Page 1 of Traitor Son

Prologue

Year 817 of the Divine House of Agnephus

In the Greater Court of the Imperial Palace in Starfall, Remin knelt at the Divine Emperor’s throne and prepared to be knighted.

Or killed.

He knew very well which the Emperor would have preferred. In the eyes of the Divinity, Remin was less than a commoner, less than a bastard. He was the son of traitors, born to a noble House whose name was now treason to speak, and he had refused to take any other.

“Squire Remin.” The Emperor looked down from his high throne, a vision in silk and silver with the many-rayed crown upon his head. The name twisted on his lips. “You come before us after a great victory. We have heard it was you that broke the charge of the Eagle Knights of Valleth, who otherwise might have destroyed Lomonde, as they destroyed so many of our other cities. Perhaps you even saved the Empire itself.”

“Yes, Divinity.”

“We did not believe it, at first.” The Emperor’s starry blue eyes had a nearly tangible weight, the watching eyes of heaven. “But your actions were witnessed and attested by the Count of Lomonde himself, and a dozen other lords have sworn their names to the valor of your deeds. We must uphold the honors bestowed upon you. We name you Remin, Knight of the Empire of Argence. Rise, Sir Remin.”

At nine, Remin had become a page. At twelve, a Squire. Now he was become Sir Remin, knighted with such acclaim that even the Emperor could only confirm the honor. His men called him Remin Grimjaw, impervious to pain. At seventeen, he had already survived five years of war, starvation, arrows, blades, poisoning, multiple attempted assassinations and two severe battlefield injuries only to grow almost insolently enormous, as if he thrived on mortal peril.

If the Emperor had not been raised on the sacred steps, Remin would have been unforgivably lookingdownon his Emperor. And he hadn’t even reached his full growth yet; his hands and feet were still outsized on his lanky frame. But most offensive were those eyes, black and opaque as the eyes of a beast, the unforgettable eyes of a noble House that was no more.

“Thank you, Divinity.” Remin was not grateful. He was only braced for whatever would come next. It was an expression duplicated on the features of his guardian, Duke Laud Ereguil, who watched from the periphery of the Court. Duke Ereguil was the only reason the child Remin had lived to becomeSir.

“We shall reward such courage,” the Emperor said, beckoning his servants forward. Six men in blue livery appeared, each bearing a jeweled casket clinking with gold, and set the heavy cases at Remin’s feet. “One gold coin for every life you have saved. Another for every drop of barbarous blood you have shed in our defense.”

It was a symbolic quantity, almost a mythic tribute, like a king being ransomed for his actual weight in gold. But the Emperor was wealthy enough to afford such trifles. Remin studied the caskets, his thick black brows lowering, then looked back up at the Emperor.

“Thank you, Divinity,” he repeated. He wasn’t old enough to manage his expression quite as adeptly as Duke Ereguil. The thought was clear in his face:what’s the catch?

“It pains us to ask more from one who has given so much,” the Emperor said silkily. “But for those to whom much is given, more is often asked. Your courage emboldens us to charge you with a greater task. You thwarted the invasion of our Empire. Now go and seize the lands that were lost to us in our great-grandfather’s time. Bring back the Andelin Valley, the jewel of the Empire.”

The periphery of the court had been alive with whispers, speculating about what a young man might do with so vast a fortune, but the Emperor’s command silenced them as decisively as an execution.

“Divinity,” Duke Ereguil objected. He was a burly man on the far side of his forties, with the sharp features of a hawk. “What you ask is impossible. The army of Valleth was defeated, not broken. If you—”

“You said the boy shattered them, Ereguil,” the Emperor said, lifting one imperious eyebrow. “Your report claimed he scattered them to the winds.”

“And those winds will assemble once more in the valley and become a whirlwind,” the Duke replied steadily. “The Brede River remains an impassible barrier. Valleth holds all the bridges. The river is deep and swift even before the spring floods. It is a death sentence, and you know it. And you promised—”

“What will you give me if I do it?” Remin interrupted.

The Emperor smiled.

“What do you desire? Name it, and if it lies in our Empire and under the sight of the stars, we will grant it to you.”

Remin could wish for the moon, and the Emperor knew he would never have to grant it. Duke Ereguil was right. The Brede was a devourer of armies. Let the boy drown in it.

“The Andelin for my duchy,” Remin said. The words came to him like prophecy. “The Brede for my own. And your daughter for my wife.”

Chapter 1 – The Exile Princess

Year 825 of the Divine House of Agnephus

Beneath the gates of Ellingen, the last Warlord of Valleth was waiting.

Remin could see him from nearly half a mile away, swollen and glutted on suffering, twice the size of the men surrounding him. It was the sorcery of Valleth to reap magic from death and pain, and this man had feasted longer than any other. When they finally met, Remin had no doubt there would be a fresh necklace tattooed around his neck, a chain of screaming tongues.

The source of that power was still shining atop the gatehouse above him. Black mirrors, slick and gleaming as oil, and the husk of the man who had fed them so well. Sir Ludovin of Saccey had endured three days on the mirrors before he hanged himself, and Remin could do nothing but listen to his screams as he waited for reinforcements to arrive.

The reinforcements had come.

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