Ember

by Anna Holmes

  She starts for the door, and Caelin very nearly takes my arm from its socket. I take her point this time, and we fall in behind Jori just in time for the door to shut behind us. She stalks down the ramp. Her stride suggests she’s been here often. She slows and turns her head, her chin resting on her shoulder. I freeze. Does she see us?

  Her eyes never meet mine, and in the end, she tosses her head to face forward and continues on. After a few moments, so do we. I still feel wobbly, although I can't tell if that's from the swaying of the ramp, the threat of being found out, seeing Jori again, or having watched those conversations.

  We make it back down to the ground without incident, until my leg decides that it no longer wants to hold me. I lose my footing, but worse, the toe of my boot scuffles against the dirt, sending a rock scattering away. Caelin falls directly on top of me, having sacrificed her own balance to keep her grip on my hand. Jori whirls.

  She steps forward in our direction. Caelin fumbles at her side for the hilt of her sword, and I fight the urge to squeeze my eyes shut and wish this wasn’t happening. Jori inches closer still. The dust from her boots is beginning to collect in my eyes. I have only a moment to think and a moment more to tell Caelin, Keep your focus. I'm letting go. I hope the connection is strong enough to carry on without my hand now.

  I feel her panic, attempt to clamp down on my hand, but slippery seafolk hands are good for something. I manage to roll her off of me just before I let go and make myself visible again. Jori's mouth twitches up in amusement as I struggle back to my feet. "I should have known," she says.

  I search for Caelin out of the corner of my eye. I see nothing, and my shoulders relax. "Jori, what are you doing?"

  "Giving you the second chance you're too weak to take," she spits back in a voice barely audible.

  "I don't want it."

  "Then why are you here?"

  "The Wanderers mistook me for someone."

  "So did I. Funny, I thought I saw a prince, but it seems you're willing enough to stay a slave."

  "Did they send you here?" I ask, folding my arms against the cold. The rain will start soon. It hardly bothers me, but it will make travel slow going if it keeps up, and we’re liable to run into Jori again. That I do mind. "You made it back to Rosalia after all, didn't you. Did they send you to collect me?"

  She only smiles that same little smile. "Classified, love." She turns and begins away, the wind picking up and playing with the hems of her skirts about her legs. "I'm not finished with you, Alain. You wanted to be a prince, and I'm going to make you act it."

  I reach out to the ramp for support and call after her, "I think you may be the mad one." I hate how my voice shakes.

  She stops and laughs, turning to glance at me over her shoulder. Once, this fleeting look was enough to stop me in my tracks, make me think that the only thing worth devoting my thoughts to was her. Now it's as though she's barricaded herself into those thoughts and is daring me to get her out. "Am I, then?"

  "I'm reasonably sure."

  "I'll see you on the hill." She makes her exit.

  She'd never pass up the opportunity to be the one to walk away. She wouldn't let me escape. Not even when I thought her dead. Now that I've decided to put her out of my mind, she's made it so that I can't.

  Thankfully, there's something else in there. I spin on my heel, looking around. Caelin is still hidden. Once Jori is well out of earshot, I whisper, "Are you still here?"

  "Alain," Caelin answers from somewhere near my side, panic evident in the rise of the last syllable of my name. "It won't go away."

  "It's all right. Where are you?"

  "It was supposed to go away when you let go," she says, keeping her voice quiet but not at all calm.

  It would be a lie to say I fully understand why that worked. I had a feeling in the brief seconds before I let go that it might, so I just…did it. The easy explanation is that the princess is a magician after all, but that is clearly not the case. "I need you to take my hand again."

  "Then you shouldn't have let go!"

  "She was going to find one or both of us, and I'd rather it have been just me." I reach out in the direction I think she is, though come away only with handfuls of air. "It's only a spell."

  "Spells like this are not supposed to work on me."

  "Apparently they do if you help cast them. Come on." A bell rings somewhere, and the few people milling around retreat indoors. I don't know what for; dinner should not be for a good few hours, if Rye keeps to the Legion schedule. I hold out my hands again. "You'll be fine. Come here."

  "I don't know magic," she mumbles. At last, I feel her fingers brush mine.

  "That doesn't mean there isn't any in you."

  "Well, how do I turn it off?"

  "If nothing else, I'll just go to sleep. You're fine." I can't help the smallest bit of a smile, and in response, I get jabbed in my ribs again. "What was that for?"

  "It isn't funny," she growls.

  "It is, a bit."

  "When your family's reputation is based on your imperviousness to will spells, you'll forgive me for being a little bothered when something goes wrong."

  "It’s not wrong. It's just unusual. I think whatever protects you must be magic based."

  "Alain," she says seriously, the tremors gone, replaced by something deadly. "Promise me you'll never use another spell like this on me."

  I realize for the first time in my acquaintance with her that she’s really, completely frightened. I close my fingers around her hands—surprisingly small, for how well she swings a sword. "I told you. You've nothing to fear from me."

  I know.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Caelin

  I become visible again, thank gods.

  The relief I feel at it being gone doesn’t quite cancel how odd the leaving feels—like something is evaporating from my skin. Alain explains that the spell he uses to change my features around is different from the one that made me feel as though my existence was slipping away, and I nod listlessly as we wander back. I can tell. One makes my hair and skin less shiny. The other makes me disappear.

  As we walk, the crumpled paper I swiped from Rye’s desk seems to sit more and more unnaturally heavy in my pocket. "Come to my quarters," I tell him under my breath as we near the ramp up to them. "I have something you need to see."

  He dips his angular chin down once, and keeps his focus on the ground. This means he doesn't see Gavroth coming. I am about to warn him when he's knocked into by one of Gavroth's meaty shoulders. I reach out and steady him with a hand to the crux of his arm before I think about what that looks like to a Legion official. Gavroth seems neither to notice nor care. "Hope you're satisfied," he spits.

  "Begging your pardon?" Alain says.

  "You've ordered us to our deaths, you royal pig."

  Alain doesn't even blink. He looks Gavroth square in the face. "On my honor, you will not die."

  "What honor?" He asks, giving him another shove. "You disgraced us in front of everyone."

  "I did what needed doing. This is not the sort of disgrace that can hide in private." He peers up at him, dark eyebrows raised. "The hatred you bear for the Rebels will cripple you. Trust me on that one, friend." He pulls his arm from my grasp, not tenderly, but not roughly, either. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

  I give a brisk nod. Gavroth turns his baleful, desperate eyes on me, and I stare back and tell him, "You'd best make preparations."

  I honestly hope he'll take his brother and run. What sort of uncle sends his nephew, still a child, into a nest of slavers? But Gavroth is too stubborn, too bound by his will—the one thing more massive than he. "There's nothing left," he shouts. "What does the Legion want to take this time? And what more can we give the Rebels? Must I surrender my life now, too?"

  "You won't," says Alain.

  "You're a worse liar than I thought," he returns, brushing past us toward the camp entrance. He pushes his way through the guards and out onto the open road agai
n.

  Alain stands for a moment and sighs. "His prince must have had a difficult time with him."

  "Can you blame him?" I ask, my voice quiet. "If that were my uncle…"

  He nods, rubbing at his head. "I only hope he's not off to take it out on anyone."

  I don't want to think about that, but Gavroth’s fists were already clenched. All too easy to use them. We start off again, this time only silence between us. "We could leave," I say once we've reached the ramp up to my quarters.

  "That would arouse suspicion."

  "Alain, I think it would…"

  "I won't have him fearing for his life and then take the chance for bravery away from him." He shakes his head, pausing in front of my door. "His uncle will only punish him."

  "You know it's not your fault for reporting his behavior."

  "No. Rye must have been looking for an excuse already."

  "We could grab him and leave now," I suggest. "Us, the prisoner, August. That seems optimal, doesn’t it?"

  "C—" he stops himself. "Lieutenant," he begins again, his voice measured. "I don't know what this is all about, but we'll leave in the morning, and that's—" I give him a bit of a shove into the room, slam the door shut behind us, and thrust the paper into his hand. He unballs it, and finishes in bewilderment, "Final."

  "That's why we need to leave."

  Tressa looks up from where she was leaned over, putting to rights the cot I upended. In fact, she's cleaned up most of the mess I made, scooped it into a neat pile of rage-smashed kindling in the corner. "What is it?"

  Alain crumples the paper again, and the edges go up in flame. He holds onto it until the paper is nothing but ash, then flings it away. He turns his back to me and doesn’t answer. His good leg bounces as it does when the gears start moving in his head. Tressa looks expectantly from him to me to him, and he still doesn’t answer, so I do. "Captain Rye already wrote the report on Alain’s death."

  "So he's an optimist," Tressa muses with a smile. It falls quickly when my expression doesn't waver. "I take it you know something I don't."

  Alain begins to pace now. "That was singularly disturbing," he says.

  "The captain either has an active imagination, or he has plans," I translate.

  Tressa straightens up all the way, one of her softly pointed ears twitching. "I don't understand. They've all been so thrilled about him showing up and now they want to kill him?"

  Alain shakes his head, and stumbles. Tressa catches him this time, and I glare at him. "Will you stop walking around on it?" I say.

  "I think better in motion," he answers me, his mind obviously elsewhere. "From what I gathered from his conversation with…"

  "Your apparently crazed former sweetheart."

  He nods in concession. "He likely made up a prince to keep his little town in line. I'm a highly inconvenient reality if he wants to keep control."

  "But that's a little farfetched, isn't it?" Tressa cuts in. "What was he planning to do when none showed up?"

  "Keep lying, probably. He seems the sort to make it up as he goes along. The Legion is full to bursting with men like him." His thumb traces the edge of his lower lip. "The hierarchy is everything when it's useful to them. My guess is that he was planning to keep this place running indefinitely, taking more people in until…"

  "Counterrevolution," I estimate.

  "So we take him prisoner," Tressa suggests.

  Alain moves to shake his head, but I beat him to the negative. "With that, he'll only be a symbol for his people," I explain. "We'll give him time to announce our deaths, and then come back for him. This time, with my guard."

  "Then he looks a fool or a liar. I understand." She looks over at Alain. "So when do we leave?"

  I clear my throat. "He isn't actually the prince, you know."

  "All due respect, your—Caelin, but he knows how they think." She cocks her head. "I think he's the one to answer this question."

  "And you trust him suddenly?"

  She laughs, a short burst from her chest. "Huh. Guess so."

  He flashes her a hint of a smile, which fades about as quickly as it came. "I don't know," he says. "If we take off now with that paper gone, I think he's bound to suspect something."

  "What if we don't tell him?" Tressa posits, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "How long until dinner?"

  "Three or so hours. But there are guards posted."

  "I saw them." She grins, and I begin to wonder what she's been thinking about all this time we've been gone. "Leave them to me. If you would be so kind? I can't exactly reach my ankles."

  He bends down and removes the cuff from her foreleg and hands it to her. She gives him a small salute, beams one last time, and kicks down the door. Alain lets out the smallest bit of a laugh. "Best go round up the troops," he says. "I'll get the horses."

  I step outside just in time to see Tressa tear through the camp, flinging the inhibitor aside and snorting and stomping furiously. It is a thing of beauty. Navigator rears in alarm as she passes. I dash in the direction from which Gavroth came. Sure enough, August, Cole, and Fiora sit on the circle of stones tucked in the very back of the glen, chatting as though their deaths haven't been foretold. Gavroth hasn’t told them. "Quickly," I shout. "The centaur's making a break for it!"

  They look at each other, and I can feel their hesitance. I sigh. "Rye has signed your death warrants, and Gavroth's wandering around on his own. Come with me."

  They look at each other for a second longer, then scramble to their feet and chase after me. Alain has Maribelle and Navigator unfastened, and I hop up. Alain struggles up, and off we go.

  In the entryway clearing, Tressa already has two of the guards subdued, splayed facedown in the piles of leaves, and is tossing the last aside.

  She spreads her arms and dips her head, taking her bow. "Shall we?"

  "Are they…?" August asks, face worried.

  "They'll be fine," Cole says, checking the guard nearest him. "Where'd you get the sleepwart?"

  "Off some Legion I took in for indiscriminately shooting into a village," Tressa says lightly. "I figure they can repay their debt by helping us make off."

  "So you are working together," Fiora says, frowning.

  "Not the time," I answer, spurring Navigator forward. To Alain, I yell, "Ride ahead. Tressa, go with him. We'll catch up."

  Fiora's eyes darken. "What are you doing?"

  "Saving your sorry selves. Now are you going to take the help or aren't you?"

  August starts running, and Cole's not far behind. Fiora takes the longest to get moving, but I won't wait for her. Navigator's ready to go, and so am I.

  I spur him on and cast a glance over my shoulder, and beyond the stragglers, the light-dappled road is clear. No one gives chase. I don't know if I'm surprised or not. Tressa's rampage did not draw many spectators, despite its gloriousness, and part of me thinks that was deliberate. I call down to Cole. "What was that bell?"

  "Captain called an assembly," he grunts. "We were told not to come."

  So that's why they got up so readily. "Does that happen often?"

  "No."

  Ahead, I see a cloud of dust. Maribelle and Tressa must have slowed. When it settles, I see a hint of red. Gavroth must have been on his way back. I hold to my position in the rear, but I hurry the others forward. August runs to Gavroth, and Gavroth acquiesces with a quick embrace. August peers up anxiously at his brother. "The Lieutenant says Uncle ordered us killed."

  "Did she now," Gavroth says, eyes fixed on me.

  "I'd have papers to prove it," I say, "but the prince got a little angry. They may be a pile of ash on the floor somewhere in the barracks."

  Alain pulls a face. "That'll do, Lieutenant."

  "You were there," Gavroth posits.

  I tilt my head to the side. "Does he threaten all of his family members with death or just you?"

  "We're just lucky, I suppose."

  "Well, it's your lucky day, then," Alain says. "I release you
from my service."

  Gavroth, formerly busy with straightening August's collar, looks up. "What?"

  "You're free to go. I'd suggest refraining from calling attention to yourselves by starting fights with random passersby."

  "I don’t—"

  "A thank you will suffice."

  What follows is stunned silence, but Alain just smiles graciously and gestures to us. Tressa and I begin to move on. "Wait," Gavroth calls. Alain turns Maribelle around. "Can you still use us?"

  Alain catches my eye. I cock my head, a warning. Finally, a chance to leave this troublesome lot behind, and he's questioning? He nods, and I clench my fingers around Navigator's reins to keep from punching the false prince.

  With that, we gain a following. Again.

  "You're not pleased with me," Alain guesses. Tressa's moved to the back to keep an eye on our new old friends.

  "No, I'm bloody not," I say through my teeth, casting a glance over my shoulder to make sure we're not being heard. "We could have been rid of them."

  "And where else are they going to go? They'll get some brilliant idea like I did, and then what? They're smarter and more dangerous than I am."

  "I think not."

  "Well, they're certainly better at punching," he amends. " And there are four of them. They could be some use at the colony."

  This I can't deny. "The second this goes badly for us—" I start.

  "I'll make them think they had too much to drink. It'll be fine."

  "Your confidence."

  "Is this because I made a decision without you?"

  "No."

  "Come on, then. Let's have it. You got used to being the princess."

  "Well, no one will let me at home," I say, hating how pouty my voice sounds right now. "Not anymore, anyway."

  "I agree that the ruling of the nation is entirely up to you. However, you'll have to give me some credit."

  "For inviting potential murderers along? Yes, you're the diplomat Elyssia's been waiting for all these years."

  He knows he's gotten to me. He just smiles and pushes Maribelle forward a little. Give the boy a title, and suddenly he’s more comfortable poking at my nerves than ever. His back is a little straighter, his smile easier, the harsh angles of his face softer. He catches me looking and lifts an eyebrow. I think I liked it better when he turned blue. Navigator’s keen to catch up, but I hold him back. I'm too tired for all this, and I'm running out of time.