“You could,” Raith said, matter-of-fact.
“But I won’t.” She didn’t dare use her sway on Signe. She would never forgive her.
“Not even to save her life?”
Kate scowled. “Is it truly her life you’re concerned with, chancellor? Or rather those you imprison her to protect?”
“That’s not fair, Kate, and you know it.” Raith rubbed his eye with a knuckle, something weary about the gesture. There was weariness in his whole manner. “All the lives I’m responsible for matter equally.”
Kate kicked at the dirt with one boot, making no reply. She’d heard this axiom from him before, but couldn’t embrace it. How many lives would she give to save Corwin or Kiran or Bonner? How many lives would she be willing to end to get to Rendborne? They were uncomfortable thoughts, and as Signe had pointed out, she was glad to keep them private.
“What Signe risks being out here is a threat to us all,” Raith added in her silence.
“I can’t use my sway on her,” Kate said. “And even if I did, it would fade the first night and she would leave again, this time without me. You know Signe as well as I do.”
Raith sighed, the sound a summation of this truth. “Then you must do whatever you can to protect her. You must keep a watch on her at all times. Do you promise?”
“You don’t have to ask.” Kate fixed her eyes on Signe, who was staring right back her, as if aware that she was the subject of their discussion. Kate couldn’t make herself look away, even though she knew she ought to before she raised suspicions. Losing Signe, on top of everyone else, would be more than Kate could bear.
At last she returned her attention to Raith. He watched her intently, his neutral expression veiling his thoughts. She could’ve gleaned them if she’d wanted to, but she feared what she would find.
“Is that all you came to say then?” Kate gestured toward the road back to Farhold. “All this way for a good-bye and a promise you knew you didn’t have to ask me to make?”
A thin smile spread across Raith’s weary face. In the dim light, his birthmark looked like nothing more than a shadow peeled from the dark. “You need to be careful in your hunt for Rendborne. Dal sent word weeks ago that there’s been some kind of activity near the Hellgate. It seems that Edwin is mining for something.”
Kate knew she shouldn’t be surprised at how much Raith had guessed about her secondary motives in wanting to journey to Norgard, and yet she still was. He knew her well enough at this point to have guessed so much. The thought made her feel uncomfortably warm, and she shook the feeling off. “Mining the Hellgate? For what?”
“We don’t know. Dal’s attempts to find out have proven fruitless. But it can’t be anything good. No good has ever come from there.”
“You have a gift for understatement.” The stories claimed the Hellgates were the very portals that had unleashed the nightdrakes onto Rime. And indeed, when Rendborne had been using the Hellgate near Norgard as his secret camp, he’d somehow engineered the daydrakes as well, breeding them from nightdrakes and twisting them with his magic and that of the gold order that served him.
“If you can,” Raith continued, “report back whatever you find. We might have forged a peace, but it’s a brittle one at best. A blow of any kind will break it.”
Kate frowned, a shiver sliding through her at the fear she sensed in him. Perhaps his pleas for her to attend the meetings had been about more than just appearances. She considered pressing him, then changed her mind as she remembered Master Janus. Since these worries over Dal had started, she hadn’t found the time to bring her concerns about the master magist to Raith. She considered easing into the discussion, but when the loud howl of a nightdrake broke around them, she plunged ahead. It seemed the beasts had caught their scent and would be on the camp soon, making all conversations tense at best.
“Speaking of blows,” Kate began, “we need to talk about Master Janus.”
By the time she finished explaining what she’d sensed in him—or, more accurately, what she hadn’t—Raith’s neutral expression had turned sour. “I appreciate your insight, Kate, but I can assure you that you have nothing to fear where Janus is concerned. I have noticed that his memory is not what it was, but he is old and not entirely well.”
“But—”
“I said it’s nothing.” He fixed a sharp look at her. The sight of it shocked her. She hadn’t just touched a nerve, it seemed, but given it a good pinch. Raith rose to his feet. “Now if you don’t mind sharing your fire for the night, I will be off at first light.”
And with that, he walked into the camp, where the others promptly stole his attention. Even little Wen came out from the tent they’d pitched to stare at him in fearful amazement.
Kate sighed, wishing she’d made certain of Master Janus before she’d left. But she’d been too distracted by everything else. A distraction. Maybe distracting her from Janus had been the point? The doll had arrived with the same caravan as he had. But no, she was being paranoid. Raith might have personal feelings where Master Janus was concerned, but he would never allow his trust to put the city at risk.
And what about Signe’s reaction to the doll? How had she known not to touch it?
She turned to look at Signe, vowing that she would get to the truth.
The moment dawn winked over the horizon, Raith departed as promised. Kate and the others quickly broke camp and moved out as well, heading east toward Norgard. Riding beside Signe, Kate broached the subject of the doll head on, knowing it was pointless to take the indirect route where Signe was concerned.
“Raith seems to think that the doll wasn’t a warning about Dal at all,” Kate said, with a quick glance at her friend to gauge her reaction.
Nothing showed on Signe’s face, but Kate could sense the sudden tension spreading through her just the same. She arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“He seems to think the doll was a ruse to get you out of the city.”
Signe smiled, lips parting as if in genuine amusement, but still the tension lingered, expanding like a shadow at evening time. “Raith would say anything to get you to change your mind about coming. He probably hoped you would compel me back to the city.”
Doubt peaked inside Kate. Raith had suggested just that, after all. And yet—“How was it you knew the doll would ignite when I touched it?”
“It was doused in lithna,” Signe replied with a causal shrug. “I smelled it the moment I opened the box. It reacts to the oil in human skin. A single touch will cause it to ignite.”
“Lithna? I’ve never heard of it.”
“On the islands, we call it widow’s touch.”
Kate frowned. If they had a special name for this whatever-it-was in her birthplace, then that might validate Raith’s claim—that the doll had more to do with Signe than Dal.
She said as much, and Signe shrugged again. “The name means nothing. Lithna is used everywhere. Every circus in Rime will have a barrel of it. Don’t let your own ignorance feed into Raith’s manipulations.”
Kate flinched at the vehemence in Signe’s tone, sensing her disproportionate anger with her magic. And something else. A memory. The face of a woman Kate had never seen before flashed inside her mind, drawn there unintentionally through her sway and the strength of Signe’s reaction. She was white-haired and beautiful, her looks striking, due in no small part to the four ruby-like stones pierced around her lips, one above and below and two on each side. The piercings marked the woman as one of the Furen Mag, a sisterhood of craftswomen from the Esh Islands, a mysterious, secretive, and almost religious sect. Unable to help herself, Kate searched for the woman’s name in Signe’s mind, finding it at once.
“Who is Synnove?”
Signe blanched, then just as quickly red rose in her cheeks. “How dare you, Kate. Stay out of my mind.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I swear. Your thoughts were so loud just now,” Kate said, feeling a sting of guilt about bending the truth.
&n
bsp; “She is . . . no one.”
This time Kate sensed the fear inside Signe, a peculiar mixture of both dread and regret. “She must be someone. Why are you so afraid of her?”
Signe raised her hand sharply. “Enough, Kate. What you’re asking about is Seerah.”
Kate drew a deep breath, desperate for more, but knowing full well that Signe wouldn’t talk, not if she considered it Seerah. The Eshian belief in the divine silence was unbreakable. Even now, after years of friendship, Kate knew next to nothing about Signe’s life before she came to Rime. It was an unfathomable mystery, not the least of which was how she came to have knowledge of black powder in the first place. Even the secret of the less-powerful variety of explosive powder used in ordinary firearms was well guarded, known only by the Furen Mag, but Signe wasn’t one of them. The only marking on Signe’s face was the scar that ran from her brow to her chin, left there by Rendborne in a failed attempt to pry her secrets. Still, Signe’s fear must have something to do with her secret knowledge. It was a troubling possibility.
But in the end the only thing Kate could say was, “I know you’re not telling me everything, Sig, but that’s all right. So long as you tell me the truth when I need to know it.”
Signe regarded her for several long moments before nodding. “I will. Always.”
The rest of the long journey to Norgard was uneventful. They passed few travelers on the road and at night were bothered only a few times by nightdrakes. The ease of it pricked at Kate’s nerves. Still, when the white walls of Norgard came into view at last, she couldn’t help the swell of nostalgia that went through her.
She and Signe had both donned their magestone disguises. Kate wore the face of a much older woman, one fair-skinned with brown hair threaded with fine strands of gray. Signe was an unmemorable, plain woman, her hair a dull brown, same as her eyes. Every time Kate glanced at Signe, her heart clenched inside her chest as she remembered Corwin as he’d last looked—as unremarkable as Signe was now. Kate could only hope the memory wasn’t a bad omen.
But all thoughts fled her mind the nearer they came to the city. The statues of Niran and Nelek rose up to greet them. The two rearing horses, one carved in the blackest of onyx and the other the whitest of ivory, had stood guard at the gate of Norgard for more than a thousand years. Kate’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of them, her thoughts awash with both painful and bittersweet memories.
Get it together, she screamed at herself. She needed to be focused on the challenges that lay ahead. They wouldn’t be allowed to just ride into Norgard unchecked. Harue had prepared fake papers for them to show the guard captain, and Kate was ready to use her sway if the need arose. Even if it didn’t, she planned to wipe the memory of their arrival from the mind of any who saw them. They could’ve used the secret mage door, known as the shade door, Raith had installed at the start of the Rising to get into the city, but with the armistice, everyone needed official patents, sealed by the guard and verifying their right to be here. It was too risky not to have them on hand.
The guard captain examined their papers, which declared them to be citizens of Carden, joining their relatives in Norgard, who had come ahead to set up a new brewery in the Burnside district. It was a believable enough story. Carden was renowned throughout Rime for its wineries and breweries, but the guard captain seemed uninterested either way. In fact he seemed distracted, agitated. Before Kate could delve into his thoughts to learn why, the man had approved their entrance and was pushing them out the door.
Once inside the city, Kate sensed a similar agitation from everyone they passed. There was a fervor about the people, their movements hurried and their words hushed. It was the kind of thing Kate often felt from soldiers the night before battle, the dreadful anticipation and cloying doubt of what the morrow would bring.
As they passed onto the city streets, a woman was walking toward them, her gaze fixed on the newspaper in her hand, the Royal Gazette by the look of it. She was clearly unsettled, and before she knew what she was doing, Kate gleaned the woman’s thoughts. But what she saw in her mind made no sense.
“Excuse me,” Kate said, waylaying the woman, who nearly ran into her. “What’s the news that’s gotten everyone in such a state?”
The woman blinked several times, her expression dazed for a moment. Then slowly the shock slid from her face, replaced with something like astonishment. “Why, haven’t you heard?” The woman paused long enough to turn the front page of the paper around and into Kate’s view.
In bold, black print, the headline read simply:
HIGH PRINCE CORWIN LIVES
8
Corwin
CORWIN WOKE TO FIND HIMSELF alone, his new bride nowhere to be seen. Only the faint scent of her lilac perfume remained in the air. He closed his eyes and wished for leave from his senses, even as the events from the long, tumultuous day before passed through his mind unbidden.
Last night, after four days of pomp and celebrations, he’d finally been wed to Princess Eravis. The ceremony took place atop the central tower of the Sun Palace, in the final hour before sunset, the surrounding rooftops awash in a rosy glow. Eravis wore a red gown trimmed in gold, the royal colors of House Fane. Corwin wore the blue and silver of Norgard, the first time he’d been permitted them. He would’ve refused if he could, understanding as he did that the colors were meant to legitimize this false union, one that was anything but peaceful—or willing.
With the top echelon of the Sevan nobility in attendance, the Godking himself performed the ceremony. There were no priests or priestesses, no rituals to enact as there would’ve been in Rime—the cleansing of spirit and body, the laying of wreaths, and the exchange of the Goddess Kiss. Seva had no religion at all save for the king. Magnar merely gave a speech about loyalty, honor, and duty, and at the end he handed Eravis a golden chalice filled with clear, cool water. She drank from it, then offered it to Corwin, who was bidden to do the same. Once done, Magnar declared them married in his eyes—husband and wife, “forevermore,” he proclaimed.
Afterward there’d been a feast so grand Corwin didn’t believe his taste buds would ever be the same again. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to eat at all for the knots in his stomach, and yet the food proved irresistible. Dishes from every nation had been present, including several Rimish delicacies. And the wine, as well, rare vintages bottled in Carden. Corwin abstained as best he could, wanting to keep a clear head, but even still he could not resist indulging in one cup. And the nenath, of course. There was no denying that.
Not long after the final course was served, the assembled guests began a slow clap like the steady beat of a drum. Corwin’s face flushed as he realized their intent—a call for the new husband and wife to be off to their marriage bed. Corwin refused to go, sitting stonily in his chair. That was, until Lord Gavril intervened. With a single thought, he compelled Corwin to stand and take his bride’s hand. Then side by side they left the great hall with more than a dozen lords and ladies following after them, still clapping as they laughed and told bawdy jokes to one another.
Corwin ignored them all, his heart small as a pebble inside his chest. He was keenly aware of Gavril walking just behind them and what his presence might mean. He and Eravis had been given new quarters in the central tower, not far from where Magnar and his current queen resided. Corwin stopped outside the door, unable to make himself go in. Eravis stepped forward and pushed it open, heading inside first. With a quick glance at Lord Gavril, Corwin hurried in after her and shut the door behind him. Cheers echoed beyond it, but at least the infuriating clapping finally ended.
But the silence inside the room was far worse. Eravis had crossed the living quarters to the table where more wine and food had been set. She grasped the decanter and poured a glass.
“Would you like some, my lord?”
Corwin shook his head, marveling at her calm. Not at all what he would’ve expected from a young woman alone in a bedroom with the stranger she’d just been forced
to marry.
With a shrug, Eravis downed a glass herself. Then with a pointed look, she turned and entered the bedchamber beyond, which was aglow with candles. Through the open doorway he counted half a dozen at least. Feeling awkward and tense, he paced about the living quarters, stopping to examine the art on the walls and then to test the softness of the divan. The firm cushion and expansive size would more than do for sleeping. That was good. That was, if he could manage to sleep at all given the circumstances.
Reconsidering his earlier decision, he poured himself a glass of wine only to hear Eravis call for him from the other room. With gritted teeth, he approached the door to the bedchambers. The sight beyond surprised him. He’d thought he’d seen the height of opulence in the Godking’s palace several times over, and yet this rose above it. The bed itself stood on a stone platform like an altar, the four posts canopied in white, shimmering lace. To the right of the bed, the room extended out onto a terrace with no doors that Corwin could see, only delicate, fluttering curtains. A cool breeze flowed in from outside, the night sky luminescent in the glow of stars that seemed close enough to touch. It was lovely, romantic, and for a second he pictured Kate here with him. The longing the image provoked in him cut like a knife, and he pushed it away, turning to take in the rest of the room.
Tucked into the far corner adjacent to the terrace was a fireplace, a single log burning in its hearth. In front of it was a small pool, sunk deep into the floor, water flowing down into it from a miniature waterfall built out of colorful rocks. The sight of that flowing water made Corwin shake his head in dismay. Everywhere else in Seva, water was a scarce resource, one carefully controlled and meted out at Magnar’s whim. Yet here, in the Godking’s palace, it flowed freely.
“Would you mind fetching me a robe?” The voice came as if from nowhere. Corwin blinked, belatedly realizing that Eravis was in the pool—nothing but her bare shoulders visible above the water and her hair piled on top of her head in an untidy crown. He jerked his eyes away the moment he spotted her and stepped back from the pool’s edge.
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