“Romadona.”
“Romadona, you earned your full Watcher status today.” The promotion skipped three levels of rank but felt accurate.
The smile that greeted her brought a lump to Adana’s throat. “Rest.” She smoothed the soldier’s dark hair back from her forehead before rising and walking away.
Although there were no sounds of new arrivals, she glanced up the tunnels, looking for Kiffen. Returning troops reported his refusal to leave the battlefield until all his soldiers, Elwarian and Monian, were accounted for. She admired his loyalty to them, but the mounting number of injured and dying pressed down on her. She needed reassurance of his safety.
She brushed her hand through her hair and sighed before returning to the throngs of men and women stretched along the tunnel walls. She moved toward a Watcher who rose from tending to a soldier. This woman had been with Kiffen when they departed Elwar. She touched her arm. “Any news of the king?”
The woman pulled up sharply, staring down at Adana’s hand. Her eyes widened with recognition when she looked into Adana’s face. She bowed her head in respect. “My Queen.”
“Any news?” She glanced at the woman’s left arm patch, a runner with a knife, a Tracker. She took in the woman’s green eyes and the dusky skin of the people from the southern region of her kingdom.
“Everyone hears of the king, Your Majesty. He comes. Others?” The woman paused and licked her lips.
“What others?” A chill ran along Adana’s arms, and her shoulder burned.
The Watcher’s gaze searched their surroundings for a moment. She gestured away from the makeshift hospital. “If I may, my lady, let’s move over here, out of the crowd.”
Adana followed, her arms icing over with dread. What news did this woman bear? So many of her Watchers had not returned. Jerold was missing, too. She focused on her shoulder. So much of her body ached after the battle and jolting ride on Am’brosia’s back, she hadn’t paid attention to its throbbing. Had it throbbed earlier or just begun because she was about to learn something distressing?
The tunnels held several chambers. The one the Watcher chose held stores of food supplies. It was quiet.
The Watcher closed the door behind them and faced Adana, compassion visible in her gaze. She chose to reveal her compassion, a point that made Adana’s stomach churn.
“The king should arrive soon. He found Sir Jerold and the Watcher Joannu and seeks to bring them with him.”
“Go on.” Adana’s ears roared, but she steeled herself for the news.
“Sir Jerold is severely injured. His wounds are bad, so they must move him slowly. Joannu…” The woman’s eyes misted over, but she blinked and looked her queen square in the eye. “Joannu’s injuries were worse. He brings her body.”
Adana fought the urge to slump against the wall. Instead, she forced a Watcher’s mask of composure over her face.
The Watcher studied her, concern and compassion still evident in her face. “Your Majesty, may I find you a place to wait? A place to rest?”
Adana shook her head and thanked the Watcher. She waved her away when the woman offered to stay. Alone in the chamber, she slid down the wall until she sat huddled on the floor. The cool stone on her back reminded her of her dream, how she had wandered the darkness, her fingers trailing the cool damp earth. She thought of Veana’s body lying in a makeshift morgue in the outer circle of the keep. Hundreds of bodies lay there, each one painful for her to consider, and Joannu would join them. The two women most involved in her early training were gone.
“Child, you must rest.” A cool hand brushed her cheek, and she turned to meet Kassa’s concerned gaze.
“I will not rest when soldiers who fought for me are still out there. Kiffen—” Her voice caught. She straightened, clearing her throat.
The old Watcher squatted next to Adana. “He is well. We know that.” Her mouth quirked into a reassuring smile. “He did well for his first true battle. We can be proud of him.”
Adana pressed her palms against her eyes until she saw white lights. She dropped her hands and searched Kassa’s face. “I failed.”
Kassa shook her head. “All is not lost. Your plan for Shana went differently, but she is in Maligon’s hands. You and Kiffen are alive. This battle may be lost, but you will prevail.”
A tumult rang in the hallway, cheers and shouting, exhausted men and women now animated in celebration.
Adana jumped up, heart racing, and ran into the tunnel. She halted at the sight of Kiffen. So many gathered around and rose to meet him that she only saw glimpses, but he was there. His hair hung in limp, sweaty strings, blood smudged his face and leather armor, but he walked with confidence, a look of regal honor on his face.
Kassa came up beside her. “See his power? You have it, too. Together, you will defeat Maligon.”
Adana swallowed her response to Kassa as Kiffen spotted her. The noise in the tunnel faded in her ears as the two of them stared at each other.
She rushed to him, and he caught her in his arms. The smell of battle filled her nostrils, but she did not care.
Kiffen had returned alive.
* * * * *
Chapter 39
The next day, Adana stood in the Central Tower of the Border Keep. Tendrils of smoke snaked toward the sky, reminding her of their losses. Her enhanced Watcher vision identified each funeral pyre’s smoke and ash wisping upward from the distant battlefield until the tendrils drew together in a haze on the horizon. Any other observer would notice the dark cloud of smoke gathering but would not see the ash-filled smoke so well. So many, led into battle by her forces, to be slaughtered by Maligon. The traitor held her home, her royal fortress, access to the Seat of Authority. How had this happened? Who opened the gates, giving that monster her ancestral ground?
The thought of Maligon striding those halls, possessing all that should be hers, rubbed Adana’s soul raw. She turned her gaze to the courtyard below. Refugees continued to stream in from outlying areas, seeking shelter from Maligon’s rampage across the plains of Moniah. Her people fled to her for protection, but what could she do for them? She didn’t sit in the Seat of Authority.
A knock sounded at the chamber door, and Montee entered. The tall Watcher stood straight. Her braid hung halfway down her back, not a dark hair out of place. Adana paused a moment to admire her First Vision’s constant composure. The last day had taken its toll on everyone, but Montee never revealed any signs of the weight of loss pressing down on them.
“They are ready for us, Your Majesty,” Montee said.
One pyre remained. One that Adana must preside over. One that represented her own personal losses. The smoke in the distance announced the deaths of those not carried back from the battlefield, but this pyre held the wounded who hadn’t survived the night and the ones most dear to her—Joannu and Veana.
Two of her honor guard gone. Dead. And one, Samantha, missing. The two who remained, Montee and Sinti, waited to escort her.
Adana drew in a deep breath, seeking a focused center. The cleansing air spread through her chest and body, extending her mind and ability. She let it inflate her abdomen before releasing it until her belly sank toward her backbone. She repeated the exercise, seeking cleansing and focus with each inhalation. In the back of her mind, she felt a nudge from Am’brosia. With each breath, with the giraffe’s coaxing, ashes, despair, and death faded. A Watcher’s calm sought to gentle the pummeling of her heart and rushing of her thoughts.
She managed to extend a slight smile toward the First Vision. “Thank you, Montee.”
Sinti, Adana’s ever-present shadow, fell in step behind them. The three women began the long descent from the tower. With each step, each turn of the tower stairs, Adana’s concerns crept back into her heart. She descended to perform her duty, to honor the fallen of her closest companions, yet Maligon had risen to power while she, and her allies, weren’t looking. He inhabited her home. He had killed loyal followers. He had ravaged her kingdom and taken
away her father and Kiffen’s father. With the memory of each of Maligon’s crimes, Adana’s calm evaporated. She walked faster, her steps catching up to her fury. Servants on the next floor jumped out of her way as she flew around the corner and swept past them, hitting the next flight of stairs with determination.
“Your Majesty,” Montee said in a quiet, but urgent, voice. The First Vision rushed to catch up to her. “Your Majesty, wait.”
Adana halted.
A wrinkle creased Montee’s brow. The Watcher’s consternation confused Adana, but she shook her head and continued down the stairs. “This must be done and over with. I mustn’t make them wait any longer.”
Once they honored the dead, she could move forward, attack Maligon, and take back what was rightfully hers.
“Adana.” Montee blocked her path. “They will wait.”
She stopped. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps. What had happened to the calm from her focused breathing? She drew in another breath and closed her eyes to focus inward. As she released the air, she opened her eyes and regarded Montee with annoyance. “Why do you delay me? Has something changed since we left the Tower Room?”
“Yes.” Montee held up her hand, gesturing for Adana to wait. She strode down a few steps and checked below them, then turned and cocked an eyebrow toward Sinti who stood behind Adana on the stairs.
The young Watcher did the same, checking the stairwell above them. “Clear.”
Montee turned back to Adana, her face calm. “Did you not see those servants you barreled past? You rush to do your duty below, but you have duty before you now. This is not your estate. These servants don’t know that you approach on silent feet. You startle them enough by appearing out of nowhere, but rushing, Adana? What gossip will you have them spread?”
“I—” Adana began to object but knew her advisor spoke the truth. Nothing in her training had prepared her to assume leadership without the familiar objects of her royalty—the Seat, her home, and her crown. It was bad enough that she and Kiffen must find a way to unite their kingdoms while exploring their own relationship, but how could they succeed in exile? With so much against them?
Montee’s tone softened a little, but only a little. It still carried the import of her words. “You must show decorum. You are a queen and a Watcher. Before all people, you must appear calm. You must give them hope. Nod at those we pass. Talk with me, so they hear us approach. Today is not the day to frighten them more.”
Adana nodded, ashamed that she needed to be told this. “You are, of course, correct, Montee. I fear I let my concerns overtake my behavior. Thank you for the reminder.”
Montee nodded and whispered, “I regret the need. You still have me. I will guide you as Moniah expects.”
Adana tilted her head to the side, studying the remarkable woman selected to stand beside her. Adana’s mother had chosen well when her departing spirit appeared to Montee, making her the First Vision. She provided the calm in storms and understood how Adana’s training suffered from her extended time in Elwar. Her mother had sought to protect her from a prophecy, but the trials she faced hadn’t changed. Her exile gave her maturity and time, little more.
They started down the stairs at a more regal pace, and Adana forced her voice to a pleasant tone. “Have you spoken to Glume about Am’brosia and Bai’dish? Are they recovered from the battle?”
Montee answered, her voice brisk, but with efficiency, not concern. Adana continued to discuss the condition of the two giraffes even though she didn’t need Montee’s report. Through her link with Am’brosia she knew the giraffes reveled in their participation in the battle. It struck her that they didn’t feel agitation over this loss. Did they know something she didn’t? Were giraffes capable of seeing the future without sharing it through the bond?
In the back of her mind, she felt amusement from Am’brosia. The animal’s odd humor displayed approval of her thoughts. Adana welcomed Am’brosia’s state of mind and allowed the bond to solidify. The connection became stronger, and Adana relaxed, allowing the giraffe to share her sight with her. She expected to see the inside of the stable on the ground level of the keep, its dimensions designed for the two giraffes. Instead, Am’brosia gave her a glimpse of a pond in Elwar, the place where Adana used to seek refuge during her time in Kiffen’s kingdom. A place the giraffe had never seen. She recalled the calm of floating in a small rowboat, rocked by a gentle breeze.
Surprised, Adana sent a question to the giraffe. How had Am’brosia found that memory? Once again, the capabilities of their telepathic link astounded her, but she was thankful for this new element. The vision provided the tranquility she needed to get through this day.
They rounded another corner and met two maids, carrying folded linens. Adana nodded, earning a hint of a smile from Montee, as the servants curtsied and backed out of her way. The rest of her descent continued in peace, the calmness so complete, Adana almost forgot her destination. Almost.
At the entrance to the courtyard, Adana paused and drew in several slow, focused breaths while trying to ignore the tang of smoke and reek of many people gathered in one place. She must appear strong and vigilant. She refused to let anyone, including Montee and Kiffen, see her falter again.
The pyre stood in the broad expanse outside the gates of the keep. The constant stream of refugees seeking aid hesitated before the large structure of wood supporting the wrapped bodies of the fallen. They gawked as Adana’s procession approached.
Kiffen and the gathered mourners waited for her to begin the ceremony.
He turned toward her, his brown hair ruffled by the breeze. Adana felt her soul sink into the depths of his brown eyes for a moment. They reflected the same worries she felt. She knew this to be true from her Watcher’s ability to pick up minute details in the way he held his shoulders and tilted his head, but she also knew this from his link to Bai’dish. The bond created an intriguing circle between the four of them—Kiffen to Bai’dish, Bai’dish to Am’brosia, Am’brosia to Adana, and back again.
“We are ready,” Kiffen said as she approached. He extended his arm for her to grasp as he escorted her to the front of the mourners. Adana felt harmony radiate from the puncture in her shoulder. In Kiffen’s presence, so far, her shoulder felt calm.
Adana turned toward the wood piled below the stand. The air still smoldered with the faint odor of burning flesh, wood, and glimmer fire from the distant battle fields. Most of the mourners couldn’t sense those fires, not with such a gentle breeze, but she and her Watchers knew. Their enhanced vision let them see the smoke, and the awareness heightened their ability to detect the stench in the air.
Several of her Watchers, clad in their leather tunics and leggings, formed rank behind her. She, dressed in the same way, had not grasped her kingdom, yet, but she did have their loyalty. Adana reached up and unwound her Watcher’s braid, her thoughts momentarily recalling the young girl she had been at her mother’s deathbed. She had refused to undo her braid until ordered to do so by her mother.
The other Watchers followed suit, their hair lifting in the breeze.
She accepted a burning torch from a soldier and held it above the kindling. Those dearest to her, Veana and Joannu, Watchers who died protecting her from capture, awaited their release from this world. She studied the mound of bodies, wondering which wrappings disguised her loyal Watchers. As she hesitated, Kiffen laid his fingers over hers, gently pressing downward. Together, they lit the last pyre. Flames licked upward, hungry for their feast.
Adana coughed as the smoke surged around them, stinging her eyes. As the sticks and brambles burned, aiding the departure of the fallen, she murmured to Kiffen, “How many more must die?” A cluster of young Watchers stood guard to her right, battle-scarred, but far too young to have to know the horror of war. “Will they?”
Kiffen took her hand and drew her closer to his side. She allowed herself the brief luxury, eyes watering from her sorrow and the fires that released the bodies of those who had fou
ght for her right to stand with Kiffen.
“Come,” he said to her and nodded toward the departing mourners. Around her, people trailed toward the Border Keep, their faces covered with cloths that did little to protect them from the oppressive black breath of loss. “We must join the mourners in the temple.”
Together, they walked through the gates of the keep. Watchers stood at the gates alongside Kiffen’s soldiers, keeping a vigilant watch on the hills beyond. So far, Maligon appeared to be satisfied with his triumph of the previous day and had settled into Adana’s View. His hold on her kingdom and many of her Watchers, whether in thrall or bondage, burned in her stomach. She should be there, preparing for her coronation. Instead, she and Kiffen must find a way to defeat Maligon and save the four kingdoms and their people who had been scattered to the winds by this malevolent beast.
Prince Jerold of Belwyn, his brown hair sticking up at odd angles above the bandage across his forehead, met them in the inner courtyard. Adana pushed the despair from her mind, aware that Jerold suffered from a similar fate. His mother, Empress Gabriella of Belwyn, remained in her own dungeons, a prisoner to Maligon. That Jerold was the prince and heir to the tiny kingdom to the northeast remained an important secret.
“We will rescue the empress,” she said, voicing the one promise no one had been able to offer her or Kiffen about their own parents.
Kiffen grasped Jerold’s arm in a gesture of camaraderie. “I pray Ariff’s men have already done so.”
It seemed eons ago that Teletia’s King Ariff had led a small band of Watchers and soldiers into Belwyn, but only a little over a week had passed. The soldiers had probably arrived in Belwyn’s ruling city on the same day Adana marched from the village of Roshar. Again, the Creator had chosen to laugh at her wishes. Did he laugh at King Ariff’s and Empress Gabriella’s?
The Watchers in Exile Page 27