by Hannah King
If we had to leave, it would be better to leave before the thirty days were up and find another place to go before the darkness set in, but that was easier said than done. Temper was unforgiving too.
What if I’d succeeded? I wondered. Would we still have been faced with this cruel ultimatum? It seemed so contrived and sudden, as if intended to punish the entire camp for my mistake, my inability.
When my plate was mostly finished, I stole back to the lonely room and tried to sleep. I was glad for the cot and the blankets that had been given to me in the sick room, and I didn’t miss the captain’s drafty quarters or sleeping on the floor.
I wondered when or if they would ever call on me as a captain again. They didn’t know I was up and about yet, and I doubted they would feel any need for me in their urgent meetings about our future destinations.
I didn’t care, I only hoped that the next morning would bring all of us an answer. As slim as our chances were, I was eager to be on the move again; eager to leave this place and all of its memories.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
TALITHA
THE NEXT MORNING, I approached the breakfast wa-gons with caution. I hated the stares, but I’d decided to brave it. Nothing could be worse than staying in that room all day. The night had been bad enough.
Accepting a bowl of porridge, I brought it inside and took it over to the table, keeping my eyes down. I couldn’t help but be relieved when I noted that Camphraz didn’t seem to be up yet.
Setting my bowl near Cora, I soundlessly wolfed it down while the others kept up a low, nervous hum of conversation. Most of it was speculation about our next destination, until Ayla joined the table. Her face was twisted with worry as she scooted onto a bench. She began to pick at her food aimlessly.
“What is it, Ayla?” Cora asked, instantly sensing something was awry.
“It’s Camphraz,” she answered wearily. “He's still sick. I took him to the Healer Farris this morning. He’s so weak, his head aches all the time, he can’t eat, and he,” she hesitated.
“What?” Reylard pressed.
“He has flecks in his eyes,” she said in a hush.
“Flecks?”
Ayla nodded. “Just like yours Talitha, the ones you had back in the Elm Beds.”
I stared at her in confusion.
“Remember? Those flecks of yellow, or light, or whatever we called them, the ones we saw when you had Parsley fever.”
“But, Healer Farris didn’t see them, he said that you imagined them,” I argued.
Ayla looked at me soberly. “Well, he sees these ones.”
“So he has Parsley fever again?” I asked apparently louder than I should have.
Ayla looked around nervously. “We’re not quite sure what it is, but if it is a fever, he could get us thrown out of here even earlier by the Leidens,” she whispered.
“You should tell our healers about the flecks she had in her eyes,” Reylard pointed at me unceremoniously, swallowing a piece of bacon at the same time. He screwed up his eyes in thought. “Maybe they’re magical… Maybe, Talitha put an evil spell on him or something,” he said, a sly grin spreading across his face. “After yesterday, I mean, I’ve never seen you so mad.”
“Don’t you think I’d have put one on you a long time ago if I could?” I retorted.
“It must just be a Parsley fever symptom,” Cora decided. “One they haven’t noted yet.”
“If it is Parsley, he’s had it for weeks,” said Ayla. “It’s supposed to start with a fever, some chills and then it’s over within three or four days if the person is healthy. And then there’s the stomach pains he gets off and on. Healer Farris has never heard of stomach pains and Parsley fever together,”
I sighed. As if we needed one more thing to worry and wonder about. I supposed it was good that it at least took their minds off our current decision for a bit. The others began to toss in their medical opinions and share unsavory symptoms from mysterious illnesses they’d had in the past. I ate my porridge quietly.
“Captain Tratis is back,” Cora whispered to me.
“He is?” I turned and gave her my full attention. “When?”
“Early this morning. He’s been in a meeting with the leads and the captains. I thought maybe you’d be there too. Must be waiting for you to fully recover before you take up rank with them again.”
I nodded, but suddenly felt antsy. I’d been feeling grateful that no one had asked me to take up my role as a captain yet, or requested my presence at any meetings, but now I was frustrated. I wanted so badly to know what Tratis had to say. To find out why he’d delayed in the citadel so long.
Had he been fighting for our cause? He didn’t have to return to us. He might have stayed safe in his sister’s home and left us alone. I was so relieved he was back.
Suddenly, everyone’s attention was shifting, my friends were craning their necks toward the back of the hall. I looked up, and my heart leaped. Tratis was coming down the stairs. He ignored the onlookers and walked swiftly to the door, but I saw a spark in his eye, that spark I knew so well but hadn’t seen in so long. He had a plan. After he’d left the dining hall we heard the sound of horse hooves outside. He was gone again.
“Where’s he going now?” Cora wondered.
An hour passed with no sign of announcements, and since the weather outdoors was bleak, many of us crowded into the dining room. There were only so many spaces by the fire, so we huddled against the wall and tried to distract ourselves by chatting or napping.
Two more hours, and the door opened once more. Tratis re-entered, looking nervous, almost, and, without a word, hurried back up the stairs.
“Why is he always so mysterious?” Ayla complained.
Reylard shrugged. “At least he came back. I thought for a little while there that he was going to forget about us and become one of them,” he stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth.
A rare instance in which Reylard and I had shared the same thought, I noted to myself.
Evening drills were called, and I waited in the empty dining hall, watching the stairs, waiting for any news. I contemplated climbing them and resuming my place, but it didn’t feel right to barge into a meeting that had already begun. If they wanted me there, they would have sent a messenger to fetch me as they often had.
Drills were over and everyone crowded back into the room, blue and sweaty from exercising in the cold.
“Did we miss anything?” a young fielder asked me as they came in. I shook my head. He shrugged nervously. “Why are they taking so long? How hard is it to pick a place?”
“A lot harder than you’d think. You look at a map recently?” another boy spoke up. “We’re locked in. West? You got Ralstag and the Parters out that way. Got ocean to the north and Palpus to the south. I wouldn’t go to Palpus if you paid me. We’ll likely end up in Eltdor.”
“I don’t see why we can’t go back to Brawl. I miss my family,” he commented sullenly.
“You like climbing mountains in the dark?” the other fielder scoffed. “That’s how you break your neck. Besides, the mountain passes won't even be clear until late into color. I bet we’ll go even further east. That would at least get us out of Leida’s borders in time. We can camp in Eltdor until the season of night ends, then decide what to do next. It’s going to be a long time before anyone sees their family,” he ended grimly.
“They’re coming!” someone whispered, and I looked up. The leads and captains were filing down the stairs.
“Assemble in the courtyard!” Lead Talrinious barked. He didn’t have to tell us twice. Soon the dining hall was empty, as was every other space and level of the Turaphelin, and every single Sustainer was clustered in the courtyard, waiting with bated breath to hear their fate.
Lead Talrinious’ voice rang out clear in the cold air.
“Your Captain Tratis has brought us some good news,” he began. “He and the queen have developed a compromise, and by some miracle, the Paraphrant has agreed to i
t.”
We held our breath, hope rising.
“They will no longer cast us out.”
A cheer rose up. I froze in confusion.
Talrinious held up a hand and continued, “They will accept us all as Leidens, in exchange for one union. Captain Tratis is a Leiden by blood, once the heir to Leida’s throne before forfeiting at a young age.”
He paused as murmurs spread throughout the company, then continued.
“The Paraphrant has agreed that a union between him and a Cronin woman would suffice to purify our people in their eyes so that we may become citizens.”
I ran the words back to myself, trying to figure out what they meant, and if I’d heard them right.
Talrinious went on. “The marriage of Leiden royalty to a Cronin will be enough to grant us new lives here in Leida. The Leiden government will offer us freedom, safety, food, land in the valley and the ability to earn wages and work toward a permanent life here.”
The crowd chatted in excitement. My heart began to pound. It all seems too good to be true, too easy, I thought warily. And, if he’s to marry a Cronin woman, then, who would… My question was answered before I’d finished asking it.
“Captain Tratis will be united in marriage with Captain Gray on the last day of the season of temper at sunset,” Talrinious said triumphantly. He went on to give details, specifics about the ceremony, the where, the when, but I could only stare. Gray was standing at Tratis’ side wearing an indifferent expression.
Marry, Tratis. Gray is going to marry Tratis. People were still cheering, clapping. I should be clapping too, I thought dimly. I put my hands together but I couldn’t force a smile. Tratis’ gaze caught mine. He smiled, seeming genuinely happy to see me up and about, but my eyes darted away.
I tried to fight the sickening, achy feeling that was creeping over my heart. I was ashamed of it. I wanted to feel relieved instead, like the others. This was a gift wasn’t it? We could stay, we would be safe.
But at what cost? I wondered. Would we ever be able to return to our families? Would we be happy living among these strange people, following their customs, turning a blind eye away from the slavery that our ancestors had fought so hard against?
Our families back in the mountains had risked everything standing against Faldir, and so had we. And now we would just give in to a city that was hardly better than the Parter’s empire? Waste every drop of blood that was shed? Becoming Leiden was not what we had fought for. This was giving up, giving in, and leaving our convictions by the side of the road to mock us.
Slowly I tore myself away from the crowd and wandered back to my room in a daze. I couldn’t help but think I could have stopped all of it by successfully binding that horrible creature. Then things might have gone as planned. We could have stayed independent, maybe one day reclaimed our own country.
I wondered fleetingly if Tate might give me one more chance, maybe if I begged him. I was feeling a little stronger now. But even as I considered it, I felt a shudder strike my brain and I almost cried out.
Nurandism had left its mark on me, one far worse than the cursed splotch of wulf ink beneath my glove.
WYATT
Wyatt sat up, gasping, sweating. She’s all right. She returned to her people, she’s being cared for, he reminded himself again. The girl, Talitha, her pale, pain-stricken face, her body so lifeless. His sister, Mia, had looked as pale and weak the night he had snuck into the infirmary so many years ago.
It had been the first and last time he had ever broken the Leiden law, and he knew he was lucky that he hadn’t been caught. His parents had long reminded him of the reasons for the rules in Leida, especially the infirmary law, but he had known he had to see her.
At only ten years old, the daring spirit of youth hadn’t yet been drilled out of him by his lengthy education in logic and reasoning. All he had thought of was the goal, and how the consequences might be avoided.
If he was caught, he’d known he’d be whipped, locked up in a prison cell for a month, and made to take seven baths in scorching water before he could go back to his family. It was a harsh punishment, but it had long kept Leida a healthy and strong city. Illness stayed where illness was. After all his schooling, he finally understood why.
Despite his healthy knowledge of the possible punishment, he’d tiptoed in, late at night, dodging healers and slaves. He was small enough at that age to go unnoticed, to crawl under patient’s beds when people were coming.
He would never forget the coughing and moaning of those claimed by the sickness. When he’d finally found Mia, she was breathing hard. Her clothes, skin and forehead were soaked with sweat. He’d held her damp hands and tried to whisper to her. She’d woken up and forced a smile, making his risk worthwhile. He'd been too young to know it would be the last smile she’d ever manage.
Wyatt grimaced. He’d told her a few simple things that seemed important to his ten-year-old self; what they’d had for dinner, how the family dog had wandered off but had been found later in the cellar. Father had left the door open in a strange fit of forgetfulness, and the canine had been happily helping himself to their store of carrots.
Wyatt had expected another smile at this anecdote, but the fever had seized her then, and she’d clenched her teeth and moaned, turning away from him fitfully. He’d said her name in alarm, almost forgetting to whisper, but she’d cried out deliriously.
It had frightened him. He’d wanted to grab her, shake her out of whatever nightmare she seemed to be dreaming up, but the cry had alerted a nurse, and at the sound of her footsteps he knew he had to leave.
He’d been a coward, he decided later. What would a few lashes and a month alone have mattered, if he could have only seen her face a few minutes longer? But he’d run, assuming he could come back the next night to see her.
She’d likely died an hour after he’d left. Her body was thrown into the sea by the undertakers. Not even the family was allowed to visit a corpse that came from the infirmary. There was no plot of land to bury the sick, no coffins allotted. They were robbed of seeing the lifeless form of his beloved sister one last time.
For so long, Wyatt had pushed this memory far away. He’d been sent to school, distracted himself with his lessons, become so intelligent and studious that his tutors had selected him for further education that brought him a job within the palace. In those comfortable walls, with his many responsibilities, he’d nearly been able to forget about it. He’d willed himself to. Anything less would be viewed as a sign of weakness among his superiors.
Wyatt kicked the smothering covers off his body and stumbled over to the window, unlatching it to let the temper air cool his flushed face.
This was his fault, he realized. He’d allowed himself to stay lonely, to keep to his duties, and to himself. He’d made himself vulnerable, vulnerable enough to care for a foreign girl. He shook his head. If he hadn’t let himself become so isolated, it may have never happened.
He could have been happy in some Leiden woman’s arms, worrying day to day about her trifling needs and whims, but instead he was full of fears, real fears for this Cronin girl and the rest of her people.
He knew the truth about their fate. Though the queen, Tratis and perhaps one or two members of the Paraphrant didn’t know, Wyatt had heard the others deciding. Lord Orp, Lady Vencia, Lord Sasal, they always did what they thought was in Leida’s best interest, regardless of what Queen Eithne wanted.
The edict, the ceremony of marriage, was a trap, a farce to appease the people for a little while, and to deceive the queen and her brother into thinking the Cronins could be safe.
They had sent messengers out to the Parters that night to start negotiating a peace treaty between Leida and the Parters. If all went as planned, the morning after the meaningless marriage, an army of Parters would arrive just outside of Leida. The Leiden army would overwhelm the Sustainers, bind them and march them out of the gates to be given over to the Parters as a peace offering, to secure an alliance w
ith them and ensure another few decades free from war.
Wyatt knew two things for sure; the queen would not be able to stop the Paraphrant from giving them over, and the Parters would end each and every one of these people’s lives. They had been waiting to pay these rebels back for years, and they would complete the transaction with quick strokes of their swords. It was the price to pay for the peace the Paraphrant wanted.
He was breathing heavily again. His lungs had always been weak. He searched blindly on his bedside table for the tonic his doctor had given him and lifted it to his lips, sputtering as he always did from the wretched concoction. His breathing deepened and normalized, but he didn’t sleep. He paced. He decided that if he let it happen, the guilt would kill him.
He would warn Tratis, but that wouldn’t be enough. Tratis wouldn’t be able to get to his people. Both he and the woman he was marrying had returned to the citadel that night, and were not allowed to visit them until after the “wedding.” It was part of the formalities.
He could tell him, warn him, but he would need to tell someone else; someone who could actually get to the people. And more than that, he needed to find them a solution, a way out. Just knowing about the threat wouldn’t be enough for people with meager resources. They needed a route of escape, a passage to safety.
Wyatt began to rack his brain. He knew the ins and outs of the city, its weak places and its strong places. He knew many people, the influential and rich, the poor and useful. Surely something could be arranged with some thought, and a handsome sum of his ever-accumulating wealth.
He took another swig of the tonic, wishing it were wine. He was going crazy, that was for sure. He was about to risk everything for eight hundred or so strangers.
CHAPTER THIRTY
WES
WES’ HEART WAS still pounding. He looked over his shoulder to be sure no one had seen the encounter. The cloaked figure disappeared from sight, moving as quickly as any non Swiftfoot could. Taking a deep breath, Wes tried to process what had happened.
