The Queen of Mages

by Benjamin Clayborne

Dardan’s horse picked slowly through the brush. They’d stayed off the roads ever since Foxhill Keep, which meant slow going, but it was no doubt safer. If Edon sent men after them, they could not risk being easily found on the Thorncross road.

  In the light of that burning branch, hidden in the woods beyond Foxhill Keep, Amira had explained her power to him, and why Prince Edon wanted her so badly. If Dardan had not seen Edon tear down the walls of the keep with nothing but a glance, he’d have called her mad, no matter his love for her. The idea that a person could use their very mind to create fires and death was upsetting enough, but for it to be the province of the woman he’d fallen in love with, the woman he’d become betrothed to…

  And yet he had no choice but to stay with her. They’d run for three days since the keep, sleeping as they could in hollows and clefts, by riverbanks or nestled in a grove of poplars. Aside from the food in Amira’s pack, which was meant to sustain one woman for a few days, they had no other provisions.

  That, at least, had not been a problem. The morning after Foxhill Keep, Amira simply waited in a clearing until food came wandering by—as it happened, an elk. It froze, startled to see her. She held up a hand, there was a pop, and then the elk dropped to the ground, dead.

  She’d explained to Dardan that she could push this “ember” of hers at anything she could see, even into the brain or heart of an animal, killing it instantly and with no fuss. Once he’d gotten over his initial shock, he’d asked if she could cook the meat the same way, but when she tried she just ended up charring it. Instead they built a campfire, and Amira provided the spark, saving him from several minutes of rubbing sticks together.

  He sawed off the elk’s haunch and lashed it to the back of his saddle; it would keep for a day or two at least, in case they found no more large game. Nuts, berries, and leaves made up the rest of their meals. Dardan knew just enough to identify the poisonous plants from the edible ones, but gathering them was tedious work. Still, he reflected, it was better than being Edon’s prisoner. Or dead.

  He had no idea what had happened to the rest of the men. His father, Liam, Old Ban… the guardsmen, the townsfolk. Or Calys, or even Katin. Once they’d escaped around the side of the castle and made for the trees, there was no going back to look. He regretted leaving, but how could he have let Amira run off into the darkness alone? If only he’d known about this power of hers. Why hadn’t she told him?

  Well, it was obvious, wasn’t it? He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to discover having such a power, much less trying to explain it to someone else. Witchcraft was nothing more than a superstition in Garova, but then nobody had ever met a real witch. To suddenly become one must have been terrifying for Amira.

  He glanced at her as they rode along, descending along a gentle slope into a little dell. She’d always been a lively girl, but since the keep she’d been subdued. He’d ranted at her, once, the morning after Foxhill Keep, demanding to know how she could have been so cruel and foolish as to conceal the truth from him. She had not argued; instead her face had gone white and she’d turned away while tears fell. Dardan had felt so awful that he said nothing else for hours, and now—

  —his head spun at the sound of an arrow whistling through the trees. It missed his head by inches, and before he knew it he had slid off his horse and drawn his sword.

  Amira still sat on her horse, glancing around in startlement. “Get down!” he shouted at her, and she dropped clumsily between the two stallions. Dardan crouched between their mounts, trying to see into the shadows beyond the trees.

  Leaves crunched as men approached. “Come on out, you,” a rough voice said. “We ain’t gonna hurt you any.”

  “That arrow didn’t seem too friendly,” Dardan shouted back. Bandits. Just our luck. Several men had melted out of the forest and surrounded them. The largest wore a rusty mail hauberk and a kettle helm. The others were all dressed in browns and greens that would blend in to the woods easily, camouflage made all the more effective by the dirt and filth that caked them.

  “We just want the horses,” the big man said. “Man’s feet get tired, walkin’ through this wilderness all day.”

  Dardan pulled his horse a little closer. The bandits wouldn’t hurt the valuable beasts, if they could avoid it, which made them effective shields.

  He glanced at Amira. Her face was set in determination tinged with fear. Dardan whispered, “I can’t kill more than one or two, even if they don’t have more archers hiding in the trees. Can… can you stop them?”

  She met his gaze with those beautiful gray eyes. They could make his knees weak, but now he was almost shaking in terror. But he could not show it. Not to her.

  It seemed forever before she nodded. “I’m coming out,” she shouted, “to offer you even more than you could have dreamed.” How could she make herself sound so confident?

  Amira stood up straight and took off her leather cap. She held her hands wide and stepped out from between the horses.

  “By Chaos, it’s a girl,” one of the men said. The others muttered as well, and someone whistled. It made Dardan’s blood boil to think what they’d do to her, but she stayed calm and kept her eyes on the big man.

  “A better offer, girlie?” he asked, and looked around. “I think we just hit the king’s own treasure, boys,” he laughed. The other men cackled, as well. Two of them held bows, the rest swords or axes. The bowmen had each nocked an arrow, but they hadn’t drawn yet.

  “Oh, I haven’t even gotten started,” Amira cooed. “The offer is this: Leave, or I will kill all of you, starting with you.” She pointed at the big man.

  Some of the men laughed at this absurd display of bravado, but one or two looked worried. They had the wits to wonder why an outmatched traveler—a woman, no less—would say something so obviously foolish.

  The big man didn’t laugh either. He had been holding his own sword out from the start, and hefted it now. “I got a sense of humor, the boys all says, but that ain’t funny.” And he stepped forward. Amira pointed a finger at him.

  The pop that emitted from his head was startlingly loud in the still woods. The big man fell to the dirt, no more gracefully than the elk had, and slid down the slope at the edge of the dirt trail. Smoke rose from his ears. Dardan’s bowels clenched, even though he knew exactly how it had happened.

  The other bandits began to shout. One of the bowmen started to draw, and he dropped next as Amira’s finger trained on him. The other bowman yelped and ran.

  Two of the bandits lurched forward, shouting and swinging their swords. Dardan leapt out and intercepted them, slashing one across the leg and pushing the other back down the path. Dardan had years of training under his belt, at Luther’s hands, and the bandits were no match for him.

  The second bandit tripped on a rock and fell as Dardan swung at him. Then he heard Amira cry out. Dardan left the bandit sprawling and sprinted back to the horses.

  Amira was on the ground, half-buried under another bandit. Dardan made to stab the man, but Amira scrambled out from under him and it was clear he was already dead. She had drawn her own dagger, and spun back and forth, searching for threats. But only one of the bandits was still in sight. It was the man Dardan had wounded, limping away through the trees. Everyone else had fled.

  Dardan kept careful watch for several minutes in case the bandits made another go at it, but the big man had clearly been their leader. Seeing him die just as Amira predicted, when she had wielded no weapon, had no doubt terrified the rest. Dardan still felt his heart thumping in his chest.

  He checked on the horses and saw that they were unharmed. They were not war horses, but they had been well-trained in Hedenham, and they had moved only a few steps away from the fight.

  Amira sat on a boulder, taking deep breaths, her head down between her knees. Dardan knelt on the soft earth beside her. “Are you all right, my dear?”

  She brought her head up. Her eyes were red, but tears had not flowed. “Yes. That was easier than I’d�
�� hoped.”

  “You did well,” he said, trying to reassure her. But she shook her head angrily, stood up, and strode away.

  Dardan wanted to follow her, but he held himself back. He was the one who’d insisted they stay off the main road. Running into a nest of bandits in the woods was just bad luck, and she could hardly blame him for it. This was still the safest path to Thorncross.

  And Thorncross was the safest destination Dardan could think of. Even if Edon wasn’t chasing them, they could hardly saunter back into Hedenham Town. Dardan didn’t know if Duke Loram Arkhail could help them, but it was their best chance. House Arkhail had their ancestral keep at Thorncross, a few days’ ride to the north. There, at least, they could rest and recuperate… if they could avoid any further ambushes.

  ———

  Just now, Amira seemed to want to be alone, so Dardan went from one bandit’s corpse to the next, taking anything valuable. A few coppers, a few silvers, one good dagger, one decent but rusty sword. He took the bow and quiver off the dead archer. It was a poor piece of work, but better than no bow at all, which was what they’d had so far. The mail hauberk on the big man was too hard to remove by himself, and it wouldn’t fetch a silver from a blind man anyway. The kettle helm would at least provide a little protection for one of them. He took it and tied it around a saddle strap. Lastly he guessed which of the dead men was the smallest, and struggled to pull the man’s clothes off. Amira wore her borrowed armor over nothing but her underclothes, and the bandit’s wool trousers and tunic would serve better.

  Looting the bodies came curiously easily to Dardan. He’d seen little of death, he was glad to admit; he did not fancy himself a hard man who would turn a callous eye to misery and pain. But he felt no pity or remorse for the bandits. The choice between his life or theirs was an easy one.

  Finally Amira came back and insisted they go on. “Maybe there’s a bounty for these bandits somewhere,” she joked lightly, and Dardan was glad to see her in better spirits. But he watched the trees closely as they rode along.

  They found a wide stream as it grew dark, and luck granted them an overhang where spring floods had carved a sheltering hollow. They’d be hidden from sight, unless someone happened to stand directly across the stream.

  Dardan gathered firewood again, and Amira brought the kindling alight with a glance. In minutes they had a crackling campfire. He carved two hunks from the elk’s haunch and spitted them on a branch. They roasted slowly over the fire, juices dripping into it and sizzling.

  Amira watched him over the flames as they chewed on the blackened meat, but she said nothing. Her eyes were hooded, her face drawn. She’d kept her honey-golden hair up in a tight bun most of the time, but now it made a drape over her shoulders. It was dirty and dulled by sweat and travel, but it made her no less alluring. Dardan silently reminded himself that they were not married yet.

  They finished eating, and Dardan felt drowsy, but Amira stood. “I feel filthy, and these clothes are stiff and smelly. We both need washing.” She went over to the stream and began to undress.

  Dardan felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment, but he could not make himself turn away. Amira paused once, to glance over at him, but when he didn’t move, she shrugged and continued peeling off her leggings.

  She kept her underclothes on—she’d had to hack the bottom off her shift to fit it into the wool trousers—as she waded into the stream and dunked her clothes, beating at them with a rock to get the grime out. The flickering firelight did not illuminate her well, but Dardan’s mind filled in the blanks. He felt his trousers getting tighter and finally tore his gaze away.

  He was amazed that Amira had not once complained about being out in the wilds. Every other noblewoman he’d ever met would gasp with horror at the prospect of sleeping under the stars for even a night. And now here she was, washing her own clothes in a cold stream.

  After a few minutes she sloshed back onto the shore and laid her wet garments out by the fire. “Don’t let pride force you into discomfort, my lord.” She did not attempt to cover herself. Her wet shift clung to her breasts in a most unladylike way. She stared at him, unflinching. “I’ll throw you in the river myself if you don’t go wash,” she warned. “Prince Edon can likely smell you from here.”

  Dardan was too embarrassed to argue. He went over to the stream, staring out into the darkness and pretending that his betrothed was not sitting a few yards away, watching him undress. How could they ever have a proper marriage after this? It was scandalous.

  Ha! Scandal? No one will ever know but us, will they? The surrounding forest was quiet but for the sounds of insects and little nocturnal creatures scampering about, and the stream burbling by slowly. Only the trees and the hares and the elk would know, and they would never tell. Or would they? A week ago I’d have laughed at the idea of someone starting fires with their thoughts. Maybe the trees will gossip when we’re gone.

  Dardan still wore the same fine wool shirt and vest and trousers he’d had since they’d left Tinehall for Foxhill Keep, good travelling clothes that did not particularly mark him as a noble. He saw no reason to dress fancy for riding across the county. Normally he’d have a formal suit rolled away in his saddlebags for when they called at some other noble’s estate, but in their haste to depart Tinehall Liam hadn’t packed one for him. Thus what he wore was all he had, plus the leather cuirass and mail hauberk he’d borrowed from one of the Tarians’ guardsmen. He’d felt bad for depriving the man of his armor, but Count Asmus had insisted that the heir to Hedenham be decently protected.

  He’d left the armor by the fire and took off his vest and shirt. He used the same rock Amira had, beating at the clothes until they no longer felt stiff and oily. Then, still mortified by the idea of exposing himself before his betrothed, he waded waist-deep into the stream and struggled to take his trousers off underwater. He only fell over twice, and arose from the stream with a splash each time, shivering as the cold night air touched the water on his skin. This seems worth the trouble, a part of him mocked.

  But he was resolute. He treated the trousers to the same cleansing-by-rock and then, somehow, got them back on. He emerged from the stream soaked head to toe. At least his trousers no longer felt embarrassingly tight.

  Amira stared into the fire, warming her hands. Her shift had dried, but she had not donned her other clothes, leaving her arms bare to the shoulders, and her legs… Dardan virtuously plunked himself down on the other side of the fire, laid out his clothes to dry, and bade her good night as he lay on the spongy earth of the bank. How could he possibly think such base thoughts at a time like this?

  Yet it was the image of Amira sitting by the fire that finally lulled him to sleep.

  ———

  Dardan hoped that Duke Arkhail himself was at Thorncross, though he might have still been in Callaston when Edon returned. Arkhail served on the Greater Council, so he was in the capital most of the time. If the duke himself wasn’t at Thorncross, Dardan hoped that his family or seneschal would be able to help them. They might have a better idea of what to do than he did, and could take charge of the situation.

  It was three more days’ slow ride through the woods before they came to the farms on the outskirts of Thorncross. Riding over fields would attract too much attention here, so they had to risk going on the road. Dardan prayed that the king had sent no men this way. Amira had proved she could kill quickly and at need, but a few bandits were quite a different story than a royal regiment.

  But the only armed men they passed on the road wore the gold and green of House Arkhail, and were thus the duke’s men. They had watchful eyes but no words for Dardan and Amira, just two travellers among the other traffic on the road: farmers driving carts, shepherds driving flocks, traders and merchants with their wagons full of goods, growing thicker the closer they came to Thorncross.

  The sun was high when they reached the town itself. Thorncross Town was not large, but it was the dukedom’s central market, and so its s
quare was almost the size of the Great Square in Callaston. It was ringed by wayfarers’ inns, and rang with an endless cacophony of barkers and bargaining. Dardan had been here a few times, shadowing his father when Asmus met with the duke.

  He made a silent prayer that Asmus was still alive, and another for his siblings. His mother, he knew, needed no prayers. The woman was indestructible.

  The duke’s castle was a great gray lump, rising up on a hill beyond the far side of the square. The sight of it dissolved his anxiety almost completely. Soon they’d be back on solid ground.

  On the flank of the hill, Dardan could see the great grove of honey locust trees that gave Thorncross its name. They were beautiful at a distance, but up close one found that they were covered in long, narrow thorns. The thought made him glance aside at Amira.

  She looked back at him and smiled. The nights after the riverbank, he had wrestled with his conscience. They would be married, and it was not right for a man to bed his betrothed before the wedding. Dardan would not fool himself by claiming that a riverbank was not technically a bed. Liam would poke fun at him for being so righteous, even in circumstances such as these. Liam. How could I forget him? He guiltily added a prayer for his valo.

  When had Amira become so important to him? There was never any question in his heart that they would travel together, even after she revealed her astonishing secret to him. Perhaps the betrothal had done this to him. One did not wed unless one was certain, beyond any doubt, that one would hold fast until death. He would never let that deteriorate, never spend months apart like his parents… No, this power of hers would not change his commitment.

  They would be wed, Dardan told himself. Even if it had to be in some pitiful village temple, with a drunken steward presiding and a cow and a pig to witness.

  He realized he was staring at her, and averted his eyes. “Sorry, my lady. I’m a bit distracted.”

  “There are quite a lot of people about,” she murmured, dancing her horse closer. Her leg brushed his, making him tingle. “It would perhaps be best not to use terms of nobility where we might be overheard. There’s no sense in advertising our station.”

  Dardan’s cheeks burned even worse, and he reflexively looked back to see if there was anyone following them. So many people moved about that there could be half a regiment hiding among the market stalls, and he’d never know. I brood over love while my lady is thinking of how best to protect us. “Yes, of course, my—my dear.” He wondered what onlookers would make of them. Amira wore her hodgepodge of stolen and borrowed mail, leather, and wool. She had a sword now, looted from the bandits, and her kettle helm. Anyone paying attention would know her for a woman, but perhaps they’d be taken for hired swords. It was rare for Garovan women to take such work, but not unheard of. It would have to do.

  They rode around the edge of the market, keeping well clear of the stalls. Barkers shouted their wares: iron goods, glass goods, sweet fruits, bread and pastries, eggs and milk, chickens and pigs for sale. Dardan’s mouth watered; they hadn’t eaten anything but wild meat and foraged nuts and berries for days.

  Amira was looking at the food too. “Perhaps we should eat first,” Dardan suggested.

  “We don’t have much coin.”

  “It’ll only be a few coppers for a loaf of bread and some butter.”

  “Won’t the duke’s family feed us? We should save our coin if we can.”

  Dardan shrugged. “Maybe. Even if they can’t provide any substantial help, at least they could do that. But what’s a few coppers? We can get more if we have to.”

  Amira narrowed her eyes at him. “How?”

  He opened his mouth, but stopped. He had been thinking like a noble, like someone with resources and authority. Right now Dardan only had a small pouch of silver with him. They had nothing else besides their meager possessions and Amira’s ember. With her power, they could simply take what they needed, but he would never countenance such a thing. “Fine. If they don’t feed us, we can return and buy bread.”

  Amira nodded and rode on. Dardan followed, glad she could not see his embarrassment again.

  The duke’s castle was no gussied-up pretend palace, like Elibarran in Callaston. It was a true fortress, solid and stark, with only one gate and one sally port. Thornstar, the ancient Arkhails had named it. The gate was open, a colossal iron portcullis drawn up by huge chains. A wooden drawbridge spanned the moat, guarded by men in Arkhail gold and green. They stopped and questioned all who approached.

  To seem as unthreatening as possible, Dardan and Amira dismounted before they came close and walked their horses the rest of the way. The guards at the tip of the drawbridge waved them to a stop. “What business here?” asked one, who wore a conical helm and a bushy black beard.

  Dardan stepped forward, butterflies in this stomach. They had discussed how to approach the duke’s family. It would be best if a few people as possible knew their true identities, Amira had insisted, and between them they had come up with a ruse. “I bring a private message from Duke Arturin Surroi of Tidemere, for Duke Arkhail, or the duchess, or their seneschal. Whichever of them is present. It must be given into their hands only.” He patted his cloak, suggesting a hidden parcel, which did not exist.

  The guard took in his appearance. Dardan hoped he didn’t look too disheveled from the days of travel. The man conferred privately with his comrades, then told Dardan to wait. He went into the castle, and many minutes passed as they stood out in the hot sun, sweating. It would be unwise for Dardan and Amira to converse, but he could not help glancing at her every so often. The other guards had noticed her as well, and though she was dressed similarly to Dardan and just as dingy, her beauty still shone through. She drew her dagger and began picking at her nails, casting dark glances at the guardsmen.

  Eventually the first guard returned, escorting a wizened old man hobbling along on a cane. He had a kindly, round face despite his years. Dardan thought he looked familiar; he’d seen the old man hanging about on the margins whenever Asmus and Duke Loram met. The old man stopped on the drawbridge and looked at Dardan. “Well, bring them in, I suppose,” he said in a scratchy voice. “They haven’t the look of murderous assassins.” The guard rolled his eyes and gestured inward.

  The narrow castle yard curved around the wall of the broad stone keep. A wooden guardhouse sat just inside the inner gate, and the old man led them within, their horses having been taken away by a stableboy.

  The old man settled into a chair behind a scarred wooden table. “These furnishings do nothing but irritate my rear,” he announced, and dismissed the guard. The guard hesitated, and the old man barked, “If you’re worried they’ll kill me, well! It would be a relief after all these years of dealing with mutton-headed young men like you. Out!”

  Once he was gone, the three of them were alone. There was only the one chair, so Dardan and Amira perforce remained standing. “Well? I was told you have a message. This is as much privacy as we’re like to get in this confounded place.”

  “Er… might I have the pleasure of your name, sir?” Dardan asked.

  “You asked for me! I’d have thought you already know it. Very well, then. I am Elmer Brahim, seneschal to House Arkhail. Any message meant for the duke or his mother can be entrusted to me.”

  Amira spoke before Dardan could. “Please accept our apologies, Mister Brahim,” she said sweetly.

  “Lord Brahim,” he snapped. “Customary title for the Arkhail seneschal.”

  She bowed slightly. “Again, my apologies. We mean no harm, I assure you, but I’m afraid we’ve undertaken a bit of deception to see you.”

  Brahim raised an eyebrow. “Oh ho, perhaps my time has finally come,” he said. “Well, get on with it. Who are you?”

  Dardan cleared his throat. “I am Lord Dardan Tarian, son of Count Asmus Tarian of Hedenham.”

  Brahim stared at him. “So you say. Well, what cause would I have to doubt you? Aside from the fact that you’re dressed like a mercenary and you st
ink from what I guess is days of travel. Counts’ sons usually manage to wash once in a while.”

  He listened as Dardan explained how Edon had invaded Hedenham and attacked them. He even described the explosions Edon had created, but left out any reference to Amira’s power. Their journey north since then did not need much detail, and he also left out the bandits. Explaining how the two of them had overcome or escaped half a dozen armed men might raise awkward questions.

  “We had hoped Duke Loram—House Arkhail—would be able to provide succor to us,” Dardan finished. “I’m afraid we have nowhere else to turn.”

  Brahim harrumphed at them. “We had the news of the king’s death days ago, but you seem not to be aware that Duke Loram too has been killed.”

  Amira gasped, and Dardan froze in shock. “What?”

  “At the palace, when King Edon returned. You said you had news of Edon’s return, didn’t you? Duke Loram and Prince Edon never agreed on anything. While Viktor lived, my lord was quite well-positioned. But Edon apparently considered him an enemy. It is possible that Loram attempted to undo Edon, after his patricide, and failed. One of Arkhail’s retainers raced to us with the news, though we kept it quiet for a time. Loram’s son Gulhin is the duke now, but the lad’s just sixteen. Of age, to be sure, and of course he already knows everything there is to know about ruling, as all young men do.” He smirked at Dardan. “Now, this power you speak of, to make thunder, or whatever it is…” The old man scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “It sounds preposterous, but you seem sincere. And assuming you are who you say you are… you do have Count Asmus’s look, I’ll grant you that. I’ve met the man often enough, though apparently never when you were around.”

  “I’ve been to Thornstar a few times before, my lord,” Dardan put in.

  “Yes, well, I don’t remember you. I’m sure I had more important concerns than attending to some count’s spawn.”

  Amira spoke. “Lord Brahim, please, can you help us? We’ve seen no hint of Edon’s men since we fled, but I fear what he may have done to our friends in Hedenham. If Edon is willing to kill dukes, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

  Brahim barked a laugh at her. “You are young, girl. What would you have me do? Duke Loram was a crafty man and a good master, but if your story is true, there is no standing up to Edon. A wise man would reaffirm his fealty and keep his head down.”

  Dardan’s voice gained an edge. “That is not an option for us. Edon holds some grudge, and will likely do us harm if he finds us. We must flee, or hide, unless we can find some power of our own to oppose him.”

  Brahim stood up. “You will not find such power here,” he said. “Whatever malfeasance has gotten you in Edon’s poor graces, we will not share in it. House Arkhail has already taken a grave wound and I will not let it suffer further.”

  “Sir,” Amira pleaded, “if we could perhaps speak with—with Duke Gulhin, or his lady mother the Dowager—”

  “No!” Elmer Brahim shouted at them. “You will not taint this family! I now know it was a mistake to even give you this audience, would that I’d known that before. Guard!” The door flew open and the guard who had escorted them in burst through, sword half-drawn. “Escort these two out of Thorncross. Away from Callaston.” He looked at Dardan one last time, as if that last command had been a favor to them. “See that you do not return here.” He stood glaring at them, white-knuckled hands gripping the edge of the table, as the guard put a hand on Dardan’s back and prodded him out the door.

  Their escort was mounted even before their own horses were brought, and they were taken along a side road away from the market, east toward Tyndam County. The guards watched them with keen eyes, and though Dardan’s stomach rumbled, he did not dare ask to buy bread at the market. Amira too watched the market’s stalls slip by, but said nothing.

  Dardan shook with anger as they rode. Weren’t dukes responsible to help their subject counts? He understood that House Arkhail too had suffered at Edon’s hands, but were they all simply supposed to all roll over at Edon’s command? What good was a king who terrorized and murdered his own people?

  The guards said nothing to them, and after a few hours let them loose and turned back toward Thorncross. They’d been taken well past Thorncross’s outlying farms, perhaps to discourage Dardan and Amira from bothering the commoners. The road here carved through deep, dense forest. Dardan waited until the guards were well away, then took his horse off the road and into the trees.

  He found a clearing a hundred yards into the woods. The terrain here was no different from Hedenham or Caswick, thin aspens and black poplars clustering everywhere they hadn’t been cleared for farms. The clearing was in a little glen between two low, stony hills.

  Dardan dismounted and sat on a broken tree stump, not bothering to hobble his horse. Amira rode up to him and slid down as well. “Are you all right?”

  There must have been grief written on his face, despite his attempts to maintain control. House Arkhail had forsaken them, and he had no other plan. All their travel through the wilderness had been for nothing. Dardan pinched the bridge of his nose to keep tears at bay, tears of grief and outrage and confusion. “We may as well give up,” he muttered.

  “Don’t say that! We will find some way out of this.”

  He barked a bitter laugh. “How? Our own duke won’t help us. We can’t return home, or go to Callaston. My father might have other resources to call upon, but I have no idea what to do.” The admission was like a splinter tearing through his flesh. He’d always prided himself on knowing how to use what his father had taught him, how to deal with tricky situations.

  That was the old world of prescribed forms and behaviors. Even in the bitterest disputes between the barons of Hedenham, there had always been an expectation that some resolution could be achieved. Now people were trying to kill him. He felt plunged into the unknown.

  He was surprised to find Amira kneeling before him, her hand on his chin. “Dardan. Listen. We will get through this. I don’t know how, but I will not give up, and I know you won’t either. We are stronger together than alone.”

  Dardan stared into her eyes. How could she be so certain? But the sight of his betrothed kneeling there, showing such confidence, made him find a little strength of his own. He nodded. “Yes. You’re right. We just… We need to keep moving.” He stood up, and she followed. They held hands now, a tiny gesture that made him feel anchored.

  “Where is there that we can go?” Amira asked. “There must be somewhere…”

  Dardan thought. A few minutes ago, it had seemed hopeless, but if he took the view that there was indeed an answer… “We can go east. Tyndam Town. Count Barnard Kirth is the lord there. Our families have known one another for many years.”

  Amira’s face closed up a little at this. “After that rotten old seneschal…” But she stopped herself. “Yes. Of course. As you say.”

  There was still daylight, so they mounted again and rode east along the road for a ways. Dardan stared resolutely ahead, glad that they had a destination, and worried that they might be doomed no matter what path he chose.

  CHAPTER 19

  LIAM