by Sally Green
I’m sorry, brother, I can’t betray Edyon. But I will get our revenge on Thelonius, for you and all of Abask. I will not fail our people.
CATHERINE
TORNIA, PITORIA
In summary, avoid being captured at all costs.
War: The Art of Winning, M. Tatcher
“GATHER YOUR things. We’re leaving,” Catherine told her maids as she entered her chambers.
Ambrose and Catherine had left King Arell’s rooms, marching quickly through the castle, which was in uproar, though no one hindered them. Sir Rowland went to arrange for horses to be prepared.
Tanya and Jane had locked the door, forcing Ambrose to knock three times before they would open it. Now they stood in the sitting room, faces pale.
“But where to, Your Highness?” Jane asked. “Not back to Brigant?”
“No, never back there,” Catherine replied. “Boris and his men have attacked King Arell and many other lords. Some are dead. The king is badly injured. We are in danger here. Ambrose is going to take us north to Prince Tzsayn. He will protect us.”
But will he? His own father, stabbed by my brother’s men . . .
Catherine forced her doubts away, only to be confronted with the question she had been dreading.
“Where’s Sarah?”
For an instant, Catherine couldn’t find the words. Then she forced them out, her voice cracking.
“Boris’s men killed her.”
Jane’s hands flew to her mouth. “But . . . why would they do that?”
Ambrose shook his head. “Because they care nothing for others.”
“Because they’re Boris’s men,” Tanya said furiously. “And Noyes’s men too, no doubt.”
“They’re all my father’s men; he is the source of all this death,” Catherine said. “But we are no longer with my father, nor with Brigant. We’re with Pitoria, King Arell, and Prince Tzsayn, and the better for it.” She did believe that—she had to believe it. “And so we must go to the prince. There’s no time for us to grieve; we must be strong. Sarah would want that.”
Tanya and Jane got straight to work and made small packs of clothes for Catherine and themselves. Catherine made sure she had her jewelry. With no coin to speak of, she knew they might need it to trade with on the journey.
A short time later Sir Rowland returned with a man with white hair and one of the blue-haired guards the prince had allocated to her before he left.
Sir Rowland introduced the men, saying, “Geratan and Rafyon will help us leave the city and make our way north to join Prince Tzsayn.”
Rafyon bowed and reassured Catherine by saying, “We will go with you wherever you go, Your Highness. Prince Tzsayn said that we were to protect you, and it’s not safe here for you now. There’s myself and my nine men, and Geratan and his troop.”
At this, the white-haired man stepped forward. He was tall and slim and powerfully built, and Catherine recognized him as one of the dancers that had accompanied her on her progress to the city. He bowed elegantly.
“We dyed our hair to show our allegiance, Your Highness. We still have white hair; we are still your men.”
Catherine could hardly believe it. “You know that Boris, my brother, has killed many Pitorians?”
Geratan nodded. “We know, Your Highness. And we all know Prince Boris for a cruel and proud man. We saw his behavior on our journey here. And we saw yours. Your kindness to the people, your interest in our ways. We know you are not like your brother. Prince Tzsayn wishes you to be safe and so do we.”
Catherine again felt tears fill her eyes, but this time they were tears of gratitude.
“However,” Sir Rowland said, “everyone knows that Boris is responsible for the attack, and some of the lords are saying that you must be involved. In the prince’s absence, Lord Farrow has taken charge. For the moment all he has done is to forbid you, your maids, and myself from leaving the city. But if the king dies, Farrow will take the law into his own hands before Tzsayn can return.”
“Farrow hates me. He’s always seen me as a Brigantine warmonger.” It was as she had feared, but at least she could now be certain she was making the right choice in leaving. “We’re ready to go.”
Rafyon nodded. “Good. I have horses waiting outside the castle. There is a tunnel, known only to a few people. It’s used by the prince on occasion to escape the court undetected when His Highness is . . . unwell.”
Catherine smiled. “When he’s bored, you mean? It sounds perfect.”
“We must be swift. I will lead. Geratan will stay at the rear.”
Tanya put Catherine’s cloak over her shoulders, then she and Jane picked up their bags. Catherine took one last look at her room, wondering if she’d ever return. Even in their haste, the irony did not escape her. For so long she had dreaded the journey to meet Tzsayn. Now she was flying to him. It was the only way she and her maids would be safe now.
They set off, not creeping along as Catherine had imagined, but walking swiftly and boldly, cutting through rooms and side doors, keeping to the quieter corridors, meeting only two servants who stepped smartly to the side.
They went to the terrace where Catherine had first spoken to Tzsayn. That was only two days ago but felt like years. Once outside, Rafyon went ahead to check the route was clear. They waited in silence. Ambrose stood close to Catherine, protecting her, she realized, with his body. She wasn’t sure it was necessary, but she couldn’t deny it felt good to be close to him. Tanya and Jane were holding hands. They both looked pale and terrified. Catherine signed Strong and Tanya forced a smile.
Rafyon appeared at the far side of the terrace and beckoned them, and once again they were moving, but faster now, almost running through the paths of the rose garden to the water garden, then down steep stone steps to a wooden door hidden behind the branches of a large bush. Sir Rowland went ahead and Ambrose grasped Catherine’s hand as the darkness of the tunnel hid them. Rafyon lit a lantern, but apart from a faint glow showing how low the stone roof was, it didn’t much help them find their way. Luckily the floor was smooth and even, paved it seemed, but also descending more and more steeply.
Catherine tripped on Ambrose’s boots and he said, “It’s easier if we walk side by side.” He put his arm round her shoulder, pulling her to his body. Catherine had never felt a man so close to her, and her pulse quickened even more.
Within a few moments they stepped out into a cobbled alley. Sir Rowland turned and seemed surprised to see Ambrose holding Catherine, but before he could say anything Ambrose suddenly pushed Catherine away from him with a cry of alarm.
Two men in black jumped down from the wall above, one landing on Rafyon and the other on Ambrose. The four men tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Catherine pressed herself against the wall by the tunnel entrance, backing into Tanya and Jane. Sir Rowland pulled a long knife from his jacket and, with surprising speed and strength, stabbed the man grappling with Ambrose.
Rafyon rolled to the side and his assailant stood, saw that his comrade was dead, and scrambled back up the wall he’d jumped from. He twisted to face Catherine and threw one of his knives. Tanya yanked Catherine back into the tunnel as it clattered against the wall where she’d just been standing. Then she heard a cry of pain. She hoped it was the assailant but could see that Sir Rowland had dropped to his knees.
Catherine clung to Tanya, and Ambrose was beside her, eyes wide. “I thought he’d got you. I thought . . .”
“But what of Sir Rowland?”
Rafyon was with him, and he looked up at Ambrose and shook his head. Catherine went to the ambassador and knelt beside him, taking his hand, but his eyes were already fixed and still.
Rafyon was looking up the wall. “One of them got away, Geratan. See if you can catch him. We’ll wait here.”
Geratan nodded, quickly scaled the wall, and disappeared.
They waited in silence. Jane was crying and holding on to Tanya. Catherine remained bent over Sir Rowland’s body. Another wasted life. A man of kindness and wisdom destroyed by her father.
When Geratan returned, jumping lightly down into the alley, he shook his head. “I caught a glimpse of him, far ahead of me. I couldn’t catch him. He’s gone.”
Rafyon turned to Catherine. “We must go on. It’s not far to the horses. I’m sorry, but we must leave Sir Rowland’s body here. There’s nothing we can do for him now.”
Catherine nodded. There would be time to mourn him later. Ambrose again grasped her hand and they ran after Rafyon. They went down one alley after another, twisting and turning until all sense of direction was lost. Catherine’s heart was beating so hard she thought she’d collapse, but she forced herself on and they turned into a courtyard—and there were the horses!
With them stood more men, some with the blue hair of the prince’s guard and an equal number with white hair. Ambrose swept Catherine into his arms and carried her the last ten paces; she clung to him and looked over his shoulder, realizing that they were now well outside the castle walls, its great central tower high but distant. Ambrose lifted her onto her mount, and she had to let him go.
He leaped onto his own horse. “Stay close to me, Your Highness. We don’t stop for anything.” And he set off fast.
Catherine looked quickly around. Jane and Tanya were already mounted, so Catherine kicked her horse and they raced after Ambrose, clattering down the street, the blue-haired soldiers shouting for people to make way.
* * *
* * *
Catherine was exhausted. She was used to riding, but not like this. Tanya and Jane had not said a word of complaint, but Catherine knew they must be feeling as bad as she was. The soldiers had been trying to keep the ladies’ spirits up with encouraging tips—“Try to relax a little” and “No need to grip so hard.” Timid Jane never replied, but Tanya struck up a conversation and was disappointed that the men didn’t know the name of her horse, so she called it Boris. One of the soldiers laughed and said, “It’s a mare.”
“Yes, but if I call her Boris I don’t feel so bad when I kick her.”
It was well after midnight when Rafyon called a halt. Bone-weary, the fugitives dismounted from their equally tired horses with barely enough energy to build a small fire and share a few mouthfuls of bread.
Afterward, Tanya, Jane, and Catherine lay down and rested. Catherine looked to Ambrose and he caught her eye, but then turned away to answer Rafyon. Catherine watched them talk. Ambrose’s hair half hid his face, which was serious for the most part, but then broke into a smile at something Rafyon said.
Catherine forced herself to close her eyes. She shouldn’t spy on Ambrose; she was riding to meet Prince Tzsayn. But despite their exhausting journey Catherine couldn’t sleep, her mind too full of the day’s events, Sir Rowland dead and the assassins in black waiting for her—or were they waiting for Prince Tzsayn? She was sure that Noyes was behind it. The dead man was one of his, and finding out about Prince Tzsayn’s secret tunnel and lying in wait at the end of it was more Noyes’s style than Boris’s.
Not wanting to think of it any more, she lay silently, hoping for sleep, half listening to the men talk about the attack on the castle and their escape. She was drifting off when one of Rafyon’s men called out, “Sir Ambrose! We hear you’re close to being the perfect soldier. But it’s obvious to us that you’ve got just one glaring fault.”
Ambrose asked, “What’s that?”
There was jeering, as if Ambrose should know. Catherine braced herself, assuming they would say it was that he was Brigantine.
“What’s his problem, boys?” called Rafyon.
The men chorused back: “His hair’s not blue!”
Catherine smiled and slept.
AMBROSE
WEST COAST ROAD, PITORIA
THE SECOND day on the road north from Tornia, they came to the first roadblock. The soldiers changed position to ensure Catherine and her maids were protected on all sides, and Ambrose rode forward with Rafyon to find out what was happening. He assumed the checkpoint was to stop Boris, though in truth it didn’t look like it could stop very much at all: there were two men at the barrier, which was merely a pole supported on each side by a stool, but it was official, as one of the men manning the post had the scarlet hair of the sheriff’s men.
The red-haired man saluted Rafyon and explained, “We’re checking on all who are traveling south, sir. One of our men was murdered in Dornan a few days ago.”
“Has Prince Tzsayn passed this way?”
“Yesterday, sir. With many of his men. A fine sight. They were traveling fast.”
“As we must too.”
“May I ask, sir? The white-haired men? I’m not familiar with which lord they represent.”
“That is the white of Princess Catherine of Pitoria, the future wife of Prince Tzsayn and your future queen.”
The sheriff’s man peered back at Catherine. Ambrose looked back too. Catherine’s small figure was upright on the horse. She looked as strong and dignified as ever. Though he knew she must be exhausted and worried, she didn’t let that show.
News of the invasion reached them later that day, from travelers coming south. A huge Brigantine army, thousands strong, had crossed the border, scattering the Pitorian defenders and advancing on Rossarb. Ambrose knew the Brigantines would have no pity on anyone in their way; they gloried in fighting and despised prisoners.
Catherine closed her eyes for a moment and said, “I had hoped that somehow it was all a mistake, but it’s true. Pitoria and Brigant are at war.”
Ambrose nodded. “I’ve spent all my life training and expecting to fight for Brigant. But now . . . perhaps I’ll be fighting against them.”
“Could you do that? Fight against your own countrymen?”
Ambrose wasn’t sure. “Brigant is still the country of my father and my brother. But it’s no longer my country.” He turned to Catherine. “I don’t know where I belong anymore.”
Catherine met his gaze. “I recognize that problem.”
“My only certainty is that I swore to protect you and that’s what I’ll do. I will ensure you get safely to Tzsayn.”
But then what? It was clear that Tzsayn didn’t want him around, and he had no idea what Catherine wanted. She cared for him, he was certain of that, but what could he offer her? Nothing in comparison with what the prince of Pitoria could.
They rode on for a while in silence before Catherine said, “I need to tell you something. I’ve been thinking about my father and the reasons for his invasion. I believe your sister may have learned something of his plans.”
Ambrose replied without thinking: “She knew of the boys at Fielding, and they seemed to know about the invasion.”
“What? What boys?”
Ambrose told Catherine about his doubts about the reasons for Anne’s execution, his journey to Fielding, and the boys’ camp. He ended by asking, “But what makes you think about Anne?”
“She gave me a message at her execution. Three signs. I couldn’t see the last one properly, but the first two were the words “demon smoke’ and “boy.’ Do you know what the third word might be?”
Ambrose shook his head. ““Boy’ must relate to the boys at Fielding. But “demon smoke’? Is that even a real thing?”
“My father bought some. I believe it is real. Though I still can’t quite believe in demons.”
“But I can believe Anne knew something. That’s why she was in Fielding.” Ambrose looked at Catherine. “It was nothing but murder. She knew something and Aloysius killed her because of it.”
“Her death has not been in vain though, Ambrose. She gave me the message. Because of her, you went to Fielding, and because of that you learned about the invasion.”
“Small comforts.
”
“Yes, small comforts.” She leaned over and put her hand on his arm. “I wish I’d known Lady Anne.”
Ambrose smiled, tears in his eyes. “I wish it too.”
That second night they rested at an inn, paying for their stay with one of Catherine’s sapphire earrings, probably worth more than the building itself and everything in it. Catherine didn’t seem to care. She said, “Make sure there is enough food for everyone and the horses too. And for our journey tomorrow.” And she disappeared into a room with her maids.
Ambrose took his turn to guard and patrol the perimeter of the building. No one had caught up with them from Tornia, so it was impossible to know if King Arell was alive or dead, if Lord Farrow was in control, or if his men were riding in pursuit of the fugitive princess, but Rafyon and Ambrose agreed that they should take no chances.
On the third night they made camp away from the road. While the food was being cooked, Tanya and Jane sat with the men they had befriended over the course of the journey. Catherine sat a little apart and Ambrose went to her, saying, “We’ll arrive in Rossarb tomorrow.”
“You’ve done well to get us here safely, Ambrose.”
“I can’t say I’m happy about it, Your Highness. Your father’s army has advanced quickly. We’ll be closer to the fighting than I’d hoped. But Rossarb is where your husband is.”
“Prince Tzsayn is not . . . We are still only betrothed, but . . .” Catherine turned her head aside. “Prince Tzsayn has released me from my obligations. He says he still wishes to marry me, but only if I’m willing.”
Ambrose was surprised. “And are you?”
“He’s an honorable man. I confess . . . I like him. I admire him.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Ambrose heard the hardness in his voice and hated it. But he hated still more to think that Catherine even liked Tzsayn. Honorable Tzsayn. Admirable Tzsayn. The prince and his horrible habit of doing everything well.