“No, it isn’t, but I bear some bad news.”
Aidah’s heart immediately set to racing. She couldn’t clearly see Lomin’s pockmarked face, but she could sense the unease from the man, the nervousness, concern that edged its way into fear. “What is it?”
“Aran says he spotted Cardinton’s men, three of them, all Blades. They’re watching the inn. There’s sure to be more that we can’t see.”
Gods help us. “I told you we should’ve left,” Aidah hissed. She regretted ever listening to the Blade. Her mind whirled as she tried to think of a way out.
“I doubt they’ll make a move against us, or they would’ve done so already.”
“Can you be certain of that?”
“I can’t.”
“So what now?” Aidah’s thoughts were a jumble, filled with concern for Clara and Nerisse.
“Aran and I were thinking that maybe we could take the wagons, trick them into believing we’ve left in the morning.”
“And what of myself and the girls?”
“We could pay one of the serving ladies to imitate you. It’s cold. With a cloak and layered clothes their men might not know the difference,” Lomin said. “You could then take our horses and escape.”
Despite her lack of experience in this type of situation Aidah recognized a plan borne of desperation. It would not work.
“Mother, what’s wrong?” Nerisse asked. A sliver of moonlight illuminated her face, glinted from her eyes.
Aidah considered hiding the truth before dismissing the idea. Nerisse deserved to know what they faced. Kesta had spoken to them both about Far’an Senjin and the danger to be expected as he placed himself firmly against King Jemare. With the threat imminent, Nerisse might need to be the one who saw to Clara’s safety. “Earlier tonight, while I was trying to secure a wiseman to tend to Clara, Counts Cardinton, Melinden, Adelfried, and Queen Terestere arrived at the chantry.”
Nerisse sucked in a breath and promptly sat up. “Did they see you?”
“I thought I had managed to sneak off without them doing so, but Cardinton’s men are now watching the inn.”
“Mother,” Nerisse said, voice solemn as she rested a hand on Aidah’s arm, “I’ve been listening to the talk on the road here, the talk between you and the others. I know that the rest of our family is gone. You still try to deny it, as do I at times, but you need to face the truth, to accept that Father and Gaston are dead.”
Nerisse’s words broke something in Aidah. Her heart ached and it felt for all the world as if the pain would never diminish. “I try, but it’s so hard.” Tears trickled down Aidah’s cheeks. “Accepting that they’re dead would be to say my life, as I know it, is finished.”
“So what if it is? You said yourself that Father and Gaston would want us to be strong, to continue on without them. The old life might be over, but it’s time to forge a new one, not cling to the past and unrealistic hopes. With the counts out there, only one thing is left to be done.”
A chill swept through Aidah. Since the night she retrieved the box, she’d avoided thinking of it. Giving it to Nerisse would mean placing her in the forefront of danger. Those nightmares where the girl wound up dead came rushing back. Aidah avoided glancing toward the chair in the corner. “You can’t … you mustn’t … you—”
“Mama, Papa, Gaston.” The whimper from Clara cut Aidah off. The girl was still asleep, but the fitful murmurs continued. “I want Papa and Gaston … Papa … Gaston.” She dwindled to silence.
“I must and I will,” Nerisse said firmly. “Lomin, leave us.” When the door closed behind the Blade, she turned to Aidah. “This is the only way. It won’t be the first time I’ve partaken.” Her eyes shifted to the wooden box on the chair.
Aidah’s mouth opened and closed. How much had Kesta done with the children that he had not told her? She had seen him spar on nights after he partook of the box’s contents. He became so strong and fast that he would regularly defeat five or six men without much effort. To her untrained eyes his skill with soul magic seemed to surpass that of the Blades: men who could create flames from nothing, conjure weapons as real as any crafted by a blacksmith, make their bodies like stone, toss around an object ten times their weight as if it were a feather. His power had frightened her.
Nerisse stood and made her way across the room to the box. Riveted, legs wooden, Aidah could only watch. Nerisse flipped open the lid and removed the metal container.
May the Dominion shelter us, Aidah prayed.
“This will put me to sleep for a short while,” Nerisse said, “but there’s no need to fear or to call for a wiseman. Just make certain I’m not disturbed.”
This iteration of her daughter was one Aidah did not know. To combat the need to stop Nerisse, she told herself that this was the only way left to them.
From the container Nerisse took a ceramic jar. It held Dracodar remains. Aidah remembered all too well Kesta’s words about the beasts. He’d been convinced that they were blessed by the Gods to wield soul magic to its full potential. As proof, he spoke of the dregs chosen by the Order to become King’s Blades, the power they wielded, the strength in soul that was unsurpassed. That was before he began his own experiments with the box.
Nerisse scooped out the jar’s contents and slowly brought her hand to her mouth. She began to chew. Pressure built within the room. She took another helping. Soon, slow eating became that of a starved person gorging on a coveted meal. The wet, smacking sounds made bile rise in Aidah’s throat.
The heaviness grew until it became near unbearable, cloying, the air thick and hard to breathe. Aidah wanted to run away, wanted to get as far as possible. Another part of her became fascinated by the spectacle.
As Nerisse ate, the sensation of being overpowered increased, as if the building itself rested upon Aidah’s shoulders. She wanted to cry out, to scream, but she could only whimper. When Nerisse finished and finally made her way to the bed as if in a trance, Aidah prayed to the Dominion more fervently that she ever had in her life.
A Line of Blades
“They’re gone. The count’s men left,” Lomin said as he entered the room.
Frowning, Aidah left Nerisse’s side and went to the window. Dawn’s light crept across Garangal, illuminating tiled roofs, dirty streets, and the bustle of people early to rise. Plumes of smoke rose from chimneys. She sought out the alcoves along the adjacent building and the alley where the Blades had waited. They were empty. Praise the Dominion. “Why do you think they left? And when?”
“I don’t know why.” He cast a glance toward the bed where Clara and Nerisse still slept. “But it happened just after the power Nerisse used.” Lomin was squinting at Nerisse now, brow beaded with sweat. “I know of only one thing that could infuse such soul into a melder, and the addiction it causes has driven more than a few of them mad.”
Aidah scowled at the Blade’s fearful expression. “And despite how you may feel, it seems to have dissuaded our enemies.”
“Maybe, but then that might not be so good.”
“My children’s survival says the opposite. The Dominion has answered my prayers and provided a way out. That’s all that matters.”
“Sometimes the answer to a prayer isn’t all that it seems.”
“Regardless, it’s an answer,” she snapped, “and so far it’s a good one.” He opened his mouth to speak. “You’re not here to question me, but to protect us. That’s all I need from you.”
Lomin looked as if she’d slapped him in the face. He bowed stiffly. “Understood, m’lady. What would you have of me now?”
“When do you think it will be safe for us to leave?”
“There’s no telling, but I would say the sooner the better, before they decide to return.”
Aidah nodded. “I would agree. If you have the men needed, then prepa
re the wagons. We leave as soon as Nerisse wakes.”
“As you say. If there’s nothing more?”
She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. Lomin bowed again, turned on his heels, and left.
Aidah ordered breakfast and waited. As she watched the children sleep, it pained her to know they were no longer innocent. The Empire’s harsh realities had stripped that from them. She wished she could give it back, but all she had to offer now was a path to survival. They would lead the way. Kesta must have recognized the potential when he set out to train them in soul magic. Despite her trepidation she whispered thanks to her dead husband.
A serving girl delivered the food. Aidah sat at the table to eat but found she had little appetite even with the meal’s appetizing aroma. Lost in thought she picked at the eggs and barely noticed the cinnamon when she sipped the coffee.
Nerisse was the first to wake. Power resided in the girl’s eyes, and although Aidah could not see it, she felt it, a sensation that demanded attention, forced her to glance in her daughter’s direction. At the same time it made her avert her gaze when Nerisse looked upon her.
“How do you feel,” Aidah asked.
“Almost like a different person.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good, I suppose.” Nerisse looked down at her forearms, face filled with wonderment. “The one other time I partook of the remains, it was a tiny amount. Father wanted to see my reaction. That was a pittance compared to this power. Why didn’t Father keep it to himself? He might still be alive if he had it at his disposal.”
“He did have it. That box wasn’t the only one.” Aidah nodded toward the empty container.
“And he still died?”
Aidah shrugged, melancholy easing over her like a dark cloud. “When your father gave the Dracodar remains to me, he made me promise to remind you of the shortcomings. He said you aren’t all-powerful despite what you might think or feel. And you will tire faster when you meld, so do so sparingly, reserving your strength for dire circumstances.”
“Yes, I remember.” Disappointment colored Nerisse’s tone.
“Whatever you feel might be tempting, but please take heed of your father’s warning.”
“I will, Mother, I promise,” Nerisse said. “Now tell me what happened while I slept.”
The girl listened to Aidah’s retelling of the morning’s events as she ate. She was on her third helping of eggs, creamed oats, coffee, and apple pastries by the time Clara sat up.
Clara rubbed at her eyes. She squinted at Nerisse and Aidah. “Mama? Neri?”
“Yes, pumpkin?” Aidah strode to her daughter’s bedside and picked her up.
“I had a dream.” Clara clung to Aidah’s neck. “A bad man said Papa and Gaston were dead. And then another man was trying to take me from you and Neri.”
Aidah stiffened. At first she considered not telling her daughter the truth, but Clara would know she lied. Instead, she said, “Remember when I told you a time will come when the Gods ask us to live with them?” Clara nodded. “Papa and Gaston have gone to be with the Dominion.” A low moan issued from Clara’s lips, the air warm and wet on Aidah’s neck. “It’s fine, my little pumpkin, they’re in a happier place now. As for this man, that was just a dream. I’ll never let anyone take you.”
“Neither will I,” Nerisse said. She came over, hugged Aidah with one arm, and stroked her sister’s head with the other.
They remained that way for a while, comforting each other. Aidah needed it as much as her children. Their closeness, the smell and feel of them, gave her a sense of completeness, a sense of purpose.
Nerisse led Clara to the table while Aidah prepared the little girl’s breakfast. Soon Clara was eating with as much gusto as her sister had been. Aidah smiled. The girls talked and laughed with each other, almost making Aidah forget their current predicament. A knock on the door, followed by Lomin’s voice, served as a grim reminder. The girls finished up promptly, and wrapped in the folds of hooded cloaks, they snuck down to the wagons.
Lomin had hired ten other fighting men as part of their escort. He sent them outside Garangal in separate pairings so as not to draw attention to the full group. Aran and Lomin remained with Aidah and the children. When the time came for them to leave they slipped in among a stream of wagons and people leaving the town to head north. Aidah peeked outside on several occasions, expecting to see Blades giving chase. All she saw was the other refugees. Before long her wagons were trundling along the Empire Road as the sun cast its glow across rolling plains and farmland.
A week avoiding small towns and villages brought them to a field within sight of Torens, a quarter of the way to the Chanting City. The girls had spent most of the trip playing. Clara acted almost as if things were normal. She did have one or two moments where she would become melancholy, but it pleased Aidah to see her smile. However, nightmares still plagued Clara’s sleep. She often whispered of Gaston and Kesta. Worst of all, she mumbled about the stranger she feared would take her. Clara had also renamed two of her dolls after her father and brother. She would often have them fight against an unseen foe.
Nerisse seemed to be like her sister as far as a happier demeanor, but Aidah saw the difference in the girl: the wary eyes, the focus at night or at dawn as she watched the road behind them, or scowled in the direction of refugees who came too close to the wagons. The times she kept watch were the most unsettling. Nerisse would sit for hours without moving as she stared out the slit of an opening at the wagon’s rear. Each evening she practiced with Lomin.
The new guards had been introduced on the first day. Lomin appointed Kitesh, a grizzled, gap-toothed Kasinian, as the lead scout. The Blade said the men were cyclers, capable of simple soul magic but not the ability to meld. Apparently all Kasinian melders were heading for Kasandar where King Ainslen offered a most generous pay for their services.
Aidah didn’t quite grasp the difference between the two types, other than in strength, but she was glad the men did have some kind of power. Better a little than nothing. Other than Kitesh, Lomin kept them separate from her and the children, which was much to her liking. Even in her current predicament a sense of station had to be maintained.
Lomin brought the wagons to the far side of a series of slopes that hid them from Torens and the Empire Road and set up camp. He sent Aran with five of the armsmen to procure supplies. Two of the other men were sent to watch the Empire Road with a third taking up position in a copse of oak trees atop a hill, their leaves ruddy orange.
The sky was a washed out blue, clear for miles, Mandrigal a golden orb that somehow seemed dull. The world itself was darker, less alive, the foods she once enjoyed no longer so tasty. Every day was a struggle to rise. Faith and the children kept her going. If she relinquished her grasp on either she knew she would give in and succumb to despair. So it had been for her since she accepted that Kesta and Gaston were dead.
Aidah took a seat on one of the stools she’d brought. Both Lomin and Nerisse had claimed the day was unusually warm, but all Aidah felt was a chill that made her wish she’d kept her coat. One of the byagas brayed before returning to its contented grazing, picking the sparse green amongst mostly yellowed grass. Nerisse was lying on a nearby blanket, eyes closed. Beside her, Clara played with her dolls, humming one of the songs Kesta often sang to her. Thankful they had gotten this far, Aidah whispered a prayer.
Afternoon slipped into evening as they waited for Aran, Mandrigal’s light leaking away. The wind swirled for a moment, a cold gust that rustled the grass before it died down. Lomin turned four rabbits on a spit while the other two guards, Borin and Nartal, kept watch near the wagons. Aidah found herself wishing for the food she had in Garangal.
A giggle made her glance in Clara’s direction to see the little girl chasing after a kagin fly, its feathery wings a swirl of red and blue the size of a palm
. Clara stopped, brows furrowed, hand outstretched. The kagin fly’s wings flitted quickly, and then it turned toward Clara, glided, and came to rest in her palm. Joy to match Mandrigal’s glow radiated in Clara’s features. Aidah smiled. She’d never seen a kagin fly do that before, but surely it had to be a good sign, one from the Gods.
Lomin strode over from the cook fire. “Good to see her like this.”
“Yes, it is.” Aidah paused, hesitant, before she pushed on. “How’s her soul?”
“More stable, but sometimes it seems to disappear, as if she has none at all. I’ve never seen a person’s soul do that before, but each person is different, and there’s much that’s still a mystery.”
“Is it a bad thing?”
Lomin shrugged. “Not as far as I can tell. I’ll still keep an eye on her.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Lomin returned to the cookfire to tend to his rabbits.
Movement beyond Clara caught Aidah’s attention. Atop the hill, just outside the copse of oak, Kitesh leaped onto his horse. He flapped his reins and dug his heels into the animal’s flanks to send it bolting toward the camp. Aidah’s smile faded.
“I hear horses.” Nerisse sat up and stared toward the line of hills.
“It’s one of the guards,” Aidah said, trying to dismiss the unease she felt. Kitesh’s mount cut through the grass, hooves thudding.
“No, not him. They’re coming from the south along the Empire Road. Lots of them.”
“Clara!” Aidah yelled, snapping her head around to where she’d last seen her daughter. Clara was some distance away now, laughing and running a jagged pattern. Aidah could just make out the dark blot of the kagin fly as it glided ahead of her. “CLARA!” The girl kept running.
A blur from the cookfire became Lomin, traveling at a speed she would have considered impossible had she not witnessed it. He reached Clara’s side in a few heartbeats.
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