‘Near Hoddinott?’ Henri said.
‘Yes. Just across the King’s River. The West Farmlands.’
Henri squinted at the tiny illustration of the town she, Bleak, Fiore and Swinton had left dusted with ash. She judged the distance between the town marker and the King’s River.
Henri jolted. The jars … The jars of mist King Arden had stored beneath the castle. What if … Swinton was gone for hours in Hoddinott, she recalled. He could have done it. Easily.
She tried to remember Swinton’s pack, if there’d been anything unusual about it. He’d been searched upon his entry into Valia territory, so he had to have hidden the jars and picked them up on the way back.
We did the first leg of the journey separately, Henri realised with a start. At the time, she’d thought this had been a deliberate move on her part, to visit the armoury, to start the trek on her terms.
He knew. He knew I’d do that. The bloody bastard had outmanoeuvred her.
‘Some have officially been declared mist-zones,’ Petra was saying. ‘We don’t know how, though. Usually, the mist spreads from an existing site, but these … It’s as though this mist has been born of its own accord.’
‘What is it, Henri?’ Eydis said, peering into her face.
‘Jars …’ Henri managed. ‘Arden … Arden showed me a cellar beneath the castle, where he had hundreds of jars containing mist. Over ten years ago now, it was on his orders that Commander Swinton released the mist that created the Forest of Ghosts. I suspect these instances of mist throughout Ellest are of the same nature. When Bleak and I were summoned to the capital, we stopped at Hoddinott. Swinton disappeared for a number of hours. It makes sense that he rode out to the river’s edge, releasing the mist from there. It’s why they took the King’s Trail through the Hawthornes back to Heathton, rather than go by sea.’ She pointed to the x’s amidst the northern peaks of the Hawthornes. ‘That’s where we first found Bleak, right?’
Petra nodded. ‘Yes, exactly there. Do you think it is only the commander carrying out these orders, or are there others?’
‘The last I heard, the commander was due to set sail to Battalon. To escort Princess Olena to her betrothed. Captain Murphadias went with him.’
‘Surely, the king has more than one lackey doing his dirty work?’ It was Jarel who spoke this time, staring intently at Henri.
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted.
Eydis pulled the map back towards her. ‘I’ve no doubt Arden has many doing his dirty work. But he’s also a suspicious man, and the mist works in unknown ways. I doubt he would risk involving more people than necessary. Not with this.’
‘Have you seen anything, sister?’ Jarel asked.
Eydis shook her head. ‘Not of this …’
‘But of something?’ he persisted.
Henri caught Eydis’ glance her way. The look was disguised immediately with a loud sigh. ‘We won’t know for a time.’
‘What? What did you see?’
‘Quiet, Jarel.’
Henri remembered something. She scanned the chamber. ‘Where is Mariette?’ she said.
Eydis’ eyes latched onto hers. ‘She’s visiting a breeder in the Kildaholm Alps.’ The lie was a smooth one, but a lie nonetheless.
Henri opened her mouth to argue; however, she realised that a public quarrel was in neither of their best interests. She returned to the issue at hand.
‘Why would Arden be releasing mist on his own continent? Surely, he doesn’t mean to kill his own people?’
‘Arden has never been a leader of the people, Henri. I think we can agree on that much. But as to why … The mist marks Ashai, does it not?’
‘Only some,’ Henri said, gesturing at the black swirls of ink on Eydis’ body.
‘Yes, some. Though …’ Eydis frowned. ‘It makes sense to target Ashai in this way.’
‘How?’
‘Well, he’s targeting the weakest.’
‘What? How do you know that? You’re not weak and you were marked by the mist,’ Henri said. ‘Where are you going with this?’
‘The mist marks Ashai who do not originate from Oremere. Who do not know to use a talisman to protect themselves from the magic of others. Those people who do not have enough knowledge of magic to understand what they themselves are. The vulnerable.’
‘What would he want with a bunch of vulnerable Ashai?’ Athene interjected.
Eydis met Athene’s gaze with a cool stare. ‘The vulnerable are malleable.’
The image of a prison wagon in the cobblestone alleys of Heathton flashed in Henri’s mind. The dirty, bloodied hands gripping the bars and the red x painted on the side of the wagon.
‘The question now is: what can we do against a weapon like the mist?’ Nicolai’s voice rumbled from the corner.
‘Allehra fights it with fire,’ said Athene.
‘That is Allehra’s Ashai fire, not regular fire. And correct me if I’m wrong, but that doesn’t seem like a guaranteed effective defence, given the state of your Ghost Forest.’
‘Allehra has always protected the Valian people,’ Athene snapped.
‘No one is saying otherwise.’ Henri shot her a warning look. ‘There are no guarantees in war,’ she continued. ‘But Nicolai’s right. And Allehra’s in no state to convince us otherwise. We need to focus on one aspect of battle at a time. First,’ she turned to Eydis, ‘where is Ines likely to attack Havennesse?’
‘From the south,’ the queen answered immediately. She gestured to Jarel, who unrolled a larger map of the realm and spread it on top of the old one.
Eydis continued. ‘The Kildaholm Alps protect us from the east, and the Forest of Wolves from the north. Ines would have to pass through the waters by Moredon Tower if she wished to breach Hamasaand Bay, so I suspect the south. Not Port Sandstrom, but perhaps from the south-east. She may mean to come from Qatrola, rather than Oremere.’
Henri nodded. ‘You have sentries set up?’
‘We may not be Valians, but we’re no fools,’ Jarel said.
‘Easy, Jarel. It was only a question.’
The queen’s brother bowed his head and stepped back in place beside Nicolai.
Marvel spoke up. ‘How many able bodies in your forces?’
‘Three thousand,’ Eydis replied. ‘Though I do warn you now, by your standards …’
‘Skills?’
‘Swordsmen, archers and polearms, mainly.’ Eydis’ eyes flickered towards the window.
‘Polearms?’ Tilly asked.
‘Long Havennesse war hammers,’ Henri told her. ‘Before Eydis’ reign, this continent was famous for them. How many horses do you have, Eydis?’
The wintry queen beckoned her lover forward. ‘Nicolai?’
‘Perhaps two thousand or so?’ he said. ‘Though, they are not trained for battle.’
‘If Ines has horses, they won’t be trained for the snowstorms and cold. So we are at an advantage there,’ Eydis pointed out. Henri noted her friend’s eyes darting to the window for a second time.
Bear barked at his master and Eydis jumped.
Fascinated, Henri watched as Eydis leaned down and stroked the dog’s head. ‘I know,’ she told him. ‘I’m here.’
‘What’s going on?’ Henri said. ‘What did you see?’
Eydis locked eyes with her. ‘It’s too soon to say.’
‘You know I’m not a fan of cryptic,’ Henri muttered, turning back to the maps. ‘How long do you think we have?’
‘Perhaps a week.’
‘Right,’ Henri said, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘My kindred and I will need to inspect your army. We will train with them. No doubt we’ll be able to teach them a thing or two. We need to be as unified as possible when Ines’ forces hit.’
‘Very well.’ Eydis nodded. ‘When do you start?’
Henri was already moving towards the doors. ‘Now.’
Chapter 19
Swinton’s hand trembled as he dipped his quill into the inkpot. His weekly
report detailing Prince Nazuri’s movements was due, but even after three training sessions he had nothing new to convey to King Arden. The prince was friendly but guarded, and now the tightness in Swinton’s chest had so far prevented him from writing anything other than Your Majesty. He couldn’t fathom how life could just go on as usual when the world was sliding out from beneath his feet. How everything could feel so normal, when everything was so wrong.
Swinton had always believed he’d been connected to Dash – Zachary. Although he was the boy’s father by blood only, although he’d only ever known the child from a distance, he’d always felt Dash’s existence tethered to his own, a constant flicker of life, of more than.
When Zachary had been a baby, he’d contracted a rare strain of Qatrolian whooping cough, and his young life had hung between this realm and the next. Back then, Swinton swore he felt the flicker of life weaken, like a candle struggling to stay alight in a gale. But as Zachary grew strong once more, so did the thread that linked them.
Now, Swinton felt nothing. The raven he and Fi had sent warning the Carlingtons must have been too late. The thought took the breath from his lungs and froze the blood pumping into his heart.
Swinton’s hand crept to the coin of Yacinda resting against his sternum. He rolled it between his forefinger and thumb, feeling each subtle groove, more worn every day from his constant fiddling.
What if … He looked down at the talisman. The coin stifled his increasingly powerful magic. His abilities had shown him Eliza’s death before her blood had seeped into the hay, they had shown him the plague sweeping through Ellest’s capital … He had to know.
Hands still shaking, he lifted the necklace over his head.
Magic flooded his veins, making him sway in his seat with the impact.
He was younger. Perhaps seventeen or eighteen, the weight of a training sword familiar in his hand. A young Valian dressed in traditional forest-green leathers circled him. She looked familiar … Tendrils of fiery red hair framed her face, her eyes daring him to challenge her.
He lunged clumsily.
‘Use your surroundings,’ she said, knocking aside the blow. ‘There’s more at your disposal than the blade in your hand.’ She kicked the loose hay up into his face, and in a whirl, had him disarmed with her blade to his throat.
Athene, he realised, surrendering. The right-hand woman of Henrietta Valia.
She helped him up and waited for him to prepare himself. Frowning, he switched sword hands and adjusted his stance.
Her attack was precise, and the strength behind each swing of her sword, formidable. Swinton scrambled to block the blows, wincing as each one found their mark, unless Athene intended otherwise. He’d never felt so out of control, so defenceless.
‘Again,’ she said.
Swinton was hurled from the vision. He was curled up on the floor, panting, sweat dripping down his temples.
What in the realm … He clutched his chest.
His visions had never shown him the past. But … He struggled to catch his breath. Sparring with Athene … He’d never done that. He’d never trained with the Valians. His teenage years had been spent alongside Fi, training with the Ellestian army, following the orders of King Arden.
Something was wrong with his magic. Something was wrong with him.
He needed to see Dash. Instead, he’d been shown a past he’d never had. He sat up, resting his back against the wall. Scraping his fingers through his long hair, he clutched it in fistfuls, as though he’d tear it from the roots. A cry escaped him, a primitive sound, wrenched from his soul. The deepest grief filled his bones. He’d failed Eliza. He’d failed them. Panic and desperation gripped his heart, a firestorm he couldn’t contain.
Our son, he thought. I failed our son.
Someone was shaking him, a firm hand on his shoulder. Bleary-eyed, Swinton squinted at the figure hauling him to his feet.
‘Dimi,’ Fi said softly, helping him into a chair. ‘You should have sent for me, old friend.’
Swinton’s throat was dry. Fiore pressed a cup of water into his hands, and Swinton drank deeply.
‘My magic,’ he rasped. ‘It’s broken …’
‘Is that possible?’ Fi refilled the cup.
‘It must be.’
Fi shook his head in disbelief. ‘How?’
‘I don’t know … I … I was trying to see … to see if we were too late. I think … my connection to him is gone. The grief … It’s mutated my power.’
‘Dimitri, you don’t know if Dash —’
‘Don’t say his name.’
‘There’s still hope,’ Fi pressed.
Swinton took a deep breath. ‘How do you know?’
‘I haven’t heard otherwise.’
‘And why would you hear, Fi? How do you have all these sources?’
‘You know I had a life before I came to Ellest.’
‘That’s all I know,’ Swinton snapped. ‘That you had a life. I don’t know what life. I don’t know who you were.’
Fiore sighed. ‘Now is not the time, old friend.’
‘Well, what is it time for, Fi? You never tell —’
‘It’s time for me to leave.’
Swinton blinked. ‘Fine. I’ll see you at the council meeting, then.’
‘No, Dimitri. It’s time for me to leave Battalon.’
‘What?’
‘I’m bound for Havennesse. For Wildenhaven.’
‘Fiore, you’re stationed in Belbarrow. Your duty is here.’
‘I have no duty here.’
‘Yes, you do. To the princess. To the crown.’
‘A man who murders his own wife is no king of mine.’
Swinton’s eyes went wide. ‘You cannot say such things,’ he hissed. ‘Not here, not anywhere.’
‘You are right to be paranoid, old friend. There are eyes and ears everywhere.’
Swinton spotted the thick fur cloak by the door, resting on top of an overstuffed pack. ‘You’re telling me no one has seen you lug that pack around?’
‘I’ll be long gone soon enough.’
‘You’ll be branded a deserter.’
Fi shrugged. ‘Such is life, old friend. Branded one thing to the next until we are no more.’
‘Fi …’
‘Come with me,’ Fiore said.
‘I cannot. My place is by the princess’ side, especially now.’
‘Why do you choose to be so blind, Dimitri? When you have the gift of foresight?’
‘What is the point in foresight, when you can do nothing to change it?’
‘Who says you can’t change it?’
Swinton swallowed. ‘Eliza. Dash. I saw their deaths coming. I was helpless. And it doesn’t matter. My magic is useless now.’
‘You don’t know that.’
Swinton glanced at the pack by the door again. ‘You’re really going?’
Fi nodded. ‘Give me two hours.’
‘What?’
‘A two-hour head start. Then report me missing from my watch.’
Swinton’s chest constricted. ‘Is that enough time?’
‘Should be. Ship leaves in forty minutes.’
Swinton found himself nodding.
‘Use my apartments as your own, if you need to get away from here,’ Fiore said.
‘Thank you.’
‘Dimitri,’ Fi paused at the door. ‘Someday soon, you are going to have to accept who and what you are. And when you do, I hope that we find each other again. I would like to know that man, to fight alongside him.’
‘I’ve been fighting my whole life,’ Swinton said, exhaustion gripping his bones. ‘I don’t want to fight anymore.’
‘But you will.’ Fiore picked up his pack and cloak. ‘Until next time, brother.’
Swinton toyed with the coin of Yacinda as the council members began to enter the chamber. He sat at the enormous oak table, adorned with black lanterns and crystal goblets at each place. He nodded to the noblemen and generals whose faces were fa
miliar, though their names escaped him. There hadn’t been a formal address since his initial arrival at the palace, and even that had been brief. He knew that this time would be different.
Stefan shuffled into the chamber and slid into the seat beside Swinton.
‘Where’s Fiore?’ he whispered.
Swinton shrugged. ‘Late, as usual,’ he quipped, fighting to keep his tone flippant.
Moments later, a herald entered. ‘King Roswall of Battalon,’ he announced.
The room stood and bowed low as the king strode in, his expression grave.
‘Be seated, good men,’ he said, taking his place at the head of the table. He cleared his throat. ‘You have been summoned here today to be briefed on the impending conflict.’
Swinton’s stomach dropped to his feet. It’s come to this already?
‘As you know, Henrietta of the Valia kindred stands accused of the murder of Her Majesty, Queen Vera of Ellest. As of this morning, Ellest and Battalon have allied, and are at war with the Valians.’
There was an audible intake of breath from around the room.
‘Furthermore,’ King Roswall continued, ‘it has been decreed that any persons of the Ashai race must come forward and declare themselves. A register has already been put in place, but this is now compulsory. Punishable by death. By mist.’
‘Your Majesty,’ said a voice from the back. ‘If I may … It seems a little … extreme. One bad Ashai, and an entire race —’
‘It is not just one.’ The king glowered. He nodded to the porter beside him, who began to hand out sheets of parchment. Swinton froze when he saw the drawings.
Bloated bodies washed up on the shore. Each bearing the same terrified expression, eyes and mouths wide open. He’d seen those expressions before … Swinton looked closer and suppressed a gasp. Siv Lennox. Captain Charlyn. The faces of the guards King Arden had assigned to Arden’s Fortune. To transport …
‘This is the work of another Ashai,’ King Roswall said. ‘A prisoner of the crown, known as Bleak. Fifteen Ellestian guards dead at her hands. Their minds turned to bloody mush.’ He held up a sketch. It was by the same artist who’d drawn Henri’s face on the posters that littered Belbarrow. They had captured Bleak’s odd eyes perfectly. She stared out from the parchment as though she could see them all. As though she was looking right at Swinton.
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