SECRET
BURDENS
Stories of Lorst #3
by Suzanna J Linton
A New Adult Fantasy
Available
Now at
Secrets can heal — and destroy.
Jarrett
failed everyone close to him.
In
disgrace, he resigned his position as Captain of the Royal Guard and entered
self-imposed exile in the Eastern Forests. As a common soldier, he fought the
remainder of Marduk’s monsters.
A surprise
summoning, though, brings Jarrett back to Bertrand. He finds Clara nearly
bedridden from an assassination attempt. Tension between Lorst and Tier runs
high. In need of someone she trusts, Clara appoints Jarrett Captain of the
Seer’s Guard over his protests.
He
searches for both her enemies and his sense of honor. However, his
investigations threaten to expose secrets that could ruin them all
and shake Lorst to the core.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
EXCERPT:
Jarrett scrubbed himself
with the long-handled brush. Satisfied that every part of him was sudsy, he
stepped down into the cold pool. His breath caught at the icy water. It was
almost too late in the season for outdoor bathing. The poplars ringing the
spring wore the bright gold plumage of autumn. But being able to put his whole
body in water, no matter its temperature, was really the last luxury allowed to
him.
Besides, the cold water
helped rid of him of a worry that had been crouching in the back of his mind.
Once rinsed, he climbed
out and dried with a scratchy towel. He shivered as cold wind swept over his
bare skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. The trousers he fumbled with nearly
slipped out of his half-numb fingers.
“Sergeant?”
A soldier from the
outpost stood at the rise over the spring.
“What is it, Walter?”
Jarrett asked, pulling on his wool tunic. The warmth felt glorious against him.
He ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair.
“The captain summons
you, sergeant.”
“Tell him I’ll be right
there.”
Walter saluted and
walked away. Jarrett jammed on his gloves, pausing long enough to examine the
mottled, scarred flesh of his left hand. Once again, the memory of the
salamander’s scream echoed through his mind. He shoved on the glove and buckled
on his sword.
During the walk to the
outpost, the worry he’d been carrying since summer rose in his mind. And there
was nothing to kill or a task to complete to help him ignore it.
Clara had not answered
his letters. He wondered if she was angry with him for leaving, despite his
best efforts to explain it to her. Stubborn
woman.
The thick wooden walls
of the outpost rose before him as he came up the path. It sat on the edge of
Vernon’s Luck, a small town deep in the Eastern Forest. Not far away, Lord
Stanley lived in his estate. From there, he ruled his small fiefdom. Jarrett
had never met the man. Rumor had it that he was fair and honest.
As Jarrett passed
through the gate, he nodded at the soldiers on guard duty. No one there
recognized him as the former Captain of the Royal Guard. To everyone, from
armorer to scullery maid, he was only Sergeant Jarrett and he thanked the
Mother for small mercies.
It was bad enough that
his own memory didn’t let him forget about his failures. He didn’t need other
people reminding him.
After swinging by the
barracks to drop off his toiletries, he walked into the big main building to
the captain’s office. Jarrett knew men who loved to decorate their offices and
sleeping quarters with every comfort. Captain Andrew worked out of a room stark
in its simplicity.
A spacious desk, a table
with chair by the window, a bookcase with battered volumes, and a series of
cubby-holes bristling with rolled papers were the only items there other than
the man himself. It looked almost incongruous against the deep red paint
applied by its last occupant. Andrew, a large man with the shoulders of a bull,
sat in the chair by the window, taking advantage of the brilliant sunlight. He
held sheaves of paper: reports from patrols, no doubt. Jarrett saluted him.
Dropping them onto the
table, Andrew saluted back. “You’re a lucky man, sergeant.”
“Sir?”
“I received an order to
relieve you of duty immediately and send you to Bertrand as quickly as your
horse can carry you. With it came this letter.” He held out a thick, folded
letter.
The moment Jarrett
touched it, he recognized the weight of the paper. It was the kind especially
made for the Palace. The handwriting addressing it to him appeared familiar. He
flipped it over and surprise lit through him. Clara’s seal, a star surmounting
an eye, stared back at him.
“As of this moment,
Sergeant Jarrett, you are relieved of all duty and are ordered to leave
tomorrow morning. A caravan is going in that direction, so you’ll go with
them.”
“The roads are quiet,”
Jarrett replied. “More or less. I should be able to make the journey on my
own.”
“Maybe so, but it’s
never a good idea to tempt destruction. You’ve been a good soldier. I hate to
see you go.”
“Did the orders say
where I’m to report?”
“To the Lady Clara, with
full rank of captain restored. That’s all the orders said. I assume details are
in the letter. This is your copy of your orders.” He held out another folded
piece of paper.
Jarrett took it. “I’ll
miss risking my life in this damn forest, sir.”
Andrew snorted. “I’m
sure you will. You may go. I’m sure you have plenty of packing to do.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Jarrett saluted and departed, barely waiting for the captain to return it.
In the two months spent
toiling and bleeding in the Eastern Forest, he had written Clara three letters.
He knew it was odd. Normally, only very close friends, relatives, and lovers
exchanged informal correspondence. However, after everything they’d been
through together, Jarrett felt he’d earned the privilege. Besides, he’d left
her still suffering from the after effects of her spirit journey. Surely
letters full of the funny antics of soldiers would be welcome to a sick person.
However, none of his
letters were answered. After the third one, he stopped trying.
Friends from among the
Royal Guard, who occasionally wrote, said Clara was rarely seen outside her
quarters. Her father died mere weeks after arriving at the Palace. Whether old
age, a consequence of his long journey, or the sudden change in diet, no one
knew for sure. And the betrothal between Clara and Emmerich still remained
unofficial: the Council sat in deadlock over approving it. According to
Jarrett’s contacts, King Precene of Tier wanted Emmerich to marry one of his
daughters. Such a marriage made for a military and political alliance that
could bring an end to centuries of war and uneasy truces. Half of the Council
wanted to grasp at it while the other half supported Emmerich, mostly out of a
desire to spite Tier.
Now with a letter in
hand, Jarrett wasn’t sure what to think. He certainly didn’t expect concern and
anticipation to turn his stomach inside out.
Privacy not being in
abundance in the barracks, he found a measure of it in the outpost’s chapel.
Only a few of the more devout of the servants and soldiers ever went there. He
entered the narrow room, to find it occupied only by the statue of the Mother at
her spinning wheel, with the Child standing by her knee.
Jarrett sat in a pew in
a far corner, by a stained glass window. Red and blue light streamed over the
worn, dark wood. He broke the letter’s seal and unfolded it.
Jarrett,
Bertrand is as alive and bustling as the day you left. The
Palace prepares for winter. Bruin says it’s still weeks away. The harvest
festival will be soon and it’s all my maidservants can talk about. Mistress
Catriona has begun making her amazing apple and pumpkin turnovers. She asks me
about you but I can’t tell her anything.
I’ve written letters but have received no reply. If you
suffered misfortune, I’m sure I would have been informed, so I can only
conclude that you’re too busy killing monsters and stealing pastries from the
outpost kitchens.
Emmerich granted me the temporary ability to issue military
orders. Please don’t be angry that my first one was to bring you back. Don’t
dawdle. I have a task that requires your immediate attention.
Your friend,
Clara
As Jarrett folded the
letter, he wasn’t sure what to think or feel.
First, the letter was
little better than a note and it left him feeling underwhelmed. After two
months, he thought there would be more to say. Secondly, it didn’t explain why
no one saw her outside her rooms or if she’d recovered from her illness. It
certainly didn’t explain why she wanted him back, given what she knew about his
leaving. Thirdly, it only strengthened his concern.
She really had written
him. How could Lady Clara’s letters become waylaid? Despite the monsters,
letters and packages flowed freely. He certainly hadn’t missed any from his
friends. Missives from a noble of Clara’s prominence would have higher
priority. In fact, they would come through with the Royal Messenger, who
visited the outpost once a week, while Jarrett’s regular correspondence ran
through the merchants. Suspicion arose but he wasn’t sure who to direct it
toward.
Instead of making him
feel better, the note only brought a new chill to his spine.
