“I don’t want to hurt you with the truth, Kate,” he had said. “Your father attacked mine, nearly killed him. Can’t that be enough?”
No. Because the truth is the only way to put the torment to rest, Kate thought now, staring at Corwin’s face. His eyes were still open but his gaze wavered, never quite focusing. She knew she shouldn’t. It was wrong to press him for truths he’d refused to give before, when he was too weak to tell her no now. She also knew that everything he said might be exaggerated or false in his venom-weakened state. But she would never again have this chance.
I have to know, she thought. I need peace.
“He did ruin everything, didn’t he?” Kate allowed a smile to curl the side of her face, her sideways smile, as he used to call it. “But I’ve never understood what really happened. Will you tell me, your highness?”
“Corwin,” he said. “I’m always Corwin to you, my sweet Kate.”
She bit her tongue and drew a breath deep enough to temper the tremors sliding through her stomach.
“Corwin,” she said, the sound of his name in her mouth an exquisite sort of pain. “Please tell me what happened that night. Tell me everything.”
8
Kate
THE JOURNEY INTO THE PAST didn’t last long. And in the end, Corwin told her little she hadn’t heard before, if only as rumor. Her father attacked the king, stabbing him several times with a dagger. He wasn’t crazed or possessed, but a man in full control of his faculties. If anything, it was King Orwin who had been crazed that night. Corwin described the way his father had screamed, flailing about, yanking the hair from his head. Afterward, the green robes speculated that the blade Hale had used was tainted with some kind of poison they were never able to identify.
When Corwin finished the story, Kate felt an emptiness expanding inside her. She had allowed herself to hope for more, some insight into the inexplicable. She never denied her father was guilty; she just wanted to understand why. He must have had a reason. But it seemed that was a secret he’d carried with him unto his execution. The dead tell no truths.
Biting her lip, Kate stared down at Corwin, whose eyes had closed again. She couldn’t tell if he was still conscious or not. “Why didn’t you let me see him?”
Corwin’s eyes fluttered open, his long, dark lashes a striking contrast to the blue. “He . . . he didn’t want to see you. He asked for you to be kept away.”
Kate gaped. It was impossible. Her father had known he was to be executed—he never would’ve stopped her from saying good-bye. He loved her too much to betray her like that.
Like he betrayed the king?
No, she refused to believe it. They were too close, as alike as petals on an everweep flower.
Corwin shifted restlessly on the straw, his eyes closed again. “But he had a message for you.”
“What?” Kate leaned over him, her heart beginning to race. “What was it?”
“He said . . . go to Fenmore.”
Kate’s brow furrowed as she mulled the words over in her mind. Fenmore was a distant land far to the west, across the treacherous Fury Sea. Stories described it as a place so wondrous and strange that those who ventured there never wished to return. Of course, those same stories failed to speculate that perhaps people simply perished in the attempt to find it. It might’ve been where Kate and Hale would’ve fled, if he’d been granted a sentence of exile, as she had begged Corwin to make happen.
Her confusion turned to anger. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” When Corwin didn’t answer, she shook him, unmindful of his injuries. “Corwin, why didn’t you tell me this before?”
His eyes remained closed, and he sounded far away as he answered, “I was so angry at him for hurting my father . . . and at you and Edwin.”
“Edwin?” Kate gasped.
She hadn’t thought about Corwin’s older brother in ages. Growing up, the three of them had sometimes played together, but they weren’t close. The rivalry between the two brothers never allowed for it. The last time Kate spoke to Edwin was the night before her father attacked the king. They were in the gardens playing Scouts in the Bailey—Corwin the drake and Kate and Edwin the sheep in hiding. Kate chose her favorite spot, a little cove between the rosebushes where Corwin would know to find her. She waited with her heart fluttering in anticipation of the kiss Corwin would steal when he caught her. He appeared just moments after he finished counting. The ringed moon was waning that night, making it so dark that she couldn’t see his face through the shadows when he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips against hers. Still, she sank into the kiss, her mouth hungry for his. Only it wasn’t Corwin, but Edwin—a fact she realized moments later when the real Corwin found them. Kate had never seen him so furious. She tried to explain, but he stormed off. He stormed all night, it seemed. Why else would he have been awake and roaming the castle at dawn, only to find Hale trying to kill his father?
And I never explained what happened, that I thought Edwin was him, she realized. The mistaken kiss had seemed meaningless in light of her father’s crimes, a cruel prank played by a jealous brother.
Kate wanted to press Corwin for more, but he’d fallen asleep, and she couldn’t wake him. His stillness frightened her. His skin was still afire, and she wet rags and laid them over his brow, arms, and chest. She spent the night afraid to leave his side. Every few hours a fit would come over him, and he would thrash about, delirious. She held him down as best she could, afraid he would injure himself further.
The moment dawn broke, she saddled Darby. Castle Gilda, the nearest freeholding, was only a few hours up the road. She could get there, entreat Count Gilderan for help, and get back to the Relay tower before sunset. She couldn’t risk leaving Corwin alone long enough to make it to Farhold, a whole day away at a quick pace.
When she was ready to go, with Corwin’s outer tunic stuffed into her saddlebag as proof of her story, she knelt beside him and shook him awake. “Your highness . . . Prince Corwin.”
His eyes fluttered open. They found her face, but she couldn’t tell if he was seeing her this time or not.
“There’s water and food here for you. I’m going for help. I’ll be back before nightfall.” She paused, resisting the urge to shake him again, harder this time. “And don’t you dare die.” Dear Noralah, please make it so. It was the first time since her father’s death that she’d prayed to the patron goddess of Norgard, but if any of the gods were to help her in this, it would be her.
Kate kept the pace easy at first, well aware of the gelding’s fatigue. They hadn’t ridden any harder than usual yesterday on the return journey from Andreas, but it was still a lot of miles, and the stress of the drake attack had taken its toll as well.
For the first three hours, nothing moved on the road except for them. It was as if the entire land was holding its breath, perhaps out of fear of the daydrakes, this newest threat in a world already overflowing with danger. How will we survive when both the night and day are so perilous?
Kate kept her eyes in a constant sweep, alert for any movement. Only the presence of Bonner’s revolver—now fastened to the front of the saddle in its holster—brought her any comfort. She was in such a heightened state of awareness that she spotted the group of riders in the distance long before they saw her. They were little more than specks on the horizon, but a dust cloud heralded their movement, dozens of shod hooves pounding the road. As they drew nearer, she caught the glint of steel. Whoever they were, they rode armed and ready for battle. There was no flag bearer among them, their pace too quick for the burden of it. They could be mercenaries or bandits, but she doubted it. That ilk wouldn’t ride so brazenly in the open.
She heeled Darby into a gallop toward them and didn’t slow until she saw several of the men draw their bows, arrows nocked.
Reining Darby to a halt, she called, “Good sirs! I need your help!” She pulled Corwin’s tunic free from her saddlebag and raised it over her head. “In the name of the high king.”
At once, the group moved forward, but they didn’t lower their weapons. For a second Kate thought ill fortune had found her again and that they were bandits after all, but then she saw familiar Norgard uniforms and that the man leading them was the same nobleman who’d been with Corwin that day in Farhold. Her spirits lifted. Riding with them were three blue robes and one green, a master healer.
“Kate Brighton!” the nobleman said, reining his horse to a stop. “Is that you? What are you doing here? Where is Corwin?”
“How do you—” she began, then shook off her surprise. “The high prince is alive, my lord, but only just. His caravan was attacked by drakes—ones that moved in the day, un—”
The man cut her off with a raised hand. “We know about the drakes, but you say Corwin’s alive? Where?”
“A Relay tower, three hours’ ride from here.”
“Then let’s make it in two.” The nobleman waved her on. “Show us the way.”
Once they were on the move again, the nobleman introduced himself as Dallin Thorne of Thornewall. “But you may call me Dal. Tell me, though, were there any others left alive?”
“No, my lord,” Kate replied. “Not that I found.” She brushed hair back from her face, scanning the hills ahead but seeing only a rainbow growth of everweeps swaying in the breeze. “Excuse me, my lord, but how did you know about the attack?”
Dal motioned to the blue robe riding silently beside them at the head of the group. “Master Raith was with Corwin’s caravan. He managed to escape and come for help.”
Kate frowned, questions crowding into her mind. “Do you know what these creatures are, then?” She addressed Dal, but her gaze lingered on the magist, face hidden behind his mask. The man’s fingers were blackened at the tips, bent at a stiff angle around the reins.
“We know only as much as you do. Nightdrakes that attack in the day.”
“Daydrakes,” Kate said.
“Yes, that’s a good name, I suppose. Only I hope you’re wrong. If these creatures breed and spread like nightdrakes . . .” Dal trailed off.
Master Raith turned his masked face toward Kate. “Please, Miss Brighton, describe Prince Corwin’s injuries. Was he bitten?”
“Yes,” she replied, a little breathless at the idea of talking to a magist. She couldn’t forget for a second who she was and what she could do. Not in front of this man or the other magists present. If they detected her magic, she would be the next target of the Inquisition. “A single bite in the shoulder, but I cleaned the wounds and applied some of the salve we riders carry for our horses. He was still feverish when I left him this morning.”
Raith nodded. “He’s lucky to have survived so long, and that you came along when you did. I believed all had been lost.”
“How did you survive?” The question escaped her lips before good sense could stop it. The magist couldn’t have outrun them. No horse could, and drakes loved a moving target.
Dal gestured to the sky, palm up and fingers spread. “With magic, of course.”
“And luck,” Raith added. “Only one chased after me. I blinded it with a flash stone, one of my own inventions. But tell me, Miss Brighton, how do you know these drakes moved in the day?”
“Oh, um, there were . . . two . . . still alive when I came upon it,” she lied. She didn’t want these men knowing she had felled four when only one had been killed with enchanted arrows. They would want to know how she managed the other three, and—with a gun fashioned by wilder magic—that wasn’t an answer she wanted to give. The very thought of Bonner being taken by the Inquisition was enough to freeze the blood in her veins. It wasn’t just death he would face, but the Purging.
Dal gaped at her. “And you survived?”
“Yes,” she said, feeling the hot stench of that breath against her face again. Now she understood why these men had been riding ready for battle. It could happen again, at any time.
“Impressive,” Raith said.
“I think we call that understatement.” Dal eyed her with newfound interest.
Kate looked away from both men, swallowing a ball of nerves rising up her throat. “They train us well at the Relay house.”
“Indeed they must,” Dal agreed.
They made it back to the Relay tower in less than three hours, their horses lathered with sweat and heads drooping. But each second was precious to Corwin’s life. Kate didn’t know much about drake venom—so few people survived attacks, let alone escaped after being close enough to get bitten—but she knew it was bad. The fever it caused could go so high it wrought permanent damage. But the magists would know what to do, she reassured herself. Their spells were vast and powerful—and expensive. Corwin was lucky he’d been born rich enough to afford such treatment.
Dal charged into the tower first, Raith and the green robe following. Kate stayed outside with the soldiers and remaining blue robes. Despite her fatigue, she couldn’t remain still as she waited for word on Corwin’s condition. She busied herself removing Darby’s saddle and fetching him water, her eyes drifting to the closed door into the tower again and again. Corwin had been alone close to six hours now.
Minutes later, Dal and Master Raith remerged.
“He’s alive,” Dal announced.
Kate took a deep breath and leaned against Darby’s sweat-slicked shoulder, light-headed with relief. If Corwin had made it this long, he would surely survive, and this would all be behind her soon.
“We need to make camp,” Raith said. He motioned to the other magists. “First set the wardstone barrier in a wide perimeter around the tower. Then report to me. I’ll need help seeing to the prince.”
With orders given, activity burst around her, but Kate just stood there, unsure what to do with herself now. It was too late to head for Farhold, and Darby was much too spent. Neither could she go into the tower and make herself at home with the magists at work in there.
Dal approached her moments later. “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay the night out here, Miss Kate. But I see you have your bedroll. Is there anything else you need from the tower?”
Kate shook her head, the motion making her dizzy. Exhaustion had caught up with her now that the stress of caring for Corwin was someone else’s responsibility.
“When was the last time you ate?” Dal eyed her with open concern.
“I don’t recall.”
“Well then, come sit down over here, and we’ll get you taken care of. Can’t have the savior of the high prince expiring on us.” He steered her toward the edge of the tower where the land rose in an easy slope.
“My horse . . .”
“I’ll see to him. You’ve done enough.” Dal smiled broadly at her, but there was a command in his voice that she dared not argue against. She grabbed her bedroll off her saddle, spread it out, and sat down. “I’ll have someone bring you food,” he continued. “And don’t you waste a moment worrying about Corwin. He’ll be fine. We both know he’s got a lot to live for.” Dal winked, as if this were some private joke between them, then turned and led her horse away.
Kate leaned back on the bedroll, vowing not to fall asleep, but less than a minute later, she drifted off into oblivion.
When she woke it was full dark. She noticed the stars first, a thousand bright points above her, as if the gods had punched holes in the fabric of the sky to reveal a universe of pure light beyond. So few times in her life had she ever seen the stars like this, near enough to touch, it seemed, and without the haze that so often blanketed the sky above the cities.
Lured by the sounds of camp, Kate sat up slowly and looked around, taking in the sight of Norgard soldiers gathered around the fire, eating and drinking. She was lying in the same position in which she’d fallen asleep, near the tower. Not far from her, Dal sat atop his own bedroll, cleaning his sword.
“She wakes,” Dal said, spying her. “Welcome back to the realm of the living. I’ve never seen a woman sleep so soundly before.”
Kate rubbed her eyes. “How long h
ave I been out?”
“Nearly six hours, I would say. But rightly earned.” He motioned to her. “Have some food and drink, and when you’re finished, you can tell me all about this.” Dal set the sword down beside him and picked up Kate’s revolver.
Her heart gave a lurch. “Do you make a habit of stealing other people’s things?” she said, forgetting for a moment that he was the noble and she the peasant.
To her surprise, though, Dal laughed. The black magestone in his ear winked in the firelight. “A mouth indeed. Well, you can’t just leave a weapon like this in plain view and expect a man to ignore it. Especially one like me.”
Kate cursed inwardly. How could she have been so stupid? Of course he would be curious about such an unusual pistol. She could see that he had removed the bullets from the chamber, each one spread in a careful line before him.
Worried how she could safely explain her way out of this, Kate reached for the plate of food and began to eat. She did it slowly, hoping to delay the conversation about Bonner’s revolver.
“Oh, in case you were wondering, Corwin’s already on the mend,” Dal said, handing her a cup of wine. “Master Raith says it will be a long recovery, but he’s safe to move. We already have a litter built to carry him back to Farhold in the morning.”
Kate took a long, deep drink, the wine finer than any she’d tasted in years. “That’s good news. I will be leaving come morning as well.”
Dal’s eyebrows rose. “On your own?”
“I need to get back to the Relay house as soon as possible. I can move faster than a caravan.”
“That is certainly true.” Dal fixed a penetrating stare at her. His eyes, despite their intensity, sparkled with some unknown mirth. “Only, will you stay long enough to speak with Corwin in the morning? If he’s coherent, I mean. I’m sure he will want to see you.”
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