Plumestra raised herself to look in his face. “She offered me a guild charter.”
Borre blinked. “Say again?”
“A guild charter,” Plumestra repeated. “A full charter, with fees waived, and a royal endorsement.”
“I’ll be damned,” Borre said.
“Imagine it,” Plumestra said. “A seat on the guildmaster council. Apprentices, the awarding of a master’s badge, a way to teach, to learn through something besides failure? Maybe even a birthing house.” She settled back down, putting her head on his shoulder. “Save the lives of countless women and babes.”
“I know it’s your dream, my plum.” His arms tightened around her. “But I do not trust them. There’s been body parts found in the waters that flow out from under the Palace, and they did not come from upstream, so far as any knows.”
“Borre, it’s more than that, don’t you see?” Plumestra put her lips to his ear. “They’ve won and she is in power, whether we like it or not. The Queen is not going to keep the child at the tit for long, if at all. We could influence the next Son or Daughter of Xy through the wet nurses, the nursery maids, the staff. While his mother plots and schemes to gain power and glory, we will take the long view and teach the child a sense of honor and truth.”
“In that household?”
Plumestra hummed. “She is not the kind to raise a child, husband, and will pay little attention to the nursery. We will raise the child and instill a strength of character she cannot dislodge.”
“It’s a risk,” Borre murmured.
“It’s a risk,” Plumestra agreed. “But being within a hundred miles of her is a risk.”
“Know this, my wife,” Borre shifted on his side to face her. “If aught happens to you, my guild will never clean their cess pits again.”
“A terrible thing,” Plumestra said with a smile. She pressed her hand to his chest. “Sleep, Borre. All will be well.”
Borre scoffed, and shifted, moving to cover her. Plumestra drew in a breath as the heat started to rise in her depths.
“Didn’t just take my wife to bed just for gossip,” he said as he nuzzled her ear.
“Borre,” she sighed with pleasure and rained kisses on his face.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mayor Jerrold stood at the farthest part of the shelter mine and surveyed his people. It seemed nearly all of Wareington had gathered. The glow of dim lanterns was just enough. Not that they were necessary. You live with each other for years with no outsiders, you have no need to see a face.
He decided to wait a bit, seeing that stragglers were still coming in.
This mine hadn’t been worked in his lifetime. But it was well-braced and sound. As were Wareington’s people.
Jerrold glanced at his mother, sitting on a wooden bench close by, bag of knitting at hand. She watched the crowd as well, gauging their temper, even as her hands reached into the bag. One thing the entire village knew full well, Mother Bercie’s hands were never idle. And woe betide ya if she thought yours were.
As he expected. she pulled out a dagger and a whetstone and started to sharpen the weapon. Jerrold felt some of the tension release from his shoulders at the comforting sound of blade on stone. One of his Da’s daggers; he recognized the handle. A wave of sadness swept Jerrold, catching him by surprise.
His mother caught his eye, her gaze steady yet full of worry. Those eyes had seen so much death and pain over the years. He glanced at his son, sitting next to her, and felt the same fear. Jerrold drew himself up and looked out over his people and did the only thing he could do with fear.
He faced it.
“Scouts out?” he asked. “Guards in place?”
His captains nodded.
Jerrold nodded. “For years, we’ve known this day would come,” he started, raising his voice. The people grew silent, giving him their attention.
“Those of Xy, Airion and Wyvern, have always tried to take what is ours. Our livelihoods, our resources, our lives, sometimes wiping out entire villages.” He paused, swallowing hard. “We will always remember.”
“We will always remember,” came the response from all.
“After we drove off the last Lord High Baron that dared try to rape us and our land, the Blood entered into its own strifes. While Blood warred with Blood, we of Wareington put the years to good use, preparing as our fathers warned us to.
