“Uros doesn’t make mistakes, Dora. His plan is flawless—the mistakes happen because of us.”
A boy standing beside me mustered his courage to say, “How?”
An impromptu discussion followed, and Gideon answered their questions patiently and respectfully, making sure everyone felt valued. He had no difficulty expressing his thoughts and looked far more at ease in the snow than he had at the podium.
Eventually sensing his little congregation’s restlessness returning, Gideon gave them his blessing to go to the pond. They all approached it differently, some crawling or sitting, while others boldly strode out as if they wore skates. Some kept their balance; others, not so much.
He and I walked together, keeping an eye on them but also separating ourselves enough to speak quietly. “You’re good with them. You teach them about faith much better than you do adults.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment.”
“You understand how to get through to them.” A boy came up to me, begging help to retie his scarf. I knelt down, using the opportunity to reflect on Gideon’s manner. When the boy left, I remarked, “Actually, I think you can get through to anyone. That would have made a fine lesson for adults too.”
“It was incredibly simplified,” Gideon countered, clearly taken aback.
“So? I’ll wager those kids learned more just now than they ever have in any hours-long service. And I bet the same would be true for half the town if they’d heard what you just said. You’re always saying you joined the Heirs because you were searching for a purer, more direct way to connect to Uros. That seemed pretty direct.”
“Oh, Tamsin. I know you mean well. But I didn’t give up my old life, come all the way to Grashond, and study the finer points of philosophy and theology just so I could deliver ten-minute lectures outside.” We stopped near the forest’s edge, giving us a good vantage on the playing children. As engaged as he was with me, he constantly kept an eye on them, and his genuine concern for them touched me. Satisfied they were okay, he continued: “Have I ever told you what really drove me here?”
“You said you were disillusioned in Osfro.”
He leaned against a tree, his gaze fixed on the plains beyond the children—or maybe he was seeing the past. “Yes, but my change of heart didn’t just happen out of the blue. I don’t like to talk about it much because it’s embarrassing. I go on and on about people who are self-absorbed and obsessed with their own pleasures, but the thing is, I was one of them. I spent my parents’ money on gaudy clothes and other nonsense. I went out to a different party every night, drinking myself silly. There were women that I—” The familiar blush filled his cheeks. “That’s not really something to be discussed in front of a proper young lady. Long story short, I woke up one morning in the backyard of some house I didn’t know, sick and dirty, with no money and no memory of the previous night. I’m not sure how I dragged myself home, but I passed out again when I got there. I was in and out of consciousness for a week, and when I finally stayed lucid, I learned I’d nearly died from a fever I caught sleeping outside. And that’s when I knew I had to change.”
I reached for his hand, well aware there’d be all sorts of fallout if someone saw the gesture. But I couldn’t help it, not when the anguish of his past burned so fervidly in his eyes. It always seemed appropriate that his dazzling good looks were paired with a serene and affable attitude, so it was surprising that this raw moment almost enhanced his handsomeness. It made him real.
“Thank you for telling me that, Gideon—for trusting me enough to tell me that. I know how hard it is to talk about the darker parts of our pasts.”
Gideon lowered his eyes to our hands, studying them before he answered. “Then you can see why I’ve worked so hard to fight through worldly distractions and immerse myself in the study of Uros—and why I need to get others to understand it too.”
“I do see that. But I don’t see what’s so wrong with sharing your message in a way that’s easier to grasp—even if, yes, it’s simplified. If you really want them to understand, do the means matter?”
His pensiveness shifted back to amusement, brightening the mood around us. “You see, this is why I need you, Tamsin. Not that I fully agree with that line of thinking yet. But I love that you do think about it. You know how to get through to people, and we could do amazing things to fulfill my dream.”
“You’re giving me too much credit. Again.” Neither of us had spoken of his tacit proposal until now, largely because Vanessa had overshadowed it. “And anyway, it’s impossible.”
“What if it isn’t?” He squeezed my hand and took a step closer. “What if—”
His words were swallowed by a roar from the woods. It was our only warning before four men wrapped in brightly colored plaid came charging out on horseback. Two held guns, and two carried blades. All had blue paint streaked over their faces. They were riding toward a cluster of children, weapons aimed straight ahead. I wrenched my hand from Gideon’s and tore off, diving in front of the kids as the riders skidded to a halt in the snow. Stumbling, I regained my balance and motioned the children even further behind me. Some screamed or whimpered. A few exclaimed, “Icori! Icori!”
Icori? Yes, I supposed these men did look like the Icori in my textbooks, even down to the wild way their red and blond hair had been teased to stand up. But it took me a moment to make the connection, because for the last few weeks, my mental images of the Icori had been replaced by Orla and her friends in their plain, practical leather and wool traveling clothing.
The riders jumped off their horses and advanced on us, their weapons still poised and ready. I stayed where I was, making myself the first obstacle they’d meet. “What do you want?” I demanded.
“You—you don’t move, Osfridian girl,” one ordered, raising a dagger to my throat. His tartan shirt was ripped open at the front, exposing a chest also painted with blue woad. One of his companions began moving among the children scattered farther out, herding us together.
“Hold on now,” said Gideon. In my periphery, I saw him hurrying over to me. “There’s no need for hostilities. Our people are at peace—”
An Icori with red hair grabbed Gideon by the front of his coat and threw him down to the ground. “No!” I cried. I started to move toward him, but the blade stopped me.
More gasps and screams came from the children. Leering, the Icori man rested his booted foot on the side of Gideon’s face, pushing it into the snow. Raw fear poured through me, not for myself but for him and the children. My eyes scanned frantically around as I searched for a way to help.
“You have gold?” barked one of the men. “Give us gold.”
The man whose blade was on me added, “Give us gold, we no kill woman.”
“I . . . don’t . . . have any gold,” Gideon said. “But if you’ll let me stand, I’ll give you what I do have.”
His assailant backed off, and Gideon slowly rose. They watched warily as he reached in his pockets, but all he brought out was a handful of mixed silver and copper coins. The red-haired man snatched them. “More.”
“That’s all I’ve got,” said Gideon. “I swear by Uros.”
The Icori looked expectantly at me. “I don’t have any money at all. And neither do they,” I exclaimed, seeing one of the men eye the children.
“Is there something we can help you with?” asked Gideon. “Do you need food?”
The Icori exchanged glances. “Yes,” said one. “Give us food. Give us other precious things.”
Precious things? This lot apparently had no idea who they were robbing. The Heirs of Uros weren’t exactly the type to be walking around bedecked in silk and jewels. But at the Icori’s behest, we gathered up all of the children’s schoolbags and then waited under the watchful eye of a gun-wielding man as the other three ransacked the pile. Gideon took a step nearer me, angling himself protectively between me an
d our assailants.
The only food we had consisted of a few modest snacks sent by parents, and it was all immediately confiscated, as was anything of even meager value. A steel canteen. A bag with a brass buckle. A hornbook made of beautifully carved cherry wood. When they finished with the bags, the Icori examined our persons more closely. Objects made of fur—mufflers and hats—were taken, along with anything metal that was bigger than a button. Belt buckles, cloak pins.
Gideon and I made no moves to stop the Icori and continually assured the children that this would be over soon, that they only needed to be still and quiet, that no harm would come to us. This was undermined a bit by the Icori, who took a perverse delight in sneering and growling at the children.
“Please,” said Gideon, when the last child had been frisked. “You have everything now. Let us go. These are innocent children, and we just want peace.”
The Icori who’d first accosted me snorted. “Only coward want peace.”
But they did seem to be backing off. They readied their horses and bagged up the loot. A couple shivered and rubbed their arms. I dared to think this nightmare might be over, when one Icori noticed he’d missed a boy’s fur-lined coat.
“Take off, take off,” ordered the Icori. He towered over everyone and had a thick blond beard. The boy froze, his face turning as white as the snow at that booming voice. Snarling, the Icori grabbed the boy by the shoulders and shook him. A repeat of the demand only terrified the young victim more, and I thrust my way to them.
“Enough!” I shouted. “How can you expect the poor thing to do anything? You’re scaring him to death. Let me do it.”
The Icori glowered at me but waited as I bent down and swiftly unbuttoned the coat. “Nothing to be afraid of, Alan. Let’s just get this off so these gentlemen can be on their way.”
Rather than soothe, my words had an opposite effect. Alan started fighting me, tugging back on the coat. “No, no! My ma made this, and now she’s with the angels! They can’t have it!”
“Hush,” I said, seeing the big Icori preparing to intervene. “Your ma is in paradise and won’t mind. She’ll be proud of what a brave and selfless boy you are.”
“They can’t have it!”
My heart breaking, I finally wrestled the coat off him and handed it to the Icori man. As he started to turn around, Alan cried out, “You’ll burn in Ozhiel’s hell with all the other infidels! Eliziel will pass his judgment upon you, and all of your descendants will suffer until the end of the time!”
The Icori backhanded Alan in one smooth motion, sending the boy flying. The big man’s face was red with anger, his nostrils flaring. He stormed to where Alan had landed and reached forward. I inserted myself between them and pushed back on the Icori’s chest.
“Tamsin!” exclaimed Gideon. An Icori grabbed his arm as he tried to get to me.
“Let him go, he’s a boy!” I yelled. “You’ve got the coat and a pretty good haul. No need to drag this on.” The Icori’s eyes still burned with fury, and he didn’t budge. I yanked off my mittens. “Here—you missed these. How’s that for a prize? Now, take what you’ve got, and go home.”
He seized the mittens, running his fingers over the beadwork and silky material with approval. When he shoved them into his pocket, I thought the ordeal was finally over. But a few moments later, his gaze fell on Alan again, and the anger rekindled. This time, when the Icori advanced, I didn’t just block his way. I smacked him in the face as hard as I could, landing what was probably a weak blow, save that my nails had drawn blood on his cheek.
He dabbed at it disbelievingly, and a few of his comrades snickered. He wiped the blood on his pants and focused back on me. “Putce,” he hissed.
I started at the unexpected insult and then foolishly blurted out, “I’ve been called worse.”
His hand closed into a fist at the same time a series of shouts sounded in the distance. The Icori flinched and looked around.
At the top of the hill we’d sledded down, the dark shapes of several people appeared. I couldn’t make out any faces, but one called clearly, “Everything okay?”
Without a word, the Icori immediately retreated, securing their prizes and mounting their horses. They rode away and were long gone by the time our unexpected saviors from the Gray Gull’s crew reached us.
CHAPTER 16
I NEVER EXPECTED TO BE SO GRATEFUL TO SEE CAPTAIN Milford again. His crew had been living in a makeshift camp on the outskirts of Constancy and tasked with felling trees for a building project, but our paths never crossed. Although not forbidden, the crew was discouraged from spending too much time in town (unless they wanted to attend church services), and Constancy really wasn’t the sort of place sailors went to for recreation anyway.
But the townspeople were very interested in the sailors now. After we’d made it back to the square and recounted what had happened, the council called an emergency meeting that was open for all to attend. Word spread quickly, and the church soon filled with almost as many people as I’d seen at the service. All of my Glittering Court companions came, along with their hosting families, except for Vanessa, whom the Coles still ordered to stay home until her atonement.
“They were Icori all right,” Captain Milford said. The council had called him to stand by the podium and give his version of what had happened. “We were on our way to the valley to scout tomorrow’s job, and that’s when we saw them. All wild-eyed and vicious, dressed up in that crazy plaid of theirs. They were waving their weapons around, and I honestly don’t know what those poor children would have done if we hadn’t swooped in to save them.”
Sitting with Gideon on one of the congregation’s benches, I tried not to grimace. It was true the sailors’ arrival had spurred the Icori’s departure, and I was extremely grateful for that hasty resolution. But the captain and his crew hadn’t exactly done much in the way of swooping or saving, certainly not to the heroic extremes they described when testifying.
That detail was irrelevant, though. The real issue was assessing if Constancy was in danger or not. “They could be on the verge of a full-scale attack,” one councilman declared. He gestured for the captain to take a seat. “Every family must arm itself, and we need to get word to the fort to send soldiers.”
Another councilman treaded more cautiously. “I don’t trust them any more than you do, but one rogue group doesn’t mean an attack is coming. They just sound like thieves.”
But his counterpart insisted, “All Icori are thieves. This could’ve been a scouting party that saw the children and decided to take advantage of easy pickings.”
I shifted, trying to get comfortable, as they argued. Hunger gnawed at my belly, and I wished the benches had backs. People were continually arriving, and each time the door opened, a blast of cold air would roll over me. Once I’d given my own account of the events, there was nothing left for me to do but wait quietly and listen. Town policy and defense were male domains, and while plenty of women had turned out tonight, they weren’t expected to ask questions or offer suggestions.
I didn’t have much in the way of suggestions, but I was certainly beginning to build a mental list of questions as time went on. The assault at the pond still seemed surreal. At times, the emotions I’d felt during that terrifying episode would slam into me with full force and clarity. I’d start to sweat, and my pulse would race. Other times, I remembered the events in a manner so detached, it was as though it had happened to someone else instead of me—like it was just a story I was hearing or reading. And in those cooler moments, something about the whole encounter felt . . . off. But I couldn’t quite grasp how. After all, it had been straightforward, hadn’t it? We’d been robbed by men who looked exactly like what our books said Icori looked like. But that was what bothered me—because they hadn’t looked at all like the Icori I’d actually met.
Off to the church’s far side, the children who’d gone sledd
ing sat on the floor. They hadn’t testified, but the council wanted them on hand in case any questions arose. They looked even more tired than I felt as they huddled against the wall, and anxiety still filled most of their faces. I wished they could be allowed to go home and be comforted by parents.
“They should at least get dinner,” I muttered.
Gideon tilted his head toward me. “Hmm?”
I nodded toward the children and whispered back, “I’m sure they’re starving.”
He studied them for several seconds and then, with murmured apologies to those sitting near us, slipped out of the row of benches. He approached a matronly woman standing near the children and said something into her ear. She nodded and left the church, returning ten minutes later with a basket of bread that she distributed to the grateful little recipients.
When Gideon sat beside me again, I flashed him a smile that he answered in kind. With the afternoon’s sudden and dramatic turn, memories of its nicer moments had been shoved aside. Now, my mind wandered back to how affectionate Gideon had been with the children. He’d been as considerate of their needs during their play as he was now with their dinner.
Growing up, I’d always known I was lucky to have a father like mine. Plenty of the men who’d lived near us loved their families dearly, but they’d left most child-rearing—especially the emotional aspects—to their wives. But my father, no matter what else might be happening in his world, stayed firmly involved with our lives and needs.
Gideon would be the same with his children, I realized. My focus for the last year had been on finding a husband wealthy enough to give Merry the life she deserved. So long as that was secure, I’d accepted that I might not marry for love. I didn’t need it and could be content in a household where my husband liked and respected me. But what about Merry? Was it enough for her to have a stepfather who liked and respected her? Was I making a critical mistake in not making a loving and nurturing stepfather as high a priority as medicine and education?
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