Kitesh entered the camp area at the same moment. He leaped from his mount and ran for his bow.
The sound reached Aidah then. The thunder of hooves. Hundreds of hooves.
Aidah ran toward her daughter and Lomin. A quick look toward the hilltop stilled her heart.
The first horses topped a rise to the south. Armed men and women sat astride each mount. More and more soldiers gained the slopes, stretching in a long line.
Lomin met her with Clara in his arms. Aidah snatched her daughter and hugged her tight, gaze riveted on the soldiers who stood silently along the hilltops. One or two horses stamped their hooves in impatience. No banners or uniforms announced who they might be. They were all dressed in nondescript woolens and cloaks. Clutching Clara, Aidah backed away until she was among the wagons once more.
“Put those down.” Lomin held a hand out toward the three armsmen who had drawn bowstrings to their ears. The men complied.
“I could destroy half of them before they got any closer,” Nerisse said. Her voice was a cold, dead thing.
“No, you couldn’t,” Lomin said. “They might no longer wear their uniforms, but those are all King’s Blades. And even if you managed to kill half of them, what of the other half?”
Dear Gods, Aidah thought. She envisioned Ainslen somewhere among them, come to finish what he started in Kasandar, come to kill her and the children. She held tighter to Clara. Fear dried her mouth, prickled her skin like the wind’s chilled breath.
“It’s better than doing nothing,” Nerisse replied.
“Nerisse, remember what your father said,” Aidah snapped.
A space opened in the lines and a horse passed through. Atop it was a woman Aidah knew only too well.
Queen Terestere descended the hill.
A City of Hope
Terestere’s horse approached at a walk until the woman was no more than twelve feet away. A chill breeze ruffled hair black as a raven’s wings. Behind her, the line of Blades remained motionless. The former queen wore clothes more befitting a man: a pair of loose, black riding britches and a short tan coat with golden scrollwork along the arms. Despite her garb she rode with a stately grace, chin up, expression unconcerned, her mount moving as if it glided across the uneven ground. She was a small woman, almost childlike in size, but the way she carried herself made her dominate the surroundings. A pronounced jaw and sharp chin had replaced delicate features. Had she lost weight? Aidah frowned. When her gaze met Terestere’s amber eyes, Aidah looked away.
Aidah envisioned the emotions roiling within the queen. The hate, the despair, the grief. Most of all, a need for vengeance. A tear trickled down Aidah’s cheek as she considered Clara and Nerisse. As their mother, her job was to protect them, keep them safe. She had failed. Perhaps if I beg for mercy, not for myself, but for the children’s sake, then maybe—
“Auntie Teres,” Clara exclaimed, struggling to get down from Aidah’s arms. Aidah held tight.
“M-Mother,” Nerisse said. “I-I can’t move.” The words were more a plea for help than anything else.
Lomin stepped forward, placing himself between Terestere and Aidah. Facing the queen, he got down on one knee, a hand on his sword hilt. “Mother.”
Aidah’s eyes shot open. The word wasn’t said with the familiar undertones of parent and child, but with more respect, formality, like that of a loyal subject. Her breath caught in her throat at the implications. Grimacing, she gave a slight shake of her head. First, Derega, and now, Lomin. It cannot be. It cannot be. Gods, please don’t make it so.
“It is good to see you again, Lomin the Suicidal Blade. Your name precedes you.” A glint of fondness lit Terestere’s eyes as she regarded the man. “Rise and give an old woman a hand. I’m no longer as spry as I once was.” Lomin stood and strode to Terestere. He helped her dismount. “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome,” he said before positioning himself behind her like a bodyguard. His expression was blank, cold even.
The queen acknowledged him with a nod. She regarded Aidah with an amber-eyed gaze that felt as if it saw through her. Terestere offered a smile and a slight dip of her head. Icy prickles crept down Aidah’s back. “My dear, Aidah, I’m so sorry for your loss. I know what it must feel like … the pain, the sorrow, but at least you and the girls are still alive.”
The mention of the children made Aidah tighten her grip on Clara. The girl peered at Terestere without a trace of fear or concern. Aidah’s mind raced. If she could somehow run past the woman and leap on the horse. And you’ll do this while carrying Clara? Don’t be stupid. If she’s preventing Nerisse from moving, then she could kill you with a wave of her hand. Aidah swallowed. “Why … Why did you come here?”
“Out of concern.”
Aidah scowled. “They look more like vengeance to me.” She lifted her chin toward the line of Blades along the hilltops.
“My Blade captain insisted. He’s a most troublesome man, more like a hound, in fact. He does not give up on an idea once he’s gotten wind of it, particularly when my safety is involved. Anyway, I approached on my own in hopes that you would understand I mean no harm to you and yours.”
“And the reason for holding Nerisse captive?”
“That is not my doing, but I suspect it was done to save her from making a grievous error.”
“It’s not her, Mother,” Nerisse said, voice strained. “The meld belongs to Lomin.”
“Traitor! You dare,” Aidah snarled, lips curled as she shot a glance in Lomin’s direction. The Blade gave the slightest flinch and averted his eyes for the briefest of moments before his face was again a stony mask.
“Oh, stop it,” Terestere said. “You cannot be so blind as to not realize that he saved your daughter’s life. Had he allowed her to attack, my Blades would have responded in kind. If I were here for vengeance I would have sat atop the hill while they went about the task. Lomin is no more traitor than one of my Blades. From young they are taught that the king and queen come first above all else. You cannot fault him for that. I am still his queen.”
Clara leaned into Aidah and whispered, “Auntie Teres is telling the truth, Mama.”
“You should listen to Clara. She has a gift.”
“I know.”
“She’s also the reason I’m here. You, as well.” The queen paused. Her expression became tender. “I know how you feel. I lost a husband and a child too. Not to mention other members of my family. The pain you’re experiencing lives within me. I no more blame you for what happened than I could blame your children. Jemare’s demise was part of Far’an Senjin. It was to be expected. For me, that is where it should end.”
“I doubt Melinden, Cardinton, or Adelfried feel the same.”
“Do you see any of them here? Your children are like my own. I would protect them with my life.”
Such conviction existed in those words, in those unflinching amber eyes that Aidah’s animosity and distrust melted. She remembered the Terestere that would tutor Clara and Nerisse, the kind, gentle wife of a ruthless king. A woman who gave to the Smear’s residents, who would walk among them despite any threat they might pose. Aidah could never have done the same. “It’s fine, Nerisse, we can trust her.” Tension eased from Aidah’s shoulders.
Within moments the girls were hugging Terestere and crying and laughing as if they had found a long lost family member. They talked about the good times until twilight swathed the sky in burnt orange and purple bruises. Lomin made a campfire around which Aidah and Terestere sat. The queen’s Blades formed a perimeter around the campsite, lighting their own fires. Aran returned, a cart laden with supplies. One of the queen’s men prepared a meal of venison, potatoes, pumpkin soup, and fruit for which Aidah was grateful.
After the children finished their supper, Aidah and Terestere saw them off to bed. Aidah sang one of
Clara’s favorite songs while stroking the little girl’s head. When she left the wagon, the stars were glittering jewels upon a black sheet, Antelen a glowing silver coin that lit the fields and made silhouettes of the hillsides. A creeping cold had replaced any semblance of the day’s warmth and made her glad for the campfire.
She sat beside the queen, inhaled deeply, and asked, “Do you know how Kesta and Gaston died?” Her hands shook.
“My ears said that Ainslen sent a group of his Farlander melders to Antelen Hill, the same as he did against the other counts he deemed a threat to his rule.”
Aidah squeezed her eyes shut. “And my son?”
“Killed by one of Ainslen’s Blades at the auction. That was where the fighting began between the nobles and the Consortium. Ainslen used that chaos to begin Succession Day. King Jemare barely made it out of Mandrigal Hill, but by the time he got home Ainslen’s Farlanders had already begun their assault on the Golden Spires. I saw what Ainslen did to him in the throne room. He tore him apart.” Terestere’s voice was haunted, eyes distant.
“Why was Gaston at the auction?”
“They say he went there with Ainslen’s son, Winslow, trying to catch a glimpse at a box of Dracodar remains up for sale that day.”
“I warned Kesta about Ainslen,” Aidah said, voice tremulous. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I warned him, but he didn’t listen. And Gaston too. When one of the other counts had an assassin try to kill Gaston one night, I told Kesta that I suspected Ainslen. Gaston was supposed to stay away from that man’s son. He promised me. He promised.” She couldn’t stop her body from shaking. “They’re gone, they’re both gone. What am I supposed to do now? What are the girls supposed to do? My life is over, theirs is over. Dear Gods, help me.”
“I’m here to help you.” Terestere stood before Aidah and drew her close. “But remember, more than anything else, the girls need you now. You must be their anchor, their rock in the storms to come. Look to them whenever you doubt what must be done. You still possess riches that might be coveted in any land. The Empire isn’t the only place left for you. The world is big and wide, and you will find a place in it again.”
“I prayed and I prayed,” Aidah said, “and still it wasn’t enough.”
“Prayer is a strange thing. The Gods don’t always deliver what we ask for as we envisioned.”
Aidah cried, head resting on the queen’s britches, inhaling the scent of horse and days spent on the road. She relived countless precious moments with her husband and son. The pain of such loss felt like it would last forever.
“Dear, dear, go ahead, let your grief out,” Terestere murmured, rubbing Aidah gently. “You’ve held it in for too long.”
And so Aidah let out her sorrow, as much of it as she could. A weight lifted from her shoulders as she sobbed. Slowly, something burned deeper inside her like coals stoked by a bellows. A need. A need to see her suffering repaid in kind.
At some point during her grieving, Lomin had placed a cloak around her shoulders and had made a pot of coffee. When Aidah finally found a semblance of emotional control, the queen passed her a cup of the steaming drink.
“Curate Montere told me why you came to the chantry.” Terestere took a sip from her own cup. “What brought forth Clara’s skill?”
Aidah inhaled the coffee’s strong scent and sighed. She’d avoided thinking of Clara’s ability the last few days, but the dreams always reminded her. Images of them filled her with dread. “Lomin says she was induced. He thinks it was Kesta’s doing.”
“Well, yes, she would have to be induced to meld at such an early age, but for her to use what she did, something must have caused it.” Terestere took another sip. “In most melders such activation results from dire circumstances, oftentimes one that involves a life threatening situation or being forced to push beyond a limit.”
“Blade Derega came to the estate. He said Kesta and Gaston had been slaughtered. And then he threatened to kill Nerisse, Clara, and I.”
Terestere nodded. “Yes, that would do it.”
“Mere words?”
“No. Intent. The same way that Clara can tell truth from lie, she must be able to feel a person’s intent.”
“Like Nerisse can at times,” Aidah mused. She sipped her coffee, the taste of cinnamon and the warmth offered by the drink a welcome comfort.
“Yes.”
“Lomin claimed that this induction, this ability to meld at such a young age might drive Clara mad or kill her as she uses too much soul.” Aidah couldn’t believe the calmness of the words even as she uttered them. Deep down, her stomach tied itself in knots. She did not voice the question she wanted to ask.
“It will do both … not might,” Terestere said softly.
Aidah shuddered. She stared off into the sky at the face of her patron God. “Is there nothing to be done? Th-that’s why I went to the chantry. Lomin said perhaps the wisemen might …” Her voice trailed off.
Terestere reached over and held Aidah’s hand. The queen’s grasp offered some warmth, and Aidah latched onto it. “There is a chance to change the outcome, to reverse the effect, but … no, there’s too much risk involved.”
Aidah placed her cup on a stool. “Please, tell me.” Desperate with hope, she grabbed Terestere’s hand with both of hers, squeezing tight. “Please. I will do anything to save my Clara. You said yourself that she’s like one of your own, so you must feel the same way.”
“I do, and that’s the very reason I hesitate. I’d be placing all of you in even more danger.”
“The Order can protect us once we reach Melanil.”
“No, they won’t. They are part of what worries me.”
Aidah frowned at the queen’s words. “We’ll be safe there, won’t we? No one would dare break the Precepts. They are more than just tradition; they carry the Dominion’s will.”
“Under normal circumstances I would agree, however, these are anything but normal times.”
“And what of Clara? Surely the Order has a cure for her ailment.”
“It’s more likely for them to use her, make her one of them,” Terestere said. “Not only are Mesmers rare, they are among the most powerful melders. A gifted one could make a person believe almost anything. Separating reality from illusion becomes near impossible. Under a Mesmer’s spell, legends and myths can live in a person’s mind. In hopes of gaining the most gifted melders in the Empire, the Order raises them as a farmer does a crop, and cultivates them when they’re ripe. Even mentioning her induction to any of them will spark interest as to the ability she earned from its use.”
“But she’s my daughter.”
“In most records, yes, but the Order keeps a detailed list of every child taken on the Day of Accolades and the nobles to whom they were given. A provision exists in their Precepts that allows them to place any such child of their choosing into the Order to serve the Dominion.”
“They cannot have Clara.” Aidah made a fist. “I won’t let them.”
“Neither will I.”
“So what can we do? Curate Montere already knows Clara’s a Mesmer.”
“Which is why I had him taken care of, but he sent out two riders, one to the Grand Chantry, and one to Kasandar. My men search for them now. Whatever we do, Clara must not fall into the king’s hands. He will partake of her soul.”
Stunned, Aidah put a hand over her mouth. Surely the woman couldn’t mean … but Terestere’s grim expression offered confirmation of Aidah’s thoughts. The image of the king with a box containing Clara’s remains made her retch. It took a few moments with Terestere offering comfort for Aidah to gather herself.
“Surely you can tell someone?” Aidah’s mind reeled. “The Order, perhaps one of the other kingdoms.”
“And they would do what? I doubt they would believe any one of us. Besides, as heinous
as the act sounds, is it much different from what Nerisse did? From what other nobles have done?”
“It is different!”
“In your eyes it might be, because it’s your little Clara. Regardless, things are what they are and Ainslen is the king. Your word wouldn’t mean much against his. Neither will mine.”
“Then we must avoid Melanil, head farther north to Helegan, or east to Thelusia.”
“None of which will do any good. Ainslen’s Farlanders already defeated the Marish phalanxes and destroyed Ernassa and Garada, both cities thought to be impregnable. The Thelusians have decided to cede from the Empire and make a stand, for they dread a return to slavery, this time by the Farlanders. Several Thelusian armies have already fallen. It is only a matter of time before the king’s soldiers reclaim that which the Empire has lost, and gain more besides.”
“But—” Aidah began.
“You have enough riches in your wagons to start a new life anywhere, and there is one place I can help you reach that can save Clara.” Terestere paused. Aidah waited for the woman to finish. “I can give you half of what you need, but the other bit must come from the Order’s Patriarch.”
Aidah grimaced. “Not only do you bring news of Ainslen’s mad intentions, but you also tell me how much of a danger the Order poses to Clara, and yet you say I must go to the Patriarch. Why in the Ten Heavens would I now do that?”
“Because only he can provide you with a writ of safe passage.”
Aidah frowned. For the first time the queen’s prior words dawned on her: suggestions of discovering a new life outside the Kasinian Empire. The idea was unfathomable. Where would we go?
“Far to the west, past Carador, and into the lands of the Berendali, is a city called Casda Esdan. There, you will find those who possess the knowledge to help Clara,” Terestere said. “The journey is across lands ruled by peoples who hate us, who would gladly kill those of us who dare tread in their countries, but with two exceptions. They give pardons to merchants and to wisemen who bear the Order’s writ. To ensure you can enter Casda Esdan, I will give you a decree of visitation that their High King gifted to Jemare. That should be enough.”
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