and his family had ridden to Danforth and met his friend, the one the Shona called the Spirit Child.

Bree watched Darius sharpen his dirk and absently listened as Leopold spoke of the possibility of war with their Orgundian neighbors—a kingdom to the northeast across the Cascadian Sea. She wondered how she could protect her Duchy from the Teivaiedin and, at the same time, help defend the Kingdom.

She realized the King had asked her a question, and she’d missed it with her woolgathering. “Pardon, sire?”

The King repeated himself. “I said, I know Baron Ellsworth has been seeing to the running of your duchy, but have you at least been keeping up with your weapons training and tactical skills?”

She shook her head and sighed. “Not as much as I should. When Timur…” Her voice broke, and she took a minute to regain her composure. “When she died, I lost all interest in anything but my steading and my wine.” She watched the yellow and orange flames dancing in the fire pit before looking back at her King. “Why do you ask? I love you as my King, but I don’t want anything to do with political intrigue or soldiers and war. When we reach the confluence of the rivers, Kaiti and I intend to return to Ashton Fork.”

Leopold shook his head, an irritated scowl deepening the lines that stretched the length of his forehead. “Why do I ask? Because I’m going to need all the experienced commanders I have if it comes to war. Like it or not, right now, Bree, you are third in line to the Anacafrian throne. My throne. If anything happens to me, you will be one of Darius’ main advisors. Why, you ask?” He stood and began pacing back and forth in front of the fire.

Bree, Jathez, Darius, and Eavan stood as well. The King impatiently waved them back to their seats. “Sit. I need to pace, and you don’t need to stand while I do so.”

After they’d retaken their seats, the King angrily drew his sword. “As much as I wish it were otherwise,” He shook the weapon, “this is how we keep Anacafria safe from rulers like Desdamea.” He knelt in front of Bree, one knee on the ground, his sword resting casually across his thigh. “We were pages and squires together for Sir Banyon and Sir Kyels when we’d barely reached our teens. When we became knights, we fought side-by-side during the Estian Wars, and the younglings still talk about you as the Hero of the Battle of Blackthorn Pass. Tane’s blood, Bree! You saved my life and very nearly lost your own in the process.

“At twenty-eight, you were the sub-commander my mother chose to lead the Huntington’s Cavalry in the Queen’s Brigade—the most elite cavalry force in all the Kingdoms and the force that helped turn the tide against the Estian Circle!”

“Sire, plenty of men and women are qualified to lead your troops. I need to return to my steading. That’s where I belong now, not on some battlefield trying to—.”

Leopold stood and angrily sheathed his sword, the crack of metal against metal loud as he rammed it into place. “I need you right now, Bree. I trust you, and the soldiers trust you. What I don’t need is to have you wallowing away at your steading, drunk and addlebrained!”

He began to pace, running his fingers through his hair to calm himself. After a deep breath, he returned to sit on the log. He rested his head in his hand, turning his head to face her as he spoke in a softer tone. “I’m sorry Timur is gone. She was my friend with whom I could speak for candlemarks about history and art.” A smile lightened his features. “How many times did she say I was dense for discounting the Shona beliefs? Only Timur would dare say that to her King.”

He sat up straight and held Bree’s gaze. “I mourned with you, and I have let you mourn for many months now, Cousin. I will never forget her, but I will not let you foul her memory by sinking into your cups and turning your back on your King and country.”

“Foul her—” Red tinged the corners of her vision as the blood rushed to her head. The ache in her temples multiplied tenfold as her pulse pounded through her veins. She pushed to her feet and glared down at the seated Leopold, who quickly rose as well.

Just as she opened her mouth to deliver an angry retort, Ebi, her Badger Spirit Guide, materialized between her and the King. Only Bree and Kaiti could see or hear her, but that didn’t stop the animal from standing on her hind legs and giving Bree a warning shove. Berate the King in front of these soldiers, and they’ll turn on you, Duchess. Like it or not, he’s right. Not only does he need you, but the child needs you, too. She poked her paw into Bree’s stomach again. Say the wrong thing now in anger, and the King will have no choice but to turn his back on you both. Is that what you really want?

Bree looked over at Kaiti, who’d risen to her feet, eyes alert as she watched the drama unfolding.

The guards stood with their heads locked forward, but Bree knew they were using the time-honored technique of any standing man-at-arms, the ability to covertly watch anything of interest using their peripheral vision.

She rubbed her face with the palms of her hands. Ebi was right, and Bree knew it. The troops needed to see that she was loyal to her King and trusted his judgment in all areas, particularly in matters of war.

At this point, there was only one way for her to show unequivocal loyalty to the crown. Shoving down her anger, she took the time to compose herself before turning back and addressing her King. “Your Majesty. I am now and always will be yours to command.”

She knelt and drew one of her knives from the bandolier strapped across her chest. Turning the knife so that the tip rested against her heart, she repeated the oath she’d given him on the day of his coronation. “My life for your life, my blood for your blood. I will stand strong and true in defense of your kingdom. My sword will defend you, my words will honor you, and my will shall be obedient to your command. I will defend the defenseless, speak only the truth, and choose loyalty to my King over riches and approbation. This I do swear and will uphold for as long as there is breath in my body.”

Relieved, Leopold slowly placed his hand on the hilt of her knife. He spoke clearly, projecting his voice just enough for those listening to hear. “My life for your life, my blood for your blood. I accept your oath of fealty and will protect you and yours throughout my reign. I will be the first into battle and the last to quit the field. I will rule with justice tempered by mercy. This I do swear and will uphold for as long as there is breath in my body.”

A roar went up from the ring of soldiers gathered outside the light of the fire.

Startled, Bree saw shadows dancing across scores of smiling faces belonging to the many men and women who’d heard the commotion and had come to see what was happening.

A quick glance also showed her the fierce pride etched onto the faces of the Imperial Guard.

His eyes bright with unshed tears, Leopold pulled her to her feet and embraced her. He spoke quietly in her ear. “I do need you, Bree. We all need you back, at least until this crisis has run its course.”

Bree smiled slightly when Ebi waddled out into the darkness, muttering to herself. Who knew? Maybe she’s trainable after all.

Kaiti came up and gently took the knife from the King’s hand. She looked back and forth between Bree and Leopold, her brows drawn low in confusion and uncertainty. She offered the knife to Bree, who took it and slid it into its sheath without conscious thought.

Turning in a circle, Bree began to recognize many of the faces surrounding them. Each lowered their eyes as a sign of respect when she met their gaze. When she came full circle, she found Eavan standing proud and tall next to Nordin, who was his usual stoic self.

Jathez barked at the crowd. “Enough now. Get back to your fires. Eat and rest. We leave before dawn, and I’d better not have to come and personally kick your arses out of your tents, or you’ll be digging latrines with your spoons for the rest of the trip.”

Many soldiers chuckled but returned to their tents and cookfires.

Jathez turned to Darius. “That includes you as well, Your Highness. Morning will come early enough, and you always want to make it a habit to be up before your soldiers.” He took the prince by the shoulders and bent down to look into his eyes. “Sleep well, young leopard cub.”

Obediently, Darius stepped back, bowed to his father, and then, out of respect, inclined his head to Jathez and Bree. He tried to stifle the yawn that was threatening to escape, but it appeared just as he turned to go.

His father saw how worn-out Darius was and smiled. He wished his son goodnight with the exact words he’d been using since the day his son first came into the world. “I’ll be in very soon, Darius. Dream of glory and honor and wake refreshed and ready for a new day.”

“I will, Father.” Darius sleepily called over his shoulder as he ducked into their pavilion.

Nordin stepped over and took up a position to the right of the entrance.

Eavan began rolling up her mat and putting away the mink oil she’d used to soften the reins on the King’s bridle.

Kaiti helped her as the King turned to Bree and Jathez. “We’ll talk more about the possibility of war as we ride through the countryside tomorrow. Whether it happens or not, I intend to be better equipped and better prepared than Desdamea and her horde.” He placed a hand on Bree’s shoulder. “Whether you believe it or not, you’re a big part of that, Cousin.”

He motioned toward Eavan with his chin and spoke softly. “She’s not the only one who idolizes you. Watch the way the soldiers look at you as you walk or ride by. I think you’ll be surprised.”

Jathez nodded. “Most of the time, heroes don’t think they’re anything special. In fact, most of them don’t even believe they’re actually heroes. But our young men and women need leaders they can believe in. People they know have ridden into battle and survived and who can maybe increase their own chances of surviving as well.”

He smiled at Bree. “Like it or not, Duchess, that would be you and me.” Turning to Leopold, he shrugged, “The King, well, he’s the King, and his people love him, and his soldiers will follow him without question. I, too, am glad you’re back.” With that, he bowed slightly to the King and retired to his tent.

Kaiti returned, yawning widely. Bree put her hand over the child’s mouth. “Cover your mouth when you do that, especially around nobility.”

Leopold chuckled and stepped toward his tent. “Good night, you two. Tomorrow will be here earlier than early.”

Bree inclined her head toward his retreating back, and Kaiti mimicked her movements. The two of them walked to their tent, where Kaiti was asleep before her head hit her pillow. Bree knelt and covered her with the blanket. “Goodnight, Little One.” She shook her head. “Our lives just took a very strange turn, and I hope we’re both up for the ride.”