by Sally Green
Edyon hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d been found not guilty. At the trial he had yet again managed to dodge the deathly danger that loomed toward him. And now he began to wonder if Madame Eruth’s foretelling “Death all around you” actually meant that the people around him would die though he would live. But that wasn’t a happy thought. The people around him were those he cared about.
March returned, did his sewing, adjusting the jacket beautifully, and then they made their way to the dining hall, where Lord and Lady Donnell greeted them. There was an awkward moment when it became apparent that a place had not been set for March, and Lord Donnell referred to him as Edyon’s servant.
Edyon said, “He was servant to my father, but he’s proved himself better than most servants and more loyal than most friends. When I’m back in Calidor, I’ll ask my father to give him another role—my assistant, my adviser.” Edyon glanced at March as he said this and for the briefest moment saw a look of horror on March’s face. Was it horror? No, it was March’s understandable annoyance at Donnell treating him as a servant.
Princess Catherine, the Queen Apparent, was wearing a beautiful silk dress, flowers in her hair, and a broad smile. Edyon was honored that she came to sit with him, and he thanked her again for his freedom.
Lord Donnell said to Catherine, “Unfortunately, I suspect Farrow is not done with you yet. He does not take kindly to being shown up as a fool.”
“A lying fool,” Edyon added, proud that he had been honest—well, almost totally honest, and it had paid off.
Catherine turned to him and said, “That’s reminded me. I would like to know more about the stolen goods and the fifty-kroner debt that was mentioned at the trial. What was that all about?”
Edyon put his hands up. “We’re no longer in court, so I’m denying everything. Except to say I will never steal again.” And this time he really did believe it—he’d had no urge to steal a thing for a long time . . . since he’d become happier . . . since he’d got to know March. He smiled and continued, “And, before you say anything more, that is not an admission and I’m saying nothing more about the trial except that I wish all good things for Penny the cook forever and ever. And I’ll never forget the look on Turturo’s face when she gave her evidence.”
“And Farrow’s,” Catherine added. “He looked quite ill. And I’m sure you’re right, Lord Donnell: Farrow won’t give up. He’ll look for another way to bring me down. Another way to waste my time. I wish he was putting this effort into getting Prince Tzsayn back to us. I worry about him in my father’s hands.”
Donnell replied, “I believe Farrow has a large amount of the ransom gold raised, though he still needs more. He says Aloysius is a hard man to negotiate with and won’t change his terms. Five hundredweight in gold is a fortune.”
“And when he gets it our troubles won’t be over. We’ll have Tzsayn back with us, but the Brigantines will have money for their war.” Catherine turned to Edyon. “It’s more urgent than ever that you go to your father, cousin. I’m sorry to ask you to go, as I wish very much to get to know you more, but we need you to warn Thelonius of Aloysius’s plans for the boy army. We need him to send an ambassador to us here, so we can work together to defend ourselves against the Brigantines. I sent a letter to him when I arrived in Donnafon, but so far I’ve only had a formal acknowledgment. I wonder if he is another man who doesn’t take me seriously. I feel your words, your evidence, can ensure he understands the urgency of the matter.”
Edyon replied, “I’ll tell him all I know. Perhaps if I may take some of the smoke to show him? It’s such an incredible story that I fear that is the problem—no one can really believe it, unless they see it.”
“Yes, I agree that seeing is believing. Take some of the smoke. My blue-hairs can ride with you to the coast and stay with you to protect you until you have a ship to take you to Calidor. I don’t want any more mishaps to befall you on your journey.”
“Nor do I.” Edyon smiled and turned to March and caught a look on his face that Edyon could only think of as sadness. Why would March be sad? But perhaps he feared he’d be treated like a servant back in Calidor too, or that Edyon would forget him as soon as he was a prince. Well, that would never happen.
As they walked back to their rooms after the dinner Edyon said, “We’ll get organized tomorrow and then leave the day after.”
March didn’t reply.
“Unless you have a better idea?” Edyon asked, turning to look March in the face.
March had that sad look again.
“Is there a problem?”
March mumbled, “It’s nothing.”
“You look . . . less than enthusiastic.”
“No, I mean, you’ve been through a lot. You need to rest before we leave.”
Edyon studied March. “We will have good horses and guards and the ride should only take three days at most and then the sea journey, where we can really relax. And then I meet my father.” He corrected himself: “We will meet my father together. I know you’re annoyed about being treated as a servant. I will ensure that it’s made clear that you’re my friend, my adviser. Not a servant.” Edyon took March’s hand. “I know it’s going to be difficult at times for you because of some people’s prejudices, but I’ll stay with you always. You have been the best, the only, person to get me through this ordeal. You’ve stayed with me through demon attacks, snowstorms, Brigantines, dogs, torture, and a trial.” Edyon smiled. “You are my friend and I am yours. Always.”
March squeezed Edyon’s hand. “Edyon . . . I need to tell you something.”
Edyon waited.
“I . . . you have changed me too. More than I ever thought. I confess . . . you are not what I expected. All the lords and highborn nobles I’ve met in Calidor are snobs and bullies.”
“So that’s it. You think I won’t fit in. I’ll be the bastard son from Pitoria, despised and talked about behind his back. They’ll sneer at me for my birth, and for my lack of fighting skills.”
March shook his head. “No . . . well, yes, that is a problem, but that’s not what I was trying to say.”
They’d reached their rooms and March opened the door as if he was a servant still. “Edyon, I am not the perfect person you think I am. I have faults. I have reason for those faults, though.”
Edyon went to March. He’d had several glasses of wine with dinner and he was feeling very much like he could talk all night, but he really wanted to do more than talk. He pressed his hand against March’s neck and leaned into his body. “I know you’re not perfect, March. No one is. However, you are as near perfect as I can imagine. So please”— and he kissed March on the cheek—“let me kiss you.”
“I think you’re a bit drunk.”
“A bit. A tiny, tiny bit.”
March sighed. “You need sleep. You’re half starved, drunk, and worn out. You need sleep. Then we can talk.”
“I have no interest in talking.” March had begun to undo Edyon’s jacket. “But I like very much that you’re undressing me.”
“So that you can go to bed and sleep.”
“You look after me so well.”
“I do.”
March guided Edyon to the bed and the sheets were soft and smooth and the blanket light and warm, and Edyon remembered clinging to the dead demon and laughed to himself about life and death and how good wine was and fell asleep.
TASH
DEMON TUNNELS
TASH KNELT at the edge of the demon hollow. The ground still had a red tinge to it. The demon was on the other side, waiting for her. He could kill her with ease—but she’d seen images from the demon’s mind and felt his own feelings and she knew he wasn’t a monster. She dug her toes into the soil, put her head down, and pushed forward as she breathed out. She was pleased to feel the warmth and the roughness of the sandy stone on her cheek on her first attempt. And standing in the bot
tom of the hollow looking up at her was the demon.
My demon.
Or am I his human?
Tash crawled forward and then sat at the top of the stone slope, unsure what to do. Hoping the demon would know why she’d come back. Hoping that she wasn’t a complete idiot.
Hope he doesn’t pull my bloody head off.
The demon moved his hand. Was he beckoning her?
Well, I can’t sit here all day.
Tash walked slowly down the slope. The demon’s eyes were on her all the time. He towered over her—as tall as Gravell had been. She looked up into his eyes—they were the deepest of blood reds. The demon held his hands out, palms up. And Tash remembered this was what the older demons had done with the newly “born” demons.
Oh shits.
She gently placed her hands on to those of the demon.
The demon’s hot, rough hands closed round hers.
Then the demon took hold of Tash’s mind as well as her hands.
She saw his life.
She felt his life.
She saw it and felt it from inside him.
He crawled out of the purple smoke at his birth and Tash felt all his muscles aching and hot. He was struggling to find his balance as he made his slow way up the steep stone steps, up and painfully up, but being drawn out by a desire to use these new legs and to see more than the swirl of purple smoke.
Tash actually felt unbalanced as she saw this.
And then ahead of her was a red-and-white demon, who took her hands and gave him a sign.
Tash saw and felt all this and somehow realized the sign was for her demon. The sign’s your name!
He was being given a name in those first moments with the elder.
But don’t you have a word for your name? Don’t you have any words?
The demon pointed to his face.
No words then. I just have to imagine your face?
The demon bent two fingers of his left hand and twisted them against the palm of his right hand.
You speak with hand signals too?
The demon repeated the gesture and at the same time in her head she saw a vision of her demon’s face followed by the vision of him lurching forward and twisting to regain his balance.
Are you trying to tell me that’s your name? A vision, a hand sign, and a twist?
The demon repeated it all again.
Blooming heck. Tash had a go at copying the hand sign. Then she thought of the demon’s face and his body twisting.
The demon now pointed at her.
Me? I don’t have a sign. I’ve got a name. She put her hand on her chest as she said her name clearly in her head. Tash.
The sound was returned in her head. The demon had repeated it perfectly.
She smiled. You’re good at this. My name’s Tash, and—she pointed at the demon—and I need a name for you. Do you mind if I give you a name?
There was a twirl of darker red that went up his cheek, over his eye to his scalp. And the way he staggered and regained his balance was a similar twist. That was it! She would call him Twist.
Can I call you Twist? And she pointed to him. Twist?
Twist smiled and repeated his name and again he did it perfectly. Then he pointed at Tash and made a hand sign—his right hand at his neck making a turning motion. And Tash knew what that was. That’s me freeing you from the chains. That’s my sign! That’s my demon name.
She did the movement for her name herself and Twist smiled and pointed to her.
Then Twist took hold of her hands and his thoughts moved on again. He showed her his life. He’d learned how to fight from other demons, getting stronger and faster all the time. He’d learned how to mold stone and to make tunnels. He’d made a tunnel for himself by breathing on the stone and smoothing it with his hands and even using his body. The stone hadn’t crumbled or melted but had seemed to move back, giving Twist room to move forward.
Twist had made his tunnel that led to the human world. She saw him emerging into the human world for the first time. She felt how cold it was. There was snow on the ground, the mountain peaks in the distance to the north. He had learned about the area around his hollow, the animals, and how they hunted, grew, and died. He had watched the seasons change from harsh winter to mild summer. Many years passed. Many winters, many thaws, many summers. But in all the years, perhaps twenty or more, he had only caught one person, up until today. The man was a hunter. A hunter of deer, not of demons. It was summer. He was with two other men, who ran away and left him. Twist had killed the hunter, breaking his neck and dragging his body back to the center of the demon world.
That’s your job? To hunt humans and kill them and throw them in the central well?
But already the visions she was seeing were moving on. A new demon was made from the human that Twist had caught, but immediately after that Twist had returned to his position in his tunnel.
That was Twist’s life. Solitary.
It feels lonely. Very, very lonely.
Twist had rarely gone back to the group, but, when he did, each time the group had been smaller. The demons were dying and few bodies were caught to replace them. The times in the distant past when there had been many demons and much building and growth were gone. Now it was quiet. The demons were dying out.
But then a human girl had come.
This was the girl Tash had seen.
And now Tash saw her as Twist had seen her—close up. She had eyes of silvery blue—like March’s eyes. The girl was from Abask!
You didn’t kill her either. Did she help you too?
Then Tash saw why they had let the girl live. The girl had been on the Northern Plateau, running from a demon. She was fast and agile. She ran to a clearing where two men were chained up. They were half starved, whipped, and with broken legs. They were a gift to the demons. The demon who’d been chasing the girl didn’t care how they came to be there, how the girl had got them there. He killed the men and took the bodies—and the girl brought more.
Every full moon a new broken body was delivered. And the girl lived with the demons, learning their ways, coming and going from the demon world.
What’s her name? I mean her sign?
Twist made the sign for the girl’s name—moving his finger down in a zigzag and to his eye. Tash wasn’t sure what the zigzag was. She copied the movement and looked quizzically at Twist. Then an image filled Tash’s head—frost crystals forming on a log.
Frost?
The girl was called Frost, no doubt because her eyes were silver.
Twist had learned about Frost when he went to the core. But he had met her for the first time when Brigantine soldiers captured him.
She’s always worked for the Brigantines. I bet they provided the injured men every month. They wanted to learn about the tunnels, about the demons.
Twist continued his story. He was put in the cage where Tash had found him. The Brigantines never touched him with their bare hands so he could never see what they were thinking. But the girl, Frost, came there, telling the Brigantines what to do.
She knows about the tunnels, but can she make them, like the demons do?
Twist didn’t understand her question, so Tash imagined it. In her head she saw Frost making a tunnel.
Twist filled Tash’s head with another vision—of the girl scraping at the stone walls with her hands so that they bled.
Ha, ha! I understand. She’s not that good. She can’t make tunnels.
But Twist didn’t yet know how many Brigantines Frost had brought. Tash needed to tell him about the soldiers, but first she had to show Twist her life just as she’d seen Twist’s.
She held his hands and went through her own story from the beginning, or at least from as far back as she could remember. She thought of her childhood, her parents, her brothers, and how she was ha
lf starved and beaten, and she remembered the day Gravell had come and bought her. But he didn’t treat her as a slave—he bought her freedom. He treated her as a friend, a daughter, a sister, a partner. She thought of the times walking through the forest, laughing and joking, cooking, and Gravell dancing a jig. She didn’t think of making demon traps or killing demons.
She remembered Gravell with her in Rossarb. Then the cells, then the princess, then freedom for Tash, and the battle where Gravell saved Tash’s life by sacrificing his own, and where she had to leave his body to be trampled on by the Brigantine soldiers and burned in the fires of Rossarb.
Now Twist gripped her hands. Tash looked up and saw Twist’s concern. Tash wasn’t crying, but he reached out and wiped an imaginary tear from below her eye.
She nodded. Yes, I’ve cried a lot.
But she had to continue her story. She thought of their escape from Rossarb, the storm, and the Brigantines, and how they’d hidden in the demon tunnels. Then there was just her and Geratan, then they’d seen the soldiers come into the tunnels, and then there was the girl, Frost.
Now Twist gripped Tash’s hands hard. And she felt his shock, his anger and sadness at the bodies being thrown into the core and the demons being born but then killed immediately for their purple smoke.
He dropped Tash’s hands and sat down, as if he couldn’t bear to see more.
Tash let him be for a while, then went to sit next to him. It was exhausting trying to communicate with Twist, but it was exhilarating too. She’d felt his emotions, felt his strength, and seen the world through his eyes.
After a time, he took her hand again, and he showed her a different image.
Oh shits. I had a feeling you’d want to do this.
It was a vision of her meeting all the other demons.
CATHERINE
DONNAFON, NORTHERN PITORIA
Have neither mercy nor faith; neither humanity nor integrity: have merely the will to rule and you will rule well.
The King, Nicolas Montell
CATHERINE HAD been ecstatic after the trial—a better feeling than even the smoke could give her. She’d had Penny, the cook who had given the evidence that had swung the case, brought to her and thanked her for coming forward. Penny said that she’d been dissuaded from doing so by the people of Dornan, and the red tops in particular, and she’d gone to the trial wanting to help but unsure if she was brave enough to stand up publicly—but she’d been inspired by seeing Catherine act as judge.
