by Spurrier, Jo
Once the horses were led away Rasten marched her towards a flight of icy steps leading up to a massive doorway, flanked with pillars carved with the symbol of the bear, revered as the Bright Sun’s consort in the realm beyond. Most of the carvings had been covered over with banners depicting the king’s crest: a hand bearing a flaming torch.
Rasten started up the steps, pulling her after him. As they neared the top, a group of men emerged from within — liveried soldiers and servants bearing lanterns spread out to reveal two men at the centre of the group. One was tall and dark-haired, draped in a heavy bearskin robe. The other, somewhat shorter but broad across the shoulders, had lank grey hair and walked with a pronounced limp, leaning heavily with each step on a sturdy wooden cane.
At the top of the step Rasten twisted Sierra’s arm behind her back. ‘On your knees,’ he growled in her ear, and pushed her down onto the icy stone.
‘Our fugitive returns, at long last,’ the king said, and the sound of his voice cut through her calm to make her grit her teeth. He looked nothing like Cam, so different in appearance that many doubted Queen Leandra’s brother had fathered his wife’s younger son at all; but their voices were similar, and it grated to hear Cam’s tones coming from a stranger’s mouth. ‘Lord Rasten, you may have taken your time, but at least you have delivered when it counts.’
‘Thank you, your majesty, and I beg your forgiveness for the delay,’ Rasten said. ‘But if she were weak enough to be brought in easily she would hardly be of value to you.’
‘So Lord Kell informs me.’
Did they know what had brought her back, what had led her to surrender into captivity again? Did they care that Rasten had won her with persuasion rather than power and strength, and that the only reason she was here was because an innocent man had come so close to dying by her hand? They didn’t, Sierra decided. Neither Kell nor Severian gave her any thought beyond the ways she could be of use to them. Good, she thought. What they don’t know they can’t anticipate and counter.
Severian turned to the sorcerer at his side. ‘When will she be of use?’
The torchlight cast dark shadows across the men’s faces, and to Sierra it seemed that their eyes and mouths were nothing but black pits, and only empty skulls gazed down at her, stripped bare of skin and flesh. You’ll be nothing more than that once I’ve taken what I need, Sierra thought. No matter what it costs me, I swear it by the Black Sun.
‘For the raising of power, my liege, she’ll be available immediately.’ Kell’s voice was mild, but the memory of it cut through her detachment to make Sierra tremble. ‘To be trusted in battle will take much longer, but I intend to begin at once. By your leave, sire?’ Without waiting for an answer, Kell started down the stairs, moving in a crabbed and awkward gait as he leant heavily on his cane. He summoned Rasten with a flick of his fingers as he passed. ‘Bring her, boy.’
Rasten hauled Sierra up with her arm still twisted behind her back. He glanced at her briefly, frowning, before pushing her before him to march after Kell. He was still waiting for her to panic, to try to fight her way free. Didn’t he understand? She’d made her choice weeks ago. She knew what awaited her. It was a sacrifice she was prepared to make. I’ll do anything to keep them safe. I’ll master the beast within me, or die trying. And by the Black Sun herself, I swear I won’t walk out of here until I can be sure Kell will never work harm on anyone else.
Kell led them away from the entrance to the great hall, around a buttress supporting the walls and into a small space well sheltered from the yard beyond. A single torch hung above the doorway, next to an ice-covered rope which Kell hauled upon to wake a distant bell. The torch seemed to cast very little light under the close, black sky. Heavy shadows gathered at their feet, and it seemed to her that they were pools of blood, lapping at her boots.
Rasten wrapped his hand around her upper arm as the door opened with a groan of rust. His hands felt very warm, his power throbbing within him like a pulse. There was a faint tremor in his fingers, and there was a kind of brittleness to the force with which he held her. He was afraid.
But I’m not, Sierra thought. I should be, but I’m not. I know what’s going to happen, and I know I can survive it. For Issey, for Cam, and all the others. This is something I have to do.
When the door swung open, there was only darkness inside. Kell went first, vanishing into the gloom. Sierra started after him without waiting for Rasten’s push.
As the darkness washed over her, Sierra imagined it as a tide of blood, rising up to drown them all. Spirit of storm defend me, and Black Sun light my way. This place will be sodden with it before I’ve taken what I need, but by all the Gods, I swear it won’t only be mine.
The endless trek back through the caverns of the Spire felt like the longest journey of Ardamon’s life. Weighed down with dread, his heart grew more leaden with each step.
The duke and his men had taken them in the middle of the night. A sentry had given one cry of alarm before he was cut down, and then the camp was overrun without he or Cam even managing to arm themselves. Ardamon’s last sight of his friend had come as Cam was overwhelmed by the duke’s men.
That was two weeks earlier — their captors had set a leisurely pace as Ardamon and the rest of the men made the humiliating journey back to the Spire as prisoners of the duke’s men, while Osebian continued south to deliver his prize to the king. It had taken all morning for Ardamon to convince his father and the chieftain to let him break the news to Mira and Isidro in person, rather than send word by messenger. Ardamon found himself hoping that Isidro was still unconscious, so he wouldn’t have to be told, at least not yet.
As he trudged onwards, he cursed Sierra with each weary step. The wretched girl might as well have let Rasten take her months ago. Perhaps the priests are right, and sorcerers really do ruin and corrupt everything they touch.
When he and his travel-stained escort finally reached the vast, dim chamber with its tiny, ragged camp, the sentries had already reported their arrival. A crowd gathered to receive them, but the cries of welcome quickly died away when the folk realised who was missing from the party; and immediately the questions began.
‘Where is my cousin?’ Ardamon asked, cutting through the worried voices. ‘Where’s Mira?’
Before anyone could reply Ardamon spotted her, hurrying through the crowd. She pushed her way to Ardamon’s side and threw her arms around his neck. ‘Oh by all the Gods, Ardamon, you look awful.’ She wrinkled her nose at the stench of his unwashed clothes even as she looked around for Cam. ‘Where —?’
Ardamon pulled her close to murmur in her ear. ‘Mira, it’s bad news. I’ll tell you everything, but it’s best done in private.’
All colour drained from her face, and she swayed so violently that Ardamon tightened his arms to steady her as he guided her towards the tents. ‘Make way, there,’ he snapped at the folk crowding their path. ‘Let us through! Floren,’ he said to one of his men, ‘send for Rhia; have her attend upon Lady Mira in our tent. Make sure we’re not disturbed.’
‘Yessir,’ Floren said with a salute.
‘And is Isidro —?’ Ardamon broke off as he saw Isidro heading over from the base of the cascade, with the Akharian sorcerer at his heels. ‘Never mind, here he is. Go and fetch Rhia.’
By now Isidro was close enough to hear the command. ‘She’s in the cache, on the lower level,’ he said to Ardamon’s man.
Floren bowed. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, and hurried off.
Ardamon saw Isidro cast a glance over him and then survey the rest of the crowd. When he didn’t find the faces he sought, a muscle clenched in his jaw.
The Akharian noted the absence as well. She drew a sharp breath and cupped her hands across her face. The movement exposed her wrists, enough to let Ardamon see that the wrist-bands had been removed. He stopped in his tracks. ‘The mage is loose!’
Isidro stepped forward, shielding her with his body. ‘It’s alright, Ardamon, she’s not a threat.�
��
Not quite believing what he saw, Ardamon glanced at Mira. She was still deathly white, her hands cold and bloodless, but she shook her head. ‘Isidro decided there was no point keeping her prisoner,’ Mira said, with an edge to her voice that made it clear she did not entirely agree, ‘but Madame Delphine has declined to leave us.’
‘Ardamon?’ Isidro said, his voice tightly controlled. ‘Where’s Cam?’
‘It’s bad news, isn’t it?’ Delphine said.
Ardamon very nearly cursed her to her face. She had no place demanding answers from him, and he was tempted to insist that Isidro explain exactly what he thought he was doing setting that creature loose — but the matter at hand was more important. ‘I’m afraid so, but it’s best delivered in private. If you will excuse us, madame?’ he said, pointedly turning away from her. Behind him, Ardamon heard Isidro murmur a few words, and the woman retreated to the Gods knew where — Ardamon didn’t know and cared even less.
Once they were inside the tent, Mira wrenched herself free and turned to him. ‘Oh ye Gods, Ardamon, tell me the truth? Is he dead?’
‘No, he’s alive,’ Ardamon said. Mira’s face flooded with relief, but then she took in the weight of his words and the sadness of his voice. ‘Cam’s been taken prisoner. We were taken by surprise, in the middle of the night. Mira, Isidro … I’m sorry, there was nothing I could do. Osebian has him, and he’s taking him to the king.’
Delphine was at the top of the cascade when she heard Mira’s wail of grief and despair. The raw pain in that cry made her throat clench and her stomach sink.
But she had no place there, and truly she had no wish to intrude. Kin and close friends deserved privacy for their anguish.
She didn’t learn the full story until some hours later, when Amaya, tear-stained and exhausted, came back to the quarters she shared with Rhia. Mira had been utterly overcome, Isidro fared little better, and Rhia, too, was distraught.
‘It’s just so awful,’ Amaya said, in such a flat and hollow voice that Delphine suspected she’d been given a sedative brew. ‘But Lady Mira won’t stop weeping, and Miss Rhia said I could come back here to get some sleep …’
‘That poor man,’ Delphine said. ‘How wretchedly awful. Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own?’
Amaya nodded. ‘Miss Rhia said I should come back down if I can’t sleep, but I couldn’t bear to hear Lady Mira cry any longer.’
‘And Isidro? How does he fare?’
‘He just sits and stares, madame, and hardly says a word,’ Amaya said with a yawn.
‘Here, child, go lie down before you fall. If you have bad dreams, I’ll be right nearby. I can fetch Miss Rhia for you if you wish.’
‘Thank you, madame,’ Amaya said with an unsteady bow, and tottered away to her furs.
Delphine tried to sleep, but spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, remembering Isidro as a slave, willing himself to die. She had coldly and deliberately manipulated him into wanting to live, and looking back, she couldn’t help but wince at the things she’d said to sting him out of the mire. Could she bring herself to do it again? With his brother and his lover in the hands of his enemies and all he’d worked so hard to achieve lying in ruins, Delphine wasn’t certain he had any levers left.
Late that night, when everyone else was asleep, Isidro paced the camp. He trod the dusty paths between the tents and the piles of salvaged gear, remembering Cam cobbling together a wooden sword for Anoa.
He still couldn’t remember the event that had caused Sierra to leave. The last clear memory he had of either of them was when her unfettered power brought him to his knees, while Cam was still reeling from Mira’s news that she would soon depart.
His head ached fiercely, and there was a pain in his chest far worse than the barb Sierra had fixed beneath his heart. Everything he’d gone through in this last horrendous year, everything he’d strived for and suffered to achieve was gone. First Sierra, and then Cam … What was left for him now? Was this the reason he’d held on through all Kell’s torment? So Cam could survive a few months more before falling into Kell’s hands anyway?
Perhaps it would have been easier if he could blame Sierra, but she wouldn’t have done it if she’d known Cam would come to harm … On the other hand, though, shouldn’t she have guessed this might happen? She knew Cam wouldn’t stand idly by while someone under his protection put herself in such danger. Her surrender to the Akharians had been as much as he could bear — letting her hand herself over to Rasten and Kell was unthinkable.
And how could he ever leave this place now? Since he’d risen from that unfathomable well, Isidro had dreamt of open skies, of rain, wind and sun. But how could he leave when his last memories of his brother were here? It would be easier, far easier, to lay himself down amid those memories and never rise again. At least then he wouldn’t have to live with the pain of knowing just how Cam would suffer, and how helpless he was to do anything about it.
His wandering feet brought him to the edge of the stream, and Isidro crouched on the bank to scoop up a handful of water and drink. His mouth still tasted of Rhia’s brew, although he’d drunk only a little before tipping the rest away. Perhaps he shouldn’t have, but he still hated the feeling of drugs pressing upon his mind, muffling his senses and curtailing his thoughts.
Once the others were in their furs, Ardamon exhausted by the journey, Mira sedated against her pain and Rhia drowsing under a light dose of her own herbs, he’d been unable to sleep. On the bank of the stream, Isidro surveyed the cavern, looking over the black mouths of the passages leading away from the heart of the mountain. If he lost himself down one of those tunnels, how long would it take him to succumb to the cold? How long until his absence was noted and a search begun? Perhaps a knife would be better — that way they couldn’t bring him back half-frozen, like Sierra had been when Rasten pulled her from the water with ice in her hair.
Or perhaps he should go wake Rhia, confess these thoughts and put himself in her hands. Isidro considered it for a moment before dismissing the idea with a shake of his head. No, he wouldn’t make himself helpless, not even in the hands of those he trusted. The idea filled him with more dread than even the thought of living without his brother at his side.
‘Isidro?’
The voice was soft, and his true name still sounded odd in her foreign tones. He turned to find Delphine watching him with her hands tucked into the sleeves of her coat. ‘I couldn’t sleep either,’ she said.
Isidro turned away. ‘You should go back to your people,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing more for you here. I don’t suppose there’s any reason to deny them the Spire, either. If you lead them here it might redeem you in their eyes.’
Delphine regarded him with pursed lips. ‘It’s not like you to give up so easily. Surely Cam’s situation isn’t hopeless — I can’t believe Sierra would let him be harmed if she could prevent it.’
‘But Rasten knows that,’ Isidro said. ‘He’ll make sure she doesn’t find out until it’s too late. The best we can hope for is that he’s able to kill himself before Osebian can deliver him to Kell.’
Delphine flinched. ‘You mustn’t think like that —’
‘You don’t know what it’s like! I’d rather he died swiftly than go through what our father did.’
‘But you can’t just give up,’ Delphine said. ‘Not after all you’ve done —’
‘There’s nothing I can do,’ Isidro snapped. ‘He’s going to die, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it.’
‘You don’t know that!’ Delphine said. ‘There’s one thing I’ve learnt about you and your people — you’re survivors, and if there’s any way at all to turn a situation to your favour, you’ll find it.’ She took his good hand in both of hers and squeezed it tight. ‘You cannot give up. You just can’t. I’m certain Sierra will do all she can to help him. Can you contact her, tell her he’s in danger?’
Isidro shook his head. ‘She’s been blocking me out, excep
t when her control slips. And how could I reach her without having Rasten overhear? If he knows she’s been warned he’ll make sure she can’t interfere. It would do more harm than good.’
‘Cam wouldn’t want you to give up,’ Delphine said. ‘If the worst happens and he doesn’t survive, think of what he’d want for you. A man of your strength and intelligence can achieve a lot in the world, and all the Gods know there is a great deal to be done.’
He just turned his head away. ‘There’s no way forward, Delphi. When I was Kell’s prisoner … the Blood-Mages make you wait for the next blow, dragging it out, making you think about how much it’s going to hurt. That’s what this is like.’
She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, as far as she could reach. ‘Hush,’ she murmured. ‘Dwelling on it will drive you mad. Isidro, you’re icy cold. Come back into the installation. I’ve got a kettle on the brazier; come have a nice cup of tea and get warm.’
If he didn’t, Isidro supposed, she would wake Mira or Rhia and set them fussing over him as well. Delphine had ample experience with his black moods, and she was quite willing to put him in chains to keep him from harm. His best course was to humour her, and so he bowed his head with a sigh. ‘If you wish.’
In the end he slept there, wrapped in his coat. He would have lain down on the bare floor, but Delphine brought him a mattress pad from one of the nearby rooms.
It was impossible to keep track of time in the Spire, and when he finally awoke Isidro had no idea what the hour was, or even if it was morning or afternoon. He decided he didn’t care either way, and simply lay there unmoving, gaze fixed on the stone wall. Delphine offered to fetch breakfast from the cavern below, but Isidro merely shook his head, and pretended to sleep until she left him alone.
A few hours later, he was still lying there when someone knocked at the chamber door and slipped inside. It was Mira, looking haggard and ill. ‘Issey, I need to talk to you.’