by Patty Jansen
There were fast footsteps in the hallway. Someone called out, “Carro?”
“Shit,” Nolan whispered and ducked into the back of the laundry. Carro hoisted up his pants, slipped out of the cupboard and sat down at his makeshift desk, his heart thudding. He recognised the voice: his father. He had never been able to work out whether the Knights condoned or punished sexual relationships between each other. His gut feeling told him that it didn’t fall under honour, and that, if a superior didn’t like you, it could be used as a reason for punishment. But that it usually wasn’t. Only that rape was used as punishment, and that some superiors enjoyed it.
“Working hard?” Rider Cornatan joined Carro in the alcove. If he noticed the door to the store room moving, then he didn’t show.
“Uhm—yeah.” His heart was still going like crazy.
Rider Cornatan leaned over the makeshift desk and leafed through the book on Chevakian government. “Interesting, isn’t it?”
“Uhm—yeah.” Carro struggled to remember what he’d been doing.
Rider Cornatan turned around and fixed Carro with a penetrating stare. Carro felt like his father looked straight through him, saw his weird relationship with Nolan, and disapproved. All sorts of excuses were on his tongue I don’t want it either, and He came to me, and I didn’t ask him. But they felt like that: excuses, making him look like a spineless dud, which, by all accounts, he was.
“We may be moving in sooner than we thought.”
Moving in? Moving where? Rider Cornatan made it sound like a military operation. They had no hope of gaining control of anything with the few Knights at the farmhouse. There might be a few hundred of them, but that was not an army. “I thought you wanted me to go and talk to the Chevakians.”
“Yes, but the time is not right for that now. There is no reason why the Chevakians would want to talk to us. We need to give them a reason first before you’ll get the talk you’re so looking forward to. I have another job for you and your hunters to do first.”
By the skylights, another job with the hunters? He’d barely seen Jeito and Farey since they had arrived here. He’d presumed that part of his task was over. Jeito would kill him if he came too close to her.
“We have reliable reports that the Queen is indeed in the refugee camp and has made herself known to the people. Unfortunately, a large percentage of the camp population is made up of rogues.”
“Uhm—rogues?”
“The Brotherhood of the Light. The trains that came from Fairlight are full of them.”
That made sense. Most of the survivors from the explosion were from the Outer City. “But I thought you said that the Chevakians had isolated the camp and we didn’t need to worry about those people?”
“The Chevakians did, but there has been a development overnight which is unexpected and we might call interesting. A number of Chevakian civilians broke into the camp from the south. The official line is that they thought the camp was for them and grew tired of waiting to be let in. But since we have good evidence that the Brotherhood has its fingers through much of the Chevakian doga, I wouldn’t be surprised if the so-called southern Chevakian refugees included a good number of Brotherhood supporters.”
Carro nodded. His close examination of the farm’s accounts had shown that. By all evidence, the manager had sided with the Brotherhood and that was why he had left the place in chaos as soon as the Knights had arrived, taking the important financial records with him. “But I still don’t understand why Chevakians would support them. Icefire kills them.”
“You tell me, son, I have no idea either, but clearly, over the years that the ex-royals have lived here, they’ve built up quite a following and have convinced a good number of important Chevakians of the amazing things that can be done with icefire. It would sound stupid that Chevakians would believe that, except there are now claims that they have found some sort of medicine that allows Chevakians to withstand icefire.” His voice was grave.
“Isn’t that a good thing? I mean—if it doesn’t kill Chevakians anymore then we don’t need to worry so much about it?”
“Have you learned nothing from all I’ve told you?” Rider Cornatan’s voice was fiercer than it had ever been, even when Carro had deserved a scolding.
Carro retreated outside the immediate pool of light cast by the lamp. He could imagine Nolan trying to stifle laughter in the cupboard.
“Think of it, son,” he said, his voice low. “Us Pirosians are at a disadvantage because we can neither see nor use icefire, so the Thilleians can use it against us without our notice until it is too late. Chevakians, with or without medicine, can also not see it. Now their barriers have broken. If the Chevakians allow the Brotherhood to start using icefire, they won’t care, because it no longer harms them, and they don’t believe that icefire is more than the energy in air particles which they can measure. Everyone might live peacefully for a while, but ultimately, someone starts using icefire for the purpose of gaining power again. For making servitors who do their master’s bidding. Icefire is an excellent device for changing someone’s mind. I hope your reading about Chevakia has at the very least impressed upon you that their society relies on people speaking their minds.” Oh, he was angry now. He took in a deep breath through flaring nostrils and continued, “From all reports, it looks like we will be unable to return to the City of Glass for some time, so this affects us, too. The Chevakians simply won’t know what hit them, and we will be too few to fight this evil for them. The important Chevakians will be under the influence of those who can use icefire and will side with the Brotherhood. Son, those barriers that were broken after the explosion need to go up again as soon as possible or the entire of this country, as well as our own, will be our enemy.”
“But if they have this medicine, the Chevakians won’t need the barriers anymore.”
“Exactly, and that’s why we can’t wait any longer. We must act against the Brotherhood now. Before that medicine is a reality.”
Act? Like how? A chill went over Carro’s back, as he imagined Rider Cornatan’s plans, most of them involving innocent refugees’ lives, and none of them nice.
“And this is where your task comes in.” Rider Cornatan licked his lips. “We’ve had a problem with communication.”
Oh?
Again, Rider Cornatan waited for what seemed a long time before continuing. “A messenger was supposed to have come in by now.” He looked into the corridor, which was just as empty as it had been before, and his gaze lingered on the half-closed door of the linen cupboard, as if he realised that it was usually wide open. “We are not the only surviving Knights. There are a lot more of us. I ordered other units to hide at our field bases, because to bring this many of us into Tiverius would arouse the suspicion of the Chevakians. But now, with the new developments in the camp, we’ll need all of us here.”
“How many have survived?” Carro thought of Jono and Caman and the other bullies he had left behind in the City of Glass, and he had assumed dead. There had been thousands of Knights at the Eyrie.
“Most of us were able to get out, thanks, in part, to the fact that a good number of us were on duty at the Newlight festival.”
And that was not a coincidence, wasn’t it? Carro had spent a lot of time thinking about the machinery he had seen in the dungeons below the city, and what Rider Cornatan had been doing there. And the fact that no one seemed keen to explain what had caused the explosion.
A chill went through him. Ever since the fall of the king, the Knights had tried to destroy the Heart of the City, first by taking apart the machine—which they couldn’t—and then by dragging it underground and encasing it in sheets of metal. But it was a self-containing energy source, even when disconnected from the wires that fed it. Having failed to dismantle the machine, Rider Cornatan had decided to ex
periment with the power. Had it exploded during some sort of experiment?
“The other units of our army are spread over a couple of locations, the most important one of which is directly south of here. However, I haven’t heard from them, and we should have, by now.”
He unrolled a piece of paper on the desk. It was a map with marked on it, Chevakia’s southern border, the mountainous region with the cliff-surrounded town they called Solmeni, and a couple of black connecting stripes that were train lines. Rider Cornatan pointed. “They should be here. I sent some scouts to check up on them a while ago, but haven’t heard from them either. I want you to go there.” His finger rested on a town called Twin Bridges. “And then track south from there. Look for a small abandoned woodcutters’ village surrounded by forest. Last we heard was that there were storms and fires in that region. They may have kept the eagles inside to stop them panicking.”
But Carro could hear in his voice that he didn’t believe that. A well-trained eagle didn’t skitter that easily. Somehow, the messengers had not come through. They might have fallen into the hands of the Chevakians. Or something else . . .
How far away was this, and where was the location where he had seen the giants made of fire before falling from his bird?
He couldn’t possibly tell his father about them. Pirosians were not meant to see things like that. But that had to have been much further south and surely, icefire wouldn’t reach this far into Chevakia.
“I want you to go there and return with the army.” Rider Cornatan met his eyes with a penetrating look.
Carro tried to read the meaning in those grey eyes, but all he could see was the hardness of his expression and the cold calculating look.
Chapter 5
* * *
WITHIN MOMENTS of Isandor and Jevaithi having entered the tent, Simo started ordering people about. Some men dragged a mat into the middle. Two other men placed a crate on top, which they covered with furs.
Simo bowed. “Here you are, Your Highness. We don’t have much, but we give you the best we have.”
The crate made a cosy little bench. Jevaithi sat down, and Isandor followed, with the weight of many stares on him, as if the people questioned his right to sit next to her. He took her hand, cold and clammy. His heart beat like crazy in her chest.
Her gaze darted over the seated audience, as if she expected Rider Cornatan to emerge from the crowd any moment.
Several people dressed in black stood out in the audience, the men with beards. They were, like Simo, Brotherhood of the Light.
It felt absurd, sitting here while he could hear fights going on in the rest of the camp.
She went on in Chevakian. “Who are these people in black?”
“The Brotherhood of the Light. They run schools and orphanages in the Outer City. They are known to support the old royal family. They often sell and collect old things from the palace.”
She frowned. “Is Tandor one of them?” Still in Chevakian.
Isandor shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. He didn’t know for certain either, and disliked to be reminded of Tandor. What did the Brotherhood do, other than teach poor orphans things that the Knights didn’t think they should learn? He’d considered them to be a quaint relic of the old royal family in a quiet, unassuming sort of way.
Meanwhile, people streamed into the tent. Simo yelled at them to sit down around the makeshift throne. Jevaithi sat with her back straight. Isandor wondered where Milleus was. People raised their eyebrows at him, whispered to each other while looking at him. Simo gave him annoyed glances.
Soon, the questions came.
How had Jevaithi escaped, since the palace itself had been completely destroyed?
Did she know the whereabouts of Rider Cornatan and the senior command of the Knights?
Were there any other southern refugees with the Chevakian convoy?
“Quiet!” Simo yelled over the cacophony. “Her Highness will answer questions one by one.”
Isandor wondered what gave Simo the right to boss everyone around. It seemed like everyone in the camp accepted him as leader. Was it because he was loud, and no one else had volunteered, or for some other reason?
“I would like to ask you some questions first,” Jevaithi said, and although she hadn’t spoken loudly, talk stopped immediately, and all those people fell into an expectant silence. Many faces displayed bright expressions of hope.
Simo bowed. “By all means, Your Highness.”
But Simo’s voice betrayed a measure of annoyance. Maybe Simo hadn’t expected Jevaithi to return at all, and he was irritated at her taking his leadership position.
Jevaithi asked, “Are there any Knights in the camp?”
“We don’t think so, Your Highness,” a woman said. “The guards are all Chevakians.”
“There was a Knight at the station,” a man said. “We chased him off.”
Some people laughed.
When it was quiet again, Jevaithi said, “Some Knights have survived. I’ve seen them, they’ve been following us. A group of hunters tried to kill me.”
Several people in the audience gasped.
Isandor wanted to say, But not all Knights are like that. I was a Knight, and most of them are honourable. Instead he jammed his hands between his knees and said nothing as the ex-citizens of the City of Glass recounted wrongs done by the Knights. He thought of Carro, who would probably be dead by now, and was sure Carro was honourable, or had been honourable, under his veneer of despair to be liked by others.
The perimeter of the tent had filled up with people, and extra onlookers were trying to cram into the tent entrance, but there was no room for anyone to move and still more people were trying to get in. People lifted children onto their shoulders, held lovers on their laps, and leaned on others while standing on tiptoe at the back. Everyone looked at Jevaithi. By the frowns on their faces, everyone wondered who Isandor was, and why a cripple ex-Knight should be with their queen. Isandor wanted to run. All this Your Highness business was starting to get on his nerves.
It was time for Jevaithi to tell her story. In that clear-voiced way of hers, she told the people how the Knights had been worried about something afoot in the palace on the morning of the explosion, of secret dialogue between Rider Cornatan and his senior-ranked officers. She told them how she was sure that the Knights were doing something unusual. That was because she could feel icefire, but she didn’t tell anyone that. She told them how none of the Knights would tell her what was going on, and that Rider Cornatan hadn’t wanted her to go to the Newlight festival.
That was because the Knights had wanted Jevaithi to be killed, someone in the audience yelled. Because they knew the explosion would happen and they expected Jevaithi to be one of the victims. There was much cheering after this, and Isandor grew more angry. That was just not true. The Knights adored Jevaithi.
Next she talked about her life. How she lived practically in a prison, of turning sixteen and how she’d been wanting to escape from the palace to dance with normal boys during the Newlight Festival. She showed them her missing hand. That earned some gasps, but many others said that they had always known. Those people were mostly Brothers in black.
Simo said, “We have saved many children. There is not one family in the Outer City that isn’t secretly mourning an Imperfect-born child.” After some cheers, he concluded, “This idiocy has to stop.”
Several people shushed him and urged Jevaithi to keep talking.
She told them of Rider Cornatan’s refusal to hand over power and to let her sit on the Knights’ Council. Of his insistence that she wear stupid, gauze-thin clothes that made the Junior Knights drool over her body. Of his constant threats to rape her.
Everyone went very quiet when she said all these things
.
A woman at the front cried and said they’d never known. She would have done something had she known.
“No one could do anything,” Jevaithi said. “I was surrounded by Knights all day.”
Then she told them how she’d wrangled the trip to the Newlight Festival out of Rider Cornatan, of attending the races and of that confusing night in the Outer City, when, after choosing the champion and the escape of the Legless Lion Isandor was meant to kill, she couldn’t go back to the palace because the bears and the driver of her sled had been murdered. She told them how an unseen form, a blue-skinned servitor, had tried to kill her, and how she had escaped, with the young apprentice Knight whom she had chosen as champion and his servitor Legless Lion. At this point everyone looked at Isandor and their expressions showed that they had added up the facts.
There was no icefire here to hide the fact that he was Imperfect. They stared at his leg, and increased the size of the circle around him. He was sleeping with their queen. They didn’t want him. It was acceptable for the Queen to be Imperfect, but a random boy—no. But to his surprise, someone said, “Hurray for Isandor.”
A number of people cheered, and some clapped, and a man behind him put a meaty hand on Isandor’s shoulder. Isandor turned and saw that the man was a Brother, dressed in black. His eyes twinkled with mirth. “Anyone but that shrivelled prune will do as father for the next queen. I hope you gave it your best.”