by Emma Miles
‘We talked about this.’ He reached a hand toward her.
‘How could he ask about her?’ She clenched and unclenched her fists, not caring about how loud her voice was.
Jorrun closed his eyes briefly and she saw his shoulders rise in a sigh. ‘He’s trying, Kesta. He can’t change what he did but he’s sorrie—’
‘Sorry?’
‘—than you know. You got a glimpse of what Chem was like. In the next few months you’ll see worse, you’ll see what life is like for children like he and I—’
‘Stop making excuses for him!’ Her throat was so tight it hurt, but she forced her words out anyway. ‘He had a choice. He could have been like you. Your own king ordered you to behave like a Chemman, to have a child with me and you refused. You refused because you knew it was wrong.’
Jorrun opened his mouth and looked away. She saw the muscles of his jaw move before he went on. ‘He was forced to come back here when he was only sixteen. The only way to survive in Chem is to not care, to have no empathy. Kindness here …’ He swallowed, blinking rapidly. He shook his head. ‘You might as well throw your heart to the sharks.’
‘This isn’t about kindness. This is about simple right and wrong.’
‘How do you know what’s right and wrong?’
She let out a scream of frustration. ‘Stop it, Jorrun. Or do you want me to hate you too? There is no excuse. None!’
‘What do you want me to do, Kesta? What do you want me to say? Do you want me to kill him? Would that be enough?’
‘You killed the man who hurt Catya.’
‘She was a child, even a Chemman wouldn’t touch a child.’
‘But a woma—’
‘I’m not saying that!’ Jorrun’s cheeks and neck had reddened and he raised his voice for the first time. ‘It was wrong, he was wrong, he understands that now. He can’t take it back. He can’t do anything to make amends to Milaiya. But he is trying to make things right for the other women of Chem. It was his idea to come back, to see if now was the time. Kest—’
‘Just go away.’ She could feel pressure building behind her eyes and nose.
‘All right.’ He nodded. ‘Would you like me to leave Cassien downstairs?’
She turned away, gritting her teeth hard and folding her arms over her chest. ‘No.’
She heard the door close and span around to see he’d gone. Just like that. She stared at the door, mouth open. She forced air out through her nose, feeling light-headed, she swayed on her feet. Why did he always take Osun’s side? She glanced around the room, there was nothing but the bed, nothing for her to take her fury out on. She needed to be outside.
She went to the window and forced it open, letting in the cold night air. It was shockingly quiet for a city, not at all like Taurmaline or vile Arkoom. There was a small yard down below and a row of taller buildings opposite, blocking her view of everything but a few stars. She studied the walls surrounding the yards, wondering how far she could travel along them through the city without being seen. She couldn’t help thinking back over what Jorrun had said, but she shook her head stubbornly. She couldn’t forgive Osun. Never.
She made her way quietly down the stairs. The house was empty, the two lanterns and candle still burning. She saw the ridiculous false beard on the table and drew power to her hands, summoning wind. She’d intended to blast it against the wall, table, and all, but with a growl of frustration she let the wind dissipate. Without Osun, then who could they set up as Coven Lord? Who else could they trust to make the changes they wanted, to turn Chem into a better place? The answer was Jorrun. Without Osun, Jorrun would have to take the Seat. She would lose him to Chem.
She sat down in one of the chairs, leaning her forehead against the table. Could she live here if it meant saving all those women?
Could she endure being around Osun?
Yes. If she had to …
But she didn’t want to.
***
A quiet buzzing sound slowly seeped into her thoughts and she lifted her head up groggily, realising she’d dozed off. Looking around she saw Azrael had returned and was sucking the oil from one of the lanterns.
‘Would you like a bowl?’ She yawned.
‘Kessta!’ The fire-spirit flipped over and did a loop around her head.
‘Come on, let’s go up.’ She blew out the candle and left one lantern on the table, turning down the wick a little. She checked the door to the street and found it was locked. She lifted Azrael’s lantern and took it up to the bedroom she’d instinctively fled to. It was cold with the window open, but she didn’t trust the bed to be clean and so lay on top of it, placing the lantern on the floor nearby.
‘Did you find the other Drakes?’
‘Yess.’ Azrael came to hover near the bed. ‘They have been watching over the Sseats and the remaining sorcerers. Three there are that possess the power to trap a sspirit. Feren at the Sseat of Harva. Veron of Sseat Letniv and Backra who holds the Sseat at Darva. You and Jorrun are stronger than all of them unless they unite. But …’
Kesta sat up. ‘But what, Azra?’
The fire-spirit made himself small. ‘Don’t you feel it Kesta?’
She frowned and shook her head. Tentatively, she called up her knowing. She felt the distant emotions of the inhabitants of the city, intertwining into an undercurrent of anxiety, fatigue, and fear.
Azrael hissed. ‘Look deeper, Kessta!’
It was hard to relax, but she let herself go, sinking into the feel of the sleeping city. It crept in slowly, subtly, something more alien even than the metallic feel of a fire-spirit. A presence: watchful, impatient.
She gasped, drawing back her knowing quickly.
‘What was that, Azra?’
The fire-spirit made himself smaller still. ‘I don’t know, but it isn’t something good!’
Kesta put her fingers to her lips. She could taste blood in her mouth.
Chapter Eleven
Ayline; Kingdom of Elden
Ayline watched from the tower window, her eyes fixed on the departing longship far below and a feeling of satisfaction built deep inside her. The lake appeared more brown than grey today, the waves larger and more frequent, white foam making hypnotic patterns on the slick, silty shore. Raising her eyes she could just make out the distant forest.
‘Do you see that? The witch is going.’
She rubbed at her rounded stomach, shifting a little to sit more comfortably. She loved coming up here. Aside from the fact the views across the harbour and lake were amazing, few people came up to the highest room in the castle and it was incredibly peaceful. Dust covered the floor and the furnishings and white webs criss-crossed in varying states of repair. The busy spiders fascinated her and she watched them as often as the life far down below.
She often wondered who this room had belonged to. Nothing hung on the walls. The chest and drawers were empty. A long unused four-posted bed with a sagging mattress took up most of the space. The only thing that was clean and polished was the chair on which she sat.
The longship moved out onto the lake, growing smaller. If only Larissa had gone too. Bractius was paying the ugly islander far too much attention for her liking. She screwed her face up as she pictured the older woman’s light-brown skin, her garish red hair, and those odd eyes. She couldn’t understand why people were so captivated by her.
‘It’s because she is a witch!’ she hissed.
Bractius should have been doting on her, not distracted by whatever woman turned up at court. He had been delighted at the news of her pregnancy, but the novelty had soon worn off. Days of sickness had left her feeling exhausted and resentful to the point she’d begun to wish she hadn’t sought to get herself pregnant. That had in turn brought waves of guilt. It wasn’t the baby’s fault. Admittedly, it had initially been a ploy to keep her place secure and ensure a hold on her husband, but as it had grown her feelings had changed. The baby had become real.
‘My little one.’
&
nbsp; She rubbed at her belly again.
She jumped as the door opened, her mouth falling open. No one ever came up here! A servant walked in, carrying a basket of candles.
He stopped in his tracks with a gasp. ‘Your majesty! I … I … a thousand pardons!’ He stooped in a bow. ‘I thought this room was empty.’
He was young, maybe a year or two younger than herself, with thick black hair and a rather handsome face. She swallowed down her anger at the intrusion, intrigued. In the back of her mind she vaguely recalled seeing him around, but only recently.
‘What are you doing here?’
The young man remained in his uncomfortable looking bow. ‘I’m replenishing the candles in the tower. I … I sometimes come in here to look at the view. I didn’t think anyone else came here.’
‘Well, I do.’ She retorted imperiously. ‘For goodness’ sake, stand up straight, you look ridiculous!’
He did so, keeping his eyes downcast. Her back twinged and she shifted in her chair.
The servant immediately darted forward to grab a pillow off the bed. He beat it against his leg and then the bed, dust flying up everywhere.
‘Would you allow me, your majesty?’
She nodded, lifting her chin and looking out of the window. She leaned forward to allow him to arrange the pillow behind her on the chair. When she leaned back, the relief was immediate. She looked up and caught his eyes. They were stunning. The colours sharp and almost unnatural, ringed by a dark line that emphasised their brilliance. His long lashes blinked over them and she blushed, realising she was staring.
‘Thank you, servant. What’s your name?’ She looked out of the window rather than at him.
‘Inari, your majesty.’
She swallowed. An intriguing name.
‘Well, Inari, be aware I do come in here, and I do so for privacy.’
‘I’m sorry, your majesty. I won’t come agai—’
‘I didn’t say that, did I?’ She spun about and immediately found herself captivated by his eyes again. ‘Your job is to replace the candles, but I don’t see any in here. See to it.’
‘I will, your majesty.’
‘Good, now go.’
The young man bowed and left without another word. Ayline’s hand went to her throat and she felt her pulse fluttering beneath her fingers. She hadn’t been that attracted to a man since, well, since she’d first seen Thane Jorrun.
***
Ayline smiled and chatted her way through dinner with her ladies. With the Fulmer guests gone there was no formal gathering tonight in the great hall and she’d chosen to eat in her own rooms. They were discussing Worvig, some of them insisted he was clumsy, unfriendly, and rough looking. Others argued he looked strong and was intriguing. She glared down at her plate, tearing a piece of bread into small pieces. Worvig was no use to her and of little interest. She was bored with talking about trivial things, she wanted to talk about defences and repairs, about the impact of the war on the people. The very things that the blasted witch, Dia, had spoken of at dinners. When she’d tried to talk of such things with Bractius, he’d just brushed her aside.
She stood up. ‘I’m going for a walk.’
The room hushed.
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ one of the ladies-in-waiting asked timidly.
‘No.’ She dropped her napkin on her chair and made her way through the corridors. The lamps had been turned down and the castle felt almost eerie. Her feet took her instinctively to the lake tower, and she held on to the bannister as she ascended the narrow, uneven steps, occasionally hearing voices beyond the oak doors.
She was slightly out of breath when she reached the last door at the top. She opened it and peered in. She gasped, her mouth shifting into a delighted smile. The room was as dusty as ever, but her old wooden chair had been replaced by a comfortable, cushioned one. A small table had been set beside it on which stood a candlestick, a bowl of fruit, a flask, and a cup. Wood had been placed in the grate despite the fact it was early summer and flints were set on the mantle. She walked over to the table, careful of her step in the darkness, the only light coming from the moon that shone through the window overlooking the lake.
She uncorked the flask and sniffed. It seemed to be cold chamomile tea. There was a sweet smell to it though. Honey.
She poured some into the cup and took a careful sip. The flavour was soothing and smooth. It would have been better hot, but she sat back in her chair, snuggling into the cushions, and looked up at the stars.
Inari.
Where had he come from, she wondered, who could his family be? No one of consequence if he was a servant. She clenched her jaw and shook her head violently. Daydreaming about a servant wouldn’t get her what she wanted.
She’d been born into a family with money, a few connections, and huge ambition. Almost from her birth she’d been schooled to behave and think like a queen. Her parents had hoped for her to marry well and improve their influence, it was her own pride that had set her sights on the greatest prize in the kingdom. Her only moment of doubt had been when she’d seen the Dark Man. Like many she’d been captivated by his power, his mystery. She’d spent many nights imagining what it was he was doing up in his forbidden Raven Tower. But wife to a Thane, sorcerer though he was, didn’t fulfil her ambition and Jorrun had turned down the title, even, of Jarl and was frustratingly uninterested in women.
Bractius had been easy to win.
Her victory had been hollow. Her prize had been a loveless marriage and only the illusion of power. Manipulating the lives of her ladies had amused her for a while, but she’d grown tired of it. Then the witches had come to Elden, and she’d caught a glimpse of women with real power, women with true freedom. She gripped the arms of the chair hard. First Kesta had come and stolen Jorrun from her, embarrassing her by making changes to Northold that all the men admired. Then Dia had saved them all from Chem. Not that Bractius would admit it. She’d tried, asking to be allowed to sit in on the King’s audiences and councils, but he’d laughed indulgently and dismissed her.
A dark and dangerous thought crept into her mind. Had a queen ever ruled Elden?
She placed her hands over her belly. If something happened to Bractius, could she rule until her child was old enough? What if it was a girl?
She placed a hand over her mouth as though to still her thoughts, staring at the brightness of the moon.
Would she dare?
‘No, baby, I can’t.’ She stroked her abdomen, but a smile slowly crept onto her face.
***
She awoke with a gasp, breathing fast and clutching at her blankets. Her skin was so flushed she was sweating and she sat up, looking around to be sure no one had observed her. Her fingers went to her lips, her eyes wide. She’d dreamed of him, Inari. It had been an incredibly intimate and passionate dream – and so real!
Shaking herself she went to her dresser and splashed water onto her face. Almost immediately her stomach cramped and nausea rushed up from her stomach, making her retch. She gripped the edge of the wash stand, taking slow, deep breaths until it passed.
‘Lerra!’ she bellowed.
Moments later a girl of about fourteen fumbled at the door and hurried in. Her blonde hair was mussed and she rubbed at one of her brown eyes. Ayline had taken her on from the Thane of a less affluent Hold, after all, the ladies-in-waiting needed someone to look down on and do the least favourable chores for them. Lerra slept in the chamber just outside the Queen’s suite so she could be there the instant she needed her.
‘Lerra, find me something to wear that will make me look alluring despite my condition, then I need something plain but not disgusting for breakfast.’
‘Yes, your majesty.’
The girl hurried over to the huge closet that took up the entire length of one wall and began searching inside. Ayline sat down at her dresser, gazing into her bronze mirror as she waited. She picked up her brush and slowly eased out the tangles in her chestnut hair, her gaze f
ixed firmly on her own eyes.
‘How about this one, your majesty?’ Lerra held up a green gown of shining taffeta with a low neckline. It was one that laced at the back and would possibly still fit. ‘We should probably get someone here to measure you for some new dresses,’ she suggested, her eyes downcast.
‘Yes, get Helled up here this afternoon. Come on, then, let’s see if I can get into that!’
Ayline winced and scowled as Lerra did up the laces, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as she’d feared. She joined her other ladies-in-waiting at their communal table. There was some plain porridge and Lerra added some apples spiced with cinnamon, pouring a little hot milk from the kettle on the fireplace over the top of it.
Ayline ate in silence while the ladies talked around her. They were subdued and she knew they were concerned about her mood, but she didn’t care. She jumped when one of them dropped her fork and had to force herself to unclench her teeth so she could make herself take another bite of the tasteless food. She couldn’t seem to shake off the remnants of her vivid dream.
‘Will you be sitting in on the King’s audiences today?’ One of the ladies asked.
She swallowed back her porridge. ‘No, I have something else to do.’
Some of the ladies exchanged glances and Ayline ground her teeth. She forced a smile onto her face. ‘Would you be darlings and see if you can gather any more resources for the Borrow refugees? Perhaps you could write letters to your homes and let them know of our noble cause?’
She tried not to roll her eyes at their eager responses. Their so-called noble cause was no more than Bractius’s way of keeping the Fulmers onside without having to put his hand in Elden’s treasury.
‘Thank you, ladies.’ She stood and looked around at them all with a smile. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’
She pushed away from the table and left her quarters without another word.
There were more people about in the hallways in the daytime, all of whom stopped in their tracks to bow to her. As she came to the stairway to the tower, she took a quick look around to ensure no one was watching, before going through the door and heading up.