More pushing and shoving ensued, then a white Diviner lay in the sand. Both priests held their Diviners in their hands. “Blasphemy!” they yelled in their own language, so incensed, veins stood out in their necks. The soldiers holding her pulled their swords. A sharp point blossomed against Teresa’s spine. Her eyes flew open their widest.
This is it.
“Hold!” Ordoño shouted, flinging out his hands, yet somehow looking utterly calm. He spoke in the Northern language, then repeated, “All of you hold.”
Teresa thought nothing could halt their deaths, but somehow the plain-faced man brought everything to a stop. The knife lifted from her spine, and she collapsed to her knees in relief.
Ordoño spoke a few more short sentences, and Teresa dearly wished she understood what he said.
The priests still stood with Diviners raised over Telo, but the soldiers from Ordoño’s entourage had their swords at the priests’ throats. Telo had his eyes closed, mouth moving in a prayer. All hung poised on a knife edge, and Teresa wondered if anyone dared breathe. She certainly didn’t.
Oh so slowly, the priests lowered their Diviners and secured them in their belts, and the tension drained from the group. The soldiers sheathed their weapons as well. Teresa drew in a great gulp of air as the female priest took the third Diviner from the sand.
Ordoño gave a nod as if he hadn’t just survived some kind of test and issued more unintelligible orders. Santabe scowled blackly.
“What . . . what was that?” Teresa whispered. “What happens to us?”
Ordoño’s eyes snapped to her, and she flinched at the power in them. He’d overheard. “How rude of me. I said, bring all three. I have too few entertainments. You’re to be locked in a wagon together until we reach Aveston. It’ll be interesting to see which of you come out—if any of you do.”
The soldier at Teresa’s back yanked her along, and a little squeak escaped her mouth as she looked at the hate-filled fire burning in Santabe’s eyes. Their situation had gotten no better after all. Then the hardness of determination filled her. Like the Northern soldiers, she had something to prove as well, and it started with living.
Chapter 25
Julian let the guards hurry him down the ornate hallways. He’d been summoned once again, making that three such meetings in as many days in the palace of Crueses—each one more tedious than the last. He’d been dragged to another last night for an interminable, two-hour dinner, so he could be told that Ramón was returning to Suseph. A note would have sufficed and spared him the boredom. By the saints, let this be the end to their meetings.
This time, they took him to the smaller, private breakfast room, where Alcalde Juan sat behind a table groaning with food. Juan waved a bejeweled hand. “Come sit with me. Eat.”
With a murmured apology, Juan’s wife got up from her end of the table and left, leaving Juan alone at his meal. The woman was a shadow. Unlike Beatriz, the First Wife of Crueses added little to the city—like the decorations of this room, she was all fluff and little substance. Juan had picked her solely for her wealth, and not her welcoming personality or appearance, relying on a new mistress every year for his affection. Julian had always felt a bit sorry for the woman. Juan paid less attention to her departure than the napkin in his lap.
Julian held his place by the doors as his guard shut them. “I’ve already eaten.” Indeed he had, and at a reasonable hour. Breakfast was best served in the morning hours, and the earlier the better—not nearly noon. By now, Julian had usually been about the work of his ciudad-estado for longer than Juan had been awake. He rather doubted Juan had done anything but pull up his lime green hose over his fatty bottom—if he even did that himself.
Petty thoughts.
Since when had the maneuverings of politics upset him and made him judgmental of others? Where was his patience? Three days stuck in a suite of rooms or spent with the most trying of alcaldes had him more irritable than a goodwife denied her Winter’s Eve party. Or perhaps it was acting the part of a beaten dog that had him so short-tempered? He’d never been good at letting others take the lead, not even in his days as a merchant. And deferring to these two rulers was worst of all. They couldn’t be more dissimilar from Julian in their concern for the welfare of this city and the people inside it.
“Is there news?” Julian asked in a more polite tone.
Juan wiped his mouth. “Indeed. Your citizens will be here before nightfall. All our churches and public buildings will be open to them. My residents have been encouraged to offer their homes and take in more. Alcalde Ramón will take half at Suseph. If necessary, any surplus can go in stables until better can be arranged.”
Julian nodded calmly enough, but a joy burned in his heart at the thought of seeing Beatriz before the evening ended. No doubt that separation added to his irritableness. He could defer his departure to press battle for that pleasure.
“And have you word from Aveston?”
Juan held up a tiny slip of paper. “A bird brought this at sunrise.”
Julian ground his teeth as the only servant in the room—Juan’s confidential secretary—stepped forward to take the paper and bring it around the table. Saints forbid Juan walk it over himself or allow Julian to fetch it. The supposed importance of the secretary wouldn’t let him go faster than a snail’s pace.
The message had come at sunrise, and he was just now learning about it. Hours of worry could have been alleviated. Instead, he was forced to wait while Juan had his hair oiled and curled. Julian reminded himself sternly that the last laugh would be his.
The tiny paper held just one short phrase in curly script. “We will be ready.”
“And you’re sure no one else saw this?” Julian asked. “It couldn’t have been intercepted by the Northerners?”
Juan held up another slip. “The bird from here went to our relay post outside Aveston. A fresh bird is sent inside the city by our man with the original message attached. Our man saw it go over the wall himself, right over the Northern army. A different bird brought their return.”
“That is truly a blessing.” If they survived this conflict, Julian would have to acquire some of these miraculous pigeons, even if he had to outbid Crueses for them. Contact with Aveston meant all the difference to his plan. Contact he hadn’t been able to manage on his own. “Then I leave as soon as the pelotónes of Colina Hermosa can be ready.” He turned to go, but a sound from Juan made him pause.
Juan cleared his throat again. “Our bargain is intact? We protect your people and you fight the Northerner army outside Aveston?” He didn’t need to say that the people of Colina Hermosa would be his safety net if the Northerners should appear here.
They had asked the same promise of him at each meeting, enjoying putting him in his place and proving how indebted he was to them—the leader of the largest and strongest ciudad-estado now with nothing but the clothes on his back.
Well, his city may be gone, but the army and the will remained. Julian kept his face clear of emotion as he answered, only working his left thumb open and closed against his leg, trying to build up its strength. Soon the groveling would be over. “Yes, of course.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear it.”
“Then why this?” Juan held up a broadside, torn at one corner where it had been jerked free from a nail or tack. Satisfaction oozed from his pores. The man had been waiting to produce this. Julian looked closer and saw one of his writings detailing the Northern terms, which Arias had hidden under his uniform and smuggled out of the palace.
“Did you not know we would watch you like a hawk?” Juan continued. “That any attempts to dodge our bargain would void it all? Yet, we found your servant putting these up all over town for the last two days, and passing them out in taverns.” He kicked the table, knocking over a water decanter and making the salt jump in the open salt cellar. “You would undermine my authority with my people! You attempt to discount my rule in order to install yourself!”
J
ulian turned slowly, glancing toward his guards, knowing dismay covered his face. Though he believed his plan to be complete and secure, one never knew when an arrow shot in the dark could backfire and bring down all his work. He wasn’t prepared for the charade to end so swiftly.
But he also wasn’t prepared to cower for this frivolous man.
“Save your false fury,” Julian said. “We both knew I would act when you imprisoned me. That I had your people’s better interest in mind—you’ve seen the Northern terms. Your people deserve to know what they’re getting into, too.” Too bad none of the broadsheets got through. The people did deserve to know, only now it wouldn’t come from him. “But I have no desire to rule your city. Not unless you force me to take it.”
When Beatriz arrived with her ability to manipulate rumors, she would do a much better job at converting the people of this city to their cause. He had always planned to leave the task of spreading the Northern plans to her honed skills, but now she’d have to plant the news from the ground up.
He had no doubt at her ability to do just that.
Juan sprang to his feet, his thick neck turning purple. “Guards, take him back to his rooms and confine him there! No need for you to see anyone anymore, Julian. I think we shall send your military to Aveston without you. They don’t need you to coordinate or carry out the attack.”
The guards drew their swords.
A satisfied smile spread over Juan’s face. “You can come out to lure your people inside, then my need for you is finished. Don’t try anything else or we’ll kill First Wife Beatriz or whoever else you care about.”
Fury rose in Julian—so much that he shook with it and couldn’t find words. That they would threaten his family—that went beyond all bounds. It wasn’t done, not even at the worst of times. Yet, he needed to keep a cool head. Being captured at the obvious act of appealing to the populace had always been his intention. Let your opponent focus on your right hand, when all along what your left did was the true object.
“What are you waiting for?” Juan shouted when he said nothing. “Guards!” When the men didn’t stir, Juan whirled on his secretary. “What is going on here? I gave an order!”
The nearer guard looked at Julian for a response. Suddenly Julian had enough of the farce. “They only take orders from me now.” Their swords pointed at Juan. “As I said, I don’t want your rule or city.
“Only your military.”
For an instant, he wanted to have the soldiers of Crueses lock Juan away where no one would ever find him. But that would set a bad precedent, and as he said, he hadn’t come here to take over the rule of this city. He pulled open the doors to reveal the entire collection of pelotóne captains from Crueses. “Keep your fancy palace and ineffectual rule, but your military answers to me. They march with me to Aveston.”
The expression on Juan’s face caused no little satisfaction. No, the rival alcalde had not guessed what Julian’s left hand was doing. As expected, his lack of approval with his people had blinded him to his unpopularity with the military. It had been easy enough to convince the captains to ignore their orders and bring their troops to Aveston where the real fighting would take place.
“Bastardo! You can’t take them,” Juan shouted. “You would leave us defenseless!”
“You have your walls and your ‘way of life,’” Julian said. “I will leave enough men to defend you, but the Northerners will be busy elsewhere. Think of it as ‘insurance,’” he mocked, using the very words employed against him on their first meeting. He was not the one maneuvered into a corner now. “I take your military to insure my people are treated well by you while we are gone. And if you touch a hair on my wife’s head, I’ll have yours on a plate.”
Julian picked up a slice of bread and added a poached egg on top with his fingers and took a bite, as Juan gaped, speechless like a drowning fish.
For a moment in time, Julian’s inner landscape held, a firm road rising before him, allowing him to ignore the pits and fissures surrounding him. Then Julian shook off such thoughts—he had less than four days of his time as alcalde remaining.
He turned his back on Juan and joined the soldiers of Crueses at the door. “We meet my people and organize my men, then leave tonight.”
“Very good, sir,” they answered in voices deep and confident, one and all ready to stand with him and show the Northerners the points of their swords.
Chapter 26
Ramiro looked down at the house in the valley below him with no little amusement. Apparently, Claire’s mother had built their home to look exactly like the place where she was born. Except for the dimensions being bigger, this house had the same low eaves and large porch, the same layout of outbuildings and garden. It was located in a tiny valley as well, built into the hillside, surrounded with climbing landscape to make it snug and hidden. The rising sun showed it was even painted the same colors. It appeared it wasn’t her home she wanted to leave behind—only Jorga.
“What are you smirking about?” Jorga demanded from her crouch beside him. They hid behind a screen of bushes and trees, waiting for Bromisto to return. The old woman had insisted on getting down from the horses with them, despite her creaky knees.
“Shh, grandmother,” Claire whispered. Her hand rested on his back to help her balance, and Jorga directed her eyes at it with a glare. “We’re supposed to be quiet.”
Ramiro’s smile widened at seeing Jorga put down. It was salve after the hurt look on Claire’s face last night when he’d instructed her to ride with Jorga instead of himself. Already, she sensed him trying to keep her at arm’s length. He wanted to explain to her—Saints, he wanted to reach for her—but the bushes rustled behind them, and he spun, sword coming up. The sky had lightened enough to show Bromisto pushing through the thicket.
“I’m not sure,” Bromisto said. “The trails are dry here and used a lot. I can’t pick up footprints. There was nothing off trail to suggest the pale soldiers have been here.”
Ramiro swore, relaxing his grip on the sword; he’d been afraid of that. The paths leading up to the house were wide and well established. Jorga had never needed to hide her living quarters. Northerners could have walked right down the trail and be concealed inside the house—or not. There was no way to tell for sure.
“You three wait here. I’ll go down and check. Don’t come out until I wave for you.”
“Ridiculous,” Jorga said. “It’s my home. I’ll go.”
Ramiro lifted his sword, letting the hilt find its natural balance in his hand, confidence flooding back. “None of you have any training in fighting. It could be an ambush.”
“I have magic. I’m better equipped to—”
“That’s why you’re staying here with Claire and Bromisto. I’m the expendable one. Got it?”
“No,” Claire said, her small face getting its stubborn expression. “We all go together.”
Jorga took her granddaughter’s hands and held them. “He’s right. We do as he says.” Claire squirmed in her grip, but the old woman didn’t slacken or let the girl loose. She had steel under her wiry and gnarled muscles.
“I’m good with that,” Bromisto said, holding his distance from the women. The boy kept himself so scarce on this trip that Ramiro hardly saw him, or stranger yet, heard him. Ramiro missed the boy’s running chatter. He’d expected Bromisto to slip away and not come back, and had given him plenty of opportunity to do just that, but so far, the boy always reappeared.
As she always did, Jorga ignored the boy to talk right over him. “Errol. My son’s name is Errol. He’s . . . different. He doesn’t take to strangers.”
Ramiro frowned, unsure what she was hinting at. “You mean he’s going to bite me. Can’t you do that wind speak thing and tell him company is coming?”
“No. He’s deaf to magic—all sons are. And I mean he’ll probably hide. Errol is not used to people.”
“Peachy.” He rolled his neck and felt the tendons pop, then touched his medallion of San M
artin.
“Wait. Your armor,” Claire said as he got to his feet.
He shook his head. “I’ll need to move quietly.”
“I don’t like this,” she pleaded, heart in her eyes, even as she tugged harder at her grandmother to free herself. “You need your armor if any of those priests should be there. Their magic will kill you otherwise. Let me come with you.”
He touched her chin. “It’s a ten-minute hike and a quick look around, I’ll be right back.” It was a risk to go without his armor, but most likely no one was there, and keeping any chance at surprise seemed more important. To Jorga and Bromisto he said, “Sit on her if you have to,” then he hurried before Claire could work loose, or he could change his mind. He’d already told Sancha to stay put, and now she grazed on any grass within reach.
The skin on the back of his neck prickled uneasily. He waited for a premonition or word of warning and got nothing. A fine time for his family’s legendary Sight to take a nap—or did it mean he worried for nothing?
He tried to focus on stepping where his feet would make the least sound, but thoughts kept intruding.
Estúpido. You actually said you’re expendable. It was to obtain his way, but couldn’t he have found another word? There was no need to give Jorga ideas.
He passed with only a rustle through honeysuckle vines that hung from an oak. Normally, the swamp would be big enough to conceal a thousand Northerners and their paths would never overlap to stumble upon them. The odds would be in his favor. But this enemy wasn’t merely passing through; they hunted. If it was his decision, he’d move in grids to search a wide area quickly. Meeting up with trouble seemed inevitable, and of all the worst times for it to happen, this would be it.
Faithful Page 24
