by Sam Farren
“I suppose we'll have to, lest the Kings fail to overlook his next slight,” Claire said, and just as I thought she was about to stand and excuse herself, she slumped back into the chair, bit the back of her hand and murmured, “I am—there is much to do, and yet...”
I rose to my feet, crouching down in front of her in an effort to meet her gaze. I placed my hands on her knees when she continued to stare into the middle distance, and said, as gently as I could, “You should sleep, Claire.” She was doing what she could to bite back her secrets, and I wasn't going to pry. I was there and she knew that; I didn't need to say as much.
“I might...” she began, looking away, to the darkness beyond the window. “I might stay here.”
“Here?”
I didn't give her time to rethink what she'd said. I hopped to my feet, gesturing to the bed. The blankets were a little crumpled and there was a dip in one of the pillows, but it was still good. Better than sleeping outside, where she'd force herself to keep watch; worlds better than not sleeping at all.
“I'll be fine here,” she said, patting the arm of the chair. I hesitated, about to say something else, and she pointed towards the bed. “Go on. Please.”
There was no arguing with her. Any sleep was an improvement over no sleep, and with how tired she was, she was more likely to feel as though she was floating than cramped into an armchair.
“Goodnight, Claire,” I said as I headed towards the bed, not wanting to drag this out any further. She nodded in reply, disappearing into the darkness as I snuffed the candles out between my finger and thumb.
CHAPTER XI
I awoke, and I was still in Kastelir. Still in Isin, in the castle. Night hadn't given up entirely, but the first signs of sunlight on the horizon were doing what they could to push through the curtains. I threw them aside and found both armchairs empty. I assured myself that Claire was preparing for the road ahead of us, and wasted no time washing myself at the basin and heading off to collect Michael.
There were guards posted outside my room, but they didn't cross their spears when I stepped through the doorway. I lingered for a moment, and one of them said, “Know where you're off to, miss?” I pointed to Michael's room, and while they were content to let me make my own way there, I could feel their eyes on my back.
I knocked and it didn't get me anywhere. I wasn't surprised. I pushed the door open and saw exactly what I expected to: Michael had pulled near-enough every book off the shelves and made a fort of them around himself. He sat on the floor, surrounded by candles, and probably hadn't slept at all. There he was, finally granted access to a bed, and he'd spent all night poring over a dozen texts.
His shoulders hunched as he leant over something with a red cover, and he didn't seem to hear me come in.
“Michael, we're—”
“Shhh!”
He waved a hand, knocking my words out of the air. I stood with my arms folded across my chest, waiting for him to be done with the page he was on, but he leafed over to the next one and carried on. I cleared my throat and he scowled at the page.
“Take a moment to appreciate this, would you? It makes everything I've read before sound like it was scrawled by an infant, listen—”
He thumbed back to the start of whatever marvel he was reading, and I took the opportunity to interrupt him.
“We're going to Kyrindval!”
That got his attention. Finally tearing his eyes off the page, Michael's expression leapt between excitement and caution, and I was frustrated with myself, not certain what had possessed me to invite him along.
“And how do you know that?” he asked, carefully placing the book down as he rose to his feet. Either he already knew what and where it was, or had read up on it throughout the night.
“Claire told me,” I said, and he raised his brow. He wasn't going to believe it unless he heard it directly from Claire, but I pressed on. “After dinner, she came and spoke to me. She said that she's going with—going to speak with Queen Kidira.”
If nothing else, he wanted to believe me. In a flash, he was snapping books shut, pushing them onto shelves and shoving as many as he could fit into his bag.
“If you're winding me up...” he muttered as he hurried to get himself ready, though I could tell he was dying to burst at the seams with talk of Kyrindval this, Kyrindval that, and Can you really believe that we're going—?
“You ought to be careful, you know,” he said, hoisting his bag onto his back and swigging down half a glass of water. I stared at him blankly, and with a long-suffering sigh, he was kind enough to explain himself. “Sir Ightham. She's a Knight—you should be calling her Sir Ightham, Rowan. Surely that level of decorum isn't beyond your grasp. We might not be in Felheim any longer, but that's all the more reason to go about this properly. You're toeing a fine line. Don't jeopardise our place here by stepping out of bounds.”
“What?” I tried to form fists, but my hands were too clammy. “She told me her name. And besides, I'm the one who got you invited to Kyrindval!”
Michael shook his head, debating whether or not I was worth dignifying with a response.
“Yes, and you got our village all sorts of prosperity, too, but look how that turned out,” he said. “And Sir Ightham would've brought me along with or without your suggestion. Leaving a Felheimer alone in a Kastelirian castle? Unthinkable. Well, which way are we headed?”
He opened the door and peered out into the corridor, looking left and right, as though the guards weren't there. I shoved him out of the way, though I had no answer for him, and caught sight of Claire standing outside my door, about to knock. I briefly contemplated rushing over and asking her to make Michael stay behind, but couldn't find a way to do so without coming off as petty. Siblings squabbled, I reminded myself. It was just Michael being Michael.
“Good morning,” I tried to say brightly.
Claire was back in her long coat and leathers, holding a pile of neatly folded clothing in her arms.
“I found you these,” she said, handing them over to me.
I took the clothes from her, shuffled back into my room, and parted with what I'd been wearing. All the signs of travel were there – hems were frayed and the fabric had worn thin in places – and though the blood stains had turned a dark, coppery brown, there was no denying that they were, in fact, blood stains. And to think, I'd dined with Kings dressed like that.
“Do you have everything you need?” Claire asked me once I'd changed and stepped back into the corridor.
“Everything,” I said, because I'd only ever had one thing with me: the knife Michael bought me years ago, neatly tucked into my right boot.
Michael was painfully cheerful as we made our way through the castle, having apparently become an expert on its architecture overnight. He was certain that this corridor was something or another, and there was significance to this or that painting, but I couldn't tell if we were moving through a new part of the castle or taking corridors we'd already traversed. I could see Isin through the pale blue windows, all dark shapes against the rising sun, and when we stepped out of the castle, we were led to a bridge unlike the one we'd crossed yesterday.
I could see the bridge we'd previously taken, or one that looked like it; it crossed the moat at its highest point, but the one we were to take dipped down, close to the water.
“Quite a brilliant design! Eight sides, leaving a bridge to represent each of the former territories, and then four entrances for servants and whatnot,” Michael hummed, breezing past the guards and towards our horses.
I was surprised to see Charley, and Claire tilted her head towards me and said, “I had them sent for last night.”
I wrapped my arms around Charley's neck, letting him knock his head against my chest in greeting. Kouris towered over us, and though I'd known she'd be there, for a moment, I'd thought I was walking over to Rán.
“Spent the night in the royal stables, did you?” I asked Charley, mussing his mane. I spoke more loudly than
I needed to, determined to let Kouris know that I wasn't going to keep silent around her; I wasn't going to make myself small, unnoticeable, in her presence. “I know, I know. I never expected us to end up somewhere like this, either. But I hope you're rested, boy. We've got another week of travelling ahead of us.”
There were a number of guards gathered to usher us across the servants' bridge, and once we reached Isin, we were on our own. I didn't know what they'd been told about Kouris, whether it was the truth or not, nor did I care. She rushed ahead, wanting to get out of the city before the day started in earnest, but I followed Claire's lead, doing what I could to tell myself that Kouris being there was inconsequential.
Isin stirred around us. Windows were thrown open as the rest of the city came to life, and though it would become a little colder as we travelled further north, it was unseasonably warm, that morning. Mersa had become Far, and once we arrived in Isin, we'd slipped into the first few days of Etha. Less than a month stood between us and the Phoenix Festival, and I tried to picture how the city would change in our absence. How bright it would become, golden banners thrown from windows and lanterns left to burn through the nights, as the people remembered all our ancestors had lost, fifteen hundred years ago.
Nothing but open space awaited us outside of Isin. The road leading away from the city was wide and well-travelled, and served us admirably for the better part of the first day. The land north of the capital became wiry and rugged, browns taking over as grass grew in sparse patches and the trees inched further and further apart.
I was determined not to let Kouris' presence hinder me, but it did. Try as I might, I couldn't keep my eyes fixed on her; couldn't keep them fixed on any part of the landscape I might catch her out the corner of my eye from. I found myself looking away, head turned by some thread fastened to my jaw, and when I did manage to stare at her back, my focus slipped right through her.
Claire, more herself than she'd been in weeks for the few hours of sleep she'd been granted, said nothing to Kouris, but made no point of ignoring her. When our horses slowed to a stop for the night, it was Michael who passed the first few words her way. Michael who'd been terrified of her, of all pane, not so long ago.
“Ah, Kouris—that is, Queen Kouris, Your Highness,” he began, voice low. “I should like to formally apologise for the story I told in Riverhurst. No doubt it was riddled with inaccuracies—not to mention, highly insensitive.”
Kouris grunted, shrugging the bulk of our bags off her shoulders.
“Kouris'll do, lad,” she muttered. “And there's no need to be apologising. Reckon I should've spoke up a long time ago.”
Her gaze stuck fast to me. I stared down at the ground, trying to not bristle, and started to break down sticks for firewood.
But Kouris wouldn't let it go. She continued trying to talk to me, as though there had been something true between us worth salvaging. “Yrval, would you—” she'd start, meaning to ask me to pass over the waterskin, but when I looked at her, the words dried up in her throat. She'd snap open the ribcage of whatever unfortunate goat or deer she'd hunted down for dinner and miserably gorge herself on it.
With blood staining her fingers and fangs, there Queen Kouris was, the woman who'd marched through the territories like a plague, using her claws to carve out the eyes of any who crossed her path.
On the morning of our fourth day on the road, which felt like our fourth week for all the silence lodged between us, I awoke early and found Claire already up, taking care of the horses. She'd brought a brush with her and was working the tangles out of Calais' mane, murmuring softly to him as she worked. Next to him, Charley was beaming, looking prim and proper, occasionally lifting his head from the offering off apples on the ground to knock his nose against Claire's elbow.
“Good morning,” I said to all three of them. Patrick was still dozing, and from the look of the sun, we had plenty of time to spare before heading towards the mountains that I thought would never come into view.
Claire put the brush down and took Calais' muzzle in her hands, using her thumbs to ensure there wasn't anything caught between his teeth. His tail swished back and forth as he patiently endured his check-up, and he shook his mane out once he was free of Claire's grasp.
“I'm going fishing,” Claire said, crouching by the bags and rummaging through for the rod she'd been making use of. “Come, if you wish.”
We weren't in dire need of any more food, but that didn't stop me from going with her. As had been the way throughout the first leg of our journey through Kastelir, we hadn't cut through any settlements, when we could avoid it. The villages and towns there were sturdy looking things, and much of the surrounding area was the home of various mining operations, for iron and coal in particular.
The river we headed to was in a valley, and from the markings in the soil, it had likely been twice as wide in the autumn, when the rains were relentless. The banks were dry, and I sat in the dirt, yawning as Claire cast out the fishing line.
“Do you like fishing?” I asked as she seated herself next to me, foregoing the rock a few feet away. “It's not like we're hurting for food, at the moment.”
“It's a distraction.”
“And that's not an answer.”
She looked to me and then back to the river, as though she might've missed a fish tugging at the line in the second she'd glanced away.
“Yes,” came her eventual answer. “I suppose.”
Thinking the conversation might gather momentum, I didn't miss a beat before asking the next question. I hadn't had much time to talk to her, those past few days, and it was a strain to get anything out around Michael.
“What's the biggest fish you've ever caught?”
She let go of the rod, rested it against her drawn together knees, and held both arms out so wide I might as well have asked her how big a young child was. I raised my brow, cautious of being impressed in case she wasn't being sincere, and didn't waste the chance to keep the questions coming.
“What else do you like?” She stared at the river, and I couldn't tell whether she was trying to pick something to share with me, or if I'd overstepped bounds and she was letting me know that she owed me nothing. “Other than horses, that is. That's pretty obvious. Charley's always been a bit skittish – never quite grew out of being that way when he was a foal, I guess – and sometimes he'd get frightened whenever a stranger came to the farm. But he's always been comfortable around you. Horses know when people are going to treat them properly, I think.”
Claire hummed, letting me assume I was right, and stared away from the river, toward a village in the distance. I followed her gaze, and the longer I stared at the windmill at the centre of it all, the more I became convinced I could hear the blades creaking as they turned in the breeze.
“Not just horses. Most animals, honestly. Dogs, ravens—phoenixes,” she said, exhaling heavily as she tried reducing herself to a list. “Hunting, cooking. Swimming. Rylan and I, when we were much younger, would spend the warmer summer days by Lake Lir. Alex would never come with us. Once, he swore something tried to grab his ankle, and after that, he'd only ever go out on the water on a row boat.”
It was difficult to be glad that Claire was sharing things with me when it looked as though I'd forced her to dredge up memories she didn't wish to reflect on. I tried to summon up a story of my own to counter her gloom, but Michael appeared at the top of the hill, calling down to us.
“There you two are! Get anything for breakfast?”
Claire reeled the line in and we headed back to camp without getting so much as a single bite. Claire pored over a map with Kouris for a moment, making sure we were still on track. To me, the mountains seemed like a glaring enough target, in spite of all the twists and turns the two of them mulled over, but I hadn't fully conceptualised the fact that the mountain range spread across the entirety of the continent.
“You keep talking to her,” I said to Michael, eyes fixed on Kouris. “Why?”
“Why? Because I think we ought to give her a chance, that's why!” he said, clicking his tongue. “Think of all we knew to be true about the pane before we ever met one—I've no doubt that the truths to the tale of Queen Kouris are few and far between.”
He joined Kouris and Claire for breakfast, making an effort to divide his time between both of them. If he'd ever made a good point in his life, that was it, but I was determined to cling to the belief that Kouris had murdered because she'd enjoyed it, and that was the sum total of the betrayal I felt.
The further north we travelled, the fewer settlements there were to avoid. Much of the Old North was untouched, and certainly untraveled. The few dirt paths we stumbled onto were overgrown, and the lack of towns and villages on the horizon made the land seem deserted, or at least emptied; recovering from Queen Kouris' descent from the mountains, decades on.
And now we were taking the same route, in reverse.
The mountains came into view as soon as light seeped into the sky, nestling the early morning sun between their slopes and slicing it strangely. With each step we took towards them, I became less and less capable of comprehending what was in front of us. Claire assured me that we wouldn't be close until well into the evening, and yet I could already see them, great, jagged teeth rising from the horizon. Surely there couldn't have been more than an hour between us and them.
As we rode on, I began to understand why no one had set foot in the Bloodless Lands in fifteen hundred years. We drew closer and the mountains grew taller; they rose with the sun, great stone giants slowly waking after an eternity of sleep, stretching out to snatch at the clouds wrapping around them. I didn't trust the ground. I craned my neck up and up to make out more of the mountains and felt myself rushing towards the summits. If they could rise and rise, then I was bound to fall upwards.
“Whereabouts is Kyrindval?” I asked, trying to discern how far we'd have to climb. I saw nothing resembling a path, and I doubted we'd have much luck scaling the sides. “Around the bottom? Between the gaps?”