Panting, Corwin bent over and dropped the buckler to grip his wounded shoulder, already covered in blisters from the flames. He wouldn’t be able to raise his arm, the pain strong enough to leave him dizzy. He needed this to end soon, but another figure appeared, this one bearing a sword and shield. He wore the traditional brigandine armor of Norgard, a lightweight piece that covered the torso but left the arms free for full movement. A helmet hid his face. No sooner had Corwin spotted him than the man attacked. The prince barely had time to grab the buckler from the ground and use it to block a downward, hacking swing. His opponent’s sword screeched as it met the steel on the front of his buckler.
Wrenching free of the clash, Corwin retreated. He kept his sword out in front of him, but it shook in his sweaty hand, his arms weak from fighting and from the drake poison working its way through his body. He didn’t want to fight this man, but the stranger gave him no choice. Wherever Corwin went, he followed, relentless. He swung and Corwin blocked. He thrust and Corwin parried. Each hit landed like a hammer, and Corwin knew either he must kill this foe or he would die himself.
It wasn’t easy to kill a man in armor, especially not when you were wearing just a loincloth. Corwin pressed close, blocking more attacks than dodging them as he searched for openings to land his blade. For a while, he didn’t think it would happen—the other fighter was too good, too careful. But then he made a mistake. Thrusting his sword at Corwin, he overextended, leaving an opening big enough for the most inexperienced of swordsmen to exploit. Corwin lunged toward it, sinking his sword through the man’s shoulder and into his chest. A killing blow.
The man shrieked and fell to his knees. Sickened by the sound and the sight of the death he’d wrought, Corwin pulled his sword free. But the man didn’t vanish as the others had done. Instead he raised a blood-soaked hand to his helmet, using the last of his strength to pull it free.
Corwin stared down into the face of his father. As he once had been, young and strong, not the wasted shell he was now.
“You are not worthy to wear my crown,” Orwin said. “Not . . . worthy.”
The words landed harder than any blow. Oh goddess, let this end, Corwin thought. A tremor struck his body, this one hard enough that he dropped his sword and shield both. He fell to his knees, succumbing to the pain and poison while across from him, the vision of his father vanished at last.
Another figure appeared a moment later, this one far smaller than the others but no less a threat. Corwin gaped at the boy, his gut twisting at the sight of him. He wore a flimsy breastplate of boiled leather, much too big for him, and he carried a rusted iron sword. The Sevan crest, a red bull in charge painted on the breastplate, seemed to mock Corwin. Everything about the boy was a mockery, a reminder of his greatest failure and biggest regret.
Unbidden, a memory rose up in his mind of riding with the Shieldhawks toward the Sevan supply line they’d been sent to destroy. He’d taken a shortcut, going against his commander’s orders. Ahead, he saw a boy dressed like a soldier. Only he couldn’t be a soldier. He was too young and frail, eyes too wide and frightened.
“Kill him,” Otto had said. “You’ve got to, Captain. He’ll give us away, soon as he can.”
But Corwin hadn’t. In the end, he couldn’t. The boy was just a child, someone’s son. A slave given in tribute to the Godking who had conquered his lands. “Go home,” Corwin told the boy. “Find your parents.” And then he set the boy free—to betray him and his men to the Sevan forces.
Outrage and anguish ignited inside Corwin, the strength of it driving him to his feet just as the soldier boy attacked. Corwin dodged the blow, pivoting to the right. Then he turned and grabbed the boy by the wrist. With one hard squeeze, he forced the boy’s hand open, making him drop the sword. With his other hand, Corwin grasped the boy by the back of his breastplate and hauled him off his feet. Even in his weakened state, overpowering him was easy. Still the boy fought him, kicking and snarling like a wild beast.
Corwin held him aloft as he bent to pick up his own fallen sword. One stab was all it would take, hardly more effort than swatting a fly. He raised the sword and the boy cried out, the sound as pathetic as a mewling kitten.
Kill him, a voice whispered from amid the mist. Finish this. Prove yourself. Kill him.
Corwin raised the sword again. His body trembled; sweat stung his eyes, blurred his vision.
Kill him! The voice seemed to strike him like a fist, demanding his compliance. Kill him and this will end. Your suffering will be over. Kill him!
“No,” Corwin said. “I won’t kill him. I won’t do what you want.” He would do what was right and just—mercy for a foe too weak to fight. Letting go of the boy’s breastplate, he shoved him toward the mist. “Get out of here.”
The boy vanished, and the next moment the mists parted, bright sunlight pouring over Corwin. He blinked against it, aware of a strange tingle spreading over his skin. Looking down, he saw his injuries had vanished. So had the sword. None of it had been real. And yet it had been. From far below, the cheers of the crowd reached him. He glanced at Edwin, standing on the other side of the altar. It seemed they’d both made it—one trial over and two more yet to come.
You’re not worthy, Corwin heard his father say once more.
And no matter the cheers, he couldn’t hear anything but those words.
20
Kate
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN her life, Kate regretted not being able to tell Corwin the truth about her magic. It had never seemed to matter before. Keeping her wilder abilities a secret was normal, expected, a promise she’d made to her father from the first moment she was old enough to understand that she was different.
“Does Mother know?” a seven-year-old Kate had asked him.
“No, Katie girl,” Hale replied. “She doesn’t. Not about you and not about me.”
“Isn’t that a lie?” Kate wrinkled her nose. “I’m not supposed to lie.”
“It’s not a lie when the truth would hurt the ones we love. Not telling them is a sacrifice we must make for them. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Kate believed him completely, especially once he explained the consequences of being discovered a wilder. She never wanted to be taken away from her father by those masked people.
But what happens when not telling the truth might put them in more danger than telling them? Kate wondered. There’d been something wrong in the Wandering Woods that day when they’d returned to search for the drakes. The moment Kate stepped through the trees, she felt cut off from her magic. Not like at night, when it vanished completely, but as if there was something standing between her and it. Something blocking it. Or someone.
She longed to tell Corwin, but couldn’t find a way to do so without revealing her secret. She didn’t see how she could ever tell him she was a wilder, especially not now with the growing threat of the Rising. She’d never experienced such open hatred for wilders before. Fear, yes, but not hate. The risk of what Corwin would do—what he would be compelled to do—if he learned the truth about her seemed greater than ever, now that he might finally become the next king. Although there was no clear winner in the first uror trial, he had done well. She’d seen it, felt it. Everyone present had. Watching the two princes inside that unnatural mist had been strange, almost like watching a dream—their shapes and those they battled, indistinct and confused. But of the two, Corwin’s image had been clearer somehow, almost brighter.
Still, the temptation to tell him kept getting stronger. In the two weeks since the first trial, Kate had spent nearly every morning with him. He kept showing up at her door with sweet rolls and an invitation to ride or sometimes just to walk in the gardens or along the ramparts. Even worse, she felt her instinct to stay away from him weakening each day. Instead, she found herself longing to see him. She savored every time he touched her, which he did often, always finding some excuse to place his fingers on her shoulder or back or to tug at her hand. And just yesterday, it even s
eemed for a moment that he was about to kiss her. The disappointment she felt afterward bothered her even now.
It has to end. She needed to uncover her father’s secrets soon, before Norgard became too much like home again—and before she once more set her heart on someone who could never be hers.
If only she could figure out how. It wasn’t like she could just march into the Sacred Sword and demand they tell her. She barely knew what questions to ask. And going inside to snoop wasn’t going to be easy either. She’d spent enough time these last few weeks observing the comings and goings outside the brothel to know that she would stand out like a mule in a herd of warhorses. She was sure that she wouldn’t seem as natural as the women she saw frequenting the place, and Kate doubted she would be able to score a job. She didn’t have any of the skills such an establishment would require. Besides, even if she did, she was too recognizable. Not a day went by that she didn’t hear whispers of Traitor Kate following her at every turn. Still, there must be some solution; she just needed to find it.
“How would you do it?” Kate asked Signe while they were out riding one morning. Corwin had been busy the last two days with high council business, and Kate enlisted Signe’s help in taking the horses out for a much-needed hack in the countryside.
Signe cocked her head in consideration. “My mother says there are two ways to always get a garro to talk. Fear of pain or love of money.”
“Garro?” Kate said, leaning forward to shoo a fly off Firedancer’s neck.
“There is no exact word to translate. But it means anyone not born to the islands.”
Kate looked over at her friend, grinning. She found the idea both absurd and slightly offensive. “Are you trying to say that no one from Esh would ever divulge a secret?”
Signe nodded, her expression solemn, and she seemed to sit up a little straighter in the saddle. “We call it Seerah. It is the holy silence. There is nothing more important to us than keeping it.”
A dozen questions came to Kate, but she didn’t get the chance to ask any of them, as she and Signe rode into the stable yard at Norgard castle to find Dal waiting for them. Well, waiting for Signe.
“How would you like to take a trip to Tyvald with me?” Dal asked her, a devilish grin spilling over his face. With him was his falcon, Lir, the bird hooded and perched on his shoulder. “Just for a few days. Corwin’s asked me to look into a daydrake sighting.”
Kate sighed at this news, her guilt over not telling Corwin what she’d sensed that day in the Wandering Woods prickling inside her. These daydrake attacks were getting worse, and Tyvald was close, only a day’s journey away. She wondered why Corwin would want Dal to look into it in person, but could only guess it was something bad.
Signe regarded Dal coolly, although Kate knew it was just pretense. So did Dal, but he enjoyed the game.
“I can certainly spare a few days,” Signe said drily, “but you must promise me excitement and adventure.”
Kate closed her eyes as Signe’s words reminded her of yet another worry. As it was, Signe could spare a lot more than a few days. There was little for her to do until Bonner finally succeeded in making his revolvers. In the month they’d been here, he’d produced only one. If he didn’t start to make progress soon, Corwin and the high council were bound to start asking why. Bonner was already beginning to cave to the pressure, taking more and more risks with his magic. The increasing daydrake attacks only fueled his desperation.
“My sweet lady,” Dal said, taking Signe’s hand and kissing it, “I swear that you’ll fight to catch your breath at every moment.”
Signe giggled, an uncharacteristic sound that told Kate better than any words that her friend had strong feelings for Dal. She couldn’t help the sharp stab of envy she felt at the knowledge. Love is so easy for some. Not that she begrudged Signe her happiness.
While Signe went off to pack, Kate dropped in on Bonner in his new workshop and was glad to see his father was there. Thomas Bonner was short and slight, all the stoutness he possessed from the hard life of a blacksmith withered away by the wasting disease. Although father and son looked nothing alike—to be expected, as Bonner was adopted—they were just alike in manner, sharing a kind and hopeful nature that Kate never failed to find refreshing.
“Ah, Miss Kate,” Thomas said, brightening at the sight of her. He pulled her into a hug, squeezing her tight. Kate was glad to feel the strength in him. He’d been in Norgard only a week, but already she could see his health was improving thanks to green-robe magic. “I’d just come to fetch Tommy for lunch. He’d work himself to death if I didn’t. Won’t you join us?”
Kate stifled a grin at the look of annoyance that crossed Bonner’s face whenever his father called him Tommy—the only person permitted to do so.
“I would love to,” Kate said, kissing the man on the cheek. She could use the distraction from her troubles, if only for a little while. With Thomas there, she couldn’t discuss any of her concerns about Bonner’s use of his wilder magic. Thomas didn’t know this truth about his adopted son, another lie kept to protect a loved one.
Still, all too soon, lunch was over and Kate found herself alone in her room, her doubts and worries pressing down on her harder than before. She couldn’t do anything to help Bonner, but Signe’s words about how to get someone to talk had given her an idea. All she needed was enough coin and the right disguise.
And enough courage to go through with it, Kate thought, looking at her image in the mirror the following night. It had taken her hours to assemble the disguise, and even now she wasn’t quite certain she looked enough like a young man to get away with it. She wore her loosest-fitting breeches, tall boots, and a red velvet doublet that she’d found stowed in a trunk in Signe’s room. Kate felt guilty about going through her things, but her need was too great not to, and the doublet far too perfect.
Although she didn’t quite recognize the cut and pattern of the clothing, it had clearly been made for a grown man. He’d been taller than Kate but not much wider, which meant the jacket hung just past her hips, helping hide her feminine shape. Even more perfect, the buttons lining the front of it were made of rubies the size of her thumb, a fortune that had left Kate dumbstruck when she first spotted it. She longed to know the story of why Signe kept it, but doubted she would get the real one even if she asked. She worried about wearing it in public but in the end decided that if she was going to buy the information she needed, it was best to look wealthy enough to afford it.
I’ll put it back when I’m done, and she’ll never know, Kate silently swore as she slid a cowl on to hide the bulge of her hair, pinned to the back of her head.
Finally, she picked up her bag of coins and a jeweled dagger Corwin had given her a few days before—another gift for saving him—and tucked them into her belt. She had to wear the belt loose to avoid revealing too much, but after a moment’s adjustment she was ready to go.
Walking, it took her nearly an hour to reach the Burnside district. She would’ve liked to ride, but she didn’t want anyone in the castle seeing her like this. Sneaking out the servants’ entrance was a lot easier than through the front gates, as she would have had to on horseback. Besides, she didn’t like the idea of leaving Firedancer unattended in such a rough area.
At this time of night, the street out front of the Sacred Sword buzzed with people, mostly men coming in and out of the taverns, gaming houses, and other brothels. Kate supposed the crowd was one of the drawbacks of the high king’s edict that all such establishments be kept to one district. People came from all over Norgard to indulge their sins here.
Doing her best to walk like a boy, Kate stepped onto the porch in front of the entrance and nodded at the guards. Above their heads hung a carved wooden sign bearing the brothel’s name written beneath a sword being drawn from a sheath with a red rose entwined around it.
The guards ignored her, and she walked by with a sigh of relief. Beyond the door was an antechamber with three archways leading to inte
rior rooms. Gauzy curtains covered the ones to the right and left. Through the center archway, Kate saw the tavern portion of the establishment, an assortment of tables in different sizes and shapes, most of them occupied. In the middle of the room stood a low platform where several musicians played while two scantily dressed women danced in slow, seductive circles.
Kate pulled her gaze away only to find two more such women standing by a podium set between the archways. Both wore cropped bodices that left their midriffs bared, their moonbelts clearly visible. They eyed Kate with matching dubious expressions.
“Can I help you?”
Kate cleared her throat, then in the deepest voice she could manage said, “A table, please. For now.” She waited, breath held as she braced to be turned away.
The woman on the left stepped around the podium. “Follow me.”
Letting out her breath slowly, Kate followed the woman into the room. She felt eyes on her as she sat down at an empty table far in the corner. Resisting the urge to fidget with the doublet as it rode up too high on her neck, she surveyed the room. Any one of these people might have the information she needed.
The serving girl who arrived a few minutes later was easily the homeliest of the workers Kate had seen. Too thin, with lank brown hair and small breasts, she stared down at Kate with a pinched expression. “What can I bring you?”
Kate ordered the fish with mushrooms and roasted potatoes and a cup of the house wine. While she spoke, she made a show of removing her money purse and placing it on the table, coins jangling. Thank the gods she’d amassed enough valens since she’d started working as Corwin’s horse trainer to make an impression. It helped that she had nothing to spend the money on, all her basic needs provided by the castle. The truth of this sat uncomfortably in her mind. She didn’t want to be dependent on anyone, Corwin least of all.
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