The Soul of Power

by Callie Bates

  Alistar crouches beside me. “Sophy, breathe. It’s all right. What happened?”

  “I’m fine. Don’t let anyone else see.”

  “No one’s watching but us. Are you all right? Should I call a doctor?”

  “No—”

  Above us, Rhia tenses. She screams. “Elanna!”

  I lift my head, but another wave of nausea rolls through me. This shouldn’t be happening. The nausea left me weeks ago. All the same, my stomach feels as if it’s doubling over on itself. I press my hands to my cheeks. My face feels cold and clammy.

  “Where’s El?” I manage.

  Philippe has also tensed, rocking up onto his toes. He shouts. “Caveadear!”

  Rhia sprints away, leaping over the lip of rock onto the narrow path. I force myself upright. Alistar’s leaning forward, past Philippe. He sucks in a breath. Swears. Whatever he sees galvanizes him, too. “Elanna!” He leaps up, then pauses. He points at me. “Stay here, Soph.”

  He charges down the steep trail, Philippe at his heels. I crawl forward on my hands and knees. The nausea is passing. My ears are clearing.

  A bell rings over the water—a quivering, grasping sound.

  Witch hunters. My whole body jolts with sudden, white fear. They found us—they found El. I stare across the water, willing them to come into view. But the fog, rather than clearing, is gathering more densely over the river. I can only just make out movement on the opposite bank.

  There’s a noise below me—a grunt. I look down, and I see her. I see them.

  Below me, a man is running down along the bank’s edge. He wears simple, dark clothes—they’re wet, I realize, as if he got caught in the flooding water. Another man hurries behind him. My heart turns over. These aren’t our men; they must be Tinani. But how did they even get here over the flooding river?

  Unless they knew El was going to be here. They could have crossed over, somewhere upstream where the river narrows, before dawn.

  Or they could have been here much longer. They could have been put into place long before we arrived; they could have been waiting for this moment. And the intelligence the Butcher intercepted, about the Tinani being here…

  The first man jumps over a rock. He’s almost reached her. “El!” I scream. Alistar and Philippe are still too high up. Rhia has had to slow on the steep bank, still more than a man’s height above El. One of the assailants reaches for El’s arm—she dodges him, but the other is coming up, and—

  She slips. The rushing water catches her. She’s swept off her feet. Her hat falls off. Black water billows up her greatcoat.

  Then the water sweeps Elanna under. Downstream.

  The men race after her along the bank. Behind them, Rhia takes a flying leap and dives into the water after El.

  I’m running. Running after Alistar and Philippe, down to the shore. “El!” I scream.

  The land loves her. She can control the flood and where the river’s sweeping her. Can’t she?

  Downstream, her head pops back up, wet and sleek as a seal. The current is driving her toward the opposite bank. She thrashes, but it makes no difference. She doesn’t know how to swim. Rhia seems to—she’s making headway toward El, at any rate—but now the roaring river’s caught them both. They’re sweeping away from us at impossible speed.

  And the assailants are still running along the bank—downstream to the ford, no doubt. Shouts echo from the opposite bank, still shrouded in fog, over the roaring water. We’re all being followed.

  Ahead, Alistar’s flinging off his coat as he runs. Philippe pumps his arms. I manage not to trip on the rock scree. “Downstream!” I shout as I barrel between the men. “Go downstream!”

  We’re all running together now, along the marshy shore, my feet catching in pockets of mud and moss-slimed rocks. El’s and Rhia’s heads flash above the black water. The next moment, El disappears again. Rhia shouts, for all the good that does. The two men have vanished around the curve in the river.

  We charge through the marsh, past drowning trees, onto a rock spit of land jutting into the river. Water surges over my shoes, drenching my stockings, weighing down my skirts and the heavy wool of my coat.

  An arm reaches out of the water far ahead of us, just visible through the dense fog, on the opposite bank. El’s head follows. She drags herself up through the muck, a small, distant figure. Rhia swirls past her with an echoing cry, thrashing toward the shore.

  “I’m going after them.” Alistar tugs off his boots.

  “So am I,” Philippe begins.

  There’s a shout behind us—the Butcher charging through the trees toward us, shouting for us to stay back. He points toward the opposite bank.

  I turn, squinting. The fog is still too thick, but again I hear shouts.

  I’m defenseless. Weaponless. The queen of Eren and Caeris, standing bareheaded on the riverbank.

  And the Caveadear and the daughter of the warden of the mountains are trapped in enemy territory.

  But I was the girl who slipped under the Butcher’s nose.

  Alistar’s already splashing deep into the water. He knows how to swim; we used to challenge each other to see who could hold their breath longest in the clear, cold pool beneath the Sentry Rock at Cerid Aven. He flings himself forward with sure strokes.

  On the opposite bank, El’s clambered up, staggering as she vanishes through the fog into marsh grass. She seems to be heading for Rhia, who’s also made it to shore, though much farther downstream.

  The fog, rather than lifting, drifts more thickly from the river. Elanna’s disappeared completely into it now. As I watch, it swallows Alistar, too. Maybe it’s El’s doing—to hide us, to save herself.

  The thought galvanizes me. I grab Philippe’s elbow; he’s hesitant to get in the water. Maybe he can’t swim. “This way!” I say. We run along the bank, staggering over downed trees and the long grass hiding soft, watery holes. Mist gathers around our ankles, growing thicker and thicker over the river. We are swaddled in white. There’s little noise but my breathing in my ears and the rush of Philippe’s and my footsteps. Behind and to our right, soft whistles fly through the woods—the Butcher and his men communicating our location. He must be heading for the ford half a mile downstream, and so are El, Alistar, and Rhia.

  And the men who sneaked onto the bank.

  The Butcher may be able to deal with them—if Philippe and I can distract the Tinani, even for just a few minutes.

  “We need a diversion,” I tell Philippe between gasps for breath. “We need to make them think El went the opposite way.”

  What would my mother do? What did she do, when I was a child?

  The fog twines thick around us. White, muffling. Disorienting, even on land, but especially on water.

  “How far can you throw?” I ask Philippe.

  “A rock?” He fishes one out of the shallows. His silhouette is melting into the fog; his breath billows, white.

  He turns and with his whole body, throws the rock back upstream. It splashes loudly.

  I nod. “Another. Farther, if you can.”

  He tries again. This one makes a smaller splash, closer to shore. The fog chokes the water, so thick now I’ve no idea where Alistar is, much less Elanna and Rhia.

  Philippe throws another rock, and I crouch and do the same, making as much racket as we can. My arm starts to ache. Philippe looks at me, ghostly in the gloom. “It’s not—”

  “Shh,” I whisper.

  A voice echoes across the river. A Tinani voice. I know enough Tinani—the language is closely related to Caerisian and Ereni—to pick out the words here and watch and nothing.

  “Come on,” I breathe in Philippe’s ear, tugging him back upstream. I fumble for another rock and throw it, farther up.

  The Tinani go silent, then their voices rumble again.

  W
e throw more rocks. A Tinani soldier barks an order, somewhere nearby.

  The fog has fully swallowed us now. Moisture condenses, cold on my face. I crouch, listening hard, gripping Philippe’s arm to still him. The Tinani voices are drawing away from us—upstream.

  By silent consent, Philippe and I rise and begin to make our way back downstream along the marshy riverbank. The trip seems to take longer than it should. In the white, it’s impossible to see our soldiers, but my ears catch a murmur of voices. There’s a sharp whistle.

  “It’s me,” I say as the soldiers appear through the fog.

  “Milady.” They relax their guard. We’ve arrived at the ford, as far as I can tell; the ground has firmed to solid sand.

  The Butcher pushes through the throng of soldiers. “We thought we’d lost you two.”

  “We were diverting the Tinani,” I say. “But Alistar crossed the river.”

  The Butcher swears. He looks drawn. Cross. “So we’ve three to find. Do I have a volunteer to take a party across?”

  “No,” I blurt out, before I think better of contradicting Gilbert Moriens in front of his men. Tension thickens the foggy air. “I mean, let’s wait a little longer. If we’ve successfully drawn the Tinani off, El and the others can cross back here. We don’t want to draw more attention. You know Alistar and Rhia can handle most anything. I don’t want to put anyone else at risk unnecessarily…”

  I’m babbling, but my point must have been taken because Lord Gilbert gives a curt nod. The men relax fractionally.

  “We wait here,” the Butcher says.

  Philippe touches my arm. “I’ll escort you back to camp, my lady.”

  “I’m staying to wait for my friends. You can go back.”

  He holds my gaze. I don’t look away. It’s as if he wants to communicate something—as if he really does want me to go with him—and while this makes me wonder, I also don’t entirely trust him.

  At last, he sighs. “Fine. We stay here.”

  There wasn’t a we, but I let this go. I stamp my feet to keep warm and blow on my hands. The fog gathers around us—a cold and inescapable embrace. I listen and listen, but I hear nothing. Nothing but the men around me breathing and sighing, shifting their feet. They must be as exhausted as I feel. My back aches. I try to beat back the worry creeping through me. If we lose El—Rhia—if we lose Alistar…

  A sound.

  A bell, ringing.

  “Damn the gods,” Philippe whispers.

  The witch hunters have followed us downstream—or maybe they were waiting here all along. A shudder runs through me.

  Another bell rings. A shout goes up. Across the river, a woman screams. I startle forward instinctively.

  “Henri, Laurence, take your men and go!” the Butcher barks.

  I start to move past him, but he grabs my arm. “Your Majesty, you have to stay here.”

  I gather my breath to shout at him, except he’s right. If it’s an ambush, we can’t afford to lose El, Rhia, Alistar, and me. Someone has to stay here.

  And it has to be me.

  Angry tears burn my eyes, but I hold myself back. The Butcher gives me an approving look; I want to smack him. El has an admirable tolerance for the man, but I can never even look at him without remembering his past—what he did not only to me, but to so many others in Caeris and Eren alike. It galls me that he has the nerve to act superior—because while he may be a good tactician, he has never been an exemplary man.

  We wait. The Butcher on my left, Philippe on my right. The fog muffles their faces and I start to panic. What if Alistar’s dead or captured? And I never told him?

  Finally, a grunt carries over the water. Feet splash. I suck in my breath. A man’s voice—in Ereni. Our people.

  They come into view—their faces weary, their bodies silhouettes in the fog. As I stare, they part. Alistar staggers forward, carrying Rhia’s limp body. Alistar’s face is haggard. And Rhia…

  Alistar sees me, and relief eases his face. “Sophy!”

  “Where’s El?” I whisper.

  He shakes his head. Droops close to me, so I smell his sweat and the brackish water, and I see Rhia’s eyelids twitching as she fumbles toward consciousness.

  “They took her, Soph,” he says. “The witch hunters. They have Elanna.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  I stare at him. Around us, I’m all too aware of the soldiers whispering and the stillness of the Butcher and Philippe watching me. All of them are waiting for my reaction, but I can’t find any words. My breath has gone shallow in my throat. Someone must have betrayed us—that, or the Tinani fed the Butcher’s informant misinformation. Either way, our intelligence is compromised, and Elanna…

  It seems impossible that they took her. While we were just standing here—at my command. But I see the truth of it in Alistar’s eyes.

  Rhia flails alert, gasping. Her face is white with pain. “I have to go after El,” she chokes out.

  “Those brutes cracked you on the head, Knoll!” Alistar exclaims.

  Rhia draws breath to protest, but I interrupt. “You will stay right where you are.” I’m not about to lose her to the Tinani’s machinations, too. “I won’t let you go traipsing around Tinan with a broken arm and a concussion.”

  Her eyes narrow, but her voice is weak. “I’ll break your arm, you tyrant!”

  “Send for a doctor!” I order the guards at large. This is one thing I know how to handle. “Rhia, sit down right there.”

  Philippe shrugs out of his coat, laying it on the ground for Rhia. She swears but drops down on it, hissing through her teeth and clutching her arm, tears leaking from her squeezed-shut eyes. She grips my hand with her good one. “I lost her, Soph. I couldn’t save her.”

  “It’s all right,” I whisper, though it isn’t. My fingers are turning numb in her grasp, but this seems like the punishment I deserve for a trap I somehow failed to see. The Tinani have been trying for weeks—months—to capture Elanna; of course they would turn to subterfuge. And none of us saw it, or even guessed. It galls me.

  “I thought we evaded them.” Rhia’s panting. “They came out of nowhere.”

  Above us, the men are talking in low voices, Alistar and the Butcher and Philippe, their gazes darting toward me and away.

  “Are you sure they took her?” I ask.

  Rhia’s eyes glint with tears. “They put a sack over her head. Yes, I’m sure.”

  I flinch. “We should go after them—”

  “No. Too many. Not sure where they were taking her. Men everywhere. I…they struck me down. Must’ve thought I was dead. Alistar dragged me out—unconscious, like a damned coward.”

  I glance up to see if Alistar’s listening. His gaze flickers to me. A tightening of his mouth. Coldness runs over me. What have they been talking about?

  The doctor arrives in a bluster of tired grumbling, carrying a heavy leather bag. I’m ordered out of the way, and I move back to stand beside Alistar while Rhia swears at the physician through her teeth.

  “Majesty.” The Butcher steps in front of me. “We need to speak privately.”

  I let him guide me off to the side, Philippe and Alistar trailing us into the modest cover of some shrubs.

  “We need to decide how we will handle Lady Elanna’s disappearance,” the Butcher begins.

  I can’t seem to catch my breath. It’s not enough to know El’s gone. I don’t have the luxury to come to grips with the fact, or to bury myself beneath guilt. I haven’t only lost my friend, my would-be sister, I’ve tumbled into a political disaster.

  Philippe says, “I really think this can wait, Lord Gilbert.”

  But the Butcher isn’t about to give in to anything as human as grief or shock. “This must be contained at once. Tell them she’s escaped south to torment the Tinani troops. Make that Knoll woman keep silent.�
�

  There’s a moment of silence as Philippe, Alistar, and I absorb his words.

  “You want us to lie?” I say. “You want us to pretend El hasn’t been captured?”

  Philippe shakes his head. “Word’s going to cross the river. The Tinani know. They’ll make sure our people do, too.”

  “I think we should hear Lord Gilbert out,” Alistar says unexpectedly.

  I stare at him. He lifts one shoulder, an awkward shrug.

  “Very well,” I say slowly. “Tell us, Lord Gilbert, why we should lie to our people.”

  The Butcher returns my stare. “You must quell your impulse to be overly moralistic, Your Majesty. This is a far graver matter than the black-and-white dichotomy of ethics makes it appear. A lie is sometimes necessary, if one wants to keep one’s throne—and one’s kingdom.”

  Cold runs down my arms. “Are you threatening me?”

  Beside me, Alistar and Philippe have both tensed.

  “I am not threatening you,” the Butcher retorts. “But there are others in this kingdom—powerful people—who would gladly see you removed from the throne and replaced by an Ereni monarch. The Caveadear’s power has so far protected you. Without her, you are in far greater danger.”

  I wish it didn’t make me so angry to hear El credited single-handedly with popularity and power. “Most people support us—”

  “That may be, but those who would depose you have power. Or they did.”

  He means the nobles who lost control when we claimed the freedom of not only Caeris, but Eren, too. Aristocrats who have gone to earth on their estates, and a few who have clung on in Laon. Some who are even in my cabinet.

  Like Philippe Manceau, who stands beside me, breathing tightly.

  “If you don’t see the danger you’re in,” the Butcher is saying, “you’re being a fool. We don’t yet know who betrayed us today, or who was discovered and duped. This plot could go deeper. It could be part of a larger whole.”

  My eyes sting. “The people elected us—elected me. They deserve the truth.”