Oathbreaker

by Cara Witter

  Daniella’s heart broke for him. Gods, they were none of them going to escape this unscathed.

  “What we need to figure out,” Kenton said, “is how Erich found us in the first place.”

  They all looked at each other somberly, except for Nikaenor, who was still studying his shoes.

  “We’d barely been ashore a few hours,” Kenton said. “Erich knew we were coming to Ithale before we got onto a ship.” His eyes rested on Daniella, and she felt a familiar panic rising in her chest.

  “It wasn’t me,” she said. “I’m not communicating with my father, and if he could control me, he would never have let me escape—from Peldenar or from Ithale.”

  She could see the hesitation on Kenton’s face, and for once, he didn’t insist that she must be a traitor, simply because of what had been done to her against her will.

  “What about the rest of you?” he asked. “Some of you wrote home.” He eyed the others, who had all previously admitted to doing so.

  Jaeme shrugged. “I only write to my uncle, and Diamis has no foothold in Mortiche. My letters wouldn’t be intercepted—not between Pendarth and Grisham.”

  “I wrote to Reisa,” Perchaya said. “But I didn’t tell her we were coming to Foroclae, let alone Ithale. She couldn’t have known.”

  All eyes turned to Sayvil, who shrugged. “Quinn’s with the resistance. No way is he giving information to Diamis.”

  “Unless he’s a mole,” Kenton said.

  Daniella watched as Sayvil’s spine went straight as the hair on an angry cat. “I think I know my husband, and—”

  “And his letters might have been intercepted,” Perchaya cut in. She turned to Kenton. “Right?”

  “Right,” Kenton said. “That seems the most likely.” He glared around the room. “No more letters. Do you see what’s at stake?”

  “But you can’t prove it’s the letters at all,” Daniella said. “Can you?”

  Kenton glowered at her, then nodded almost imperceptibly. A grudging admission that, in fact, he couldn’t.

  “Maybe Lukos kept some of Nikaenor’s blood,” Sayvil said, folding her arms. “We can’t be sure he didn’t. They might have been watching us as we went from port to port, following us until we disembarked in Ithale.”

  Kenton shook his head. “They found us in Bothran. Lukos knew where we’d be before he got hold of Nikaenor’s blood.”

  That was true. Daniella remembered watching Lukos stalk the others down the street. As if he was there for Jaeme, Saara, and Nikaenor, not the rest of them.

  “But Sayvil arrived with us,” Daniella said. “What about Saara? Could he have someone spying on her somehow? She knew we were headed for Foroclae.”

  “But not Ithale, specifically,” Kenton said. “And who knew she was going to be in Bothran?”

  Nikaenor shook his head. “No one. At least I don’t think so.”

  “Other people knew about your curse, though,” Perchaya said to Nikaenor. “Could Diamis have gotten your blood before somehow, perhaps had a spy steal a handkerchief or a sliver you plucked?”

  Daniella shivered. The idea that someone might be watching them through so little blood made it impossible to know who the leak might be.

  “I don’t think he has Nikaenor’s blood,” Kenton said. “If he did, he could have killed us all by now.”

  “I don’t know,” Nikaenor said. “You may be overestimating my ability to kill things.”

  Jaeme snorted. “You seem to have done all right with the eels.”

  But Nikaenor did have a point. He’d attacked Jaeme and the others in Bothran, and he hadn’t been terribly effective at it, even in his fish form.

  “He has to be tracking one of us,” Kenton said.

  Jaeme turned steely eyes on Kenton. “Maybe it’s you.”

  Kenton dismissed the idea out of hand. “If he had my blood, we’d all be finished.”

  “Maybe,” Jaeme said. “But the same goes for any of us except for Daniella and Perchaya, since they can’t be controlled.” Then his brow furrowed. “Can you prove that ring prevents Perchaya from being watched? We know that Diamis has her blood, and maybe that ring only protects her from—”

  “It isn’t Perchaya,” Kenton said, as if his very word on the subject could make it so.

  Perchaya cleared her throat, glancing nervously around at all of them. “I think our conclusion is we have no idea who it is,” she said. “So we all need to be extra careful. No more letter writing. Myself included.” She looked pleadingly at Jaeme, who Daniella had to admit was the least likely to comply. “We’re headed to Grisham anyway. You’ll see your uncle soon enough.”

  Jaeme shrugged. “He already knows we’re coming, and Diamis’ soldiers can’t follow us there, even if my letters were somehow intercepted.” He still glared at Kenton, and Daniella reached over to take his hand. Perchaya gave her a knowing smile.

  They certainly had a lot to talk about, once they got away from the others. And Daniella, for her part, couldn’t wait.

  Twenty-two

  Daniella sat next to Perchaya at the edge of a patch of lush green reeds growing out of a spring of fresh water. The group had already filled their water skins and drinking jugs, and the smoke from the fire where Nikaenor and Kenton were cooking wafted over with the subtle aroma of roasting tree snake.

  They were, however, well out of hearing range of the others, provided Jaeme hadn’t decided to sneak over to hear her gossip about him. Or ventured over to convince her to go on another of their “scouting trips” farther off from the rest of the group. The only person she thought they might be fooling with those was Nikaenor, but she wasn’t about to drop the pretense. Kenton glared at them enough when they left and returned, and, for some reason Daniella found unfathomable, so did Sayvil.

  “You and Jaeme still seem to be getting along rather well,” Perchaya said, sticking her toes into the water and sending ripples in all directions.

  Daniella smiled. She’d filled Perchaya in before they’d left Haidshir, but she still loved that she had a friend to talk to. She’d never had that with Erich—she’d certainly known better than to tell any details to Adiante.

  “We are,” Daniella said with a coy look. “Though what I wouldn’t give for some more time on a soft inn bed.”

  “Me, too,” Perchaya said. Her cheeks pinkened. “Not for the same reason!”

  Daniella elbowed her in the ribs. “I don’t know. I can think of a certain someone you might want to join you.”

  Perchaya waved a hand as if swatting a fly. “I gave up on that back in Tir Neren. He doesn’t see me that way. I’m more of a little sister he needs to protect.”

  “He seems to be paying more attention to you lately.”

  Perchaya shrugged. “He’s just worried, after what happened in Foroclae. I did start a revolt, and he wasn’t there to help. It’s guilt, nothing more.”

  Daniella had seen Kenton watching Perchaya in that quiet, brooding way of his. He’d always done that, but since Haidshir it seemed to be happening more often. But she didn’t want to give Perchaya false hope. And she certainly didn’t wish Kenton on her.

  Footsteps tromped through the reeds, and Daniella looked up to see Sayvil pausing by a nearby tree and scraping at the bark with a dagger. No doubt the bark had medicinal properties, or else it would be useful as a seasoning.

  “Join us,” Perchaya called. “You could use a rest.”

  Sayvil glanced over at them. “The bark from this tree will fetch a fair price at the next town we pass. But don’t let me interrupt.”

  “Quite the opposite, actually,” Daniella said. “I wanted a moment to talk to you away from the others. Do you have any impis leaf? Or do you think you can find some?” Daniella hadn’t been thinking much of pregnancy back in Haidshir, or she would have bought a stash there. Jaeme hadn’t brought
it up, so Daniella gathered that he hadn’t yet thought of it either. Still, their future—all of their futures—were too uncertain to involve . . . complications.

  Sayvil gave Daniella a sour look.

  “I know, I know,” Daniella said. “You don’t have a bag of endless remedies. But—”

  “Impis leaf grows in Andronim,” Sayvil said. “And northern Sevairn. It produces in summer but doesn’t survive without a hard frost, so you won’t find any in these parts.” She went back to scraping the bark of the tree, as if that ended the discussion.

  “Okay,” Daniella said. “Is there anything local that would—”

  “I’m not an expert,” Sayvil snapped.

  “Don’t be modest,” Perchaya said. “You know more about—”

  “I mean I’m not an expert in preventing maternity,” Sayvil said, her tone no less sharp. “I’ve never had a use for it, myself.”

  “But you’re married,” Daniella said. And while Sayvil was nearly two decades older than she, that was still technically within childbearing age. “Surely you don’t want to get pregnant every time you—” Perchaya nudged Daniella, but she realized what she was saying too late. That wasn’t what Sayvil had meant at all.

  “It wasn’t a risk for me,” Sayvil said, her words more terse now than angry. “Quinn and I tried for years, but we could never have children.” She rolled her eyes, though she seemed to be doing so more at the canopy of green leaves above them than at Daniella. “And before you mention it, yes, Arkista is the goddess of fertility. And yes, that is ironic. And cruel. And not something I want to discuss further, thank you.”

  Sayvil bustled off again, finding trees to scrape farther off.

  Daniella cringed, feeling foolish and guilty all at once. “I didn’t think—”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Perchaya said. “She’d never mentioned that before. Though I suppose we might have assumed. I knew she and Quinn didn’t have children, and they’ve been married a long time.”

  Daniella, for her part, had never thought about it. She wasn’t accustomed to associating with people who had children. She wasn’t accustomed to associating with anyone.

  Sayvil had no sooner disappeared from sight than the reeds rustled on the far side of the pool, and Jaeme appeared, peeking through the cattails. “Ah,” he said. “I thought I heard voices.”

  “The question,” Perchaya said, “is how long you were listening before you decided to announce yourself.”

  Jaeme shrugged. “Don’t be ridiculous. I only interest myself in gossip when it’s about me.”

  Daniella smiled. If he was going to make a habit of eavesdropping when she talked about him, she’d have to begin embellishing. She was sure she could think of any number of tidbits to embarrass him. She’d certainly read enough in the old tales about crabnasties and warts.

  Jaeme settled himself on the roots of a fallen tree, watching them. Perchaya pulled her legs immediately from the water and began to dry her feet on the bottom of her dress. “I’m going to go check on Kenton,” she said, then scurried away.

  “Was it something I said?” Jaeme asked, giving Daniella a playful glance.

  “She might really want to find Kenton,” Daniella said. “Gods know she barely leaves his side.”

  “I’ve noticed. Not to ask you to betray her confidence, but it’s obvious where her affections lie.”

  Daniella nodded. “Do you think they’re reciprocated?”

  Jaeme shrugged his good shoulder. “In as much as Kenton has feelings.”

  “Ha,” Daniella said. “Yes, I was just thinking I didn’t much want to encourage her. She’s so kind and he’s so . . .”

  “Kenton?” Jaeme offered.

  Daniella nodded emphatically. “Precisely.”

  “Well,” Jaeme said, looking around, “I saw Sayvil headed this way, but we do seem to be quite alone at the moment.”

  Daniella gave him a knowing glance, trying to decide if the others were far enough away for her to suggest a shared bath in the spring without a repeat of Sayvil’s interruption at the inn in Haidshir.

  “I did come with a purpose,” Jaeme said. “And it may not be what you think.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? Do tell.”

  “Kenton was asking how we’re going to present you in Grisham,” Jaeme said. “He wants you to take an assumed name and possibly dye your hair.”

  Daniella flopped backward, the reeds parting and forming a rest for her head. “Dear gods, will he never give up his crusade against my hair?”

  Jaeme laughed. “Someone might recognize you anyway. Surely you’ve been at state dinners with members of the Mortichean nobility, and with the tournament, there will be plenty of those to go around.” He plucked a small stone from the ground, rolling it around in his fingers.

  Daniella nodded. The thought of seeing a true Mortichean tournament was thrilling. With everything that had happened in Ithale, she’d forgotten about it entirely. Jaeme had been so excited to make it back for the event—one of the few things on this journey she’d seen him have any enthusiasm for, besides herself.

  Jaeme cleared his throat. “I was thinking,” he said, “that you might be introduced as yourself. As my paramour.”

  Daniella’s breath caught. She wasn’t fool enough to believe that a declaration of love had meant that they were together in any kind of official capacity. Jaeme was going to be a duke, for the gods’ sakes. And things being what they were between their nations—

  “Or courtee if you’d rather,” Jaeme added quickly. “Though that would drastically underestimate my feelings for you.”

  It did carry the same weight with it. The idea that they were a couple, committed enough to be public about it, with the possible eventual intention of engagement. One, however, implied more actual feelings rather than political purposes. “I like paramour,” Daniella said. “You just surprised me, that’s all. Are you sure your uncle would accept it?”

  A look of nervousness crossed Jaeme’s face that made Daniella certain that he wasn’t. But Jaeme nodded insistently. “I’m sure my uncle will be thrilled.”

  Daniella was certain that was a gross overstatement, but she still liked it better than hiding again or dyeing her hair, vain as that might be. “I’ll say I’m defecting to the resistance, to the cause of Mortiche. It’s not a lie. That’s exactly what I’ve done. No one has to know exactly what kind of resistance mission we’re running.”

  Jaeme nodded, though he still looked anxious, absently forming the stone into a flat disc.

  “Do you think we’ll have trouble from the other dukes?” Daniella asked.

  “No, I think they’ll all see the inherent advantage to them in the situation.” He paused. “Not that that’s why—”

  “No, of course not,” Daniella said. She could hardly worry that he was presenting her for advantage after all they’d been through.

  What they both needed was a moment to relax. She patted the ground beside her. “Want to join me?” she asked.

  Jaeme smiled that lopsided smile at her. “Thought you’d never ask,” he said, dropping the newly flattened stone into the water with a little plunk and stepping over the spring to settle in beside her.

  And Daniella found she was completely tired of talking.

  Twenty-three

  Jaeme had led his companions up the road toward Grisham for the better part of four days when the surrounding woods began to look familiar to him. He’d made the journey back and forth to Haidshir before, of course, but he’d grown up stomping through the woods around the capital, riding Horse One and Horse Two through the brush, swiping at tree branches and, yes, pretending to hunt the great woltrechts of the north.

  They’d taken the road slower than necessary, owing to their many and varied injuries. But the swelling in Kenton’s face was finally reduced—t
hough his cheekbone was still mottled with fading bruising—and Jaeme’s arm might have felt normal if he’d been babying it more, as Sayvil suggested.

  Not that he had any regrets about that.

  Jaeme picked up the pace as they passed the place where the great oak that used to tower over the road had split in two. One half still leaned into the forest, partly supported by the trunks of stouter trees, while the half that had straddled the road had taken the town woodsmen a good week to chop and haul off completely.

  Less than a quarter mile, and the castle should come into view. He glanced over his shoulder at the others who trailed along behind him—Kenton next, followed by Sayvil and Nikaenor, and then Perchaya and Daniella bringing up the rear, and from the look of it, probably talking about him.

  Another thing he didn’t mind in the slightest.

  “No, really,” Nikeanor was saying. “You can direct the light of the moon. That’s much more useful than turning into a fish.”

  Sayvil rolled her eyes. “I’m a glorified lantern. Your power can at least save your life, in the right circumstances.”

  “I recall several times your glorified lantern has saved our hides,” Kenton said.

  Sayvil and Nikaenor ignored him. “You burned the Nichtees,” Nikaenor said.

  “Yes,” Sayvil said. “So I exterminate pests, but only those who are afraid of the light. I’m sure that will come in handy ever again.”

  Nikaenor grumbled. “At least you don’t suddenly start glowing every time you get wet.”

  Perchaya spoke up from behind them. “You two know the powers are supposed to be a sign and a miracle, don’t you? They aren’t meant to turn you into godlike beings.”

  Kenton snorted. “Would it have hurt for the gods to have done both?”

  Nikaenor and Sayvil mumbled their agreement, and Jaeme had to admit that he was on Kenton’s side with this one.

  As he always did on his way home to Grisham, Jaeme spotted the castle on its hill long before he could make out the city spreading beneath it. The wide towers of his home stood out in sharp relief above the tree line. His ancestors had built the castle there because its location on the hill with the ridge on either side made it defensible; no one could storm the castle without scaling the city wall, wading through the city of Grisham, and fighting uphill while taking fire from the ramparts. But Jaeme was sure they hadn’t missed the more commonplace purpose. The castle was visible for miles around, a monument to Grisham’s strength and power. Jaeme wasn’t proud of his knighthood, but he did take pride in his home—his father’s home. Now his uncle’s home.