Inside, the place was no better than it was the last time she was there. Worse, if that was possible. Servants no longer even pretended to work, they simply lolled about the place as if they were the ones who owned it. Guards were nonexistent.
“Unacceptable,” she muttered, thinking to herself the hell that would come due at Towering Oaks for lack of discipline like this.
“Jamshir!”
She supposed she could find him back in his great room, or throne room, or whatever the deluded little man chose to view it as. She simply didn’t feel like going to him, though. Let him come to her, before she decided to drag him out of there.
There was no response, so she yelled again, louder this time.
A soldier stuck his head out of a room and glared at her, then quickly withdrew when she returned it. For a moment, she felt a horrible desire to follow him, but she shut it down. That’s not what she was here for.
One more yell, then she’d go find him herself.
But as she drew breath, General Bragnold appeared at the top of the stairs. The man’s armor was in disarray and dirty. It was the first time, despite him being almost mindless, that Shireen saw him like that. The sight of it penetrated the dark fog that was enshrouding her.
What was going on? Really going on? It was something horrible, worse than Soul Gaunts, if it could take someone like him and turn him into… that.
But she knew that already, didn’t she? How else could she account for what she was feeling? It occurred to her that she hadn’t thought of Orlando once since riding away from Towering Oaks. That should have made her sad, or worried. Instead, it felt like nothing. The thought fell into a black abyss in her mind and disappeared.
She stalked up the stairs to Bragnold, who turned without a word. Following, she was led to a small sitting room, rather than the large, bright room she was expecting.
Inside, she found Jamshir, sitting on a couch, his arm draped over a stern-looking woman. There was something almost familiar about her. It took Shireen a second to recognize the colors the woman wore. Green, not the normal silver and purple of Glittering Birch.
This woman, whoever she was, was from Whispering Pines.
“I see you’ve been making friends, Jamshir,” Shireen said.
“I’ve told you before.” His voice was low, almost a hiss. “It’s Lord—”
“I don’t care.” She cut him off. “Why should anyone call you Lord anything? I’m here because something is happening at my House. Something that you’re responsible for. I want to know what it is, and how to fix it. And you’re going to tell me.”
Jamshir glared at her in fury.
“How dare you! I am the ruler of the Greenweald! I have saved this land more times than I can count! I have been alive since the beginning! Who are you to come in here making demands? General!”
Bragnold moved toward her, but it was like he was moving in his sleep. His lunge was slow, awkward, and she avoided it easily. It would have been child’s play to pull her sword and cut him down. Instead, she stepped to the side and slammed both her fists down hard on the back of his neck as he went past.
Bragnold went down and stayed there. Shireen backed up, hands raised, ready to defend herself, but Bragnold didn’t move.
“Come on,” she snarled. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”
And she hadn’t. Certainly not for someone like him. But still, he stayed lying prone at her feet.
After a moment of silence, Shireen turned her attention back to Jamshir.
“Now, are you going to tell me what I need to know, or…”
She dropped her hand to her sword hilt, letting the gesture finish the threat.
“I don’t know what sorcery you beat my champion with,” Jamshir said, “but he’s not my only guardian. Will you yield?”
Shireen laughed and moved forward. She wasn’t even quite sure what her intentions were. At the least, the ruler of the Greenweald was going to get the slap that he should have many years ago.
The woman next to him surged to her feet. Unlike Bragnold, her movements were fluid and graceful. She faced Shireen, her fingers touching the hilts of two long daggers thrust through the green leather belt she wore. Her eyes stayed focused on Shireen’s and there was no sign of fear in them. If anything, a gleam of excitement was lit in them.
“You’re Shireen, right?”
“I am. Who are you?”
“Jocasta. Head of House Whispering Pines. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
Shireen tilted her head.
“Looking forward to what?”
“You and me. Why involve anyone else in this? We can settle it now.”
Shireen was confused. “Settle what? What are you talking about?”
“Like you don’t know. Like you haven’t been planning on using us again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But the fact that you’re here, cozied up to... that!... says all I need to know about you. Get out of my way.”
“I don’t think so—”
Shireen hit her. She didn’t bother with her sword. Instead, she punched straight ahead, her fist slamming into Jocasta’s jaw. The other woman fell back on the couch, blood bursting from her lips.
She sprang back up and returned the blow, catching Shireen in the cheek, sending her stumbling back as well.
She shook her head. That hurt! If nothing else, this Jocasta knew how to throw a punch.
Good. Maybe she’d be able to work off some of the horrible aggression she was feeling on Jocasta first, before turning to Jamshir.
She smiled and rolled her shoulders.
“All right then,” she said. “Let’s get to this.”
To her surprise,
