“Something to say?” I raised one eyebrow at her. I hadn’t expected her to disapprove of my relationship with Harlan, as enthusiastically as she’d pushed us together.
“Not tonight.” She raised her glass of wine and toasted us, her expression warm. So much so that I doubted the concern I’d briefly glimpsed. “Before you leave in the morning, though, I have some information to share. For now, go enjoy yourselves. You’ve all certainly earned a bit of celebrating.”
I frowned at her, ready to press, but Harlan hauled me to my feet. “I, for one, don’t need to be told twice,” he rumbled with amusement. “Good night, Lady Mailloux—and thank you.”
He tugged me away, but I glanced back as we went inside, wondering if she felt abandoned by us. Zynda, however, had moved into my abandoned chair and seemed to be regaling her with some tale that involved much hand waving and already had her laughing.
Good.
I stood in the throne room at Ordnung, wondering where everyone had gone. It should never be this empty, with no courtiers meeting for quiet conversation or even servants polishing the floors or cleaning the sconces during the hiatus of court. Had Madeline forgotten to assign their duties?
But no—Madeline had died, her head rolling away and her blood spilling as bright as red wine across the golden marble. A sound whispered at the edge of my perception and I flinched, expecting to see her corpse. Nothing, though.
Just shadows and flickers of movement. I tried to turn to look, to face it, to draw my sword, but I couldn’t move. That armored gown held me rigid. As if it had turned me into a metal statue of myself. I couldn’t even look down at it this time, it clamped to me so tightly. Yet, in my mind’s eye, I saw myself as if from across the room, sitting on the High Throne, platinum bright in my armored gown, my face a rictus of frenzied terror, swallowed up by it, thrashing to break free.
“Mother!” I yelled. “Mother, help me!”
“Shh . . .” Harlan ran big hands over me, holding me close. “Wake up, my Essla. Just a dream.”
I blinked at him in the dark, disoriented, his skin warm and bare under my clutching fingers. “A dream?”
“A nightmare,” he confirmed, turning onto his back and drawing me against his side. “You were calling for your mother.”
“All that talk of legacies, no doubt.” But I felt deeply shaken.
“Was it the same dream?”
The man forgot nothing. I shrugged, letting him interpret that as he would.
“Interesting, isn’t it, that you have the same disturbing dream back here, where your mother lived as queen. A woman who had visions and passed that trait on to at least one of her daughters.”
“This isn’t a vision of the future.”
“How do you know? Perhaps she’s telling you something.”
I laughed at that, feeling the odd panic of the dream crawling still over my skin. “I seriously doubt that.”
“Tell me about it.”
Knowing I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep and that he’d likely stop me if I tried to get up to sit and drink some wine, I decided to lump it and describe the dream, feeling more than a little silly as I did. But he didn’t mock me, just listened quietly. As I told him, the worst of the ugly taint of it faded, receding, losing its power.
“A very interesting dream,” he commented after a time.
“See? There’s no such thing as an armored gown, and even if there was, I’d never wear one—so it’s not a vision of the future.”
“You have such a literal mind, my hawk.” His fingers stroked my arm, as if I needed soothing still. “It’s a metaphor.”
“That I should wear more dresses?” I jibed.
He didn’t rise to the bait, however. “You look lovely in dresses, it’s true. I particularly like the Tala garb, which shows off your long limbs and lets me feel you move beneath. But no—such a thing would be impractical for both of its apparent purposes, yes? It fails as a gown because you cannot move. It fails as protection for the same reason. Instead it traps you. Strangles you inside it.”
A shiver of unease took me. “So what is it a metaphor for?”
“I think only you can know that. Whether of your own mind or of some relic of your mother’s. Both of those you would know better than anyone.”
“I don’t think anyone knew Salena well. She didn’t let them.”
“Reminds me of someone else.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Heartless. Ruthless.
He chuckled, running a hand down my hip. “Will you sleep now?”
“I might get up, have some wine. But you go back to sleep.”
“I have a better idea.” He pulled me atop him, using the increased freedom to caress me everywhere. We’d fallen asleep naked, after making love, and he seemed fully ready to engage in more. My body warmed to the idea, responding to his touch.
“Thank you for not leaving me to be alone,” I whispered a long time later, and fell asleep to his big hand stroking down my spine.
In the morning, I found Dafne in the Tala library. Amused that even in this the Tala had to be different, I took in the spacious chamber lined with wooden-doored alcoves and otherwise screened only by swathes of heavy fabric stretched above. Tables scattered around the room held sparkling stones of various sizes. Dafne stood by one, carefully pinning open a scroll by weighting it with the stones.
“Seems such a system would be hard on the collection over time,” I observed.
She smiled, wry. “Indeed. The Tala seem to feel that oral traditions serve as the most permanent of records, while books and scrolls are merely temporary devices to transfer that information. Rather the reverse of how we see it.”
“Do you think their method works better?”
“It has its merits. However, I think we can also attribute some of Salena’s . . . methods of communication to it. It might have been helpful if she’d left something as prosaic as a letter.”
“An excellent point. What did you want to tell me?” I angled my head and recognized Dasnarian characters well enough now that a shadow of foreboding passed over me.
Dafne’s somber expression did nothing to alleviate my growing dread. “I debated whether to tell you this, but I finally decided that if I didn’t and you found I could have, you’d likely come after me with a blade.”
“Okay,” I said evenly, brushing the Star with my thumb. Warmish, with my sisters nearby. “What are we looking at?”
“Dasnarian dynasties. Has Captain Harlan spoken to you of his family?” She was hopeful. It showed in every line, that she hoped this would not come as a surprise to me. The dread coiled tighter.
“Some. I know he’s the youngest of seven brothers.” We hadn’t discussed more than that, had we? Because I hadn’t asked him. Believing I knew everything about him that I needed to. Letting him seduce me into trust though my initial instincts had warned me against him. My gut tightened. “What of his family?”
“It may not be significant.” She sighed, eyes falling to the scroll.
“Just say it, librarian.”
She traced a series of branching lines with her finger to a paragraph inscribed beside. “The Konyngrr dynasty has held the Dasnarian throne for several generations. The most recent king has seven sons. The youngest, named Harlan, with no possibility of attaining the throne, became a professional soldier and formed his own private army, called the Vervaldr.”
Strangely, I felt nothing at this news. Nothing except a faint chill. There is no place for me in Dasnaria. I found myself nodding slowly, Dafne watching me with the caution one gives a snake. “He’s a fucking prince.” My voice sliced and she winced.
“It might not mean anything at all,” she tried, sounding almost pleading. “I’m sure it has no bearing on his feelings for you or . . .”
I raised an eyebrow at her and she flinched. “Or why he might have so determinedly pursued the very eligible female heir to another throne? No. That would be so unlikely. Younger noble sons never
take off to find a line of succession less crowded by their own brothers.”
Dafne closed her eyes briefly, nodded once. “It looks bad, I know.”
Even now I could be pregnant with his child. All that talk of assassinating the High King. Danu take me for a witless fool. How many women in the history of time could I have looked to for cautionary tales? I would not be the first or last to fall for a solid set of muscles, pretty promises, and the delight of being bedded, only to find herself trapped. I’d once warned Andi that she could become a blood pawn. The height of irony if that fate fell to me instead.
I wouldn’t let that happen. If I did turn up pregnant, I’d abdicate all right to the throne. Perhaps I could give the child away, let it be raised somewhere in ignorance, by sheepherders as I’d once teased Ami about.
Harlan would be so long gone from our shores that he would never know. He could sail off wherever he pleased, to seek his fortune and chance at power from some other hapless princess. At the point of my sword, if need be.
“Thank you for telling me. Anything else?”
“What are you going to do about this, Ursula?” Dafne squared her shoulders. “Tell me that you’ll talk to him about it first. Give him a chance to explain.”
So he could lie to me again? Spew his vows and sucker me into believing he cared about me? Accuse me of withholding my secrets, my dark pain, when all along he sought to use me? “Oh, I don’t think so.”
I only realized I’d said the last aloud when Dafne’s face fell. And I glimpsed the calculation behind it. “Don’t you dare tell him, either. I forbid it.”
“Ursula, I—”
“Don’t disobey me on this. I would not excuse it this time.”
She set her jaw, nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
She looked desperately aggrieved. “Because I thought you would react this way and I wanted you to have at least one more night of happiness. Because he has done that for you. Whatever his other motives—and we still don’t know what they are for sure, or if he even has other motives—he’s been good for you. You’ve been happier than you’ve been since . . .”
“Since when?” I knew I shouldn’t take my cold rage out on her, but if she meant what I thought she’d been about to say, I might not be able to leash it in.
She lifted her chin. “Since Salena died.”
For some reason that hit me hard. Not what I’d expected. My mother had nothing to do with any of this.
“I’ll see to the regency paperwork. Andi plans to set up a messenger chain to keep you all informed of events. Hopefully we’ll send good news soon.”
“What do you consider good news?”
“High King Uorsin on his throne, peace in the realm, and every last Dasnarian dead or gone from the Twelve. The world as it should be. Wish us luck with that.” I turned on my heel and left, pretending not to hear her muttered oath behind me.
39
I avoided Harlan fairly easily. After all, we rode at a determined pace. With Tala scouts to clear the way and guard our party, we moved fast, gaining the border and Odfell’s Pass by midday and descending immediately, to take full advantage of the remaining light. Autumn had set in on this side of the barrier, the air on the cool side after the tropical warmth of Annfwn. Andi, in particular, looked cold, breaking out a cloak almost immediately, and I realized she hadn’t left Annfwn in nearly a year.
How fast time had gone. How much had happened in that year.
Once we gained the base camp, I had my Hawks to consult with and Harlan his own officers. Devious bastards, all of them, to disguise his true identity so. The news from Ordnung was not good. On the one hand, Jepp and Marskal, working in tandem with the now healthy guard outpost, had managed to reestablish regular patrols and scouting networks all the way to the township. On the other, Ordnung itself had been locked down tighter than Windroven under siege, with no one coming out and none able to get in or hail for news.
Erich—no doubt after finding Windroven empty of his quarry— had maneuvered the armies of Avonlidgh onto the river plains west of the Danu River, within striking distance of Ordnung. Supplemented, it seemed, by forces from Nemeth and Elcinea. Duranor’s army remained poised behind them, quite at home in Aerron and poised to cross the border into Mohraya. Jepp and Marskal speculated, and I agreed, that Stefan’s plan would be to watch Erich and either choose a strategic moment to support his attack or trap his forces from behind, to either earn Uorsin’s debt or take Ordnung for himself.
Possibly both.
Grimmer yet, those who tried to make contact with Ordnung reported back that the guard on the walls had been eerily quiet and still, not behaving as normal men and women. The township, still guarded almost entirely by Harlan’s mercenaries, spoke in hushed whispers of entire contingents of raw recruits from the countryside disappearing behind the walls of the castle. Friends and relatives had not been seen in weeks and, when glimpsed, failed to respond when waved to or hailed.
They simply stood, unnaturally patient, through light and dark, in all weather conditions.
As if they’d somehow died on their feet and remained upright, living corpses. One family had managed to reclaim their daughter, it seemed, but nothing remained of her self. Just a mindless body that struggled to return to Ordnung.
Worry for his men haunted Harlan’s face, and a traitorously soft part of me wanted to offer comfort. Not that I had any to give. And just a further indication of how far he’d manipulated me, that I thought of him with everything else going on.
We spent what little remained of the evening in strategy with our top lieutenants, Rayfe and Andi’s Tala an odd counterpoint to the Hawks and Vervaldr, who’d intermixed and become quite familiar with each other in our absence. Without referencing Harlan, I explained what Dafne had discovered about the Temple of Deyrr and the likely explanation for the grim tales from Ordnung.
At least I could count on Harlan’s lust for the High Throne to keep him and the remaining Vervaldr loyal to the effort to take out Illyria’s undead guard and let us penetrate the castle. Perhaps Harlan’s warnings to me about the black witch had been part of a struggle between them for supremacy, as well as a convenient method to establish trust between us. An old ploy, lulling me into believing our common enemy made us friends.
He’d positioned himself as my ally from that first day—likely before that, patiently building a scenario where I’d believe he wanted nothing more than to follow me about like a puppy. All that nonsense about the Elskastholrr. I burned with anger over it all, a clean, mind-clearing rage I clung to when doubts assailed me. At least Dafne had uncovered the truth before I’d made some fatal error.
A worse mistake than the ones I’d already made.
When we broke from the campfire and Harlan went to answer the call of nature, I took advantage of the opportunity to make myself scarce and bed down with some of the unattached female Hawks. Though there were fewer of those than there had been, with many of them having taken up with Dasnarian lovers. I lay awake, not even daring to get up and volunteer to take over a watch position, for fear he’d seek me out and force a confrontation.
I needed to avoid that only another day, maybe two. Once I’d killed Illyria I’d be able to have a rational conversation with Uorsin, and we’d discuss the mercenary’s agenda—along with the choice of execution or banishment. I couldn’t think of steps beyond that.
Just before dawn, stiff with chill and the tension of holding myself in a rigid posture to mimic sleep all night and not disturb my companions, I could stand being still not a moment more. Filled with restless tension—anticipating the coming battle, no doubt—I rose and risked a workout with some of the Hawks. Harlan would look for me, but I should be able to avoid much conversation with everyone about.
Sure enough, I’d barely made it into third form when I caught a glimpse of him, steadily working through his strengthening exercises close by. He appeared absorbed, but he had his eye on me; I felt
it in the prickle of my skin. I’d have to think how best to play this. Perhaps I would have done better to sleep with him the night before, to pretend to normality, rather than arouse his suspicions.
So when I finished the twelfth form to find him waiting, I strolled past casually and smiled. A gesture he did not return. “Good morning, Captain.” I kept going, but his hand shot out to stop me.
“What’s going on?” he asked in a low voice.
“A great deal. I know you heard all the same reports I did.”
He set his jaw. “You know that’s not what I mean. Why are you avoiding me?”
“Is this about last night?” I went for distantly surprised. “I apologize. I wasn’t thinking and should have said something. I thought it better to establish a bit of distance between us during this venture, for discipline’s sake.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?” An edge now. A dangerous one.
“Yes. I’m sorry if I inadvertently insulted you. I didn’t mean to.”
“You have many skills, Ursula. Lying when you feel strongly about something is not one of them. You’ve been acting strangely since yesterday morning. I put it down to concern over the coming battle, but . . .” He broke off to study my face. “Something changed. You’re going to tell me what it is.”
I tried to shake him off, the rage that had been coldly building since yesterday too near the surface, but his hand tightened on my arm. “Don’t you give me orders, Captain Harlan. You’re going to want to take your hand off of me before I cut it off.”
His pale eyes narrowed. “We’re back to that, then. Why? You owe me an explanation.”
“I owe you nothing!” I hissed the words between my teeth, the anger spiking.
He blinked, slowly, reassessing, taken aback. “I’ve hurt you. How? What did I do?” Turning me, he took my other arm and seemed about to pull me into one of his comforting embraces, so perfectly calculated to make me feel secure and cared for. I couldn’t stand a moment more.
Pivoting, I broke his hold and pulled my twin blades, sinking into a crouch. “Come at me again, mercenary, and I’ll have your blood.”
The Twelve Kingdoms Page 38