‘I know... She could help you, too.’
‘Don’t fool yourself, Sasoria. The brotherhood won’t petition her to heal me. They’re more likely to punish me.’
‘I was selfish to ask you to run away with me,’ Sasoria said, voice tight with emotion.
‘No, I was selfish. I wanted you all to myself, and now we have to face the consequences. There’s something else we have to face. You’ve already defied the odds and birthed three beautiful, healthy T’En boys. This new baby...’
Aravelle backed away, her hand covering her mouth. She’d forgotten. They’d been lucky with the three boys, but so much more could go wrong with a T’En baby. What if the new baby was stillborn?
She ran past the chickens and the little-ones, past the smoke-house. She ran to the clotheslines and stepped between the lines. The wind blew the sheet against her body, hiding her from prying eyes.
There she wept angry, bitter tears. It wasn’t fair. Because of the gifts, they had no control over their lives.
‘Vella, what’s wrong?’
She looked up to see Ronnyn standing at the end of the washing line, visible between the flapping sheets. He’d been out cutting the trees for timber to reinforce their chicken coop and goat pen, and sweat made his much-washed shirt cling to his body. When had his shoulders grown so broad?
‘You’re crying.’ Concerned, he tucked the axe in his belt and came down between the washing lines. As he drew nearer, the wind picked up tendrils of his white hair, swirling it around his face. She stared up at him. Her eyes were level with his nose now, and his hair was darker at the temples. It was only the slightest difference in tone, but it was evidence of his gift starting to manifest.
‘Is Da all right?’ he asked.
She nodded, wiping her cheeks, furious with herself.
He laughed and hugged her.
That did it. She couldn’t stop the tears. Sobs shook her shoulders. He hugged her tighter, and she felt his gift stir. It was intoxicating. As her senses sharpened, everything became more intense.
She craved the sensation.
Furious with herself, she pulled away, flipped the washing over her head, ducked under the line and headed for the cottage.
She hadn’t moved three steps when he caught up with her, grabbed her arm and swung her around easily. Gone were the days when she could outwrestle him.
‘Vella? I don’t–’
Signalling him to keep his voice down, she glanced over to where the little ones were still playing. There was no sign of their parents. ‘I overheard Ma and Da talking about going back to the city.’
‘I can look after us.’
‘I know. This isn’t about you providing for us.’ She didn’t want to say it, but she knew she should. ‘It’s about your gift. You need training.’
His forehead crinkled earnestly.‘I’d never hurt–’
‘Not on purpose.’
‘What did they decide to do?’
‘They think we have another year or two. If we go back, there’s a T’En healer who might be able to fix your arm, but the brotherhood will punish Da and our family will be torn apart.’ She felt the tears threaten again. ‘It’s not fair.’
TOBAZIM HAD NEVER been particularly fond of horses, and they weren’t fond of him; but the T’En were expected to ride. So he ended up riding through the causeway gate with Ardonyx beside him at the head of their party. Back at the exile-council, when they’d volunteered to be the first to go to port and organise the exile, it had seemed so far away.
Now it was almost full small moon and they were leaving the Celestial City. Only one more small moon and it would be winter cusp and time to leave their home forever.
Looking over his shoulder, Tobazim saw people waving from the wall and the brotherhood palace roofs. There were even people on the sisterhood palaces.
‘So many,’ Tobazim said.
Ardonyx shrugged. ‘We’re the first to leave the city. Our departure makes it real.’
‘I’ve only ever lived in the sisterhood’s estate, the winery and the city. I’ve never been outside of Chalcedonia. I’ve no idea what to expect.’
‘You have more idea than most. The majority of them have never left the city. Exile is going to be a shock.’
‘It doesn’t worry you?’
‘The whole reason I went to sea was because I couldn’t stand being confined.’
His tone made Tobazim glance to him. There was so much he did not know about Ardonyx, and now they were riding to port together. Behind them rode around twenty T’En warriors. Haromyr, Eryx, Athlyn and the rest, plus Ionnyn and the few T’En survivors of Chariode’s brotherhood. About three dozen Malaunje crowded onto four wagons, most of them women and children. If he’d had a choice, he would not have brought so many non-combatants but, when they started putting the party together, people just kept coming up to him, asking to join in. He’d tried to explain they were the advance party and he didn’t know what conditions they would find in port, but they were adamant.
Athlyn caught up with them. ‘I’m surprised Kyredeon let us bring such a large party.’
Ardonyx glanced to Tobazim, a half-smile on his lips. ‘Will you tell him, or will I?’
Tobazim grinned. ‘Kyredeon thinks good riddance to us. He hopes we’ll be attacked en route by Mieren brigands–’
‘I thought we had safe passage to the sea.’
‘In theory, we have safe passage,’ Tobazim said.
‘In theory, my ships were safe in port,’ Ardonyx added.
Tobazim felt the tug of like to like. In many ways he had more in common with Ardonyx than he’d ever had with anyone, even his choice-brother.
They reached the end of the causeway and the chatter. The barons and their men had lined up to watch them go.
As Tobazim looked up the hill, he saw heavy black storm clouds. They were going into danger, into the unknown, yet he embraced the challenge.
SORNE WELCOMED THE high priest. ‘Take a seat.’
Nitzane, Jaraile and Halargon, commander of the king’s palace guards, were already seated on the far side of the table. Sorne hadn’t sent for Baron Kerminzto; he wanted to get the decree signed without delay.
Also present were two law scholars to act as witnesses. Sorne could not witness a legally-binding document thanks to his tainted blood, and Jaraile’s signature was not legally binding as a woman.
Of course, a legal document was binding only as far as you had power to enforce it. But in this case, the most powerful church, the most powerful baron, the prince’s kinsman, the queen and the commander of the king’s guard had a vested interest in seeing it honoured.
‘This undertaking will ensure the stability of the kingdom until Prince Cedon turns fifteen,’ Sorne said. ‘Then he can choose his own advisors, but if you do your jobs well, I’m sure he will continue to turn to you. I’ve sent for the king... Ah, here he comes now.’
Charald strode in, took a look around the table and turned to Sorne, glowering with suspicion. ‘What’s this?’
‘Everyone’s ready to witness you sign the decree, sire. Remember how we discussed Prince Cedon’s future?’ Sorne spoke quickly, before Charald could say something that revealed how much his mind was slipping. ‘In this very room, six days ago, you spoke of how your father died and left you with Nitzel and Oskane to advise you. You told me you were worried about...’
Charald took a step back, shaking his head.
Sorne’s heart sank. ‘You asked me to draft the decree.’
He eyed them all. ‘You’re conspiring against me.’
‘Perhaps this will help.’ Aware of the high priest and two law scholars regarding him with distrust, Sorne shuffled through his papers. ‘Here. This is the list we made together. You signed it, sire.’
He placed it on the table and everyone peered down at it.
‘I don’t remember signing that,’ the king said.
Aware that Charald’s sight was not what it had been, Sorne picked
up the paper to bring it closer. ‘Take a good look, sire. It’s your signature. This is why you had the discussion with me. You were worried about your memory.’
The king’s eyed narrowed. ‘Eskarnor warned me you were up to something, but I didn’t believe him. You’re trying to steal my throne. I–’
‘What of Prince Cedon?’ Jaraile pleaded. ‘Who will look after our son when you’re dead?’
Sorne winced.
‘Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you could marry your lover.’ Charald stabbed a finger at Nitzane.
The high priest and law scholars looked shocked.
‘Hold on.’ Nitzane sprang to his feet. ‘You can’t cast aspersions on the queen’s honour. If you weren’t an old man, I’d–’
Charald bristled. ‘This old man could best you–’
‘Think of our son, not yourself, for once!’ Jaraile rounded on the king, colour high, eyes blazing. ‘He’s only a boy. It’s your duty to protect him.’
‘Duty?’ The king spluttered. His skin reddened with fury, and he burst into a tirade, shouting a string of bitter accusations at the queen, about duty, and her lack of it.
High Priest Faryx had never witnessed one of Charald’s rages, and he made the mistake of trying to talk sense. The more they confronted the king, the more adamant Charald became, and the less rational. In the past, his rages had terrified staff and courtiers. Now, it became clear to Sorne, the king’s anger sprang from fear; his voice became querulous. His tremors became worse and, when he started calling for Oskane, everyone fell silent.
‘Where is he?’ Charald demanded, tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘How dare he go off when I need him? Where’s Oskane?’
Jaraile sank into a chair, hand to her mouth, stricken. Nitzane blinked in dismay, went to say something, then stopped.
They all turned to Sorne, who approached the king. ‘Oskane sent me, sire. He told me you needed to rest. Let me fetch your manservant.’
‘What?’ Charald looked at him, blinked, then the fragile belligerence left him. ‘Yes, get Bidern.’
Relieved, Sorne sat the king down opposite Jaraile and summoned a servant to fetch the manservant. Then he went to the sideboard, poured a cup of wine and slipped in two of the soothing powders.
‘Drink this, sire.’
Charald accepted the cup, took a mouthful and stared across the table. ‘All you had to do was give me a suitable heir.’
‘But he will be healthy,’ Jaraile protested.
His gaze shifted to her. ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’
Jaraile gasped. Everyone went very still.
The king tossed back his wine then appeared to be listening. ‘I know.’ He put the empty cup down. ‘He’s the best of the lot, but they’d never accept him.’
The door opened. Sorne drew the manservant inside, then went to the king. ‘Here’s Bidern, sire. Time to–’
‘Mind your tongue, boy, I’m talking to your mother.’
Sorne baulked. The manservant made a strangled sound in his throat. Sorne recovered and helped the king to his feet. His hands were gentle. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
The king wandered out on the manservant’s arm.
Sorne closed the door and turned to face the others. He felt shattered. Without a word, he went to the sideboard and brought the tray with the wine and cups over to the table. He poured them all a drink, his hands shaking very slightly. Was he developing his father’s ailment? He’d kill himself before it took his mind.
He drained his cup.
As if this was a signal, everyone spoke at once, their voices hammering at him.
‘What were you thinking, trying to pass him off as fit to made decisions?’ the older of the two law scholars asked. ‘We cannot witness an agreement if he’s not of sound mind.’
‘More to the point, he cannot rule if he’s not of sound mind,’ High Priest Faryx said. ‘We–’
‘He’s never been like this before,’ Jaraile protested. ‘I’m as shocked as you.’
‘He has grown a little forgetful,’ Nitzane admitted. ‘But his mind has been sound.’
Sorne was tempted to say the king had never been of particularly sound mind, but he restrained himself. ‘He was of sound mind the other day and he will be again. This has happened before.’
‘What?’ Jaraile turned to him.
‘When?’ Nitzane asked.
‘During the siege,’ Sorne admitted. ‘It seemed to be triggered by an illness. This time I think it was the rage that triggered it. What happened here must not leave this room. He will come good again.’
Sorne saw they did not believe him. He drained his wine. ‘Come with me. I can prove it is a medical condition.’
The two law scholars exchanged looks.
‘Yes, I want you to come too. Everyone who was here today must see this.’
And he left the chamber with the others in tow. When they entered the king’s outer chamber, Sorne told them to wait and slipped into the bedroom. The manservant was folding the king’s clothes. Charald lay in bed, snoring with his mouth open.
‘What was in that wine?’ Bidern whispered.
‘Soothing powder from Khitan. I’ve been giving it to him for years to help control his rages. Please tell me his urine has changed colour.’
Bidern nodded and glanced to the bedpan. ‘When I saw the colour I left it there.’
‘I don’t know what’s wrong,’ Bidern said. ‘The medicine seemed to be working, but–’
‘Medicine? I thought he didn’t trust the saw-bones.’
‘No, but he trusts me. My father was an apothecary, and my brother has continued in the trade. I’ve been dosing the king since the middle of last year on arsenic powders. When he took ill in camp, I doubled the dose.’
‘Arsenic?’ Sorne repeated. ‘But that’s the royal poison.’
‘It’s prepared as a medication.’
‘Stop dosing him. Stop everything.’
‘But–’
‘Sorne?’ Nitzane peered in and whispered. ‘The others are getting restless.’
‘Tell them to be quiet. The king is sleeping.’ Sorne brought the pan out to them. The urine was deep purple-red.
‘Is that blood?’ Jaraile asked.
‘No, that’s the colour the king’s urine goes when he has one of these fits.’
‘It looks like port wine,’ Captain Halargon muttered.
‘So you see, it is a physical problem,’ Sorne said.
‘What has the saw-bones said?’ the older of the law scholars asked.
‘The king won’t see one,’ Sorne admitted. ‘He’s afraid word will get out and his enemies will move against him. Besides, saw-bones are mostly good for setting bones and stitching up wounds. This...’ – he gestured to the urine – ‘this is beyond their skills. This is why we must protect the king. The longer he can sit on the throne and his enemies believe King Charald the Great is a threat, the longer the kingdom is safe and the more time his son has to grow up.’
No one spoke. Captain Halargon looked grim.
Sorne looked around. ‘For the sake of the kingdom, for the sake of Prince Cedon, I ask you to keep silent.’
‘He’ll be back to normal in a day or two?’ the older law scholar asked.
‘Yes.’ Sorne sincerely hoped so. ‘When the moment is right, I’ll send for you and the decree can be signed.’
‘What of Eskarnor?’ High Priest Faryx looked dubious. ‘If he realises–’
‘Between us,’ Sorne gestured to the baron, the queen and the captain of the guards, ‘we’ll keep Eskarnor away from the king.’
Chapter Thirty
TOBAZIM PAUSED WHEN he sensed the build up of male gift aggression behind him. He turned to seeHaromyr and Ionnyn jostling each other on the bottom step of the harbour-master’s building, tussling over who should go up next. If they’d been dogs, they would have been growling. It had been like this ever since they entered port. Everyone was on edge.
‘I
o,’ Ardonyx said.
Ionnyn glanced to him, then away.
‘Haromyr.’ Tobazim held his eyes until the other lowered his gaze. With that, he and Ardonyx turned and went up the steps.
Everything felt wrong. Even the stairs were built for Mieren legs; the treads were just a fraction too small and the risers too low, making him take the steps two at a time. And all the while, his gift thrummed through his body, reverberating like the skin of a beating drum.
Ardonyx walked out of the stairwell into the harbour-master’s office, with Tobazim one step behind. Tobazim took in the room at a glance. Built on the fourth floor, the office overlooked the bay. The sun was setting behind the bay’s huge sandstone headlands. Five Mieren worked at desks.
From up here, Tobazim could see the whole port laid out. The ships nestled against the wharves like piglets sucking at a sow’s belly; countless more dotted the bay. Their masts stretched like a forest sprinkled with fallen stars, as the lanterns were lit. He’d had no idea there were so many ships.
Tobazim had felt a sense of dislocation upon entering the fortified port. There were tenements five and seven storeys high, all packed with laughing, fighting, crying, singing Mieren. The weight of their unguarded emotions meant he had to concentrate to maintain his defences. Now he understood why King Charald had no trouble raising an army of ten thousand and gladly sacrificed a thousand warriors to make a point.
It was all so different – he just wanted to climb aboard Ardonyx’s ship and surround himself with familiar T’En things, which he could do soon if this harbour-master would just lift his head and be civil.
Instead, the man continued to write, bald head bent over his desk even as they stood before him. Tobazim bristled on Ardonyx’s behalf. The harbour-master’s four scribes didn’t move.
Finally, the harbour-master pushed his sheet of figures aside and looked up. For a moment his shallow, pale blue eyes met Tobazim’s, then they skimmed past in a dance that was fast becoming familiar.
‘Master Hersegel, I greet you.’ Ardonyx spoke Chalcedonian with the fluency of long use. ‘Today we meet under very different circumstance. I have come to reclaim my ships.’
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