“You will. Let’s get to a room first. Come on.”
Ilvara pulls her into the hallway while Evelyn twists around, searching for a sign of Goldie. Lord Krassis stands at the end of the hallway, holding a candle.
“What is going on here?” he demands to know.
“This is Evelyn, Goldie’s daughter that I took care of.”
Krassis’ eyebrows lift. “I see the resemblance. Is she ill?”
“No. Just distraught. She didn’t know her mother was alive. Can she stay here somewhere?”
“Yes. This way.”
Evelyn stares at him in surprise as they turn the corner. They pat down a scarlet carpet. Torches light the way to a door at the end.
“This is just a guest chamber. It might be a little musty,” says the lord.
“Thank you, Andrew,” Ilvara says. The new name sounds strange to Evelyn. “Here. Just lie down, darling. It’ll be all right.”
Evelyn sits, but does not recline. “I want to speak with her,” she says. Her hysterics have subsided. Everything is clearing.
“I’ll arrange it,” Krassis says, setting the candle on the end table. “How did you get here?”
Evelyn searches her mind for a good answer. “A horse.”
Krassis smirks. “I see. Couldn’t be away from your countess, could you?”
Evelyn tilts her head, but Ilvara intervenes.
“I told him a little about you,” she says. “About how you were my servant in Lockmire, how you left to become a soldier.”
“Yes,” Evelyn says. Her whirring mind focuses slowly. “And I’d like to continue that, your lordship. If I may.”
“You’d like to be my servant?” Ilvara asks.
“An enemy soldier as my new wife’s personal servant.” Krassis narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“I swear, I will perform my duties well. If I do not, you may send me away.”
Krassis chuckles. “Thank you for the permission. I suppose that would be all right. But there will be severe punishment at the first sign of trouble.”
“I understand.” Evelyn thinks of Caius in the prison cells. She doesn’t want to jeopardize the thin allowance she’s been given, but she must try. “Lady Ilvara, Grogar is dead.”
Ilvara lets out her breath. “Gods… How?”
“He went to Lockmire to find you and... but you need a bodyguard now, right?”
Ilvara glances at Krassis. “I’m sure Andrew will find one.”
Evelyn decides she does not like hearing Ilvara say his first name. “What about Caius?”
“Wasn’t that Lockmire’s trainer?” Krassis wonders.
“Yes, but he wants to protect Ilvara. He’s here in your cells, isn’t he? And there’s sure to be conflict in the region about the marriage. Ilvara should be protected.” Evelyn shifts on the bed, hoping against reason that this will work.
“Yes,” Krassis says thoughtfully. He waves a hand. “But he was the trainer. He’s too skilled. He may turn against us. Absolutely not.”
He steps back. Evelyn rises.
“He’s in love with me,” Evelyn says. “Use me to control him. I swear he won’t try anything.”
Ilvara gives her an agonized look. “Evelyn…”
Krassis peers at Evelyn. “Why do you want him to be her bodyguard?”
Evelyn lowers her head. “Because I love him, too. And I don’t want him to be killed or sent away. To be true, my lord, Asher Xerxes was broken out of prison tonight.”
Krassis’ arms unfold. “What?”
“His sister broke him from the cell. They’re long gone. But Caius did not want to go without me, and I could not go without Ilvara. So this is our offer.”
Krassis lets out a breath. “I told the guards to keep watch. Useless men must have lost themselves in the celebration.” He points two fingers at Evelyn. “You will remain in this room, guarded, for the night. On the morrow, I will decide your fate. And the trainer’s.” He turns to the door. “Come, my lady.”
Ilvara rises slowly. She gives Evelyn a sad smile. “I’m very happy you’re here and safe.”
Evelyn doesn’t say anything. She just stares at the door and wishes Caius could join her here. With him next to her, anything feels possible.
“All will be well,” Ilvara says, watching her face. She leans down to kiss Evelyn’s forehead.
Evelyn flinches. “I hope so. Herus be with you, my lady.”
Ilvara follows Krassis from the room. The door closes firmly.
This chamber is probably twice the size of Evelyn’s old room in Lockmire. The bed is bigger with softer coverlets. Paintings adorn the walls—images of a meadow covered in snow, Blackmist Pond frozen and shimmering, icy trees. The blue and white everywhere create a chilly atmosphere. She wraps one of the blankets from the bed around herself and brings the candle to a desk against the wall.
A quill and inkpot sit neatly atop it. She checks the drawer and finds a few sheets of parchment, as if this room were prepared with her in mind. Carefully, she lays them out on the desk. It takes her a few moments to remember what day it is. Dipping the tip of the quill in ink, she begins to write.
Mordie, 21st of Viridis (I believe), 278 AN
It has been far too long since I’ve greeted you, my friend. The events of the months are overwhelming. More has happened within these last two months than in my entire life.
Two months. Is that real? Was it little more than two months ago that I left Ilvara’s service? Well, I’m joining it again. Although now, Ilvara is married to Lord Krassis of Esterden. Lockmire is gone. Caius and I are trying to work for Ilvara as her servant and protector. But I don’t even know if that will work.
I met my mother. She’s alive, and she seems to want nothing to do with me. It hurts. It hurts very much. More than anything in this life so far.
I cannot write long tonight. It all wearies me too much.
She tries to think of more to say, but it all blurs together. Sighing, she writes—
Until next time
—at the bottom, and rereads the words before she sets the page aside. She blows out the candle, stumbles to the bed. She doesn’t bother to get beneath the second set of coverlets. She just crashes onto it, wrapped still in the first blanket, and lets herself release the horrors of the day. Of the week.
Cold with an achy loneliness, Evelyn falls asleep.
Chapter 27
The Guard and the Riverside
Atticus cannot sleep.
He was put on cell duty the night she was brought in. That night she’d been hysterical. She was going on and on about how someone was sent to Hades and raised from the dead and how Herus was going to save her. But he’s been a guard in Tarreth for six years. He’s fairly accustomed to insane criminals. Especially those bound for the block.
He stood by her gate all night, listening to her babble. It was exhausting. But as the hours wore on, her madness calmed. She fell asleep late in the night and slept a lot of the next day. After that, she was awake a day and a night. The guard supposed to take the day shift was relocated a day before, so he had to stay. Atticus dozed a couple of times, since Maven woke and was finally quiet. She just stayed on her knees, muttering prayers to herself. She was oddly calm.
She told him all about her life, about the years of hardship she endured in the forest. Of her daughter. Of her daughter’s father who ran out on them. But she had not shared these things in the way a vengeful murderess likely would. She just informed him, like he was her neighbour, not the guard to her last place of residence.
The moment that first grabbed Atticus’ heart was when Maven’s young daughter arrived with that woman from the Herus Sanctuary. The girl was young, so young to be losing her mother. Too pretty to be left on her own. The thought of the same happening to his young daughter and wife turned his stomach.
One day, Atticus broke the rules and told Maven he thought her execution was unjust. That it was a crime in itself she wasn�
��t tried for accidental murder instead, since that was what happened according to her. But she surprised him. She told him she deserved punishment. Her crime warranted a blood payment—hers. She explained to him just last night that someone named Filium Herus had given his own blood payment as a ransom for her soul, so now she was going to do the same. She seemed totally at peace.
In all his time working in the prison, Atticus had never seen such calm in someone headed for the block. During her imprisonment, he tried to convince himself of her insanity. He tried to tell himself that this, and her obsession with Herus, set her mind out of sorts. But there was something more. Most insane criminals still didn’t want to die.
This is the morning of her execution. Atticus has barely slept at all, barely eaten. He can think of nothing but her. Did she sleep last night? What is she thinking? What is she feeling?
He tries not to disturb his wife as he rises and dresses. He slips on his Tarreth breastplate, the piece of armour he’s dreamed of wearing since he was five years old. Without a bite to break his fast, he slips outside, closing the door softly behind him.
Atticus greets the executioner and other guards in the main room of the tower.
“How many this morning?” Atticus wonders.
“Only the woman,” says Vuld, the executioner. He reaches for his burlap hood. “I’ll meet you in the Jaws.”
Atticus nods solemnly. He makes his way down into the dungeons and stops. Maven is on her knees again, facing the three-barred window at the top of her cell, away from him. Early morning light streams in, surrounding her, making her glow. She speaks too quietly for him to make out what she’s saying. Praying again, probably.
He raps on the bars, louder than he intended. She startles and turns. He hates that he had to shatter that moment of peace. The last she’ll have.
“It’s time,” he says. He has a feeling he won’t have to drag her out screaming like most of them.
Maven nods, rising. “All right.”
He opens her door. She steps out, keeping her head lowered. He wants to talk with her. Ask her how she could possibly seem so calm on such a day.
Unable to stop himself, Atticus asks, “Ready?”
She raises her eyes to meet his. Hers are deep brown like fertile soil, ringed with darkness from lack of sleep, but filled with peace. She smiles gently.
“Yes,” she says. Her voice is steady.
Usually, Atticus would indicate in front of himself, to guide them in the direction they must go. But, despite the courage of this woman, she trembles on her feet. He holds out an arm for her. She wraps her hands around it. Then, he makes his way down the path, deeper into the dungeon. Into the Jaws of Death.
Madness crawls into his mind. He wants to turn. Wants to yank this woman out of here, back into the daylight where she belongs. He doesn’t want to stamp out her light. He wants her to share her peace with others. Tarreth needs it. Aranea needs it.
The execution chamber is a large room with a single large block on the floor. The executioner stands, face hooded, sharpened axe in hand. A priest from the Shrine is there as well, with strong incense that burns Atticus’ nose every time he smells it. Death by beheading is supposed to be fairly painless, although who is to say? The only reason Atticus can think that is because a cleanly severed head does not scream.
Atticus stops in the doorway, swallowing hard. He holds Maven in place next to him. Will he be executed himself if he escapes with her? Will helping her risk the lives of his wife and his children? He shuts his eyes.
Maven’s voice tugs him from his anguish.
“Believe in Herus,” she says, “and be at peace.”
He stares at her as she releases his arm and walks alone to the block. She closes her eyes, draws a breath, and sinks to her knees in front of it. Atticus was supposed to chain her arms to it, but he doesn’t have to. She’s there all by herself.
The priest chants something in another language, then says in Ardellonian, “May the gods carry your departed soul into Paradise.”
“Herus himself will come for my soul,” Maven says with sweet confidence. “And forever will I dwell with my Saviour in Paradise.”
At that moment, Atticus knows she isn’t insane. Insanity would present differently in the face of death. This is something else. Her faith is real. In six years, he’s never cried at the block, but now, his eyes burn. His entire chest tightens. He bites down on his lip.
She leans forward, tossing the hair off her neck with a bob of her head. Slowly, she leans forward on the block. Atticus turns away as the blade comes down.
✽ ✽ ✽
The days of uncertain travelling exhaust Asher.
Six days. Six days of sleeping on the dirt or in trees or caves. Six days of eating grubs or berries or stale bread from Francine’s pack. Six days of wandering, hiding from guards, running, running. Stupid horse was lost in the initial escape. Francine rode her straight into a bramble patch and got her stuck. It was a miracle they made it away alive.
Asher spent a frustrating day searching for Caius’ and Evelyn’s secret cave. Another two were whittled away climbing part of the mountain to be sure they were headed the right way. Francine was sure they were, but Asher could not be convinced.
But now, at last, the white walls of Tarreth emerge above the treetops. Asher’s sore steps quicken when he sees it.
“There she is,” he says.
“You’re so whiny,” Francine says. She glows beneath the filth and the exhaustion. Her eyes are bright as ever. It annoys him. “It’s good Lockmire was brought down so quickly. I can’t imagine you on a long campaign.”
Asher shakes his head, biting his lip to keep from replying. The trip has been exhausting for more reasons than the running or lack of food.
They enter the gates of Tarreth, the finest city in Aranea. Asher rushes to the Sanctuary. It feels like years since he’s seen a face other than his little sister’s.
“It was a pleasure, brother,” Francine says behind him.
He turns at the Sanctuary door. “Erm, yes. Are you headed home?”
She nods. “I need some rest and food. Tarreth will, hopefully, be readying its troops soon, and I need to be ready.”
“All right then,” he says. “I suppose I’ll see you in the skirmish.”
“You’ve certainly blossomed a new bud.”
Asher turns back to her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, when I told you about my plan to join the ranks as a healer, you hardly reacted.”
“And?”
“I didn’t expect that. You’ve changed, is all.”
“If you want me to make it difficult, I can certainly oblige.”
Francine waves her hands. “No, no. Just making an observation. Farewell, brother.”
“Farewell.”
He watches her go, smiling to himself. But his thoughts turn quickly back to Alesia and Priscilla.
The main room of the Sanctuary is empty. Silent. Asher counts back in his head. It’s Solisdie morning. There should be some people here for worship. Asher hesitantly knocks on Priscilla’s door upstairs. At no response, he opens it, but the room is empty. The hall is empty. Most alarmingly, Alesia’s room is empty.
He stops in the hallway. Where could they be? Where would Sanctuary members be on Solisdie morning, if not in their place of worship?
He wanders out into the street again. Francine is long gone. The streets are very quiet, as usual for this day. Many will be whispering prayers at the Shrine, waving their boxes of incense, begging the power and presence of the gods. Most will be relaxing in their homes, as today no shops or businesses open their doors.
Asher rubs a thumb into his palm as he stands awkwardly in the middle of the road. He spots a pair of elderly women sitting on a bench. One catches his eye and waves.
“If you’re looking for the Herus worshippers,” she says, “check the stream south of here. They’ve all gone there for a baptism service.”
Asher fur
rows his brows. “Thank you.”
He heads out of the city gates. Once he finds the stream, he follows it southwest, crossing a small stretch of the meadow and the road. He stops to refill his waterskin at the water’s edge. In the stillness, he can hear the voices being carried on the gentle breeze.
Following the stream further brings him close to Maven’s cabin. It’s visible through the trees. Here is where he stumbled in, just for Maven to rescue him. Over there, behind the cabin, is where Evelyn died in Caius’ arms.
Crowded around the stream are dozens of people. Alesia is just stepping into the water toward Gabriel and a number of other Herus ministers. She glances up and spots him at once.
“Asher!” she shouts. She splashes down the stream toward him.
People turn to greet him. Priscilla smiles from the edge of the water. It all feels like a strange dream.
“I thought you were gone and dead,” Alesia says. She throws her arms around his waist.
“Not quite,” he replies. “What’s going on?”
“I am being baptised. Go stand with Priscilla and watch.”
“All right.”
Alesia makes her way back to Gabriel as Asher weaves through the crowd toward Priscilla, standing on the edge of the stream.
“It’s good to see you,” Priscilla whispers.
“You too,” he says. He scans her and tries to be discreet. “You look beautiful. Yellow is lovely on you.”
A sweet smile spreads on her face. She curls a black ringlet behind her ear. The movement triggers a pang of longing in him. He missed her more than he realized.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Dear friends,” Gabriel says from the water. “We are so happy to be here once again. Despite the coming days of trouble in our great nation, people are still believing. The power of Herus is still real. It seems that in the darkest of times, the light of Herus’ glorious salvation shines brightest.”
Sounds of approval rumble through the crowd. Priscilla herself nods in agreement.
“The power of Herus saves,” Gabriel goes on. “Immersion in water does nothing to save our souls. It is the blood of Filium Herus that cleanses our sin. But this is a symbol to the world of what Herus has done in the heart. David, will you be first?”
Of Embers Page 24
