wink and, with a miming action of her hands, a promise of celebratory drinks of ale later that night, she removed herself from the Chamber of Valor.
But before she’d taken three steps toward higher floors and the sleeping cells of the brothers, she was picked up by one of the grand master’s assistants and carried to his private study like a sack of rye.
“Is this necessary?” she asked the man. “I could have walked.”
The assistant knocked once on the door to the study and brought her inside, placing her in front of the grand master’s desk. He then quickly walked out, closing the door behind him.
“I’m assuming you wanted to see me?”
Busy writing on a parchment, he told her to wait by gesturing with a flick of his hand. Gemma went across the room to the small statues standing on one of the many bookshelves and picked up a representation of the war god Morthwyl that one of the monks had created out of stone. Although they respected and called to many war gods in their prayers, it was Morthwyl who was their main deity. It was his name they called when they rode into battle. It was his table they hoped to feast at when they died a death of honor and blood.
“Stop playing with that.”
Gemma put the war god she’d been using to attack another war god back in its place on the shelf. “Sorry.”
“I saw the seer today.”
“The pretty blond one? Or the old hag? Or the one with the twelve kids? Or the one who said she ate her twin while still in her mother’s womb? Or the one who controls fire?”
“No. Gary the sorcerer.”
“Ohhh. Yes, of course.”
“He has some terrifying information about the future of our brotherhood. Some of which, not surprisingly, involves Brother Sprenger.”
“But Sprenger started it.”
The grand master stopped writing and looked up from his parchment. “Sprenger started what?”
Gemma blinked. “Nothing.”
“Gemma.”
“Joshua.”
In this room, when they were alone . . . she could call the grand master “Joshua.” He’d been her mentor since the beginning. Before he’d become grand master. The one who’d guided her through all the tough times, had been there when she wasn’t sure she could make it through. But mentor and mentee didn’t really describe their relationship; it was deeper even than that. Did that mean she took Joshua for granted? No. She would not ask him for anything she didn’t think she deserved. Nor would she ask him to fight for her over something as ridiculous as rank. They didn’t waste their relationship on horseshit. It was too important to both of them.
“So what did the seer want to tell you?”
He motioned to the chair across from his desk and Gemma dropped into it.
“The Old King will die soon.”
“Good.”
“Yes.”
“But I guess that means one of his idiot sons will replace him?”
That’s when Joshua stared at her for a long moment.
“What?” she asked when he didn’t reply.
“The seer actually sees a different ruler.”
“Oooh. Interesting. Someone we can fight for? Or someone we’re going to have to kill? I’ll be honest . . . I’m not sure which I hope for. Both sound intriguing.”
“I honestly don’t know the answer to that question. Because the ruler he sees, Gemma . . . is your sister.”
Truly confused, she could only ask, “Sister? Which sister? I have a lot of sisters. And brothers and cousins and aunts, uncles—”
“Beatrix.”
She gazed at her mentor for longer than she meant to. She gazed and gazed until it happened all at once. The laughter exploded out of her so hard that she ended up on the floor, rolling around in her blood-covered tunic and chainmail, barely able to stop herself from pissing on it as well. It went on for ages, Gemma unable to stop herself, even as tears streamed down her face and her laughter turned into desperate coughs and struggling for air.
But, eventually, she noticed that Joshua did not join in with her laughter. Unlike most of the brotherhood, Joshua did enjoy a good laugh from time to time. So when he didn’t this time, she forced herself back into the chair and asked while she wiped her tears and gave a few remaining chuckles, “You are kidding, aren’t you?”
When he did not reply with a very strong, “Of course I am!” Gemma’s laughter died in her throat, along with a bit of her soul.
“Beatrix can’t be queen,” she argued. “She’s a child.”
“To be queen or king, she just has to be out of the womb.”