DEBORAH KALIN was once addressed by a recruitment agency as ‘Cheng Soon’ no matter how often she corrected them.
A resident or the east coast or Australia, she shares a birthday with Pablo Picasso, was born in the year of the Fire Dragon, collects books beyond her ability to read them all, and once worked at an aluminium smelter where a sparrowhawk routinely ripped pigeons to pieces on a lamp post just outside the cafeteria.
She mostly ate not the meat at this cafeteria.
First published in 2010
Copyright © Deborah Kalin 2010
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
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Internal design by Emily O’Neill
Maps and tribe family trees by Les Petersen
Set in 12/15 Trajanus by Bookhouse, Sydney
Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To my brothers Dave, Ben, and Nick
and my friend Tessa,
for always seeing, and helping to shape, the best in me.
CONTENTS
ACT ONE: UNDER THE FRIST COLO GLEAM OF DAY
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
ACT TWO: WHAT COULD SHE HAVE DONE, BEING WHAT SHE IS?
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
ACT THREE: HIGH AND SOLITARY AND MOST STERN
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
ACT FOUR: A TERRIBLE BEAUTY IS BORN
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
T HE T URASI T RIBES
| CURRENT DRIGHTEN/S | RULING HOUSE | TRIBE |
| Dieter | Raban | Marsachen |
| Matilde | Svanaten | Sueben |
| Helma / Rudiger / Evard | Somner | Ursin |
| (ext) | Wilan (ext) | Anturan |
| Maja | Saschan | Cuathn |
| Krimhilde / Merten | Raethn | Juthir |
| Rein (later succeeded by Meinard) | Falkere | Naris |
| (The Mara) | (The Mara) | Irmaon |
UNTIL DEATH RELEASE me.
Echoes of my swift and brutal coronation still troubled the hall: whispers thickening in the shadowed corners, memories seeping into the walls and floor. Hard-won, the stone of Turas sat heavy on my brow, the bronze circlet thrust through my braids by Sidonius’s hand. It pinched at the hair over my left ear, but I did not lift my hand to resettle it. I had grown adept at living with pain of late.
No less than a dozen soldiers waited on me, two by the door and two at the foot of the dais, four down the length of each wall. Their honey-pale complexions marked them as foreigners; their white livery and the short stabbing swords belted to their hips marked them as Ilthean. To a man they still wore the open sandals of their homeland, more cord than shoe, as if the colder clime here couldn’t touch them. Perhaps it didn’t – the soldiers’ bared toes were too hard and hoary to show any hint of numb flesh.
They waited without protest, watching me, watching the entrances. They were all that stood between me and a swift death at the sharp edge of a blade. They were the reason death would stalk my every step in the coming days.
One other remained in the hall with me: Achim. As patient as the soldiers, he sat cross-legged at the foot of the dais, hands folded in his lap, dark eyes fixed on me.
The words of the vow had been mine, but it was Achim’s strength with the shadows which had forced me to speak them, forced me to bind myself.
Until death release me.
I curled my fingers around the silken wood of the throne’s arms, trembling as I contemplated the memory of my traitorous tongue. The movement brought a twinge from my tight-bound broken ribs.
What had possessed me to add the words to the end of my oath? I had sought a loophole, a phrase which would give me leeway enough to dislodge the Iltheans before their hold tightened. I had failed.
Now my panel on the arras of Turasi history would show a woman kneeling, handing her nation and people into servitude.
The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.
You used to be clever under pressure, my dead grandmother’s voice niggled in the back of my mind. Marriage has dulled your wits.
I winced at the unwelcome reminder of my husband. I had knelt in the blood of my own court and wed the man who spilt it. Then, to cast him from my throne, I had sold my nation to the white serpents of the south. But that was not a permanent solution – for while he lived, he would fight to regain the throne. And it still left me with an Ilthean infestation.
Staring at the scarred wooden floor, I took a deep breath. My broken ribs throbbed in response. I was trapped, like the blood ground into the gouges of the floor, as were the Turasi. Death might release me, but not them.
Not when my cousin, next in line for the throne, was Ilthean to his petulant core.
If he still lived. I doubted Dieter, my husband, had been fool enough to kill the boy, but Renatas was headstrong, to say the least, and in battle even genuine accidents happened.
I rose, careful of my pain. Achim stood too, and the Ilthean soldiers shifted in readiness. I concentrated on breathing, the cold air scraping against my lungs, every breath chilling me through, shrinking my flesh to my bones, making my fingertips brittle.
The four broad steps of the dais jagged and danced before my eyes, and blinking did nothing to steady them.
With a sick yawing in my centre, the walls swooped one way and the floor another. My knees folded, pitching me headfirst down the steps. The wood of walls and floor flashed and tumbled end over end until strong arms jerked me to a halt.
The wooden floorboards teetered above me. For a long moment I made no attempt to move, content simply to stare at the misplaced floor.
Whoever had caught me shifted his grip, twisting me upright until the floor was back where it belonged. It took a moment more before my feet and head caught up with the transition, and I found myself in the shadow-worker’s hold.
‘I think I need to rest,’ I said.
‘Lady,’ Achim agreed equably.
I stepped back, out of his steadying arms, and turned to the closest Ilthean soldier. I didn’t recognise him, but that was no surprise: Sidonius’s men numbered in the high hundreds.
‘Send for Roshi and Sepp to attend me, if you would.’
I didn’t need to see the flicker of his eyelids, or hear Grandmother’s disapproving tsk, to know my tone was too weak. With a little more starch I added, ‘Given the battle’s won, I’m sure the general no longer fears for his own hide. They’ve served their purpose as hostages.’
Being Dieter’s captive wife had given me ample practice in ordering other people’s troops around.
With Achim beside me and a covey of Ilthean soldiers behind me, I slowly made my way from the hall and into a courtyard as quiet and calm as if nothing untoward had occurred this day, though bodies still crowded the yard like clotted shadows. An occasional glint from vacant eyes or bloodied teeth broke the settling gloom. Only night’s oncoming coolness kept the scent of blood from rising in thick, choking vapours.
There were more Turasi dead than Ilthean. My doing, guilt whispered.
Moving among the bodies were Ilthean soldiers and press-ganged Turasi thralls, searching out the living and stripping the dead of valuables. In their wake the ravens and crows settled, squabbling over their own prizes: eyeballs and lips, the soft flesh of cheeks and gums.
Bile rose from my gullet, sour and scouring.
‘Get rid of those birds.’
The captain of my guard broke stride in surprise.
The soldiers following us drew to an uncertain halt.
‘Detailing men to deal with the vermin will only make the searching slower, my lady,’ the captain said.
‘Then I suggest you summon more men.’ I fixed him with my best imitation of Grandmother’s stern stare. ‘Have the stable thralls or the field hands stand around with lanterns. Summon your countrymen from their warm berths and their precious cups of vine swill to swing staves, if you have to. Just keep the courtyard free of vermin. And kindly remember it is never your place to question me.’
His spine stiffened and he gazed into the distance, the soldier’s version of subservience. ‘Yes, my lady.’
A flick of his hand sent one of his men hurrying away to fetch more workers; a terse command saw another five soldiers leave my escort to aid with the scavenging.
I continued on my way, the chastened captain and now only half his men following in my wake.
With a knowing smile Achim remarked, ‘I hope you don’t conceive of too many more chores between here and your suite, my lady,’ he said. ‘Else you may grow perilously short of guards.’
A swooping, giddy urge to laugh near overpowered me. Here we go again, I wanted to retort, for all that Achim would not wholly understand. Try your best, but I will defeat and humiliate your general just as I did my husband.
‘I have a chore for you, too,’ I said to the shadow-worker. I had to take a deep breath to quell a flutter of anxiety before I continued, ‘Teach me.’
A handful of crows clambered aloft in a confusion of wings as we passed, the dusty whiff from their feathers tickling my throat. The closest raven cocked its head and croaked an admonishment.
No calamity befell me, but still I shivered at what I had dared. The shadows were the province of the mara, and once given to that branch of the church, a person never left their service.
The mara have claim on all who can walk the shadows, Grandmother had reminded me, time and time again throughout my childhood. If they see you, they will claim you, and House Svanaten will die. I’ll not see that come to pass, not now, not when your talent is slight and uncontrollable.
Achim’s smile dissolved at my command, but I gave him no chance to protest. Apart from his skill with the shadows, and what he could teach me of it, the shadow-worker had the luxury of refusing to obey Sidonius’s commands, and that was something I might turn to my advantage.
‘We will begin tomorrow,’ I ordered. ‘Be ready.’
QUICKENING MY PACE, I hurried through the court yard and its macabre crowd until we were climbing the stairs towards cleaner air, the birds of the shadows settling once again to their feast.
At the top of the stairs, I slowed. Weariness had lodged a sharp knot somewhere behind my ribs and it was stealing my breath.
Inside the palace, order was already settling over the halls. By the time the Ilthean soldiers teemed through here, the battle had been won. Only random strikes on the walls, and the muck dragged in on hundreds of feet, showed any hint of the recent chaos.
Dieter’s men had had cleaner feet when they stormed the palace.
Pain makes you soft in the head, child, Grandmother chided.
Heads down and hands busy, thralls were occupied by routines that even a coup could not disturb. There were men on their knees, scrubbing the floor as we passed; there were women tending the lanterns. Warm yellow light and the familiar crisping stink of oil flashing alight followed me down the corridors.
When I hesitated at the first turning, Achim glanced my way. ‘Simple fatigue, my lady, or are you unwell? Do you need a leech?’
I swallowed my indecision and shook my head – the last thing I needed was someone hovering over me, or pushing me to take a draught that would take days to wear off. ‘No. I’m fine.’
With nowhere else to go, I led the way to the royal suite. The rooms had been my grandmother’s, while she ruled, and Dieter’s after his coup. Although as his wife I had officially shared them, in reality I had continued to reside in my own rooms, desperate to retain some privacy and separation from my husband.
Now that I must occupy Grandmother’s rooms alone, my memory painted them as cold and foreign.
A pair of Ilthean soldiers stood watch over the door. At sight of them, my stomach tightened: their presence too clearly said Here sleeps the puppet queen.
At the same time, a shameful rush of relief weakened my knees. The stone and throne of Turas belonged to whoever could take and hold power – but it had been Ilthean hands that placed the crown on my brow, and Ilthean swords which prodded the people to bend knee and neck. There probably wasn’t a Turasi in the palace who wouldn’t gladly drive a knife through my ribs this night.
Achim took his leave at the door. With a reminder to be ready first thing tomorrow, I let him go, eager for rest myself.
One of the guards opened the door to my suite for me, releasing a bright glow and a wave of warm air. Thank the ravens for whoever had thought to kindle my hearth fire! I stepped through the door’s welcoming arch, wanting only to stretch out on a soft mattress and sleep.
Then my heart gave a slow thud. Perched on the edge of a couch before the hearth was Sidonius.
‘Lady Matilde.’ The Ilthean general didn’t rise. ‘I was beginning to wonder if you had found other employment.’
A moment’s pause steadied my legs enough to step into the room.
‘I hope I’ve not kept you waiting.’ I spoke with all the strength and insincerity I could muster. A throne was a state of mind, not just a chair in a hall, as Grandmother had drilled into me nigh daily.
The woman who sat athrone did not apologise – particularly to the general of an invading army.
Sidonius waved a hand, dismissing the matter.
‘You’re in time to help me receive an interesting visitor, at least,’ he said.
He didn’t explain further, and propriety kept me from asking. In truth, a regal façade was a handicap more often than not.
Fortunately, I didn’t have long to wait. Before the sensation of blood drying the silk of my slippers to my skin could drive me to outright distraction, the doors rattled open to reveal a girl with hair and eyes as pale as foxfire, and a sneer prouder than a cock’s crow. She was wearing a wrap of red silk that had come from my own wardrobe. Flanked by two Iltheans, she held herself as if the soldiers were but an emblem of her rank.
Amalia of House Raban stepped into my suite.
She ignored me at first, taking inventory of the room. I recognised that look; I’d been on the receiving end too often to mistake it. She was angry.
My husband’s sister was often angry.
When her gaze lit on Sidonius, her chin tipped upwards. ‘You’re in charge of this rabble, I take it.’
Then uncertainty clouded her expression as his features registered.
Ravens above, I thought, stealing a glance at Sidonius. Was it possible Dieter had never told Amalia about their brother?
She swept across the room, anger in the snap of her skirts and her narrowed eyes. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.
Taken aback, Sidonius examined her features in turn. If his conclusion bothered him, he hid it better.
‘My name is Sidonius,’ he said.
‘That’s it?’ She whipped the wrap off her shoulders and let it dangle from her hand, as if the red silk were but a scrap of common worsted. ‘No House, or whatever passes for clan among the serpents?’
‘Slaves have no clan or family alliances,’ he said.
Amalia glared at him. ‘Slave? Not even Iltheans would be fool enough to put a thrall in charge of an army.’
A knuckle to my top lip hid my smile at Amalia’s lack of tact.
Judging by the severe light in his pale eyes, Sidonius did not share my humour. ‘Jurgas Avita Angeron, may the gods grant him eternal life, gave me manumission by his own hand,’ he said coldly. ‘From your appearance, and the way you demanded entrance, I’m guessing you are Amalia.’
He looked my way, as if seeking my confirmation, though I suspected his intention was to show Amalia where my duty lay. When it came to manipulating, he was almost as adept as Dieter.
Noting the exchange, Amalia turned on me. ‘You told him!’
I raised my hands, unsure whether I meant to placate her or to put a barrier between us. ‘I think he reasoned it for himself, Mali.’
She huffed in acknowledgement of this point. ‘And who’s he, then?’
I hesitated, dreading her reaction. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’
She curled her lip and said, ‘My father never whelped a serpent – he never so much as set foot inside the empire’s borders, so no, it isn’t obvious. Tell me why this . . . this southerner resembles my father!’ She crossed her arms, the wadded silk wrap dangling from her fist a bright splash against the dark blue of her gown. My gown, more correctly, for it was also from my wardrobe.
‘I only know what Dieter told me, Mali, and that was precious little,’ I said, aware that Sidonius was watching us with a keen interest which belied the calm of his closed expression.
‘More than he told me, apparently,’ she said.
‘He said that he had an illegitimate brother.’
Mali closed her eyes and in a flat voice said, ‘That’s all?’
‘Another time, he said his mother wasn’t a woman to be trifled with, although his father had tried. When I asked what had happened, he said, “Ask my brother sometime.”’
At that, Sidonius stood. ‘Now we have our family tree established to your satisfaction,’ he said, ‘perhaps we might return to the point at hand.’
Amalia opened her eyes, but maintained a contemptuous silence.
‘You wanted to see me,’ Sidonius prompted.
Amalia set her gaze on the hearth fire and did not reply.
‘Now why would Dieter leave his sister behind?’ Sidonius pressed with an ugly inflection.
When Amalia still said nothing, he turned his glower on me.
I would have liked to stare him down, to answer only with silence as Amalia did, but my need to know her purpose was as great as his.
‘He didn’t,’ I said.
Amalia shot me a sideways glance and tightened her hold on the wrap. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘He didn’t.’
I swallowed. Need or not, helping Sidonius to draw her out felt like a betrayal.
‘Answers at last,’ said Sidonius. ‘Let me ask a better question. If Dieter did not leave you, why did you choose to remain behind, among your brother’s enemies?’
Amalia’s lips tightened as she stared once more into the fire. ‘I stayed to punish him.’
AMALIA’S MONOTONE TOLD me she spoke the truth. Sidonius did not know her so well, however. He peered down at her, surprised by her answer.
‘Shall I tell you what I think?’ he said.
‘I’d say no, but I doubt you have any intention of heeding me,’ countered Amalia.
Sidonius seized her upper arm and wrenched her around to face him fully. ‘I think he left you behind to worm your way into my confidence. After all, I couldn’t harm a sister, now could I?’
His tone was hard and hostile. Ask my brother sometime. This family and its politics, so long obscure Grandmother had not considered them worthy of her attention, had risen to a prominence far-reaching enough to overtake two nations.
‘Tell me,’ Sidonius said, his fingers tightening around her arm, ‘is the petulance his idea, or yours?’
Her only answer was a derisive snort, but the stiff set of her shoulders and the sweat dampening the hair at her temples betrayed her discomfort.
Silence shrouded the room as Sidonius’s grip constricted further and the colour rose in Amalia’s cheeks. Pain glittered in her eyes. They were both cast from the same stubborn mould; they would rather break each other than yield.
A rap at the door interrupted.
Sidonius did not release his hold, but he did relax it and, looking up, he called out permission to enter. Thankful for the reprieve, I didn’t protest his usurpation of my authority.
An Ilthean soldier stepped into the room, a smaller figure in his wake. I recognised the dark curls and sulky mouth he had inherited from his mother. Renatas, Aunt Helena’s Ilthean son, as usual wearing the circlet of silver-wrought laurel leaves that marked him as a member of the Ilthean imperial family.
So the lad had survived the battle after all, I thought, relieved. His death, even if accidental, would have complicated matters, transforming the Iltheans from a simple invading force into one bent on vengeance and retribution at all costs. My personal feelings were not so sanguine, however; in the short time I’d known him, Renatas had shown his loyalty lay only with the Ilthean empire, which meant trouble for me.
‘We found him in the dovecote, my lord,’ the soldier said. He inclined his head towards Amalia, his expression clearly conveying that he thought the claim a falsehood as he finished, ‘Says he’d pledged to wait for her summons.’
‘It isn’t like you to keep a promise, Renatas.’
The words slipped from my mouth without pause for thought. Wise or not, I couldn’t regret them. Despite his tender years, my cousin had already made a successful career of betraying his family. It was quite a feat for a boy not yet in his teens.
‘Amalia was going to get me what I wanted,’ he said with his usual sullen stare. ‘It was no hardship to let her have her moment in return. Besides, I like Sigi. She let me send my pigeons when you didn’t want me to.’
I gave a thin smile. ‘Remind me to thank her sometime.’ If the dovegirl hadn’t let him send his pigeons, I might not have found an Ilthean army on my threshold.
‘Interesting.’ Sidonius turned a speculative look on Amalia, who met it with spirit, if not without fear.
‘Dieter isn’t fool enough to give up such a valuable hostage,’ Sidonius continued. ‘And I doubt Dieter could turn him, not that lad. He’s loyal beyond the lure of whatever a Turasi could throw his way. So tell me, Amalia: why is the boy here?’
Renatas opened his mouth to answer, but Sidonius silenced him with no more than a glance. To my surprise, the boy subsided without a hint of peevishness. I’d never seen him so biddable.
‘He’s here because I kept him behind,’ Amalia answered.
‘Why?’ Sidonius drew her closer, until she had to crane her head back. ‘Why keep him behind? Your brother won’t be pleased.’
‘Good!’ she cried.
‘Is the girl unbalanced?’ Sidonius asked, angling a look at me.
A deep flush suffused Amalia’s cheeks but, from the way she avoided his eye, this was something other than anger. ‘I’m just not helping him anymore,’ she said. ‘Not after . . .’
‘After?’
Her gaze slid to me, and as quickly away. ‘After he sent the golem to kill Tilde.’
In the pause that followed, I couldn’t find my voice.
Sidonius, however, barked an acid laugh. ‘My, but you had an interesting marriage!’ he taunted me. To Amalia he said, ‘So you choose to side with Tilde?’
I thought I had hated the way Dieter called me Matte, but it was nothing to the loathing that curdled my stomach when Sidonius uttered the diminutive my family used.
Amalia pulled her arm free. ‘No!’
The energy of her cry shrouded us all in silence. I shrank under Sidonius’s pale, measuring gaze, which was teasing conclusions from Amalia’s mutinous air and the heat prickling my cheeks. Dealing with two scions of House Raban had been difficult enough; adding Sidonius to the mix was more than I could cope with.
He summoned one of his men. ‘Take the girl to the cells – the darkest you can find. No window, no fire.’
I started forward, raising a hand to still the soldier. ‘Do you not have the courage to kill her outright? Must you rely on the damp and cold and dark to ease your conscience?’
Scowling at the interruption, Sidonius answered, ‘Dieter’s talents force me to extreme measures, lady. We cannot risk the girl contacting him in any way. Give her extra blankets,’ he added to his man. ‘I don’t want her freezing to death.’
‘She’s not here under Dieter’s guidance,’ I said, glancing towards Amalia, but she had her back to us. ‘She’s hot-headed, but she’s not a liar.’
The soldier had crossed the floor while I spoke, and he took hold of Amalia’s arm and pulled her around just as Sidonius said bitterly, ‘All Turasi are liars. And the children of House Raban even more so.’
She met the fury of his glare with the fire of her own. With their pale hair and eyes, and their short tempers, the two looked more alike than either resembled Dieter. Amalia had the same shape to her mouth as Dieter, however, and she shared his brashness as well.
‘I stayed to help you,’ she said. ‘Testing my tolerance isn’t your wisest strategy just now.’
‘If you speak true, you stayed to spite Dieter,’ Sidonius said. ‘There’s a significant difference.’
Amalia twisted her mouth as if she were on the verge of spitting. In the end, however, she had the sense to keep her venom locked behind her teeth.
A second soldier closed in on her other side. She sent a penetrating look in my direction, and then she was marched away, the silk wrap trailing and twisting in her wake.
Sidonius summoned a third soldier from his position by the doors with a nod. ‘Escort Renatas Vespian to the suite beside mine. Guard him well – no doubt some of the Turasi bear no love for the boy.’
He flicked his eyes towards me. Whether he meant to imply I was one of those Turasi, or that I was in the same situation as Renatas, I could not tell. I was too weary to interpret pregnant pauses and insinuations.
A Duethin in your situation can’t afford weariness, Grandmother said. Not if she wants to live.
Renatas paused in the doorway to invite Sidonius to dine with him, finishing with an offhand, ‘It will be good to have some civilised company again.’ He didn’t include me in the invitation, which was delivered in a tone as calm as if the Turholm was already his.
Indeed, as events currently stood, one day it would be. A shiver prickled across my nape. While Renatas was too young to rule, the Iltheans considered me an acceptable substitute – Turasi-born, to appease the wayward natives, and at the same time I was also a half-blood, which would ease them towards foreign rule. The moment Renatas came of age I would be expendable.
My head swam with the circularity of my situation. I had been here before, after all, poised with my neck in the noose and the trapdoor creaking beneath my feet. Only the hangman had changed. It was enough to make me want to laugh.
So when Sidonius turned back to me after Renatas’s departure, I gave him a reckless smile. Exhaustion had robbed me of all wisdom.
He regarded my apparent good humour with distrust. ‘Something amuses you?’
I waved a limp hand meant to indicate my attire. My cheeks and clothes might be cleaner now than they had been in the aftermath of Dieter’s coup, but blood enough still spattered my skirts, and grime blackened my skin and made the back of my neck itch.
‘I find this all strangely familiar,’ I said.
‘I see.’ His measured gaze drained the humour from me as he said, ‘Let’s hope you’re as lucky this time.’
THE DOOR LATCHED shut behind Sidonius, and I was alone.
Despite the early hour, I wanted only to sleep, to banish the rigours of the past days. Overawed by the grandeur of the bedchamber, however, I did not slip between the sheets of the enormous bed which had once been Grandmother’s. Instead I dragged a nest of blankets back to the couch before the hearth and, curled tight as a ferret in the burrow, passed into a mercifully dreamless and uninterrupted sleep.
Pale morning light woke me to a room cold and empty.
The fire had long since died; grey ash now lay heaped in the hearth. Not even the smell of smoke lingered. It was as if I had woken to a stolen moment, a world frozen in the pause between an indrawn breath and its release.
There was no one else in the room: not Dieter with his sardonic grin, nor Amalia with her sharp and changeable moods. She was doubtless curled up against the cold of her cell, and ravens alone knew how my husband fared.
Their absence itched at me. Since the coup in which they’d killed my family, they had been the centre around which I turned. The restless way they haunted my thoughts felt remarkably like missing them.
Prison sickness, Grandmother said.
I didn’t think that was the whole of it, but how could I argue? The woman was dead, and only her voice lingered.
Pushing free of the blankets, I sat up. A flare of pain reminded me of my healing rib; duller aches in my back and shoulders spoke of a night spent on too hard and narrow a surface. The odour of blood and trapped sweat rose from the nest I’d made, chasing me up and out of my clothes.
Two steps from my dropped shift, a rattle at the door sent me diving for cover, hauling a blanket up to my chin. It was only Roshi.
She wore her customary goat-hide dress, still marked in places by yesterday’s battle. She’d twisted her black hair into a knot at her nape; loose strands and a pair of hawk feathers hung down her back. Rising through the linen covering of the tray she carried came the crisp smell of new-baked bread.
She greeted me with an amused smile. ‘A coup and a siege in the space of months, and still there’s breakfast available.’ She paused, wrinkled her nose, then turned back to the door and murmured for water and a tub. If my power weren’t in Ilthean hands, I’d have given her a fiefdom then and there. Turning back to me, she said, ‘Although I don’t know whether hot water will be as easy.’
The tray bore a heel of black bread bright with orange flecks, steam still curling up from its sliced surface, and scrambled eggs thick with leaves of bear’s garlic. I was still savouring the first mouthful when a thought struck me. ‘Where’s Sepp?’
Unlike Roshi, who had been kept hostage in the Ilthean camp to deprive me of her battle skills, Sidonius had insisted that Sepp accompany us into the fighting, insurance against any duplicity I might otherwise have planned. He should have found his way to me before she did.
Roshi shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s helping the soldiers move into the palace?’
Nothing about her answer gave me peace, from the thought of Sepp still in Ilthean hands to the reminder of those same Iltheans infesting the Turholm. Making camp inside the walls, filling the barracks and corridors with their foreign, conquering presence.
Before I could pursue the thought further, Roshi asked, ‘Has it always looked like that?’ She was squinting at my brow, and Dieter’s mark.
The eggs turned to ash on my tongue.
I own you, Matilde, Dieter had said on our wedding night. I’ve bound you as one binds a golem. Whenever I want, I can turn you into lifeless clay, simply by erasing this one little mark from your pretty brow.
He had claimed my flesh that night, not as a husband, but with arcana. Three symbols he’d inscribed on my brow, using ink and bloodstone and firelight, spelling out truth. Erase the leftmost, he had told me, and the meaning changed to death.
Under Roshi’s stare, the mark seemed to spark and burn anew. I tried to fight back my fear with reason. Achim had claimed the branding was little more than a trick, relying on my ignorance to bind me.
Nevertheless, my voice emerged thin and reedy as I said, ‘What do you mean?’
Roshi tipped her head to the side and said, ‘Weren’t there three before?’
Food and modesty forgotten, I jumped to my feet. The blankets tangled around my ankles as I raced for a looking glass.
Roshi called after me. ‘Matilde . . . ?’
In the bedroom I snatched up a bronze salver, turned it over and polished the base of it with the bed sheets. The warm metal reflected staring eyes and grimy cheeks – and a brow marked by only two symbols.
Meit: Death.
Dropped from nerveless fingers, the salver thumped to the carpet.
‘Tilde?’
Gripping my elbow, Roshi turned me towards her. In her other hand she held the blanket I’d discarded. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘It’s too cold for bare skin.’
I stared at her, struggling to explain. ‘Death,’ I said.
A violent urge to retch seized me, clenching my stomach until I sank to my knees. My sweat stank of fear. If the branding was only a trick, as Achim had claimed, what then did its change mean?
Roshi knelt and gripped my shoulders. ‘What is this all about?’
‘The marks were a binding.’ My voice sounded distant to my ears. ‘Dieter marked me, using the Amaeri tongue. He told me erasing the leftmost symbol would turn me to clay.’
I broke off, the full admission sticking in my throat. My recollection of the past few days was hazy in places, but that one memory stood out, made stark by anger and humiliation.
If you were Amaer, you’d know this is not possible, Achim had said, his eyes like chips of mica in their ink-stained sockets as he explained the nature of Dieter’s trick. Instead, you believed him.
Puzzled, Roshi said, ‘Okay. But . . . you haven’t.’
‘Achim broke the binding,’ I said slowly, staring at my hands, pink and flush with blood. They were not shaking. ‘Days ago. Successfully, too, or I’d not be able to speak of it.’
Understanding dawned in her eyes. She draped the blanket around my shoulders then sat back on her heels.
‘The brand did not vanish when the binding broke,’ she said.
I shivered. ‘Maybe Achim was wrong – maybe he only broke part of the arcana. Maybe there’s more to it.’
It would be in Dieter’s nature to layer hex within hex. He was a master of lying by omission, and he never had only a single plan at work. It was one of the reasons the damnable man was always a step ahead.
‘Why else would the brand remain behind?’ I said. Fear turned my stomach to acid. ‘Why else would it change now?’
Roshi had no answer. Standing, she extended her hand. I let her help me up and lead me back to the couch. Food held no temptation for me now, however. I picked idly at the bread, rolling it into pellets which I tossed into the hearth while I thought.
Who had altered the brand, and why?
There seemed only one possible conclusion.
‘It’s a message from Dieter,’ I decided. ‘A warning.’
Roshi was sitting on the floor, watching me. ‘A warning?’
‘That I’m still within his reach.’
Drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them close, Roshi said, ‘I doubt it. He has larger concerns than you right now. Such as avoiding the patrols Sidonius has sent in search of him. Or maybe even finding a dry place to sleep.’
Oh, how I wanted that to be true! But I was his wife and his link to the throne and I had allied with his enemy; right now I was the lynchpin of all his concerns.
‘He has more immediate worries, perhaps,’ I allowed, ‘but not more important.’
I put a hand to my brow. When Dieter had first branded me the marks had been stiff, warm to the touch. Since then they’d seeped into the layers of my flesh and were a part of my skin, undetectable now even to the tips of my fingers. None of which explained the brand’s sudden change.
Only Dieter could explain that.
Amalia is still in the Turholm. Grandmother’s thoughts echoed my own. As is Renatas. You are still within his reach.
I dismissed the boy. Renatas had betrayed his own mother for the empire; even Dieter’s snake-oil charms couldn’t turn him. Amalia, on the other hand, was Dieter’s sister. And as Sidonius’s sister, she was safe from a summary execution. Perhaps Sidonius was right – perhaps she had not remained behind voluntarily after all. An order from Dieter would certainly explain her anger.
‘I need to see Amalia,’ I decided aloud. ‘I need to know why she’s here.’
Roshi was dubious. ‘You think she’ll speak the truth?’
‘She doesn’t need to. Even lies give a hint of the truth, if you know how to listen for it.’
Roshi shook her head, but crossed to the door in search of the missing water and tub. She couldn’t resist a parting shot, however, casting the comment over her shoulder as she reached the door.
‘This from a woman who spent months believing a man could own her soul simply by scribbling on her forehead?’
WHEN ROSHI OPENED the door, it was to find Achim waiting in the corridor.
The shadow-worker wore the swathe of ochre cloth, belted loosely about his hips, which apparently passed for clothing in his desert homeland. In deference to the chillier clime of Sueben lands he had added another layer which looked suspiciously like a woollen blanket with a ragged hole cut for his head.
‘Good,’ he said brusquely, past Roshi to me. ‘You’re up. I was beginning to think you’d rise too late.’
Eyeing Roshi as if unsure whether she’d let him pass, he edged into the room. When she didn’t move to stop him, he shook his shoulders like a wolf ridding itself of fallen snow, and gave me an expectant look.
I clutched my blanket tight, made uneasy as much by his obliviousness of my state of undress as by his lack of sense. I nodded to Roshi, freeing her to seek out the bathwater.
Only when she had slipped out of the room did I turn back to Achim. ‘Too late for what?’
‘The general has assigned me to the patrols charged with hunting down Dieter. I ride out within the hour.’ He glanced to the windows and measured the angle of the morning light. ‘Less, in fact.’
I felt a sting of anger mixed with relief. Striving for a cool tone, ignoring the fact I stood before him wrapped in nothing but a filthy blanket, I said, ‘What convenient timing. I thought you weren’t lending Sidonius your talents.’
Achim gave me a level stare. ‘I’m retrieving Dieter so I can deliver him to justice. No more.’
For a judgement the man probably richly deserves, Grandmother reminded me. I ignored her – partly because I had no answer and partly because at that moment the shadow-worker glanced at my brow and I noted the flicker of surprise transform his expression. So the change had not been of his doing.
Now I was more certain than ever: once again Dieter was trying to control me. But this time I would meet him strength for strength.
‘Since our time is short, we had best use what little we have left,’ I said. When there was no way but the door, only a fool scrabbled at the walls.
I left the room to dress in the privacy of my bedchamber. When I returned, Achim, obviously irritated by the delay – or by my refusal to let him escape the session altogether – asked with a glower, ‘You are ready? At last?’
‘You may begin,’ I answered.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, and waved a hand to indicate I should follow suit. I didn’t move.
‘On the floor,’ he said peevishly. ‘One can be too comfortable to learn.’
Briefly, I entertained the thought of refusing, and ordering him and his ill temper from the room. But that urge sprang from unease and my reluctance to learn anything of working the shadows, and I could not afford pride to trip me now. Instead I sat, cross-legged, opposite him on the cold floor.
Achim fixed me with eyes that had stared across vistas of sand and sun, rock and shade, and sought out sips and soaks from no more than the faint ripple of air currents. ‘First, you will tell me what you feel when you work.’
I floundered, unable to frame an answer.
The memory of a yawning chasm filled me with dizzying emptiness. Somewhere, deep below the faintest recall of sunlight, below where the soil rested soft and pliable and fertile, below where the rocks thrust against each other, there were creatures digging and scraping. They were clawing for freedom.
I shook my head, banishing the image, if not the sensation.
‘You have some talent for earth,’ he said. ‘Three times now you have successfully bid it move. And when you first demanded an audience with the general, you said “Water can run hard as a rockfall, if the right person bids it.”’
‘I couldn’t rebuild Sidonius’s ramp,’ I pointed out, remembering how I had failed to make the earth flow into a ramp to bridge the Turholm’s walls.
‘It was a task of difficult proportions, requiring more than instinct and the strength of fear to power it.’ His canny eye accused me of other reasons for not wishing an Ilthean army to overtop those walls.
‘There are other affinities,’ Achim went on. ‘Water, air, fire, metal, wood. You will know, if you think on it, which resonate with you. There will have been moments in your life alerting you: a strange thrill in your blood when you walked over mineral-laden ground, perhaps. A knack for finding water, or for knowing clean from tainted.’
I thought of the nights I had spoken to Dieter through the flames, and of the way touching wood or cloth could trigger a vision.
And I shook my head, the instinct born of my long habit of hiding my skills. Achim did not need to know my every secret in order to teach me.
‘I . . . wouldn’t know,’ I said.
About time you showed some sense, child, Grandmother said. Have you forgotten what happens to Duethins who dare to walk the shadows?
His gaze rested on my brow, and the altered branding it now bore, sending a tremor of unease through me. He drew a great lungful of air and closed his eyes on the breath. ‘Then that is your first task,’ he said.
He rose in one smooth movement, and I scrambled to my feet in ungainly haste after him.
‘That’s all?’ I demanded.
‘For now.’ He glanced at the window. ‘The patrol must depart, and I with it. While I am gone, if you wish to master the shadows, you must heed your instincts, learn your natural affinities. They are all interrelated, and to learn them you must know which comes easily, which with difficulty.’
He hesitated, and when he spoke again it was with censure in his dark eyes, as if he knew of my subterfuge. ‘You do wrong to deny the song of your blood.’
‘The only song my blood sings is to sit as Duethin, and rid the Turasi of this infestation of vipers we’re currently suffering,’ I snapped. ‘If you would speak of doing wrong, examine first your commitment to teaching. It leaves much to be desired, shadow-worker.’
‘If you wish a different style of instruction, I suggest you summon one of your mara.’
Anger – and a spark of fear, quickly tamped – put fire into my voice. ‘You will not refuse me as easily as you refuse Sidonius. I need Amaeri knowledge if I am to counter Dieter. Speaking of which, you will tell me, before you go, the source of your hold over Sidonius.’
‘I have no hold over him,’ Achim replied. ‘Say rather he has no hold over me.’
I levelled him with the grim look such a scant answer deserved, and he amended, ‘I travel with him as a free agent, not as part of his forces. We have an agreement that I will lend him what aid I can offer, but that is all.’ Once again Achim glanced at the window and said, ‘My lady, I must go.’
Clearly, I would extract nothing more from him this morning. Exasperated, I granted him leave, but ordered, ‘You will report to me the moment you return.’
‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘But perhaps we will both find luck, and the patrol will capture Dieter. Then I will have my prize, and you will have your peace.’
Without waiting for a response he was gone.
Roshi returned with a tub and hastily heated water already gone tepid. It wasn’t the best bath I’d ever enjoyed, but I emerged with clean hair and skin glowing from scrubbing. Better, there were clean clothes to wear. It was the most luxury I’d known in what felt like months.
‘Do we go to find Amalia now?’ Roshi asked, though by her frown and the dark edge in her tone, it was clear she had no liking for the idea.
Her question woke in me a pang of shame that stole all the pleasure from my fresh clothes. At this moment Amalia would be huddled in her windowless cell with blankets filthier than those I’d just discarded.
I hesitated. ‘No,’ I said finally, pushing aside a twinge of guilt at the knowledge I was leaving Amalia alone in the dark. ‘I’ve something more important to attend to first.’
Roshi cocked her head to the side. ‘Such as?’
‘Your kinsmen, for one. Dieter proved remarkably adept at turning them to his cause, and I don’t intend to give Sidonius the same chance.’
Not with the Turholm full of Iltheans who would keep me alive only while I proved useful and tractable, and Turasi who wanted me dead so Dieter could take back what he stole four months ago. The Skythe warriors were my only hope of honest protection.
Excitement brightened Roshi’s eyes. ‘I’ll fetch them!’ She took off at a run, heels flashing.
‘Find Sepp while you’re at it!’ I called after her.
I busied myself with my dress while I waited, selecting a gown of starched white linen that hid my bridal necklet behind a high collar and an embroidered red and white belt stitched with the swan of House Svanaten. Halfway through knotting my now-customary veil at the nape of my neck, I hesitated.
Ashamed of the way Dieter had branded me as one might mark cattle, I had been wearing the veil to hide my humiliation. And all that time, terror had dogged my steps, lest he invoke the mark’s dread power.
Now it was changed, and the impossibility of it unnerved me. Could Dieter still reach me, even through stone walls and steel shields?
As his brand, the marks had made me hot with shame; as his warning, they sent a shiver down my spine. If he thought to intimidate me, however, he’d underestimated me. The stubbornness of swans was legendary. The mark stood now as a symbol of our enmity. That was worth honouring, not hiding. Besides, it was fitting that I should bear the brand of death without flinching. I’d seen enough, and caused enough – and evaded it often enough.
I drew the cloth off, and worked my hair into a heavy knot on the crown of my head. Short of being blind, nobody could miss the symbols.
It was unnerving to bare them, even if only to my own reflection in a sheet of polished tin.
But ravens damn me if I would hide any longer.
WITH DEATH NOW marked openly on my brow, I paced while I waited for Roshi to return. When she did, it was with all twelve of her kinsmen in tow – six warriors gifted to me by my mother’s tribe, wearing the spear-headed swan sewn onto their tunics, and six given to me, inadvertently, by Helma of House Somner.
Roshi’s step faltered at sight of me without the veil, but she said nothing. Her kinsmen were equally silent, although one cast a questioning look at Roshi, most probably seeking to gauge the meaning of my tattoo. She replied only with a shake of her head.
I stood with my back to the hearth as they filed in, Roshi taking a position off to my right. The Skythe warriors arranged themselves in a semicircle facing me, expressions blank and eyes guarded. They were unarmed, not a single spear or bow or blade among them.
Foreboding prickled at the nape of my neck.
‘It is perhaps not wise to be without arms,’ I said, addressing them as a group. ‘These walls harbour unfriendly hearts.’
They did not answer, the silence stretching until my blood hummed. The Skythe warriors displayed as little disquiet as I let show.
Finally, Roshi spoke for them. ‘They refused to swear service to your Sidonius,’ she said. ‘He’s decreed that those not in his service may not bear arms.’
That was quick, Grandmother said.
I agreed. For a man who had once been a slave, he had a decided taste for command, and he exercised it at every opportunity.
‘That’s a circumstance I will remedy,’ I said, directing my answer to the Skythe warriors. ‘In the meantime, I trust your reputation doesn’t depend entirely on your having weapons to hand.’
Once again, the warriors offered no response, and it was Roshi who answered. ‘They can take care of themselves,’ she assured me. ‘And others.’
Keeping my voice even, I said to her, ‘And I trust you will never call him ‘my’ Sidonius again. The Ilthean general and I briefly shared a common goal, but that is all, and it is most definitely a thing of the past.’
She gave a suitably chagrined nod.
Turning back to the warriors, I allowed myself a frown, though I fought the impulse to cross my arms over my chest. Displeasure was acceptable, but a Duethin never showed discomfort.
‘Given my current situation, I mean to make you my personal guard,’ I said. ‘I realise twelve is a small number for such an assignment, but I’m sure we can devise a suitable roster.’
By now their silence was no surprise, although I could not fathom the why of it. Frustrated, I said with a sting in my voice, ‘All of which will run considerably smoother if you’d unclench your teeth and speak to me.’
On the edge of my line of sight, Roshi worried at her lower lip, but she did not interfere as I stared her kinsmen down. At last one curled his upper lip, sending a ripple down the length of his long moustaches.
Instead of answering me, however, he turned to Roshi and spoke in his native tongue, too fast for me to follow.
She blinked in surprise, and snuck a glance at me, troubled briefly by indecision.
Turning back to her kinsmen, she said, ‘Your assessment falls short of the truth.’ She spoke in the Turasi tongue that I might understand the exchange.
To a man, they bristled, spines stiffening and mouths scowling. The spokesman uttered a few words, his tone peremptory and commanding – an order to explain, I guessed.
‘Matilde did not desert you,’ Roshi said. Her left hand, hidden in the small of her back, was clenching and unclenching nervously.
My heart clattered against my ribs, but my tongue was not as quick as my mind: the Skytheman spoke before I could, in a flurry of words I couldn’t understand.
Roshi’s quick gesture silenced him. She let the quiet seep through the corners of the room before she broke it.
‘Yes, she left the palace without you,’ she said. ‘No, she did not honour you with an explanation of her actions, nor a command to remain behind.’ She held up her hand, forestalling the protest forming on her kinsman’s lips. ‘But you are ignorant of a crucial fact.’
‘Roshi . . .’ I began, but she ignored me.
‘It was my doing,’ she said to the warriors. ‘The negligence was mine.’
They were watching her as a cat watches a dark shape in the shadows, alert for any twitch or blink.
I was watching her, too, but Roshi would not meet my eye, denying me the chance to order her to silence.
‘I gave her no choice,’ Roshi went on. ‘I knocked her unconscious, and dragged her from the palace draped over the back of a pony. I kept her bound, so she could not escape when she woke.’
I wanted to speak in her defence, but shame stopped me. Defending Roshi’s actions meant explaining the nature of Dieter’s hold over me; more complete than ropes around my wrists, more subtle than threats hanging over my head, Dieter had ensnared and twisted even my very thoughts.
The foremost Skytheman looked back at his fellows to gather and gauge their opinions. I read judgement in their grim silence.
It gave me strength. Cost what it may, I could not let Roshi bear my shame alone.
‘That’s not –
’ Roshi’s hand shot out and grasped my forearm. ‘With respect, cousin, it is important.’
‘I –
’ Again she cut me off, her voice mild but firm. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘This does not concern you, but it must be addressed now. It will take only a moment more.’
And then the Skytheman spoke, and it was too late. This time, he chose the Turasi tongue. Whether it was to ensure I knew the extent of Roshi’s crimes or to heighten her humiliation, I could not tell.
‘You betrayed the bond of blood, and mistreated the woman you swore to guard,’ he said.
Outwardly, Roshi gave no hint of discomfort or chagrin at the pronouncement.
‘You have dishonoured her,’ the warrior went on. ‘And in doing so you have cast shame on us all.’
‘No,’ I said, but the Skytheman paid me no heed.
He brought his arms up across his chest, palms held out. ‘You are cast forth, Roshi. Let the sky and stars and the lonely places of the earth nurture you as they may; you may never more claim shelter or kin among the Nilofen.’
Silence gripped us all.
Roshi did not move even so much as her eyes; she stood as still as if the lonely places of the earth had already claimed her and nothing now could call her back.
The warrior turned to me then, and bowed. ‘We misjudged,’ he said.
Fury gave me a thousand responses, but I could utter none.
‘Of course we will guard you,’ another of the warriors added, his thicker accent and careful manner of speaking indicating a lesser skill with the Turasi language. He did not wear the spearheaded swan symbol, which meant he was one of the Skythe who had come to me through House Somner’s poisonous gift.
‘We will devise a roster to ensure one of us is with you at all times,’ the first said.
Each of the warriors bowed as they took their leave. True to their pledge, one remained behind, standing by the doors.
I ignored him. At my touch, Roshi turned her head to regard me. Beneath her expressionless demeanour a glitter of hidden tears brightened her eyes.
‘I sent a thrall in search of Sepp,’ she said.
‘Roshi . . .’
She grimaced and shook her head. ‘You need loyal guards, Matilde. This was the only way.’
I swallowed a hard lump of guilt and gratitude. ‘The truth would have served, too.’
‘I gave them the truth.’ Her smile faded. ‘I should have realised the frailty of your mind, and guarded you from Dieter’s hypnotism. I failed you.’
Her words soured my gratitude, and I didn’t feel like protesting any further.
I GAVE US all a much-needed day to rest after that, and then I turned to re-establishing my position, accompanied by Roshi and a Skythe guard who refused to look at her. All twelve Skythe warriors now wore the spear-headed swan sewn onto their tunics, and called themselves the talaye, which Roshi explained meant something akin to ‘honourable guard’.
First I visited the kitchens, ostensibly to supervise the day’s menu but in truth to be visible. To the dovecote I brought a hard-boiled egg, the shell smashed and whipped through the pulped yolk, as a treat for the birds. The dovecote controlled the flow of information in and out of the Turholm, and I meant to keep Sigi and her fellow dove-tenders on my side. In the garrison I enquired minutely into the barracking arrangements, careful to ensure no Turasi soldiers lost their beds to the Iltheans.
Through it all, Renatas followed me, making only the most cursory attempt to stay out of sight. His presence irritated me, and I didn’t relish Sidonius knowing my every movement so reliably, but if I chased the boy away then he would be replaced by more subtle surveillance. So for the moment I pretended not to notice him, and let him play at spying on me.
Finally, at the tail end of my apparent list of errands, I dared to visit Amalia.
The cells were housed halfway below ground. From the garrison guardroom, a stairwell spiralled up to the dormitories, and down into rock. The walls as we wound downwards were as smooth as slate – access was blocked by a slab of unhewn rock, but this same network of subterranean rooms existed under the kitchens to store perishables. There was a mushroom farm down there, too, shelves of cap-dotted dirt trays releasing a moist and pungent air whenever the trapdoor was lifted.
The light of my lantern gleamed over the walls as we walked, giving them the false glimmer of dampness, tricking my eyes with shifting shadows. I breathed free when my foot found level flooring at last. Behind me, the stairwell was dark and silent; if Renatas had followed, he was staying out of sight. Like as not he would wait for our reappearance, but if he did venture down to the cells, we would see him before he could overhear anything. I left Roshi at the foot of the stairs to watch for him, to be sure.
To left and right, stretching down into the vanishing black, iron-grilled doors marked each cell. At the height of the day, sunlight would reach in through the narrow barred windows carved into the top of the cells’ back wall; grass and dirt crowded the lip of the windows where they opened onto the pig yards. Now, with the afternoon fading, the dying sunlight could not reach so far.
Most of the cells stood empty; Dieter had not incarcerated anyone lately, and the soldiers he had left behind when he fled had all sworn fealty to me now.
The corridor sloped downwards, the grade gentle but enough to ensure the last cells were entirely below ground level. There were no windows with snatches of sky here – and no light, not even the faint glimmer of a guttering lantern. It seemed Sidonius’s men were not in the habit of disobeying orders, even cruel ones.
Our footsteps whispered through the sparse and sodden straw, the sound echoing along the corridor ahead and behind us, multiplying our presence. Shivers crawled the length of my spine, not all of them from the chill rock walls.
There was no sound from ahead. When I reached the final cell, the lantern light seeping ahead of me like a slick of spilled oil, I saw a slight figure huddled on the straw tick provided for a pallet, legs drawn up and shoulders shrouded beneath layers of blankets. At least Sidonius’s men hadn’t neglected that order.
‘Amalia,’ I said.
Head buried in the hollow created by her updrawn knees, she didn’t look up.
The weight of the lantern dragged on my wrist as I waited.
‘Did you come down just to stare?’ she said at last.
Her voice was muffled, but the anger spiking its edges was clear enough.
‘I came to find out why you stayed.’
She laughed bitterly into her blankets and hitched them tighter. ‘You’re no smarter, then.’
‘You told Sidonius the truth?’
‘You’re the vow-breaker,’ she said. ‘Not me.’
Stooping to rest the lantern on the floor, I freed my hands only to find I had nothing to do with them. Disbelief tinged my words as I said, ‘You stayed to punish Dieter.’
She lifted her head at last and pinned me with a glare. ‘And you.’
‘Me!’
Close your mouth, child, Grandmother said. You look like a pig-maid.
‘It wasn’t high on the list,’ Amalia said, giving me a smile as sharp as a bee sting, ‘but it was definitely an added incentive.’
I’d forgotten how infuriating she could be. I snapped, ‘What was your plan, Mali? To use Renatas as guarantee of your good intentions towards Ilthea?’
She shifted a little, and her smile faded. I pressed my advantage, knowing her silence meant I’d hit a nerve.
‘You had no plan,’ I said.
‘I . . . acted on impulse,’ she admitted stiffly, defiantly.
‘That much I can believe,’ I shot back. ‘But then you found out about Sidonius. Your brother. That’s changed things, hasn’t it?’
She turned her head away, a sure sign she was fighting to swallow a retort.
‘You didn’t count on his suspicion, did you? In fact, your prospects seem bleak at the moment.’ I waved a hand to encompass the cold and lightless cell. ‘Now here you are, stuck in the dark, and you have no idea, do you, how to get yourself out?’
She didn’t answer at first, but then her pretence of indifference snapped. She surged to her feet and rushed to the cell door, hampered by the blankets tangling her legs.
‘I’ll give you Dieter,’ she said. ‘If you promise not to hurt him. That’s why I stayed – because it’s time he learnt he can’t have whatever he wants simply for the taking. And right now, you’re the best hope of teaching him that.’
Through the large open squares of the iron grillwork, her face was pale and pinched. Reflected lantern light picked out a gleam from her foxfire eyes. She could almost be a wraith of the marshes, with her ethereal gaze and her eternal, insatiable fury.
Trepidation kept me silent a heartbeat longer: my reply wasn’t going to make her any happier.
‘Much as I’d like to believe you could give me Dieter, Mali, I don’t. And I’m not going to risk everything I’ve gained on the baseless promises of a girl throwing a tantrum.’
Grasping the iron grillwork, she glared at me. ‘I chose not to support Dieter any longer because he’s as faithless as you. You’re well suited, actually – both too busy using people and breaking promises to realise what you’re destroying. Between the two of you, the Turasi are in the worst position in generations.’
‘Your powers of persuasion are truly awe-inspiring,’ I said.
‘In case you haven’t noticed, I’m still in the cell,’ she said. ‘I’m not giving you anything until you’ve let me out.’
‘In case you haven’t noticed,’ I shot back, ‘you’re still in the cell. You’re not in a position to be making demands.’
She shook her head. ‘Get me out of here and I’ll give you a dozen ways of dealing with Dieter. I’ll even throw in a few solutions for that deranged general, too.’
She turned away, and her last words were spoken so quietly, skittering off the stone walls and sinking through the floor like groundwater, that I almost missed them.
‘I’m sick of brothers.’
I ARRIVED BACK at my suite to find an invitation from Sidonius to join him in the small dining hall for a private repast. The delicate wording of the request didn’t fool me: this was a summons, no doubt provoked by my refusal to accept an Ilthean guard this morning. At least the civil tone showed he meant to maintain the forms, and the illusion I was in power. For now.
The hall was lit by no less than a dozen wall-mounted lanterns, flooding the room with shifting layers of cheerful orange light. Memories caught me in the doorway, inescapable as spider silk. Grandmother and I had broken our fast in this room every morning, when we didn’t have guests of state or formal functions, and here we had sat through the dying of the day.
Often in mutinous silence on your part, Grandmother said. A heartbeat later she added, And sometimes on mine.
Hands clasped behind his back, Sidonius turned from staring into the empty hearth. I hurried through the doorway, lest he take the opportunity of inviting me into my own dining room. He had eschewed his armour, but still wore the simple garb of a soldier: an unadorned white tunic over trews of steely goat’s wool. Unlike his adopted countrymen, he wore boots instead of open sandals. Perhaps he felt the cold, or perhaps he was less stubborn.
With a glance over my shoulder he noted my Skythe guard, but he gave no indication of displeasure.
‘Lady Matilde,’ he said, gesturing towards the table. Its dark mahogany surface gleamed in the lantern light. ‘It is kind of you to join me.’
I refused the obvious response – it is kind of you to invite me – denying him the authority the words would imply.
Three places had been set at the table, and Renatas stood behind one of them already. He had removed the silver circlet from his dark curls, and watched me with a gleeful light in his eyes.
‘I see your little lapdog will be joining us,’ I said, the scorn of my words dissolving the boy’s delight.
‘Yes,’ Sidonius said.
He was quick to hide it, but I caught the twitch of the muscles along his jaw. I noted, too, his failure to upbraid me for treating a member of the Ilthean imperial family with such disrespect. Something about the boy unsettled him.
Probably the boy’s infatuation is wearing thin, Grandmother said, and as I took my seat I couldn’t help but agree. When he wasn’t shadowing me, Renatas was to be found no more than three paces from Sidonius’s side.
Sidonius recovered his poise as he took his own seat, adding coolly, ‘After all, what better way for him to learn how to govern than by attending me? It’s a skill he will need, sooner or later.’
A footstep behind me made the skin of my neck crawl. I quelled the urge to turn by reminding myself that a loyal and competent Skythe warrior guarded my back.
A thrall placed before me a trencher swimming with thick pumpkin and potato soup. I stirred it with the tip of my wooden spoon, giving it time to cool, savouring the hot peppery aroma.
‘Not in the immediate future, and not for some time to come,’ I rejoined, careful to keep my voice even, although I didn’t quite manage disinterested. One couldn’t expect miracles. ‘The throne is mine – despite the fact that, when I met you outside the walls, you implied the emperor planned to give it to Renatas. What will you tell your emperor of your change of heart?’
I had meant to remind him that his actions in elevating me could well be viewed with suspicion, and interpreted as a betrayal, but my plan backfired. Sidonius was more certain of his power, and of his emperor’s trust, than that. He gave me a serpent’s smile, sly and goading, and said, ‘You’ll tell him, lady, when you kneel, that you’re a better candidate. And pray you convince him of it.’
I took a sip of soup in a show of nonchalance. ‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then the throne will pass to your heir rather more quickly than you’d prefer.’
I swallowed a mouthful of soup too quickly; it burnt every inch of my throat on the way down.
Poke a snake with a stick, child, and it will strike.
I couldn’t argue; I’d thoroughly deserved that one. A furtive thought haunted the corners of my mind: Renatas wasn’t my oldest living relative. No matter the Turasi view of illegitimacy, as an Ilthean Sidonius might well consider Sepp a threat to Renatas’s inheritance – it wasn’t only my life I was risking. I pushed the thought away, lest any hint of fear show on my face. Where was Sepp? Hadn’t Roshi sent a thrall to find him? If I could see him, and soon, there was a chance I could keep him safe from the deadly politics that had already claimed so many of my family.
‘Neatly done,’ I admitted.
Renatas laughed, but Sidonius cut the abrasive sound short with only a raised hand.
‘I thought so,’ Sidonius said.
‘And have you found Dieter yet?’ I asked. That not only wiped the smugness from his face, it soured his humour altogether.
‘No.’ He pushed the remainder of his soup away. ‘He’s alive, though, and not without support. One of yesterday’s patrols failed to return. One of today’s patrols found their corpses this afternoon. This is not a time for you to trust to a single guard for protection.’
My own appetite shrank then, and suddenly I was sorry I had chosen this subject for my taunting.
‘He must be confident,’ I said, neatly evading any discussion of providing me with Ilthean guards.
Thankfully, Sidonius didn’t pursue the matter. Most likely he judged me no threat, with only a dozen soldiers to my name.
More fool he, then. I had ousted Dieter from power with less.
At quite a cost, Grandmother couldn’t resist noting, as if I needed reminding. And incompletely, if he hides in the forest, killing your allies.
The implications of which boded ill. The longer Dieter provided the impetus for rebellion, the longer and more completely I would need the Iltheans to keep me enthroned – and the deeper into vassalage and eventual slavery the Turasi would sink. And, if Dieter’s confidence wasn’t misplaced, the greater the threat to my life – for I doubted Dieter would be so willing to spare me this time.
‘Desperate, not confident,’ Sidonius corrected. ‘With you newly installed, we’re at our weakest. The quicker he strikes, the more chance he has of regaining the throne. The longer he delays, the more he risks seeing his support dwindle away to nothing.’
Despite the certainty of his words, I couldn’t help notice that his appetite didn’t improve. Even the next course, slices of roast suckling boar with a cinnamon apple sauce, could not tempt him. The aroma made my mouth water, but my first bite revealed the meat had been overcooked, rendering it dry and stringy. I pushed it away, but with nothing to eat there was nothing to distract myself from dark thoughts of Dieter’s next move.
I fought back my rising despair with a decision. While I waited to learn the reason for tonight’s summons, I might as well use my time to some purpose – namely, finding out what I could about the slave-born general.
‘I did not realise slaves could rise to positions of such power in Ilthea,’ I said. ‘That they might be given command over soldiers.’
‘Birth and circumstance dictate a man’s class, but they have no bearing on his abilities.’
‘Even so, if I were your emperor, I’d be wary of giving you an army and deploying you back to your homeland. You could take the throne for yourself, instead of faithfully bringing home a vassal.’
Sidonius only laughed, a distant look of recollection in his eye.
‘If I were a slave,’ I continued, ‘I’d not be recruiting more slaves for my lord.’
‘There’s a considerable difference between being a vassal queen, and being a slave. I can arrange a demonstration, if it will help,’ he replied, with a positively feral smile. He took a bite of the meat. ‘Faugh! If this is the best you can manage, you deserve to be conquered. Bring me some wine,’ he ordered without looking up. To me he said, ‘Will you take some? It’s far more refined than that hog-swill you call ale.’
‘Your men drink the ale without qualm or complaint,’ I said. ‘Are you so insecure in your loyalty to the empire you must reject everything about your homeland out of hand? Is that how you earnt your emperor’s trust?’
His answering look was heavy and humourless. ‘I earned Jurgas Avita Angeron’s trust by proving my loyalty lay with Ilthea – over and above any tug my homeland might possibly exert.’
‘And how did you do that?’
‘I chose my emperor over my mother.’ He shrugged, and tried another mouthful of the meat with a grimace. ‘It wasn’t a difficult choice.’
For all his apparent serenity, a shadow haunting his eyes hinted that the choice, or perhaps its consequences, had not been easy. Renatas was watching him with an expression of open worship.
‘I presume this wasn’t an academic choice?’ I asked.
He laughed. ‘The Iltheans are not the type to emphasise theoretical pursuits at the cost of experience, whatever you may have heard to the contrary.’
I gave him a blank stare and said, ‘I’ve never heard anything of the kind either way.’
‘She came to rescue me,’ he said, his offhand tone insufficient to hide his irritation. ‘I had no idea what she intended until she stood with her knife at the throat of the emperor’s daughter.’ He swallowed a mouthful of his wine, and paused to savour the taste. ‘Ah, I’ll be sad to see the last of this vintage.’
‘You chose the emperor,’ I said, fighting back horror, as I guessed at the form his choice had taken. ‘No wonder you think so highly of Renatas. Neither of you have your loyalties straight.’
He stilled, cup before his lips, eyes hooded. The hesitation was brief, but unmistakable. With unnecessary care he lowered the cup to the table. A small thrill ran through the wood to my fingertips, as if a vision was building within me, but the moment passed.
‘Yes, I chose Ilthea,’ Sidonius said. ‘The fool woman had no better plan than to return me to Grabanstein and challenge my father to share the inheritance equally between his sons. Ha! I own more now than my father could ever have given me.’
The food had turned to stones in my mouth. I washed it down with a swallow of ale. I was almost afraid to ask, but I had to know.
‘And your mother?’
He looked at me as if I was soft in the head and said, ‘She held a knife to the emperor’s child.’
That she had been executed I had already guessed, but his pale eyes gave me the full answer I sought: it had been by Sidonius’s hand that she had perished. That was why the emperor was so sure of Sidonius’s loyalties.
His lazy smile told me he knew the direction of my thoughts. Idly rotating his cup with his left hand, he summoned a thrall with a lazy flick of the right. ‘Are you sure you won’t have some wine, lady? It’s an acquired taste, I’m told, but worth the investment.’
‘No, thank – ’
I broke off as the thrall stepped into my field of view. My mouth worked independently of my brain, gaping open. ‘Sepp?’
I meant it for a whisper, but my voice emerged as a croak.
He didn’t answer, except to duck his head even lower, refusing to meet my eye. Sidonius had dressed Sepp in trews and tunic of coarse linen. Stitched into the tunic’s collar was a slender red serpent, signifying this was a slave newly taken, spoils of war.
I rounded on Sidonius, choked by fury. ‘Sepp is of the Turasi, not property for the taking!’
Sidonius regarded Sepp with a long and satisfied look before turning back to me. ‘He is also my insurance policy.’
YOU ’LL FIND MYbrother a crueller master than I.
Alone in my rooms later that night, Dieter’s parting words haunted me as I contemplated Sidonius’s trap.
He could not have picked a better hostage.
My closest friend since before my memories took root, Sepp was also my cousin – and the only other member of House Svanaten, albeit an unacknowledged one.
I’d planned to spirit him away from the Turholm and the politics that threatened to claim his life, but Sidonius had moved too swiftly.
My first thought was to send Roshi to Sepp’s side.
‘Stick to him like a shadow, but don’t let Sidonius know about it,’ I said. ‘The moment Sepp can get away unnoticed, for however long, bring him to me. Don’t argue,’ I added, seeing her mutinous look. ‘This is important. And I won’t be unprotected, I’ll have the talaye to watch my back.’
She didn’t like leaving me, but she went – and I was sure, though she would never admit it, she was relieved to escape the disapproving stares of her fellow Skythes.
The following days brought reports that Sepp was beyond her reach: Sidonius kept him close at all times. Every time, I pushed down the rising sense of urgency, and sent her back. The general would have to slip up sooner or later.
When she wasn’t watching over Sepp, Roshi visited Amalia, still languishing in her lightless cell and sustained by stubbornness alone. Given Roshi’s previous disinclination to seek out Amalia, it seemed an abrupt change of heart, but when I questioned her on it, Roshi said only, ‘She’s cast off everyone and everything she knew, and now she’s alone in the dark.’ Then she turned away, bluntly closing the discussion, and I let it be. Ravens alone knew what the two found to talk about – perhaps they spent their time comparing their respective experiences of exile.
In the meantime, I had other concerns. Sidonius was badgering me to accept an Ilthean guard, and Renatas still followed my every move. I had ordered Amalia’s release, only to find Sidonius had forbidden anyone other than himself from turning the key in the lock. Achim had not returned from his hunt, the drightens remaining in the Turholm were growing restive, and the Skythe army, which had been approaching when Sidonius and I first took the Turholm, had not arrived. In fact, they seemed to have vanished altogether. Had they returned to their grasslands? Had Dieter coerced them into his service?
The litany of problems was enough to make my head ache. Something would have to break, and soon.
Within a week, it did. After yet another of his patrols had been found, stripped of their weapons and valuables and their bodies left as food for the crows, Sidonius himself rode out to the hunt. He took five companies, and headed northwest, into the thick forests where Dieter reportedly sheltered. He left Sepp behind.
Sending Roshi to fetch Sepp away from the duties Sidonius had left him, I installed one of my Skythe guards outside the door of my suite to fool Renatas into thinking I had not left the rooms. While the boy lurked in the corridor, I slipped out using the thralls’ runs, and had the drightens summoned to the hall of thrones. The boy would discover the deception soon enough, of course, but it would gain me some time unobserved. If I was lucky, it would be enough.
Despite its name, the hall held only the one throne, crowned by a carving of a swan triumphant; its twin stood in the hall of sanctuary, reserved for those occasions which required both political endorsement and the sanction of the presters. The throne stood at the hall’s far end, on the fourth step of the dais. Murder holes in the ceiling provided unseen protection, so long as the soldiers remained loyal.
Arrayed behind the throne were nine marble pillars, each carved in high relief to reveal one of the daughters of Turas. Irmao the Silent stood centremost, her gaze fixed on the shadows of eternity, her arms spread wide to support the banner of the House that currently held the throne. All my life it had been the banner of House Svanaten she held, but now the white swan hung in the far corner, and Irmao’s stone fingers clasped the black raven on the blue field of House Raban.
The arrogant upstart, Grandmother fumed as I paused at the hall’s threshold. House Svanaten has provided the Duethin for generations past – and our reign is not over yet!
To left and right, the walls sported the crests of the various Houses, a dazzling procession of colours and shapes standing testament to a nation with a history as gnarled and complicated as the roots of a bound tree.
Beneath the banner of the twin grey foxes, staring up at the empty throne, stood Maja of House Saschan. The other drightens were present as well: Krimhilde and Merten of House Raethn stood in quiet conversation in the room’s centre, and Rein of House Falkere had his hands clasped behind his back as he studied the murder holes in the ceiling. In the shadows of the room their various escorts waited.
I stepped into the room, slippers and skirts whispering in the silence. Maja turned to watch me approach; Krimhilde and Merten looked up, their conversation stilled. Rein didn’t move.
Everything Grandmother had ever told me about House Saschan flitted through my mind, a new recollection with every step until it seemed they must all hear the cacophony of my thoughts.
They are proud, the Saschan, but fair. Quick to judge, and slow to ally.
Rein’s alliance was difficult to gauge. He had once offered his son for my husband, but that was before my fall from power. He was, however, in the habit of allying against the Somner drightens – and with Maja. Krimhilde and her brother were more likely to swim with the current than against it. Maja, then, was the key.
Maja dipped her chin in a brief nod as I drew to a halt. The other drightens drifted nearer.
‘I trust your quarters are comfortable?’ I said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve not had a spare moment to check before now.’
‘Quite, thank you,’ Maja answered.
‘Your husband was a courteous host,’ Rein said.
Maja folded her hands before her, prim as a maiden prester, and said, ‘His claim is strong.’
‘Not as strong as mine,’ I returned. ‘Or he would not have found it necessary to bind me.’
Her gaze flicked to my brow, and the marks I now wore openly.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They were a gift from him. If you could call it that.’
Krimhilde pressed forward, sharp with curiosity as she asked, ‘And their meaning?’
‘He never gave me a straight answer,’ I said, prevaricating without hesitation. ‘Not that you can trust a word he says, in any case. But that’s immaterial, as is Dieter.’
Maja looked at the raven banner hanging behind the throne before answering, ‘I doubt any of us will agree with you on that point.’
‘After all,’ Rein said, ‘he did not bring the Iltheans inside our nation’s stronghold.’
‘They walk the corridors as if they’ve conquered yet another slew of savages,’ Merten said.
‘It doesn’t sit well with those of us who stayed,’ Maja finished, her manner less aggressive but no less dangerous.
‘Is that what he told you?’ I spoke in the hardest, coldest voice I could muster. ‘Or let you believe, anyway – Dieter has a way of making the truth slipperier than a trout. He can make you swallow a falsehood without ever being dishonest. It’s quite a skill, I must grant him that much.’
Merten scoffed, but Maja cut him off with an upraised hand. Gaze fixed on me as if she meant to delve the depths of my soul, she let the silence stretch for a count of five before she decided to indulge her curiosity.
‘Explain,’ she said.
‘The boy, Renatas, is a member of the Ilthean imperial family. Dieter sent for the army, and told them where to find the boy.’
I could see the calculations at work behind Maja’s eyes. The implications of Helena’s child being Ilthean nobility would escape none of them.
‘Dieter wanted them clamouring outside our walls,’ I said. ‘The threat it posed gave him exactly what he needed: the drightens unified, under him.’
Maja’s expression revealed nothing, but Merten said hotly, ‘There’s a difference between an army outside the walls, and one within.’
I shook my head. ‘Do you think, once Dieter refused to yield the boy, once he threatened torture, we could have kept them out? With nothing but a scattering of honour guards? I don’t think so. Not when Dieter wanted them in. Why else taunt them into attacking?’
‘Your logic is faulty,’ Rein said. ‘If you speak true, Dieter only needed the snake at the door. He didn’t need to let them inside, and thereby risk losing the throne he had so recently won.’
To my surprise, my answering laugh sounded suitably blithe. ‘The invasion did not fall out according to Dieter’s plan. He did not think his brother would choose to ally with me over him.’
None of them could hide their surprise. Maja jumped and Rein snapped his head around, Krimhilde gasped and Merten’s jaw dropped.
‘Xaver spoke the truth?’ Maja said, recovering her poise first. ‘The Ilthean general is Dieter’s brother?’
‘He is.’ It was almost fun, playing with the facts to get what I needed. No wonder Dieter had always seemed so smug.
He never had to lie outright, though. As always, Grandmother had a knack for sobering me. If Maja catches you at it, you’ve lost her.
‘You said Dieter wasn’t Sidonius’s brother, at the time,’ Rein said.
I was prepared for the implicit accusation. ‘Technically, I said he wasn’t Ilthean. As Dieter’s captive, it was the most I could say with impunity.’
It was impossible to tell whether they accepted the explanation, but at least they didn’t dispute the point. I continued, ‘I don’t know the exact details of their agreement. It wouldn’t surprise me if Dieter was playing Sidonius for his own ends, but I can’t rule out the possibility it was all planned in advance. Dieter’s certainly capable of elaborate plans and unlikely allies.’
If she was reeling from the new information, Maja hid it well. Choosing her words with care she said, ‘I had heard you suffered from the shadow sickness.’
My heart skipped a beat, but my expression showed nothing of it.
‘Certainly it would explain Beata’s protectiveness, and why she delayed your coronation. There were rumours she meant you not to take the throne at all. Yet, apart from a certain pinched look, I find you show no signs of any illness.’
‘You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,’ I said dismissively.
‘And yet Dieter kept you, out of all your kin, alive.’
‘He did.’
I met her gaze squarely, and held it until she swallowed her questions. Let her draw her own conclusions; she would anyway.
Maja relented, turning her head away. ‘Well, I shall be interested to see what you make of the throne,’ she said, her voice light and careless, as if she was doing nothing momentous in granting me provisional alliance.
‘Of course, you won’t be able to make anything of it while Ilthea hold it,’ she said. ‘And there’s the issue of your ratification, too. The gadderen saw Dieter crowned, and there won’t be another for a year entire . . .’
‘There will be another when I have drawn the empire’s fangs and pushed the snakes back into their southern burrows, where they belong,’ I said. ‘Which will not take me an entire year.’
‘There is also the slight problem of our all having sworn allegiance to Dieter. Oaths made at sword point won’t hold,’ Rein said.
I fixed him with a cold and distant stare. ‘You were quick enough to swear allegiance to the man who murdered your previous Duethin. I trust you can cope with the dishonour of coming to your senses and returning your loyalties to House Svanaten, where they belong.’
Unexpectedly, Mara smiled.
I had her. The others would follow.
A HESITANT TAP drew our attention to a thrall in the doorway. ‘There’s a man, my lady, asking to see you,’ she said. ‘I left him waiting in the solar.’
Surprised by the scant information, I asked, ‘And his name?’
She shook her head, eyes wide. ‘He said I wouldn’t understand it.’ In hushed tones she added, ‘He’s from foreign lands, my lady. He said to tell you he was here, as promised.’
It must be Achim, I reasoned. But why would he behave so strangely? I had planned to use what little time remained of Sidonius’s absence to speak with Sepp, but if I was quick, perhaps I could attend to both.
Dismissing the thrall and taking leave of the drightens, I started for the solar. Perhaps, rather than Achim, one of Sidonius’s countrymen awaited me, here to accept my promised vow.
Or perhaps it was a messenger from Dieter.
That was a thought made my breath catch. Feeling something between anticipation and fear, I couldn’t resist a glance over my shoulder.
Silent as a cat on the prowl, a Skythe warrior followed two paces behind. Without his fearsome, feather-decorated spear, he didn’t seem a menace to any who might threaten me. I had seen the Skythes at their practice, however, their wiry bodies grappling in the swirl of dust they kicked up. They could wrestle the great cats which stalked their goats – they did not need blades to guard me. Besides, Roshi had assured me there was more than one way to wear a blade so it might not be seen.
Reaching the solar, I put the palm of my left hand to the closed door as I reached for the handle with my right. The grain of the wood was warm beneath my touch. A sensation of vertigo swept over me, rising from the floor up through my feet and legs.
Images flickered but the bright colours and shapes did not come together into a true vision, and in another moment it had passed.
I hesitated then, one palm on the door, the other wrapped around the handle, blinking in the unchanged fall of sunlight. No vision had ever taken me incompletely before.
Instructing my guard to wait outside, I opened the door and stepped through.
Backlit by the afternoon light, a man stood before the window. Other than his shape, I couldn’t make out any features. He had broad shoulders and a smooth, hairless head, and a complexion too dark to be merely the product of shadows.
Then he stepped forward, and the shadows fell away from his face, revealing a wide smile. Several of his front teeth were missing. He had skin the colour of fertile soil and eyes as dark as sloes, and his brow bore three sigils worked in black ink.
‘Clay,’ I whispered.
‘Hello, little queen,’ he said.
I had first seen the golem when he was new-made, unmarred and beautiful. He bore scars now. The missing teeth, which I had kicked down his throat. A patch of bubbled flesh on his left temple where Sepp had hit him with a fallen branch. Roshi had cut his bicep open but that wound, if it still existed, was hidden beneath the sleeve of his stained white shirt.
‘The water was cold, little queen,’ he said. ‘Cold and white and fast. It swept me far away. I’ve had a long walk back, across plains and over mountains.’ He gave me a gap-toothed grin. ‘But you waited for me.’
I stepped back. ‘No.’
He followed.
‘Wait,’ I said, and held up a hand. He cocked his head to the side, but he stopped. ‘Things have changed,’ I said, speaking fast, almost faster than my thoughts. ‘Dieter’s situation – what he wants you to do has changed.’
Still frantically searching for reasons that might stall him, I shuffled a fraction of a step backwards, the movement masked by my skirts.
‘When he sent you after me, Dieter was the Duethin. But he’s no longer in charge.’
Clay ran his great, stubby fingers over his brow and the markings it bore. ‘He has the ruling of me.’ He frowned at me, at the marks Dieter had carved on my own brow, and said, ‘He has the ruling of you.’
‘No.’ I took another half-step backwards, bringing the door handle within reach of my fingertips. ‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘We cannot disobey,’ Clay said gravely, as if trying to remind me of my place.
Behind my back, I wrapped my fingers around the door handle and twisted it, slow and quiet.
‘I can,’ I said.
This confounded the creature. He touched his brow again. I remembered those blunt fingers, their strength as they’d closed around my throat.
The latch snicked free of its catch and I yanked the door open. Clay sprang at me. I scrabbled through the opening, the floor providing scant purchase for my slippers. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed the Skythe turning towards the door. Then Clay’s weight slammed into its other side.
The jolt staggered me but I kept my feet, just.
‘Lady?’
The Skytheman’s question vanished under the crack of splintering wood as the door tore around hinge and handle.
‘Little queen!’
‘Stall him!’ I cried to the Skytheman. ‘Don’t fight him, he’s too strong, just give me a head start.’
Clay ripped the door from its frame as I turned and fled.
Behind me, the Skytheman challenged Clay: ‘Stop!’
A sickening crunch and a cry of pain told me all I needed to know of Clay’s response. I hoped that crunch wasn’t the Skytheman’s neck. I didn’t turn to check.
‘Little queen!’
I ran past niches with their gem-studded idols and tapestries, knot-weavings and captured standards, all a blur of colours as Clay pursued me down the corridor.
Skidding around the first corner, I snatched a look over my shoulder.
Clay’s broad palm was inches from my shoulder.
Instinct took over and I ducked, swerving to avoid his grip, slipping past him.
I was almost quick enough.
Disoriented by my feint, his outstretched hand missed my shoulder. But it closed on my braid, pulling me up short.
My feet slipped out from under me and I went down, yelping as my elbow cracked against the stone.
I slammed my foot at his ankle.
Last time I’d kicked the golem, the impact had shaken every tooth in my gums and the creature hadn’t blinked. This time the ball of my foot drove into the weak joint, and it collapsed under the blow.
Clay came down like a felled tree. Trapped by the wall, I couldn’t scramble free before his arm pinned me to the floor.
The beat of running feet filled the corridor, and I twisted my head to look up.
The Skytheman stood at the intersection of the corridors, cradling a limp wrist, his face white with pain. ‘Lady . . . ?’ he said, his expression anxious. ‘I’ve sent for help. They’ll be here soon.’
With a cough and a shake of his head, Clay planted a palm on the floor to raise his torso. His other hand tightened on my braid, pulling my head back towards him.
‘You always run, little queen,’ he said.
A clod of something midway between earth and flesh dropped from his lips; he’d cut the inside of his cheek in the fall. Patters of dark blood dripped down his chin.
‘Clay . . .’ I whispered, but my voice trailed off. No one could beseech the earth, not even the constant whisper of the ocean on the shore, or the wind across the plains.
‘I will not be unkind.’ Through the scarred cheeks and misshapen smile, he seemed to be trying to reassure me.
I choked on a laugh. ‘When did you learn kindness?’
He hesitated, blinked, and lifted a hand to scrub at his eyes. He was staring at my brow.
‘It has changed,’ he said.
Hope flickered to life within me. The thoughts ran slow as treacle behind his eyes, and I swallowed my breath, hesitant to disturb them too soon.
He pushed further upright, freeing me. ‘Yet you are not dead.’
‘No.’
Carefully, I sat up and rearranged my tangled skirts so they would not hamper me if I had to run again. My hip throbbed from my fall, and my elbow ached. Every breath sent a stabbing pain through me, I hoped I hadn’t done more damage to my ribs. I swallowed, but it didn’t strengthen my voice any.
‘Dieter lied,’ I said.
The words were bitter in my mouth. Yes, Dieter had lied about my brand, but Clay’s situation was different. Unlike me, Clay was a golem in truth, and him the brand would bind. By omitting to explain this distinction to Clay now, I was doing to him precisely what Dieter had done to me: tricking him, manipulating his thoughts, for my advantage.
In fact, so many lies and broken vows lay littered in my wake, I would probably earn the epithet of liar. Matilde the Faithless, that’s what history would call me.
Matilde the Resolute, Grandmother corrected. It didn’t help much – particularly when Clay fixed me with an expression at once cunning and hopeful.
‘He does not have the rule of me?’ he asked.
I shook my head, and uttered the damnable lie: ‘Not if you don’t want him to.’
Clay sat back on his heels, opening an arm’s length of space between us. Warmth seeped back into the air around me.
The Skytheman hurried forward.
‘Stay!’ I cried, stopping him mid-step. In answer to his confused expression, I said, ‘Clay will not harm me now.’
I paused, looking at the golem, and added, ‘He has a decision to make. We will give him the time he needs to think it over.’
Clay nodded. ‘Yes. I must think.’
Then he lumbered to his feet, turned, and strode away. After a half-dozen steps he stopped, looked back over his shoulder a moment, but then continued on his way without further comment.
By the time the extra soldiers arrived he was long gone, and all they had to do was escort a Skytheman with a broken wrist to a leech.
THE SUN HAD long since started its downward sweep, and the household thralls were heading out to bring in the linen before dew ruined the day’s washing, by the time I returned to my suite, and Sepp.
I had meant to seek him out directly after meeting the drightens, but Clay’s return had delayed me, and now time was short.
He sat on the edge of the couch, shoulders hunched and staring at his feet. Roshi stood over him with a mulish countenance which told me she had spent at least some of the afternoon keeping him here by a mixture of physical and emotional coercion.
They both looked up as I entered, Sepp anxiously. Roshi relinquished her position, stepping into the corridor to guard the door.
Sepp shrank back, casting a desperate glance at the door. ‘Tilde,’ he said, then simply, ‘You mustn’t.’
I stopped, a span of empty floor separating us. Even when I had thought him dead, I had never felt so distant from him before. Then he had been beyond my physical reach; now there was an emotional gulf between us, and an air of distrust about him, that made me want to cry out.
‘Sepp, I’m going to get you free of this. I promise. I just need a little time.’
‘Time is one thing we don’t have,’ Sepp said. ‘The general will be back any moment. Let me go.’
‘Yes!’ I cried. ‘Go! Leave the Turholm, get as far away from here as you can. Vanish. Be safe,’ I finished softly.
He replied, ‘I’m safest if I stay here – and so are you.’
‘A bird with its wings clipped is hardly safe, Sepp. Say rather she’s earthbound, and the more vulnerable for it.’
‘Don’t.’ He silenced me with a glare. Agitation flushed his cheeks, and one hand grasped uselessly at the air between us, as if he wanted to grab my wrist but feared to. ‘He’ll kill you, if I leave,’ he ground out at last, with a minute shake of his head. ‘Don’t ask it of me.’
I grabbed his wavering hand and held it tight within my own, as if I could convey certainty and strength through touch. We’d grown up together, Sepp and I, and I recognised that shake of his head. He wasn’t telling me all he knew. Obviously Sidonius’s threat was more sinister than a simple promise to kill me.
‘The talaye can protect me against anything,’ I began.
‘No they can’t.’ Sepp sighed, peeling my fingers away and pulling his hand free. ‘Leave it, Tilde.’
‘Yes, Tilde,’ Sidonius said. ‘Leave it.’
I spun around. The general stood at the door, a dangerous gleam in his eye. A dark splash of blood across the shoulder of his tunic showed he had come straight from patrol. Hovering behind him was Renatas, his expression triumphant.
Sidonius had one hand gripped tight around the back of Roshi’s neck, and he propelled her into the room ahead of him.
She staggered and then turned on her heel, hand reaching for a blade that wasn’t there – he’d already removed it. Now he held it up, still sheathed.
Roshi growled, low in her throat, and I grabbed her elbow, stilling her before she could launch herself at him anyway.
‘Sedition in the ranks,’ Sidonius said.
‘Whatever she has done – ’ I began, but he cut me off.
‘Lady, a little dignity, please.’
‘A little civility, if you please,’ I returned. ‘My cousin is not a dog to be hauled around by the scruff of her neck.’
‘She is a spy, and I will give her more than a scruffing if I catch her at it again.’
‘You will do no such thing. If you have a problem, General, you will bring it to my attention. Roshi is my family and, as far as you’re concerned, that makes her inviolable.’
He gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Not even you are that, lady.’
‘I assure you, General, the past few months have left me in no doubt on that score,’ I said, meeting his derision with all the anger these last turbulent months had taught me. ‘You and I will work together far more profitably if you could refrain from issuing threats and dire warnings at every turn.’
His knuckles whitened around the haft of Roshi’s dagger. Cold fire raged in his eyes as he said, ‘You and I will work together far more profitably if you would accept your place.’
‘I am not in any doubt as to my place.’
‘Oh? I return from my patrol to find your little barbarian sneaking around, armed, no less – ’
‘Roshi is loyal to me – ’
‘Precisely!’ he roared, the force of his exclamation silencing both of us. He took a deep breath, straining for composure, though a raw edge still lurked in his voice as he continued. ‘She is loyal to you, armed, and furtively dogging my heels. It is not calculated to put a man at his ease, lady.’
I met his eye with every ounce of scorn and hatred I possessed. ‘If I wanted you dead, General, I would not send my handmaid to do it.’
Temper under control once more, he didn’t react, but anger still glittered in his eyes as he said, ‘And yet she spends all her time loitering around my suite, while you continue to refuse an Ilthean guard, and trust only your precious talaye to protect you. And now you are organising meetings with the drightens.’
‘What of it?’ I replied, calmly at least, if somewhat too brisk for nonchalance. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Renatas’s open smirk; the boy’s own skills at spying had obviously improved. ‘I must establish authority under my own name, not at the point of your sword. If I don’t, I am useless to us both.’
Sidonius wavered, too angry to yield, but snared by the logic of my words nonetheless.
‘You should get more sleep,’ I advised. ‘Paranoia is the sign of an overworked mind.’
He slammed a fist down onto a nearby table, the echoing crack making me jump. Scowling, he said, ‘I won’t tolerate sedition of any type, lady – and I won’t warn you again.’
His gaze shifted then, seeking out Sepp, who squeezed his eyes shut as if he wanted nothing more than to dissolve into the couch.
‘As for Sepp, he knows his duty,’ Sidonius went on. ‘It was one of the first things he learnt, in point of fact. So you can imagine my surprise at finding him here.’
Made bold by fury, I said, ‘I wouldn’t advise you to waste too much of your time on training him. He won’t be under your care much longer.’
‘How odd – I’ve made him that very promise myself.’
‘I don’t know what you’re playing at, Sidonius,’ I snapped. ‘Your aid in regaining the palace was invaluable – ’
‘Exactly,’ he said.
‘And I’ve acknowledged my intention to repay it,’ I continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. ‘If you think this gives you the right to rule my palace and my nation, I suggest you think again. Oath or no oath, General, there is only the one slave in this room, and that’s the man who claims he has no ties to the Turasi.’
Hold your tongue now, child, Grandmother scolded as I drew breath. A Duethin secure on her throne doesn’t need to fling insults.
Sidonius met my glare with a face of stone. In a voice as smooth as polished marble he said, ‘I suggest you consider your position with care, lady, before alienating those whose support you need most.’
‘Oh no, General. The aid is given, and the oath given in repayment. You are bound to me now, and you will not presume to order me about like a common thrall. You had your chance to take the throne, and you let it pass. You must now content yourself with trusting your choice – which means trusting me.’
‘You ask a lot, given the number of oaths you’ve broken to date,’ he said, his eyes flicking to my brow.
‘Not so much,’ I shot back, ‘considering you had the oath shadow-bound into me.’
‘Which worked so well for Dieter, didn’t it?’
‘All the more reason you should stop trying to turn me into your puppet, lest you share his fate.’
Sidonius sneered, ‘You mean to fight me with a dozen unarmed Skythemen?’
I didn’t flinch or hesitate. ‘I had less when Dieter held my reins.’
His sneer faded then, and he regarded me narrowly before saying, ‘It occurs to me, lady, your victory over my brother may have been more than a case of astounding luck, after all.’
A flash of anger made it hard to keep my tongue in check, but I managed. I would not give him the satisfaction of provoking me.
‘Unfortunately for you, you’ve overestimated your position,’ he went on. ‘You have no military strength, no political strength, and no control over the shadows. Only think – what can you do to bend me to your will?’
‘I can have Renatas killed.’
My words took all the air out of the room and Renatas took a step back, away from me and closer to Sidonius.
Foolish child. Do you want him to bury you in the cell next to Amalia’s?
Sidonius sprang forward, his broad hands seizing me by the neck and dragging me up until my toes barely scraped the carpets.
‘No!’ Sepp cried, leaping from his corner and slamming into Sidonius’s chest. The impact was slight, but it dislodged one of Sidonius’s hands. Planting himself in front of me, Sepp grabbed Sidonius’s other wrist, but he didn’t have the strength to break the general’s grip.
Sidonius ignored Sepp’s efforts, focused only on me.
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Sidonius said, fury bringing blood to his face.
‘I will if you give me reason,’ I said, forcing the words past the pressure of his hand.
As abruptly as he’d seized me, Sidonius released me.
Sepp, who had been pulling in vain at Sidonius’s arm, staggered. Sidonius gave Sepp a cruel smile. ‘Don’t worry, lad, my promise holds true: you’ll not outlive your precious Matilde.’
My blood ran cold then, at the thought of the torment Sepp must be enduring on a daily basis. But before I could protest, Sidonius turned to me.
‘Renatas is a member of the Ilthean imperial family,’ he said. ‘Harm him, and the emperor will see your nation destroyed, your people slaughtered and your lands sown with salt. Oath or no oath.’
The threat, frighteningly real, filled me with dread, but I could not let it show. Instead, I summoned up a smile as keen as a dagger and said, ‘Let’s hope you don’t give me reason, then. For both our sakes.’
He shrugged, as if the brief, hot flash of our altercation had never happened. ‘On your head be it,’ he said. ‘It matters naught to me how this nation falls into Ilthean hands. Only that it does.’
With a last poisonous glance at Roshi, he summoned Renatas and Sepp with a wave of his hand and turned to leave. In the doorway he paused and looked back. ‘Who knows? That earthen beast of Dieter’s might solve everybody’s problems soon enough.’
Strain for nonchalance as he might, his outburst could be neither forgotten nor denied. With the pleasant warmth of triumph in my belly to counteract the ache in my throat, I managed to keep my feet until the door closed behind him.
Then I sank onto the couch, my paltry stock of courage deflated, and tried not to think about the fact that, until Clay came to a decision, I was living on borrowed time.
THE GOLEM SAT , lost in thought, for days.
He occupied the upper courtyard, perched on the lip of the raised walkway which overshadowed the main yard. Cross-legged, elbows resting on his knees, gaze fixed on the stones twelve feet below him, he appeared turned to stone himself, so little did he move.
At first he made everyone nervous. The thralls and soldiers alike paused in their duties, gathering to watch. Any who chanced to pass him that first day would slow, head turning, posture one of alertness. But Clay did nothing, and eventually they drifted away.
Nervous in case his decision and subsequent action proved hostile, I ordered a guard posted around him, no less than half a dozen soldiers at all times.
The sun set with no change. Night brought darkness to cloak the golem; the soldiers countered it with a score of lanterns, setting the courtyard aglow.
Three more days he sat, while the sun rose and set, apparently tireless.
On the third day of the golem’s vigil, Achim at last returned from patrol. Intrigued, he set up his own vigil, sitting among the golem’s guard, watching and waiting. He was alone in his interest now, however; everybody else in the Turholm had grown accustomed to our golem gargoyle, crouched on the lip of the walkway, staring into the abyss of his thoughts. Paces hardly slowed as they passed him; he faded into the scenery.
Until he moved.
At sunset of the fourth day, Clay lifted his head, cricked his neck, and stood. It brought a thrall racing to my side with a warning that made my heart leap into my throat.
‘It’s heading this way, my lady.’
‘Send for more guards,’ Roshi ordered at once. ‘If the creature’s decided to follow Dieter’s orders after all, we’ll need as many men as we can get between us and it.’
A memory of the Skytheman cradling his broken wrist flashed before my eyes. Somehow, I didn’t think it would matter how many men stood in the way: Clay would wade implacably through them.
‘We need Achim,’ I said. The Amaeri was the only man who knew the secret of Clay’s making; if Clay meant to kill me, Achim was the only one who could stop him.
Roshi sent another thrall to the task with a nod, then turned to me. ‘Over here by the thralls’ door, Tilde. We don’t want you stranded with nowhere to run, if it comes to it.’
There was a swift scuffle as Roshi and my Skythe guard both tried to stand between me and the room at large. The Skytheman recoiled when he realised it was Roshi who stood so near, and she rewarded him with an expression more snarl than smile. She won: he contented himself with flanking my other side.
We didn’t have long to wait. Achim arrived first, having already started on his way to find me, knowing I was the golem’s destination. Roshi directed him to stand by the door, but she had no time to give further instructions. The reinforcements arrived at a run, Ilthean and Skythe intermingled in their haste. The thrall must have summoned half the garrison.
They had time for only the most rudimentary organisation before Clay’s broad shoulders filled the doorway. When he had taken two steps into the room, spears clashed in front of him, denying him further progress.
‘That’s far enough,’ one of the Ilthean soldiers said.
Clay blinked down at the weapons, flimsy in comparison to the power in his hands. Then his gaze sought me out, scarred cheeks and carved eyes impossible to read.
‘I would speak to the little queen,’ he said.
‘She can hear you from there,’ the soldier replied.
A frown gathered on Clay’s brow, and I worried he might resort to violence to make his point.
‘Tell me what you’ve decided, Clay,’ I said.
The curtains moved in a stray breeze as he scanned the room – assessing the soldiers’ strength and placement, perhaps? Or gauging their skill against his speed? His gaze passed over Achim, the one man in the room who could destroy him, without recognition.
By the time he looked back to me, sweat dewed the back of my knees and my mouth was as dry as the Amaeri deserts.
‘You have broken his hold on you,’ Clay said at last, his speech as ponderous as his thought patterns.
I nodded.
‘He lied,’ Clay said. ‘I will not die if I disobey.’
Caught between destroying his hard-won logic and lying about his mortality, I couldn’t speak.
‘I will not serve him,’ the golem said. ‘I will be free, like you.’
I breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and I wasn’t the only one who did so. By the door, Achim stood with his mouth hanging open.
Then Clay made to take another step forward, and immediately the soldiers tensed in readiness.
Confused, Clay mutely asked for my aid, and I made my decision.
‘Let him approach,’ I said.
To a man, the Iltheans and the Skythes alike hesitated.
‘Matilde, are you sure?’ Roshi asked.
I waved my hand, gesturing the soldiers to clear a path. ‘He’s not going to attack me. He’s cunning, but there’s no deceit in him.’
Unlike me. I pushed the uncomfortable thought aside and repeated with more force, ‘Let him approach.’
Reluctantly, the soldiers parted for him. Clay ignored them, loping down the aisle until he stood directly before me. He towered over me.
Looking sombrely down at me, he was silent for a moment. Then he dropped to one knee, the movement so swift it had more than one soldier lifting his sword in readiness.
‘You gave me my freedom,’ he said. ‘In return, I offer you the same thing.’
‘Freedom?’ I asked, puzzled.
‘My freedom,’ he corrected me.
‘You don’t have to do that, Clay,’ I said, strangely touched by the offer and the golem’s earnestness.
‘I want to,’ he said simply. ‘I will serve you.’
THAT EVENING, RENATAS played messenger and relayed an invitation that fell just short of an outright summons to Sidonius’s suite. Guessing that Clay’s new allegiance was playing on the general’s mind, and he wished to remind me again of his precious empire’s ascendancy, I hesitated over letting the golem accompany me. He was the strongest of my small cadre of guards, however, and dogged.
‘I will guard you,’ he said earnestly, when I suggested he remain behind, and I didn’t have the heart to refuse.
At least with Clay shadowing me, Renatas didn’t open his mouth once on the way to Sidonius’s rooms.
Sidonius greeted me perfunctorily, without rising from the velvet-covered lounge by the hearth. With a wave of his hand he directed me to sit opposite him. Renatas claimed a chair beside his hero.
In silence, I examined Sidonius’s alterations to the suite. The collapsible desk I remembered from his tent stood against the far wall, directly beneath a window which overlooked the hazel and walnut trees of the nuttery. All the traceries and tapestries and embroideries had been removed, leaving the walls bare and stark. He’d replaced them with a rack sporting at least a dozen swords, ranging in length from brutally barbed daggers to Ilthean stabbing swords. Only one of them was longer than a man’s arm.
‘Will you join me in a glass of wine?’ Sidonius asked.
He had Sepp pouring the wine, so I refused, and Sepp beat a hasty retreat to the corners of the room and obscurity.
‘The famous Clay,’ Sidonius said softly, watching the golem hovering behind my shoulder. ‘I’ve heard his strength is prodigious.’ Briskly, as if the matter were decided, he said, ‘There’s another patrol leaving tomorrow – Clay will ride with them.’
‘His place is with me,’ I said.
‘It wouldn’t be for long,’ Sidonius said, still brisk. ‘He’d chase Dieter down soon enough, and put an end to all this nonsense.’
‘But Clay’s presence here considerably lessens the burden on the talaye,’ I pointed out. ‘I am now protected at all times by one Skythe and one golem. You should be pleased – you’ve insisted often enough that I should have more than a single guard.’
He blew out an angry breath, and for a moment I was sure I had been too bold. If pushed, he need only claim the golem constituted necessary aid and use my vow to compel me into relinquishing the golem.
With a final irritated glance at Clay, however, he dropped the matter. For now.
After a sip of wine, he revealed the reason for my presence. ‘Amalia will be joining us shortly,’ he said. ‘I mean to have the truth out of her and, judging by her temper, I think her time in the dark should have seasoned her fears nicely.’
‘It’s more likely to have set her mind against you,’ I replied. ‘Honesty and stubbornness and spite make up the majority of her character.’
He gave me a strange look and said, ‘You would know, I suppose.’
His tone made me uneasy. Had he made his own visits to Amalia? What had she told him? My thoughts skittered away from the one night I’d spent in her company as more than sisters before his sharp eyes could catch the consciousness of it in my features. My hands wanted to be doing something, and I almost regretted refusing the wine. I’d not pour myself a glass, however, and nor would I summon Sepp to do it for me.
Amalia arrived, bringing with her a scent of cold stone and rust and rotting straw. She was wearing the same clothes she’d had on when Sidonius sent her to the cells. They, and she, were the worse for her spell in the dark. Clothes and skin and hair all bore a faint but unmistakable patina of grime and weariness. Black crescents scored the underside of her fingernails, and dark circles smudged her eyes. Perhaps the cell was too cold for sleeping, or perhaps she had indeed learnt fear in her time underground.
Sidonius gestured to one of the velvet-covered lounges. Loosening the tight folds of her wrap in the suite’s warmer air, Amalia sat, tossing her lank hair free of her face.
At a sign from Sidonius, a thrall turned and vanished through a doorway which had once been concealed behind a tapestry but now stood in plain view. Sidonius leant forward, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped in front of him.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked Amalia. ‘We were about to enjoy a meal of roast lamb and pumpkin pie.’
Had she had a meal to sustain her in the past days? It would have been plain fare, and not enough of it, if so.
‘The cost of dining with us is honesty,’ Sidonius added.
She swallowed. ‘I’ve given it to you already.’
Sidonius waited without comment as the scent of roast lamb drifted into the room. Amalia turned in her seat to watch the thralls carrying in the food, but still held silent.
At last, when all was set on the dining table but we’d made no move to eat, she relented.
‘You’ll have to ask specific questions,’ she said. ‘I’m not one of the mara, I can’t read your mind. I’m also hungry – don’t expect me to sit and drone on about whatever pops into my head in the ridiculous hope I’ll strike on what you want to hear.’
‘Efficiency,’ Sidonius said with a glint of amusement in his eyes. ‘You would have made a good Ilthean.’
‘I’d take Dieter’s charity again before I’d put a snake’s collar around my neck.’ She twisted her mouth in disdain. ‘If you mean to compliment me, try a comparison which is flattering, not repulsive.’
‘Your attitude could do with some adjustment,’ he returned calmly. ‘Not to mention your temper. We’re all hungry, however, so shall we continue this over the meal?’
In her haste to rise she inadvertently knocked the low table between them, nearly toppling Sidonius’s wine glass. But if she expected the food to be served before the questions, she was sorely disappointed. The thralls set only three places, for Sidonius, Renatas and I. Sidonius allowed her a goblet of ale, at least, no doubt in the hope of loosening her tongue and whetting her appetite rather than as a mark of kindness.
I didn’t have the heart to eat while Amalia watched in torment, but Sidonius and Renatas had no such qualms.
‘Let’s start with why you stayed,’ Sidonius said, pouring a generous serving of honey and cream over his slice of pumpkin pie.
Renatas took a mouthful and smacked his lips with relish. ‘For Turasi cooking, this is good,’ he said, watching Amalia keenly for her reaction.
Amalia stared at the food. ‘To punish Dieter,’ she said.
‘So you said. It’s not a particularly detailed answer, though, is it? How are you punishing him? By removing Renatas from his reach, I presume – but is there more to the plan? And why are you punishing him?’
Amalia shook her head, but there was no defiance in the gesture.
Sensing her imminent capitulation, Sidonius pressed; ‘He threatened Matilde, you said – but, remarkably adept at inspiring devotion as the lady is, if she were your sole reason you would have openly chosen her side.’
His reasoning was faulty, I thought. True, Amalia had rejected me a breath after citing me as her motivation for turning from Dieter, but her emotions had been running high at the time. The response could well have been nothing more than an instinct to recant.
‘So, if it wasn’t Matilde, or only Matilde, that triggered such disloyalty . . . there must have been something more,’ Sidonius said and, flawed as his approach seemed, the conclusion struck me as sound enough. ‘I want to know what that something more is.’
Amalia took a gulp of ale. ‘He lied,’ she spat, and fixed me with an angry look, as if I was also at fault. ‘He promised to restore the Beneduin faith, but weeks passed, and he did nothing.’ Whether it was the ale or the anger that had gone to her head, I couldn’t tell, but once started, she didn’t stop. ‘He had to keep an eye on Matilde, he said; she was a double-edged sword, he said. I didn’t agree. She was what she’d always been: weak, and easily manipulated. Oh, she had her way in the end, but it took months. Months during which he did nothing, months of claiming the political situation was too delicate. He told me to be patient, but really he meant I should give up. It just took me some time to understand him,’ she finished bitterly.
Something about her conviction rang false, prompting me to say dubiously, ‘So because he didn’t immediately convert the nation to your faith, you punished him by smuggling Renatas away from him.’
‘He respects politics more than he does the presters,’ Amalia said defensively. ‘A political punishment seemed fitting.’
Her words and manner gave me the final clue. She was spirited enough on the topic of faith, but it wasn’t Dieter’s failure to reinstate the religion of their tribe that hurt her. It was that he had chosen politics – the other tribes, the Turasi nation, even me – over that religion. Over her. He’d lied, she said, and whether she recognised it or not, what she meant was he’d put aside her, and what was important to her, in favour of other factors.
I had no chance to pursue the notion, however, for Sidonius had the air of a hound on the scent. His meal forgotten, he demanded, ‘Who did he promise?’
‘What?’ said Amalia.
‘You said he promised to restore the Beneduin faith – to whom did he make the promise?’
‘To . . . the presters, I suppose,’ Amalia said slowly, groping through memories. Her hesitancy made me wonder whether Dieter had ever made such a promise at all. Then she lit onto the familiar ground of theology, and with more conviction she added, ‘He is the child of Gunde, the Raven, the last Duethin to carry that name and with it the responsibility of presiding over the church as well as the drightens. It is his duty to return the tribes to the true faith.’
‘And if that faith were restored?’ Sidonius asked, lightly enough and yet he seemed intent on her answer.
‘That’s not going to happen,’ I warned him, pushing my plate away.
Still focused on Amalia, Sidonius paid me no heed. ‘Dieter is already Beneduin,’ he said, and his silken tone made me uneasy. ‘And already answerable to Beneduin laws.’
Amalia was apparently as unable as I to discern the direction of Sidonius’s thoughts. A frown pinched her brow, heightening her resemblance to Sidonius, who frowned almost continuously, even when in a good humour.
‘Yes,’ she admitted.
Holding his wineglass by the stem, Sidonius twirled it in his fingers. The dark fluid threw off red glints as it spun in the glass. ‘I think, to have the thorn that is Dieter drawn out, I could see my way to restoring the Beneduin faith to its former glory, despite Matilde’s objections. There is room in the empire for all pantheons, after all. But first, Amalia, you must tell me: what will you do for me?’
Pinned by his pale gaze, she looked all of a sudden nervous.
I struggled to understand. Given her beliefs, surely this was what she wanted? Why should Sidonius’s offer make her wary?
Belatedly, I realised why Sidonius’s sudden interest in the Beneduin faith made me uneasy. He had been raised to it as a child; he knew its intricacies already. Which meant he was planning to use one of those intricacies to ensnare at least Dieter, and perhaps me as well.
‘Will you summon the presters for me, Amalia?’ Sidonius prompted.
She swallowed, and in a low voice said, ‘If he repents . . .’
‘Then there is no danger,’ Sidonius answered, too promptly. ‘You’ll get what you want, the true faith restored, and your brother returned to the temple’s forgiving fold. I ask only that your presters ensure Dieter never troubles us again.’
‘Wait,’ I said, but it was already too late.
‘Yes,’ Amalia said, the utterance as weak as if that single syllable had sapped all her strength.
‘Done!’ Sidonius cried, triumph lighting up his face.
‘Wait,’ I said again. ‘What if he doesn’t repent?’
Sidonius’s eyes gleamed, and he lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug which tilted his wineglass alarmingly.
‘He will,’ Amalia said, although she seemed uneasy.
‘But if he doesn’t?’ I pressed.
‘Commination.’ Sidonius supplied the answer cheerfully. ‘Hardly an alarming outcome.’
Amalia, however, squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Once Beneduin, always Beneduin,’ she said. ‘For a serious crime, or for those whose faith is too weak to repent, they will . . .’ she faltered, then finished in a strained whisper, ‘they will send him through the veil with a marked heart.’
Sidonius sat back in his chair and said with obvious satisfaction, ‘They’ll burn the raven into his heart, and send him back to the shadows.’
What little I had eaten turned to lead in my belly. I didn’t precisely want Dieter around, always a threat to my peace of mind at best, and my throne at worst. The man was charismatic, and he gathered power with dangerous speed. In truth, I couldn’t afford to let him live. But I certainly didn’t want to see his heart drawn from his chest and carved like sacrificial meat.
Welcome to the throne, Grandmother said.
For the first time in my life, I wondered what emotions and deeds she’d hidden behind her oak-hard face and her steely voice.
Live long enough, and you’ll find your own way of hiding, she said. Deeds and heart both.
I shivered. The movement caught Sidonius’s eye, and he laughed. ‘What’s the matter, lady? I hope your stomach is not too weak for the task at hand.’
Amalia flinched, and I pushed from my seat and stood, a surge of anger conquering my queasiness. ‘Damn you and your impulses, Mali! If you’d stopped to think, even once, you’d have known there was no way Dieter would come out of this unharmed!’
Are you angry with her, child, or yourself?
‘What else could I do?’ she cried, the fire in her voice a match for mine. ‘Sidonius is the one in charge, not you – you couldn’t even have a single door unlocked in your own palace! Besides,’ she added with a quaver, ‘he’ll repent. He has to. He’s not a fool.’
‘Remember that, Mali, when you sleep in a warm bed instead of a cell this night.’
I LEFT AMALIA staring at her food, her appetite seemingly lost. Sidonius was sipping at his wine, well content with the evening’s outcome.
Agitated and angry, I stalked the corridors, acutely conscious that the tangle I must unravel was growing ever more delicate and difficult.
Amalia’s impulsive passions had not only trapped her, they had given Sidonius another hostage he could use to control me. If I tried to protect her, he would know any pain inflicted on her made me vulnerable as well, and he would use her as cruelly and ruthlessly as he now used Sepp. For Mali’s sake, as well as my own, I had to pretend she was his ally.
Which meant I had to find a way to stop her sending for the Beneduin presters, or stop the presters from arriving, without either Mali or Sidonius knowing.
I mulled over the problem while I made my way back to my suite, Clay and the Skythe pacing in my wake, but by the time I reached my doors I was no nearer a solution.
To my surprise, I found Achim ensconced in my sitting room, in conversation with Roshi. The Skythe girl did not find him so irksome as I did – probably because she wasn’t bound by his shadows. Increasingly of late, the closer I stood to Achim, the more I felt my skin tightening, as if bands of air might once more close around me at his whim. It was an aversion not to the man himself but to what he represented: my thrice-damned vow; the shadows; and my resolution to learn more of them despite my wish to the contrary. Reluctant or not, however, this time I would not let him escape without a proper lesson. This time, I would bind him to me, whether he liked it or not.
Achim watched as the golem took up position just inside the door. Roshi scrambled to her feet as I entered, knowing I would want her back at Sepp’s side.
I caught her arm as she passed, and in a voice barely loud enough to carry I said, ‘Keep an eye on Mali as well, if you can. She’s made a fool’s bargain this night.’
There was no sign from Achim that he had overheard; he was still studying Clay’s impassive features. The golem paid him no heed, instead scanning the room as if assassins lurked behind every stick of furniture.
Roshi nodded, and turned once more for the door. The Skythe on guard in the corridor stared into the distance as she passed him, not even granting her the dignity of acknowledgement. Briefly, I considered ordering the talaye to treat Roshi with more respect, but reluctantly discarded the idea. It might well make things worse.
Achim made no move to rise, instead turning his gaze on me as if waiting for me to take my place before him. His eyes flicked over my shoulder, worried perhaps about Ilthean ears outside my doors, and then flicked once more to Clay.
I crossed to the hearth and its circle of warmth. ‘You promised to seek me out the moment you returned,’ I said mildly. ‘I expected another lesson last night at the latest.’
‘Yesterday was tiring,’ the Amaeri replied. Again he looked at Clay for a moment. ‘And there have been distractions since then, or I would have come to you sooner.’
‘Of course,’ I said dryly.
‘I have been waiting at least an hour tonight,’ he added, as if that made him true to his word.
I let ice edge my words as I responded. ‘Perhaps you have returned to me now because Dieter proved more difficult to run down than you expected.’
The briefest flicker lit his dark eyes.
‘You know the marks I bear,’ I said. ‘You and Dieter are the only men capable of altering them, and I saw your surprise when you noticed the change. It was not your doing.’
He sucked on his teeth and I let the moment stretch and the silence do its work.
‘You’re right,’ he admitted, with a speculative look I could not interpret. ‘It was not my doing.’
‘You suspect Dieter,’ I said, lighter and calmer than I felt. The exhilaration of the hunt sang in my veins as I led the conversation towards the bargain I needed. ‘You think he and I are still linked. You think I can lead you to him.’
At last he showed the first chink in his armour. In clipped tones he said, ‘You forget I have an agreement with the General. He has promised to hand Dieter over to my people.’
‘Yet here you sit.’
He didn’t respond.
The General is the key, Grandmother worried. While Achim trusts that serpent, he sees no benefit in your aid.
I had an answer ready for that, however – and I’d already dangled the bait. Now it was time to twitch the lure.
‘You could have waited until tomorrow,’ I said, watching him carefully, waiting for the wariness to resolve into a decision. ‘You came to me tonight, and waited for my return, because you are true to your word – but Sidonius isn’t, not always. You doubt him. He has what he needed, after all, and the longer you must wait for him to deliver Dieter, the less likely it is he’ll bother. Dieter was an obstacle, before – now he’s no more than an annoyance.’
The fire cracked and spat in the hearth; a popping log sent up a shower of sparks which made him blink.
At last he spoke in a subdued voice. ‘A fool’s bargain, you said.’
I fought back an urge to grin, and said only, ‘You have sharp ears.’
He tilted his head to the side in a gesture part acknowledgement, part encouragement to continue.
‘Let’s just say it also revolved around Dieter,’ I obliged. ‘I can’t say which bargain Sidonius will honour, yours or Amalia’s, but he won’t be able to honour both.’
Achim balled his right hand into a fist. ‘He means to renege on his bargain with me?’
I shrugged. ‘He means to ensure Dieter is never again a threat. In my experience, the Iltheans are fonder of a final solution, than a scrupulous one.’
That was the moment when the uncertainty in Achim’s ink-stained eyes gave way to a smoulder of anger, and Grandmother let out an undignified cry of triumph that I sorely wanted to echo. Instead, I said evenly, ‘If you want to use me to get to Dieter, you’ll have a better chance of success if you’re forthright.’
‘So Roshi claimed.’
‘You should have believed her,’ I said, hiding my surprise as I crossed to a couch and sat. ‘So, now you are practising honesty, tell me true: what punishment is Dieter like to receive at your people’s hands?’
He didn’t answer, although I could see the thoughts flitting behind his gaze, forming and dissolving by turns.
‘You’ve never told me what he did to earn your enmity,’ I pressed. ‘Perhaps if you start there, the rest will come easier.’
He moistened his dry lips with a pale tongue, and shook his head.
‘Fine.’ Needled despite my best efforts, my tone was short. ‘I don’t care about the details. The punishment is another matter, however. Tell me.’
‘I cannot tell you his fate without implying his crime,’ Achim said.
With an effort, I quelled a flash of irritation and an instinctive response to snap at him. The shade of unfamiliar customs stood between us, invisible but still tangible. Forcing myself to calmness, I said, ‘And you cannot tell me his crime because . . . ?’
‘He has not been convicted of it,’ Achim said. ‘Yet.’
This was as bad as a conversation with Roshi at her most inscrutable. I could feel a faint but persistent throb building in my temples.
‘Come, Achim, how many leagues and days have you chased him now? Don’t tell me you’re not convinced of his guilt.’
‘But I am no judge. Until he has faced his accusers, I cannot malign his character.’
‘Tell me this much, then: if he’s convicted, will the punishment mean his death?’
Achim hesitated. ‘There will be no execution,’ he said at last. ‘Although making amends may well claim the rest of his life.’
I leant back against the couch’s soft cushions, relieved at having gained so little. Yet it was enough. Gone was the uneasiness which had plagued me since Sidonius’s talk of marking Dieter’s heart. I’d caught up with my instinct now; I knew what I wanted to do.
Have a care, Grandmother said. The southern serpent’s plan might be more brutal, but it will most certainly be more effective.
Achim, meanwhile, was studying me with a troubled frown, puzzled by my apparently tender heart.
Let him think what he would. I’d seen enough killing over the throne in my lifetime. I’d not add to the carnage, not if I didn’t need to.
‘Very well, Amaeri,’ I said. ‘Teach me of the shadows, and I will give you Dieter.’
Inexplicably, he hesitated. ‘I cannot set aside my scruples, my lady,’ he said, foreboding dark in his eyes. ‘I have vowed not to harm a life. If you are not willing to take the same vow, I can teach you nothing you might put to a deathly use.’
He had refused me once on that ground, but I would not accept such treatment now. Lifting a disdainful brow, I let my anger show as I said, ‘Oh, I’ve seen the benefits of your vow. There are men dead in the ground who’ve experienced the benefits of your vow.’
Puzzlement stole across his features, but I gave him no chance to interrupt.
‘You did naught to stop the troop of golems Dieter unleashed to defend the walls,’ I said. ‘How many Ilthean soldiers died because you would not raise your hand?’
His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest, but I was not finished yet.
‘You aided Sidonius in his conquest of the Turholm, building him a bridge to breach the walls. How many Turasi died because of that conflict? How many more would have died when you finished your bridge? Tell me, Achim, what other lives have you claimed in your quest to capture Dieter?’
He flinched, but could find no answer.
‘What I choose to do with what I learn from you is not your responsibility,’ I said firmly.
He grimaced, then jerked out a nod. In a voice urgent and hard he said, ‘Then take your place, my lady, and I will teach you the shadows, so you may be free of the empire builders. In return, you will see Dieter delivered to the Amaeri.’
‘And this time, you will teach me without evasion or omission,’ I said. ‘You will teach me everything you know that might help me counter Dieter’s knowledge.’
Grandmother radiated disapproval, but I ignored her. Dieter had changed the rules of the game long ago, and if I did not meet the challenge I would not be able to hold the throne.
‘And you will not speak of our lessons to anyone,’ I added. It was dangerous, letting him know I could not afford others to learn of my skills, but unavoidable. ‘Surprise may be my best advantage, and I will not risk Dieter finding out.’
He regarded me askance and said, ‘The visions will still take you. They will grow more frequent, and more powerful, from the moment you turn to the shadows.’
Fear breathed ice down my spine at the prospect. Hiding the visions had been difficult enough when Grandmother ruled, sparing me exposure to the public eye. As Duethin in my own right, if Achim spoke true, it could prove impossible.
‘Then the first thing you teach me will be how to suppress them,’ I said.
A smile flashed across his face and, dark eyes burning in their stained sockets, he said, ‘Oh, you will prove adept, lady. The shadows have touched you, it cannot be denied – ’
‘Anything can be denied, if necessary,’ I cut him off. With a derisive shake of my head I said, ‘Shadow-workers. You all think your hexes and arcana are the crucial factor, perhaps even the only factor. But do you know what won the throne for Dieter, and what won it back for me? Wits, backed by strong arms with swords willing to spill blood.’
He pointed to my brow and the marks they bore, and said, ‘Until death release me.’
Anger flashed through me at the reminder of both Dieter’s and Sidonius’s power over me. My fingers rose to the brand of their own accord. Turning away, I said hollowly, ‘Ink stains will make no difference in this conflict.’
WE STARTED THAT very night.
‘The first step in suppressing your visions is recognising the signs of one,’ Achim said.
With the new bargain between us, I could risk the honesty I hadn’t dared before. So, uncomfortable as it made me to speak openly of such things, I answered promptly.
‘They take me when I touch something,’ I said. After years of watching apprehensively for an oncoming vision, I knew what triggered them. ‘It can be anything – a scrap of clothing, a pail of water in the kitchen, ashes in the hearth, the doorframe. There’s a kind of clammy tingling in my nerve endings, and everything starts to feel like it’s twisting – although by then it’s usually too late to avoid them.’
Achim mused on this a moment. ‘You have been suppressing them of your own accord,’ he decided. ‘And it is only the strongest visions that overcome your instinctive habits. Perhaps the best approach, in this instance, is to teach you how to summon a vision. Then you will remember the subtler signs, the signs that give you warning, and time to refuse the vision. Once you have gained some conscious control of your powers, you will be able to turn them aside as you desire.’
As he had done once before, he had me close my eyes and concentrate on finding what he called the quiet place within. It was the point of connection to the mechaiah, or the maker.
‘What maker?’ I interrupted, my eyes popping open. ‘My parents?’
‘Not your parents, your maker – the maker of all life,’ he said, sudden frustration edging his voice. Casting about for an example, his spied Clay and he said, ‘Dieter created Clay from earth and his own anima, therefore he is the golem’s mechaiah. In the same fashion you, my lady, were not created from nothing. Your parents gave you material life, but it took a divine being to give you the spark that we call the soul. That being is the mechaiah.’
I considered this in silence for a moment. My people sprang from Turas, the first man, and each tribe claimed descent from one of Turas’s nine daughters. The history did not align perfectly with Achim’s explanation of the mechaiah, but neither could I think of a better fit. So I closed my eyes and pictured the smallest kernel of myself, sleeping deep within, which carried the thread of my ancestry, a thread leading all the way back to the shieldmaiden Suebe, founder of my tribe, and through her to Turas.
‘Think of a time when a vision took you. Remember what it was that triggered the vision, think in detail of the sensation of that vision arising and sweeping over you . . .’
His voice was low and hypnotic, and I let it wash over me as I remembered the night I stood on the open plains, under a sky afire with stars. Spices and smoke from the cooking fires flavoured the air, and my Skythe grandmother slipped a red woollen dress over my head.
‘Let those same sensations overtake you now,’ Achim went on. ‘Invite them, summon them, surrender to them.’
The touch of the dress that night had turned the torches into fire-capped spears, dazzling and confusing me, and brought forth the sound of thrumming hooves. But no matter how I concentrated, no matter how many details I summoned, the vision and its power remained only a memory.
At last I opened my eyes, defeated. ‘It’s not working.’
‘You have many years of habit and suppression to overcome,’ he said. ‘It will not be easy. Once more.’
Again and again I tried, sometimes listening to his voice and sometimes remembering Roshi’s scant teachings, but nothing worked. He had me touch the bare stone of the floor and concentrate on finding my connection to it, that thin thread of kinship that the shadows granted me; but the stone, cold and gritty beneath my palm, remained inert. He had me put my hand on Clay’s skin, in the hopes that touching a shadow-wrought creature might spark a response from my talents, but to no avail.
Finally, when the hearth fire had grown old and the lanterns were guttering in their sconces, even Achim admitted defeat. ‘We both need rest,’ he said. ‘You will do better next time.’
‘Wait,’ I said, stopping him before he could rise. If I could not conquer the shadows, I must rely on wits and politics to save me. ‘Before you go, tell me of Sepp. To bind him, Sidonius has threatened him – or, rather, threatened to kill me.’
Achim cocked his head to the side, but said nothing.
‘I have offered him freedom, but he stays,’ I went on. The memory of him pulling away from my touch, and the flat way he had said Leave it, Tilde, made me cold. ‘He is a changed creature. I have known him all my life, and I know this: he does not fear lightly. I think whatever threat Sidonius made, it has something to do with the shadows.’
‘He has not asked anything of me in regards to the boy,’ Achim said.
‘Can Sidonius work the shadows?’ I asked. The thought was a terrifying one.
Achim shook his head. ‘No. If anything, he fears them. He respects them, yes, but he fears them more. You asked before about my hold over him, about how I could refuse his orders – it is because I know how to wield the shadows that I can do so.’
He paused, seemingly amused. ‘He is frightened to confront me, frightened of what I might do in retaliation,’ he said, as if it were a fine joke. ‘He does not understand the depth of my vow not to harm a life. Those who do not respect life cannot understand those of us who do.’
My answering look banished his smile; after all, barely hours ago I had shown him just how superficial was his avowed respect for life.
‘I cannot tell you what the boy fears,’ Achim said, clearing his throat. ‘One thing is sure, though, lady: if the general thinks he can hurt you, he is probably right. He is not a man to miscalculate.’
I shivered involuntarily. To hide the moment’s weakness I said, ‘It is a good thing, then, that I am not unprotected.’
‘Yes,’ Achim agreed, his gaze drawn back to Clay. ‘A golem who turned away from his mechaiah, and offered his allegiance elsewhere. If I hadn’t witnessed it myself, I would not have credited it. Did you know the Ilthean soldiers are calling you Cyrilla among themselves? It means ‘little Cyria’; she is the Ilthean goddess of war and wisdom, able to turn a man to stone with a single glance. The girl who conquered the golem, and thus bewitched the Ilthean army,’ he mused. ‘Nations have been conquered by less.’
Uncomfortable with both the epithet and Achim’s fascination, I said quickly, ‘I didn’t conquer him.’
‘She freed me,’ Clay corrected, and Achim blinked. Perhaps, in Amaer, golems did not speak out of turn.
‘But is it free will . . . ?’ he murmured to himself. He turned to me. ‘My lady, the creature was fashioned by Dieter, and Dieter remains his mechaiah, it is true. But by his own volition he belongs now to you. I ask you now to give him to me.’
‘What? Give him – ?’ I broke off, marshalling my thoughts. ‘He is not an object to be handed over.’
‘But you possess his allegiance. And it is in your power to assign that to me.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘He is apparently exhibiting free will,’ Achim said simply. ‘To my knowledge, a golem has never done this before. Perhaps it is because he was not fashioned by one of the Amaeri, and has not been taught the extent of his binding.’
By the door, a ponderous frown crossed Clay’s brow, and I avoided his questioning gaze.
‘Nonetheless, I would like to find out how this has come about,’ Achim continued.
‘You have my permission to question him, if that is what you mean,’ I said slowly, but Achim frowned, and tugged at the golden ring which pierced his septum.
‘Questions will not tell me all I need to know,’ he began, and I understood then his true intention.
‘You want to experiment on him!’ I cried, aghast.
He met my horror with equanimity. ‘I would not erase the crucial mark,’ he promised.
‘No!’
‘He does not feel pain,’ Achim assured me. ‘Not as you and I do.’
‘You may leave now,’ I said coldly. ‘And you will never ask this of me again.’
With a last disappointed glance at Clay, the shadow-worker bowed and turned away.
As the door shut behind him I crossed my arms over my chest, nauseated by the shadow-worker’s disregard for the golem’s wellbeing. Dieter had been swift to act, and ruthless, but I never doubted he foresaw all the consequences of any action, weighing them against his own ends, before he undertook anything. Achim, however, proclaimed the sanctity of life and yet could discuss conducting experiments on a living being without qualm.
A shake of my head dismissed the dangerous comparison. For all I knew, Dieter’s ‘misdeeds’ in Amaer had been similarly reprehensible. It wouldn’t do to start thinking of my husband as virtuous just because he wasn’t here to keep his memory tarnished.
WHETHER BECAUSE OF our argument over Clay, Achim’s teaching style, the habits of a lifetime, or some combination of all these reasons, my lessons with Achim did not progress quickly.
We met the next morning in the kitchen gardens. Uncomfortable with the idea of putting Clay in harm’s way, I sent the golem to the dovecote to see if Sigi had any messages for me, with instructions not to return to my side unless Achim had already left.
The gardens were blessedly quiet, not a soul in sight except for the Skytheman trailing watchful in my wake. Achim arrived with new strategies for my learning, but none of them proved any more successful than my previous attempts. It seemed nineteen years of suppression could not be undone in the space of a day. Unable to spend too long in Achim’s company without Sidonius becoming suspicious, the shadow-worker left my side as frustrated as he had the night before.
Roshi took his place, but the news she brought me was troubling: Sidonius’s scouts reported that Dieter’s numbers were building, and Sidonius had mentioned again the benefit Clay would provide in the field. The drightens’ armies were arriving – and Dieter was corralling them all, regardless of their lords’ fealty. I held the throne and the Turholm, but Dieter commanded the nation’s manpower.
Equally troubling, although of a different nature, was Roshi’s mood. Exile from her kin weighed heavily on her, smudging her eyes with shadows, making her irritable and snappish. In her loneliness she had even forged a friendship of sorts with Amalia, although it did not seem to improve her temper at all.
A thin, mild breeze tickled my face and whispered of happier times. Or at least less turbulent times, when those who strode the Turholm’s corridors didn’t bristle with weapons, when the political manoeuvring was all conducted out of my sight.
I sucked in a breath of air rich with scents. Closest to me I could pick out coriander, the fresh green of parsley, and the piquant liquorice aroma of fennel. They all sat heavy in the air, as if the sky was pushing down on them – rain was on its way.
Still moist after a night’s dew, the clover yielded beneath my feet, its softness soothing. At the clover’s far perimeter, a knee-high wooden railing marked off the small copse which crouched along the wall and surrounded the beehives. I made for its cool darkness instinctively.
The bees were quiet this morning, preferring their hives to the air, which was still and breathless here under the trees. Scattered throughout the copse, the hollowed trunks and round baskets of woven straw that served as hives all emitted a low hum, the song of millions of thrumming wings.
I turned to walk the length of the wall. Off to my left, the beech leaves shifted in the breeze.
I froze mid-step, heart tight with the awareness that no breeze moved the air.
All was quiet, however.
It must have been the Skytheman, I reasoned, turning to check his position.
A swish of leaves and creak of boughs drew my attention upwards – just as a man dropped down towards me, the bright silver blade in his hand carving a sunlit arc through the sky.
Instinct sent me sideways. My shoulder hit the ground first, hard, and I rolled across cold earth studded with roots and rocks.
Skirts tangling around my ankles, I scrabbled upright to a vista of gnarled trunks crowded before a wooden wall; a handful of pale-winged moths strained at the air like leaves in a gust.
I was facing the wrong way.
A whisper-quiet footfall behind me was my only warning. I spun, and found myself in reach of the attacker’s knife-hand.
He flashed his teeth in an expression half-grimace, half-triumph and sprang.
Stumbling backwards, my heel snagged on a tree root and the world tilted up, slamming into my back and driving the breath from my lungs.
My fall spoiled his aim; his knife slipped past my head and drove into the ground, tearing through the wiry grass and stabbing deep into the soil. He landed on me a heartbeat later, his free hand driving into my shoulder and his knees pincering my waist.
Planting his free hand around my throat to hold me, he yanked at his knife, freeing it from the earth in a single pull that set the blade to singing.
He’d left my arms free, and I drove my hand down between his legs until I felt tender flesh under my fingers, and squeezed.
The knife paused in midair as he made a strange, guttural sound. I still lay pinned beneath his weight, however.
‘How about you drop the knife,’ I said, with more confidence than I felt, ‘and we can discuss this reasonably.’
He snarled, and tightened his fingers on the knife’s hilt, then raised his arm, ready to drive home the blade. My mouth dry, I waited for the blow, but suddenly his eyes opened wide, and his fingers twitched on the blade’s hilt. His tongue slipped from his mouth and a long strand of blood followed, snaking down between us to drop, hot and wet, upon my bodice.
The knife slipped from the assassin’s nerveless grip, missing my ear by inches, inexpertly slicing off a hank of hair as it hit the ground.
The Skythe hauled the assassin off me, and held out a hand to help me up.
‘Clever,’ he said, as I struggled upright. ‘And not. You made him angry.’
I said, ‘I’ll take a note of that, for future encounters.’
He didn’t speak the Turasi tongue well enough to see the humour in my words, or perhaps he simply didn’t find me particularly funny.
He stooped to retrieve his knife from the assassin’s back, pulling it free of the flesh with a sickening, sucking sound. After wiping it clean on a handful of leaves he slipped it back into the sheath strapped to his forearm. His sleeve fell back down, hiding the knife from view. A corpse would certainly give the lie to the idea that the talaye were unarmed, however.
‘You would like to be clean,’ he said, noting my blood-soaked bodice.
‘Yes, I would,’ I said, but I didn’t move. I was still staring at the corpse. ‘We’ll have to do something with . . . this, though. It’s a pity he’s dead, we could’ve questioned him.’
‘You wish I had not killed him?’ he asked.
‘No.’ A brush with death had a way of making one honest. ‘He probably knew little enough, anyway. If anyone asks, you wrested his knife from him and killed him with it. Can you carry him?’
I half expected some argument, but he merely hoisted the assassin over his shoulder and picked up the fallen blade from where it lay among a litter of leaves and furrowed earth and one of my severed plaits. The frayed ends of hair tickled at my neck.
I made for the closest entrance to the palace, making a mental inventory of what I needed: bathwater, Roshi, the drightens. The Skythe warrior walked close behind, carrying the corpse and alert to further danger.
The door I chose opened directly into the thralls’ runs, the network of unobtrusive corridors servicing the Turholm. Within a dozen paces we met a young boy carrying a load of dirty dishes back towards the kitchens. He drank in the sight of me, the Skytheman and the corpse with incredulity.
‘Fetch me a tub and bathwater, faster in preference to hotter, do you understand?’
The boy nodded.
‘Good. After you’ve done that, find Roshi. Tell her she is to fetch the drightens to the hall of thrones. Discreetly.’
I didn’t wait for his acknowledgement. There was no point in ordering the boy to silence: even if he intended to obey, having seen a corpse would slip out despite his best intentions. If I was fast, however, and lucky, I might have time.
My wash was quick, made more so by the corpse lying on the floor beside me, but thorough enough to redden my skin. Clean clothes completed the transformation; a gown of grey cloth sewn with silver thread and embroidered with pink pearls across the bodice, teamed with slippers of black and grey satin, gave me a suitably regal bearing. I was ready to greet my loyal warlords.
TO KEP THE corpse out of sight and to keep ahead of the rumours, I once again chose to use the thralls’ runs. The Skythe stepped quick in my wake, the corpse draped over his shoulder. I now had a second guard at my back, too, an Ilthean soldier who had spied the corpse when he arrived with the bathwater. Word would be slower to reach Sidonius if I kept the soldier near at hand.
Three of the four drightens currently residing in the Turholm were already waiting in the hall of thrones. They turned at the sound of my arrival, Maja curious, Krimhilde with a frown, and her twin brother Merten seemingly uninterested. Rein’s absence worried me, but for the moment I let it pass unremarked.
Krimhilde took two quick steps forward, and in a quick and angry voice she said, ‘We’re here, as commanded – although I don’t see what could be so important as to summon us like common thralls – ’
She broke off as the Skytheman entered behind me. Stepping past me and crossing to the middle of the floor, he unshouldered the corpse and dropped it to the stone floor with an echoing thud.
The drightens stared down at my attacker, and I watched them.
Beyond a single blink, Maja betrayed nothing. Krimhilde lifted a wide-eyed look to her brother, who met it with a tiny shake of his head.
‘Here’s a pretty problem,’ Maja said, stepping close enough to toe the corpse’s shoulder. His arm, which had fallen so as to partially obscure his face, flopped to the ground. ‘I presume there was no chance to question him.’
Her shrewd gaze catalogued both my attire and the Skythe’s. Some blood had stained the cuff of one of his sleeves, but he was otherwise clean.
‘Your guards are swift,’ she said. ‘There’s not a spot of blood on you.’
I didn’t correct her, but I didn’t think her fooled.
Krimhilde licked her lips, and dragged her eyes from the corpse. When she spoke, however, her voice was far from nervous. ‘Did we pass? Our reactions, I mean,’ she went on, without waiting for an answer. Her lip curled. ‘As if the three of us were your only enemies.’
Merten laughed on cue, a derisive bray which echoed off the stone walls.
‘Yes, it is droll, isn’t it?’ My acid tone cut through his laughter. ‘The Turasi propensity to dabble at a double game amuses me immensely. I quite often sit and think of little else. Lately I’ve entertained myself by devising suitable punishments for those I find acting false to their oath.’
The air crackled with tension. Confidence in my authority was one thing, making threats quite another – particularly when my power relied in large part on the drightens’ loyalty.
A faint rosy hue coloured Maja’s cheeks, but she held her tongue. Krimhilde and Merten were not so cautious.
Setting one hand to her hip, Krimhilde glared at me. ‘What do you plan?’ she demanded. ‘To hang us if we displease you? You know, I’d almost like to see you try!’
‘Take care, Lady Matilde,’ Merten said. ‘We respond ill to threats from blood traitors.’
An itch started between my shoulder blades, but I answered Krimhilde’s question as if her brother hadn’t interrupted.
‘I don’t propose to hang anybody. That would merely put a child in charge of your House, and one ill-disposed towards me at that. I was thinking more along the lines of dispossessing your House of its lands and titles.’
Merten’s mouth fell open.
‘You wouldn’t,’ Krimhilde whispered, disbelief making her falter.
‘I rather think she might,’ Maja said, the faintest trace of a smile on her lips.
Merten found his voice at last, and blustered, ‘The tribes choose their own ruling House – you’ve no right to interfere!’
‘No House has ever been dispossessed of its rightful holdings or position!’ Krimhilde said swiftly.
‘No, they’ve simply been hanged, which gives rise to all kinds of foolishness, like blood feuds – and a nation more likely to ally with foreigners than each other.’
My tone silenced them as effectively as a clap of thunder in a blue summer sky.
‘What do you think made it so easy for the serpents to march their army through league upon league of our lands, with little to no warning? Why do you think our borders shrink, every year, before their onslaught? We are so fractious we cannot stand together, even to hold our own. No more.
‘Don’t worry,’ I added as Merten opened his mouth to protest yet again, ‘the tribe will still choose its ruling House, I won’t interfere with that. But any House playing a double game for individual gain at the nation’s expense will be found guilty of treason, and stripped of rights, holdings, and even freedom if I think it appropriate. Then, Lady Krimhilde, you might find out precisely what it’s like to be summoned like a common thrall.’
Her cheeks blanched but she rallied admirably. ‘A radical idea,’ she said, ‘and a strong Duethin might even implement it successfully. I admire your ambition, but I question both your ability and your reach. Without us, you have no army, and thus no means with which to enforce your tyranny. How then will you oust the Houses which displease you?’
I gave her a smile Grandmother would have applauded and said, ‘I would use your own army against you.’
Both she and her brother drew breath to shout me down, but I gave them no chance to do so.
‘You’ve sworn to me, Krimhilde, and elected me your Duethin. With the Iltheans occupying our land, and Dieter gathering numbers to his banner, this is a state of war. All armies are under my command.’
Behind cover of a head turned aside, Maja was smiling.
Merten drew closer, eyes narrowed and limbs gathering ready for action. The pulse leapt in my veins and I heard again the swish of leaves I’d almost mistaken for the wind’s voice.
I was well protected here, however. My Skythe and Ilthean guards both tensed, taking a simultaneous step forward. I hoped the Skythe had the sense to keep his blade hidden.
Krimhilde lifted a hand, stilling Merten.
‘And if we declare it’s not a state of war,’ she said, ‘and our armies refuse to do your bidding, you’ll use the Iltheans against us.’
I didn’t answer; there was no need.
‘Beata taught you canniness, I see,’ Krimhilde said. ‘Luckily for all concerned, House Raethn stands among those loyal to you.’
A muscle shifted in Merten’s jaw, but he raised no objection.
Tension unwound in my chest like a serpent uncoiling in the sunlight, allowing me to breathe freely at last.
‘That is fortunate,’ Maja said, her quiet voice soothing after the raw confrontation. ‘It does not, however, solve the problem posed by our nameless assassin.’
As one, we all looked down at the body cooling at our feet.
Waspish with submission, Krimhilde said, ‘The Houses Somner have never made any secret of their distaste for the swans; they’d not be pleased to see Matilde sitting the throne. Nor would they hesitate to rectify it.’
‘Dieter, the Houses Somner, Xaver of House Vestenn.’ I counted them off dispassionately. A pause added House Raethn to the list in silence. ‘And I doubt Sidonius would weep if I died. The list is so extensive as to be no use. What I’d like to know is, where is Rein?’
Krimhilde started, and Merten looked around as if he had forgotten, or not noticed, the absence of his fellow drighten. Roshi should have been back with Rein long before now.
‘He dined with me last night,’ Maja offered. ‘I haven’t seen him since.’
‘You don’t think . . . ?’ Krimhilde trailed off, glancing from the corpse to the banners gracing the walls.
‘His absence doesn’t bode well, whatever it means,’ I said.
As if my words were prophecy, the main doors creaked open. Krimhilde and Merten spun on their heels, poised for flight or anger equally. Maja merely turned to look.
Roshi stood under the lintel. When our eyes met she said, ‘There’s something you ought to see.’
‘You’ve found Rein.’
She nodded.
‘He’s dead?’
Roshi opened the door fully, admitting two thralls bearing between them a body on a stretcher. Rein’s lips and skin were blue; he’d been dead some time. Grime clung to his skin and clothes, and his throat gaped open in a ragged grimace black with dried blood. He stared at the ceiling as if in surprise. I wondered what warning he’d had, if any.
‘I found him on the midden heap,’ Roshi said, as the thralls carried the body into the hall. ‘I don’t think that’s where he was killed, though – there was no pool of blood that I could see.’
This time, Krimhilde turned to Maja. ‘But who would want to kill Rein?’
The drighten of House Saschen gave a delicate shrug. ‘Almost all the tribes share a border with Falkere’s holdings. House Vestenn might easily desire less war-torn lands.’
‘Or any of the Houses Somner,’ Merten said uneasily. ‘They are always eager for expansion.’
‘Or perhaps another House wishes to challenge Falkere for the primacy of the Naris tribe,’ Maja said. ‘Although that would not explain Matilde also being targeted.’
‘In the end, it doesn’t matter who wanted Rein dead,’ I said. ‘It’s Dieter who gains by it.’
Everyone looked to me, expectant.
‘With Rein dead, his son inherits the mantle. A son who stands outside the walls, as does his newly inherited army. And the new lord of House Falkere will hold no love for the Ilthean occupiers who killed his father.’
The brands on my brow prickled. Whether Dieter had engineered it or not, he had effectively stolen a drighten from my ranks to his.
MY ANSWERING GAMBIT was to spread a rumour that my assassination had succeeded, to see if it would flush out the would-be perpetrator. There were birds for two of the three Houses Somner in the dovecote, and Sigi sent them winging on their way with a brief, hastily worded message that I was dead, and Sidonius was trying to cover up the fact. I watched them until they had vanished into the sky’s bright expanse, thinking with satisfaction of the chaos the news should unleash among the drightens in Dieter’s camp.
I turned away, back to the dovecote’s dim interior. As my vision adjusted to the gloom, I saw that Mali was sitting where the sloped roof met the floor, hands folded in her lap. The dullness of her eyes filled me with dismay.
‘You’ve already sent for the presters,’ I said.
‘That night,’ Mali said. ‘No point in delay, he said.’
She stood and faced me accusingly. ‘You left me!’ ‘I had to,’ I said, none too gently. ‘Keep your voice down.’
She drew back, her expression closing over once more.
‘You’re a hostage, Mali, to be used against me as much as against Dieter – and if I show an ounce of kindness towards you, or one iota of concern, then Sidonius will know it. Leaving you was the only way I could protect you.’
Turning away, she stalked to one of the windows and stared out. When she turned back, she said, ‘I’m not like you. I can’t think on my feet, and turn defeat into victory just with words, like you can. When those presters arrive, pray you haven’t lost that knack, Matilde. Because if Dieter doesn’t repent, and the presters kill him for it . . . I’ll never forgive you.’
When Sidonius came calling that night, with Renatas in tow as usual, I was ready for him.
Sidonius’s guards had by now reported the attempt on my life, the taking of Rein’s, and my conference with the remaining drightens. Of the three circumstances, it was the last which would worry the general the most.
He was careful to maintain appearances, having my guards announce his presence. I didn’t push the issue by forcing him to wait in the corridor; perversity was not a luxury I could afford.
To my surprise, Achim followed Sidonius into the room. The Amaeri had changed out of his robe, and now wore trews and a tunic of wool. It made the stained pits of his eyes and his scraggly beard seem more incongruous than ever. His attendance now meant only one thing: Sidonius wanted to remind me of my vow. As if the thought of it was ever far from my mind!
I expected Roshi to shuffle in on their heels, sullen and surly as she always seemed to be of late, but Achim closed the door.
‘General. Achim. Renatas.’ After a pause I added, ‘Please, be seated.’
Sidonius settled on the edge of a couch; Achim and Renatas remained standing. ‘You look well, given your day,’ Sidonius said.
‘I thought you might wish to discuss that.’
‘Perhaps now you’ll agree a single guard is insufficient,’ he said.
‘Nonsense. My single guard stopped the assassin without trouble.’
Sidonius hesitated, no doubt debating which issue to pursue: the number of my guard or the competence of the Skythes. Curiosity won out. ‘Which strikes me as a prodigious display of skill,’ he said. ‘An unarmed man stabbing an armed one. Through the back, no less.’
I gave him my most insincere smile. ‘By the time of the stabbing, the knife had swapped ownership, naturally.’
‘Naturally,’ Sidonius said. ‘And if two or more had come at you? I am not comfortable with trusting wholly to your Skythes for protection.’
‘You could always grant them the use of their weapons,’ I said, although I harboured no illusions of success on that score. Sure enough, his response came swiftly.
‘You’ve already been attacked once today,’ he said. ‘Think how many more times that might happen if everybody were to walk around armed.’
‘As far as I can see, your policy removes weapons only from those who would protect me. Forgive me if I don’t see the sense in such a scheme.’
‘If you would accept Ilthean protection – ’
‘I would appear weak,’ I cut him off, ‘and incapable of holding the throne. You’ve rejected your birthright and any claim to being Turasi, General. You’ll simply have to trust that I am a surer judge of my people and their reactions.’
He leant forward as if he had me cornered. ‘And the protection of Skythes is preferable? They’re foreigners. Barbarians, your people call them.’
‘That’s as may be,’ I returned. ‘Unlike the Iltheans, however, they have not invaded in living memory, let alone the last handful of months.’
Scowling, Sidonius sat back.
‘Since you are so concerned for my wellbeing,’ I said, ‘you will no doubt agree now that Clay’s place is by my side, not out accompanying your fruitless patrols.’
His silence proclaimed him trapped long before he finally relented. ‘A sound idea,’ he said, somewhat irritably. Then with a sudden gleam in his eyes he said, ‘He will provide admirable protection on your journey to Ilthea, since you will not be taking your Skythes with you.’
It’s a wonder he took so long with it, Grandmother said. The truth of her observation did nothing to ease the knot of apprehension forming deep in my belly.
‘I do not think now is an appropriate time for travelling.’
‘For frivolous travel, no, but your purpose wouldn’t be frivolous.’
‘Neither is it so urgent I should risk losing what I have gained,’ I countered. ‘If I yield the Turholm now, I’ll return to find the throne taken anew. And your emperor can have no use for another disowned Turasi woman.’
Sidonius made an impatient gesture. ‘I am not such a fool as to leave the Turholm undefended, lady. Dieter still lurks beyond the walls, angling for any opportunity to claw his way back to power.’
‘Precisely why – ’
‘And he’s not alone,’ he went on, overriding me. ‘Which is why you must make the journey now. The sooner your people accept their new fealties, the sooner they’ll realise killing you won’t achieve their aim.’
I laughed, the open scorn of it cleansing after our needling words. ‘A visit to your much-vaunted empire won’t change their view of their fealties, Sidonius, nor their opinion of me.’
‘Naming your heir would,’ he said, quelling my mirth.
Now it was his turn to laugh. ‘Consider the outcome if you don’t name your heir. Conjecture rules, speculation abounds, anything is possible. You have barbarian kin as well as legitimate’ – the light in his eyes seemed to lay emphasis on the word ‘legitimate’ – ‘and of course there are plenty of other contenders. The field lies open. If you were to name your heir, however, to remove any and all doubts . . .’ He spread his hands.
‘An heir sanctioned by the emperor, naturally,’ I said, my gaze flicking to Achim, and Renatas beside him, before sliding away again. I had sworn, by shadow-bound oath, and Sidonius could enforce it as and when he wanted. The weight of it pressed down on me.
‘Naturally,’ Sidonius agreed.
‘And the heir you would have me name is Renatas.’
Sidonius inclined his head and said, ‘His mother was not the only one who intended him for your throne.’
Grandmother started muttering about Helena’s treachery, but I didn’t bother to listen, occupied by my own thoughts. If I were to officially name Renatas my heir, then the boy’s death would be the only way for the Turasi nation to escape its inevitable vassalage. Odious as I found my Ilthean cousin, I didn’t want his blood so wholly on my hands. I seized on the idea.
‘Tell me,’ I ventured, ‘have you considered the consequences of my naming my heir? Renatas will be singled out for immediate death. Those who would kill me can’t risk the throne passing to Ilthea.’
‘You and I both know it’s too late to retract Ilthea’s hold,’ he said, the threat in his gaze at odds with his silken tone.
I gave a careless shrug, as if I’d missed his implication, and said, ‘The Turasi are stubborn, General, not to mention contrary. Add a dash of optimism hard to distinguish from cunning, and the result is a people who will ignore the truth as it suits. We must deal not with the facts alone, but also with what the Turasi choose to believe. And they’ll believe killing Renatas is enough to free them of Ilthea’s yoke.’
Oh, how well my husband had taught me how to twist the truth towards my own ends.
Thoughts chased shadows through Sidonius’s eyes as he considered my words. Shake your head, I willed him, and decide you cannot risk the boy’s life.
At length he sighed and, reaching for the pitcher, poured himself an ale which he quaffed in a single long swallow.
‘The boy will always be a target,’ he said, never once glancing in Renatas’s direction. ‘Refraining from naming him won’t decrease that risk. We’ll simply have to make it clear his death won’t change Ilthea’s claim.’
‘I thought you hated ale,’ I said.
I thought you cared for the boy, was what I meant, though I had the sense to leave it unsaid.
Sidonius dropped his eyes and looked at the pitcher as if considering how much he did hate ale. Or whether to drink more of it.
‘I do,’ he snapped.
‘Yet you drink it now, which makes me think you’re more worried for the boy’s safety than you’re letting on. And you’re right to be. Naming him my heir at such a time isn’t a wise move.’
‘Nevertheless, you will do so,’ he insisted, his voice hard.
In a tone just as hard, I replied, ‘I’ll not leave my nation undefended to take a purposeless trip to your precious city, Sidonius, oath or no. If I’m unseated, I’m no good to you.’
‘We’d take men enough only to ensure our safety on the journey, lady. The rest would remain here, to guard against rebellion. The journey would be swift, just long enough to see you sworn to the emperor in person, and to have your choice of heir sanctioned.’
And to see Renatas safely back in the empire, where Turasi assassins could not get near him, I deduced.
‘Then back again, in greater force, to let the Turasi know they are conquered,’ Sidonius finished. He poured and downed another draught of the ale. When he lowered the cup, his eyes had a glassy look before he blinked them clear and murmured, ‘And to bring my brother to justice.’
‘We don’t have sufficient forces to both escort us back to the empire, and leave enough here,’ I said, uncomfortably aware that I was losing ground in the argument.
‘We will have,’ Sidonius returned with a loathsome smile. ‘I’ve sent for reinforcements, and the emperor has granted them. A force twelve-hundred strong, led by Aulus Vespian himself, is marching as we speak.’
My gaze darted to Renatas, who met it with a self-satisfied smirk. ‘My father was stationed at Nureya, remember?’ he said. ‘My mother was foolish enough to think the Turasi capable of repelling his men, but I’m sure you’ve learnt better by now.’
With a sinking feeling in the pit of my belly I did indeed remember. At Aestival, Grandmother had challenged Helena over that very issue, demanding an explanation for the troops massed along the southern border.
There’s barely a legion, and they’re stationed in Nureya, Helena had replied. Perhaps she had lied, or perhaps she had not known the truth, but it had been Sidonius’s troops marshalling at the foot of the Sentinels, a separate force to the legion stationed under her husband in Nureya.
I had been a fool to assume the two were the same, a fool to forget the strength and reach of the Ilthean empire.
‘We leave as soon as they arrive,’ Sidonius said.
BEFORE THE ILTHEAN reinforcements arrived, the Skythes did.
They came from the northeast, cresting the rocky knolls not two miles from the walls, their banners twisting in the wind, and sunlight flashing from their spear tips. A blaze of colour, reds and blues and yellows, greens and turquoise and purple, threaded through the manes and tack of their magnificent horses. Even the horses’ hides gleamed like fresh-polished metal.
Row upon row of them crowded the ridge line, men and women both in their ranks, horses’ heads tossing and hooves stamping with eagerness.
Standing upon battlements still bearing the scars of the Ilthean siege, I leant into an embrasure, squinted against the biting wind. There were too many banners to belong only to the one tribe, but they were too far away for me to read their markings.
Running feet sounded behind me, and I turned.
Hair unbound and still damp with washing, feet bare, Roshi hurried to my side, a wild light in her eyes. Clay let her approach without qualm; the Skythe guard wore a faint grimace as if he’d like to challenge her, but he stayed silent.
Foregoing any greeting, Roshi put both hands on the battlements and leant out, straining to see.
‘Which tribes ride?’ I asked, for the tack and dressing carried a message for those who could read it. ‘Can you tell?’
She didn’t answer.
I looked down into the courtyard behind me. Soldiers were gathering, most wearing the empire’s white. The Turasi soldiers in their disparate liveries were dispersed throughout the ranks of the serpents, so as to check the temptation of armed rebellion. Sidonius had conquered nations before.
‘Roshi,’ I said, ‘which tribes? Are they friend or foe?’
‘Nilofen,’ she said at length, naming her own tribe, my mother’s tribe. ‘And they have called in an alliance with the Parvani.’
‘Is that why they’re late?’
Roshi shrugged, her expression tense. Then she pointed at a company lacking in colour: the horses were uniformly a sandy hue, and the riders’ dun clothing bore neither sign nor crest. ‘And see there? The Nabaea have come.’
The word was unfamiliar; my mother had died too young to pass on much of her lore. ‘Who are the Nabaea?’ I asked.
‘Shadowkin.’ Roshi stepped back from the battlements. ‘In your lands, they would be the mara. That is what you call them, isn’t it, those presters who have the gift with walking and spinning the shadows?’
I gaped at her. ‘How do you know that? You’ve not even lived among us a quarter of a year!’
I had been nigh on six years old before I learnt of the mara, and older still before I understood why Grandmother wanted none of them in her court: if they saw me, saw one of my visions take me, I would be recruited into their ranks, and she helpless to prevent it. As a result, they had been so long absent from the Turholm that they were seldom mentioned now. Roshi was no child, of course, and could thus learn the customs of her new homeland with more speed, but I suspected I would not fare so well if our roles were reversed, and I found myself transplanted alone among the Nilofen.
Apparently Roshi thought similarly, for she gave me a curious look caught between contempt and disbelief. ‘I pay attention,’ she said.
She turned back to watching the approaching Skythes. ‘The Nabaea are without clan and of all clans. They do not often ride to war, but now they have come as summoned, as agreed in the bridal contract.’
‘Well, given the bridal contract concerned was mine, we have nothing to fear. Dieter, on the other hand . . .’ My voice sounded small in the teeth of the wind.
‘They do not know of your unbinding,’ she said. ‘In fact, you are not officially unbound. None of your presters have pronounced it, and it takes those who sanctify a binding to dissolve it. Who knows where the tribes have been in the past fortnight, and what their motives are.’
Damn him, I cursed inwardly, as the wind whined along the battlements. Even unthroned and miles distant, Dieter still curbed my every move.
‘Whatever lies he’s told them will be easy enough to set right,’ I began, but Roshi shook her head.
‘What if he’s told them you’re held prisoner here by the Iltheans? Step outside the walls, and they’ll snatch you and not let you back inside. Then the Iltheans will have to fight for you again. Won’t they?’
Not while they have Renatas, I thought. They’ll have me declared dead, or a traitor, and be done with the troublesome inheritance sooner rather than later.
Roshi’s words tumbled out of her faster than I could draw breath to speak. ‘Meanwhile, Dieter will fight to get to you as well, because of your damnable throne, and he needs you dancing as a puppet on the strings just as much as Sidonius does.’ She gave me a desperate look and cried, ‘Where does that leave my people? Guarding you between two attacking forces. They will be no more than food for foreign soil. You have to stop it!’
Protests crowded my mouth. How? I wanted to cry. Giving myself up to either side will only speed the fighting along.
Roshi gripped my wrist with hot, dry fingers. ‘I will kill him for you.’
‘Who?’ I asked, startled.
‘Sidonius,’ she said. ‘Let me kill him for you.’
‘Roshi . . .’
‘It would solve everything,’ she reasoned. ‘The Iltheans will be disbanded, you will still have your throne. I can do it subtly,’ she added, as if such a deed could be hidden.
‘Roshi, no. It won’t solve anything.’ As gently as I could, I explained, ‘Kill Sidonius, and his second would assume command. Then I’d have the Iltheans opposed to me as well as Dieter, who still commands the majority of the Turasi strength of arms.’
It would be a fool’s tactic, Grandmother agreed, but I chose to be more diplomatic: ‘It would only complicate matters. Besides,’ I smiled to take the sting from my words, ‘the last time you tried to kill for me didn’t work out so well.’
Which was quite an understatement – through a combination of miscommunication and ill timing, Roshi had tried to kill Dieter and ended up poisoning me instead.
Where once she might have laughed, instead she flinched, dropping my wrist and drawing back. Anger sparked in her dark eyes as she said, ‘Mali said I couldn’t trust you.’
‘What? Mali – ?’ I said, confused.
‘I don’t care how, but you have to stop this,’ Roshi insisted. ‘You’ve dragged all your kin and half the tribes into your troubles, and if you don’t act now you’ll drag them all to their deaths.’
She paused, overtaken by a new idea, and in a low voice said, ‘Or was that your plan all along?’ She continued in a slow and wondering tone. ‘You allied with Dieter only to save your life, you say – but others believe you were allied before the slaughter. Oh, I know,’ she said when I shook my head. Hysteria edged her laugh. ‘I know! You can’t have me running about on your bidding like one of your collared slaves and think I’ll remain ignorant of your secrets.’
‘Roshi, no,’ I started, reaching for her, but she knocked my hand away.
‘Was it Dieter you were lying to, or me? All this time and effort, to draw your enemies here. They think you’re surrounded, and vulnerable – but with Dieter outside the walls, and all the forces of the drightens out there with him, you’re not vulnerable. You’ll crush us, Ilthean and Skythe alike, between the hammer of Dieter’s forces and the anvil of your walls!’
‘You’ve been listening to Mali,’ I said, barely hiding the quaver in my voice. Ravens above knew how, or why, but the girl’s poison was obvious in Roshi’s every word. ‘Take care you filter the bitterness from her advice before you swallow it.’
Narrowing her eyes, Roshi took two steps forward, closing the gap between us. ‘I’ve killed for you. I’ve fled for you,’ she hissed, her tone making it clear which she considered the greater sacrifice. ‘Because you’re kin, and I would not prove faithless. But I swear to you, Matilde, if you don’t save them . . . I will kill you myself.’
My heart twisted, the pain of her suspicion stealing my breath.
Clay took one lumbering step forward, ready to defend me, but Roshi paid him no heed. With a last look over her shoulder at the approaching army of her tribesmen and their allies, she pushed past me and vanished down the stairs and into the bustle of the courtyard.
ROSHI’S SUSPICION MADE me apprehensive. Would the talaye think as she did? They had not been listening to Mali’s vitriol, but even so . . . . I was beginning to appreciate Clay’s stolid presence and uncomplicated loyalty more and more.
I descended the closest stairs, a rickety wooden frame clinging to the inner wall of the battlements which creaked under Clay’s weight. Still, I preferred a rickety staircase to an enclosed stairwell where none would witness an attack.
A single assassination attempt and you’re as jumpy as a cat in a kennel, Grandmother chided.
When my feet finally touched the paving stones, I hurried through the crowd, making my way towards the garrison, and Sidonius.
Renatas, hovering close to the general’s side as always, alerted him to my arrival.
Sidonius didn’t bother with greetings or pleasantries. ‘How will they stand?’ he demanded.
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. Lying would gain me nothing now. ‘I’ll need to go among them. It may be they come in response to Dieter’s summons.’
Regarding me with suspicion, Sidonius said, ‘They are your kin.’
‘He is my husband. That makes him their kin, too.’
Sidonius scowled, either at my answer or the situation or both.
‘I’ll go,’ Renatas offered, drawing both our gazes to him in surprise. ‘She’s their kin, and I’m her kin – so if they’ll treat with her, they’ll treat with me,’ he reasoned.
Sidonius shook his head.
‘Then I’ll go with her,’ Renatas suggested. With a toxic glance at me he said, ‘To make sure her discussions don’t stray into treason.’
The idea tempted Sidonius, and for a moment I feared the boy would be given leave to accompany me. In the end, however, Sidonius shook his head again. ‘The risk to your life is too great,’ he said. When Renatas opened his mouth to protest, Sidonius forestalled him. ‘She will be watched, but not by you. And the men can watch her closer if they do not have to protect your life. You stay.’
Renatas submitted to the command with all the grace I’d come to expect of him, muttering darkly to himself as he turned away.
Sidonius ignored him, saying to me, ‘Dieter’s sister remains, as does Roshi, and your precious barbarian honour guard. You’ll take an escort of my men with you. Since your mother’s people value kin so highly, do be sure and let them know the consequences of any betrayal will be visited upon those who remain behind.’
‘You’re not coming?’ I asked, not without surprise.
He replied blandly: ‘And leave our stronghold undefended?’
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. Sitting safe in the Turholm with his precious imperial heir, would he even let me return?
The hostages are to bind you as much as the Skythes, Grandmother reminded me. He’s not likely to lock you outside his walls with an army. Don’t let fear cloud your reasoning.
I waited, scanning the courtyard, while Sidonius summoned an escort for me. Half a dozen yards away stood Sepp, his head bowed. A mad impulse seized me.
It was the work of a moment, when an escort of Ilthean soldiers formed up behind me, to reach out and grab Sepp’s arm and pull him to my side.
Recovering from the surprise, he struggled against my hold as I swept him along. ‘Tilde, no, you’ll spoil everything . . .’
‘Be quiet.’
‘Lady?’ The captain of my escort now intervened, but I silenced him as well.
‘I’ll need a runner should the Skythes begin negotiations, so the general can be included. Unless you think your lord would prefer to be excluded?’ I did not stop walking.
He was not so easily deflected. ‘There are other slaves.’
‘None so suitable as the general’s own,’ I countered. Every step gained was a victory – against the suspicious soldiers, and against the watchful Sidonius. ‘There is no more time to waste. Mount up, and move out.’
The captain glanced at Sepp, who hesitated only a moment more before giving a slight nod. With a last look at me, the captain too relented, turning away to hold my horse’s head. It seemed Sepp had been busy earning himself a measure of trust among the Ilthean soldiers, a thought which gave me equal parts pleasure and pain. Useful as it might prove, I did not like the thought of Sepp being in such a dangerous position.
I put my foot to the stirrup, and swung into the saddle with only a slight twinge of pain from my still-healing ribs. Someone had sensibly saddled Skythe mounts for us, instead of the smaller Trakkans; gifts for my father’s stable, on his binding to my mother, our arrival on the noble Skythe horses would be a reminder of my kinship with the approaching army.
Clay took one look at his horse, an expression of distaste that the horse returned in full, unnerved by his earthy scent, and declared, ‘I will walk.’
I’d seen him run, with a long lope like a panther at hunt; he could keep up.
The Ilthean soldiers formed up around us, the vassal queen and her pet statue.
From the vantage of the horse’s back, I dared to scan the bustling length of the courtyard. Sidonius was nowhere to be seen.
Had he not noticed? Or did he choose not to protest? He might be climbing the walls now, ready to string an arrow and plant it in Sepp’s back for trying to escape.
Sepp seemed to be entertaining the same morbid thoughts, for his hands were wrapped too tight around the reins as we rode under the shadow of the gates and out into a morning warm and hazy. Sweat darkened the hair at his temples despite the fresh winds.
With every thud of the horses’ hooves on the dry ground I fought a humiliating urge to hunch down in the saddle in order to present the smallest possible target. Nervousness robbed me of the ability to estimate the distance within which an arrow might reasonably reach us. As we crossed the ground where I’d buried the golems Dieter had used to defend the Turholm’s walls, a faint scrabbling nagged at the edge of my mind, as if I could still feel them digging and struggling for freedom. It was only when we passed a stone way-post marking a distance of two hundred yards that my breath eased and I could look around with equanimity.
In the time it had taken us to mount and ride out, the Skythes had started raising their camp. They had chosen a site five hundred yards from the walls, a distance which augured, if not a wish for alliance, at the very least a caution against outright enmity. By the time we passed the midpoint, Sepp too had relaxed his seat, which settled his mount to a more sedate walk in place of a tight frisk.
When we reached the fringes of the newborn camp, a dozen Skythes stepped forward. All wore elaborate headdresses, from multicoloured feathers and a crown of bear claws, to the open-mawed pelt of a fox, red glass or gemstones sewn in place of its eyes. To my mind, the tattoos and adornment made them fierce and unwelcoming.
I recognised only one – Ardashir, of the Nilofen tribe.
The others will be respected warriors among their tribe. Elders, of a sort, Grandmother supplied.
A second, a woman, stood out because she lacked adornment. She wore the dun-hued clothing Roshi had earlier pointed out as belonging to the Nabaea.
There wasn’t a single smile among them.
I dismounted, so as to greet them on a level. Clay stepped up behind me, but my Ilthean escort remained in their saddles. This time, I did not sink into a bow or any deep obeisance; I was Duethin now, however limited my power, and must act as such.
‘You are on the lands of the tribes of Turas,’ I said, careful to keep my voice neutral. ‘What purpose brings you?’
None of them so much as blinked. One man, decorated in red and blue tattoos and wearing rabbit paws tied at the end of two slender braids, grounded his spear more comfortably.
‘We come in answer to a summons,’ he said.
The Nabaea woman had been examining each member of my escort in turn, her gaze lingering longest on Sepp as she tried to determine the purpose of his inclusion in the party. Now she turned back to me, and there was a consciousness in her look which unnerved me.
‘I know the summons you answered,’ I said, choosing my words with care. ‘And I thank you for your ample response. I’m afraid you arrive to a situation materially different from the one which prompted the summons, however.’
The rabbit-decorated man looked at Ardashir, who spoke as if on cue. ‘We have met with your husband,’ he said.
‘And have you allied with him?’
‘That depends,’ Ardashir answered.
My heart sank; I had hoped for an outright no. ‘Perhaps we should discuss the matter more fully, then,’ I said.
‘Perhaps we should,’ the Nabaea answered. Her voice was full of shadows and smoke, a match for her unsettling eyes.
The tribal leaders conferred by glances, and in a moment were apparently agreed with her.
The Ilthean soldiers dismounted at my gesture; their taste for obedience had its uses. Leaving one to stand by the hastily tethered horses, we followed the Skythes into the heart of their camp. Clay loped along beside me, his head swivelling as he watched for threats.
Last time I walked through a Skythe camp, they had been a tribe at peace. The leather and hide tents had been settled in place, the aisles between them swarming with children and dogs and even goats. There had been men and women bent over their cooking fires, and the ground had a well-worn look, paths pummelled into the grasses over a long stay.
Now the ground was freshly wounded, there were no children, and all present wore the grim expression of those bent on an unpleasant but necessary task. Instead of cooking fires there were stacks of weapons: spears, the short bows the Skythes used atop horseback, and pails filled with new-fletched arrows.
The Ilthean soldiers stalked through it all as if their small number could easily best the rabble should they rise. A twitch in the eye of one, and the unconscious flexing of another’s fingers near the hilt of his sword, betrayed their unease.
In the camp’s centre, a circle of hide-bound tents created a clearing around what looked to be the beginnings of a fire pit. The tents did not stand out either by size or decoration, but by their location I guessed this to be the leaders’ accommodation. The tent placed directly east in the circle had a stick-like bird figure extending from its apex; it took me a moment to recognise it as a heron. It was to this tent – the tent of the Nabaea – that we bent our steps.
TO MY SURPRISE, after a soft word from Sepp the Iltheans remained outside without any protest. Two stood either side of the door and the rest immediately ringed the tent, however. Fearing Sepp meant to join them, I grabbed his forearm and hustled him into the dim interior before he could protest. Clay took advantage of the moment’s preoccupation to follow us within.
Inside, the tent was sumptuous – for a tribe travelling to war – and strange. My feet sank into thick carpet as pale and distant a blue as a cold summer sky. Brightly coloured cushions and blankets lay everywhere. By the doorway sat a wooden bowl seemingly carved whole from a single fallen branch and which held, as far as I could see, dozens upon dozens of small white globes. In the centre of the floor, directly under the smoke hole, stood a pair of small scales, surely too delicate to weigh anything of value, wrought from wood polished to as high a gleam as its bronze cups.
The tribal leaders filed in, and the woman who had stood with them in greeting now gestured for us all to take a seat. I knelt, glad for the carpet’s softness under my knees. Sepp crouched behind me. Partially obscured by shadows, four of the Nabaea were stationed around the walls of the tent. The tribal leaders all arranged themselves opposite me, letting the Nabaea woman sit at their forefront. So. She was to be the arbiter of the meeting.
She was not the first to speak, however.
Ardashir cast a searching glance at the open entrance and my escort still visible through its frame. All in white with the crimson serpent sewn on their shirtfronts, their olive skin was positively pale in comparison to the Skythe complexion. ‘Where are the warriors we sent as your bride-gift?’
‘They remain within the Turholm,’ I said, pained that they did not ask after Roshi as well. I took a deep breath for courage, knowing they would not respond well to Sidonius’s strong-arm tactics. As calmly as I could I said, ‘As hostage for my safe return.’
The atmosphere turned, their faces hardening and their gazes sharpening.
The Nabaea said, ‘We do not take kindly to threats against our own.’
‘It was not my idea,’ I said, watching for their reactions, trying to gauge how much I could tell them, how much of it would make its way back to Dieter.
‘You clearly sanctioned it.’
‘You presume too much,’ I countered. ‘I am not in the habit of endangering my kin.’
‘We are not in the habit of riddles and games,’ Ardashir said. ‘If the Turasi would treat with us, they must do it bluntly.’
So much for being accounted kin, I thought ruefully. Already I was back to being Turasi. Well, if they wanted bluntness, so be it.
‘In a little under a week, I will be leaving the Turholm in the company of a small Ilthean escort. A second, larger force will be approaching from the south. When the two meet we will join and ride south, into the heart of the snake pit, there to bend knee and neck before the emperor,’ I said.
A faint current thrilled through the air, like a thread drawing tight around us.
‘It is the perfect opportunity to outmanoeuvre them,’ I said. ‘If we strike before the small escort meets up with the arriving reinforcements, sheer numbers will win the day. We can pick them apart while they are disparate. We can destroy them, root and branch.’
‘We?’ the Nabaea prompted.
‘You,’ I said. ‘My golem, Clay. And what loyal Turasi Sidonius allows me for escort.’
‘In other words, Skythes alone,’ one of the leaders said. He did not appear enthusiastic, but neither was he dismissing the idea out of hand.
‘In the initial battle,’ I agreed. ‘Although I would caution you not to underestimate Clay. Once the escort is subdued, we turn back and overcome those who hold the palace.’
‘Not so easily done as planned, I’d wager,’ Ardashir said mildly.
‘Perhaps,’ I allowed. ‘Although we’ll have force of numbers and cunning on our side. And Sidonius has nothing that can counter the Nabaea.’
‘Numbers mean little behind your walls,’ the Nabaea said. ‘That is what attracted your people to the stone skies in the first place, was it not?’
‘Some of those left to man the walls will be Turasi, and I know of a bolthole which will lead us inside without fighting,’ I said.
Guilt made me want to squirm. Sidonius knew of that bolthole; he would be on his guard against an incursion from that direction. There would be fighting, and Skythes and Turasi both would pay in blood before this was through.
‘A dangerous ploy,’ the Nabaea said, as if she could read my heart. ‘And one that relies on novelty for its success.’
I swallowed, and found no answer.
‘If we did take this first escort, then the palace, that still leaves the approaching force,’ Ardashir pointed out. ‘Do you have any reliable knowledge of their strength?’
‘Only what the general has allowed me.’
The admission was galling, but Sigi had not been able to make sense of the messages Sidonius received. She had traced faithful copies for me, but I hadn’t been able to decipher any meaning behind the scratchings either. Sidonius’s cipher was thorough.
‘I wouldn’t consider the knowledge trustworthy,’ I added. ‘You are a free people, however, free to come and go as you please – free to essay south as you wish. If a handful of Skythes were to venture south and track this approaching force, that would be reliable knowledge.’
A ghost of a smile touched Ardashir’s lips, and someone in the shadows chuckled. The Nabaea turned her head towards the tribal leaders, as if awaiting a decision. For the space of a half-dozen blessed heartbeats, I dared hope.
There were more than my kinsmen to convince, however.
‘Three separate battles could cost us dear,’ said the man wearing a crown of bear claws. ‘You have offered no terms to make such risk worthwhile.’
The reluctance I’d expected, but not the bargaining.
‘The Nilofen are sworn by blood and marriage contract to stand as my allies,’ I said slowly, groping for the answer ahead of my words. ‘Whether you stand by their side is a matter you must hammer out with them. I cannot with honour interfere. I can, however, discuss terms of alliance with the Nilofen, with the aim of empowering their negotiations with you.’
Clever girl, Grandmother said. They can neither impugn your honour nor baulk at the traces if you use the Nilofen as their anchor to you.
I blinked away a sudden sting of tears at the approbation in her tone. It was a pity I’d had to wait until she was no more than a disembodied voice in my head to hear such praise.
The Skythes had been sharing glances among themselves and now reached a consensus. By the wary light in their eyes, I did not judge it a favourable one.
‘That is well done,’ Ardashir said, ‘but it relies – ’
‘What of your husband?’ the Nabaea interrupted.
Ardashir showed no irritation at being cut off, merely waiting with interest for my answer.
‘What of him?’ I said.
‘You are still pledged, one to the other.’
‘Yes.’
Ardashir tilted his head, as if straining to understand, and said, ‘Yet you appear now to be pitted against him.’
‘Yes.’
The Nabaea frowned, and she was not alone. She demanded, ‘Do you intend to dissolve your binding?’
I paused on the verge of answering, tongue caught on the roof of my mouth and the word Yes pressing for utterance. If I said yes, I was as good as declaring Dieter my enemy and claiming the Skythes for my own ends.
The Skythes would never claim a throne which stood under a sky of stone. They would be an army to drive out the Iltheans, to cut all my puppet strings without tying new bindings. I could inherit throne and freedom both.
The temptation was dizzying.
Still the assent snagged in my throat, like the triple-barbed juniper-wood hooks that could snare a fish beyond all hope of escape.
Already the drightens feared the stain of barbarian blood on the throne; a second foreign army to root out the first would only drive them irretrievably to Dieter’s ranks. And as Roshi had observed, the Skythes would be pinned between the Turholm’s walls and Dieter’s inevitable attack, easy targets.
If you prove faithless, if you don’t save them, I will kill you myself.
‘No.’ I sighed as I said it, sealing my fate to this choice. If they wanted bluntness, and honesty, so be it. ‘It is not a Turasi practice, the dissolving of bindings. We are pledged for life.’
This caused a few frowns, mainly of confusion.
‘He must remain your husband,’ the Nabaea said, ‘yet you will stand against him?’
‘Our binding means I must cleave to him and no other, and I will honour that bond, cost me what it may. But as heir to the throne when I took the binding, and now as Duethin, my first duty is to the nation, not my husband.’
The hard edges of their expressions softened a little. Duty and its conflicting demands was something the Skythe mind understood. Emboldened, I went on.
‘Dieter has set himself against me. Unless and until he is willing to acknowledge me as Duethin, I cannot stand beside him as his wife.’
The man crowned with bear claws pinned me with a watchful eye and said, ‘He claims the throne belongs to him.’
‘The throne belongs only to whoever can take it, and hold it,’ I returned, smiling as the words with which Dieter had so often taunted me slipped off my tongue.
‘He took it from you,’ Ardashir pointed out.
His bland tone sparked anger enough to banish my brief spark of humour. Not long ago, I had come to them seeking allies who might deliver me from the man who had killed my family and wed me for my throne and a whim. Instead, they had lauded my choice of husband.
‘And while he held it, I bent my neck as both subject and wife,’ I snapped, meeting Ardashir’s look with a glare. ‘Then I took it back. Now I hold it.’
‘I see how it will be,’ said a tribal leader with eyes the colour of autumn leaves – a hint of Turasi blood in her history, perhaps? She had ash rubbed into her hair, and it had been cut raggedly, as if hacked off by a knife.
A sign of mourning, Grandmother noted.
‘You dress it in the guise of duty, but this is no more than the bickering of a husband and wife,’ she said. ‘Back and forth you will trade this precious seat of yours, like little girls fighting over a pet viper. Have a care: the viper may turn and bite you both. Or else you will kill it with your tug of war.’
What kind of children had vipers for pets? I wondered. No wonder Roshi was unfathomable.
‘I do not know what Dieter has told you,’ I replied, ‘but there will be no tug of war. By right of inheritance, and of merit, the throne is mine. Dieter will accept it, one way or another.’
With a bitter smile, the tribal leader said, ‘And you think to use us to bring him to heel.’
‘Not at all.’
I met her gaze without flinching, then scanned her colleagues to left and right. A tiny crease between Ardashir’s brows marked his disquiet. The man wearing bear claws chewed on unspoken words as if fighting the urge to call me a liar.
‘I found the strength to remove him; I have the strength to keep him off. You are free to choose your alliances as you will. I must warn you, however, I will not look kindly on any who ally with my husband.’
My words were strong, but I had to wipe my palms on my skirts to dry the sweat brought on by issuing threats to an army.
The Skythes shared silent glances, except the Nabaea, who watched me with her unsettling eyes, and once again I wondered if she could read hearts. A smile twitched at her lips. I looked away, back to the Skythes arrayed behind her.
‘You have made your position clear,’ Ardashir said at last, and I wondered what it augured that they had chosen my kinsman as spokesperson. ‘Now we must confer.’
THE SKYTHE LEADERS moved apart; one or two gave me a deferential nod first, but most simply turned away. The Nabaea joined them, but she did not take part in the discussion. Their voices were pitched too low for me to discern anything; perhaps the Nabaea’s contribution was a hex to curdle the air and make it swallow sounds.
I paid them no heed, for I’d learn of their decision soon enough. Here, now, was the moment I’d hoped I might be able to steal. I turned to my cousin.
‘Sepp, I need you to promise me something,’ I said softly.
‘What?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Stay,’ I said, putting all my heart into the simple plea. ‘When I return to the palace, stay here.’
He shook his head. Reaching for his hand and pressing his callused fingers between my own, I hurried on.
‘The Skythes will protect you. Don’t you see? Sidonius won’t be able to reach you – you’ll be free. He won’t be able to use you as a hostage anymore.’
‘Matilde, no.’ Gently but firmly, Sepp prised his hand free. ‘I won’t. You shouldn’t ask it of me.’
A quiet laugh escaped me, briefly drawing the Skythes’ attention. ‘Ask what?’ I said. ‘That you be free? That you escape while you can? Sepp, please, now isn’t the time to be stubborn. You don’t have to stay with the Skythes, you can leave them today. But I’m asking you, please, don’t return to the Turholm. It isn’t safe for you there.’ Unshed grief filled my throat. ‘If anything were to happen to me, Sidonius would have you killed without hesitation.’
He watched me gravely. ‘If anything were to happen to you, I wouldn’t want to live anyway.’
My heart thudded, once, hard against my ribs. ‘Sepp . . .’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t. You said it yourself, bindings are for life. There’s no changing it. But I told you once, not so long ago, my place is by your side. That hasn’t changed either.’
Tears pricked at the back of my eyes. ‘When did you grow so grim?’
His smile was fleeting. ‘Not so long ago.’
Frustration threatened to overwhelm me. If only I knew the nature of Sidonius’s threat, I could counter it, and assure Sepp of my safety. Then Sepp would not be so determined to return despite the risk to both of us.
‘You needn’t worry about me,’ I ventured. ‘Sidonius is liberal with threats, but he won’t hurt me. He can’t afford to. He needs me in good health to swear vassalage to his emperor.’
Shadows haunted Sepp’s eyes as he considered my words – but Sidonius’s threats, however nebulous, must have been the more convincing, for with a quick shake of his head he said, ‘You don’t understand.’
‘Tell me!’ I cried. ‘What has he told you, that you’d walk back when you could be free? He cannot hurt me – ’
‘He can!’ The urgency of his cry shocked us both. Regaining his composure with an effort, he said, ‘I don’t know how, Tilde. I’d tell you if I knew. But he says he can hurt you, and even that earthman of yours won’t be able to stop him – and I believe him. It may already be too late, you may already have spoilt everything with your stubbornness. I’ve worked hard to keep my head down and earn a measure of trust, but if I don’t relay exactly what happens in this tent, that will be lost. And if I lose what little of his trust I’ve gained, I’ll never be able to save you from whatever it is he’s planning. Did you ever stop to think that I might know what I’m doing?’
‘Politics didn’t exactly form a strong element of your upbringing,’ I said, stung by his anger as much as by the accusation.
‘Didn’t it?’ His knuckles flashed pale as he clenched his hands. ‘Politics dictated everything about my childhood, just as it did yours. You may have had silks where I had stable-hay, but do you honestly think Beata took less care with me than with you?’ He shook his head to forestall me, not that I had any ready words, and finished, ‘Trust me. Right now, my returning may be the only thing which can protect you.’
Then he bowed his head and refused to be drawn further, implacable as bedrock, and we waited in heated silence until the Nabaea’s voice roused me.
‘We have come to a decision,’ she said.
I turned to face the Skythes. They were all standing, and none made any move to sit, so I rose too.
A scan of the tattooed faces told me the decision would not be to my liking.
‘We will not ally with your husband against you,’ the Nabaea announced. ‘Though you were raised among strangers, and raised to strangers’ laws, still you are accounted a daughter of our tribes.’
I took a quick breath to stem the flood of joy that seized me at this news. Such bland faces, for such good news – it was enough to make me dizzy.
‘Neither, however, will we ally with you against your husband,’ the Nabaea said, whisking the joy from my veins. ‘You have admitted you are still bound, with no intention of dissolution – this makes him kin, too. The Nilofen may choose as they see fit whether to stand between you, or side with one of you. None here will oppose them this right. The Skythes as a whole, however, will not choose between two of our own. Should you reconcile with your husband and once more share common purpose, we may reconsider. Until then, our strength and our spears must remain in service only to ourselves.’
The Nabaea finished with a deep bow, bending from the waist, hands clasped before her. The leaders followed suit, feathers and rabbit paws and bear claws and plaits dangling from their scalps like some macabre forest.
I swallowed a taste like ash, disappointed in spite of myself, as I returned the bow.
At least this would make Roshi happy, knowing her people were canny enough not to stand between two brothers fighting for a throne which, once I had my way, they would neither achieve.
As I straightened, Ardashir stepped forward.
‘The Nilofen will not stand between husband and wife either,’ he said, then added by way of explanation: ‘Our promise of alliance and aid was given as your bride-gift. Our aid cannot be wholly yours until we are no longer bound to Dieter. Therefore we shall choose neither of you.’
‘Until I dissolve our marriage.’ It was hard to stop a hint of bitterness from edging my voice. ‘Or until he and I share a common purpose.’ Neither of which was likely to happen any time soon.
‘I am sorry,’ Ardashir said.
I waved the apology away. ‘No matter,’ I said, brisker and bolder than I felt. ‘Neutrality is no small offer. I thank you, and accept your position. I will not call on you for aid, nor instigate hostilities, so long as you remain neutral.’
This time only Ardashir and I bowed.
‘Come,’ he said, gesturing for me to precede him. ‘I will escort you back to your men.’
Together, we stepped into the sunshine. The Ilthean soldiers did not stiffen or snap to attention, as a Turasi soldier might have done, for the Ilthean soldiers had not relaxed during their wait.
Ardashir was silent until we reached the perimeter of the camp. Two paces beyond the skirts of the last tent he stopped, his light touch on my elbow asking me to do the same.
‘Your greatmother bade me bring you a message,’ he said.
‘She’s here?’
He smiled. ‘She is a . . . determined woman. She said to tell you the Nabaea can teach you, and not to fear them. They will not steal you away like the crows of your people.’
I stiffened, the instinct too swift to avert. If the Nabaea could teach me where Achim could not . . .
Careful that my voice should not carry I said, ‘Can they step within the walls?’
He eyed me sorrowfully and dashed my hopes with a shake of his head. ‘You know they cannot.’
‘Then I must return here,’ I said. My thoughts raced, seeking some way to arrange lessons without arousing Sidonius’s suspicion. ‘In a couple of days, have me summoned. Make it convincing, or Sidonius will be suspicious.’
Ardashir looked puzzled, but there was no time for further explanation, with the Ilthean soldiers watching my every move. I clambered into my saddle, and jerked my horse’s head around so quickly it reared.
Alarmed by the prospect of my escaping their cordon, the Iltheans scrambled into their own saddles, and only when they were trotting to keep up did I soothe my horse back to a gentle pace.
NO ONE SPOKE as we made our way back to the Turholm; even Grandmother kept silent, although the prospect of yet more lessons in working the shadows would not please her. Once again I squirmed in my saddle as we passed over the buried golems, sure I could feel fingers scraping against my insides. Perhaps it was simply nerves at the thought of Sidonius’s reaction to my smuggling Sepp out of the Turholm with me.
He was waiting for us.
I’d been plagued by thoughts of finding him with sword drawn, ready for punishment, but his anger was of a crueller kind. He took one quick step forward as my foot touched the flagstones.
‘Lady.’
With a gesture towards the Turholm, Sidonius indicated I should precede him. In the face of his brittle silence, I didn’t consider testing him in public. Holding my spine stiff, I acceded. Sidonius gathered Sepp in our wake with a glance.
We walked in silence, my second clue to the depth of his anger. He was waiting for privacy, determined to make a point.
There will be a display of his power, Grandmother warned. Fear gnawed at the pit of my stomach. I breathed deep and tried to touch the quiet place Achim spoke of and summon the calm he promised would result from a connection to the shadows, but it eluded me.
When I entered the solar ahead of Sidonius and saw Roshi and Amalia kneeling against the far wall, watched over by Renatas, my stomach flipped.
Roshi raised an apprehensive gaze to me, but Amalia put a hand on her shoulder, as if to hold her still, and Roshi said nothing.
‘Your golem will stand by Roshi,’ Sidonius said, his back to me as he made for one of the mullioned windows. All eyes followed him; even Renatas seemed on edge, and that boded ill. ‘Else I will erase his binding before we begin.’
I wanted to refuse, to keep Clay’s stolid and comforting presence by my back. But Sidonius knew the secret of a golem’s vulnerability, and I could not let Clay die for so trivial a cause. Whatever Sidonius planned, it was not my death; I would need Clay in the days to come. As bidden, I sent Clay to Roshi’s side.
Standing alone now, feeling small and defenceless, I turned back to face Sidonius.
A narrow table of thinly lacquered beech below the window held a candelabrum of beaten silver and what looked like a scrap of leather. Sidonius picked up this last item with seemingly idle fingers.
Standing broadside to the window, glancing from the kneeling Roshi to the window’s vista, he said, ‘Sepp.’
Sepp jerked his head up like a marionette with its strings plucked.
‘You will relate the events of the past hour,’ Sidonius said in the same blank tone.
My eyes wanted to slide sideways and watch Sepp’s face as he spoke, but I trained them instead on the haze from the window.
In an expressionless voice Sepp narrated everything from my summons to the Skythes’ decision, neatly leaving out my plea for him to escape.
‘Succinct and comprehensive,’ Sidonius remarked. He gestured to the door. ‘You may go.’
Sepp obeyed, leaving without protest or even so much as a peek in my direction.
Sidonius turned from the window.
‘You’ve not taken a seat, my lady,’ he said.
‘No.’
Whatever he planned, I would rather meet it on my feet.
‘Sepp was a little nervous, don’t you think?’
With a strong, untroubled voice I replied, ‘Your demeanour isn’t exactly calculated to relax.’
He rewarded me with a brief, humourless smile. ‘That was a good ploy, by the way. Claiming my personal thrall as the best to run messages. I dare say my men did not find it easy to refute.’
‘If your men had objected, I would have been delayed by the task of finding another.’
‘Ah, yes. The delay. You have a knack for reading to the heart of people, and gauging precisely what they’re least likely to deny you. It’s quite a trick. Some day you’ll have to share it with me.’
I bit back the words I wanted to say: It’s easy enough to learn – marry a man who doesn’t need you alive. Then, in escaping him, ally yourself with his equally cold brother.
‘Sepp’s recitation was cut and dried – but I suspect, if I questioned my men, they would relate events a little differently. And a word of caution before you answer, in case you think to use the barbarians to escape the terms of your vow: the empire has unpleasant rewards for treason. So if the Skythes are now allied to you, or even simply willing to stand against Dieter, it is not in your best interest to conceal such news.’
‘Your men weren’t privy to the negotiations,’ I said. ‘They waited without.’
A predatory gleam lit his eyes. ‘But they’ve ears aplenty, and Skythe tents of war have thin walls, after all.’
‘Then you’ve no need to waste my time,’ I snapped. ‘Question your men. They’ll tell you precisely what Sepp did. That the Skythes will not choose between Dieter and I.’
‘Come, lady. Let us be done with trickery. You and I both know why you chose Sepp. And when – if – my men confirm the Skythe decision, they’ll also reveal you wanted to free him. You wanted him out of my reach. You wanted me one hostage fewer.’
‘Of course I want him free of you!’ A flare of anger, white hot and fortifying, banished all sense of moderation. ‘He has no place in your schemes. Politics mean nothing to him – ’
‘It does not follow he means nothing to politics.’
I was not so angry the truth could not pull me up short. Coldly, I said, ‘You overestimate his value. He is Turasi, and by Turasi conventions he is not of the Svanaten line. He cannot inherit. Your obvious fears serve only to display your lack of education.’
He smiled unpleasantly. ‘The Turasi are now subject to Ilthean sovereignty, and according to the empire’s more civilised precepts, illegitimacy is no barrier to inheritance. Iltheans are a practical people, lady; they recognise that a man’s worth is not necessarily dictated by his parents’ mistakes. If he should prove his worth and escape the slave’s collar, he will hold a place in the line of succession. Sepp cannot therefore be so easily discounted.’ Sidonius waved a hand. ‘All of which is immaterial at present. You are very good at turning a conversation, aren’t you? Circling the point and drawing a man away. Is that how you bewitched Dieter? It won’t work with me, lady.’
He placed his hands on the table behind him and leant back. ‘Tell me true: you stole a moment for yourself in that negotiation tent, didn’t you?’
I tossed my head, and made no answer.
‘You told the lad to save himself, to run until he was out of reach, for both your sakes. Isn’t that right?’
I donned the same cold and unyielding look Grandmother had worn when dealing with the drightens’ challenges. ‘If I had, Sepp would have done as I bid, and run. He is not in the habit of defying me. Yet here he is, safely back under your eye and within your reach.’
‘Do not make the mistake of thinking me a fool.’
‘Then kindly stop treating me as one,’ I retorted.
He laughed, a gleam in his eyes I could not fathom. ‘I applaud the daring of your ploy, lady – Ilthea does not wish a weakling on the throne, after all. But I also deplore the imprudence. I took the lad hostage for good reason.’ Quiet menace filled his voice. ‘You should have respected that. You shouldn’t have needed a second warning.’
‘I don’t have time for this,’ I interrupted, already turning away. ‘If you need me for any serious discussion, such as what to do about the army camped outside our walls, you know where to find me.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said softly. ‘I know precisely where to find you. And how to hurt you.’
Agony tore through me, a searing spike lodged in my belly that doubled me over. The pain radiated outwards until my lungs threatened to burst with the pressure of it. My knees buckled, dropping me to the floor, the impact smacking my teeth together. Blood filled my mouth. I cried out, wordless with the pain, choking and coughing.
‘Stay where you are!’ Sidonius’s shout slammed through the room like thunder.
Through watering eyes, I saw Roshi crouched, frozen halfway to her feet, her face turned up in surprise. Amalia had her by the arm, holding her back. Renatas was watching me, his expression one of admiration for Sidonius’s tactic.
Above them, Clay stood, shocked into stillness by the force of Sidonius’s command.
‘On pain of her life, stay where you are,’ Sidonius said. ‘My lady Matilde must learn her lesson, and she cannot do so if you interfere. Make one move to help her – or to disarm me – and I’ll kill her before you take a second step.’
Cheeks blanched by fear, Roshi sank back to the floor. I’d never seen her frightened before. It made the bile climb my own throat.
‘If you stay where you stand, she will not die,’ Sidonius said to Clay, who still stood poised to run to my side. ‘If you move, she dies. Make your choice.’
Where brute strength would have failed, the simple logic of the decision disarmed the golem. Despite the distrust glimmering in his eyes, Clay remained where he was.
Renatas laughed, the hateful sound ringing in my ears.
Sidonius turned back to me.
Determined to meet him with dignity, or at least not to grovel on the floor at his feet, I straightened where I knelt. I had to breathe quick and shallow, arms clasped around my belly, to do it. The pain throbbed through me with every beat of my pulse.
Pinched between thumb and index finger, Sidonius dangled a child’s poppet before me. My mind reeled as I tried to make sense of the situation, every thought fractured by yet another wave of pain. The little rag-sewn creature had a tiny diadem stitched around its brow, and two white feathers – swan feathers – fastened to each shoulder.
‘I brought several,’ he said. ‘Useful little things, I find. Shadow-workers are in scarce supply, and they can’t often be spared to accompany an army. Conquering takes months, or more, after all. But with these, I don’t need a loyal shadow-worker to control someone. I simply need the right symbols, and a snippet of that someone’s hair wound around the poppet’s neck, to forge an unbreakable bond.’
I blinked, trying to clear my vision.
‘They also serve quite well when disciplining a witch, particularly one who knows very little of her powers,’ he added with a malicious smile. ‘This one is my favourite, I must say – observe, lady, her beautiful belly.’
Beneath the wings of her swan-feather cloak, the poppet’s belly was distended. It was pregnant. The pin he’d driven through the poppet stood out from the swell with a bright silver sparkle, like pain.
Struggling to understand, I said, ‘But I’m not with child . . .’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re not.’
Quick as a striking serpent, Sidonius drove another pin through the poppet’s rag skin. I screamed as the pain tore through me, as if the pin were a sword cutting through tender flesh and filling my belly with blood. The force of it knocked me to the floor again. I threw out my hands to break my fall but my palms slipped and I sprawled at his feet, supported on my knees and one elbow.
A hot, wet seeping between my legs made me look down. Blood was soaking through my skirts, thick and black and fast.
‘Matilde!’ Roshi cried, but she did not move, held still by fear of Sidonius’s promise.
‘Little queen!’ Clay called to me, begging me to order him to my side, to order him to fight.
‘And now,’ Sidonius said, drawing my gaze upwards, ‘you never will be.’
With horrific care, he slid the pins free. It felt like they were dragging through my belly, catching in vital flesh, but they slid crisp and clean and without trouble out of the poppet’s rag-sewn flesh. Wisps of straw and stuffing poked out of the holes they left behind, and more blood gushed from between my legs.
I gagged on a renewed surge of pain, fear and disbelief making it worse. A stench of putrefaction rose around me, as if my flesh were rotting already.
Sidonius smiled down on me. ‘Ilthea won’t tolerate insubordination, lady. Consider this your final warning.’
Turning, he tossed the poppet to Roshi. Her trembling hands fumbled the catch, and the poppet dropped to the floor at her knees. With a tiny cry, she scooped it back up and raised frightened eyes to me.
‘Don’t fear so,’ Sidonius said to her. ‘It’s useless now. A poppet is fashioned for a specific purpose, and the belly was the focus of this little one.’
He stepped over me and walked to the doorway, Renatas leaping after him.
‘Ruling effectively is about maintaining the balance of power,’ he said to Renatas, who was looking up at him with admiration. ‘It’s important to follow through on any promises you might make, but just as important to follow through on any threats. Oh,’ he said over his shoulder to Roshi, ‘you may move now. Might I suggest you summon a leech for the lady? She might die, otherwise, and we don’t want that.’
With a last smile for me, he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.
SILENCE FILED THE room.
The blood reached my knees. Whimpering, I sank prostrate to the floor. The pain had not lessened; I clutched at my belly, fingers working in a desperate search for its source.
With a soft cry, Roshi rushed to my side. ‘Matilde?’ She flinched at the sight of my skirts, my lap black with blood, but laid a firm hand on my belly.
Renewed pain burst through me. My vision dimmed and then washed to white; when it returned, she had her hand to her mouth and fear in the tightness of her cheeks.
‘A leech,’ she demanded urgently, looking up at Amalia and Clay. ‘Hurry!’
Mali ran to the door.
It was difficult to breathe now, the air felt warm and sticky and my eyelids were heavy as molasses. Dimly I heard Mali speaking, but the words were indistinct.
I closed my eyes, briefly I thought. When I opened them again Amalia knelt beside Roshi, the discarded poppet dangling from one hand. They were speaking in muted but fierce voices, arguing perhaps, but both fell silent and turned their eyes on me. Dark as ebonwood and pale as foxfire, both gazes were tight with worry.
‘Matilde,’ Roshi said, and could say no more.
‘Hold fast,’ Amalia said, but it was slow and stretched and I heard no more.
When next I woke, sluggish and stupid as a reluctant dawn, I was in my bed, the feather tick soft and yielding beneath me. A faint ache troubled my jaw, and a stronger throb pulsed, hot and inevitable, in my bloated abdomen.
Roshi sat cross-legged on the bed beside me, watching me intently. Memories of another time rose, when I had woken from poisoning to find Roshi hovering protectively over me.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Roshi said.
I blinked, and summoned the most intelligent response I could. ‘Oh?’
‘You should marshal the spears and push the vipers as far from here as possible. And kill as many on the way as you can.’
I closed my eyes against a familiar sense of disorientation, the hallmark of most conversations with Roshi. ‘Yesterday was different because . . . ?’
‘Squabbling over a chair is foolish,’ she said. ‘For blood, it’s justified.’
A chuckle escaped me, and another, coming thick and fast until a full-throated laugh overtook me. Pain cut it short, however. ‘Now you tell me,’ I managed through numb lips.
‘Contrariness runs in the family,’ she offered with a tremulous smile of apology. ‘I thought you’d be used to it by now.’
I shook my head, then turned it away to conceal the seeping tears of my traitorous eyes in the soft fabric of my pillow. Oddly, Roshi waited without murmur while I fought the flood tide of emotion.
‘Was he lying?’ I asked when I was sure I could control my voice. With my head still buried in the pillow, it emerged muffled through a mouthful of feathers and rags, but it did not waver.
‘No.’
I squeezed my eyes shut, but her voice penetrated the darkness.
‘The leech stopped the bleeding quick enough, although you still lost enough to make a fine mess of the floor. He gave you an extract drawn from the purple rye, but he couldn’t give you too much lest it stop the blood flow too well, and risk your limbs. He’s also stuffed you full of gauze and rags to draw the pooled blood from the wound and allow you to heal.’
That explained the bloated feeling in my abdomen, I supposed, as well as the pinched, burning sensation in my toes.
‘The scarring . . . he thinks it will be too severe,’ she said softly. ‘You will never bear a child of your own.’
The words hit me like a blow, winding me. My future had been stolen with a single thrust of a sewing needle. Sidonius’s cruel stratagem had accomplished something not even Dieter had managed – he had wiped House Svanaten from the face of the land.
Roshi watched anxiously for my reaction, but I could find none to offer her.
‘The general is thorough,’ I said at last.
Well may I bear the sign of Death on my brow, I added silently.
Whatever she saw in my face made Roshi reach out and squeeze my hand. Her touch was distant, as if the flesh of my hands were numb, or the nerves connecting them to my consciousness were frayed.
Fierce as a stooping hawk she promised, ‘We will feed him to the shadows.’
‘Yes,’ I said, the word emerging as pale and bloodless as I felt.
Without warning, the corners of the room twisted, so briefly I would have thought it only an illusion if it wasn’t accompanied by a thrumming sensation linking me to the room. It was almost enough to make me laugh, that I should succeed in summoning the shadows now, without trying, but then the sensation slipped away.
Quietly I said, ‘We will. But it doesn’t matter. He’s won.’
‘Will you admit defeat so easily?’ Roshi demanded with a return of her customary vehemence. ‘He has not pierced your heart, nor your liver. Children can be got by other means – I will bear a child for you,’ she vowed in a tumble of words too quick for reason. ‘I am the daughter of your mother’s sister – closer kin would not be possible!’
I waved my hand, a weak attempt to avoid long explanations. ‘It’s not the children I mourn,’ I said. ‘It’s the throne.’
Confusion made her hesitant. ‘The one who sits the throne cannot be barren?’
If ever I was uncertain of the many differences between our cultures, a conversation with Roshi could cure me of it. It was exhausting at the best of times.
‘Any may sit the throne who can hold it,’ I corrected, fighting the lassitude seeping through my mind. ‘But to pass it down the line . . . I am the last of my House. There is no other who can claim Svanaten blood.’
I had spent my whole life fighting to keep House Svanaten alive, hiding my visions, denying the shadows and the way they called to me. Now my House was destroyed anyway, and nothing I could do would see it live on after my death.
I had never realised freedom could be such a desolate sensation.
‘Renatas is my closest living relative,’ I went on, ‘and now there’s no one standing between him and the throne, and never will be. It will pass to the Ilthean empire no matter what I do.’
Roshi was silent a moment, everything stilled as she considered, fingers frozen in the act of plucking at a stray fold of her tunic.
‘A child of my womb . . .’
‘Would be a Skythe, even if I raised it,’ I said gently. ‘The drightens were reluctant enough to let me ascend the throne – it was one of the reasons Grandmother delayed my coronation by two years – and I’m only half Skythe.’
Roshi shook her head dismissively. ‘You are young. You have years yet before you must worry about who follows you. First we must seize your throne back from between the serpent’s fangs, yes?’
I gave a soft laugh, given strength by her steadfastness. ‘Yes.’
As I let Roshi tip some tepid tea down my throat, raised voices from the sitting room, muffled by the closed door, drew my attention.
‘Who is that?’ My heart beat fast at the dread thought of Sidonius waiting without.
Roshi grimaced and said, ‘Mali and Sepp. They can’t be together without quarrelling. They . . . do not like each other over much.’
‘Mali?’ I asked, surprised. ‘Why is she here?’
For that matter, why had she been in the room to witness my punishment, if Sidonius thought her his ally? I remembered, in a hazy and disjointed fashion, the complicated look on Mali’s face as she held Roshi’s arm while I lay at Sidonius’s feet. I had thought Mali was changing Roshi’s views, but perhaps the reverse was true, perhaps Roshi was bringing Mali to her senses.
Roshi sighed, and said, ‘Sidonius has set her as Sepp’s watchdog – where he goes, she must follow.’
‘And Sidonius let Sepp visit me?’ The idea, so hard on the heels of my punishment, was inexplicable.
‘Mali argued for it,’ Roshi said, turning away and busying her hands with the urn of tea beside my bed. ‘Sidonius thought the sight of you wounded might tighten the lad’s leash, so he agreed.’
‘Let him in,’ I said.
Roshi tipped her head to the side, and I recognised in it a presage of protest.
‘I’m strong enough,’ I assured her. ‘Let him in. But keep Mali out for the moment, watchdog or no. I don’t want to preside over any squabbling.’
I thought she was about to protest further, for a strange look slid across her features, but she nodded and obeyed without comment.
The argument in the sitting room cut off as Roshi stepped out, and did not resume. Whatever reasoning she employed, when the door creaked open again, it was only Sepp who stepped through.
His obstinate expression, the one he pinned on when he had set himself to see a task through, told me I had no hope of successfully convincing him to save himself. He had nursed countless mares’ breech births, and slit the throat of horses with broken legs, wearing that face. Still, I had to try.
‘You have to leave,’ I said. ‘For me.’
‘It’s for you I’m staying.’
‘To save me.’ I wasn’t gentle about it, wanting to wound him, wanting to give him a reason to leave.
‘You’re doing more to hamper than to help me.’
He scoffed. ‘You’ll have to do better than that.’
Grabbing his wrist, I said, ‘While he has you, he has my hands tied. I can’t manoeuvre for fear of what he’ll do to you. You’re a knife to my throat. How does that save me?’
He didn’t respond.
Gently, I added, ‘He can’t hurt me any more than he already has.’
‘He can kill you.’
‘He wants to control me, Sepp,’ I corrected. ‘He can’t kill me until I’ve knelt before his emperor and had Renatas sanctioned.’
He can, if he needs to. Installing the boy by strength of arms alone won’t be all that different to what he’ll need to do should the boy legally inherit.
Thank you, Grandmother. Your contribution isn’t helpful at this point.
‘Even so, he is prepared to kill you, if the need arises,’ Sepp said, pulling his hand free. ‘He has more of those poppets, Matilde. He could put a pin through your throat, or your eye, next time,’ he said. He shook his head, and then burst out, ‘Why did you have to defy him? I told you he could hurt you, I told you he wouldn’t hesitate!’
I put my hand on his arm, stilling him. ‘He won’t use them, not if I don’t give him cause,’ I said with feigned calm.
Sepp contented himself with a significant pause to convey his opinion on that score. ‘You told me to leave once, and I told you I couldn’t, that it was too dangerous,’ he snapped. ‘Look what happened when you didn’t believe me. And you’re still being headstrong?’
He took a deep breath, then said softly, ‘Let me save you, Matilde. You can’t save me.’
‘I can and I will,’ I said, meeting his resignation with defiance. ‘I’ll find a way out for all of us.’
He only smiled, a sad and weary smile far too old for his years. Behind it floated the memory of corpses scattered through the Turholm, the men and women dead in Dieter’s coup, and again in the wake of my siege.
‘There’s no way out for any of us,’ Sepp said.
IT WAS TWO days before the leech allowed me from my bed.
I’d used my bedrest to gnaw over the problem Sidonius had handed me, but still I saw no way to block Renatas from inheriting the throne. I could discredit his claim, but in truth it was a strong one – and I couldn’t rely on the drightens to vote against him. More than one of them might well think to stand as the boy’s regent or wed him to one of their own get, especially if they were fool enough to think he could be turned from the empire.
When I rose, tender and stricken as a cored apple, I had no better idea to go on than Roshi’s suggestion of time on my side. It was not a comfortable feeling. After watching my entire family and court struck down in the course of one bloody hour, time was an illusory concept at best, and one I suspected was little inclined to favour me. Still, it was all I had.
I had a mind to set Roshi to searching for the poppets, but it was too soon – Sidonius would be expecting such a move. Besides, even if she could find them and secret them away, it would be nigh impossible to know if she had found them all, and even a single poppet left in the general’s hands could prove fatal.
Instead, under the auspice of my slow recovery, I had the leech summon Achim for consultation.
He arrived with features drawn and thin-skinned by worry, the dark circles under his eyes not entirely due now to ink stains. His nostrils were dark pits in his thin face; old blood scabbed one corner of his mouth, and a burn marked one cheekbone.
Unaccountably, Clay was with him and he looked equally ragged. Misery dragged at his eyes and mouth, and he clutched his hands in front of him, the helpless gesture out of place in such a powerful creature. He had at least one new wound visible, a gash to his upper lip.
I had not seen the golem in the past two days, but I had assumed he stood in his usual post, guarding the door to my rooms. No one had told me otherwise. Instead it seemed Achim had seized the opportunity to undertake his experiments at last.
Only the force of my fury kept me silent.
Clay crossed swiftly to my side and knelt, bowing his head. I put a hand on his shoulder, which quivered beneath my touch, but I turned first to Achim.
I was sitting on a couch, a blanket over my legs and another drawn around my shoulders. I had not found the strength to dress, but it would serve to convey weakness if the shadow-worker carried report back to Sidonius.
Achim took in my appearance, then sank to his knees. His back remained straight and his bearing gave no indication of chagrin, but otherwise the gesture seemed an admission of guilt. Had he played me false? Had he known of these poppets from the outset?
I stared him down.
When his gaze dropped to the floor at last, I was sure of his guilt. ‘Explain these poppets,’ I snapped.
‘I . . . cannot,’ he murmured.
I clamped my teeth together against a wash of hatred. ‘But you knew of them.’
‘No!’ His gaze flew to mine in time with the cry, and I read sincerity in his horror. My anger receded, beat back by uncertainty.
‘I knew nothing of them,’ Achim said urgently. Then he shook his head, distaste twisting his features, and said, ‘I should have. I should have guessed. I’d heard, in Ilthea, of Sidonius’s methods. That’s all they called it: his ‘knack for dealing with recalcitrant vassals’. I should have guessed it had something to do with the shadows.’
I had guessed, I remembered. But when Achim told me Sidonius had no skill with the shadows, I had let the matter rest. After all, with Achim subverted to my ranks, Sidonius had no shadow-worker. I had thought myself safe from that quarter.
Sepp had warned me, and tried to protect me despite myself. Even Achim had warned me: Sidonius is not a man to miscalculate. I hadn’t heeded either of them. Sidonius was a cruel man, and he served a cruel lord. I’d had time enough to judge that for myself, yet still I had defied him, with disastrous consequence.
Your lack of judgement is not the issue at hand, child, Grandmother murmured. It is done. Now you have to decide how to act from here.
‘You could not have guessed had you tried,’ I said to Achim.
The gentleness of my words only drove his shoulders further down.
‘Sepp has shared Sidonius’s every waking moment since the siege, and even he could not ferret out the secret,’ I added.
‘I’ve been studying the poppets, these past two days,’ he told me.
The admission seemed to give him strength, for as he went on he straightened, his body unclenching from around the knot of guilt he nursed, until at last he lifted his face, and met and held my eye.
‘There were none of your mara present to ask, so Roshi sent word to the Skythe encampment for me. She had to bully one of the talaye into listening to her first, which was no small feat, but in the end it came to naught because the Nabaea knew nothing of them. They seem simple enough, however; I’ve been able to create them by way of a modification of the arcana used to fashion a golem.’
He glanced at Clay, kneeling grim and battered and silent by my side. The action reminded me that the golem had been a participant in this experiment, and fanned my anger back to life.
Achim went on, ‘Once a link is induced, the poppet serves as a focal point, transmitting actions the way salt water will carry the killing effects of a spark. If I’ve made them correctly, they are good for one use only, but they are effective nonetheless.’
‘Oh yes,’ I said bitterly. ‘They’re quite effective.’
He flinched. In a thin voice he said, ‘I have tried everything I know, my lady, everything I can think of. I found no arcana or hex that can ward you against them. I even tried creating a shielded poppet, reasoning it might protect surer than any armour, but it will not work unless it is the only poppet. Any other poppet linked to the same person is unshielded, and vulnerable.’
Achim took a swift breath, but did not falter. ‘My lady, I cannot protect you. If the general has more of those poppets . . .’
The idea made me quail inside, but my voice was clear and strong when I said, ‘Then I shall have to be careful.’
‘I could try to find where he keeps them,’ Achim offered, but I cut him off.
‘No. Roshi or Sepp can take care of that. I need you to find a way to render the poppets powerless.’ I let all my rage show as I said, ‘And this time, you will not use Clay for your experiments.’
Clay let out a stifled moan of protest, and raised a beseeching look to me. I turned to him in surprise.
‘You want to take part?’
‘I want to help,’ he said. ‘Because I failed you.’
‘Clay, no – you didn’t,’ I started.
‘I am sorry, little queen,’ he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘I should not have stayed still. I thought . . . I thought I was helping. He said . . . ’
‘Clay, you made the right decision,’ I said gently. ‘If you had moved to save me, or to threaten him, he would have killed me. But you stayed still, despite how hard it was. You saved my life.’
He shook his head, inconsolable, and murmured, ‘Forgive me.’
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ I said, but he was trembling, and a bright glitter like tears stood in his sloe-dark eyes. Could the earth cry?
‘Forgive me,’ he begged.
It felt like betrayal to do it, as if I was admitting he had done wrong, but the golem needed to hear it, and I could not deny him. I gave him my hand, which he cradled between his own, and said, ‘I forgive you, Clay.’
A great shudder ran through his frame, and he sighed, releasing days of pent-up guilt. ‘And I can still help Achim?’ he asked, hope in his voice.
I hesitated, unable to sanction such an endeavour, no matter how willing a participant Clay seemed.
Sensing my dilemma, Achim spoke up. ‘He is not the subject,’ he said. ‘I bind the poppets only to myself. The cut on his lip I did inflict, but it was a reflex blow only – that first jab took me by surprise. I’ve since had him stand across the room.’
I took in then the numerous small wounds that decorated the shadow-worker, the cuts and the bruises on his forearms, the burn across his cheekbone.
‘Clay is the only creature in the Turholm willing to jab a pin in a poppet, knowing it will make me cry out. Although I don’t think it’s my pain they fear so much as being part of an arcana. Or Sidonius’s wrath, should he discover their involvement.’
Regret made me want to weep. ‘I am sorry,’ I said to Achim. ‘I misjudged.’
‘My lady,’ he said gently. ‘You had good cause.’
ONE THING IMPROVED – my lessons in the shadows. I was reluctant to take much of Achim’s time, since I judged it better spent continuing the research into Sidonius’s barbarous poppets, but found some few hours in the days that followed to attempt more learning.
This time, it worked.
Not to any great degree – it seemed manipulating people still came easier to me than making the earth flow – but I succeeded in establishing a connection, and once even summoned up a vision of Grandmother by holding one of her necklaces. It was a pale and ghostly vision, there and then gone in the blink of an eye, but it was a start.
Achim ascribed my success to greater focus, and perhaps he was not wrong. I had sought to learn the shadows out of political expediency, but still feared for my House if my secret were discovered. Now, for all that I lived, death had claimed House Svanaten. I had nothing left to lose.
Until death release me, I thought bitterly.
Two more days of rest, and I found the strength to dress for my first confrontation, barren and subdued, with Sidonius.
At first, when my guard brought quiet message of the expected summons from the Skythes, I had thought to visit the camp without seeking permission. But Sidonius would have me followed in either case, and meekness now might allay his suspicion and prevent him from passing extra instructions to those escorting me. A soldier at his everyday guard duties was an entirely different creature from one explicitly reminded to keep a watchful eye on me. Particularly as the summons was to enable a lesson from the Nabaea, something I did not want Sidonius to discover.
So I dressed with care, in a gown of sun-burnt orange, to bring out the sallowness of my skin, and a choker of yellow diamonds for my throat, both to emphasise my pallor and to ensure I wasn’t too subdued. Sidonius had to think I still wanted the throne, after all.
He was in the lower courtyard, watching the horses at their paces. For a wonder, Renatas wasn’t with him. While it was a relief not to have to withstand the lad’s sniping, I couldn’t help but wonder where he was, and what lessons of rulership he was studying today.
The wind nipped at my cheeks and the tips of my ears as I crossed the courtyard; its cavalcade of scents and dizzying vigour brought back a sense of nausea. I buried my clammy hands in my sleeves.
Sidonius took in my appearance with a single, sweeping glance and greeted me with a perfunctory, ‘You look unwell, my lady.’
I turned to watch the horses. A buckskin mare my grandmother had favoured was closest; she had had a stone in her right foreleg recently, and the slight limp was still evident at faster gaits. My voice sounded thin and wind-shredded as I said, ‘I’m well enough to do what I must.’
‘Which is?’
I glanced sidelong at him, looked away again. A stable thrall was leading Grandmother’s mare to the side to examine her hooves more closely.
‘Make preparations for our departure,’ I said quietly. ‘Your reinforcements will be here soon, will they not?’
My pulse jumped in my wrists as I stood under his assessing gaze. He was never going to accept the first hint of submission as a true one, but the duration of his suspicion rested in large part on my reaction now.
‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘Another fortnight, perhaps.’
‘You’ve had word?’
His answering smile told me nothing. I made a mental note to check with Sigi, who would be more communicative as to the arrival of any birds.
Silence seeped out around us, deadening the voices of those men exercising the mounts, muting the whisper of the wind, sharpening the clatter of hooves on stone.
‘We have little time then,’ I said at last. ‘And I see little point in waiting. We should ride out to meet them.’
The look he turned on me ran swift with calculation. ‘You would leave the Turholm undefended, after all your protests?’ he asked, a dangerous shadow in his eyes belying his quiet question.
‘We ride towards a larger force; any men we take will be back within a fortnight. Those we leave behind can hold the Turholm for such a short span of time, even if pressed. That was your plan, wasn’t it?’ I asked, digging my hands deeper into my sleeves. ‘Besides, with the Skythes to help guard the walls, there’d be little risk.’
‘I thought they had determined to remain neutral,’ Sidonius said.
‘So did I,’ I replied, and paused.
Having determined the mare’s hooves to be sound enough, the thrall was leading her back to the training circle. She frisked and fretted at the end of her lead, probably edgy with too much rest.
Judging the pause sufficient to convey my defeat, I went on, ‘Circumstances have changed, however. I plan to give them the opportunity to re-evaluate.’
Sidonius chuckled, and clasped his hands behind his back. ‘Is this how you won Dieter over?’ he said. ‘Did you woo him with your helplessness? You cut a very different figure when you marched into my command tent wearing only rags and attitude than you do today, in jewels and submission. I never understood, before, how Dieter could have let you go unwatched.’
I met the gleam of his pale eyes. His hair needed cutting; wisps of it curled over his collar at the nape of his neck. Pale stubble glinted on his cheeks where the thin sunlight caught it.
‘I never admitted defeat to Dieter. He didn’t let me go unwatched.’
‘But you would admit defeat to me,’ he said, disbelief clear in his tone and expression. He wanted to believe, all the same; that was just as clear.
‘Dieter left me life and limb. He took delight in taunting me, stoking the fire of my desire for vengeance, because he believed he could always outwit me. He had a taste for risk.’ I slipped him a sombre look, glanced away again, swallowed to clear my throat. ‘I erred, my lord, in judging you might have a similar thirst. Now I have paid the price.’
Dieter’s parting words echoed in my mind: Enjoy the fruits of your labour, Matilde. You’ll find my brother a crueller master than I. I hadn’t thought it possible; under Dieter’s hands I had suffered emotional torment severe enough to sicken my mind like a sapling raised in rancid soil. He had spoken true, however. Dieter’s torments might be the finer, the more exquisite in comparison – but Sidonius’s single brutal tactic carried the graver blow.
Sidonius shrugged. ‘Forgive me, lady, if I remain unconvinced.’
I turned to face him, cheeks raw and lips chafed by the wind, the faint trace of illness in my pallor.
‘I have crawled through a carnage of flesh that was once my family. I have swallowed poison meant for another. Now I stand before you, barren and hollow as a shed husk. You’ve destroyed my House and my future. I have no more taste left for risk.’
‘Some might say you have naught left to lose.’
I gave a sullen laugh. ‘I have tasted of death – I’ve no wish to do so again.’
Which was no falsehood. It was amazing how little I had to lie in order to manipulate the truth. It only made the danger closer, of course; it prickled down the back of my neck, hot as the breath of the forge fire.
Whether he believed me or not, I could not gauge, but with a deep breath he said, ‘When do you envisage riding out?’
Despite myself, I hesitated, lowering my eyes before I could answer. ‘As soon as we can be ready,’ I said, scanning the fit of the paving stones. In a stronger voice, I said, ‘It should not take more than a few days. A touch longer, if the Skythes prove fractious. I would not wish to leave an enemy army camped outside the walls.’
As opposed to an enemy army within the walls, Grandmother noted. She had been quiet at my subservience, but I could feel her uneasiness, a direct echo of mine.
‘Go then,’ Sidonius said, as brisk as if he had decided to trust me, although I knew he had not. ‘Take an Ilthean escort again, not your Skythes. I will begin preparations for our departure. And, my lady . . . I trust you’re not fool enough to make the same mistake twice.’
I HAD A thrall saddle me a horse at once, as well as three for my Ilthean escort. This time I chose one of the shorter Trakkans, a palfrey trained for her smooth gait. As before, Clay declined the use of a horse.
The sky stretched wide and pale overhead as we walked out into the open. Afternoon was fading: a hint of the oncoming dusk darkened the horizon, and a freshening wind heralded a chilly night.
This time Ardashir waited alone to greet me.
I dismounted without ceremony and stepped forward, the reins trailing loose in my hand. My horse snorted once, its hot breath blowing against my back, and stood quiet. A dull and heavy ache in my midsection warned of overexertion. I hoped I did not start bleeding again.
Ardashir’s greeting held no warmth and scant welcome. ‘I see your escort has not changed.’
‘Much has changed,’ I said.
He gestured for one of my guards to mind the horses, and nodded for me to follow him. With Clay and the other two Iltheans at my heels, I walked once more into the heart of the Skythe encampment. A tense and ready air to the camp told me the Skythes were prepared for battle at a moment’s notice, which did nothing to ease the sick thump of my heart.
Again I entered the Nabaea’s tent. She was waiting, as I expected; to my surprise, so were the tribal leaders. This was not to be the lesson Ardashir and I had planned, then. Hope warred with fear in my breast. Had they reconsidered? In which direction?
Belatedly, I noticed Shadi in a dark corner, cross-legged and swamped in a great woollen shawl the same colour as the shadows.
‘Greatmother,’ I murmured, giving her a swift bow, before turning to the tribal leaders.
The leaders greeted me with more briskness than warmth.
‘Our decision has not changed,’ one said, dispensing with pleasantries even while the Nabaea was handing me a cup of their tea, hot and salty. I swallowed what I had sipped, feeling it scald all the way down. My tongue felt numb and thick with the burn.
I waited for further explanation, and tried another experimental sip, but the flavour had not improved any.
The Nabaea said, ‘We have heard from Dieter.’
I put the tea down before I dropped it, my blood cold.
‘The situation between us has not changed,’ I warned them. ‘Nor is it like to.’
‘He claims otherwise.’
‘Whatever his petition to you,’ I said, speaking slowly to keep the frustration from choking me, ‘one fact you can trust: any changes he might wish would not be to my advantage. Like as not, the only thought he’s granted to my welfare is how to end my life swiftly.’
From the shadows, Shadi said, ‘Can you truly think such a thing of him, and still remain his wife?’
‘Bindings are reckoned differently among my father’s people.’ Bitter humour touched my voice as I added, ‘Particularly in my and Dieter’s case.’
The last breath of steam coiling upwards from the surface of my tea shredded on the wind of my words. No one spoke, and it was clear they weren’t going to.
I exhaled in frustration, earning an aura of disapproval from my dead grandmother and a laugh from my living one. Embarrassment heated my cheeks, and in my hurry I spoke too forcefully.
‘If you decide battling Iltheans isn’t morally bankrupt, I will be riding from the palace in a few days. Help me scourge the land of the serpents, and you can sit back and watch Dieter break his head on my walls with your conscience intact.’
A stiff and aching abdomen ruined my attempt to rise smoothly; halfway to my knees I had to clutch at Clay’s proffered hand to keep my balance. He hauled me upright with nary a blink to show the effort it took.
Shadi was at my side while I was still gathering my balance, spryer and more agile than I despite being decades my senior.
Ardashir frowned, as did the other tribal leaders, and the Nabaea stood swiftly. Whatever she had been about to say went unheard, however, for Shadi silenced her with a gesture and the quiet comment, ‘I will see to it.’
She turned to me and said sternly, ‘You are wounded.’
Instinct made me glance down, but no blood stained my lap. Foolish, to think a woman born of warriors would not recognise a severe wound without blood for confirmation, but instinct ran faster than thought.
‘It is nothing,’ I lied.
She made no attempt to discern anything more. Perhaps she thought it commonplace, for a wounded woman to sit through a cup of tea and pointless negotiations with no complaint.
Instead, she took my hand in her callused fingers and said, ‘Well, you shall come and visit with me for a meal. I know how to feed a person who needs healing. Years of experience. Come.’
The tiny tug she gave my hand would not have tested a grasshopper’s strength. I didn’t move.
‘I should return,’ I said dispassionately. ‘Sidonius will be waiting. He thinks I am only informing you of our departure.’
‘And he’s suspicious, eh?’
‘He will be, if I do not return promptly.’ The ache in my midsection was all the reminder I needed of Sidonius’s suspicions, and what he was like to do if he judged them confirmed.
‘He cannot begrudge an old woman the chance to sit with her granddaughter. Come. We will send one of your men back with the message, to allay his fears, and you will eat a hearty meal that will see you healed in no time. You eat the wrong foods,’ Shadi said, pulling once more at my hand, this time with more force. ‘You would have a healthier colour if you ate better.’
Shadi installed me before her tent and the cooking fire, tended by a young boy with quick eyes and quick hands. I wondered if he was yet another cousin; my life seemed thick with cousins, these few months past.
My greatmother’s idea of eating better was anything that came of an animal. First there was goat’s milk, sweetened with a trace of honey and warmed to blood temperature.
Great steaks of venison sizzling in the buttered pan showed the Skythes were not as scrupulous with the Duethin’s game as they were about not standing between husband and wife. There was a stew, thick with hunks of goat meat and carrots and potatoes, and served with chewy bread which had cheese baked into the dough. There were eggs, whipped with cream, and a wheel of cheese, presumably in case I was still hungry. The only foodstuff not directly from an animal was the tea, but Shadi solved that by stirring in a knob of butter.
‘Eat,’ she urged, placing a generously laden plate into my hands. ‘You need energy to heal.’
The sheer abundance of food was enough to shrink my appetite. ‘I’m not as sick as I look,’ I said, poking at the scrambled mass of rapidly cooling eggs. ‘Yellow doesn’t suit me.’
‘An ill-suited dress doesn’t turn your eyes that colour,’ she said. ‘Eat. Faster. Would you waste the gift of blood the creatures yielded for your strength?’
My appetite shrank even further, but I picked up the bread and dipped it into the stew to soften it.
‘Tell me what happened,’ Shadi said, nodding towards my midsection to indicate my wound.
Sidonius happened.
The answer hovered on my lips, trapped by a sinking trepidation. It was too private a confession.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said quietly. ‘What does matter is why you summoned me, since it obviously wasn’t for a lesson in the shadows or to revisit the terms of our . . . alliance.’
‘You’ve not eaten enough,’ Shadi said.
‘I’ve eaten all I’m like to. Messenger or not, Sidonius is going to grow suspicious sooner rather than later. We shouldn’t waste what time we have.’
‘You heard the Nabaea,’ she said, dropping her efforts at evasion with no more than a pursing of her lips. ‘We’ve heard from Dieter.’
ALL THE FOD I’d eaten turned to burning cinders in my stomach as my intuition caught up with the moment.
‘He’s here,’ I said. Wild as a trapped animal, I swung my head around, searching for sign of him. ‘You haven’t had word from him, he’s come himself. That’s why you summoned me. Oh, ravens feast on your eyes, I’m going to be sick.’
‘Do refrain if you can, Matte,’ Dieter said, ducking as he stepped out of Shadi’s tent. ‘It never shows a woman to her best advantage, in my experience.’
A month living as a rebel king in the wilderness had given him a rugged look. Stubble shadowed his jaw. His hair had seen a soldier’s blade for barbering, and it curled a little at the ends as it grew out. His clothes were worn with want of gentle care; no silks or velvets now, but a sturdy woollen tunic and trews, their jet-black hues faded at the seams to a sombre grey.
Precious little else had changed. The line of him in leg and limb was still lean and hard; the sardonic light in his eyes still tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He still called me Matte in that same mocking tone.
‘Although, now you mention it, I have seen you looking better,’ he said, taking in my appearance with interest.
Faster than thought or caution I scrambled upright, hands shoving at the ground for balance, every nerve in my body firing with panic, Dieter’s laugh ringing in my ears.
Having gained my feet, I straightened, turning in search of safety. Clay was only a yard away, already rising, determination lighting in his eyes behind the fear.
Before I could finish the turn or take a step, my insides tore. With a cry that cut through Dieter’s laugh I went down, the breath in my lungs turned to fire, hot as the agony ripping through my abdomen.
‘Matilde!’ Dieter cried, lunging to catch me.
Clay beat him, his great earthen arms plucking me to safety. Dieter’s face hovered above me, his outstretched hand drawing back, concern in his eyes.
The moment passed with a blink. When I opened my eyes again, Dieter had drawn back, relinquishing me to Clay’s care with a dark frown. Clay’s answering expression I could not see, for he cradled me tenderly against his broad chest.
‘She is wounded,’ Shadi was saying to Dieter, who turned his attention to her with effort, though his gaze sought me out again only moments later.
I gestured for Clay to stand me on my feet but the golem ignored my signal, forcing me to speak from within his grip, undercutting my show at dignity.
‘Unfortunately for my husband, it’s not a head wound, so nothing has changed. I don’t want anything to do with discussions involving him. Clay, put me down.’
With maddening care the golem deposited me on the ground, his large hands maintaining a solid grip of my upper arms until he was sure my feet would bear my weight.
‘Clay, I’m fine. Let me go.’
Even then he hovered close, staring defiantly at Dieter.
‘So that’s where you got to, is it?’ Dieter addressed the golem, watching his actions avidly. ‘I’d wondered.’
He spoke calmly, but there was a honed edge of curiosity hidden in it. Nervously, I couldn’t help but wonder – would Clay’s decision hold in the face of his creator? I would soon find out.
‘Your authority over people is weak, Dieter,’ I said. ‘It relies on trickery, and that relies on proximity. Allow anyone the chance to breathe free air and they’ll not return to you.’
‘Now, Matte, don’t be like that,’ he said lightly, a considering look in his eye. ‘You’re being quite uncharitable, all things considered.’
Then his composure broke and, curiosity uppermost in his voice, he said, ‘How did you sway him to your cause?’ As quickly as it broke, however, the mask was restored with a shake of his head and a bemused smile. ‘No, don’t tell me,’ he said. ‘It makes a more interesting riddle.’
I searched the nearby tents and fires, but there wasn’t a hint of white tunic anywhere.
‘They’re at their own supper,’ Dieter supplied, guessing the direction of my thoughts.
Anger was good, I decided. It flooded my limbs with energy, and kept my breath quick. I turned on Shadi.
She spread her hands and gave me an unrepentant smile. ‘I couldn’t have them setting on him the moment he appeared, child. Where would be the sense in that? You and he need to talk, and he can’t do that with blades through his throat.’
‘Don’t tempt me.’
‘Matte,’ Dieter said in wounded tones. ‘You’ll give people a dreadful impression of bound life, if you carry on that way.’
I hesitated, torn between sending Clay for the Iltheans or daring to turn my back on Dieter. The single moment was enough to scry out the boundaries of my cage: at all the nearby cooking fires were the hard, ready faces of Dieter’s men. No doubt he’d chosen men I would recognise by sight for this very purpose.
‘I apologise for the strong-arm tactic,’ Dieter said. ‘But I couldn’t have you killing me without a hearing.’
Briefly, I considered running. Dieter’s men were enough to stop me, although Clay’s strength would buy me time, perhaps enough time to win free. The Skythes could not be counted on to lend a hand; they had set up this ambush, after all. And the resultant brawl might cost lives, including Roshi’s – for if Sidonius discovered Dieter’s presence, he would assume the worst.
‘Give me half an hour,’ Dieter said. ‘Hear me out. Then you’re free to curse my name and leave. You can even run to the palace and tell my erstwhile brother where you last saw me. Although I doubt you will.’
‘Don’t count on it.’
Despite my surly mutter and my even surlier glare, it was acquiescence. What other choice did I have?
Dieter swept his arm out, inviting me back to the cooking fire and his side. ‘Have a seat, Matte. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.’
DIETER SAT NOT quite opposite me, the fire only partially between us, his proximity setting my nerves to twanging.
Clay’s ponderous presence at my back helped some, but not enough. After all, Dieter knew the trick of him. While that trick could not touch me, it would still erase Clay’s existence, no matter what the golem believed. No matter what I’d led him to believe.
As if his thoughts followed the same direction, Dieter’s gaze flicked to the brand on my brow.
‘Interesting touch,’ he said. ‘Have you told Sidonius what it means?’
If he wanted to unnerve me, it worked – but ravens pluck out my eyes if I’d let him see it.
‘You have fifteen minutes,’ I replied. ‘Are you going to waste it on trivialities?’
Quick as a cloud shrouding the sun, he sobered. ‘You can’t sport a statement like that and not expect enquiries.’ Crooking his knee, he rested his forearm on its point and regarded me with careful eyes over the flex of his wrist. ‘Particularly from me. We may not have the known world’s most successful binding, but I consider it preferable to death. There was a time you felt the same. Have you changed your mind?’
He couldn’t stay sombre; it left him too open, too vulnerable. A flippant smile touched his lips and lit his eyes, warning me of his intent before he added, ‘Or perhaps you’re trying to tell me our estrangement is a kind of death?’
A familiar mix of emotions rose in my breast under the light of his taunting smile. I struggled to master my breath, fighting the soporific effect stealing over me in the wake of the emotional turmoil. Damn the man, would I never be free of him?
‘You tell me what it means,’ I said, my voice low and ugly, not the voice of a woman in control of her emotions. ‘Since you think I need to bear it. You always did like your jests overmuch.’
‘It’s no doing of mine,’ he said, with a small frown. I recognised the look: he was assessing the situation, plumbing it for meaning and implications.
‘Of course not.’ In the absence of better alternatives, sarcasm served to keep me angry, to keep him distant.
He clicked his tongue against his teeth with seemingly unfeigned exasperation. ‘I’ve done nothing to alter it. How could I? I’ve hardly been close enough – ’
‘Yes you have,’ I cut him off. ‘Or your assassins have.’
‘Not mine, Matilde, I swear to you,’ he returned without guile. Tensely, he said, ‘Helma’s, in point of fact. Well, Rein’s son, Meinard, supplied the assassin, but Helma was behind it.’
And to think Grandmother had considered Meinard for my husband, not so long ago.
Is the husband you chose for yourself any better? she retorted peevishly.
Meeting Dieter’s anger with some of my own, I said, ‘Tell me, did you string her up from the nearest tree, when you found out what she had done? Banish her? No? Perhaps you did nothing.’
He turned his head away, the simple gesture confession enough.
‘If you didn’t punish her, you may as well have condoned her actions,’ I pressed on. ‘That makes the assassins yours as surely as hers.’
For a moment, he faced me with complete honesty, hiding nothing. Holding my gaze like a promise, he said, ‘I do not intend her to go unpunished.’
Then the veil of mocking humour closed over his expression again, and lightly, casually dismissing the moment that had just passed, he said, ‘Anyway, no harm done, except to my forces. News of your death stole the Somner lords from my ranks, as they decided no Duethin, or one of their own, might be preferable to me after all. That’s what drove me to approach the Skythes. Imagine my delight when I learnt you had not died after all!’
He glanced towards Clay, obviously still trying to assess that change in the wind, then looked back to my brow and shrugged. ‘At least you must acknowledge the fellow had naught to do with your brand changing.’
His simple denial was beginning to leach away my confidence. I knew Dieter; I knew him when he was confident, and when he was treading an uncertain line, gambling gain against risk on the spur of the moment. He was not dissembling.
Dread turned my blood to sludge, and the words slipped out unbidden: ‘Then who?’
My thoughts caught up moments later: few would know of the brand and its significance. Achim, of course, and through him Sidonius. Roshi, and Amalia. Clay.
‘A most pertinent question,’ Dieter said, speaking so gently it made my heart leap like a hooked fish.
How quickly you fall into the old habits, Grandmother murmured.
‘If it wasn’t you, it has no bearing on our current discussion,’ I said firmly. ‘And you only have ten minutes left.’
By the way he tilted his head and paused on an indrawn breath, he wanted to press the issue.
‘Do you know what occurred to me?’ he said instead. ‘You and I spent months working against each other, and all we did was block each other. Which got us – and the Turasi, I might add – nowhere. Worse than nowhere, in fact. What might happen if we were to pit our efforts against a common enemy, instead of each other? Think about it. If we worked together, we might achieve what we both want.’
I didn’t answer at first, choking on the anger his words woke in me. When I was sure I wouldn’t rage at him the moment I opened my mouth, I said, ‘Very diverting. But there’s nothing we both want, unless perhaps it’s for the other to vanish.’
He laughed easily, untouched by my ire. ‘I must say, I quite like your new snap,’ he said. ‘Your impatience hasn’t improved much, however. There is one quite important thing we both desire.’
‘Which would be?’
‘A free nation, and Ilthea back in their lair.’
I squeezed my eyes shut to hide how dearly I wanted that. Dieter noted the gesture – naturally.
‘Come, Matilde. You must admit, it’s not a bad idea.’
Forced to the point, I said flatly, ‘An alliance.’
His grin brought back a flood of memories, most of them uncomfortable. I’d sweated under that grin, riddled with fear and anxiety and uncertainty. His insouciance had turned me inside and out so often I didn’t know which way was up, and he became my only lodestone.
I wasn’t entirely certain I was cured.
‘Call it working out our marital differences, if that helps,’ he said. His playful manner gave way to eagerness, and in a voice that was winsome and intense, a witching voice, he said, ‘With the Turasi who stand sworn to me, and your Skythes, we can bring him down, Matte.’
We could throw the serpents out, Grandmother whispered, jubilation at the idea overcoming her distaste for Dieter.
I turned to stare into the fire, and said coldly, ‘I don’t see how it would make a difference.’
‘If we’re going to rid the nation of serpents, it won’t be with a divided force.’
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘We are a divided force – and allying with each other won’t change that. The drightens sworn to you won’t welcome an alliance; it may well drive the fractures between them even deeper, dividing our forces into even smaller factions. And I’ll not step down from the throne moments after winning it back.’
Dieter chewed over his answer in silence, too honest to deny outright that he wanted the throne back. The fire spat and crackled against the chill night air.
Finally he looked up, a familiar spark in his eyes. That look always boded ill, usually for me.
‘You’re sure you won’t step down?’ he asked. ‘For me? I am your husband, after all.’
I scoffed, strong enough for that much at least. ‘No.’
‘We could both sit the throne,’ he offered. ‘Together.’
A wave of weariness made me pause, massaging the brow over the bridge of my nose. ‘Another of your jests, Dieter?’
‘We are bound, after all,’ he returned, but there was a mirth in his countenance that I mistrusted, and I turned away again.
‘Now you’re being deliberately obtuse.’
He tipped his head to the side and gave a half-shrug. ‘It was worth a try. Well. Since I am the better Duethin, I’m afraid I can’t simply step aside in your favour. And since you’re stubborn as a mill-goat, you won’t step aside.’
I toyed with the idea of driving my fist through his smug grin. ‘A conceited summary, but apt enough, at least as far as the outcome is concerned. Because, even if you were the more capable ruler, the drightens will never ratify you once they discover your not inconsiderable talent for working the shadows. And they will find out, Dieter. I’m no longer bound by your hex – there’s nothing stopping my tongue now.’
‘Oh, you don’t want to do that, Matte,’ he said, his complacency unaltered.
‘I fail to see why not.’
‘After all, I have Gerlach to shield me,’ he said, taking no notice of the interruption. Of his trusted second in command he said, ‘He’s prester-trained, so even without my prompting he already knows enough of the shadows to be utterly convincing when he swears any arcana you might have witnessed is his handiwork.’
The ease with which he could so readily and thoroughly deflect my ploy shocked me. ‘He wasn’t even in the room when you branded me!’
‘But I distinctly recall he was,’ Dieter said with a wink. ‘It’ll be two against one on that score, Matte. Which begs the question: who will shield you, my little seer?’
The man had an answer for everything, and my certainty wasn’t equal to his. Frustrated and irritated, I snapped, ‘I presume you do have a suggestion, buried somewhere in the near future.’
‘What happened to your patience, Matte?’
‘It shrivelled and died from overuse.’
To my surprise, he flinched. It was only a moment’s weakness, however, and then he was shaking his head.
‘My idea is bewitchingly simple, Matte,’ he said. ‘We wager for it.’
The proposal knocked a laugh out of me, but his expression didn’t shift.
‘Ravens above, you’re serious,’ I said. ‘You want to wager the throne?’
‘Why not? We both want it, and neither of us can hold it while the Iltheans do.’
I stared at him, but still he appeared completely sincere. ‘So we join forces, drive out the Iltheans – on which detail, by the way, you’ve yet to impress me – and then . . . what? Toss a coin?’
‘Must you always be so damned literal?’ he said with a scornful roll of his eyes. ‘We could toss a coin, yes, but I suspect neither of us would abide by the decision.’
Whatever wager he chose, neither of us would abide by the decision, I thought, but I didn’t bother to voice it. He knew it as well as I.
‘I’ve a better idea,’ he continued. ‘We let a third party decide who is worthier.’
Grandmother muttered precisely what I was thinking: Another raven’s bargain, impossible to win and impossible to break free.
But what I said was, ‘Who’s the third party?’
‘The drightens,’ Dieter suggested immediately. When I didn’t answer he said, ‘Even if we chose a different judge, they would still have to ratify the choice at the next gadderen, so we might as well make it official in a single sitting.’
‘And if there’s a deadlock?’ I said. ‘With Raban and Svanaten removed, there are eight drightens to vote. A gadderen in stalemate gains us nothing.’
‘We find a tiebreaker,’ Dieter shrugged.
‘We decide on one now, or we abandon the entire idea,’ I said firmly. ‘Leave it until the last minute, and the drightens will only twist themselves into knots trying to find one they can all agree on.’
‘Gerlach,’ Dieter said. ‘He’s prester-trained, and would be impartial.’
‘Ha! He’s also, impossible as I find it to comprehend, loyal to a fault.’
Involuntarily, I remembered Gerlach’s kindnesses toward me. He had made sure I had time and food for breakfast when all others had forgotten me; he had guarded me as if my life meant more than just a bargaining chip for his lord; he had said nothing about my illicit night with Amalia, a night which could see both our necks in a noose. Despite what such a deed might have cost him had it come to light, he had argued with me to flee, to save my sanity.
I pushed the thoughts away, however. I couldn’t trust the throne on a man’s kindness, not when he was, in the end, sworn to Dieter.
‘Sidonius has a shadow-walker in his camp, an Amaeri man,’ I suggested instead, noting the quick flare of wariness in Dieter’s eyes at this news. ‘He has no stake in who sits the throne. He could judge.’
Dieter’s answering laugh had a shaky edge. ‘I think not. Any Amaeri this far from home probably has a vested interest in wanting me without power or allies.’
We were fast running out of alternatives. Maybe that was no bad thing – who ever heard of a throne being won on a wager? ‘The Skythes?’
He gave a delicate cough and said, ‘They’re your kin. How impartial can they be?’
‘It’s no worse a suggestion than your general,’ I snapped. ‘Besides, they already chose you over me, remember? When I all but begged them to kill you, they patted me on the head and told me I’d chosen a strong husband and I should bed you as soon as possible.’
He roared with laughter, loud and hearty enough to turn heads nearby. I winced.
Let your tongue run unbridled, and you will reveal your secrets, child, Grandmother reminded me, sounding amused herself.
Wiping his eyes as his laughter faded, Dieter asked, ‘Why didn’t you take their advice? It would have made the return trip far more enjoyable.’
‘It’s not funny,’ I muttered. ‘How would you like it if Amalia chose me over you?’
He lifted a brow and said gently, ‘She already has. But Mali is a changeable, angry little spirit. She’ll turn away from you soon enough, too.’
I didn’t mention that she already had, nor that it had taken her less than two minutes to do so.
‘The point,’ I said, ‘is that the Skythes won’t choose me just because I’m their kin. If it’s a test of worthiness, they’ll choose the most worthy.’
And if they deemed Dieter the worthier candidate, I would force-feed every Skythe their honour through their teeth.
After a moment’s hesitation, during which he watched me with those perceptive blue eyes, he shook his head. ‘Impartial or not, the drightens would never accept the Skythes as a tiebreaker. We need a Turasi.’
‘Unless you mean to poll every individual in every steading and holdfast, there is no one else.’
‘There’s the mara.’
My every muscle stilled, seized by apprehension. ‘The children of Irmao are silent,’ I said. ‘They hold sway over the shadows, not politics.’
‘Only since Tamor gagged them,’ Dieter returned.
I studied him closely, trying to plumb the implications. ‘Do you mean to try and restore the Beneduin faith?’
‘I think we’ve greater issues at hand than the history of the church, don’t you?’ he returned with faint condescension, and I looked away.
‘Well enough,’ I said. By the gleam in his eye and in light of my recent backfired threat, I had no doubt he wanted the mara present at the gadderen to scare me, to control me, but I would find an answer to that. ‘The mara will serve.’
‘Good. Now, as for driving out the Iltheans, we need to act swiftly. Word from Falkere holdings is that reinforcements march on the Turholm. There’s a good thousand at least, and we must hold the Turholm before they arrive.’
‘Twelve hundred, according to Sidonius,’ I corrected. I hesitated, reluctant to relate my imminent departure to meet those same reinforcements and render myself vulnerable to betrayal. But we were on the verge of alliance, and if I didn’t tell him the Skythes no doubt would. Better the news came from me directly, that I might watch his countenance for the first hint of any possible duplicity. So I outlined my original plan.
Dieter listened with interest. ‘The timing will be tight,’ he mused. ‘But Sidonius will be at his weakest. With a strong force of Iltheans to guard you, the Turasi will outnumber those left behind in the Turholm. It’s a good plan – and it will give me an opportunity to deal with my erstwhile brother once and for all. We’ll split our forces, have half take the Turholm while half rescue you from your escort. Quicker, in this case, is better. It will depend of course on the numbers Sidonius sends as your escort, and the number he leaves behind. One thing I’m sure he’ll do is send Renatas with you. When we overwhelm your escort, you must make sure they don’t harm the boy, or escape with him.’
‘You want him as a hostage.’
‘We need him as a hostage,’ he corrected. ‘Ilthea already has a foothold, and a strong one. Until you have children of your own . . .’
I turned abruptly away and he broke off with a thoughtful frown. He didn’t pry, however, but continued briskly, ‘Taking the boy hostage is the only leverage within our grasp that could force them to relinquish their claim.’
‘It’s not a good idea,’ I said, foreboding heavy in my heart. ‘The boy has a snake’s heart. He’ll be more trouble than he’s worth.’
Dieter dismissed my qualms. ‘As a member of the Ilthean imperial family, he represents an opportunity too valuable to pass up. He comes with us.’
I couldn’t gainsay him, not when, rationally at least, I agreed with him.
It’s just that I mislike the boy, I told myself firmly. That’s all. Nothing more.
TWO DAYS LATER, having assured Sidonius the Skythes were not wholly averse to an alliance should he desire one, I stepped into a courtyard bustling with preparations for departure.
A stifling feeling of déjà vu pressed down on me; the overcast sky and the dim grey paving stones receded as if enshrouded by mist. I wrapped my arms around my chest to anchor myself here, and stop the horizons from rushing outwards. One breath, one blink at a time, the dizziness receded.
Beside me, Roshi squinted into the sun-dappled courtyard as if troubled by a brisk wind, but the air was still and warm, lifting the green scents of juniper from the nearby gardens. The clatter of hooves on stone bounced and rang around us, a counterpoint to the quieter murmur of conversation and the occasional shouts of some need or other.
‘Take me with you.’
She said it without looking at me. Staring out into the courtyard, hands clutching the cuffs of her sleeves and eyes still narrowed, the heat in her voice could have melted snow.
‘I need you here,’ I said gently, despite the number of times we’d been over this in the past days. Roshi was the lynchpin in driving the Iltheans from the Turholm. Sidonius would be expecting one of the drightens to lead any rebellion, not a barbarian handmaid, and Roshi could do what the drightens could not: mingle with the thralls without suspicion. It would be thralls who would take to the thick steel bars obstructing the sewer outlets, laboriously breaking them open in no more than two days and thus allowing Dieter’s men uncontested, if malodorous, entry to the Turholm. Once inside, those men would hunt down and capture or kill Sidonius, while the drightens’ men, and the Turasi remaining to me, would focus their efforts on opening the main gates. It would be a delicate operation to coordinate, and I needed someone unquestionably loyal to me at the heart of it.
Logically, Roshi saw the merits of the plan, but still she did not like entrusting me to the protection of others.
She glared at the distant walls as if trying to bore a hole through the stone.
‘I’ll have Clay with me. And – ’ I had been going to say Dieter, but changed tack. Roshi did not entirely approve of my alliance with Dieter, fearing a renewal of his influence over me. ‘And who can get past Clay?’ I said instead.
‘One earthman does not make for an impenetrable guard,’ she said, with a pointed look at my brow and its changed marking.
The open space before us meant I could see any who approached from that direction before they might overhear, but a door at our backs made me nervous.
‘More than swords on the road, I need people here in the Turholm I can trust.’ I paused, fussing with my cloak, while a thrall pushed past. ‘I don’t want to be trapped outside my own walls again. It was bad enough with Dieter on the throne. It would be unbearable with an Ilthean there.’
‘Trustworthy people here will be of no service to you if you run into trouble on the road.’
‘There won’t be trouble on the road,’ I said, speaking with more conviction than I felt. Now that I had to commit my own life and others’ to it, my plan seemed flimsy and wind-torn. For the first time in my life, I almost wished for a vision to take me, a clear portent of the future. It would dispel the anxiety of not knowing, at the least.
Roshi scowled, neither satisfied nor mollified.
Before she could speak again, I glanced over my shoulder to ensure we were alone and forestalled her. ‘Take care, Roshi. Leaving you, voluntarily, may serve to put Sidonius at his ease. It will stop him publicly claiming you as a hostage – but it won’t stop him punishing you as if you were one. He will not react well, if he learns the truth. You, or Amalia. You’ll have to take care of her as best you can; she’s even rasher than me.’
‘I will keep your precious stone house for you,’ Roshi said, pain glittering in her eyes. ‘This time. But I did not leave my people and my land to nursemaid lifeless walls, cousin.’
I could find no answer to her pain. She had relinquished everything and everyone she knew, for me. Leaving her behind, against her will, seemed a cruel repayment. Swallowing to clear my throat, my voice still emerged rough and burred as I said, ‘Achim will help you, if you need him. As will Sepp. And I’ve ordered the talaye to heed your word without question, so don’t let them bully you or ignore you.’
Stepping into the courtyard, I lifted a hand to wipe a faint spray of drizzle from my eyes. The clouds overhead were a bright white; hopefully the shower would not blossom into a storm or a full downpour. It would make for a damp setting out, though.
‘Your drightens will not follow my lead,’ she said in an undertone, one hand light upon my forearm,.
‘Maja has already given me her word that she will,’ I countered. ‘And Krimhilde and Merten will follow you faster than they will Sidonius. Especially if you can keep Mali on your side – they’ll read Dieter’s clemency in her presence.’ I shot her a rueful smile and added, ‘Although that will be difficult, to say the least. The girl is almost as enamoured of Sidonius as I was of Dieter.’
A prickle of shame touched my skin at the words and my voice sank away; I was not yet bold enough to speak of it without cost. To my surprise, Roshi looked just as discomfited, her eyes shadowed and her mouth twisted as she turned her head away.
‘Mali isn’t staying out of admiration for Sidonius,’ she murmured. Having no answer, and suspecting Roshi did not wish one, I let the comment pass unremarked.
We found Sidonius in the thick of the commotion, conferring with yet more of his flat-faced soldiers. Their conversation trailed off at my appearance, sending a shiver of apprehension down my spine. Renatas was out of earshot, busy directing a thrall in the disposition of his baggage with many a scornful comment.
Sidonius was not dressed for travel. He wore his sword and daggers, but not his armour; he had not donned his cloak and still wore the soft leather boots he favoured indoors instead of the Ilthean soldiers’ cleated sandals. Neither the stallion he used for battle nor the sturdy mare he rode over long distance stood anywhere in sight.
‘You’re not coming?’ I said. I had not thought, when he said he wouldn’t leave the Turholm undefended, that he meant to direct those defences personally.
His eyes sparkled, savouring my surprise, as he said, ‘You’ll need a throne to return to, after all.’
‘Indeed,’ I answered in a voice as flat and distant as the plains of Roshi’s homeland. Flat and distant was good, it would swallow the tremors of anxiety and apprehension without a ripple. Let Sidonius think my mood one of defeat. He would not underestimate me completely, of course, but that was of no matter. It was already too late.
‘You needn’t worry, though,’ he went on with a broad smile. ‘I’m sure Renatas will prove a delightful companion on the journey, as will his father, Aulus Vespian. You’ll find Aulus an insightful guide to the imperial city when you arrive. And you’ll be well guarded,’ he said, gesturing at the soldiers with whom he had been talking, now standing ready by their mounts.
I surveyed their faces with a strange twisting in my stomach. These men would die, then. The thought was a cold one, and it distressed me that it didn’t touch me strongly.
With a faint nod, as if the matter were of no importance, I said, ‘I am leaving Amalia and Roshi behind. They’re both a little too passionate for your city, I think. So you’ll have company, at least, while I’m away.’
A heartbeat of hesitation showed I’d taken him off guard with the announcement; he had expected he would have to order them to remain behind, not that I would volunteer them.
‘I’ll be sure to take good care of them for you,’ he said, recovering his poise. ‘Roshi can play messenger to the Skythes for me, since they’ll not take her back.’
Under Roshi’s glower, Sidonius handed me into my saddle, his grip on my hand my only anchor as pain overwhelmed me. My ride to the Skythe camp had aggravated my injuries. I crouched in the saddle, clutching the pommel and the ends of the slack reins, while the breath eased in my lungs.
Renatas was mounted and at my side, smirking at my discomfort.
‘Do you wish a chair, lady?’ Sidonius asked. He could afford to be solicitous of my comfort, now that he had put me in my place.
‘No,’ I snapped, thinking that no matter how few miles we traversed, still it was going to be a long journey.
A flight of Ilthean soldiers surrounded Renatas and I, tens upon tens of them, faces blank and gazes as hard as their weapons. I let my eyes slide off their countenances, deliberately avoiding dwelling on them or noting the characteristics that might help me remember them. They were marked for death, these men. I did not want to be haunted by details.
As soon as we cleared the gates, Renatas flashed me a grin full of triumph.
‘At last!’ he said. ‘Now you will see the empire, and when you reach its heart, you will know what you have been missing all your life.’
THE HORSE’S GAIT exacerbated the ache in my emptied, scarred womb; not enough to make me wish for a chair or a wagon bed, but enough that I had to set my teeth against it and concentrate in order to distract myself.
From the Turholm’s outer gates we followed the road down the gentle south slope. The road’s northern branch led to the satellite holdings, a crescent of indefensible villages which had grown up over recent generations. The southern branch turned us through the fields, already devastated by Sidonius’s siege, wildflowers sprouting from the scarred and tumbled earth showing the first haphazard signs of recovery.
Eventually the road would lead south and west, skirting the Dragonstail mountains and trailing through the verdant downs of the holdings under oath to House Falkere, until finally it wound through the flinty valleys of House Vestenn’s holdings and reached the Mauch river and the westernmost edge of the range known as the Sentinels.
For generations untold, despite the skirmishes back and forth, ravaging first one side of the fast green waters and then the other, the Mauch had proven a natural and impenetrable border, keeping the Iltheans pinned in the south – until Helena fled her treachery, giving them more reason than ever before to dare our territory just as Dieter overthrew the firm ruling hand of my grandmother, dividing the tribes and leaving the lands unprotected and the way open.
No longer.
The road would devolve into no more than a packed-earth track before it thickened and swelled into the paved wonders of the Ilthean empire and brought us to the empire’s heart, shining Ilthea herself – but we would never tread so far.
Galling as it was to need Dieter’s help in the matter, at long last I would see the Iltheans pushed back where they belonged, the borders made secure, the Turasi back under the care of House Svanaten.
The fields around us, passing in a hazy sea of bee-tended grasses, appeared innocent of danger or politics. Off to our left, throwing long shadows away from us, the Skythe camp appeared quiet and unchanged. Worry gnawed at me. When Sidonius noticed half the camp’s population missing – what then?
If he ventures out, he will be the more vulnerable, and the Turholm more quickly taken, Grandmother pointed out.
Despite her confidence, I could not be so easy, flexing my fingers on the reins to ease their sweaty grip.
Loping close by my side, Clay glanced up. ‘You are anxious, little queen,’ he said.
‘No.’ I said it too quickly, and to allay the soldiers’ interest I continued more calmly, ‘Well, a little. I do not look forward to this journey. I have little choice, however.’
It wasn’t a lie, not even by omission.
‘Sidonius says you will change your mind, once you reach the city,’ Renatas said.
I ignored him.
‘You worry about the mechaiah,’ Clay said, and it wasn’t a question.
My heart thudded against my ribs. I hadn’t considered whether the golem would know to keep his mouth shut about Dieter. Spurred on by my stiffened seat, my horse sprang into a trot and, encountering the harsh pull of the reins, tucked her neck and jogged sideways. Every thud of her hooves on the hard road reverberated through my empty middle like a spike being hammered, blow by aching blow, through a tree trunk.
With an effort, I gentled my touch on the reins, and my horse subsided back to a walk.
‘You are pale, my lady,’ one of the soldiers nearest me said.
‘I’m in pain,’ I snapped in return, recognising him as one of those in close conference with Sidonius earlier; no doubt he had orders to see I arrived safe, or at least still capable of delivering my vow. After that, my welfare would become irrelevant. ‘Your general is not a gentle master.’
Unperturbed, he said, ‘You needn’t be worried about Dieter, my lady. If he dares fly his colours where we can spy them, it will be his last flight.’
Which was not, of course, a comforting thought. Even less comforting was the niggling suspicion that somehow this soldier knew Clay had meant Dieter when he spoke of the mechaiah. It seemed improbable, but not impossible – Achim had used the word in Sidonius’s hearing at least once, probably more often.
He was waiting for my response, so I eyed him dispassionately and said, ‘You’ve been promising that to Sidonius for weeks now, haven’t you?’
‘The man has always hidden and run before,’ he said. ‘But I doubt he’ll be able to resist bait this tempting.’
He scanned the distant treeline, shadowed and silent and innocent of any stray gleam of metal, blade or bracer or buckle. I dragged my own gaze away; if I stared too long I would only betray the surprise.
We rode without haste, and a curious emptiness began to plague me, growing stronger the further we drew from the walls. At first I could not decipher it, and only when I chanced to look at Clay did it become clear: I could not sense the golems in their grave, squirming and wriggling and digging for the free air. The sensation had been troubling me for so long, I had nigh forgotten it, and remembered it now only by its absence.
Sidonius had provided an escort of two hundred, a number I did not doubt he had finely calculated. Small enough to tempt Dieter out of hiding, large enough to overrun any ragtag rebellion. According to Sigi, we’d had no further word from the approaching Ilthean force, but Sidonius judged them no more than a week distant – less, if we marched towards them.
Attacking within sight of the Turholm would be stupidity, yet still I spent all the first day tense and waiting. When Clay helped me down from the saddle that evening, I fell into his strength like a loose bundle of twigs, nerves unravelled by the aches of movement.
Setting up camp with Iltheans was a very different affair to setting up camp with the Turasi. When Dieter and I had travelled to the Skythes, shortly after our mockery of a marriage, every night had been little more than organised chaos. Chores were done as and when they occurred to whoever had the most energy or inclination; the cooks travelling with us had very often set up their fires and started preparing the evening meal before they’d staked a single tent peg.
The Iltheans, by contrast, valued organisation. By the time I’d placed both feet on the ground and turned from Clay, a boy stood before me, hand extended for the reins. Bemused, I gave them over, and turned to watch a camp spring to life. Tents in four precise rows formed the centre, and the grid of bedrolls beyond them was aligned with the same precision. Latrines were dug a measured five hundred paces from the camp; I watched the soldier step it out to ensure the distance was satisfactory.
All this, for but a single night.
There were half a dozen soldiers whose sole duty it was to guard me – from escape as much as attack, I suspected. Under their unremitting observation, I wondered how the Ilthean soldier’s patience was learnt. No doubt it was a by-product of navigating the endless requirements of precision and hierarchy. After all, even Renatas participated in the chore of setting up camp, under the watchful eye of his own guard; being a member of the imperial family did not exempt one from learning the part of the perfect soldier.
Every creaking tree or rustling wind wound my nerves another notch tighter, but the night passed without incident. I woke at the first pale wash of dawn feeling sick with lack of sleep, and sick with waiting.
Too soon and the Iltheans could summon troops from the Turholm; too late and Aulus Vespian’s approaching soldiers could aid them. It would have to be today, probably this afternoon, or tomorrow morning.
If Dieter knew what he was about; if he and the Skythes worked together without argument; if the drightens didn’t obstruct the alliance.
Too many ifs, and I was riding into the serpent’s nest on their flimsy promises.
BY EARLY AFTERNOON the next day we had slipped from free and open fields into the loose forests, filled with broad expanses and open spaces as a result of years of logging.
Stretched taut by anticipation for so long, I was sunk into a lassitude deep enough the first yell didn’t rouse me.
My horse pricked her ears, swivelled them back and forth. A tiny jog crept into her gait.
The second yell penetrated my torpid thoughts. I pulled my mare to a standstill, turning in the saddle. The Iltheans were closing into a large, loose square with me, Renatas and the baggage in its centre, surrounded by a thicket of staves and blades. Clay crowded close to me; my mare started jawing at the bit, the jerk straining my elbows and shoulders.
Clay turned his dark eyes on me and said, ‘The mechaiah.’
The soldier nearest me darted a wary look at Clay, quickly assessing his line of sight, then returned to searching the treeline.
Kneeing my mare, I pushed forward a step, catching the soldier’s attention again. ‘What has happened?’
He scowled, still watching the trees. ‘Didn’t you hear the scouts’ cries?’
‘I don’t know your codes,’ I reminded him, trying to keep him talking, and thus distracted. One man’s inattentiveness was of little help to the attackers, but our conversation was heard by others. On such small things the fate of a battle could hang.
He slanted a look at me as if unable to decide whether I truly was as stupid as I sounded, and answered shortly, ‘It means trouble.’
‘Where?’
‘Here, if you don’t shut your mouth,’ the soldier muttered. With a sidelong glance designed to make sure I didn’t mistake it for respect, he added, ‘My lady.’
Head turned halfway back towards his vigil, he froze. He gave an odd little cough, blinked once, and then pitched sideways out of the saddle, eyes fixed.
His horse whickered and pulled against the dead man’s fingers still wrapped around the reins, the drag of a foot still trapped in the stirrups. The fletched end of an arrow stood out from the man’s right shoulder, the mangled flesh at its base pulsing with bright red blood; the bolt had driven deep into his lungs.
Instinct took over. Muscles made clumsy by panic, I scrambled from the saddle and knelt at the soldier’s side. The ground yielded beneath my knees with a rustle of dry bracken. Only the last third of the arrow stood up from his shoulder, it had plunged so deep. My fingers came back slick with his warm blood.
Frantic screams broke out all around me, erratic and cold as if they bounced off stone. The forest seemed too quiet for such screams; it took me precious moments to realise they were no more than memory. Once again I stood at the centre of an impending massacre.
An Ilthean grabbed my arm and hauled me upright. ‘He’s dead, my lady.’
He thrust me towards Clay, who caught and steadied me with one broad hand to the hip. The Ilthean soldier had already turned away, back to the oncoming battle.
From atop his horse on Clay’s other side, Renatas caught my eye. ‘He will not succeed,’ he promised me. I looked away.
In the golden fingers of sunshine streaming through the canopy, Skythes raced in a broad circle around us, steering their horses with their knees and an occasional twitch of thin leather reins against the horses’ necks. Their short bows sang with every slender, whip-like arrow released. The horses’ manes had been stiffened upright with clay, and their hides rubbed and groomed until they gleamed. With their own hair twisted into fantastic braids and crests, stiffened with clay or twined through with feathers and claws, and their facial tattoos writhing between the forest shadows as if they were a fire come to life, it was like watching demons at play.
Stepping between the horses and the trees came the Turasi, normal and familiar with their shields and their swords and their staves flying the raven, Dieter at their head in his fading black garments.
‘The mechaiah,’ Clay said again. Quiet and matter-of-fact he turned to me, as if waiting for instruction.
The Ilthean soldier nearest us eyed him charily, but Clay ignored him, watching only me.
I nodded. ‘Yes. It’s time.’
The soldier frowned, knuckles tightening around the hilt of his brutal dagger. Forgetting about the approaching conflict, he slipped the blade free of its sheath.
He was too slow. Clay was big, but he was also fast. The soldier had time only to lift his dagger and angle it forward a fraction before the golem was on him.
The blade slid up the golem’s chest, opening a thin gash, which bled grains of dirt and glinted with dark, squirming worms. Clay paid it no heed. Tilting his head to the side to prevent the blade’s tip scoring his face, he wrapped one hand around the soldier’s throat and squeezed.
The man’s eyes bulged and he dropped his blade. His hands scrabbled at Clay’s wrist, leaving raw furrows in the dark earthen flesh.
Renatas let out a desperate yell, spooking his horse. ‘Traitor!’ he cried, wrestling with the reins.
Another of my guard, turning from the approaching enemy forces, took in the scene with one swift glance. A single shout was enough to apprise his three remaining comrades of the situation, and they turned as one towards me.
Thanks to Sidonius’s strictures, the only weapon I had to hand was a small table dagger, convenient for stabbing roast boar and utterly useless in a fight. Crouching down, I yanked at the dead Ilthean’s dagger. My fingers were still slippery wth blood, and it caught on my belt; I yanked at it in a vain attempt to free it. ‘Clay!’ I cried.
The golem slewed his head around. He could not fight the soldier at hand and still reach me before the Iltheans did. He solved his dilemma by twisting the neck – crack! – of the soldier and letting him fall in the one movement.
The dagger came free of its sheath so suddenly that it sent me staggering backwards. Recovering my balance and scrambling to my feet, I lifted my arm, shifted my grip into a pinch at the blade’s outermost tip, and flung it.
It pinwheeled, throwing off glints and flashes of sunlight, once, twice, three times.
My quarry lifted his blade in an expert parry, flicking the dagger off to the side where it fell, a dull thud of silver glinting in the bracken.
Stepping backwards, stumbling on the uneven ground, I suddenly regretted not bringing Roshi, with her multiple daggers and her truer aim. She would not have flung away her one and only blade.
Then the soldier was on me, and I had no weapon or shield to keep him at bay.
Behind him, the Skythes and Turasi were pressing forward, sheer numbers driving the Iltheans inwards. None would break through and reach me in time. I raised my arms in a vain attempt to ward the soldier off and twisted, casting about for Clay.
The Ilthean twitched his short, brutal sword aside as he reached me. He grabbed my wrist, yanking me forward and around until I stood with my back cradled against him, one arm around my midsection. I clutched at it as if I had the strength to prise it away. The keen edge of his sword touched my throat; I swallowed, sure I could feel burrs in the blade’s edge pricking my flesh.
‘Golem!’ the soldier cried.
Turned about, I could see why Clay had not reached me: the remainder of my escort had attacked him simultaneously. Taking a cue from their fallen colleague, they did not approach within Clay’s reach, but instead kept him at bay with whirling swords and jabbing staves. Their jabs and slices opened cut after shallow cut in the golem’s earthen hide. The golem had taken grievous wounds in the past; he still bore the scars of some. I did not even know if he was capable of true healing. Would these cuts, small though they may be, prove too great in the end?
He had nothing with which to defend himself or fend off their blows, save his speed. By circling him and taking turns at drawing his attention, the Iltheans had so far succeeded in thwarting him, but his speed could not protect him forever.
‘Golem!’ my captor called again, drawing Clay’s attention at last.
At sight of me, and my throat bared to the blade, he stilled.
One of Clay’s tormenters paused, following the call even as Clay did. Then a slow smile bloomed on the soldier’s lips, and he laughed.
His colleague was quicker. Without looking to find out why the golem had frozen, he seized the opportunity presented and, lifting his sword to shoulder-height, he lunged forward and drove the blade into Clay’s chest.
‘NO!’
The cry tore through me as the golem shuddered and dropped to his knees. Then the soldier jerked his blade free and Clay, with a tiny cough, hacked up a wad of dark, moist earth.
I struggled, straining against the arm and the blade pinning me, until my captor growled in my ear and pressed the blade closer to my throat in warning.
‘Clay,’ I whispered, stricken with fear as he hacked up another gobbet from damaged lungs.
Panic-stricken questions ran through my mind: did golems require lungs to breathe, or were the organs merely fashioned after their maker? The earth breathed, it needed the gradual seep of air and the nutrients it carried to stay rich and vital. Clay would be no different. Surely that meant, just as a sword could cut but not destroy the earth, it could not harm him?
Clay wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled. When he spoke it was in a voice unchanged. ‘Do not worry, little queen.’
The Ilthean soldier hefted his sword, ready to drive it in again. ‘You must have a heart in there somewhere, golem,’ he snarled.
Then he lifted the point until it rested before Clay’s left eye and said, ‘Or is it in the brainpan you need stabbing before you’ll die?’
Panic would not let me stand idle, would not let me trust in his inviolate nature. ‘It’s neither!’ I shrieked.
The soldier checked. Sword still hovering before Clay’s eye, he looked at me. This time I had the sense not to struggle, so my captor did nothing to prevent me from speaking.
‘He’s fashioned of the earth and his mechaiah’s will,’ I said, the words tripping over themselves in my rush. ‘Steel can wound the earth, but it can’t kill it; you can’t kill him. You don’t need to. He won’t fight – I’ll tell him to stand down. He’ll do as I say . . .’
The first soldier’s blade didn’t move, but over Clay’s shoulder the second soldier, the man who had laughed before, now smiled.
‘Tell him,’ he said, stepping forward and gesturing for his colleague to move back. ‘Tell the golem to remain on his knees.’
I looked at Clay, swallowing the dry fear that they would suspect trickery no matter what I did, and repeated the order. ‘I need you to do this for me, Clay,’ I urged him.
The first soldier moved back, blade still at the ready, as the other stepped around until he stood in front of the golem. He was still smiling. Clay didn’t move.
Dread froze the blood in my veins, but even as I opened my mouth to cry out, it was too late.
Swift as a striking adder, the Ilthean slid the heel of his hand across the rightmost of the characters inked on Clay’s brow.
The ink smeared beneath his touch as if the tattoo was fresh-made. When he took his hand away, the remaining smudge faded away, like rain soaking into the earth, until nothing remained.
Now only two characters marked the golem’s brow. Meit, they spelt in the Amaeri tongue. Death.
My mind scrabbled for an explanation. How had the Ilthean soldier known? Had Achim told him the secret of killing golems? Had Sidonius?
Did it matter, when it was I who had let the golem believe he was invulnerable?
Clay’s eyes sought mine as I sagged in my captor’s grip. A shudder worked through the golem’s massive frame, and a frown crinkled the marks remaining on his brow. His lips parted as if he would speak, but it was I who moaned.
Whether it was from distraction as he watched Clay’s death, or out of pity, my captor released me. I stumbled at first, my knees too rubbery to hold my weight. Tripping over skirts and the forest floor, I scrambled to Clay’s side. The soldier who’d felled him stepped back without comment.
‘Clay,’ I whispered in a broken voice.
The golem could not speak. Confusion shone in his sloe-dark eyes. The shallow cuts made by the soldiers’ blades were pulling apart, tearing wide. Grains of earth trickled out, building with every heartbeat into a steady flood, like blood pouring from a severed artery. The dark, squirming veins were shrivelling like earthworms exposed to the summer sun.
I had let him think he could not be hurt by the words bonded to his brow. His gaze pleaded with me to make good on my promise.
‘I’m sorry . . .’ I whispered.
He coughed, not the small noise he’d made before, but a hacking, rending sound. Clods of earth spewed from his mouth, carrying small white shapes – teeth grown loose in their dissolving sockets. Even his old wounds – the wounds I’d given him, when he hunted me – were starting to dissolve now; the smear across his cheek where I’d used my elbow to drive him away was widening, hollowing out the side of his face, dragging at the flesh of his eye socket. I clutched his arm, but it withered away beneath my touch, leaving nothing but ropy, gnarled bone, grey and old as a tree root that had tapped down to the bedrock.
His eyes hardened and a grey wrinkled skin covered them over until the light in them died and they shrivelled.
Hot tears slid down my cheeks, and my throat ached with emotion. Clay lay silent, a half-formed mass of earth that held only the remains of a once beautifully formed, unmarred face.
CLAY’S DEATH RELEASED the Iltheans from their silent awe. With a grip that wrenched my shoulder in its socket, one hauled me to my feet.
The movement brought me back to the battle, the thud and grunt of men in combat, the clang of steel on steel. The smell of blood hung on the air, warm and cloying; beneath it lay the scent of churned earth and bruised leaves. The arrows of the Skythes whined through the air, black streaks of death.
‘Touching as this is, my lady, you’ve greater concerns,’ my captor said. ‘You aren’t finished playing hostage yet.’
His eyes flicked to the brand on my brow, and his grip tightened. Someone, probably Sidonius, had obviously told them how to destroy Clay, and I doubted they were so stupid as to miss the connection.
I laughed, low in my throat. ‘You know what it means, don’t you?’ I said. ‘By rights, it should have killed me – but it didn’t. Death has already claimed me; it cannot harm me now. Do you know who put that mark on my brow? My husband.’
The soldier snatched a quick breath at that, and some of the certainty faded from his expression.
I pressed my advantage. ‘You think to use me as a hostage, but do you think my husband will hold off the attack to save a dead woman?’
Doubt flickered higher in his eyes.
‘Your general has marked you out for death, if that’s what he told you,’ I said, taking savage delight in the disquiet my words were causing. ‘Dieter wants me dead. Holding me hostage is simply playing into his plans.’
The Ilthean gave my arm a shake, as if he sought to convince me by force over logic, and said, ‘If you die, the throne passes to Ilthea.’
‘It will pass to my husband first,’ I returned levelly.
That goaded him; the Iltheans prized matrimony almost as much as they did empire-making. Reaching out to seize my other arm, he pulled me in close, teeth gritted as he fought to find words.
I looked over his shoulder, and smiled.
The soldier, drawn like a fish on a tender hook, turned in search of what I saw.
Marching towards us was a company of golems gathered behind Dieter. Arrows punctured the golems in shoulders and ribs and throats and limbs; they drew them from their damaged flesh without flinching. Swords which reached close enough to cut or nick them left only superficial wounds. With emet emblazoned on their brows, life would not abandon them.
‘Do you think you can get close enough to maim all their brows?’ I said, in a small and dreamy voice. The Ilthean, if he heard, didn’t answer.
In the same faraway tone I continued, ‘Do you think, when the first draws you in, you’ll be able to change his brand before he snaps your neck?’
The muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed. His fear fanned the tiny spark of anger burning in the pit of my mind. The appearance of these unnamed, unknown creatures only strengthened the ache of Clay’s demise.
Ilthean soldiers were none of them cowards, however. Whether by training or by mettle, my captor turned to meet this new threat. Veins stood out on the back of his hands as he drew his short sword, and a bead of sweat at his temple licked into his hairline.
The foremost golem was scarce two paces distant. It didn’t hesitate or pause, negligent of the threat.
I stepped backwards, opening distance between myself and the inevitable swordplay, wanting to be beyond arm’s reach should anyone think to use me as a hostage again. A swift survey over my shoulder revealed yet more Iltheans backing towards me, pressed by a surge of Turasi. Made fierce and bold by their greater numbers, my countrymen roared a reckless battle chant as they came.
A whistle punctuated by a thwack turned my attention back to the golems. One of the creatures had stepped within reach, and the Ilthean had driven his sword directly through the rightmost character of its brow. My breath caught with amazement.
The golem stopped as if it had stepped into a wall. Eyes wide and unblinking, one hand outstretched for the soldier’s throat, a gruesome leer still stretched its lips. It quivered, as if straining to move, but unable to.
The soldier had his hand wrapped around the sword’s hilt, exposing the whole of his right flank. None of the other golems stepped into the attack, however. For a heartbeat they stood as unmoving as their unfallen comrade.
We all watched, pondering the same puzzle. To face the other golems, the soldier would have to draw his sword from the golem’s head. What would happen when the sword slid free? Would the damage in the midst of the character prove enough to kill the golem, or keep it trapped? Would removing the sword free it?
Then the moment broke.
Roaring, the nearest golem rushed forward. The Ilthean ripped his sword free. He turned it as he pulled, marring the rightmost mark still further.
The sword-struck golem remained still and trapped as a fly in amber, quivering with thwarted desire. The Ilthean never saw it, however, for the next golem reached him before he could lift the sword high enough to drive it through any part of its brand.
Warding off the sword with an elbow, its other hand drove for the man’s throat.
The golem’s meaty fingers were too short to wrap the entire girth of the soldier’s throat, as Clay’s could have done. They were strong, however, strong enough to mangle the flesh as they squeezed.
With a bubbling gurgle, the soldier’s throat collapsed into pulped flesh beneath the pressure. The soldier kicked and jerked in vain before his nerveless hand let fall the sword.
BREATHING FAST, I jumped at a soft, swift touch on my elbow. Instinct made my hands scrabble for the table dagger I carried as I turned.
It was Dieter, a feral gleam of triumph in his eyes, two golems at his back. Blood patterned his chest and smeared one cheek, the heat of his body making the coppery smell rise off him in a dizzying miasma. His knuckles were a mess of black, torn flesh.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘We need to find the boy.’
I shook my head and hung back as he took my wrist.
‘Dieter, it’s not a good idea – ’
He tugged me into step beside him, busy scanning the battle pressing ever inwards and shrinking the circle of calm at its centre where we walked.
‘Don’t be squeamish,’ he said, sparing me a glance, a harsh humour flinting the edges of his features. ‘Matte, he’s a hostage. We’ll not harm him, else he’s of no use.’
‘He’s no use as a hostage if you don’t threaten to harm him,’ I retorted.
‘Threats are entirely different to actions, Matte.’ His gaze flicked to my changed brand and he said, ‘I’d have thought you, of all people, could appreciate that subtlety.’
My foot caught on a hidden root and I stumbled, sending a throb of pain through my wrenched shoulder. Before I could take a second step Dieter flung out an arm, pushing me behind him. Over his shoulder I glimpsed an Ilthean, turned from the battle.
Dieter’s two golems swept past us. The soldier drove his sword through the first golem’s unprotected belly – but the second golem snapped the soldier’s neck with quick dispatch. Sidonius had obviously not taught all his men the trick to killing golems.
‘This way,’ Dieter said, taking my wrist again, even as the Ilthean thudded to the ground. I wondered whether he thought me frightened and in danger of fleeing, or simply too dazed to follow of my own accord.
Making one last attempt, I said, ‘Taking the boy will only cause troubles. They’ll have no choice, they won’t be able to give up. You’ll make them fight to the bitter end.’
I kept my eyes fixed on the side of his face rather than risk witnessing the Iltheans around me doing just that, fighting to the bitter end, their blood splashing over the forest floor, their limbs breaking and their eyes bursting, their bellies being carved open by sharp steel blades, their lungs being punctured by narrow, angry arrows.
My voice made faint by the reality of battle, I finished, ‘I’ve had a lot of time to study the Ilthean psyche, of late. Don’t leave them without an option.’
Tugging my wrist to quicken my pace, Dieter gave me a look that plainly spoke exasperation.
‘You’ve picked up Mali’s habit of arguing beyond sense and reason. No more,’ he added when he saw me drawing breath to speak again. ‘Even if there were any point, this is hardly the time or place for rhetoric.’
We had found Renatas by this time, a small figure standing in the midst of a dozen soldiers. A scatter of corpses showed his guard had been larger; the remainder were using their fallen brethren to hamper the forward progress of Dieter’s men. Glimpsed through the shifting shoulders of his escort, the boy wore a sneer that could not entirely disguise the fear which turned him pale.
I turned to Dieter. ‘How do you propose seizing him, with only the two golems at your side?’
The smile he gave me in return turned my insides to jelly. ‘That’s where you come in.’
My feet stepped back of their own accord. If he hadn’t held me fast, I would have turned and fled. ‘No.’
‘Come now, Matte, where’s the bold little minx who bluffed her way into my stronghold and brazened her way into a binding?’
With a peremptory tug he pulled me close to his side, and insisted, ‘You’re fleeing, your guard has been killed, all but Clay here.’ He indicated one of his golems and finished, ‘They’ll let you through without a whimper.’
‘He looks nothing like Clay!’
‘Only you could get sentimental over an earthen statue. Trust me, they won’t notice the difference. All you have to do is get close enough to seize the boy. After that, he’s a hostage – and they’ll let you out without a whimper, too.’
I shook my head, still pulling against his hold. ‘You’re insane.’
‘I’m bold. There’s a difference.’
‘Not from where I stand there isn’t.’
‘Stop wasting time!’ With a final tug that set my feet to moving, he pushed me past him at a run, straight into the midst of the battle.
The golem masquerading as Clay took up where Dieter left off, by my side in moments and shepherding me onwards. Bodies flashed by on either side, Turasi and Ilthean alike.
A Turasi darted backwards to avoid a skewering thrust of an Ilthean’s sword. His foot snagged in the hem of my skirts, and inertia pushed me to my knees. His attention fixed ahead, the golem did not notice immediately and kept onwards.
The Turasi twisted, back-pedalling for balance, and the Ilthean drew back, correcting his overextension. Both men stared down at me, on one knee and scrabbling for a foothold.
For a heartbeat both their swords hung over me, unmoving. The golem had turned back, but he was still two strides away. Then the Turasi grinned, and swung his sword in a mighty backhanded blow, a slash of silver curving towards my neck fast enough to cleave head from shoulders.
My heart clamoured in my throat, and every muscle seized.
The Ilthean darted forward, his sword catching the Turasi’s with a clang so loud it overwhelmed my senses. The honed edges vibrated scarce a foot from my head.
The golem reached me then, scooping me upright and hustling me forward under the protecting arm of the Ilthean soldier, through the white-flanked ranks of his fellow countrymen, and into the calm at their centre. I swear I saw the Turasi slide me a wink before he vanished from view.
An insane urge to giggle gripped me. It seemed every time I fought my way free of danger, events conspired to drive me straight back into its embrace.
Pulling my arm free of the golem’s grip, I wiped dirt and leaves from my palms using my skirts. None of the Iltheans seemed to note that this golem was not Clay, for all that the differences screamed out to my eyes: he was shorter, squatter of girth and build, with a sickly cast to his earthen complexion, as if he’d been fashioned from fired sands.
In the pocket of calm around me, two horses stamped and shuffled, nervy with the rising scent of blood and the discordant song of battle. An Ilthean soldier gripped the reins of both, his gaze scanning in a constant circle for any approaching danger; no doubt he was the boy’s last hope, charged with protecting him in their flight for the border.
Renatas stood nearby, a wreath of silver-wrought laurel leaves gracing his dark curls; his tunic was the bright vermilion of the Ilthean imperial family, tied at the throat with white and gold laces.
His glance flicked from me to the golem, and he spun around to catch his escort’s attention. But the battle was too noisy, the soldier’s attention too focused outwards to take heed of the boy. Small mercies.
‘Damn Dieter and his half-cocked boldness,’ I muttered. How was I supposed to kidnap the boy in the midst of a battle?
Snatching the reins, Renatas leapt into the saddle and kicked his horse into a tight circle, the heavy-shod hooves enough to keep me wary and at bay. I hesitated, waiting for my chance, all too aware I didn’t have time on my side. At any moment the Ilthean soldier, still confused by Renatas’s actions, would realise it was from me the boy wanted to escape.
Renatas expected me to go for the reins; when the horse turned its head in my direction, he jerked it back. So instead I angled towards the horse’s flank. I timed it to approach from the hindquarters, when Renatas would have to twist in the saddle to keep an eye on me.
He tried, of course, twisting so that his far knee rose higher than the pommel and the horse tossed its head and pranced towards me against the uneven pull of the reins. But he wasn’t fast enough to keep his eye on me, and in the instant he turned his head I slipped close enough to grasp his leg. It was a tenuous grip, my fingers slipping on the silk of his trews, but I knotted them into a fist around the fabric and pulled.
He was but a boy, after all, and a slight one at that. Unbalanced in the saddle from twisting, and with the horse frisking, he came down into my hands like an apple ripe for plucking.
RENATAS CAME DOWN squirming and kicking, too. One well-aimed foot planted in my gullet sent me to the ground, my guts afire as if they’d ruptured, the flare of pain so intense it burst through the roof of my mouth and licked down the nerves of my thighs, indistinguishable from wetness. No stains darkened my skirts, so despite the throbbing and the sensation that told me otherwise, I hadn’t lost my bowels nor any blood.
‘The prince is down!’
‘See to the prince!’
The soldiers’ cries penetrated my torpor, bringing my attention back to the smell of leaf-mould and the pinch of a tree root against my shoulder. Renatas had fallen sprawled atop me. Now, kicking and flailing, he had half scrambled free.
If I lost my hold now, naught would save me from a swift and inglorious death.
Still blinking to clear my vision, my fingers closed of their own accord, snarling in his tunic.
Renatas responded with a balled fist in my short ribs, sending another hammer of pain through me. I grunted, but didn’t let go.
Instead, I pushed upright and reached around to grab him by the arm, a surer hold. The moment my hand closed around his flesh, its warmth flooding through the thin fabric of his sleeve, the vision took me.
It rose up from the bruised earth like groundwater climbing above the foundations and through the basement levels, chill and sapping and inevitable.
Renatas’s face dissolved, his features melting and re-forming, softening with both gender and age, blurring into those of his mother. Helena’s cheeks were pale, the heavy cream she’d used to achieve that effect cracking at the corner of her aging eyes, streaking at her brow beneath the influence of the sweat dampening her dark hair.
She faced me as if her life depended on what I would say, and she flinched at what she heard.
‘You’ll find no protection here.’
The voice was a man’s, thick with fury and disgust – and not unfamiliar. It was Sidonius who spoke, choosing yet again the slavery of his new masters over the freedom of his old.
‘Flee, Helena, if I’m all you have left to protect you. Flee like the dog you are.’
Helena’s tears washed away the vision, until it was Renatas staring down at me, lips twisted in a snarl, cocking his fist for another blow. Disorientation and intrigue made me rash.
‘Your mother went to Sidonius for aid,’ I said. ‘Before she fled.’
Checked by surprise, he blinked. In the next instant his sneer reasserted itself, and the striking resemblance he’d borne to his mother’s more lively manner lay buried once more.
‘She was desperate enough for such stupidity,’ he said.
Restored to the present by his antipathy, I abandoned the puzzle. Keeping a firm grip of his arm, I levered my feet under me and stood. Renatas resisted me, of course, setting his heels and pulling against me. Only by seizing a hank of his silky black curls close to the scalp could I quiet him.
We stood in a circle of Ilthean soldiers, swords bared and points aimed towards me, heart and neck and thighs.
Fear shivered the length of my skin – how many swords could pierce my back and find an organ for their sheath? How many Iltheans were currently puzzling whether they could dare it without harming the boy?
Pulling the protesting Renatas closer, shielding my fragile body with his more precious one, I glanced over my shoulder and near wept with relief. The golem stood at my back, his bulk protecting me.
One day, and soon, I would make Dieter pay for this.
I had to swallow hard before I could speak. ‘Move back,’ I ordered.
The Iltheans stayed where they stood, hard-eyed, flat-faced, resolute.
‘Release the boy,’ one said. An old purple scar ran through his milky white left eye; his right eye was green as spring foliage.
Sweat dampened my palms. I had no weapon with which I could threaten the boy, and the soldiers would not let me walk free merely for fear of scratching him in their attempt to kill me. I wondered if the golem carried anything, but with him standing at my back it was impossible to check.
‘Move back,’ I said again. ‘Or the boy dies.’
Oh, I was going to the lowest level of hell, I was, for threatening my own kin.
‘You forgot to have them down arms, Matilde,’ Dieter said, drawing their attention from me.
He had commandeered a horse from somewhere, probably one of the Ilthean mounts, and now towered above us. He wore his usual jaunty smile – and well he might. He wasn’t the one standing in a thicket of sword points.
‘I’d do as the lady suggests,’ he advised. ‘If you value the boy’s skin, you’ll lay down your weapons and stand back.’
The milk-eyed Ilthean matched him stare for stare and said, ‘She won’t harm him.’
‘Oh, I think she would. She’s not particularly fond of him, when all is said and done,’ Dieter said. Then he shrugged, and his gaze flicked over my head. ‘And if you don’t believe that, you have only to look behind her. The golem won’t hesitate.’
I’d not scared them, but the golem did. Shoulders stiffened with doubt and hesitant expressions passed among them like a wind, rippling outwards in ever-strengthening currents.
At last, slowly at first and then in a building wave, the Iltheans lowered their swords. Those pressing in around me stepped back, reluctantly opening an aisle leading towards Dieter.
‘No!’ Renatas set to struggling in my grip, slippery as a river carp. His voice rang out shrill in the silence. ‘Call their bluff! They’re only bluffing!’
The golem reached around me and plucked the struggling Renatas up into the air by the scruff of his neck. He hung snarling and kicking; I stepped back to avoid any wayward blows.
One of the Iltheans nearest us screwed up his face, fighting the urge to run at us.
I kept close to the golem’s side as we walked through the crowd of soldiers, with their glowers and their glares, back to Dieter, now dismounted and smiling serenely.
He greeted me with a cocked brow. ‘Excellent work.’
I took a deep breath, painfully aware of my bedraggled appearance, standing before him with my skirts fouled with mud and blood and leaf mould while he, worn seams and bruises and blackened knuckles notwithstanding, was still pristine. Relatively. Why must I always stand before him as if I’d been grappling for my life?
Because you usually have been? Grandmother suggested.
‘You have a particular and strange fondness for seeing me grovelling in blood, my lord,’ I said, soft enough that only he could hear.
He laughed and, gathering me close to his side, he turned our backs on the Iltheans. The small force that had protected Renatas were still armed; the rest had already relinquished their weapons. The Skythes were still on horseback, bows taut and arrows drawn on the soldiers now behind me. Even as Dieter shepherded me through, the Turasi were closing in, disarming the remaining Iltheans and hustling them onto their knees in a tight knot.
Few were left.
I HAD RIDEN out with an escort two hundred strong; little more than a quarter remained alive, or at least standing. Those wounded still breathing were having their throats slit, one by one, with merciless and methodical precision.
I turned my eyes away, but that only brought Renatas into view. He had given up his kicking and shouting and taken instead to glaring at me. I turned away from him as well.
One of the Nabaea sat atop a gleaming bronze mare, waiting for us, watching me with her shadowed eyes. I wondered if she had the skills to bewitch an army out of view in some way. Perhaps not, perhaps the Skythes were simply ghost-like when they hunted.
Dieter had horses brought for us with a single gesture. He was settled into his saddle before I’d even managed to clamber up, my abdomen throbbing and my jaw aching from clenching. It was only as I settled into the saddle that I risked another look at the Iltheans.
‘Come now, Matte,’ Dieter said, noting my expression. ‘It’s a mercy killing – which is quite possibly more than they deserved.’
I jerked out a nod, my eyes pinned to the field of carnage before me. I had seen killing before. I had even seen senseless slaughter before. That had been at Dieter’s order as well.
‘Besides, we can’t spare the men to hold them hostage or ransom them, and nor can we risk any escaping to carry word to the rest of their countrymen.’
Which was the real reason I had not lifted up my voice to argue for their lives. We had won here, but there was still the nation to win back, and potentially the Turholm as well. If events there had not unfolded as planned our losses in that battle were likely to have been more grievous than here. Until we knew of Roshi’s success we were in a precarious position and we could not afford to squander the advantage of surprise. Blame their deaths on Dieter as much as I’d like, the plan had been mine originally, and today’s killing the price of my stratagems.
And word got out anyway.
We rode fast and hard for the Turholm, eager to find out its fate, and filled with concern over the extent of the damage Sidonius may have inflicted. Had Roshi survived, and the talaye? Had the drightens? Was the Turholm still sound? There was also a more practical concern, of maximising our window of rest before Aulus Vespian’s forces arrived.
Renatas squalled and struggled at first, kicking and biting at any who came near and attempting, through flailing limbs and repeated yelling, to startle his guard’s horse into bolting. Dieter gave him instead to one of the golems, who flung him over one broad shoulder and loped onwards.
Still the boy protested, curling his bound hands into claws and digging wounds into the golem’s back, deep enough that the creature staggered.
‘Enough!’ Dieter cried, stopping the column.
Slipping to the ground, he ordered the golem to stand Renatas on his feet.
‘You will release me,’ Renatas ordered in ringing tones as Dieter approached him. ‘Or else you will pay with your life when my father’s army arrives!’
Dieter seized a hank of his hair and lifted him by the scalp. Eyes bulging and toes straining for the ground, Renatas yelped.
‘You will keep silent and biddable,’ Dieter snapped, his voice full of menace. ‘I don’t much like you at the best of times, and the only thing keeping you alive is political canniness. Not necessity – be sure you understand the distinction. So cause trouble, say the wrong thing, do anything I don’t like, and I’ll have your throat slit first and worry about the ramifications second. Is that clear?’
Unable to nod, Renatas let out a squeak of fear.
‘Good,’ Dieter said, releasing him. The boy made no further protest of any kind, and we resumed our ride home in peace, with Renatas watching Dieter sidelong the entire time.
We returned to a palace trapped between exuberance and reserve. Freed from Ilthean occupation, the spirits of the living rode high; yet awareness of the army marching toward the walls, and the strength of the empire behind them, weighed everyone down. Too, the battle at the Turholm had not been so total a victory as that in the forest.
The walls stoood strong – I had feared Sidonius would have sabotaged them in some way rather than relinquish the stronghold intact – but a soldier met us at the gates with the report that Sidonius had won through to freedom with a sizeable portion of his force, inflicting a heavy toll on the Skythes and Turasi in the process. Mourning lurked in every corner of the Turholm.
I had to pause on dismounting, hands clutching my horse’s withers, breathing shallowly through the throb of pain while black speckled my vision. Days in the saddle and a battle had wreaked havoc on my healing.
The pain was a timely reminder that Sidonius was not of a patient or forgiving temper. He had been not only thwarted, but also bested. What might he do in retaliation? For strike back he would, that much I knew. Better than most, better even than Dieter perhaps, I knew enough to fear it.
When I could breathe again, I turned to find Dieter speaking to Roshi. He had Renatas by his side, hands still bound, and the boy stood still and pale as if shrinking in on himself. Roshi stood stiff and ill-at-ease as she faced Dieter. She was apprehensive over his return, I knew, but that was a topic likely to give animation to her expression. The fragility of her manner told me whatever private pain she nursed now ran deeper than worries over Dieter. Did she feel shame over the Turholm’s less than complete victory? The Skythes could be prickly about such things. Or perhaps there had been more confrontation between her and the talaye, as seemed likely from the discomfort of the Skytheman standing by her side.
‘Sidonius demands your attendance,’ she was saying to Dieter as I drew near. ‘Midday, on the first full day of your return. He said to tell you he would know the day of your return.’
Dieter included me in the discussion with a glance as he said, ‘And did he specify how he would come by such knowledge?’ His words were nonchalant, but the look he pinned on her was not.
‘No,’ Roshi said. ‘He conveyed conviction, however.’
Then she turned to me. Red rimmed her eyes. ‘He still has Sepp, and Amalia went with him as well. I tried to talk her out of staying always within his reach, tried to convince her he’d never simply forget her value as a hostage and that she should make herself scarce. But she wouldn’t listen. And I couldn’t risk her life. I’m sorry.’
I glanced at Dieter, seeking his reaction to Amalia’s quixotic loyalties. He took the news without flinch or flicker, with only a single deep breath to fortify himself.
But there was steel in his voice when he said, ‘Tomorrow then, we finish this.’
THE PROSPECT ROBED me of sleep. I abandoned the attempt in the grey blear that presaged dawn, shuffling from my bed with a blanket wrapped tight about my shoulders. After a breakfast of cold eggs and buttermilk, I dressed in the simplest gown I could find, a green as pale and fragile as a butterfly’s wings, and boots, in preparation for the day’s excursion. I even added a dagger; no table knife this, it was a proper fighting blade Roshi found for me. Not that I had any real skill with it, but it was an outward symbol to both Sidonius and Dieter of my independence. It didn’t make me feel any better able to face the day, but nothing could accomplish that.
By his appearance, Dieter apparently did not share my apprehension. I had relegated him to one of the guest suites, a decision he had accepted without qualm or argument, to my surprise, and now he stepped from his rooms with his dark hair still damp from a dunking, face aglow with anticipation.
‘You’re suspiciously cheerful,’ I said.
He rubbed his hands together. ‘Today we finish it. We take everything back from them.’
‘Oh, just like that?’ Exasperation made me sharp. ‘What do you plan to do, walk up and say please?’
‘Matilde, you have no faith in me. It’s hurtful. I can’t help but feel a woman should have faith in her husband.’
How easily we fell into our previous roles – he the taunting, generous tormentor; I caustic and trapped and looking to him for answers. It was a dangerous, nauseating realisation, and it made me cold in response.
‘I’ve never taken to men who swagger,’ I said.
He raked a gaze down the length of me in open appreciation – because he knew it would discomfit me. ‘That’s not the impression you give.’
‘Your brother is not so easily defeated, even with a hostage,’ I said, determined to turn the conversation back to safer, and less infuriating, territory. ‘Particularly considering he has hostages of his own.’
My voice dried up then, and I swallowed. Sidonius still had more poppets of me, and he had Sepp and Mali. Not that Dieter would worry over Sepp’s fate.
Dieter’s smile held an edge of menace. ‘I think I can chase out a viper or two.’
Protests hovered on the tip of my tongue. Perhaps sensing them, Dieter gave me no chance to speak.
‘Shall we?’ he said. Without waiting, he swept past, bustle and hurry starting up in his wake, saddled horses led forth, the drightens gathering to watch us off, some more sanguine about the prospect of being left behind than others.
I startled when I recognised the man holding my horse. ‘Gerlach!’
Dieter’s laconic general greeted me with a smile.
‘Freedom suits you,’ he said. ‘Gives you a keener eye.’
A flush prickled my cheeks, and my gaze skipped to Dieter, pulling himself into the saddle, before turning back to Gerlach.
‘Thank you,’ I said awkwardly, holding his eye in an attempt to let him see the depth of my gratitude extended beyond holding my horse and delivering a soft compliment.
He gave a single nod in acknowledgement.
Unable to say more under Dieter’s impatient eye, I let Gerlach help me into the saddle. Our escort formed up around us as we rode out. Dieter was not in the mood for talk as we travelled. For a change. He must have been more uncertain than he was willing to let on.
The sun stood hot and high in an untroubled sky by the time we reached the trees and, a mile into their province, the clearing Sidonius had named for our parley.
Reining in, we surveyed the shadows and silence lurking in the surrounding forest.
It was a narrow clearing, with a small twist of creek cutting across one corner. Sidonius waited beside the water. Echoes of the last time we three had met made my head swim and my stomach tighten. Then, I had confronted Dieter with Sidonius at my side, to cast one brother from the palace at the cost of installing the other.
An indecisive mind serves too many masters, Grandmother said. And in the end profits none.
That, I observed in return, would be more helpful if indecision were my problem, instead of a lack of resources at every turn.
Last time, Sidonius had set up a silken pavilion; this time he had dispensed with the niceties, and awaited us in the open. He was on foot, restive horses held by one of his men. Amalia waited hard by Sidonius’s elbow. She had been raiding my wardrobe again in my absence, for she wore one of my gowns, a burgundy silk which hinted at red shadows in her frost-pale hair and eyes. It had been short on me, the cuffs barely skimming the back of my wrists; on her, it was still long enough to sweep the ground, and the sleeves hid all but the tips of her fingers.
‘Let’s be done with it, then,’ Dieter said, and spurred his horse forward.
I held my breath as I slipped from the saddle, striving for an appearance of dignity. I managed to avoid doubling over with a shrill cry when my feet touched earth and jolted my still-tender midsection, but I couldn’t stifle a thin whistle through my teeth. Sidonius noted it, of course. By his smug smile, it amused him.
Amalia tried to meet my gaze but couldn’t, her eyes sliding off to the left. She couldn’t even attempt to look at Dieter, and studied some detail in the distance instead.
Sidonius turned to Dieter, and the brothers met without games or pretence of goodwill. They each wore the same furious frown.
If Sidonius hadn’t been such a cruel and ruthless creature, I might have felt sorry for him. He was the brother unwanted, after all, sold or abandoned into slavery in a foreign land. Compassion was difficult to summon, however, when my insides still felt scraped raw – and when a tiny rag-stuffed poppet peeked from the open throat of a pouch laced to his belt.
Relinquishing my horse to one of our escort, I stepped close to Dieter.
Sidonius sneered.
Gerlach stood on Dieter’s other side, shoulders and jaw tight with tension, eyes pinched. I had seen the man tense, and alert for devious behaviour; this was different.
I scanned those gathered behind Sidonius, searching for Sepp, but I couldn’t see him. Perhaps, like Renatas, he had been judged too precious to bring to the parley, but that only made Amalia’s presence more of a puzzle. Surely, between she and Sepp, she was the more valuable hostage?
Dieter drew breath, but Sidonius held up a hand, stilling him before he could speak. For a wonder, Dieter assented. He was not so stubborn and prideful to insist on speaking first at the cost of surrendering an advantage.
Sunlight beat down on my unprotected head. How had it come to this? How had the fate of the Turasi, and of House Svanaten, come to depend on these warring brothers, scions of a long-forgotten House?
Sidonius looked at me, as if to be sure I was paying attention, but he did not speak either. Instead, he turned to his left.
The knife flashed in his hand as he slashed Amalia’s throat.
THE SINGLE SWIFT cut severed flesh and arteries and tendons, and it was done before any could stop him, before any could even so much as draw breath.
Amalia’s eyes flared wide, and she tried to speak.
Nothing but a gurgle, chillingly like a laugh, emerged from her lips; at the same time, bubbling blood pulsed through her cut throat. She collapsed, hitting the ground with a thud.
I ran to her, my legs spongy and unresponsive, too slow. All I could hear was the harsh pant of my own breath, the scrape of the earth beneath my boots as I lunged to my knees beside her.
She was already dead.
Fury stopped my throat as effectively as stones choking a well. I looked up.
Sidonius had stepped back. He was close enough to meet my look with a smile, however.
‘Truly, Matilde, you are easy to shock. This shouldn’t come as such a surprise. Nor would it, if you’d learnt your lesson last time.’
Horror squeezed the breath from my lungs, slow and inevitable and crushing as a rockfall by inches. Amalia’s limp hand in mine made me tremble, a tremor so strong I thought the shadow sickness might claim me after all.
Do you not have the courage to kill her outright?
The words I had once spoken to mock Sidonius chose this moment to return, ringing in my memory.
‘Apparently you’re a little obtuse, however,’ Sidonius went on. ‘This time, since I must make my point to your husband as well, I chose Amalia.’
Stiff with the ache of holding back my fury, I rose carefully to my feet.
‘You can’t bear him a child,’ Sidonius said, too low to carry, ‘and now his sister cannot further the line on his behalf. I warned you, Matilde: I’ll not tolerate any obstacle to the emperor’s will.’
‘She was allied to you!’ I cried, the rage bursting through my restraint.
‘Against her will,’ Sidonius said with a shrug. ‘Such a loyalty is not to be trusted. Her only value to me was in the hold she gave me over you.’
‘She was your sister,’ Dieter snapped, his voice tight as he fought for control. A glance over my shoulder showed him standing, neck corded with tension and eyes blazing in a face made pale by fury.
Sidonius only laughed, and returned, ‘She was your sister, Dieter. Not mine.’
He turned back to me then, and I remembered he had knifed his own mother rather than betray Ilthea. What would a half-sister matter to him, after all?
Red washed across my vision and I lunged at him. I would carve the bastard’s self-satisfied smile out of his face with my nails –
Gerlach grabbed my elbows from behind, restraining me. I struggled, but his grip was too strong as he forced me back to Dieter’s side.
‘Quietly,’ Gerlach murmured in my ear. ‘This won’t go unpunished.’
His words stilled my struggles where his strength had not, and reluctantly I subsided.
Sidonius was watching Dieter, waiting for his reaction. One comment, no matter how raw the tone, was not satisfaction enough; he wanted the same rage from Dieter he had provoked in me.
Dieter did not oblige, however, although the effort it cost him was visible in the whiteness around his mouth and eyes. ‘No mercy,’ he said. ‘No quarter.’
Sidonius let out another bark of laughter. ‘You have numbers on your side, I’ll give you that much. For now. But half your army won’t step inside the walls, and the other half is so riddled with intrigue and dissension even walls can’t hold them together. I’ve taken your palace once, Dieter, and I’ll do it again. If you’d prefer I kill every last one of you in the process . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I can arrange that.’
‘I will see every single serpent pushed out of Turasi lands,’ Dieter went on as if he had never been interrupted. ‘I will see every inch of our land that you have trodden watered by your blood.’
It calmed me, Dieter’s promise of vengeance.
‘A bold claim,’ Sidonius rejoined. ‘One that shows your desperation. You’ve no leverage, and nor do you have the power or strength to do what needs to be done.’
He looked briefly down at Amalia’s body. A fly had settled on her open left eye.
‘I have your precious prince.’
‘Ah, but a hostage is a double-edged blade, isn’t it? Kill him and you relinquish any hold you might have over your enemy.’
In any other situation, Dieter might have cracked a smile, taunted his foe, but his rage was too great for games now.
‘I don’t plan on killing him,’ he said. ‘Tell me, how much pain do you think a lad of his stature can withstand?’
‘We’ve been here before.’ Sidonius cracked the knuckles of his left hand in a display of perfect indifference. ‘It didn’t work then and it won’t work now. Truly, you Turasi are dimwitted, aren’t you?’
‘He doesn’t need two functioning legs,’ Dieter said. ‘A brick to shatter every bone in the foot, and a strip of linen to contort it into a new shape while it heals, and we could create a club foot from a healthy one. It might even teach the lad humility.’
A muscle twitched in Sidonius’s jaw, betraying his apprehension. Iltheans abhorred physical infirmity, particularly in the ruling class – a prince with a limp would be executed. The boy’s father would not look kindly on a general who allowed such a fate; neither would the emperor.
Dieter noted the reaction and nodded. ‘Let me know if you think we can come to an understanding,’ he said. ‘I’d not want to harm the boy without cause.’
He lifted his hand in a gesture of summons, and Gerlach and I followed him to our mounts. Gerlach signalled to two men to fetch Amalia.
I thought Sidonius might call us back, perhaps to negotiate further, perhaps to call Dieter’s bluff. We reached the horses in silence, however.
From the saddle, Dieter said, ‘Three days, Sidonius. If I’ve not heard from you in three days, I’ll assume you mean to be stubborn. And your prince will pay the price.’
DIETER SAT AS stiff as a cast figure, gaze fixed on the middle distance, as we rode through the Turholm’s gates. The soldiers manning the gates wore jubilant smiles, which wilted in the face of our dour expressions.
The thralls and garrison all turned out to greet our return, expectation and hope mixed in the faces they fixed on us. Or on Dieter.
How quickly they looked to him over me.
They’ve seen him rule, Grandmother said. All they’ve seen of you is a half-caste girl kept from the throne by her grandmother and then by her husband.
And whose fault is that? I returned silently. If you’d let me step up when I came of age, they’d have known two years of my rule before Dieter invaded.
Or perhaps you’d have let the rulership slip through your inexpert little fingers, and the Houses Somner would sit in place of Duethin – raping the Turasi the way they do the Ursin tribe, taking all that the land and people have to offer and sowing none of it back into the future.
And perhaps your lack of trust always creates the future you fear.
If you’d ascended the throne two years ago, then Dieter would have attacked two years ago.
I squeezed my eyes shut against a gathering ache at the back of my head and neck.
Opening my eyes in time to see the crowd’s hopes faltering in the face of Dieter’s silence, I wanted to squeeze them shut again. I couldn’t, I didn’t, because they turned from Dieter to me.
I wanted to give them foundation for their hope, promises that the Ilthean army would dash themselves to meat and fertiliser against our walls, and the Turasi would rise, having fought free of the empire’s far-reaching ambition.
Amalia’s blood was still crusted under my fingernails, however. The memory of her throat being cut, the knife slicing through tendon and artery, overcame my will and my words. I dropped my eyes, and heard their falling spirits in the hush that followed, broken by the ringing clop of hooves against paving stones.
Dieter dismounted and strode for the doors, his step confident, his back stiff as an old oak trunk. If I had not known him so well, I might have assumed him untouched by his sister’s death, or at most angry. I knew the calibre of that silence, however. I had heard it before, when I woke from Roshi’s poison, when he had taken my hand and his voice had broken with the attempt to laugh.
Tender from my own experience of Sidonius’s mercy, I could not follow him. Nor, I found, did I want to. Even my soft heart could not so readily forget all Dieter had done, in his turn. He had ordered my family slaughtered as surely as Sidonius had slit Amalia’s throat. Dieter hadn’t wielded the knife himself, but that did not make him any less culpable. Nor any less ruthless.
I slipped from the saddle without grace, toes straining for the paving stones.
Strong hands caught me around the waist, and lowered me gently down. Gerlach. He betrayed nothing in his expression, no nod nor smile nor even a blink. And yet I felt sure he was not unaware.
‘You know, don’t you?’ I said. ‘What Sidonius did to me.’
‘No,’ he answered. ‘But the clues are there. In your walk. In whatever it was he said to taunt you. In your fear, just now.’
I turned away, suddenly uncomfortable. An eddy in the crowd caught my attention, then Roshi emerged from the press of bodies. To my surprise, she pushed past me, blind to everything but the sombre burden one of Dieter’s men was already slipping off a horse’s back.
‘I will carry her,’ Roshi said, arms already extended. When he started to protest, she cut him off, repeating: ‘I will carry her.’
He relented, placing Amalia in Roshi’s arms in solemn silence. Bracing her legs under the weight, the exiled Skythe girl turned and began an unhurried walk to the sanctuary, where Amalia’s body would be laid out. It seemed that despite their initial differences and the political expediency of their acquaintance, the loneliness of exile had formed a real bond between the two women.
Gerlach put his hand on the small of my back, too gentle and insubstantial a touch to feel through the layers of my kirtle and gown. I let him steer me into the cool corridors; he knew his way well enough, and guided me unerringly to my suite.
The sitting room was full of sunlight, warming the golden grain of the couch’s teak spine. I sank onto its cushions gratefully, but was on my feet again, pacing, two breaths later.
Gerlach closed the door and positioned himself beside it, hands loosely clasped behind his back, his watchful eyes fixed on me.
In the sanctuary hall, the presters and Roshi – and Dieter? – would be at work upon Amalia’s body, sponging away the blood, winding a linen bandage around her throat to hide the gaping wound, dressing her in unsoiled finery. I wanted nothing more than to bury my head in my hands, or to smother all thought with the strong fumes of too much ale, but before Gerlach, and his silent but steady watching, I could do neither.
‘Shouldn’t you be with your lord?’ I demanded, rougher than I intended.
His gaze twitched away and he said, ‘Dieter will not wish to see me just now.’
Despite my fractious mood, he caught my interest.
‘You’re his trusted second,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine you ever doing anything to anger him.’
‘I have served him ill, in my time,’ he said, with a strange mixture of pain and calm in his voice. He paused before adding, ‘In your time.’
Beneath that penetrating look I remembered the night Sepp had stepped into this room and walked me through unguarded thralls’ runs out of the palace and out from under Dieter’s thumb. Someone had made sure those corridors stood unguarded, I thought. But it seemed utterly impossible, that Gerlach could have collaborated in my escape. No, I decided, when Gerlach spoke of serving Dieter ill, he meant only the day when he had counselled me to flee, nothing more.
‘In this case, however, it is not how I have served Dieter that matters,’ Gerlach went on. ‘It is how he has served me. If it weren’t for me, my lady, he might never have had to watch his sister killed. He might never have had to stand by while she bled her life out into the dry summer earth.’
‘You claim a great deal, general,’ I said, Grandmother’s words spoken in my voice. I’d had her in my head too long; I was starting to think like her. Determined to draw him out, I reasoned, ‘You didn’t wield the blade. Would you take everyone else’s choices on your own shoulders, as your responsibility?’
He gave a single angry shake of his head and said, ‘I dare say Sidonius’s hatred for Dieter stems from the circumstances surrounding his slavery – and it was due to me that Sidonius ended up an Ilthean slave.’
I frowned, not sure how Gerlach might fit into the brothers’ history. None of it made sense, and the normally forthright Gerlach seemed unable to speak aloud the final clue that would tie everything together. I sat, weariness winning out over my restlessness.
‘Many years have passed since – Sidonius has made a number of decisions in between times,’ I said. ‘You can’t lay claim to them all.’
I had forgotten the deadening effect of Gerlach’s silences. Under that stare, my certainty started to leak away, no matter how hard I tried to hold on to it.
‘It was a kindness, in a way,’ he said. ‘What Dieter did for his brother.’
I nearly choked, curiosity silenced momentarily by disbelief. ‘A kindness!’
‘Eckard – that’s his real name, by the by, the one his mother gave him,’ Gerlach said. ‘I think he changed it around about the time he killed her.’
When I didn’t react to this, Gerlach lifted a brow and asked, ‘He told you of that?’
I nodded.
‘Eckard was very obviously his father’s son,’ he went on. ‘Of all the tribes, the Marsachen are perhaps the most liberal when it comes to illegitimacy. In this case, however, with the truth in front of everyone’s eyes, and his mother crusading for an inheritance . . . ’ Gerlach shrugged. ‘The boy was marked for a swift accident.’
I flinched. That could easily have been Sepp’s fate as a child.
Anger put thorns in my voice as I guessed, ‘So Dieter arranged for his brother to be spirited away and sold into slavery instead? I don’t see that as a kindness.’
‘I’d be the last person to claim slavery is a pleasant existence,’ Gerlach said quietly. ‘But it did give him a chance at life, a greater chance than he had in the Grabanstein. It doesn’t appear to have given him a bad life, all told.’
I wrapped my arms around my belly as if to keep out the cold. The chill lay within me, however, an ice driven deep into my marrow. I stared at the glass of a lantern sconced on the wall, clouded and streaked by the flame it housed at night, and said, ‘Which makes it alright, does it? It worked out well, so no harm done, and let’s just forget that Dieter abandoned his brother?’
When Gerlach didn’t answer, I added, ‘That doesn’t make Dieter the better man. In case you weren’t sure.’
Gerlach’s eyes gleamed with something suspiciously like humour as he said, ‘You sound like Amalia.’
My throat swelled closed, and I had to swallow several times before I could speak. ‘She spoke a lot of sense, as it turns out.’
‘Matilde,’ he said, urgent and swift, his mirth vanishing as quickly as it came. ‘It wasn’t Dieter’s noblest moment, perhaps. If you care to dig, you’ll find plenty of moments that don’t speak well of him. But he is the better man. And he wants the same thing for the Turasi as you do – which is more than can be said for Eckard.’
‘Moments like whatever it was that angered the Amaeri?’ I probed.
Gerlach tipped his head slightly to the side and said, ‘Somewhat. Yes.’
‘Tell me.’ I spoke as if my gaze could compel him to obey. ‘Tell me what he did to bring Achim halfway across the known world in search of him. You were there,’ I said, when he gave a slight shake of his head. He closed his mouth, the denial dying unspoken, and I pressed, ‘You know what it was. Tell me.’
He sighed. ‘There was a girl,’ he said. ‘The Amaeri are ruled by the sariston, a position similar to a drighten in power, and this girl was the daughter of a sarist. When she took a fancy to Dieter, he . . . was not wise enough to ignore it.’
Gerlach gave a delicate shrug, eliding the details with the succinct comment, ‘She regarded the tryst rather more seriously than he, as it turns out.’
So Dieter had experience in dealing with lovesick girls, I thought. It wasn’t altogether a surprise, but the pain I felt at it was.
Gerlach was watching me, reading my shame in the spread of my blush; it brought anger, hot and cleansing, to the surface of my skin, and freed my voice.
‘Yet you advise me to trust him!’ I snapped.
‘When it comes to the nation’s welfare, yes.’
His roundabout phrasing gave me the clue I needed. ‘And when it comes to my welfare?’ I said.
He paused, as if taking the measure of me. ‘You have the strength and wits to match him,’ he said. ‘And you are no longer his captive. If you have the resources to ensure you remain free, and his equal . . . yes, you can trust him.’
There was a girl, he had said. She regarded the tryst rather more seriously than he.
‘It was you,’ I said, certain now. Something about my situation – helplessness, perhaps, or desperation – had reminded him of the sarist’s daughter, and triggered a compassion in this steadfast man that transcended his loyalty to Dieter. ‘The night Sepp and Roshi took me from the Turholm, the corridors were unguarded. It was you who helped them, wasn’t it?’
He gave no answer, not even a knowing smile.
‘Why?’ I demanded.
‘Why did I help you escape him? Or why am I loyal to him?’
‘Both!’
He was silent a long time before he relented.
‘He saved me,’ he said simply. ‘As a lad, I was training for the presterhood. The Beneduin faith doesn’t separate church from any aspect of daily life. Any who wish may join the presterhood, and pursue a secondary career simultaneously. The Duethin was a prester originally – the pontiff, in point of fact.’
‘And Dieter saved you from a life you didn’t want, is that it?’ I said, impatient for the meat of the story.
He mocked my guess with a patient smile and the dry comment, ‘A little melodramatic.’
‘You sound like Dieter,’ I grumbled.
‘I went to the Morvingen courts to broaden my training,’ he said. ‘Even at that young age, Dieter had plans for expanding his reach, and studying foreign cultures was an important part of that. While in Bayre, I often rode south, even as far as the foothills of the Sentinels. It’s a melting pot of different cultures, that region – Morvingen, Nureyan, Turasi and Ilthean. On one such journey south, I found myself in a small hamlet in the south of Vestenn lands when an Ilthean squadron raided north. I was taken slave as spoils of war.’
‘Oh.’ The word slipped from me in a tiny voice.
‘To cut a long story short, Eckard was the coin Dieter used to free me,’ he said. ‘Dieter brokered the deal without anyone’s consent, mine or Eckard’s or my Ilthean master’s.
‘So, to answer your question, Matilde, I am loyal to him because he saved me when he could have forgotten me. That doesn’t mean I’m blind to his flaws, however. And it doesn’t mean I’ll stand by and watch a girl twist herself in circles looking for an escape which doesn’t exist, until she sickens into loving her slavery. That’s a quick death of the mind, and a long, torturous death of the body. I won’t condemn another to that fate, not when I have the power to release them. I’ve seen what women will do for Dieter’s affection,’ he finished. ‘I didn’t want to watch it again.’
I could find no more intelligent comment to make than another, very soft, ‘Oh.’
POLITICAL WRETCH THAT I was, my first thought was how I could use Gerlach’s confession to my advantage. But even as I asked him what it would do to Dieter to learn of this secret, and what Gerlach might do in return for my keeping it, I knew it was no use.
‘Tell him, if you wish,’ Gerlach replied, without condemnation or alarm. ‘It will hurt Dieter, perhaps, but we are both free, and equal. He knows I will do what I think is right in any given situation, and I know he will do the same.’
So on the morrow I rose and dressed with care, the thought of this morning’s work making my heart beat hard. With all the drightens united again, and the Iltheans yet undefeated, we must meet without delay. That meant my agreement with Dieter to compete for the throne would come to the fore, and I wasn’t sure I was ready.
It was still early, when I finished dressing. Too restless to sit and wait, but wanting only quiet, I found myself outside the sanctuary hall. The doors stood open, and I hesitated on the threshold.
Lit by lantern and chandelier against the failing night, by candles and votive lights and by bare torches along the walls, the hall blazed with light. Warm air enfolded me as I stepped into its vast interior, and the dazzle of so many flames brought tears of pain to my eyes, as if I looked on a field of fallen stars.
At the head of the hall, surrounded by an empty expanse of polished parquetry flooring and votive flames, Amalia lay as if asleep.
She wore one of my finest gowns, a linen as green as the whispering depths of the spring pine needles. Silver thread and seed pearls picked out a pattern around hem and cuff. A diaphanous scrap of green silk layered over her throat obscured the black gash Sidonius’s knife had wrought.
Roshi knelt beside her, bare feet peeking from the folds of her skirt, her unbound hair smeared with ash. She did not lift her head nor turn around at my entrance, and I ventured no further, reluctant to intrude. Even the Skythe warrior escorting me lowered his eyes at the sight.
I crept back out of the hall and waited instead in the stables, among the warmth of hay and horse and memories of my childhood with Sepp, until at last it was time to join the drightens.
A handful of drightens were already present in the council chamber: two of the three Somners, Helma and Evard; and near Helma a young man with a weak chin and a bronze circlet clasped around his throat. By the small falcon attached to the circlet, I guessed him to be Meinard, Rein’s son and the new head of House Falkere. He looked up as I entered, and glanced away just as quickly.
Disappointment tightened my breath. I’d hoped for a moment alone with the more sympathetic drightens before Dieter or the Somners arrived.
Evard watched me with a dark and hungry gaze; his sister Helma was subtler, but the fire burning in her was no less fierce.
‘So,’ she said silkily, ‘you are still alive.’
‘Had you heard otherwise?’ I affected surprise. ‘You need to enquire into your sources, Helma. They’re either inefficient, or lying.’
Leaning back, she treated herself to a small, secretive smile. I turned away from it, and her, before the fury rose too close to the surface.
The third Somner lord, Rudiger, arrived next, entering the room with his hand tangled in the bristle of his black beard. Catching sight of me, his hand froze, but a slow smile twisted his lips. What had Dieter told them – or promised them – in return for their support? Initially it had been the death of House Svanaten, and he had all but delivered on that promise. Did the Houses Somner think the promise would soon be paid in full?
The rest of the drightens arrived in short order. Maja scanned the council chamber, and crossed directly to the side table and its fruit platters. She showed little interest in the mound of strawberries and blueberries, the summer apples and peaches and plums. Plucking up a single blueberry, she chewed slowly and stared out the window.
Krimhilde and Merten of House Raethn arrived together. On stepping into the deathly silence of the chamber, Merten touched his sister’s elbow and, with a significant look in my direction, guided her to a seat. Xaver of House Vestenn was the last to arrive, trailing in Dieter’s wake.
Another figure, even more reluctant than Xaver, paused in the doorway. Renatas.
I snuck a glance at Dieter even as Grandmother started up a subtle muttering, her angry tone unsettlingly close to fear. What was he thinking?
Maja voiced my thoughts, albeit more calmly than I could have. ‘The boy is a hostage, Dieter, not a trophy. He has no need to attend our counsels.’
‘Won’t you have a seat?’ Dieter gestured to the couches, including everyone in the invitation.
I waited. There were places enough for all, but this time I’d not sit in the couch Grandmother had always set aside for me. It had not been moved yet and still sat, beside hers but slightly out of the circle. Dieter summoned Renatas from the doorway with a stern gesture, and pointed him to it. Feet dragging and mouth turned down in a sulk, the boy complied.
When Dieter sat, I made my move. Stepping forward, a bowl of ale cupped in my hands, I took a place beside him.
Their eyes fixed on me, so many cut and polished schemes and calculations gleaming like jewels in the dark. Beneath the weight of their watching, I took a single, measured sip from the bowl. My elbow jutted out just far enough to force Dieter to shift aside for me.
They had been waiting for me to serve it to Dieter, as once I might have done. Things had changed, however, and it was important they note it.
Crude tactics, Grandmother chided, but there was humour in her comment.
‘So, we are all seated,’ Helma said, accepting her own bowl of ale from a thrall. ‘Explain the boy.’
‘He is, as you’ve all gathered and Maja has pointed out, a hostage.’
‘And his presence here and now?’ By his brusqueness and the way his hand was wrapped around the edge of his cushion, Rudiger was impatient already. He had never been one for games, at least those involving words or wits.
‘He is an obnoxious and stubborn creature, given to trying to escape,’ Dieter responded, the laughter in his voice at odds with the words, and at odds with what I’d heard of Renatas’s obedient behaviour since Dieter had threatened him. ‘Thus, I keep him by my side.’
Foreboding made me uneasy; Dieter had brought the boy for a reason, and it would probably not be to my advantage. No doubt he meant to highlight my kinship to the boy, and that the line of succession through me led directly to the empire.
The drightens, too, distrusted his explanation. Krimhilde glanced between myself, Renatas and Dieter with suspicion and said, ‘He could carry intelligence of us back to the Iltheans.’
‘Nothing of import,’ Dieter said. ‘Our names, perhaps, and if he is very observant, news of our internal alliances. Nothing the emperor couldn’t discover easily enough anyway.’
They weren’t happy about it, I could see it in the narrowing of their eyes, the frowns gathering on their brows.
‘Now, we have serious matters at hand,’ Dieter said, leaving them no pause or hesitation in which to protest further. ‘The Ilthean reinforcements march towards us and, unfortunately, they still have Sidonius at their head. There’s also the lad’s father, Aulus Vespian, to consider; he doesn’t have the same reputation as Sidonius, but he’s an able soldier nonetheless. The Skythes will not step inside the walls, which means we must either sacrifice half our strength, or march out and sacrifice the strength of our walls.’
The character of his voice, the way he caught each of their gazes in turn, and the gravity of his words, banished their dissatisfaction at Renatas’s presence from their minds – or at least from their lips.
‘We stay inside,’ Rudiger said, quick and firm. ‘The barbarians are fierce fighters; they’ll wipe out a large number of our enemy before they themselves fall. Then we will be safe inside, and what’s left of the Iltheans can spend themselves against our walls in vain.’
Maja sneered. ‘The founding of the Houses Somner was an affair of bravery and glory, or so I’ve always heard. What would your ancestors think?’
Rudiger replied with his own sneer, a far less subtle and delicate expression than Maja’s. ‘The Somners have never scrupled about saving blood that doesn’t need saving. It’s what separates the bold from the soft-minded fools.’
‘Or the cowards from those who refuse to let fear for their own hide cripple them.’
‘My brother is hardly a coward,’ said Helma, meeting Maja’s look with a thinly veiled challenge.
‘He’s hardly the type to put himself at the front of his armies, though, is he?’ Merten drawled, turning to his sister Krimhilde for support.
‘Do not mistake cunning for cowardice,’ said Evard.
‘We aren’t,’ Maja said as she reached behind her for another blueberry. ‘Are you sure you know the difference?’
‘Regardless of the moral ambiguities,’ Dieter cut across the drightens’ simmering tempers, ‘I’m not convinced the benefits of dividing our forces would outweigh the risk. Perhaps that strategy has done what it could for us.’
Just so did he charm them back to quiescence, as easily as he’d let them rouse themselves heartbeats ago.
‘Diplomat,’ I accused him, quietly enough that only he might hear.
‘You should try it sometime,’ he returned with a flash of a smile not meant to win me over. ‘You’re so fixed on nibbling away at the sides and undercutting the spirit of an agreement. It’s tiring, and it makes you untrustworthy.’
‘If you could charm your siblings half so easily, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.’
A retort rose to his tongue, but he bit it back and returned to the war council. Whatever direction he meant the council to take, however, he was momentarily forestalled in orchestrating it.
‘Oh, you do make a pretty pair, Dieter,’ Helma said, watching us with a malicious glitter in her eye that put an uneasy sensation in the pit of my belly. ‘The raven lord and his barbarian bride, bickering in public.’
She turned her head to include Evard and Rudiger and added, ‘Almost like the old times, isn’t it?’
Rudiger gave a hearty snort of appreciation.
Your parents never bickered in public, Grandmother said indignantly.
Without Grandmother’s murmur, I would never have suspected the jeer was aimed at my parents. The knowledge didn’t help my mood any, nor did the fact that Dieter did not put Helma in her place by word or look. Political need over personal desire.
‘Interesting you should think so,’ Dieter was saying, ‘because circumstances between Matilde and I have . . . changed.’
‘Yes,’ Maja said. ‘She tired of wearing your brand.’
‘And changed it to her own,’ Meinard said, overloud and stilted, his glance flicking to and from my brow uneasily.
‘It takes pain, to change a brand,’ Evard said, and I knew then who had put the words in Meinard’s mouth.
I turned to Helma a heartbeat before she spoke.
‘Or a mara’s arts,’ she said softly, eyes sparkling, keen for any reaction.
She thinks to trick it out of you. Grandmother’s voice was quick and thready; the same panicky tone had always accompanied her strictures that I hide my visions, abide by the hateful rumours of suffering from fits under the touch of the shadow sickness.
But if I had such a secret to fear, so did Dieter.
‘The brand is of no consequence,’ he said. There was no uneasiness in his manner, but the swiftness of his answer betrayed him, at least to me.
Fortunately for him, the other drightens did not know him as I did; they heard only his calm assurance and, obedient to his confidence, they allowed him to turn the topic.
‘What is of consequence, then?’ Merten asked.
Dieter lifted a brow. ‘You mean, I presume, apart from the invading army?’
‘We’ve dealt with the serpents before,’ Helma said. ‘And we’ll do so again.’
Merten sneered and said, ‘Strangely, it’s never Somner blood which deals with the serpents.’
Helma shot him a hateful look, but didn’t rise to the bait. ‘In the meantime, we need to know the state of affairs in our council chamber,’ she said. Contemplating Dieter and me, she said, ‘It seems there’s a battle in our midst we should clear up first.’
‘You noticed,’ I said, steel in my voice.
Helma allowed herself a soft exhalation, as if I were a sore trial to her patience, and said, ‘The Svanaten have always proved troublesome overlords. Even when there’s only one whining cygnet left, they’re trouble.’ With an acid smile she added, ‘They never die when they should.’
‘You had your chance to help install a new Duethin, Helma,’ I said. ‘Unfortunately for you, you chose one who lost the throne faster than he gained it.’
Helma’s smile stiffened and cracked but she recovered quickly, and turned her gaze between Dieter and myself once more. ‘I suspect that chance is not lost forever,’ she said.
Dieter chuckled, a sound at odds with the stiffness of his side against mine. The Somners were his best chance at winning the throne, for they would be three votes in his favour simply to thwart my claim, but that alliance was no longer a strong foundation for Dieter. I could guess the reason, or at least my part in it, easily enough. The false news of my death had whetted the Somners’ appetite for a different future, a future entirely of their making, with no Duethin at all to hold their reins, and no Turasi nation standing in their way. Dieter had learnt that the summer lords never favoured anyone, in the end, and keeping them from the throne was a tireless task.
‘Indeed it is not lost yet,’ Dieter said, as light as his smile. ‘For perhaps the first time since my ancestors sat the throne, you have before you a choice of Duethin.’
I turned a scathing look on him, determined to nip that little innuendo in the bud.
‘You’re misremembering your history, Dieter. It is only since the Raven Queen was deposed that the drightens have had the power of choice. Before then their only choice was to bend their knee or risk . . . the hangman’s noose.’
I bit back on the words I wanted to say: risk the wrath of the shadows. Dieter had the ever-loyal Gerlach to hide his hexes behind; I had no such protection to cloak my own powers, and the pretence of fits had worn dangerously thin since Dieter witnessed my visions.
The sparkle in his eye told me he’d noted the pause, and guessed the reason for it. Damn him to the care of his precious Bened, anyway.
‘Things have changed since Gunde’s time,’ he replied, all assuredness, so easily deflecting and disarming any of the drightens’ unease.
I said nothing, simply sat there with my brand bared for them all to muse upon. Maja at least suspected the truth, and none of the drightens were fools. Name the hex as Gerlach’s work all he wanted, charm them all he wanted, the hex had been worked at his command and that meant I was living proof of Dieter’s more ruthless tactics. I sat before them as the seed of their doubt, and let silence nurture it.
‘Before now, you have had only the appearance of choice,’ Dieter went on. ‘The gadderen gave you the option of ratifying the new Duethin – but refusing was hardly a viable option, was it?’
‘It’s been tried,’ Krimhilde remarked with a grimace.
‘Exactly,’ Dieter said, pouncing on the memory she’d awakened in all of us. ‘Nigh every House lost its drighten in the bloodbath which followed, and some lost more. House Wilan vanished entirely in one such “renegotiation”.’
His half-glance at Evard indicated that Dieter knew that part of the histories well enough. Wilan had been a prosperous House, with three sons, two daughters and countless cousins. They and the tribe they governed, the Anturan, were now no more than a memory and a tapestry fading on a wall of the hall of thrones. Rudiger wore a broad smile at the memory; Helma and Evard were more composed, but doubtless no less amused. It was the Somners who had gained land during that renegotiation, after all.
‘This time, you will have a choice,’ Dieter said. ‘A true choice. Once Matilde and I have driven the serpents from our lands, you will choose one of us for your Duethin. We have already agreed to honour your decision. But in the meantime, we must devise strategies for the battle ahead.’
At first the drightens did not respond – rendered mute by the unprecedented nature of the decision they must take, or despairing at the paucity of the choice before them?
Then Evard roused himself. ‘Send the swanling away,’ he said, indicating me with a jerk of his head. ‘There is no point discussing tactics with a serpent-lover in the room.’
‘Aye,’ Rudiger agreed. ‘Her only interest is in how best to turn us over to slavery.’
‘You malign me, summer lord.’ I swept a glance around the room, catching and holding them all, allowing the silence to stretch.
Even Dieter watched me, a sparkle of anticipation in his eye. He always did like a challenge; that was what drew him to me.
‘I used the Ilthean general and his troops to regain what was stolen from me,’ I said. ‘There isn’t one among you who wouldn’t have done the same.’
A cocked brow and a smile sharp as splintered glass was Helma’s reaction. Evard scowled, but Rudiger shrugged in offhand agreement.
‘Except, perhaps,’ I amended, ‘Houses Vestenn or Saschan, who have spent too much in blood to make such a bargain.’
Maja lifted her chin and blinked before her stiffness melted back into her usual serene mask. Xaver rolled his shoulders and muttered to himself as his expression softened. He had not been raised to rule; the training in political finesse had gone to his older sister, Alina.
‘This is not a philosophical discussion,’ Krimhilde said. ‘Regardless of what we might or would do, it is what you did that matters.’
‘True,’ I conceded. ‘I made the bargain, and I stand by my decision – it was necessary, however many complications it birthed.’
A heartbeat’s silence was all I allowed them: enough to emphasise the moment, not enough to let them gather their wits or thoughts to interrupt.
‘I, at least, always intended to push the serpents back south after they’d served their use. The same can’t be said of the man who summoned them here in the first place. The Ilthean general’s brother.’
The effect was immediate, a stillness as crisp and pregnant as that which precedes a lightning storm.
The Somner drightens exchanged heavy looks, the Raethn siblings leant eagerly forward in their seats. Maja alone remained calm, although the sudden fire in her eyes betrayed her. To the latter three, the news was no surprise, of course – but the shifting balance of power depended now in no small part on how the other drightens, and Dieter, responded to it.
Xaver, who had knelt before Dieter and I and heard us both flatly deny the kinship, gritted his teeth and started halfway to standing.
‘You claimed to have no brother,’ Xaver said.
‘I recall you using those exact words,’ Maja said, banishing the levity from Dieter’s countenance.
My heart gave a leap of triumph.
When my husband spoke, however, his air was not that of a cornered man. I had hoped for chagrin at the least, but he was cool and collected, and no grimmer than a sombre mood could account for.
‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘I dare say Sidonius would deny the kinship even as I did. Oh, he’s willing enough to own it, when he wants to cause trouble, but not in truth. Whatever bond existed between us died long ago.’
None of the drightens seemed capable of a response. Resisting the urge to ball my hands into fists, I spoke for us all.
‘Yet he is your brother. And he arrived conveniently in time to put a spark of fear under us all and unite the drightens under you.’
Dieter slid me a sidewise look, but he directed his answer to the drightens, not me.
‘Sidonius isn’t the name his mother gave him,’ he said. ‘It’s the one he took when he adopted the serpents as his people, over those who birthed him.’
Maja pressed, ‘And his timely arrival?’
‘Was at the head of an army,’ Dieter answered without hesitation. ‘The emperor would never have granted a disloyal general an army.’
‘He needn’t be disloyal,’ I said. ‘Not if you’d entered into an alliance with the empire.’
Dieter laughed, and this time answered me outright. ‘You can use the empire against their will, but I can’t?’
‘Is that what you did, Dieter?’ Maja asked. ‘Used the empire without their knowledge?’
Dieter met her gaze without fear or hesitation. ‘No. He arrived in pursuit of the infamous Helena of House Svanaten – who had been cultivating Ilthean support for her seemingly principled family. A feat she couldn’t manage, in the end. Another trait of her House.’
‘Whatever Helena did, it was without her family’s knowledge or participation!’ Heat – and shame – made me speak too fast, my voice pitched too high.
The crack in my composure was enough to restore Dieter to his confident self.
‘It is a vital point, however, Matte: whether by plan or simply by their own depraved nature, House Svanaten was driving this nation into slavery. It was only a matter of time. Helena was already grooming her serpent-spawned son for rulership.’
His stare challenged me to deny it, but honesty stopped the words before they could form.
‘A plan the Ilthean emperor and my once-brother share,’ Dieter finished. ‘I can assure you, if I were to ally with the empire, it would not be to choose yet another Svanaten overlord.’
The logic was impeccable, and undeniable. I could see it in the way the drightens’ gazes shifted from Dieter, to Renatas, and then to me. Maja’s expression was unreadable, but the Somners were nodding, and the silence between the Raethn drightens was thick with meaning.
They had made their decision already, and it was not in my favour.
PANIC STUNG ME, mounting with every heartbeat. It wasn’t just charm, or charisma; the damnable man could talk his way out of anything I threw at him. For a wild moment I almost accused him of wielding the shadows, but Gerlach’s steadfast presence by the door quashed the impulse. I had nothing left.
Dieter, on the other hand, had more up his sleeve.
‘You must also consider,’ he said, ‘I had no reason to need Amalia dead.’
‘She did,’ Renatas said.
I looked around in surprise to find him staring sullenly at me.
‘Don’t you people have rules against infidelity?’ Renatas goaded.
The breath seized in my lungs; my muscles trembled with the knowledge of what he meant to say. I could not move to stop him.
He speared me with a glance, dark eyes so like his mother’s but without the spark of humour that had made her countenance so inviting. ‘You should know the lady Matilde hasn’t always been faithful to her husband,’ he said. ‘In case it changes things.’
All eyes turned my way then, Dieter’s among them. It came as no surprise to him, of course – he’d found us together the next morning. And he’d had Renatas in tow at the time.
Nausea climbed my throat, and my breath sawed in and out too quick, I couldn’t gain any purchase on it, or draw any strength from it. So this was why Dieter had brought Renatas to the meeting, I thought – to serve as his trump card. As an Ilthean heir and witness to my infidelity, he was a powerful disincentive to awarding me the throne. I wondered what Dieter had promised the boy in return, then abandoned the thought. It didn’t matter; I couldn’t best it.
‘Is this true?’ Helma demanded, the eagerness of a carrion crow in her voice.
‘It was with Amalia,’ Renatas answered.
Oh, the hint of infidelity wasn’t enough for Dieter; no, he had to punish me by tying it concretely to Amalia – and thus her death.
There’s no proof, Grandmother said quickly, perhaps seeking to calm me. It’s your word against the boy’s.
‘Lady Matilde?’ This time it was Xaver of House Vestenn who pressed for an answer, but I could see the speculation in all of their faces.
‘No,’ I said, but the assertion was as slight as a flickering candle flame.
Dieter let the moment stretch just long enough, and gave me just such a look, to plant a seed of doubt in every drighten present.
Then he spoke.
‘Of course it’s not true,’ he said. ‘The boy must have misconstrued what he saw, that’s all. My sister often kept Matilde company.’
‘Yes, but what kind of company?’ Helma asked with a knowing smile.
The flush on my cheeks was not helping matters; surely everyone could read it for the condemnation it was.
Not if you remain calm, Grandmother said. All that separates a flush of anger from a blush is the way you meet their eyes.
Leaping to his feet, Renatas cried, ‘I saw them! ’
Dieter and I reached for him at the same time. Dieter caught hold of his collar, silencing him mid-word; half-rising from my perch in order to reach him, my hand closed around his elbow.
A familiar creeping, shrinking sensation narrowed my vision. My mind felt overlarge, expanding beyond all bounds.
‘There’s no need to get overexcited, lad,’ Dieter was saying, and his voice echoed in my ears as if it came from far away. ‘Sit still and stay silent, eh?’
Fits, child, Grandmother was urging as blackness overtook my sight. Remember, you suffer from fits!
The room, the drightens, Dieter’s words and the subtle spice of his scent all vanished. Even Grandmother’s guidance on how to disguise the vision as a fit became inaudible. Colours swam out of the blackness, resolving into the shape of two bodies, entwined and straining.
The man had hair pale as foxfire; it sparked with light in the glow from the torches. I didn’t need to see his face to recognise Sidonius.
The woman’s face was hidden, buried in the crook of his neck. She threw her head back, dark hair tumbling from its braids, but the shadows had fled and the vision with it.
The bright glitter of the room – light catching on the window casings, sparks guttering in the hearth – blinded me.
Fall, child, Grandmother directed, or maybe it was still the first time she’d spoken. Time stretched and contracted when the shadows took over.
My knees folded, obeying the unspoken command. It wasn’t hard to fall, the vision’s after-effects leaving me shaky. Faces swam in and out of focus. My fingers would not loose their hold on Renatas’s elbow; he staggered under my grip as I collapsed. My shoulder met the floor with a sickening crunch, and my head hit a heartbeat later, a red blossom of pain shooting through me.
The impact robbed me of my sight, but this time it was simple, uncomplicated black, not the gift of the shadows. Sounds washed over me, a babble of discussion and questions, the pad of hurrying feet.
‘Cushion her head,’ Maja said calmly, and someone slipped a hand around the back of my skull, lifting my head off the hard floor. Another hand held my shoulder, as if to ensure I did not roll.
The touch unknotted my lungs, and a clean breath of air filled my heart to bursting, and restored my eyesight. A couple of blinks brought the room back into focus. There was a smudge of soot on the ceiling, remnants of cold southerly winds which always made the hearth smoke.
The drightens were crowded around me, Maja with her hand on my shoulder. Dieter was kneeling behind me; it was his hand cradling my head.
‘The shadow sickness,’ Helma said, contempt as clear in her voice as the double meaning of shadow, her eyes boring into me. She knew.
Calm, child.
I didn’t need Grandmother’s reminder; my muscles were still watery from the fall and the vision. I couldn’t have twitched if I’d tried, let alone move.
In the quiet following Helma’s accusation, Dieter’s eyes met mine. Terror had left me numb. I felt only a strange lassitude as I wondered how he would choose to play the opportunity.
He looked up, and addressed the drightens. ‘Didn’t you know?’ he said. ‘One of the reasons Beata did not let her inherit when she came of age. Personally, I suspect Beata meant to wed the girl off and let the husband rule. Me, as it turns out.’ He added with a laugh, ‘Although somehow I don’t think Beata would have chosen me.’
‘That is no shadow sickness,’ Evard insisted.
‘You’re a leech, are you?’ Krimhilde demanded, fetching a cushion from one of the couches and handing it to Dieter to put under my head. ‘You know all the ways it can present, do you?’
‘I recognise a sham when I see one.’
Dieter slid the cushion under my head with tender care, and I remembered his face, careworn and dragged down by lack of sleep, when I’d woken from the poison.
‘No one can fake a fall like that, Evard,’ Dieter said. To demonstrate his point, he pressed down on the ball of my shoulder. A lance of pain made me cry out, squirming in a desperate but vain attempt to escape. Dieter drew back his hand, but it was some moments more before the pain ebbed enough for me to realise it.
‘And if they did fake such a fall, they would doubtless not dislocate their shoulder in the process,’ Dieter said. I panted as the pain slowly receded.
‘My daughter had the shadow sickness,’ Krimhilde said.
In the silence, Krimhilde held every eye. Merten stretched out his hand as if to comfort her, but at the last moment the touch fell short of her arm, and after a moment’s hesitation he drew his arm back.
‘I’ve seen every type of fit imaginable,’ she went on. ‘From those which had her convulsing on the floor, to the mild ones which had her drift away, as if in a daydream. Mild or strong, it was a daydream with fangs. Sometimes she did no more than quiver; once she bit her tongue near clean through.’
Beneath the nape of my neck, Dieter’s fingers gave an involuntary twitch. I wanted to clamp my lips shut and never move my teeth again.
Evard sneered, but not even he dared interrupt. Krimhilde stared him down, then turned to include Helma and Rudiger for good measure.
‘Six years ago she died, from a simple fall. A simple fall that just happened to crack her head against the floor. I’d seen her endure worse but, for whatever reason, this one swelled her brain. She never woke up. So I think even you will grant, summer lord, that I can recognise a fit when I see one.’
No one spoke.
I couldn’t have summoned my voice if I’d wanted to. Had Grandmother known, every time she urged me to conceal my visions behind cover of the shadow sickness and its fits, that I would one day have to pass Krimhilde’s expert assessment? For once, Grandmother was markedly unforthcoming. And had I actually passed Krimhilde’s test, I wondered, or had she come to my defence out of spite for the Houses Somner? If the latter, what would she ask of me in return?
‘My wife needs to rest,’ Dieter said firmly, averting any argument. ‘If there are any further questions, we shall have to decide this matter later, when she is strong enough to answer for herself.’
‘If she doesn’t conveniently collapse again,’ Helma said, but she said it under her breath and, but for a warning glare from Krimhilde, no one challenged her.
But no one supported her, either, and everyone filed out in their turn. Some were sluggish as if they meant to linger behind, Meinard and Merten among them, but Dieter paid them no heed and they left soon enough. Krimhilde was last; she quit the room with a glance she shared equally between Dieter and me that I couldn’t decipher.
It did not put me at ease.
WHEN AT LAST we were alone in the chamber, Dieter knelt again by my side, his hand extended to help me up.
I considered it, uncertain whether I had the strength or even the desire to lift my arm. It seemed easier to remain where I was, flat on my back on the deceptively thin carpeting. The paving stones were almost warm from my weight, now.
Dieter gave me a crooked smile, and flicked his fingers to hurry me. ‘No one’s going to choose a Duethin who can’t get up off the floor,’ he teased.
His words reminded me of Grandmother on the day Helena had arrived, before my life had dissolved at every turn. None among the Turasi will bend their neck to a fidgeter, she had said. A giggle bubbled up in my throat, and I thought for a single, wild moment it would escape. Then I remembered Sepp, winking at me over the ferret kit’s snuffling nose, and the laughter turned to tears, hard and knotted in my throat.
‘It’s only a dislocated shoulder,’ Dieter said, mistaking my hesitation and impatient with it. ‘You’ve lived through worse. Up with you, and we’ll soon have it to rights.’
This time he didn’t wait, seizing the hand of my good arm and hauling me into a sitting position. My dislocated shoulder gave a hot throb at the movement, but Dieter didn’t let me curl back around the pain. Cupping his other hand under my elbow, he lifted me to my feet.
‘Thank you,’ I said, not with gratitude but as a signal for him to release me.
Instead he propelled me backwards, until the back of my knees encountered the unyielding edge of a couch and folded. I fell more than sat, and for a moment concentrated only on catching my breath through a burst of pain.
Dieter beckoned to someone behind my shoulder, and said, ‘Here, you’ll need to hold her steady for me.’
Renatas appeared at my other side. Behind him stood Gerlach, holding a length of curtain scrunched in one fist.
The fingers of my good hand tightened around my damaged arm, which was now so numb I couldn’t discern the change in pressure. The fingers of my good hand ached, though.
‘Oh, no,’ I said, guessing what they meant to do. ‘You’re many things, Dieter, I’ll grant you that, but you’re no leech. You can’t – ’
‘Nonsense,’ he cut me off, prising my good hand open. ‘Gerlach and I have seen many a battlefield in our time, eh?’
Gerlach didn’t so much as crack a smile, or bother with a nod. Directing Renatas to the side, Gerlach threaded the curtain around my torso until it formed a sort of harness. He held the two open ends in one fist. It was done gently, but too swiftly for me to protest.
‘Hold her wrist,’ Gerlach said to Renatas, who promptly grabbed the wrist of my good hand. His palms were damp with sweat. Satisfied with the preparations, Gerlach looked to Dieter.
Dragging in a deep breath, I blinked to clear my vision of dark spots. It did nothing to dispel the nausea. ‘I’m sure, if you could just fetch me a leech . . .’
For answer, Dieter held my elbow immobile and lifted my forearm up until it was perpendicular to my body. The movement sent waves of pain coursing through me. Then, one hand cupping my elbow, the other holding my wrist, Dieter began to pull.
I screamed, the sound torn out of me. He stopped, and waited for me to finish panting.
‘I forgot to mention,’ he said. ‘This may hurt a little.’
Before I could answer, he pulled again. This time I had no breath left for screaming. Something in my jaw cracked as I ground my teeth together.
It wasn’t over yet. Dieter glanced over my head to make sure Gerlach stood ready. The general made no audible response, but Renatas set his heels and leant back against the wrist he held, presumably to guard against my smashing it into Dieter’s smug face.
Dieter nodded, and they pulled, Dieter one way and Gerlach and his curtain-made harness the other. Pain sent bursts of bright colours to blind me. If I cried out, I didn’t know it; all sound had vanished except the rushing of blood in my ears.
Then Dieter rotated my arm, the motion setting the bones of my shoulder to grinding against each other.
At last, with a clunk I couldn’t say whether I felt or heard, my shoulder slipped back into place.
The nausea vanished almost immediately; the pain didn’t.
I fell backwards, too weak to fight. Gerlach caught me and lowered me gently against the cushions. I opened my eyes as Dieter carefully bent my arm back in and across my chest.
‘You’re a terrible leech,’ I said. I must have screamed; my voice was hoarse and scratchy. ‘Just so you know.’
Belatedly, probably at a silent command from Gerlach, Renatas released my wrist. I immediately used the freedom to cradle my injured arm close. It still felt strange, numb and tingling and doughy beneath the fingers of my good hand.
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Dieter replied.
He was smiling, but the joy in it was too keen, too triumphant. I knew that look of old. His humour did not include me except insofar as he meant to put me back in my place. It came as no surprise, then, when he said, ‘You, on the other hand, should keep something in mind in return. I own you, Matilde.’
His words were a direct echo of those he’d spoken on the night of our binding, when he’d daubed my brow with ink and marked me his.
I own you, Matilde, he’d said, and the blood had run cold in my veins. I’ve bound you as one binds a golem. Whenever I want, I can turn you into lifeless clay, simply by erasing this one little mark from your pretty brow.
Strangely, the memory gave me strength. I had survived all his strategies so far, after all. I cleared my throat and said, ‘Your little shadow tricks won’t work on me anymore, Dieter.’
‘This isn’t a trick, Matte. Half the drightens or more are ready to lynch you if they confirm your relationship with Mali ever strayed into dangerous territory. They would all of them, no exceptions, hand you to the mara should they discover your little fit was because of the shadows’ true touch, not simply the disease.’
I didn’t reply, or react, and his smile sharpened; he knew it wasn’t pain or weariness keeping me silent now.
‘One word from me, and you face a noose at worst, and a lifetime among the mara at best,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if they herd goats or not, but I’m sure there’s plenty of farming goes on in the temple lands at the very least. You just give the word, Matte, and I can arrange it.’
Then, with a parting directive to Gerlach to fetch me a proper leech, he left.
THE ILTHEAN FORCES crested the horizon the next day, before the sun had reached its zenith, making any question of a further vote moot. Which, given Dieter’s current ascendancy, was not entirely unfortunate.
I stood on the battlements and watched the serpents gather, their bronze armour and trappings and white linen uniforms flashing in the sunlight. They marched in precision, a lockstep which thrummed through the ground like the distant beat of a sleeping heart. Faint as a faraway breeze, it tickled the soles of my feet. The fresh chill in the air set the ball of my shoulder aching, which made me think longingly of the poppy draught the leech had offered me that morning.
‘I’ll need a clear head,’ I had said, pushing the draught away.
He proffered it again, saying, ‘Your husband said to assure you he can deal with things.’
‘Of course he did.’
I pushed the draught away again and demanded a sling instead. The leech pursed his lips in disapproval, but did not protest, and only insisted on smearing over my shoulder an oil which smelt strongly of mint. It cooled the flesh immediately, a faint prickling echo extending down my arm.
The numbing and the cooling had long since faded now. Absently I reached up and rubbed my shoulder, but that only made the pain flare anew.
The Iltheans were still gathering, a glowing canker on the horizon. Would they ever stop? How many men had Sidonius summoned? This was more than an escort force, even considering they must protect a vassal queen who had not yet bent knee and a member of the imperial family. This was a garrison, meant not only to subdue the conquered population but also to supplant them.
If they pushed their way through the walls, there would be no evicting them.
Beside me, Roshi watched with a practised eye. ‘They’ll be ready by nightfall, at the latest,’ she said. Her hair was still smeared with ash, but it was neatly bound back now. She turned to me. ‘Will they attack immediately, do you think? Or wait for a new day?’
I turned for the stairwell. ‘Either way, we’ve no time left.’
I negotiated the stairs with care – skirts and an arm in a sling made me nervous of my balance. Roshi jogged by my side, her face alight with curiosity. Whatever my expression, she judged it impolitic to sate her curiosity with questions.
Dieter was already striding across the courtyard as I gained the flagstones, the ever-faithful Gerlach at his side. It seemed the barracks was their destination. I could not hurry with grace or dignity with my arm in a sling, but I was willing to relinquish grace and dignity rather than be left out of the chain of command. None would bend knee to a girl untested by war when a successful general vied for the throne.
Catching sight of me flapping across the courtyard after them, Gerlach reached out a long-fingered hand. His slight touch halted Dieter immediately. Turning, Dieter first frowned, then burst into a laugh.
‘Matilde,’ he greeted me. ‘You look positively . . . barbaric. Like a lynx in skirts, if the truth be known.’
I must have grown a thicker skin in the past months; his taunts and jibes barely registered anymore.
Catching up, I hurried past instead of stopping, as if I had no care for their purpose. A cheap ploy, and one I regretted when they fell in beside me, forcing me to step fast and long to keep pace.
‘Have you sent to the Skythes yet?’ I asked.
Dieter grinned, no doubt sure he could guess my intentions. ‘You know I have not. What creature could be quicker than a Matilde with a thought to act in her head?’
‘You’re very flippant for a man whose brother has sworn to tear out his heart by the week’s end.’
‘You’re remarkably confident for a woman marked out for a throneless fate,’ he said cheerfully.
I couldn’t resist a furtive glance around to see who might have overheard, and wondered, at Dieter’s remark. Gerlach had his gaze fixed straight ahead. He would do as his lord bid, of course; for the moment he would say nothing. There were no other drightens, nor any of their soldiers or thralls; the only collars nearby bore the mark of the Turholm.
Turning back to Dieter, I met his sparkling eyes without faltering. ‘I’m done with bowing to markings, Dieter, some time since,’ I said.
His gaze flicked to my brow, and he sobered. ‘Are you?’
We had reached the door to the barracks, and Gerlach moved ahead to push it open for us. We stepped into the corridor, both too stubborn to yield and let the other pass first. The door frame forced us close together. He turned in, towards me, ducking his near shoulder back. Unconsciously I mirrored his movement, bringing us face to face.
The closeness surprised us both to stopping. The sudden nearness, the scent of him, warm and dusty like sunbaked fields, stilled my tongue.
Instinctively, he curved his head down, bending forward as if to share secrets, or a kiss.
‘For whom do you wear the mark of death, then?’ he murmured.
I swallowed a sudden burning self-pity, and turned my head away. ‘For myself.’
He snared my wrist, holding me close with a touch as light and irresistible as spider’s silk. ‘Who gave you that branding, Matilde?’ he demanded.
‘You did,’ I said. ‘With your tricks and your clay and your shadow-touched stones. You scribed the mark upon me, Dieter, you and no other. What does it matter who changed it?’
‘It matters because it was not me.’
My face twisted in a parody of a smile. ‘It eats at you, doesn’t it? The thought that there might be someone out there, perhaps not so very far away, who knows your tricks. Who knows how to counter your tricks.’
‘It should eat at you, too.’ He dropped his voice to a whisper so low I struggled to catch the words. ‘If you want to live through this.’
‘I bear death’s brand, Dieter. It doesn’t bode well for living, as a rule.’
His hold tightened on my wrist and he demanded again, ‘Who gave it to you?’
I fought back a grimace with difficulty, and lied, ‘Your brother!’
And perhaps it wasn’t entirely untrue, in the end. If Achim hadn’t changed the brand, and Dieter hadn’t changed the brand, that left exactly one person who both knew what it meant and could work the shadows.
Me.
And it had been Sidonius’s thrice-cursed vow that backed me into a corner, and forced me to seek out a loophole, after all. Sidonius may not have worked the change himself, but he was the impetus behind my action, which knowledge let me utter the falsehood without so much as a trace of guile.
Shock opened Dieter’s fingers and I seized my chance, sidling past while he was still searching for words.
He caught up, of course, but although he watched me sidelong, obviously wanting to know more, the moment for confidences had passed.
The first turning off the corridor led into the common office, a large room that served as the foyer to the dormitory proper. Tucked into the corner was the desk of the officer on duty, who jumped to his feet at our appearance. It was refreshing to see the post occupied by a Turasi again.
‘I need an escort,’ I said, giving Dieter no chance to speak.
While the officer hurried to obey, sending one of his pages with a summons, Dieter turned to me.
‘You go to the Skythes?’ he said.
‘We’re stronger with them inside the walls,’ I said.
‘And if you can’t convince them to step through the gate?’
‘We revert to the original plan, and use them as a hammer against the Turholm’s anvil,’ I said, then fixed him with an arch look. ‘Or has the plan changed without my knowing?’
‘Your distrust wounds me, Matilde – truly.’
‘We’ve no time for your jests, Dieter. I leave the drightens in your care for the moment – and if that’s not showing trust above and beyond what’s due you, you need to re-examine your perspective. In the meantime, I’ll make a last appeal to the Skythes.’
He measured me in silence. A faint beating against the tender skin of my throat betrayed me: my pulse had picked up, pounding out my unease. It would be impossible to arrange the Skythes as I needed them if he took it into his head to accompany me.
He didn’t have the luxury of hesitation, however. Every heartbeat brought the Iltheans closer, and the water was dripping through the clocks, building the weight of time.
‘Gerlach will attend you,’ Dieter said at last. ‘And I trust I won’t have need to regret not accom–panying you.’
I wanted to let out a gleeful yell, but instead I only smiled and said, ‘Your distrust wounds me, Dieter – truly.’
GERLACH HOVERED CLOSE to my side, silent and ominous. He had helped me once, to save my sanity, but when it came to political manoeuvring I did not think he would choose me over Dieter.
I stole a glance at him as we passed under the arch of the gateway and into the sun-spilt fields. He was watching Roshi, who sat stiff and tense in her saddle, her attention fixed on the horizon. No one spoke as we closed the distance to the Skythe encampment.
Ardashir was waiting as we drew near and dismounted, Gerlach lifting me down. This time the camp had a more hurried air, and Ardashir led us only to the central open space, where the tribal leaders and the ever-present Nabaea waited.
They noted Roshi, standing at my side, but their eyes slid past her and back to me. Fury made me rash.
‘Will you not greet your kinswoman?’ I demanded.
Roshi jerked where she stood, her gaze flying to me in surprise.
Taken aback, the Skythes faltered. Ardashir broke the silence, saying, ‘We had word from the talaye . . .’
‘I’m sure you did,’ I cut him off. ‘But did you have word from Roshi?’
‘Matilde,’ she began.
She was standing on my good side. I squeezed her hand for silence, and went on, ‘Did you ask her why the talaye exiled her? It was because she saved my life.’
‘Matilde, please,’ Roshi said again, pain clouding her voice. ‘You mustn’t. I knew the price I would pay. Do not try to save me from what I did.’ More fiercely she added, ‘We must prepare for battle.’
‘Time is short, my lady,’ Gerlach chimed in.
The Skythes were only too glad to drop the difficult subject of Roshi and discuss the imminent battle, and I relented. They met my first proposal with a flat refusal.
‘You won’t have to step beneath any roofs,’ I tried to persuade them. ‘We could house you all in the lower courtyards, just inside the gates. There wouldn’t be much room, but it would serve, and it would see your strength united to the Turasi’s, instead of divided by the walls.’
‘Those walls are no different from your roofs,’ Ardashir said.
‘They are built to ward out your fears and your nightmares,’ the Nabaea said. ‘They make you weak.’
Ardashir fixed me with a pitying look. ‘We will not set foot inside them.’
‘Even if you have no escape other than death?’ Frustrated by their inflexibility, my cry was heartfelt, despite the fact I had anticipated this outcome. Still, it would serve to convince Gerlach that I was not playing at the part, and that I had genuinely expected them to relent. ‘Even though it weakens us both, to throw your lives away?’
The Nabaea blinked once and said, ‘Even so.’
Gerlach lifted a brow, a gesture as eloquent as a shrug from him. This was one battle I would not win, it said, by words or wooing.
‘Very well. I feared you might be of that opinion,’ I said, allowing myself half a smile. ‘Which is why I have come up with a strategy that doesn’t require you to be inside the walls.’
I set to the task of explaining what I needed of them, the Skythe chieftains attending me with the keen interest of warmongers. It did not take long. As soon as the Skythes knew their part, Gerlach turned to me, waiting to escort me back to the Turholm.
Braced for argument, I said, ‘You misunderstand, General. I’m staying.’
Gerlach frowned. For the first time in our brief history together, it was easy to read the thoughts flickering behind his eyes.
‘It’s not a case of being stubborn,’ I said. ‘This is where I’m needed.’
He gave my frame a single, sweeping glance that spoke volumes.
With more patience than I felt, I went on, ‘I know the battle plan, and I can lead the Skythes. In fact, I’m the only one they’ll follow.’
‘You can lead them from a position of safety,’ Gerlach said, but he was scanning the faces of the Skythes as he said it, betraying his awareness of the lie. Warriors such as these would never follow a leader who was not prepared to ride at their forefront, risking as much as they.
Amused by Gerlach’s discomfort, I said with a laugh, ‘I don’t intend to run into the thick of the fray wielding a blade. But neither will I direct them from the Turholm’s walls. My mother’s people are prepared to put their lives on the line for the bonds of kinship – ’
‘And a great swathe of Turasi soil,’ Gerlach said.
‘We do not all share your particular brand of devotion, General,’ I said.
He acknowledged this with a tilt of his chin.
‘Regardless, I stay here. I have Roshi and my personal guard and the Nabaea – walls couldn’t provide surer protection.’
The mask was back now and I couldn’t read him, but I could guess what troubled him and kept him silent.
‘You want to return, to check my orders against Dieter’s wishes, but you hesitate to leave me,’ I said.
A flicker of his eyes told me I’d found my mark.
‘Let me solve the dilemma for you: I release you from my service. Go. Check on me, protect Dieter – whatever it is motivating you, you’re free to follow it.’
I could see he was torn, but he shook his head. ‘A generous offer, my lady, but of little use.’
‘Come, it’s easy enough. You want to go, I give you my leave. What more do you need?’
He considered me in silence a moment. ‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’
‘Not at all. Stay, if you wish,’ I said, hiding satisfaction behind humour.
‘I do.’
I shrugged as if the matter were of no consequence and said, ‘I’ll even let you use Roshi for your messages. Send her back with your reports of my miscreancy. The best of both worlds, you might say.’
He didn’t comment, as he might, that she was hardly likely to carry his messages faithfully, for we both knew he would not be using her for such a purpose. It was the offer that mattered, the façade of nonchalance.
Gerlach, naturally, saw straight through it.
‘It’s not important,’ he said. ‘It won’t be for long.’
When I looked up, he spread his hands in a gesture of futility. ‘No battle plan survives first contact. Already the situation has changed; it will do so again before long.’
Somehow, I didn’t think he was talking about the coming conflict between the Iltheans and the Turasi.
I SPENT THAT night camped in the thick of the forest north of the Turholm. Despite my fears that they would see the move as dishonourable or cowardly, it had not been difficult to convince the Skythes to break camp in unruly haste – they were not fool enough to put pride above tactics. Or else they had a fine appreciation of practical jokes.
It was hard not to be nervy, knowing an Ilthean army more than three times the size of my own forces lurked on the horizon. I had travelled with the Iltheans, and lived with them; I knew their strengths and abilities. Sidonius’s reputation was well-earned. He would have scouts out, possibly even full patrols already. I lay rolled in my borrowed furs, my imagination plaguing me with images of those patrols creeping ever towards us.
At every stir of the forest, creature and foliage, the fine hair all over my body stirred in response. Beside me, one arm flung across the tent floor and the other cupping her cheek, Roshi snored quietly, deep in a fearless slumber. By the tent’s entrance, which was loosely laced shut, Gerlach sat with his chin on his chest, too solidly asleep to be accused of dozing.
Despite their calm, or perhaps because of it, I lay awake, measuring the passing of the dark by the uneven beat of my heart, waiting for the call to action.
Dawn arrived first. I rose from my rest weary from lack of sleep, my nerves worn to exhaustion and ready to snap at the smallest provocation. My fingers were slow and clumsy as I struggled with the ties of my gown, and I was glad to relinquish my injured arm to its sling.
The dawn was a milky golden hue, and it brought no warmth. The Skythes were awake already, and enjoying their traditional pre-battle breakfast: a thick broth of boiled goat’s milk seasoned with hot peppers, and a flatbread filled with cheese and meat and raw eggs.
I opted for plain flatbread, without any filling, to settle my roiling stomach. Gerlach tucked into his own serving with gusto.
He paused when he noticed my lack of appetite. ‘You should eat,’ he said. ‘No sleep and no food won’t make you very effective.’
I tore off a mouthful of bread that tasted as dry as a river pebble. Gerlach went back to his meal. Around us, the camp hummed and thrummed, almost as fast as the nervous beat of my blood. Obviously it took more than the one pitched battle to grow accustomed to this sort of endeavour.
Before the sunlight had spidered across the horizon, the camp was ready to move – no thanks to me. It was all I could do to keep out of the way and ensure I held my own horse while Gerlach saddled her. She was a restive black mare two heads taller at the shoulder than I was altogether, with long fine legs and a sheen to her coat like the glimmer of gold.
Gerlach’s hands were firm on my waist as he hoisted me skywards; I scrambled one-armed for the saddle. Could there be any one less suited to lead an army? I sat my horse, holding the reins with some give in them so she didn’t frisk, and waited, trying to ignore the nagging sensation that I looked a fool on a pedestal.
The horses chafed at their bits and shuffled their hooves through the forest litter, confused by all the bustle and saddling and making ready only to stand waiting in the rising light. The first scattered strains of birdsong, finches and larks early to rise, called through the corridors of the forest.
We didn’t have long to wait.
As predicted, Sidonius had not trusted the Skythes’ façade of fleeing. Reluctant to fight trapped between the Turasi walls and the Skythes’ spears, he had dispatched a full third of his forces to seek us out.
The high-pitched and forlorn keen of a hawk startled me – and brought the Skythes to attention, nigh quivering in their saddles.
Minutes later came another call, closer this time. Nobody moved. Ears straining for the sound of the Iltheans’ approach, my ribs creaked before I realised I was holding my breath. I could discern no sign of the Ilthean scouts, no flash of light from metal nor glimpse of movement.
My mare started to inch backwards, reacting to the clench of my seat and the tightening of her reins. Distracted, I glanced down, pressing my legs into her flanks and loosing her reins to urge her forward again. The attack came while I wasn’t watching.
There had been no more calls; the Iltheans had either discovered or eluded the Skythe sentries.
One of the Skythes shouted, spurring his horse to urgent speed from standing, and by the time I lifted up my head again the battle was joined, the clash of steel striking steel ringing in my ears.
By their seats, the talaye were not only ready but also eager to join the fray. Gathering my reins, I took a deep breath – which did absolutely nothing to settle my nerves.
Catching my eye, Gerlach gave a minute shake of his head.
‘You said it yourself, General,’ I said, uncomfortably aware I was arguing an unspoken accusation. ‘No battle plan survives first contact.’
‘Pause a moment, my lady,’ he replied. ‘With your arm in a sling, you serve us best in a strategic role. This is but the first patrol – there will be more, probably before this one is dealt with – and there remains the bulk of the Ilthean army at the Turholm to contend with. It is not pleasant to sit seemingly idle, but you promised the Skythes you could lead, my lady. Now you must do so. Hold your ground, and direct your forces with objectivity.’
He was right. The Iltheans were only a small troop, but the clamour would surely draw down any other patrols in the area.
So small a party should have been demolished in heartbeats, cut down by men on horseback – but the Ilthean patrol used the Skythes’ tactics against them.
The Skythes were disordered. They fought as a mass of individuals, a whirling dervish of horses and arrows and blades. If the Iltheans had reacted similarly, and continued their rush to fight in the same manner, they would have died. Instead they forced their way into the centre of the clearing that had so recently been a camp, losing only one along the way.
Once in the open they turned their backs on each other, forming a loose circle, blades facing outwards, buckler shields held ready. Those in the inner circle angled their shields upwards, as protection against the rain of small, stinging arrows.
Whirl around the circle as they might, the Skythes could make little dent in the defences.
Just audible over the din of battle, another hawk’s cry caught my attention. Within moments of the warning a second contingent of Iltheans arrived, hamstringing one of the Skythe horses and pushing through the gap it created. But if the disadvantage of our line was its loose formation, the advantage lay in its swiftness and mobility. Only heartbeats after I’d issued the command a half-dozen Skythes were racing for the breach, bringing death on those Iltheans who’d not yet reached their countrymen.
A third contingent arrived from the south, this time without warning from the sentries, and I detailed another dozen to cut them off. The number of fronts being battled was beginning to stretch the Skythes now, but the horsemen would cope with isolated pockets of battle better than the Iltheans would.
By now, however, the Iltheans had noted me as the source of directives. From the centre of the primary Iltheans’ circle, with a twang that made my heart stutter, a rain of black arrows arced for the sky. Even to my inexperienced eye, their trajectory was unmistakable. As I watched, transfixed, the black shafts stopped their upward strain and seemed to pause, suspended at the apex of their course. Then they turned their deadly steel eyes on me, and plunged.
‘Back!’ Gerlach cried. Leaning from the saddle, he hauled at my reins, pulling the mare’s head around. I kicked her and we were moving, trees flashing past, branches clawing at my skirts and slapping at my face, the thud of hooves echoing around me.
But I had misjudged both my wounded abilities and the mare’s responsiveness. She took the bit between her teeth and bolted. With only one arm at my disposal, I didn’t have the strength to haul her to a halt. I crouched low over the mare’s neck and clung for grim life.
The drumbeat of hooves chased me, and gained on me, until a horse pounded beside me, muscles bunching and straining beneath its sleek hide, shoulder edging forward of my mount’s neck. Gerlach crouched high and forward in the saddle.
Holding his reins and the horn of his saddle in one hand, he leant over to bridge the gap between us and snatched at my reins.
My horse skittered sidewise, threatening Gerlach’s seat, but still he held the reins. Instinct sat me back deep and heavy in the saddle, slowing the horse. I put extra pressure on the offside rein to equalise Gerlach’s pull on the creature’s mouth, soothing away its panic. At last the mare stood, flanks heaving and breath blowing, sweat darkening her hide.
We were alone, although the clamour of battle was not distant. Gerlach had spirited me away from the battle too fast for Roshi or the talaye to respond.
‘Out of arrowshot is a good idea,’ Gerlach said. ‘Out of the range of help is not.’
He scanned the surrounding trees, alert for any movement. If they’d seen our flight, the Iltheans might well have thought to give chase. They could be drawing down on us now. And since I’d lost all sense of direction, they could be coming from any side.
‘We need to get back,’ I said, suddenly nervous.
Gerlach’s lack of response didn’t ease my fear, and suddenly I realised how deftly I’d been isolated from all other protection. Gerlach wouldn’t lift his hand against me – would he? Surely not. He had saved me countless times, and again just now – but his first loyalty belonged to Dieter. Would he, if ordered, put me in harm’s way?
Dieter would consider it meet, perhaps, for an Ilthean blade to solve his little marital problem.
My mare turned, obedient to the pressure of knee and rein, and pushed back towards the battle. Her pricked ears swivelled back and forth. Once she trod on a fallen branch, and it broke with a crack that made me jump, and made her shy.
‘Have a care,’ Gerlach called as the trees thinned, but he did not pull me back. Instead he pushed ahead, angling himself to form a human shield between me and the battle. Shame at misjudging the man made me hot and clammy.
In our absence, yet more Iltheans had arrived, and now it was the Skythes trapped between two foes. Their speed and agility kept them out of reach of the Ilthean swords, as their horses circled and whirled and propped on their haunches. They moved as if only the slightest thread bound them to the earth. My mare shivered her skin, as if she wished to join the dance.
All their agility could not save them from the arrows, however. A growing handful of Skythes littered the ground, feeding the earth with their blood. There were horses down, too; one lay on its side, blood blackening its golden hide, neck straining as it tried in vain to rise. An arrow stood out from its shoulder, but it was a blade across the hamstring that had crippled the creature, dooming it to a protracted death.
Roshi appeared at my side within moments. ‘What happened to you?’
With her came my guard of Skythe warriors, the same question apparent on their faces. They didn’t utter it, however; they simply closed around me as if they meant not to let such a lapse occur again.
Anxiety pinched my stomach so tight I was glad I hadn’t eaten much this morning.
‘We have to help them,’ I said. ‘Wedge formation.’ My voice emerged thin and windswept, but without wobbles. ‘Prepare to charge.’
‘Hold,’ Gerlach said. He needn’t have bothered – no one had made any move. To me, Gerlach explained, ‘There’s no need, at least not yet. The battle is hanging in our favour.’
I cast an eye over the skirmish, seeking to read meaning from the chaos of heat and hustle. If we held the advantage, I could not see it.
‘I don’t need a battalion to guard me,’ I said. ‘Most of my guard could throw their weight into the skirmish – the quicker this is through, the better for us all.’
The Skythemen kept their horses reined to a standstill.
‘There is no need,’ Gerlach repeated.
‘I’ll ride in myself, in a moment,’ I snapped, yielding to his better knowledge of battle but angered by it at the same time. ‘You’ll have to follow smart enough then!’
Roshi laughed and Gerlach grinned, and the Skythe guard relaxed when they understood that I would not, in fact, lead the charge.
In the end, Gerlach was right, although it was long and bloody work before it was over.
Despite their unfamiliarity with forests, the Skythes were more suited to the terrain. The serpents fought as a unit; their strategies were formed around pitched battle. The Skythes darted in and out, striking at random and drawing back beyond the reach of reprisal. They used the trees as shields and camouflage both, their swift and increasingly coordinated attacks disorienting the Iltheans.
Eventually, even my novice eye could discern the way the Iltheans drew in on themselves, closing ranks with every loss as they were picked off one by one.
‘They’re simply picking the flesh from the carcass now,’ Gerlach said, when the Iltheans were down to a half-dozen scattered groups backed into their defensive circles. With no more support on the way, they fought with grim determination, choosing death over surrender. ‘Congratulations, my lady. Your first victory.’
For some reason, I wanted to hang my head. People had died today for me, because of me. It seemed shameful to receive praise for that – and even more shameful that I should treasure it.
‘Perhaps it’s time we spent the rest of our strength more valuably,’ Gerlach added.
When I did not reply, he nodded at me. Belatedly, I realised he was giving me the chance to lead.
‘Sometimes, General, your loyalties puzzle me,’ I said.
‘If we both live through this,’ he returned, ‘you can study them at your leisure.’
SKYTHE SCOUTS BROUGHT us updates on the battle taking place outside the Turholm’s walls as we rode. Sidonius’s tactics were subtle, to start with. A scatter of bolts from the scorpions soared over the walls and wreaked havoc in the courtyards behind, supplemented by scattershot from the ballistae. He was holding the majority of his men back, barely pressing at the Turholm’s strength.
He was playing a distraction, baiting Dieter, waiting to hear back from the men he had sent to discover, or eliminate, the Skythe threat.
Our arrival answered that question for him.
We rode out of the forest in a line, horse after horse breasting the last of the foliage and stepping into the spill of morning sunlight. The sun stood clear of the canopy and over our left shoulders, forcing the Iltheans to squint as they spun to face us.
Under the cluster of serpent flags marking his command post, Sidonius turned. He stood still for a heartbeat. Then messengers darted from his side, creating a ripple of movement through the Ilthean forces.
Fairly half of the remaining Iltheans faced the Turholm and formed into ranks. The front line upped shields, presenting a wall, above which glistened the vicious heads of their spears. The attack against the walls was about to begin in earnest – the Turasi were to be bottled within, unable to aid us.
I exchanged a glance with Gerlach. The Skythe horses were well versed in battle, but in fleet, mobile tactics, not running headlong towards certain death in a frontal assault.
‘Your plan, my lady?’ he asked, his voice pitched low enough to remain private, but still I surveyed the sweep of foreign soldiers and despaired. For all the flash and glitter of sunlight off their armour, and the keen energy of the horselords at my back, it was death gathering in the fields ahead.
Beneath it all, I could feel the squirming, the itching beneath the surface of the earth as if it were the surface of my own skin. It beat in my blood like the marching drums of war, urging me on.
It was time.
‘I need to get to Sidonius,’ I said.
Gerlach squeezed his eyes shut. ‘What part of “I don’t intend to run into the thick of the fray” does that correspond with, my lady?’
‘This is important, Gerlach.’
‘Your death will be quite important, too,’ he returned. ‘To you more than to Dieter, although I imagine he’ll find it serendipitous.’
‘I’m not proposing to fight through to him alone,’ I started, but he cut me off.
‘You could attempt it in the centre of a hundred men, and still have little chance of reaching him.’
‘This won’t end until I confront him in person,’ I said.
His silence accused me of self-importance more surely than any comment could.
‘He may have left no visible mark, but Sidonius bound me as surely as Dieter did,’ I said, my voice turning cold and hard as Gerlach’s eyes flicked to my brow and away. ‘It is time – past time – all such bindings were dissolved.’
Serving under Dieter had taught Gerlach how to recognise intractable wills, at least. He made the necessary arrangements without further protest.
In short order I had a company of fifty assembled around me, Gerlach and my talaye, one of the Nabaea, even Roshi was there to serve as a last line of defence. If Roshi fell I had my dagger and my horse although, with my injured shoulder, the horse would prove the surer weapon. Embristled behind sword and spear, I stayed close to Roshi’s side as we pushed into the thick of the conflict.
Battle was hot, the stifling, breathless hot of too many bodies crowded into an airless room. Bright sunlight beat down on us, flashing off swords and spears and armour, and the hectic movement of limb and weapon threw shadows in unpredictable directions. The noise was dizzying, the grunts and smack of fighting, the metallic squeal of weapons meeting, the stomach-turning squelch of flesh yielding up its innards. My head ached, throbbing in time with my pounding heartbeat.
I lost nearly half my escort before I’d crossed a third of the distance; we were too obvious a target. Even with the Nabaea’s protection the battle claimed man after man.
As my guard was whittled away, the threat pressed closer on all sides, the blood splashing nearer, the weapons swinging closer before they were deflected. I fought my mare, her head tossing and plunging as she strained to join the fray, as much as I fought my own urge to flee.
At last we gained the serpent banners snapping in the wind, crimson on white, which marked Sidonius’s position. The squirming, scratching need of the earth beat loud within me, like the rushing klaxon of blood in my ears. We were sadly shrunken in number and ragged with blood and tatters, our remaining strength unequal to the fierce and unwearied resistance that met us here, so close to the Ilthean general.
Even my unpractised eye could tell what was left of my guard would not last long. I had only a single chance left, and it would soon be gone.
Trusting to speed and luck and Roshi’s skill, I dug my heels into my mare’s flanks. She leapt forward, pushing past half a dozen soldiers before any could react. Behind me, cursing, Gerlach followed, his sword swiping across an Ilthean soldier’s throat before the Ilthean could hamstring my mare. She reared to avoid the sword of another Ilthean slashed at her face. I clutched at the pommel of the saddle to keep my balance. The banners were close now, but there were still at least fifty men barring my way.
‘Sidonius!’ I called, the cry carrying easily across the short distance separating us.
He turned, and at sight of me a bloodthirsty grin split his face. He laughed. At the sound, so surprising and clear, the battle nearest us stilled.
‘Leave her,’ Sidonius called. ‘Let her approach. She is no threat to me. Back to the fray, the rest of you; until I am done with her, Aulus Vespian holds the command.’
The Iltheans were a disciplined lot; only one young, hot-headed lad trembled as if fighting the urge to continue the thrust of his sword up into my horse’s belly. At last even he stepped back.
I didn’t hesitate. Sliding one-armed from the saddle, I waited only for Gerlach and Roshi to dismount and join me before stepping forward. They wore identical fierce expressions as they walked on either side of me. The Nabaea stepped in our wake, hands clasped.
Sidonius waited, the sword on his hip sheathed, cruel triumph lighting his eyes. Behind him stood Achim and Sepp. Sepp had left the Turholm as a hostage, although knowing him he’d proabably been at least partially willing, thinking to keep me safe or to influence events from within the enemy’s camp. About Achim’s motivations I could not be so certain. Did he still consider himself my ally, or had he rejoined Sidonius’s ranks? The former, I hoped. His position near Sepp was heartening, at least.
My cousin did not look the better for his time as a hostage in the Ilthean general’s care. He had lost weight, and the shapeless slave’s tunic hung from his thin shoulders. His black curls were gone, shaved away to a thick stubble. Shadows haunted his eyes. Nevertheless, he caught my gaze and held it, approbation in his look.
A pocket of calm fell around us.
‘You have come to surrender, my lady,’ Sidonius said, neither doubt nor question in his tone. ‘I am glad to see you have come to your senses.’
‘I have come, general of slaves, to give you your chance to turn back,’ I replied.
SIDONIUS’S SMILE VANISHED. ‘It is not too late to negotiate favourable terms for your people, lady.’
‘You have given up too much of your father’s ways, Sidonius. The Turasi are born of the first man, and born to freedom. Colour it how you will, slavery is not to our taste.’
‘Continue with your current actions, lady, and your fate will make slavery seem pleasant.’
I shook my head. ‘I am done with all who would bind me to their will and purpose.’
‘It’s a little late in the day to discover your backbone. You don’t have the luxury of being picky at this point.’ He tilted his head to the side and added, ‘Or have you forgotten I hold all the cards?’
‘You hold a hostage, true enough,’ I agreed calmly. It was an effort not to turn my eyes to Sepp. ‘But so do we. Kill your hostage and you kill your little prince in the same breath. Your hostage can buy you nothing but the safe return of Renatas. Only we’ll not sell the boy back so cheap, I’m afraid.’
Strangely, my heart beat slow and thick, as if the blood had congealed in my veins. The clash and clang of battle drifted over us, bringing grunts and cries and the scent of blood, burnt oil and tempered steel on the edge of the breeze.
‘Not a great incentive, my lady.’
‘You have little choice, General. When it comes to hostages, we are at a stalemate. When it comes to numbers, you are at a disadvantage, fighting on two fronts and with no respite – ’
‘Do not lecture me on the topic of strategy, if you please,’ he interrupted.
I held silent.
Sidonius broke first, glancing with impatience across the field of battle. The Skythes and Iltheans were entwined to the point of chaos now. The Iltheans, retreating into their tortoise formations, were being pushed back towards the walls, and into the range of the Turasi missiles – hot oil, rocks, arrows, spears.
‘My time is short at the moment, lady,’ he snapped, turning back to me. ‘If you came only to offer me the chance to surrender, you were a fool. Your protectors there will not be able to hold back the men at my disposal. We are at a stalemate, with regard to hostages, you say? It occurs to me if I take another hostage, one more valuable, that would assuredly change.’
I laughed. ‘Do you think the drightens would send me forth, this thinly protected, unless they judged me expendable?’
He measured me in silence, weighing the implications. Behind him, Sepp took a hesitant step forward, his hand lifting briefly before he let it drop again.
Sidonius apparently decided on sardonic humour. ‘Do you think to escape your pledge, my lady?’ he said.
His tone lacked Dieter’s appreciation of the sharp edge of risk. That was my clue: where risk and chance pushed Dieter to new, ever more clever efforts, his brother’s performance suffered under the tension. In battles he could decide on a moment’s notice, I had no doubt. In a conflict of words or wits, he had less practice.
At my smile, he scowled and said, ‘I fail to see the humour. Willing or not, you will bend knee and swear allegiance.’
‘And if the Turasi have chosen a new Duethin by then?’
‘It will not matter. The emperor will reinstall you and keep you safe in the embrace of an Ilthean garrison.’
‘I see.’
‘And yet still you smile.’
‘I merely wonder, General, how it is – precisely, you understand – that you plan on making me bend knee.’
‘My lady, you seem remarkably stupid this morning.’
‘Humour me.’
‘Very well. Say, for example, the threat of a hostage won’t compel you – ’
‘We’ve already established it won’t,’ I agreed, enjoying the way my interruption angered him. ‘Sepp made his own choice long ago.’
It hurt to say that, and I couldn’t keep from looking at Sepp, standing a bare yard behind Sidonius now. Perhaps the silent apology would lend credence to my words, however.
‘Say further the threat of my army does not faze you,’ Sidonius said through gritted teeth. ‘Say even further, although all who know me, or even know of me, would find it completely unfeasible, that I am reluctant to strike a woman.’
‘Yes, let’s suppose all of that,’ I said.
This was the pivot point. Either events would progress as I imagined, or they would not. There was no more time for thinking or planning, no time for any more strategies, now there was only action. It was exhilarating, and I couldn’t hide my grin.
Insane child, you’re enjoying this, Grandmother marvelled. You and Dieter are well suited to each other.
‘Well then, lady, you have pledged fealty to the emperor, and thus you must obey any of his representatives,’ Sidonius said.
The words sent a tingle up my spine; my voice, however, was clear. With fatalistic calm I said, ‘Oh, I wouldn’t depend on that, were I you, General.’
A dangerous silence fell over us. Everything still hung in the balance, but not for much longer. If I was right about the vow, if I had put the pieces together correctly, if Achim and Dieter were not playing me false . . .
‘You’re no shadow-worker,’ I went on. ‘You shouldn’t rely on such tactics unless you have complete control over either the power, or the man to whom you’ve delegated that power.’
The swiftness with which he turned in search of Achim betrayed his unease. Finding the Amaeri still by Sepp’s side, he spared a moment to survey the battle before swinging back to face me.
‘I told you, I am done with all who would bind me. You should have taken note,’ I said softly. ‘Dieter’s shadows could not hold me – and neither can yours.’
Sidonius closed the distance between us in two swift strides.
‘Kneel!’ he ground out between his teeth, squeezing my shoulder. My knees folded under the force of his grip, and thumped to the ground. A razor-edged stone drove up through the soft tissue, bringing a sting of tears to my eyes.
Still I looked up at him and smiled. ‘Do what you will, but you have no means left to compel me – and if you kill me, you have lost your point.’
‘Shadow-vowed or not, lady, you will make your pledge. Achim!’
The Amaeri stepped up, his stained eyes dark shadows beneath his heavy brows. ‘General,’ he said softly.
Sidonius did not take his eyes off me. ‘You bound her, as I commanded you,’ he said to the Amaeri. ‘She is pledged to bend knee to the emperor.’
‘She pledged the words, the shadows bound them into her,’ Achim affirmed.
‘Oh, he bound me, or tried to,’ I said, my irreverence only fuelling Sidonius’s ire. ‘He didn’t betray you. But unlike Achim, my abilities have something of Dieter’s teachings in them. A touch of wild instinct and trickery, if you will.’
This meant nothing to Sidonius, of course, but Achim understood my meaning.
With wonder shining in his dark eyes, the Amaeri shadow-worker breathed, ‘Until death release her.’
AND THERE IT was, the qualifier upon which all now depended.
Until death release me, I had vowed.
And the shadows working their touch upon me had been controlled, not only by Sidonius, but also by me. I had sought a loophole, and by instinct and desperation had created one, changing the tattoo on my brow to read death. It would not kill me – as Dieter had once tricked me into believing – but it would mark me as claimed.
Calculation ran swift behind Sidonius’s eyes, but still he did not realise what I had done. He thought the design on my brow was simply useless adornment left over from one of Dieter’s tricks.
I laughed, thrilled by the hint of panic in him. ‘Until death release me, General. Do you remember that?’
His thumb dug harder into my shoulder, sending a flare of pain up my neck.
‘You, lady, are not dead,’ he said.
‘Am I not?’ I said, grimacing at the pain. ‘Take a look at my brow.’
When his frown showed he did not understand, I added, ‘Achim can tell you what it means, for it is written in his tongue: death.’
Sidonius simmered his anger a moment before he could find the composure to speak. ‘You think a paltry tattoo is enough to release you?’ he snapped.
I could not shrug, not with him pinioning me, but my voice was free. ‘It is what the tattoo represents, General, not the ink itself. I have been claimed, and over death no other claim can take precedence. I didn’t realise it at the time’ – how I wish I had! – ‘but I suspect the vow you had me utter held me only for the length of time it took me to add that fateful clause. I was free even as you tried to bind me.’
The emotion choking him brought an ugly red flush to his cheeks, and made his pale eyes glitter, ‘I don’t believe it!’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ I allowed airily. ‘Perhaps I’m mistaken, and it’s not the symbol on my brow which freed me. But even if that’s the case, it doesn’t alter the fact that I am released. And consider this delicious irony: it was you who set me free.
‘Dieter set up the initial circumstances,’ I allowed. ‘You completed them, however. Yours was the killing blow. I have no kin left, I am the last living Svanaten.’
A single thread, Grandmother murmured in the back of my head, sharp with anticipation. A very thin, and untried, thread.
‘You said it yourself: there is none to follow me, none but an Ilthean child. Your malice made sure of that. My children have died before they could be born, and so my House will die with me. Until death release me, General – and it has.’
His breath came fast with disbelief – and fear. ‘Achim!’ he cried.
The Amaeri stood silent for long, heart-clattering moments. Whether he was working the shadows, or only feigning to, I could not tell; my new-found skills were still more instinct than anything else. At last, with a shake of his head, he said, ‘She speaks the truth, General.’
Furious, Sidonius hauled me upright and pulled me close enough that his hot breath washed over my face. ‘I still have the stronger army,’ he snarled.
Held fast by his grip, the now-familiar lassitude that accompanied the shadows’ touch took hold of my muscles and my voice emerged dreamy and soft as I interrupted. ‘Do you?’
He checked, whatever he had been about to say dying unspoken.
‘You brought the shadows into play first, Sidonius, when you used me against my own people. Remember that.’
‘Speak plainly!’ he demanded.
For answer, I simply turned my head. His gaze followed mine.
A great knot of Iltheans had been pushed back towards the walls; they clustered in a defensive circle just beyond throwing range. Arrows could still reach them, however, and their upturned shields bristled with the deadly missiles. Skythe and Turasi forces harried them sorely, but even to my untrained eye it was obvious they could not quite break these men, not yet.
I could, though.
Catching the Nabaea’s eye, I nodded. She nodded in return, though she was not here to exercise her own powers, but to cloak mine.
I turned back to the beleaguered Iltheans, and let the lassitude gather together in my blood. It pounded out a beat which matched the tramp of feet on the earth’s crust, the inexorable grumble of the earth’s deepest shiftings, the hot swirl of the sun trapped in the earth’s very centre.
Gradually at first, and then with increasing frequency, the Iltheans started to shift about where they stood, casting uneasy looks downwards.
From our vantage point, no one else could hear the bubbling of the earth as it started to boil, turning to quicksand and sliding like an ebb tide. I heard it because it travelled through the ground and up through the soles of my feet, radiating through my flesh.
We could all see, however.
The earth turned fluid. Iltheans staggered, stumbled to their knees. Their hands, flung forward to halt their fall, sank into the sudden mire. They dropped their swords and snatched for solid footing in vain.
Fearful of the treacherous ground, the Skythes and Turasi drew back. Then the Iltheans, apparently safe from attack, snatched up their weapons again.
I knew why: I could feel the earthen fingers scraping through the last shreds of their prison.
Seconds later the golems became visible, their arms thrusting up from the ruined ground, the domes of their loamy brows thrown back to taste the fresh air. Cries of alarm met their appearance; Sidonius sucked in his breath with a hiss.
The Iltheans who had gained their swords lay about them, hacking with more panic than training. Wound the emerging golem as they might, they could not fell them. The creatures clawed from the soil as if new-born, dripping clods of earth as a babe sheds blood and afterbirth.
Deep in my marrow, the scrabbling and scraping had stopped.
With the golems freed, the shadows seeped away from me like water from a punctured bladder, taking with them my preternatural calm. I was almost sorry to feel it dissipate; bravery was harder to maintain when I must stand before an angry man with nothing but my own weak limbs for protection. Sidonius turned a black scowl on me.
‘Call it removing an unfair advantage, if you will,’ I said, though I wasn’t quite strong enough to carry off the tone I intended. My part was almost played to the end now, however.
Not such a thin thread after all, Grandmother murmured, and her praise gave me strength. A pang of sorrow followed it – I’d proven myself worthy, but it was too late. It didn’t matter anymore. House Svanaten would die anyway.
The sorrow was fuel to the fire of my anger. It allowed me to meet Sidonius’s gimlet eye without quivering under his cruel grip.
‘You are wily, lady, wilier than I expected. But I am not entirely without resource.’
‘There is little you can do now except take my life,’ I said, my words braver than I felt. The idea of those poppets filled me with fear, but determination held me steady. ‘And I will let you take it rather than let you bend my knee and deliver my nation into your emperor’s hands.’
‘Brave words.’
‘No. I simply have nothing left to lose.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ he said, thrusting his left hand into the pouch at his belt.
Surprise stiffened his cheeks; he frowned, rummaging deeper in the pouch.
‘Looking for this?’ Sepp said.
Sidonius whirled around, inadvertently releasing me in the process.
In his hands, Sepp cradled a tiny poppet, rag-sewn and crowned with swan’s feathers.
‘You will pay for this,’ Sidonius promised. ‘She will pay for this.’
‘Mali took them all,’ Sepp replied. ‘She was a fool to trust you, but you were a fool to underestimate her. You should have learnt from Dieter’s mistakes – hurt Matilde, and you lose Mali’s loyalty.’
Grief and gratitude choked me, bringing a hot wash of tears to blur my vision. I blinked them rapidly away.
‘And you should know what I’ve had Achim working on this past week,’ Sepp said. ‘It’s another poppet. This one’s a little different.’
Sepp produced a second poppet, this one clad in the white tunic of an Ilthean soldier, complete with a tiny crimson serpent stitched across its chest. It had a raven’s feather pinned to one shoulder.
Sidonius swung around to face the Amaeri, who met his gaze without flinching.
‘Call it removing an unfair advantage,’ Achim said.
Sidonius turned back to me. The fire in his eyes drove me back a step before I could stiffen my resolve.
‘Surrender is the only option left to you,’ I said. ‘Buy your life, and Renatas’s, with retreat.’
SIDONIUS HESITATED, a peculiar expression flashing across his face. His lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but no words came out. It was not the first time that mention of Renatas had prompted an odd response from the general.
I stared at him, brought up short by the notion that dropped into my head then. Memory of the vision that had taken me when I seized the boy’s arm overtook me, confirming my guess. Sidonius, naked and straining over a dark-haired woman. Sidonius, fury darkening his skin, grating out the words, You’ll find no protection here.
‘He’s your son, isn’t he?’ I breathed. My whisper hung in the air between us.
Sidonius jerked as if slapped, the involuntary reaction as good as a confession. The desperate light in his eye told me he was searching for a way out, a way to deny the reaction and the confession, but it was too late.
‘Renatas is your son,’ I said, my dazed voice too faint to carry beyond our immediate circle. ‘There’s no Ilthean blood in his veins. There’s no imperial blood in his veins.’
The realisation sapped me of energy and purpose. If the boy wasn’t related to the Ilthean emperor, what use was he as a hostage? A slave-general’s son by a traitorous Turasi woman was worth nothing to the empire.
Unless . . .
‘Does he know?’ I demanded, meaning both the emperor and the boy.
Sidonius glanced around, and I understood he would not answer while anyone else stood in earshot.
‘If you would give the general and I a moment’s privacy,’ I said, with a look that took in Gerlach, Roshi, Sepp and Achim.
‘My lady,’ Gerlach protested immediately.
‘Step back,’ I ordered. ‘Keep me in your line of sight, by all means, but no more. Don’t worry – Achim and the Nabaea can each protect me faster and surer than swords, even from a distance.’
Reluctantly, they drew back. When we stood alone, I turned back to Sidonius. ‘I have accorded you privacy, which is more than you deserve. No more prevarication, or I will use the shadows to dig it out of you. Who knows?’
Forced to the admission in spite of himself, he blew out an angry breath and said, ‘No one.’
The secret must have been weighing heavily on him, for a heartbeat later he continued unprompted. ‘I only discovered the truth this year. It was another of Helena’s dirty little secrets.’
‘Why did she tell you?’ I asked. ‘After all this time, why now?’
You’ll find no protection here.
He slanted a look at me, but didn’t respond.
‘She kept that secret for years before she revealed it – what changed?’ I pressed.
‘She landed herself in a nest of vipers,’ he said, relenting with ill grace. ‘We’d been lovers for years – obviously. It wasn’t clever, but it was a warm bed, and I found her more appealing than most of the women available to me. I was still a slave at the time it started.’ He lifted one hand to rub away an ache at his temples. ‘She was Turasi, yes, but she’d renounced her homeland for Ilthea. And she was a matron, not a slave. Her husband, Aulus Vespian, was cousin to the emperor, so she had the money and the resources to both hide the affair and command me to her side. I did not resist.’
‘Go on,’ I prompted.
Dropping his hand, he turned a bleak expression on me. ‘She seduced Aulus’s brothers into treason. And when Aulus discovered it, Helena, desperate to save her traitorous neck, told me the truth about the boy. She reckoned to turn me to her side, me and the army I commanded, either by love for the boy or duty to her as the mother of my child.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘She reckoned wrong.’
‘So she fled,’ I said. No wonder she had arrived at the Turholm with her husband’s brothers but not her husband.
‘Not before I tried to carve out her heart. She wasn’t fool enough to come begging alone, however. Aulus Vespian’s brothers kept my sword from her flesh.’
‘And so you marched in pursuit, to bring her to justice. You probably even begged the emperor to send you. After all, you had a personal stake in her betrayal, and a son at risk.’
He corrected me through gritted teeth. ‘I marched to bring her to justice because she was Turasi, and I have no pity for a Turasi who adopted the empire only to drop that loyalty when it no longer suited her purposes. Aulus Vespian was the man with a son at risk, not I.’
I measured my options carefully before speaking. The general’s anger was a poised knife, capable of slicing in either direction. I needed him trapped, but not beyond the reach of hope.
‘Withdraw your troops beyond the border, Sidonius, and you can take your son home,’ I said.
He seized my injured shoulder, fingers crushing muscle against bone. The throb of pain sent a stab of nausea through my core, and I gagged.
‘He is not my son!’ he snarled, but too low to carry.
‘Aulus Vespian’s son,’ I amended. Quietly, I added, ‘You loved him more when he was another man’s son, didn’t you? He had Turasi blood but an Ilthean heart. You identified with that.’
With a deep, shuddering breath, he released me. I squeezed my hands into fists to encourage blood flow back through the bruised muscles, and to stop myself from rubbing away the ache. My knees threatened to fold and my eyes watered, but I remained standing.
‘He may have Turasi blood from both parents, Sidonius, but that doesn’t make him any less loyal to the empire than you. He chose Ilthea over his mother, didn’t he?’
Trust Dieter to take hostage a boy who wasn’t of any value unless I could convince Sidonius otherwise, I thought.
Sidonius lifted one shoulder in an awkward shrug and said, ‘It does make him worthless as a hostage. The emperor won’t pay to retrieve the child of a slave.’
He didn’t have Dieter’s knack for nonchalance – or perhaps Dieter had taught me how to spot the signs of someone feigning it. I saw them now in the tightness of Sidonius’s shoulders, and the way his glance slid sideways as he spoke.
‘But you won’t tell the emperor Renatas is your child,’ I hazarded. ‘You’d have done it already, if you were going to.’
‘There was no need before now,’ he countered. ‘The boy wasn’t a threat to the empire; letting him live in the lie harmed no one.’
I tipped my chin up. ‘So tell him. Now. Fetch a bird and send him the message that Renatas Vespian is the son of a slave and an adulteress.’
He wanted to. Loyalty to the empire demanded he reveal the truth, so it could retain its newest vassal state rather than safeguarding the life of a child who was not a member of the imperial family.
But the human heart would fix on a person over a faceless country.
The silence had driven the knife home; now I twisted it. ‘The news would break Aulus Vespian’s heart, wouldn’t it? And you respect Aulus, as a soldier no less than as a man.’ I was piecing the story together as I went, my instincts reading the emotions flashing across his face faster than conscious thought. ‘You never loved Helena. But through her you met Aulus – a man worthy of admiration. The same man who recognised your military abilities, and so brought you to the attention of the emperor, which in turn earned you manumission. Everything you are now, everything you’ve come to be since the slave’s collar was struck from your neck, you owe to Aulus Vespian. Your friend.’
He swung away, the scowl on his face evidence I’d hit my target.
‘Not to mention your own neck’s on the line,’ I continued. ‘Reveal the boy’s heritage, and you reveal your dalliance with a married woman. That’s death for both parties. Aulus has already lost his wife – tell him the truth and you’ll also rob him of his son, and his friend. Can you do that?’
He turned red-rimmed eyes on me, and I knew I had him. He wouldn’t reveal the truth. Which meant, for all intents and purposes, Renatas was valuable again. Relief mixed with triumph made for a heady brew.
‘Withdraw your men, Sidonius, and this will all go away. You can go home, you can take Aulus’s son back to him, your home will stay your home.’
‘A commander who relinquishes Ilthean territory has no home to return to,’ he said. He managed an even tone as he went on, ‘I think . . . not. You’ll kill the boy, Aulus will grieve, but he’ll move on.
Ilthea will lose nothing – ’ I shook my head with a laugh. ‘Why should we kill the boy? He’s much more valuable alive. If you refuse, we’ll simply reveal the truth. A general who’s lost territory will see a far more welcoming reception than one who seduced a married woman and passed his child off as nobility.’
Sidonius stood in fuming silence for precious heartbeats longer, his eyes fixed not on me, but on the battle behind me.
I didn’t dare turn to look – but neither did I doubt that the golems were making a material difference in favour of the Turasi.
At last Sidonius switched his focus back to me. ‘If you’re expendable, then you’re also powerless. I won’t negotiate with you.’
‘Sound the retreat and you can negotiate with whomever you please,’ I said, ignoring the slight, more concerned with the fact that neither his tone nor his stance indicated submission. ‘It won’t do you any good to be picky, however. There is only one deal on offer: if you want the boy back safe, retreat in full. Otherwise, you all perish.’
‘You demand a steep interest rate, my lady.’
‘My terms are generous in comparison to the price you’ve claimed of me,’ I returned.
He brooded over the decision in silence again, torn, trying to find another option. Any other option. But Sepp had stolen his last means of controlling me, and Achim had betrayed him, and the golems had swung the tide of battle.
With a jerk of his chin, he commanded his page to sound the retreat, and the trumpets bleated out the blessed silver sounds of surrender.
DIETER STIL LIVED, for he immediately sounded the Turasi withdrawal. The Skythes drew back to the shadow of the treeline, their horses blowing and bloodied, their nostrils flashing red with every breath.
Sidonius paused only to summon a horse and leave instructions in a voice too quiet for me to overhear, then we set off. He did not bother to speak with me again.
Once more I rode by his side to the location, midway between the walls and the Ilthean forces, chosen for our conference. It seemed I was doomed to travel this path time and again, the details shifting but the trap unchanging.
It was the same spot as last time. Then there had been a white silk pavilion; then I had used Sidonius’s power to free myself of Dieter’s hold. Now it was no more than trampled and bloodied ground, decorated with fallen pennants and fallen soldiers – and I walked towards a gamble that would see me free of them both, or trapped forever.
Once more Dieter rode towards us on the fleet-footed, sleek horses taken from my stables. This time Gerlach rode at my side, and he stood at my shoulder when we came to a halt. Roshi stood on Gerlach’s other side, tense as a wolf on point, long strands of hair fallen loose from her plait streaking the side of her flushed face.
This time I stood between the two brothers, allied to neither. Sidonius and Dieter faced each other as if no one else existed, the air between them thick with tension.
Dieter spoke to me first. ‘I didn’t think you could win him over,’ he said.
I knew what worried him: the thought of my leverage, and whether I might now be able to turn it on him. Had he prepared thoroughly? Did he have the resources to counter me? Normally the moment would have brought a smile to his face, but not this time. Perhaps, at last, too much rode on the outcome.
‘You underestimate my value, Dieter,’ I replied, an echo of his words to me over our brief but intense acquaintance. A woman without resources would be of no value as a wife, he had said at our first meeting, and What a valuable wife I have, indeed, he had said when he’d learnt of my visions, the light of greed and calculation in his eye.
Now he twisted a corner of his mouth in acknowledgement of the point. ‘It’s a bad habit of mine.’
‘She did not win me over,’ Sidonius interrupted.
‘No,’ I agreed, then laughed. ‘I limited your options. Not pleasant, is it?’
I gave him the hateful smile I had long dreamt of giving Dieter, when I threw him off my throne and out of the nation, banishing him back to his mouldy, ghost-ridden swamps. It gave me even more satisfaction to bestow it on Sidonius.
‘You think you have me cornered,’ Sidonius said, turning to include Dieter in the comment. ‘Don’t you?’
‘I think I have you right where I promised to kill you,’ Dieter replied.
Sidonius answered by unsheathing his bastard sword.
A hurried step put me between the two, and brought both their gazes to me. Gerlach followed me, his own sword ready in my defence. Sidonius didn’t move to attack, but he didn’t lower his blade either.
‘I didn’t bring you here to play out your grudge match,’ I snapped. Ravens pluck out his eyes, I’d just done the impossible, slipped free of a shadow-bound vow and brought an army to a standstill using nothing but words, and still he wanted to settle things with his sword!
‘No, you brought me here to grovel and beg. Forgive me, but I am not amenable to that plan,’ Sidonius said, shifting his sword in his grip.
Dieter reacted immediately, stepping close to my other side. ‘Take one step towards her, Eckard, and it will be your last,’ he said. Roshi had a dagger in her hand, ready to throw.
Sidonius surveyed us all with a thwarted smile, but said nothing.
‘Here is your chance to negotiate, Sidonius: use it,’ I said, almost as calm as when I’d had the shadows running free through my veins. ‘Make your decision. Retreat beyond the borders, and we will deliver Aulus Vespian’s son safely back into the serpent’s fold.’
I caught and held his eye as I said those words, Aulus Vespian’s son, to remind him of the true power of my hostage.
‘Or stay,’ Dieter said, ‘and sacrifice the lives of your entire army for your pride.’
Sidonius switched his gaze to his brother, a fey gleam in his eyes. The knowledge of what he planned flashed through me like the first snow-laden winds of winter, chilling my blood.
‘I’ve a different choice in mind,’ Sidonius said. He was moving before the words were out of his mouth.
Gerlach was not bewitched: his sword swept up in my defence even as Sidonius pushed forward. The two blades met with a clangour so loud it dazzled me, momentarily robbing me of all other senses.
Snarling, Sidonius yanked his sword back, shifting his balance on the balls of his feet, ready to drive forward yet again. The light ran down the bright edge of his blade like a rill of water catching the sunlight.
On knees still too numb to be of use, I stumbled to the side, obeying Roshi’s sudden grip on my left arm, Dieter’s rough shove on my right shoulder.
Roshi’s grip kept me upright; I clung to her arm until my knees caught up with the rest of me, but I didn’t take my eyes off the combat.
This was what Sidonius had decided on the moment I delivered my trump card, of course. Take too much from a man, limit his options too severely, and he will very quickly decide which is the lesser sacrifice: his life or his pride.
For a Turasi bastard turned Ilthean slave who had then earnt his freedom, becoming the head of his adopted nation’s army and beloved of the imperial family, reputation was not something Sidonius could undervalue.
His short sword drove forward, angled in a killing blow aimed at the belly, but Gerlach was more competent than that. He blocked the blow easily, turning the blade with a shivering scream of steel scraping down steel.
Gerlach was also a dirtier fighter. With the blades locked, he cocked his fist and slammed it into Sidonius’s nose. The blow sent the Ilthean general staggering backwards.
‘Stand aside, Gerlach,’ Dieter said, but the general would not yield.
‘This is my battle as much as it is yours, my lord.’
‘Nonsense – ’
Sidonius was already back on his feet, approaching with more care this time.
‘It was my freedom you bought with his slavery,’ Gerlach said, all his attention fixed on Sidonius.
‘And it was my choice to make that exchange,’ Dieter insisted, pushing forward until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Gerlach.
‘I’ll happily dispatch you both,’ Sidonius snapped, launching himself at them with such abandon both Dieter and Gerlach took a step back, swords raised.
He was a skilled warrior, pressing them hard, keeping each of them at bay. One artful slice opened a ragged red line up Gerlach’s forearm and a thin smear of red pearled on the edge of Sidonius’s blade when he lifted it to parry Dieter’s next attack.
They fell back and settled to circling, stepping measured and wide, assessing each other with a slow burn. I felt the fire of it in my own muscles, as if I was the one standing under the sun’s glare, a heavy sword in my hands, sweat trickling down the hollow of my spine, thigh muscles straining with the effort.
Gerlach struck, a jab that moved Sidonius to the left. Dieter tested his other side; the clang of steel showed Sidonius equal to the attack.
Movement beyond the fight drew my attention. The Iltheans were gathering; for the moment, at least, they seemed content only to watch. At their fore was a broad-chested man mounted on a blood-spattered grey stallion, his crested helmet tucked under one arm. Aulus Vespian, I guessed.
The teeth-jarring clash of steel drew me back to the fight, where Gerlach was stepping quickly backwards to regain his balance, Sidonius pacing after him, grinning. Dieter came at his brother from the side and Sidonius spun to meet the strike.
On and on they fought, Sidonius engaging with Dieter and Gerlach by turns, the anguished cry of swords ringing against the empty sky.
Two against one was never an equal battle, though, and the longer Sidonius held out, the more inevitable became the end. If he had killed one, or both, early in the match, it might have ended differently, but with every thrust and parry weariness nibbled at his strength, until his shield arm began to sag, and his reflexes started to slow. A fraction of an inch and a fraction of a second, but it was enough.
Sidonius took a step back, gaining time enough to drag in a shuddering breath, then leapt back to the fray, his shield and sword raised anew for one last effort.
Sweat was dripping off them all, tracing runnels through Sidonius’s short-cropped hair, pasting the front of Gerlach’s shirt to his chest, running in a collar around Dieter’s wrist. Blocking a backhanded slash, Dieter’s sword slipped, yielding too far beneath the force of Sidonius’s blow.
Sidonius’s sword slipped through, opening a bloody gash across Dieter’s ribs. Dieter stumbled, and Gerlach’s sword took up the cry of battle, driving Sidonius back with a mighty thrust as Dieter recovered.
Sidonius had used the last of his energy. Backing away before Gerlach’s onslaught, his foot slipped when he blocked an overhead blow, and he dropped to one knee. Panting, Sidonius made no effort to rise, although there was no defeat in his eyes.
Dieter stepped forward, sword lifted, to take the killing blow. But even as his blade hung in the sky like judgement, a bone-handled knife thunked into Sidonius’s throat.
The force of the impact rocked him back on his heels; his eyes opened wide, he slumped to the side with a sickening thud. His last breath stirred a ripple from a splash of blood that had not yet soaked into the hard-packed earth.
I grabbed Roshi’s wrist, still raised from the throw, as Dieter turned on her, anger sparking in his pale eyes.
She met his gaze without flinching. The girl always did have more bravado than sense.
‘You have five seconds to explain,’ Dieter said. He wrapped his hand more securely around the haft of his sword.
Still Roshi didn’t flinch. ‘He was your brother,’ she said. ‘I would not have you slay your kin.’
Dieter didn’t relax in muscle or stance or stare. ‘So you decided to save my soul the stain, did you?’
Roshi blinked, perhaps surprised by his lack of gratitude.
‘I sold him into slavery,’ Dieter said. ‘Can you wipe that stain from my soul as well, little goatherder?’
Roshi shook her head.
‘Do you not think it was my duty to grant him an honest death?’ Dieter pressed.
‘No,’ Roshi murmured, quiet but fearless. She lifted her chin and met him glare for glare. ‘You did not seek to kill him for the sake of mercy. Even if you had, it would still be killing kin.’
His fingers tightened on the haft of his sword, but the colour was returning to his skin, and the glitter fading from his eyes. ‘It is not your duty to safeguard my soul.’
‘No, but I will safeguard Matilde when it is in my power. And I will not let her remain bound to a kin-slayer. Besides,’ she added, risking a challenge that could make him furious again, ‘you didn’t kill him when you first had the chance, those many years ago. You went to great pains to save his life. At heart, you are not a kin-slayer. You will thank me, in years to come.’
His eyes flared wide, and my heart dropped through the bottom of my lungs. Then Dieter’s lips twitched, as if he were biting back a smile, and he lowered his sword. ‘I doubt that, Roshi,’ he said, a shade of weariness in his voice. ‘You’ll be lucky if I ever come to forgive you.’
Roshi answered, ‘Then let this satisfy you: I had the better claim. I stood aside while your nation’s politics were in play, but when it came to killing, it was I who had the first right to his blood.’
We all stared at her in blank astonishment. Even Gerlach blinked, as if uncertain of his hearing. Roshi stood silent and seemingly untouched.
I found my voice at last, although it was unsteady as I said, ‘I’m sure you felt justified in avenging the harm Sidonius inflicted on me – ’
She cut me off with a shake of her head. ‘You are quite capable of taking care of yourself.’
I gaped at her – who was it had poisoned me, in an attempt to take care of my killing for me? Who was it had carted me out of the Turholm unconscious and slung over the back of a pony? Who fussed over my every waking moment as if I might take septic from a scratch?
She acknowledged my surprise with a faint smile. ‘Your methods are painstaking and obscure, it is true, but if you have the patience to see them through, I do not need to worry about you.’
‘Of course . . .’ I said, my voice fading with disbelief. I coughed, and went on in stronger tones, ‘Then what claim have you that is stronger than Dieter’s? Amalia was his sister – there’s no stronger bond.’
‘Amalia was his sister,’ she said, turning a baleful eye on me, ‘but she was my bedmate.’
No one spoke.
Memories fitted together in my head like pieces of a jigsaw, culminating in a final vivid image: Roshi’s red-rimmed eyes and her ash-smeared hair on Amalia’s death – she had not been mourning her cousin’s sister by marriage.
‘How,’ I started, and had to swallow to take the shrill edge from my voice. ‘How did I miss that?’
Grandmother contributed a loud, barking laugh: Ha!
Roshi said only, ‘You miss a lot of things.’
‘But you and . . .’
‘Oh, she didn’t love me,’ Roshi said. ‘Not the way she did you. Not the way I did her. But she liked me well enough. No more talk. She deserves better than to be remembered by gossip.’
THE BATLE WAS over and won – and when we bundled Sidonius’s body onto a makeshift bier, even the Ilthean army knew it for true.
His second in command was Aulus Vespian, Renatas’s father and my uncle by his marriage to Helena. The circumstances bringing us together now were hardly auspicious, and he met me and Dieter with a face set like marble.
‘We’ll offer you the same terms we offered Sidonius,’ I began.
‘Retreat, and relinquish your claim on Turasi lands, and we’ll deliver your son safely home,’ Dieter finished.
Aulus Vespian didn’t prevaricate: he agreed without protest. Here was a man who rated his son higher than his pride. The knowledge of Renatas’s true paternity had me tracing Aulus’s heavy-jowled features, wondering if the man had perhaps not guessed for himself.
‘You may leave an escort no greater than three men,’ I said, ‘as surety that the boy will remain safe. Once your forces are back inside the empire’s borders, we will send him home.’
‘With an escort of three men, across enemy leagues?’
‘We will provide men for the escort as well, of course,’ Dieter said.
Aulus Vespian looked discontented with such an offer, but he acceded with a stiff nod.
‘I stayed my hand because the girl’s actions seemed to surprise you,’ he said, a glance at Roshi indicating which girl he meant. ‘But make no mistake: by your consent or not, it was treachery killed Sidonius. That won’t go unpaid.’
‘You stayed your hand because we hold your son,’ I returned coolly. ‘The treachery was Sidonius’s, who attacked during negotiations. His death is an end to the matter.’
The distrust in Aulus Vespian’s eye told me he did not accept my explanation. The empire’s fangs had been drawn, but only for the moment. With a last look over our shoulders at the walls which separated him from his son, he spun on his heel and marched away.
I watched him go, feeling the first flicker of exultation. But the emotion was too young, too strong, for smiles or laughter. Even that afternoon, when I stood on the battlements and watched the serpent army decamp, I could do no more than stand in silence while they dwindled into the distance and the sun threw their long shadows eastwards.
Sepp stood beside me, and when the Iltheans were nothing but a smear of dust on the horizon, he turned to me with a faint smile. ‘It’s over.’
My heart constricted until I wanted to weep. Maybe that was why I couldn’t celebrate: because it wasn’t over. The serpents were gone, but only for now – and there was still tomorrow’s vote to win.
Nevertheless, I summoned up a smile to answer his and said, ‘Yes. It’s over.’
His fingers caught mine and squeezed. Then he noticed the ribbon Dieter had tied around my neck at our binding, and he drew his hand back.
The gesture grieved me, a stark reminder of all the history that now separated us. As if the new lines etched deep around his eyes and the way he seldom smiled any more wasn’t reminder enough. As he turned back to the battle-blighted fields beyond the far wall, I watched him with a leaden ache remarkably like guilt. He had given up so much for me, and risked even more, and the only reward I could offer him in return was the promise that I would use him until the end of his strength.
It is the price of ruling, Grandmother said. He knows this as well as you do.
Wanting to change the unhappy direction of my thoughts, I seized on a topic that had been puzzling me.
‘How did you get Achim to make the poppet of Sidonius?’ I asked. ‘The man’s morals are unpredictable to say the least, and when it comes to the shadows his temperament is pricklier than a porcupine.’
Sepp pulled the poppet from his pocket and ran the tip of one finger along the raven feather. He shrugged, offering it to me.
‘Mali sewed it, and gave it to me with the rest,’ he said as I took it. ‘It’s a simple child’s toy, unbound by shadows. I promised Achim all he had to do was act convincing – Sidonius wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.’
Laughing, I turned from the battlements, tucking the poppet into my own pocket. ‘I don’t suppose she left me a simple trick for dealing with Dieter as well?’
Sepp’s grin was shy from disuse. ‘No such luck, I’m afraid,’ he said. Stuffing his hands into the small of his back and leaning against a merlon, he turned to contemplating the slate and stone puzzle that was the Turholm’s interior. His gaze settled on the roof of the stables, where he had spent the majority of his years, housed under the watchful eye of the master of horses. ‘But I wouldn’t worry too much about tomorrow, if I were you.’
Although I couldn’t be quite so sanguine about the vote’s outcome, the dissipation of his heavy mood cheered me. So, catching his easy manner, wanting to encourage the return of the high spirits which had once been so established a part of his character, I joked, ‘Do you know something I don’t?’
‘Oh, many things, I should imagine.’
‘Has one of the Somner drightens taken a blow to the head and developed a sudden attachment to the idea of a Svanaten overlord?’
Sepp laughed, the sound clean and uncomplicated. ‘It could happen.’
‘Or perhaps Meinard – who in the space of half a year contemplated both binding to me and killing me – has had a draught of the poppy elixir and now thinks he should very much like to swear fealty to me,’ I said. ‘No, wait, I know! Dieter’s changed his mind, and he’s going to propose we entrust the outcome to a game of chance. Like a ferret race: first one to return with a rat wins its owner the throne. That’s it, isn’t it?’
He feigned incredulity. ‘How did you know?’
We both laughed, and for a moment everything was back to normal – we were simply Sepp and Tilde, cousins and friends and co-conspirators in escaping our chores, and the bleakest prospect on the horizon was Grandmother’s mood when our delinquency was inevitably discovered.
It couldn’t last more than a moment, of course. More seriously, Sepp said, ‘Truly, though, I’m sure you have a greater chance of winning that vote than Dieter does. Turas knows, you’ve worked hard enough to earn the throne ten times over.’
I shrugged, unable to answer any other way. If only it depended on how hard I’d worked, and not on popularity and opportunism, or which of the candidates the drightens thought might be easier to control.
‘And anyway, even if they do choose Dieter over you, he won’t win,’ Sepp said.
Mystified, I asked, ‘What do you mean?’
He was studying the stable roof again. ‘Let’s just say I’ve been working on a way out, should things go too far awry.’
Now I understood. The stables housed more than horses and the thralls who cared for them – it was the entrance to the bolthole. Grimly, I said, ‘You know I won’t flee.’
‘You will if you have to,’ he countered. ‘But that’s not what I meant.’
‘Well, then, what did you mean?’
He hesitated, then shook his head. ‘Just that I have a way to get the better of Dieter, should you need it. Not that it matters,’ he finished firmly, closing the discussion. ‘Because you won’t need it. You’re going to win, remember?’
SEPP’S PARTING COMENTS, far from putting me at ease, only made the coming events a source of puzzlement. Between the vote itself and Sepp’s mysterious stratagem, Dieter was at the forefront of my thoughts for the rest of the afternoon.
To my surprise, however, I didn’t see him even once. Usually he was easily discovered, but when the evening meal came and passed and still he remained absent, I resolved to seek him out. If his absence had to do with a stratagem of his own, I couldn’t afford complacence.
He wasn’t in the garrison, or the stables, or the offices he’d commandeered on first taking over the Turholm. The hall of thrones stood empty, as did the sanctuary hall.
In the end I found him, of all places, in the library.
He stood at one of the reading desks, head bent over the pages of a book. Only a single lantern by his hand, and a second on the wall by the door, lit the room against the oncoming evening. Stray glints from the lanterns of those crossing the courtyard caught against the leaded panes of the windows in random patterns.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you read before,’ I said.
He lifted his head, pale eyes gleaming. Despite the hours that had passed since, he had not yet changed from his battle-worn gear, and looked haggard.
‘Did you think perhaps I couldn’t?’ he said.
There was no spirit in the riposte. Though he held my gaze, it was habit and willpower more than strength. Pity rose in me as I realised I had caught him in a vulnerable moment. This was probably the first chance he’d had in which to grieve his sister’s death, and he’d seen his brother killed only hours before – a brother he’d once saved, albeit in a roundabout fashion.
I ventured further into the room. ‘When I wed you, I never expected there would come a day I might grieve for you.’
He scoffed. ‘You worked hard enough to bring about my funeral, Matte.’
I didn’t bring up any of the old arguments; they were as worn and tired as his attire, or my bruised and aching muscles. I only shrugged, drifting nearer still, curious to see what he was reading. What words could command his attention at such a time? Was it comfort he found in those pages – or a ploy?
‘Does it worry you that I’ve changed?’ I said instead.
He blinked once, then said, ‘I’m in no mood for games.’
‘I’m sorry.’
I let the silence between us convey that I was not apologising for intruding.
‘I should have brought her with me when I rode out for Ilthea,’ I said. ‘I did try, but she’d have none of it. Said she’d made her bargains and if there was one thing the empire did, it was honour bargains.’
‘That girl always was powered by passion and spite over reason,’ he said, dropping his gaze back to the desktop. ‘What fool thinks the Iltheans honour their bargains?’
My hands rose and fell in a futile gesture. I had no answer, or at least none I thought it wise to speak aloud. Dieter would hardly appreciate the reminder that he was her blind spot, with jealousy of his affection one of the main reasons she had left his side and thus fallen prey to Sidonius in the first place.
‘Have you eaten?’ I said at last.
‘Considering how often you’ve pointed out our marriage is one of expedience, you make a convincing wife. No, Matilde, I’ve not eaten. Will you scamper to the kitchens yourself, as you were so fond of doing when first we were bound, or have you finished with that now you don’t need an army of thralls to win you back your throne?’
Once, the teasing way he watched for my reaction would have set my blood to a simmer and set my tongue to snapping in response.
My, how you’ve grown, Grandmother murmured. But while you stand here congratulating yourself, the throne is still at stake.
‘Did you know the Skythes have a ceremony which will dissolve a binding?’ I said.
Oh, I knew him, his every whim and stray thought, knew what would still him and focus his attention my way. It was a skill learnt with the spice of terror to speed me along, and I wielded it now with something akin to joy. Terror lurked like a prickle beneath my skin.
‘And you are part Skythe,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘So you mean to dissolve our binding as a way of negating it?’ he said softly. ‘It won’t work. My claim to the throne doesn’t rest upon my binding to you. That was simply the honey on the pastry.’
A pang of hurt warned me I was not as free of Dieter’s hold as I liked to think.
‘Actually . . .’ I concentrated on keeping my hands loose, fighting the urge to wrap my fingers around the slim earthen-hued ribbon I wore around my neck. A matching ribbon encircled his own throat, a flash of black silk just visible beneath the collar of his shirt. ‘I told them bindings are for life among the Turasi.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the brief moment of his surprise before he hid it.
‘I wonder you didn’t guess,’ I said, not daring to look him in the face. ‘If I’d planned to dissolve the binding, I’d never have had to deal with their infuriating morals. Like refusing to side with me over you. Or the way they manipulated me into meeting with you.’
‘And here I thought it was my charm which won you over.’
I laughed, low and bitter. I’d had quite enough of being won over by his charm. I didn’t voice the thought, however.
‘Say rather it was your witching eyes,’ I said instead.
He started, but he rose to the challenge with a grin. ‘Not to mention the chance to see me bested and laid on my back, eh?’
A faint flush betrayed my recollection of the last time I’d seen Dieter laid on his back. We had been wearing distinctly less in the way of clothing – nothing but the bed sheets in point of fact.
Dieter gave a breath of laughter. ‘You played a bold gambit, Matte,’ he said. ‘Bold enough to have worked, I warrant. The golems in particular were an inspired touch. But I’m afraid I can’t let it come to a vote.’
‘Of course not. You’d lose.’
He shook his head, as if remonstrating with a beloved but wayward child. ‘It’s over, Matte. I had thought to keep you with me; you’ve proven a valuable helpmeet, after all. Unfortunately, I’ll never be able to trust you – for you’ll never rest in your attempts to see me unseated. That’s why you’re here now, isn’t it?’
He didn’t expect an answer, and I didn’t give him one.
‘So I’ve decided, when all’s said and done, to hand you to the mara. It’s what Beata should have done at birth, and it’s the safest place for you.’
‘How very generous.’
‘It is, now that you mention it,’ he said, an edge creeping into his voice. ‘Any other solution would leave you prey to schemes and manipulations which would only put your life at risk. Among the mara, you will be unreachable, and untouchable – and unimportant. You will be free. Why,’ he flashed a sudden grin, ‘you can even fulfil your lifelong dream of herding goats.’
My hand slipped into my pocket and closed around the Sidonius poppet, as if it could give me strength.
‘Are you sure you wish to bring up the topic of the mara’s claims, Dieter? Truly?’
‘Is that your ploy?’ he asked dismissively. ‘You disappoint me – I thought we’d discussed this already. Don’t bother. Gerlach – ’
‘Was with me,’ I cut him off. ‘Throughout the entire battle. As was one of the Skythe shadow-workers.’
Dieter frowned. Had he put the pieces together, did he sense his doom creeping closer? Or did he simply not yet understand?
‘What does that matter?’ he demanded.
The latter, I decided.
‘Those golems were your creatures. They were created by you, and they obeyed your edicts. You cannot hide them behind Gerlach this time – he was not by your side.’
‘No, he was by yours,’ Dieter said slowly. ‘And he will swear it was he, not I, that unearthed and commanded them. You achieve nothing with this, Matilde.’
‘The Nabaea will swear the same in my case,’ I said. ‘What evidence do you have of my working the shadows? All along I have had Achim, or a Nabaea, or your very own Gerlach by my side.’
‘Your visions – ’ ‘
Are no more than fits,’ I said. ‘As attested by you not two days ago. Would you stand before the drightens and declare yourself a liar?’
Abruptly he turned away, and I wanted to shout with joy at his moment of weakness.
‘You cannot bully me or bind me any longer, Dieter,’ I said, restraining my exultation with difficulty. ‘I’m offering you the chance to remain, as my consort. If you’ll swear to be content with half a throne – ’
‘Come now, Matilde.’
‘You have until the vote to make your choice, Dieter,’ I said, and directed an arch smile at his book. ‘Enjoy your reading.’
THE GADEREN CONVENED the following morning – for the Duethin had duties to attend to, and there was little point in delaying. Despite the nausea that kept me sleepless, I was almost sorry we had to wait so long as a single night. There was little I could do now to sway them. They were either mine, or Dieter’s.
We met in the hall of sanctuary, where the mara could witness and provide a tiebreaker vote if need be. For the mara to hold sway in the hall of thrones was sacrilege, and the drightens wanted none of it.
It was strange, after all that had passed, to step beneath the raven and rose-carved lintel with Dieter by my side. Amalia’s body was gone now, interred in the crypts, which had not seen a member of House Raban for generations gone, but still the hall was crowded with memories.
It was here that I had stood by Helena’s side, marvelling at her beauty and boldness, charmed by the warmth of her smile. Here, too, that I had crawled on my hands and knees after the slaughter in the temple just beyond, and here that I had knelt in the carnage and bound my life to Dieter’s.
The drightens were gathered in a semicircle, one of the mara in the arc’s centre, his black garb contrasting with the bright hues the drightens favoured. Roshi and Sepp stood either side of the concealed door that led to the thralls’ runs. It had been through that door I had escaped on the night Dieter staged his coup and changed everyone’s lives.
Dieter and I walked in step, as if we were a couple bound fifty years and counting.
I snuck a glance at him, but if he felt uncertain there was no sign of it in his features or bearing.
At last we drew to a halt before the drightens. There were no seats for any of us, we must all stand, but to stand before them as if I were a penitent facing a jury made my temper flare.
Helma broke the silence. Dismissing me with a faint sneer, she said, ‘The choice is obvious.’
As if on cue, Meinard fixed me with a vengeful glare and said, ‘You put the serpents on the throne. And killed my father when he wouldn’t bend knee to a pretender.’
‘Wrong on both counts,’ I said.
‘Prove it,’ he retorted, and that was his mistake. The response was too swift, and too brash. He had committed patricide – and, judging from the way Helma’s nostrils flared on an indrawn breath before she recovered her poise, Dieter had spoken true when he claimed Meinard had acted at Helma’s prompting.
‘Your father bent knee without qualm, as Maja or Krimhilde or Merten can attest,’ I said. ‘As for his death, the assassin who killed Rein then sought me out, and it was only by the narrowest of margins that he didn’t open my throat as well.’
Evard was staring at my neck, and the faint scar that showed where Amalia had once tried to open my throat. Few of the drightens would know of that little fracas, however, and if they took the scar for evidence of my tale, well, the better for me.
Meinard swallowed, at last realising his mistake.
I pinned the newly minted young lord of House Falkere with a steely look and said, ‘If you would know who killed your father, consider who gained by his death. It was not I. And rest assured, the first action of either Dieter or myself on being ratified as Duethin will be to punish whoever sent that assassin.’
Meinard couldn’t hold my gaze, and that was his condemnation.
Helma was not so easily intimidated, however; much as I wished otherwise, I would have to let her lie. For now.
After a moment, when it was clear the issue of Rein’s death was closed, Maja frowned. ‘You’re bound,’ she said. ‘What does it matter which of the two of you we choose? The other will still rule as consort.’
‘True enough,’ I said, speaking before Dieter could. Simply by the fact he had not denounced me as a shadow-worker before we all convened, I thought last night’s gambit successful, but it was always possible he had only been waiting for an audience, and I had no intention of allowing him that chance now. ‘Bear one fact in mind, however: I am barren.’
Dieter spun to face me, horror-struck. ‘You were wounded,’ he whispered, remembering our meeting in the Skythe camp. He shot a furious glance at Helma, one hand clenched in a fist, before turning back to me. Restraining himself with an effort, he asked, ‘The assassin . . . ?’
‘Sidonius,’ I corrected just as softly.
He let out a thin breath, releasing anger that had no target now. ‘And Roshi thought she had the first claim to his life,’ he murmured.
I swallowed hard to clear the sudden lump in my throat, knowing it was tenderness that made him so quick to anger. Knowing, too, that any tenderness I felt for him in return was too dangerous to be trusted.
I turned back to the drightens and said, ‘If Dieter rules, he can get a child where he wishes, for it is not adultery if the Duethin’s wife is barren.’
Evard’s eyes lit with a gleam of avarice, and he wasn’t alone. I bit back a smile; they had taken the bait, and now all that remained was to reel them in.
Dieter’s expression, still clouded by pain, showed I had taken him by surprise. Not much had changed, then. He was still underestimating me.
‘And if you rule?’ Merten demanded, one hand clutching at the cuff of his sister’s sleeve.
I shrugged. ‘I must find my heir from among those of noble blood. Since I can produce no issue of my own, I must choose from among your children.’
And so will die House Svanaten, Grandmother mourned.
And perhaps it was no bad thing to let the swans step down, I thought. If we had been so popular, Dieter would never have succeeded in the first place.
‘Now,’ I said to the drightens, ‘shall we have done?’
The moment for interruptions had passed, and though he clearly wanted to speak, Dieter held silent.
The mara took a step forward, breaking the semicircle. He had quick eyes and a voice as sombre and rich as cider.
‘This is a somewhat unusual situation,’ he said, straining for tact. ‘Since there’s little in the way of tradition to guide us, I suggest we dispense with all but the vote itself.’
He paused to look around the circle, checking for dissent, then hesitated over which of us to call first, Dieter or myself. Which, after our snarled history, was the heir and which the claimant?
‘Perhaps we shall use the expedient of crossing the floor,’ he murmured at last. To the drightens he said, ‘Raban stands upon my left, and Svanaten upon my right. I ask you to cast your votes by crossing either to left or right in support of your chosen candidate.’
There was only a hair’s breadth between Dieter and I; the warmth of him made the hairs on my left arm lift. When the mara split us so casually, I wondered if I should step further to the right, acknowledge and widen the gulf between us. My feet wouldn’t move, however, and I remained where I stood – as did Dieter.
The drightens milled about at first, part in hesitation and part out of the confusion of movement. There were only eight of them, however: meaning teased out from the disorder soon enough, for all that it felt an eternity.
Helma moved to support Dieter, no surprise there. Krimhilde and Merten moved as swiftly to my side. Meinard followed Helma like the lapdog he was, and Maja chose Svanaten.
My heart quailed – three to me and two to Dieter, but two of the three remaining were Somners, and thus Dieter’s.
Rudiger smiled at me maliciously as he moved to Helma’s side, leaving only Xaver of House Vestenn and Evard of House Somner undecided.
I pinned my eyes on Xaver. If he crossed to me it would be a tiebreaker; if he chose Dieter I lost outright.
Xaver crossed to my side.
A tiebreaker it would be, then. I turned to watch the mara. But he had made no move to face us, nor to cast the tiebreaker vote. I looked back to Evard.
Studying the design of the parquetry floor, the third drighten of House Somner had not moved. The delay made no sense. The Somners always voted against House Svanaten, almost as a matter of principle. Had my bait of inheritance caught a summer lord . . . ?
Evard lifted his head, but he did not look at anyone. Gaze fixed on the middle distance, he moved to the right.
My heart leapt with shock – I had won.
HELMA AND RUDIGER were gaping at their cousin, and they weren’t the only ones. Every drighten stared at Evard in shock. Dieter had his eyes closed.
The mara turned to face Dieter and me.
‘We have a majority,’ he said. ‘I declare the Duethin, chosen and ratified by the drightens, to be Matilde of House Svanaten.’
Opening his eyes, Dieter looked at me.
‘Neatly played,’ he said.
‘It is not too late,’ I said as softly, driven by an impulse I could not name. ‘Only give me your word . . .’
In the back of my head, Grandmother was muttering that I could never trust him, word or no. In any case the point was moot, for Dieter shook his head.
‘And trust a Svanaten on the throne again? Thank you, no.’
‘I am not my father, nor my grandmother,’ I said, then smiled bitterly. ‘Your family have seen to that.’
Still he would not bend. He met my eyes with the smallest of smiles. Defeat had knocked him on his heels, but for how long?
I had no choice.
‘If you will not give me your word, I cannot trust you. I will not follow in the footsteps of my forebears, who banished the children of Gunde,’ I said.
‘Generous of you,’ he murmured.
With every passing moment he was rallying, calculations ticking, possibilities trickling, seeking for the future.
I looked to the shadows by the wall, where Roshi stood. At my gesture she lifted a hand and leant against the stone I had shown her.
A click emanated from the shadowed recess beside her. Lamplight spilled out as the false door opened. Silhouettes troubled the fall of light as figures stepped through the door, one, two, three.
‘I must, however, recognise the petition of the man who has come seeking you,’ I said.
The figures stepped forward, leaving the cloak of the shadows. Achim had changed back to his ochre robes, which gave him back his wild air. Behind him came two Turasi soldiers. They were from the ranks of Maja’s men, and would follow my orders – not Dieter’s, nor Gerlach’s.
‘The Amaeri nation would lay claim to you,’ I continued, authority gathering in my voice as I spoke, shedding the fear that I would stumble or stutter.
Dieter jerked at Achim’s appearance, and again at my words. A slow-burning fire lit in his eyes. ‘You are thorough, Matte.’
‘Dieter, scion of House Raban, I give you into the care of Achim,’ I said. ‘He will escort you back to the Amaeri courts where, I understand, you must answer for the crimes you have committed.’
Achim smiled, a flash of stained teeth in his sunburnt skin.
‘Hold!’ a new voice cried from the far end of the hall, where the circular doors made of apple wood led into the smaller temple behind.
Through those doors stepped two men clad in white shirts and grey trews. They each wore a necklace of raven feathers, and the frontmost of the pair gripped a stave as tall as he was. ‘Our claim is higher,’ he said, ignoring the way everyone stared as they advanced.
I frowned. ‘And you are?’
‘I am Hagan, and this is Gereon,’ he said, drawing to a halt before me. ‘We come in answer to a summons.’
My breath caught: they were the Beneduin presters, come for Dieter’s penitence or, failing that, his heart. Beside me, Dieter stood frozen.
If he doesn’t repent, Mali had said, and the presters kill him for it . . . I’ll never forgive you.
‘This is the way out you had in mind?’ I snapped, turning on Sepp. ‘You fool! They want him dead!’
Sepp flinched, but retorted, ‘Maybe you should want that too.’
I don’t!
Perhaps he sensed my pain, or perhaps he simply couldn’t withstand my anger, but a moment later Sepp hung his head and muttered, ‘They were supposed to wait until I called them forth.’
‘Which I suspect he was not planning on doing at all,’ Hagan said. ‘However, we will not stand idly by while Dieter escapes justice.’
I took a moment, letting anger hone my response. ‘I know your purpose, but I’m afraid Dieter has need of his heart still. He must answer for his past actions – all of them. He cannot do that without a pulse. Besides,’ I said, ‘under my rule, it is not illegal to ignore the precepts of the Beneduin faith.’
An angry flush stained the prester’s cheeks. ‘You played us false!’
‘I did nothing of the sort. It was Amalia who summoned you, not I.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dieter blanch at that, and to soothe the hurt I added, ‘And she did so under duress.’
‘The boy promised us a fair hearing!’
‘Rest assured, prester, I know everything I need to about your business with Dieter,’ I said coldly. ‘On this issue, you have had all the hearing you are likely to get in my court. Return to those who follow your teachings. If Dieter steps foot on your lands again, you may do as you wish. Or you may try, at least. The man is incredibly difficult to hold, after all.’ I could not bite back a small twist of a smile at this. ‘Here you have no jurisdiction.’
‘But the Amaeri do?’
‘The Amaeri have a claim that pre-dates yours, and their courts of law do not intend to mete out death,’ I answered. He opened his mouth to protest, but I pre-empted him. ‘Do not question me further. You have my leave to depart.’
He did not move, and at my gesture two of my talaye stepped forward. The prester looked like he was considering protesting, and perhaps even resisting, but the Skythes’ expressions must have convinced him otherwise. With a murderous glance he shared equally between Dieter and myself, Hagan turned and stalked from the hall, his colleague close behind.
Achim stepped forward then, the pair of Turasi soldiers in his wake.
Gerlach hurried towards us, obviously determined to follow his lord, even to incarceration.
Dieter had other ideas, however. ‘No, my friend, not this time,’ he said. With a shake of his head he added, ‘You know what I go to.’
‘I do,’ Gerlach said. ‘And I will face it with you.’
‘But who will guard my wife?’ Dieter returned in his familiar sardonic tone.
Trapped between Dieter’s wishes and his own, Gerlach glanced at me.
‘I am perfectly capable of guarding myself, Dieter,’ I said coolly. ‘Do not try to place your general in my service – I will only release him to do as he wishes.’
‘Yes, you always were a contrary little thing,’ Dieter muttered.
Turning to Gerlach, he spoke too quietly for me to hear. Whatever it was he said took Gerlach aback, and at last made him drop his head in acknowledgement.
Proffering his hand, which Gerlach clasped in a firm handshake, Dieter said, ‘Thank you.’
Gaze still lowered, Gerlach released his lord’s hand and stepped back.
Dieter turned then to me, his pale eyes sombre. Pitching his voice so only I could hear, he said, ‘You think to save my life, Matilde?’
The question pierced me, hot and damning, the way Roshi’s poison had done.
‘You are my husband,’ I answered, as if that was the extent of our connection, as if the thought of him gone from my life did not slip a thread of melancholy through my victory. This was the only way to save his life while at the same time preventing him from trying to steal my throne. ‘I will do as duty bids me.’
He gave me a wry smile which said that he knew better, and let himself be led away.
TWO YEARS LATER, the nation was beginning to settle at last.
There had been skirmishes, of course, and full-scale battles too, but the borders held, and the serpents and their empire couldn’t win through. Houses Vestenn and Saschan had spent many lives and even more blood in the process, their lands bearing the brunt of the conflicts. Even the Somners had sent strength to man the southern marches – although they had bargained a reduction in their taxes to the throne as recompense for the levies of men lost.
Everyone had been united in their desire to rid the land of the serpents – not to mention their desire to draw their heirs to my attention.
Now the Turholm was filled to capacity and beyond, with all the drightens and their retinues crammed into the halls, for in two days’ time the gadderen would begin in truth, and at the end of it I, as promised, must name my heir.
‘Who will you choose?’ Roshi asked, sitting on the edge of the bed with one leg crossed under her. She still favoured her goat-hide dress over any Turasi styles, and I suspected she always would. It suited her better, anyway. She had even made me some, for the days she and I climbed on horseback and escaped politics and abandoned worry in the rush of a galloping wind.
Even those days weren’t without their aggravations, for at least one of the talaye accompanied me at all times, and their relationship with Roshi could not be said to have greatly improved, unless it was in the fact that the stubborn silence they each maintained was now commonplace. Still, the raw pain of exile had calmed somewhat with the passage of time and, although she would always be largely solitary in nature, Roshi had cultivated some friendships among the Turasi thralls and serfs.
Which was the reason I shook my head instead of answering her question, and she laughed and said, ‘It was worth a try.’
‘You are as bad a secret-keeper as you are a handmaid,’ I said, securing a wayward curl with a pin.
‘You fuss too much over your hair. I’ll try again.’
Curls tamed, I pinned a dark green ribbon through the length of my hair, and considered the look of it in the mirror. It was hard to match any fashion to a tattoo that read Death. ‘I’ll deflect you again.’
‘It’s only two days. I can keep a secret for two days.’
‘The first person you’d run to would be the shepherd . . .’
‘I wouldn’t! And anyway, does it matter if the sheep know? They can’t tell anyone.’
‘The second person you’d run to would be one of the breadmaids, and the news would be all over the Turholm before the daily bread had risen.’
She grinned and cocked her head to the side, admitting momentary defeat by saying, ‘Your curls are snarled in back.’
I combed my fingers lightly through my hair, teasing out the tangle as I rose. Roshi jumped to her feet, tugging at the fall of my skirts to ensure the pleats lay clean. For all that she feigned disinterest in matters of appearance, she was diligent enough.
Two of my Skythe guards fell into my wake as I emerged from my chambers. In the two years since I’d taken the throne, the Nilofen had seen fit to gift me with more men for my honour guard, and the talaye now held pride of place in my escort. Their loyalty and skill had kept me alive during the past two years, sometimes at the sharp edge of a blade. And if they should fail or fall, Roshi stood ready. The talaye might refuse to openly acknowledge her, but even they recognised her prowess, and privately valued her contribution to their efforts.
As in previous years, although the gadderen had not officially begun, the drightens still met at least daily. In truth, most of the business to be settled during the gadderen itself would be discussed, debated and decided in the days beforehand, and only the completed contract sealed during the final official meeting.
As was often the case, today’s meeting began over the breakfast table. Today, however, brought something different. I was reaching for the butter when a clatter at the thrall-door leading to the kitchen drew my attention. One of the thralls had dropped her tray, spilling steaming pumpernickel across the floor. She was staring open-mouthed at the main doors.
A prickle lifting the hairs on the back of my neck, I turned.
Three figures darkened the open door: a man, a woman, and a child of about three. The woman was lean as a withered root; half of her dry brown hair was tied back in a messy knot at her nape. Dust coated her skin and hair, and penetrated deep into the weave of her narrow-hipped dress. The child clung to her leg, watching the room full of people with wide eyes.
It was the man we all stared at, however.
He was browned by the sun of travel, and dust darkened and stained the pits of his eyes. Those eyes were as pale and bright as ever, though, and the dark curl of a close-trimmed moustache couldn’t hide the roguish grin he gave me as our eyes met.
Something frighteningly like joy thrilled through my blood.
‘Hi, Matte,’ Dieter said. ‘I’m home.’
THIS BOOK COULD never have been possible without more people than I can name here, but I shall valiantly make the attempt and hope I don’t forget anyone.
Firstly, I must thank my beta readers, Tessa Kum, Ben Bastian and Leigh Dragoon, for taking the first wobbling attempt at a narrative and pointing out every flaw, failing, confusing section or sentence, every gap and every belaboured point; and for generally turning the story into something I wasn’t nervous about handing over to, you know, professionals. Special thanks to Tessa, for offering to do it all over again without even the promise of chocolate to keep her going.
To the Allen & Unwin crew — Louise Thurtell, Joanne Holliman, Ali Lavau and Kate Daniel, plus all those others who worked on it without my knowing — I am eternally thankful for your love of all things bookish, and your dedication to producing pure quality. Any faults in the prose are the result of my stubbornness or weariness. Special thanks to Louise, for believing in my writing, and in me.
To my agent, Tara, for talking me down off the ledge when I needed it.
To Les Petersen, for another breathtaking cover.
To Will Lynch, for solving a plot snarl that had me stumped with the ingenuous suggestion of a voodoo doll. I couldn’t have devastated Matilde so deftly without you.
To my family: little Kaitlyn (aka ‘Spawn’), whose first word provided the name for the River Mauch (being a concatenation of ‘more please’); my mother and brothers and aunt and cousins and cats and dogs, who bore with my random bouts of insanity during the various drafts and steps of birthing a book, including having the family Christmas invaded by brainstorming for possible titles and frenzied interrogations regarding the taste of blood. You people, who know my particular brand of crazy and love me for it, you take my breath away.
Last but not least, my heartfelt gratitude to everyone who read the first book, in whatever draft or form, and wanted to know what happened. Thank you.
Deborah Kalin
7 April 2010
Table of Contents
ACT ONE: UNDER THE FRIST COLO GLEAM OF DAY
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
ACT TWO: WHAT COULD SHE HAVE DONE, BEING WHAT SHE IS?
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
ACT THREE: HIGH AND SOLITARY AND MOST STERN
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
ACT FOUR: A TERRIBLE BEAUTY IS BORN
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
