At first, there was no reaction. Not even the expression on Dern’s face changed.
“You’ve been sent to find him.” He leaned forward, as if he was about to come to his feet. “To me?”
Ker nodded. Good. He’s quick. Not every royal was, the Mother knew.
The prince stood, and Tel tensed, but Dern only went to the sideboard, where he pulled the stopper from a glass decanter, releasing the smell of apple brandy into the room. He splashed two fingers of the amber liquid into a nearby glass and downed it in a single swallow before turning to face them.
“I assure you I’m telling the truth,” Ker said. “Your father was the late Luqs’ uncle. You are the heir. I’m sorry I don’t have any other proof, but this is what we were told.” There was no way Ker was going to tell the man what her real proof was.
Dern raised his hand, palm toward her. He coughed, cleared his throat, and tried again. “I believe you. Once, when I was a child, I overheard my parents quarreling. When I asked them, they told me I’d misheard, told me to forget about it, and I pretended I had. But frankly, what you’ve just said bears out what I heard.” He took a deep breath, glanced at the sideboard again. Wynn stood, took his glass, and topped it up with the brandy. He thanked her with a smile that had the corners of his lips trembling. He took another mouthful, walked back to his chair, and set the glass down on the marble-topped table.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at his glass. “It’s not every day you learn you have family you never knew about, and at the same time that all of them are gone.” He took a deep breath, and Ker was relieved to see a kind of strength come over his face as his posture straightened.
“Please.” Taking Ker’s hand, he gestured the others closer to him, reaching out his hand to Sala, waiting until she was standing in the circle with the rest. “I want to thank you. For bringing me this news. For putting yourselves to such risk to do so. You will be rewarded, I assure you.” He smiled around at them. “And now? What is the plan?”
Ker glanced at Tel. Behind him, Sala watched them, her mouth a thin line. “Can you be ready to ride by the morning?” she asked. “We’ve reason to think the Halians may come here looking for you, and we’d like to get you away.”
“But, my dear, where can we go?” He didn’t ask like someone who was afraid, but just like someone asking.
“To Oste,” Tel put in before she could. “The loyal part of the Eagles went there, and the Bears are there as well. Signals have been sent, and other Wings are on their way. You are needed to lead them.”
The small sound at the door was so gentle that even Sala only turned her head. Ker half expected to see a servant bringing kaff.
The figure in the doorway wasn’t dressed like a servant. Ker tried to pull her hand out of Dern’s, but he held it fast. Tel whirled around and put his hand to his belt, but his short sword was with his pack, in the rooms they’d been given. Guests don’t sit down to supper armed.
Jakmor Gulder stepped, smiling, into the circle of light.
“Thank you, my lord, that was very well done.”
WHEN they first left the mines, it had made Cuarel the Far-thinker smile to see her breath fog in the cold air, but the novelty had soon worn off. Now she only hoped the sound of their breathing wasn’t going to give them away.
“Not yet.” Luca Pa’narion’s voice in her ear was nothing more than a thread of sound, as his hands tightened on her shoulders. If she were honest, Cuarel was glad of the respite forced on them by the Halian patrols. Even the skin of her face felt exhausted. And her feet might never be warm again.
“Now.”
Obedient to the hand propelling her, Cuarel followed the Inquisitor from their hiding place in the shadow of a fallen tree, into the open field between the edge of the forest and the walls of Oste Camp. At least there wasn’t any snow left on upper branches to fall and give them away.
The skin on her back crawled, and her shoulders crept up. She had to trust that Luca’s Flashing continued accurate. They’d been dodging patrols ever since they’d come close enough to Oste to see its wall across the surrounding field of snow, broken and darkened here and there by footprints.
“Down!” Cuarel managed to obey more by tripping than from deliberate intent. She tried to breathe shallowly, noiselessly, and stopped breathing altogether when suddenly the tramp of feet and the murmur of voices seemed only steps away.
“I tell you it’s Messon took my good knife, I know he did.”
“Don’t tell me, tell the Barrack Leader.” From the tone of voice this wasn’t the first time the unseen man had complained.
Please, please, please. Mother please let them pass by, please, I’ll never miss service again, I swear it. Cuarel squeezed her eyes tight.
Dersay: Cuarel? You all right?
Cuarel: Not now!
The soldiers’ voices drifted off into the night, and Cuarel shivered.
“Wait. Not yet. Wait. Now, quickly.”
Luca ran, and Cuarel stumbled after him, knees and ankles throbbing even after so short a rest. Every breath threatened to be the last her lungs could manage. Only the Inquisitor’s fist in her sleeve kept her moving. Half blinded by exhaustion, she saw the wall barely in time to brace for impact.
“Don’t move. Stay where you are.”
Two breaths later Cuarel realized it hadn’t been Luca speaking, but the guard at the top of the wall.
“Tell Faro Juria Sweetwater that Talent High Inquisitor Luca Pa’narion wishes to speak with her.”
“Now, that’s one nobody’s tried yet,” the voice from above said. “Don’t suppose you have any proof?”
Luca released a breath, and Cuarel realized for the first time that the Inquisitor was just as exhausted as she was. “What if they don’t let us in?” she asked.
“Patience, my dear.” Luca patted her arm, and pitched his voice upward. “If you would put both hands on the wall, young woman, I think I can accommodate you.” There was a pause, and Luca placed his own palms on the mortared stone. “Not to worry, your partner can always kill us if he has to. Ah, thank you.”
Though she strained her ears, Cuarel heard nothing.
“You are Farran Adriak, Second Officer, Green Company, Ruby Cohort of Bears. You have a healing arrow wound in your left thigh, and your last monthlies was three days ago.”
“Hey, Farran? I think this guy’s a Talent.”
“Yeah, yeah. Come around to the gate, Inquisitor. Welcome to Oste.”
They all had their knives out before Jak Gulder finished speaking, Sala pulling a second one she’d hidden only the Mother knew where. Belt knives were all they had, however, and Jak was no fool. He’d stepped to one side as soon as he cleared the doorway, allowing a soldier with a crossbow to stand in the opening, his weapon carefully aimed.
Tel shifted onto the balls of his feet, freezing when he saw the corridor outside filled with armed men.
Jak Gulder bowed. “Kerida, my dear, you look tired. Now, wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d just come with me in the mountains? You’d have been able to travel in more comfort. You must have known we’d be coming straight here.”
Ker curled her lip. “There was always the chance we’d get here before you.” Ker hoped no one else heard the tremor in her voice. “If it comes to that, how did you find the place without me?”
“Ah, well, fortunately I have friends to help me.” He swung his empty left hand at the soldiers behind him. “When you have men at your command, and a general area to search, it takes little time to find a landowner of the right age. But it appears you have new friends also.” He smiled at Sala.
Ker kept sneering. Jak didn’t know Sala was a Feeler. It was too late for Ker herself, but with luck they could hide what Sala was. The dark woman was standing well back, Wynn at her elbow, watching them with her eyes narrowed to slits.
&n
bsp; But Sala wasn’t watching them, Ker saw, she was Far-thinking, letting the others know what had happened. For a moment Ker’s heart lifted—then she realized that help couldn’t possibly reach them in time to do any good, not even if a rescue party left the Mines and Tunnels immediately.
“I trust you’ll deal gently with these young people, Gulder.” Dern Firoxi hadn’t moved from his chair. “I don’t know why we waited. We might have avoided this entire business.”
“With respect, sir, I needed the Nast girl’s confirmation. She’s the one who could identify you for certain.”
“In what way?” Dern’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared.
Maybe it wouldn’t be the ax. Maybe she could convince Jak to kill her himself. Ker felt horribly as if she was going to be sick.
Jak watched them, his eyes going from her to Tel, resting another moment on Sala and Wynn before returning to her. The flatness in his eyes was almost the worst thing about him.
Then he smiled.
“I’m afraid I don’t know myself, my lord,” he said, showing his teeth. “There are very few people privy to that knowledge.”
“Can we not order her to tell?” Dern frowned. “Force her if need be?”
So much for dealing gently with us.
“I’m afraid that runs contrary to my orders, my lord.”
Ker’s heart skipped a beat. What orders? And from whom?
“It’s late, sir,” Jak was saying. “We must travel in the morning. You know your house and buildings best. Where can we safely store these people until we’re ready to move them?”
Dern had pressed his lips together, as though he’d like to insist on the answers he wanted. At last his quiet smile appeared again. “The most secure place is just above us, though we will have to move my boy back to his own room for the night.”
“Then if there’s nothing else, my lord, we’ll put these people away and let you get some rest.”
In such close quarters, with armed men waiting on the landing, there was no chance to resist. Ker let one of the soldiers take her knife away, grimacing as another lifted his hand to strike Wynn when she didn’t move fast enough.
“None of that, Hessik.” Jak looked around the room. “Remember, all of you, that the Shekayrin wants these people, so we had best treat them with care.”
And that answers one of my questions, Ker thought. And in the worst possible way.
Dern Firoxi led the way up the stairs, with Jak Gulder at his elbow. The four of them were kept separate as they climbed, each with their own guard. Ker’s held her above the elbow in a painful grip that soon had her fingers growing numb.
When they reached the landing outside yet another thick wooden door banded with metal, Dern took a key the size of his hand out of an inner pocket and slotted it into the lock, turning it twice and pushing the door open. That’s why he’d followed his son upstairs. Ker’s hands tightened into fists. Not to say good night, but to lock the boy in.
The opening revealed a large single room with windows in every wall except the one with the door. Tel flicked his eyes toward the east window and looked back at her. She gave him the shadow of a nod. That would have been where the boy, Jerek, was looking out when they were coming up the lane. How long had the kid been locked up?
• • •
Even though he’d fallen into the habit of staying up and dressed until he was sure his father had gone to bed, Jerek hadn’t expected the man at his door tonight. On the one hand, he’d been drinking, but on the other, there were guests, and that usually put his father on his best behavior. But here he was, and the guests as well, along with the man who’d come with a Barrack of soldiers a few days before, though Jerek hadn’t seen him since. Only when they were in the room did he see the guests were in custody. He took a step back, but his calves were already against the hearthstone of the fireplace.
“Come, Jerek,” his father said. “This room is needed for the prisoners.”
“Prisoners?” These had been honored guests just an hour ago, given rooms of their own, fed at the family table. Jerek’s mouth was suddenly dry. It was happening again.
“Come, don’t dawdle.”
Jerek looked from his father to the faces of the men behind him. To the smile of the well-dressed man who was obviously in charge of the soldiers. Halian soldiers. He looked particularly at Wynn Martan, who’d been so nice to him at supper, and the dark-haired Kerida Nast, who looked so much like his mother.
Maybe he hadn’t admitted it, even to himself, but Jerek knew that things had been steadily worsening since his mother’s death. Dern hadn’t been a bad man, exactly, but his anger, always there, was closer to the surface now. Since the Halians had come, Jerek had seen an even darker side in his father. Dern hadn’t come to fetch him from old Goreot because he loved him and wanted him home. Dern had only come because he needed Jerek, at least until he successfully petitioned to have the Brightwing Holding transferred to his own name.
These people, these “prisoners,” they were just more tools his father was willing to use to gain some advantage he hadn’t bothered to tell Jerek about. Then he’d throw them away. Just like he’d throw Jerek away. What difference whether it was now, or sometime in the future?
Jerek released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and edged behind the central table. “No,” he said. “I’m not going.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Get over here now. These are dangerous people wanted by the military.”
“I don’t care what they’ve done. I care about what you’ve done. I won’t be a part of it. Not anymore. I’m staying right here.” He swallowed. “I’d rather stay with them than go with you.”
“Shall I have my men bring him, my lord?”
His father hesitated, and Jerek tensed, gripping the edge of the table. He’d resist, he told himself. He’d resist.
The officer turned to Jerek and smiled a little sadly, as if he’d read his thoughts. “Come now, young sir. You don’t know what you’re refusing. Your father is prince of the Faraman Polity, and we’re here to escort you both to Farama the Capital. If something should happen to your father, which the Son forbid, you’d be able to carry on the royal line.”
Jerek saw his father stiffen out of the corner of his eye. So, apparently, did the officer.
“My lord?” he said, turning toward the other man.
“I had not thought . . .” Dern’s brow was furrowed, and Jerek steeled himself as his father straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I would not mislead you, Lord Gulder,” he finally said. “You have come to me as the nearest blood to the royal family, and if it is blood that is important, then I must tell you that this child has none of mine.”
Jerek heard a great roaring in his ears, and his hands no longer felt the table. He opened his mouth to protest, and tears actually sprang to his eyes. How could his father—why would he say such a thing? Then he shut his mouth again. Well, what did it matter? He’d known this day was coming, he just hadn’t expected to be discarded as soon as this.
“You haven’t mentioned this before, my lord.” Though Gulder’s voice was mild, his smile was gone.
“It was of no consequence when he was just to inherit his mother’s land,” Dern said. “But we’re not speaking of a vineyard now. This is a matter of the Polity . . .”
“Of course. If you’re quite sure you don’t want him with us?” Gulder looked at Jerek, and the boy realized that the man was leaving it up to him. That they would take him if he wanted to go, that this man, at least, was also shocked by Dern Firoxi’s willingness to leave Jerek behind, and was letting Jerek decide what to do about it. “Lord Firoxi?” he said and, again, it was clear that he was talking to Jerek.
Jerek swallowed, the buzzing still in his ears. “It’s Brightwing,” he said. “Jerek Brightwing is my legal name, and this is Brightwing Holding. I
won’t go with him.”
“But you understand I cannot leave you with these people?”
“Very well.” Jerek licked his lips. “You will be gone in the morning?”
“As early as possible, my lord.” The man caught Dern Firoxi’s eye and motioned toward the door, waiting until the older man was on his way before turning back to bow again to Jerek. “If you would?”
As the boy passed close to her, Ker reached out and touched him on the shoulder. “Good luck, Lord Brightwing.”
He stopped to look at her. “And to you,” he said, before walking out of the room.
• • •
With the door still open after the exit of the young lord, Jak Gulder pointed at Tel Cursar. “Bring him.”
Tel threw himself to one side, but he had no chance against the men who leaped forward to obey Jak Gulder’s orders.
“Give it up, Cursar. I have no intention of leaving you here with these women.”
As they dragged him from the room, Tel looked back over the shoulders of the men who held him, and found Kerida with his eyes. She pressed her lips together and nodded. The door slammed shut, followed by the sound of the lock.
Ker ran forward and placed her palms flat against the wood. “They’re taking him all the way down, out of the tower.” She struck the door with her fist, struggling to control her face.
“And Dern seemed like such a nice man when we got here,” Wynn said from behind her. Ker took a deep breath and turned to face her friends. Sala sat on the edge of the table, one leg swinging, her arms folded. Wynn shrugged one shoulder. “We’ll get him back,” she said.
Ker nodded, grateful for the words, though she didn’t believe them herself. Taking a deep breath, she looked around the room. There was a bed, still neatly made, but clearly the room was normally part office, part storage room. A worktable sat near the south window, with a few books, a set of writing implements, and an oil lamp. Several rugs had been taken from a pile against the inner wall, and laid across the tiled floor. The window, larger than it had looked from down below, was barred.
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