by Hannah King
The night of the wedding was swiftly approaching, and once the ceremony was over, the plan of escape would swing into action. He nervously mouthed the words of the wedding hymns he would have to sing. The long, tedious songs he’d fidgeted through many, many times as a boy.
He got up and looked out of his window for the hundredth time that day, wishing he could see the Turaphelin from his room. He kicked the sill in frustration. He’d wanted to go back at least once. It unnerved him being separated from them at such a pivotal time.
He wanted to help, make sure they were prepared for the escape, but he would be of more use in the citadel, dressing up and pretending. If anything went wrong, it would be his fault, he was sure.
I made a real mess of things bringing them all here, Tratis thought to himself, wondering once again if they might have slipped back to the mountain pass or hidden elsewhere, but he shook his head. He couldn’t give way to those doubts now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
TALITHA
THE SUN WAS setting. A low, dim light, a distant star. It faded slowly, and as it sank deeper, the heavens rolled out the planets and constellations that would take its place during the season.
All around the city, lamps were being lit. They had been filled to the brim in the previous days in preparation for the month of darkness, and they burned steadily in the hands of citizens. Without the light, the air was colder than ever. It would grow warmer as the days went on, but with temper snow still fresh from the sky, the dark only caused more shivers.
We bundled up in blankets as we were led to the temple. From the streets we could see a massive circle of light. A basin of flame was burning in the courtyard, like a massive torch. From its light one could see the Leiden’s with their lamps, dressed in their finest clothing. The crowds around us were as silent as the night sky. My friends’ cheeks were rosy in the lamplight as we wandered toward the temple.
I shot Wes a look of encouragement and saw him bite his lip and swallow. My hands were shaking within the folds of my cloak.
Once the ceremony was over, we would have to swing into action, but for now, we had to appear as though we were solemnly preparing to become Leiden citizens.
The temple was large enough to fit the masses that had come to oversee the event. Jet black marble floors gleamed in the light of hundreds of candles. The ceilings rose as if reaching to the heavens.
There were no benches to sit on. At the front of the room was a set of stairs that led to an engraved table. Before it stood an old priest, dressed in opulent bejeweled robes with a heavy gold circle around his shaved head. Behind him, the queen and each member of the Paraphrant sat in velvet, gilded chairs, their fingers laced in front of them. Each looked calmer than ever, if anything, bored. None of them looked nervous about the trap they’d supposedly set before us.
Lord Sasal’s eyes swept over my form, then moved on, scanning for other women that had joined the festivities.
Queen Eithne was smiling blithely. For whichever reason I wasn’t sure. She was either genuinely happy or faking oblivion. Had they told her of the plot? Or did she think everything was going well? She would be left behind when we departed and being clueless might be the best option when these greedy politicians woke up and realized their pact with the Parters was suddenly impossible to fulfill.
Once we’d all filed into the building, the priest began to sing a song. A droning, chanting song that seemed to last forever. We stood in silence, listening as it went on and on. It was the sort of melody that I imagined would haunt me in my sleep.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. I felt the crowd parting in one fluid motion and hurried to keep up. More silence. The crowd turned their heads. With no sound except that of their feet on the cold marble floors, Gray and Tratis walked in tandem through the aisle we’d made and slowly crested the stairs to the priest.
The priest nodded to them and passed them a silver scroll. Each reached out a hand to take one side. He spoke a few phrases in Leiden, then, seemed to ask them to face the crowd. Turning out, they did so, hands still linked by the scroll, faces sober.
An ache took over me. I was sure that Gray looked beautiful, she was likely in a lovely dress, her long tresses allowed to flow down to her waist. I was certain she was breathtaking, but my eyes were only on Tratis.
He stood there, dressed in fine clothes of course, but what did that matter? As I looked, I hadn’t realized the sum of emotions his very face summited inside of me. My fear, my comfort, my longing, how had he come to mean so much to me? His deep blue eyes glittered in the lamplight, so calm, so courageous.
“Leidens, your prince,” the priest said in Cronin. “He has declared his love for this woman, and with it, her people. With the union of this prince and the woman he loves, you will all be allowed sanctuary in our country, denying your birthplace and your families as she will deny hers. Becoming Leiden, a high honor.”
The priest turned to Tratis, “The hymn of union he will now sing.”
Tratis opened his mouth and began. This song was a sweeter song. His low voice resounded in the ancient hall. It was a love song, a beautiful, heartbreaking love song. I couldn’t make out any of the Leiden words, but his voice told me one thing. He truly loved her.
His gaze traveled over the people within the temple, and for one horrible moment his eyes rested on me. I wanted to shrink back, but I held the gaze until he quickly tore it away.
I’d never loved anyone like that. Never allowed my heart to be stolen, not once in the life I had lived. Mine had been a life of survival, of fighting to the death, of rallying together. I’d never believed attachment was necessary, or helpful to our cause. It was a distraction to fall in love, and I hated myself, hated him for blinding me.
I watched him take both of Gray’s hands in his and the priest placed a silver ringlet on Gray’s head, then began to tie their wrists with a silver string.
Did she love him? I saw no spark in her eye, no look of awe or reverence. Hers were cold, stone like. To her, this was business.
It didn’t matter, I reminded myself. None of it mattered. It was all a farce. We would be gone from here in mere hours, either heading far away to the shores of Indarphe, or, if things went poorly, at the end of the Parter’s swords.
“As you belong to a Leiden man, you will belong to Leida,” the priest said to Gray. “And with it, your people. You will remain in our gates, within our safety, as one of us.”
A cup of pale wine was shared, more words were spoken. Two candles on the table were blown out by the priest. A single, larger candle was lit in its place.
More words. I did my best not to look around. Everyone’s eyes were still on the couple. It was nearly over.
“All within this house now belong to Leida,” the priest said in Cronin. “Return to your places Leiden’s and enter rest,” he commanded.
Tratis and Gray walked hand and hand back through the sea of people, carrying the single candle.
We slowly filed out of the building, heading back to the Turaphelin. Upon the first light of the season of color, we’d been promised plots of farmland and lumber to build homes, but for now, the Turaphelin would have to serve us, they had said.
Might as well keep us all in one place so that we’d be easier to round up when Faldir’s men got here, I thought grimly. We made our way back to the Turaphelin, slowly, calmly. Then we crawled under our covers and waited.
WYATT
Wyatt cursed under shivering breaths. The air was wretchedly cold and some of the last flakes of temper collected on his shoulders. His body had always hated this weather.
The streets were empty, just as he’d expected. A light was on in the tavern, but anyone there was unlikely to stir outside of the doors, and if they did, they wouldn’t be looking for anything except maybe a bucket to vomit in.
Once he’d reached the harbor district, Wyatt selected a heavy key from his belt and inserted it into the harbor wall gate, turning it slowly. It swung op
en easily and soundlessly, well-oiled like all Leiden gates. He quickly caught it with his hand and stepped through. The ships were sleeping in the harbor, all except two. The Osprey, and The Dove, two large trade ships. Their sails were raised, and their gangplanks were lowered.
Admiral Gorstol was waiting aboard The Dove, watching him approach. For a moment, his heart jumped in his throat. He paused. His feet begged him to turn around, to forget it all.
If he was discovered, he knew he’d lose everything, be locked up forever, even hung, but he also knew if he stood by and watched these people die, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He decided the guilt would be far worse than having a rope squeeze the life out of him, as much as that image liked to haunt him.
Gorstol was a strong man. His stature rose far above Wyatt’s, and his arms and legs were thick with burly muscle. His face was clean and lacking the usual scars that some might say a sailor would have, but his hair was long and unkempt, strung with silver beads. He tapped his boot impatiently.
“Well, do you have it with you?”
Wyatt hesitated, then reached beneath his cloak to pull out a sack. It was filled with half his life’s savings, a tidy sum, especially for a seafaring man like his friend. He passed it to Gorstol, and he counted it, smiling at the excess.
“You lost your mind or something?” he said with a wink, pocketing the currency and patting it with satisfaction.
“These people must be delivered to Indarphe,” Wyatt began, ignoring the man’s comment. “Safely, unharmed, fed three meals a day, and they must remain free. Do you understand? No chains, no rope.”
Gorstol shrugged.
“That’s a risky thing to ask of me you know...How do I know they won’t cause trouble?”
“They won’t,” Wyatt said assuredly. “They’ve caused no trouble here in Leida.”
“In Leida?” he scoffed. “They wouldn’t dare cause trou-ble here, they’re outnumbered. But on my ships...How do I know they won’t try to steal from me or commit mutiny? These are people of war, aren’t they?”
They’d had this conversation before. It was all another ploy to up the price. He’d been prepared. Another few hundred units were hidden in his belt, just in case some last minute bartering had to be done.
“You know...I could sell all of them and make a tidy sum,” Gorstol droned on. “It’s half my business you know. I have plenty of spare chains in the bottom of my boats, and if eight hundred helpless people float away with me, I might be tempted to make an early season bonus at any market along the way. My crew could easily shackle them in their sleep. How much to make sure I don’t put them in chains?”
“You’re my friend Gorstol. That ought to be enough,” Wyatt replied, but he reluctantly produced another sum of money and held it out.
Gorstol peered at Wyatt long and hard, then chuckled.
“You know, you’re right. Keep your extra money. It’s rich enough for me to see you do something that takes a spine for once in your life,” he said, slapping him on the back none too gently.
“Well, you owe me,” Wyatt said, straightening after the blow.
They’d gone to school together years ago, and Wyatt had helped him get through. Gorstol had come from a poor family by Leiden standards and had very little except horse sense when it came to brains. He would have never finished without Wyatt’s help, and in Leida, an education was what made you. Even slave traders had to be well versed in math and languages to be given a ship. Wyatt knew Gorstol owed him his successful job. If not for him, he’d be a poor man.
“We have a deal then Pearadur?” Gorstol said, reaching out for a handshake.
“Not just yet,” he held back. “I need your answer.” Wyatt locked eyes with him. “Will you let any harm come to them or attempt to make a profit?” Gorstol sighed, raised an eyebrow, then gave up.
“No, I won’t let any harm come to them or attempt to make a profit,” he repeated in a grumble, but it was an authentic grumble. “You Truthbearers take the fun out of everything,” the man added with a chortle. Wyatt ignored this, satisfied that Gorstol had not evaded him. His code’s sense assured him that the crusty seafarer was speaking the truth.
He shook Gorstol’s hand, glad they had reached the end of the haggling.
“When are they coming?” Gorstol asked. “If I’m to be a wanted man, I should like to get a head start.”
Wyatt sighed. They’d discussed this too. He was going to do everything he could to keep Gorstol’s name clear. When the Admiral returned from his voyage, Wyatt had promised to lie for him.
He would pin the blame on the Cronins, say they had escaped from the Turaphelin that night and threatened Gorstol and his men to take them offshore. It made enough sense. These Cronins were rebels after all, smart and strong enough to overpower the crew. The Paraphrant would trust Wyatt to decipher the truth of the matter when he interrogated Gorstol.
“They’ll be here soon enough,” he answered, then folded his arms and leaned on the railing, trying to look relaxed, but his heart was pounding as he thought over the evening that was just beginning.
TRATIS
The door clicked shut behind them. Tratis kept his ear to it, waiting for the sound of footsteps to recede.
“Guards are gone,” Gray summarized quickly under her breath. “They went down the north stairway and out into the courtyard.” She was braiding her long hair back into its usual form, hands flying.
She ducked behind a screen to quickly change out of the lengthy wedding clothes and into her usual attire. In seconds, she reappeared and went to the corner of the room to where she’d left her bow and quiver, then strode over to the window.
“Be careful on that last branch, it’s weaker than it looks,” Tratis warned. She raised an eyebrow.
“I’m lighter than I look,” she quipped in annoyance.
“Ten minutes,” he said. “Then I’ll meet you at-”
“At the docks, I know,” she cut him off. “The hallway’s empty, no one is approaching,” Gray said, her fingertips extended.
“Perfect,” he said.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.” His hand lifted the latch, took a deep breath and pulled it open. He didn’t look back. He had to move quickly if this was going to be successful.
He stole down the corridor and up three staircases until he reached the heavy door that led to the Paraphrant council chambers. Wyatt had given him the key so that he could reach the alarm belfry in the back of the room. He listened a moment, then pushed the door open and slipped inside.
He began to scan the room for flammable surfaces. Curtains, documents...It wouldn’t take long to spread, he decided. And to see this room go up in flames? That would be well worth the risk. Years and years of denying justice to the innocent, covering it up with traditions and prose.
Now it would be a beacon that guards from all over the city could see. The alarm bell would ring, and they would all come rushing to its aide, to make sure the fire didn’t spread, to make sure the royalty got out safely. It would clear the pathways for the Sustainers to make their way to the dock.
Quickly, he rubbed his hands together, then let his fingertips trace each object. They caught quickly, and the flames lapped at the fuel hungrily. Once he’d done enough to warrant the room’s destruction, he opened the door at the back of the room that led to the citadel bell tower and tugged on the heavy rope rapidly, the bell clanging and resounding in the narrow space, causing his entire body to vibrate.
When the total of bells for alarm were sounded, he exited the belfry and surveyed his work one last time. The flames were successfully leaping higher and smoke was filling the room. He knew if he stayed much longer, he’d be in danger of discovery, or turning into toast.
“Ring the tower bell in the council room,” Wyatt had suggested, “The guards all over the city will think there’s a fire and leave their posts.” Tratis had agreed to it, but he hadn’t told Wyatt that the alarm the soldiers would rush toward
would be anything but false.
Shutting the door behind him, he moved with purpose back to his room and climbed down the balcony. He had been much lighter the last time he’d attempted it, he chuckled to himself as the branches of the tree below sagged and sighed beneath his muscular form. At last his feet hit the ground and he took off, running toward the Turaphelin. The usual courtyard guards had already left their posts to respond to the blaze.
“So far, so good,” he muttered to himself.
TALITHA
It was so quiet within, as if everyone was asleep, but I knew in the dark everyone's eyes were open wide. Then the bells rang out loud and clear. There were shouts as the Leiden soldiers realized that they were being called to the citadel for emergency.
Soundlessly I stood to my feet and crept down the empty hallways, heart pounding. Wes was standing at the door.
“They’re gone,” he whispered. The ten guards that usually stood at the front of the yard were running away toward the royal district to lend their aide. Wes was waiting there, ready to help me confirm the route to the docks. It was the job Lead Breiden had given us. Without Captain Gray, they needed another high ranking Lantern to determine the path to the harbor was safe and clear of enemy troops.
“I would like you to take her place Amlai,” Lead Breiden had asked. “Wes will show you the way to the harbor. We will wait for you to scour out a route and report back. When you assure us of passage, we will begin our journey to the ships.”
Somehow, Lead Breiden still trusted me, after everything. I hadn’t been eager to take the job. I was terrified that even the basic function of my ability had been permanently damaged in the last few days, but I hadn’t dared to argue with a lead’s orders. I would have to try my best. At least I would have Wes to help me find the way and be a second pair of eyes and ears.
He climbed over the gate with ease and unlocked it with the key the informer had given him.
“Ready?” he whispered once I reached his side.
I nodded. I hadn’t told anyone, but it would be the first time I’d taken off my gloves since the binding. Gingerly, I slipped them from my hands. The cold air struck them almost as bitterly as the memories that jumped into my mind the moment they were removed.
