Gate to Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) (9 page)

And that scared her more than a dozen Qiph attackers.

Sara’s insides felt hollow. She was in danger of losing her head over Lance, the same way she’d been wildly infatuated with Julen as a girl. She made herself remember how stupid she’d been at fifteen, how she’d deafened herself when anyone tried to tell her that Julen’s rank wasn’t equal to hers, how she’d convinced herself that Julen’s flirtation was some grand, passionate love, how she’d sneaked into his rooms and thrown herself in his arms—only to find another lady naked in his bed.

Even then she hadn’t been truly chastened. Not until she’d led her family into disaster.

She could not go back to being that wild, selfish girl. Just the thought of being so out of control terrified her.

She had to nip this infatuation in the bud right now. No more flirtation, no more touching. As a seductress she was a failure anyway—when Lance kissed her she didn’t remember her own name, much less her complicated plan to pry information from him. Time to swallow her pride and leave the spying to Julen.

* * *

What in Loma’s name had just happened? Lance asked himself. Had he really just kissed a noblewoman? Had, in fact, just come within a hair of bedding one?

Unsettled, Lance checked on Marcus. The legionnaire’s breathing sounded regular, but his skin felt too cool and he was still unconscious. He needed to be warmed up. Lance hoisted the tall, lanky man in his arms with a grunt and started walking back to Sara.

No, not Sara. Lady Sarathena Remillus. And that was the problem right there, because Lance couldn’t think of her that way anymore. It had started on the bridge. Lance had felt a sense of connection to her when they’d stood together and looked down at the falls, and the feeling had grown when she’d helped him save first Felicia, then Marcus.

The truth slapped him in the face: no shallow noblewoman would have done what Sara had, endangering herself to save a legionnaire, much less a refetti.

He’d been furious with her for risking her life over a worthless rodent, but the instant she touched him all his anger had evaporated. Converted into desire.

And that kiss. Goddess, that kiss. His body still hummed from it. She’d clung to him as if she needed him more than food or air. In Kandrith, Lance was welcomed everywhere, because he wore the Brown. Being desired as a man struck a chord of answering need in him so deep he hadn’t even been aware of it.

What had she done to him? He was still trying to figure it out, when he lowered Marcus to the ground a few feet away from Sara.

“Is he alive?” she asked.

Her hair straggled over her shoulders, and mud stained her wet dress, but she still managed to look haughty. The passionate woman he’d kissed could have been a figment of his imagination and that shortened his temper.

“Yes. He’s just exhausted. He’ll be fine once I build a fire.”

He reached for a bit of kindling near her, and she drew back. His eyebrows rose.

“You can’t touch me again,” she said starkly.

“No?” Her words put his back up. “And why is that? You’ve been flirting with me since the moment we met.”

“It would be…inappropriate.” The stain of pink on her cheeks conflicted with the haughty lift of her chin.

“Why? Because you’re a noblewoman and I’m a former slave?” he asked. The Goddess knew it ought to be reason enough for him to keep away from her.

Something flickered in her eyes. “Yes. I must marry well, and my reputation will be ruined if it’s learned that I—that we—” She fumbled.

“That I dared lay my hands on you?” Genuine anger pulsed in his veins. “Just tell them I ravished you.”

Her brows drew together. “I would still be ruined.”

“Then I suppose you’d best hope I keep my mouth shut.” His disappointment in her made him cruel.

* * *

Shivers racked Sara; a fire seemed like an excellent idea. Lance didn’t seem to be in as bad a case, though his clothes were still wet and clung to his form. She marveled again at how big his shoulders were and soberly realized only that giant strength had saved her and Marcus from drowning.

“What are you staring at?” Lance asked irritably. “Watching to see if I use magic?”

Sara’s heart jolted. “Can you?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

He snorted and, in answer, removed flint and steel from his beltpurse. Sara swallowed back disappointment.

Apparently, she hadn’t been as subtle as she’d hoped this morning. He knew she sought knowledge of slave magic. He would be on guard against her after this. She’d failed in so many ways. For her father’s sake, for her brother’s, she prayed that Julen’s efforts bore more fruit.

She shivered again as the spark finally caught among the wood splinters. Lance fed the flame with bits of kindling, and soon it gave off a soft little glow. Sara hitched herself nearer, trying not to look pathetic, but she must have failed because Lance made an exasperated sound, then removed his vest and laid it over her shoulders.

She huddled under it, breathing in the smell of leather and Lance himself.

Lance sneezed, the sound unexpectedly loud.

Moments later a relieved voice hailed them, “Lady Sarathena? Bas’s Miracles, you’re alive.”

A rescue party had found them.

* * *

An argument roused Sara from her lethargy as she sat in front of a roaring fire wrapped in a blanket.

“I need to report to Lady Sarathena,” a man said. It was the mustached outrider to whom command of the outriders had fallen. If they had been on official legionnaire business, the man would probably have been a decurion.

Felicia stood in his way, looking fierce. “It can wait until morning. Can’t you see she’s half dead?”

Sara spoke up, mildly, “I’m not half dead. At most I’m three-eighths dead and probably more like a quarter.” Nobody laughed at her mathematical joke. Of course not—they’d lost three men in the attack and another, plus the coachman, had been badly wounded. “What is it?” Sara asked gently.

“My lady, we need to report the Qiph attack to the nearest garrison,” the decurion said.

“Yes, of course,” Sara nodded. “I wouldn’t have expected the Qiph to raid so far from their home.”

“Respectfully, my lady, this was no raid,” the decurion said grimly.

She tilted her head, silently asking him to explain.

“I’ve fought the Qiph before,” the decurion said simply. “I had a posting in southern Elysinia. The Qiph like to sweep down out of nowhere at dawn when the sun’s in a man’s eyes and surprise him. They grab all the plunder they can and ride off again. It’s not about conquering territory to them, it’s treasure and glory—something they can brag about around the campfire. That’s what happens on a raid. These Qiph should have retreated as soon as they lost the element of surprise. Instead, even outnumbered, they fought to the death.”

“They’re all dead?”

“Every last one, including their bloody priest, and priests usually don’t fight at all. Something has stirred them up,” he concluded.

An icy finger of fear touched Sara’s neck. If the attack hadn’t been a random raid, then it must be connected to the Favonius massacre. According to her father’s spy, the Qiph hadn’t arrived at the Favonius estate until after the deaths. Assuming the information was correct, what had driven the Qiph to cross the border both there and here?

“A message must be sent to my father as well as the nearest garrison,” Sara said. “He must be told what has happened.”

“Permit me to be of service, Lady Sarathena,” Julen volunteered.

Sara blinked. “No, let one of the legionnaires go.”

Julen persisted. “I can ride as fast as a legionnaire and your guard detail won’t be another man short.”

A good argument, but what he really meant was that he would be free to return to his life in Temborium. “Your services cannot be spared either,” she told him coldly. Unless— She felt a leap of hope, but Lance, Felicia and several legionnaires were all within earshot. “Let us speak in privacy.”

Julen raised an eyebrow, but obligingly walked with her twenty feet farther down the riverbank. The roar of the falls in the distance should keep their voices from carrying.

“Did you figure it out, the secret?” she asked urgently.

Julen stood silent a moment. “No. Not yet.”

Vez’s Malice. Sara closed her eyes in despair. “Then I cannot send you. Have you made any progress?” she asked hopefully.

“Hoping I’ll give you some hints?” Julen sneered.

Sara fought down a surge of impatience. “The situation has changed, surely you can see that?”

“Of course. Which is why it would be best if I returned to Temborium and—”

Sara cut him off with a wave of her hand. “No. You heard my father. A war with Qi is already a foregone conclusion. Today’s attack will not change that. And—” she took a deep breath, “—I need your help.”

Julen crossed his arms. “And what are you willing to do for that help?”

Sara had her answer ready. “Find the secret, and I swear to you that I’ll immediately send you back to the capital with a letter of lavish praise, urging that you be awarded a title and returned to your old post. My word as a Remillus.”

Julen opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He tapped his cheek in thought then nodded decisively. “I accept your terms, on the condition that I get all the credit no matter which of us discovers the truth first. And we pool our knowledge.”

Sara nodded.

“What have you found out?” Julen asked.

“Very little.” Sara paused to organize her thoughts. “I have yet to see Lance perform any magic. He prayed to Loma at the waterfall shrine, but left no offering.”

“What else? You spent two days cooped up in a carriage with him, you must have learned something else.” Julen sounded frustrated.

He’s strong and brave and his mustache is softer than it looks.
She couldn’t tell Julen any of that— Sara narrowed her eyes. “What progress have
you
made?”

“Very little.” Julen kicked at a stone. “The man has no vices. He doesn’t drink more than a cup of wine or ale in the evening. He sleeps alone. And he has no servants or slaves to bribe for information.” Julen lifted his gaze. “I thought you were doing rather better with him.

She shook her head. “He doesn’t like noblewomen.”

Julen let out his breath. “There will be other sources of information once we cross the border.”

“Yes.”

Neither of them mentioned how much harder it would be to get information back to the Primus once they entered Kandrith.

“Since we’re at a standstill, can you investigate the Qiph attack for me?” Briefly, Sara explained why the legionnaire thought it had not been a raid, adding, “The boy on the bridge called me Defiled. Do you know what he meant?”

Julen shook his head. “No, but I will endeavor to find out. If the attack was aimed at you, how did they discover your whereabouts?”

Sara hadn’t thought of that aspect. Her journey to Kandrith had been arranged swiftly in near secrecy. Her carriage had no special insignia that identified it as the property of the Primus, though she had used her own name at the Temples of Jut along the way.

Julen studied her. “You do realize the most obvious answer is that Lance told them? Your father suspected that Qi and Slaveland might be working together.”

Sara felt a stab of emotion—betrayal?—before logic reasserted itself. “It can’t be Lance. He saved my life on the bridge.”

Julen shrugged. “So perhaps the aims of his country do not perfectly coincide with Qi—the King of Slaves may want you as a hostage while the Qiph want to strike against the Republic by killing the Primus’s daughter. It doesn’t mean they aren’t allies. Remember, Lance also saved the Qiph boy from going over the falls.”

Lance
had
saved the Qiph. The reminder troubled Sara as they walked back to the makeshift camp.

They found most of the legionnaires in an excited knot around their captain. Marcus had woken up.

The outriders looked relieved and barely restrained themselves from thumping their captain on the back. They teased Marcus about how Diwo, the Goddess of Luck, must want him for a lover to have saved him. Marcus, Sara noted, looked rather uneasy about the prospect.

“What happened?” Sara asked him. “We saw the Qiph boy strike you.”

“Yes.” Marcus’s hand went to his bandaged chest. “I thought he had me too. I…suppose my leathers took most of the blow?” He made it a question. “I fell into the water, but managed to grab the rope. I held on as long as I could—”

“We couldn’t see you.” His decurion looked stricken. “We thought you were dead.”

“I should be.” Marcus shuddered. “Well. I went over the falls. The next thing I remember, you two,” he nodded at her and Lance, “were towing me to safety. A very dangerous thing to do, Lady Sarathena.”

“So I’ve been told.” She was
not
going to apologize.

Marcus must have seen the steel in her gaze because he said nothing more to her, instead asking for a report from his decurion.

Sara left the ordinary business in his hands and tried hard to go back to sleep under the specter of a second possible Qiph attack.

* * *

“Lady Sarathena, I’m ready to make my report,” Julen said that evening. Sara widened her eyes and glanced around the busy camp; she’d expected Julen to report to her in private. From his slight nod, he had some reason for doing this in front of an audience. “Go ahead,” she said.

“Firstly,” Julen said with a little bow, “not all of the Qiph are dead. One of them, the youth that crossed the bridge first, is missing. Probably crawled off to die, but…we don’t know for certain. Secondly, I found this.” With a flourish he produced a small wooden box from behind his back.

The box was only three inches square, but half again as deep. The rosewood cover was polished to a satiny finish and carved with strange designs that seemed to twist dizzily. It smelled faintly of spices.

Sara loathed it on sight. She refused to touch it when Julen extended it to her. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, but the priest had it strapped to his body under his robes as if it were important.”

“May I see it?” Lance asked.