by Cara Witter
He forced a laugh, though that was the truth. “Not generally, no. But the Council wanted someone to report back the conditions and numbers of Sevairnese troops in Foroclae. And seeing as the Dukes Council tends to blather on whenever they get a chance, I decided to end the matter and volunteer.”
“I thought knights always traveled with their squires. Didn’t you have an entourage with you in Drepaine?”
Jaeme shrugged. “The others stayed behind to finish the delegation.”
Daniella clucked her tongue. “Seems lonely, far from home without even the enviable company of Horse Three.”
He thought he saw a quick smile before she looked away again. He decided to continue on that path instead. “I imagine you had several horses growing up.”
She pursed her lips and picked at the bread. “Just one.”
“Let me guess. He was majestic white, and his name was . . . Buttercup?” He tried to think of the most ridiculous names noble girls would give their prized ponies in Mortiche. “Moonpetal?”
Daniella shook her head. “Not even close. Well, he was white.” She made a show of chewing her bread before adding, “But his name was Schennt.”
Jaeme let out a laugh, before realizing she might not be in the joke. “You do realize that schennt in Mortichean means—”
“I know what it means,” she said. “I named him that because every time I rode him, I said ‘ow, schennt . . . ow, you big stupid schennt’ over and over. I wasn’t the best rider.” A real smile crossed her face at that memory, and Jaeme saw how it lit up her face, how the haunted shadows briefly disappeared.
If she didn’t want to draw attention, she should definitely avoid smiling like that when they passed through a town. Even with leaves tangled in her hair, the girl could turn heads. For a moment, Jaeme forgot that he was only talking to her because he was supposed to.
And then the smile was gone. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I meant what I said last night. I’m not going back to Peldenar. Not even if Lukos links Mortiche to my kidnapping and gives my father an excuse to invade.”
Jaeme blinked. Oh, schennt. He hadn’t thought of that. But what could he do? Drag her back kicking and screaming to Diamis? Even were he the type of person who could do that—and he most definitely was not—it wouldn’t benefit Mortiche. The orders to invade would have been sent out long before Jaeme reached Peldenar. No, the best plan was to hope that Lukos hadn’t known who exactly Jaeme was, beyond perhaps this supposed chosen claim, and stick with his original mission.
After all, if they were all traveling to Mortiche, he might be able to deliver not just a seduction, but the lady herself.
“I would never force you anywhere against your will,” Jaeme finally said.
“Not even Mortiche, to be your prisoner? For bargaining with my father?”
He raised an eyebrow, trying not to betray how close she’d hit to the mark. He felt ashamed, suddenly, not of his failure, but that he’d come under pretense to manipulate a girl so articulate and aware.
And that he meant to keep on doing it, for the good of his duchy.
She bit her lip, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. You’re a knight, and you follow a code of chivalry. That accusation probably offends you.”
Jaeme smiled. “Hardly. It’s a brilliant idea. The Dukes Council would soil their best plate mail to get their hands on Diamis’ daughter, illustrious chivalry code or no.”
Her hand stopped with a bit of cheese almost to her mouth.
“But,” Jaeme continued, “I’d rather not take responsibility for a prisoner. I can barely manage to keep Horse Three alive at the best of times.”
Daniella didn’t say anything in response. Her deep forest-green eyes watched him steadily.
Jaeme decided to try again. “If I may ask, though, would you consider coming to Mortiche with me of your own free will? You’d be safer there than anywhere else in the Five Lands. And that’s including Tirostaar.”
“Would I? You just said that the Dukes Council would do anything to get their hands on me.”
“My uncle would shelter you. He’d keep it secret from the Council if necessary.” Even as he said this, Jaeme knew it wasn’t entirely true. Uncle Greghoran would protect Daniella and treat her kindly, there was no question. But secrets like that were difficult to keep, and word would get out. The Council might demand they give her up or threaten yet again to strip Greghor of his lands. They would brand Greghor a traitor like his brother if he refused, and there might even be war. Jaeme would hand her to the Council himself before he let his uncle suffer the same fate his father had.
Daniella shook her head. “I’m going with the others, even if that means going to Tirostaar. Whether you choose to do so is your own business.” She paused, then reached into the dirt and picked up a stone. Her determined expression softened somewhat. “Would you mind showing me what you did before?”
Jaeme took the rock, running his fingers over the sharp bits, feeling them smooth under his touch. Daniella watched him carefully, and while he’d previously dismissed his talent as a tool of seduction, he supposed he would take what he could get. He squeezed the rock, working the stone like clay until it was a perfect sphere.
Daniella’s eyes widened, and Jaeme couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit of pride. He’d been hiding it for so long. It felt good to show off—something he would have done long ago if he thought it would inspire admiration rather than alarm.
“What I don’t understand,” he said, “is what you’re doing with them. They’re Drim. Why would you travel with them? Did your father harm you?”
Daniella took a large bite of cheese, perhaps to avoid answering. She seemed to war with herself for a minute, and when her mouth was empty, she finally spoke. “My father is a blood mage,” she said. “Would you be eager to return to a man like that?”
“I suppose not.”
She looked into his eyes. “The others know, so you might as well. I’m—I’m some kind of a weapon. Some tool he can use. The others agreed to bring me with them—some of them against their will—because they don’t want me falling back into his hands. So I’m going to stay with them as long as I can.”
Jaeme squished the round stone between his fingers, pinching it flat. This was exactly the sort of information the Dukes Council wanted him to procure, but he had no desire to give it to them now, knowing what they might do to her. If he returned without giving it to them, of course, he’d be committing treason. The same charge that had been leveled at his father.
For the first time, Jaeme thought going to Tirostaar sounded like a fine idea. “You’re not a weapon,” he said quietly. “You’re a beautiful girl in a bad situation, and I’ll help you however I can.”
And to his own surprise, Jaeme found he wanted to mean it.
Daniella snorted and blew her hair out of her face. “Not so beautiful now.”
Jaeme looked right at her. “I stand by what I said.”
She hesitated, watching him as if she was trying to figure out if he was speaking in jest. “Thank you for saving my life last night.”
“It was my honor to do so.”
Her chin trembled for the barest of seconds. “You’ve been in battles before,” she said.
Jaeme nodded. He hadn’t been in any full-out wars, but he’d fought in several border skirmishes on the north side of his uncle’s lands, in addition to his time in the border guard.
Daniella stared down at her hands, brushing off crumbs painstakingly, one at a time. “So you’ve killed before.”
Ah. “Yes,” Jaeme said. “And I killed last night, but I don’t think you did.”
Daniella looked up at him sharply. “I shot that man in the back—”
“And it was a good shot,” Jaeme said. “Enough to fell the man. But it was only one bolt, and I saw him after. He was well enough—and wise enough—to crawl off into an all
ey and wait out the fight. He’ll have lived to fight another day.”
Daniella’s face softened in relief, and Jaeme smiled. He wasn’t sure if what he said was true. He had seen the man move, rolling to the side, crawling away before a killing blow came. Whether or not he lived would depend on how long he laid there in the mud and cow dung, and whether any of his compatriots had survived to help him. “There’s no shame in killing those who are trying to kill you and your friends,” Jaeme said. “But still it bothered you.”
Daniella shrugged. “Maybe that makes me weak, but—”
“Not weak,” Jaeme said. “But definitely not a weapon.”
For that, he was rewarded with another actual, genuine smile. Briefly, because she ducked her head, letting her hair cover her face, but he’d seen her face light up again, making him feel lighter right along with it. He was surprised by how much he wished he could see that smile again. Often.
If they were going to travel together, he might have the chance.
Thirty-eight
As they prepared to head to Berlaith, Kenton counted their assets. They had the four horses and tack—which wasn’t an ideal way to transport seven adults as far as the capital of Foroclae, but they didn’t have money to buy more, and Kenton didn’t particularly want to add such a large theft to the list of things they were wanted for. At least not until they managed to get farther from Bothran.
The matter of how Lukos had found the bearers still bothered him. The faster they could get out of Sevairn-controlled Foroclae and beyond Diamis’ reach, the better.
Not that it would last. The other three godstones were almost certainly on the mainland. According to the Chronicle, the gods had hidden their stones in their own territories just before the Banishment—Kotali in Mortiche, Arkista in Andronim, Mirilina in Foroclae.
It was possible they were near Mirilina now, but without indication from her bearer asto where she was, they were better off going after the known godstone, especially since it was in one of the two nations remaining outside of Diamis’ control. Kenton only hoped Mortiche hadn’t fallen by the time they returned, as that would complicate matters enormously.
Kenton finished adjusting the saddle on the last horse while Nikaenor wrestled with its bridle. The horse had already snapped at the boy several times, but Nikaenor seemed determined to prove he could do it.
Kenton watched the boy—one of the chosen. Kenton couldn’t even describe the feeling of having all four godbearers here, together. Virtually his entire adult life had been taken up by the prophecy, following every lead, every rumor. All of which had led to frustration and dead ends.
But here they were, whether they could accept the truth about themselves or not. It was a huge step forward—but not the last. His life’s mission wasn’t to find the bearers; it was to stop Diamis.
On that front, they still had a long way to go.
The boy finished bridling the horse and caught Kenton watching him. He looked away and back twice before opening his mouth and closing it again.
“Something to say, kid?” Kenton asked.
Nikaenor tugged at one of his loose sleeves, which, like most of the boy’s clothes, were crusted with drying mud. “Do you really think I’m one of them? One of the bearers, I mean?”
Kenton nodded. “I’ve been looking for you for years. I’ve seen a lot of men who can hold their breath underwater for unnatural amounts of time. I’ve watched women in sideshows drink buckets of water without vomiting. Even saw a girl who walked on water, once, though that turned out to be an illusion.” Kenton looked Nikaenor in the eye. “But you, kid. You’re unmistakable. So yes. I really believe you’re a bearer.”
Nikaenor shook his head. “I guess—I guess I don’t understand. I’m not special. Why would Mirilina choose me?”
Kenton paused, considering. Comfort was the sort of thing Perchaya was good at, and he couldn’t help but wish Nikaenor had asked her this question. But here Kenton was, and it was his job to make sure the bearers played their roles. Self-appointed or not, he was damn well going to do it.
“Why you?” he asked. He might have asked the same about Sayvil over the last days, and certainly about Jaeme, who didn’t seem to believe. But this boy? Kenton knew as well as anyone that appearances could be deceiving, but Nikaenor didn’t seem to have an ounce of guile. “I think you’re looking at it wrong, kid. I think someone like you might be exactly what the world needs more of.” It certainly had enough bastards like Kenton to go around.
The boy looked at him, wide-eyed. Hopeful. “You think so?”
“I do.”
Nikaenor looked down and nodded resolutely.
And while Kenton wasn’t sure if he’d said the right thing, at the very least, he was pretty sure he hadn’t made anything worse. For today, he’d count that as a win.
Kenton gathered the horses at the bottom of the hill, by a small pond ringed by cattails and tall marsh grass, watching the ripples caused by fish darting between lily pads.
“This must feel pretty good,” Perchaya said, her quiet voice interrupting his thoughts.
He turned around. “Packing up?”
Perchaya smiled, stepping up beside him. “Finding them. Going after the first of the godstones.”
“It’ll feel better when I know they’re going to actually do what they’re supposed to.”
Perchaya chuckled lightly, a sound that always brought a smile to his face. “For a man who believes so ardently in the prophecy, you don’t have a lot of faith in the gods, do you? They chose these people out of everyone in the world. That has to say something for them.”
Kenton snorted. “They could’ve picked names out of a fruit sack for all I know.”
“Yes,” Perchaya said. “I’m sure that’s exactly how the gods make their decisions.”
Kenton couldn’t help but grin at her. Then he shook his head, his humor drifting away as the doubts set back in. “Nikaenor is willing to believe. Sayvil’s come with us this far, and Saara’s eager to go back and finish what her aunt stopped her from doing. But I don’t know about Jaeme. He thinks we’re completely mad. If he won’t follow us, or if we can’t get Saara to Tirostaar—there’s no way to be sure we’ll succeed.”
Perchaya leaned her head against his shoulder, her hand still on his arm. “Well, I’m sure about you,” she said.
Kenton squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t feel he deserved that kind of trust.
But he wanted to be worthy of it.
When they rejoined the others, any traces of last night’s fire had been buried, and the bags were packed and ready to go. Saara stood, her arms folded across her small frame, her face carefully devoid of expression. Kenton wondered if hiding emotion so well was a Tirostaari trait, or just a Saara one. He guessed it was the latter; the girl was ice encased in a short, fiery shell. But at least she seemed determined to fulfill her destiny. Like with Nikaenor, he could see why Nerendal would choose someone like her.
He cleared his throat. “Time to head out. It’s going to be a hard ride these next few days.” The others picked up what remained of their belongings and followed him with much less argument than Kenton expected.
Kenton led the group in the direction of Berlaith, steering clear of well-traveled roads and inhabited areas, as well as any long stretches of flat, treeless land. Sticking close to the wooded areas made traveling slower and more difficult, but at least they couldn’t be spotted from a distance. He had done more than his share of traveling like this in the last ten years, not to mention all his experience tramping through brush as a soldier under Diamis.
Through it all, Jaeme muttered. They might be going the wrong way. This particular glade was much soggier than that one, where they could have crossed instead. Jaeme hadn’t heard that the Drim were such great woodsmen—and now he knew why.
This last elicited a laugh from Daniella, even
as Kenton glared at them.
By the time they stopped for the day—far earlier than Kenton would have liked, but wisely so, given the weariness of even his more cheerful companions—Kenton knew he had better get some time away from the lot of them, or he was going to be tempted to do something he would almost certainly regret. And when it came to violence against those who annoyed him, Kenton had very, very few regrets.
As the others climbed off their horses and began to prepare camp, Kenton mumbled something about scouting and headed off through the thick tangle of brush. After startling a couple long-legged blue birds and making his way down a slick, grassy slope, he found a fresh stream—a source from which to refill their waterskins—and called his scouting complete. Even soaked as he’d been, he hadn’t felt clean in days.
Kenton found a bend in the stream and stripped off his clothes, sucking in his breath as his skin met water. As he eased himself in, the chill felt good against his skin, washing away the sticky blend of sweat and humidity.
Kenton wasn’t sure how long he stayed there in the water. Long enough that he no longer felt like knocking Jaeme off his horse. Long enough that his stomach began to growl, and he knew he’d better get back in time to help Nikaenor wrestle some food from these woods or all they’d end up eating for dinner was roasted frog. Maybe he’d find those birds again on the way back.
Kenton stood, letting the water drip off him.
And heard a small yelp from farther back in the trees. Kenton jumped, wishing he’d kept a dagger on himself while in the water, and looked up in time to see a flash of blond hair disappear behind a tree.
In spite of himself, he smiled.
“It’s all right,” Kenton called. “I suppose I should have given you fair warning.” He sloshed over to his clothes and pulled on his trousers—which went wet against his skin, but at least wouldn’t mortify Perchaya further. “It’s safe now.”
Perchaya peeked out from behind the tree, her face bright red. “I was just coming to tell you, Jaeme is talking to the others. He’s trying to convince them they aren’t the godbearers. I don’t know that Sayvil gives him much mind, but the other two seem to respect him, and I just thought maybe . . .” She trailed off, still averting her eyes from him even though he was half dressed.