by Morgan Rice
Hands grabbed for her, holding fast with the unyielding strength of the dead.
“Burn with us, Kate,” a dead nun said.
“Don’t you want to burn?” one of the New Army demanded.
Kate struggled to get away from them, but it seemed to make no difference. They dragged her forward, and now the pyre was alight, flames rising from it. The dead upon it screamed as they burned, their agony promising worse to come for Kate.
She wanted to call for help, but she couldn’t think of anyone to call out to. Sophia couldn’t hear her, and if she couldn’t, then…
Maybe there was someone who could. There was someone who had heard her before, after all, hearing her cries for help even when Sophia hadn’t been able to. Not knowing what else to do, Kate gathered up her power as the flames grew closer, throwing it out into the world.
Emeline, anyone, help me!
CHAPTER TEN
Cora stabbed at the earth with a hoe, surprised at how hard it was to break up simple clods of dirt. Already, she was sweating with the effort, and her hands felt raw. To her surprise, though, she was enjoying the work. She was enjoying the simple freedom of knowing that if she helped, this field would eventually produce food for all of them there. She was also enjoying the knowledge that she was doing this because she wanted, not because some noble had ordered her to.
“You’re certainly getting the hang of this.”
There were other things to enjoy about life in Stonehome, too. Aidan was one of them. He was working a little ways away, muscles moving beneath his shirt as he broke up the ground. His blond hair would have fallen to his shoulders if he hadn’t bound it back with a strip of leather, pulling it away from some of the most handsome features Cora had seen. It was all she could do to not just stand there staring at him rather than working.
And now here he was, smiling at her.
“It’s very different from helping people prepare for parties,” Cora said.
“Well, maybe you’ll have a chance to do that,” Aidan said. “When the work is done with a field, the village likes to gather and celebrate. There’s music, and dancing…”
“I don’t really dance,” Cora said. She’d always been the one watching the dancing from the sidelines, waiting for some noble girl or other to require repairs to her makeup, or some minor errand performed. “I’ve never learned how.”
Aidan laughed. “I’m not sure dancing along to a fiddle is something you learn how to do. Besides, something tells me that you’d dance beautifully.”
Cora could feel herself beginning to blush at that. She wasn’t used to compliments. In her experience, generally people only complimented one another when they wanted something, and since she’d been indentured, they could always just take what they wanted from her.
“I don’t know about that,” Cora said, glancing away.
“At least promise that you’ll dance with me and give me the chance to find out?” Aidan said.
Cora nodded, unsure what to say. Presumably, conversations like this one were ones where the majority of people got some kind of map to guide them through it. They were taught what to do by friends or families or others. They didn’t have to stumble their way through, no one having thought that an indentured girl would need to know.
“What do you think of Stonehome so far?” Aidan asked.
“It’s more than I could have imagined,” Cora said, thinking of the mist that kept it safe, the incredible things that people there could do. “But it’s different, too.”
“I think people come here expecting a city,” Aidan said. “That, or they think that they’ll be waited on by servants. I’m guessing you didn’t expect that though.”
Cora shook her head, the absurdity of the idea almost making her laugh. “I was just hoping for somewhere I wouldn’t be chased for being indentured,” she said. “And, I guess, somewhere that I would fit in.”
Even when he looked puzzled, Aidan was gorgeous. “You don’t think you fit in here?”
“I do,” Cora said. “It’s just… this is obviously a place for people with gifts. I feel as though I’m being tolerated more than accepted. Does that make sense?”
She saw Aidan shrug. “I can understand it, but it doesn’t mean that it’s true. Everyone without a place to go is welcome here.”
“But only the ones with magic can help to defend it,” Cora said. “And those with magic are able to do the metalworking or the hunting with half the effort of anyone else. It leaves the likes of me hoeing fields.”
She looked over to where the stone circle sat at the heart of the village. Emeline was there somewhere, contributing her part toward Stonehome’s protection. She’d taken to her new home like a duck to water, fitting in as if she’d always belonged there, taking her turn at the stones, making new friends. Cora could easily imagine the day when her friend forgot who she was completely.
“It’s normal to feel a little left out,” Aidan said.
“That’s another thing that’s hard to get used to,” Cora replied. “I always knew that Emeline and Sophia could read my mind, but now practically everyone can.”
She blushed again at the thought of what Aidan might see if he looked into her mind. It wasn’t as if she could just turn off everything that she was thinking about him. Worse, trying to stop just made thoughts of him spring instantly to mind, in all the most embarrassing ways.
“Don’t worry,” Aidan said. “I wouldn’t read your thoughts… unless you wanted me to?”
“No!” Cora said hurriedly, and probably the speed with which she said it gave away far too much about the content of those thoughts. “No, I’d… maybe we could talk instead?”
Aidan smiled again. It was hard not to be distracted by that smile. “I’d like that. Or I could maybe show you a few ways you could play your own part in defending Stonehome?”
“I could do that?” Cora asked. From what she’d seen, it seemed to be mostly the province of those inhabitants with access to magic.
“Not the shield,” Aidan said, “because trying to fuel that without magic would probably kill anyone who attempted it. Everyone needs to know how to fight, though, just in case someone makes it through the mist. We could work on that part. It might even help you to feel as though you fit in a bit better. People will like that you’re making the effort to help try to protect them.”
Cora nodded. She liked the sound of the idea. “I don’t know if I’ll be much of a fighter, though.”
“You thought you couldn’t dance, either,” Aidan said. “I think I should demand proof of both.”
He held out a hand and Cora took it, enjoying the feeling of her palm pressed into his as they moved off a little ways, to a space that had obviously been set up for exactly the kind of battle training Aidan had promised. There were weapons set in barrels under an awning, most of them looking quite old. Some of them looked as though rust was the only thing holding them together.
“These are just weapons for practice,” Aidan said. “We trade for them, or we take them from hunters or bandits who come out onto the moors.”
He picked out a pitted-looking musket, passing it to Cora. “Do you know how to load and fire this?”
Cora shook her head. No one had ever shown servants how to do that. Probably, they didn’t want the indentured able to fight back.
“It’s straightforward enough, but you have to be careful,” Aidan said. “You need to work fast, too, because if an enemy is advancing, it can make the difference between getting a second shot, or not.”
He started to show her the process of loading the weapon, measuring out the black powder and pushing home the wadding, setting a lead ball in the barrel and priming the firing pan. Aidan handed it to Cora, and she was surprised by the weight of it.
“You’ll have to set your whole weight against it,” Aidan said. “It isn’t like a bow or a crossbow. It pushes back hard.”
Cora pushed forward as she fired it. Even so, the kick of the weapon was enough to ma
ke her stagger back. She lost her footing and tumbled onto the grass. Aidan was there in an instant, helping her up.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “If I’d known—”
“It’s fine,” Cora said. “I want to be able to do this.”
“OK,” Aidan said, “but maybe we should work with the spear or the halberd for a while?”
Cora nodded, and they set to work with a long pole meant to simulate a spear. She found that suited her better, letting her slash and stab from a distance, while Aidan started to show her the proper way to set the thing against the ground, digging it in to receive the charge of a horse.
She’d been working at it for perhaps ten minutes when she saw a pair of figures approaching the training space. Emeline was walking beside Asha, the woman who was one of Stonehome’s leaders. Emeline looked tired, even exhausted, after her stint at the stones. Cora was surprised she hadn’t gone back to the cottage they were sharing if she was so utterly spent.
“Teaching the newcomer how to use a spear, Aidan?” Asha asked. “And I heard the musket. Wouldn’t a hoe be more useful?”
“We all have to do our part to defend Stonehome,” Aidan replied, in an even tone.
“That’s true,” Asha said. She looked over to Cora. “But the truth is that some of us can defend it better than others. Doesn’t it make sense that we should focus on the fighting, while those whose talents lie in producing food or making clothes do that?”
It sounded to Cora like a recipe for another kind of nobility, ruling over another kind of indentured folk.
“You’re not indentured here,” Asha said, “and it’s not about nobility. It’s about everyone doing what they have the skills to do.”
It took Cora a moment to realize that the other woman had read her thoughts. Apparently, not everyone there saw it as an invasion, the way Emeline or Aidan did.
“If you’ve nothing to hide,” Asha said, “why worry about it?”
Cora didn’t have a good answer to that, except that she didn’t want people looking into her innermost thoughts, especially given everything she might be thinking about Aidan. Looking at Asha, she just knew that the other woman had seen that part, too. She decided to focus on the more important part.
“I think I should learn to fight,” she said. “I might never be able to fight as well as some other people, but I can still do my part, and… well, how many people are exhausted at any one time from working in the stone circle? If people like me can hold back an attack, it gives them time to recover and join the fight.”
“That’s a fair point,” Asha said. She didn’t sound as though she wanted to admit it.
Emeline stepped in. “Besides, Cora is as brave as anyone you’ve met, Asha. She’s traveled halfway across the kingdom with me, crossed rivers, stolen back our belongings from bandits, and more.”
“Well then, maybe you’re right. Maybe she should learn to fight. But not with that stick. Come on, you need to learn to fight with a sword. You both do. I was coming here to teach Emeline the basics anyway.”
She picked out two practice swords, tossing them to Cora and Emeline. She seemed quite surprised when Cora caught hers neatly, determined to show Asha that she wasn’t useless. Asha started to show them the basics of how to move with the sword, then quickly set them to fencing one another.
Emeline had some of the advantages, because she could pick out where Cora was going to move, but Cora was larger and stronger, while Emeline was obviously tired. They went back and forth, trading cuts and parries. Cora found that she was enjoying it a lot, especially when Aidan started calling out support from the side.
She saw Emeline freeze for a moment, and almost automatically, Cora’s sword snaked out to touch her above the heart. When Emeline stayed there like that, Cora let the point drop.
“Emeline, are you all right?” she asked.
Emeline shook her head, looking like a sleeper coming out of a trance. She blinked at Cora as if only just seeing her for the first time.
“Are you all right?” Cora asked again. “Did something happen?”
“I thought I heard something,” Emeline said. “Something… no, it’s nothing. Shall we keep going, or should we go home?”
Home. Cora liked that word. She liked Stonehome too. Whatever else was true about it, it was her home now. And, she thought, looking over at Aidan, there were plenty of things to like here. She even liked the hard practice of the swordplay. She lifted her weapon again.
“What, when we still haven’t worked out who the best warrior is?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The last time Rupert had met with those who supported him, there had been considerably fewer men there. Now, there were enough to crowd the dining room of the townhouse he was staying in, sipping port while they tried to pretend they had been with him all along, and had only been waiting to be asked. It was in the way of things that men were fickle.
“Gentlemen,” he said, from a spot he’d chosen by the fireplace, “I am grateful to see so many men of note here. So many valiant soldiers, decisive members of the Assembly, and men of wealth.”
That was true. What he was planning would only work if he had the soldiers, the law makers, and the men whose money moved the world around them. Rupert would have liked a couple of priestesses of the Masked Goddess there too, because those who had such a grip on the people’s minds were important in their own way. But they were also prone to being his mother’s creatures, and to moralizing against just about all of the things that Rupert found entertaining.
“Forgive me, your highness,” one man, Lord Edgar Jarsborough, said. “But why is it that we are meeting here rather than in the Assembly of Nobles, or the palace?”
“Can a man not invite a few dozen of his closest friends for a gathering at his own home?” Rupert asked. It took the men there a moment or two to realize that they were meant to laugh at the joke, but once they did, they all took it up.
That would, of course, be the excuse to make it plausible to any watchers, because he’d hosted more than his share of debaucheries in the past. The truth, though, was simpler.
“The truth is that I cannot be seen in the open at the moment,” he said. “It would place me in danger.”
“Danger, your highness?” a captain wearing the colors of one of the free companies said. Rupert was surprised that he had survived the purge of them on the peninsula. Still, perhaps he could prove to be useful.
“Yes, danger,” Rupert said. “As we speak, Sir Quentin Mires is heading to the Near Colonies with a young man playing the part of me, in an attempt to draw off any danger of an attack.”
“But from whom?” Lord Jarsborough said. “Who would dare to attack your royal person, so soon after your victory against the kingdom’s enemies?”
His victory; Rupert liked that he’d put it that way. But he didn’t like the danger of this part, because this was the part where he had to tell these men the lie on which all the rest of it would hinge.
“My brother,” he said.
Uproar followed, of course, as some men made noises that suggested such a thing was not possible, and others voiced their disapproval. Rupert waited for it all to die down as patiently as he could.
“Forgive me, your highness,” Earl Astvel said, “but did you say that you are in danger from your brother? Prince Sebastian is a threat to your life?”
Rupert forced himself to nod gravely, mentally holding back the urge to curse the man for questioning him. He’d known that someone would. Men didn’t know enough to simply accept the word of their betters these days.
“I’m sorry to say that he is,” Rupert said. It was even true, in its way. Certainly, if their mother found out about what Rupert was currently doing to Sebastian, it might mean his death. “I know it is hard to believe.”
Lord Jarsborough nodded. “Hard indeed, your highness. Prince Sebastian has acquired a reputation for loyalty, and for duty.”
“Whereas I have acquired one for impetuousness, crue
lty, and high-handedness,” Rupert said. Had any of the men there said it, Rupert would already have been thinking of ways to avenge the insult, but for now, admitting it was useful. “Tell me, gentlemen, have any of you ever stopped to wonder why I have that reputation? I hadn’t, until recently.”
He looked around them, taking in the faces focused on him, the thoughtful looks. Sometimes he wondered what it must be like for other people, who didn’t see the world as clearly as he did. Were they really that easy to control? He would find out in the next few minutes.
“I never asked myself why every childish folly of my youth was held up as evidence of evil, every attempt at proper decorum called aloofness. All I knew was that my every action was given the worst possible interpretation. When I tried to be brave, I was called reckless, and when I tried caution, I was named a coward. When I was generous, I was spendthrift, and when I held back, I became a cruel man with no charity. All the while, my brother, who acted in so many similar ways in private, was called dutiful and loyal, quiet and respectful.”
Rupert paused, quietly enjoying this little twisting of the truth. It was only a small twisting, too, because as far as he could see, people had always been quick to judge his actions in ways they never had for his brother.
“If you want to know the truth of Sebastian, look at his behavior recently: trying to marry some unsuitable adventuress, then running away from a marriage into one of our most noble families not once, but twice. Disobeying orders in taking back rebellious islands. Proposing a coward’s plan to save our kingdom that would have lost it.”
That got some murmurs of assent from the men there, and Rupert resisted the urge to smile in triumph. Sebastian had given him all the ammunition he needed with his recent behavior. A year ago, this wouldn’t have been possible. Now, it was all too easy to make Sebastian look like the villain of this piece.
“I had thought that wouldn’t be a problem,” Rupert said. “My mother has long made it clear that I am her heir, and Sebastian’s behavior is something that can be tolerated. After all, he is my brother.”