Fiction: Son's Blood - Chapter One (Part 3)

"That's him," Bracer said, as much to herself as to Alonder. Her voice cracked with unexpected emotion, reminding her that she had momentarily forgotten her disguise.

She turned to see Lon's reaction. He stood with his gaze fastened on the portrait. After a moment, he seemed to remember she was there.

"My first son," he told her, stopping to clear his throat, "named Alonder, as is family custom." The man sighed. "Perhaps your story is true. What else did he tell you?"

She hesitated, knowing she must regain control of her voice or arouse his suspicion. Taking one deep breath, she began the painful disclosure.

"He said his mother abandoned him at birth. When he tried to win his step-mother's affection, he felt only rejection. The boy believed she resented him because she wanted his inheritance for her own children."

Lon nodded sadly.

"Did he tell you his mother's name?"

Bracer bit the inside of her mouth to stifle the surge of emotion she felt.

"He would not speak it," she answered slowly. "He hated her and cursed her soul."

Alonder's shoulders sagged. He turned his back to her and paced off toward his study.

Bracer stared down at the design of the floor tiles, not wanting to witness Alonder's grief, afraid to look again at the portrait of the now-dead boy. When Alonder came back toward her, she looked at his boots, unable to bear seeing his face. Even then, the pain in his voice unnerved her.

"Did you bring no token for me to remember him by? His sword, a scrap of his cloak?"

"I am sorry, lord. Everything of value was taken from him on the battlefield. His clothes were buried with him." She hoped he would dismiss her soon. Bracer did not think she could retain her composure much longer.

"Why do you lie to me?" Lon demanded suddenly. Startled, she backed away. Had he guessed about the badge? Or, worse yet, had he recognized her? Hoping for the best, she kept up her act.

"My lord, what do you mean?"

"You say you are a nurse. You pose as a peasant woman." Lon pointed an accusing finger at her. "Yet your demeanor is not like any woman I have ever known. Your hands are calloused and strong." He scowled at her, but came no closer. "You have a soldier's bearing. You even walk like a fighter, no matter how you stoop in an effort to disguise it. Why have you tried to fool me?"

"Forgive me, my lord," she begged as her mind raced for a new story. Not the truth, she could never tell him that, but something close enough to be believeable.

"I was a mercenary, sire. I fought beside your son." It all spilled out too rapidly. She stopped, battling her anxiety, and continued with more control. "Most men of your class revile women like me. I feared you would not receive my message if you knew what I really am, and..."

"Spit it out, woman. Tell me your motive," he was shouting now.

In response to their raised voices, the steward appeared at the end of the corridor, but Lon waved him away. The interruption gave Bracer a moment to collect her thoughts.

"I am growing older, Lord Alonder. Enough past my prime with a sword to begin looking for another way to earn a living. I thought, perhaps, you would give me work in your household."

Lon glared at her and did not take any time considering her request.

"Do you really think I would have a woman like you in my house? Bacaria has never let its women take up the sword. Nor has King Shasteral ever needed to hire mercenaries. What honor is there in selling your loyalty? I have more respect for camp-following whores than for mercenary swordswomen."

She had heard these things before, and even coming from a man she had once loved, they held little sting. At another time, such words might have provoked her to challenge him. Today, their cut was dull, considering the anguish of her own guilt. What if he knew that she had not been his son's swordmate, but, instead, his executioner?

Bracer pushed past him, intending to leave. With her pretense of age no longer necessary, she strode down the hall. This was not the first time she had used this corridor to escape the torment Alonder's house held. But, before she reached the end of the corridor, he called after her, "Wait."

She stopped and faced him once again. Alonder walked stiffly toward her. Looking down at her coldly, he spoke.

"Perhaps I do have employment for you."

Bracer waited for him to continue, wanting only to have the meeting ended as quickly as possible. Alonder shook his head.

"Not now. I need time to think. I will send for you tomorrow, after I've had time to mourn. My steward will tend to your needs."

He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. Bracer turned and walked back to find the steward.

"Could you not have brought some keepsake from my firstborn?" he shouted after her.

Picturing the copper badge she had taken from the dead man's cloak, she ignored him. It's mine, she thought defiantly.

Again, the steward appeared at the end of the corridor.

"Let this woman stay in the stable," Alonder instructed, "and tell the cook to feed her." The servant nodded, and Lon added, "I want no more visitors today."

Minutes later, with the help of a boy summoned by the steward, Bracer brought her cart into Lord Alonder's stable. She let the young servant unhook the horse and take it out to be watered. Once he had left, Bracer, trembling with too long-suppressed emotion, pushed the stable door shut and climbed into the cart. Pawing through the hay, not caring how she strewed it about, she located the hidden bundle. Lifting it with uncharacteristic tenderness, she cradled the wrapped sword like an infant and lightly stroked the copper badge at its hilt.

"So, you were my son," she whispered, remembering the stranger she had tried to comfort as he died. She had thought the doubt too awful to live with, but now she regretted making this journey. The uncertainty had been gentler than the horror she felt now at her worst fear's confirmation.

Though Bracer had not guessed it at the time, she had struck down her own son. They had been nothing more than two mercenaries, by chance, on opposing sides in a war that meant nothing but wages to either of them.

She stroked the badge once more, surprised that it still felt cold beneath her fingers. Had it not been for this, she'd have dispatched the man quickly and never had a clue to their link. In the haste of battle, she'd never have noticed his resemblance to Alonder.

But the man had been a captain. Bracer's partner, Mongrel, believed he might have information that would earn them a bonus from King Rasperd. So, while the man endured an agonizing death, his two captors had questioned him.

Sickened by the memory of how Mongrel had tortured her son, she threw herself into the hay, letting it smother her sobs. When she could think again, Bracer realized she had not wept since leaving this house so long ago.

If I believed in gods, she told herself bitterly, I would think that they have cursed me.