by Sarah Dalton
The tavern Axil chose was a long, flat kind of building with large windows that filled the place with light. The people tucked into platters of cold meat, or chunky cuts of bread drizzled with honey. The men seemed looser: from the baggy tunics to the longer hair to the strange scarves they wore around their waists.
Brother Axil ordered two goblets of ale and sat down in a quiet corner. There were no furs or tapestries here; instead there was coloured glass in the windows and decorated tiles spread across the floor. The serving women wore long dresses that swept the ground. As they walked, their toes peeked out from beneath their skirts, revealing leather sandals.
“I asked the owner where we can buy horses.” Brother Axil set the ale down on the table. “But my purse is limited. There was not enough time during our escape from Nesra’s Keep to take as much as we needed. We might end up with a nag and a donkey, but I will see how far I can get us.”
Luca looked up from his ale. “Where are we going?” Did it even matter? He was sure that his father would find him soon anyway. Part of him wanted to run back down to the harbour and jump on the next ship setting sail for Estala. At least then he could turn himself in and do something good for a change. He deserved to die for what had happened to Matias. He fingered the iron on his wrist. It was not enough.
Brother Axil leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We are going to the Ash Mountains.” He straightened up and regarded Luca with a small smile.
Luca shook his head. “There is nothing there but volcanoes and ash.”
“Oh,” Brother Axil said with shining eyes, “there is a lot more in the Ash Mountains than just ash.” He took another swig of his ale.
Despite everything, Luca found his curiosity whetted. He drummed his fingers on the table and waited for Brother Axil to continue. When he did not, Luca had to prompt him. “What is in the Ash Mountains?”
“When your father beat back the Menti, they retreated to Xantos to recoup.”
“I thought he killed them all,” Luca said.
Brother Axil shook his head. “The Menti will never be eradicated. There are too many of them.”
“Are you one?” Luca asked.
“I am a… friend of the Menti. They needed an ally in Nesra’s Keep.”
“So all this time you have been spying for my father’s enemies?” Luca’s jaw dropped open. “I do not believe it. I thought you were my friend, not some magic wielder’s ally from across the seas.”
“Luca,” Axil said softly. “I am and forever will be your friend. I have been watching you for years, keeping you safe.”
“Did you know what I was?”
Axil shook his head. “I had my suspicions but I could not be sure. Not until that moment in your chambers.”
The ale churned in Luca’s stomach. He could not think about that moment. It made his skin hot and left a sour taste in his mouth.
“I thought it was Stefan at first,” Axil continued. “I was always wary of him, even when you were children. I purposefully made sure that I did not spend too much time with him because I thought it would highlight that he was Menti. But when you began to get ill, I had my suspicions that it was magic, not a weak disposition.”
Luca clenched his jaw. “You should have killed me then. You could have stopped this.”
Brother Axil took a long swig of his ale. “The past cannot be changed and to wish it so is a fool’s task. We look to the future now. The Menti will help you, Luca. We will go to the Ash Mountains and there you will learn to control your powers. You will be a great fire wielder one day. Fire wielders are the most powerful of the Menti.”
Luca turned away in disgust. There was the taste of bile in his throat. How could Axil even consider letting Luca learn his powers? “I will not. I will never use my powers again. I will not have blood on my hands again. I will not kill.”
Brother Axil spoke slowly and softly. “If you do not train, you will kill again.”
Reva
Reva watched Ammie hide her tears all the way to the Ilkta Markets. Francis had told them to keep off the Market Road, and they had, but after almost two days of flat-out galloping, they were low on food and drink, and their horses were on the brink of exhaustion. Reva decided that the best way to hide would be in a place so filled with people that they would disappear into the crowd.
She helped Ammie down from her horse and kept the handmaiden close to her. They had approached the market from the busiest point, close to the road. The guards stayed close to Reva, but they did not crowd her like they would a lady or queen. They hung back, spreading out. No one noticed them approach. It was almost noon, and people from all around Estala had come to the busy markets to trade. Lords sent squires and common-folk to buy cloth and spices for their castles. Local folk bought bread and oils. Farmers and merchants sold their wares. They were people with skin hardened from outside work. They grimaced through thin, cracked lips, and moved swiftly around the stalls. Reva had her hood over her eyes and shrank down into her cloak. She desperately wanted to take Ammie somewhere. The girl had lost her family. Reva ached for her friend. But she also ached for the bodies of the children she had lost. She would never again visit their graves. She touched her stomach lightly.
There was another reason to come to the markets. The long ride had aggravated Reva’s childbirth wounds. She needed a tincture and bandages to heal her hurts. There was nowhere else she could get them, and if she failed, she risked infection. She had instructed two of her guards to find the tincture from healers in the area. A pale-faced Ammie gave more detailed instructions to the guards. The handmaiden had been to the markets before and knew her way around.
Reva’s dress dragged through the mud as they stepped through the busy stalls. She kept her cloak covering her body. It would not do for people to see her fine clothes. Ammie bought a wicker basket and filled it with hard cheese, salted meats, and apples. When they had enough provisions, they found a rundown tavern to disappear into. It was a tall building, leaning slightly to the right. The name was the Olive Grove, though the sign was barely visible with such faded paint. Reva kept her cloak pulled around her shoulders as she sank into a table in the shadows, trying to ignore the pain radiating from her lower body. Ammie sat across from her while the guards ordered ale.
“Ammie,” Reva said, finally able to take her friend’s hand. “I am so sorry.”
Her pretty blue eyes filled with tears, but Ammie was strong. The handmaiden sniffed, wiped away a tear, and faced Reva. “Lord Unna was right. We must go further north. We cannot stay here long, not even for the night. Once the guards come back with the tincture, we head back towards the coast and make our way around Hareno.”
“Ammie—”
But she raised a hand. “I cannot speak of them, not yet.”
Reva felt a swell of love rise from her stomach. This girl had been with her since the very beginning. She had been a gift from Francis on their wedding day. He told her that Ammie would be a good servant girl, and that her family of servants were “tolerable people but excellent workers”. Reva had known Ammie’s family through Ammie’s stories alone, but she knew they were more than “tolerable” people. They were a loving family. Kind people. And Ammie was the kindest and most loyal of all.
“They were your family, Ammie,” Reva said. “Grieve them. I will think no less of you. I will love you all the same.”
Ammie pushed her hand against her mouth and Reva could see the girl was shaking. There were tears running down her cheeks, leaving tracks in the dirt on her skin. They were both dirty from the long ride.
“My little brother once told me a story about the lake of tears. Before your husband took the castle, it was called the Grey-Eyed Keep, named after Queen Lycella, King Mithrin’s wife. You see, the Lord who owned the Grey-Eyed Keep was desperately in love with Lycella. But Lycella chose to be queen over a lady. The Lord was so grief-stricken that he cried into the River Lanti and it overflowed into a lake filled with his tears. The man drowned in his
own tears. I could cry and cry until I drown in a lake of my tears, or I could live my life like I know he would want to. Gerrant was a bright boy. He knew his letters, and he was a good squire to Lord Unna.”
“I know he was,” Reva said. “He was most patient with Lord Unna. I wish I had been given an opportunity to know him better.”
“You have lost your husband and the graves of your children. I have lost my parents and my brother. Prince Stefan has much to answer for.”
“I do not understand why he would do this. I lived in Nesra’s Keep as a child. I knew him as a boy. I was betrothed to his brother.” Reva found herself holding back tears remembering those days. “He comforted me over the loss of my parents. Why would he do this? Why would Luca let him do this? I do not understand.”
Ammie bit her lip and gazed at her folded hands as though she wanted to speak.
“You know something,” Reva said. “Tell me.”
“They are but rumours and gossip,” Ammie admitted. “But it is to do with Francis and the king. There was talk that Francis was Menti. You see, he had all that iron put into the castle, and he always wore an iron necklace—some sort of medallion, they said.”
“Yes, I know that. I have seen it.”
“Well, iron can suppress the powers of the Menti,” Ammie said.
A stone seemed to drop through the bottom of Reva’s stomach. She had been so stupid. Why had she not realised this before? She had thought it was vanity keeping Francis from removing his strange iron necklace. It was not. It was a necessity.
“The king is still warring against the Menti,” Reva said, more to herself than to Ammie. “He found out that Francis has powers.” Then, though she had not imagined that it could, her stomach sank lower. “The landslide. It was Francis. He moved the dirt with his powers.”
“I believe he did it to save us,” Ammie said. “But it killed everyone in the castle. He did it to save you, Reva. He cared something for you at least.”
Reva placed her head in her hands. How could Francis do such a thing? How could he trade her life for hundreds of others? It took a few moments for the nausea to pass. Yet even with the churning feeling of living while others died, Reva could not help but admit that the knowledge Francis had loved her was at least a small comfort. She had spent the last three years in a constant state of anxiety, worrying whether she could be a good wife, whether she could ever love this man who was so much older and so different to the man she had hoped to marry. She had worried whether he cared for her at all, or whether she was nothing more than a means to an heir. So much had come to pass in those three years. She was a woman now. She had been pregnant several times and buried the children who never lived. She was a widow now; a sixteen-year-old widow.
And the Menti… She had never known what to make of them. They killed her parents during the war. She should hate them, but somehow she did not. For the last three years she had suspected there had been something unusual about the way her parents died. All throughout the war she heard about battles against the Menti. She was young, only nine or ten years old, but that was what she remembered. Battles. Those battles were never sudden. There was a build-up. They were generally expected. But her parents had died in a way that was too similar to how Stefan had sent his men. It had been unexpected.
The door to the tavern opened and the two guards strode in, interrupting her thoughts. They ordered ale and came over to the table. Quickly, a few bottles of tincture were placed in Ammie’s basket, before the two men sat at the opposite table and supped their ale.
Reva and Ammie ate a plate of olives and ripe tomatoes in oil. They mopped up the juices with a crust of bread. Reva even licked the oil from her fingers, so hungry she had been. She drank a second cup of wine to wash the food down. Her lower body still ached, but now that she had the promise of relief, it was not so bad. She wished she could spend a night in the tavern on a mattress and take a long bath to clean herself, but, alas, they had to keep moving forwards before they were hunted down like dogs.
It was Ammie who stood first. Reva rose gingerly from her seat and glanced quickly at the guards. She walked with Ammie towards the exit of the tavern, keeping her hood pulled low over her face. At the same time, a large group of men entered the tavern and crowded some of the tables. Reva lowered her head as she negotiated a turn between the tables. The men were already well on their way to drunkenness, and ordered several jugs of ale in slurred voices. The serving girl was under pressure, and hurried back to pour the ale. As Reva tried to move around the serving girl, she bumped into the corner of a table and lost her balance. Ammie reached for Reva, trying to catch her hand, but it was too late. Reva lurched forward, catching her cloak on the back of a chair. The cloak tumbled to the floor, revealing her face to the tavern.
There was a moment of silence before one of drunken men bent a knee. “Lady Unna.”
Reva’s heart pounded. She snatched the cloak from the floor and wrapped it around her shoulders. “You are mistaken, sir.”
The man rose, frowning. Another came forward, a scrawny man with dirty roughspun trousers and a red-haired beard. “You are Unna’s wife. The gentle lady!”
“She’s wanted by the king,” said another.
“There’s a bounty.”
Now the tavern stirred. The mere mention of a potential reward sent murmurs rippling through the dark room. Ammie moved closer to Reva. The guards circled them like a pack of wolves.
“I am afraid there has been a mistake.” Reva could barely find her voice. Somehow she managed to speak clearly and loudly enough to be heard over the sound of her hammering heart. “If you would kindly let us leave, there will be no trouble.”
When the man with the red beard was first to draw his sword, the tavern air was filled with the sweet song of unsheathed steel. Reva’s guards faced the men in the tavern, while Reva quickly counted. Her men were outnumbered three to one. Her heart sank. It would be a bad fight. More would lose their lives.
“I’m takin’ her in,” said red beard. “I want my gold.”
Ammie grasped Reva’s wrist as the first swords clashed. Reva’s guards pushed the crowd back, allowing Ammie and Reva precious moments to make their way through the tavern. Reva saw the man with the red beard charging at one of her guards. The man was cut down and Reva looked away. They were almost to the door when a hand clutched her shoulder, pulling her back. Reva almost fell to the floor when Ammie pushed the man away. He still had a firm grip on her shoulder, but another of her guards stabbed the man through the chest. Then the guard stood with his back to her, ready to fight anyone else who came for her. Ammie yanked her forward and out of the door, giving Reva no time to think about the two men who had fought and died while attempting to capture her.
Outside, the sun shone bright. It glinted through the markets, low now that it was late afternoon, and hard on her eyes after the dark tavern. She pulled the hood back over her face and ran with Ammie through the crowds. There was no time to waste. She knew that her guards had bought them time, nothing more. And as much as it pained her to leave brave men behind, she knew it would be for nothing if she did not run as fast as she could to get away. She was not a fool. She knew that being delivered to Prince Stefan would mean death. The man had stormed her castle, killing anyone and anything in his way, all because her husband was Menti. He meant to wipe them all out, and that meant her, too.
Ammie’s hand never left hers as they flew through the market. They skipped around women carrying baskets, little children playing, and merchants offering samples of wine. Ammie carried her basket in her other hand. Reva could see the determination on the girl’s face. It spurred her on.
But Reva had begun to struggle. The dull ache in her abdomen had worsened, and the wounds between her legs were as sore as they had ever been. There was some wetness there, and Reva suspected that she had begun to bleed again. She blocked out the pain. She kept on running, following Ammie, trusting her handmaiden. They needed to find their horses. Wher
e did they leave them?
There was some commotion behind her, but Reva did not look. She suspected that at least some of the tavern men had made their way out and were chasing them. Ammie guided them to the right, finally making their way out of the labyrinth of markets. They came to the edge of Ilkta Markets where they had tied their horses to a long line of stables. Reva had never been so happy to see the grey mare. She had never jammed her foot in the stirrup quite so hastily.
“Stop them!” came a voice.
A young lad from the stables turned to stare at Reva. But Reva was already on her mare, whirling the horse around to ride in the other direction. She did not know where, and she did not care. Ammie clambered onto her horse, still with the basket. Poor Ammie, carrying that thing around. She was determined to keep it no matter what. The girl was strong, swift, and had more grit than Reva had seen in most men.
“Ammie, ride!” Reva shouted.
But Ammie needed no encouragement. She galloped forward, so that the two of them were side by side. They galloped and galloped on horses freshly watered and fed. They went straight up the Market Road, more concerned with speed than discretion.
They had lost their escort and now they were two women alone in the world. Reva tried not to let that frighten her. She glanced across at Ammie’s frown and she pushed on. As long as she had Ammie.
When they dared to slow down, the two women took a turn off the Market Road and into a small copse of trees. The late afternoon had begun to turn to night, with a sky like blue silk, and stars like tiny gold buttons. She slipped down from her horse, almost collapsing into the soft grass. Ammie was by her side with the tincture from the basket, along with strong wine for the pain.
