Page 99 of Ironling
That dread prickled once again up her neck, and opening the missive and looking at the signature confirmed her suspicion.
“It’s from Connor,” she told the table.
The siblings all went quiet.
“What does he say?” Orek asked gravely.
Aislinn ran her eyes over his brief message thrice, just to make sure she understood.
My Lady Aislinn,
It is with a heavy heart that I write this to you from the seaside town of Malton.
I have followed your brother’s trail from the Ward to several towns along the Shanago. He has traveled north, toward the Strait and may attempt to cross into Caledon. He has been using his name to attempt to marshal a mercenary force. Several sellswords in Culdan confirmed that he is offering a fortune to anyone willing to help him reclaim his title.
He has gained a following of about thirty but seeks more in the Strait. There is word of a large mercenary force there planning to winter just on the Caledon side of the border.
I will send further word when I have it.
Yours, loyally,
Connor Brádaigh
An icy ball lodged deep in her stomach as Aislinn handed over the note to Sorcha. As Orek and the children anxiously watched Sorcha read, Aislinn caught Fia’s eye and waved her over.
She weaved her way across the hall, smiling and winking at several as she passed, but her smile disappeared when she saw Aislinn’s expression.
“Milady?”
“There’s a courier from the north who’s just delivered amissive. Have him set up for the night and outfitted to leave again at dawn. And secure another courier to ride south and find my father.”
Fia went pale, her freckles stark against her white cheeks. “Right away, milady.” And she picked up her skirts and darted from the dining hall.
When Aislinn turned back to her dinner party, Calum was quietly reading the girls their elder brother’s missive while Orek and Sorcha looked to her with concern.
“Anyone would be mad to believe Jerrod’s promises,” Sorcha spat.
“People have done far worse for a few coins,” said Aislinn.
“What do we do?” Orek asked, lines bracketing his mouth.
“We fight,” Sorcha growled. “He has no right to—”
“Many will say he has every right.” The words spilled from numb lips, Aislinn’s calm exterior a mask to hide the icy rage gathering in her gut.How dare he?
“Fuck anyone who does.” Keeley gasped at her sister’s curse, but Sorcha didn’t seem to notice, her frown thunderous and her gaze expectant.
Aislinn wished she could share her friend’s fiery anger, but in that moment, all she felt was a cool indignation. If she was honest, this was exactly what they should have expected from Jerrod. Aislinn might’ve thought the mercenaries more likely to cut him down than listen to him, but then, her brother could be charming when he wanted.
The Darrowlands were a fine prize, blessed with rich farmlands and vineyards. Despite the increasing taxes levied by the crown, the demesne still thrived. As Liege Darrow, Jerrod could afford to pay his mercenary force a fortune and still be a rich lord thereafter.
But he’ll never be Liege Darrow.
He’d lead the demesne and its people to ruin, and Aislinnwouldn’t allow it.Shewas heiress.
The thought fed her indignation, which she clung to. If she let it, a gaping maw of fear would swallow her whole. Jerrod’s scheme may come to nothing—mercenaries didn’t like being paid in promises. There was still a chance, though, that a force could march on Dundúran. That violence and blood would be the only thing to stop it.
She feared that most. Violence curdled her stomach, and Aislinn never wished to ask others to lay down their lives for her position.
