Exile (45 page)

When Sorne returned to the palace, he found Nitzane with the queen. He closed the door to the solarium and explained the situation. Jaraile grasped the implications immediately.

‘Should we send Captain Halargon to escort the Wyrds to port?’

Sorne shook his head. ‘If the southern barons surrounded the Wyrds, Halargon and his men would be outnumbered. They’d have to stand aside or die to a man.’

She wrung her hands. ‘Cedon–’

‘Is safest if the Wyrds reach port before Eskarnor realises what’s happening.’ He held their eyes. ‘The fewer people who know, the better. Have you had a chance to speak with the king?’

‘He’s still sleeping,’ Jaraile said. ‘I’ll bring up the decree when he wakes. But the agreement is only good if we can back it up.’

Sorne nodded. He was beginning to think they had all underestimated Jaraile. She had been fifteen when she was forced to marry the king. In the last four years she’d been browbeaten, given birth to a crippled son, then a stillborn boy and then lost her father. That would make or break someone.

‘Eskarnor will try to discredit Nitzane. The king...’ The king needed to be seen about the port, or else people would think he was fading; but he needed to be sheltered from Eskarnor. Were these two up to the challenge? ‘Make sure Charald’s manservant doesn’t treat him. Bidern claims arsenic is medicinal, but I don’t see how it can be both a poison and a medicine.’ Sorne handed Jaraile his pouch of soothing powders. ‘Use these if the king gets overwrought. Go to High Priest Faryx for political advice and Commander Halargon for military advice.’

‘Why? Where will you be?’ Nitzane asked.

‘I’m searching for my sister.’ It was an eleven-day journey by wagon to Restoration Retreat. He was going by fast horse, but he worried he would not make it back before the Wyrds left port. ‘I have to go.’

Before he left the palace, Sorne visited the captain of the king’s guard, filled him in on his suspicions and asked him to send a contingent of guards to man the barricade at the Wyrd wharf.

Then he packed lightly. He didn’t have much. There was his mother’s torc. The only other thing of value was the Wyrd reports, and Igotzon had the originals, so he burned his copies. Lastly, he strapped on his sword.

R
ONNYN SLUNG THE
canvas bag of preserved food over his shoulders and adjusted the straps, then waited for Aravelle. Through the half-open front door, he could see their parents sitting close together, watching the little ones build forts in the sand. Light sparkled on the bay, and Itania’s laughter rang like a bell. Tamaron was four years old today and there would be treats for dinner tonight.

What with their workload, they hadn’t restocked the hide for ages. Originally a simple overhang, their father had used a winch and pulley to move large rocks to form a wall, packed the gaps, moved soil onto the top, then planted bushes until you could not tell that it was there, tucked into the hillside behind a thick screen of bushes.

His mother’s voice echoed in his head.
If the Mieren come.
Run. Hide. Don’t come out, no matter what, until it’s safe.

‘Ready?’ Ronnyn asked.

Aravelle nodded and they headed out the back door, past the chicken pen, past the goats.

They walked fast until they were out of sight of the cottage, then they slowed. They saw stink-badger tracks, then found a place where the ground was churned up.

‘Wild dog tracks.’ Ronnyn pointed. ‘Looks like the dog pack cornered some stink-badgers. Wish I could have seen it.’

‘I’m glad I didn’t.’ Aravelle shuddered. She’d been very quiet.

That was all they said until they came to the creek bed. Usually there were several crossings, but the rains had made the water rise and they had to search for a safe place to ford the creek.

He could remember when the creek crossing had been a big obstacle, when the jump from rock to rock had been a challenge. Now he managed it easily.

Reaching the far side, he landed on the shore, feet sinking into the cool, damp sand, and turned to help Aravelle. Independent as always, she brushed his hands aside and jumped. But the river stone that had been secure under his foot shifted under hers, and she lost her balance.

He caught her, pulling her to him.

She brushed off his helping hands as though it was his fault the river stone had shifted. He wished. He was a noet, and not a good one.

‘Why are you always grumpy with me, Vella?’

She looked up at him and shoved him. Hard.

Ronnyn wasn’t expecting it and he went down, falling on one hip in the wet sand.

With a laugh, Aravelle took off up the creek bank. He watched her feet flashing, the curve of her calf muscles tensing with the effort, the length of her long legs disappearing under her smock.

Challenge fired him. Scrambling to his feet, he ran after her, all his concentration focused on catching her and making her pay. Before he’d gone a stone’s throw, he realised he could catch her without trouble.

To make it more fun, he almost grabbed her twice, letting her get away. She was fast and slippery, but she was no match for him. Her hair came undone, flying behind her. He drove her, letting her keep one step ahead of him, all the way up the hill, until they reached the hide.

She tried to slam the hidden door on him, but he thrust it open, charging in after her, driving her up against the far wall, pressing her to the stone.

And there in the semi-dark everything changed.

Maybe it was the wild excitement of the run, maybe it was just the right time, but he felt his gift slam into him, felt it ride him then roll over her, washing around her like waves on the rocks.

It was enough for him to sense her excitement, her restlessness and that part of her which was eager for his gift. It would be so easy to...

She slipped out from under his arm, darting towards the door that stood ajar. Before she’d gone two steps, he caught her arm.

She resisted, shutting his gift out completely.

He felt the moment it happened and it infuriated him. Wordlessly, he pressed against her defences.

She held firm. More than that, she pushed back.

When she tried to pull free of his hand, he anticipated and shifted his grip. This caused the muscles in his bad arm to bite and jerk, pain shot down into his hand but he held on. He held on because he wanted her to acknowledge...

‘Ronnyn?’ Her voice held fear.

Fear?

It shocked him. He’d never hurt her. Never.

Taking advantage of his surprise, she slipped free. Silently, she backed up, rubbing her wrist as if to erase his touch.

He watched, fighting the urge to go after her.

His stillness seemed to reassure her; after a moment, she became all businesslike. She wedged the door open. With the sunlight streaming in, she knelt and took off her bag, then went through the food chest, restocking the hide.

A crockery container of pickles had cracked open, probably when he slammed her up against the wall. Shame made his face burn.

It was a while before he trusted himself to join her, and she didn’t ask him why he wasn’t helping. When he did kneel beside her, they were both careful not to touch and neither spoke.

So, they weren’t going to talk about it. That suited him.

He put his share of the preserves in place and removed the old ones. Some would still be good to eat. Some would be fed to the goats.

Once that was done, he was suddenly very tired.

She closed the chest and barred it, so that even if dogs or stink-badgers broke into the hide, they wouldn’t get into the food. Then she stood, hands on her hips. ‘There’s still the water barrel.’

She was right. They had to bring up fresh water from the creek, but he was utterly exhausted. ‘We’ll take turns with the bucket. You go first.’

‘Fine. But you’ll have to help me empty the stale water.’

He struggled to his feet. Together they rolled the water barrel until it was positioned near the crevice at the back of the hide, and then she opened the spigot. He could hear the water trickling away. The sound echoed oddly in his head.

When he turned around, she was heading out the door with the bucket.

He went over to the bedding and undid one of the bedrolls. It was almost too much effort to unroll it. A mist of exhaustion settled on his mind. He’d be all right if he could just close his eyes for a moment. As he lay down, the air went out of him in a long sigh and he let his awareness go with it.

Something nudged his back.

‘Wake up. It’s time to go.’

He sat up. Where...

It all came back to him. By the angle of the sun, it was late.

Aravelle slung her pack over her shoulders. She must have filled the water barrel on her own.

‘You should have woken me.’

‘Oh, believe me, I tried.’

He came to his knees and rolled up the bedding, tying it closed. ‘You should have tried harder.’

‘You think I wanted to bring all those buckets of water up here on my own?’

‘I’m sorry–’

‘Let’s go. I’m tired and hungry, and Ma will be wondering what took us so long.’

When he straightened up, he discovered his muscles were strangely achy. After collecting his pack, he turned around, only to find she’d already left.

He closed the door to the hide and slid the bolt home, then let the bushes settle into place. When he stepped back to check, it was impossible to see the entrance.

No sign of Aravelle.

‘Hey, wait up,’ he called. Going a few steps along the path, he glimpsed her between the pines. She was already halfway down the hillside. ‘Wait for me.’

She didn’t answer or, if she did, he didn’t hear. He hurried after her.

‘Slow down, Vella. Don’t be mad. I’m sorry I fell asleep.’

She stopped and turned back to him. Her hair was restrained in a no-nonsense plait. ‘I’m not mad at you because you fell asleep.’

He swallowed.

She turned and walked off.

He should apologise, but what if she asked him to promise never to use his gift on her again? What if she threatened to tell their parents?

He ran after her. ‘You can’t tell Ma and Da.’

She spun around to face him so suddenly he nearly ran into her. ‘You must tell them, or I will.’

The thought of tearing their family apart shattered him. ‘I’ll leave.’

Her chin trembled but, after a moment, she nodded.

He was devastated. Her quiet agreement was worse than if she’d berated him. ‘I’ll go in the spring, when the winter storms are over and it’s easier to travel. We can have this one last winter together.’

She nodded quickly again, tears in her eyes.

T
OBAZIM WALKED
I
ONNYN
and Haromyr to the barricade. They each carried a copy of the same message, signed by himself and Ardonyx, then sealed with the print of their sixth fingers.

As he wished them both a fast and safe journey, the rain eased off and the sun came out, reflecting in the puddles. If he was superstitious he would have seen it as a good omen. Above him a seagull cawed.

The adepts passed a wagon coming towards the wharf as they rode off.

‘More of our people?’ Athlyn asked. ‘Wait, isn’t that the uniform of the king’s guard?’

The wagon stopped outside the barricade and six men climbed down. They wore the uniform and they were armed, but they could hardly walk.

Their leader, a grizzled veteran, limped up to Tobazim and introduced himself as Captain Vetus of the king’s palace guard.

Tobazim looked him up and down. ‘What happened to you?’

‘We failed to prevent the kidnapping of Prince Cedon. We’ve been in the king’s dungeon since spring.’

‘And now you’ve been sent to protect us?’

He nodded. ‘As punishment.’

Tobazim shook his head. He beckoned a Malaunje. ‘See that these Mieren are given a decent meal.’

‘We can’t eat filthy Wyrd food,’ one of them muttered.

‘Shut up, Yano,’ Captain Vetus snapped. ‘If we don’t eat, we’ll be too weak to fight. All of you, go wait over there.’

The others shuffled off, sinking to sit with their backs against the warehouse as if that was all that was keeping them upright. The disgraced captain of the king’s guard hesitated, then he inclined his head in a shallow bow. It was the closest thing Tobazim had seen to civility from one of the Mieren.

Eryx called him away, and when Tobazim next checked on the king’s guard they were busy cleaning up plates of beans and lamb with flat bread.

Vetus seemed to have some sense of honour. Tobazim was hopeful that the king’s guard would do their job. He had thought it would be enough for the port Mieren to see the king’s colours on the barricade.

But if what Sorne said was true, the king’s colours would not protect them from Charald’s enemies.

Chapter Thirty-Three

‘W
HAT’S NEXT
?’ S
AFFAZI
asked.

To keep her choice-daughter out of mischief, Egrayne had suggested she become Imoshen’s assistant as they prepared for exile. Imoshen didn’t mind; Saffazi was quick to learn, if a little impatient.

‘Vittoryxe is setting her birds free. And here comes Frayvia with Uma.’ Imoshen waved. ‘It’ll be a pretty sight, seeing the birds fly off.’

As they met at the door to the scriptorium, Umaleni reached out for Imoshen.

‘Come to your mama, dearheart.’ Imoshen swept her daughter into her embrace, delighting in the warmth of her soft skin.

‘Do we have to do this?’ Frayvia whispered.

‘It would have been rude to refuse. They are Vittoryxe’s prize birds. I spent years helping her breed them, so she wants me there when she releases them.’

‘They were reared in captivity,’ Saffazi said. ‘They’ll die out in the wild.’

Imoshen nodded. ‘But they’ll experience freedom before they die. It’s symbolic.’

With Umaleni in her arms, Imoshen led the others through the empty chamber. It had been hard to choose only the most useful texts to take. The rest would be hidden in the crypts.

As Imoshen passed the alcove where Saffazi had nearly gotten herself and Iraayel killed, her step slowed.