Sword & Flame: The Sara Featherwood Adventures ~ Volume Two Read online

  “I don’t. It’s just a friendship token.” She clutched the little carriage in her hand. “He helped me in Brightlings. It’s a gift because he pities me—he knew I was banished from my home. A comfort gift.” Even she didn’t believe her words.

  “It’s a token, all right, but it indicates pretty serious intentions on his part.” Anton laughed. “Let’s get to your next destination, the Goldfields townhouse.”

  Sara’s thoughts were confused as they turned back towards the center of Stonebridge. Why would Klark give her an heirloom to remember him by? She didn’t deserve it for giving him only two kisses—only two kisses that summed up their strange on-again off-again relationship. She’d have to give it back to him if she saw him in Parth. She didn’t deserve such a thing.

  The coach stopped in front of a large building. A circular driveway led around the front of a house that dwarfed Brightlings. Smaller residences butted up against it as if hoping that some of the house’s grandeur would rub off.

  “Goldfields townhouse. That’s the Goldagle crest.” Anton pointed to a gilded eagle with wings thrown back and claws extended.

  “Magnificent. And my mother had to leave this behind?”

  “This is nothing compared to their estate. That’s a palace that rivals the Duke’s.” Anton said.

  “When my mother’s father died, she received Brightlings and that was that. She had to leave all of this.” Another reason for her mother’s mirthless existence. Sara didn’t know how she’d react if she grew up in a place like that only to be cast out. Then as she looked at the large windows and carved stone embellishments, she realized that she had been similarly rejected. Brightlings didn’t compare to the noble residence she now gazed upon, but Sara couldn’t go back to her own home again and neither could her mother. The thought made her sad, but she didn’t feel the anger that seemed to consume her mother. Perhaps it would come later. She had no difficulty generating anger at Ben Featherwood’s behavior.

  “I doubt if they’d let us inside. See the flag flying from the top of the entry gable. That indicates that the Duke is in residence.”

  “Shattuk Downs hasn’t room for so many dukes,” Sara said.

  “Only three in the entire district and you are connected, if not by blood, to one of them,” Anton said. “And that’s going to get you in to see Guy Autumn, the Grand Duke of Shattuk Downs.”

  “Ah, yes. He is a Grand Duke, but we just call him Duke Autumn. However from what I’ve seen today, what I thought was an informal Shattuk Downs nobility is much more impressive.”

  Anton nodded as they pulled away. “And it still doesn’t compare to Parth.”

  He let her off at the inn to change her clothes and get a small meal. There might be food at Court, but he warned that it would only be available after the Duke’s business and sometimes Court could take up quite a bit of time.

  ~

  High windows let the afternoon sun into Duke Autumn’s court. The stonework astounded Sara. She’d never experienced such opulence. Carvings of vines and flowers covered flutes in each marble column and nearly every surface of the walls and ceilings sported more of the same.

  Sara plucked the silk of her gown and looked around. Compared to the other ladies, it was as if she wore sackcloth in the room. There weren’t many nobles, but those that attended court were dressed well, indeed. Anton wore a black suit trimmed with black velvet. With his white shirt and dark red cravat, he cut quite a handsome figure.

  The Duke sat in an ornate chair behind a raised table. A few petitioners stood in the middle of the room. Sara yawned after she had stood in court for an hour and a half.

  “The Duke would like an audience after the court in a few minutes,” a small man carrying a ceremonial staff said to Anton.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t expect we’d be summoned, Sara. I thought that the extent of his condescension would be an afternoon attending court. Don’t be intimidated by the man. He can be a bit gruff and certainly has his own mind.”

  To Sara, all of the high-ranking nobles fit that description. She thought of Lord Northcross. Duke Autumn didn’t have the physical force that Northcross did, but like Northcross, his expression was anything but warm. His hair had thinned back to the middle of his head and had turned gray so it seemed that the Grand Duke compensated for that by wearing a full beard shot through with streaks of white. Even Sara knew such facial growth was not fashionable in the kingdom and in Shattuk Downs. Her eyes scanned the room and couldn’t see another bearded man

  Anton bumped her elbow. “Here we go. You don’t have to say very much. He does know about our adventure in Dry River but it’s unlikely he is aware of your current difficulties at Brightlings.” He took Sara’s arm in his and approached the Duke.

  “Rider. I see you’ve brought a novelty to court. Her name?” Sara could tell the Duke played a game of words and posturing with Anton.

  “Grand Duke, may I present Sara Featherwood of Belting Hollow.”

  Sara curtseyed and it seemed to please Duke Autumn.

  “Ah. Your savior has arrived at our very court. Sara, Rider has informed me of your exploits, as has Lord Northcross. Your fame precedes you and I thought it might be you hanging on Rider’s arm. If it were otherwise, I would have let his legs tire and ignored him. Is this your first visit to Stonebridge?”

  “It is, your Excellency. Your city amazes me. You must excuse my astonishment, for I am from Belting Hollow which is at the far corner of your domain.”

  “You are so right, but that hasn’t kept you from my notice. Shattuk Downs expects great things from its subjects. We are expecting great things of our little backwater of a province. Great things. We will be adjourning to the dining hall for an informal buffet as soon as our conversation is over. I invite both of you to attend. I have someone I think you should meet.” Duke Autumn smiled and stood.

  The man with the staff struck it on the floor three times. “The Grand Duke’s court has adjourned.”

  Anton and Sara stepped away from the Duke’s table as the conversation level in court began to rise and observed the nobles filing out of the court, following the Duke out of the double doors.

  “I suppose you attend these buffet’s often?” Sara said.

  “Actually this is my second time. It’s you that earned the invitation, I suspect.” He grinned and squeezed Sara’s hand. “I’m surprised that he noticed all of your accomplishments. I had thought he’d just admit to hearing of you. It’s quite an honor to be so recognized by him.” Anton’s attention wavered as he became lost in thought.

  “What did he mean about great things?” Sara said. She didn’t know about anything unusual happening in the Downs.

  Anton cleared his throat. Sara recognized it as a stalling action. “I’m not sure, but don’t take any notice. He has some unique vision that I’ve heard mentioned, but I don’t know any details. He likes to keep things close and I’m no one close.” Anton gave her half of a smile, but again, Sara could tell Anton knew much more that he let on.

  The court had cleared when they made their way through the hallways of the palace to the dining hall. It just about matched the size of the court room. Formality had fled as lords and ladies and other hangers on, Sara considered herself a ‘hangers on’, talked and laughed and ate.

  Anton took her through the lavish buffet. “Whatever isn’t eaten is distributed to the poor of the city, so don’t feel guilty,” he said as he picked up a plate.

  He must have read Sara’s mind. “That’s a relief,” she said, “I’ve heard he is very conscious of the well-being of the Downs.”

  “He is, indeed.” Anton remained silent until they had filled their plates and found places at one of the small round tables that dotted the dining room. He went off to get some wine.

  “Miss Featherwood?” Sara started at Duke Autumn’s voice behind her and jumped to her feet and curtseyed. “None of that in here. I’d like you to meet Jeramy Hardwell, Duke of Goldfields. I believe you two a
re related?”

  Sara dipped just a bit as Hardwell took her hand and made to kiss it, but his lips never touched her. “The last of the Goldagles. My pleasure to meet you.” His eyes protruded from his fleshy face. The man looked like a pig, but Sara tried to banish the thought and couldn’t help but take an instant dislike to him. She couldn’t imagine him walking in the same halls where her mother once played.

  “Anton Rider and I drove past the Goldfields townhouse this morning. It’s quite an impressive edifice.”

  “Yes, yes. I would have invited your family down some time ago, but you know that relations were strained after Sythea withdrew from the family.” Goldfields cleared his throat and Sara remembered that the man wasn’t family to her. “I understand you are on your way to Parth?”

  “I am. I’ve been drafted to help prepare a proposal for a Women’s College at the University.”

  Hardwell nearly sneered. “A waste of time. Women do their best bearing heirs and looking decorative… although their advice is often sound.” He didn’t mean what he said about the advice. Perhaps a sop? Sara didn’t know. She felt so out of place talking with these two men.

  “I will do my best in Parth, your Excellencies.”

  “Oh, Miss Featherwood. Feel free to visit me in town or at Goldfields, my estate.” Hardwell bowed, as did the Grand Duke. She felt rather stupid and shocked by the attention.

  “I would be happy to. Perhaps when I return from Parth.” She smiled and the two men nodded their heads and walked off, leaving her standing. She immediately sat down with her face beginning to flush.

  “And what did the two Dukes say?” Anton returned with a goblet in each hand looking at their retreating figures.

  “I’ve been invited to the old ancestral estate and to the townhouse.”

  Anton looked at the backs of the two Dukes now talking to others. “They both probably know you’ll be leaving Stonebridge at first light.”

  “You don’t like them do you?”

  Anton put his finger to his lips. “Not really. There’s something going on and I don’t know what it is. I’ve been pumped for information for months here and want to return home, but they keep pulling every little detail about the Downs out of my brain.” He grinned. “I’ve been kept well, however, and Mrs. Rider has been happy to see a fatter bank account.”

  “Yes, but Vanna misses you and your children do too.”

  “I’ll remedy that in a month, hopefully, or I’ll have them move down here.”

  Sara began to eat and enjoy the food. Travel fare would not measure up to what she currently put in her mouth. The laughter had died down somewhat as many of the party had begun to eat. She saw Doctor Miller from the College talking with Duke Autumn.

  “Isn’t that Professor Gerry Miller?”

  Anton turned around. “What’s he doing here? The Duke seems very attentive.” Another man walked up and began talking to both of them. Anton quickly focused back on his food. “That’s my superior in the Duke’s Intelligence.” Anton furrowed his brow. “Why would Miller merit such attention?”

  Sara watched the three of them leave the dining room. “They are leaving together and Duke Goldfields has just been summoned to join them.”

  “Thank you for pointing that out. I may have to find out what’s going on.”

  Anton ceased to be a dashing host from that point on. The meeting bothered him and his preoccupation soured the rest of her court visit.

  ~~~

  Chapter Four

  Parth

  Every mile brought new vistas. The south end of Shattuk Downs had a different kind of charm than the more heavily wooded north. Everything seemed so idyllic. Why would Duke Autumn want to change it? Great things? Nothing could be greater than the grounded feeling Sara experienced as she rode through her homeland.

  As soon as they descended through the Narrows that dipped down into Parthy proper, Sara noticed the difference. The grass seemed thinner, sparser; the trees seemed to have to make a bit more effort to live. She laughed as she realized that her perceptions were so provincial. From that moment on she played a little game to think of advantages that the Parthy countryside had in comparison with Shattuk Downs. No snow had fallen in the past week and none was expected during her trip. The cobbled road that ran from Stonebridge to Parth wouldn’t be too slick and that would enable them to make good time.

  The first night’s inn made a good impression. She noticed the differences in the furnishings. Even the speech of the innkeeper and his wife carried a different lilt that what the common folk in the downs spoke. The cook prepared the food with different spices and Sara realized that Parthy was more diverse than she ever thought. Anton had never talked about the way people, food and everything felt different—not foreign, but not familiar.

  In one sense, Sara felt alone in a strange land, but then she had felt even more detached from her friends as she walked the corridors at the Duke’s palace. She wondered if similar thoughts whirled through her mother’s mind when she had ridden on this same road when she was Sara’s age on her way to Parth to be presented to the King. Could she have wanted Sara to follow in her footsteps? That question would never be answered. Her mother had described Parth, but not with wonder and now Sara could see why if she had been brought up at the Goldfields townhouse and at the estate.

  Her mother grew up as part of the world of nobles and Sara had been brought up a step or two up from the common people at Belting Hollow. Both of them had been banished. Sythea Goldagle from above and Sara Featherwood from below. Both of them found themselves mired in the same place where their standing remained quite uncertain.

  Jeramy Hardwell, Duke of Goldfields, had seemed polite enough, but Sara sensed a not-too-veiled antagonism. The introduction didn’t need to be made and that surprised Sara as much as anything. Hardwell hadn’t deigned to travel north to her mother’s funeral. No one would really appreciate her showing up at his doorstep for a tour of the townhouse or of Goldfields, his estate. But maybe if she did get presented to the King…

  Her gown wouldn’t stand up to Royal scrutiny. At least the Duke’s court wasn’t a social event and even then, Anton and she hadn’t mingled with the Stonebridge nobility at the Duke’s buffet. Presentation to the Duke was an unexpected treat and she could claim such a thing to Lily, who might take it as a rite of passage, but a formal presentation to the King of Parthy as a noble brought with it a verification of one’s standing. It depended on how she’d be presented, of course.

  Then she remembered Goldfields’ comment that Sara was the last of the Goldagles. Her nervousness had let the comment slide right past her. How could she be the last of her family? Jeramy Hardwell was not related by blood to her mother’s family, but perhaps he had forgotten about Seb and Enos, who were Goldagle heirs, as well, and if that were the case, then perhaps they might have a claim to the Duchy when they came of age.

  Sara would have to research that when she reached Parth. She had neglected to look further into her lineage at the college library, but the University boasted the most complete genealogical library in the country, curated by the Royal Genealogist. If she couldn’t get into the library, perhaps Klark could. The thought of meeting Klark again, prompted her to grab her little carriage whistle. She wondered how he would react when she told him she’d been to his family’s carriage works.

  She smiled and looked back out the window of the coach as it headed north to Parth. In less than ten days, she would be riding through the streets of the capital and actually working on the creation of a Women’s College at the University.

  ~

  The coach sped through the roads of City of Parth for an hour before it came within sight of the palace. It dwarfed the Grand Duke’s in every way with a white stone wall shooting up higher than the roofs of the houses that clung to the sides of the city’s fabled Three Hills district. Inside, the spires and towers of the original Castle of Parth rose up. In the centuries following the establishment of Parthy, the castle b
ecame the central building and the original town, behind those impressive walls, had become the administrative center of the country.

  As Sara’s coach approached Lady Worthy’s house, the white stone walls of the Palace with its crenellated edge and guard towers became the only evidence of the massive administrative center inside. Her house must be within walking distance of the palace. Carriage wheels didn’t clatter and set occupant’s teeth on edge like it did as she had ridden on country cobbles for most of the way to Parth. Here, the pavement consisted of flat-shaped stone, like bricks, set to make a smooth riding surface. As the coach stopped at a townhouse, Sara clambered down onto the pavement, clutching her coat in the cold. The damp air cut through her sharper than in the Downs. On the other side of Three Hills sat the port of Parth.

  She walked through the gate and past the tiny garden that framed the house’s entrance and yanked the bell pull.

  “May I help you?” A woman looked up at Sara, who had grown a few inches taller since her mother had died. The slight, middle-aged woman still managed to make her feel that Sara was the one looking up.

  “Sara Featherwood. I have come to assist Lady Worthy in preparing the Women’s College proposal.”

  “I expected an older person. You aren’t even twenty, I imagine.”

  “Just turned eighteen. Is the Lady in?”

  “Yes. Sara Featherwood? Come in and I will announce you.” The woman looked at Sara’s bags and then stared at the coachman. “Bring them in.”

  The man obeyed without question. If this was Lady Worthy’s housekeeper, how intimidating must Lady Worthy be? The woman turned and expected Sara to follow. She passed the first door and opened the second.

  “If you will wait in here, I will summon her ladyship.” She turned and left even before Sara could enter the room.

  Green. Light green, dark green, a splash of yellow and white, but definitely the waiting room shouted green. Sara sat on the edge of a small wing chair and waited. The coachman put his head through the door.