by Kate Elliott
Alone he can’t overturn it, but I shout, in Saroese, “Crocodile!”
Their panic and flailing does the rest. The boat goes over with a huge splash. One man goes under and never comes back up, while his comrade churns the murky water with his arms, struggling to keep afloat in his stiff leather armor. I slam an oar down, clip the side of his head, then slam it down again, stunning him momentarily.
He goes under, dragged down as if by a mauling crocodile. Thrashing disturbs the water. Bubbles fleck the surface, staining it red. I balance in the boat, an oar in my hand, ready to strike. I’m breathing so hard I can’t catch my breath.
A head breaks the surface: Kal, alive, expression grim and yet satisfied. A body bobs up briefly, then rolls over to flash the dead man’s slack face before the heavy leather armor drags him under. Kal grabs the gunwale of our boat and tosses his sword in. The blade gleams, already washed clean by the river water. He dives under twice more, retrieving the soldiers’ swords, then mires their boat in the reeds so it can’t be seen from the shore.
“May the blessings of the Mother of All give mercy to the living and the dead,” Mother whispers.
She and I throw our weight to the opposite side as Kal hauls himself up and over the gunwale, flopping gracelessly atop the now-tangled net. He’s dressed in the clothes of a laborer, and the cloth of his keldi—the knee-length skirt Efean men wear—is plastered to his muscular thighs. I glance away, only to find Mother examining me with a frown.
As we drift out from under the overhanging branches of a giant sycamore, Kal straightens up. The stark sunlight gilds his face, making him look like a hero on the stage despite his dripping-wet clothes and bedraggled hair. His grave expression fixes on me, but there’s a wild light in his eyes that unsettles me and yet also sets my heart pounding.
Hoarsely he says, “Ask me again when we’re safe, Jes.”
My cheeks flush as if I’ve been burned. He said those same words when we escaped Garon Palace with his uncle, when we caught a moment alone in a secret passage to kiss in a way I have never kissed anyone before.
Was that only last night?
Mother taps my arm as if she’s angry. With me. “Jessamy! We must get out of here. The others will come looking for their comrades.”
Irritated by her unrelenting hostility to Kal, I start rowing after Mis and Ro, who are now out of sight around a bend in the channel. Smoke billows up in the distance, accompanied by shouts from the searching soldiers. A bird whistle pulls my head around.
“There,” says Mother.
Ro is waving at us from partway up a tree. I maneuver the boat in beneath branches. We rustle through bulrushes and bump up against the other boat, which is tied to a post in a hidden inlet. Three Efean sentries armed with sickles help us out onto the bank, paying particular attention to Mother, whom they address as Honored Lady. Kal greets each by name, and it’s clear they know who he is from his occasional visits to the estate and aren’t surprised that he recognizes them.
Ro tests the heft of the captured swords. “How did you get these?”
“The crocodiles took their tax,” I say, hoping to get Kal to smile, but his grim expression doesn’t lighten.
Ro makes a fist of his hand and bumps the side of Kal’s fist in a gesture Efean men make with each other. “Well done.”
The unexpected mark of respect startles a grin out of Kal after all.
“Thank you for saving our lives, Lord Kalliarkos,” I say with a meaningful glance at Mother.
“Your quick thinking served us well, my lord,” says Mother, finally sounding more like the gracious, accommodating woman I grew up with than like this angry, mistrustful person I don’t recognize.
“My thanks, Honored Lady,” says Kal cautiously.
But she’s not done. “We must also thank the honored poet, Ro-emnu, for arranging our passage out of Saryenia. It was astoundingly well managed, especially with so many people to transport in secrecy.”
“My thanks, Honored Lady,” Ro murmurs with downcast eyes, and spoils the pretense of humility with a sidelong look at me, making sure I’ve heard my mother praise him.
Kal says, “I hope you know how indebted Garon Palace is to you, Ro.”
“I do know.”
An awkward silence follows.
I catch Mis’s eye, and she comes to the rescue by handing over one of the bundles she’s carrying. “Here’s your Fives gear, Jes. Darios grabbed it when they evacuated Garon Stable. Now what? We can’t hide here.”
“That’s right,” I agree. “Nikonos isn’t going to give up searching. Is there a plan?”
One of the sentries says, “We were sent by General Inarsis to look for the honored lady and bring her to shelter.”
Instead of waiting for Kal’s order, which he normally would give as one of the Patron masters of the estate, all five Efeans look to Mother, who nods agreement. If Kal is offended at being bypassed he gives no sign of it. We leave one of the swords with the two sentries remaining on guard at the inlet. The third leads us along a concealed path through a tangle of overgrown vegetation. Of course, despite our frantic situation, Mother has brought the two fish in a basket, just as if we are returning home with our night’s supper to a happy family.
I blink back tears, remembering the days when we four sisters would sit in the courtyard at dusk as Mother embroidered: Amaya writing poetry and practicing speeches from plays, Bettany muttering about injustice and hypocrisy while her sisters ignored her, me counting the moments until I could escape to run the Fives, and Maraya studying for the Archives exam she hoped to take one day.
“Where are Maraya and Polodos?” I ask in Efean, with a glance at Wenru. He’s looking around as if he’s trying to figure out where we are and where we are going.
“They stayed in Saryenia at the Least-Hill Inn. That way they can listen to the gossip of foreign soldiers and pass on intelligence.”
“As spies? That’s dangerous.”
“We are all fugitives now, Jessamy. We are in danger no matter where we are. Anyway, you said Bettany and Amaya are on their way to the city by ship.”
“Yes.” I’m not yet ready to break her heart by telling her what really happened with Bettany.
“So Maraya will be there to shelter them when they arrive.” She pauses, then goes on sternly. “Was calling your baby brother a little rat your idea of a jest? Because I am not laughing.”
Nothing is worse than Mother’s disapproval but I don’t know how to explain my suspicions or whether she’ll believe me.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you spoke to Wenru in Saroese rather than Efean. I’ve raised enough children to know his behavior is unusual and even at moments disconcerting.”
We plod along, her expectant silence as she waits for my reply like a hand tugging insistently on my arm. What if I don’t warn her that her infant son is actually dead, and whoever resides in his body has a chance to betray her because she’s not on her guard? To protect her, I have to try.
So I say, in Saroese, “There’s a huge poisonous snake about to drop out of the trees right onto your heads.”
Wenru’s head snaps back in fear, but Mother has heard the lie in my voice. Her gaze stays on the baby and his slow confusion as he realizes what I’ve just done. He tucks his head down as if he wishes he could turn into a turtle with a shell to hide in, and then says, “Ba ba ba” in the most unbabylike voice.
Mother stares at him as if he has turned into a snake. In Efean she says, “Jessamy, what is going on?”
Our guide raises a hand for silence. Concealed by a stand of trees, we look across well-kept gardens to an empty Efean village.
The guide murmurs, “Move fast and keep your heads down.”
We dash along a wagon track that takes us into the center of the village, where stands a simple Fives court. I hear soldiers speaking Saroese, their voices far too close, and I gesture toward the gate into Pillars, thinking we can hide in the maze. But a burly, threatening man
steps out from behind that very gate, sword drawn, to halt us in our tracks.
3
Kiya! I was afraid we’d lost you.” The man facing us presses a hand to his heart. The intensity of his gaze on my mother disturbs me.
“Inarsis! There you are at last,” Mother gasps in evident relief.
He glances toward the rising voices of foreign soldiers entering the village. “Follow me.”
We head in the opposite direction, trotting past a row of granaries toward the northern edge of the village. Inarsis opens a closed gate, and we slip into a walled garden that encloses a tiled pool and neat herb and flower beds. Months ago I bathed here with my Fives trainer Tana and my stablemates Mis and Dusty, amid a friendly gathering of Efean villagers. Now an Efean woman emerges from a stand of lush rhododendrons, carrying a staff as a weapon.
Scowling, she addresses Inarsis in Efean, a language Kal does not understand. “Him too, General? All of them were meant to go on the ship.”
“He fell behind.” Inarsis looks at me as if it’s my fault.
The woman looks at me too. She says, “Ah, I see,” and steps aside.
Behind the thick screen of bushes, a brick-lined tunnel plunges under the wall. We climb down into an underground storage pit crammed with children, elders, and sealed jars of oil and baskets of grain.
“Hidden from the Garon tax collectors,” says Kal.
At the sound of his voice, every head turns. People stare at him. Tension thickens the air, and blades glint as they brace to attack.
“Is that you, Doma Henta?” With his perfect highborn manners, Kal bows over the hand of an elderly woman as if she is an exalted Patron lady. Of course he’s speaking Saroese, which most Efeans can understand. “I see you are keeping a share of your crops out of the hands of the Garon treasury, just as we hide a portion of our harvest from the royal tax collectors.”
I hear a few chuckles, and people lower their knives.
“Come along.” Inarsis has the same habit of command as Father, honed on the battlefield. The only Commoner ever to be granted the rank of general in the Royal Army, he has served Garon Palace for years, a loyal servant of Kal’s royal grandmother, Princess Berenise.
I make sure to fall in behind Kal, keeping a hand on his back. The cloth of his vest is still wet, but the heat off his skin seeps through to warm my palm. When we pause for Inarsis to speak to sentries guarding an opening to another underground storage chamber, Kal slips an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. He’s on edge, practically bouncing on his toes. The darkness gives us a freedom we’ve never had out under the sun. I take the chance to touch my lips to his. He tightens his arm around me and returns the kiss. The heat of our connection burns every other thought out of my head, but he pulls away with what seems like shocking abruptness as Inarsis moves on. Yet he doesn’t let go of my hand.
He speaks into the darkness. “General Inarsis, can we fight them? We have a chance to ambush Nikonos and kill him.”
“I thought you did not want to be king,” says Ro from behind us, his tone as stinging as the scrapes the pomegranate thorns have left on my skin.
“Of course I don’t.”
“Of course he doesn’t! Hasn’t he said so often enough?” It makes me so angry that both Mother and Ro act suspicious of him when he’s done nothing but help us. “I saw Nikonos murder Prince Temnos. His own innocent nephew. A child! We can’t let a man like that rule.”
Ignoring me, Inarsis says coolly, “My lord, we can’t take the chance of attacking Nikonos. His soldiers have the armor and weapons that we lack.”
“But his soldiers are spread out, searching in smaller groups, so they’re vulnerable,” I object. “Nikonos won’t expect an attack from Efeans. It might work.”
Kal squeezes my hand.
“I did not ask your opinion about military matters, Spider.” By Inarsis’s curt tone, I can tell I have offended him. Worse, Mother does not defend me. Her silence is its own rebuke.
We hurry forward until we enter an ancient vault lined with stone. There’s a crack in the roof where a vine’s tendril has grown down, giving just enough light to see. Mis takes Wenru from Mother and sits on an old stone bench with a baby on each leg.
Inarsis gestures, indicating the abandoned space. “My lord, my best advice is to conceal you here until we’re sure all the soldiers have moved on. Then I will personally escort you by a different route upriver to meet your people at Furnace Gate, where I have agreed to rendezvous with them.”
When I glance at Kal, he nods as if he already guesses what I mean to say. That’s all the encouragement I need. “The soldiers searching for us wore hawk badges. That means they are from East Saro. Why would Nikonos bring in a detachment of foreign soldiers to occupy Saryenia when, now that he has made himself king, he has a Royal Army that is the equal of any in the world?”
Inarsis answers me. “Because the Royal Army is currently in the Eastern Reach with General Esladas. They are fighting off an invading army from East Saro that marches with allies from the kingdoms of Saro-Urok and West Saro.”
“Exactly. My father thinks King Kliatemnos is still in power. It could be weeks before the news reaches him that the king is dead. In fact, Nikonos must be counting on Father’s ignorance. He knows the Royal Army is loyal to my father, not to him. And of course he knows that Father is now married to a woman who has a rival claim to the throne.”
We all look at Mother, then wince and look away. But Mother long ago mastered the ability to conceal her true feelings behind a bland curtain. “You are suggesting, Jessamy, that Nikonos must suspect the Royal Army will support Lord Kalliarkos and Lady Menoë’s claim to the throne instead of his.”
“It doesn’t matter,” says Inarsis. “The Royal Army is stuck at Port Selene fighting a rearguard action against the invaders, who have superior numbers.”
“Yes, but if any commander can win under those circumstances, it will be my father. So if I were Nikonos, I would march east as fast as I could with a cohort of East Saroese soldiers disguised as members of the Royal Army. General Esladas will welcome him, thinking he’s come with needed reinforcements. Then Nikonos will execute Father for treason and take over the Royal Army.”
“Jes is right,” says Kal. “Keeping control of the Royal Army with General Esladas in command is our only chance to defeat Nikonos. We have to reach the general first.”
“Even traveling at courier speed it will take twelve days or more to reach Port Selene,” objects Inarsis, but I know how to measure the adversaries I’m running against. I can see his resolve crumbling.
So can Kal. “If you can arrange to escort me upriver to reunite with my family, then you can surely arrange for Jes and me to ride east.”
“Jessamy is not going,” says Mother.
“I’m going. Father will listen to me.”
“The scenario you have described is real, and your father will listen to you, it’s true.” Mother’s lovely features and gracious, accommodating manner make people believe her to be compliant and passive, but nothing could be further from the truth. “But you can’t go. Lord Gargaron knows you rescued me.”
“Was the rude kiss-off gesture really necessary when we reached the shore?” Ro laughs. He’s leaned against the wall right where the sunlight illuminates his face so we can all see how handsome he is. “An ordinary person would savor such a victory in private, but only you—only you—would make sure to rub it raw right in a powerful Patron lord’s angry face.”
“He’d already seen Mother. Anyway, he deserved it. I beat him at his own game.”
Mother isn’t amused or appreciative. “He’ll be furious and won’t rest until he finds a way to punish you. So you cannot have anything to do with anyone in the Garon household ever again.”
I’m so dumbfounded by her unfair words that I can’t speak. Bad enough to forbid me to associate with Kal, but how can she demand I never again see my father just because he’s now married to Kal’s sister?
/> She goes on as if she doesn’t even realize what she’s just said. “The safest course is for you and me to return to Saryenia, because none of the Garon nobles dare set foot in the royal city while Nikonos rules. Lord Kalliarkos should do as Inarsis suggests and travel north to his people.”
“No! I won’t go with you to the inn.”
“No?” says Inarsis. “Is that how you speak to your honored mother?”
“You’re not my kinsman to scold me, Honored Sir.”
“Jessamy! Apologize to Inarsis at once.”
“My apologies, Honored Sir.” My tone is grudging. I’m so angry. “But I’m going to find Father, with Kal.”
I look at Kal expectantly, but before he can agree, Mother strikes for her target like an arrow loosed.
“Lord Kalliarkos, my daughter is not an ornament to gild a Patron lord and to show him as more broad-minded than others of his rank. Nor is she a badge of defiance with which he can prove himself to kinsmen who have ruled him for so many years. She is not a toy for you to play with and then discard.”
A flush darkens Kal’s cheeks.
Inarsis whistles.
Mis looks embarrassed, while Ro looks shocked—and delighted.
I’m stunned. Father has made it clear that he sees the attention of a lord like Kalliarkos as a danger but also as a distinction, even an accolade. It never occurred to me that Mother would see it as an insult.
“Doma Kiya, I have nothing but the highest respect for your daughter.” Kal’s fingers twitch when he is thinking really hard, as if he’s driving a carriage pulled by high-strung horses, alert to the slightest nuance. This is what makes him good with people. “She’s never been afraid to defeat me on the Fives court even though another might have chosen to let me win merely because of who I am. Furthermore, without Jes’s determination, you and your children and servants would be dead in an oracle’s tomb.”
“That is true,” she concedes without the slightest softening.
