Julen stared at them as if they were both crazed. “Impossible. I know Kandrith is surrounded by mountains, but it has a four-hundred-mile-long border. It can’t all be cliff. There must be a pass. And what about trade? Where do the caravans go?”
“The Red Saints sometimes open other gates to those in need, but none are bigger than this gate and all lead to Gatetown,” Lance said. “We get little trade.”
“There must be a valley—” Julen started, then stopped. “No, never mind.” He waved away Lance’s negative. “I understand. You don’t want any Republicans to know where the other mountain passes are. An understandable precaution.”
Sara looked at the gate with new eyes. Yes, it made a splendid natural barrier against invasion. Though she’d listened to Nir pontificate enough to know that no defense was impenetrable, provided your enemy was willing to throw away enough men to break through.
She thought this one would take an army of engineers a year to make any headway.
“We’ll just have to buy another carriage on the other side.” From the look on Julen’s face he was already calculating the cost.
“Lance!” a woman called.
Everyone turned to look as a somewhat dusty young woman emerged from the Gate. When she came closer, Sara saw that she was tall and statuesque. She had fiery red hair shoved into a loose braid and wore a yellow-and-green plaid dress with a split skirt. “Lance!” She dropped her bag and ran toward him, grinning from ear to ear.
Sara felt like she’d walked into a wall. Lance had a sweetheart. Or was it his wife?
“Wenda!” Lance opened his own arms. He didn’t once look at Sara. She saw no guilt in his expression, only pleasure.
Wenda, whoever she was, stopped short. “No broken bones this time?” she asked—oddly.
“Just a cold.” Lance swept her into a hug. He spun her around in a circle, laughing.
They looked so happy… Sara blinked several times, hard. Well. Now she knew why Lance had resisted the majority of her pitiful attempts at seduction.
Lance set Wenda back on her feet. “How are Mum and Da?”
Wenda wrinkled her snub nose. She had freckles too. “The same as always.”
“Has Da—” Lance began, but Wenda elbowed him into silence.
“Not here.” She gave Sara’s silk dress and the carriage a onceover, her expression unfriendly.
“Ah, yes.” Lance cleared his throat. “Sara, this is my sister, Wenda.”
Sister. Relieved, Sara smiled at Wenda more widely than she would have otherwise.
“Sara, is it?” Wenda looked unimpressed. “Not Lady Sara?”
“Sara to my friends.” Sara kept smiling.
“Well, Lady Sara, why don’t you make yourself scarce?”
Sara opened her mouth to verbally slap Wenda down, but Lance beat her to it. He gripped Wenda’s arm. “Pray excuse my sister. We haven’t seen each other in months, and we need to speak privately. Right, Wenda?”
“Of course.” Wenda’s face set like stone.
Sara gave a regal nod. “In that case, I wouldn’t dream of intruding.” She strolled away.
* * *
Wenda yanked her arm free. “What was that all about?”
“Quietly,” Lance warned. “I assume you got my message that Primus Vidor died?”
Wenda frowned. “Of course. Why else would I have spent the past three days waiting in Gatetown for Hiram to drum that you’d arrived?”
Lance gestured to the Gatekeeper. “Hiram, you should hear this too.” He kept an eye on Sara while Hiram shuffled closer. He tried to keep his expression pleasant, as if they were merely making conversation.
“What is it?” Hiram asked.
“The new Primus, Aleron Remillus, is no relation to House Vidor. He couldn’t care less about the current Child of Peace. I think he may intend to break the Pact.” And with eight outriders, the three of them were outnumbered.
Hiram scowled, and alarm filled Wenda’s face. “But then why send his daughter this far, at all? Is she his daughter?” Wenda asked.
Lance felt his pulse leap. He’d never considered the possibility. But if Sara were perhaps an equitain or even a cuorelle promised her family’s freedom, it would explain so much. Her attitude toward Felicia, and the way her artificial manners slipped sometimes, showing the warmer woman underneath—
But, no. Not only did Sara lack a slave brand, but Felicia had known Sara for years and had asked for asylum for only herself.
“I believe she is his daughter. He sent her as a spy. Why hardly matters,” Lance said impatiently. “She’s here now. We have to get her across the border. Hiram, you’ll be ready if she balks?”
The old man nodded, determination glinting in his brown eyes. “Get her close enough to touch me, and I’ll make the sacrifice and Move her.”
Lance suppressed a shudder, and he saw tears spring into Wenda’s eyes. But this was why Hiram had volunteered to be Gatekeeper, because he was old enough that the sacrifice didn’t horrify him.
“Remember to wait for my word,” Lance cautioned. “I may be wrong. She may enter willingly.”
Hiram nodded, then returned to his station by the drum.
Lance turned his head aside to cough and saw Sara watching him. She stood apart from her outriders. Good.
“Have you been forced to be polite to her the whole trip?” Wenda asked. “I’m glad it was you. I would never have managed it.”
“Actually, it wasn’t that hard,” Lance said. “Sara…she’s not like most noblewomen.”
Wenda snorted. “Is that so? How many slaves did she bring?”
“One.”
“Oh, just one, well, that’s all right then,” Wenda said sarcastically. “And is her slave content to remain in chains?”
“No,” Lance admitted. He and Wenda both made it a practice to help any slaves the Child of Peace brought along to escape.
“Then I don’t see how this one is any different from all the other highborn—”
“Don’t say it.” Lance cut his sister off.
Wenda laughed, an ugly sound. “I don’t believe this. I thought you were too smart to be taken in by a pretty face. Don’t you remember anything?”
“Of course I do.” As if he could forget seven-year-old Wenda being beaten almost to death. As if he could forget the helplessness he’d felt and the rage on his chained father’s face…
Wenda’s voice rose. “Then how can you smile and talk nicely to that—”
“She’s not Madam Lust!” Lance snapped. The nickname for their ex-owner silenced his sister, and he finished more calmly, “I’m not saying Sara is a paragon of good. She’s a flirt, and she’s spying for her father, but she isn’t evil. In fact, her basic nature is kind. I’ve been cooped up in a carriage with her for days now. She couldn’t fake what she is inside for that long. I would have seen.” Most nobles treated their slaves as invisible tools. If you required a task be done, you said the tool’s name and they took care of the problem. Sara saw Felicia.
Wenda looked disbelieving.
Lance couldn’t blame her. Before the journey began, he would have said all noblewomen were shallow and amoral. But he couldn’t view Sara that way anymore. There were all the other highborn ladies, and then there was Sara, in her own category. He stared at his sister and lifted his chin, unwilling to back down.
Wenda’s expression softened. “I don’t want to argue with you. It may be two years before we see each other again. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Agreed.” At the last second, Lance changed his mind about asking about their father’s health—if there was bad news it could wait until he reached the Hall. “Is Brendan still courting you?”
Wenda snorted. “That idiot? He—” And they were off, safely embarked in other channels.
* * *
As Sara walked toward the Gate, she tried to cool her anger by reminding herself that Wenda’s opinion didn’t matter. Wenda didn’t know Sara. Her reaction, however
, was discouraging. It had taken Sara days to warm Lance up. Was every Kandrithan going to treat Sara with contempt?
She was still worrying over the problem, when she became aware of a noise coming from the gorge.
She retreated a few steps, then stopped as a young Temborian man emerged. Astonished, Sara recognized Primus Vidor’s great-nephew—the one said to have been killed during a Legion skirmish. What was he doing here?
Almost as soon as she asked the question, Sara realized the answer. He had to be Primus Vidor’s ambassador.
He could be a vital source of information. Sara tried frantically to remember his name.
“Lord Giles,” Julen breathed near her ear, obviously sharing the same thought.
Lord Giles brushed at the dirt on his red toga and in his dark hair, his upper lip curled in disgust. Sara donned a winning smile and advanced on him. “Lord Giles?”
Lord Giles looked up, and Sara found that her beauty still had an effect. He blinked, looking rather stupid.
Sara gave him a moment to gather his wits then said, “I’m Lady Sarathena Remillus, and I’m so glad to meet a fellow Republican.” Sara looked at the looming gate and had little trouble faking a shiver. “Please, what can you tell me about Kandrith?”
“You mean Slaveland?” Lord Giles frowned. “It’s no place for a lady—for any civilized person.”
“Oh, dear,” Sara said faintly. “What should I expect?”
“If I may be blunt, it’s a latrine of a country,” Lord Giles said. “Everything is poor and cramped and dirty. You should have seen where they expected me to sleep—it was a hovel, and when I complained they moved me to a smaller room!” he ranted. “In four years, I was never once served a decent meal. It was always too cold and or burned or tasted rotten or all three. But what can you expect?” he asked, sneering. “The country’s run by slaves, the laziest people in the world. Every joke you’ve ever heard about the stupidity of slaves is true.”
“Joke?” Sara asked uncertainly.
“You know, the riddles. ‘How did the slave improve his hearing? Answer, he broke his eardrum.’ ‘How did the slave learn to see? He blinded himself.’”
Sara moved her mouth in what was more grimace than smile. Lord Giles was a petulant idiot. He’d probably treated everyone he’d met with contempt and had earned likewise.
After a quick glance to be sure Lance wasn’t listening, she broached the subject of magic. “I heard the Slavelanders were crude, but powerful in their magic. Is it true?”
“They make big claims, but I never saw anything to back them up,” Lord Giles declared. “Their priests are a bunch of cripples.”
Cripples?
Before she could ask, Lord Giles gave Sara a quick bow. “You have my pity going to such a place.” Then he strode up to Marcus. “Are you the captain? Let’s be on our way. I want to shake the dust from this place off my sandals.”
Marcus bowed and politely informed him that his mission was to escort, not just Lord Giles, but the new Kandrithan ambassador to Temborium as well.
“So leave half your men here with her and send the rest with me now,” Lord Giles said impatiently.
The gatekeeper got into the act then. “He—” a knobby finger pointed at Lord Giles, “—ain’t leaving until that woman—” he pointed at Sara, “—enters Kandrith.”
Sara didn’t like being referred to as that woman. “I’ll do whatever I—”
“Refer to Lady Sarathena with respect—” Julen started.
A third voice trumped them all. “You!”
Wenda glared at Lord Giles as if he were an insect. “I told you to stay in Kandrith until your replacement came through. The Watcher should have stopped you.”
“That child?” Lord Giles sneered. “I got tired of waiting.”
“Well, then you’ll just have to go back,” Wenda said coldly, arms folded.
Lance laid a hand on her arm. “Peace, sister. It’s time for me to continue on—it’s not safe for both of us to be on this side of the border either. May the Goddess watch over you.” He formally kissed her forehead, then bent low so she could do the same.
“May the Goddess watch over you.”
Sara pretended not to notice the unpretty tears that blotched Wenda’s face. Lance looked strained. The intensity of the siblings’ farewell made Sara’s stomach drop. They were carrying on as if they were never going to see each other again.
Lance led Wenda over to Marcus and gave him a hard look. “You’ll keep my sister safe?”
Lance had saved Marcus’s life at the falls, Sara realized. And now he was calling in the favor.
“I don’t need a watchdog,” Wenda said firmly. “As competent as I’m sure you are,” she added, smiling at Marcus. Apparently, her hostility was reserved for the nobility.
“I’ll see her safe, I so swear,” Marcus said loudly. He looked not at Lance, but at Wenda, his gaze appreciative.
And then it was time. Julen, Sara, Felicia and Lance all approached the Gate. The dark gorge looked forbidding.
“Felicia, why don’t you go first?” Lance suggested. He slung a small bag over his shoulder.
“Wait!” The gatekeeper hobbled forward on his cane. Lance scowled at him, but the man kept talking: “There’s one too many of you. You’re only allowed one companion, not two!” From the triumphant blaze in his eyes, he thought he’d caught Sara trying to sneak something past him.
Sara supposed, in a way, she had. Her father had told her she’d be permitted only one companion, but she’d hoped her maid wouldn’t count.
“So which of them is it, girl?” the gatekeeper demanded. His eyebrows bristled like caterpillars crawling on his face.
Sara’s heart sank at the thought of leaving Felicia behind. They’d almost never been separated since the day Sara’s father first gifted her with the cuorelle. She would miss her fiercely.
But even if she hadn’t needed Julen’s skills, she feared bringing a cuorelle into Kandrith would be an insult. “Julen,” she said.
Her answer pleased no one. Julen’s green eyes burned with frustration—apparently her hesitation had raised his hopes, even though he ought to have known better.
Felicia’s expression was more controlled, but Sara winced at the disappointment—and anger?—in her thinned lips and flaring nostrils. Sara would have to send her to Evina with Rochelle, and Felicia had never gotten along well with Sara’s aunt.
And Lance… His expression took Sara aback. What right did he have to look at her so accusingly, his brown eyes full of furious, bitter disappointment?
Wenda rounded on the gatekeeper in anger. “Hiram, what were you thinking? She’s a slave.” She pointed at Felicia. “She’d have been free on the other side if you’d just kept your mouth shut!”
The old man seemed to shrink. “A slave? But she’s not barefoot, and her dress looks new…”
“They got two of mine that way,” Lord Giles said to Sara. “I should’ve warned you they would try to pull the same trick on you.”
Sara gave him a distracted nod, her true attention on Lance. It dawned on her that he’d planned to free Felicia all along, that this was what they’d been discussing behind her back.
Obscurely hurt, she looked Lance dead in the eye. “I find your gatekeeper rude. If this is the reception I am to expect in your country, explain to me why I should even enter.”
Although her primary mission was to discover the secret of slave magic, Sara had every intention of being a true ambassador. As such, she couldn’t allow them to treat her with disrespect. Her reasoning was sound, but in her heart Sara knew she was also stalling. The thought of entering the Gate filled her with dread. She wished she could take offense and return home.
Lance’s brows lowered. He looked formidable. “You have to go.”
“Oh?” Sara raised her eyebrows.
For a moment, their wills locked. Sara was burningly aware of Lance. Of his breath coming slightly fast, of his tensed muscles, like cables of st
eel beneath his clothes. He seemed to give off more heat then he should.
“You will go,” Wenda said, her voice full of cold rage. “Even if I have to drag you by the hair.” She and Hiram moved closer to Sara, which in turn made Marcus put his hand on his sword.
Lance’s brown eyes never left Sara’s face. “If you don’t enter Kandrith, it means war.”
Sara wanted to roll her eyes. No apology, no attempt to placate her, just blunt-as-a-club consequences. “We were speaking of courtesy,” she said firmly. “I have a title—”
“Yes, Lady Sara,” Lance said, stone-faced.
Sara felt a flare of irritation. After all the effort she’d spent thawing him out, she wasn’t going to let him freeze her with Lady Sara. “Not that title, my other one. I am the Republic of Temboria’s ambassador, just as you were Kandrith’s ambassador. I would deserve respect for that alone even if I were a drooling idiot.” Sara resisted glancing at Lord Giles.
Lance frowned, as if considering her words, but Wenda’s face didn’t change expression. “Stop trying to fancy it up,” she said roughly. “You’re not an ambassador, you’re the Republic’s Child of Peace.”
Child of Peace. Her father had mentioned that phrase, but— Sara frowned. “I thought Child of Peace was your title for ambassador. Do they mean something different?”
Wenda laughed, then choked off the noise. “I’m sorry. I mean, yes, of course, they mean exactly the same thing.”
She was lying. A bubble of fear rose inside Sara. “Lance?”
His lips compressed.
“Don’t tell her,” Wenda said urgently.
But he shook his head. “She will bear the risk, just as we do. She deserves to know.”
“Know what?” Sara demanded, her throat tight. Everyone was staring at her.
Lance laid his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Child of Peace is a misleading title. In truth, you are a hostage.”
“You’re taking me hostage?” Sara asked, incredulous. Marcus was standing only five paces away, frowning. Sensing his tension, his outriders began to close ranks.
“Nobody’s taking you hostage,” Lance ignored Marcus and spoke directly to Sara. “You are voluntarily giving yourself over to Kandrith as a hostage, just as my sister and I take turns being Kandrith’s Child of Peace.”
Gate to Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) Page 12
