“Don’t even say it! When we get to Bellskeep, I’ll find a way to get you out, Jon, I swear it!”
’Twas past the fifth bright morning bell
When what should I a-spy
But a line all full of washing,
The clothes all nearly dry,
But hanging there
To my despair
Flapped gowns upon the breeze
Outside the tavern where
My mates had left me on my knees:
Surely the song was almost done. As the soldiers and Gareth roared the chorus once more, I boldly reached out from the shadow to squeeze my brother’s toes through his boot. Jon’s eyes filled up.
“I’m sorry, Pip. ’Bout everything. If . . . anything happens, you’ll tell Mama and Papa and Maura that I love ’em, won’t you?”
“Jonquin Fallow, you shut your mouth,” I insisted. “You’ll tell ’em yourself. The Mother Herself ain’t gonna stop me, you hear?”
Jon nodded tearfully. “The king’s gonna have his hands full with you.”
“He’s got no idea.”
’Twas past the ninth loud morning bell
I arrived at sanctuary
To join my sweet before the altar.
I could not stop and tarry.
The rector frowned
Upon my gown
And then stood up to chide,
“How can I conduct a wedding
When I don’t know who’s the bride?”
I wanted to rain blessings down on Gareth as he led the soldiers into one last chorus, keeping a sly watch on our side of the clearing.
“I’ll find you as soon as I can,” I whispered, backing farther behind the pine. “Love you, Jon.”
“Love you, too, Pip. Be safe!”
In the morning you’ll be married
But tonight no cup will run dry!
18
I woke the next morning to an earthquake. But as I swam up through the sea of sleep, I recognized the sound of the wheels turning faster’n I’d heard them before. We were moving at a terrific pace. Whether it was toward Bellskeep or away from the Wood, I couldn’t tell.
The bite in the air had grown fangs since we’d left the trees behind. I pulled the quilt up round my ears and burrowed down into the warmth. My heart gave a painful thump in my chest. Jon was out there with no quilt, being marched toward the capital to face All knows what. My promise burned in me, bright as summer. I would find a way to get him out.
The chill grew colder as the hatch in the roof popped open. Gareth’s familiar legs, followed by the rest of him, dropped into the compartment, graceful as a cat, and bearing breakfast.
“Morning,” he greeted me cheerfully. “Or, afternoon, I suppose.”
“Afternoon? What hour is it?”
“Just gone two of the clock. We’ve put a lot of miles between us and the forest since dawn.”
I sat bolt upright. “I been asleep ages! Why’d you let me laze round so long?”
“After yesterday I thought you could use a lie-in.” The steward set the breakfast tray on my bed, stretched, and yawned. “Could have done with one myself.”
“You were the buzz on the bees last night!” I exclaimed. “Maybe you should have been a balladeer instead of a steward!”
Gareth flushed down to his freckles. I grinned at him as I jammed a piece of the travel bread in my mouth. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was—it tasted as good as a loaf straight from Mama’s oven. The steward watched me wolf down breakfast as he leaned against the privy door.
“We’re about an hour’s travel from the Rivergate, but I think the captain means to bide our time for a while so we arrive after dark. Nafir was sent ahead to make preparations.”
“Wath da Wivergae?” Too late, I put up my hands to avoid spraying crumbs everywhere.
“The Rivergate’s the only entrance to the city,” Gareth explained, ignoring my terrible manners.
I swallowed hard, the too-big lump of bread sliding down my throat. “There’s only one way into Bellskeep?”
“There’s a great wall that runs all around it. Nothing can get in or out except through the Rivergate.”
“Well, rabbits always find their way into a garden,” I pointed out. “They don’t care so much about walls.”
Gareth peered up at the hatch and lowered his voice. “My brother Gable once showed me the entrance to the smugglers’ tunnels in the west of the city, but I was too white-feathered to go in.”
Presently, the din of the wheels began to fall away and the great carriage slowed. Gareth made for the sliding door. “You’ll be able to see Bellskeep in a few moments. Come out and look when you’re dressed.”
Eager to catch a glimpse of the capital, I shoved the rest of the bread in my mouth. “Ah’ll be aught in a sehcont,” I answered through another hail of crumbs.
Gareth smiled and made to go.
“Gareff?” I called, still chewing.
“Yes?”
“Fank ’oo. For wast nigh’.”
He understood me just fine.
* * *
THE SUN HAD nearly disappeared over the faraway mountains when I got my first glimpse of Bellskeep.
The procession abandoned the road and continued to a middling-size farm on a hill just outside the city. Bethan came to fetch me from the coach and took me out behind the stables, where I got an eyeful of my new home. She’d not been wrong when she said it was bigger than ten Roundmarkets. It was almost bigger than twenty Roundmarkets and surrounded with the most enormous wall I’d ever seen in my life. It spread out over the valley—a colossal quilt of brick and stone.
“Great All,” I whispered, clutching my chest. “I’ve never seen . . .”
Bethan bent down to point out landmarks that I could just about make out over the top of the city wall. “Those silver banners, fluttering there, can you see them? Those fly from atop the castle keep. And the little flame, far away? That’s the Cathedra beacon.”
I could just make out the banners, snapping this way and that, catching the last of the evening light. The Cathedra’s beacon stood watch high above the city, atop the ivory towers of the greatest sanctuary in the kingdom. I didn’t want to look like a gawping carp in front of the soldier, but the scale of the thing near took my breath.
“Quite a view, isn’t it?” came an unfamiliar voice from behind us. It belonged to a kind-faced older man in the garb of a wealthy landowner. The pate of his mostly bald head was brown from years of work in the sun, but still had a few wisps of hair clinging to the sides for sweet All. “It’s not quite the palace, I’ll admit, but it’s close enough.”
“Emmory!” Bethan exclaimed, embracing the man. “It’s good to see you, my friend. I apologize for bringing all this chaos to your doorstep.”
The old man smiled warmly and kissed the captain on both cheeks. “Never any trouble for you, my dear, never any trouble at all.” His smile broadened, noticing me. “Is this . . . ?”
“Only, this is Emmory Wickham. He used to be head gardener at the palace.”
“Well,” Emmory remarked, sliding his hands over his round belly, “I left the glamour of trimming the royal hedges for a quieter life out here some time ago, but I’m happy to be of assistance to you now. Shall we go see your transport?”
“Transport?” I asked as the old farmer led us to the handsome stone barn in front of the stables. “We’re not taking the coach?”
“The coach is expected and will draw attention,” answered the captain. “Whoever may have had something to do with the attacks yesterday knows their target. What they don’t know is that you won’t be in it.”
Out from the doors of the barn came an ordinary wagon drawn by a tired-looking horse with one of Emmory’s farmhands at the reins. As he steered the rickety cart toward us, Bethan beg
an unbuckling her breastplate. “Did you find some cloaks for us?” she asked Emmory.
As the cart rumbled to a halt before us, Emmory reached into the back and tossed a large sack to the captain. “One big enough for you and two for the Mayquin and your steward. There’s also a workaday dress of my wife’s in there that should cover up your leathers.” He patted his round stomach again and chuckled. “Both me and the missus are fond of our table. A trim lass like you might just get lost in it!”
Bethan smiled, shucking the large dress over her head. “I’m honored to wear it, Emmory. Thank Augusta kindly.”
Gareth appeared from the side of the house, and the captain tossed a cloak into his waiting hands. The other one she gave to me, and I wrinkled up my nose at the scent.
“Smells a bit like sheep, ma’am,” I said distastefully.
“Aye, but we’re less likely to be bothered if we smell of sheep, wouldn’t you agree?”
I couldn’t argue. “I’d steer well clear of any folk smelling like this.” The thought of the man who hoodwinked the Ordish at Farrier’s Bay trotted unpleasantly through my head. I wondered whether he’d the news yet that his band of untrained soldiers had failed in their task.
Gareth had already climbed into the back of the wagon, piled high with timber. He stuck out a hand to help me clamber up next to him. The wood was stacked loosely, so we perched ourselves atop it best we could. Bethan vaulted into the driver’s seat and took up the reins as she turned to our host. “I’ll make sure all your goods make it back in one piece. Maybe soon, All willing, I’ll be able to come for a more civilized visit.”
“I’d like that very much, my dear, very much indeed,” the farmer assured her. “Best be on your way. Curfew is in half of an hour.”
Bethan spurred the horse on. “We’ll be swift,” she said over her shoulder as we began to move. “Thank you again, my friend.”
And as quickly as we’d come to Master Wickham’s farm, we left it. On the road, half a mile before us, the great coach thundered past, heading down the hill toward the city gates. The cavalry unfurled their banners, which waved proud in twilight. For a moment, I was almost sorry not to be part of the grand procession until the frightened face of Jonquin came back to me, chasing out any envy. Entering the city quiet like was definitely a better plan.
“What’s a curfew?” I asked as we joined the main road that led to the city.
“The Rivergate doesn’t admit anyone after ninth evening bell,” Gareth answered. “Anyone outside the walls after has to wait till sixth morning bell, when they open again.” He shivered in the night air. “We’ll have to hurry if we don’t want to get caught out.”
“We’ll make it,” Bethan assured us, urging a bit more spirit from our sluggish horse, who was better used to the gentle speed of a plow. “Might be cutting it a little fine, but we’ll make it.”
The captain was right. By the time we reached the huge doors of the city, the guards were ringing the last warning bell. The clamor called out to any travelers on the road, warning them to spur their mounts or quicken their steps if they didn’t want to spend the darkest hours of the night outside the safety of the walls. Those walls loomed large as the three of us, dressed in our ragged disguises, rolled toward the entrance.
19
Smile before your mother and your father and your kin,
Kneel before the rector so she’ll take away your sin.
Clap before the players when they’re finished with the show,
Dance before the fiddler as he plays so sweet and low.
Give silver to the taverner to fill your cup with ale,
Cross your heart before the captain as he puts your ship to sail.
Take your cap off to your sweetheart when you gift her with a ring,
You curtsy to a princess and you bow before a king.
—A Book of Manners for the Young and Old
Nothing could have prepared me to see the River.
On the other side of the Rivergate was a feat I thought must have taken a thousand masons half a hundred years to finish. The cart rolled slowly into a stone passageway so wide and grand that two armies, both thirty men abreast, could pass one another side by side with room to spare. The walls rose seventy feet into the air, reducing the sky to a thin purple line of dusk. It was the course of the long, dry branch of the Hush, cut off from the city by Kester’s Weir.
“It runs the whole length of the city—four miles in all, until it dead-ends at the Cathedra,” Gareth explained. “It’s really called the Kingsway or Queensway, depending on who’s on the throne, but no one here calls it anything but the River.”
A river made of stone, I thought. In the forest, the pines had made me feel small, but sort of comfortable like at the same time. Me and the trees were made of the same dust. But the bigness of the River threatened to swallow me whole. I wished we were back in the coach so I could retreat under my bunk, where I’d hid from the villain in the Wood, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the towering walls that seemed to go on forever and ever.
Bethan turned over her shoulder, her face half hidden under her hood. “We’re going to exit the River at Market Gate—we’ll attract less attention that way. The coach has gone ahead to the Palace Gate.”
“How do we get up there?” I asked, still looking at the city far above.
Gareth climbed into the front seat next to the captain. “We’re coming up to South Gate in a moment. You’ll be able to see the entrances to the underpassages.”
Above the steep walls of the River, two towers came into view, one on each side. Stretched between them and supported by two giant stone columns sunk deep into the road below was the biggest bridge I’d ever seen. At least, I supposed it was a bridge, even though I couldn’t actually see anything that might have been passing over it. My view was blocked by the walls of what looked like . . .
“Are those houses?” I marveled. “On the bridge?” In a few of the grand, arched windows, figures moved to and fro in their nightly business.
“The city’s grown a lot, even since I was a child,” Bethan said. “There’s precious little space left to build, so some of the wealthier citizens took to the bridges.” She pointed ahead, in the shadow of the supports. “Those are the underpassages, up ahead.”
Two dark, wide tunnels yawned out of the walls on either side of the River, the insides dancing with torchlight. Even in the gloom, I could make out the steep, upward slopes inside. Two guards in the king’s colors stood beside each, jawing in low voices and stamping their feet against the cold.
“The River’s the quickest way from one end of the city to the other,” Gareth explained as the old carthorse’s hooves echoed loudly off the walls. “The main streets are so crowded sometimes, it’s easier just to pop down here to get where you’re going. But anyone entering or leaving Bellskeep has to come through it.”
“We’ll be coming up on Market Gate in a few minutes,” Bethan interrupted. “I think it’s best you pretend to be asleep, Only. I’d rather not have the bother of one of the guards asking questions you can’t answer.”
I arranged myself best I could atop the uneven log pile. Even after the terrible, tiring day past, I couldn’t imagine actually falling asleep on top of the lumpy, bumpy stack of wood, but I wriggled until I found a spot where I could be still for a bit. Gareth turned in his seat.
“When I came into service at the palace, I never imagined I’d be doing this,” he whispered.
“When I got out of bed a week ago, I never imagined I’d be doing this either,” I replied.
The wagon rattled over the flagstones. “I’m sorry you had to leave,” Gareth said finally.
“Non says it’s better to make friends with your lot rather than trying to fight it.” I shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe it’ll be easier once I ain’t lying on a cold pile of logs.”
The capt
ain’s voice, muffled by her hood, floated back. “Quietly now, we’re coming to the gate.”
I wrapped my cloak round me tight and tried to look as asleep as a very nervous and awake person possibly could.
The wagon rumbled to a stop beneath us, and Bethan greeted the guards. “Good eve to you, masters.” The change in her voice, to the country tones I was used to from Presston, was followed by the telltale explosion of light around her in jaw-dropping shades of blue and green so bright that they lit up the inside of the passage. I had to squeeze my eyes shut so I wouldn’t be tempted to watch.
“Evening, mistress,” one of the sour men replied. “A bit late for deliveries, isn’t it?”
“Oh, this ain’t a delivery, sir. This load’ll keep us warm for the next few months, I reckon.”
The guards looked at one another suspiciously. “Where’d it come from? The market closed hours ago,” the second asked.
“Ah, well, see, we was visiting my brother. He’s a chopper out at the lake. Long day on the road.” She pointed back to where I was pretending to sleep atop the logs. “I look after his whelps.”
“Not a good time to be in the Wood,” said one of the soldiers gruffly. Had news of the attack already made it to the city?
“Ooh, I’ll say,” Bethan answered. “Got passed by the royal coach on the way, moving along like it ’ad all the seven hells behind it. Must’ve been some excitement.” Her fib nearly turned night into day.
A wary shadow passed over the older man’s face. “They probably just wanted to make good time to the city and get out of the cold.”
“It’s got cold so fast this year,” the captain agreed, trying to change the subject. “Cold’s no good for no one. Me nephew here’s got a terrible wheeze, haven’t you, boy?”
“Oh! Oh yes!” croaked Gareth, launching into a coughing fit that would have got a troupe of players to their feet with cheering. Both men backed up, hoping not to catch whatever he was afflicted with.
“Yes, well, we’d better get you home sharpish, hadn’t we?” Bethan had to raise her voice to be heard over Gareth’s performance, which was getting louder by the moment. “Hadn’t we, boy?”
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