by Lucy Hounsom
‘Play with your rebellion,’ the dark-haired woman said. ‘When we meet again, it will be for the last time.’ She swung the cloak around her shoulders and was gone.
‘I wish they’d never invented those,’ Taske murmured.
38
Samaya, Acre
Hagdon
The storm was easing, wind dying to a fitful breeze. Without it, the stench of the slaughtered rose up around them. Blood had collected in a fallen shield, its lip of beaten metal holding the liquid like a grisly cup. Hagdon gazed at it a moment longer before looking up. ‘Drop your weapons,’ he said to the surviving Sartyans, corralled amidst the ranks of the Republic. How strange to think of them as Sartyans and not as his men. Their eyes moved from the dragon to the Starborn and they complied. Kyndra was certainly striking, Hagdon thought, clad in a robe that wasn’t quite smoke and wasn’t quite water, her every tattoo aglow.
His eyes returned to the emperor’s body. There was a buzzing in his ears – perhaps it was the others speaking, or the sound of his thoughts fighting to escape. Sartya’s ruler looked small in death. Everyone did. But he’d imagined the Davaratch would be different. This was the man he’d built his life around, whom he’d pledged to protect. In the end, he was just another corpse at Hagdon’s feet.
He turned, walked away; he had to put some distance between himself and the life he had taken. His throat felt tight, a knot of words he could never say.
‘Hagdon –’ a voice began.
‘Give him a moment,’ someone else said and Hagdon wanted to laugh. As if he needed a moment to come to terms with the death of his nephew’s killer. As if a moment could ever be enough.
He didn’t know how long he’d been staring into the featureless dusk before a question roused him. ‘What will you do now?’
It was a woman’s voice. For a wild, hopeless second, he thought it was Paasa, his sister. Instead, Irilin stood there. There was blood in her pale hair, staining her cheek. ‘You’re hurt,’ he said.
‘I’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for you. I came to thank you. Besides,’ she added, gesturing at him, ‘you look a lot worse.’
She was right. Gore coated his armour, matted the feathers of his cloak. Some of the blood was his and a dozen new wounds smarted impatiently, awaiting attention. ‘I don’t know how to heal,’ Irilin said, ‘or I’d offer.’
Hagdon was glad she didn’t; he still carried the deep-seated suspicion of aberrations common to all Sartyans. Just one of the opinions he’d probably have to revise, he thought, in the days to come.
‘What will you do now?’ Irilin asked again.
Hagdon glanced at the remaining soldiers of the Republic. ‘Take up Taske’s offer, I suppose. Someone needs to put Acre back together.’ But the truth was he had nothing left. No ruler to serve, no army to lead, no family to protect.
‘I’m sure Kyndra would welcome your help.’
There was an edge to her voice that Hagdon couldn’t decipher. ‘And what of you?’ he said.
Irilin was silent for a few moments. ‘I lost a friend to Acre. I’m afraid I’ll lose another.’ She paused, met his eyes. ‘He’s on his way to a place called Ben-haugr.’
‘I know of it,’ Hagdon said tightly. ‘It’s not somewhere I’d venture, had I a choice.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s a ruin, a hill of the dead. That’s what Ben-haugr translates to in old Acrean. There is a … power there that keeps others away.’ He could tell by the hardening of her face that his warning would go unheeded.
‘It’s Gareth’s only hope,’ Irilin said. ‘I can’t lose him as well.’
‘I will talk to Taske. If our road leads north, perhaps we may accompany you.’
She frowned. ‘Why would you risk your Republic’s lives to help someone you don’t even know?’
‘Your friend is like you? A Wielder?’ When she nodded, he said, ‘Then his aid would be invaluable. Without the emperor, the Fist is the only power capable of holding Sartya together. If the army were to follow Iresonté …’ Hagdon folded his arms. ‘Kyndra’s alliance with the Republic is a powerful one – one I doubt Iresonté will challenge directly. Instead, she’ll work to divide our strength.’
‘How?’
‘There’s always Rairam.’ He watched her closely. ‘Are you saying Kyndra wouldn’t defend her homeland?’
Irilin shook her head. ‘If the Khronostians succeed, Iresonté won’t have an army to march into Rairam. Can’t she see that?’
‘Perhaps she underestimates the threat, or is blinded by her position. Once you’ve tasted power, it’s hard to let it go.’
He could feel her eyes on him, too sharp, too knowing, and he looked away. ‘In any case,’ he said, studying the night as it crept stealthily through the forest, ‘we need a plan to gather additional allies, a base to work from. Iresonté will spread news of the emperor’s death, she’ll rally Sartya against the Starborn, against me.’ The words wearied him; Acre was balanced on a knifepoint, poised to slip over the edge into chaos. ‘We will have to answer her.’
‘You will lead us?’ Irilin said, forcing Hagdon’s eyes back to hers. She regarded him narrowly, her face silvered by the sheen of the moon. It made her seem older, stranger, a creature from a world he knew nothing about.
‘I’m a murderer,’ he said, ‘and now an oathbreaker. Do Sartya’s enemies want such a man to lead them?’
Irilin said nothing, pale in the light of her magic. She looked sad and determined. Hagdon wished he had her confidence. He pulled off his gauntlet. Beneath the mail, his palm was red; blood had found a way inside and collected under his nails. After a moment, he held out his hand to her. ‘Might we start again?’
Standing in a field of corpses wasn’t the best prelude to friendship, but Irilin clasped his bloodied hand and shook it, her grip firm. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think we might.’
EPILOGUE
Brenwym, Rairam
The Starborn
Brenwym. It was as Jhren had said: after the Breaking, there was nothing left of her home. She barely recognized the familiar streets she’d played in as a child. Only the hills and the mountains and the river remained the same. Otherwise all was skeletal, a ghost town, the struts of burned-out houses pointing accusing fingers at the sky.
But the southern edge of town was a different story. There her people worked at the calm, steady pace of those well-used to labour. Fresh-sawn logs were stacked in piles near bundles of straw ready for thatching. Strangers walked among them, wearing the plaid tunics of the northern Dales and the bright shirts common in Dremaryn. They worked as diligently as the survivors of the Breaking, as if Brenwym were their home too.
Less than a wisp of starlight, Kyndra watched them. They must have been toiling through the summer, for some buildings were already complete and she could see figures moving about inside. Brenwym wouldn’t be as large as before and it certainly wouldn’t be the same, but it would be here. Once, she’d have felt comforted by the thought.
She summoned Raad, remounted, and rode through the town. Today the star’s power took the form of a great horse with eyes of shadow and sun. She kept a hold on Fas too, cloaking herself. So far, channelling three stars was her limit, though she knew Kierik had woven dozens simultaneously when he separated Rairam from Acre.
Finally, she found the two she was searching for. They wore heavy gloves and overalls smudged with dirt. Jarand was holding a plank steady while Reena sawed through it. The end thumped to the ground and Reena lowered the saw, wiping away sweat with her free hand.
Kyndra went closer; she wanted to see their faces. Making sure Fas concealed her, she came to rest a few steps from them, watching as Jarand handed Reena a mug. They were flushed with exertion, but they looked well, unchanged save for a weary cast to her mother’s eyes.
She wasn’t sure why she’d come here, following some instinct from the time she’d been only Kyndra. But that same instinct made her stretch out a transparent hand, no heavier
than light, leaving her fingers to hover inches from her mother’s cheek. For just a moment she kept them there, reaching.
A cloud blocked the sun and Kyndra let her hand fall. Reena shivered. She put her mug down on the workbench and looked around, her gaze passing right through Kyndra.
‘What is it?’ Jarand asked.
‘I …’ Reena’s eyes swept the smoke-stained cobbles of the town, the people labouring to rebuild it. ‘Nothing. I was thinking … I just thought it was her. Somehow I thought it was her.’
Jarand put down his own mug and went to enfold her in his arms. ‘Reena,’ he whispered and his words were near-stolen by the wind. ‘It won’t help, this constant searching, it will wear you out.’
‘I can’t help it,’ Reena said and tears slid down her cheeks. ‘I think of her all the time, every minute. Sometimes I think I’ll turn around and see her there. I don’t even know if she’s … if she’s alive or dead.’
‘Shhh,’ Jarand murmured, stroking her hair. He kissed her forehead, kissed a tear from her cheek. ‘She’s alive, of course she’s alive. She’s a smart girl, Reena. And she said she’d come back. She gave us her promise.’
‘What’s a promise?’ Reena spoke into Jarand’s shoulder, her voice choked. ‘She’s so young, never been away from home. There’s so much I should have said to her, that I wish I could say to her.’
Kyndra watched as her mother began to sob, her body shaking, tears soaking Jarand’s shirt. He held her, murmuring words too low to make out and stroking the red hair that tangled around her face. All it would take was a relaxing of will and Reena and Jarand would be able to see her.
But they wouldn’t see their daughter. They would see a Starborn, a sovereign being of power and ice. They wouldn’t recognize her. How then could she reveal herself, knowing it meant telling them that the daughter they loved was gone? Let them believe her alive and unchanged just a little longer.
We can only ever be who we are.
The Starborn drew a breath. She turned away, putting Brenwym at her back. Far to the west, beyond the curve of the world, the sun was rising in the Heartland.
