by Ellyn, Court
Alyster shook his head. “Carah did.”
Kelyn winced. “She knows?”
Aye, Alyster thought, you’re no unblemished god in my book either. Almost, almost he wished Kelyn owned an avedra’s gift to read a man’s mind.
“So you understand, if Dax sends an assassin, it’s only because I deserve it.”
“Maybe,” Alyster conceded. “But Carah doesn’t. She dotes on you.”
Kelyn let out a burdened sigh. “You make a good argument, but I can’t send a wounded man into battle. In a couple more weeks, Dax will be strong enough to ride. He can join his aunt then.”
On your own head be it, Alyster thought, stalking off.
The War Commander made a small hesitant noise that amounted to a shout. Alyster turned back.
“You know to steer clear of him, right?”
‘Da’ didn’t want to see his bastard son in the clink for murder? Alyster grinned his wolfish grin, promising nothing. “He’d best steer clear of me.”
~~~~
The vastness of the deployment never failed to impress Thorn. The amount of people to move, the number of details to oversee, the noise and shuffle and confusion … they exhausted him, and he wasn’t the one moving or overseeing any of it. How did Kelyn manage it?
Among the crush, the shouting and grumbling, he occupied a clear patch of ground. It was as if he had erected a glass bubble around himself. None of the bustling supply officers, soldiers, or squires dared trip into him or even veer too close. For a moment, Thorn fretted. What was that damnable bard singing about him? Had word of his experiments spread? Was a black cloud swirling over his head?
Then he laughed and appreciated the arm-room.
While the troops prepared, Thorn was an extraneous addition looming at the roadside. But he was following orders. “Make a presence,” Kelyn had said. So Thorn sweated in the rising summer sun and fought a squirming sort of boredom, all while trying to look intimidating. His frown of displeasure probably did the job for him. Why his presence was necessary he didn’t know. Perhaps Kelyn merely wanted to present a face of solidarity, the promise of strength, to nervous foot soldiers.
Sweat trickled down his back. His blue velvet robe was heavy and stifling, but everyone expected him to wear it. For that alone he ought to burn it. Ach, for a spot of shade. Think like an avedra, fool. With more concentration than it merited, he chilled the sweltering air. Flakes of frost sparkled past his face and billowed up his robe. Ah, delightful.
Despite his languid smile, the arm-room around him increased. The drifting frost melted to dew as it alighted upon the grass; an unnatural, cool breeze lifted his hair. If the gawking soldiers got over their fear and edged closer, they might benefit. Their loss.
Thorn had better things to do than watch grown men stand in lines. Half a dozen whirligigs waited to be filled. Lord Daryon had torn apart two of the devices he’d brought from the mountains and reworked them to include compartments that opened when they spun fast enough. He had completed four new ones and had several more in the works. Thorn was largely extraneous at the forge, too. He was more skilled at roaming alleys and raiding waste dumps for scrap metal, bailing wire, hinges and cogs, and any cast off piece of junk that looked useful. And he still couldn’t make a single whirligig fly more than two feet off the ground for longer than half a minute. Maybe if he had avoided contact with the rágazeth, his efforts would be less embarrassing.
When the time came, Thorn would be responsible for siphoning the abyssal liquid into the compartments. Daryon refused to approach the crates of jars. As yet, they had only experimented with water. Fat drops had rained from the completed devices, drenching both avedrin.
A war horn blared. A squire brought Kelyn his horse, and he mounted up. Young Maeret swept an arm and led the troops through the gate. Kelyn would ride alongside her for a mile or so, as a proper send-off, then return.
On the edge of the Fieran camp, Laral waved farewell to Drys who rode a massive warhorse at the head of his militia, and again to Kalla, now Lady Blue Mountain.
Coming along behind the infantry, mules pulled two working catapults and several mock ones.
“Will it work?”
Thorn turned and found the White Falcon approaching, trailed by a couple of Mantles. This wasn’t the first time Arryk had sought him for such an answer, as if he expected Thorn to be a seer as well as a conjurer of fire.
“If I said ‘yes,’ would you believe me?”
Arryk grinned. He must’ve come from the infirmary. He had removed a stained apron and folded it under his arm. “Is Carah not working today?” There was forced insouciance in the question.
“She’s not in the infirmary?”
Arryk shook his head, and winced ever so slightly. “She’s avoiding me, isn’t she.”
“Avoiding you, sire?” That seemed unlikely. Ever since their escape from Bramoran, Carah had regarded the White Falcon as her special patient.
The regret on the king’s face sounded an alarm in Thorn’s head. Being who he was, Arryk could take whatever he wanted, and who could punish him for it? Who but an avedra and an uncle who would feel not one shred of remorse for boiling the blood in a man’s veins?
“What have you done?”
The demand took Arryk by surprise. But he refused to be intimidated. He raised his chin and turned away, donning a supremely imperious façade. Beneath it, Thorn heard, Asked her—none of your business—to marry me.
Thorn broke into an incredulous chuckle. He swallowed it fast. “Did you?”
Arryk’s eyes narrowed. He might’ve looked threatening but for the blush reddening his face. “Don’t pry, avedra.”
“I didn’t. You might as well have screamed it at me.” His niece, queen of Fiera? “How remarkable.”
“No one is to know. Not even her father. I won’t have her pressured, one way or the other.” The pained wince returned. “Poor timing, but…”
“Aye, ‘tis.” Bearing the weight of such a decision, it was no wonder Carah hid this morning. Poor girl.
Thorn snorted. Poor girl, nothing. Did Carah even see it? Of all the ladies across three kingdoms, she alone had stolen the White Falcon’s heart. “A proposal is no excuse for Carah to shirk her tasks. I’ll find her and send her out.”
But Carah was not to be found. No one knew where she was, not her mother, not Queen Briéllyn or young Aisley, nor anyone among Tírandon’s household staff. Thorn’s search of the keep soon turned frenzied, and he shouted everyone he encountered into a frenzy too.
Goddess help Lothiar if he had swooped into the castle and taken her.
His search spread to the gardens. He sent armies of people into the streets of North Town and South Town. Rhoslyn came to him in a panic, then Kelyn too. Thorn had no words of comfort.
As a last ditch effort, he extended his search beyond the walls, into the outer camps. Carah might have gone to Sha’hadýn’s pavilion for a follow-up on the commander’s wounds. Or perhaps to the highlander camps? By Ana, please…
Among the shaggy cow-hide tents, Thorn found Alyster training with his cousin Haim. The older man moved through the drill slowly, rebuilding his strength after an ogre’s sword had pierced him through.
The two of them saw Thorn bearing down on them with the fury of a lightning bolt and broke off their sparring. They didn’t cower, however, but displayed their hatchets in warning.
“Where’s your sister?” Thorn called for all to hear, and why shouldn’t he?
Dumbfounded, Alyster half shrugged and half pointed a hatchet north.
The gesture made no sense. “What, she left?”
“You didn’t know? She rode out with Azhien and his troop at dawn. I thought she was under orders to go with ‘em. She even waved at me.”
Before Alyster finished his explanation, Thorn loosed an irate roar and started back for the gate. The sentries stationed at the portcullises and along the walls must have seen her as well. But who among them dared question the War Comma
nder’s daughter? They would have assumed, as Alyster had, that she was precisely where she belonged, and Carah must’ve counted on it.
Thorn was halfway along the thoroughfare, headed for the keep, when Alyster caught up to him. “You gonna kill her? Can I help?”
“I’m gonna beat her bloody. Well, no. I’ll drag her back here and let her da do that. Come along if you dare.”
Crossing beneath the inner gate, he spied little sandy-haired Bryden darting from the garrison tower. He was one of many exuberant searchers Thorn had commissioned.
Thorn snagged him by the scruff. “I know where she is. Go tell His Lordship that she’s gone after her brother, but I’ll bring her back.”
The boy saluted and dashed off toward the keep. Thorn bent his course toward the stables. Why hadn’t he thought to search the stables? It never occurred to him that Carah would leave the protection of the walls without him. And, aye, damn it, Lírashel’s stall was empty. Would’ve saved himself and countless others much time and sweat.
Though Laniel and his troop moved only as quickly as their feet could carry them, they had been gone six hours or more. A dranithi’s long, tireless stride and urgent drive to reach the burning Wood might have carried them fifteen or twenty miles by now.
Thorn flung the saddle over Záradel’s back and pointed Alyster toward Duíndor’s stall. The despondent animal perked up his ears; the highlander glowered. “Ride?”
“Do you?”
“Never.”
“Then stay here. I’ve no time to teach you.”
But Alyster hadn’t followed Thorn all this way to stay behind. He grabbed a stableboy and demanded, “Er, saddle that beast.”
~~~~
The white shaft of smoke beckoned the Elarion inexorably. Seven dranithion led a column of nearly a hundred Regulars at a quick march, often breaking into a loping run. They did not take detours at streams or gullies; they did not hassle over which road to take. They diverted only when they neared villages and farms, and preferred open fields to winding lanes. They traveled nearly as straight as the crow flies, aiming their course for the heart of the pale smear on the horizon.
Their pace forced Carah to ride at a trot, mile after mile. Lírashel kept up effortlessly, as tireless as her Elaran breeders, but Carah was sure her arse would turn purple with bruises. Even when training for the Riding Society’s annual trials she hadn’t stayed in the saddle so long or maintained such a pace.
Worse, she hadn’t thought to pack a parasol. The summer sun swept over her right to left and beat at her back. Hot though it was, she let out her braid to shade her neck. At least her riding gloves protected her hands. Still, she’d be as tanned as a highlander’s cow-hide tent by the time she reached Windhaven.
For all that, she was immensely happy. She had made good her escape. The end of her journey’s first day was nearly upon her. The sun was settling over the distant slopes of the Barren Heights, casting the treeless hills in silhouette. If she squinted, Carah could make out the standing stones looming atop Slaenhyll. Sight of the stones made her shudder. Her grandfather had been killed there.
At the front of the column, Laniel raised a hand. The Elarion didn’t stop but slowed to an almost leisurely walk. Carah had learned the hard way that this was the extent of their rest. Around noon, her belly had rumbled, but Laniel wouldn’t stop to let her fill it. “You’re sitting down, aren’t you,” he’d said. “Eat in the saddle.” So she had, munching one of her pilfered apples and trying not to jar her teeth as Lírashel trotted on.
Laniel wasn’t pleased she tagged along. He knew very well that she’d come against her family’s wishes, and that she was using him to get where she wanted to go. His glances, when he bothered, were icy.
Azhien, on the other hand, couldn’t be more pleased. Early in the day he’d attempted conversation and shared half an apple, but Laniel ordered him to silence and pushed the Elarion harder, which forced his cousin to purge what he’d eaten.
So Carah was surprised when Laniel left the front of the column to walk alongside her. Perhaps he had outrun his anger. He unlatched a waterskin from his belt and sipped only. The tips of his ears were red with sunburn. His chest barely heaved. Carah grimaced in envy. “We’ll find a place to camp soon. Another couple hours.”
“What, you won’t run all night?” The question was meant to be sarcastic, but Laniel took it at face-value.
“Depends on the moons. Forath isn’t good to see by, so we must stop sooner than I’d like.”
How long could the Elarion keep going without food and decent rest?
“Listen, Carah. Once we’ve seen how bad things are, if you’re patient, maybe we can spare a few Regs to send with you.”
Cooperation at last. She hadn’t wanted to think about riding on to Windhaven alone through long miles of ogre-infested countryside. “My thanks, Falconeye.”
He wagged a finger at her. “I don’t condone what you’re doing, rëa. I think you’re being bloody stupid. I didn’t expect you to make it five miles before you turned chicken and headed home. But you’re hell-bent on going, I can see that now. Which means it’s up to me.”
“What’s up to you?”
“If I let you head off without a guard, I’ll be responsible if something happens to you. And then I’ll have Dathiel to contend with. You want him to turn me to ash? I sure as hell don’t.”
“The only reason you’d help me is fear of my uncle?”
“That sums it up, yes.”
She snorted derisively. “You’re full of shit, Falconeye.”
He grinned at that.
She considered leaning down and kissing his sweaty face, but he stopped abruptly and turned to gaze back the way they’d come.
“You’re in for it now,” he said.
Carah reined in to listen. Lírashel’s ears swiveled. At last, Carah heard the muffled thunder of galloping hooves. The storm arrives. She expected it hours ago. “Carry on, Laniel. I’ll catch up shortly.”
He cast her a dubious expression, eyebrows high, but he didn’t argue. If anything, he was pleased that Thorn was about to relieve him of his burden. He loped off to catch up with the column.
Carah watched them leave her behind and felt her anger build. If she was anyone else, a commoner, a soldier, a boy, someone without fire in her hands, no one would bother stopping her from going where she liked.
She turned to find her uncle galloping over the crest of a hill. The aggression with which he rode threatened to quench Carah’s resolve. His rage preceded him like the blast from a furnace. And he wasn’t alone.
Duíndor galloped a few paces behind, and for a moment Carah thought it was her father in the saddle. Her uncle she could face alone, but not both of them. She was relieved and startled when she recognized Alyster in his threadbare homespun and striped cloak.
She raised her chin, tightened her fingers around the reins, and prepared her defense.
Thorn aimed his course straight for her, his robe and striped hair whipping as feral as a cyclone. Lírashel saw the collision coming, and tried to bolt aside, but Carah held her steady, daring her uncle to keep coming. He rode within feet of ramming her, hauled Záradel to a skidding halt, and sprang from the saddle. Carah offered not the slightest struggle as he seized her by an arm and a leg and tossed her to the ground.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed, circling her.
It was the tirade she expected. She picked herself off the ground and dusted grass from her Elaran suedes. Thorn had no patience for it. He grabbed her arm and gave her a shake. “The whole of Tírandon was looking for you. We turned the place inside out. Didn’t you think to tell anyone?”
Don’t raise your voice, she warned herself. “I left a note under my pillow where the maid would find it.”
“Carah, you can’t do this!”
She jerked her arm free. “I told you. I must see the truth in Kethlyn’s face. I will not rest until I do.”
Thorn’s tee
th grit audibly. “Whatever I have to do, so help me, you are coming back to Tírandon.”
Duíndor had come to a stop beside his sisters, and Alyster had rolled from the saddle like a sack of turnips. He lay in the grass, panting.
Carah rounded on him. “You snitch!”
Despite his discomforts, Alyster sprang to his feet fast enough. “You wicked wee shite. You lied to me! What was this?” His hand flapped in mimicry of her blithe wave of farewell. “Of course I told him, I thought he knew.”
“Why am I the only one who believes talking to Kethlyn will do some good?” She heard herself shouting now and was unable to stop. “What’s wrong with all of you? Even if my brother is a complete loss, the duchess can order her army to gather to Tírandon’s banners. I will speak for her. Mother may kill me for it, but who cares! That you of all people stand in my way, Uncle Thorn—”
“Do you realize the danger to yourself? You’re utterly exposed out here!”
“Of course I realize. Why else wait for a chance like this? And Laniel has promised me Regulars to escort me the rest of the way. So take yourself back to your safe little walls.”
She stomped off to reclaim Lírashel’s reins.
Thorn grunted, swept a hand, and the earth under Carah’s feet shifted, spilling her hard onto her side. Stones bit her hand, her hip.
He used a working against her? Against her? Tears welled at the betrayal. As she rolled to her knees her hand filled with fire. She flung the blazing ball wildly. It arced for Thorn’s face. He swept an arm, and the fire dispersed, showering him with sparks.
“Stop, stop you damn fools!” Alyster shouted.
Carah climbed to her feet and crossed her hands before her face like a shield. “Eshel,” she breathed, setting three rings of fire to spinning around her like hoops on a barrel. “Don’t make me burn you, Uncle.” Did she believe in her mission deeply enough to carry out her threat? Yes, yes, she did. And if she had to go to such lengths for these damnable men to take her seriously, then so be it.
Through a flood of enraged tears and flame-heated air she saw the stupefied horror on Thorn’s face. He knew she meant it.