Gate to Kandrith (The Kandrith Series)

by Luiken, Nicole

  Valda understood his message. She nodded and pulled Iorweth to her feet.

  An hour later Iorweth had cried herself out, and Lance judged her out of danger, lifting his hands. Valda and the other neighbor women who’d gathered coaxed the story out of her. Her husband, Huw, had come home late the previous evening and confessed that he had lost their horse in a game of chance. Iorweth had been furious, especially since the horse was one she’d raised from a foal. She’d shouted things she now regretted, and Huw had taken a jug of ale and slunk off to sleep in the barn.

  Some time later, Huw’s friends had arrived with the good news that the Listener had judged Julen guilty of cheating. Iorweth had been relieved, but still so mad at Huw that she left him in the barn so he’d have all night to regret the foolish chance he’d taken.

  When she woke up, Huw and the horse were gone, and the jug was empty. “He was a good man, but when he drank he could get…foolish,” she said tearily. “I think he decided to hide the horse somewhere.”

  It was all too easy to fill in the rest. A drunken man riding too fast in the dark…

  Iorweth closed her eyes. “I should have gone out to the barn and told him. Why didn’t I tell him?”

  Lance put his hand on her shoulder. “You had a right to be angry at him, and you didn’t know what he would do. You should go home and get some sleep now. For the babe’s sake.” He looked at Valda, and she nodded, showing her willingness to stay with the pregnant woman.

  But Iorweth shook her head. “Home, but not to sleep. I need to think. There are decisions I need to make.” She and Valda left.

  “Poor woman,” Sara said. “This is awful, just awful.”

  “The blackguard will pay for this,” one of the village women muttered on her way out. “If he hadn’t cheated, Huw would be alive. Iorweth will make him pay.”

  “What did she mean Julen will pay?” Sara asked, once the room had cleared.

  Lance didn’t like the fear in her eyes—but even less did he like that her fear was for Julen. He explained brusquely, “Huw’s dead. Iorweth will be Justice in his place at Julen’s trial. She could demand a life for a life.”

  * * *

  At the trial, Iorweth listened stoically to Julen’s plea that he had not known how precious horses were. Sara held her breath.

  All the village attended so, of necessity, the trial was held outside. Julen stood on a patch of bare earth in front of the forge, the key over his head, facing everyone. He wasn’t bound, but two brawny louts glowered at him from the front row. They looked of an age to be Huw’s friends—probably the other poker players.

  “I did not mean your husband any harm,” Julen said.

  “A lie,” the Listener said. She stood with her hands clasped, to the side of Julen, her expression cool and remote.

  “Any permanent harm,” Julen quickly corrected himself. “I admit I was annoyed with his stroke of luck.” He looked straight at Iorweth.

  “The truth,” the Listener said.

  Iorweth seemed unimpressed. “You may not have meant great harm, but you caused it.”

  “I am deeply sorry,” Julen said. His green eyes shone with sincerity—but then they always did.

  A nod from the Listener. More truth. Sara let out a breath of relief.

  “I wish to compensate you. Let me pay the price of two horses.”

  Bad move. The crowd grumbled in anger. Across from Sara, Rowena bared her teeth and hissed.

  Tears glistened on Iorweth’s cheeks. She let them fall unchecked. “Huw was a rash man. He should not have gambled with you, and he should not have gotten drunk and tried to hide the mare. But he is dead. I have no husband, and my child has no father.”

  Julen’s face turned white, sensing death. Sara’s hands ached from being clenched into fists. Back in the Republic it would have amused her to see Julen on trial, but she wasn’t laughing now.

  “I could ask for your life,” Iorweth said without expression.

  “Make him pay!” Huw’s friends urged.

  Valda glared at them. “Iorweth is Justice!”

  Iorweth hardly seemed to notice, her attention locked on Julen. “I could, but what good would it do me? My Huw would still be dead.” Her face lacked a theatrical heroine’s tragic beauty, but no actress could have faked the terribly matter-of-fact tone of her voice. “The crops will ripen soon and need to be harvested. The babe will be born in a month’s time.”

  “What is it you ask of me?” Julen wisely didn’t mention money again.

  “I think you wanted to leave very badly.”

  Julen nodded cautiously.

  “My judgment is that you stay and take the place of the husband I have lost,” Iorweth said clearly. She did not blush.

  Valda gave a short nod of satisfaction, but Sara was taken aback. Had Iorweth fallen for Julen’s breath-stealing handsomeness? But, no, there was no infatuation on her face, only exhaustion and determination. Her hands touched her pregnant belly.

  “Iorweth, you can’t!” one of Huw’s friends burst out. “You can’t lie with the bastard who killed your husband!”

  Iorweth blinked. Sara had the feeling she’d been so focused on sheer survival that the more intimate aspects of her judgment hadn’t even occurred to her. “I am eight month’s pregnant.”

  “And after you’ve had Huw’s baby?”

  “After—” Iorweth checked herself, then continued sturdily, “The marriage would be unconsummated for—for a year.”

  Sara’s intuition kicked in. Iorweth, so plagued with bad luck, probably thought she was going to die in childbirth. She didn’t want a husband. She wanted her child’s future taken care of. The other villagers were living hand-to-mouth. An extra child would be a burden.

  Huw’s friends still muttered, but Sara didn’t see either of them offering to marry Iorweth.

  “Do you accept my judgment or do you wish to appeal to the village?” Iorweth asked.

  Julen didn’t like it, but he was no fool. His gaze touched uneasily on the other villagers, who seemed all too ready to lynch him. “I—”

  Careful, Sara thought.

  Julen’s eye fell on the Listener. She was watching him with a touch of contempt, and whatever weasel words he’d been about to utter died on his lips. Sara could almost hear his mind working overtime, searching for another option and not finding it. She watched the realization come over him, that he either had to make the commitment to Iorweth and mean it, or die.

  He looked at Iorweth, at her ravaged face with the bags under her eyes and at her distended belly. He bowed his head for a moment before looking up. “When I was a child, my father was crippled and lost his livelihood. I would not see any woman with child left destitute as my mother was.”

  “Truth.”

  Sara drew in a sharp breath at the picture his words painted. A crippled father, a mother worked to the bone… Is that why ambition drove Julen so hard? A need to save his mother from drudgery? Fear of poverty? Sara hadn’t known; she hadn’t asked.

  And then Lance stepped forward. “There is another matter to consider. Julen is a visitor to our country, a Republican.” The mood of the crowd instantly darkened. “Iorweth, show him your wrist.”

  Iorweth turned up her palm so all could see the drop of blood branded below it, which showed her to have once been a sanguelle. By law, her child would be a cuoreon or cuorelle. Neither one could ever risk setting foot in the Republic.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lance asked Iorweth.

  Sara watched Julen closely. Unwilling sympathy stirred inside her. This meant the end of his dream to earn a title. Nobles did not marry ex-Blood Slaves.

  Iorweth turned to Julen. “Do you own slaves?”

  Julen straightened. “No. Nor have I ever. I am an equitain, freeborn but not of the nobility.”

  “Truth,” the Listener said grudgingly.

  Sara lifted her own voice. “Julen was always kind to my slaves. I never saw him abuse one.” No need to mention
the reason he’d always been so charming to Felicia and Rochelle had been to cultivate sources of information.

  “Truth.”

  The villagers’ hostility shifted to her. Sara tried to lift her head, but couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Because this time, she’d earned their hate. She could say with perfect truth that she, too, had always been kind to her slaves, but she wished—oh, how she wished—she could say that she had freed Felicia. Or better yet, that she’d never owned any slaves at all. When she returned to the Republic, she swore that she would find a way to send Rochelle to join Felicia in Kandrith.

  Iorweth’s gaze didn’t leave Julen’s face. “Would you treat me and the baby like slaves?”

  “No,” Julen said firmly.

  “Truth.”

  Iorweth’s shoulders relaxed. “Then my judgement is the same, for you to stay and take the place of my husband.”

  “I thank you for your kindness in not asking for my life,” Julen said. “I will do my best to see that you do not regret it. I will be your husband.”

  “And father to my child?” Iorweth looked intense.

  “And father to your child.”

  Iorweth relaxed, the frown line fading from her face. “Then I will be your wife,” she said simply.

  “Truth has been spoken,” the Listener said loudly. “Let it be witnessed. Julen and Iorweth are husband and wife.”

  “It is witnessed,” Lance and the crowd spoke in unison.

  Only Sara and Julen were caught off guard. That was a wedding ceremony? Sara remembered attending Aunt Evina’s second marriage to Uncle Paulin. The hour-long ceremony had taken place at Diwo’s temple rather than the traditional Goddess of Fertility’s temple, because Evina had said if she was lucky she wouldn’t need the other’s favor. The feasting had gone on for a week.

  Of course, she doubted Aunt Evina’s vows would have passed the scrutiny of a Listener.

  * * *

  Lance declared himself well enough to leave the next day. Sara had her doubts. What if he had a relapse on the road? To delay them, she insisted on saying farewell to Julen before they left. Lance reluctantly agreed.

  Julen answered the door when Lance knocked. His wary expression changed to one of relief. “Sara! Iorweth, Lance and Sara are here. Come in, come in.”

  It was the first time Sara could remember him not using her title.

  Iorweth looked awful, as if she’d been crying all night. She offered them cider, and then they sat at the small wooden table to drink it. An awkward silence fell.

  Lance turned concerned eyes on Iorweth. “You’re overtiring yourself. Let me check on the babe.”

  Sara seized the opportunity. “I’ll wait outside.” She gave Julen a meaningful glance, and he took the hint, getting to his feet too. Lance scowled after them.

  “Well,” Sara said, after making sure they had the street to themselves, “you seem to be leaving my service.”

  Julen’s jaw set. “I swore to be Iorweth’s husband. I never swore to be a cursed farmer. But I’m going to be stuck here for at least two months waiting for the babe to be born before I can rejoin you at the Slave King’s court.”

  Sara was startled, though she realized she shouldn’t have been. “Do you think Iorweth will agree to come with you ?”

  “She wanted a husband, and it’s a wife’s duty to follow where her husband goes,” Julen said callously. “Besides, by then I ought to have her wrapped around my finger.” He sounded confident he could get around Iorweth’s stipulation that the marriage be unconsummated for a year.

  Sara wondered about that. It was one thing to be charming for an evening at a feast; being charming after a day’s sweaty labor in the fields might be something else entirely. And Iorweth, whose husband’s death Julen was partly responsible for, would not be his usual gullible audience. Still…

  “I would be happy to have your assistance again,” she said. Even if she succeeded in sending the message off to her father, she would need all the help she could get to survive in Kandrith’s strange waters.

  “Be careful who you approach to send the message to your father,” Julen warned. “Spying is a dangerous profession.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Her smile felt brittle. “Worry about keeping Iorweth’s favor. The rest of the village still wants to hang you. And stay out of other women’s beds. I don’t think you even want to know what the penalty for adultery is here.”

  “Vez’s Malice, no.” Julen blanched. “It’s probably castration.”

  Sara felt little sympathy for him. “It will do you good to deal with a woman who isn’t knocked off her feet by your good looks.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she’d opened herself up for a similar taunt, but Julen only snorted. “I learned early on that a handsome face can only get you so far if you’re a member of the equitain. After that, the door gets slammed in your face.”

  His bitterness startled Sara. She often resented her own beauty, but she’d never considered that Julen, her male opposite, might feel the same way.

  “Iorweth bears the unique distinction of being the only woman who’s ever wanted me for a husband and not just a three-month lover.” His tone was mocking, but there was something underneath…a hint of wonder.

  Sara realized he was right. Aunt Evina and Lady Pallax had both drooled over Julen, but neither of them would have dreamed of marrying him. “I’m sorry.”

  Julen made a throw-away gesture. “What for?” He hesitated. “Though, while we’re clearing the air, there’s something I’d like to apologize for—it’s left a nasty taste in my mouth for years.”

  Sara felt her face turn to stone. There was only one thing Julen could need to beg forgiveness for.

  “It was supposed to be for your own good.” Julen’s lips twisted with self-derision. “It was the first year you’d come to the city and whatever your father asked of you, you did the opposite. He worried that your naiveté would make you an easy target for his enemies. I told him I could cure you. I deliberately flirted with you. Though you were only supposed to catch me kissing Lady Jemini, not the rest. Will you accept my apology? I meant to make you less trusting, not hurt you.”

  Sara stared at him. She had been hurt—a young girl’s hurt. She’d been over that for years. What had made her loathe him had been what had followed. But that had been bad luck, not Julen’s doing. The hate she’d held in her heart for so long loosened. “Of course. It’s not your fault I was stupid enough to rush out of the city and leave my father open to false ransom demands.”

  Julen’s forehead creased. “What ransom?”

  Sara studied him sharply, but he seemed genuinely confused. She explained about the demands that had led to the beggaring of House Remillus.

  Julen shook his head in disbelief. “I never knew.”

  Sara felt uneasy until she realized that, although Julen had been her father’s right hand for the past few years, he hadn’t necessarily been so six years ago. At the time of her fake kidnapping, Julen must have still been rising in the ranks and not privy to all secrets.

  “Well, now you know why House Remillus’s fortunes fell so low.”

  Julen looked troubled. “I didn’t realize they were low. If you had asked me, I would have sworn House Remillus was quite wealthy.”

  Sara shrugged. “Borrowed money to keep up appearances. You know how any scent of weakness can lead to other Houses moving in for the kill.”

  “Yes, but—” Julen forced a smile. “I suppose I just don’t want to admit that your father could have fooled me. We should go back in.”

  Iorweth and Lance were sitting at the table, waiting for them.

  “Is all well?” Julen asked. Sara thought him truly anxious and not just faking it. Of course, if Iorweth and the babe died, his future might become very precarious indeed.

  “Both babe and mother are well,” Lance reassured him. “If her skin begins to swell anywhere other than her ankles, send a message to me.” He got to his
feet. “Sara and I must be going. Julen, Iorweth,” he nodded to both of them. “I hope to see you again—with a healthy babe in your arms.” He smiled at Iorweth.

  She smiled tearfully back.

  Sara said farewell, and then she and Lance set off down the dusty road. Despite Lance’s cheerful company, she felt horribly alone.

  She missed Felicia, but leaving Julen behind was in some ways worse. Now she had no one to rely on but herself. And no one to blame if she failed her task.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The second day after leaving the village Sara woke with a familiar pressing pain behind her eyes. Like an unwanted guest, her headache had returned.

  She was dimly aware of Lance packing up camp and filling their water bags at the stream, but even sitting up by herself seemed like a heroic feat. Vez’s Malice, but she was sick of headaches. It felt like she’d been plagued with one every other day since leaving Temborium.

  Sara counted back. The combination of sleeping draught and jazoria had given her a vile one the day she’d left, the stuffy carriage and Julen together had provoked several. The full-throated roar of Vaga Falls would have given anyone a headache. The aggravation of passing through the Gate into Kandrith had brought on another one, which had lingered due to her argument with Felicia. Her stoning and the subsequent lump on her forehead had caused the worst headache yet.

  What excuse for today’s? Her anxiety over meeting the Kandrith? The night spent in screaming awareness of how close Lance lay and how much she wanted to throw caution to the winds and make love to him a second time?

  Only now it seemed to Sara that they were all excuses. She was having too many headaches. Something was wrong—

  Across the clearing, Lance cursed.

  “What is it?” Sara rasped.

  Lance cradled the little finger on his left hand. “It’s broken,” he said tersely. “Praise Loma.”

  It took Sara’s pounding head a moment to follow his thinking. She hadn’t realized “ill health” included broken bones.

  Following Lance’s instructions, Sara found a straight stick and bandages in his knapsack. She splinted the finger, but when she wanted to wrap it in a cool cloth, Lance put his good hand on her shoulder. “Don’t bother.”