‘You are very kind.’
No, she wasn’t. She wanted to know where her son’s heir was at all times. She wanted the two boys to grow up as brothers. Hopefully, Nitzane’s son wouldn’t betray hers.
‘Here comes the traitor, Queen Jaraile,’ Commander Halgaron said.
Eskarnor had raped her, abducted her, told her Prince Cedon was dead, planted his own child in her belly and boasted that he’d be sitting on Charald’s throne by summer.
She’d proven him wrong, and after what she’d been through today, she fully expected to lose the child, although there was no sign of this as yet.
Jaraile lifted her chin to meet Eskarnor’s eyes. He’d lost his bid for the throne, his army was decimated and the barons who had followed him had died on the battlefield.
Despite this, he returned her gaze with arrogance.
One of the king’s guards kicked the back of his knees and he fell to the ground in front of her. With his hands bound behind his back, it took him a moment to come to his knees.
‘King Charald should have him executed,’ someone muttered from behind her.
But Charald had signed the decree, and since Nitzane was dead, that meant she ruled, with Baron Kerminzto, High Priest Faryx and the commander as her advisors; the traitor’s fate was in her hands.
Jaraile remembered feeling helpless. She remembered the fury and frustration of being held prisoner, of being forced to accept him into her bed and into her body. She never wanted to be helpless again. ‘I sentence him to death. And I’ll be the one to carry out his execution.’
‘What?’ Ramanol protested. ‘That’s not –’
‘I’m the one he wronged,’ Jaraile said.
‘Hold the prisoner,’ Sorne ordered. He stood directly behind Eskarnor. ‘Halargon, give the queen your knife.’
Jaraile accepted the knife. She had often fantasised about killing Eskarnor, but now she held a blade, he was just so alive…
‘Go on,’ Eskarnor said. ‘Or can’t you do it, Raila.’
She hated his pet name for her. Hated him.
‘Cut his throat or drive the knife up under the ribs,’ Sorne said. ‘That’ll be quickest.’
Eskarnor laughed. ‘They all think you’re so sweet. Now they’ll see the real Queen Jaraile. They’ll see the Raila I know. I bet I was the only lover man enough to make you…’
Hands snapped his neck, cutting him off. He toppled sideways and Jaraile looked up to Sorne, who’d killed him.
Heat raced up her cheeks.
‘Take the traitor away. Put his head on a gate spike,’ Sorne said. He dropped to his knees where Eskarnor had been. ‘Forgive me, my queen. He had a poisonous tongue and I thought he’d made you suffer enough. You shouldn’t have his death on your conscience.’
She burned with embarrassment. Had anyone other than Sorne guessed what Eskarnor had been about to say?
Sorne came to his feet. ‘Commander, the queen needs an honour guard to escort her into port.’
The men bustled about, calling for their horses and arguing over their exact position in the royal party. Baron Ramanol was insisting that he should ride beside the queen, since he was one of her three commanders.
Meanwhile, she retreated to her tent, where Sorne found her. He took her hand. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. Nitzane was a good man.’
‘He was. But the kingdom did not need a good man. It needed you. I wish more men were like you.’ She eyed Baron Ramanol, who strode past the tent opening, ordering people about. ‘I’ve discovered I like being a queen when a king is not telling me what to do.’
‘Then the longer King Charald lives, the longer you’ll have your freedom. That pup, Ramanol, has plans to be your next husband.’
He was right. She’d have to tell Charald’s manservant not to dose him with the arsenic medicine anymore.
‘Go back to the palace, Jaraile. I’ll bring Cedon to you.’
‘Here, off you go, halfblood,’ Ramanol said, striding into the tent. ‘We don’t want your kind in the official party.’
Jaraile went to protest, but Sorne had already disappeared. She consoled herself with the thought that she would see him later.
SORNE CARRIED THE prince down the corridor to the queen’s chamber. He was followed by the queen’s nurse, who had cared for Cedon since Jaraile had been abducted, and High Priest Faryx, who had hidden him.
‘We go to see Mama?’ Cedon asked at the door to her chamber.
Kerminzto opened the door and took the prince from Sorne. The moment he put the boy down, Cedon ran to his mother, who sat up in bed and opened her arms to him.
Jaraile’s joy was all Sorne had hoped it would be.
‘Come this way,’ Kerminzto said, drawing him along the corridor. ‘There’s a ship waiting to take you anywhere you wish to go.’
‘I had hoped to have time to say goodbye to Jaraile.’
‘You’ve done enough damage where she’s concerned.’
Sorne stared at him, stunned.
Kerminzto turned to him. ‘The queen’s in love with you, Sorne. Women are foolish creatures. They let their hearts rule their heads. We can’t have a halfblood on the throne, or in the queen’s bed as her lover. When she marries, it will be to a worthy baron, who will help her hold the kingdom.’
Sorne thought Jaraile might have something to say to that. As for her being in love with him… ‘I’m sure you’re mistaken. The queen –’
‘You rescued her, saved her life and restored the kingdom to her. Now you are going to get on a ship and sail away.’
Kerminzto’s meaning was clear. If Sorne did not, there were a dozen True-men who would make sure he did.
Sorne felt his face grow hot. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to say goodbye to King Charald.’
As Kerminzto escorted him to the king’s chamber, he called for the king’s guard, so there could be no mistaking his intent.
When Sorne reached the door, Kerminzto asked, ‘Do you have any belongings that I can send for?’
‘No. Everything I value is already with the Wyrds.’
Sorne shut the door after him.
King Charald sat in front of the fire, with a blanket over his legs. His head had sunk into his shoulders and he was snoring softly, mouth agape.
His manservant saw who it was and hurried over to greet Sorne.
‘No one comes to see him now. No one cares,’ Bidern said.
‘How has he been?’
‘He has his good days and his bad days. He’s a bit vague today.’
Sorne knelt next to the chair and took the king’s hand.
Charald woke with a start, looked frightened then pleased to see him. ‘Bidern, what did I tell you? It’s the Warrior god himself, come to reward me.’
And Sorne accepted that he would never win his father’s love. Charald could not see him for who he was.
He sailed with the tide.
PART THREE
Chapter Twenty-Nine
NORMALLY, SORNE GOT his sea-legs within a day, but the captain insisted he keep to his cabin and it was stuffy below deck. That second evening, when the cook’s boy brought him food, he asked to go up on deck, and the boy said he’d check with the captain.
Sorne paced the narrow cabin. Three strides to the wall, three strides back.
Saying goodbye to King Charald had convinced him of one thing: if he was lucky, he would live to grow old. Already he had wasted thirty years chasing his father’s love and the respect of True-men, only to be unceremoniously bundled onto a ship and banished on the day of his greatest victory.
If he was lucky, he had another sixty years in him, and he wasn’t going to waste it. He’d find his people, offer his service to Imoshen and share his life with Frayvia. Maybe they would have children.
With his people exiled, it was madness to contemplate having a baby, but if he waited until they were settled, he might never have the chance.
The cabin door opened. ‘Cap’n says you can come up fo
r a bit, but you’re not to talk to the crew and you’re to wear the hooded cloak.’
Sorne pulled on his cloak and raised the hood. He had done this so many times, resenting the fact that True-men did not want to see the evidence of his tainted blood. Now, he no longer cared. The problem was in their perception, not in him and he had accepted he could not change that.
It was strangely liberating.
At least amongst his own people, he would be welcome. But he would never be more than a servant, because of his birth. And there would be the constant tug of the T’En gifts. He should offer to work amongst the Malaunje to avoid the temptation.
Climbing out onto deck, he strode to the ship’s side and watched the mainland roll by. Wait… That wasn’t the mainland. They were sailing west into the setting sun, not south. Even as he thought this, they passed the headland of an island.
Sorne went cold as he realised the ship was threading its way through islands notorious for sea-vermin. The riff-raff of the Secluded Sea congregated here: outlaws, brigands and men who were foresworn. They made their way to the maze of islands, where they hid and came out to prey on the shipping lanes.
As Sorne headed up the steps to the rear-deck, he spotted the captain, who eyed his approach with misgiving.
Since he was no longer the king’s agent in command of the king’s ship, Sorne moderated his tone. ‘Wouldn’t we be safer sailing south along the coast?’
‘Aye, but it would make the journey twice as long.’
‘It would be safer. The sea-vermin –’
‘I know these channels. I’ve done this before, slipped through without them noticing. Besides, we have the advantage of more canvas.’
But the sea-vermin were notoriously good sailors, and their craft were small, shallow skiffs that skimmed across the surface of the sea like dragon flies. The merchant ship would be forced to follow the channels between the sand bars, rock shoals and the islands. ‘I don’t –’
‘You don’t have a say. Get below. If you start talking about sea-vermin and frighten my crew, I’ll be forced to lock you in your cabin.’
Sorne recognised his type. The captain was a bully, who led through bluster and intimidation. It wouldn’t serve any purpose to get on the wrong side of this man. He decided to keep his head down, cause no trouble and be grateful to reach Ivernia in one piece.
IMOSHEN SHADED HER eyes and studied the horizon. The setting sun was slightly behind them as they sailed south-east, following the coast as it curved inwards. The wind had been patchy and they’d made poor progress. At times, she could see islands to the west. They were part of the archipelago that lay off the coast of Chalcedonia. At times she could see sails keeping pace with theirs, skimming across the azure sea like fire flies on a mill pond. The vessels had come close enough to count the number of ships in her fleet, then retreated.
She joined the ship’s master. ‘Any more sails sighted?’
‘Not since this morning.’
‘Are they sea-vermin?’
‘Could be.’
‘Should we be worried?’
He grimaced. ‘Always wise to worry at sea.’
Imoshen hid a smile. The ship’s master reminded her of one of the fishermen back on Lighthouse Isle. He had been able to read the sea like a book, but getting information from him was like getting blood from a stone. ‘If they were sea-vermin, will they attack?’
‘Only if there’s profit in it.’
She left him, heading for Saffazi, who stood at the rail on the high rear-deck.
The young initiate barely glanced at Imoshen. Instead she watched the ship’s passage through the sea. White foam rode on the bow wake, forming intricate lace-like patterns. Paragian’s flagship brought up the rear of their fleet and her segmented sails looked misleadingly fragile, illuminated by the setting sun.
Normally Saffazi’s gift buzzed just below the surface, as unruly and lively as she was. Today Imoshen sensed nothing. Five days had passed since Iraayel joined Tobazim’s brotherhood. Imoshen missed him, and she knew Saffazi did too.
When Imoshen had lost her first bond-partner and her newborn son, she’d felt there was no point in going on, but little Iraayel and her newly-made devotee had depended on her. She had not had the luxury of abandoning herself to grief.
No one depended on Saffazi.
‘Safi.’ Imoshen placed her hand on the young woman’s arm and tried to draw off a little of her sorrow. But Saffazi’s defences were too strong. That only left Imoshen with the spoken word.
And to her horror, she heard herself echoing Egrayne. ‘We all knew this day would come.’
Saffazi spun to face her. ‘How can you say that? Dividing into brotherhoods and sisterhoods is wrong. I don’t want to live like this. The covenant –’
‘I’ve amended the covenant vow.’
‘Eight days a year with their children? You think that’s going to reconcile the brotherhoods to giving up their sons?’
‘It’s a step in the right direction.’
‘It’s not enough. They’ve taken Iraayel from me. We should abandon the covenant, and abandon brotherhoods and sisterhoods. We should all live together as Mieren do.’
‘Because that works so well for them? Grow up, Safi. You can’t throw everything away, unless you have something to replace it with.’
Saffazi flushed and bit her bottom lip.
Imoshen regretted her harsh words. ‘These things take time –’
‘I can’t wait. And I don’t see why I should.’
Imoshen turned away to hide her smile. To be so young…
You could not force change on people who were not ready. There were some in positions of power would resist change because they feared it, and others would resist it because they did not want to give up power. Just as the sisterhoods had not hesitated to tell her to execute her father for daring to break the covenant, there were T’Enatuath leaders who would not hesitate to kill to protect their stature.
Imoshen might agree with Saffazi, but she did not trust the young initiate’s discretion. ‘Exile will bring change. For now, don’t make waves –’
‘I can’t believe you’re saying this. Iraayel says you hate it too.’ Her pretty mouth twisted in a grimace of angry frustration. ‘How can you be so hypocritical?’
Saffazi went to walk off, and Imoshen caught her arm. She had been about to warn the girl to hold her tongue, but she could sense the young initiate’s gift wound tight inside her and her own gift surged. What it revealed frightened Imoshen.
‘Safi, the gift is tied to you. If you feed this anger it will corrupt your gift. Even the gift-wright can’t help you if you aren’t willing to let her.’
‘So I should just make the best of it?’ Saffazi gave a bitter laugh. ‘You might, but I am never going to give up what I believe in.’
Which stung, but Imoshen let it pass as the seventeen-year-old stormed off.
SORNE WOKE WITH the sense that the ship was at anchor. For a moment he didn’t understand why this was significant. Then he recalled they were making their way through the islands. Perhaps the next section was tricky and could only be navigated in daylight.
He thought it was dusk. Why had he fallen asleep during the day? He rolled off the too-short bunk and came to his feet, feeling dizzy and nauseous. Was he sickening with something?
Fresh air would help.
Opening the cabin door, he stumbled up the passage to the ladder. He just wanted to get up on deck, where he could think straight. As he climbed out and staggered to the side of the ship, he was aware of the ship’s crew watching him warily. The horizon kept moving, yet they were at anchor in still water.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone run up the steps to the rear-deck.
If they thought he was sick with some contagion, they might dump him on one of the islands, for fear he’d infect the rest of the ship.
Sorne straightened up and turned around… Only to see several skiffs at anchor and, beyond them, a
small jumble of dwellings gathered around an inlet. Lights glowed in ramshackle buildings, and smoke drifted from chimneys.
This wasn’t Ivernia.
Sorne set off to confront the captain, only to find him coming across the deck.
‘You don’t look well. You should go back to your cabin,’ the captain said, but his gaze flicked to something over Sorne’s shoulder.
He started to turn.
Too late, someone grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms as a hessian sack descended on him.
‘Bind his arms good and tight. He’s a big one,’ the captain shouted as several men struggled to contain him.
Onions… the sack had contained onion. His stomach heaved. He was not going to throw up inside a sack. But it was a near thing.
They tied the sack around his waist, then they knocked his legs out from under him and he fell heavily.
‘Don’t get up,’ the captain said, delivering a kick to his ribs for emphasis. ‘Tell cook, next time he needs to double the dose. When I saw the halfblood on his feet, my heart nearly gave out.’
Sorne took shallow, onion-tainted breaths; each gulp of air sent a jolt of pain through his ribs, but he didn’t think anything was broken.
‘Just in time,’ the captain said. ‘Here comes the Maygharian. You know he calls himself a sea-king? Even has his own banner!’
They were selling him to the Maygharians? That was both good and bad – bad, because he was hated in Maygharia, after he’d helped put down their revolt, and good because the queen owed him a favour, having set her on the course to depose Norholtz and reclaim her kingdom. But only he and the queen knew this.
Sorne managed to sit up as the Maygharian and his men came aboard.
‘So, what have you got for us this time, captain?’ The Maygharian spoke Chalcedonian with only the slightest of accents. ‘More pretty little exotics?’
‘Not so little and certainly not pretty, but this one will fetch a good price.’ The captain’s voice came closer as lantern light seeped through the hessian weave. ‘It’s the Warrior’s-voice, the Butcher of Maygharia.’
‘You don’t say? Well, you’ll forgive me if I make sure.’
‘Go ahead, take a look.’
Sanctuary Page 31
