Free The Consuls of the Vicariate by Brian Kittrell Page B

Brice took one last look around to see if he’d been followed, then he entered the building and heard Caleb relaying the essential details of his conversation with Forane to Piers.
    “She didn’t say where or how?” Piers asked.
    Caleb shrugged. “No, she wouldn’t reveal it. I can only assume it will be wherever Vicar Jurgen is tomorrow night.”
    “We should expect any possibility.” Piers ran his fingers through his hair. “With Lester’s failure, they could have anything in mind and may have little regard for subtlety or stealth.”
    Caleb folded his arms. “How do you think they will come for him?”
    “When dealing with the theocracy, there are a number of possibilities. Anything, Caleb. Anything at all.”
    “Should we shadow Jurgen?” Brice asked. “You know, to keep an eye on him?”
    “No, impossible,” Piers said. “Forane has seen Caleb’s face, and she would likely see you two in the district. If they were to attack, you two couldn’t be seen helping Jurgen. No, we must contact Laedron and Marac; his safety will be theirs to handle.”
    Brice took a seat across from Piers. “And I thought breaking into houses was dangerous.”
    “We’re not out of the fire yet, not by any means.” Piers took a quill and scrawled a message on a piece of parchment. “I shall prepare a missive for our friends. Brice, you will take it to them.”
    “Where?”
    Piers rolled the scroll, wrapped it with a red ribbon, and dripped some wax for a seal. “To the militia headquarters. The red brick building near the Ancient Quarter.”
    “That’s what that was?” Brice took the missive. “Right. I’ll be back.”
    “Good. Hurry back, but you must make sure you aren’t followed. The stakes are high in this game. The same goes for you, Caleb. I shall devise how we will handle the vicar.”

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← Chapter Six | Chapter Eight →
     
     
    An Army in the Holy Land
     

     
    A fter waking and dressing, Valyrie found Jurgen seated at the dining table.
    “Good morning,” Jurgen said, turning to her when she came into the kitchen. “I thought you’d never wake.”
    She rubbed her eyes. “You jest, Vicar. I’ve risen well before the rest of Azura.”
    “Come, have some of this. I fetched it from the mid-market just before dawn.”
    She thought fondly of the mid-market, a series of stands just outside the gate of the Ancient Quarter where one could acquire the freshest produce and dairy if the buyer came early enough. “Smells wonderful.”
    “One of my favorite recipes,” Jurgen said, then put the plate before an empty seat and offered her the chair. “Apple bellies.”
    “What’s an apple belly?”
    “A dash of cinnamon and sugar, a spoonful of butter, all wrapped up in sweet dough and twisted at the end. Oh, and the slices of peeled apple at the center, I can’t forget to mention those.”
    “But why the name?”
    Jurgen smiled, lifting his pastry by the twists at either end. “See how it dips low, like the belly of a pig?”
    Nodding, she took a bite and savored the rich flavors. The taste reminded her of the apple cobblers she’d enjoyed on numerous occasions at the inn, but more buttery.
    Having already finished most of his by the time she had started, Jurgen waited until the last bite passed her lips. “You seem troubled.”
    “My dreams trouble me. I can think of nothing but the dagger which pierced my father’s heart.”
    “The nightmares will fade in time. I have them myself, but I keep faith.”
    She dipped her head, swallowing the last bit of her breakfast. “Do you think we’ll make any headway today?”
    Jurgen frowned. “You say that as if we’ve done nothing. Blocking Andolis from becoming Protector was an important step.”
    Andolis . Tristan IV . “He still rules. Though he does not possess the title, he remains in power, right?”
    “Indeed, but the powers of a Protector are sweeping and total. As Grand Vicar, he suffers some restrictions. Only through