‘Could you wake me like that every day?’
She smiled, flitting from her perch on his cot. ‘Perhaps. But that might mean you never get out of bed.’
‘I’m willing to risk it if you are.’
She flashed him another smile. ‘You’ve slept long enough,’ she said. ‘Your friends are downstairs and I rather think the ale won’t last much longer.’
Tol sat up. He stretched out his limbs. The pain was still there, but it had subsided to a dull, itchy ache. He flexed his sword arm, then remembered that he wouldn’t be needing it. At least, not for a while.
Katarina stopped him at the door. ‘Fresh clothes.’ She pointed to a neat, folded pile in the corner of the inn’s room.
Tol collected the pile: a dark shirt and brown trousers, nondescript but functional and about the right size. When he looked up, Katarina was still standing in the doorway.
‘Aren’t you going to wait outside?’
She folded her arms. ‘Don’t be silly.’ A grin teased the corners of her mouth. ‘If I don’t like what I see,’ Katarina said, ‘the wedding might be cancelled.’
‘Or,’ Tol said, ‘seeing as I’m taking my clothes off, you can do the same and we’ll see what happens.’
‘Not with my father downstairs.’ Her voice dropped as Tol fumbled with his shirt. ‘But I promise you won’t be disappointed.’
Two minutes later, Tol ambled down the stairs, Katarina’s hand wrapped in his own. Dusk was giving way to night outside, and the sounds of distant revelry were seeping in through an open window, though the faint hum was eclipsed by raucous voices issuing from the downstairs bar.
*
The bar was brimming with people as Katarina threaded her way through the room, Tol holding her hand like she might fly away at any moment. They reached the bar and she slipped a tankard of ale into his hand, her own tiny fingers curling round a dusty glass of brandy. Tol noticed that no coins changed hands, the innkeeper just slid the drinks across as though he wouldn’t dream of asking for payment.
‘Father brought some refreshments from his ship,’ Katarina explained.
The duke was over by the front door, holding court with a couple of knights and two men who looked humourless and violent enough to be Sworn. He hadn’t seen them yet, but Tol didn’t think it would be long and he wasn’t looking forward to meeting Katarina’s father again, not after their last meeting on the docks.
Katarina saw him watching her father. ‘He’s a teddy bear,’ she said.
‘You keep saying that. I still half-expect him to have the Sworn cut me to pieces.’
‘Only if you break my heart.’
Katarina sounded serious, and one look at her face revealed the concern etched in the soft curves of her cheeks.
‘Never,’ Tol said quietly. ‘I love you and there’s nothing that will change that.’
Katarina nodded. ‘No more adventures with angels,’ she said. ‘You promised.’
‘I did, and I meant it.’
Tol reached down, and the two of them held hands, looking over the room and the assembled miscreants who had survived the single biggest war in two hundred years. Tol saw Patrick, whose father had been a great friend to Tol’s own and who had died in Obsidian. The young knight was talking to a couple of Sworn men in the back corner. A few yards away, Isallien and Catardor were swapping stories with a trio of Sworn warriors. Riedel had the back table as his court, with an audience of drunk Sworn and empty mugs hanging on his every word. Although, Tol noticed, Riedel used very few words and instead seemed to favour various gestures and mimes. Too much time with Stetch, he thought. He looked for Katarina’s bodyguard, but couldn’t see him anywhere. Odd, considering the drink’s free.
And, he realised, one other person was conspicuously absent.
‘Where’s Kartane?’ Tol said. ‘With free drinks he’d be in Heaven.’
‘He was here a few minutes ago.’ Katarina squeezed his hand. ‘His brother was the traitor in the Seven.’
Tol sighed. ‘I thought so.’ He didn’t remember much of what happened after the demon Vidrikan had fled: he was pretty sure he passed out for a while, finally waking in the Governor’s Hall with both Katarina and Kalashadria hovering over him. It had been every bit as awkward as he would have expected.
‘What happened?’
‘After you took a nap,’ she said it with a smile, ‘Kartane confronted his brother. He forced him to confess in the middle of the square.’ Katarina took a sip of brandy. ‘Then,’ she said, ‘Kartane killed his brother.’
Tol coughed on his drink. ‘He killed his brother?’
‘Yeah,’ Valeron said, the knight appearing at Tol’s side with an empty tankard. ‘Fastest damn blade work I’ve ever seen. Except,’ he added, ‘when I look in the mirror.’
‘I should imagine,’ Katarina piped up from Tol’s other side, ‘that is something of a small consolation considering the face you see in the mirror.’
Tol laughed, and found Valeron laughing along with him.
‘She’s going to keep you on your toes, Kraven,’ Valeron said. He picked up a fresh mug of ale and slurped the foam off. ‘Can’t say I envy you.’
Tol grabbed Valeron’s shoulder as he turned to leave. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For saving my life last night.’
Valeron grinned. ‘Just last night?’
‘And today, in the square.’ Tol shivered with the memory. ‘I thought I was done for.’
Valeron shrugged. ‘Not one of my better ideas,’ he said, finger tracing the raised outline of a bandage that encircled his chest. He took a step away then stopped, turning back to Tol with a grin. ‘Just so we’re clear, if I’d had that sword I’d have killed a lot more demons than you.’
Tol remembered how fast Valeron had been, hurling himself against the demon with his sword moving in a glittering arc. ‘Maybe you would have,’ he admitted.
Valeron grunted in surprise. ‘Of course I would have,’ he muttered as he walked away.
‘He’s not as fast as you,’ Katarina said, watching Valeron saunter across the bar.
‘Thank you.’
‘Of course, he didn’t do questionable things with an angel to make him faster and stronger.’
Tol sighed. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘You’re alive.’
Tol turned and found himself face to face with Rachel. Suranna was at her side, the Meracian noblewoman holding a mug of ale as if she were born to it.
‘Bruna?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘She died defending you.’
‘I’m sorry. She saved my life.’
Rachel nodded. ‘I saw some of it. She nearly knocked it out, you know.’ She shuffled her feet. ‘It wasn’t right, what the angel did, not after everything you did.’
‘It was fair,’ Tol said. ‘I’m just glad that it’s over now.’
A figure across the room drew Rachel’s attention. ‘Until the next time,’ she said. ‘Take care, Kraven, and don’t expect us to come rescue you again.’ She hurried away, and Tol thought she was heading towards Valeron. Surely not? he thought.
‘Isn’t that great news?’
Tol realised Suranna had been talking. ‘What news?’
Suranna sighed. ‘You’re so easily distracted.’ She gripped Tol’s arm. ‘Rachel and I are going to open up our own duelling school for ladies in High Mera. Your friend saved Prince Rolfen’s life in the square, and the prince has agreed to provide us with grounds we can use.’ Suranna put a finger to her lips. ‘I think perhaps he has in mind somewhere on Drayken’s estate.’
‘That’s great,’ Tol said. He tried to puzzle it out. ‘And Kartane did that?’
‘No,’ Suranna said. ‘Your quiet friend.’ She pointed to Katarina as Tol looked blankly at her. ‘Your lady’s bodyguard.’
‘She means Stetch,’ Katarina added helpfully.
‘Thanks,’ Tol said, sparing a withering look for his future wife. ‘I’d never have guessed.’
Suran
na pecked him on the cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Life had become altogether too dull before we met.’
She said farewell to Katarina then left the two of them at the bar, watching as the revelry ran its course.
‘No sign of Stetch,’ Katarina said after a few minutes. ‘Or Victoria.’
Tol frowned. ‘Kartane’s missing too.’
Katarina was quiet, her eyes roving over the crowd. Her eyebrows were knotted together, as though she’d just been handed some unfathomable puzzle and not, as Tol thought, just noticed the absence of two people.
‘Is that important?’ he asked.
Katarina picked up her glass of brandy, staring at the dark amber liquid sloshing around inside. ‘Did I ever tell you why Stetch was chosen to accompany me to Norvek?’
‘No.’
‘My father had picked him to journey with Victoria on a task for the Sworn,’ Katarina said. ‘They started in Vrond, a simple meeting with traders. Once the business was concluded, they sailed south and landed in northern Meracia. From there, they followed the trade route south to High Mera and that was when things turned sour.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know the details.’ Katarina shrugged. ‘But I’ve been able to piece together some of it: it got violent out in the countryside, some miles from High Mera. No help was coming, so they had to fight their way free, avoid the enemies on their trail and get to the ambassador in High Mera.’
Tol scratched his chin. ‘So Stetch did well and your father placed him with you?’
She looked at him like he was the biggest fool in the world. ‘No, Steven. That is not what happened.
‘Victoria refuses to speak of it, but at some point the two of them developed feelings for each other during their time together. What I do know is that when they returned to Jhanhar, Victoria pleaded with Father to let her marry Stetch.’
‘There was a little more to it than that.’
The Black Duke was standing two feet away, his eyes fixed on his daughter.
‘Hello, Father,’ Katarina said. She leaned in close to Tol, her voice just loud enough to be heard by her father. ‘He means that they were fornicating,’ she said.
The Duke stared at his daughter for long moments as his cheeks coloured. ‘We leave at noon tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind?’ He waited for a moment, then turned and stalked away when Katarina shook her head.
Tol sighed. ‘It’s going to be really awkward at our wedding with your father staring at me like a dog that needs putting down.’
Katarina pressed herself against him and Tol felt her stand on tiptoes. ‘If it helps,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘think of what will come after the wedding.’
She bounced down to the balls of her feet, spinning away from him, and twirling in a slow circle. The languorous pirouette finished with Katarina draining the last of her brandy – somehow snatched up during the spin – and dropping the dusty glass back on the bar.
‘And with that, my love,’ she said, ‘I must retire to Father’s ship.’
‘You could stay. We could, uh, practice for after the wedding?’
Katarina danced back a step, already laughing lightly. ‘Good night, Steven. Sweet dreams.’ She spun away, her diminutive form lost among the crowd as she threaded her way to the door.
Tol smiled as the door briefly opened, closing again in the time it took for a Sudalrese lady to slip through.
I survived, he thought, looking out over the familiar faces. Despite everything, despite all the demons and traitors, I survived.
But it wasn’t simply survival. He had redeemed his family’s name – at least to some extent; he wasn’t yet sure how his dismissal from an angel’s service would smear his name. And, in between all those moments of terror and chaos, he had fallen in love. Fallen in love with someone truly remarkable. It was almost too good to believe.
Tol drained the last of his ale.
How did I get so lucky?
52.
Tol stepped onto dry land, the heady aroma of the sea filling his nose as a light breeze softened summer’s warm sun.
I’m home, he thought. He’d been away from Havak for years, but the small island to Norve’s east didn’t seem to have changed. The stout, artless buildings of the port were just as he remembered, and beyond the town’s limits he could see dense woodland crowding a slope that ran for miles inland until it reached the highlands where the Duke of Havak presided over his small fief.
‘I much prefer Jhanhar.’
Katarina landed lightly beside him and Tol switched the long, wrapped bundle of cloth to his right hand, taking Katarina’s hand with his left. ‘It’s a glorious summer’s day.’
She started along the rickety pier towards the town. ‘Summer? Steven, winters in Jhanhar are warmer than this.’
Tol shrugged as they reached the docks, most of the island’s fishing ships already out at sea. ‘It’s a beautiful place,’ he said. ‘You can walk for miles through the forest without seeing another person.’
They made their way through the town, plenty of folk stopping to stare at them as they passed. Nobody remembers me, Tol realised; they looked and saw only a stranger.
‘Is that it?’ Katarina asked. ‘Surely your homeland has more to offer than “not many people around”?’ She kicked a pebble. ‘If I didn’t want to ever see another person then we wouldn’t be getting married.’
‘There’s no need to worry,’ Tol said, ‘Mother will like you.’
‘I’m not worried.’
‘She will love you, I’m sure of it.’
Katarina bit her lip. ‘You barely remember her. When was the last time you saw her – eight years ago? Nine?’
‘About that,’ Tol said. They passed the last building, and Tol chose the left-hand path, a dirt trail that entered the forest and crawled northwards. He was almost home, just a short walk from where he and Vixen had played in the woods. A short walk from where he had been sent away. ‘She’ll think you’re…’
‘What is it?’
Tol pointed above the treeline. ‘Smoke,’ he said.
‘It’s probably nothing,’ Katarina assured him. ‘Maybe a forest fire?’
He shook his head. ‘Too small.’ He let go of her hand and handed the bundle over to her. ‘Look after this for me.’
‘Why – where are you going?’
‘Follow the path,’ Tol said. ‘It will take you to my mother’s house.’
‘Steven!’ She grabbed him before he could turn away. ‘Where. Are. You. Going.’
‘That smoke,’ Tol said. ‘It’s coming from where my home is.’
She let go instantly. ‘Go. I’ll catch up.’
Tol nodded and spun away, breaking into a sprint as he followed the path up the hill, a terrible feeling deep within his chest.
*
How far?
He had been running for a minute, a minute which seemed like an eternity in darkness, tall evergreens crowding the narrow trail. The journey from home to town had once seemed like an epic march, the arduous labour worthy of songs and poems, but the man he had become was longer-legged, stronger, faster; no longer an eight-year-old boy.
How much farther?
The trail turned sharply, and Tol found himself struggling straight up the lumbering hill. Speed bled away like precious life, and every second lost was a fresh blow, another wound to a man already battered and scarred.
It must be a forest fire, he told himself as he ran up the uneven path. It has to be. The plume of smoke was narrow, concentrated in one area. Forest fire, he told himself, trying to ignore the churning of his guts.
The path curved again, and Tol caught a glimpse to his left of the forest rolling down the hill. Somewhere far past its edge, the sea stretched to the Norvek coast.
Another sharp turn, right and peakward, and Tol just missed an exposed root, remembering as he did so at least seven other occasions when he hadn’t been so sure-footed. He remembered, too, his mother;
remembered how she had brushed his tears away, murmuring soothing words in his ear.
The path jinked left then right, a serpentine trail that finally opened out as Tol burst out of the forest and onto the narrow horizontal shelf where his mother’s house nestled against the hillside. He stumbled to a halt, panting hard. His home was thirty yards ahead. And it was burning.
Tol stumbled forwards, trying to make sense of it. The stone walls were black with soot, and acrid smoke was drifting up from where the thatched roof had once been. The flames, though, were low – the fire’s last fiery gasp.
It’s almost burnt itself out, Tol realised. He took a step forward, the smell of charred wood assaulting his nose.
‘Mother?’
He took another step towards the blaze. The windows were gone, melted or shattered by the heat.
‘About time you got here.’
Tol started at the voice. He peered ahead, and a black-clad figure stepped away from the wall where her clothes had just seemed like part of the soot-stained stone.
She came forwards, and he knew her even before she lowered the hood of her cloak.
‘What have you done?’ His voice sounded like a child’s, small and mewling.
Morafin smiled. ‘Retribution,’ she said, her statement punctuated by crackling wood. ‘You killed my brother.’
Tol shook his head. ‘No. Sir Brounhalk died defending Icepeak, defending the boys and monks. I didn’t kill him.’
The nun wasn’t listening. ‘Then you came to the convent and brought them with you. They’re all gone – everyone I knew, all my sisters.’
‘It was the Band,’ Tol said. ‘I said I’d hold them off so you could escape but the old woman wouldn’t listen.’
Morafin took a step towards him, hand drifting to her hip. ‘You even set one of your friends on me, and they still couldn’t kill me.’
‘Morafin—’
‘I killed your father.’
‘I know,’ Tol growled. He clenched his fists, the heat of his anger joining the inferno behind her. ‘Where’s my mother?’
Morafin smiled, and a cold spike hit Tol’s gut as he realised she was truly, utterly lost to reason.
‘Inside,’ the former nun said, a hiss of steel accompanying her voice as she drew her sword. ‘If the smoke hasn’t killed her she might still live.’
Angel's Knight (Angelwar Book 3) Page 36
