The Soul of Power

by Callie Bates

  It’s nothing more than what I suspected, but still a hollow chill spreads through my blood. So Euan Dromahair really is the true king. He chose Rambaud over us.

  Juleane Brazeur faces me. “You must have known.”

  “I guessed,” I say unsteadily, though I’m thinking that I should have pressed Philippe harder the moment I heard that password at Rambaud’s party. “But you can understand why I might not have wanted to believe it.”

  “Mmm.” Her mouth quirks. “It’s a cold game, politics over one’s own kin.”

  “Maybe he’s angry,” Victoire says, her black brows knotted. “Since you didn’t summon him here and cede the crown to him yourself.”

  “Maybe.” As if I would have given it up to a man I’d never even met.

  Victoire is giving me a cynical look. “Maybe he thinks you stole the throne out from under him.”

  I fight the urge to glare at her. I should have taken action the moment I suspected the truth, though I don’t know how I could have prevented my father from coming. Now we’re left to scramble against Rambaud’s plan, which in all likelihood will be a masterstroke.

  High Priest Granpier squeezes my shoulder as if I’m a child. I want to disappear.

  “So,” Juleane Brazeur says at last, “we have a foreign king about to be installed on the throne, and he’s allied with Rambaud. The Butcher is dead, so we’ve lost control of the army. This isn’t good news.”

  Black Jacket folds his arms. “It may not be, but they’ve barely been in power for a day and a half. What use is it to fight against a regime that hasn’t even had a chance to do anything?”

  I stare at him. I feel as though I’ve been kicked. “They killed the Butcher.”

  No one seems to even hear me.

  “We know what life will be like under Rambaud,” Juleane Brazeur says briskly. “Things will go back to exactly the way they used to be. We’ll lose everything we fought for.”

  “Maybe not. He’s bringing in the so-called king of Caeris.”

  “Who is an unknown factor. He’s lived in Ida all his life. Does he even speak Ereni?”

  Black Jacket looks skeptical. “So what do you propose we do?”

  “I think we need to prepare for all eventualities.” Juleane Brazeur hesitates, glancing at me. “And we probably need to get Sophy and her followers out of Laon.”

  “I don’t want to run,” I protest, even though I promised the same earlier.

  Black Jacket rides right over me. “Why not have her contact Euan Dromahair? He’s her father, after all.”

  They all look at me—and I can’t say it’s an improvement on being unnoticed. Quietly, I say, “I have contacted him. I wrote him five letters after I took the crown. He never answered one of them.”

  “Maybe he’d show mercy if you grovel,” Victoire says.

  I meet her eyes. “Yesterday Rambaud and his friends tried to kill me and my entire retinue,” I say flatly. “It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

  Rhia intervenes. “We have a refugee we need to smuggle out of the city. Demetra.”

  “And the others are in Barrody—hopefully safe for now,” I add. I wonder what’s become of Fiona, the mountain women, the palace staff. “Have any of you heard what happened to the other Caerisians at the palace? The Ereni staff?”

  “The staff are safe,” Lord Faure volunteers. “The takeover happened so quickly they were all too stunned to fight back. But there’s no word on the Caerisians.”

  I close my eyes. Grenou and Devalle won’t treat the mountain women kindly, nor my Caerisian maid. Yet I can’t put anyone else at risk trying to smuggle word out. Maybe once I reach Caeris, I can write and ransom them. If they’re still alive.

  Black Jacket is talking again. “I still think the best policy is to wait and see. People are tired of all this upheaval, and obviously the Caerisian regime didn’t do much good.”

  I wonder how insulted I should be by this.

  “Rambaud hasn’t done anything to us,” he goes on. “In fact, he’s been campaigning for a more just and equitable system of governance. We might give him a chance.”

  Juleane Brazeur is shaking her head. “A wolf doesn’t change to a dog. Rambaud knows exactly what he’s doing—much the way Duke Ruadan did. We need to be careful. Take precautions. We need to put the communications system back in place.”

  Black Jacket huffs. “Juleane, your faith in humanity is really rather disappointing…”

  “I’ll make things easier for you,” I tell him. “We’ll go to Caeris and regroup. I’ll take power in Barrody.” The Caerisians will always be loyal to me, after all. At least, I think so.

  “Maybe,” Black Jacket begins, but just then there’s a thud from outside the storage room. We all go very still. Silent. A fist raps on the door. Rhia puts her hand to her dagger.

  The door rolls open. A man rushes in, throwing off his hat. “You need to get out of here! Soldiers are coming!”

  I stare at Philippe Manceau. My mouth seems to have fallen open.

  He spares the briefest glance for me. He’s obviously come from the palace—he’s well dressed in a gleaming brocade coat and matching trousers, impeccably groomed. “They’re five minutes behind me, if that. We need to go.”

  “How did you find us?” Juleane demands.

  “I have spies,” Philippe says bluntly. “On Granpier in particular. Now, hurry—”

  “You have spies on Granpier?” I’m utterly taken aback.

  He gives a bitter smile. “They’re my mother’s, if you must know. We need to go!”

  “How do we know Rambaud didn’t send you?” Black Jacket asks in a spectacular about-face. “And how would he know where we are?”

  “He has spies, too!” Philippe practically shouts. “Everyone has spies, and if you don’t, you’re a fool! There are guards coming to arrest you. He wants to destroy any resistance.”

  “That’s absurd. He’s hardly been at the palace—”

  I take charge. “We’re going. Victoire, out. Rhia, you check ahead. How many exits are there? Will they follow you, Philippe?”

  He nods. “I expect so. I wasn’t subtle enough. Didn’t have time.”

  “Then we go out another way.” I point at the man. “Move.”

  We all run out into the warehouse—but we’re too late. I feel them in my skin, drawing closer. “Douse the lights!” I order.

  We plunge into darkness. Somewhere ahead, over the black shadows of the crates, a light flickers and blooms. Boots crunch over the graveled floor.

  “This way,” Juleane breathes in my ear. We ease to the right along a path through the crates. I’m aware of my too-shallow breath, the weight of my body.

  The lights flicker closer. We move so silently, then stop all at once. Between the crates, I catch the barest glimpse of a man’s face in the lantern-light. Grenou. He’s motioning them toward the sliding doors.

  “We’re going to have to run,” Juleane whispers.

  I nod. “As soon as they go in.”

  There’s a squeal as the door is rolled back.

  We bolt, racing in a ragged line through the crates, careless of noise. My breath is hot in my mouth. There’s a precarious moment as we run for the warehouse doors.

  Then a voice shouts behind us. “Halt!”

  We don’t halt. We’re sprinting now, catching ourselves against the hard corners of the crates. Lights flicker madly behind us. “They’re out there—”

  A doorway. It looms suddenly in front of me. I burst out into the night. Several figures are racing away down the waterfront, just visible against the glinting river. Someone grabs my elbow. “This way.” It’s Victoire.

  I run with her between buildings, Rhia, Philippe, and Granpier on our heels. Behind us, the guards shout again. “Stairs!” Victoire hisses, and I lift
my foot just in time. We rush up them. My thighs burn. Behind us, the guards seem to have scattered, unsure whom to pursue. I hear Grenou’s caustic bark.

  Then we reach the street. I have the barest moment to gasp in a breath before Victoire is running again, and the rest of us charge after her.

  Philippe grabs my arm. “Sophy—the temple—”

  “They’re there, too?” I gasp the words between breaths.

  “Yes—he knew—suspects—you’re there—”

  Curse it all! We ease around the café blocking the entrance to the temple square, and slow. Sure enough, a parcel of guards have gathered on the front steps.

  High Priest Granpier makes an abrupt about-face. “This way!” he whispers.

  We plunge after him down an alley and emerge in the open space behind the temple, facing the river. Beads clack. I breathe out. “Felicité.” Over the balustrade, I glimpse a boat shifting on the water.

  Granpier is panting hard; he points Rhia and me toward the steps leading down to the river. “Go. I’ll stay. Head them off.” He takes off to the temple’s back gate before I can protest.

  Victoire turns to go as well. “I’ll stay here. Send you messages by the usual routes. Go to Barrody and build your support.”

  “I will.” Impulsively, I hug her.

  She hugs me back, briefly. “Go!”

  I glance around for Philippe and see him starting to turn away. “Philippe—”

  “Yes?” He looks back at me, his gaze impenetrable in the shadows.

  Quietly, I say, “It seems I ought to have trusted you.”

  “It’s all right.” His teeth flash in the darkness: a sudden, self-deprecating grin. “I wouldn’t have trusted me, either.”

  “Rambaud,” I begin, “your mother—the Butcher told me—”

  “Did he say I stole my mother’s money?” Philippe’s voice is flat in the dimness. I’m aware of Victoire lingering by the nearest building, listening in that intent way of hers. “That she threatened to disinherit me? Because I was irresponsible?”

  “Well, he didn’t say that.”

  “But it was implied.” Philippe lets out a huff of air and glances over his shoulder. For the moment, we are still alone, watched only by Victoire and Rhia. Swiftly, he whispers, “I told you about the printing press, didn’t I? How I had to burn it down? It wasn’t the only thing I was made to do. I saw what we do to the people beneath us, Sophy. I participated in it. The threats. The extortion.”

  He pauses to draw in a breath. Victoire has drawn nearer again, her arms folded. I can’t make out her face, but I know enough of her story to recognize that Philippe’s is not so far from it.

  “So yes,” Philippe says, “I stole my mother’s money. I was going to send it to the north, to Duke Ruadan. I read all those pamphlets before I burned them, and I knew if he meant even half the things he said, his regime would be better than the Eyrlais’. I shouldn’t have done it. I should have taken everything I had and simply run all the way to Caeris. But maybe my mother would have found me there anyway, and found some way to force me back to her.”

  “You should have told me,” I begin.

  “I tried! But Devalle and the others were watching me.” He hesitates. “My mother threatened to disinherit me, it’s true, and she has every day since if I don’t obey her orders. But worse than that could happen, now that Rambaud’s in power—and Euan Dromahair. They could make an example of me, you see.”

  I do. I nod wordlessly.

  Roughly, from behind him, Victoire says, “You took too much of a risk coming here.”

  “My people ordered that fire set,” Philippe says fiercely, “the one that could have killed Sophy. They massacred your people at Montclair. I can’t stand idly by anymore. I have access to my mother’s spies—I have access to Rambaud. I can use that to help you.”

  I reach out and grip his hand. “Then if you’re willing, send messages through Victoire. I’ll leave you to arrange a system.”

  “Yes,” he says, “you need to go.”

  I nod, and then on second thought, I hug him quickly, the way I did before. I whisper in his ear, “Be careful.”

  “Sophy…” Rhia nudges me along the street, and I go, leaving Philippe and Victoire behind. When I glance back, they have both already melted away into the shadows.

  I follow Rhia down the shallow steps to the fishing docks. The barge lingers by the shore. Alistar is waiting in the boat, peering up toward us through the dark. He reaches up to help us into it, his hands warm on mine for the briefest moment. I settle down beside the bundled, silent figures of Teofila and Hugh, across from Demetra, whose head is bowed. No one speaks a word. I glance back at the shore and the domed roof of the temple, where Granpier has gone to meet with the guards.

  Then the temple novices ply the poles, and the barge slides around the river bend, downstream. Alistar glances back at me but says nothing. The city murmurs around us, a gathering tremor that hums into my very bones. So many people and colors and sounds my head throbs, and my heart aches with the knowledge that I’m abandoning them. I hum a few soft notes, but of course nothing happens. I can do nothing but go.

  We slip slowly down the dark river, leaving Laon behind.

  * * *

  —

  WE EACH TAKE a turn poling the barge downstream. In the silence, with only the soft splash of the poles and the quieter sounds of the people around me, I feel oddly bereft. It doesn’t help that Alistar still doesn’t quite look at me, though he’s sitting directly in front of me in the barge.

  On the outskirts of the city, we drive the craft into the shallow reeds on the riverside and clamber out. Alistar grips my elbow fleetingly as I climb from the boat, and I feel again the distance between us. I plant my aching feet on the shore; my body curls on itself, tight and cramped and unutterably weary from our flight. Around us the night lies deep and quiet. A few frogs chorus. Nothing is left of Laon, not even a faint glow in the sky.

  I shiver and hug my coat tighter. Perhaps I was never meant to be an Ereni queen.

  But I am determined to keep Caeris, at least, safe.

  “Goodbye,” I call quietly to Felicité, who is already poling the barge back into the river. If she replies, her voice is lost in the hush of the water around the pole.

  “The road’s over here,” Alistar says, his voice deep in the night air. We shuffle through the soft riverbank. The royal road going northwest is quite close, the route muddy from melting snow and spring rain. In the depths of the dark night, we should be safe using it, as long as we keep an ear out for anyone approaching by chance. As we tramp onto the road, I absorb the fact that we’ll have to walk all the way to Barrody, unless Rhia can find a place to shift the land. The journey takes the better part of five days by coach. I don’t even want to think about how long it will take on foot.

  I fall back to walk beside Rhia. “Any chance of shifting the land?”

  “We’ll come to a spot eventually.” Her voice is rough. Tired. “And once we do, I’ll do my best to move us all through, though there are a few more of us than I usually take. But I’ll manage—that’s what a Knoll does.”

  I can’t see her expression in the darkness, but I can imagine her scowl well enough. She’s definitely annoyed. “Your father can retreat up into Caeris,” I say at last, finally realizing what must be troubling her. “He may even be over the border now. We’ll send word to him as soon as we reach Barrody.”

  “Hmm.” Rhia stumps along beside me, unspeaking. At last, when I’m beginning to wonder what I said wrong this time, she says, “We don’t know what sort of military presence Rambaud has. If he—they—have people in the army willing to overthrow its leaders.”

  I hesitate. She’s right to worry, of course. Ingram Knoll is leading a group mostly made up of Caerisians, but there are some Ereni among them, and if they turn o
n them…But we have to get to Barrody first. We can’t simply bumble around the country looking for Ingram Knoll; we don’t even know his location.

  “I’m sorry, Rhia,” I say finally.

  She makes a brusque movement in the darkness, wiping at her cheeks. “I know.”

  We don’t speak much after that. The road winds through a small town, which we avoid by tramping through a series of muddy farm fields. After we stop to rest, I find myself beside Alistar. My heart leaps as it never has before, not even the first time we kissed, or that night when we sneaked off into my bedchamber to make love for the first time. I was a girl then; I’m a woman now, and I’ve made a woman’s mistakes. I wouldn’t blame Alistar if he doesn’t want anything to do with me.

  “You’re all right?” he says gruffly. “And the—the child?”

  I touch my stomach self-consciously. “We’re both fine.”

  The silence stretches between us.

  “It must sting,” he says at last, gruffly, after we’ve walked through more darkness, and I’ve splashed through a puddle. I hardly even notice; my feet are already soaked. “I know how much the crown meant to you.”

  An undeniable bitterness underlies his words. I flinch. “I’m sorry, Alistar.”

  He doesn’t respond. Just waits. I stare out ahead of us. The others are walking behind us on the road, talking quietly; only one lantern lights the way. Yet here at the head of our little party, looking into the darkness before us, we feel entirely alone.

  So there’s no one to rescue me. I have to fumble through the words myself.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, “that I put the crown before you. I knew how desperate the situation was. I was trying to hang on with everything I had. But that doesn’t excuse the things I said to you.”

  He’s quiet for a long moment—so long I start to wonder whether he’ll respond at all. “No,” he says at last, “it doesn’t.”

  I wince. “I deserve that. But I’m glad we’re here now.”

  “You are?” He glances at me in the dark, surprised.

  “It means you’re speaking to me again.”