by Connie Ward
Valleri had taken no prisoners. He slew everyone within reach, then razed the place. The messenger had witnessed it all and related the horror in minute detail. So keen was my disappointment I wanted to weep. Not only for the Crusaders’ loss, but also for the loss of the Valleri I had once loved. He had become a monster.
Repachea was limping back to Idyll with fewer than a hundred survivors. Most were Belvemar's mercenaries, who had fought valiantly, the messenger said, against the terrible odds.
The news spread like wildfire through Idyll. Shock and sorrow touched everyone within. Sestus was stunned almost beyond the ability to function. Ginger flew into a violent rage. He swore, he paced, he threw and broke things. Then he secluded himself in his quarters, where he refused to see anyone for two days. He didn't speak for three. He and Sestus blamed themselves for Repachea's misfortune.
Belvemar's reaction, however, was the most surprising. I'd expected him to despair at the news of the massacre, but he didn't. He just got angry. Anger fuelled his desire to live.
Since I appeared so far removed from the effects of the repercussions, the responsibility of running Idyll fell on my shoulders. I single-handedly fielded the flood of communiqués, dispatched couriers, and oversaw the daily operations of the camp. Somehow I still found time to help Biddy in the infirmary, where she did double duty herself. While everyone else wallowed in self-pity, Biddy and I exhausted ourselves. Finally, on the third day since the messenger's inauspicious arrival, I decided it was time for Idyll to snap out of its mourning.
So that evening I went to see Sestus. Dispensing with the pleasantries I said, “We must talk. This can't go on. Your revolt is in peril. You and Ginger have to figure out what to do next. You must ignore this latest setback and regroup."
"I know,” Sestus sighed as he stared out the darkened window. “It's just I'm still trying to figure out what happened."
"It's partly my fault.” Briefly I explained my earlier misgivings in regards to a Royalist attack on Shanasea. “I should have guessed it was a plot to mislead you. Killary was Valleri's target all along."
"That doesn't explain how Valleri knew the location of the teleportal."
"Well, logic would dictate that the leak originated from the Crusader camp, not that of the Royalists."
He snorted dismissively. “We eliminated all Royalist spies long ago."
"Perhaps not them all,” I replied, irked by his complacency. “Could it be the spy is not a Royalist? Could it be he is one of your own?"
"A Crusader? That's preposterous."
"Is it?"
"Look, Ruvie. Only a select group of people knew about that camp. All of them beyond suspicion."
"Then I suggest you get together with Ginger and have a second look at that select group of people. Perhaps they are not as trustworthy as you think. Find out where they are and who they may have told, then track it from there. A spy with access to such privileged information must leave a trail a mile wide. It's possible Ginger can use his sorcery to find him."
Sestus nodded, reluctant to admit I was right. “I'll speak to Ginger. But if I were you, I wouldn't mention the word spy aloud. Heads might turn to you."
"Me?” I burbled.
"Yes. You appeared roughly about the same time our luck began to sour. Certain people might grow suspicious and start asking questions. People like Ginger."
"What do you mean?"
"Must I spell it out for you?” he hissed. “You sit safely here in a Crusader outpost, having faked your death while your second, who is also your lover, undermines the Regent. With the Regent rendered impotent, Val crushes the revolt, then recalls his lost paramour from hiding to take her rightful place on the throne."
"You know that's not true. I had no part in—"
"I know that,” he interrupted. “But how can I convince everyone else? If your identity is discovered now, it will look like the two of you cooked it up together. So if you want to save your life and any chance you have at the crown, you must make a decision."
"What decision is that?” I snapped. “I've already proven my loyalty to you by betraying Uncle."
"Bertrand is irrelevant now. He cannot stand against the combined might of Castle Gryphon. Therefore, if you do not stand against Valleri, you stand against us."
I sat down, my mind awhirl, knowing what my decision must be but unwilling to accept it. Sestus was right. In order to save myself I had to take a stand.
"Ask yourself this, Little Red,” Sestus urged in a gentler tone. “Is it worth it to sit idly by and watch Bertrand murdered, your friends slaughtered, only so Valleri may seize the throne for himself? Or will you fight him for it? Perhaps you should consider something else, too. If you allow Valleri to usurp it for you, no Crusader will ever accept you as queen."
"What do you want me to do?"
"You must publicly declare who you are and on whose side you stand. You must let Valleri know you won't be his puppet."
"But I should instead be yours?” I shook my head, saddened by his coercion of me. “Still you don't trust me. You think me weak and foolish. I assure you, things are different. My heart no longer blinds me. My eyes are wide open. I understand now it doesn't matter what Valleri's intentions are. Only that his ambitions will be achieved at the expense of Uncle, the Crusaders, and my own honour. Nevertheless, to ask me to denounce Valleri is too much. I've agreed to help you, agreed to support you. I am the Princess Kathedra. Why is my word not enough?"
"It's enough for me, Kathedra. But it's not enough for Thylana."
"What about Ginger and Belvemar and Repachea? Will they accept me?"
He looked at me with eyes betraying volumes of despair. “They have become desperate men. They will be ready to compromise, to bargain with the lesser evil."
The lesser evil. Me. Not exactly how I wanted to begin my reign as Thylana's queen. But I, too, had opted to serve the lesser of two evils. I had chosen the Crusaders over Uncle.
"Betray Valleri, you say. So simple. So easy.” I could barely speak for the sorrow constricting my throat. “I will consider it. I just need some time, is all, to adjust."
"Don't wait too long. Time is not with you."
"Nor with you, Sestus. Think on this; if Valleri knew about one teleportal, he probably knows about the others, or soon will."
It had been a long, tiring day that had allowed me no spare moment to visit Belvemar. Nevertheless, I felt obliged to stop by and check on him. It might even take my mind off my impending treachery of Val.
As I strolled through the deserted lanes of the castle on my way to the infirmary I gazed at the distant stars, wondering where Valleri was and what he did. Did he feel remorse for the bloody attack on Killary? Did he perhaps, at this very minute, think of me even as I thought of him?
When I reached the infirmary I found that the door wouldn't budge. A temperamental thing, it always stuck in the hot muggy weather, and then opened abruptly when pushed, so one fell ungracefully inside. I leaned my weight against it and nudged it with my shoulder, but it was stubborn. Finally, I kicked it, forcing it to give way with a shriek of rusty hinges.
The light of the full moon flooded inside, illuminating a strange scene. Belvemar sat on his cot, his hands clutched to his throat. His bedclothes were rumpled and his grey hair stood up in all directions.
I rushed to his side. “Belvemar! Are you all right?"
Between gulps for breath, he gasped out, “Oh, Ruvie. Thank heaven you're here."
"What is it? What happened?” Sweat beaded on his brow, and his eyes nearly bulged from their sockets.
"Someone just tried to kill me!"
"Kill you? How?"
"The pillow ... he tried to smother me."
I looked at the pillow where it lay on the floor, reasoning that Belvemar must have thrown it there in the throes of nightmare.
I made him lie back and tucked the pillow beneath his head. “No one tried to kill you,” I cooed, smoothing his ruffled hair. “You just had a
bad dream."
"No,” he moaned, struggling to rise. “It was real. A man was here, dressed all in black. He wore a hood. I couldn't see his face. He tried to suffocate me with the pillow, but he must have heard you coming and escaped through the window."
The window was open. A light breeze stirred the ratty curtain. But it meant nothing. Biddy had probably opened it to let in some air before she went home. Two other patients occupied beds at the far end of the room, both snoring peacefully.
I noted that his face bore a purplish tinge. If he'd been holding his breath while asleep, that might produce the sensation of suffocation. Clasping his hand, I murmured, “You dreamt it, is all. Sometimes dreams can seem so real. Go back to sleep."
But the old captain was adamant. “No, it's true,” he insisted, squeezing my hand tighter, his voice just a trembling whisper. “There was a man ... He tried to kill me! He would have, if not for you."
"Really, Belvemar. Who would want to kill you?"
"I don't know. But you must believe me. You must."
Swallowing my annoyance, I forced a smile. “Would you feel better if I stayed here tonight?"
He glanced around the shadows of the infirmary, then nodded. “I don't think he'll come back if you're here."
Yawning, I dragged over a vacant cot and flopped onto it. I don't know what good my presence might have done had Belvemar's phantom assassin returned. I fell asleep the instant my head hit the pillow.
I slept untroubled until Biddy arrived in the morning, the screech of the door startling me awake. She arched a curious brow, then demanded, “What, may I ask, are you doing here?"
I explained. She did not seem concerned. “It's the medication. It has hallucinogenic properties. Nothing to worry about."
That little mystery solved I returned to my quarters with intent to change my clothes and grab something to eat. But someone sat on the front steps, waiting for me.
Ginger rose to greet me gruffly. “Where were you all night?"
Affronted by the question I snapped back, “I slept in the infirmary. Belvemar had a bad dream.” Stepping past him, I added, “Not that it's any of your business."
The mage followed me inside and shut the door. I glared balefully. “I must admit I'm surprised to see you. I thought you were going to spend the rest of the revolt in your quarters."
Ignoring my sarcasm, he said, “I spoke to Sestus. All effort must be made to find the leak and seal it."
I tried to read his expression but it was neutral, as always. “Have you come to interrogate me then?"
"Don't be flippant,” he sighed. “Of course I don't suspect you."
"So why are you here?"
"I came to see you last night but you were gone.” The mage strode to the window, where he inadvertently stepped on the remains of Repachea's lewd statue. Recognizing it, he stooped to pick up the head, turning it over in his palm as if deep in contemplation. “I couldn't find Ragsey either."
I let the insinuation slide, only because the sword belted at his hip and his travelling garb distracted my anger. “Going somewhere?"
"There's a merchant caravan passing through on its way to Glanshayda. I'm taking a party to intercept it. We need those supplies more than the Royalists do."
"Is it worth the risk? I mean, shouldn't you remain here? Can Idyll afford to lose you, too?"
A glimmer of defiance stole into his cool grey eyes. “Would it matter? With a spy running around loose it's only a question of time before Valleri finds out where we are and attacks. I want to do him some damage first. He won't be pleased to learn he's lost another caravan."
What could I say? Ginger had suffered one embarrassment after another. First Laurelac. Then Edenwood. Now Killary. He needed a victory, no matter how small, to boost morale and his own confidence. Unlike Sestus, at least the mage wanted to do something to strike back.
But he hadn't answered my question. “Why are you here, Ginger? What has this to do with me?"
"Nothing, I guess.” He let the statue's head roll from his fingertips, then straightened. “I just wanted to say good-bye and to let you know I'm sorry about what happened in Edenwood. I shouldn't have argued with you. You were right all along. I behaved like an idiot."
He paused, waiting I assumed, for me to say something. When I didn't, he said, “Look after things while I'm gone,” and moved toward the door.
"You're coming back, aren't you?” I blurted.
Ginger turned, one hand poised on the latch as he raked me with those penetrating mage eyes. “Do you want me to?"
What a strange question? “Of course. We need you."
"Then I'll be back."
This time Ginger got halfway through the door before I stopped him. Taking a step forward, I stammered out, “Um ... how long will you be gone?"
"Two, three days at the most, if all goes well. I'll be back before Repachea gets here."
An uncomfortable silence descended. Ginger hesitated, perhaps wondering if I would say something more to delay his departure. Finally he just said, “Good-bye, Ruvie."
I leaned against the door, my gaze following the mage as he walked across the compound to the assembled war party, then mounted and rode away. I watched him go with a lump in my throat, knowing I would regret my aloofness forever if anything happened to him.
Something had changed between us. I'd felt it that night camped in the grove with the Shouda. I'd felt it again in the courtyard of the Dragon's Lair, and when we became separated outside the warehouse. Later, after I'd return to the inn, and seen the anguish in his eyes, saw the relief in his smile, I knew he'd felt it, too.
He'd tried to tell me now, when he thought he might never see me again. But his pride, like mine, had gotten in the way.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
With Sestus back in charge, I was able to devote more time to Belvemar. His condition improved with dramatic speed. He ate with a horse's appetite and was even strong enough to get out of bed and exercise his flaccid muscles. Slow and unsteady, however, he easily tired himself, even with the aid of a crutch to support his injured leg. Nevertheless, it was an important personal triumph and it heartened him immensely. His commitment to the Crusader cause returned with a vengeance. Despite his limitations, he discussed plots and counterplots with Sestus for hours.
But not even Belvemar's miraculous recovery could erase my anxiety. A week had passed and still Ginger had not returned. There had been no word from him, good or bad. Patrols and scouts reported no sign of him.
Seeking distraction, I locked myself in my quarters and tried to focus my energies on something constructive, such as mending Repachea's broken statue. I spent an entire day sitting on the floor, trying to fit the jagged shards of porcelain into their original shape, though I had no idea how to fuse it all together.
It turned out to be a useless endeavour. There were simply too many shattered pieces to incorporate and I did not possess concentration enough for the task. My thoughts were a tangle, impossible to analyze or separate. Finally, in frustration, I picked up a broom and swept the whole mess into a corner.
I needed to relax, to order my mind. One of Sestus's meditation exercises just might do the trick. So I sat on my bed, eyes shut, legs folded beneath me. It worked for all of five minutes, my body limp, my mind clear, before thoughts of Ginger intruded, along with a hundred questions. I could not shake them, his image constantly drifting behind my closed lids. After a while, I realized I did not want them banished.
I recalled every part of him with startling clarity. His grey mage eyes, piercing and hypnotic. His face, strong and beautiful despite its mutilation by flame. His long dark hair with its sheen of gold. I felt again vivid sensations. Things like our chaste kiss in the courtyard of the Dragon's Lair and his nearness to me on the bench, or my arms around his waist as I rode behind him on his stallion, even the weight of his body as I held him in the grove—his presence a comfort and a curse.
Memories resurfaced unbidden. His valiant effort
to save me from that fatal fall in the warehouse. The desperate flight from Fleurry's soldiers and our separation as we were torn in opposite directions. The intensity of our mutual relief as our eyes met again over the crush of the tavern's crowd. The argument on the road from Edenwood, filled with such venom and yet such exhilarating heat.
Such fantasy. The fancies of a young girl, not a battle-hardened general. What did I think? That I could erase all his past hurts? That I could reach deep into that well of agony and fish out the shattered remains of his heart? That with a few sympathetic words and a shoulder to cry on, I could make him forget what happened here, in this very place? Or better yet, what happened in Dundurn?
All these thoughts engulfed me, flowing out to envelop my surroundings without my awareness of it. Suffused with a sense of contentment, I opened my eyes to see Repachea's statue sitting in the corner, whole and solid.
I stared at it in disbelief. It did not seem possible. Only minutes before it had been a heap of smashed pottery. Forcing myself to get up, I walked over to it, then touched it, running my fingers over every curve and cranny. No cracks. No imperfections. It was like it had never been broken. Elation soared through me. I had done it! It had been so effortless, so quick.
But my euphoria at this accomplishment did not last. Mindspells required concentration, serenity, and patience. Ginger had been an irritation to me, a distraction too, but never a source of inspiration. Questions without answers flitted like frenzied moths inside my head. When had my feelings for him changed? Did he feel the same way? And when had he replaced Valleri first and foremost in my mind?
Was it because Ginger appeared so unattainable, so forbidden? Did he pose a challenge to me or a threat? True, I was perversely attracted to him, infatuated with his aura of mystery and danger. Surely not those shallow notions alone could elicit such warm and tender feelings from me. No ... he was a kindred soul. We were each intimate with pain and despair and rage. It only made sense that I should be drawn to him in such a manner.