A shout went up through the rear ranks, and Pointy turned in the chair.
Amber stopped.
Marcell came running. “We have an incoming caravan.”
The danger switch flipped in his mind, and he was the director of Mordian Intelligence. “Amber, find out who it is. Marcell, take me to the queen.”
Marcell pushed Pointy towards Carabelle at the jerkiest pace yet.
Pointy studied their surroundings once again. Rolling, green hills, oh so pretty, but still nowhere to hide and effectively protect Carabelle.
“Has something happened?” she asked.
“Caravan,” Pointy said.
“Frank?”
“I don’t know. Marcell, weapons at the ready.”
Pointy would force himself to draw this one day, so he’d never forget how wrong it was: a twelve-year-old boy with a pistol in his hands. His nephew.
Vendla rolled her neck and pulled her morning star from her back. “You won’t hold a grudge if I kill him, dragonling?’
Carabelle’s lips flattened as she glanced at Pointy’s pistol, holstered at his hip. “Maybe not two days ago, chief-queen. Now, I’ll kill him first.”
Pointy turned to hide the weapon. He couldn’t hold it with his bandaged hands, but he didn’t want her to shoot it either. Not until she’d had training and could handle weapons safely.
The troops split to allow the caravan through. Not the large transport model; a smaller one, faster. Amber waved from inside, next to Ghedi. A man with connections to the emperor, but was that fact a threat or asset?
They pulled up right in front of Vendla and disembarked.
“Your patience finally ran out?” Vendla took Ghedi’s hand in a shake.
Ghedi’s skin was ashen. “It ran out when he began killing allies and calling them traitors. Had I known you’d planned to leave, I’d have been here from the start.” His eyes sparkled when he noticed Carabelle. “You were with them all along, princess.”
She smiled.
“You’re most welcome among us,” Vendla said.
Maybe. He’ll have to be watched.
“I bring bad news, I’m afraid.” Ghedi spread his legs and crossed his arms. “Just before I left, Frank had a bird sent to the outpost closest to the place where you left your ships. He gave the order that the ships be destroyed.”
A vein in Vendla’s forehead bulged. “I’ll kill him.”
“With the caravan, we can be there in two, two-and-a-half days,” Ghedi said. “I checked; the outpost soldiers will have a journey of similar length. With a bit of luck, we’ll get there first.”
“How many can you take?” Vendla asked.
“About ten,” he said. “I have enough supplies.”
“Olaf, you’ll lead in my stead.” Vendla glanced at Carabelle. “Choose your representative, dragonling.”
She pursed her lips. “Amber, you know the area and escape routes best. If the snow that everyone promises finally arrives, you’ll have to wait it out without Frank finding you.”
“I won’t fail, my queen,” Amber said.
“Good,” Vendla said. “Sven, you’re coming. Njal and Skjold make four on my part. Carabelle and Du Pont will come, and you won’t leave the boy. Who else?”
“I’d suggest Sauvageon, my queen,” Pointy said.
Carabelle nodded.
Vendla balanced her morning star on her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
***
Travel by caravan was little better than travel in the wheelchair. The dagger wound at Pointy’s thigh screamed, and the vibrations against his soles were a new kind of torture.
By the second night, his toes might have broken off in the bandages for all he knew.
They’d stopped at the first outpost, where Ghedi had commanded the men to let the approaching force pass. He’d told them Frank had sent him and the chief-queen on an important mission, and they commanded the army. From that outpost, the message had spread, and they hadn’t had any trouble until that morning, when Vendla had convinced a man to let them pass with the spikes of her morning star up his nose.
Other than the obligatory outpost stops, they’d halted only to relieve themselves and to refill the water tank. Between Ghedi and Sauvageon, they’d taught Sven to drive, and had kept them moving non-stop.
Sven and Sauvageon now sat in the front row, heads together. While working for Pointy, they’d discovered all they had in common, and it seemed a romance had bloomed.
If Nathaniel were here, Pointy would comment on how ironic it was that the resistance still didn’t know Sven was fluent in several dialects of Mordian, among other languages. A fact none of his own people knew either, save Vendla.
But Nathaniel was dead.
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Carabelle said.
He peered at her from the corner of his eye. “How could you tell?”
“Your lips kind of twitch.”
Pointy chuckled.
“What?”
“Here you are, telling me my tells.” He wiped away a tear. “They’re going to send me back to the academy.”
“It’s not that bad,” she said. “Like Vendla. I see her expressions because I’m looking.”
Carabelle was looking at him? His stomach fluttered.
The rumble of the caravan was loud enough that he could risk telling her the truth without the other passengers overhearing, if they kept talking at the volume they now spoke. Still, his stomach clamped and his mouth dried.
“They’re going to force me to relearn spying.” Now or never. “Alongside my own children.”
“You have children?” she said.
She didn’t even look surprised, but why would she? Pointy’s reputation was well known.
“Yes,” he said. “Tatienne is fifteen, Madeleine is fourteen, and Lucien is four. There’s another on the way, though that child won’t live with me, or ever know I’m their father. It’s complicated. I’ll explain it all one day.”
Carabelle gave a small nod. “Do I get to meet the others?”
“Of course.”
“Good.”
No questions? No judgment? “Ah, one more thing. Most people have no idea I have children, except blood-relatives. Not even my closest friends. Only you. For their safety, so nobody can use them to get to me. There are rumours, certainly, but only among certain circles, and nothing concrete.”
“I won’t say anything.”
Well. That had been easier than expected.
“Thank you for trusting me.” She rested her head against his shoulder, as though the contact were nothing. As though it didn’t rip holes into his control, reopen the self-inflicted wounds to his soul.
She was his best friend’s love. His best friend, not two days dead. He’d do well to remember that.
***
The landscape flattened out as they approached the coast. Seagulls were white shrieking dots in the sky, grasses became longer, ochre-green, and the air smelled fresher. When they crested the last hill, a glimpse of ocean glinted in the distance.
Carabelle’s eyes grew marvellously large, and she leaned over Pointy to squash her face to the window. She pressed against his injured leg, and he winced but didn’t move.
The ground swallowed her view, and she pulled back. Her toothy smile made the agony worthwhile. “Did you see that?”
“Yes.”
But the smile faded, and she dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with her sleeve. “I hurt you. Your leg?”
“I’m fine, don’t worry. Just a bit travel-sick.”
“Sure.” She crossed her arms. “You know, for this prodigy of an Intelligence guy, you’re a horrible liar.”
“Is that a fact?” Pointy asked.
Marcell studied him with a frown.
Wouldn’t it be fun if Marcell figured out how Pointy felt about Carabelle? Especially since the boy also loved her. Ha.
She sniffed. “I’m changing your bandages tonight. I’d be ever so grateful if
you took the time to come to terms with that now.”
Vendla chortled from behind them.
“As your majesty commands.” Pointy’s throat constricted.
“We’re almost there,” Ghedi announced from the front of the caravan.
The last five minutes passed slower than the previous two days of travel, but they finally found a place where they could leave the caravan under a cluster of pine trees.
They disembarked, shrugged on their packs, and hiked up a grassy knoll.
Carabelle ran ahead and covered her mouth with both hands. Tears raced into her neckline, and the wind blew her hair in every direction.
“Look, Nathan, we made it.” Her voice was so quiet, the wind almost swallowed it.
Marcell pushed Pointy to the top. A beach of white sand extended below, and blue-grey ocean beyond it, as far as the eye could see. To the other side stretched the mountains, grey and snow-capped, and the Mantle swirled its purple dance.
Fleecy clouds gathered in the distance, and the salt-and-fish scent had substance.
“We’ll go ahead to the ships,” Sven said. “It’s a fair way to that cave, and I doubt the wheelchair will roll on the sand.”
“Go,” Vendla said. “I’ll stay and protect the dragonling.”
“Marcell, you go, too.” Pointy gestured at Sven, Sauvageon and Ghedi as they walked away. “You run fastest, in case you need to get word our way.”
Marcell nodded and left.
Skjold and Njal raced into the waves, disappeared in the spray.
Vendla and Carabelle carried the wheelchair to the water, Vendla at the back and Carabelle at the front. They stopped right where the first line of waves broke, and Carabelle gave a few tentative steps forwards, then stuck her fingers into the foam.
Despite the tears, she laughed like he hadn’t heard her laugh in ages. She closed her eyes, threw back her head and breathed in.
Another moment he’d sketch later—this was one he wanted to keep.
“Jacques?”
Why in the name of all things good had she taken to calling him that? He’d put so much effort into everything Pointy was, and she just refused to play by his rules.
He sighed. “My queen.”
“Do you…” Carabelle rubbed her lips together. “Do you think Magnus would mind if I put some of it into the ocean? Nathan, I mean. We could have a small remembrance ceremony.” Smiling, she wiped away tears. “I just want to share this moment with him.”
Pointy fought back the hooked anguish tearing his throat. “Of course, dearest.”
Vendla moved a few steps away, so they could be alone.
Carabelle slipped out of the pack, retrieved the bottle of ashes and crushed it to her chest. “Do you want to say something?”
“Ah.” Pointy sniffed. “Nathaniel, you were my best friend, but you were a son of a bitch. Sorry, Aunt Anne.” He grinned. “You weren’t supposed to die. We were going to be friends for the rest of our lives. You promised to make stupid jokes at my sixtieth birthday party. I was supposed to make stupid jokes at your wedding. We never did train for that marathon. And what about our trip to Sudriah, with Ahmed? Dammit, you bastard, you promised to call your first child Jacques or Jacqueline.”
Carabelle laughed.
“I miss you.” Pointy shuddered. “This doesn’t feel real. There’s so much we were supposed to do together, but we never did because we had time. So much time. You stole that from me. What am I going to tell Jeremy and Ahmed? Do you know you broke Jeanita’s heart? That was a low blow. Not to mention Carabelle, but she’s here to lament you herself.
“You should have come to me. I should have gone to you. Why didn’t I? Ashes, Nathaniel, this hurts.” Carabelle lowered her hand to his shoulder, and he held on to her with all he had. “I’ll never forget you, Cutter. Thank you for being my best friend and brother.”
They were quiet for a while, then Carabelle drew a breath. “I wish you were here, Nathan. Look at what you’re missing.” She stared ahead, tears and sea-spray crusting on her cheeks. “I never got to say that I forgive you. I was really angry, and maybe I’ll always think back to that moment, and a pang of fury will flare up, but I realise it wasn’t you. The need turned you into someone else. Despite everything, I would have helped you conquer it.
“You were one of the most important people in my life, and even though I broke things off, I still love you.” Her face contorted. “I don’t know that we had a future together, but you should have had a future. You should have done all the things you promised Jacques, and—” She sobbed. “We should have made peace.
“How am I supposed to go on, Nathan? You weren’t supposed to leave me like this. You were supposed to come home.” With a deep breath, she opened the bottle. “Thank you for everything you taught me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for helping me realise my worth. I love you. Goodbye.”
She tipped the bottle, and a cloud of grey ashes hovered above the waves, then twisted a few times, and dissolved into the wind.
Carabelle closed the bottle and returned it to her pack, smiling. She reached for Pointy’s hand.
“Thank you, my dear.”
But the quiet of the moment was broken by Marcell careening their way, sand swept up with each of his paces. “It’s the ships,” he shouted.
Cold sweat dampened Pointy’s spine. Far in the distance, those gathering clouds—could they be smoke?
“We were too late!” Marcell reached them and doubled over. “We were too late. They’re on fire.”
“What did you say?” Vendla’s voice was low, gravelly.
“They must have been burning for at least a day.” Marcell fell to his knees. “Sven is hysterical.”
Vendla stood taller, face paler by the second. Her nostrils flared, her hands fisted by her sides. She inhaled audibly, then stomped back up the hill.
Carabelle followed. “Where are you going?”
“To kill him.” Vendla’s footfall made deep craters in the sand.
Pointy was stuck. The bloody chair wouldn’t roll over the loose sand. How in the Creator’s name was he supposed to help Carabelle stop that giant of a woman when he was stuck?
Carabelle reached for Vendla’s arm, but Vendla shrugged her off.
“Don’t you dare try to stop me, girl.” The wind ripped at Vendla’s cloak. “I’m going to march back to Collinefort and kill Francois Lenoir for this.”
Carabelle ran ahead and stopped in front of Vendla. “You have to listen to me. Stop. You can’t go all the way back now, not when we’re so close.”
Vendla halted and roared at the heavens. “He destroyed my ships! Do you have any idea what that means? Do you have any inkling of what I’ve just lost? And you want to tell me to stop?”
“He killed the man I love.” Carabelle puffed out her chest.
Vendla lifted Carabelle and put her aside as though she meant nothing, but Carabelle ran ahead and stopped in Vendla’s path again.
“Let me go, damn you!” Vendla spat through her teeth.
“No. I’m angry, too. Livid. My brother is dead, and this vicious manipulative monster has taken his place. I want him to pay for this, too. I’ll help you bring him down, but you can’t go back there yet.” Carabelle took Vendla’s hands. “If you go back now, what Jacques said would happen will happen. We’ll all be killed, because Frank has the upper hand in Collinefort. We must go to Aelland, regroup, strengthen ourselves.
“In Aelland, we’ll have the upper hand. We’ll have a functioning Intelligence network at our disposal, which means additional forces we can use to best Frank. He’ll kneel, he’ll beg. Then we’ll both have our revenge. I know it doesn’t seem like the best course now, and I know that you’re hurting. I am, too. But please, don’t kill all our people because you’re hurt and angry.”
“My ships, Carabelle.” Vendla’s shoulders edged forwards, and her knees wobbled beneath her. “I measured my children’s growth on the mast. The last few heirlooms and relics we’d
salvaged from Dvara had been on those ships. The last trinkets I’d had that had belonged to my family. He took that from me. And for what? To show his dominance?”
“I’m so sorry.”
Vendla fell forwards, and sand flipped up as her knees dented the beach. “He took my Varda, and now he took my ships. Everything. He took everything.”
Carabelle lowered herself next to Vendla. “I know. He’s a monster.”
“Aye.” Vendla’s head hung, and her shoulders jerked. Her sorrow was a crashing storm, but Carabelle held her, comforted her, as though she could weather anything.
Had she grown a few inches during the past fifteen minutes? Whenever Pointy believed Carabelle of Mordoux would evolve no further, at least not for another while, she found the strength to rip through her old skin, shed it, and show off her new armour, tougher and shinier than ever before.
This was another moment he’d sketch. More than anything, he wanted to keep the moments in which she found her way towards the queen he knew she’d become.
Chapter 58
Three days later, Cara looked up at the Mantle. It swirled and buzzed just like it had the last time she stood at its base.
This cursed thing. Hateful thing. She wanted the sky, the smell of rain, the crunch of ice below her feet. For the foreseeable future, she’d instead have a Mantle. Her stomach soured, and her gorge rose. There was support under the Mantle, strength, but ashes, if only they didn’t have to take this road.
At least this road led to Sera.
Skjold and Njal whined and pawed at the ground, and everyone else looked grim.
Nobody’s expression was quite as hard as Vendla’s. Frank had made a mistake when he’d destroyed her ships. If she ever stood face to face with him again, it would be to sink her morning star into his skull.
As their army was at least two weeks behind them, depending on the snow, they’d decided to enter Aelland instead of waiting on the beach. With the network inside Aelland on their side, they could go ahead to Sera and begin healing the people. Cara and Vendla would return to greet their army once they arrived, then lead them into Aelland.
Marc handed out the ingots of ironite Nita had saved from last time, and Cara looked back as she clamped the metal in her fists.
A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2) Page 44
