Embers

by Ronie Kendig

  There was a shout, and several children scrambled toward the spilled money.

  Thiel and Laertes warned them off, deflecting the full effect of the girl’s anger from Haegan. Where had those coins come from? Whoever put him outside the far gate in the tunnels must have tied the money to his belt. But why? And who? If they had rejected him . . .

  “Hurry,” Laertes said, his hair bobbing as he thrust the coins back in Haegan’s hands. “If Jujak see this, they’ll string us up for sure.”

  That snapped Haegan out of his stupor. “Why?” He knelt and retrieved a couple of paladiums that had rolled behind a barrel.

  “Because we’re poor beggars.” Thiel punched to her feet. “And the only way beggars get money, let alone gold paladiums”—meaning and accusation laced that word—“is if we stole the lot.” She shoved the coins toward Haegan. “Hide them.”

  “You think I stole them?” Stunned at her insinuation, he held up his hands. “It would be less noticeable, wouldn’t you agree, if we all took a share?”

  She stared, her hard gaze darting over his face. “Why would you do that? Do you want us to get arrested—that’s it! A trap to get rid of us. You ungrateful swine.”

  He couldn’t help the laugh. “No. Calm yourself, my lady.”

  This time Thiel barked a laugh as she held out her hands, motioning to the dusty breeches and smudged tunic. “As you can see, my lord, I am no lady.”

  Could he say nothing to her that would gain some measure of peace, or even civility? Haegan sighed and shook his head. “My point was only that if so many coins together might draw unwanted attention, wouldn’t it be safer to split them up? Are you familiar with the proverb about putting all your flints in one tinderbox?” And he clearly wasn’t perceptive enough to protect himself. “Prudence would have us split them up, use them wisely and carefully.”

  Thiel’s eyebrow arched. “Prudence?”

  “He has a point,” Laertes said, snatching a paladium and pocketing it without a moment’s hesitation.

  “Just remember, young prince,” Haegan said with a wink, “that doesn’t belong to you.”

  Laertes frowned. “What doesn’t?”

  “The coin.”

  “What coin?”

  “The—” Haegan caught on, but Laertes bolted off. “Hey!” He lunged after the boy.

  Thiel caught his arm. “Chasing him will draw attention.” She shrugged. “What do you expect? He’s ten.”

  “He should be taught a lesson. One shouldn’t steal.”

  “A lesson?” Thiel crossed her arms, the anger back.

  Great. He couldn’t manage to keep his mouth of fire shut. “He is young and should be raised in the codes, taught the morality of upright living. That’s all I meant.”

  “The codes. Upright living.” She snorted and started walking.

  “What does that mean?” Haegan kept pace with her.

  “What do you know of upright living, you who were in the forbidden tunnels and abandoned by an incipient?”

  “Accelerant,” he said. “There’s a difference.” Too many tried to imply that his family—in particular, his father—were incipients.

  She frowned at him, gauging. “Not where I come from.”

  “And where is that?”

  Thiel hadn’t returned the paladiums, but she also hadn’t secured them in the satchel strung across her torso. She hesitated, her face softening for just a second. Then, the rock-hard visage returned. “It’s not your concern.” Tucking three paladiums in a small pocket at her waist, she held his gaze. “I’ll give one each to Praegur and Tokar. We talked it over last night. You can accompany us as far as Hetaera, but we’ll need to secure supplies if we’re to survive the trek. You keep the rest. We’ll need them to get through the mountains alive. Buy dried meat and”—her gaze skipped over his attire—“better clothing.”

  Another insult? The girl was bold. “You are one to talk.”

  Her lips tightened. “Careful, tunnel rat. I’m dressed as one of my station should be. Now—the supplies.”

  “You trust me, then?”

  “Call it buying your good graces.”

  “So,” he said as he dropped the coins in his boots, “it’s okay to keep my coins but not to tell me from where you hail?”

  “It was your idea to split them up. Can I help it if you’re not as smart as you look?”

  Haegan almost grinned. “You think I look smart, then?”

  She bristled. Sunlight streaked over her face as she stepped from beneath the awning, her eyes once more glinting gold. “Meet back at the wagon at dusk.”

  • • •

  “He is only a captain.”

  “A captain with more experience than some of our current majors. A captain reared by one of the strongest and most savvy generals Zaethien has seen in a hundred years.” A young man who was the contemporary of Zireli’s son, whom his son might have sparred with, trained with, had Poired not wounded the Celahar by poisoning Haegan.

  “You flatter only to silence me.”

  Zireli grinned at his friend. “Is it working?” He’d returned to camp that morning after his brief sojourn in Seultrie. He lifted a hand to quiet the objection and reply. “Flattery is the last thing on my mind.” Finding Haegan, finding answers to what happened in the keep . . . that was his priority—along with saving the Nine. “It was your son who raced across Zaethien to warn me of what happened back at the keep. Graem’s men respect him and will follow him.” He lifted a cup of warmed cordi juice. “You yourself said he’s had a natural ability since he was but a lad.” Just as Haegan once had.

  “Aye,” Grinda groused. “But I am his father. I’m supposed to be unashamedly biased about my progeny.”

  Zireli took in the maps of the Nine and the placement of troops. “I need him to go, Kiliv. There are few who can track as well as Graem. You’ve raised him well. Now, leave him to his duties. ”

  After a longsuffering sigh, Kiliv lowered himself to a chair and rested an elbow on the arm, peering through his thick, bushy brow at Zireli. “Why are you hunting your own son?” Though Kiliv’s question was not pointed, it still felt like a dagger. “You can’t really believe he acted against you and the throne.”

  Did he believe his son had betrayed the Nine?

  Zireli was no longer certain. In fact, the horrible truth lay in the reality that he did not know his son, save from the reports from Adrroania and Gwogh. All he knew now was that his son had, once more, been lost to him. He traced a finger over the northbound route from Seultrie up to the Great Falls. He’d go through Luxlirien and then on to Hetaera. That made the most sense. Afforded dense populations to hide among.

  Explaining himself was not something he was accustomed to, but exploring the complicated waters of his relationship with Haegan . . . of their past . . . of this new injury inflicted by the son he’d already lost once . . .

  Had I spent more time with him, would he have turned against me like this?

  “The princess herself said it wasn’t Haegan’s doing,” Kiliv continued.

  “Kaelyria is protective of her brother. Always has been. She will say whatever necessary to stay my hand and anger against him.” Since Haegan had first entered the world, a ruddy, screaming, strong baby boy, Kaelyria had wanted to be with him.

  Kiliv arched a brow. “And why are you not as ardent in your protection and defense of your own blood?”

  Anger churned through Zireli. “Careful, friend.” Choking back the indignation, he sighed. “Haegan’s actions have left Seultrie undefended.”

  “Not entirely,” Grinda countered. “There is a contingent of your fiercest warriors within the walls. We reinforced defenses. The bulk of the Zaethien army is encamped between here and the keep. And Kerral has promised—”

  “Kerralian troops will be too few too late. And now, for the first time in a thousand years, there is no accelerant guarding Seultrie. Haegan stole that—”

  “You don’t know—”

 
“What other explanation is there?” Zireli pounded his fist against the table. “He is out there, running free when his people, his sister, his own parents, are fighting for their lives.” He shoved a hand through his hair and turned away, breathing hard. “He made the choice. If there is even a bone of truth to Kaelyria’s story, Haegan made the choice to accept the transference. Now he’s stolen the hope of Seultrie.”

  “I rarely disagree with you, Zireli, but in this, I cannot eat what you serve. Haegan may have been a cripple, but he is just as ardent in his pride as a Celahar and Seultrian. He would never set himself against you or the Nine.” He lifted his hands as Zireli straightened and fixed narrowed eyes on him.

  “How do you know my son so well?”

  Grinda faltered for only a moment. Then he met Zireli’s gaze. “I used to visit the boy on occasion. When I was in the keep.”

  Zireli felt as if he’d been caught in a halo. The air seemed to go out of the room.

  Grinda’s eyes softened. “I will say no more, but hear me in this: you are wrong to hunt your own son like a enemy.”

  The guilt stung like a branding iron, burning straight into his heart. Guilt that he’d failed Haegan. Guilt that he had not visited him more, guided his growing. Guilt that he had not protected his family.

  “What if he was just as much a pawn in ka’Dur’s scheme as Kaelyria?” Kiliv suggested. “How have you so easily clothed your own son in the cloak of evil? Haegan—”

  “It’s done!” Zireli shouted. “I will hear no more. He—”

  A shadow broke the sunlight seeping through the tied-back opening.

  Zireli seized the distraction. “Enter!”

  Captain Graem Grinda ducked inside, acknowledged his father with a nod, then placed his fist over his heart and faced his king. “You summoned me, Your Majesty?”

  “Aye.” Zireli sighed and slid a glance to the young officer’s father. “You’ve done well as a captain, Graem.”

  Brawny and focused, the young man shifted nervously before inclining his head. “Thank you, sire. It is my honor to serve you.”

  “Not me, Graem. You serve Abiassa and the Nine.”

  He thumped his fist over his heart again. “May they burn bright and long!”

  “By the Flames,” Zireli affirmed. “I’m sending you out. You’ll take five Jujak and ride north.”

  Graem started. “Not return to the keep, sire? She’ll be undefended.”

  “As your father has just pointed out, the keep is defended by additional Jujak and a battalion outside the wall. Fieri Keep and Seultrie will hold until my return. So, you’ll go north.”

  “North, sire.” Questions hung in his young face.

  Zireli heaved a breath. “The prince has betrayed the Nine. I want Haegan found and returned to me.”

  “Dead or alive, sire?”

  Zireli shot the captain a scowl. “We are not in the practice of execution without trial, Captain Grinda. Leave that to Sirdar’s minions and bring my son back to answer for what he’s done.”

  9

  Thick, leaded glass did nothing to impede her vision or her desire as Thiel stood outside the mercantile. With her eyes, she traced each part of the dresses hanging on the wooden mannequins—the bustles, the puffed sleeves, the bejeweled necklines or waistlines. Ribbons, silk, brocade. Fur stoles and cloaks to fend off bitter winters. So familiar to her—both the winters and the fur stoles.

  She lifted a hand to her jaw as she remembered the flutter of fur against her skin, even though it’d been years since she’d worn such luxury. The softer-than-new-fallen-snow feel of satin. Her favorite green dress.

  But that was before. Before she made a decision no one else would make. A decision that cost every ounce of luxury and notoriety. A decision that hung loneliness and despair around her neck in place of her family’s crest. An invisible hand from the past clutched her throat¸ strangling her happiness. Her dreams . . . relegated to a beggar’s life.

  Thiel lowered her gaze to her grungy tunic.

  “What do you think?”

  She flinched and whirled, coming face to chest with Praegur. “Think?” She blinked as she took a step back and looked up at her dark-skinned friend. “About what?”

  “Our young ruffian.” He nodded toward the blacksmith’s shop, where Rigar stood at the smithy, apparently confused.

  Thiel shook her head. “It confounds me how he still walks and breathes.” And yet, something about him tugged at her curiosity. Her awareness.

  “A little out of his realm, wouldn’t you say?”

  “A little?” Thiel held up the paladiums. “He told me to take these.”

  Praegur’s gold eyes flashed. “Take them? What a fool!”

  “No.” Thiel felt the answer in her belly. The newcomer might be awkward, but he was no fool. Naïve, perhaps. But intelligence lurked behind those assessing eyes. There was no way to justify her gut instinct, what she suspected. The others would probably think her the fool if she mentioned it. “I think we’re right to go with him to Hetaera.”

  Praegur scowled. “Nothing but trouble up that way.”

  “Mm, exactly. And how do you think our new friend will fare?”

  Praegur grunted. “I see your point. But why are you so interested in this one?”

  “Not interested,” Thiel muttered. “Curious.” When Praegur frowned at her, she shrugged. “Here. Take this. You can secure bread and pastries from Mistress An’sur, aye?”

  Lifting the coin from her hand, he nodded. “Let’s hope I can escape without a betrothal proposition this time.”

  “Surely her daughter isn’t as unsightly as that.”

  “Mayhap . . . but the smell.”

  “I love the smell of bread.”

  “It ain’t bread she stinks of—her father is the tanner.” His lip curled as he turned and strode off the boardwalk.

  Thiel smiled, but it fell away when shouts from the smithy brought her attention back round. Rigar stumbled out of the barn, offering an apology. A horseshoe hit him in the chest with a thud Thiel heard across the market square.

  Something in her twisted into a knot, seeing his embarrassment. His shame as he tucked his chin and turned in her direction. She ducked into the mercantile. Hurrying behind a display of china, she watched through the pristine windows as Rigar rubbed his chest.

  “Go on with the likes of you,” someone growled from the back. “We don’t need rabble in here causin’ trouble!”

  Heat flaring down her spine, Thiel glanced around, feigning ignorance. Then her gaze struck the shopkeeper. “Oh. Do you speak to me, good sir?”

  “Aye, you know well I do! Go on”—he waved her toward the door—“out wit’ ye.”

  Thiel slid the gold paladium between her fingers and held it up. “Is this not appropriate here?”

  Surprised tugged back the man’s scowl. Then it returned just as swiftly. “Where’d you get that? Stole it, I bet!”

  “Sir, your words wound me. I came by it honestly, as any proper citizen would. Now, I have a few supplies to secure. Would you rather I went to Harket’s?”

  Muttering his disgust, he disappeared into the back of the shop, calling someone as he did. A minute later, the shopkeeper’s wife came out and helped her gather the necessary supplies.

  By the time Thiel had the dry goods and left the shop, dusk had settled. She stepped into the street. A girl’s scream stopped her. Thiel shifted, holding the sack tight against her chest. Listening . . .

  “Leave me!” a girl cried out.

  The alley. Thiel ran toward it, suddenly bombarded by memories. Filcher’s rancid breath. His meaty paws. She rounded the corner and saw him.

  No. Thiel swallowed. Not Filcher. Some thug. Dragging a girl down the alley. In the middle of the day. “Hey!” Thiel threw herself forward, the supplies tossed aside. “Leave her!”

  The man turned. Sneered. “Twofer, eh?” He grinned and reached for Thiel.

  She shoved his arm, swinging him off balance. H
e stumbled forward with a curse. “Run,” Thiel shouted to the girl, who stared in stunned silence. “Run!”

  The girl finally found her wits and her feet.

  A crunch warned Thiel of the thug. She crouched, feeling the whoosh of air over her head. She swung around. Clipped the back of his knee and shouldered into him. The man went down.

  Thiel shot out of the alley, hauling up the dry goods without stopping.

  She barreled into Rigar. “Move you oaf!”

  “What happened?” He was looking back at the alley.

  “Nothing.” Because she’d stopped it. Wouldn’t let some girl end up brutalized like she had been. “Did you get the supplies on your list?”

  “Need to get—”

  “Then do it!” Heart pounding, she raced for the wagon yard, feeling the after-battle tremor weakening her legs. Just get to the wagon. She’d be safe there. Outside town with families of refugees from the war, tinkers, gypsies, and even pirates. Yeah, safe.

  Sack hoisted over her shoulder, Thiel rounded a corner. Saw portly Ah’maral, their wagon master, bending over a campfire. Relief speared her. She hurried across the road to him.

  Thunder erupted from her left. A flurry of hooves and beasts. Thiel cringed and drew into herself. A throng of riders, dressed in black and bearing the mark—

  “No,” she breathed, frozen at the sight. Then she rushed along the fringe of the gathering crowd, trying to glimpse the emblem on their long black cloaks that draped elegantly over the broad flanks of the massive horses.

  Yes. There it was. The gold raqine.

  Thiel stopped short, breath caught in her throat as she stared at the riders. And slowly, longing rose within her. Surged. The ache to belong drew her closer. Just a peek, she promised herself. Just look at their faces.

  10

  Villagers fled the road, some shouting at the riders for not being more careful, others screaming for children to get clear. As the wide path filled with horses and riders, both black and fierce as night, Haegan spotted Thiel rimming the crowd. Her face was pale. Strangely pale, especially for one with as much fire in her belly as Thiel.