When she came out onto the main street, it was empty. And there was a clear, unobstructed path to the bridge. She forced herself to run, but could only manage a rapid hobble. It was good enough. She passed the empty guard post and headed out onto the bridge, hearing the whistles grow louder again. She grinned. Too late. They’d lost their prey.
But…no. Her grin faded. More whistles, these coming from the far side of the bridge. She stopped with both hands on the railing, panting, and stared into the distance. Something was moving on the shore, indistinct, fluttering movement. More guards. She couldn’t believe they’d gotten ahead of her.
She looked back over her shoulder. There were the other guards, their gun Devices held aloft as they ran. Or were they Devices? She laughed. They could kill her just as well if they were mechanical. And kill her they very likely would.
She looked down at the dark water rushing past, then at the approaching guards. She had exactly one option left, and it was a terrifying one. Quickly she swung her leg over the rail and heard the shouts grow louder, more urgent. That’s right, you can’t afford to let me escape, even if it’s to death by drowning, she thought. She brought her other leg over and stood with her bare, bloody feet pressed against the bridge and both hands gripping the rail. The water was moving more rapidly than she remembered. She shivered once, took a deep breath, and dove into the murky waters below.
Hitting the water felt like diving face-first into the cold, hard concrete of the Jaixante streets. Stunned, she let the river buffet her along for a few moments, tumbling her until she couldn’t remember which way was up. Water rushed into her nostrils, and she gagged, coming to her senses. She struggled, thrashed her way to what she hoped was the surface, and burst into the air, gasping for breath.
The wild current swept her along, dragging her down. She flailed her arms and legs, hoping she remembered how to swim. She’d never swum more than a paddle at the seashore and a couple of swims in one of the rivers near Kingsport. This was like trying to make headway against a windstorm powerful enough to carry her off her feet. The best she could do was keep her head above water and hope the current would slacken soon.
She couldn’t see anything of Haizea from where she was, none of its lights, just the gleam of the half-moon riding high above. Something large and dark loomed ahead of her, and she had just recognized it as the piling of a bridge when the river slammed her into it, knocking the breath out of her. Instinctively she clung to the rough stone, sucking in sodden air and wanting to weep with pain and terror. The river tugged at her, trying to pull her back into its embrace. Her fingers and toes were numb with cold, she could barely feel the stone of the piling, and her muscles cramped and ached enough that it was only a matter of time before she lost the battle with the river.
Faintly, she heard the shrill sound of whistles cutting across the roar of the water. Surely they couldn’t see her from the bridge? Her grip loosened further. She pressed her face into the piling and prayed for strength. Slowly, her fingers and feet scraped across the stone, pulled inexorably away until her tortured muscles let go all at once and she was flung into the river once more. Probably this was heaven’s punishment for all the lies she’d told Hien.
The river dragged her along past two more bridges that she saw in time to scrabble away from the pilings and avoid being slammed into the stone. No more whistles sounded. They might have been her imagination. She was so tired. Her kicking and paddling grew weaker until she could barely keep her head above water. I’m sorry, she thought, though she wasn’t sure what of all the sins she’d committed she was sorry for, and fell beneath the waves a final time.
Fiona came to consciousness slowly, feeling like she was floating. Water pooled around her hips and shoulders, and her entire body ached and shook with cold. She blinked river water out of her eyes and stared up at the sky, which was the charcoal gray of a pre-dawn overcast. Rain was coming later that day.
She tried to sit up, but failed to make her muscles obey her. To her right, the river rushed past, its song not the loud roar it had been when it tried to swallow her but still loud enough to obscure any other sounds. She managed to turn her head to look at it. She was lying in a natural backwater along its bank, with chilly water lapping at her body. The realization of how cold it was made her shiver, and then she couldn’t stop shaking. The heavy linen of her clothes soaked up the water and chilled her further. Nearly convulsing with shivers, she finally managed to push herself up and then roll out of the river onto the bank, where she collapsed on her face.
The damp earth beside the river wasn’t much warmer, at this hour of the morning, than the water. Fiona had never been so desperate to see the sun. She tried to control her breathing, tried to master herself, but she hurt everywhere and she had no idea where she was, and fear made her shivering worse. Inside her shirt, the scroll case and the bag rattled as she shivered, reminding her of why she was in this position. She needed to get back to Haizea, find Sebastian and Holt, and get out of Veribold as quickly as possible.
Finally, breathing heavily, she got to her hands and knees and crouched, her head hanging down. She had to get up. She had to figure out what to do next. And she had to get dry. She squatted back on her heels and looked around. Haizea was nowhere in sight. In fact, she saw no signs of civilization anywhere, just clumps of trees she couldn’t identify here and there some distance from the riverbank. The gray sky was lightening, and a line of pale gold along the eastern hills heralded the appearance of the sun.
Fiona stood shakily and tottered in the direction of the nearest copse. Her gait grew steadier as she walked, though she still shivered and had to wrap her arms around herself to still the shivering. Shelter, and if she dared, a fire, would take care of that.
The trees were slender, narrow enough that she could encircle even the thickest of them with her arms, leafless at this time of year, with lots of skinny branches fallen beneath them. Fiona began gathering them, relieved that heaven’s displeasure didn’t extend to having her die of exposure. With her arms full of sticks, she found a sheltered area within the copse where she could lay out a fire. She was expert at doing so after all these years. When it was built up to her satisfaction, she set her hand in the center of the pile and let it burn.
The sticks were dry, and caught fire almost immediately. She pushed her sleeve back with her free hand and let the flames lick over her skin, relishing the warmth. If only her clothes were fireproof as her body, she might lie down in the center of the blaze and bask like a reptile in its warmth. She was definitely going south after this. Someplace warm.
She pushed her hair out of her face and saw Sebastian standing no more than twenty feet away, staring at her.
16
Shock rooted her to the spot. She didn’t even think to snatch her hand out of the fire. Sebastian’s expression was completely blank, as if he were a statue carved by an inexperienced craftsman who didn’t know how to render human emotion in stone. They stared at each other for a long, long moment while Fiona scrambled desperately for some way to rewind time, or strike Sebastian blind, anything to reverse his discovery.
Finally, Sebastian took a short step backward. Fiona snatched a thick branch from the fire and brandished it at him, making him stop. “Don’t,” she said.
“What do you think I’ll do?” he asked, but he stopped moving.
“I won’t let you—” She didn’t know how to end that sentence. She had to force him to keep her secret, and the only way she could see to do that meant his death. She quailed at the thought.
Sebastian took another step, this time toward her. “Fiona—”
“I said don’t,” Fiona said. She realized she was holding the branch flame end first and switched it to her other hand, where it burned like a torch. “I don’t want to kill you.”
“Then don’t. Are you afraid I’ll tell someone? I wouldn’t do that.”
Fiona laughed. His still face was so at odds with the intensity of his voice, it was eit
her laugh or run screaming. “As if I believe that.”
“You have inherent magic. That’s not a crime.”
“You’re a fool if you believe that makes me safe. Makes you safe from me. Lie on the ground. Face first.”
“Why?” He didn’t move.
“Because I want a head start on you. Down. Now.”
“Fiona, you don’t have to run. I’m not going to betray you.” He still made no move to lie down or to walk toward her.
“Do you think I won’t turn this power on you?”
“That’s exactly what I think. You’re not evil, and I don’t believe you’ve ever hurt anyone intentionally in your life. Put the branch down and let me come closer. I’m freezing.”
Fiona realized Sebastian was as sopping wet as she was, and he trembled occasionally. His brown hair was dark with river water. “Did you jump in the river, too?”
“I was on the next bridge north from you. I saw you jump. It seemed like—” He shivered convulsively. “Like a good idea at the time. Now I’m damned cold and your fire looks like salvation. Please, Fiona. I just want to warm up. We can worry about the rest later.”
If he came closer, close enough for her to lay hands on him, she could burn him, stop him telling anyone about her permanently. The idea made her want to vomit. The smell of cooked human flesh—it was a memory she wished she didn’t have. She lowered the branch. “You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine,” she said. “Don’t come near me, or you’ll find out how easily flesh burns.”
Sebastian nodded and walked swiftly to the fire, crouching next to it and holding his hands up to savor its warmth. He closed his eyes as if experiencing profound bliss. “Thank you,” he said. “I thought I might die out here. It’s not that cold, I suppose, but between the river and the overcast…thank you.”
Fiona tossed the branch back into the fire and knelt beside it, breathing in the delicious smell of burning wood. Whatever the trees were, their wood or bark had a sweetish, spicy scent that reminded her of cinnamon and cloves mixed together. She didn’t feel much like talking, and meeting Sebastian’s eyes felt wrong, since killing him was still a possibility. You won’t do it, she admitted to herself. She likely couldn’t even have killed him if he were a stranger, chance-met in the wilds outside Haizea, but a friend? No. Tears slid down her cheek. He knew her secret, and that was the end for her.
“How long have you had this magic?” Sebastian asked.
There was no point in concealing anything, not anymore. “Since I was thirteen.”
“And you’ve kept it secret all that time? That’s…I can’t imagine how hard that would be.”
Fiona said nothing.
“How does it work? Do you have to be touching something to burn it?” Sebastian asked.
“Why do you care? Are you looking for evidence to use at my trial?” she shot back.
His brows drew up in surprise. “I told you, I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“Like I believe that.”
“What kind of friend betrays a trust like that? Fiona—”
“Fear breaks all manner of bonds, even friendship.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“Why? It’s not as if you burn things against your will. I assume. We’ve traveled together long enough, I think I’d have noticed if people went up in greasy pillars of fire wherever you passed.”
It startled a laugh out of her. “It’s still frightening.”
“Not to me. Though I can imagine you might be frightened of it. That’s an incredible power to have. And so much like an Ascendant’s…” His voice trailed off. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“You see why I can’t afford to let anyone know.”
“You’re not going to kill me.”
She sighed. “No.”
“So, you can set things on fire with a touch, you can’t be burned—is it only your own fire that doesn’t burn you, or all fires?”
This was the strangest conversation she’d ever had. “All fires.”
“That’s amazing.” He sounded genuinely impressed, and it startled her into looking at him. He had his hazel eyes fixed on her, did not look at all terrified or disgusted, and a pang of some unfamiliar emotion struck her. It wasn’t fear, or sorrow—it was loneliness. As if revealing her secret had put a distance between them she didn’t know how to bridge.
Sebastian stood and turned his back on her, and the pang redoubled. She blinked away tears. Even if he wasn’t going to tell anyone, even if he wouldn’t bring the hunters down on her, they could never go back to what they’d been before.
“I’m not ignoring you,” Sebastian called out, “I’m just getting dry. Sweet heaven, I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything more than I love this fire right now. Can you build it up a bit?”
His matter of fact tone confused her. “What do you mean?”
He gestured aimlessly with one hand. “Stir it up higher, or something? Can you control it without touching it?”
“No.” She reached into its heart and moved a few branches, making it blaze hotter.
“That’s unfortunate. What a tremendous power that would be, being able to extinguish a house fire, for example.”
Her mouth fell open. “Why doesn’t this bother you?”
Sebastian shrugged. “I suppose it’s because fearing you is impossible, no matter what you’re capable of. And…I know someone else who has inherent magic. He always knows where his family is, wherever they are in the world. It just doesn’t seem like anything to get worked up about, not if you’re not an Ascendant and tyrannizing others. It’s all in what you do with it, I think.”
Fiona stared at him until the heat of the fire dried her eyeballs. “Who is he?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s not my secret to tell. You wouldn’t want me to tell anyone about you, right?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Slowly, Fiona turned her back on him, trying to ignore the warning that screamed through her, telling her not to lower her defenses. The heat of the fire warmed and dried her back and her thick red hair, spilling loose past her shoulder blades. He couldn’t possibly be this well-adjusted about her secret, not even if he knew someone else with inherent magic. She needed to run as fast as she could away from this place, away from him. She contemplated her sore feet, scraped and raw from running through the Jaixante. She was in no condition to run anywhere unless she was desperate. And, she realized, she wasn’t desperate.
She heard Sebastian shift position again, then his feet rustled the winter-dry grass that grew around the copse. “I swear you don’t have anything to fear from me,” he said, squatting beside her. “And…”
“What?” She glanced at him, but he was looking past her toward the river.
“Doesn’t it feel good to share that burden?”
“I…don’t know. You’re the only person who knows about it.”
She looked off into the distance, feeling uncomfortable about meeting Sebastian’s eyes, and saw movement. “Someone’s coming,” she said. Dark figures, their clothes fluttering in the breeze… A cold hand gripped her heart. “Those are Jaixante guards.”
Sebastian grabbed her hand and began pulling her eastward, away from the fire that might as well have become a screaming beacon. “There’s nowhere to hide here,” he said. “We have to reach the hills.”
“There’s nowhere to hide there, either,” she pointed out, but ran with him.
She didn’t look over her shoulder to see if the guards had seen them, were chasing them, just concentrated on running and ignoring the pain in her feet as she lit on stones concealed by the tall grass. Her lungs and legs ached with exertion. Ahead, the terraced hills looked like stairways to nowhere, growing ever larger as she and Sebastian fled. They would provide no exit, but there was nowhere else to run.
They came out of the grassy field onto a dirt road, stretching out in the direction of the nearest farm. “We can’t risk it,” Seba
stian panted. “Veriboldans…will give us up…to their own.”
“Need to find…a place to hide,” Fiona said. Sebastian’s feet were as bare and filthy as her own. “Off this road.”
Shouting drifted toward them on the breeze. It was unintelligible at this distance, but Fiona could guess what it meant. She ran faster, dragging Sebastian along with her, until the road began to rise into the hills. Then she veered sharply left, toward a farmhouse sited halfway up the nearest hill. “We can’t hide there,” Sebastian said, “they’ll search it.”
“We just…want them to think…we’re there,” Fiona said.
She turned to follow the curve of one of the terrace steps and plunged headlong into the barley field. The waving heads of grain were only chest-high on her, not tall enough to conceal them. They’d have to keep running.
They reached the farmhouse, where a startled woman paused in hanging laundry on a line to stare at them, and pelted up its short front steps and into cool darkness. The woman screamed and shouted something in Veriboldan, but Fiona was too far away to understand it.
The house was built with a single long hallway running from the front of the house to its back, with doors opening off it on both sides. Fiona slowed her pace, grabbing Sebastian and signaling him to be silent. They trotted down the hall, moving almost noiselessly on their bare feet, and let themselves out the back, Sebastian holding the door carefully so it wouldn’t slam. The woman was still screaming, and there was the distant shouting again. Fiona nodded, and they took off running again, around the back yard where chickens browsed placidly.
The farmhouse was halfway up the hill, which grew steeper from that point up—but the terraces, and the barley fields, stopped there too. Fiona let go Sebastian’s hand and went ahead until she was climbing, hand and foot, up to the flat top of the hill where a sort of ledge protruded over the eastern face. She stood at the top and looked out over the hills stretching all the way north to Haizea. “We’ve still got a long way to run, and more of those guards could be watching for us.”
Ally of the Crown Page 13