by Sally Green
She spotted the girl on one of the lower terraces. She knows her way around.
Yes, I’ve been thinking about her and the Brigantines. Geratan’s words came into Tash’s head. They didn’t just stumble down here. They seem well trained and disciplined. They brought bodies with them, so they intended to create more demons and collect the smoke.
I think the girl is the key, though.
She’s been here before. She seems to know the demons and the tunnels and how to collect the smoke. She’s advising the army. That’s a serious responsibility. If they’re collecting smoke, they have to have a means of getting it out to the human world. They have to have a way of keeping the tunnels open.
Tash considered this. If there’s no demon, the tunnel closes. So there must be a demon alive at the end of at least one tunnel.
Agreed. Maybe they captured a demon or there’s a demon working with them?
Tash nodded.
But how did they find their way?
She looked back to the tunnel entrance. You know those markings in the walls? I wondered if they’re some sort of sign.
Within a few paces of the entrance to the terrace near them there were shallow indentations on the wall. They ran their hands over them but couldn’t see anything that was more than the gentle undulation of the rock. The markings were in the entrances of all the tunnels, where she’d look for a sign. But if there was a sign, she couldn’t read it.
Tash leaned on the wall and watched Geratan. He was not at all like Gravell but he reminded her of him in how meticulously he was checking the walls, feeling them and looking at them. Gravell would check things twenty times quite happily. Gravell, though, was dirty and smelly and hairy, and Geratan, even here, looked sophisticated. The way he moved was like a dancer. And now he moved back from the wall and Tash, her head still against the wall, gasped. Except it was the tinkling sound of tiny bells that came out and she clamped her hand over her mouth.
But she could see it, though Geratan was just frowning at her. She pointed at it. It was a sign. A massive sign.
She’d been looking for small signs, like you might see on a signpost by a road, but from this angle, close to the wall, the small indentations made a huge triangular shape and at each end another picture, a ring at the pointed end and a conical series of lines at the other.
Look! Look along the wall. She pulled Geratan over, positioning him close to the tunnel wall, pointing at the sign.
Yes, I see it! It’s an arrow and I think that’s a picture of the core—it’s pointing the way to the central core. But on the other wall, look!
Tash put her head against the other wall and peered along it. An arrow pointed to a ring with many small deep indentations on it. The ring with the indentations—that could mean: “This way to the demon meeting place.”
We can check if it’s the same sign in those tunnels we went along.
And if it is? asked Tash.
Then we look for a tunnel with different markings.
She nodded and smiled. At last a plan that they could follow.
They set off again. They checked two of the other tunnels they’d tried and those had the same signs that seemed to say, “This way to the demon meeting place.”
Geratan took Tash’s hand. Right, we need to find a tunnel with a different sign. I think we should try lower.
You mean closer to the Brigantines.
Yes. They’re getting out, so that means their tunnels can’t have changed direction.
You’re so logical, I hate it.
Geratan led the way down to a lower level. Down three levels and the sign in the first tunnel showed the way to the demon meeting place. They tried the next terrace down, closer to the Brigantines still, but the result was the same. They kept going and Tash knew that being methodical was right. This was just what Gravell would have done. Testing each one, making sure everything was as he expected. But now they were on a terrace just above a Brigantine soldier, and they had to sidle along slowly, keeping as low and tight to the wall as possible. Tash hardly dared breathe. They got to the tunnel and slipped inside. And there on the wall was a different sign. Tash ran her hand over it and knew this was the way out.
CATHERINE
DONNAFON, NORTHERN PITORIA
Being told the truth is good, to experience the truth is better.
The King, Nicolas Montell
CATHERINE WAS being fitted for her armor. The armorer, Zach, measured her and mumbled numbers to his assistant, a young boy who scratched marks on a slate. Zach held up pieces of metal and lengths of chain mail and asked, “What will you wear under the armor, Your Highness?”
Catherine wasn’t sure, and wasn’t sure it was a question to ask a princess anyway.
“He means will you be wearing trousers and shirt or a dress?” Ambrose said.
“I haven’t really decided. Does it matter?”
“Do you wish to have protection on your thighs?” Zach asked.
“Oh. I was thinking chain mail there. Nothing too stiff.”
“Like a skirt perhaps?”
“Yes. If it’ll work. I need to be able to walk and ride, obviously. But then I can wear it over a skirt or trousers. And there’s one other thing. I’d like to hold something inside the armor.” She pointed to her chest. “In Brigant knights carry mementos or lucky charms here.” Though she was actually going to carry her small bottle of demon smoke.
Zach nodded. “It’s the same in Pitoria. But I assure you my armor will save you, not your lucky charm.”
“Well, I’d like to have both.”
Zach muttered and measured for a while longer before leaving her. Tanya was busy with chores and had disappeared. The rules of propriety might not be so rigid in Pitoria, but, still, Catherine was the wife of a king and now she was alone with Ambrose. Perhaps they should be more careful, but no one else would know and Catherine wanted to be with him.
“Are you really going to lead the army? Or is this just for show?”
“It’s for protection. And I am the leader of the army.”
“And yet you haven’t left this room for days.”
“When I have the armor, I’ll leave.”
“We’re at war. Even in armor people get killed.”
“Why are you trying to knock my confidence? You know I’m nervous about going out.”
“I’m not trying to do anything except keep you safe. That arrow nearly killed you. They get through gaps in armor, you know.”
“Thank you for reminding me how vulnerable I am.”
“You are vulnerable. You nearly died.”
“Why are you doing this to me? What do you want me to say?”
“The truth would be a start. How about telling me about your wonderful little wedding ceremony? How about telling me why you hid it from me? How about telling me anything about your real feelings for me?”
“I . . .” But Catherine didn’t know what to say. The truth was that she loved Ambrose, and loved being with him, but being with him here wasn’t straightforward. And as for the truth about her wedding, she wasn’t sure what to reveal. “Ambrose, I had to . . .”
“Had to what? Marry Tzsayn? Become queen? Take power? You know what? I don’t even care anymore, but I do care that you didn’t tell me. I do care that you still won’t talk to me. You’ve spoken more to Zach this morning than to me in the last few days.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s true enough. Have you no thought for my feelings at all?”
“Have you no thought for mine?” Catherine’s voice was loud and seemed to echo in the room. It felt suddenly as if everywhere had gone quiet, as if everyone in the building was listening.
Ambrose continued in a quiet tone. “I have lost my brother and my sister. The ones I love most are dead. I’ve no idea if my father is alive, but if he is I’m s
ure he’s suffering at the hands of Aloysius. I don’t want you taken from me. I thought it had happened when I saw the arrow in you. I thought I’d lost you too.”
“I understand, Ambrose. Noyes told me they had killed you. I wasn’t sure if I should believe them, but some days I did. Those days I was sad beyond words.”
“Sad but not broken.”
“I won’t let them break me. Or at least I’ll fight against it as long as I can.” She hesitated and then asked, “Have they broken you?”
Ambrose shook his head. “They’ve changed me. Frightened me. Made me wonder how much more I can take before I break. I lie awake at night thinking of Tarquin. Thinking of what his final days were like. It pains me beyond reason, but I can’t help myself.” Tears filled his eyes. “I have nightmares about him. And my sister. And of you too. All mixed up in a horrific dance of death. And at the end I’m alone.”
Catherine reached out and took his hand. “Ambrose, I understand, but you’re not alone.”
Ambrose shook his head, but kept hold of her hand. “No. No, you don’t understand. You have no idea. You expect me to carry on just as before, but I can’t. I don’t know what you feel for me. But, whatever it is, it’s clearly not enough. I’m with you but not with you.” He stared at her. “You’ve married Tzsayn. You’re his wife. And you treat me like some kind of puppy that’ll come and go at your every whim. I can’t do it anymore, though. I hoped that we could be together, but it’s impossible . . . I need to go.”
Catherine could hardly believe he was saying this. “You mean leave forever? For good? No,” she said, shaking her head, “you cannot go. Absolutely not.”
“You gave me my freedom, remember? I’m no longer sworn to you.” He pulled away from her and went to the window and then turned to look at her. “I even used to think you were wild enough to come with me.” He shook his head. “But you’re not like that at all. You’re cool and calculating and in control all the time. I remember the day you rode into the sea and leaped off the horse to swim. I used to think it was a sign of your wildness, of your yearning for freedom, but it wasn’t, was it?”
“I remember that day. I wasn’t allowed to ride for months afterward.” Catherine smiled at the memory, which was no longer painful but something to be cherished—she and Ambrose had had few times together then, but each one was special, she now realized.
“And why did you do it? Why did you leap into the sea?”
“It was a hot day. I wanted to cool myself. And . . .” She tried to remember. “I wanted to defy them.”
Ambrose nodded. “As I said, not wildness but calculation.”
“Is that so wrong?”
“No. But I see now that I’ve been wrong about you. Or perhaps what we’ve been through has brought out this side of you more.”
“You want the wild Catherine, not the calculating one?”
“I don’t think there is a wild Catherine. You’ll make a good leader of the army.”
Catherine had a feeling he didn’t mean that as a compliment. She shook her head. “I have my own nightmares, Ambrose. Of powerlessness and loneliness.”
“We’re similar but different. But I was wrong about you, totally wrong. I underestimated you.”
“I get the feeling you don’t like me so much now you know me better.”
“Do you need me to like you?”
“You’re my friend.”
“I’m your guard. Your protector. Your servant.”
“You’re more than all those things and you know it. I need you with me to do more than protect my body. I need you to help me think and plan and live.”
“That’s not my job. Tzsayn is your husband. He’ll do those things.”
“But . . .” Catherine wasn’t sure what to do. Should she tell him the truth? Would it change anything?
“I have to leave. I’m sure Tzsayn will be exchanged for the ransom. Davyon will protect you in the meantime. He’s a good man.” And Ambrose bowed and went to the door.
But Catherine dashed round him to block the way. “No. Stop. Ambrose, please. I have to tell you something.” She looked into his eyes as she told him, “I lied. It’s all a lie. I’m not married. I didn’t even see Tzsayn before the battle.”
Ambrose stared at her and shook his head. “I’ve no idea what to believe. Is this a lie or the truth? How do I know?”
“This is the truth, Ambrose.”
“And Tanya and Davyon went along with this?”
“Tanya believes the lie protects us all—and she is an expert at deceiving people. Davyon sees it as his duty to lie for me; he is sworn to protect me too and will do everything to ensure I live until Tzsayn returns.”
“It always comes back to Tzsayn.”
“No, it doesn’t. It comes back to protecting our lives.”
“And why didn’t you tell me before? Was that for protection?”
“Ambrose”—Catherine put her hand to his cheek—“you give so much away in your face. I feared my lie would be found out and feared you would give it away. I’m trying to protect us all. If you go, I can’t protect you. I need you and you need me. Please, stay. Please. I do need you. It’s you I love.”
He looked into her eyes. “Is that the truth?”
“Yes, I love you.”
He put his hands round her waist and pulled her to him and slowly leaned forward to kiss her.
Catherine slid her hands up his back, her lips meeting his. She held on to him as his lips moved down to her neck and on to her scarred shoulder, before returning to her neck. “I love you, Catherine,” he whispered, “even with all your need for control.”
Catherine had little of that at that moment. She let her head fall back and enjoyed his breath on her skin.
He continued to caress her, pulling her body to his. “I still want to leave.”
Catherine stiffened and pushed him away to see his face. “No. Why?”
“Leave with you, I mean. You’ve lied about your marriage. What will you do when Tzsayn returns? When the lie is revealed?”
“I think he’ll understand. Davyon does. He says I’m keeping Farrow from taking power and, as Farrow doesn’t want me in power a moment longer than necessary, it’s speeding Tzsayn’s exchange.”
Ambrose studied her face. “You and Tzsayn are suited to each other, I have to say. Both so very calculating. However, my dreams are somewhat different. I don’t dream of leading an army. I dream of running away with you. We could head south to Illast, seek refuge at court. You’d see a different world. A more liberal world that you’d adore and we’d both learn from. No war, no fear of assassins. No concerns about who sees us talking or touching or doing anything—we could do exactly what we wanted without fear.”
“It’s a lovely dream.” But was it a dream that would really make her happy? It sounded wonderful and carefree, but she wanted more. She wanted to prove to the world that she was equal to her father and her brothers.
“You’re right, Ambrose. I am calculating—and it’s a difference between us. But this is what my calculations say: I love you. You are beautiful and kind, generous and honorable. I love being with you, I love being in your arms, but I know that we want different things. I want to lead the army. I want to fight against my father. I won’t lie to you any more. I’ve told you the truth now about Tzsayn, but I must be honest about us too. I want you to stay with me. Help me. Be my lover, be my friend. But please don’t leave me.”
And she looked into his eyes without wanting to hide anything more and waited for the reply.
“Have you calculated this too? That I couldn’t leave? That it would be impossible for me?” And he took her into his arms and they kissed.
MARCH
BOLLYN, NORTHERN PITORIA
MARCH HAD discovered that the local lord, Lord Eddiscon, wasn’t going to be any help in his plea to delay
Edyon’s trial. The “old” Lord Eddiscon had been killed in the attack on the king’s castle in Tornia. His eldest son, the new lord, had been wounded in the recent battle at Rossarb—thrown from his horse (in retreat, it was muttered). While recovering, the new Lord Eddiscon had become infected with a disease of the bowels. March had been duly informed that “he’s pissing out of every orifice.”
March curled his lip. But still, that surely didn’t prevent someone from performing his duties—or perhaps it did. “Does he have a deputy?”
“Doesn’t matter either way ’cause Lord Farrow is in charge of everything here now. Nothing happens without his men poking their nose in.”
“His are the men with the green hair?”
“Aye, and think they’re the best. But none of them have seen battle.”
March learned that to get an audience with Lord Farrow he’d have to present a petition, and to get a petition he’d have to join a queue outside the end tent in a row of many tents in Farrow’s camp. As he queued, March looked across to the marquee in the center. It was huge and pale green with gold trim, and the pennants on it shone in the sun and flashed like the green of a duck’s head in water. They were truly beautiful—and March wondered if someone who made such an effort getting pennants so perfect was likely to be a perfectionist in all matters, including war and law, or just in decoration and appearance. It was late in the afternoon when March finally reached the front of the queue and was summoned to a table where two men sat. The older one didn’t look at March as he said, “State your name and request.”
“My name is March and I need a petition.”
The old man raised his eyebrows and looked at March but then frowned and leaned back. “Are you diseased? Why are your eyes like that?”
“I have no disease. I’m from Abask, but I’m the representative of Prince Thelonius of Calidor and I need a petition.”
“So who needs this petition. You or the prince?”
