by Unknown
‘Stop it,’ said Roshi, as if she could read my thoughts.
I cleared my mind and smiled at her.
‘Better,’ she said approvingly, before winding my hair into a braid and binding it on the crown of my head.
I cast an eye over the clothes she’d brought. The Ilthean matron’s sleeveless gown she held was cinched under the breasts with a string of silk and fastened at the shoulders with bronze clasps worked in the shape of a serpent’s head, fangs bared. There were also sturdy leather sandals with crisscrossing straps, which Roshi wound halfway up my calves. A great swathe of cloth, blue as sapphires, completed the outfit. Roshi draped it around my shoulders like an oversized shawl.
So easily had I been turned into a southern snake.
The choice was Sidonius’s, I had no doubt.
I stood, conscious only of the ache of my ribs against the linen bandages as Roshi stepped back to admire her handiwork. I grimaced as she twitched the stole first this way and that, adjusting its fall to her satisfaction. When she was done I feared to move at all lest the entire contraption collapse around my feet.
‘Enough,’ I said, when she looked like she might dive in for another round of adjustments. ‘I don’t need to look like the perfect Ilthean woman.’
Roshi bit her lip and held the tent-flap aside for me as I stepped outside, the pain of ducking through almost too great to bear.
I emerged to the sight of line upon line of Ilthean soldiers stretching between me and the plain behind which the Turholm towered, Dieter’s black raven banners snapping in the wind from every turret and tower. Despite Roshi’s warning, the sight was a blow.
I gazed at my beloved home, standing tall and proud before the approaching onslaught, and thought I might break somewhere deep inside.
To my left, Achim rose from a squat. ‘Lady,’ he greeted me.
‘I find myself in unpleasant circumstances,’ I replied stonily.
Achim cast a questioning glance at Roshi, but she had planted herself beside Sepp, who sat cross-legged at the far corner of the tent, shrunk in on himself, head down. Neither he nor Roshi came to Achim’s rescue.
‘Tell me how you came to be here,’ I said, still staring at the Turholm.
Squatting again, Achim rolled his shoulders in a shrug. ‘It is a long story, if you want all the details, not to mention a dry one. The short version is, I came away from my homeland to find someone and I joined Sidonius because he asked.’
‘Who is Sidonius to you?’
‘Dieter’s brother.’
‘What is Dieter to you?’
‘Private,’ He replied, his expression making it doubly sure I understood this was a closed topic. ‘This much I will tell you. We learned the lore of the Amaer together, during his time in my homeland.’
‘You know his tricks of old.’
‘I do,’ He said, flicking a finger I assumed was meant to encompass the marks Dieter had put on my brow. ‘He was always one for the quick and easy way. Most of us scorned him for it, for usually it is the most easily broken.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘But Dieter always had a trick up his sleeve which turned the quick and easy way into the best way.’
‘You mean his ruse with believing.’
‘Yes. Use the victim’s mind to make the lie true,’ The shadow-worker said. ‘Brilliant. Amoral, but brilliant.’
I considered the black raven snapping in the distance. ‘Must it be amoral? Couldn’t the same trick be used to make a sick patient believe themselves healed?’
‘Don’t let Roshi hear you talk like that – she has a most decided opinion as to your regard for Dieter.’
This time it was my turn to shrug. ‘She has good reason.’ There were no words to explain the riot of confusion which made up the way I felt about Dieter, so I didn’t try.
‘My lady, if I may say, you look ravishing,’ Came Sidonius’s voice, and I turned to find him approaching, wearing the self-satisfied smile I’d heard in his tone. ‘Dressed as you are,’ He continued, ‘I see the likeness to your aunt.’
The mention of Helena made me shiver, and I could find no response that didn’t choke me.
‘Silence is a good attribute,’ Sidonius noted. ‘You might want to cultivate it. Particularly during the parley.’
His words started a trip-hammer in my breast. Parley meant Dieter.
‘Come,’ He said.
‘Now?’
‘Second thoughts, little queen?’ said Sidonius, his choice of epithet sending a chill down my spine.
I had to stiffen my neck against the urge to turn and check for Clay’s approach.
‘Might I suggest it’s perhaps a little late?’ he added.
‘You may not,’ I snapped.
Sidonius examined me with a critical eye before offering me his arm in its white silk sleeve. ‘In that case, your throne awaits, lady.’
I rested the tips of my fingers on his arm, taut and warm beneath the thin layer of silk, and let him lead me towards the parley, and Dieter. My knees felt weaker with every step, his pace quick enough to make my bound rib twinge.
A makeshift pavilion had been set up, an open-sided tent of white silk, excess scraps of cloth fluttering at each corner. A small party on horseback were picking their way across the plain towards the pavilion already.
We had no mounts of our own, not directly. Instead, a single horse stood harnessed into the traces of a small open carriage.
‘In you step, lady,’ said Sidonius.
‘I’ll ride the horse,’ I said, not moving.
He took no notice, urging me into the carriage with a hand on the small of my back to block off any escape. The carriage creaked as I stepped in, then rocked and tipped as Sidonius followed me. He stood dead-centre, lifting the chariot’s prow from the ground.
I clutched at the lacquered wooden rim, terrified by the thought of landing on my backside in the dust.
‘Closer to me,’ said Sidonius.
‘I’m fine here,’ I said, curling my fingers tighter.
He pulled me towards him, forcing me to release my hold on the rim and step back. Only a fraction of an inch separated us as he reached around and tucked me into the crook of his elbow. He picked up the traces and the horse flicked glossy ears back and forth, shifting on its hooves as it felt the subtle change in its harness.
An escort formed around us: soldiers in bronze breastplates, scraps of white silk knotted to the tips of their lances. Sidonius flicked the reins and gave a sharp cry in my ear and the horse burst into a trot. The chariot’s rattling start swayed me tighter into his grip. Unsteady with the jolt and sway, pull and lag, I didn’t fight, but concentrated instead on controlling the pain shooting through my body and the nerves making my hands hot.
Heralded by the beat of hooves and the rattle and creak of the chariot, clad in the garb of the Iltheans and cradled in the arm of his brother, I made my way towards my husband.
THIRTY-FIVE
DIETER REACHED THE pavilion ahead of us. He had Gerlach with him, and two of his men. Surrounded by a brace of ilthean soldiers, I nevertheless felt weak by comparison. So be it, I thought. He made me weak.
The thought birthed a spark of anger, which I visualised gathering close in cupped hands and nurturing, to steel myself against the coming confrontation. Even from this distance, unable to make out the exact nature of Dieter’s expression, I wanted to quail with shame.
After a time, the Iltheans dropped back to a walk, leaving the chariot to pull ahead in a rattle and creak of wheels. Sidonius drew in on the reins, slowing the horse to a brisk walk and finally stopping.
I’d expected something showy, a sweeping turn perhaps, or a pull sharp enough to stand the horse on its hind legs. Instead, the chariot rocked on its axis and tilted slowly forward to resting.
Silence stretched between us. Dieter and Gerlach remained on their horses – my father’s horses – and Sidonius and I stood in the chariot. We all four stared across the yards separating us, the only noise tha
t of the pennons of the pavilion rustling and murmuring in the breeze.
Sidonius moved first, his hand on the small of my back. I clutched at my skirts as the damnable bucket tilted beneath us. Pain shot through me as I stepped down. Then the breeze brought a hint of Dieter’s scent, triggering a flash of memory from our last night together. The night I had turned to him, the night we had consummated our binding. Heat flashed across my skin.
Sidonius guided me into the shadow of the pavilion as Dieter and Gerlach dismounted and stepped inside. The four of us stood behind chairs opposite each other.
‘It’s been a long while, brother,’ said Sidonius.
‘You’ve grown since I saw you last,’ Replied Dieter, before pulling out his chair and sitting, legs outstretched and one elbow crooked onto the chair’s arm, as if completely at his ease. Gerlach remained standing, belying Dieter’s composure.
I pulled out my own chair and sat before Sidonius could hand me into it. My cheeks burned to sit before my husband dressed as an Ilthean and allied with his brother. But I had only to remember Clay, the weight of his hands pressing me into the earth and death, to firm my resolve, though it did nothing to banish the creeping sensation which stalked my nape at the thought of leading an army of serpents towards the Turholm. There’s no temporary when it comes to power, child. Give those serpents a toehold and you’ll spend buckets of blood before you dig them out again.
‘I can’t help noticing you’ve marched an army onto my lands,’ said Dieter. ‘Nigh up to my gates, in fact.’
‘You claim sovereignty over the Turasi?’ said Sidonius, taking a seat and casting an arch look my way. ‘I had heard the position belonged to another.’
‘You need more reliable sources,’ Dieter said equably, not looking my way even for a heartbeat. ‘You also need to give me reasons for marching an army onto Turasi soil. Make it a good one, won’t you?’
Sidonius responded to Dieter’s easy stare with one of hooded hatred. ‘You hold the future vassal king of the Turasi. For your sake, I hope the boy remains unharmed.’
Dieter picked at a nail. ‘The Duethin has never been, nor will ever be, a vassal to Ilthea,’ He said, then looking up, he fixed Sidonius with a glare and added, ‘No son of a snake will ever sit the throne. The boy is nothing more than the half-caste spawn of a svanaten. And who are the Svanaten?’
For the first time he shifted his gaze to me. ‘They are dead,’ he said, triumph and cruelty threaded through his voice. ‘They are ashes scattered before the wind.’
It took all my strength to hold Dieter’s gaze until he turned away, releasing me.
Sidonius leant forward a fraction, his smile crooked, his cheeks bright with colour. ‘The emperor’s reach is longer than yours, brother. The Turasi will fall under his sway as countless other peasant tribes have done before. I have the power to negotiate an agreement which will see you live.’
‘Your emperor’s promises, and therefore yours, are a false coin,’ Dieter said. ‘They will buy nothing from me.’
If the insult angered Sidonius, he didn’t show it. ‘I understand you killed Helena of house Svanaten,’ he said, with no trace now of the fury he had shown when he first learned of her death.
‘I’m afraid she did not find the homecoming she wished for.’
‘She was fleeing justice,’ Sidonius went on. ‘Jurgas Avita Angeron will look kindly on you for dealing with her in such a manner – and let me assure you, the emperor’s gratitude is no trifling matter. Yield the boy, and we can talk of your reward. Refuse’ – here a grim tone darkened Sidonius’ Voice – ‘And there will be no clemency for any of your people.’
Dieter looked up at the wind-rippled ceiling as if the conversation bored him.
My heartbeat juddered in the silence and I fought to keep my hands still, unclenched and untwitching.
‘Your threats and promises are both as empty as the winter wind,’ Said Dieter, bringing his gaze back to his brother. ‘Attack the Turholm, and the boy –’
‘Dies?’ Sidonius interrupted with a sneer. ‘If so, you lose any advantage. And any chance of surviving.’
‘Suffers,’ Dieter corrected him, then stood. ‘I will bend knee to no one. If you’ve nothing further to hint at and imply, let’s be done with this chicanery.’
‘Your creature is dead, Dieter,’ I said, my voice arresting him before he could turn away.
A dark shadow touched his eyes as he measured me. I kept my expression closed, giving him no clue that my words might be untrue. Did he grieve for the golem? Or did he merely wonder how it had died by my hand?
‘The throne is mine by right. Hand it back, and this all ends here,’ I added.
Sidonius and Dieter both looked at me with matching expressions of disdain, banishing any doubts as to their kinship.
‘A moment alone with my wife, if you please,’ Dieter said to Sidonius.
Sidonius nodded and withdrew to the ranks of his men, but not without a sharp glance my way. Gerlach retired as well.
Dieter stepped closer – enough to lower his voice, not enough to make Sidonius nervous. ‘I held your life in the palm of my hand for weeks on end. And I did nothing. Remember that.’
‘I’m quite familiar with the details of your little trick,’ I retorted, anger quickening my tongue.
He considered this, obviously wondering how his arcana had been broken.
‘I did what was necessary to keep you alive,’ he said, not pursuing the questions shadowing his gaze.
‘Ha!’ The laugh exploded from me, sharp as thorns. ‘Oh yes, I was valuable to you – I made sure of it. Don’t confuse any affection you may have felt for genuine emotion, Dieter. I did what was necessary to keep myself alive.’ The words were bitter in my mouth. ‘You simply thought me weak enough to ignore.’
‘Well,’ He said, regarding me, his gaze speculative. ‘At last you don’t need to convince or manipulate me anymore.’
‘See what progress we’ve made in our marriage.’
‘Do you know why I seized the throne?’ He said, stretching out the fingers of his right hand as if fighting the urge to make a fist. ‘Because the Turasi falling was inevitable otherwise. The Svanaten are a weak bloodline, too weak to keep the snakes from our borders. Ravens take your eyes, your aunt kited off and married one of them! If you don’t know what she planned with that boy of hers, you’re as stupid as the rest of your kin.
‘I thought it’d be her who handed us over to the empire. But you’ve outshone any of her meagre efforts, Matilde. You’d give us over on a platter, garnished with an eternity of servitude.’
I flinched, but anger kept my back straight. ‘You’ve always underestimated me, Dieter, always made the mistake of taking my intent at face value. Yet you think you’re the clever one. Why? Because you can perform tricks with clay?’ I put every ounce of disdain I had into my voice, until it pumped through my veins and oozed from every pore.
He leaned close, his pale and witching eyes pinning me. ‘Don’t underestimate me,’ he said, his voice low and thrumming with violence. ‘I’m not always nice. And don’t overestimate yourself. You don’t have what it takes, Matilde,’ he said, then turned on his heel and strode back to the horses, Gerlach falling into step behind him.
I stood watching them until their horses were small with distance, until Sidonius put chill fingertips on my forearm.
‘Lady,’ he said. ‘It’s over. Let’s go.’
I looked up, my cheeks rubbery with schooling them to blankness. ‘He won’t yield.’
‘He will,’ said Sidonius. ‘Tomorrow we ride to war. And Ilthea always wins.’
THIRTY-SIX
SIDONIUS DIDN’T SPEAK on our way back to the camp.
As soon as we reached his command tent he gathered his captains to council. He ordered my attendance, though there were no introductions to his men. He demanded every fragment of information I could dredge forth, from the depth the Turholm’s walls extended beneath the ground to the number of me
n under Dieter’s command, from the strength of the fortifications to the quantity of stores. It took every ounce of concentration I could muster to answer him while balancing honesty and my desire to retake the throne with keeping my court and my people safe.
When at last Sidonius had asked everything he wanted to, he dismissed me, not deigning to include me in his battle plans. I left the command tent torn between wanting the battle over and wanting it never to start, trapped like an insect in the slow seep of sap. Anger and anguish about Dieter also warred within me.
The Ilthean camp was already abuzz with preparations, the soldiers at work sharpening their blades, testing their weapons and readying stores of ammunition. Their efficiency chilled me as I hurried to my tent and ducked inside. Roshi and Sepp were waiting for me, and the three of us talked long into the night, trying to stave off fear and uncertainty.
We all had friends behind those walls, and bloodshed was the morrow’s only guarantee.
When at last we retired, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, finally rising as dawn glimmered just beneath the horizon. Tiptoeing past Roshi and Sepp, careful not to wake them, I stepped outside.
Two soldiers guarded my tent: I still wasn’t trusted. At least this pair didn’t question me but simply fell in behind when I chose to venture into the camp. An air of tense purpose pervaded the Ilthean, the soft comings and goings of those returning from duty or heading out to their vigil lending a scatter of pale shadows to the site.
At the camp’s perimeter I stopped. Ranks of soldiers stood gathered on the skirts of the plain, a great bulk of greaved and breastplated and helmeted men. Standards pierced the earth every twenty yards, the white snake of the south winding across a crimson background.
The arrangement of the men surprised me. This was not the thin spread of an army laying siege behind ditch and fortification. This was a force readying for frontal attack.
Morning revealed a causeway of packed earth which the Iltheans had laboured at overnight. Though not yet complete, the line of its path was still clear. The ramp would rise from the ground to the top of the walls, a walkway into the Turholm. Sidonius must have had all his men working on the ramp, to have achiveved so much in a single night.
