by Lucy Hounsom
‘Yes. When I was twenty-five.’
‘How did you get out of the citadel?’
‘Bribed the Murtans,’ Brégenne said.
Nediah half smiled. ‘After all those lectures –’
‘Yes, well.’ She folded her arms. ‘It was wrong, foolish. I shouldn’t have done it. But it got me out of Naris. I was only thinking of one thing.’ She looked up at him. ‘Revenge.’
The smile died on Nediah’s lips. Brégenne watched it disappear, a cold fist closing about her heart. ‘I wasn’t that good at Lunar seeing then,’ she said, knowing that if she stopped, she wouldn’t be able to start again. ‘But I was good enough. Twelve years had passed and they were still there, right where I left them. My aunt and uncle. Their children were married by that time and I thought they lived alone. I was wrong.
‘I should have taken their sight, forced them to live as I did. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t inflict that on anyone.’ Brégenne’s voice hardened. ‘So I killed them.’
Nediah went very still.
‘I killed them with the Lunar, with the very power they had claimed as evil. They were right, that night. And then my mother walked in.’ Brégenne looked at her hands. They were clean and pale, the blood long since washed from them. But sometimes she thought she could still feel it, sticky and worthless. A waste. ‘She walked in to see me covered in blood. I still remember her face as she began to scream. Every detail.’
Nediah turned away. She’d expected it, but still that little movement tore at Brégenne’s heart. ‘Their deaths brought me nothing, no relief, no joy. All I felt was emptiness.’ Her voice wavered. ‘Until you.’
She thought he trembled a little, but he did not look at her.
‘I dedicated myself to Naris, upheld its laws, found potentials, rose high in the Council’s favour. I suppose I was searching for a means to wash away my crime. And then you were brought to me,’ Brégenne said, smiling, despite everything, at the memory. ‘What I thought would be merely another report to write became a pupil, a friend – someone who, in many ways, was like me. In the beginning, it was another chance for absolution. In the end,’ she murmured, ‘it became something else. Without me ever realizing.’
Nediah let out a long breath. She wished he would turn around. ‘No more secrets,’ she whispered to his back. ‘Now you know who I am.’
Tears threatened; she made to go, but before she could take a step, Nediah turned and seized her arm. ‘Brégenne,’ he said seriously, looking into her eyes. ‘This changes nothing. I have always known who you are.’
She hadn’t realized the tears had come despite herself until he kissed them away. His lips were warm on her cheek, teasing out other memories. The way the fire flickered over his skin made her think of all those times they’d camped in the wilderness, the comfort of shared adventure. The day she’d become his mentor and looked into his face for the first time. Their Attunement: more than anything, an acknowledgement of the deeper bond that linked them. There was no one she would rather stand beside. No one in the world she trusted more.
Nediah lowered his forehead to hers. ‘Brégenne –’ he whispered, but she covered the rest of his sentence with a kiss. Heat raced through her, a shiver on its heels. She tasted the spice on his breath, feeling the firmness of his lips against hers. He drew back slightly, brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, and kissed her again.
Her face was hot; her heart pounded. Leaning against Nediah, she could feel his too, beating in time with her own. Her hands found the ties of his shirt; she undid them, pushing the material aside, sliding her hands up his back from waist to shoulders. He groaned softly and she remembered with a thrill that night in her rooms in Naris, the first sweet shock of touch.
His hands crept beneath her tunic; she let him drag it over her head, dropping it to the floor. Then he swept her up and carried her back to the blankets before the hearth. They fell into them. He trailed fingertips over her breasts, following them with his mouth. Her breath came faster, heat spread to the space between her thighs. Brégenne hooked one leg over his, relishing the feel of his body against hers. Exploring the newness of his bare chest, she traced the narrow strip of hair from the smooth scar beside his heart, to his belly to the waist of his trousers. An ache burned inside her, tingled in the tips of her fingers.
Nediah caught her hand, took his lips from her neck to look at her. ‘We don’t have to,’ he said, voice slightly hoarse, and she knew he was thinking of last time, of the way she’d ended it between them.
Brégenne met his eyes; saw her own desire reflected there. ‘I know,’ she said. She took his hand, guided it to her own buttons. ‘I want to.’
When they lay skin to skin, however, her breath caught, as the old fear threatened to engulf her. She could feel her muscles tightening, the memories of being held down, of being helpless, waiting to seize her again. It was so very difficult to trust. But Nediah stroked her hair, kissed her lips, moving slowly over every part of her, his hands deft and gentle, his mouth hot, until they were both trembling and all the fear was gone.
Later they lay, their faces to the embers, while Nediah traced the pattern on her back with a firm, intent finger. Brégenne shivered. ‘Have you seen it?’ he asked softly, flattening his palm against her skin. ‘The tattoo that came with the Solar?’
‘No,’ she replied, acutely aware of his body against hers. ‘What does it look like?’
‘Moonrise,’ Nediah said, ‘sunrise. A sky.’
Brégenne smiled. ‘How poetic.’ She stared into the flames and her smile slowly faded. ‘Kait won’t like this,’ she murmured.
‘I doubt it will come as a surprise,’ Nediah said. Gently, he pulled her over so that they lay front to front. The blankets held their heat, and the fading orange of the fire.
Brégenne looked up at him. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Kait knows how I feel. Why do you think she’s given you such a hard time?’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘That things could never be the same between us,’ Nediah said, seeming to take her doubt in his stride. ‘That I was sorry if I’d led her to believe otherwise.’ He sighed. ‘It’s taking her a long time to accept that neither of us are the same people we were fifteen years ago.’ He smoothed a lock of hair away from her ear. ‘That maybe I’d come to love someone else, someone very different.’
Her eyes prickled. Brégenne reached up and touched his cheek, the stubble there slightly rough beneath her fingers. ‘Nediah. I love you too.’
He lowered his head and kissed her slowly. Desire swept through her in a wave she wished would last forever. ‘Was that so hard?’ he asked teasingly, drawing back.
‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘And no.’
They lay in silence for a time until Brégenne said, ‘She helped me. Kait, I mean. She helped me master the Solar.’
Nediah raised his eyebrows. ‘She did?’
‘When I needed someone, suddenly she was there.’ Brégenne met his eyes. ‘I know she was probably doing it for you, but I think she saved my life.’
‘I’m proud of her,’ Nediah said after a moment.
‘She won’t talk to me now, though. She won’t even look at me.’
‘Perhaps she’s in shock,’ Nediah said and Brégenne punched him lightly on the arm.
‘I was being serious.’
‘So was I.’ Nediah’s smile faded. ‘She just needs time.’
Brégenne listened to the murmuring of the hearth. ‘How long until dawn?’ she asked.
‘Can’t you tell?’
She concentrated. Sure enough, she felt a golden thread, much like the Lunar, leading off into the dark. ‘Two hours.’
‘We’ve a long journey.’ Nediah’s green eyes were more amber in the dying firelight. ‘We haven’t slept.’
She gave him a look. ‘Do you want to sleep?’
He laughed and caught her up, holding her above him. ‘Well it’s not like we have anything else to do …’
32
Hagdon
He left Parakat in Avery’s care.
‘Change its name,’ he suggested, pulling on gauntlets. ‘If we’re to turn it into our base of operations, it shouldn’t have a name that inspires fear.’
‘It will take people a long time to forget,’ she replied stonily, eyes flicking from him to the raised portcullis. ‘And it’s still a fortress, a bastion of Sartya. We should tear it down.’
‘One day,’ he said. ‘For now, it serves a purpose.’
‘To you, everything serves a purpose.’
Hagdon didn’t deny it. ‘We are not in a position to choose, Avery. Parakat is a useful base, if isolated. Until we’re in control of Acre –’
‘You make us sound as dictatorial as the empire,’ she said darkly.
‘One thing’s for certain – we’ll have to be as ruthless.’
She shook her head slowly. ‘No. I won’t let the Republic stoop to the level of the Fist. We will not take by force.’
He rubbed flecks of rain from his face, watching the two-thousand-strong column winding its way out of the fortress and across the bridge. ‘This is no time for idealism.’
‘I disagree,’ the rebel said, her eyes hard. ‘This is the perfect time for idealism. We will begin again with dreamers as well as soldiers.’
Hagdon swallowed his natural retort. Perhaps she was right and he was too cynical by half. He’d been taught to consider an enterprise from every angle, to weigh the odds of success against the consequences of failure. Building a new world was just another battle. A battle vaster than any of them could comprehend, but a battle nonetheless. Avery would realize it eventually.
‘Do as you will,’ he said to her. ‘You’re in command here.’
She gave neither thank-you nor acknowledgement, instead saying, ‘You cannot let Iresonté win in Rairam. If that land falls to Sartya, the Republic will dissolve around us.’
Hagdon turned, so that his back was to her, his face to the distant east. Wind stirred the hem of his cloak, caught in his feathered mantle. ‘If it means my life,’ he said softly.
He dreamed.
‘James’, she whispers, her face silver under the moon. Her cheekbones are ridges of shadow, her eyes pale lakes. He cannot look into them. If he does, he is lost. But her voice implores him, calls him by name. And it has power.
He looks.
At once he wants her, is terrified at the violence of his own emotion. He holds up his hands, as if to ward her off. ‘Don’t, Irilin.’ His voice is a bare whisper, not the command he intends.
She takes his outstretched hands and kisses them. His will crumbles. He pulls her to him. When he tips her face up, there are tears trailing red across her cheeks.
‘No,’ he gasps, wiping them away, but they come faster. ‘You aren’t hurt. I said I’d protect you.’
‘I am not the one hurt,’ she says sadly. ‘You are.’
He looks down. There is a rent in his armour, a monstrous gash through which his lifeblood spills waterfall-fast. Lightheaded, he dips his fingers, watches the blood spinning to the blackened grass beneath his feet. Pain hits; his knees fold.
Irilin touches the red tears – his blood – that stain her cheeks. ‘I am not the one hurt,’ she says again. ‘James.’
‘James.’
Hagdon opened his eyes. As if to prove it was still intact, his heart thudded, making the breath come short and fast in his throat. Irilin knelt beside his pallet, her hand hovering near his face. Without warning, he caught it, held it. She gave a little gasp at the sudden movement. Their faces were inches apart. The pulse fluttered in her throat, in her wrist beneath his fingers. He stared at the pale line of her lips, slightly parted, and at the V where collar framed collarbone. She smelt of the night, crisp and clear; her cheeks flushed from the cold.
Neither of them moved. Thoughts harried each other through his head, thoughts of his dreaming – the desire, the moonlight, the blood. Then Hagdon drew a shuddering breath and let her go. He turned his face to the tent wall, hoping she hadn’t seen.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sounding shaken, ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘I’m glad you did,’ he muttered, sitting up. He met her eyes. ‘Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?’
Irilin drew back, rose to her feet. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Of course,’ he said, relieved to hear a little lightness in her tone. ‘Sorry.’ Hagdon swung his legs off the pallet bed. They felt weak, quivered beneath him. Was it fear?
‘You were dreaming,’ Irilin said.
‘Yes.’
‘A nightmare.’
After a moment, Hagdon said, ‘Yes.’
She fixed him with the stare he knew too well, the one that went right to his bones. ‘Are you worried about the battle?’
‘Aren’t you?’ he countered.
‘Of course. But I thought you –’
‘Oh no. Every battle is a new monster to be slain. And no matter how many monsters you’ve felled, the next is always different. And you find yourself thinking, “This time, will I be the one to fall?”’
Irilin folded her arms, seeming exasperated. ‘Were you always this dramatic?’
The sound he made was somewhere between a grunt and a chuckle. ‘So Carn used to say. Perhaps I should have been an actor.’ He sighed. ‘But we’ve a way to go before the battle.’ He blinked out at the night. ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to go through the hoarlands, especially in the dark?’
For a moment she looked haunted. Hagdon knew she’d lost a friend to the wraiths of the red valley. ‘It’s the only way we’ll catch Iresonté before she reaches the capital,’ Irilin said finally. ‘We have to try.’ There was a certain dark anticipation in her smile. ‘Besides, we have Brégenne now. If the wraiths are still there, they won’t stand a chance.’
Hagdon stooped, retrieved his belt from the floor. ‘Would she really make all the difference? You told me these wraiths sapped a Wielder’s power.’
‘They do. But Brégenne –’ Irilin shrugged. ‘Well, she’s Brégenne.’
‘That argument doesn’t fill me with confidence.’
She shook her head, sighed. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Clearly not. Help me with this?’
He felt her small, deft hands on the buckles of his breastplate, cinching it tight to his body. For some reason, his heart was beating unusually fast. His palms tingled as he stepped away. ‘Thank you. Carn usually did this.’ He paused. ‘It’s still strange to me that he’s not here.’
‘It’s still strange to me that Shika’s not here,’ Irilin said.
‘Doesn’t get easier, does it?’
Mutely, she shook her head. Looking at her still face, her downcast eyes, Hagdon chided himself. Trust you to kill the conversation. She doesn’t want to hear about death. ‘Come on.’ He took her hand by way of apology. ‘I’ve rested enough. I’m sure it’s nearly time to leave.’
Her hand tightened on his. Hagdon thought of the dream again, but he didn’t let go.
The others had gathered outside. ‘The soldiers don’t like it,’ Mercia said, marching up to him. Like the other Sartyans, she’d painted her armour black to match the Republic’s mantles. If they were going up against Iresonté, there needed to be no confusion as to who fought for whom.
‘Neither do our forces,’ Taske said. The old commandant towered over them both, feathered cloak giving him the look of a giant bird of prey. ‘They’ve all heard the stories. Hundreds have vanished in the hoarlands.’
‘But they didn’t have Wielders with them,’ Hagdon said. ‘And besides, that was before the Starborn’s intervention.’
‘The shortcut would give us a huge advantage.’ Taske stroked his chin. ‘How long will it take to cross?’
‘With our numbers, about a day,’ Irilin said. She glanced at the moon. ‘Or a night, rather.’
‘We need to risk it.’ Hagdon looked around at them all. ‘
We don’t have time to find a way over the mountains. And we don’t have ships to carry us. It has to be the hoarlands.’
‘I will go first,’ Brégenne said, coming up to them. Hagdon studied her. Ever since they’d left Parakat, there’d been something different in her bearing, a new confidence. He was glad she was with them, at least for the crossing to Rairam. Then Brégenne would leave for Naris, while they’d head for the capital to intercept Iresonté. Hagdon fervently hoped she could persuade the other Wielders to fight. They’d been joined by others on the way south: seven Defiant cells, led by a man called Ségin; people Rogan had summoned in the name of the Republic from cities all over Causca and further west. Add in Taske’s pledged Sartyans and Mikael’s Alchemists, and they were still outnumbered. They needed the Wielders of Naris to tip the balance.
Hagdon frowned. ‘Where is Mikael?’
‘I thought I saw him heading to the lip of the valley,’ Irilin said. ‘Perhaps he’s gone to scout.’
‘Great. I had better go after him before he gets himself killed.’
‘If the wraiths are still there, they’ll only be interested in the Wielders,’ Brégenne said. ‘We’ll go in the vanguard, ensure their attention stays on us.’
Hagdon and Mercia both nodded. All of a sudden, there was tension, as if something they’d only played at had become real. ‘See you on the other side,’ Hagdon said tensely.
‘In Rairam,’ Mercia murmured.
He understood. They were about to walk into legend. ‘In Rairam,’ he agreed.
Irilin looked between them and smiled. ‘It’s just home,’ she said.
33
Brégenne
Her horse stepped onto the red soil.
Braced for assault, Brégenne waited, but nothing tried to claw at the Lunar, nothing coalesced into smoky being. She let out a breath. It didn’t mean they were safe. There was a peculiar pressure in the valley. Even the moon had weight here, as if it would fall at any moment, crashing to earth like a great hailstone. No wonder the hoarlands were considered cursed.
Despite Hagdon’s protestations, the Alchemist, Mikael, was at her side. He rode with a glass ball in either hand, red and green. ‘What do they do?’ she asked him, her voice hushed.