The Bloodsworn (28 page)

Alix understood what she was asking.
Is this where he comes from?
“Not quite. Blackhold was never as grand as this, and I didn't spend much time at court growing up. Rig was here more often, as you can imagine.”

“I can't, in fact. For someone like me, this world exists only in fables.” She was silent for a moment, her gaze abstracted. Then she drew herself up proudly. “Except fables aren't real, least of all those where the handsome prince runs off with the scullery maid. Or a banner lord with an Onnani priestess.”

Alix regarded the other woman with a mix of sympathy and respect. “Vel—”

“Don't.” She held up a hand. “I knew what I was getting into, and your brother made no promises.”

Alix sighed. “There's something you should know. About Rig . . .”

Vel's lips pressed together grimly. She waited.

“We received a message from the front. He rode into battle yesterday. We've had no news, and I . . .” She faltered. The past year had done much to harden her against the fear of her brother falling in battle—or at least, to equip her to put it out of her mind temporarily. But discussing it with Vel somehow stripped away all her defences, perhaps because she was beginning to suspect that this woman loved her brother nearly as much as she did.

Vel drew a breath. Then: “Will you pray with me, sister?”

“I'm not sure even the gods can protect him now.”

“It is not their protection we seek, but their blessing. The Holy Virtues do not control our fate, Alix. They help us to make the right choices, and to cope with the consequences. To be our best selves, if you will.”

Alix nodded slowly, processing that. “In that case, I will gladly pray with you.” If anything happened to Rig, she would need all the help she could get.

She led Vel to the sitting room of her chambers, where they knelt before the hearth. Alix bowed her head and listened to the rise and fall of the priestess's voice, a soothing melody against the gentle crackling of the fire.

Thus did Liam find them. “Oh,” he said. “Hi.”

“This is Daughter Vel,” Alix said, rising. “You remember.”

“Right. Well, you should probably hear this too, then.”

Alix steadied herself against the hearth.

“Rig's fine. Well . . . not fine, obviously, but alive. That's the good news.” Liam paused, shifting on his feet. “I'm afraid there's more.”

“The trap?” Alix was amazed how level her voice sounded. She'd known this was coming—they all had—but even so, the confirmation should have turned her guts to water. Instead, she felt a grim sort of resignation.

“The citadel has fallen. The fort too. It was a trap all right, but it looks like Sadik's plan wasn't to weaken the border, just to take Rig out of play.”

“Which is exactly what he did.” Alix moved mechanically to the table and took up the wine jug, only a slight tremor in her hands betraying the fear that lurked below the surface. “They've crossed the border, then?”

“Twenty thousand strong, the bulk of them making their way up the Imperial Road.”

“Well,” Alix said. “There it is.”

She went to replace the wine jug, but it slipped through numb fingers and smashed, scattering bloody droplets everywhere. A dark red pool spread over the polished stone. Liam knelt to gather up shards of earthenware, but Alix just stood there, transfixed, watching the bloodred stain crawl between the cracks.

“W
hat do we know?” Erik said, stitching his hands on the table before him. He looked calm, decisive, but Alix knew better. Beneath the royal mask, he was as uncertain as ever—which was why he'd balked at Liam's suggestion to convene the council that morning.
I'm not ready for that
, he'd confided to her quietly. So they had compromised on inviting Rona Brown and Raibert Green to join their inner circle.

“We had another pigeon this morning,” Liam said, “just after dawn. Rig is heading up the Imperial Road as we speak.”

“And the enemy?” Highmount asked.

“Holding position just north of the citadel, waiting to regroup with the forces that attacked the fort. That'll give Rig a healthy head start, on top of which, he reckons he can move at least twice the speed of the enemy.”

“That sounds about right,” Alix said. “Small force, minimal supply train—he should outpace Sadik easily.”

“Meaning what?” Green asked. “How long until he reaches Erroman?”

Erik looked to Alix. As a scout, she'd been trained to estimate such things, but she'd never had to factor in escorting a captured enemy force. “I honestly don't know. If it was a host
of Kingswords . . . about a week, if Rig pushes them hard. But it all depends on how cooperative those captured Oridians are. If they refuse to march at speed . . .”

“We'll assume ten days for now,” Erik said, “and hope for better. Rig's next message should help us narrow it down.”

“What about numbers?” asked Rona Brown. “Do we know how many Kingswords survived the attacks?”

“Not yet,” Liam said. “A few survivors from Pir have joined up with Rig, and more are apparently on the way, but no word from the fort.”

“I saw those defences,” Alix said. “They wouldn't have been able to hold out for long.”

“Let us hope they had the sense to retreat,” Highmount said. “They can do more good regrouping with us than throwing their lives away guarding a pile of timber.”

Alix regarded the chancellor coolly. It irked her more than a little that he, of all people, would presume to second-guess her brother. “If I know Rig, those are precisely the orders he left. He has no delusions of glory. If the cause was hopeless, he wouldn't waste the men.”

“Agreed,” Erik said, “assuming he had a choice. Does he mention it in the letter?”

Liam shook his head. “That's all we know, I'm afraid.”

“Actually,” said Highmount, “not quite. There is a new development, Your Majesty, which may change matters profoundly.” He paused, keen eyes doing a rapid tour of the table. “Before I continue, I must be assured of your absolute discretion, my lords.”

Alix frowned. Rona Brown and Raibert Green shifted in their seats. Even Liam recognised the chancellor's impertinence, cutting an awkward glance at Erik. Highmount would never have spoken so presumptuously before the king's ordeal. “Assurances of that nature are mine to demand, Chancellor,” Erik said coolly.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. A bad habit I acquired during your illness.” After a suitably contrite pause, Highmount said, “With your permission, sire?” At a gesture from Erik, he called, “Nevyn, if you please.”

The door opened to admit the royal bloodbinder.

An uncomfortable hush descended over the king's study.
Nevyn himself looked ill at ease, walking with his head bowed, acutely aware of the eyes tracking him across the room. Erik sat perfectly still, taut as a bowstring.

“Take a seat, Nevyn,” Highmount said, “and tell His Majesty what you told me yesterday.”

Nevyn lifted his gaze briefly to Erik's, but couldn't seem to hold it. “First, Your Majesty, I wanted to convey my deepest regrets for the ordeal you endured. It was an appalling crime. I cannot tell you how it wounds me that my art would be perverted to such an end.” Alix thought he might have glanced briefly at Highmount as he said this last.

Erik gave a stiff nod. “Thank you. And now, you have something to tell me?”

With another uncomfortable glance at Highmount, the bloodbinder said, “I have discovered the secret of the Priest's magic.”

Erik flinched, his whole body going rigid. “I see,” he said, very softly.

Silence drifted over the table like a dusting of snow. Erik stared somewhere over the bloodbinder's shoulder, face pale, expression unreadable. Alix wanted nothing more than to wrap her hands around Albern Highmount's throat. “Perhaps it would be better if we discussed this in private,” she said through gritted teeth.

But Erik shook his head. “It's done now,” he said, still in that soft, distant tone. “Proceed.”

“I am sure it is clear to all of us the potential this has to change the course of the war—” Highmount began.

“Forgive me,” Raibert Green interrupted coldly, “but I don't see how, unless you are suggesting that we commit an unspeakable evil.”

“He can't be.” Liam turned a horrified gaze on Highmount. “You aren't, are you? Not even you, surely?”

The chancellor's lips pursed with displeasure. “I am not certain what you mean by that, Your Highness, but I assure you that I have only the best interests of the kingdom at heart. An opportunity of undeniable potential has been laid at our feet. We would be fools not to consider it.”

“It is not an opportunity,” Green said. “It is a matter of conscience. What you are about to propose is an abomination.”

“How could you even suggest it, after everything His Majesty has been through?” Rona Brown added.

Highmount brushed them off with a wave, his eyes on the king. “We would be fools to overlook this,” he repeated deliberately, as though speaking to a child.

Erik scarcely seemed to hear. His gaze remained abstracted, and when it finally snapped back into focus, it fixed on the bloodbinder. “How?”

“I beg your pardon, sire?”

“How did you discover the secret?”

Nevyn shook his head. “I cannot account for it. I was experimenting—on animals,” he added hastily, “when it just . . . happened.”

“Explain.”

“I wish I could. In truth, I was not attempting anything I had not tried before, and yet for some reason, it worked. I thought it pure chance, but when I tried again I was successful. So I tested the procedure on Egan, the blacksmith, and—”

Erik shuddered violently.

“He volunteered,” Nevyn said quietly, dropping his gaze again.

“Continue,” Erik whispered.

“I wish I could tell you more, sire. All I know is that it works. Why now, when I have been attempting it for months, I do not know.”

“But you could . . . if you wished . . .” Erik couldn't bring himself to say it.

Nevyn nodded miserably. Alix felt sorry for the man. None of this was his fault—he had only done what Highmount asked of him.

“Whom?” Green snapped.

Highmount gave him a disapproving look. “I beg your pardon, Lord Green?”

“Not at all, Chancellor. I would simply like to know
whom
we are proposing to bewitch? Our own soldiers?”

“It would confer upon them an incredible advantage in battle,” Highmount said, utterly unrepentant. “But as it happens, that should not be necessary.”

It took Alix a moment to work out what he meant; when
she did, she felt sick. “The Oridians who surrendered. You want to use them.”

“What I
want
is immaterial,” Highmount said with mounting impatience. “It is the logical proposition.”

“Logical.” Raibert Green laughed bitterly and shook his head.

“Enemy soldiers, responsible for the deaths of more than a hundred of the king's men.
Five thousand
enemy soldiers. As thralls, they would be worth twice that, unfettered by fear or pain. Quite simply, they would turn the tide of the war.”

“Those men surrendered to the Kingsword banner in good faith,” said Rona Brown. “Honour demands—”

“Honour will not save us. It cannot trouble us now.”

“When has it ever troubled you, Chancellor?” Green asked in disgust. Turning to Erik, he said, “You cannot seriously be considering this, sire. It's repugnant.”

Highmount slammed a fist down on the table.
“Of course it's repugnant, you overgrown child!”
Alix and the others stared, stunned into silence by the sight of the ever-unflappable Albern Highmount shaking with rage. “It is repugnant and unspeakable and every other foul word, and it is the
only way
. Do you think I relish this, any of you?” His gaze raked over them. “Do you imagine that I would suffer such a stain upon my own honour were this not a matter of our very survival? It is our duty to protect this realm, my lords.
Our gods-given duty.
You say it is a matter of conscience, Lord Green. I quite agree. If your conscience allows you to put your personal honour above the well-being of this kingdom, may Destan guard you in his Domain. But you will watch us burn before that, and this land with it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Erik passed a hand over his eyes. “Leave me.”

Chairs scraped. Boot heels rang out.

“Not you, Alix.”

The door closed noisily. Alix reached for Erik's hand, but he flinched away. “Sorry,” she murmured, flushing.

“No, I'm sorry. I'm just . . .”

“I understand.”

“No,” he said, shuddering, “you don't.”

“You're right, I couldn't possibly. But I'm here for you, whatever you need.”

“I know, and I'm grateful. The trouble is, I don't know what I need.” He slumped down in his chair, hand still shielding his eyes. “I can still hear them, you know.”

“Hear what?”

“The voices. Echoes of the words they whispered in my mind while I was . . .” He trailed off.

“You heard voices?”

“At first, in the mountains, it just felt like the wilful part of me. That inner voice that's forever urging one to act impulsively, against one's better judgement.” With a faint smile, he added, “You know it well, I think.”

“I certainly do,” she sighed, “though I'm getting better at ignoring it.”

“I assumed it was the stress. Held captive in a foreign land, Qhara and her tribe so alien, so hard to reach . . . I was concerned about it, of course, but I never dreamed . . . And then, in Ost, I had no control at all. The merest thought in my head leapt straight out of my mouth, the merest flicker of emotion became a raging inferno. I've never felt so naked, Alix. As if my mind were stripped bare for all to see.”

“I remember,” she said quietly. And then she was hearing echoes of her own. Erik's voice in the royal palace at Ost:
Dear gods, Alix, what have I done?

“It wasn't until we returned to Erroman that the magic truly took hold. I know because I no longer noticed anything amiss at all. Those voices in my head . . . I thought they were my own. Reason. Conscience.
Wisdom.
”

“That's what the bloodbinder wanted you to think. You couldn't have known, Erik.”

He didn't seem to hear her anymore, too lost in his nightmare. “Whispering, always whispering. Clawing at me so that I couldn't even sleep. And if my mind started to stray . . . the headaches.” He slumped low in his chair, hands gripping the crown of his head. “Until finally, he pulled my strings taut . . .”

“Stop this.” Gently, Alix pulled his hands away. “It's over now. You're free.”

Haunted eyes met hers. “I will never be free, Alix. How can I trust those inner voices ever again?”

She stared at him helplessly, her heart aching. She was supposed to be his guardian, but how could she protect him from this? She couldn't close a door on his memories or fight the demons that came charging through. Desperate to lash out at something, she singled out the one target she could think of. “Albern
bloody
Highmount,” she spat. “Throwing this back in your face without so much as a warning. It's lucky Rig wasn't here or the servants would be sweeping the chancellor's teeth off the floor.”

“Poor old Highmount.” Erik sighed, shaking off his dark reverie. “We use him poorly sometimes, I think. He truly believes he is doing his duty, and I think it wounds him more than we know—having to play the role of ruthless strategist, then enduring our scorn for it. If I'm honest, it's much easier for me to keep my conscience clean with someone like Highmount around. I don't have to suggest the unthinkable, because I know he'll do it for me.”

“I think I know what you mean. I have a similar relationship with a man in my service.”

“Your spy,” Erik said, nodding. “That reminds me, I have a debt there. Any suggestions?” Bitterly, he added, “I don't believe there is an established etiquette for
I'm sorry I almost had you beheaded
.”