"I believe so," Finnikin said. "She swears that Lady Beatriss of the Flatlands lives, as do the novices of the cloister of Sagrami and Tesadora of the Forest Dwellers."
Yata placed a trembling hand to her lips. "How were the novices saved? And Lady Beatriss? Her babe?"
"She is certain that my father and Lady Beatriss's child died," Finnikin said sadly. "As for the novices of Sagrami, they were hidden during the five days of the unspeakable. I suspect by Perri the Savage." He watched as Yata shivered, despite the warmth in the tent. "Can you tell me more about walking the sleep?"
"It began with Seranonna of the Forest Dwellers," she said in a soft voice. "I was giving birth to my fifth child. Seranonna lived far away from the Monts, but she swore she heard my cries of pain and so she made a journey through the Forest, into the village, across the Flatlands, over the River, and into the Mountains. She delivered my daughter, a beautiful girl who would grow up to be queen." She sighed, and Finnikin saw Lucian sit forward, ready to leap up if she needed him.
"I was ill for a long time after I gave birth, so Seranonna stayed. She had just given birth to a child who had lived only a week and her breasts were full of milk, so my babe suckled from the breast of one who worshipped Lagrami and one who worshipped Sagrami. Every child Seranonna delivered thereafter during her time with us had the gift of walking the sleep."
"Perhaps Evanjalin and the child in Lumatere she walks alongside were delivered by Seranonna as well," Lucian said.
"Not possible," Finnikin replied. "The child was born after Seranonna's death."
"Evanjalin travels with another?" Yata asked, intrigued.
"Is that rare?" Finnikin said.
She nodded. "Most of our women who have the gift walk alone. Although sometimes I would walk the sleep with my daughter, the queen. Perhaps there is a strong bloodline between Evanjalin and the child."
She pointed to the jug when she noticed that his cup was empty. "And do not be shy with the sweet bread. Lucian certainly isn't."
Finnikin glanced at Lucian, whose mouth was full but whose dark eyes were alert with interest. "What is she like? Evanjalin of the Monts?" he asked.
Finnikin thought for a moment. "Strong. In here," he said, thumping his chest twice. "Humbling. Ruthless. Cunning. She can love people with a fierceness that I have not seen before." He smiled when he realized he was talking too much. "And she looks like a Mont woman, so of course she's very beautiful."
"Does she belong to you, Finnikin?" Yata asked, her eyes piercing.
"No," he said after a moment. "But she belongs to my heart. I feel her absence strongly and it brings me... sorrow." He looked across at Lucian, who made a pretense of wiping a tear from his eye. Knowing he had said enough, Finnikin stood to politely excuse himself.
"My grandson has missed you all these years," Yata said.
"Balthazar?"
Lucian sent him a scathing look, and Finnikin instantly regretted his stupidity. "I'm sorry..."
"No." She chuckled, holding out a hand to her grandson to help her to her feet. "Lucian has missed you."
"I have not!" Lucian looked horrified.
She tugged his ear. "I walk your sleep, silly boy. Not a place your yata wants to be most of the time, but there are some moments that bring me joy."
Lucian turned red. She kissed them both, and Finnikin found comfort in the feel of her hands on his face. Lucian had lost his mother young but had always had his yata close by. It was what Finnikin missed about his great-aunt Celestina and even Lady Beatriss.
The matriarch of the Monts studied Finnikin's face carefully, as if she saw the things written on his mind and soul. "How you warm my heart, Finnikin of the Rock," she said. "Bring your Evanjalin to us. If she guided you here, she wants to be with her people."
That night, after he heard Sir Topher's heavy snores and the world of the Monts seemed to be asleep, Finnikin crept out of the tent. He wrapped his arms around himself, his teeth chattering uncontrollably as he made his way toward Lucian's tent. He knew what he had to do. He also knew he could not do it alone and that Lucian was his only choice. Although it annoyed him to have to ask the Mont for help, his desire to find Evanjalin was greater.
"Lucian!" he hissed. "Inbred. Get dressed. Get your sword and your bow. You're coming with me. No arguing."
"Already dressed. Sword in hand. You're late, trog boy."
Finnikin hid his surprise as Lucian joined him. The Mont wore a cap over his head, his bulky frame layered with a wool jerkin and trousers of animal hide. He threw Finnikin a fleece coat, and they crouched behind his tent, watching the three Monts on guard. The moon hung low in the sky, and it seemed to Finnikin that he could almost reach out and touch it.
"Are we finding your woman first or saving the boy?"
"She's not my woman, Lucian, and only inbred Monts go around saying 'your woman.'"
"Not your woman? Good. By the sounds of things, I could be very interested in this Mont girl. So now that you've given me permission ... Finnikin? Did you just jab me in the back? If not, and that was something else pressing into me ... really, I'm not interested in trog boys. But I can introduce you to my kinsman, Torin."
"You talk too much, Mont! So shut your mouth and don't ever think of her as yours."
From where they crouched, Finnikin could see the camp fires of the exiles under the guard of Saro and his men in the foothills below. He wondered how they would sleep after a day that had begun in captivity and ended in the comfort and protection of their people.
Lucian took the lead as they half stumbled toward the woods that lead to the river. Finnikin knew the Mont would be familiar with every inch of these hills. After watching Lucian carousing with his cousins earlier that day, he suspected that they spent many a night getting up to no good, far from the watchful eyes of their elders.
* * *
They waded through the river, holding their weapons high above their heads. The only noise to break the silence was their breathing and the sound of the lapping water. When they reached the Charyn riverbank, Finnikin indicated for Lucian to follow the trail the soldiers had taken deep into woods. The foliage was so dense that little moonlight penetrated and at times they held on to each other for fear of being separated. Branches scratched their faces and raised tree roots caused them to trip and stumble. Then Lucian seemed to vanish into thin air, and it was only the thud of his body hitting hard earth that stopped Finnikin in his tracks. He knelt and patted the ground before him, feeling the place where the earth fell away to nothing.
"Lucian!" he whispered. "Are you down there?"
"Where else would I be?" Lucian hissed back.
"Shh! What can you see?" Finnikin could barely make out Lucian's form crawling around in the darkness.
"There's nothing down here," Lucian said. "Just a big empty hole. Freshly dug, by the smell of things. Can you see me waving my hand to you?"
Finnikin heard the snap of a twig close by. "Don't speak!" he hissed. He lay facedown, holding his breath, staying alert to the sounds around them.
"Talk," Lucian finally said into the silence. "I'll follow your voice and try to climb up."
Finnikin moved closer to the edge, extending his arm and half his body into the hole for Lucian to grip on to, when suddenly a hand grabbed his leg. He swiveled around, kicking the intruder in the gut with as much force as he could muster. He heard a grunt of surprise and he scrambled for his dagger, only to have it jerked out of his hand. In the next second, he was thrust against the trunk of a tree with a fist at his throat.
"Finn?" his father said.
He shrugged free, shoving Trevanion away, furious that his father would plan the rescue without him. Perri was on his feet beside Trevanion, winded from the kick to his stomach.
"Lucian's down the hole," Finnikin muttered. He moved away and lay flat on the ground again, extending his arm into the empty space. His father held him by the feet, and when they could see Lucian's head, Perri reached over and hauled him out by t
he scruff of his neck.
There was a moment of tense silence.
"You had no right to leave me behind," Finnikin said tersely.
Trevanion grabbed him. "What do you think we are out here to do, Finn?" he said. "Have a chat with these animals? Do you think I want to drag you along to see what I excel in? Not languages, Finnikin. Killing. That's what I do best, and if we ever want to see the boy again that's what we'll be doing."
"And Evanjalin?"
There was no response. Trevanion motioned for Perri to lead the way, and they followed him to the edge of the woods. In the near distance, they could see flame sticks at the four corners of the soldiers' barracks.
"We wait here," Trevanion said in a low voice, guiding them to the hollow trunk of a tree. They sat huddled together in the small space. An owl hooted, and slowly the sounds of the night creatures, some shuffling and measured, others with scuttling speed, resumed around them.
"If she's—" Finnikin began.
Perri put a finger to his lips. He pointed toward the barracks and then pointed up, indicating that the Charynites may have soldiers posted in the trees close by. Finnikin watched as Perri took out his dagger and put out a hand to stop him.
"If she's out here and not locked up in the barracks, I'll know," he said. He took a deep breath and whistled.
"You share a whistle?" Trevanion said in disbelief.
"Do you have a problem with that?" Finnikin asked.
"I have a few whistles," Lucian murmured. "Very confusing sometimes."
"Whistles are meant for combat," Trevanion said. "Not wooing women. Women do not understand whistles."
"Shh! Shh!" Finnikin jabbed his father with his elbow. "Did you hear that?"
Finnikin whistled again and held up a hand for silence. Even the night creatures seemed to obey. They waited. Nothing.
And then they heard it, faintly but coming toward them, and Finnikin felt as if he could breathe again. He grinned. "Is she not the smartest girl in the land?"
"And the biggest liar and the most unpredictable," Perri muttered. Finnikin crawled out from the tree, but Perri was already on his feet. "Let me do the honors," he said, disappearing.
Finnikin waited, thinking of all the things he had to tell her. That perhaps he was the resurdus of Seranonna's prophecy, the one to break the spell at the main gate. And that she, Evanjalin, was the light of his sometimes very dark heart who would lead him.
Then he heard the crunch of footsteps and she was there and he opened his coat and wrapped her inside, holding her tight until the beat of their hearts slowed to the same pace and her lips were against the base of his throat. When he stepped back, he could see that she was wild-eyed and exhausted.
"Back to the tree," Perri ordered.
Lucian made room for them as they squashed in together. The Mont took off his cap and gently placed it on Evanjalin's head.
She stared at him for a moment, and Finnikin saw her shudder. He sat her in the crook of his body, keeping her warm.
"I watched the barracks from a distance last night and through today and tonight," she whispered. "There's a courtyard with three men guarding it. One dog tied up. High walls. The rest of the men are sleeping inside the barracks. I believe that's where they are keeping Froi."
"What happened, Evanjalin? How was he caught?" Trevanion asked.
"We both were," she said, her voice small. "We'd just arrived, and were walking through the woods early yesterday evening. We crossed the river to catch some food, and the Charynites found us. It was clear that they were going to kill us, for no other reason than we were Lumateran. I heard them say so, but I didn't let on." She stared up at them, shaking her head with anguish. "I told Froi I would make up some lie to create a diversion, and in the confusion, he was to run and not stop running. I ordered him. His bond was to me. To listen to every word I said." She began to shiver again, and Finnikin held her closer to him.
"And he looked at me and told me... told me that people with magic need to live. He told me he was dispensable. He speaks our language like an idiot," she spat out through her tears, "yet he knows the word dispensable. He still had my ruby ring, and before I could stop him, he was shouting out that he was the heir, Balthazar."
"But they would have known he was too young," Perri said.
"Everything happened too quickly. Froi waved the ruby ring in the air and yelled, 'Run! Run!' and then, 'Balthazar, Balthazar, Balthazar,' repeating that he was Balthazar, heir to the throne of Lumatere."
Finnikin felt Lucian flinch each time his dead cousin's name was spoken.
"So I ran and hid in a ditch until it was safe to climb a tree. And I watched them. Today the soldiers went out, and when they returned, they threw punches at each other and kicked the poor dog. Repeatedly."
"That's why they rounded up the exiles," Lucian murmured. "They would have known the boy was lying and probably suspected that the true heir was with the exiles on the river."
Evanjalin turned at the sound of Lucian's voice. "I told you the Monts were here," she said to Finnikin.
"No, you didn't," Finnikin accused gently. "You just pointed and said, 'I'm going east.'"
Lucian stared at her. "Definitely a Mont. Yata and my father will be distraught that we did leave one behind."
Evanjalin reached over and took Lucian's hand in hers. "Yata," she said in a trembling voice.
Finnikin watched as Lucian kept ahold of her hand, and then the Mont's fingers traveled up her arm and Finnikin saw him shudder. "Lucian!" he warned gruffly.
Lucian sighed, not letting go. "My father and Yata will be very angry when they see what you have done, Evanjalin. To have cut yourself to bleed and walk the sleep."
Finnikin could not make out his father's and Perri's reactions, but he felt deep shame as he reached over to reveal the horrific scars that not even the pale light of the moon could hide.
"You humble me, Evanjalin," Perri muttered, and then he was on his feet. "Let's go get our boy."
They made their way to the tree where Evanjalin had spent the night and day hiding.
"Stay," Perri said, disappearing up into its branches.
Trevanion took charge. "Perri and I go over the wall. Finn and Lucian, you climb the tree and cover us. The moment you see that Froi is safe, shoot anything that moves. The moment he's outside the walls of the courtyard, you run at the speed of the gods. Evanjalin, you stay here on the ground." She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her. "You stay here on the ground."
Perri dropped quietly in front of them.
"Three guards and one dog tied up?" Trevanion asked.
Perri shook his head. "It's not a dog," he said flatly, and then he and Trevanion were gone.
"Stay," Finnikin repeated to Evanjalin before he scrambled up the tree with Lucian and straddled a branch that gave him a good vantage point and room to move with his bow. He watched Perri and Trevanion scale the wall of the barracks, glance down for a moment, and then disappear over the side. The courtyard was lit with oil lamps, which made it easy to see what was taking place within. Finnikin realized why Trevanion wanted Evanjalin to stay on the ground as soon as he saw the quick movement of a blade against the throat of the first soldier. So effortless. So cold in its execution. Soldiers kill, he reminded himself. It's what they are trained to do. He wondered what was going through his father's and Perri's minds. Was it satisfaction? Did it soothe their blood or make them sick to the stomach?
"Three down. Too easy," Lucian whispered. "Perri is untying the boy she mistook for a dog. Why is your father going inside the barracks?"
Because his father was a soldier, Finnikin thought, and his blood ran hot with the need to avenge every one of their exiles who had died by the sword.
"Don't ask questions. The moment Perri's out with Froi, jump and take Evanjalin. I'll cover the barracks until Trevanion's out."
"That's not what they said," Lucian hissed. "The moment Perri's out with the boy, we both run. I don't go without you."
<
br /> Finnikin kept his aim on the entrance of the barracks. "Would you follow their orders if Saro was in there?"
Lucian muttered a curse, and they watched as Perri lifted Froi in his arms and raced to the gates.
"They're out!" Lucian began scrambling down the tree. With relief, Finnikin saw his father emerge from the entrance. Whatever Trevanion had done, it had been silent, for nobody followed.
Finnikin waited for his father to leave the courtyard. Waited... waited... waited...and then Trevanion was out and Finnikin climbed down, leaping from the last branch to the ground, and fell at Evanjalin's feet. The three of them grabbed at each other and sprinted through the woods. They were barely aware of Perri's approach, and then Trevanion was upon them and they ran, their boots pounding the earth, their blood pounding in their brains, needing to breathe, needing to get to the river with Froi in their arms and Evanjalin between them. To take them home.
When they had crossed to the Osterian side of the river, they stopped for a moment.
"Sagrami," Perri cursed, dropping to his knees with Froi still in his arms. Finnikin watched Lucian flinch when he saw what the soldiers had done to Froi's face.
"My father has alerted the Osterian soldiers, so I doubt the Charynites will cross, but I know a place to stop and rest before we get to the foothills," Lucian said.
They followed the Mont through the cluster of trees. As Finnikin had suspected, he knew his territory and navigated easily through the wooded gully. Before long, he stopped at an overhanging rock and they crawled underneath it.
"Froi, speak," Evanjalin said firmly.
He seemed to croak. His face was a mass of bruises, and blood was caked around his nose and mouth and ears.
"You never do anything stupid like that again," she whispered with fury. "You could have been killed, you idiot boy. It's part of your bond that I give instructions, not you."
Froi mumbled, and Perri leaned closer to listen. "That's very rude, Froi. And quite impossible for her to do with a bond."
Finnikin and Lucian laughed in relief. Trevanion reached out to Evanjalin and pressed something into her hand. She stared at it for a long while before looking up at him. The ring.
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