Makarria nodded. It was true enough. Taera had been increasingly quiet of late, ever since the dream she’d had. Nothing Makarria said or did seemed to reach the princess. Taera would smile for Makarria and that was about it. She returned every night from her sessions with Roanna more exhausted than she had been the previous night. Makarria wanted to help, but Taera wouldn’t let her. It was exasperating. Everything Makarria offered to do, Taera promptly forbid. She was worse than Makarria’s mother.
The narrow tunnel suddenly opened up before Siegbjorn and Makarria, and they were standing in the enormous cavern housing the city of Issborg. It was significantly brighter than it had been in the mining tunnel, but the light emanating through the ice wall on the far side of the city was already waning.
“Night approaches,” Siegbjorn noted. “I must return you to your home.”
Makarria sighed and said nothing. She followed Siegbjorn away from the city to the north end of the caverns. When they reached Makarria’s chamber, she waved silently goodbye to Siegbjorn and walked inside to find Taera already asleep. Makarria pulled the covers up over the princess, then went to her own bed where her dinner—a bowl of porridge, now cold and coagulated—sat at the foot of the mattress. Makarria set the bowl aside and laid down, much too bored to sleep. I wonder where Grampy is right now? I wonder where Mother and Father are? I bet they’re all worried about me. Makarria remembered how worried they all were when she had gotten her first moonblood and fallen into the water. And before that, they had been worried about her dreams. Makarria had been good about not dreaming ever since she’d turned her grandfather young. She’d not dreamed since then, and the last dream she could remember before that was the one where she was a princess. Yes, the castle and the violet dress. It was so pretty.
Taera suddenly gasped and jumped up from her bed. “No! Makarria, no.”
Makarria jumped halfway out of her own bed she was so startled. “What? I wasn’t dreaming, I swear. I wasn’t doing anything.”
Taera squinted the sleep out of her eyes and shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. It wasn’t you who was dreaming. It was me. I’ve seen the truth of it all.”
“You’ve seen the truth of what?” Makarria asked.
Taera was silent for a long moment, still shaken by what she had seen in her visions. She had told Makarria next to nothing of what took place each day in Roanna’s chamber, and she had certainly not told her anything of what Roanna said about the prophecy.
“Please, you can tell me,” Makarria said, sensing her reticence.
“I know why we are here,” Taera said at last, and with those words the last vestige of her will to keep things secret from Makarria disappeared. I can barely keep myself safe, she realized. What point is there in pretending to protect Makarria by sheltering her from the truth?
“There is a prophecy foretelling how the Emperor will die,” Taera began, and she proceeded to tell Makarria everything Roanna had said. The more she spoke, the easier her words came. She told Makarria about the Emperor’s ability to stint magic, about the prophecy, about how only women could be dreamwielders, and how Roanna thought Taera was the one spoken of in the prophecy.
Makarria listened intently as Taera recounted everything. “Are you going to do it?” Makarria asked after a long moment of contemplation. “Are you going to kill the Emperor?”
“No,” Taera told her. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m not who Roanna thinks I am.”
“You’re not?”
“No, you are, Makarria.”
“That’s a silly thing to say,” Makarria said, forcing a laugh. “How could I be you?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that you are the dreamwielder who is foretold to kill the Emperor, not me.”
“But you said the prophecy was about a princess.”
Taera got up from her bed and walked across the chamber to sit beside Makarria. “Yes, that is exactly what I said. I had another vision tonight and never before has a vision come to me with so much clarity and certainty.”
“What did you see?”
“You, Makarria. And you were not the farm girl you claim to be. You were not the tomboyish sea urchin skulking about on a ship that I first met. You were a princess, clad in a violet gown and with a great weight on your shoulders.”
“That’s impossible,” Makarria said, but even as she said it the dreams she’d had back home flashed through her mind.
“I am no dreamwielder,” Taera assured her. “Roanna has been trying to teach me, but the power isn’t there. It’s not in me, it’s in you. I don’t know how or why, but you have the blood of kings and queens in you, Makarria.”
Makarria sat there, too stunned to speak. She didn’t know how or why it could be true, but she believed Taera.
“I always suspected there was something more to you,” Taera said, “but I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to frighten you. I thought I could protect you, Makarria, but all I’ve done is drag you into further danger. Roanna and Kadar—they’re sworn enemies of the Emperor, but I fear they are no better than he is. If they find out who you are, they’ll throw you at him. They will try to train you like they do with me, but in the end they will use you to their own ends, they will use you like a weapon to kill the Emperor.”
“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Makarria said, shaking her head at the very thought. She feared the Emperor, she knew her grandfather cursed his name, but that didn’t mean she could bring herself kill him, evil or not.
“That’s why we must keep this secret and get you out of here,” Taera said. “You’ve made friends with the captain of that airship, yes?”
“Siegbjorn? Yes, but what—”
“He’s told you that he has no love for Roanna. You must convince him to take you away, now, before winter fully arrives and you are trapped here.”
“I’m not leaving without you,” Makarria said.
“Roanna and Kadar won’t let me escape, but they have no reason to seek after you. If you disappeared, they would hardly notice. I overheard Roanna say that Siegbjorn might be leaving, to gather news before the first winter storms come. You could steal away with him, then escape when the ship lands.”
“It’s too late,” Makarria said. “He’s leaving tonight.”
“There’s still time then,” Taera insisted.
“We’re locked in here until morning, Taera. Plus, Siegbjorn told me that Kadar himself said I’m supposed to stay with you. He’ll notice if I’m gone.”
Taera’s hopes dimmed at hearing this, but she was not willing to concede. There had to be a way to protect Makarria, she was certain. “The city you told me about then. The people there will hide you perhaps. They can take you to the other side of the mountain and show you the way out.”
“I told you, they collapsed the tunnel on that side,” Makarria reminded her. “I could maybe stay in the city, but I wouldn’t know who to ask. Siegbjorn only introduced me to a few people and most of them don’t speak our language.” Makarria realized that she truly didn’t want to leave Taera. The Emperor and ancient prophesies were far away and meant little to her. As far as she was concerned, it was more important to stick together, especially now that Makarria knew what was going on. “I’m not going anywhere without you,” she declared.
Taera held her head in her hands. She felt completely empty. Hopeless. She considered what her father would do in her position. Or Caile. As much as the two of them did not see eye to eye, they were not so different from each other. Neither one of them would ever give up. They would continue doing what they thought was right until their lives were ripped away from them. Cargan had been the same. Taera owed it to them, she decided, to do nothing less. The problem was, she didn’t know what she could possibly do.
“We wait,” she said after a long silence. “We’ll keep your secret and wait out the winter. I’ll do what I can to appease Roanna and keep her hope alive that I am the one. That is all we can do for now. I am sorry, Makarria.”
No more than forty yards away from Makarria and Taera’s chamber, Roanna sat down on a velvet cushion in Kadar’s chamber. The room was furnished with a carven oak bed and desk; embroidered tapestries hung on the walls; a rug of crimson kork-wool covered the floor from doorway to bedside; and yet, even with the warm glow of many lanterns, it still seemed very much a cave.
Kadar sat on a cushion across from Roanna and stroked his dark eyebrows with his slender, long-nailed fingers. “It takes too long,” he said.
“She’s only been here a few weeks,” Roanna replied, annoyed at his presumptuousness. “We knew it would take time. She’s had no training whatsoever before now. We can’t expect her to be a mighty sorcerer yet, and besides, we agreed to give her a year or more before even considering confronting Guderian.”
“I speak not of confronting him yet. I am telling you it has taken too long to discover her abilities beyond clairvoyance. She is nineteen already. A fully matured woman and yet I detected nothing in her during my examination. And your teachings, they have been fruitless. If her other abilities do not blossom yet of their own accord, we are wasting time—your exercises are not going to awaken them. No, I think we must accelerate matters.”
“No, I will not allow it,” Roanna snapped. “You promised to let me work with her until she was ready.”
“Do not tell me what you will or will not allow, woman!” Kadar snarled, and though his voice was quiet, it filled the chamber with menace. Roanna shrank back on her pillow. “You know as well as anyone how effective my methods are,” Kadar went on. “This princess has lived a pampered life. Her mind is soft. We must shock her entire being if we are to reach her true potential. She must suffer pain, know agony. And if that works not, I will give her a child to change her chemistry and draw forth the power inside her.”
“Please, just give me more time with her,” Roanna begged of him. “I know I can awaken her ability without resorting to those measures.”
Kadar regarded her silently for a long moment. “You have three days more, Roanna. That is all. If we see no sign of an awakening in her, then I will be taking over her training.”
23
The Rebellion Begins
Parmo looked over the small group of men gathered around him in his upstairs bedroom of The Herdsman. Their plans had come together quickly after Parmo agreed to stay and help. Rufous and Gaetan had already recruited soldiers, sailors, and officials from every arm of the Pyrthinian government, and they already had all the workings of a plan. All Parmo had to do was bring an outside perspective and settle a few arguments, and now here they were on the cusp of staging a coup. Nearly a dozen men were packed into the room, standing around the sagging bed which had become a desk of sorts with a large map of the city spread out across it.
“What news do you bring?” Parmo asked of the newest member of their group, an archer whom Gaetan had recruited from Castle Pyrthin.
“I was witness to the butchering of those girls three days ago,” the man said. “After Wulfram killed my captain and all those girls, the houndkeeper gave Wulfram a message. Wulfram said he was summoned back to Col Sargoth. I was standing close enough to hear it with my own ears. He said that the Prince had escaped, and I can only assume he meant Prince Caile.”
“Those are good tidings,” Parmo said, pushing aside the thought of the girls being butchered by Wulfram and turning his gaze upon Gaetan. “Have you confirmed the sightings of Wulfram leaving the city?”
“Aye,” Gaetan replied. “We’ve confirmed over thirty sightings of him flying off. People around the castle, in the city, and even in the farms to the west saw him making toward Col Sargoth.”
“We must act now then,” Parmo said, taking a deep breath and making sure he had everything straight in his mind before continuing. “Who’s in charge of the archers?” he asked the new recruit.
“Me. I’m the captain now.”
“Perfect,” Parmo said. “How many men can you steal away from the castle unnoticed tonight? Men you can trust?”
The captain of the archers eyed Parmo silently for a long moment before responding. “Six, including myself.”
“Then you will go with me to the houndkeeper’s tower. I’ll go into the tower myself to deal with the houndkeeper’s men, but if they keep their wits about them they will try to send a warning to Col Sargoth. We can’t risk any ravens getting loose, Captain, otherwise Wulfram will be right back here to make a short end of our work. Make sure nothing gets out of that window alive.”
“If I may?” the captain said, looking to his fellow Pyrthinian soldiers and sailors. “Why is it that we are taking orders from a Valarion? And one five years my junior by the look of him.”
Parmo pursed his lips. He still couldn’t keep his head around the idea that his body was young now. Before Makarria had remade him, his distinctly Valarion features had been hidden beneath wrinkles, sagging skin, and grayed hair. No one would have ever suspected him of being a Valarion. In addition, his aged appearance had lent him an air of wisdom and dignity. No one instinctively trusts a young man though, he reminded himself, particularly if he’s not your countryman. You’ve got to earn it.
“I apologize if I sometimes presume to give orders,” Parmo said. “I’m merely making suggestions, and I promise you, we share the same goals, Captain. I want to see King Casstian free and on the throne again. My niece has been abducted along with the princess. I want to get them both back. I want the Emperor and Wulfram dead. I want to again see the day where Pyrthinia and Valaróz are the closest of allies.”
“Parmo’s proven himself,” Gaetan said. “He saved my life and Rufous’s, both.”
“That’s right,” Rufous affirmed. “And no one is giving orders to no one. We’re all in this together. We all have our own areas of know-how and skills. It just so happens that Parmo’s is with strategics.”
The archer nodded. “If you vouch for him, it’s good enough for me, I suppose.”
“Will you go with me to the tower, then?” Parmo asked.
“Me and my five best men. It is done.”
“Thank you,” Parmo said with a nod. “The rest of us then, let’s proceed as planned. Gaetan, you know where to find the houndkeeper’s new harbor master: kill him.”
“With pleasure.”
“Jeremo, Arsino, Callum, you’ll split up and take the three gate-keepers.”
The three men nodded.
“Loukas and Eudecio, you must secure the treasury.”
“Consider it secured.”
“And the rest of you,” Parmo said at last, “Castle Pyrthin is yours. Wulfram has left it sorely unguarded. At best, the houndkeeper has ten of his own men there. The rest of the inhabitants are loyal Pyrthinians; they obey the houndkeeper now out of fear, but they will join you if you have the courage to take charge. All of you, use your name and rank to command whatever troops you can to do your bidding. Rufous, don’t forget, you’re now the captain of the King’s flagship and that makes you an admiral. You’ll find few in the castle at night who outrank you. Are we all clear?”
Every man in the room nodded in assent.
“Very well then,” Parmo said, “at midnight, we all act at once.”
No one said a word, and in the silence Parmo couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made the right choice in staying. His heart had told him to keep searching for Makarria, and yet here he was caught up in revolt. You might have a young body now, but the world is moving faster than your mind, he warned himself. Keep your wits about you tonight.
Natarios Rhodas woke with an unsettling feeling. He’d been dreaming that he was being pecked to pieces by ravens while simultaneously being burnt alive. He pushed the images out of his mind and tucked his fur blanket back around his shoulders. I shouldn’t have such nasty dreams when I’m sleeping in this big, lush bed, he mused. I don’t know how Casstian found the willpower to get out of bed every morning.
He rooted his head deeper into one of the down pillows and clamped
his eyes shut, but sleep would not come to him. His stomach began grumbling after a while and he decided the only thing to do was to head down to the larder to grab some warm milk and a bite of cheese. His mind settled, he threw aside the covers, grabbed his night robe from the bedside, and stepped into his slippers. When he slipped out the door into the corridor, he found his guard asleep in his chair. “Worthless fool,” Natarios muttered, but he shuffled past without waking the man and made his way down the stairs to the kitchens and the larder. A few solitary cooks were there kneading dough for the morning meal, but they paid him no heed. He helped himself to a jug of milk and broke off a sizable chunk from a wheel of cheese, then sat on a step stool to enjoy his snack. This is the life, he told himself. You won’t find milk and cheese in the middle of the night in your old tower. No warm, comfy bed with big cushy pillows. No warm robe and slippers. Just that smelly hound. Those squawking ravens. And always on the lookout for that wretched Wulfram.
A shout suddenly rang out disrupting his thoughts, followed by heavy footsteps in the corridor outside the kitchen. Perplexed as to who could be shouting at this hour, Natarios set aside his jug of milk and peered out from the larder doorway. He saw Pyrthinian soldiers hurrying by and realized they were heading in the direction of the stairs toward his quarters.
“Sargoth’s hairy arse,” he swore beneath his breath and stepped back into the larder. He could hear the men running up the stairs now and beating on his door. Without a second thought, he crept to the back of the larder and let himself out the back door into the service yard where stores and wares were delivered each day. No one was about at this time of night, however, and Natarios simply unlocked the service gate and exited Castle Pyrthin’s outer walls unimpeded. You have quite the nose for danger, he congratulated himself. Quite the nose, indeed.
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