by Morgan Rice
It was that simple, wasn’t it? For all the considerations that went into it—the danger, the threat of Siobhan seeking revenge, the task that Siobhan wanted her to complete—it just came down to that choice. Kate could do this, or she could turn back.
It was her choice, though, and that mattered. If she didn’t do this, then she would never truly have choices, because Siobhan would always be there in the background, trying to control her.
She stepped forward, grabbed the chalice, and drank it down in one long swallow. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt, but a second later, everything seemed normal again.
“Now what?” she said, turning to Haxa.
At least, Kate started to turn. Halfway around, it seemed more like it was the room that was turning, spinning so that the runes there spun with it, becoming blurred things that left afterimages on her vision. Kate blinked, trying to make sense of them, but they burned on the inside of her eyelids now, spinning faster and faster, building into something that seemed to pulse to the rhythm of her own heartbeat.
Then that pulse stopped, and Kate felt her legs give way as the floor came up to meet her.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Sebastian stood waiting for his wedding. On the outside, he probably looked still and calm—no worse than a groom should look on his wedding day, at least. Inside, he was roiling, the news that had come in shaking through him the way an earth tremor might have.
Sophia was alive.
“Is everything all right, your highness?” a servant asked him. A whole contingent of them surrounded him, fussing over him in a way that felt like a team of squires strapping some ancient knight into his armor.
“I’m fine,” Sebastian lied, because what else could he do at this point?
Trumpets sounded, heralding the moment when he had to go through with this. The servants all but herded him forward. Perhaps they thought that it was only natural for a man to be nervous on his wedding day. Perhaps they were under orders from his mother to make sure that it all went ahead without a problem. None of them would dare to go against his mother.
Or Angelica.
“The wedding mask, your highness,” a servant said, holding out a blank white mask, meant to symbolize all the roles that he played as an unmarried man. Sebastian took it, slipping it into place. When he and Angelica faced one another, they would remove each other’s masks. Only at the end would they give one another new masks to wear.
“Are the new wedding masks ready?” Sebastian asked, sudden nerves striking him.
“Constructed by the finest mask-makers of the city, your highness,” the servant said, in tones obviously carefully calculated to soothe.
As he walked toward the doors to the grand ballroom, Sebastian tried to concentrate on the bride he would be marrying in just a short time. He tried to focus on the fact that she was beautiful and clever, that she was the right match for the kingdom, that she seemed to see into his heart more than he’d thought she would. She’d even shown a more sensitive, less demanding side to herself since the wedding announcement.
Even so, every thought of Angelica morphed into one of Sophia, until Sebastian couldn’t pick their faces apart in his thoughts. Even as he tried to concentrate on the woman he would be marrying, he found himself wondering about what things would be like for Sophia in Ishjemme, and if she was safe.
“The people are filling the city in celebration,” the servant said. “They want to be a part of this moment.”
Sebastian moved to a window, looking out. By now, there were so many people on the streets that it was hard to take them all in. There were fires set at regular intervals, suggesting that someone, probably Angelica, had arranged for them to have the chance to keep warm as the sun set.
The doors to the grand ballroom swung open, showing half of the nobles of the realm in neat rows, all dressed in the kind of finery that only they could manage. The room was awash with finest cloths of purple and gold, silks and velvet. The guests were arranged by rank, Sebastian guessed, so that the finest and richest garments found themselves clustered toward the front, where an altar to the Masked Goddess had been set up, and her high priestess stood waiting.
Sebastian felt all of their eyes upon him as he began the slow walk toward his appointed place. His mother’s eyes were foremost among them. Queen Mary of the House of Flamberg sat on a throne to one side of the proceedings, too important to sit with the masses even of the noble houses, yet not, for once, the center of events.
“Behold Sebastian of the House of Flamberg,” a junior priestess announced, while the high priestess waited by the altar. “Beloved of the Masked Goddess, son of her church’s protector. He comes into this place a son to our queen, and will leave it as a husband and man in his own right.”
Somehow, the words sounded more like a sentence than the wish for future happiness they were probably intended to be. He kept walking, while around him, masked figures threw flower petals. Sebastian kept going until he reached the front of the hall, turning in place to face the sea of guests in front of him.
Musicians started to play at one side of the room, a harpist and a lutenist working in concert while a collection of choristers sang together and the high priestess started to speak the welcoming words for a wedding.
“Brothers, sisters, children of the Masked Goddess, we gather at moments like this for the shifting of roles from one to another, shedding our previous selves and becoming someone new…”
Sebastian tried to concentrate on the words, but he still couldn’t keep himself from thinking about Sophia. He’d been planning this moment with her before he’d found out about her being one of the indentured. He’d been ready to stand beside her and say the vows that would make them into husband and wife.
He looked around the room again. To his surprise, he couldn’t locate Rupert. Had his brother really decided not to show up for Sebastian’s wedding? Maybe he’d forgotten, or had just decided that it would be more fun to go off fighting. Probably he would show up for the wedding feast, just in time to drink all of the wine.
“Is there any reason why this union should not take place?” the high priestess asked. Sebastian saw her look over to the spot where his mother sat. “Does the queen give her consent for this union?”
“She does,” his mother said, looking happier than Sebastian had thought she might in this moment. She actually looked proud of him as he stood there. Sebastian wished he felt proud of himself. Instead, everything just felt... wrong.
It shouldn’t feel wrong. In the time since he’d learned Sophia was still alive, Sebastian had felt hope for the first time since… well, for the first time since he’d seen her apparently dead in the ship’s cabin. That hope had filled everything, but with every moment this ceremony progressed, Sebastian could feel more of it dripping away.
He stared at the two masks that had been made for him and Angelica. They were indeed beautiful, made with silver and diamonds so that they seemed to shine with their own inner light. One had delicate, feminine features that somehow managed to capture some of Angelica’s beauty, while the other had stronger, more powerful lines. They should have been symbols of the bright future to come for both of them, but instead, Sebastian found himself looking at them as if they were shackles.
Then Angelica arrived.
To say that she looked perfect wasn’t enough to do her justice. Even with the plainness of the mask used on the journey to the altar, she was stunning. Her dress was simple white, but Sebastian had never known that there could be so many subtle shades of it, each one clearly used to perfection by a master dressmaker. Four attendants carried her train, while a couple of young children accompanied her, scattering saffron powder that quickly added color to the dress in an effect that Sebastian suspected was deliberate, turning her from something pure but blank to something golden as she advanced.
Her every step felt like a dance, every movement she made as though it had been sculpted for its elegance. Sebastian couldn’t look away, a
nd yet, at the same time, his thoughts weren’t of the woman who was about to become his bride.
Every movement Angelica made had him thinking of the way Sophia might have moved. Every touch of theatricality had him thinking of the simplicity she preferred. Even the gold of Angelica’s carefully coifed hair had Sebastian thinking of the flame red of Sophia’s.
“When your bride reaches you,” the high priestess said beside Sebastian, “remember that you are to look into one another’s eyes while I say the blessing of the goddess, then remove one another’s masks so that I can begin the ceremony of marriage.”
Sebastian nodded numbly. He knew what he was supposed to do. The problem was that he didn’t know what he wanted to do. No, that wasn’t true. He knew what he wanted. He knew who he wanted.
Yet here, now, like this, it really wasn’t the moment for thoughts like that. If Sebastian had mentioned them to anyone, he was sure they would simply have dismissed them as last-minute nerves, mourning for what might have been. Either that, or they would have reminded him of his duty in a time when the kingdom was at war. The people needed this.
“And what about what I need?” Sebastian whispered to himself.
“What was that, your highness?” the high priestess asked.
Sebastian shook his head. “Nothing important.”
Except that it was important. The thoughts of Sophia filled his head, feeling like a betrayal with each remembered glimpse of her, since it was Angelica walking toward him like a vision from a dream. Nothing was more important right then than the fact that she was still out there somewhere, alive, and safe, and waiting. No, one thing was more important:
The fact that she still loved him.
She’d written that much. She’d told Sebastian to come to her in Ishjemme. She’d told him that he was going to be a father, and that seemed so important that he might have torn the world apart if he needed to.
Sebastian was still thinking about that when Angelica moved to stand in front of him, moving with the kind of grace that made her dress swirl around her.
“It’s time,” the high priestess said. “Unmask one another in the sight of the Goddess, of your families, and of your friends. See who you really are and declare your love. Declare that you are ready for this marriage.”
That was a traditional part of the ceremony. No one could be made to marry until they had seen their intended. The church said that it was that you had to see the truth of someone before you could give yourself to them. Sebastian had heard that it was because, in the past, unscrupulous people had made a habit of substituting themselves for the wedding’s intended partners.
Sebastian reached up to remove the mask from Angelica’s face and felt Angelica’s fingers touch his face as she gently lifted the mask from his features in turn. Even here, like this, Sebastian found himself half-expecting, half-hoping, that he would see Sophia’s face there beneath the mask. That somehow she would have found a way.
Except that it wasn’t up to her now, was it? It was up to him.
“Sebastian,” Angelica said. “Are you all right? You look… you look disappointed.”
She sounded as though she couldn’t believe that, and Sebastian could understand it. What kind of man could ever be disappointed with her? The answer to that was simple: a man who was already in love.
“Are you ready to be married?” the high priestess prompted. “Declare your love, so that I may begin.”
“I declare my love,” Angelica said. “I want to marry this man.”
Sebastian knew that was his moment to reply in kind. It would only take a few words, and he would have done his duty. Instead, he stood there, staring.
“Sebastian,” Angelica said.
Sebastian knew he’d already hurt her once, and he shouldn’t do it again. He shouldn’t run from her, not here, not like this. There was only one place he wanted to be, though, and it wasn’t marrying Angelica.
“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said. “I can’t… I can’t do this.”
He stepped away, starting for the door and pushing past the people before they could realize what was happening. He needed to get out of the castle, out of the city, out of the country. He made it to the door before Angelica’s scream of rage sounded behind him.
He needed to get to Ishjemme.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Endi was running out of patience. He sat in one of the reception rooms at the castle, having to feign enjoyment while he, Sophia, and Oli listened to Rika giving a performance on the harp.
It wasn’t that Rika’s playing was bad. She was a skilled musician, and her voice always put Endi in mind of the gentle pouring of a waterfall. It was just that Endi couldn’t enjoy such things when their birthright was being stolen from beneath them.
Why hadn’t his assassin acted yet? Had Bjornen lost his skills?
“Wonderful,” Sophia said, clapping as Rika finished, her forest cat companion twining around her legs. “I wish I were half as talented.”
“And I wish I had half your talents,” Rika said. She always was sweet to people, but that was too much. Why give someone compliments who was already being given more than enough, in the form of your family’s home?
“Yes,” Endi agreed. “Well played, Rika.”
He was just grateful that he was one of the siblings who had learned to close themselves off to those with powers. If he’d been as simple and open as his sister, Sophia would have known about his assassin long ago. Probably she would have set that fighting mad sister of hers, Kate, after him.
Where was Bjornen? Surely the man had to see that they couldn’t wait forever?
Almost as if in answer to Endi’s thoughts, a servant came in, bearing a scrap of paper. Endi thought nothing of it at first; he made a point of keeping track of things in the city.
“Another of your spies, brother?” Rika asked with a laugh. She made it sound as if it were all a game.
“You make me sound grander than I am,” Endi said. “The others fight, Oli learns everything, you sing. The least I can do is watch for trouble.”
He was expecting no more than that when he opened the note. A scrap of rumor perhaps. A message that some trader had learned about events in the war. Instead, it made him freeze in place.
The younger is away, so now is the time. Get her out of the castle and I will do the rest. B.
Endi hadn’t been certain that the big man could write. He pushed that thought aside though, just as he pushed aside the annoyance that Bjornen wanted him to do so much of the work. Already, he had the beginnings of a plan.
“It seems I have to go up to the northern watchtower,” Endi said. He looked around. “Some trouble there. Sophia, have you been that far out yet? Would you like to see some more of Ishjemme?”
Let them think that he was playing the same game Jan was. At least that would mean they got to go there undisturbed.
“I’d like that,” Sophia said. She turned to the others. “What about you two?”
“I’ve reading to do,” Oli said, reliable as always.
“I’ll go,” Rika volunteered.
Endi cursed silently. He should have thought of that, but he’d been banking on Rika wanting to practice her harp more. Now, he couldn’t think of a reason to leave her behind that wouldn’t put Sophia off as well. He forced a smile.
“Then let’s go. It sounded quite urgent.”
Plus, he wanted to be sure that he got through this before Kate got back. She was far more dangerous than her sister, and he doubted that even Bjornen would be able to take both of them.
They hurried from the castle, and Endi made sure he got them out of there as quickly as he could, before Frig or Ulf or Hans could decide to join them. Rika wouldn’t fight off an assassin, but one of the others might try, and Endi didn’t want his family hurt. Just the ones who were trying to steal Ishjemme from them.
“This way,” Endi said, leading the way through the city, heading for the northern watchtower.
“Slow down
a bit at least?” Rika called from behind him.
“There’s no time,” Endi called back. The truth was that he wanted to set a good pace deliberately. He had to judge it well, though. Too fast, and Sophia might give up, although she currently seemed to be keeping up pretty well, her forest cat loping along beside her. Too slow, and he would be walking beside them whenever Bjornen struck, and he would be expected to intervene.
Endi didn’t have any of the talents that ran in his family’s blood, but he could practically feel the assassin watching them now. He’d done his part. He’d brought Sophia out into the open, and now he just had to wait.
“Rika,” he said, drawing his sister away. “Look at this.”
When Bjornen leapt, it even took Endi by surprise; the big man moved that quietly. He even moved quietly when he struck, charging forward with an axe in his hand so fast and so quietly that he might have been one of the snow bears he was named for.
It might have worked if Sophia hadn’t turned at that moment, obviously warned by some instinct. Endi had thought her soft and easily killed, but to his surprise, she ducked out of the way of the first blow, crying out.
“Help!” she called. “Sienne!”
It was an even greater shock to find that it wasn’t the forest cat that leapt to the attack first, but Rika. Bjornen had mistimed his attack with that. He’d left Endi’s sister too close, and now she sprang forward. She only had a short eating knife for a weapon, but she stabbed at him, cutting through the big man’s tunic and scattering blood.
Bjornen hit her with his axe, and Rika went down with a scream. The shock of that was enough to start Endi staggering forward. This wasn’t supposed to be how it happened. His sister wasn’t supposed to be hurt. This was supposed to be clean, neat.
There was nothing neat about it in the next few seconds, as the forest cat leapt at the big soldier. Teeth and claws tangled with strong arms and the axe, until Endi could barely tell what was happening. There was more blood, while the roars of the man and the cat blended together into one sound.