A Flight of Ravens by John Conroe (thriller books to read TXT) 📗

Sampson’s dark face lit with an absolutely delighted smile, the very definition of ear to ear.

“See, Highness?  Never a dull moment,” Lord Sampson said, breaking the silence that gripped the room.

“That, my dear lord, is an understatement,” she said, her own smile stunning.  Then she turned back to my brother and his wife, my father, and the bishop, who were staring at us, shocked.  “I have, no doubt, kept everyone waiting long enough,” she said.

Bishop Miller recognized his cue, even if my family members stood stock still.  “Ahem, yes, Highness, while we would never agree that you have caused even a moment’s delay, it is, perhaps, time that we bestow this young one’s rightful name upon his brow.”

His words kicked the room into action, voices raising and bodies moving as Gracid belatedly stepped forward to direct everyone to the chapel alcove at the far end of the room.  Like those of most wealthy families, the DelaCrotia mansion in Haven had its own chapel tucked away behind pocket doors that normally stood closed, looking like just part of the wall.  But in times of danger, either man-made or simply bad weather from God, the family could safely uncover the chapel and hold service in complete safety.

“Brothers and sisters under God, we gather here tonight,” Bishop Miller began almost as soon as he made it into the small chapel alcove and turned to face the guests, “to celebrate new life, a gift from our creator just as he has gifted us in the centuries since he Punished our forebears.  The arrogance of man knew no bounds as the Punished sought to create and remake life with their own flawed hands. They twisted God’s very codes of nature and sought to form new, never seen, and never-intended life as well as building corrupted imitations of God’s work from metal, crystal, and lightning. But God turned their abominations against them, wiping the world clean and remaking it as it is now, with clear ice to the north, the storm-swept freshwater sea to the west, and vast, unforgiving oceans south and east.  When the meek and the humble crawled from their caves and tunnels, they found a land laid bare—reset by God.  Then He touched them with mercy, allowing new, innocent life to be born.” The bishop took Ircian from his father’s arms and held the baby up in a symbolic offering to Heaven, then lowered him back down, smiling warmly at the tiny child.

“Who offers this child to God?” he asked suddenly, dark eyes now serious, scanning about the room.

“We do,” Gracid and Camella said in such perfect unison that I knew they had practiced rigorously.

“Who will see this child protected, taught, and grown to follow God’s way, knowing that God watches and judges each of us on our actions and oaths?” the bishop asked.

The entire room, Lord Sampson, Brona, and I, answered, “We will,” following the ancient ceremony.  Even the servants holding trays of food and drink answered in unison with the guests, as did Salis and Rose.

“Then know that this boy, named before God as Ircian Tetro DelaCrotia, is your charge under the eyes of Heaven,” Bishop Miller intoned.  Tetro?  That suck-ass Gracid had given him the same middle name as our father’s.  How could I still be surprised by my brother’s transparent pandering after all these years?

“Ah-man!” chorused through the vast space of the ballroom.

Bishop Miller, beaming with delight, kissed Ircian on his tiny forehead and handed the babe back to his mother.  Instantly, my mother, sister, and a dozen other ladies surrounded Camella, cooing over the baby.

“You never cease to surprise, Savid,” Brona said softly in my ear, then swept forward to part the sea of women and bestow her own royal blessings upon the baby.

“Maybe you two should have been the bards,” another voice said, causing Lord Sampson and me to turn.  Trell, lute in hand, was standing just behind us with a grin on his face.  “There is no way I would want follow that act,” he said.

“The bishop has years of experience,” Sampson said.

“I was speaking of you two,” Trell said.

“Bah, simply two men, one old, one young, fawning over a beautiful woman.  I believe it has happened a time or two before and will happen countless times again,” Sampson said.  “Now, I see poor Lady Olden looking lost and lonely.  Excuse me.”

“You never even hesitated,” Trell said as the older man moved away.  “Utterly brilliant, Savid.”

Another man approached us, stifling my response.  “Lord Marshal,” I said.

“Sergeant DelaCrotia,” Kiven Armstrong responded, ignoring Trell altogether. I’d resigned from His Majesty’s service as a captain, but my final rank could be said to be that of sergeant, as my demotion by King Helat technically took place after I resigned.  Most people these days used my officer’s rank now that I was restored in the eyes of the crown.  Brona was having paperwork prepared for her father’s signature that would revoke the demotion.  But Kiven was pretty clear in his intent.

Trell, sensing extreme tension between two large men, slipped backward, giving us room.  He wasn’t abandoning me, just doing what we had been training him to do.  In fact, he actually stepped back and slightly sideways, putting him more to Kiven’s side.  That movement was not lost on the lord marshal, who gave him a hard sideways look.

“What do you want, Kiven?” I asked, snapping his attention back to me.

“I hear you’ve been threatening my constables,” he said, voice low to avoid anyone hearing it.

“I asked them if they sought satisfaction.  They didn’t.  They should learn to control their words.”

“They’re officers of the law. They don’t duel.”

“No, they just throw insults as if they are immune to the consequences.  You need to teach them manners.”

“Each is charged with keeping peace and order in the capital of this kingdom,” Kiven said.  “For that, they are spit upon and slighted, yet they maintain their integrity and high morals.”

I laughed.  “Do they?  Maybe a few, but there are those among them who take