“You knew Galbrait had word of Sikyra.”
Perhaps it is time for the truth to serve, Bruche said gently.
“No. I sought to kill him for his betrayals.”
“Not exactly behavior becoming a prince—”
Draken forgot himself. “I am a free man with no commitments, and it’s not exactly a lawful place, Akrasia these days. Khellian’s balls, at least I’m doing something.”
“Are you suggesting I’m not?”
“The Monoeans are still here, aren’t they?” Even as the words came out of his mouth he wished he could take them back.
Bruche groaned. Now you’ve done it.
“Lord Ilumat.” Her voice lashed through Draken’s. “All of you. Leave us.”
“Your Majesty.” Ilumat bowed his way out without protest.
Apparently he’s clever enough to know when to hold his tongue.
Elena leaned back in her chair. Despite Draken’s heavily bloodstained recent past, she showed no fear of him. “All you’ve done is kill a few Ashen at random.”
Enough lies, enough death, enough injustice. Draken had nothing more to lose. “Not random. Opportunistically and strategized. Common enough in war. And I’ve learned things, truths, even if you don’t like the sound of them.” He’d brought her Galbrait, hadn’t he?
Her chin lifted. “And now you know why I took your titles.”
“Because you can’t take bad news from your advisors? No, my Queen. We both know that has nothing to do with it.”
“I gave you my daughter to keep her safe.” Anguish wound through her words. The urge to hold her twined with the urge to shout her down.
“Our daughter,” Draken said, though he couldn’t get much air behind it.
“You lied to me. You told me she was dead.”
“The Mance said it was so.”
“You tried to keep from looking for her.”
“What? No! I would nev—”
“She belongs with me. I am her Queen. She inherits from me. As you say, you’re rather busy with killing to raise up a princess.”
She hadn’t made him leave, even though he had accused Galbrait, even though he was stripped of titles and rank, even though she was obviously, and rightly, furious with him. “I won’t fight you for her. I would never do that to her. But if she lives, I will find her.” He’d already pushed this far. It was hard to keep his mouth shut now. “I want Ilumat to leave Aarinnaie alone.”
“That is outside my will. Their marriage belongs to the gods now.”
“He’s lying to you.”
“He has no reason to do so.”
He held onto his calm tone like a man scrabbling to hang onto a cliff. “Doesn’t he?”
Her fingers curled around the arms of her chair, pale skin whitening further. “Ilumat has done nothing but be a friend to me, support me. We have known each other since we were children. You’re nothing but a common mercenary best suited to killing with that damned sword of yours.”
The truth in that stung. “He lies to you. Why don’t you see it?” But he knew the answer as soon as he asked it. Grief, fear, hatred for Draken. He would have clung to the familiar if the situation were reversed. He had tried, gods he’d tried. The only thing that had driven him when he’d first been exiled to this godsforsaken country was finding his wife’s killer, as if it might somehow redeem him and restore his old life.
Elena lifted her chin. “Prove his lies, then, if you insist.”
Draken shook his head. His word was worth nothing; Aarinnaie’s even less. Gods, it was a futile argument. “You’re right. I’m best suited to killing, not advising Queens. But Galbrait knows I’m more than capable of giving him a slow, painful death if he crosses me. I do believe he knows where Sikyra is. Let me take him and find her.”
“I’ll go.”
“Your Majesty, he won’t cooperate with you, not like he will me. And you have a war to fight.”
“As you say, I’m not much good at it.”
Not fair, tossing that stone back onto the board. Bruche sounded more impressed than sympathetic.
“At least let me come with you. Galbrait won’t cooperate unless I do. I know him.” An outright lie. Galbrait might submit under torture and tell them all sorts of bloody things.
“I’ll allow it. But never forget the child is mine.”
“I don’t see how I can forget with you reminding me of it every other breath. Your Majesty.” He gave her a stiff dip of his chin and strode out without waiting for a formal dismissal.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Draken avoided the Queen as they rode out and on subsequent nights as Galbrait led them upland. Ilumat made it easy, riding at her side, hand never straying far from that blasted brass-chased sword of his. He kept a cohort of guards around them as well, to insulate them from the servii on the march. Draken plodded along toward the rear of the line, keeping a lookout as best he could from Bumpus’s low back, for they rode with the Agrian Range at the edge of view to their offhand. The mountains grew by the day. Nothing like the dagger-shaped peaks that made up Eidola, but enough to remind a man riding a tora pony of his insignificance.
Ach, you’re a morbid one, Bruche finally said as they quit the saddle for the night and Draken was brushing out Bumpus’s thick wiry fur and staking him to graze under some trees. The swordhand had been quiet, also watching, but sitting in a sullen funk deep within Draken. Can’t you be cheerful rather than ride along on this pony like you’re on sleepweed? You don’t even chat to the others at night.
I do what needs doing.
But how about a song?
Draken snorted and looked for his sister. She was cornered by Ilumat, again. The lord kept trying with his wife, and Draken had to admit he hadn’t been unkind to her since they had started on their journey. It was just the original unkindness of making her marry him at swordpoint that annulled all subsequent decency. He made his way over to them but was waylaid by an Escort with a familiar, lined face.
“I’ve been waiting to speak to you, my lord,” Commander Geffen Bodlean said.
“Commander.” His eyes narrowed and he didn’t offer his hand in response to hers. How had she escaped Brîn? “I’m no longer a lord. Not even a servii.”
Her grey brows drew in over her lined eyes. She lowered her hand. “I’d heard. There are plenty here who will follow you, including me.”
“That’s treason, Commander.”
“Aye. It’s also truth.” She sighed. “I know we didn’t part on good terms. May I speak with you about it?”
He glanced back at Aarinnaie. She was saying something biting because Ilumat bore a tight smile. Draken could hear her voice but couldn’t make out the words.
“I need to go to her. Later, then. I’ll be—”
Geffen signaled past Draken. He turned to look. An Escort behind Draken nodded to Geffen and approached Ilumat, speaking quietly but interrupting just the same. Ilumat scowled and strode off with her.
Draken twitched a grim smile. “What was that about?”
“Some help. And an offer of more.”
“What sort of help?”
“Whatever returns the Princess to her family and rids Akrasia of these damned Ashen, my lord.”
“Have you forgotten I took you captive in Brîn?”
“No. Nor have I forgotten how you led us to war at Auwaer and that you are the rightful Prince and Night Lord.” She lowered her head in thought. “Ilumat is no leader and I fear he is worse, a traitor.”
“Right. The Ashen.”
“He turned on them, wanted Brîn for himself, and they responded in kind. We barely escaped.”
“How well is this known?”
She shook her head. “He claims he simply lost a fight due to being outnumbered in an attack on Brîn.”
“Keep quiet on this, Commander. And don’t do anything stupid. I’m not in the Queen’s favor and I wouldn’t see you out of it.”
“Aye. I’ve been around far too long to get caught at insub
ordination. All will be well, now that you’re here.” She nodded to Tyrolean, who had eased toward them. “Captain. Good evening.” She melted off into the crowd of servii and escorts readying camp for the night.
“What was that about?” Tyrolean asked.
“She wants to help.” Draken pulled down his mask and let his gaze follow her. Truls didn’t shy from her. “And she’s not a god, so there’s that.”
“Good.”
Draken raised his brows at him. “Tyrolean, you surprise me. I assume you’re rather disappointed not to have met any yet.”
“I’ll leave the diplomacy to you, my lord.”
Draken snorted. That hadn’t worked out so well in the past, or really, ever. But his heart felt lighter anyway. “Come. It’s time Galbrait tells us where we’re going.”
The Prince had been released from his chains but sat with a servii guarding him. Not too close, Draken noted. He was gaining some trust, then. Probably a good thing.
A pretty face and a sweet tongue. Unlike other princes we know.
Draken grunted inwardly. “Be off,” he said to the servii, who hesitated.
Tyrolean gave him a crisp nod and the servii touched his fist to breast and left.
Tyrolean shrugged but a slight grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Until he switched his attention to Galbrait. Draken wondered if he remembered Galbrait giving him a little bit of a challenge over Aarinnaie while they were in Monoea. Not that it mattered now.
Galbrait sat with his legs folded in front of him and his hands resting on his knees. He wore no armor still, and no weapons, of course. Someone had given him a tatty, stained cloak and he had the hood up over his greasy blond hair.
“You look sound enough,” Draken observed in Monoean.
“Two meals a day and a horse to ride. I’d like to brush up on the language but they’re not much for conversation, these Akrasians.”
“They’re under instructions not to speak to you,” Draken said.
“From the Queen?”
“From me.”
His pale brows rose. “I understood you were stripped of all rank and titles.”
Draken knew Galbrait had fair command of the Akrasian language. Still, getting caught in the lie surprised him. He shrugged to hide his sudden fear Galbrait would refuse to tell him anything. “Where are we going, Galbrait?”
“As I said, to find—”
“No. I think you know where my daughter is and you’re not saying because you fear we’ll have no use for you and kill you.”
“The thought has occurred.”
“Queen Elena no doubt plans your speedy death as soon as we know where the princess is. I, on the other hand, do not.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are my kin and heir to the Monoean throne. Which makes you of use to me.”
That threw the young Prince. He frowned.
“You’re clever. Think on it. After you tell me where we’re going.”
Galbrait stared at him. Draken held his gaze, unmoving. If he bent now, he’d never have it out of the Prince, or it would be too late.
“Why wouldn’t I just lie?” Galbrait asked.
Draken gestured to his mask. “Because I’ll know if you do. A parting gift from the gods, before I started killing them.”
Galbrait cursed, buying that lie. “They’re right about you, the ’Minsters. You are godsworn.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll die before I let the Ashen use me again. And you’re certainly dying before I do. You might turn that thought over. Now. Where are they going with my daughter?”
“Algir.” Galbrait looked down at his grimy hands. “As I told you before … as soon as thaw hits, ships will take her back to Monoea.”
Perhaps not the whole truth. But it was enough to go on. He rose and walked away. Galbrait called his name but he ignored him.
“We’ve got a sevennight,” Tyrolean said once they’d reached relative privacy of their tent. Osias sat repairing arrows, shafts and feathers on a bedroll. “Two at best. Thaw comes early this year.”
“Aye. And we’ve got all this to muddle with.” Draken waved a hand, indicating Elena’s blasted, plodding army.
“We’re making good time, considering,” Osias said.
“Not good enough—” Draken growled, but was interrupted by Geffen. She ducked into their tent without a word to them. Draken and Tyrolean exchanged glances as she sat cross-legged on the canvas floor; servii tents weren’t big enough to stand up in. Her mail clinked as she shifted to salute him, an incongruous gesture within in the casual stance of the meeting. “My lord. I’ve just come from the briefing on the front. Reschan was taken by the enemy in the last sevennight.”
Draken hissed a slow breath. The wood-walled trade city wouldn’t last long under assault, this he knew. But he hadn’t expected it so soon. “Va Khlar? I’d heard he was already dead.”
She nodded. “Aye, and every other noble in the city.”
The urge to hunt and kill Korde filled him with shuddering certainty. It was the only way to end this, lest the god turn all of Akrasia against itself.
If you leave now, Sikyra will be lost.
So I am to choose between my daughter and my country.
There is no choice.
The tent flap rustled. Aarinnaie stepped in, slight enough to barely have to dip her head, and stopped. “I didn’t expect this.”
“Nor I,” Draken said. “Join us.”
“I have to hide from Ilumat. He’s just come out of a meeting with the Queen.”
“Aye. We were discussing that.” Draken told her about Reschan. She was quiet for long breaths. Draken had nothing to add. In the intervening silence, Truls appeared, kneeling in the corner, crowded behind Geffen. She shifted and he wondered if on some level she sensed the ghost-Mance. Draken could smell him in the close quarters.
“You should go. Find troops. Get them to Reschan,” Aarinnaie said.
“There are none to take. They’re all at the front, protecting Auwaer, I assume.”
Draken looked at Geffen, who nodded slowly. “Except some five hundred held in reserve at Khein.”
“The Monoeans are closing the gap between Reschan and Brîn, I take it?”
“The Queen has decreed the protection of Auwaer is paramount,” she said. “On Ilumat’s advice.”
“I don’t think it’s just Brîn Monoea means to secure.” The Ashen owned Brîn, after all, thanks to Ilumat. “It’s Eidola.”
“There’s no breaching those gates,” Geffen said.
“There is with no Mance to protect them. The last living one is here with us.”
She stared at him, but there was nothing left to discuss. The Queen had hamstrung him from fighting Akrasia’s greatest threat: Korde and the banes. He’d have to do that on his own. Instead, he moved on. “Is there much fighting around Auwaer?”
Geffen’s mouth tightened. “It fair holds. But there are odd reports …”
Draken took a leap. “Of Akrasians fighting alongside Ashen.”
She stared. “How did you know?”
“I’ve seen it. Does the Queen believe?”
A pause. “No.”
And why would she, having not seen it? It is too horrific a thought to take under advisement.
The first time I met her I brought news of a bane attack. She ended up believing me then.
One attack is one thing. An army of bane-riddled soldiers is quite another … But her reaction is a good thing.
Why?
It shows she trusts no one else either. That still leaves room for you.
“And Ilumat?” Draken said abruptly. “What does he say?”
“Lord Ilumat thinks the rumors are based only on a very few servii converts to Moonminster Faith, my lord,” Geffen answered.
Not an “I told you so” Draken wanted to evoke in Bruche at the moment. There was no satisfaction, only thousands dead at the feet of a disbelieving Queen.
“You have people at Auwae
r?” Aarinnaie asked Geffen.
A dry smile, stretched thin on a face that had seen too much bloodshed and dreaded a future of it. “Lord Ilumat does, Princess. I simply go where I am told.”
Aarinnaie twisted the bracelet around her arm, turning it so the facets of metal and carvings flashed stinging light against Draken’s darksight.
“Aarin. It’s a bad idea.”
Innocently: “What is?”
“Whatever you’re thinking.”
“I might as well use my marriage to our advantage.” Aarinnaie dropped her arm with the heavy marriage bracelet and turned back to Geffen. “Can you draw up orders to move some Kheinian servii to camp outside Reschan? I’d like to make a safe pathway for my brother and niece to get home to Brîn.”
“Brîn is lost,” Geffen said.
“Not forever. Not with troops to take her back.” Aarinnaie gave Geffen a sugary smile. “Will you write the orders? I’ll carry them if you do.”
“That is treason.”
Traceable treason, Bruche said.
The sort people got tortured and hung for. But … Aarinnaie had a point. And he lived in fear of her going dark on Ilumat. Best if they were apart as much as possible.
“Letting Monoea win the war is worse treason,” Draken said.
“I wasn’t aware there was a moral scale of treason,” Tyrolean said.
“Reschan is an enormous loss,” Draken said. “Besides being the kingdom’s trade center, it means a third of Akrasia is potentially under Ashen control in only half a Sohalia. Galbrait just told me Monoea is now headed for Algir. As soon as thaw allows, they’ll set anchor in Rimeguard, collect Sikyra, and probably release more troops on us.”
“They’ll set a noose around Auwaer,” Tyrolean said.
“Can you believe Prince Galbrait?” Geffen asked.
“I can, aye.” Draken didn’t offer more, though every time he met her gaze, hers skittered away. He wondered what rumors Galbrait had spread practicing his Akrasian. Perhaps that Draken could see through lies? That would be convenient.
Geffen shook her head. “My troops will rally to you, my lord. Not your sister.”
He gave her a smile cold enough to chill burned meat. “She is Lord Ilumat’s wife and of a rank with him. Greater rank, if Brîn still counts for anything.”
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