Corwin turned his gaze on the water lapping against the rocks below, his thoughts on Edwin and the rivalry of the uror that had divided them from the beginning. And on Kate, how he would’ve picked her over anyone. “You’re right about that. Gods know I would’ve chosen differently.” He hesitated, doubt nagging him. “Then again, who’s to say we would be happier if we did choose? I imagine most of us would get it wrong either way.”
“At least we would have chosen our own misery,” Dal said. “But some would do all right. I imagine most wilders would choose families from Endra or Rhoswen or even Esh if such were possible. Every time I feel sorry for myself, I remember that poor woman in Andreas trying to save her son. The gods are cruel to have given them such a fate.”
The memory rushed into Corwin’s mind unbidden. It wasn’t the first time Dal had mentioned it. The arrest of that child in Andreas seemed to haunt his friend—that and Signe’s continued criticism of the Inquisition. Then again, now that he’d met Dal’s mother, Corwin wondered if that might be part of it—the effect of witnessing the fierce love of a parent ready to do anything to save her child. It was something Dal never had. Lady Thorne was too self-absorbed to put anyone else’s needs above her own.
With thoughts of his own mother pressing on his mind, Corwin cleared his throat. “I’m surprised you’re still sympathetic, given it was a wilder controlling the drakes that threatened Thornewall and killed your brother.”
Dal cast Corwin a sharp look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Corwin. They’re two different people. As far we know that woman in Andreas never hurt anyone until they tried to take away her son. Who’s to say she wouldn’t have lived all her life in peace if her hand hadn’t been forced? Wilder or no, they’re still human. They make choices good and bad, same as the rest of us.”
“Yes, but for most of us those choices don’t result in people’s blood being drawn from their body.” Or raging fires that cause stampedes.
“No, the rest of us merely use swords and guns and call it justice.” Dal scowled into the distance, then turned a skeptical look onto Corwin. “And let’s not forget kings and high councilmembers. They often make decisions that result in the pain and suffering of others—usually without them having to witness it. They speak a word and their will is done.” He snapped his fingers, then paused. “Not unlike your brother refusing to send help.”
Corwin ran his tongue over his teeth, disliking the way he saw Dal’s point. Kings did wield the kind of power that affected hundreds of faceless people, like the peasant women in need of moonbelts or the sick and infirm forced to give themselves over in sacrifice to make room inside the city.
And the gods know how well I understand bad choices.
Dal leaned down, braced against the top of the ramparts as he rested his chin in his hands. “What’s more, people hate wilders even though they can’t help how they’re born any better than I can help being my mother’s bastard. My father despises me for something I had no part in, and there’s no changing his mind about it. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Dal sighed. “You know the worst of it though? I don’t even know who my real father is. None of us do. My mother refuses to tell so that we can never confirm the rumors to the rest of the world.”
Corwin blew out a breath, unable to fathom what that must’ve been like.
When Dal fell silent again, Corwin thumped him on the back. “Let’s look on the bright side. By not knowing, you can make him something special. He could be a great war hero.”
Standing up from the rampart, Dal snorted. “Or a court jester.” Then he laughed, the first real one Corwin had heard from him in days. “One thing is certain, though. I got my dashing good looks from him, thank the gods.”
Corwin laughed, too, picturing the balding, sagging Baron Thorne. “I believe you’re right about that.”
“Come to think of it,” Dal said, “maybe he was a pirate, like the men who built this fortress.”
“This place was built by pirates?” Corwin asked, delighted more by the lightness he sensed in Dal than the novelty of such a history.
“That’s the legend, although some of it is indeed fact. Do you see those rocks down there?” Dal pointed over the ledge.
Glancing down, Corwin noticed the rocks at once. They seemed out of place, too straight and even to have formed naturally. “What is that?”
“My ancestor built them there to block the smuggling caves. This place is full of them.” Dal pulled back from the wall with a sigh. “It’s a shame those caves aren’t open now. Everyone could’ve escaped that way, and Robert would still be alive.”
“I’m sorry,” Corwin said, crestfallen at how easily Dal had slipped back into his melancholy mood. “If I had the power to change it, I would.”
Dal didn’t respond, not for several long moments. “No one can change the past.” He hesitated, running a hand over the stubble on his chin. “But you might be able to change the future.”
Corwin shifted his weight, unsure he liked this sudden turn in the conversation.
Dal narrowed his eyes at him, expression earnest. “Do you remember what I said back in Norgard about wishing things could go back to the way they were before we left on the tour?”
“Yes. . . .”
“Well, I was wrong. I don’t wish that.”
A confused smile turned up the edges of Corwin’s mouth. “Why do you say so?”
Dal drew a deep breath. “Because you should be king. There’s no one better suited.”
“We both know that isn’t true. No matter how many times you say otherwise.” Unconsciously, Corwin’s eyes shifted to the unnaturally smooth side of Dal’s face. Underneath lay a visceral reminder of all the reasons why he wasn’t fit to wield such power.
“Why, because of this?” Reaching up, Dal pulled the magestone out of his ear. His features blurred for a moment before settling once more into Dal’s true face—the left side a scarred, craterous ruin. Even now, nearly a year later, Corwin could still feel the explosion responsible. One that had killed half his men in a single blow.
Corwin looked away, his stomach a hard knot in his center.
“Don’t turn away, Corwin,” Dal said, scolding him like a child. “What happened to me, to our shield brothers, was unavoidable. You led us true. You stayed to fight and defend those of us who fell, even when others would’ve run away. You saved me.”
“Yes, but we never should’ve approached from that direction in the first place. If I’d just followed orders, we wouldn’t have found that boy. And if we’d never found him, I’d never have let him go, and we never would’ve been ambushed.” Corwin’s fingers curled into fists, the memory of the soldier boy’s face fresh in his mind after the first uror trial.
Dal shook his head, the slight movement exaggerated by the way the shadows splayed across the ruined side of his face. “You don’t know the boy betrayed us. We never saw him again, remember? It’s only your guilt assuming so. But I know better. I saw the look in that kid’s eyes when you told him to go home. It was the same way I felt when I learned you decided to come here to rescue my family despite the high council’s wishes. Your willingness to act quickly—to do what must be done despite the risk, the cost—that makes you the king Rime needs. We need someone who puts the people first and not the position. Someone who leads with his heart. A good heart.”
Corwin opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again at the fierce look in Dal’s eyes. There was no getting past that.
Forcing a smile to his lips, Corwin put an arm around Dal’s shoulder and squeezed. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.” Then, wanting to change the subject, he added, “And now I think it best we head for home. We’ve stayed in this miserable place long enough.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Dal replied, sliding the magestone back into his ear. “Norgard is truly my home now.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Corwin said. You will always have a place there, my friend, he thought. But he didn’t say it aloud. Som
e things just didn’t need to be said.
28
Kate
IN THE WEEKS THAT FOLLOWED their return from Thornewall, Kate enjoyed a stretch of peace unlike any she had ever experienced before. Thanks to the power of Raith’s magestone diamond, all of Bonner’s troubles had disappeared. Kate couldn’t be happier for him or more relieved that she didn’t have to worry any longer.
Bonner was the toast of the court, the object of glory among the Norgard soldiers, and the focus of fascination and wonder among the peasantry. The newspapers were printing articles about him, wealthy merchants with unwed daughters were sending him marriage contracts with massive dowries attached, and most of the gentry were vying to purchase something made by him personally. Best of all, though, Bonner had secured his future in Norgard, and the guarantee that his father could live out the rest of his life receiving the treatments he needed from the greens.
The only one not celebrating Bonner’s success was Grand Master Storr. He’d written a letter for the Royal Gazette cautioning the public from putting too much faith in machines over magic, but for the most part, no one seemed to be heeding him.
Kate was glad of it, all her worries far away. Even the trouble with daydrakes and her uncertainty about her place in the Rising didn’t worry her, with Master Raith still in Penlocke and not here to pressure her into telling Corwin the truth about her magic.
Her life soon fell into a comfortable routine. Although Corwin no longer brought her sweet rolls in the mornings, he did start training with her on Nightbringer again a few times a week. Both of them avoided speaking of the past, the resulting lulls in conversation occasionally awkward but more bearable than picking at old wounds. Kate sensed a change in Corwin, a confidence that hadn’t been there before. Part of it was no doubt his recent victories—both saving Thornewall and Bonner’s success with the revolvers. But part of it was something deeper, as if he was finally able to see himself the way the rest of Norgard seemed to see him now—as a worthy heir. She wasn’t hearing him called the Errant Prince anymore. What if he wins? It was a question she tried not to dwell on.
Yet the best parts of Kate’s days quickly became her visits with Kiran. At first she would come by the Sacred Sword and spend a few hours with him down in his secret underground home. But it didn’t take long before her loathing of the dark, miserable place drove her to insist she be allowed to take him outside.
Vianne had refused at first. “It’s too risky, Kate. What if someone sees you with him? They’ll want to know who he is, where he came from. We can’t risk it.”
“I’ll wear my cowl. No one will pay attention in the middle of the day. There are hundreds of children in Norgard.”
Vianne scoffed, hands on hips. “What if he loses control of his magic? If that happens even for a second—”
Anise, who made a habit of coming down too whenever Kate visited, waved her hand at the other woman. “You can’t use that excuse forever, Vianne. Sooner or later, the boy must learn to control it in places other than this dingy hole in the ground.”
“You agree with her?” Vianne spun toward Anise, her expression a mixture of shock and outrage, as if the woman had just betrayed her to the golds.
Anise rolled her eyes. “I’ve been telling you the same thing for months now. The boy is ready. It’s not healthy for him to be down here all the time. Children need fresh air and sunshine to grow.”
“What do you know about children?” Vianne said, but Kate could see right away she regretted her words.
“More than you will ever know.” Anise sounded perfectly calm, which only made her anger seem all the more dangerous.
Vianne let out a heavy sigh and turned back to Kate. “All right. You may take him out once. For a single hour—then you bring him right back. No one can see you.”
Kate wanted to argue that an hour was hardly worth it, but she held back. It was a small victory. “I’ll return for him tomorrow. We’ll go for a ride in the countryside.”
Vianne’s eyes seemed to widen to the size of teacups. “Outside the city?”
“There’s nothing to fear out there,” Kate said, remembering how she’d swayed the daydrakes to do her bidding. “Besides, if he were to have a mishap with his magic, it’s less likely anyone would see. We’ll avoid the main roads and the bigger fields.”
The next day Kate arrived earlier than usual. At first she thought the plan wasn’t going to work. Kiran’s excitement over the adventure was coming off him in visible sparks. Kate started to cancel their plans, but the moment Kiran sensed her doubt, he broke down crying. It wasn’t a tantrum like she’d seen other children have. This was abject heartbreak so pitiful that Kate almost descended into tears herself.
Vianne, no less susceptible to her son’s despair, knelt before the boy and took his hands into her scarred ones. “You’ve got to keep it under control, Kiran. Do you understand? If you let off so much as a single spark, you will never get to do this again.”
Kiran’s lower lip quivered as he fought back tears. The vivid flush on his face only emphasized the overall paleness of him. He slowly nodded.
Vianne turned Kiran’s hands over, exposing his palms. “Now show me a single flame.” The boy responded, a single steady flame appearing above his right hand. “Show me two.” A second flame appeared. “Show me three sparks in a row.”
On and on it went, Vianne testing Kiran on his ability to control his magic. He performed beautifully, exhibiting a control far above what Kate would’ve expected from a six-year-old. Then again, she didn’t have anything to compare it to, since she’d known no other wilders first coming into their power.
Finally, Vianne pronounced him ready, and she let Kate lead him up the stairs and out into the back alley where she’d left Firedancer tied to a post. Kiran let out a burst of excited laughter at the sight of the horse.
When he tried to rush up to the mare, Vianne hauled him back. “Be careful. Horses can kick and bite, my little prince, and that’s a warhorse. They’re trained to do it on command.”
“It’s fine.” Kate motioned Kiran forward. “She will never hurt you. I promise.” Kate climbed into the saddle, then reached down to help pull Kiran up while Vianne lifted him. Kate settled the boy in front of her, holding him tight around the waist.
“Be back in an hour!” Vianne called after them as they started to ride away.
Kate took them out the western gate toward Jade Forest. As she went, she instructed Kiran on the basics of riding. It was his first time on a horse, but he showed no fear.
“Our father was master of horse, you know,” Kate said once they were outside the city and free from the chance of someone overhearing. “You will be a natural.”
“Will you teach me every day?” Kiran said, practically shouting in his excitement.
She gently shushed him. “Not every day. But as much as I can. We’ll start this morning.” Kate rode to an isolated spot between two fields, a place she and Corwin had often visited when they were younger. Normally, she wouldn’t have allowed a child so young to ride a warhorse alone, but with the diamond around her neck, ensuring her secrets, she wasn’t worried—she could control Fire-dancer with a single thought.
Kiran struggled with riding, but that was to be expected. There was nothing natural or easy about the skill. What mattered was that he was brave and tenacious, willing to learn.
“Well done,” she said when he brought Firedancer to a halt. “You will be riding like a master in no time at all.”
Kiran beamed at her. “I want to go again!” Kate indulged the boy, unable to tell him no with his enjoyment so palpable.
When they returned to the Sacred Sword nearly an hour past due, they were greeted by a livid Vianne. Kate braced, expecting a tirade, but within moments Kiran’s infectious joy over the outing had cooled his mother’s wrath. Glad I’m not the only one bewitched by this child, Kate thought. Then again, she couldn’t imagine anyone not liking him.
And yet the gold robes wo
uld put him to death if they knew. It was a thought she tried not to dwell on, but it kept coming back to her time and time again.
After that first successful outing, Vianne began to relax, allowing them more time. The benefit to Kiran outweighed her reservations. Soon Kate was taking him out two or three times a week. Kiran quickly lost some of his paleness, until he finally looked more like a normal boy and less like a ghost. He started gaining weight and muscle, too, able to ride the trot for longer intervals without stopping to rest.
One day, Signe decided to come with them, needing a break from the castle and her chores making the black powder. Kate was glad to have her. When they’d first returned from Thornewall, Kate had finally had a chance to explain about the ruined doublet. It hadn’t gone well. Rather than shout or rage, Signe had instead gone utterly, completely silent, as cold as the water in a frozen river. Kate apologized over and over again, realizing the doublet must’ve had some deep importance to her friend, but for more than a week Signe barely spoke to her. Slowly, though, it seemed time was healing the wound, as it did most.
“It’s good to be out,” Signe said as they rode along. “These revolvers are eating up all my time for fun.”
“Why don’t you just share the secret of how to make the black powder?”
Signe gave her a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Because of Seerah, Kate.”
“The holy silence?” she asked, remembering the word.
With her lips pinched in a grim expression, Signe gave a solemn nod. “The secret of the black powder is the most important of any secret I hold. I will never share it. To die would be better.”
Kate frowned. “How did you learn it in the first place? We both know you’re not one of the Furen Mag.”
Signe gave her a look that seemed to say, Are you sure? “Perhaps I stole it. To protect myself. There is no greater weapon than knowledge.”
Kate glanced at her friend, suspecting another tall tale. “Protect from what?”
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