A Time of War and Demons
Page 37
Highcrest. Something deep within her chest throbbed at the name, and she turned her thoughts away. Memories had no place in her heart anymore.
When the procession was done and Larn’s pride suitably stroked, the Lord of the Midlands stood again to regard his prizes. His eyes fairly shone with pleasure and greed.
“I thank you for your loyalty and your strength. Today we stand on the edge of a new age. The Highlands—” he waved a hand “—their time’s at an end. It is we who will take our place in the histories. Today, the Midlands is no longer a land of refugees, but a kingdom. My kingdom. Dannawey is the Midlands’, and even now the Highlands shrinks and cowers. Only the De’lan stands in our way. King Dunstan is weak, and I will break him. What was his will be mine. I will show him what it is to be a king of kings.”
A wave of nausea hit Adena as the Midlanders applauded. She gritted her teeth, telling herself that wherever Adren Dunstan was, he was not weak, nor broken. These Midlanders were creatures of the plains and eastern hills beyond. They’d forgotten Highland ways and Highland knowledge. They didn’t know the De’lan like a Highlander. The De’lan was Adain’s great love, and he wouldn’t see it conquered. She found pleasure then at the thought of Larn and all his smiling lords being swept up in the great river, cast along its wicked current, borne out to sea.
“But we’ll speak of our conquest of the Highlands later—for now, let’s enjoy the bounty I brought you!” And with another wave of his hand, Larn began distributing his wealth. This trunk went to Lord Harvad; that armor went to Lord Achan. A dozen cases of gold he bestowed upon the people of Scallya, even pressing a gleaming coin into Gaetien’s palm. Two sets of silver plate he gifted to the Sacred Houses of Scallya, asking for thirty days of prayers for him and his Line in return. A chest of jewels and bolts of silk brocade he gave his wife, which Myrah accepted with a demure lowering of her eyes. To Verian he gave a sword with a hilt and scabbard studded in jewels and a band of gold to wear round his head to mark him as a Prince of the Midlands. And when it was done, half the treasure had been claimed and borne away, leaving the rest for Larn and his already gilded coffers.
The King of the Midlands was nothing short of mirthful as he drained his second cup of wine, watching his kingdom’s newly anointed nobles mill about his great hall, comparing bounties. Whether it was the gaiety of the nobles or Larn’s own content smile, Verian felt it safe to step forward and address his lord father.
Approaching from where he’d drifted off to with his own group of young lordlings, Verian bowed low to Larn, the furred hem of his cape brushing the flagstones.
“My lord father,” he began, drawing Larn’s mildly amused eye, “Dea has smiled on you and our land. You are good to share your wealth, and we here know the Midlands would be nothing without you.”
“Ten minutes with a crown and he already talks with a silver-tongue,” Larn said, earning himself chuckles from the other nobles.
Verian smiled too, though his eyes were sharp. “The Midlands has never seen such glory. But I’m a warmonger at heart, Father, as you have raised me to be.”
Larn quirked an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt his son, content to watch.
“When will the Midlands punish those who have betrayed her?”
A hush swept all corners of the hall, the nobles whispering amongst themselves.
“It seems my son’s developed a taste for leathers and grime. He’d have us on the battlefield rather than in finery.”
Verian flushed but stood his ground.
Leaning forward, Larn rested his elbows on his knees, touching steepled fingers to his nose as he thought a moment. “You speak of Manek,” he said finally.
“I accuse Manek,” Verian agreed. “He’s a traitor, Father. I saw it with my own eyes. But you’ve yet to condemn him.”
At this, Larn eased back into his throne leisurely, and Adena knew Verian had unwittingly invited a lesson he didn’t want. Larn was toying with his son. He was always amusing himself at the expense of others, as if he himself were a god and lives were his playthings. Perhaps that’s why Myrah tried never to catch his eye.
If Adena had a heart anymore capable of pity, she would’ve felt a twinge of it for Verian. He hadn’t learned as his mother had. He stood there, a prince before his king, begging to be taken seriously, to be a man in his father’s eyes. But Larn, a master with his chess pieces, wasn’t moved by his son’s desires.
“Tell me,” Larn said, “if I charge Manek with treason, what then? What shall I do? He stands at the heart of his people, people who love him and hate me. What can I do to him? It’s a delicate chain I hold the Lowlands by and accusing Manek of treason may just break it.”
Color mottled Verian’s neck and cheeks, making him look like the boy he was rather than the man he was trying to be. “Father,” Verian said, and Adena thought he tried hard not to stamp his foot, “he betrayed you. He must die.”
“Of course, he must die,” Larn said with a wave of his hand, as if a life meant nothing. An ugly, wicked smile overtook his face, and he leaned forward in his throne to say, “But that doesn’t mean he can’t be useful.”
Verian blinked. “Father?”
Larn flexed his fingers like a puppet master. “What is it, do you think, that Manek fears most?”
“I…”
“Manek fears I’ll come to the Lowlands like I did ten years ago. He fears what I’ll do if he has nothing to give me. Whether or not Manek betrayed me doesn’t matter.” He held up a hand against Verian’s protests. “Dorran!”
Larn’s seneschal sauntered to the dais, throwing a turkey leg into the great fire pit and wiping his greasy hands on the sides of his tunic. “Yes, my lord?”
“You’ll accompany my son to the Lowlands, where you’ll command Manek and his men into the Mountain Lands. Landon’s been causing trouble along the borderlands and I’d have him dealt with. You see, Verian, two problems can have one solution. Manek will conquer the Mountain Lands for me, proving his loyalty, and he’ll die doing it.”
Dorran smiled smugly, the same look he wore whenever he tormented the serving maids. But Verian seemed skeptical, a small frown hovering on his brow.
“And what if he refuses?” he asked.
“If he refuses, bring him to me, in as many pieces as it takes. Then I’ll pass judgment on your charges.”
With a loud clap, Dorran merrily made from the room to begin preparations. Verian bowed low again, dissolving back into the crowd of nobles. Larn held up his goblet, which Gaetien obediently filled, though his gaze darted to Adena.
This time she met it, her eyes wide. She flicked them up to the roof, then back at him. Their signal. Come to me tonight.
She held her breath. Gaetien deftly topped off the goblet and stepped back. For a moment, Adena couldn’t see him around Larn’s throne, but then he leaned back, catching her eyes again. He nodded.
A flutter of hope beat in her chest like a moth caught between two hands. Perhaps it was base of her, maybe even cruel, to wish war upon a whole land. But her heart had no room for guilt or conscience, only her greedy hope of escape. It gnawed her from the inside, filling her with a need that coursed hot and heavy in her limbs. If the Midlands went to war, she would escape. If the Midlanders went south, so would she.
Forty-Five
In the days of old, we Highlanders had a good king. Eirian Gilcriss, Fourteenth of his Line, first son of a first son, King of Kings, listener of Themin, ruled for forty winters. But Tamea takes all. What we could not know was how close upon her heels Dea would follow. King Gilcriss left behind two sons. We thought this a blessing, but it was to be our curse. Caedmon Gilcriss, Fifteenth of his Line, first son of a first son, became our King of Kings. But he would not listen to Themin, for it was Dea who filled his heart. We Highlanders suffered by his hand. When our suffering seemed too great to bear, his brother, Dunstan Gilcriss heeded our call. He was not blessed by the gods, but by the people. Our hearts were blasphemous, for we held him dear.
We followed him into battle; we disrupted the order; we killed our king. And chose another.
—from Chronicles of the Highland Wars
Ennis hurried into the great house, out of the chill of the crisp late-autumn morning. All around Rising, trees changed color, the otherwise green hills blanketed in amber, red, and yellow. She’d only ever seen such a sight at Bramden, her mother’s home, as most of the northern Highlands, including Highcrest and Ells, was either mountains, moors, or forests of cedar and pine.
Shaking the dew from her cloak, she spread it carefully across the back of a chair close to the roaring fire in the hall.
Kasia bustled in from the kitchen bearing a tray that made Ennis’s stomach rumble. Giving her a knowing grin, Kasia handed over one of the rolls, fresh from the oven.
Manek’s mother had taken the temporary additions of Ennis and Lora to her household in stride, even giving them a room once Lora felt Manek no longer needed to be watched over through the night. In fact, she’d been almost friendly of late, and Ennis was relieved. It was enough being at odds with Manek most hours of the day; having to contend with his mother too would’ve made her tear her hair out.
Thinking of Manek made the buttery roll taste bitter in her mouth, and just like that, all the good a stroll had done her mood was ruined. She tried not to let it show as Kasia placed the tray on the long table and began piling a few rolls into a wooden bowl.
“Would you mind taking these up?” Kasia asked. “Kierum and I were going to walk the wall this morning.”
“Of course.”
Before she could start up the stairs, Kasia laid a gentle hand on her arm and said, “The two of you have taken such good care of him. I hope you know how grateful we are.”
Unable to think of anything to say, Ennis forced herself to smile. What she wouldn’t give to have a prickly Kasia back, if only it meant Manek would be his old self too.
She met Lora at the top of the stairs.
“Oh, there you are, good,” she said. “I’m off to the Haven for more bandages—I forgot to tell you before you left.”
“Did the wound reopen?” Ennis asked, paling. Lora had taken the stitches out just yesterday, the knot of flesh finally smoothing into ugly welts and scar tissue. He’d been doing so well; in fact, Ennis thought their time in the great house was coming to an end. Now he just needed to regain his strength.
“Oh, no,” Lora said with a wave of her hand. “I just wanted to keep everything bound for a while to make sure it won’t open. It should ease the prickling he feels too.”
Ennis offered Lora one of the rolls, which she took hungrily and began down the stairs, chewing thoughtfully. Halfway down, she turned back to Ennis.
“Would you rather go instead?”
She smiled gratefully but shook her head. “No, it’s all right. It’s your turn for some fresh air. But could you bring a few books back from the Haven? I don’t care what it is—I’ll gladly read it.”
Lora mock bowed. “As you command, Lady Courtnay.”
Ennis waved her down the stairs. She watched her collect her cloak and leave the house, stalling.
Finally, there was nothing for it. She was standing aimlessly on the landing, letting the rolls go cold. Drawing herself up, Ennis walked down the hall and into Manek’s room.
She was surprised to see him out of bed. He stood by the window, morning sunlight bringing out the auburn tints in his brown hair and outlining his broad shoulders and back through the loose linen shirt he wore. He’d pulled on breeches but no boots, relieving her that he didn’t plan on going anywhere.
She told herself she shouldn’t stand there in the doorway staring at him; he’d surely heard her coming. But she let herself indulge, if only for a moment. She took in his straight stance, the firm set of his shoulders, and thanked every god she could think of for his swift recovery.
The need to hold him in her arms was strong, as it often was. To bury her face in the hollow between his shoulders and assure herself that he was well. But just as she always did now, she denied those wants, for he’d taken away that right, that intimacy. Thinking about it only worsened her mood.
Crossing the room, she set the bowl on his desk.
“Should you be up?”
“I’ll go mad if I stay in bed,” he said, not turning from the window.
Giving him her back, Ennis settled in the chair by the fire and pulled a ball of ugly brown yarn out of a little basket Kasia had given them. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d knitted before coming to Rising, but she and Lora had little else to do while they tended Manek. Since it was a joint effort, Ennis wasn’t sure what it was they were knitting. It looked like the world’s longest, ugliest scarf, but she figured it was too late to begin making it into something else. So she set about making it a little longer, determined not to let her misery show.
“You don’t have to watch me every moment of the day,” he said. “I’m on the mend now.”
“That’s for Lora to decide,” she replied coolly, not bothering to look up from the knitting. “Don’t worry—you’ll be rid of me soon enough. As you say, you’re on the mend.”
The words hurt to say, but she had some satisfaction when he sighed heavily. She didn’t tell him, of course, that she didn’t really need to be with him all day. If he was well enough to stand, then he could be left to his own devices for longer periods. But the truth was, seeing him hurt so badly, brought so close to death, made her want to be near him. Some part of her detested that she was hovering, but a larger part dreaded the thought of the wound getting infected again or opening up. She vividly remembered how it’d looked when he returned to Rising, like an angry red mouth sucking the life from him; it made her stomach threaten to heave.
She heard him trudge back to the bed, and from the corner of her eye, she watched him sit down on the edge, facing her. She couldn’t make herself look up, though, for fear of what she’d find. It was too early in the day to see him looking as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her.
“I’ve been looking at the wall,” he said finally.
She nodded, ignoring how her heartbeat quickened. Clenching her jaw, she refused to wait with bated breath for his approval.
“Ennis.”
When she lifted her gaze to his, she regarded him suspiciously.
“I never thanked you for finishing it, not as I should have.”
She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“Thank you. It’s glorious. Truly, I can’t say how much it means to me. But…why? Why did you do it?”
She hoped her scowl conveyed how hurtful it was he even had to ask.
“Ennis, it can’t…” His gaze dropped to his hands. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“Why?” tore from her lips before she could stop it.
“I can’t.”
“But why, Manek?”
“You know why. My life would be forfeit. Larn would take the excuse to have my head.”
“But who would tell him?” she demanded, feeling she had to ask even as she heard the echo of this same argument they’d had before.
“I can’t take that risk. I can’t take any risk, don’t you understand? I don’t remember everything from the day after we took Dannawey, but I do remember the pain of the surgeon’s knife, and Larn’s face, looking down at me. Like I was prey. Like if I moved wrong, he’d devour me whole. You don’t know him, you don’t know what he’d do.”
He shook his head, refusing to look at her, an inscrutable crease between his eyes.
“You’re scared,” she realized.
“Of course, I’m scared!”
“Manek, that’s what he wants. That’s how he rules. If he keeps you in fear, he wins. You’ll never be free of him. And how long can the Lowlands survive? If you would—”
He sliced a hand through the air. “Enough. Enough of your advice. All I want, everything I’ve done is to keep the Lowlands safe. But you come and you push. You just keep pushing.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, then cleared her throat, not wanting to sound like a scared little girl when she spoke to him. “I’m sorry for what happened in Dannawey. I’m sorry for Colm and for your wound. I’d take it all away if I could. I’d make it better if…” She shook her head. She kept trying to make things better, but they never were. “I just wanted to help you. I wanted to help the Lowlands.”
“No, you want to avenge Highcrest through us.”
“You know me very little if you think that.”
“Ennis, you love the north. You love your home. Can you honestly say, if I freed you now, that you wouldn’t ride as fast and hard as you could for Highcrest? I’d never see you again.”
Jumping up, she tugged at the black ribbon around her neck. “This isn’t keeping me here. It’s just cloth. Hasn’t it occurred to you that maybe I stay for you? That the people I love are here, in Rising?”
“Your prince is in the north.”
“I don’t love Colm Dunstan! I love—” But she swallowed the words, not willing to let him have them, not now. “I’ve made a home here, Manek. At least, I’ve tried to. I want to defend it as much as you. I’ve watched one home burn before. Don’t hate me for not wanting to see another waste away to nothing.”
She abandoned the room, flew down the stairs, out of the house. She was always fleeing now, always running away from what he might say next. And she hated him for that.
When she met Lora on the path leading into town, she told her everything. Lora listened sympathetically, her brow furrowed.