He was used to working from sun-up to sun-down at home, and he looked about for something to do. When he heard his baby brother cry, he headed for the cabin. There he found the all-mother’s Malaunje servant woman clucking over his little brother. She greeted Ronnyn with a smile.
Wrapping the infant in a shawl, she took him out to find the all-mother.
At a loose end, Ronnyn looked around the cabin and spotted the chest where the sisterhood kept their books. They’d only had one book at home. Now he went to the chest, opened it up and took them out one by one. The weight of the leatherbound covers, the richness of the paper, the illustrations with their brilliant inks and glowing gold leaf… he felt like each one was a treasure, and that was without even reading them.
Choosing one, he made himself a nest in the far corner and became lost in the T’Enatuath origin myth. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when a noise made him look up. To his surprise, a panel in the far wall opened.
Ronnyn went absolutely still as a T’En child about his own age darted out. Although partially obscured by the desk, he could see they were richly dressed, same as him. Then he caught a glimpse of her face and almost gasped. From the arch of her eyebrow to the line of her lips, she was beautiful.
Ronnyn swallowed.
As if afraid of discovery, she made straight for the chest, selected a volume and returned to her hidden nook. It all happened so quickly, he didn’t have time to call out.
Now that he’d seen the panel open and close, Ronnyn realised one corner of the cabin had been walled off. A small grille near the ceiling meant the prisoner could hear what was going on.
Ronnyn put his book aside, quietly collected a chair and went over to the false wall. He climbed up and peered down through the grill into the private nook. It was wide enough for a bunk and little else. There was one small window. Under this the girl sat reading, cross-legged. He could see the crescents of her eyelashes on her cheeks and he wanted her to look up so he could see her face again.
He wanted to help her. ‘Why aren’t you allowed out?’
The girl looked up, startled to find him peering through the grille. ‘Go away. If they knew you’d seen me, I’d be in trouble.’
‘That’s not fair. They shouldn’t shut you up like this.’
‘It’s all right. It’s for my own good,’ she said.
But she looked so sad Ronnyn’s heart went out to her. ‘I’ll speak to the all-mother –’
‘She’s the one who put me in here.’
Ronnyn felt betrayed. He’d instinctively trusted the healer. ‘How can I help?’
‘No one can help me. They’ve all tried.’
‘There must be something I can do.’
The girl blushed furiously, put the book aside and came to stand under the grill. She looked up earnestly. ‘Please go away. You’ll only make things worse.’
‘Do you need anything?’
‘I have everything I could want.’
‘Except freedom.’
‘Who is truly free? Not even the all-mother, she’s bound by tradition. None of us are truly free.’
Ronnyn laughed. ‘I’m free.’
‘Not if you belong to the T’Enatuath.’
‘I grew up free,’ Ronnyn said. ‘And I’ll be free again one day. You wait and see. And when I go, I’ll take you with me.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t leave.’
‘Why not?’
She looked down. ‘Go away.’
‘I’m only trying to help.’
‘No one can help.’
‘I promise I’ll find a way to set you free. I will. I’ll –’
‘If you ask about me, you’ll get me in trouble. You might even put me in danger.’ She wrung her hands. ‘Just go away and forget you ever saw me.’
Ronnyn didn’t want to distress her, so he climbed down off the chair. But he couldn’t forget her.
IT WAS DUSK, and Imoshen stood on the high rear-deck, feeling the gentle rise and fall of the ship under her feet as it lay at anchor in Shifting-sands Bay. She lowered her shields, opened her gift awareness and sensed the build-up of a storm in the air. It reminded her of when she was growing up on Lighthouse Isle.
‘Choice-mother?’
Imoshen turned to see five-year-old Deyne sprinting across the deck towards her. Tiasarone followed at a more sedate pace with baby Arodyti in her arms, while Frayvia, Imoshen’s devotee, carried Umaleni, who wriggled, eager to be put down so she could chase after Deyne.
Imoshen held out her arms. ‘Deyne.’
The little boy covered the distance between them. She laughed and caught him. Lifting him off his feet, she spun in a circle, then put him down as he was too heavy to hold for long.
‘These children will be the death of me,’ Tiasarone complained, but she did not hand Arodyti over, even though Imoshen offered to take the infant.
Frayvia and Imoshen shared a smile, and the devotee passed Umaleni to her.
‘Have they been good children?’ Imoshen asked.
‘Always,’ Deyne insisted and Frayvia laughed.
Imoshen was not surprised. This was what her gift had told her. His nature was true and loyal.
Umaleni wriggled with delight. Imoshen kissed her daughter’s forehead and studied her dear little face. Every day Umaleni grew more like her half-cousin Iraayel. Which was lucky, as no one would be able to guess her T’En father’s identity from her features.
‘What brings you up on deck?’ Imoshen asked.
‘You didn’t come to say good night to the children.’
‘And we knew you meant to,’ Deyne said earnestly.
Imoshen blushed.
Five nights. She had tucked him into bed five nights and in that time he’d laid claim to her heart by giving his without equivocation.
‘So I did,’ Imoshen agreed. ‘But I was distracted by the blue fire.’
‘Fire isn’t blue,’ he told her kindly.
There was a snort of laughter and Imoshen looked up to find her sisterhood’s voice-of-reason had joined them.
‘Fire isn’t blue,’ Deyne repeated. ‘Fire’s yellow and red.’
‘This fire is blue.’ Imoshen knelt and put Umaleni down. Then she opened her gift senses and called the foretaste of lightning to her. It was a trick she used to perform for Iraayel. Back when they had lived on the island, they would stand at the top of the lighthouse and she would make the blue flames dance on her fingertips.
Now she smiled as Deyne and Umaleni gasped and laughed with delight.
‘You didn’t tell us you had control of fire.’ Egrayne sounded annoyed.
‘It’s not real fire. It can’t burn,’ Imoshen said, transferring the flames from one hand to the other. ‘It’s what’s in the air before a storm. There’s a lot of it around tonight. Can’t you sense it?’
Tiasarone and Egrayne glanced to each other, then shook their heads.
‘It’s nothing.’ Imoshen shrugged. ‘A harmless child’s game.’
‘If you can call this, can you call lightning and thunder?’ Tiasarone asked.
‘No.’
‘Maybe even a storm?’ Egrayne pressed.
‘I’m no weather-worker. I can’t call up the slightest breeze. Believe me, I’ve tried.’ Thirteen years ago this midwinter, they’d fled the lighthouse island. If she could have called a fog to hide their flight, she would have. ‘All I can do is call this useless blue fire.’
‘Pretty.’ Deyne reached out to touch it.
Tiasarone pulled his hand back.
‘Don’t worry. It won’t burn,’ Imoshen said.
‘It’s the sea god’s sign,’ a man whispered.
They all turned to see the Malaunje ship’s master. He was a dour veteran of many voyages, but right now he looked stunned and more than a little fearful. He backed up a step, eyeing Imoshen warily.
‘It’s harmless,’ she told him.
He shook his head. ‘The Mieren say the sea
god manifests as blue fire. He blesses a ship by dancing on the masts. Sometimes he warns if a storm is coming. And sometimes, he appears in a ball of light that can burst and claim a sailor’s life.’ He swallowed. It was more than Imoshen had ever heard him say. ‘I’ve always wondered…’
‘Well, now you know it has nothing to do with gods,’ Egrayne snapped. She turned back to the others, muttering. ‘Really. Malaunje are as bad as Mieren, sometimes!’
The ship’s master stiffened and retreated.
Imoshen felt for him. She’d grown up surrounded by Malaunje, with regular visits from her covenant-breaking father and his seconds, and she knew how much the halfbloods resented the T’En.
‘I’m sorry.’ She rose, brushing her hands to disperse the flames. ‘I thought all T’En could call blue fire. It was a game I played for Iraayel back on Lighthouse Isle.’
Egrayne and Tiasarone exchanged looks.
Imoshen’s raeden gift read their silence. She’d reminded them of her unorthodox upbringing and made them uncomfortable. Surely they trusted her after all she’d done: executing her own father, birthing a sacrare daughter, accepting leadership of the sisterhood and then taking on the causareship.
‘Up!’ Umaleni tugged on her hand.
Eager to hide her true feelings, Imoshen bent down, lifted her daughter and buried her face in the toddler’s chubby neck. Umaleni wriggled with pleasure, then gave a wide yawn, revealing her brand new baby teeth.
‘The children should have their wash and their dinner,’ Tiasarone announced.
Imoshen smiled down at little Deyne. ‘Let’s go.’
He beamed and, with all the dignity of a great all-father, offered Imoshen his arm. She accepted it, sure no one could resist his grave courtesy, and headed for the steps.
‘What a pity you’re not a weather-worker,’ Egrayne said, falling in with her. ‘We could use a good wind when we set off for Ivernia.’
‘Oh, if I could summon the wind things would have been very different.’ She would not have lost her first bond-partner, Reothe, and her sacrare son the night they ran away. A fog would have hidden them all and Reothe would not have had to fight off their pursuers, so she could escape with their son, four-year-old Iraayel and Frayvia.
If Reothe had escaped with her, they would have run to one of the islands and made a home for themselves, free of brotherhood and sisterhood interference. Together and free. They’d been so young and so much in love…
Tears stung her eyes. Thirteen years this midwinter and she could still weep for them and their ill-fated dreams.
Imoshen hoped she never forgot.
JARAILE HAD THOUGHT the brotherhood palace luxurious, but the sisterhood palace surpassed it. Naturally, Eskarnor had claimed the biggest and best palace for himself then selected chambers for her. She had her own balcony looking west across the city to the lakeside town. It was so high above the city, it gave her vertigo.
She had a suite of bedrooms, her own private bathing chamber and a reception room, every possible luxury, but it was a gilded cage.
Now it was dusk and she wandered along the balcony, wrapped in furs. She was naked underneath, having just come from the bathing chamber and, before that, Eskarnor’s bed. It did not matter how often she washed, she could not wash the smell of him from her skin. She hated the way he made her feel.
She consoled herself with the fact that her kinsman, Baron Kerminzto, had escaped. In a way, this was what had saved her life. The first night up here, her second in the city, the thought of her little boy dying alone without her and been more than she could bear. She’d been prepared to jump off the balcony when Eskarnor was called from the bed and Captain Pataxo reported that they had closed the gates and searched the city, but Kerminzto had eluded them. How Eskarnor had raged.
Now she spotted people coming up the stairwell from the grand hall: Pataxo and one of the barons. She thought it might be Aingeru. She slipped inside to where Eskarnor lay sprawled on the bed, his big hairy chest rising and falling as he slept. The moment she knelt on the bed his eyes sprang open.
He slept like a warrior, always alert. She’d learnt that the first night.
‘Someone comes,’ she said.
A moment later there was a knock on the door.
Eskarnor swung his legs off the bed, found his breeches, pulled them up and laced them closed. He drew her close, sliding his hands under the fur.
‘Your skin’s so soft,’ he muttered, calloused hands running over her thighs and belly. ‘Look what you do to me.’ He took her hand and cupped himself. ‘Don’t get dressed. I’ll be right back.’
Waiting a few moments, she went to the adjoining bathing chamber; she had discovered that the air vent here carried sound from the passage. She stretched out on the floor to listen.
‘…taken my wife and children to the palace,’ Aingeru was saying. ‘He’s holding them hostage. She managed to get a message to me. Here it is.’
‘A pox on that halfblood. I don’t know why he’s loyal to Charald,’ Eskarnor said. There was a pause as he read the message. ‘Sorne’s gathering an army. He’s calling up the men the barons sent home to bring in the harvest, calling them in the king’s name, the devious, conniving…’
‘They’re to meet him at Riverbend Stronghold. If you send me and my men, I can lie in wait for him, pretend to go over to his side and murder him in his bed. Wipe out the nest of rebels,’ Aingeru offered.
‘So you can… Prepare your men and ride out tomorrow.’
She heard the sound of footsteps going down the long passage.
‘Aingeru is mad for that wife of his,’ Pataxo said. ‘I can’t see him risking her life. And there’s the children, three fine sons. A man needs… What if the halfblood has kidnapped all the barons’ families?’
‘Good riddance to mine,’ Eskarnor muttered. ‘All she’s given me is a daughter. I need a son and heir. If the halfblood kills her, he’ll be freeing me to marry the queen.’
‘But the other barons –’
‘Don’t you say a word about this to them.’
‘Aingeru’s men will know. They’ll talk.’
‘So they will. But the halfblood is only one man. He can’t have ridden the length and breadth of Chalcedonia in five days. Tomorrow we leave for port. Once we have the king and the prince under siege…’
Jaraile’s head buzzed as her heart raced. Did he just say what she thought he’d said? Her son lived?
‘…cut off from his commander. The halfblood’ll be too busy trying to work out how to break the siege and save Charald and Cedon to take any more of the barons’ families hostage. Send Ikor to me.’
‘Why?’
‘He can prove he really is my man. I’ll send him and his men with Aingeru. If Aingeru lets his cock decide his loyalty, Ikor can bring me his head.’
‘Ikor’s estate lies to the east on the coast just south of the port, won’t he be tempted –’
‘I’ll tell Aingeru to watch over him and at the first sign of disloyalty to bring me his head. They’ll both be so busy watching each other, they’ll stay loyal!’ Eskarnor laughed, pleased with himself.
Booted feet strode off.
‘Oh, and Pataxo?’ Eskarnor called. The boots stopped. ‘I’m leaving you with two hundred men to hold the Wyrd city.’
‘But –’
‘But nothing. I’m trusting you with the queen. She carries my child. She legitimises my claim to the throne. The people love her. Hold onto this city and hold onto her, or you won’t hold onto your head.’
Jaraile sprang to her feet, mind racing.
Her son lived.
The Wyrds had not killed him. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks.
‘Raila?’ Eskarnor called.
She dropped her fur and stepped into the sunken bath, running more hot water.
She ducked under the water, coming up just as he entered the bathing chamber.
‘Washing again?’ he asked, then his expression grew hungry as he took
in her wet, rosy skin. ‘There’s something to be said for bathing.’
He dropped his breeches, climbed into the tub and reached for her.
Her mind went away as she planned how to escape. She had to reach Sorne and warn him that Aingeru was going to betray him.
If Eskarnor was leaving tomorrow then she would be left here with Pataxo and his men in the palace. They could not watch her all the time.
THAT EVENING, RONNYN saw one of the T’En women slide a tray through a flap into the secret chamber, when she thought no one was looking. What kind of life was that? Why would they keep a T’En girl hidden? Why be so cruel when they were so kind to the rest of the children? True, they were all boys. As well as his three brothers, there were another four boys, ranging in age from two to six.
The T’En women sang the boys to sleep and All-mother Reoden fed baby Ashmyr. As she settled him in his cot, her Malaunje servant came over to Ronnyn.
‘The healer’s going to work on your bad arm,’ Meleya said. ‘Go wait in the bathing chamber.’
He did as he was told and, a moment later, the healer joined him. She took a seat at the marble table. ‘Roll up your sleeve.’
He did this, leaned forward and placed his bad arm on the cool, slick marble. Looking at his forearm, with its misshapen muscle and scar tissue, he felt a pang of shame. It hurt, too. Sometimes, when he moved it without thinking or tried to carry something heavy, bolts of pain would shoot down his arm, making the muscles lock up.
The healer sat opposite him and turned up the lamp. He could feel her gathering her gift. The power was pure and clean, and it made his heart race and his body sing.
‘Both arms,’ Healer Reoden said. She studied his arms, then placed her hands on his forearms and closed her eyes as her fingers pressed into the muscles down the length of his forearms, driving her gift into his body.
‘What are you doing?’ he whispered, fascinated.
A smile tugged at her lips. ‘I’m working out how your good arm is made and comparing it to how your bad arm has been injured and healed imperfectly. That way I can urge your bad arm to grow in the right direction.’
‘Could you have healed it completely, if I’d come to you when it happened?’
‘Yes.’
But he’d been living on the island then. His mother and his sister had done the best they could for him. Aravelle had massaged his arm every day, trying to make the knotted, twisted muscles straighten, pulling, twisting, forcing his arm to work.
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