Finnikin of the Rock (38 page)

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of the goddess complete. The same Lord who had left his people behind in Lumatere without a second thought all these years, Finnikin thought bitterly.

"If the goddess wills that I am to enter the kingdom of the gods and not Lumatere this day, I appoint Sir Kristopher of the Flatlands as my successor to lead my people. In turn, Sir Topher, you are to appoint a leader for each province. My uncle is to govern the Mont people, and Lord August, the Flatlands. But those who are to govern the Rock and the Forest and the River will be chosen with the consideration of our people who have lived within the walls of Lumatere these past ten years."

More muttering and this time Finnikin glared at the perpetrators.

"Sir Ambassador, upon our taking back Lumatere, you will send word to the king and queen of every kingdom of Skuldenore. Tell them that the impostor rules no more and that any nation who chooses not to recognize Lumatere as a sovereignty led by either myself or my successor will be our enemy.

"You are to ensure Sarnak is notified that no access will be given to our river if they do not bring to justice those responsible for the slaughter of our people on their southern border two years ago. Advise them that I am witness to the massacre that took place. Also ensure it is made clear to the rest of the land that the kingdom of Lumatere recognizes the original inhabitants of Yutlind Sud, and honors the southern king's right to the throne in the south and the current king's right to the throne in the north." She turned to the priest-king. "Blessed Barakah, in time, and with the collaboration of both the worshippers of Lagrami and Sagrami, the goddess is to be worshipped complete."

There was silence when she finished speaking, and Finnikin saw her look to Sir Topher for approval. The queen's First Man stood and held out his hand to help her to her feet.

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"May the blessing of the one goddess be with you all," she said quietly, before turning to Finnikin. "I am ready."

"Should the queen not be dressed... more appropriately?" Lady Milla sniffed.

Isaboe looked down at the shift given to her by her
yata.

"At her coronation, the queen will be dressed appropriately," Finnikin bit out. "Today, we might approach things from a more practical point of view, Lady Milla. Unless you would like to take her place at the gate and the queen can dress in silks and relax in her tent?"

There were more mutterings between the dukes and duchesses about "impudence." Lady Abian gave them a withering look, but Lord Artor spoke up.

"If the queen enters Lumatere dressed --"

"The queen enters Lumatere dressed as she is!" Sir Topher said firmly. "There will be no more discussion about the queen's dress."

Isaboe gripped Finnikin's hand as they left the tent. "Do I not look like a queen?" she asked in a distressed whisper. "Is that what people are saying?"

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "They are saying you look like a goddess."

"It's time," Trevanion said.

Moss and Perri waited outside. "We've only got as far as the moat. A fierce force holds us back. As it always has," Moss informed them.

"All the way around?" Trevanion asked.

"At every border," Perri said.

Trevanion looked toward the tempest and then at Finnikin. "I will see you on the other side of the main gate," he said. "Do what you have to do, and I will see you within the walls where you will fight by my side. Do you hear me?"

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Finnikin nodded, still gripping the queen's hand. Her face was pale, and her fear so potent that he felt nausea rise up in his throat.

"Perri will accompany you as far as he can," Trevanion said, gently cupping Isaboe's chin. There was a tsking sound from one of the duchesses, and Finnikin bit his tongue to not lash out at her.

"Tell them to move away, Sir Topher," Finnikin said. "They're upsetting the queen."

Accompanied by the Guard, Finnikin and the queen walked toward the tempest, where Lucian and Froi stood waiting. The queen quickly hugged her cousin and then stared at Froi. Finnikin could see the tears of anger in the boy's eyes.

"He had the better plan," Froi said, pointing at Finnikin. "Second Lumatere. No blood curses or spells or not knowing whever you live or die. We can stay here. People like it in the Valley. I heard them say. They just want you here wif them."

"Half her people are inside, Froi," Lucian said quietly. "And this is not a way to live."

Froi turned to Trevanion and Perri. "I'll never do anover evil fing if we stay here. Never. I will do anyfing you want. How can you let them do this, Captain? It's Finnikin and Evanjalin. I fort you loved him more than anyfing."

Trevanion did not respond. His face was pinched and unreadable.

The queen took Froi's hand and slipped something into it. He stared down before slowly opening his fingers. The ruby ring.

"It's worth everything, Froi. Priceless. Whether I return or not, it belongs to you for the rest of your life. Not because you deserve it, for I do not know how to measure the worth of one so young and I will never forget what you tried to do to me in that loft in Sorel. But when I look at it, I think of how loved I was by

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the owner of this ring, and by my mother and my precious sisters and my beloved brother. You asked me once what my magic was. That is my magic."

Froi held the ring miserably in his hand, clutching his body as if in pain.

Finnikin looked at his father one last time. Then he took the queen's hand and walked up to the main gate accompanied by Perri, until the guard was stopped by a force that pushed him back. He watched the queen turn around. The Guard sat on their horses, swords ready. Behind them an army of exiles held bows trained toward the kingdom walls. In the distance he saw Sir Topher and the queen's
yata.

They took a step together, and suddenly Finnikin felt the path to the main gate beneath his feet.

On the grassy knoll, Trevanion stood with his men, holding his breath. And then the queen and Finnikin disappeared beyond the tempest and suddenly there was a gasp in unison across the Valley of Tranquillity.

"Sagrami,"
Perri said in wonder. "We're going home."

Finnikin stared at the gate in front of them. At the intricate beauty of the inscriptions around the edges, written in the language of the ancients. When he turned, the queen took a step back, trembling.

"I should be brave like the gods," she said quietly.

He held out his hand. "Each time the gods have whispered your name to me, their voices have trembled."

Her eyes were fixed on the gate. "We would sneak out each night because I wanted to see the unicorn."

Finnikin remembered the lies they would tell Isaboe, of the unicorn in the forest that would appear only to a princess.

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"How did you get past my father's guard at this gate?"

"One morning Balthazar and I were playing in the garden, along that narrow stretch where the walls of the kingdom and the outer walls of the palace merge into one. Balthazar decided we would scrape our names on one of the stones of the wall so that one day another young prince or princess might know that Balthazar and Isaboe had lived there. As we carved our names, we found that a stone in the wall had become dislodged. Perhaps it happened during the tremor of years before. For months after, deep in the night, we would sneak out of the palace through the cook's chamber and crawl through the wall into the forest." She looked at him with sorrow. "Because I wanted to see the unicorn. And all that time the enemy was watching us and that's how they came into my home and slaughtered my family. Because I wanted to see the unicorn."

"No," he said gently. "Balthazar wanted to trap the silver wolf. It's all we spoke about."

He held both hands out to her, to fulfill the words of the curse. She took his hands and he heaved against the gate, hoping it might miraculously fall open. Nothing.

"The blood on your hands that night? Do you remember where it came from?" he asked.

"Here and here," she said, touching her knuckles and palms. "From knocking at the ..."

They both realized at the same moment and he took one of her hands and led her along the wall, his fingers tracing any mark. And then he saw them. So tiny and faded with years. The bloody imprint of Isaboe's hand.

She slowly reached out and measured her hand over the imprint, her palm against the cold stone. With shaking hands he removed his knife from its scabbard.

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"I'm going to have to cut you here," he said, kissing her palm gently. "Did the blood come from any other wound?"

She shook her head. "I had little blood on me until I returned to bury Balthazar. What kind of a person leaves behind their beloved brother to be mauled by an animal?"

"A smart one, my queen."

She took his face in her hands. "Do you know what Balthazar's last words were? Find Finnikin of the Rock. He'll know what to do. But I couldn't find you, Finnikin. For so long I couldn't find you."

He wiped her tears tenderly. "When it begins, don't look away from me. Keep your eyes fixed on mine. Remember my face when you lie between neither here nor there. Let it be your guide to come back from wherever the goddess chooses to take us."

She nodded. "Let me hear you say my name," she said softly.

"Isaboe." He whispered it, his mouth close to hers. "Isaboe."

"Do not despair in the darkness, Finnikin. It will be my despair you sense, but I have never allowed it to overtake me, so do not let yourself be consumed."

As gently as he could, he pressed the tip of his dagger across both her palms and then his.

"Tell me about the farm," she pleaded as drops of blood began to appear on her hands.

"The farm?"

"The farm that Finnikin the peasant would have lived on with his bride."

"Evanjalin. That was her name. Did I mention that?"

She laughed through a sob. "No, you didn't."

"They would plant rows upon rows of wheat and barley, and

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each night they would sit under the stars to admire what they owned. Oh, and they would argue. She believes the money made would be better spent on a horse, and he believes they need a new barn. But then later they would forget all their anger and he would hold her fiercely and never let her go."

"And he'd place marigolds in her hair?" she asked.

He clasped her hands against his and watched her blood seep through the lines of his skin. "And he would love her until the day he died," he said. He placed his other bloody hand against those imprinted for eternity on the kingdom walls.

They had never spoken about what would happen at this point. Whether the gate would open and Lumatere would be revealed. If the darkness would disappear in front of their eyes and the bluest of skies welcome them home. But Finnikin only had a moment for such imaginings before the ground began to shake beneath their feet, and the tempest became one with him, its murky cloud entering his body. Polluting him. And so he heard every cry of those who had lost their lives during the five days of the unspeakable and those slaughtered in Sarnak and those who died in the camps. And he walked every one of the sleeps the novice Evanjalin had taken. Not just of the innocent, but of their enemies within the gates: the assassins, the rapists, and the torturers. Until her memories shattered the fragments of his mind, filled it with rage, and when he thought he could bear it no longer, she was there. He felt her. Inside him. Soaking up his darkness until it consumed her and she fell at his feet.

And then the earth stopped moving and the gate lay open and he heard the war cries from the Guard as their horses pounded past him. But Lumatere was already awash with flames. The silence Finnikin had imagined from within was a roar that blasted his senses as he stumbled with her in his arms into a blazing hell.

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***

CHaPteR 25

Finnikin staggered away from the road that led to the palace, carrying the queen toward the bridge that would take them to a meadow in the Flatlands. He needed to lay her down so he could breathe life back into her. He needed to rid himself of the murky images of horror that were now part of his own memory. But like the rest of Lumatere, the meadow was ablaze.

Falling to his knees, he clutched her, covering her body with his own. The thick smoke smothered and blinded him, and he sobbed with fury at the futility of dying in this meadow in their homeland. If he could have found words, he would have opened his mouth and roared his anger to the gods. His only consolation was that Isaboe was unable to see the ruins of her beloved kingdom, a kingdom that had soaked up too much of her family's blood. Cursed land, Sir Topher had once said. Cursed people.

His head spun as everything turned to white, and the emptiness was so soul-chilling that he almost prayed for the rot inside him to return. If this was death, where was the light he had been promised? Where was his mother, Bartolina of the Rock? From