“It is better for one to die, than for six,” Fey said grimly.
Jane could not believe what she had just heard. Rage seethed within her and, turning to Fey, she slapped her face.
“How could you say such a thing?” Jane hissed.
Fey did not make a sound, but clasped part of her shirt to her nose to stem the flow of blood. She was looking coldly at Jane. The others seemed shocked beyond words. Jane couldn’t care less what they thought—she’d never been so terrified in all her life.
In all the commotion, Blaise had made it back to the group and was holding the book in his hands. It was big and black, with gold script on the front that Jane couldn’t read. She looked at Corte and said, “Give me a sword.” He hesitated.
He was about to obey when Fey said, “Don’t even think about it Corte. We have to get out of here.” She looked at Jane, her eyes cold. “Don’t you understand? He only did this so that he could save you. If you get yourself killed, then he gave his life for nothing.”
“He’s not dead yet!” Jane cried.
“We must leave, Jane,” Blaise said quietly, his accent thick. She looked to where Fern was fighting. He was covered in blood. His left arm hung limp at his side, but he fought on. He had killed a huge number of Phaeries, and they were having trouble getting to him through the bodies on the ground. Still, he was slowly being overcome. The Phaeries were completely oblivious to the fact that their book had been stolen. Fern had done his job well.
Then, in a pause in the flow of attackers, Fern looked over to where the group were squatting in the grass. His eyes met Jane’s, and he angrily mouthed the word, ‘go’. It was all he had time for—a blade slid into his unprotected left side. With a look of surprise on his face he was pulled from Nuitdor and Jane lost sight of him.
Then he was up again, on his feet and still fighting, though the left side of his body was immobile. It was on that side that Nuitdor stood, trying to protect him.
“We have to go,” Blaise said again from behind her. Firmly, but very gently, he put his arm around Jane’s waist and began to pull her back to where their horses waited. Jane struggled, gasping out loud.
“Don’t!” she hissed, but he was strong, and continued to drag her away. Jane began to weep. “Please,” she cried softly, still struggling weakly to escape. “We can’t leave him.”
“We have to,” said Blaise. He mounted his own horse and pulled Jane up in front of him, never letting go. Jane stopped struggling and sagged down against the horse’s neck, defeated.
The five of them thundered down the narrow path. Not one of them stopped when they reached the two rocks and the dwarf who guarded the way. They galloped past the little man as he stood flabbergasted, and out the other side. Night had fallen. There was a numb silence to the group.
Blaise’s firm grip was the only thing that kept Jane from falling from the horse. They arrived at the warrior fortress well into the night. No one had said anything the whole way, but now Fey spoke. “We will sleep the night in the fortress and then leave on the boat in the morning.”
Jane could not face Harry and Luca right then. She knew they would be in pain and might need her, but she could not, honestly, give anything just then. To give, there must be something left, and so much had been taken from her that day that she didn’t believe she would ever give anything again.
Jane did not sleep that night, but rode Blaise’s horse to the beach and sat on the sand, looking out to sea.
Fern, Prince of Cynis Witron, was dead.
***
Satine descended from the ship into the sunny afternoon, Ambrosius following quietly behind. Leostrial was sure to know she was in Lapis Matyr. She took it as a good sign that they hadn’t already been arrested.
Satine’s priority was to confirm their suspicions about Leostrial’s activities, and to try and discover his attack plan.
Satine’s plan had always relied solely on Leostrial’s feelings for her. If, in fact, he had any. That was the problem—she had told Accolon that Leostrial loved her, but Satine didn’t actually know this. He cared for her—cared that she was loyal to him—certainly, but love?
They bought two horses from the markets at the dock and began the long journey to the castle. Around the marshes this time—not for the life of her would she ever ride through them again, not after what had happened with Harry and the Equinox. The road was longer, but it was also much safer.
They stopped only once to spend the night in an inn, and then at sundown the next day, Satine and Ambrosius arrived at the castle.
The gates were locked, so they called through to the guards on the other side. The men realised who the travellers were. They rushed away to inform Leostrial of their arrival. Once the king was alert to Satine’s presence, she and Ambrosius were swiftly taken hold of and brought into the entrance hall of the palace.
Satine tried to remember the name of the guard who was gripping her arm tightly. Coll, that was it. She turned and gave him one of her most dazzling smiles, and said, “Coll, it has been too long.”
He stared at her for a moment, and then loosened his grip a little.
Satine sighed with relief. She and Ambrosius waited in silence for quite some time, giving Satine time to consider her strategy. But when Leostrial finally came to meet them, when Satine finally saw him again, all of her plans were forgotten.
Leostrial walked into the room and Satine remembered what it was like, every single time, to see him. The knife in her heart, made of hatred and loss, gave a twist and she clenched her teeth. He wore a long black cloak that swished as he stopped. It hid the sword she knew was at his waist. Long black riding boots covered his feet, and a plain tunic his torso.
She noticed none of this. It was his eyes that caught hold of her. They were deep chasms of darkness, black holes. They bore into her own bright blue ones, and Satine felt the darkness begin to take hold of her. It had not been like this when she left.
“Explain yourself,” he said, his voice flat. Then he folded his arms in front of him and waited.
She sucked in a breath of air and felt her hands shake at her sides. She had been naive. How could she have assumed he would accept her back into his palace, no questions asked, even if he did love her? Leostrial would not allow it.
Satine looked at him. Thought about all that he was, and had been and would become. Thought about herself, and the woman she was when she was here, in this place with him. She thought about all the people she had just left back in Amalia.
She realised where her real loyalties lay. The sight of him did something to her. Released feelings that had been locked tightly away. There was only one thing left for Satine to do, so she did it.
“My Lord, I have a long story to tell. I would be very grateful if you would hear it.” She waited for his nod of consent before she continued.
“As you know by now, my loyalty has been across the sea with Gaddemar. And, please, when you think on this, surely it is not so surprising? Surely, you must know that I am not ... the sort of woman who can just lie down and let her father’s killer take over her land.” She paused to look at him, pleading with her eyes. This was so dangerous.
“I was here by your side night and day for a good part of my life. Then, something happened to make me compromise my position. A boy named Harry appeared in my bedchamber one night. He claimed that he had crossed over from another world. I had a suspicion.” She paused for a moment so that Leostrial could come up with the same thought she had.
“The six?” he said quietly. Satine nodded. “Continue,” he ordered.
“I fled with Harry and we arrived at Gaddemar’s castle. But it was not enough, what I had done. They wanted to burn me. They didn’t share my views as to how to best use the Bright Ones. Gaddemar has never believed in the prophecy, and was convinced that they didn’t need the help of the six. I think it had a lot to do with his pride, and the idea that he should need the help of children from another world. But I have long held faith in the prophecy, and knew
that this would be the only possible way to rid the land of evil.” Satine stopped and stared into his eyes.
“I let my emotions, guide my belief. I ignored everything you’ve told me about what you’re trying to do—I listened to my anger. I know now that you are no more evil than I, and that you strive for something bigger than what we have in Paragor. Something different. I don’t know what, but the truth is, my lord, the simple truth is that I trust you. I didn’t even realise until right now, until simply looking at you. I came here with the hope of spying on you again. But even if I did want to do that, I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it again ... Not to you.”
Leostrial held up a hand for her to stop. Ambrosius made a choking sound of disbelief and horror. The guards grabbed him roughly and held him in silence. Guilt surged through her as if it had a life of its own, a life set to destroying her, but she ignored it because she knew she was doing the right thing. Leostrial peered closely at her and she brought her attention back to him.
“There is another reason, isn’t there?”
She felt her face colour and cast her eyes down to the ground. “Yes,” she said. What hope was there in lying? “I loved a man there, but he ... betrayed me. I love him no longer.” She paused, and her next words came out in a whisper. “If you will let me, I could finally give myself to you, and to this country.” Satine began to cry.
There was one thing left to say, really. And it was the hardest. The most true. The most important. “You could choose not to forgive me,” she murmured, “and it might be the wisest thing to do. There is a lot to forgive, after all. But if you are having trouble, my lord, think on what I have had to forgive.”
The words hung heavily in the room. She was at his mercy—had put herself there. But she would not give in without finally, here at the end, bringing her own truths to the surface. If he loved her, the real her, then he would understand that she could not just banish her own emotions, and would at least acknowledge the size and difficulty of this thing she was doing.
She waited, knowing that she had done all she could. And at last she saw something through the blurring of her tears. Something so small, so slight that she couldn’t be sure it was there, but it was a flash of something in his eyes. More complex than love, and more complex than pain, but at least it was not hatred, and that was so important.
“What do you expect me to do?” he asked her.
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I cannot expect anything. If you truly want it, then I will tell you everything I know, and you can kill me.”
“You traitor!” Ambrosius hissed from between the men restraining him.
Satine turned to him, trying to stop the tears. “I’m sorry, Ambrosius, but you cannot understand this. It does hurt me, you know. I do not do this thing lightly.” A look of disgust on Ambrosius’ face caused Satine to falter momentarily, but she turned back to Leostrial.
“The Bright Ones are here for a reason. I don’t know what that is, but I don’t believe that it’s to destroy you.”
In silence, he gazed at her, then nodded and asked, “Who is your friend?”
Ambrosius stared fiercely at Leostrial; Satine admired his courage.
“He is no one, Leostrial. Just a servant who was made to accompany me.” She hoped her lie might stop Ambrosius from dying.
Leostrial shook his head and sighed. “You truly wish to be a part of this court again? You will give your loyalty solely to my people and I—as a true princess should do—and you will work with us to achieve whatever ends I decide upon?”
Satine nodded.
In a low voice, Leostrial said, “And you will do all of this, knowing full well that if you ever betray me again, I will punish you with all the strength I possess?”
Satine’s hands began to shake. “I will,” she whispered honestly, her new path unfolding before her.
***
Jane’s tears faded away as the sun rose, her body aching with exhaustion. His eyes haunted her, but she didn’t want the memory of them to fade away. She needed something to cling to.
All she could think about was how alone she felt. Fern had looked after her, right from the beginning.
She could remember, with startling clarity, the words he’d spoken when first they’d met. “I’ll keep you safe.” Even then, she realised, they’d been laced with more than just politeness. He had looked at her, and he’d smiled that smile, and she’d taken it all for granted.
Luca found her on the beach not long after sunrise. He didn’t say anything but sat down next to her. She didn’t look up.
After a while she managed to speak, in a voice that shook. “You know what the funny thing is?” she asked him. “I’m not even allowed to grieve for him. Not properly. He was getting married to someone else.” She stopped speaking because all of a sudden she couldn’t breathe.
Luca put his arm around her and she let herself fold into the warm contours of his body.
“How do I...?” she whispered, and it seemed she could cry again, for there were yet more tears seeping from her eyes. “It’s not fair! It’s so utterly ridiculous! How can it be real? How can he possibly be dead? Oh, God, what do I do, Luca?”
“Jane,” Luca murmured, holding her tightly.
“What do I do? I knew before that I would never be with him. But ... for him to be dead ... It’s not, it’s not even ... God, it’s not the same. Do I have to ... How do I tell all those people? He was so loved here. How do I tell them...? And Athena! Oh God, how do I tell her?”
“You don’t have to,” Luca said firmly. “That job is anyone’s but yours. And, Jane, don’t feel guilty about grieving for him. I could see the way he looked at you. He was ... yours. And it doesn’t matter if only the two of you knew that.”
She covered her eyes and cried.
It wasn’t right. This girl he had grown up with was the strongest person he knew. A person who never put her own problems ahead of her friends’.
Once, several years ago, he had gone to visit her on a summer evening. Her front door had been left open because of the heat, and through the screen Luca had been able to hear the crying. Jane’s mother.
Luca had charged into the house, to find Jane crouched over the sobbing form of her mother, trying to comfort her.
“Jane,” Luca said and she’d turned to him, stricken. Taking his hand she’d led him outside.
“What are you doing here, Luca?” Jane had asked him.
“What’s going on? Are you okay? Why is your mother crying?”
Jane had only been fifteen then, but she’d looked at Luca with calm acceptance. “Dad just had a bit too much to drink. I’ve got it under control.”
She’d refused to say anything more about it. Several days later, when Luca had been able to find some time alone with her at school, he had asked, “Does that sort of thing happen often, Jane?”
Jane shook her head, smiled sadly and said, “You don’t have to worry about us. I told you—I can handle it.”
Never again had she spoken about the incident, or given anyone the slightest indication that something might be wrong at home. Luca had never met anyone as strong. But now here she was, weeping with all the sorrow in the world, over a man she’d only known a week or two and who hadn’t truly given her anything real.
A sweet bitterness swept through Luca at the thought that she would never weep like this over him. But even after so many years of loving Jane, Luca knew that he would gladly put up with never having her for himself, if only he never had to hear her cry like this again.
“Luca,” she cried softly, “I don’t know what to do.”
Luca didn’t know either, but he said, “I’ll look after you.”
She held onto him for a long time, and eventually stopped crying.
The rest of the group found them as the morning grew old. They were all pale and tired and sad and frightened.
As everyone prepared to board the ship, and it came to be Jane’s turn to climb into the long boat, something th
readed its way into her mind, gently but persistently.
Never give up hope.
“Wait!” she cried suddenly, and they looked at her. Her heart pounded. The others turned to look at her.
“Jane, we have to leave, we have to get the book back,” Luca said gently.
“But I think he’s alive!” Jane said.
Luca looked confused. “Jane, you saw him die. Fern’s gone.”
“He isn’t dead,” she said, her eyes bright.
“Jane—he is. There’s no way he could have survived. You have to accept it,” Harry said. They looked at her uncomfortably, pity in their eyes.
“No, listen to me! He said something and I didn’t realise until now what it meant.” Jane said desperately.
“What did he say?” Blaise asked.
“He said to never give up hope. It was a warning.”
“When did he say it?” Blaise asked.
“Just before he left. When he knew what he had to do.”
“Jane, maybe he thought he was coming back, but then he couldn’t.” Ria said. She looked empty, as if a bright light had gone out inside her.
“He’s alive, and I’m going back to get him,” Jane said fiercely.
Blaise nodded, “I will come with you.”
Jane let out a sob of relief.
“Are you mad?” Fey asked. “You will be killed.”
Jane turned on the Amazon. “I don’t care what you think. I’m going back to get him.”
“Very well,” said Fey. “If this achieves nothing else, then at least we might claim his body and give him the burial he deserves. We will wait a day. If you are not back, we will leave.”
“We’re not leaving without Jane!” Harry exclaimed.
Fey was unmoved.
“It’s all right,” Jane said to Harry. “We’ll be back.”
Blaise handed Jane a sword and they mounted their horses. She galloped harder and faster than they had the night before. She heard his name in every hoof beat.
It was late evening when they arrived outside the hellish camp. Peering through the bushes, they couldn’t see Fern anywhere. There were fewer Phaeries in the camp now, but those that remained looked agitated.
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