The Soul of Power

by Callie Bates

  I’m so startled I laugh. “That’s not true.”

  “Elanna is, and now apparently you are, too! I’m the one who grew up in the mountains,” she grouses. “I memorized all Aunt Granya’s magic books when I was a child. But do I have sorcery to knock half a town unconscious? No.”

  “You know how to use the shifts in the land, though,” I point out, fighting down the urge to smile. “You could use one of those to get us back more quickly.”

  She looks dour. “I haven’t felt any nearby. We’ll have to keep going until we find one. If the Ereni had just mapped them properly, instead of insisting they didn’t exist for years and years, it wouldn’t be such a problem.”

  “We’ll find some.” I hesitate. There’s another thing we haven’t discussed. “The Butcher went down.”

  Rhia’s fingers tighten on the flask. “There won’t be any bringing him back.”

  “No,” I say very softly. I stare up at the sky overhead, turning a tremulous pink. “I don’t know how we’ll be able to hold Eren without him.” Though I can’t say I actually miss him—but it seems ill luck to speak against the dead, even the Butcher.

  With an angry grunt, Rhia tosses back a swallow of her whiskey. “I never wanted to be in this damned kingdom. We should have freed Caeris and left Eren to rule itself.”

  “They wanted us,” I protest.

  “Some of them did. Or thought they did.” She kicks at a pebble. “We should have kept to our home. The kingdoms have been separate for too long to ever be one again.”

  I say nothing. Have we really been such fools? Everything seemed so possible when Elanna woke the land. Now I don’t know anymore.

  The sun drifts lower; neither of us speaks. Cold gathers, thick and damp, over my skirts, pressing against my face. I shiver, cupping my hands over my stomach, hoping our flight today has not harmed the baby.

  There’s a rustle as Rhia clambers to her feet. It’s not full dark yet, but a deep-blue twilight. “Come on,” she says. “If we wait any longer, we’ll break our ankles going down this hill in the dark.”

  I stumble after her through the black shadows of the trees, downhill. Where the ground levels, it’s now full night, and a farmhouse looms like a pale ghost in the darkness. Within, a dog barks. We keep to the stone wall, until we find a stile that guides us onto a muddy, rutted lane. As we walk, more farmhouses come into view like ships marooned in the darkness, their windows dimly lit. Smoke from wood fires itches my nose and makes me long for warmth and my own soft bed. It’s been a long time since I ran at night like this, a fugitive in my own kingdom.

  Neither of us dares to talk, though I sense Rhia glancing at me from time to time, as if she’s chewing over some thought. Eventually a half-moon rises, barely enough light for us to see by.

  The lane trips down to the main road. We pause in the ditch, listening hard. Nothing, not even a rustling squirrel.

  We walk, clinging to the edge of the road. Only once does a vehicle pass us—a post-chaise, lanterns swinging, leaving bright spots on my night vision. We watch from the shelter of the ditch, the earth’s dampness seeping through my thin clothing.

  After the post-chaise passes, we top a low rise and come into sight of Laon. The city gates sit dark and forbidding—closed. Teofila must have blockaded the entrances; I hope she acted in time.

  Rhia hisses a sigh through her teeth. “We’ll have to skirt around. Come in by the Hill of the Imperishable. At least there’s a fold in the land over there.”

  I nod. Laon isn’t completely defensible; though the gates can be closed on the royal road running north and south, the old city walls don’t enclose the Hill and the aristocratic neighborhood, nor the university and factory district on the other side of the city. Even the palace is quite vulnerable. If Rambaud’s people march on us, we could easily be overrun. Not a particularly reassuring thought.

  We cut across more farm fields, slipping in cow pats and rousing guard dogs. At last Rhia grabs my arm—we’ve reached the Hill of the Imperishable, where the fold hums through the land, difficult to sense and impossible to use unless you walk carefully along the path it creates. Rhia knows how to, and the space before us melts into a familiar city street. I stumble a little; the shifts are always something of a shock. But we’re in Laon now, and the palace lies just down this street.

  Rhia breaks into a brisk walk, and I follow suit despite my protesting feet. At Royal Square, we both slow. Rhia motions me to stay back. We sink into the shadow of a townhouse and peer into the darkened square. It’s empty. Silent. On swift, quiet feet, Rhia darts across to the fountain that occupies the center of the square. I curse softly and follow her, dropping low to let the fountain block my presence. From here, I can just make out the bulk of the palace gates, their wrought-iron bars thin in the night. The gates have been closed. The silhouettes of guards occupy the gatehouses, their plumed helmets distinctive even in the dark.

  Rhia starts toward them—but I seize her arm, pulling her back. The sound of the guards presses softly through the night, the dull gray of boredom. For a breathless moment Rhia and I hover in the shadow of the fountain, listening. Waiting.

  It comes again: a soft wooden tapping from the buildings behind us.

  I turn, scanning the porticoes of the massive townhouses. A whisper threads over the cobblestones to me, a wordless hum that sounds like my name.

  “Come on,” I whisper to Rhia. She’s gone still; maybe she feels it, too. We back away together from the fountain, as quietly as we can.

  There’s a clatter from the gate. I glance back. A man’s standing behind the wrought-iron bars. The bayonet in his arms gleams in the faint moonlight. Does he see us? He doesn’t call out; the sound of him is blue and quiet. Then from behind us, I hear the faintest whisper, floating just beneath ordinary hearing.

  The square is empty. The city is silent.

  A sorcerer is aiding us. Rhia doesn’t seem to hear. I grab her arm, pulling her along with me across the vast square. Even with the whisper threading just below my ordinary awareness, my shoulders tense in anticipation of a shot.

  We turn down a wide avenue, and the whisper that is not quite a name intensifies. The wooden tapping comes again. Silver flickers in the mouth of an alley ahead of us. I slow, and tug Rhia’s dagger out of its sheath on her belt. She makes a muffled noise of protest.

  Cautiously, we both creep forward. The grooves on the dagger’s hilt dig into my palm. I listen for the sound of the person in the alley—their tension so sharp I can almost taste it. As we move closer, the person speaks. A woman’s voice, young and a little breathless. “Your Majesty?”

  Rhia’s fingers tighten on my arm, and I clench the dagger more tightly. “Who is it?” I hiss.

  A shadowed figure detaches from the alley, putting back the hood of a cloak. Not that it does much good: Her face is little more than a silver sphere in the moonlight. She sees the dagger and blanches.

  “It’s Felicité, from the temple of Aera,” she whispers, and I startle with recognition. It’s the novice who seemed so alarmed by the refugees. “High Priest Granpier sent me. Come quickly. They have guards at the palace gates.”

  “Do we go?” Rhia murmurs to me.

  “Who has guards at the gates?” I ask Felicité, still pointing the dagger at her.

  “Duke Rambaud. They took the palace late this afternoon.” Her voice quivers. “Please, we must go!”

  Her fear is convincing, and I can’t believe Granpier would betray us. Nevertheless, I keep the dagger in my hand as I hurry after her, Rhia at my heels, down the narrow alley, darting across the main streets. The city lies silent—unnaturally so. All the houses sit dark. “Rambaud’s followers aren’t celebrating their victory,” I whisper to Rhia. It makes me oddly relieved that the streets aren’t packed with people reveling in my downfall.

  “Shh!” Felicité hisses.
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  Ahead, the smooth dome of the temple gleams in the moonlight, and the sweet smell of an herb garden seeps through the night air. Felicité is bringing us in through the back. Rhia elbows me, but I just shake my head, refusing to give the dagger back.

  We dart across the open space where the back of the temple faces the river, and Felicité fumbles with the latch on the back gate. It swings open and we pile into the garden and the soft shapes of its shrubs. Felicité closes the gate carefully behind us.

  I turn to her. “Are you a sorceress?”

  “No! I…” She bridles a bit but deflates. “Well, when I use my beads and concentrate, sometimes people can hear me, even though I’ve said nothing. Only since the Caveadear woke the land…”

  She holds up her fist: Prayer beads are wrapped around it. That accounts for the wooden tapping we heard. Perhaps she knocked them against a wall to get our attention.

  “Come.” She guides us toward the temple door, skirting the raised beds of the garden. “They’re waiting for you.”

  “They?” I echo, all my nerves going taut. “Who’s waiting?”

  “Lady Teofila, and the others,” Felicité says impatiently. “Come!”

  I hesitate, but the girl is already pushing open the door. I step cautiously closer, Rhia on my heels. A gust of warm air brushes my face, and light flares through the open doorway. For a moment, I’m blinded.

  “Sophy! Rhia! Come inside!”

  It’s Teofila. Even blinded, I obey instinctively, throwing myself into the warmth. In the next moment, she crushes me against her, and I have to scramble to keep the dagger from sticking her. Rhia snatches it out of my hand, then shuts the temple door. “I thought—” Teofila gasps, “I thought—”

  I let my face fall into the hollow of her shoulder. My legs have gone weak with relief. I sag against Teofila. Just for a moment, I pretend I’m safe. That everything will be all right.

  Then she releases me, and I see Hugh’s waiting at her shoulder, his face more haggard than I have ever seen it. He embraces me swiftly. I force myself not to clutch at him. We’re in the temple kitchen, and High Priest Granpier is watching us from a table where food has been set out. Demetra sits next to him, looking at us with empty eyes.

  Granpier rises. For once, there’s no twinkle about him; his countenance is grave. “Your Majesty.”

  Hoarsely, I say, “What happened?”

  Teofila grips my hand. “Rambaud’s people took the palace, as Felicité must have told you. We hardly had any warning.” A muscle moves in her jaw. “Philippe Manceau saved my life. And Hugh’s.”

  “What?”

  Teofila shakes her head. “He got free. We think Captain Grenou ordered his release, believing him loyal to Rambaud. Grenou himself was already out by then. He must have convinced someone in the palace guard to let him out as soon as you were a safe distance from Laon. He took command of the guard. Hugh and I were in the music room. The door burst open and Philippe rushed in, saying we had to run now, that our lives depended on it. He said we had to come here, to the temple, that High Priest Granpier would take us in.”

  My hands are clamped to my mouth. “What about Fiona? The servants? The mountain women?”

  “I don’t know.” Teofila’s hands close into fists. “We had no time to stop or even ask questions. We got out through the hidden passage; Philippe knew where it was. We just ran.”

  Feeling dizzy, I look at Rhia. She’s just staring at the floor, wordless.

  I say, “And Philippe?”

  “He stayed at the palace.”

  I press my fists into my temples. So Philippe Manceau saved Teofila’s and Hugh’s lives, though he could have had them killed or continued to keep them imprisoned. Perhaps he has been trying to help us, but forced to cleave to Rambaud’s side. Yet why was he in the palace when Rambaud’s people set my bed on fire? Had he come trying to save me? Well, he was too late for that.

  And Grenou escaped. He turned the palace guards against me.

  “Were you followed?” Rhia asks. Her face is pale.

  Teofila and Hugh glance at High Priest Granpier, who shakes his head. “As far as we know, no. No one has guessed that they came here. Lord Philippe must have covered their escape. Perhaps he told Rambaud they went after you, into the country.”

  I turn to Demetra. “How did you come to be here?”

  She shudders. “I must have known it in my bones. I came down earlier to offer prayers to Aera. Then the news hit the streets…”

  “That’s lucky,” I manage, and she simply nods. I think of her children, hopefully safe with the other refugees in Barrody. At least we got them to a place of refuge before this all imploded.

  “The gods were looking out for us all today,” High Priest Granpier says.

  “And…” I press a hand to my chest. My heart is beating so fast. “Did anyone return from Montclair?”

  Granpier looks at me with a kind of infinite sadness. “No, Your Majesty. Not that we know of. A party arrived from that town this evening—Rambaud himself with a number of his followers. They’re claiming you’re dead.”

  “But you knew I was alive. You sent Felicité.”

  Teofila’s grip tightens on my hand. “A mother always knows.”

  I swallow hard. “The Butcher…”

  “Dead in Montclair,” Hugh says, “and the few men who survived surrendered and swore themselves to Rambaud. Or so they say.”

  “I saw him fall,” I whisper, and beside me Teofila shudders. I hug her. So he really is dead, and I’ll never have to face the man responsible for my mother’s death again. But still my legs are shaking. “Most of the men must be dead, or grievously wounded—” I draw in a trembling breath; these aren’t the only lives on my conscience. “We need to find out what’s happened to everyone at the palace, too.”

  “We’ll look into it as soon as we can,” High Priest Granpier says from behind us; I turn to him. He gives me a firm nod, though his eyes are worried. “It’s the one advantage to being a charitable organization. The temple can help local people make inquiries to see if their family members survived. I imagine any who live are being pressured to swear allegiance to Rambaud and the true king.”

  “The true king,” I say bitterly. “I suppose they freed Philippe so he can lead them?”

  Granpier shakes his head. “Philippe Manceau hasn’t claimed the throne. As far as I can tell, no one yet has.”

  “Then who?” I say. “Devalle?”

  No one even laughs, and none of us speaks the name of the man we all must suspect. Teofila is frowning at her hands. “Juleane Brazeur and I stocked the Spring Caves with food and supplies. Perhaps we should go there.”

  I’m entirely surprised. “When did you do that?”

  “After we heard El was dead.”

  “Well, you must remain here tonight,” Granpier says firmly. “It’s far too dangerous to be roaming the streets now. In the morning, we will know more.”

  I rub my hands over my face. Morning seems like a long time to wait.

  * * *

  —

  THE DAWN BRINGS no news, only a thickening tension that thrums throughout the temple. “We need to get you out of the city,” High Priest Granpier says over a thin breakfast of rationed bread and preserves, and watered-down tea. He looks as though he hardly slept any more than I did; deep pouches underscore his eyes. “Rambaud didn’t intend to lose you when he claimed Montclair. He’ll have people searching for you. It isn’t safe to stay here.”

  Leave the city—run away with my tail between my legs? The idea leaves me sick.

  “I need to go north,” Demetra says. Her eyes are red-rimmed with weariness. “I need to be with my children, and the others who fled here with us.”

  We can’t let her travel across country, alone, up to Barrody. I bite my lip.

 
“Perhaps,” she adds hollowly, “we should leave entirely. Find a ship to carry us across the Great Ocean to the Occident. They are rumored to be kinder to sorcerers there.”

  “Demetra, no!” I exclaim. I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “We will fight this together. I pledged to help you make a home here, and that’s still my promise—if, of course, you’re willing to stay.”

  She looks slowly around the room, and I hear the bright tremor of her skepticism and her fear. “But I need to go north to my children. I need to see their faces. Make sure they’re safe.”

  I suppose my guarantees haven’t been worth enough in the past. “Please allow us to try to help you. We can take you to Caeris.” I close my eyes. “We can all go to Caeris. As far as we know, Rambaud has only claimed Laon. We’ll be safe in Barrody, and from there we can discover what Rambaud means to do, and what the people truly want.”

  High Priest Granpier visibly relaxes. “That would be an excellent solution, Lady Sophy.”

  Of course it would. I curse myself silently. If I remain here, even out in the Spring Caves, it not only puts us in danger but endangers Granpier and his novices, too, and anyone else who might help us.

  “I would like to meet with the old resistance first,” I say. “Tell them our plans.”

  He nods. “I’ll contact Victoire Madoc. Hopefully she is still walking free.”

  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Victoire is likely still in the city—and that she’s his contact.

  “We could use the river,” Felicité offers. She’s been sitting at the end of the long table, watching me and Demetra shyly. “When you escape, that is. The fishermen tie up their barges below the temple steps. If we…appropriated…one of them, we might be able to fit all of you. We could float downstream, out of the city, and then cross the country north to Caeris.”

  High Priest Granpier looks at her kindly. “And the barge afterward? How would we return it to the fishermen, so that we don’t deprive them of their livelihood?”