Right now, he needed to make sure Tamaron was all right. He would be frightened without his family by his side. They were all he had ever known.
Last night, the causare had been kind to Ronnyn. Now he tried to approach her, but the big voice-of-reason stepped between them.
‘Don’t bother the causare. She’s been up all night.’
‘But I –’
‘But nothing. You’re the son of runaway Malaunje. She’s the leader of our people.’ The woman frowned down at him. ‘Do you know which brotherhood or sisterhood your parents ran away from?’
He’d heard his mother mention Scholar Hueryx, but he didn’t know which brotherhood the scholar belonged to. If the T’En women knew his family had served a brotherhood, they’d send his Malaunje sisters to serve them. ‘I don’t –’
‘How old are you, boy?’
‘Twelve, thirteen in the spring.’ Back home, he’d done the work of a man. Here he felt like a lost child, and he hated it.
‘Go back to your cabin, Ronnyn.’
But he didn’t. Instead, he followed the newborn’s cries down the passage and peered into All-mother Reoden’s cabin. He spotted baby Ashmyr being bathed and clucked over by several T’En women. There were half a dozen small T’En children, all dressed alike in breeches, vests and robes, and several Malaunje servants. He couldn’t spot Tamaron, so he pushed the door open a little further.
Strong hands reached for him, dragged him in and threw him up against the wall. ‘What’re you doing?’
A wave of female gift power swept over him. On instinct, he summoned his defences. The sisterhood’s hand-of-force glared down at him from her one good eye, making him wonder why Healer Reoden hadn’t saved her other eye.
‘Ronnyn!’ Four-year-old Tamaron tried to force himself in between them and shove the gift-warrior away.
‘He’s just a boy. Let him go, Cerafeoni.’ One of the women came over. Ronnyn recognised the sisterhood’s voice-of-reason, Nerazime. ‘He’s Tamaron’s older brother. They’re the children of runaway free Malaunje and don’t know any better.’
‘Bring him to me,’ Healer Reoden said. She was propped in the bunk under the windows, supported by pillows.
The one-eyed warrior seized Ronnyn’s arm and escorted him across the chamber. She took such long strides he lost his blanket and by the time he stood before the all-mother he wore nothing but his loin cloth.
‘Look at the state of him,’ one of the old women whispered. ‘Filthy and bruised.’
‘It’s hardly his fault. They were taken from their home, locked in a cart and transported across Chalcedonia,’ Healer Reoden said. ‘If anything, the fault is ours for not seeing to his needs.’
Meanwhile, Tamaron caught up with Ronnyn and wrapped his arms around him. Ronnyn hardly recognised his little brother. He’d been bathed and dressed in a miniature version of what the adults wore.
Someone passed the crying newborn to the healer, who opened her bodice. Baby Ashmyr suckled, then cried when nothing was forthcoming.
‘Nerazime,’ Healer Reoden said.
Ronnyn expected her to fetch a wet-nurse, but the voice-of-reason came over to sit beside the healer.
‘Surely it’s too soon,’ the voice-of-reason said. ‘You’ve barely recovered.’
All-mother Reoden took Nerazime’s hand, closed her eyes and concentrated. Ronnyn sensed her gift stir. It made his hearing sharper, colours richer. ‘What –’
‘Silence,’ the hand-of-force snapped. ‘Nerazime is sharing power with the healer.’
After a moment, baby Ashmyr stopped crying and started sucking in earnest.
‘There…’ The healer sighed with relief and kissed Nerazime’s cheek. ‘Thank you.’ Then Reoden lifted her gaze to Ronnyn. ‘So you came to check on your brothers?’
He almost asked her forgiveness for ever doubting her, but… ‘They are my responsibility.’
Nerazime muttered.
‘Leave us,’ the healer said.
When Nerazime joined the other women feeding the children, All-mother Reoden patted the bunk near her.
But Ronnyn shook his head. ‘I’m filthy.’
Tamaron climbed up next to the healer and wrapped his arms around her. This struck Ronnyn as disloyal to their mother, but Reoden had almost killed herself to save his brother’s life.
‘I’m sorry I could not save your mother,’ Reoden said.
Tears stung his eyes.
‘She was worn down with deprivation, then exhausted by the birth. She’d lost so much blood. And then…’ The healer rubbed Tamaron’s back. ‘When they call the all-council, I’ll accept you and your brothers as my choice-sons. I’ll accept your sisters into my sisterhood’s Malaunje. There will be no stigma attached to your birth. It’s not your fault that your parents ran away from us. Now, go ask Nerazime for clean clothes, then bring your other brother to me.’
And then they would be separated from Aravelle and Itania. But he wouldn’t put up with it. He’d sneak away to see his sisters and he’d make sure his brothers didn’t forget their Malaunje kin. He would never abandon them.
ARAVELLE’S HEART SANK when Ronnyn returned. He had been bathed, his hair washed and braided, and he was dressed in fine clothes. She couldn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t look like her brother any more; she’d lost him to the T’En.
‘I saw Healer Reoden. Everything’s going to be all right. She’s going to take us all in.’
Aravelle looked down and broke the bread in her hands. ‘I saved you some.’
‘You eat it. I ate with the T’En sisters.’
She forced herself to take a mouthful.
‘Even though we’re the children of runaway Malaunje, the healer said… Vella?’ His forehead crinkled earnestly. ‘Why are you crying, Vella?’
‘I’m not.’ Angry with herself, she brushed the tears away. ‘Don’t you see? If we become sisterhood Malaunje, once you turn seventeen, you’ll join your brotherhood and I’ll never see you again.’
Itania climbed into Aravelle’s lap and tried to console her. Aravelle hugged the two-year-old and kissed her red-gold curls. They were both Malaunje; it hadn’t mattered back home, but here…
‘I don’t understand.’ Ronnyn frowned. ‘If we admit we came from a brotherhood, they’ll send you two to the brotherhood right now and you won’t see baby Ashmyr grow up. This is the best we can hope for.’
It was true. She summoned a smile. ‘At least we’ll have this time together, and we’ll be safe from the Mieren.’
‘That’s right.’ Ronnyn rose and held out his hand to Vittor. ‘Come with me. You need to get dressed.’
‘What about Vella and Tani?’ the six-year-old asked. They’d never been separated.
Ronnyn looked to Aravelle to explain. She had to harden her heart and be strong. ‘Go with Ronnyn, Vittor. We’ll be fine.’
He was a good boy and did what he was told.
This left her and Itania alone with the survivors of a sisterhood, but at least they were together. Aravelle hugged her little sister who played with their father’s cane. He’d carved it after the sea-boar gored his leg, and it was the only thing they had from their previous life.
Soon the ship were beyond the headlands; the deck rose and fell as it ploughed through the waves. Soon there was moaning and then nearly everyone became seasick.
Except for Aravelle. She was used to their family’s fishing boat.
A Malaunje woman arrived with mint tea to help settle people’s stomachs, and another came in looking for Aravelle.
They were led downstairs to the Malaunje deck, which was overcrowded and chaotic. There Aravelle was introduced to a harassed woman, who shoved a change of clothes in her hands and told her to bathe herself and her sister. Then she spent the next few days cleaning up vomit, until people become accustomed to the pitch and yaw of the deck.
To think she had secretly wished to return to the city so her life wouldn’t be filled with drudgery.
Chapter
Three
AS HE RODE up from the docks towards the palace, Sorne made sure the people had a clear view of the young prince and future king. The boy didn’t know it, but Sorne was his half-brother, the king’s eldest, unwanted halfblood son.
‘Where’s Ma?’ Cedon asked, as he rode in Sorne’s arms. He’d overcome his lisp and his club foot had been healed by the Wyrds, but he had not forgotten his mother.
‘Queen Jaraile wanted to be here, but the bad man took her,’ Sorne said, wishing he’d anticipated Eskarnor. The southern baron had outwitted him and that stung. But he’d been focused on coordinating the Wyrd exile and finding his halfblood sister at the time. At least Valendia was safe with Graelen.
On Sorne’s right rode King Charald, High King of the Secluded Sea. With one hand on the reins and the other on his sword hilt, you could not spot the trembling that had afflicted him this last year. It had been two days since the seizure that had given everyone such a fright.
As they made their way through the streets, the people cheered their king and prince.
Charald had come to the throne at fifteen, and he was now fifty-seven. In just over forty years he’d made Chalcedonia the most powerful kingdom of the Secluded Sea, and he’d banished the Wyrds. He was a legend in his own time.
He was also a bully, distrustful of everyone and only good for making war.
But King Charald the Great was failing.
When his piss turned the colour of port-wine, he lost his hold on reality. That left Baron Nitzane, who rode on Sorne’s left, to hold the kingdom for the young prince. Nitzane was the grandson of the man who’d helped Charald hold the throne at fifteen, and he was the wealthiest, most powerful baron in the kingdom. He was also in love with Queen Jaraile, but Charald did not need to fear him because he was a good man.
Unfortunately, a good man was not what the country needed right now. It needed a great leader, and they did not have one.
Which was why Baron Eskarnor had dared to make a play for the throne. First he had tried to kill the prince to trigger a war between the king and Nitzane, whose son was the next in line for the throne; when this failed, he’d snatched the queen.
The people did not know that their queen had been abducted. They did not know that the kingdom was about to be split by civil war.
Even King Charald did not know. Sorne had advised Nitzane not to tell Charald until after they’d collected the prince, because he feared the king’s rage would unhinge his mind.
‘Why did the bad man take Ma?’ Cedon asked.
To legitimise his claim on the throne, which means he intends to kill you and your father. ‘Because he wants to be king. Don’t worry. I’ll bring her back.’ If it was humanly possible.
The little boy twisted to look up at him. ‘Why do you have only one eye?’
Hubris. I stole power to gain visions and the respect of True-men, but it made them fear me and they turned on me. ‘The Warrior god took my eye to prove I was his servant. He sent me to save your mother.’
The prince accepted this. King Charald believed the Warrior had returned Sorne to get rid of the Wyrds. But, knowing the way the king bent the facts to suit himself, he would probably accept that it was Sorne’s task to recover the queen.
They’d crossed the royal plaza now, and entered the stables behind the palace. Sorne dismounted, reaching for Cedon. He swung the boy around, making him laugh, before depositing him on the ground. Unaware of the stable lads and servants watching him, Cedon clamoured for more, jumping up and down as if he’d never had a club foot.
‘Look at him. At last I have a son who is fit to sit on the throne,’ Charald said. The king took Prince Cedon’s hand heading inside, and Sorne hid his contempt for the man who had murdered his mother and disowned him.
‘I’m hungry.’ The prince had to take little skipping steps to keep up with the king.
‘Send for breakfast.’ Charald strode into his favourite dining room and came to a stop. ‘Where’s my table?’
Nitzane glanced to Sorne. Eskarnor had kidnapped the queen from this very room, and carved his challenge into the mahogany table.
‘A better one is being delivered, sire,’ Sorne said.
‘I’ll eat on the balcony.’ Charald stripped off his riding gloves and threw them on the sideboard. ‘Send for the barons. They will bend their knee before Prince Cedon and see for themselves that he is fit to rule. They’ll swear allegiance to my line and any who do not come will be declaring for Eskarnor. How dare he try to kill my son?’
Sorne glanced to the prince, who did not need to hear this. ‘Sire, the boy needs –’
‘The boy needs his mother.’ Charald said.
Baron Nitzane sent Sorne a worried look. For as long as Sorne could remember, the king’s barons and advisors had been tip-toeing around his rages. Now there was the added fear of unhinging his mind.
‘Where is the queen?’ Charald demanded. ‘Send for Jaraile.’
‘The bad man took Ma,’ Cedon said, his voice high and clear.
‘What?’ Charald rounded on Sorne. ‘What haven’t you told me?’
Sorne ignored the king and took Cedon’s hand. ‘Go with Uncle Nitzane. He’ll make sure you get some breakfast.’
The baron was only too happy to escape what they both knew was coming.
Sorne closed the door on them. ‘Sire –’
‘Eskarnor took her, didn’t he? Couldn’t undermine me, couldn’t kill my son, so he took the queen.’ Charald threw back his head and laughed. Today he reminded Sorne of the king who’d conquered the kingdoms of the Secluded Sea. ‘More fool he. She’s worthless now that I have an able-bodied heir. In fact, if Eskarnor kills Jaraile, he’ll be doing me a favour. She’s popular with the people. If he kills her, they’ll hate him.’
Sorne blinked. He’d known the king was ruthless, but this was abhorrent, even for him.
‘A pox on Eskarnor and his treasonous southern barons.’ The king paced, cursing the cunning mercenaries and turncoat nobles who’d worked their way up to lead companies of men while serving him on the Secluded Sea campaign. ‘That’s the problem with war barons. They’re handy in battle, but greedy in peace time. I rewarded them with Chalcedonian estates. Was that enough? No, they had to covet my throne and plot to crown one of their own king in my place.’ Charald rounded on Sorne. ‘When is enough enough, for an ambitious man?’
This, coming from the man who had invaded the five mainland kingdoms of the Secluded Sea to make himself high king. Sorne did not know what to say.
‘You’re lucky you have no ambition,’ Charald told him. ‘It makes food taste like ash. Nothing is ever good enough.’ He sighed and dropped into a chair. ‘Growing old is a pain. Everything aches. My back and my stomach…’
‘Wine, sire?’
When Charald nodded, Sorne put his back to the king to pour a cup of wine and slip in a soothing powder from Khitan. He’d been doing this for years, whenever the king’s rages became too bad. Now he did it for the pain. Not that Charald knew. He despised anyone who sought pain relief.
The king accepted the wine and tossed it back in one gulp. He rubbed his face and rubbed the small of his back. After a moment he looked up. ‘Where’s Nitzane? Where’s Jaraile? Have you heard back from the Wyrds yet? I want my son back. When they return him, I’ll ride through town with him. I’ll call the barons in and have them swear allegiance. I know! I’ll have a big feast this midwinter. Is it winter’s cusp yet?’
‘Soon,’ Sorne said, wondering if he should explain all over again.
The king grimaced and shifted his weight on the seat. ‘Once, I could spend all day in the saddle, drink half the night away and fuck three women in a row. Now…’ Charald looked around the dining room. ‘Where’s my table?’
‘Would you like to lie down, sire?’
Charald shook his head, then reconsidered. ‘Yes. Just for a short while. Then I’ll be up to riding around the plaza with Eskarnor and Nitzane this afternoon. Have to let the people
know I’m still fit and sharp as ever. Send for Jaraile. She can read to me. I used to think it was a waste, teaching the barons’ daughters to read, but she has a sweet voice. Always soothes me to sleep.’
Sorne took the king’s arm, guiding him to his chamber, where the king’s faithful manservant settled him into the chair by the fire and ordered food.
As he did this, Sorne noticed several papers on the sideboard. Wasn’t that… Yes. It was the decree he’d drafted on the king’s orders, giving four trusted men and the queen authority to rule Chalcedonia and guide Prince Cedon until he became a man. Jaraile had been trying to get the king to sign it, but when he felt well, he refused to discuss it and when he was unwell, he was irrational.
Sorne picked up the agreement and slid it inside his vest, just as the manservant returned and walked him to the door.
‘The king was in pain, so I gave him a soothing powder,’ Sorne said softly. For a while there, after he told the manservant not to dose him with the arsenic medicine, it had seemed as if the king would rally. But today… ‘He was talking strategy one moment, then forgetful the next. We need to keep everyone away from him, Bidern.’
‘I fear the news is out,’ the manservant said. ‘There were already rumours, and too many servants saw him have that seizure.’
Sorne nodded, convinced that what he was about to do was justified.
He went to the king’s study, selected a pen and ink and prepared to forge the king’s signature. He’d been watching the king sign decrees since he was seventeen. While growing up in the retreat, he’d trained as a scribe and to illuminate manuscripts.
Now he practised several times until he had the right look for the signature of King Charald the Seventh. He made the lettering slightly shaky, as the tremor in the king’s hands had changed his signature.
Then he cleaned the pen nib, burned the practice signatures and left the decree on the desk, amidst the papers.
He went to the nursery where he found Nitzane breakfasting with the prince.
‘Cedon reminds me of my boy,’ Nitzane said. ‘They’ll both be four in the spring. I should bring Martzane back to court so they can grow up as brothers.’
Sanctuary Page 3
