Willow swore. “Like we need that kind of trouble.”
“Soltighan ordered them confined in the academy for now. We have to decide what to do about them—all of them, I mean. They can’t be allowed to terrorize the people anymore.”
“We have to?”
Kerish put his arms around Willow and bent his head to her ear. “Someone has to,” he whispered, “and we still have obligations. Whatever else we end up doing.”
“I’m tired of being obligated.” She looked down at Felix, who didn’t seem as still as he had the previous night. “The whole point is to leave this to someone who can take responsibility for it all.”
“If that’s what you want,” Kerish said.
Willow drew back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I…it means it’s up to you.”
“Well, it sounds like disapproval. I’m not meant—” She lowered her voice. “I’m not meant to make these decisions. I’m going to choose a ruler, and we’re going to leave. I thought that was what you wanted, too.”
Kerish sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that people are looking to you for answers, and until we go, they have a right to demand them. I don’t want you failing them.”
“Failing them? Kerish, I climbed a 150-foot tower, I killed a man with a broken blade, I nearly burned to death—what in all of that sounds like failure?”
“You nearly burned to death?”
Willow waved that away. “I’ve made promises I intend to keep. I just don’t want to take on more responsibility than I have to. That’s for the King to decide.”
“I’m sorry I implied otherwise. I’ve spent the last several hours fielding questions people wanted to ask you, and I didn’t realize how much they’ve come to depend on you.”
“It’s all Lord Quinn’s fault. I couldn’t let him take over.”
“And will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Have you made your decision?”
The list of names whirled through her memory. “I…don’t know. Maybe.” She rose and dug around in her trunk until she found her spare knife, the one that didn’t fit the wrist sheath properly, and fumbled it into place. “Where’s Soltighan? I want to know what happened in the palace.”
“He’s still there. I’ll walk with you.”
Dawn hadn’t yet come, but the camp was bustling with soldiers of all allegiances, their colors muted in the pre-dawn light. The infirmary tent glowed purple, telling Willow that Claudia was at work. Willow collared a soldier she knew well and sent her back to sit with Felix. She was sure he was safe, but she didn’t want him waking alone.
The camp was backed into the forest south of Aurilien, which at this time of year was leafless and dead-looking. Nevertheless, Willow heard the mournful cry of an owl, returning home after a night’s hunt. Maybe it had caught a vole. She still wasn’t totally convinced Felix hadn’t made that one up. The moon had set, and the fields between the forest and the city were a dark sea, one in which darker blobs were barely visible. When they reached the first one, and Willow realized it was a body, she wanted to vomit at how its pale face stared up at the sky, unblinking. There were far too many bodies, and in the darkness it was impossible to tell which army they’d belonged to. There was meaning in that somewhere, but Willow didn’t want to ferret it out.
Bright lamps burned on either side of the south gate, giving them something to aim for. Men and women worked busily, moving bodies to neat rows outside the gate for identification and burial when the sun was up. The way through was clear, and nobody challenged them, though a few men in Eskandelic gray saluted Willow. She returned their salute with a nod. She’d never felt less deserving of it.
Southgate, with all its narrow, twisting streets, showed signs of looting—broken windows and doors, rubbish tossed into the streets. Hard-eyed men and women stood on every stoop, armed with kitchen knives or cudgels, and watched Willow and Kerish closely. Willow ignored them, unwilling to start a fight with people who were only protecting their homes and shops. How far had the looting spread? The dukes of Lower Town should have put a stop to it, and maybe they had, but Willow felt guilty at dragging Rufus into her plan, keeping him from his real duties.
Saphire Street, which divided the Southgate neighborhood from Grayford, looked like a line someone had drawn in the sand, wrecked houses on one side facing untouched buildings without even a smudge of char. So Rufus was on the job, after all. She’d need to see him, to thank him for his help. All this would have been much worse without him and his ruffians.
They turned onto Queen’s Way Road and found it empty of anything but a few soldiers, most of them wounded, making their way in pairs toward the distant gate. They were too preoccupied to notice Willow and Kerish, but Willow watched them closely. How many hadn’t survived this night? She silently cursed Terence for what might have been the thousandth time. The memory of his face, furious and intent on her death, rose up before her, and she shivered. “Cold?” Kerish said. She realized she wasn’t wearing a coat.
“Thinking of unpleasant things,” she said.
“Here.” Kerish stripped off his coat and helped her into it. “My shirt’s warmer than yours, and you look as if you’re about to fall over. Did you have to sleep on the ground?”
“It wasn’t a conscious choice.”
There were no guards at the iron gate, which Willow realized was rusted open, but two soldiers, one in Quinn colors, the other an Eskandelic man, stood sentinel at the palace front door. They came to attention as Willow and Kerish approached, but stood down immediately when they recognized them. “Lady North, Captain Takjashi in the Rotunda is,” said the Eskandelic man.
“Thank you,” Willow said. She was still terrible at remembering what Eskandelic ranks corresponded to Tremontanan ones. She nodded in response to their salute.
The halls had been cleared of bodies, but blood stained the marble floor and the intricately woven carpets. Willow tried not to step in any of it, feeling obscurely that she shouldn’t disrespect the dead in even this small way.
The Rotunda was better lit than it had been, and Willow could make out the paintings on the domed ceiling: images of Edmund Valant performing feats of bravery and intelligence. Despite herself, she smiled. He’d been a small, petty man, and those paintings made him seem smaller. Maybe the next King would have them painted over.
Soltighan stood with one of his captains, talking urgently about something. He caught sight of Willow and cut the other man off mid-sentence, striding across the Rotunda toward her. “There is something you should know.”
“It looks bad. Soltighan, what happened?”
The captain had trailed after Soltighan. His face was unnaturally pale, with lines drawing down the corners of his mouth. Soltighan turned and said something in rapid Eskandelic that made the man nod. “Captain Basmaji discovered it.”
“I go the search to do,” Basmaji said. His voice was deep and gruff and it sounded as if the words were being dragged out of him by force. “We see that no soldiers remain us from behind to attack. There many rooms are. White rooms. And all empty are. Until…” He swallowed. “Many bodies. Some children are. None armed are.”
His words came to her from a distance, echoing hollowly. “Children killed?”
“Not just children. Prisoners. It…” He searched for words. “Massacre.”
“Show me.”
“You do not need to see. It is perhaps better you do not,” Soltighan said.
“If he can bear it, I can. Show me.”
Bodies filled the once-empty white halls, smears of blood showing where some of the captured Ascendants had tried to drag themselves away from their killers. Soltighan led the way, but Willow knew without being told where he was taking them. The beautiful sitting room stank of blood and death and piss. Willow managed one glimpse of the bearskin rug, dripping scarlet, before she had to shut the door and crouch with her head between her knees. Kerish knelt and put his arm around her shoulder.
“This is the academy,” he said. “Those were Ascendants in training.”
“Barely any training. They couldn’t even use source to attack me. They were harmless.”
“You spoke to them?”
“One of them led me to the exit. I told them to wait there and we’d come for—” Her stomach roiled, and she vomited bitter bile onto the creamy slabs of stone paving the floor. When she was empty, she wiped her mouth and stood, welcoming Kerish’s supporting arm. “Soltighan,” she said, “where is Giles Rafferty?”
“Clearing out the east wing.”
“Sweet heaven.” Willow closed her eyes and swallowed to clear her mouth of the horrible taste. “Gather ten of your soldiers—your soldiers, Soltighan—and come with me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
They met Rafferty halfway to the east wing. He was gory with blood that made Willow feel like vomiting again, and held his right arm in a way that said it pained him. He smiled when he saw Willow. “We won,” he said. “And I hear someone slit the pretender’s throat, so it’s a true victory.”
“How many Ascendants did you kill today, Giles?” Willow asked, her jaw tight with anger.
Rafferty looked surprised. “I didn’t keep track.”
“But you did as I asked, didn’t you? Took some men and searched the corridors for anyone who might ambush our people?”
“I do as you tell me, Willow.”
“Did I tell you to slaughter unarmed, helpless children?”
Rafferty’s pleasant expression disappeared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Willow drew her knife and leaped at him, shoving him into the wall and pressing its edge against his throat. “Don’t play the fool,” she shouted. “They were children, Giles, unable to use source and a threat to no one! Children, and prisoners whose parole we’d accepted! What kind of man can possibly do something so evil?”
“They were Ascendants, and the enemy,” Giles said, leaning back as far from the knife as he could manage. “Who cares what their age was? Nits breed lice.”
“I gave them my word they’d have a chance to swear to Felix. I don’t like being forsworn.”
“I’m not the guardian of your honor.”
“You’re not even remotely sorry.”
“I’d do it again if it meant protecting my own. You should understand that.”
Willow cursed and shoved away from him, lowering her knife. “Captain Takjashi, take this man into custody. You’re going to stand trial for murder, Giles, and I swear I’ll see you hang for this.”
A soldier wrested Rafferty’s blade from its sheath. Rafferty grinned. “You wouldn’t.”
“Watch me.”
“So your oath means nothing?”
“What oath?”
Rafferty took a step toward her, causing the soldier holding his sword to bring it up fast between them. Rafferty ignored him. “You owe me,” he said. “Two lives, isn’t it? Yours and, oh yes, your precious King. What’s his life worth to you, Willow?”
Willow was breathing as heavily as if she’d run through the palace instead of walking. “You think I’d sacrifice justice like that?”
“I think you don’t like being forsworn. I’m calling in that favor. Release me.”
Willow became aware of Kerish standing behind her, his sword drawn. “It’s not my call to make.”
“Isn’t it? Do you think there’s a single person in this camp who’d deny you the right to choose how justice is satisfied?” Rafferty’s grin was wolfish. “Release me, and we’re even. Take me in, and you’re an oathbreaker.”
Willow met his eyes and saw mocking laughter there. It infuriated her. He was taking advantage of the rash promise she’d made—what had she said, that she wasn’t likely to ever have anything he’d want?—and it was down to her to decide what to do. She wished she could ask Kerish or Soltighan or even Lord Quinn for advice, but it was her choice, her responsibility, and nobody could make that decision but her.
She held his gaze for a few moments longer. “Release him,” she said, not looking away. “My debt is repaid. But I promise you this, Giles: if I find you anywhere in Tremontane, if you so much as prick an Ascendant’s finger, I’ll see you go to trial and I’ll see you executed. Get out of my sight.”
Rafferty smiled again. He gave her an ironic version of a courtier’s bow. “Take his wand,” Willow said before he could walk away, and his smile disappeared. Soltighan ripped the wand from Rafferty’s sheath and handed it to her. She stuck the wand through her belt, barely conscious of the fizzing silver and burning gold.
When Rafferty was gone, Soltighan said, “You will regret that.”
“I know. But I couldn’t have chosen differently and kept my self-respect. We’ll capture him someday, and then those Ascendants will have justice.” She looked around. “Where’s Kerish?”
“He left while you were facing down Mister Rafferty. I do not know why.”
Willow felt sick again. Was he angry about her decision? Had she made the wrong choice, after all? “I’m going back to camp,” she said. “Do you need anything?”
“We will need someone to instruct the palace staff in the cleaning. I do not think they will recognize my authority.”
“I’d like to think they could do it on their own initiative, but I’ll see what I can do.”
She trudged back to the camp, feeling cold despite Kerish’s coat. It smelled like cinnamon and cloves, and she scrubbed away the tears leaking from her eyes. What cost an oath sworn to a villain? she thought. Rafferty had saved Felix’s life and he’d saved hers, too. A life for a life, and that favor is repaid, and eleven young people’s deaths, and who knew how many other Ascendants’ deaths, go unavenged. How was she supposed to live with that, particularly if Kerish hated her for it?
It was dawn by the time she returned to camp, miserable and heartsick and aching. Despite the hours of sleep she’d already had, she felt exhausted. She brushed off questions and demands with a snarl or a frown and went straight to her tent. The soldier was still there, seated cross-legged on the ground and talking to Felix, whose eyes were bright with fever. He tried to sit up when he saw her, but his body shook terribly with the effort, and Willow rushed to support him. He felt like a hot coal in her arms. In a raspy, almost inaudible voice, he said, “Willow! You did it! Did your friend help?”
“He did. And guess what else I did? I climbed all the way up Old Tower. On the outside.” She decided not to tell him about being shot at. “Lieutenant, thank you for sitting with him. You’re excused.”
When the lieutenant was gone, Willow helped Felix sit propped up and got him a drink of water. “You smell like smoke,” Felix said.
“I don’t know why, because I changed my clothes,” Willow said. She probably stank of burnt hair. “Do you feel better?”
“A little. I’m not coughing anymore. That’s good, right?”
Claudia had told Willow that no more coughing meant the end was near. “It sounds better. Felix, I have something to tell you.”
“Is Kerish all right?”
“He’s fine, but…your Uncle Terence is dead. I killed him.”
Felix’s mouth fell open. “You killed him?”
“I tried to take him prisoner, but he fought back. I…I don’t know why I want to apologize for it, because I hated him and he tried to have you killed, but he was still your family.”
“I know.” Felix leaned against Willow. “Is it bad that I’m not sad he’s dead?”
“No, Felix, it’s not. And now you’re a singleton, like me.”
“That’s right. Does it hurt, not having a family bond at the solstices?”
“No. It’s more a funny little ache in your chest. It always makes me sad, because I miss my mother, but it’s not painful.”
“I wish you were my mother.”
Willow hugged him tight. “I wish that too.” Just a few more days, and everything would be all right. Except Kerish might hate her, and what was she going to
do about that?
“I’m going to sleep for a while now, Felix. Are you all right being alone? I could call Lieutenant Carabosse back.”
“I’m fine. You look really tired.”
“So do you. Maybe we can both sleep.”
Willow took off her boots. They were ruined by Terence’s fire, blackened and cracked, but they would do until she could get new ones. How much money did she have left? They’d need to conserve it until she could find work wherever they ended up, but surely good boots were a reasonable expense. She lay down fully clothed on her bed and immediately fell asleep.
“Willow.” Kerish was shaking her awake. “Willow.”
She groaned and rolled over, then froze, remembering that Kerish hated her. “I’m sorry—”
“For what? Willow, I’ve got the wands.” He was speaking in a low voice so as not to wake Felix, and she could barely make out his words.
“Which wands?”
“Sit up. You’re still groggy. I went to the insurgent camp and collected all the wands before Rafferty could get there. Then, when he arrived, I told them what he’d done and that any of them who didn’t want to follow a murderer into exile were welcome to stay with us.”
“But you—you just walked away from me.”
“I’m sorry about that, but when I realized what you were going to do, I knew the last thing we needed was Rafferty convincing a couple hundred insurgents to go on an Ascendant killing spree, aided by the Devices I made. I didn’t have time to explain. I’m sorry.”
Willow flung her arms around Kerish. “I’m so glad you don’t hate me.”
“Well, I don’t know that I’d have chosen the way you did, but you’re the keeper of your honor, not me.” Kerish kissed her, then wrinkled his nose. “You smell of roasted meat. And not in a good way.”
“Thank heaven for that,” Willow said.
It was full daylight; she’d slept maybe four hours, which with her earlier nap was enough to be going on with. They walked hand in hand to the mess tent, where the soldiers were beginning to prepare dinner. One of the soldiers on duty gave them bread and cheese so they didn’t have to wait. Willow told him to get rid of the venison, which smelled awful and probably tasted worse. The Silverfield archers could go hunting—or, no, they could move into the palace, couldn’t they, and be fed real food, and sleep in real beds.
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