by A. M. Manay
Shiloh and Silas had barely left his prison cell behind when curses began to rise from the ground below, bouncing harmlessly off of Shiloh’s wards.
“I should have known they would be a bother,” Shiloh muttered.
Silas began to return fire, with unconcealed glee. Shiloh aimed her own wand back at the Dark Tower, yanking the bricks out of all the rest of the windows and sending them hurtling down upon the hapless guards below.
With their enemies thus distracted, she headed for the hole she had made in the wards guarding the palace complex. She didn’t want to waste any time, for fear it would close up and she would have to blast through it again, this time with the guards interfering with her concentration. In minutes, she and her husband were well away, speeding southward.
They were within sight of the Citadel when Shiloh began to descend. Dawn kissed the steel and made it gleam.
“I'm getting too tired to keep us in the air,” she apologized, shouting over the wind.
“It's all right. We can rest in the woods and continue on foot,” Silas assured her. “It can't be more than a few miles.” Secretly, he was relieved. He could feel her trembling with fatigue and wrapped his arms more tightly around her.
“I just need a snack, something to drink,” she asserted just after they touched down. But Silas had to lift her from the back of the artificial beast and hold the water-skin to her lips.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Thank you. For coming to my rescue. I hardly seem worth the trouble,” Silas replied, smiling sadly. It was painful to see the toll the heroic act had taken on his wife. Does she still consider herself my wife?
“I couldn't just leave you there. I was afraid they would hurt you, because of what I've done,” she said. “Besides, I missed you.”
Silas floated briefly on her final comment before coming back to earth. “Why? What have you done?”
She laughed bitterly. “I gave them a chance. I really did. But that place was evil, Silas. Slavery, torture, rape, starvation. Executing people for crimes of thought and accidents of birth. We had to get out of there. I couldn't let it go on. But you’re going to think it was stupid, that it will destabilize the kingdom. That I shouldn’t have done it. You’re going to be so upset. You’re going to think me a fool. A monster.”
By this point, she was sobbing into his shoulder, her rail-thin form shuddering like a tree in a hundred-year storm. His ever-present anger flared back to life, but not at her.
“Whatever you did, it was probably better than they deserved,” he declared. “What comes next, we can figure out together.”
“I broke us all out. I told the priests to get out of the way, to let us go, but they refused, so they all died,” she confessed. “They all died. All the priests. The Patriarch. The Vestals. The guards. Everyone except Fenroh. It happened when I used the Citadel’s steel to amplify my magic, so I could heal the Deadlands.”
“The Deadlands? Which Deadlands?” he asked, even as he worried silently. The fallout from this could be dire. They’ll blame it all on Shiloh. The Patriarch’s friends may see this as a declaration of war.
“All of them.”
Silas could not but laugh. “How did the Patriarch and his servants die?” he prodded gently, once his mirth was exhausted.
“The tower partially collapsed, into the lower levels and the Pit. It opened up a chasm where the gray-robes were standing by the pool, and they were swept beneath.”
Silas imagined the scene and could not suppress a warm feeling of satisfaction.
“If I believed in the Gods, I’d say it was their judgment.”
Silas had to carry her the last few hundred yards. He thanked heaven that he had kept a strict routine of calisthenics while confined. He cursed Fenroh and the Patriarch that she was so light.
“Look who the cat dragged in,” Hana greeted him. It took him a moment to even recognize her.
“Lady Kepler,” he finally managed, bowing his head.
Hana laughed through her nose. “No more than you're still Lord Northgate. Is Shiloh all right?”
“Not likely. Is Jonn around?” Silas asked her. Please let him still be alive.
Hana nodded. “He’s set up a hospital of sorts in the village temple. Come on, then.”
Silas wrinkled his nose at the smell of burning flesh. A pyre burned in the village square. A makeshift sign read, “Here burn those executed for kidnapping, rape, torture, and murder in the service of the Patriarch.” Hana caught his look.
“You missed the fun,” Hana said with a savage grin. “I just wish we could have killed them twice.”
“Remind me never to make you angry,” he replied, then panted, “Tell me it isn’t much further.” His legs burned.
Hana laughed. “You’re in luck.” She pointed at the temple, a dozen yards off.
Silas stepped into the dim light of the narthex, eyes searching. “Jonn!” he called out when he caught sight of his old friend, whose features relaxed into a relieved smile at the sight of Silas.
“So, you’ve decided to finally make yourself useful now that Shiloh has done all the real work. Typical,” Jonn teased. “Put her down on that pew and let’s have a look.”
“Maybe she’s just exhausted,” Silas told him with a bravado he did not feel.
“Hmph,” John snorted. “And I suppose you are going to tell me she needs to jump into the saddle tomorrow and ride like the wind.”
“Today would be preferable,” Silas responded. “We need to make haste to Fountain Bluff. The queen and the Gernish will be out for blood when they get word of Vinsen’s death.”
Jonn nodded grimly. “Fountain Bluff won’t be far enough.”
“I know,” Silas agreed. “But we can regroup and supply ourselves there, and, just as importantly, secure the princess Loor.”
“Don’t you dare try to rope me into some sort of revolution,” Jonn warned as he crossed to examine Shiloh. “I’m weary of prison.”
“I have no intention of playing queen-maker any time soon,” Silas assured him. “I just don’t want to see Loor murdered for Gerne’s greed.”
“And you want to have a card to play in your back pocket,” Jonn retorted.
Silas nodded his admission. “Aye. And I want a card in my back pocket. The heir to the throne is a pretty good card.”
“We’re gonna need more than a card,” Shiloh mumbled, forcing open her eyes. “Go find yourself some spare wands, Silas. The priests’ wand shop didn’t get destroyed.”
“Only when I’m sure you’re well,” her husband replied, brows drawn.
“When am I ever well?” she asked with a snort. She pulled herself upright and leaned against the back of the pew with a sigh. “Am I bleeding anywhere?” she asked Jonn. “Hexmarks appearing?”
The healer shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Then somebody, for the God’s sakes, put some food in my hand before I gnaw it off,” Shiloh demanded.
Silas grinned in relief and bowed obediently. “Yes, my lady. I live to serve.”
Shiloh laughed. “Since when?”
Silas opened his eyes. Shiloh was whimpering in her sleep. They hadn’t gotten as far as he’d hoped in their first day’s riding, but exhaustion and the pitch darkness had made it too dangerous to continue.
She writhed in the grips of her nightmare. He knew he shouldn’t, but he took a peek into her head. He regretted it immediately. In her nightmare, she was screaming for him, screaming for help, and he wasn’t there.
But Fenroh was. And he was not there to help.
He thought back to the day they’d learned of Rischar’s death, the day he’d sped south to the City without a moment’s hesitation. The day he’d left her to manage his lands and his people alone, after barely a month of marriage. Even in easy times, it would have been difficult for a sixteen-year-old girl from a tiny village in the Teeth.
And they hadn’t been easy times. She’d had to handle an outbreak of deadly f
ever and Gernish raiders besides. She’d had to face Fenroh and his men. Alone. Because of me.
When Shiloh began to thrash next to him, her dream intensifying, he reached out to shake her awake. As she woke, she leapt on him as though he’d attacked her, her hand at his throat, her hook raised to slash at his face.
“Shiloh, it’s me,” he assured her, hands held up in surrender. “You were having a bad dream.”
Realization dawned in her face, and she rolled off of him, panting.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I thought . . . I thought I was somewhere else.”
“I know,” he replied, rubbing his throat. “It’s all right.”
Slowly, her breathing came back to normal. “You have every right to be angry with me, you know,” he told her, his voice soft and tinged with sorrow.
She turned onto her side to look at him. Her eyes narrowed. He wilted under her glare. He tried to remember the last person who could have that effect on him. Maybe my mother, Gods rest her soul.
“I understand if you are angry with me for leaving the way I did,” Silas offered again.
With that, the dam was broken, and bitter words began to pour from Shiloh’s mouth.
“You should have at least waited a day—given us time to think it through, to make a plan for when things inevitably went awry. You were reckless, with your life and with mine. These days, I could stand up to you about a decision like that. I could fight you. Then, I was still unsure of my place, so I let you go. And then I had to spend every day after that frightened and alone,” she raged, biting off her words. “Or worse. When you forced me to marry you, you promised to protect me! Did that mean nothing to you, swearing that before our Gods? Swearing it to me?”
“I know. You’re right. I failed you, and I’m sorry.” Silas accepted her accusations without complaint. He knew he had it coming.
“Eight months I spent in the Citadel. Eight months of Fenroh’s poisonous words and casual sadism. Eight months of them twisting my religion and turning it into a weapon against me. Eight months of not knowing if you were dead already or when the ax would fall on me. Eight months of helping him hurt people so I could live to see another day.”
“I know. I was foolish. And I am so sorry that you suffered for my mistakes. I thought about you day and night, Shiloh.”
“This isn’t about you right now!” she snapped. She closed her eyes for a moment and then softened. “That wasn’t fair of me. I know you were locked up all alone. That couldn’t have been easy. At least I had Bluebell and Hana.” She sighed before continuing, “I don’t even know how much of this rage is really me, and how much is exhaustion or Fenroh’s malign influence. He tried his best to turn me against you, you know. Told me that you thought me a fool for being a believer; that you could never understand or respect me. That you could never love me, never love anyone.”
“Fenroh has always been a good liar, and he has a grudge against me from ages past. He knows full well I love you. How he knew, I’ve no idea, but he knew. He sent me your hair after they cut it off, so I would see that he had you. So I would be afraid for you,” Silas told her. He placed his hand over his breast pocket where the braids sat over his heart.
Seemingly out of steam, Shiloh leaned back and looked up at the clear sky. Silence reigned for a time, until Silas cleared his throat.
“If you don’t wish to be married to me any longer, I would understand,” he told her, ignoring the pain in his chest at the words. “The Patriarch annulled our marriage, giving you an escape should you want to take it. The political reasons for the match now seem rather pointless, us both being fugitives. And I currently have little enough to offer you: no lands, no title, no fortune, at least here in Bryn.”
“I don’t know what I want for my future, Silas,” she admitted. “I never allowed myself to consider possibilities other than service to the church or the crown. And I went along with the marriage because it seemed inescapable.” There was a long pause. Silas’s heart beat uncomfortably in his throat. “I’m angry, so angry, at nearly everything and everyone, but I have no wish to leave you,” she finally concluded. “At least not tonight.”
Silas exhaled. “I’m relieved to hear it,” he said.
“Do you even feel married to me?” she asked, turning toward him again to gaze at him frankly. “Do you?”
Silas looked down at his hands. “I don’t know. I think it takes time for it to feel real. Time we didn’t have, thanks to my foolishness and Esta’s ire.”
“Me, neither,” Shiloh concurred. “I felt like we were still playing at it when you left. We’ll be together now, hopefully, for some time, assuming we don’t get captured tomorrow. Perhaps we should simply . . . take it as it comes. See how it feels to be . . . friends. There’s no need to make any decisions tonight.”
Silas nodded his agreement. “That sounds lovely to me, little bird.”
Shiloh managed a lopsided smile at the endearment, which warmed Silas’s heart. “I haven’t come up with a pet name for you,” she observed. “Muffin? Dumpling? My little cauliflower?”
Silas gave a mock shudder. “I beg mercy, my lady.” He looked at the sky. “It’ll be dawn soon. We should try to get a little more rest before we have to press on. I’d love to get into the foothills by nightfall. We’re too exposed here.”
She nodded and turned onto her side. “Other than that one enormous mistake, you weren’t such a bad husband,” she whispered.
Silas’s mouth twitched. “That’s probably more credit than I deserve.”
They sat by the campfire a few nights later, wrapped in a cloak Silas had found for himself back in the village, Shiloh sitting between his legs, her knees tucked to her chest, with her head leaning back against his shoulder. Silas had taken the first watch, and she’d fallen asleep in his arms. His knees and hips complained, but he was too pleased to have her close to obey their insistence that he should shift his position.
They had kept their company small, for the sake of speed, much to the distress of many of those Shiloh had freed. Nearly a hundred of them had wanted to make the journey with the woman they had taken to calling Reverend Mother.
“Please,” Shiloh had begged them. “I don’t want your blood on my hands when the crown’s men come for me.”
But it had been clever Bluebell who had solved the problem by giving them a mission to accomplish for their savior. She had split them into smaller groups and chosen one of each to dress up as a decoy. Hana had magicked some wigs to turn pink and some mountain clothes to turn purple.
Bluebell had further tasked the devoted with spreading the truth of Shiloh’s actions and of the crimes that had been committed by the Patriarch and his clerics, to counter whatever the official narrative would become. Shiloh hadn’t liked that plan, either, but had gone along with it in the end.
Silas surveyed the sleeping bodies of those who hadn’t been dissuaded from making the voyage with Shiloh. Hana and Bluebell, of course, served as Shiloh’s deputies and confidantes. Hana was so changed by her hardships that Silas actually found himself enjoying the girl’s sharp-edged banter and bitter laughter.
Redwood’s young bastard, Jivan, on the other hand, had barely made a sound in the three days they had been on the road. The boy’s bloodline raised Silas’s hackles, but Shiloh and Hana both favored him with smiles.
The Citadel’s healer, Riah, rode next to Jonn. She’d worn the gray for a long time, and Silas watched her closely as a consequence. On the other hand, her repudiation of her order meant that she’d be executed if caught, and she rode with a straight back and alert eyes.
A single Feral rode with them, Henrik. He looked older but not much different than he had during the war. To Silas’s shock, Shiloh had embraced the mountain of a man when he had offered his services. There must be a story there. She hates Feralfolk.
Lady Mosspeak’s suffering seemed to have turned her brittle. Her eyes darted continuously like those of a mouse with a particularly nervous dis
position. She startled easily even in her sleep.
Silas’s head swiveled at the sound of a breaking twig. Holding his breath, he gently laid the sleeping Shiloh down on the ground and pulled his wand. On stiff limbs, he picked his way past the edge of the clearing and into the trees, debating with himself if the sound warranted rousing the others.
“That’s close enough, Hatch,” a soft and familiar voice ordered.
A wand blazed, and Silas grimaced. “Keegan,” he greeted the man, his own wand now alight.
“Put it down,” Keegan told him.
Silas snorted in disbelief. “You first.” A dozen more wands began to glow on all sides, and he heaved a defeated sigh. “Look, I’ve spent the last eight months in prison, and I have no intention of spending any more time in chains. So I’m not putting down a blessed thing.”
“Oh, I’ve no intention of kidnapping you,” the chief of the Feralfolk replied with a grin. “I am going to enjoy gutting you, Silas Hatch. I have waited such a long time.”
“You harm a hair on my husband’s head, and I will leave you a pile of embers,” Shiloh declared from behind Silas, her voice cold as ice.
It was Silas’s turn to grin.
“Husband?” Keegan hissed, eyes wide. “Husband? How could you, you—”
“Come off it,” Shiloh cut him short. “Are you here to talk to me, or do I have to kill the lot of you? Because I’m tired, and if there is murder on the agenda, I’d rather get it over with and get back to sleep.”
“Did they hurt you?” Keegan asked, eyes sad.
Shiloh shrugged. “Not as much as they hurt Henrik,” she replied. “Why would you send him into such danger?”
They sat next to each other on a fallen log by a creek, a foot of air between them, their awkward conversation lit by a nearly full moon.
“He volunteered,” Keegan explained. “He was of the opinion that he had some sins to atone for.”
“I’m amazed he survived,” Shiloh said, shaking her head.
