by A. M. Manay
“I’m relieved you did,” Keegan ventured. “Tell me about this marriage, Shiloh. That traitor killed your mother. How could you—”
“It’s none of your damned business, but for the record, it wasn’t my idea. And secondly, he saved my life when he killed that woman. Do you really think she would have suffered me to live? Why do you think she sent you away before I was born?”
The bear of a man slumped in front of her. “That . . . that may well be true. But he could have found a way to save you without killing her. I just . . . I don’t want you to be unhappy. And that man is just a monster in good boots. Believe me, I know from evil men. He is not good enough for you.”
“It’s been fine. He’s been fine. It was politically necessary, or so the king and Hatch thought. The Patriarch annulled it, anyway.”
Keegan brightened. “Only useful thing Vinsen’s ever done. Problem solved.”
Shiloh shook her head. “Don’t get too excited. As far as I’m concerned, we are still married in the eyes of the Gods. I made my vows in front of their altar. It may have been under duress, but I made them all the same. I decided he would make a better husband than an enemy. Isn’t that how you landed your wife?”
“I loved your mother,” Keegan protested. “We had a passionate romance. The politics were incidental.”
“Well, good for you. Count your blessings.”
Keegan sighed. He reached out a hand but pulled it back when she flinched. “Come with us. To the Teeth. We have a place there, secure, hidden by magic and barricaded with curses you wouldn’t even believe. The crown will never find you there, not if they hunt a hundred years.”
“And my friends who escaped with me?” she asked. She had already resigned herself to accepting her birthfather’s help, but not if it meant abandoning the others to the king and queen’s wrath.
“They are welcome,” Keegan pledged. Shiloh shot him a pointed look. “Even Hatch,” he added, his mouth twisting as though the words were doused in lemon juice.
“We have to swing by Fountain Bluff first,” Shiloh told him.
Keegan shook his head. “That is unwise. It’s the first place they’ll look.”
“I know, but we fear for baby Loor’s safety, and Lady Mosspeak wants her husband. And my friend Penn, the dowager queen, is there. She may not be safe, due to her friendship with me.”
“Who cares about Rischar’s woman and daughter? And some lord’s wife? They mean nothing to me, and sound useless besides,” Keegan protested. “My people don’t need such fools.”
“They mean something to me,” Shiloh shot back. “I don’t have a lot of friends, and I’ll not leave them behind to bleed for my crimes and a queen’s spite.”
Keegan heaved a sigh. “If it means that much to you . . .”
“It does.”
He nodded. “Very well. It will be done. We will rescue your pet aristocrats. But if they cause so much as a moment’s danger to my folk, I will leave them like lambs to the wolves.” He held out his calloused hand. “Agreed, daughter?”
She hesitated, swallowing the impulse to refuse him the use of that word. “Agreed,” she said at last, and she took his hand.
The next morning, they came to a break in the trees. Before them stretched a wide expanse of nearly empty earth, brown hills just beginning to turn green with shoots of grass and saplings pushing their way through the rich dirt.
“This was Deadlands not a week ago,” one of the Feralfolk breathed.
“I remember this place from the war,” Silas whispered. “It was a village called Pine Flat. Fenroh and his men wiped it from the earth. Killed a hundred women and children because they had supposedly helped some of Alissa’s men. Shiloh, this is remarkable.”
“You healed this place?” Keegan asked Shiloh.
Shiloh nodded.
“She healed all such places in Bryn,” Silas clarified. Shiloh knelt and crumbled some dirt in her hands, as if to assure herself that it was real.
Everyone within earshot traced circles on their foreheads. The Feralfolk bowed to her in their peculiar way, their hands folded against their brows. They did not bow to mere power, Silas remembered from days gone by. It was part of the reason the lords of the realm so despised the Feralfolk. They bowed only to the mysterious, the unknowable, the mystifying.
The miraculous.
“That’s not good,” Silas pointed out unnecessarily. He and Henrik stood in the pass, hiding in shadows, looking down at Fountain Village and across to the castle of Fountain Bluff. An encampment of soldiers in Gernish livery was visible through gaps in the fog, their tents hugging the outer walls of the castle complex. Weapons glinted in the scattered beams of sunlight sneaking through the mist. His heart fell as he counted the men on patrol.
“Are they laying siege?” Henrik asked, squinting.
Silas held a spyglass to his eye then shook his head. “No. There are carts going through the gate, and I don’t see any siege engines or catapults. I don’t think the bluecoats are trying to starve them out or take the castle.”
“The Gernish are trying to keep Mosspeak and Princess Loor from leaving,” Henrik concluded. “And us from breaking them out.”
“Precisely,” Silas agreed. “Mosspeak could try to fight his way out, but then there would be a bloodbath, and no turning back from rebellion. Besides, they had his wife locked up in the Citadel, hostage for his good behavior,” Silas answered.
“Not anymore.” Henrik grinned. “Thanks to your wife.”
Silas snorted a laugh. “Shiloh’s a firecracker, all right.” He eyed Henrik. “Does she know of our . . . connection?”
Henrik shook his head. “No.”
“Does Keegan?”
Henrik laughed. “If he did, lad, I wouldn’t be breathing.”
“But you met her, in prison?” Silas asked.
“Aye. I didn’t give her enough credit when I first saw her. She looked bloody terrified,” Henrik confided.
“Why?” Silas asked, brows knitting together. Shiloh had told him precious little of what had gone on in the Patriarch’s tower. He’d tried to ask, gently, but she kept changing the subject.
“Fenroh, the swine, had her working as his scribe,” Henrik spat. “Made her take notes while he tortured people, myself included. Heard old Fen made her scream herself a time or two. They were about to finally drown me when she made her play. I owe her my life.”
Silas looked down at his scuffed boots and clenched his jaw. Aloud, the only reaction he offered was a deceptively mild, “It’s a shame we won’t be able to kill him twice.”
“Does she love you?” Henrik asked.
Silas shook his head. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “It’s not as though I deserve her love.” He eyed the Feral. “I notice you didn’t ask me if I love her.”
Henrik snorted. “I have eyes.”
Silas smiled a crooked smile. “That obvious, is it?”
“Indeed. So, what do we do with these Gernishmen?” Henrik asked. “Soak the ground with their blood?”
Silas grinned. “Much as I would love to, I think a subtler plan might be more advantageous.”
“What do you have in mind?” the Feral asked.
Silas smiled. “I know a girl.”
One Thousand Suns
“The little errand boy has some fight in him!” Keegan cried, slapping young Silas on the back. “Did ye see the ragged company he sent running for their mothers?”
The slender boy staggered under the blow but remained upright. Grinning, he looked at the men gathered around the fire. Ferals all, in bloodstained clothes, they seemed utterly unfazed by the battle they’d won. They’d just tapped their first cask of the night, and to Silas’s surprise, they’d invited him to join in their celebration.
Silas had to admit he shared their exhilaration. After his first battle, all he’d wanted to do was throw up. Guilt at the lives he had taken had threated to overwhelm him. But tonight, after a year of war, he felt numb to such conce
rns.
Keegan thrust a goblet into Silas’s hand. “Ever tasted mountain moonshine, my boy?”
Silas laughed. “No, sir. I grew up in the Vine. It’s only wine for us.”
“Did ye, now? One of Blufeld’s bastards?” the Feral chief asked.
Silas nodded and looked away.
“From your expression, I take it he’s still a worthless excuse for a man?” Keegan continued.
Silas snorted. “You could say that, sir.”
“When we kill him, we’ll give him your regards,” Keegan promised. “Now drink.”
Silas did as he’d been bid and came up coughing, sucking desperately for air. His companions erupted in laughter, and the warmth of the alcohol and their welcome washed over him. It lasted until the moment Brother Edmun appeared and dragged him away from the fire.
“What in the Father’s name do you think you’re doing, child?” Edmun demanded.
“Just . . . blowing off a little steam,” Silas protested.
“With Feralfolk?” Edmun countered. “Heretics and thieves?”
Silas looked down at his filthy boots. “They were being nice to me. And we wouldn’t have won today without them.”
“You can’t trust kindness from men like that,” Edmun warned, his voice softening. “It doesn’t come free. I’ve tried to warn Her Grace of the same, to little avail. They must want something from you. Taking you under their wings so they can make use of you later.”
Anger flared in Silas’s chest. “Same as you, then?” he spat, then strode quickly off toward his tent before Edmun could see the tears well up in his green eyes.
“Silas!” Edmun called. “You know better than that your place in my heart! Silas!”
Silas kept walking.
“I don’t know. Tunneling is inherently dangerous work,” Shiloh replied, worrying at her bottom lip. “And this would be a really long tunnel.”
“So is an attack on a superior force,” Silas pointed out. “And we don’t know how much they know about what happened at the Citadel. They could be ready for us, expecting us to show up here for Loor. Hell, they could have already moved Mosspeak, Penn, and the princess somewhere else. And I don’t think you’ll be able to catch them by surprise like you did the priests.”
She nodded. “It only worked because none of them bothered with wards inside the walls, except Fenroh. Their arrogance was the key. But these men will be expecting me, most likely.”
“Agreed,” her husband replied.
“We need some information before we act, don’t we? Before we break everyone out and make a run for it?” Shiloh argued. “The Gernish troops need to think everything is fine for a few days at least, if we’re to have any hope of getting away clean. They might have some people inside the castle, too. We need to know how many, how often they report in.”
“Fair enough,” Silas replied. “We do need to know their patterns, how much information they have about what is going on in Fountain Bluff, and in the kingdom at large.”
“We need a spy,” Shiloh concluded. Her eyes ran over the company until they landed on Jivan.
“You really think so?” Silas asked, following her gaze. “You trust him? He could walk in there and give us up in the first five minutes.”
“He’s a good boy. Kind. I saved his mother’s life. She almost died of Red Fever up at Northgate. And he’s got it pretty bad for Hana,” Shiloh countered.
“I killed his father,” Silas pointed out.
“I don’t get the impression that they were close,” Shiloh replied. Silas eyed her skeptically. “I know, it is a risk,” Shiloh acknowledged. “But he grew up in Gerne, and he wore the gray. They’ll be predisposed to trust him. He can tell them he barely got away with his life, ask them for help. Keep his ears open for a few days, then slip away. If he is willing. I feel bad about sending someone so young into danger.”
“I don’t like the idea of sending him in alone,” Silas argued. “I don’t know him enough to trust him. I do know him enough to be worried about what they’ll do to him if they make him. He’s still a boy.”
“I agree with you on the latter point,” Shiloh acknowledged. “I could use a concealment spell, go in myself, invisible.”
“No,” Hatch pushed back. “You haven’t regained much strength since your display of force last week. You’re liable to fall ill any day. And if it overtakes you while you are among those pigs . . .”
“Well, your concealment spell is rubbish, so what are we supposed to do?” Shiloh countered.
“Rubbish, eh?” Silas said, hand to his chest as though wounded. “To be so mocked by my own wife!”
“Your ears always stick out!” she teased.
“Mine is serviceable,” came a gravelly voice. They turned to find Keegan behind them.
“How long have you been standing there?” Shiloh demanded.
“Long enough to know that I agree with Hatch for once in my life,” the Feral chief answered. “I don’t want you anywhere near those soldiers.”
“It isn’t up to you,” Shiloh countered.
“I already snuck down there to reconnoiter. Those are the king’s elite guard, loyal to the end. They aren’t curse fodder who barely know which end of the wand to hold. They’ve got wards upon wards protecting them. If it goes badly, we’ll never get you out,” Keegan warned.
“Did you overhear anything useful?” Silas asked.
“They know about the fall of the Citadel. There are posters of you and of Shiloh in the village,” Keegan reported, mouth grim. “They’ve named a thousand suns as the reward if she’s brought in alive.” He passed two sheets of paper to Silas.
Silas blew a breath through pursed lips as he looked them over. They were both good likenesses, though his lacked his current beard. “Only five hundred for my severed head? How insulting.” He read Shiloh’s again. ‘One thousand suns for her safe return’? That wording is . . . unexpected.
“What else?” Shiloh asked.
“Fenroh has been named head of the church. Or named himself. He’s claiming that Vinsen sacrificed himself willingly in order to heal the Deadlands, but no one seems to buy it down in the village. The priests have told the people to start calling Fenroh ‘Reverend Father.’”
“Disgusting,” Shiloh spat. “Though I did promise there would never be another Patriarch, so at least he took a different moniker.”
“It gets stranger,” Keegan cautioned.
“How could it possibly?” she asked.
“Because Fenroh’s calling you ‘Reverend Mother.’”
“It’s smart,” Silas mused. “To co-opt you instead of naming you his enemy. And this way your healing of the Deadlands gets credited to Vinsen and the church instead of just to you.”
“It’s insane. I just took down his whole order,” Shiloh argued. “I was sure he was going to pin his father’s death on me to destroy my reputation. And now he is using me to bolster his own credibility.”
The two of them lay together on top of a blanket beneath an evergreen, gazing up through the branches, listening to the quiet sounds of their companions preparing supper. Their chastity was well preserved; the backs of their hands just barely touched.
Hana was ordering around a couple of the Feralfolk as though they were her servants back at Kepler Castle. They could hear her nagging from across the campsite. The men had taken to calling her “Lady Sass,” which made Silas stifle laughter every time he heard it.
Silas ventured far enough to take Shiloh’s hand into his own. “It’s not as though you had a lot of good options. Your only mistake was not making sure to kill Fenroh first. Always kill the most dangerous one first.”
“I didn’t want to kill anybody,” she protested. “How was I supposed to just murder a man?”
“I know. Believe me. But sometimes it is necessary. I learned that at too young an age. I’m sorry you have to do the same.”
“Does Fenroh honestly think I’m going to agree to run the church with him? Or to b
e his muscle while he takes over half of Bryn?” she demanded.
“If he gets rid of all your other options.” Silas shrugged. “Or if he promises to let you bring back the Reforms. Or trades you something else you want. Or perhaps he simply can’t wrap his head around the idea that you lack his thirst for power. Many, many people would take that deal. Almost anyone but you, in fact. He wants you brought in alive so he can try to convince you. Which is why your poster sounds like that of a missing person rather than a criminal the way mine does.”
“How would I live with myself? And I can’t imagine Esta going along with my being in any kind of position of authority, religious or otherwise,” Shiloh declared.
“Money helps most people live with their sins. And it could be that Esta’s opinions no longer carry as much weight as she might like.”
“I’ll do it,” Jivan declared. His voice was soft, but resolute.
“You don’t have to,” Shiloh hastened to assure him. “We can try another way if you don’t want to do this.”
Jivan shook his head. “No, it’s a good idea. My Gernish is better than Keegan’s, so I’ll find out more than he can just by lurking around the edges of the camp. And if they have the castle take me in, I can let Lord Mosspeak know what is going on, and that Lady Mosspeak is safe with us.”
Keelie placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she told him. Lady Mosspeak had taken an obvious shine to the boy in recent days.
“Good lad,” Keegan praised. “We’ll keep eyes on you as long as you’re outside the castle walls. I’ll sneak in to come get you if things take a turn.”
“I’ll be watching, too,” Bluebell assured the boy and gave him a wink. “Walls don’t keep me out.”
When dawn came, Shiloh watched through a spyglass as Jivan stumbled into the enemy camp, looking every inch the lost and terrified child. She exhaled in relief as the sentry bent on one knee to embrace him.
Oh, Mother of heaven, please guard that boy.
