A plan came to her. Not waiting to second-guess, and really not wanting to be in the cold much longer, Ree walked back the way she came, doing her best to look like she was on a normal outing. In the freezing cold.
At the stables, she wasted no time. She ran down the aisle between the horse stalls. When she got to Titan’s stall, she grabbed a faded woven blanket and a length of leather.
“Titan, I need your help,” she said.
The horse bobbed his head at her quiet tone, twin clouds of fog streaming from his nostrils.
She pulled the carrot back out of her pouch and broke it in half. “You get the other half when we’re done.”
She threw the blanket over Titan’s back, arranging it so that it draped over his withers and somewhat up his neck and also reached over his hindquarters. She wrapped the lead around his neck, tying it loosely. “Come,” she said.
She led Titan out the wide door meant for the horses, across the paddock area, and toward the slave barracks. Ree wrapped her arms briefly around the tall horse, savoring his warmth and wild, clean smell. “Try to be quiet, okay?”
She led the horse down the alley between the slave barracks and the castle, passing close in front of the door and then in front of the shed. A few feet past the shed, she stopped and let the lead fall to the ground. Titan was a retired battle horse. He wouldn’t stray.
Ree stepped back to the shed, leaning in close to the outer wall of the slave barracks and trying to focus her hearing. She put her hands out, resting them on a bundle of hides and leaned closer.
Nothing. Maybe if she got closer to the door.
Glancing around, she took quiet steps, her ears questing for voices. Ree studied the wall; a small space between two large rocks had been formed. It looked natural and it was perfect.
“. . . it is.” This was Shelu’s voice.
Silence followed, although Ree thought she might have heard movement or a very soft voice. Ree glanced around to make sure she was still alone. The cold was doing her a favor; nobody wanted to venture out.
“You think I’m stupid,” Shelu said. “You’re wrong. If I were stupid, I wouldn’t have known it was you, and you wouldn’t still be alive. So just tell me where it is and we will be done. I’ll even let you go.”
Where what is?
“I told you I don’t know.” This was a girl’s voice. “Don’t you think I would have told you by now if I knew?”
“Girl, I can be creative with what I do to help you remember. I would leave no mark.” A pause. “Look around. Nobody of importance is here. So let’s try to keep things nice and just tell me where the sword is.”
The sword? Why is he—Ree stood up straight. Cold chills washed over her, tingling on her skin. He can’t possibly mean . . .
“Why do you think I know? I told you I don’t know why my mother was hiding—”
“I know what you said, but it’s impossible.”
Ree wished Shelu hadn’t cut off the girl. She wanted to hear what the slave girl had been about to say. She had an idea, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe it.
“Your father and mother surely told you. Nobody is so stupid that they wouldn’t pass on such knowledge.”
“You keep saying that!” The girl sounded close to tears. “Why didn’t you just ask them instead of killing them?”
“Stop it. We will not go through this again. The sword. Where is it?”
“I don’t know!”
Silence stretched.
Ree wondered if Shelu had given up, if he was on his way out of the barracks. She took a step away from the wall, but then heard his angry voice again.
“I will get it out of you. But first, I think I will leave you to rot here, and perform as a slave should, for a time. That will soften you.”
Ree wished the girl would just tell Shelu what he wanted to know.
Or maybe I don’t. If Shelu is looking for the Sword, the actual Sword of Nubal, he obviously can’t find it—if it’s even real. Another thought occurred to her. Did her father know? Was Shelu acting on the king’s bidding? If Father had the Sword, and somehow had the Guide too, he could make the people do anything. He could take the land of the Usurpers.
“I know you think I know something, but I really don’t. Why don’t you just let me go?” The girl sounded weak, exhausted.
“You’re no good to me out there,” Shelu said. “Let’s see how you are after a few weeks in the king’s company. Besides, where would you go? Your village is dead.”
Ree heard the smile in Shelu’s voice and shuddered, trying to rid herself of the crawling sensation his words caused. Ree darted away from the wall, reaching for the shed.
The door creaked open just as she reached the first bundle of hides.
“Princess Ree?”
Her heart pounded. Ree turned. “Shelu? What are you doing in there?”
The warrior smiled, his stained teeth dull in his overlarge mouth. The man’s nose had been broken so many times that it looked more like a smashed piece of fruit than a nose. And his eyes were far too small for such a large head. “I think a better question is what are you doing out here?”
Ree adopted the posture she used when ordering servants around. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Titan needed a walk and I saw these hides here.” She stroked the top fur; it felt like a wolf’s pelt. “Some of them are quite nice.”
“If you need another blanket,” Shelu said, pushing the door closed, “you should just tell a servant.”
“Not me, silly,” Ree said. “Titan. It’s so cold after all.” She turned all of her attention to the skins, carefully breathing through her open mouth so Shelu wouldn’t see her nervousness. As she poked and prodded through the bundle, she ignored Shelu’s gaze on her. Why wouldn’t he take the hint and leave?
“I see,” he said.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shelu spin on his heel and march away. Did he believe me? She didn’t know what he would do if he’d thought she’d overheard. Shelu’s cruelty was legendary, but Ree thought it absurd to imagine he might hurt the king’s daughter.
When he was out of sight, she let out a nervous laugh. Then an urge came over her so quickly that she didn’t know she’d acted on it until she was standing in the warm slave barracks, the door swinging closed behind her.
A young woman sat on a slightly raised bed, staring at the wall. Her long brown hair was in messy clumps, her eyes rimmed with red. She jumped when Ree entered the room.
“It’s okay,” Ree said, extending her hands. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
She was older than Ree, at least by two or three years. Her eyes raced around the room, settling for only a moment at a time.
“I just wanted to see you. I heard Shelu. I don’t want him to hurt you.”
The girl glanced at Ree, then at the door behind her.
“Shelu?”
“Yes, his name is Shelu,” Ree said.
An awkward silence filled the space between the two girls.
“Are you going to let me go?”
Ree thought quickly. “I wish I could. Maybe another day. But it’s winter right now.” She would get in so much trouble if anyone found her in here. She had to leave.
“Is he going to kill me?”
“I don’t think so.” Ree tried to catch the girl’s darting gaze. “I heard him say something about a sword.”
“I told him I don’t know! You’re working with him, trying to be nice to me! I still don’t know!” The girl burst into tears.
Ree dashed across the room, putting her hands on the girl’s shaking shoulders. “No, I’m not. I’m really not. I’m sorry.”
Why does he think she knows where the Sword is?
“Please let me go.” Her voice was so soft, so scared, that Ree almost stepped back to let the girl past.
“You’ll die.” A stirring of determination touched her throat as she spoke. “But I’ll help you get away after winter. They shouldn’t do this to you.�
� Ree swallowed. “Or to anyone.”
The girl looked up, her gaze finally resting on Ree. Tears had left shining trails on the girl’s face. “You’ll help me?”
“I will.”
The girl lowered her face into her hands and scrubbed at her cheeks. She scooted back on her bed, then met Ree’s eyes again. “Who are you?”
Ree stepped toward the door. She had to leave, or she was going to be caught. And if someone found Titan outside by himself, it would look strange. She headed for the door, but stopped long enough to answer the girl. “I’m Ree.”
The slave girl nodded. “I’m Alronna.”
Chapter 24
A Name
“After today, you should be able to eat something more than soup,” Simra said. She knelt beside him with another bowl.
Lakhoni grunted. Two weeks of lying on his back, broken only by visits to the trench outside and the few moments it took Simra’s father, Neas, to help him move so the sleeping mat and blankets he used could be changed.
Two weeks! I think. I might have lost track of a few days.
He could nod now without feeling like he stood upon a dizzying cliff. Most of the aches in his body had slowly dissipated. The fever and chills were gone too. But his muscles were unused. He wondered if he would remember how to walk.
Simra’s dark brown eyes met his again. A faint smile touched the corners of her lips. “Which I’m sure pleases you to no end.”
Lakhoni forced a smile, swallowing the first sip of hot soup. Had he ever thought this concoction tasted good?
“How’s the voice?”
Fear flooded Lakhoni. Moisture came to his eyes, but he willed it away. His throat didn’t hurt so much anymore beyond a dull ache. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t talk. He wanted to trust Neas that his voice would return, but when Neas said that he couldn’t tell what was wrong, it was hard to believe.
He opened his mouth. Come on, now. Just work! He tried to form some words, tried to tell her he was getting better. All that came out was a high-pitched sound of air being forced through his throat underscored by small grunts.
“No.” Simra’s hand touched his shoulder, staying there for a long moment. “It’s okay. Father says it will heal. Don’t push it too hard.”
They found their rhythm and the clay bowl Simra held emptied.
“At least we can get that down, without you interrupting and trying to regale me with tales of your adventures.” She had a joking tone and there was sympathy in her eyes. “I really don’t care where you came from or how you got so sick. I have no questions whatsoever as to what would make you travel in the middle of winter.”
Lakhoni was briefly grateful that he had no voice. At least I have time to create a good story. He smiled at Simra; this time it was less forced. Aside from her and Neas, he had no contact with anyone else. The village had decided there was no need to visit the strange boy who had emerged from the wilderness of winter now that Neas and his daughter were dealing with him.
“And I really have no reason to ask you about the horrible scars on your head and ribs.” Simra settled more, her shoulders relaxing as she adjusted her position so she was sitting on the dirt floor next to him, her legs tucked under her. Her tone softened as she continued. “You’re the only boy in the village who hasn’t asked me to marry him.”
Lakhoni snorted a laugh.
She looked down, realized he had been listening, and burst out laughing too. After a moment, Lakhoni braced himself on his elbows and levered himself upwards. Simra helped him sit up and lean against the furry pelt that hung from the wall near his sleeping mat. He nodded his thanks. When she had helped him before, her strong hands on the bare skin of his chest, he had felt awkward. Now he was used to it. Making sure the blanket didn’t slide down too far, he settled backward, looking around the hut that had been his home for two weeks. It appeared this village had extra huts to go around; nobody else slept here.
The silence that settled between him and Simra might have been awkward a week ago, but now it was comfortable. Minutes passed as they sat there, his eyes on the small fire that kept the hut warm.
“You must be bored.”
Lakhoni smiled, nodding.
“Even with the stories I tell you, spending all day in here must be awful.”
He shrugged.
“Or maybe the stories are the worst part?”
He had known her two weeks, but he knew her better than he had known anybody, save for Lamorun. Being only able to listen and watch, he perceived things about her from the way she held herself or said something. Like now. Simra was joking, but he could tell she sincerely worried that he didn’t enjoy her company. She doubted herself at the strangest of times.
She was confident in her opinions of the world around her, but when it came to herself, Lakhoni had learned that she was less sure. He didn’t understand it. Simra was easily the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She could cook, hold a conversation; she had talked about going hunting with her father. How could anyone so nearly perfect doubt themselves?
Lakhoni made no move to answer her half joking, half doubting question. He let the moment draw out, then caught her eyes and smiled. He shook his head.
“You’re not very nice, you know,” Simra said, jokingly disgusted with him.
He shrugged again. He mouthed the word, “More,” raising his eyebrows.
She had no trouble interpreting his meaning. “Okay.” Her brow furrowed as she thought. “Myth, legend, truth, or a little of both?”
Lakhoni held up two fingers.
“Both. All right. You’ve probably heard this before, but since you can’t do anything to stop me, I will go ahead and tell it anyway.”
Lakhoni snorted.
“Hundreds of years ago,” Simra began, “maybe thousands, the First Fathers escaped a wicked land across the seas. A land peopled by sorcerers and witches, assassins and thieves.”
Lakhoni knew the story of the First Fathers, but the way Simra told it was different. It was like a painted song, with her voice the brush that created pictures of an ancient family with a divine destiny to fulfill. It sounded as if it were a story passed down, word-for-word, among her people.
“The First Fathers were four brothers who married four sisters, and later there were two more brothers. They were led by the Great Spirit to gather chosen family and friends to them and journey across broken land and wily sea until they could find a land of safety and prosperity.
“Although they were led by the Great Spirit, the brothers were not united. The two older brothers, upon whom the rights and privileges of rule had been conferred by their father, did all in their power to complete their journey, while the four younger brothers sought dominion over the people they were leading to an unknown destiny.”
Simra’s eyes had grown unfocused as she spoke.
“They built ships and sailed across oceans, guided by a tool of ancient wisdom and wonder. This Guide was said to be a gift from the Great Spirit. It was a golden skull. Instead of eyes, there were magnificent, clear gemstones. When the people followed after evil, the gemstones grew cloudy and red. But when the people acted rightly, the gemstones stayed clear.”
Simra paused for a moment. “The First Fathers took the Guide from the treasury of the wicked king of the land they lived in. Using the Guide, they found their way through the wilderness to a great eastern ocean. Without the Guide, they would never have completed their journey; they would have been lost forever in the ocean depths.”
As Simra spoke, Lakhoni let his thoughts wander, enjoying her voice. He wished he knew how close Simra’s village was to Zyronilxa. If he could speak, he would be able to ask. He could also get directions and continue his journey. What if I never speak again? How will I find Alronna?
“When they arrived at their land of promise and plenty, the four younger brothers deceived many of their friends with empty promises and lies, and led them in attacking the older brothers and their families. The older br
others knew they had to protect their families, so they fled southward. Thus, the land north is that of the Usurpers—the unlawful rulers—and the land south is the land of the true First Fathers.”
“The wondrous Guide fell into the hands of the Usurpers, but it is said that their unrighteousness was so great that the Great Spirit withdrew this gift from them. Our people know that when the time comes, the Great Spirit will restore the Guide to us and will lead us to reclaim our rightful, choice land in the north, driving the Usurpers into the sea.”
The Bonaha said something like that. Maybe the Separated aren’t so different from the rest of us.
No, the people of Zyron don’t practice human sacrifice.
“But for now, there are two peoples: the Usurpers and the people of Zyron. The name Zyron had been taken by each of our kings to show honor to the eldest brother—so we remain the people of Zyron to this day.”
But is murder any better? Of course not. He could not be one of the people of Zyron any longer. He had no people and no place to call home.
The silence in the hut made him realize that Simra had stopped speaking some time ago.
“You suddenly look very sad,” she said.
The kindness in her voice and the concern he saw in her face softened something inside of him. He clenched his jaw, clamping down tightly on the flood of emotion that suddenly welled up. He tried not to meet her eyes, but failed.
Simra stared intently at him. Her deep brown eyes, flecked with green, caught his and held them. Lakhoni’s heart suddenly began pummeling his chest and he had to fight hard to control a breath that caught in his throat . Both of her strong hands enclosed his hand. He met her gaze again.
“You will get better. Your voice will come back.” Simra’s smooth, delicate neck bent slightly as she stared at him.
His mind suddenly blank, his heart still pounding, Lakhoni’s control ebbed. He clenched her hands, not wanting to tear his eyes from her face.
“And when you get better, I hope you will tell me . . .” She looked down.
Long moments of silence passed. The heat of her hand was like a heavy cloak, or of hot coals in the middle of a chilly night. He squeezed her hand, wishing she would finish her sentence.
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