Chapter 8 – Duke Ernesto
They dragged her like a sack into Duke Ernesto’s personal quarters. They dropped her flat on a small piece of round carpet in front of a small, modest throne. The carpet was relatively soft, and Sonata welcomed it. Her face hurt. Her calf hurt. Her entire body hurt. She was sore from head to toe, but thankful for a few seconds of something soft and non-threatening against her body.
The feeling did not last long.
She was grabbed up again and forced to stand while two guards held her arms tightly. To her sides and behind her, both swordsmen and crossbowmen stood in silence, their weapons trained upon her. She would not get out of this mess, she knew, unless she could summon World-Shaker. That, unfortunately, did not seem like an option. The power had failed her once again.
A side door opened, and Duke Ernesto and his personal guard stepped in. Everyone bowed in deference as the duke took his throne. The guards holding her pushed her head down as if she were to pray. The idea had its merits, she thought, as she lowered her head in compliance. She did not have the strength to fight them anyway, and in truth, she had no desire to look at Duke Ernesto.
Alfonse Domingos Ernesto was the second son of King Augusto Eliseu Ernesto who had ruled Viscano before Sonata’s birth. She knew little about the royal family tree, save that Alfonse’s older brother, Alvaro Rui Ernesto, was the rightful heir to the throne. But Alvaro had foolishly gone on a hunting expedition to the northern kingdom of Maramuur. He, his entourage, their ship and its crew, never reached its destination. Alvaro was never seen again.
King Ernesto was preparing to go to war with Maramuur over the incident, despite no evidence that they had deceived Viscano about Alvaro’s death. King Ernesto, fortunately, died before war preparations were finished. Alfonse took charge of the situation thereafter, canceled the planned attack, and assumed the throne himself. He had ruled ever since.
Duke Ernesto had the same rights and privileges of any kings or queens in Mirada, but he had chosen to call himself “Duke” only. To his credit, Sonata supposed, but the title did not make the man. The man made the man, and Duke Alfonse Domingos Ernesto was not a very good man.
“You are in the presence of Duke Alfonse Ernesto,” the herald standing next to the throne said in a full-bodied voice, “he who rules Viscano and all its foreign holdings.”
There were no foreign holdings that Viscano held, at least none of which Sonata was aware. Pure bluster.
“You will keep yourself in good conduct, and you will pay the proper respect at all times. Do you understand?”
The question was clearly directed to her. No, I don’t understand, and I don’t recognize. “I understand,” Sonata said aloud through a puffy lip. “But may I request, Your Grace, that these goons unhand me?”
Sonata thought she saw a small grin spread across Duke Ernesto’s mouth. He flicked his wrist and the guards squeezing her arms released and stepped back. Reflexively, Sonata looked for an escape route, but there were none. Only a couple dozen fully armed men. She was going nowhere.
Duke Ernesto cleared his throat. “Tell me,” he said. “Who are you? Why are you here in my tower? And why have you killed my guards?”
No reason to lie now. “My name is Sonata Diamante, and I am here seeking Borshen Galo.”
The Duke looked up at his beveled ceiling as if her memories were there. “Ah, yes, Sonata Diamante. Famous swordswoman and thief, I think? Nathyn Sombrio spoke highly of you.”
“He speaks no longer.”
“Did you have something to do with that?” the duke asked.
Sonata shrugged. “I witnessed his death. That is all I will say.”
There was a pause, then Duke Ernesto shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. Sombrio was reckless, and he left us a world of problems. Rodrigo Vaasco is a much better Captain of the Guard. But you have wounded him badly, Sonata Diamante. You have killed one of my captains and incapacitated another, and all within a few months’ time. Are you trying to topple me, Viscano, and Cragsport?”
“No, Your Grace.” Sonata was sincere this time. “I love this city. I was born and raised here. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect it.”
“Then why are you here? Attacking my guards and killing them is treasonous behavior. Executable behavior.”
“I told you, Your Grace. I am here to find Borshen Galo.”
The duke huffed. “What is that old wizard to you?”
Sonata paused, sighed deeply, and said, “Borshen Galo is my uncle.”
A collective gasp spread through the room. Sonata likened it to how dramatic theater-goers would respond to some surprising revelation during a performance.
“Borshen Galo is your uncle?” the duke asked. “And you thought he was here?”
Sonata cleared her throat, swallowed down some residual blood lingering beneath her tongue. “I know, Your Grace, that you ordered his removal from the Stretch.”
“And how do you know this?”
“I . . . have eyes in this city, same as you, Your Grace.”
“And did those eyes see who put an eight-foot-deep, thirty-foot-wide crater in the oldest and most sacred graveyard in the city?”
Sonata shook her head. “No, Your Grace.”
“But clearly you are familiar with the Stretch, since that is where your uncle’s stone-hard body was found. I wonder how he got into such a situation.”
“I put him there, Your Grace.”
The Duke leaned forward, his eyes fixed on her swollen face. “Why?”
Sonata did not know how much of the truth to tell him. “He was dying, Your Grace. I fixed him in stone until such a time as I could return to Cragsport and find a way to revive him and keep him alive.”
Duke Ernesto nodded. “So, you have the skills of a wizard as well?”
“No, Your Grace. It was a simple potion.”
There was silence as the duke sat back, rubbed his chin. He took more time navel-gazing than Sonata liked. Her feet hurt. Her legs hurt. She wanted to sit down, but doing so at this moment would be another insult.
Finally, the duke said, “Sonata Diamante, you have broken into my home. A capital crime. You have killed my guards. A capital crime. You have wounded my captain in an attempt to kill him . . .”
“No, Your Grace. That was not my intention.”
“. . . and you desecrated the Stretch, a Viscano landmark. Another capital crime. Bones were also found on top of Galo’s stiff body. Who was that?”
Sonata shook her head. “No one of import, Your Grace.”
“Just another person that got in your way, is that it?”
“Your Grace, if I may—”
“You have also violated your oath to the Night Guard,” Duke Ernesto continued, ignoring her plea, “of which Nathyn Sombrio made sure I was aware. And you killed several guards on the day that you escaped . . . which was the beginning of the riots and unrest that we have endured since. You are guilty of more crimes than I can count, Sonata Diamante. The best thing for you is a public execution so that the people of Cragsport can see who is responsible for their current distress and discomfort.”
She’d always known that this day would come. Working for Borshen Galo all those years, there were crimes that she had committed that the duke could not even imagine. Her crimes were piled so high that she herself had lost track. Death at the hands of authority was always a risk in her line of work. But now that it had come, hearing the duke call for her execution. . . . It didn’t seem real.
She closed her eyes and tried to summon Sacudente do Mundo. Come, damn you, come!
“Everyone, leave us. Stand outside.”
The duke’s orders were strong. The barker beside his throne tried to protest. The Duke shut him up with a wave of his hand. Everyone, including the two who had dragged her into the room, left.
She was alone with Duke Ernesto. By habit, she reached for her swords. They were not there.
The duke rose from his throne. Sonata stood as strong and as straight as she could. He stepped down the few modest steps onto the carpet.
Duke Ernesto was taller than she was. He was hairy from what little skin she could see from the several layers of clothing that he wore. He was not an ugly man, but most of his face was covered by a full black beard. He smiled at her. He seemed to have all of his teeth, though there was a slight gap between the front two.
He leaned toward her, keeping his smile broad. “Now that they are gone, I have one question I wish to ask you, Sonata Diamante.”
She waited, not speaking.
“Can I trust you?”
✽✽✽
Sonata wasn’t sure if the question or the scent of wine on his breath (so early in the morning) surprised her the most. “Yes,” she answered, “I suppose.”
Duke Ernesto nodded. “I hope you are telling the truth, young lady. For you and I have mutual interests, and I would like to see those interests realized.”
Sonata shook her head. “I don’t follow, Your Grace.”
The duke turned to his throne and seized it as if it were a lover. He fell into it so hard, Sonata thought she saw him wince in pain as his tailbone struck the hard chair. But he recovered quickly, straightened himself, and said, “Incapacitating my Captain of the Guard has put me in a difficult position, Sonata Diamante. In two days, I have a delegation heading to Corodana, and I no longer have a security chief to oversee the safety of that delegation. I need one.”
Sonata’s heart sank. She shook he head. “I am not a member of your guard, Your Grace. I won’t be a member of your guard.”
“Then I shall call them back in and order the removal of your head under my observation and authority, and I won’t care a wit about the stain your bloody corpse leaves on my new carpet. Do you want me to kill you, Sonata?”
It was Sonata’s turn for bluster. “Why don’t you try it, Your Grace?”
They stared at each other for a moment. Sonata did her best to stay calm, collected. She tried again to summon World-Shaker. Still nothing.
“In exchange for your service to me in this capacity,” Duke Ernesto continued, “I will consider it time served to the Night Guard. I will pardon all capital crimes that you have committed this evening, and I will give you Borshen Galo.”
Sonata threw her eyes open wide. She took a step forward. “You have him?”
“No, but I know who does. A Corodana wizard named Frederico Bomba has him. He was quite generous with his reward. He arranged the meeting with the Corodana Council, among other things. He’s an arrogant little swine, but—”
“I know who he is, Your Grace.”
Duke Ernesto huffed. “Yes, I suppose you would, being Galo’s niece. Your uncle has a lot of enemies in this world. I can’t guarantee, you understand, that Galo will be alive once you arrive there, but if he is, or if he isn’t, you may collect him or seek vengeance for his death. Either way, it matters not to me. Once you deliver my people securely to Corodana, you have leave to do whatever you like. Just don’t stand in my way. The delegation’s business is important.”
Sonata knew exactly what that business entailed. Duke Ernesto was preparing for war with Pontaboro. Mustering men and materiel for a land engagement was easy. Fighting off a naval attack from Agadano was something else entirely. Viscano needed northern allies.
“Do we have a deal, Sonata?”
What choice did she have? Say no, and die here in this opulent room high above Cragsport. Say yes, and be a thrall to Alfonse Ernesto, second son to a late king. Neither option was palatable. But if the duke was telling the truth about Uncle Galo—and it was very likely that he was, for Bomba was a nasty little bastard who had put moedas in her purse for Galo’s head—then she had to travel north. How else could she get there but across the Sorrow Sea?
“Yes, we have a deal, Your Grace. But I have three conditions. First, you will draft a document detailing my pardons and time served to the Night Guard. We will both sign it. Second, I want my swords back. Third, and this is the most important, I must be allowed to bring my dog.”