Bailey Baz's Arc

Chapter 30 of 44

Bailey read the folded note by the last of the dying torch. The order came from his own palace. Someone he trusted had sent these men to steal his mother's pages. He could not march home and accuse the wrong servant. One wrong word would warn the traitor, and the truth would slip away again. He needed the name first. Crane crouched beside the dead loyalist and pressed his thumb to the bone pendant. "This mark was carved fresh," the old officer said. "By a hand that knew the palace seals." He turned the note over. "No signature. But a courier this deep in the marsh answers to someone who gave him a place to sleep." Rufus took the pendant in his big, gentle hands. Bailey's cousin had spent a lifetime reading tracks and wounds in the swamp. He held the bone to the light and frowned. "I've seen this cut before," Rufus said. "On a strap. In the stable loft, the night the men came for me." Bailey went cold. The stable loft. Where the grooms slept above the horses. Where servants whispered when they thought no ears were near. He knew who kept that loft. "Joryn," Cora said. Her wand hand dropped. "He wouldn't. He's just a stablehand." Bailey wanted to believe her. Joryn didn’t seem like a traitor, the slow stablehand with the scarred face. Crane then spoke, “Well I guess I should say something. I have been doing my best to guard upcoming heirs from the prior king. I didn’t think he would actually try to make a claim being a son born outside the marriage to royalty.” “Speak plainly.” Bailey demanded. Crane continued, “Joryn is actually your cousin King Colton and General Cora.” Cora interrupted, “Another relative, one that is not cursed?” Crane continued once more, “He’s the son of a deceased prince.” Bailey though to himself; a dead prince's son had his own claim to the throne Bailey now held. Bailey remembered how quiet Joryn had grown since the crowning. How he watched from doorways and said little. "We ride back," Bailey said. "Quiet. We go to the loft before dawn breaks." They reached the stables while the palace still slept. Bailey climbed the ladder alone. Straw and horse-warmth filled the loft. Joryn sat in the dark on a hay bale, a saddle strap across his knees, a carving knife in his fist. A half-finished bone pendant lay in his lap. Joryn did not run. He looked up at Bailey and set the knife down. "You found the pages," Joryn said. His voice was low and tired. "I hoped the marsh would keep them." "You sent those men to their deaths," Bailey said. "I sent them for the truth of who should sit that throne." Joryn opened his hand. The bone marks matched the dead man's. "My father was a prince. You were a name in the mud a week ago. You don’t get to come back from the dead and expect to gain a throne I was to one day inherit. I was going to take care of the King myself, I almost had him until you came along. Those so called King’s loyalists were only my spies." Bailey drew his father's sword but did not raise it. "You could have asked me." "Would you have given it up?" Bailey said nothing. Below, Tyrek's boots hit the ladder. Cora climbed after him, her face hard. Joryn looked at his sister-cousin and lowered his eyes. He held out his wrists. "Take me, then. But I'm not the last of them. The loyalists have a name above mine now. Some I have yet to meet. Just know this one last thing. Cora’s claim is as strong as yours, mine, and Bram’s.”