by Sarah Dalton
“Spies for what? I don’t understand—”
“You do not need to understand. What you need to do is get out. You will be safe with the escort I have arranged. They will have hooded cloaks to hide your faces with. Do not reveal your name to anyone.”
“You knew,” Reva said. “You knew this was going to happen.”
“I did not know. I suspected.” He sighed. “Someone like me always expects, always prepares. I am a general, Reva. You know that.”
There was tenderness in his voice. It had been a long time since she had heard that tenderness. She had been pregnant with their first child. The first baby that she lost. Her throat closed, and she let out a spluttering cough that was almost a sob. She lifted her chin higher. Now was not the time for tears.
If Reva had thought the castle corridors were chaotic, she was not prepared for the courtyard. The great booming of the battering ram beating at the castle gate echoed against every wall. Men screamed orders to each other. They hurried, tripping over either their feet or the cobblestones, red-faced and inexperienced, pale fingers wrapped around the hilts of their swords. Others pulled on armour as they ran from the castle. It was almost dusk, and the night sky was gathering as the sun began to set. Reva watched as the castle doors slammed shut behind her, and heard the sound of the great draw-bar dropping into position. It was at that moment she realised she would never come back. She would have to be brave, at least brave enough to hide the pain in her abdomen and the way the apricots were churning in her stomach.
The boys are so young, she thought, as they hurried away from the gathering men, and towards the stables. They stood in ill-fitting armour with swords that seemed too big for them. The pink flower baskets shook with every booming crack on the castle gate.
“How are we going to get out? Are we surrounded?” Reva asked.
“Stefan’s men are working on it, but the tower guards said that the majority are at the gate, the others are spread further back. He will send his men at us in waves.”
“Is Stefan there? Perhaps I can speak with him? Why is he not talking to you, Francis?” Reva asked.
Francis shook his head. “The prince sends generals with a thousand men each. He does not talk. He does not negotiate. He is here for me, for sure, but not for discourse.” Francis spat onto the ground. “He will not talk to anyone who stands in the way of his cause anyway, and nor will the zealots who follow him. They forget the past so easily. We fought side by side.” He shook his head. “There is no time for this.”
There was a question on Reva’s lips, but it remained unspoken. She was lifted onto her grey mare. When astride the horse, she could not help but cry out from the pain. Ammie glanced across at her in concern. Lord Unna threw a cloak over her shoulders and Reva quickly fastened it, pulling the hood low over her face. Her husband had spared her eight men, all of them good soldiers. Ammie pulled her hood low. Then Reva noticed that there were no more horses free.
“My lord,” she said with surprise. “You are not coming with us.”
Francis shook his head. “I am staying with my men.”
It was all so familiar. She had seen this before. She knew the panicked men and those destined to command them all too well. She had seen a raid on another castle long ago, one that she had barely survived. She gathered up her reins with trembling fingers.
Francis backed away. “Take the west gate and ride along the coast. You can cross River Lanti at its narrowest; the horses are strong enough. Your best bet is to head for Irrinthia, but to be careful crossing the Market Road. Do not reveal your identity in taverns.”
And with that his back was turned. Reva found herself pulling her horse away and digging her heels into its belly. Behind them, the wood was cracking. Stefan’s men would soon infiltrate the castle, and if they had thousands of soldiers, as Francis had suggested, then the castle was outnumbered. Reva could not see herself as she rode towards the west gate, but she had a feeling that her skin was pale and pasty. She would never sit at the window in her chambers again. She would never watch the young boys play with wooden swords, or the older boys train with a bow and arrow. She would never watch the flower baskets swing in the wind or smile as Ammie came into her room with fresh olives. It had seemed like such hardship at the time and now it was all changed in a matter of minutes. She closed her eyes and wished for all the young boys to make it out alive. And then she thought of her husband, staying back with his men. Perhaps it was for the best. Francis had always been a man good at war. He’d never been a man happy and content at home with his people. She could tell that he missed the fighting, and missed the excitement of it all.
As soon as they were through the gate, their small group set into a gallop. Reva grimaced against the soreness between her thighs. She gritted her teeth and pressed her legs against her mare. Whatever she suffered now, it was nothing to what those left behind would experience in the castle. She knew what an invasion was like. She had seen the aftermath before. When she closed her eyes to steady her heart, she saw the image that haunted her dreams: her parents, slain. She opened them again and the image vanished.
Ammie rode up beside her. “My lady, do you need assistance? Can I help you?”
Reva shook her head. “I am well. Try not to worry about me. I’m stronger than I look.” She forced a tight smile. Reva was all too aware of the family Ammie left behind in the castle. Her loyal handmaiden had come with her without even a moment of hesitation, and she loved her for that, but she thought of Ammie’s family hiding away with the rest of the servants and she could barely meet her friend’s gaze.
The eight of them climbed the hills away from Unna Castle, riding as close to the high cliffs as they dared. Unna Castle sat in the valleys on the way down to the Fiuryn Coast, where Reva had grown up. It was not far to the River Lanti, and from there she hoped they would be safe.
But a deep rumble cracked open the tense silence, making Reva scream in surprise. Her mare danced below her, shying in fright. She turned her mare around and shortened her reins to keep her under control. The others did the same with their unsettled horses. Reva leaned forward in her saddle to see the cause of the thunderous sound, and let out a long, slow exhale. There was muted silence among them all. The twilight was quiet except for the distant rumbling of the landslide. It moved fast, crashing into Unna Castle. Reva’s hand flew to her mouth.
“What is happening?” she whispered.
There was not one answer. For who could explain the mysterious landslide occurring so suddenly and so viciously against Unna Castle? She saw the mud and soil move like water to cover great portions of her old home, and began to cry for the servants trapped in the cellars. Beside her, Ammie let out a sob. Reva moved her mare closer to Ammie, reached across and grasped the maid’s hand. There was nothing she could do, and nothing she could say. Ammie had just lost her family.
Eventually, one of the guards broke the spell. “If we don’t move soon, Stefan’s men will find us.”
So they rode.
King Davead
The room smelled of salt and stone. Sea air drifted in through the window of the king’s chambers. King Davead longed to be soaring through the air, flying over the streets below. There he could see his kingdom. He saw the people going about their business, from pick-pockets to fishermen to Lords in hunting parties. Sometimes he flew over the Sea of Kings into Xantos and saw beautiful women dressed in colourful silks.
It was as the king daydreamed of being a hawk once more that the message arrived. Unna Castle had been stormed by two of Stefan’s generals. Lord Unna was dead, and most of the castle had been obliterated by a strange landslide of mud and soil. Stefan had lost close to five hundred men in the clash. Five hundred men from his army.
King Davead shook his head and once more yearned to be riding the breeze, feeling its coolness run through his feathers. He would rather be anywhere than here in this castle dealing with idiotic princes. Why had Stefan ordered this without his permission? He remem
bered Lord Unna. He was a good general, and someone who had fought bravely against the Menti during their attempted rebellion. He remembered gifting him the castle and Reva Avalon to wed. He had gone against his own son that day, though he felt no guilt for it. A king must make difficult decisions.
He turned away from the window and gestured for his squire to pour him a goblet of wine. It was sweet, too sweet. He enjoyed his wine and ale with a sour tang. Nevertheless, it was wet and refreshing. He sat down at his desk and waited for his son.
He hated to ruminate on it, but Stefan was not his favourite child. At the beginning, all parents tell themselves that they will love all of their children and that they will love them equally. But Davead had long ago realised that he did not feel the same affection towards Stefan as he had his other children. While Matias was intelligent and well-respected, Stefan was feared and ridiculed. They called him the snake, and Davead knew why. It was those nefarious potions the strange Governor, Mikkel, gave him. They turned the boy’s tongue bright red, as though it had been dipped in blood. His tongue slipped out when he spoke, like a snake hissing. Some said that his breath reeked of blood, but few ever came close enough to Stefan to smell his breath. He regretted ever hiring the Governor, and now the damage was done.
Stefan appeared flustered as he walked into the king’s chambers. The prince generally lacked colour, but today his cheeks were flushed red. Davead was pleased to see that the boy’s Governor, Brother Mikkel, was not with him. In truth, Davead did not trust the Enlightened Brother. He dealt with the Order of Insight regularly, but he was not in love with their beliefs.
His son hesitated by the chair in front of the king. It was up to Davead to gesture for him to sit.
“Help yourself to wine, olives, and grapes,” Davead instructed his son.
Stefan grimaced at the food and drink. “I am well, Your Majesty.” That red tongue snaked out between his teeth.
Davead dismissed his squire. He needed to be alone with his son. “As you wish. We will get straight to it, shall we? Why did you send two thousand men to sack Unna Castle? The man is a Lord, and a general who fought well in my army. He is now dead, and for what? The castle is destroyed, and you have wasted five hundred decent men from my army!” The king had intended to keep calm, but he soon realised he was shouting.
Stefan shrank away from him, curling up in the chair. He cleared his throat before speaking, and managed to straighten his spine. “I had heard reports that Francis Unna was Menti.”
King Davead leaned back in his chair. This was news he did not expect. “He was what?”
Stefan sighed. “The man lived in a castle with iron all over the walls and doors. I had a spy sent to watch Unna—a whore, to be precise. The woman saw the iron chains around his neck herself. He did not take them off, not even in the… act.”
Davead almost lifted a hand to the iron medallion around his neck, but he did not. He noted his son’s apparent discomfort about sexual intercourse. Was there to be nothing regular about his son? At least Davead understood a bawdy young man. The obsession with the Order of Insight was bad enough, but in addition, the boy did not seem to possess the same desires as other boys his age. “Just because a man wears an iron chain does not mean he is Menti.”
“Do you not remember what happened in the rebellion? Unna won all those battles because of the landslides around the coast. Hundreds of Menti drowned in dirt. Then, when my men attacked, yet another landslide drowned them beneath the dirt, killing scores of his own men too. The man deserved what he got.”
“You suspected that the man possessed land wielding magic and you failed to account for that in your attack?”
“What could I do, father?” Stefan protested. “The castle is in a valley. There are hills all around it. I cannot move the castle. Besides, I thought there was so much iron in that place it would quell his powers. But it seems that out in the courtyard of the castle he was powerful once more.”
“Perhaps you could have arrested him.” King Davead was hot with anger. His beard itched and his fingers drummed the desk. “He would have come to Nesra’s Keep had you summoned him, and there you could have arrested him!”
Stefan squirmed in his chair. “That is not my way.”
Davead hit the table top with his fist. “Am I to have a fool for a son? What were you thinking, storming the castle? At least be clever. At least show skill in battle.”
“I was thinking about wiping out the Menti, like you have charged me to do. Have you forgotten how many Menti I have put to death? More than Matias ever did.”
King Davead was on his feet and pacing behind the desk. “Matias was too clever to put so many Menti to death. He knew the worth of Menti labour and he sent them to me. We have workcamps in the north where the Menti are controlled.” Davead watched his son ball his hands into tight fists on the table top. Stefan hated the Menti even more than he did. Stefan’s hatred was a terrifying, consuming thing. Watching him now, he regretted putting his third-oldest son in charge of his army. What sort of king would Stefan make? A cruel king, no doubt. A snake king.
Why did the boy drink those damnable potions from the Order of Insight Brother? He watched Stefan nervously lick his lips and it made him shudder.
“Father, forgive me.” Stefan let out a long sigh and relaxed his hands. “You are right. I did act rashly. You must understand that at the time I was with Matias’s body. I had discovered that Matias had been killed by a Menti, and I was angry. I am sure that you, of all people, Father, could understand my anger.”
King Davead froze. He stood behind his chair and gripped the back of it so hard his knuckles whitened. His body ran cold. “What?”
Stefan met his gaze with his brown eyes. Why did the boy have to look so much like himself at that age? And yet he was so different.
“Father, there was no pitch residue or indication that a torch had been used. The fire burned too quickly to be natural. You must have suspected it yourself; it is the most logical explanation. Matias was killed by a fire wielder. And with Luca missing with Brother Axil, I can only assume the two conspired, and that one of them is the Menti.”
Davead’s knees felt weak, but he ignored the sensation and stood as tall as he could muster. His presence had always been strong, and he knew how to utilise it. “Who else knows about this?”
“Only Brother Mikkel. I have the city guards searching for them both. Every sea captain will be questioned, every tavern will be searched, every forest will be scoured. We will find them.”
There was a chance that his son was a Menti. He has the curse. Like me. If this became common knowledge in the realm, his claim to the throne could be weakened. For almost his entire reign, he had fought against the Menti. He outlawed their magic. He arrested or executed them. And he had done all this because of the Hag in the All-Seeing Tower. If they knew he was one of them…
“We must find them, and soon. I will double your men, and you will have the royal purse at your disposal.”
Stefan got to his feet, with his chest puffed up and his back straight. His chin was lifted and his eyes filled with pride. “We will find them. And when we do, would you like them brought back dead or alive?”
“Either. It makes no difference to me.” He spoke the words without hesitation, though they left a sour taste in his mouth. King Davead gripped the back of his chair. Luca was no longer his son. He lifted his goblet and took a long gulp of the too-sweet wine. “You can go.”
As Stefan walked from his chambers, the king thought of his Menti son somewhere out there. Luca had been a sickly child, yes, and he had struggled to love a boy so weak. But could he hate him? Even with Matias dead, he did not hate him. Part of him longed to pity the boy, but he refused to allow those feelings to swell. Matias was dead, leaving him with one son—Alberto—who was too young to take on any responsibility, and another son—Stefan—who was a boy the realm already hated. There was no choice now—he had to ensure his own safety in order to fix this problem. He
must think of the realm. He must think of himself. The prophecy stated that his rule, and his life, would be taken by a Menti. He had to do everything he could to stop that from happening.
Luca
It took two days to cross the Sea of Kings. When Luca landed at the Golden Bay, he felt and looked like a different person. Brother Axil had taken a sharp knife to the long locks that fell to his shoulders. He ran his hand over the short hair and gazed at the bay.
He could not get used to the way the world continued while he walked around with the knowledge that he had killed his older brother. There were fishermen carrying crates of fish up to the market, men scurrying up and down the decks of boats, calling instructions to one another. The place was loud, smelled like fish guts, and shone bright and colourful. Xantis wore bright silks and light cottons. Their skin was darker than those in Estala. They seemed to walk with a lighter step, though Luca was not sure if he was imagining it. Life seemed more vibrant and more cheerful than anything in Nesra’s Keep.
“We need to find a tavern,” Axil said. “And clothes.”
“Is a tavern wise?” Luca asked.
“We made good time, and we are away from Estala. I am sure your father has men looking for us, but it is unlikely they would catch up to us so fast. Still, keep your hood up and your robes gathered. Walk stooped. Do not hold your head up like a prince. Come.”
Axil strode through the bay like a man who knew where he was heading. Luca scuttled along beside him, trying to stay stooped and with his hood covering half of his view. It was hot beneath the robes. The sun was potent here. Sweat formed on Luca’s back and forehead as he hurried through the bay.
They took the steps up from the harbour towards the markets. It was even noisier here as the men sold their wares. Most spoke in a language Luca could not understand, though there were those who spoke the common language, too. They shouted about fresh olives and wine. The air smelled of sweet and spice, saffron and honey. Luca shrank into his hood, wishing he was back on the ship. He hated all these people around him shouting and haggling. He hated the vibrancy of life. He wanted to be alone. Forever.