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Kitabı oxu: «Tyrant’s Blood»

Name: Tyrant’s Blood
Author: Fiona McIntosh
ISBN: 9780007301911

Fiona McIntosh

Şrift:

Curant’s Blood
FIONA MCINTOSH

VALISA: BOOK TWP

For Pip Klimentou, Sonya Caddy, Marianne D’Arrigo, Margo Burns, Michelle King, Willa Michelmore.

Cover Page

Title Page

Dedication

Map

Prologue

Epilogue

Glossary

Acknowledgments

BOOKS BY FIONA MCINTOSH

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

‘Hello, Reg,’ she said as she approached. What an old-fashioned name Reginald was for someone his age; it didn’t suit him at all.

‘I thought you’d come,’ he said, not looking up.

She loved his voice and his economy with words. Reg had always been able to comfort her even when he was silent, which was most of the time. ‘Can I sit with you?’

She knew he smiled but he wouldn’t face her. Her question did not require an answer, nor would he waste the breath to give her one. ‘How are you?’ she said, sighing as she lowered herself next to him.

‘Same as yesterday.’

‘Grouchy, then.’

‘Not for you.’

‘I’ll take you in any mood, Reg, you know that.’

He looked around at her and after the unhappy morning she’d just had, which included watching a patient die, she felt instantly comforted and secure to see his sad, gentle face, buried beneath his straggly beard and the grime of his working day. She had long suspected that Reg liked to hide behind his longish, nutbrown hair, his hat, even that wretched beard, but try as he might, he could never hide his eyes. Intelligence—far more than he let on—lurked within those grey-green eyes that noticed everything and yet invited few people into his life, for he kept them mostly lowered when others were around. Now they looked at her; vaguely amused but above all knowledgeable. He had secrets, but then he was a secretive sort—everything about Reg was a mystery. The nurses cringed whenever she mentioned him, variously describing him as rude, deranged or creepy. He was none of those things. Not to her, anyway.

‘A death?’ he asked as she was staring at him.

How could he know her that well? It was infuriating sometimes. The tide of emotion she’d kept at bay rose but she wouldn’t cry. Couldn’t cry. If her training had taught her anything it had taught her to hold part of herself back from patients, or risk being swallowed by misery. But there was more to not showing her sorrow. In her quietest of moments she worried that she was a cold person; someone who let few past her guard. The truth was, she didn’t particularly want to share her life with anyone. Reg didn’t count, of course. He was a stranger she’d befriended so many years ago she couldn’t remember her time in the hospital when he was not roaming the botanical gardens, ever near, always available to give her a few minutes, always able to say the right things…even when he wasn’t actually speaking. Something was missing in her for sure—the lonely gene, perhaps…the one that triggered normal people to go in search of others and make friends. She obviously didn’t possess that gene. It was as if she were a misfit, walking around a world of people she didn’t feel she was a part of. She looked like everyone, talked like everyone, even to some degree acted like them. But there was a hole somewhere—a divide she couldn’t bridge between herself and everyone else. Reg was her curious lifeline, for he too was a misfit and seemed to understand even though they never discussed such intimacies.

And so she went through the motions of life—always had…even with her parents. For many years she’d thought this was simply because she was adopted. It bothered her to the point where she’d even taken some therapy for it but she knew in her heart that this was not a learned response—something she had reacted to on discovering her adoption. No, this was deep. It was in the blueprint that had made her who she was. And its particular presence in her DNA or whatever it was, meant she didn’t feel fully connected to anyone except Reg, the hospital groundsman.

‘Yes,’ she answered, finally able to accept that Jim Watkins was no longer of this life.

He said nothing.

‘Mmm,’ she confirmed but it came out as a soft groan, hugging herself as another pang of guilt reached through her body and twisted in her gut. She was answering a question he hadn’t asked and yet they both knew the question existed, hanging between them.

She began to explain, even though he hadn’t requested any further information. ‘I try not to choose, Reg. I have to be careful.’

‘Save all.’

‘I can’t. I’m different enough already; can you imagine what the media would do if it cottoned on to this?’

He shrugged.

She gave a mocking half-smile. ‘Proper journalists are just the tip of the iceberg. The gutter press and popular magazines, the hacks and mischief makers and those awful revelation shows that masquerade as current affairs,’ she said, mugging at him, ‘they would just slurp this up.’

He shook his head now, slightly amused, mostly baffled.

‘They’d never leave me alone, Reg.’

‘You’re looking thin.’

‘That’s a joke coming from you.’

‘I could eat a horse and it wouldn’t show.’

‘You’re lying. I know you so much better than you think. We’re thin, Reg, because we’re both hollow. Neither of us are filled with anything except a strange misery. I recognised it in you the moment I met you—the moment you walked into my life and tripped me.’

‘I didn’t trip you,’ he growled gently.

‘How else would you describe it?’

‘I tripped, and stumbled into you.’

‘And stopped me from going to see the clairvoyant at the Otherworlds festival.’

‘Rubbish. We were strangers. How could I have any hold over you?’

‘We weren’t strangers. Even if we’d never met I’ve always had the curious feeling that we’ve known each other all my life.’

He made a scoffing sound, offered her half of the orange he’d laboriously peeled while they’d been talking. She took it, inhaling the fresh scent of citrus surrounding them.

‘How old are you, Reg?’

‘I’m not sure.’

She laughed.

He looked at the segment of orange in his hand. ‘It’s true. I’ve lived too long,’ he said, looking down. ‘So I’ve never really known.’

‘Well, beneath all this fuzz,’ she said, tugging at his beard, ‘you look about mid thirties.’

‘And you’re just twenty and considered a genius, so you already know what it is to have that kind of attention levelled at you,’ he replied, returning to their previous topic.

‘Exactly!’ she snapped. ‘They didn’t leave me alone for almost a year when they discovered I’d qualified for Medicine so young. It’s all quietened down again. Now I’m just another intern at another big city hospital.’

‘And uncannily, often inexplicably, saving lives.’

‘Listen, I want everyone to just accept that I have talent and I developed really early. I can’t help that. The fact that I have a sixth sense for patients can’t be helped either but I don’t want to turn it into a sideshow and that’s what it would become if we continue down the pathway you suggest. The hospital will become suspicious, the community will start to request only me for all procedures and the media will start to hail me as some sort of messiah.’

‘Perhaps you are.’

‘Stop it!’ she said, flicking him with the back of her hand.

She ate the orange, enjoying the tart explosion in her mouth and they sat in an easy silence for a few minutes and watched the world of the gardens go by—mothers pushing prams, dogs walking their owners, couples canoodling in the early autumn warmth.

‘But how come we’re so comfortable together, Reg? Do you think it’s because we’re both orphans?’

‘Because we’re friends.’

‘Name another friend that you have.’

‘I don’t have any and don’t say you don’t either, because I’ve seen you with them.’

‘Spying on me, eh?’

He gave her a disdainful sideways glance.

She tossed some pith of the orange she’d peeled off into the nook of the tree where they sat side by side. ‘You’ve seen me with colleagues and acquaintances. You’ve not seen me with a friend. The only friend I have is you. Being with you is when I’m honest with myself and can be truly myself.’

‘Then I’m privileged.’

‘So explain why that is.’

‘Because I’m such excellent company.’

She gasped. ‘You’re no company at all. You don’t speak unless spoken to. You hold long, difficult silences,’ she nodded when he was about to say something, ‘not with me, I’ll grant you, but even during the most normal small talk you manage to make whoever is with you feel incredibly awkward. I’ve watched you. No eye contact, no smiles, mainly shrugs and grunts. You terrify women.’

He shrugged as if to prove her point. ‘It’s my special skill.’

‘I wish I understood you.’

He risked placing a hand on hers, then took it away quickly, as if burned. ‘You do. And in doing so, you understand yourself.’ Reg stood, helped her up. ‘We’re birds of a feather, us two. Just accept that we’re the loners of the world and we’re lucky to have each other.’

She nodded. Gave him a brief hug; knew it made him self-conscious but lingered anyway. ‘Thanks, Reg.’

‘People will talk,’ he said, pulling away.

‘Let them. I already feel like I’m being watched.’

Reg frowned; in his expression was a question.

‘Can’t explain it,’ she sighed. ‘But I have this frequent feeling that someone is watching me—you know—hiding and eavesdropping.’

He gave her a soft smile. ‘He’s probably in love with you but you’re so unapproachable he doesn’t know how to talk to you.’

‘Oh really? And you’d know how that feels, would you?’

Reg grinned sadly and shook his head. ‘Tomorrow? I’ll bring more than an orange.’

‘It’s a date. Bring chocolate,’ she said over her shoulder.

‘Bye,’ he replied softly and Corbel de Vis of Penraven lifted his hand in farewell to the gifted young intern who had no idea that she was royalty—a princess in exile—or that her healing skills were based on magic she brought with her from another plane, certainly another age…or perhaps most importantly of all, that she was the woman he loved.

1

The man had been staring out of the window, watching the trees for movement but he turned at the knock. ‘Come,’ he called and waited while his private aide entered, balancing a tray. He frowned. ‘You didn’t have to—’

‘I know, my lord,’ the aide replied. ‘But have a cup anyway.’

He sighed. ‘There’s still no sign of my raven,’ he added in a grumpy tone.

‘He’ll return,’ the aide replied evenly. ‘He always does.’ He set the tray down. ‘He’s obviously very familiar with the region now, and feels comfortable to be away that long. It’s blossomtide, emperor. I imagine all birds are busy at their business.’

Loethar nodded gloomily. ‘How is it down there, Freath?’

‘Exactly as you’d imagine. Very lively—the leading families do enjoy this get-together and try hard to balance its political agenda with the equally important social binding. Even though this is the empire’s third “Gathering” there’s still that lingering tension. The Droste family is being snubbed as usual, but they’re only marginally less happy than Cremond.’

Loethar lifted a brow in a wry expression. ‘Well, at least they’re all equal now. There are no royals, other than myself. Ah, there’s that smile, Freath. What does it mean today?’

Freath bowed his head once in acknowledgement. ‘Apologies, my lord. But nothing has truly changed for the Denovian people. There may be no royal lines acknowledged as such but the new compasses, as you’ve denoted them, are still paying homage to Penraven.’

Loethar nodded. ‘They’ve forgiven me, don’t you think, Freath?’

‘No, Emperor Loethar, I don’t,’ Freath said gently. ‘Not even a decade can fully heal their perceptions of the wrongs. But I hasten to assure that you’ve certainly gone a long way towards leaving only scars, not open, festering wounds. You’ve been a generous benefactor to all the leading families, who still enjoy plenty of privilege and status—they can hardly complain.’

‘Indeed. I’ve not interfered too much either in the running of their compasses.’

‘And that’s another reason why they appear so tolerant and will increasingly trust you, my lord. A new dynasty is about to begin and enough of them dread a second war so much that they will support your child with loyalty.’

Loethar smiled grimly. ‘I can’t wait for my son to be born.’ Then he sighed. ‘And how is the empress?’

‘Grumbly, sir, for want of a better word.’

‘Gown not right, hair not right, belly too big, drinks too sour, food too bitter?’

‘Husband too distant,’ Freath added.

Loethar’s eyes flashed up to regard his aide’s. It even baffled him at times how he permitted this dour man such familiarity. Even now he didn’t fully trust the former aide to the previous royal family, but he believed Freath was the most intelligent of all the people that lurked around him on a daily basis. He appreciated the man’s insight, dry wit, directness and agile mind. When he compared that to his brute of a half-brother, who was his Second, there was little wonder—for him anyway—as to why he not only permitted but quietly protected Freath’s position. ‘Should I be worried?’ he asked, glibly, yet privately eager to hear the man’s opinion.

‘No, my lord. But if you want your household life to be less volatile it might pay to give the empress more attention. She is, after all, with child and feeling vulnerable.’

‘How do you know, Freath?’ Loethar sighed and took the goblet that his aide offered him.

‘I spent years around a pregnant queen, my lord. Iselda lost quite a few babies but I know during her confinements she was generally irritable. She was no doubt anxious—and for good reason, having lost so many—but also worried that Brennus would stop finding her attractive.’

Loethar made a brief noise of scorn. ‘I find that very hard to believe. Perhaps if you hadn’t killed her, I could have married her!’

‘I do hope the walls don’t have ears, sir,’ Freath said dryly and Loethar gave him a wry glance, knowing they were both well aware of Valya’s unpredictable tantrums. ‘Brennus was butter around her.’

‘Is that so?’

‘“Besotted” is probably the right word. Few couples achieve such devotion.’

Loethar grunted. Freath’s counsel was no comfort at all. In fact, it served only to alienate him further. Marriage to Valya was a trial. Since the lavish wedding that he’d had to force himself to get through, she had become insatiable for power and wealth, especially the outward trappings of both. He understood why: she was proclaiming to the former Set people that while they had once gossipped and tittered behind her back at the reneging of the Valisar betrothal, now she was empress they were required to pay her homage. And once she delivered Loethar his heir at last, her position was truly sealed.

‘Well, Valya’s had a lot of unhappiness in her life. And not falling pregnant for so long has been a heavy burden for her. But that is changed now. Perhaps our son will bring her enough joy to leave her darkness behind.’

Freath straightened. ‘You told me once that our empress had bravely defied man, beast and nature to find you on the plains but I cannot account for the significant gap of years between Brennus deserting their troth and my lady re-appearing in Penraven a decade ago.’

‘It is of no harm for you to know, I suppose. Valya’s father blamed her for Brennus’s rejection, even though she hadn’t seen her husband-to-be for more than a year. The king sent his only daughter and heir to a convent that nestled within Lo’s Teeth, all but imprisoning her with the nuns. She admitted to me a long time ago that she was sure she turned mad for a while—several years probably. And while time scarred over her wounds, it never quelled her fury.’ He stretched, reached for his glass on the weaven table nearby. ‘She escaped.’ He yawned. ‘And then came looking for the Steppes people. She made it through those mountains alone. Impressive.’

Freath paused, considering this. Loethar waited, sipping his wine. ‘So…’ the aide began, frowning. ‘Was the attack the empress’s idea, my lord? This is old history now—it can’t matter if you share it.’

‘It was no one’s idea in particular,’ Loethar lied. ‘I was a rebellious man, not satisfied with leading the Steppes people and wanting a whole lot more than the scrubby plains and the occasional visit from Set traders who felt they were superior to us. And then along came this striking woman out of nowhere, half-starved and with a rage to suit my own. She gave voice to what I was already thinking.’

‘And history was made, my lord,’ Freath said lightly.

Loethar sipped his wine again and turned away to regard the view out of the window. ‘Seems hard to believe it was a decade ago that we stormed Brighthelm. I feel as if I belong here.’

Freath blinked. ‘You do, my lord.’

‘We’ve integrated well, don’t you think, Freath?’

‘Yes, my lord, surprisingly well.’

‘So many mixed marriages,’ Loethar continued. ‘I’m very glad to see that the mingling of bloods has begun.’

‘General Stracker might not agree,’ Freath added, conversationally.

‘He’s short-sighted, Freath. Most of the Denovian people would be enriching the soil if it had been left to him. There’d be no one left to make an empire,’ Loethar replied, yet again wishing his half-brother had even a fraction of his aide’s insight. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he nodded at Freath’s enquiring look.

Freath opened the door and spoke briefly. Then closed it again, turning to Loethar. ‘It’s time to go, my lord.’

Loethar began buttoning his midcoat. Freath dutifully held out the jacket. ‘I hate all this formal wear, Freath.’

‘I know you do, my lord, but it’s necessary. Can’t have you looking like a barbarian.’ They both smiled at the quip. ‘What news from the north, sir?’

Loethar shrugged, allowing Freath to quickly do up his jacket while he struggled with his collar. ‘All quiet for now. We’ve had patrols moving through the forest. The notorious highwayman and his daring minions elude me but we’ve silenced them for a while. There’s been no activity in the region for several moons.’

Their conversation was interrupted by a bang at the door.

Freath frowned but Loethar inclined his head. The aide moved to the door and opened it.

‘I need to speak with him,’ a brusque voice demanded.

‘It’s General Stracker, my lord,’ Freath announced, as the other man pushed past him into the room.

‘Stracker. Speak of the devil!’ Loethar said amiably. ‘I was just telling Freath here that you were up north and all was quiet.’

Stracker grinned a sly smile. His green tatua slid in tandem, widening across his round, thickset face. ‘Not so quiet any longer.’

Loethar stopped grimacing at himself in the mirror and turned his attention to his general. ‘What’s occurred?’

‘We might have our elusive outlaw.’

Loethar’s mouth opened in surprise and then he too smiled. ‘Tell me.’

Freath quietly set about pouring the two men a cup of wine, unobtrusively serving it and then melting back into the room to stand silently. Though he wasn’t intruding Loethar was aware the aide could hear everything. It didn’t matter. He would discuss most of this with Freath anyway.

‘I can’t confirm what you want to hear—not yet anyway—but one of the men, and we are almost sure it’s one of the outlaws, took an arrow wound.’

‘Faris?’

‘We think it could be.’

‘So he’s wounded and got away,’ Loethar demanded.

‘That’s the sum of it,’ Stracker confirmed, seemingly unfazed by the emperor’s intensity.

‘What makes you say you almost have him, then? Simply because you’ve wounded a man who could just belong to his cohort!’ Loethar gave a sound of disgust and drained his cup.

‘Not so fast, brother. Hear me out,’ Stracker said, cunning lacing his tone. ‘My men tell me that the wounded man took the arrow in the thigh. Now I’m sure even you would agree that in this situation it would be every man for himself.’

There was an awkward pause until Loethar grudgingly nodded. ‘What of it?’

Stracker grinned. ‘Not in this instance. Our soldiers confirmed that the renegades rallied around the wounded man, almost setting up a human shield. They half-carried, half-ran him away from our men. They’re clever and fast, I’ll give them that, and they know the ways and means of the forest better than our men ever could. They disappeared faster into the shadows of the great trees than our soldiers could scramble up the hill.’

‘What’s your point?’ Loethar hated sounding so thick-headed and he knew it was disappointment making his comprehension sluggish.

Stracker clearly delighted in his slowness. ‘Ask Freath, I’m sure he understands.’ He casually took a long draught from his cup.

Loethar glanced at Freath, who obliged, tension in his voice. ‘I suspect, my lord, that General Stracker is implying that the man was important enough for the others to risk their own capture or death.’

‘Exactly,’ Stracker followed up, sounding thoroughly pleased with himself.

Freath sounded awfully alarmed, Loethar thought, but he turned back to Stracker.

‘But you let them get away,’ he said, his voice quiet and suddenly threatening.

‘No, I didn’t, brother. I wasn’t there. Had I been, I would have given chase until my heart gave out, but the captain in charge decided it was prudent not to venture deeper into the forest with only five men. He knew we would want this information and so I now have it and have brought it to you. But in the meantime I had Vulpan taken to the spot.’

This time Loethar had no struggle in understanding his brother’s meaning. ‘Inspired.’

‘Thank you,’ the huge man said, deigning to incline his head in a small bow.

‘I’m impressed, Stracker. So what now?’

‘We wait for news. We will find him, brother. Trust me.’ Loethar did not resist his general’s friendly tap on his face, for it was meant affectionately, but he despised it. Carefully, however, he kept his expression even as the general excused himself.

‘Enjoy the nobles,’ Stracker said, smiling ironically as he left.

Loethar stared at the open doorway absently until Freath closed the door. ‘Freath, have I told you about Vulpan yet?’

‘No, my lord. Perhaps you’ll enlighten me now,’ the aide said, returning to his previous task of brushing lint from the emperor’s shoulder.

‘He’s one of our Vested. It’s a strange talent but he only has to taste a person’s blood to know that person again.’

Freath stood back from Loethar, his forehead creased in amused puzzlement.

Loethar held up a hand with helpless resignation as he swung around. ‘I know, I know. But there’s no accounting for these Vested. Some possess enchantments that defy imagination.’

‘You mean his taste of blood works in the same way that a dog can trace a smell?’

Loethar grinned. ‘I suppose. He never gets it wrong, Freath. We’ve tested him time and again…even tried to trick him.’

Freath frowned. ‘So he has tasted the blood of the wounded outlaw.’

Loethar nodded. ‘Why would they rally around the man unless it was Faris? There is no one else of any importance in that cohort.’ He noticed Freath blink, but continued, ‘And some day the outlaw will slip up and Vulpan will deliver him to me. I am a patient man.’

‘Incredible,’ Freath remarked, shaking his head as he stacked the cups on the tray. ‘And this Vulpan is loyal, sir?’

Loethar shrugged. ‘The magic is not in doubt.’

‘Is Kilt Faris that important?’ Freath asked, reaching to do up the emperor’s top button.

Loethar raised his chin. ‘Yes. He challenges me.’

‘He did the same to Brennus before you, sir.’

‘Is that supposed to reassure me, Freath?’

The aide straightened his lord’s jacket, moving behind him. ‘Forgive me, my lord. I meant only that Faris is a gnat—a vexing irritant—who thinks stealing the royal gold is somehow not the same crime as stealing from the good folk of Penraven.’

‘Precisely, which is why I wish to hunt him down.’

Loethar’s eyes narrowed as he heard the aide suck in a breath that sounded too much like exasperation.

‘If you’ll forgive me, my lord? May I offer a recommendation?’

‘You usually do, Freath. Make it quick.’

Freath cleared his throat as he returned to face his superior. ‘Let me escort you down, my lord, we can talk as we walk. We really must go.’

Loethar nodded and Freath moved to hold the door open. ‘After you, sir.’

They moved through Brighthelm side by side. Loethar was sure the man was far too sharp to have ignored that the emperor permitted him equal status—if not in title, then certainly in access—to any of his closest supporters. Even Dara Negev, who was showing no signs that her god was preparing to claim her, still maintained the old ways of walking a few steps behind the man of her household. But it must be two anni now that Loethar had given up talking over his shoulder to Freath and insisted the man walk next to him when discussing state business. Though Loethar’s mother, half-brother and even Valya had haughtily mentioned on many an occasion that Freath couldn’t appreciate the honour, Loethar was convinced that Freath not only appreciated the shift but quietly enjoyed the privilege.

They approached the grand staircase, walking down a corridor of magnificent tapestries depicting the former kings of Valisar.

‘Forgive me, sir,’ Freath continued. ‘Returning to our discussion, I was simply going to suggest that you should consider raising people’s taxes in and around the northern area. Chasing through the Deloran Forest is time-consuming and a waste of your men’s resources. It also makes a fool of the emperor.’

Loethar’s head snapped to look at Freath. ‘He is mocking me?’

‘Tax those who protect and laugh at you, my lord. Tax the north. Any excuse will do. In fact, offer no excuse. Tell them the new tax is to cover the losses that Faris inflicts. Remind the north that it is their hard-earned, hard-paid taxes that are being stolen and if they won’t help you find him, they will certainly help repair his damage.’

Loethar smiled. ‘Very good, Freath. Very good indeed.’

He felt Freath shrug beside him. ‘I would call off your men immediately, my lord. You should make it appear as if you don’t care one way or the other, so long as you have the money due the empire. I would be happy to make that declaration for you, sire, should you need.’

‘Not frightened of being unpopular?’

Freath gave a snort of disdain. ‘They hated me a long time ago, Emperor Loethar. Nothing’s changed.’

‘I shall think on your idea.’

Freath bowed. ‘I shall let the empress know, my lord, that you and her guests await her.’

As Loethar moved into the grand salon to the heralding of trumpets, Freath strode up the stairs, feeling an old familiar tension twisting in his belly. Once out of sight from the ground level he took a moment alone on the landing to lean against the balustrade, taking two deep breaths to calm himself. He hadn’t felt like this in so many anni he’d nearly forgotten what it was to be poised on the precipice of death. Ten anni previous he’d been exposed to negotiating that very knife-edge daily. Though somehow he’d survived, his beautiful Genrie had not. The passing years had not made her loss any easier. He visited her unmarked grave frequently, and although it hurt his heart not to leave flowers—for he couldn’t be seen to be mourning her—he left behind his silent grief. Her death had bought his life, and what a strange, evil life it had become: forever lying, masquerading and patiently plotting.

The only surprise had been his helpless admiration—although he fought it daily—for the man he knew he should despise. He found it easy to hate General Stracker, to inwardly sneer at Dara Negev and to truly abhor the empress. But Loethar was not as simple. The man was actually every inch the born leader that Brennus had been. And if he had been born a Valisar rather than a Steppes barbarian, Freath knew they’d all be admiring him. Loethar was taking an approach with the Denovians that could only be congratulated. There was no doubting that the new emperor was very tough—but which sovereign wasn’t? None of the Valisars down the ages were known for being spineless. All were hard men, capable of making the most difficult of decisions. Any ruler who took a soft line with detractors would almost certainly perish. Freath often thought, hating himself as he did so, that if he had been in Loethar’s boots, there was little he would or could have done any other way.

He’d tried to explain this once to Kirin, his constant companion, but Kirin would have none of it. Besides, Kirin always had him over a barrel whenever he resorted to the final demand, always impossible to answer. Why, though, Freath? he would challenge. Why did he do it in the first place? It has to be in pursuit of power. And there is no honour in coveting what is not yours in the first place.

Kirin was right—in principle—especially if you believed in fairies or the Legend of Algin, and that everyone wanted to live in peace and no one ever got jealous of anyone else. Freath grimaced. The Valisar Dynasty might be revered but it had been founded on bloodshed, acquiring land that had never belonged to the Valisars, not so very differently from the way that Loethar had taken the Set. The only difference was that Cormoron had seen the benefits of giving realms to families he could dominate, giving the false impression that he was a magnanimous conqueror—a benefactor to the region even. It was naive of Kirin to suggest that the Valisars—or any of the royal families—were blameless. All land, power and wealth were initially acquired through the spillage of blood. Loethar and his horde were no different—if anything, where Loethar was blunt, he was at least honest.

Despite Loethar’s surprising explanation that his attack on the Denovian Set was purely a matter of opportunity, Freath still wasn’t convinced fortuity alone had triggered the seemingly sudden invasion. The emperor’s rationale was plausible, and probably true, but there was more to it, Freath was sure. The seven realms had peacefully lived alongside Droste to the northeast as well as further east over Lo’s Teeth into the Steppes where the plains people lived. It was true that there had not been a great deal of interaction between Denovians and the Steppes folk but trade during the reign of Brennus had increased. Perhaps beginning to see more of the Denovians, their way of life, their excesses, had attracted Loethar’s people?

Freath pulled out a kerchief and wiped his face, wishing that he could wipe away his fear. For ten anni patience had been all that shared his life. It was a companion that made him feel weak, disloyal, pathetic. He knew it was also his friend. Patience would win through for him, for them, for their cause. Them. He closed his eyes. He had bought them some more time in dissuading Loethar from hunting down Faris. Freath had presumed for many years now that the true king, Leo, had fled to Faris and his men. Now he must get word to Faris and learn at last whether the outlaw had raised a king in these intervening years. A decade of distance. A decade of hate. Would he even recognise Leo Valisar, King of Penraven? Would Leo ever forgive him?

He had to get to Kilt Faris before Loethar’s men did. He had to pray that Faris was not the wounded man.

‘Ah, there you are,’ said a familiar voice. He looked up and saw Kirin approaching. ‘Are you feeling all right, Freath?’

Freath nodded. ‘Yes. A moment of reflection, that’s all.’

Kirin smiled softly and there was so much sympathy in the gesture Freath had to look away. ‘That’s always dangerous,’ his friend said.

‘Very true. Were you looking for me?’

Kirin looked around, checking they were alone, and Freath immediately felt his fear twist up another notch. ‘A pigeon has arrived,’ his friend murmured.

A combination of thrill and puzzlement skipped across Freath’s heart. ‘But it’s been years.’

‘It’s an old pigeon,’ Kirin said.

Freath erupted in an unexpected bellow of laughter at the comment. Few, if any, had ever heard such genuine laughter around the halls of Brighthelm, and Kirin’s expression was delighted.

Freath continued chuckling. ‘Lo, but that was a good feeling.’ ‘I wish I could do that more often,’ his younger friend admitted. ‘It gets better. The bird’s from Clovis.’

Freath closed his eyes, shooting a silent prayer of thanks. They had both long given up hope of hearing from their old friend who had escaped Loethar’s clutches in the madness of the original occupation. Freath had tried through every clandestine method he had available to find him, without success. ‘Where is he?’ he asked, breathless.

Kirin grinned. ‘With Reuth. Medhaven.’

Relief passed through him before another, still more exciting notion struck Freath. He reached for Kirin’s arm, squeezing it. ‘Piven?’ he whispered, daring against all his better judgement to hope.

Kirin’s mouth creased into a wide smile and he nodded just once before he faltered. ‘Later,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Someone comes.’

Freath let go of Kirin’s arm, stood back, and within moments one of Valya’s retinue of servants came scurrying up. She was a tribal woman. Freath liked her. She was quiet, diligent and good at her work—a lot like Genrie although she lacked spine against the empress. But that was understandable. Showing any sort of opposition to Valya, however minor it seemed, was met with punitive retaliation. Only Freath managed to rise above her dominion, and that was only because he had the protection of a higher authority.

‘Bridie?’ he enquired as the servant raced up.

‘Master Freath, she is…’ The girl stared at them both, lost for the right words.

‘I know, Bridie. I’m coming now,’ he assured.

The girl looked so relieved that Kirin shook his head. ‘Don’t let her bully you, Bridie,’ he said.

‘No,’ Freath countered. ‘Let her bully you. It will keep her claws out of you. Come on, we’ll go together and tame her, shall we?’ Bridie smiled tentatively and nodded. He looked over at Kirin. ‘Later? Supper, perhaps?’

Kirin nodded. ‘I’ll be in the library if you need me.’

How very normal that sounded, Freath thought. Kirin, a man of learning, was off to the library, while he, an experienced steward, was off to see to his superior’s needs. They had all settled down into a comfortable life, existing relatively easily with the barbarian horde—as though all the pain and despair never really mattered. And yet his heart was hammering and he knew Kirin was experiencing a similar rush of excitement that was a prelude to a new battle. This battle would not be fought in the fields with two armies. No. This one would be fought by subterfuge. Cunning alone had kept Freath and Kirin alive to fight this new day. And cunning would return the rightful king to the Valisar throne.

He strode alongside the scuttling Bridie, his heart suddenly full, his chest feeling broader than it had in the last ten anni, and his mind filled with wonder.

Piven was alive.

King and crown prince had possibly survived. He had never allowed himself to dream this much. But it seemed Lo had granted him his prayers.

If he achieved anything with his miserable double-life, he would see King Leonel crowned and the false ruler who called himself emperor humbled and brought before the Valisar sovereign.

Leo alone would decide Loethar’s fate.

2

Two men were breaking their fast at an inn in Francham. The Amiable Dragon was a busy watering hole and resting spot almost at the base of the Dragonsback Mountains that separated Penraven from Barronel. It was in Francham that traders in particular, after a long trek through Hell’s Gate—as the pass through the mountains was known—would stop for a day or so. Weary travellers would replenish their stocks, and those who were crossing in the opposite direction would make their final preparations for the trip. The traffic made for a lively town with a varied, transient population, which meant someone who wanted to remain relatively invisible could roam Francham without being noticed. It was an unspoken rule, in fact, that people were entitled to privacy in this town.

The weather was mild. Blossomtide meant Hell’s Gate was well and truly open and thriving. The pair of diners was enjoying the morning sun, sitting at a corner table, facing the main street to the mountains beyond that loomed over Francham. One of the men, who had just finished eating and was washing down his early meal with a pot of steaming dinch, was explaining this to his companion. He leaned back with his mug and sighed his pleasure as he swallowed the mouthful of dinch. ‘…it used to be a great smuggling spot, you see, so the legacy of secrecy has been handed down through generations. I’m surprised I haven’t told you this before.’

His listener grinned. ‘You’ve only brought me here twice.’

The speaker gave a look of genuine surprise at this but the companion didn’t look as if he was fooled, going by his wry expression.

He shrugged. ‘Anyway, if you ever need to hide, this is the place to begin. The mountains are better but they don’t offer a bed at night or an ale to quench a thirst.’

‘Why are we here again?’

‘I have to see someone.’

A huge man approached the table. ‘It’s true,’ he confirmed.

The first man put down his mug and pointed to the pot. ‘Help yourself,’ he offered, but his thoughts were elsewhere, his gaze narrowed in thought.

‘What does it mean, Kilt?’ the big man said, sitting down and taking his friend’s mug. ‘I’ll just have yours.’

‘Jewd! Ah—’ Faris said, with a sound of disgust. ‘I’d just got that to the perfect temperature!’

The younger man sitting next to him laughed.

‘I know,’ Jewd replied, nonchalantly. ‘Perfect for me, too.’

Kilt Faris signalled towards a table at the far end where a serving woman set down a plate in front of another guest. She saw his gesture and made her way to them, shifting her hips as she dodged around other people’s chairs. ‘Yes?’ she said, looking distracted but not unfriendly as she gathered up their plates.

‘Ah, pretty Ciara,’ Faris said. ‘Another pot of dinch, please, and we’ll need a fresh mug. Liam, some for you?’

The younger man shook his head but looked appreciatively into the big brown eyes of the woman. ‘Got anything sweet?’ he wondered.

Faris broke into a surreptitious grin and looked over at Jewd, who winked in reply over the mug he was sipping from.

Ciara’s lids lowered slightly as she regarded the youngster. ‘We might have some syrupcakes left from yesterday,’ she said. Then she blinked innocently. ‘If that’s what you mean?’

Leo cleared his throat. ‘I hear they’re always better the day after, anyway. Yes, I’ll have a couple of those. Thank you.’

‘I like good manners. Anything else?’ she offered.

Leo blushed, hesitated, then smiled politely. ‘I’ll, er, I’ll let you know once I’ve finished those, if that’s all right?’

She returned his smile, seemingly enjoying the innuendo.

After she’d left, Faris looked over at Leo but spoke to Jewd in a murmur that only they could hear. ‘It seems his majesty is in dire need of some female company.’

‘I’ll say!’ Leo exclaimed.

Jewd spat some of his dinch with amusement. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ he complained.

‘Well, it’s all right for Kilt, he’s got Lily. And you, Jewd, I know you and the others can escape the forest whenever you want for some rumpy-pumpy.’ This made both men roar with laughter. ‘But you keep me on such a close leash. I’m twenty-two anni, I need some freedom and I desperately need a—’

‘Here we are, then,’ Ciara said, back with a pair of small, oval-shaped cakes dripping with syrup. ‘Careful, they’re moist. Don’t get yourself all sticky.’

The men laughed louder and even Ciara threw them a backward glance of amusement. ‘The dinch is on its way,’ she said.

Leo looked indignant. ‘Laugh it up, you sods. I really need—’

‘I know what you need,’ Kilt said, chuckling, ‘and we’ll fix that. I’ve been remiss.’

‘You’ve been a gaoler more like,’ Leo said.

Kilt grew serious. ‘So, do we trust this man?’ he asked Jewd.

His big friend nodded. ‘Yes. He’s genuine.’

‘What’s going on?’ Leo asked, chewing on a cake.

Kilt fixed him with a grave look. ‘The man you spoke of years ago. You know, the one who is now aide to the emperor?’

‘Freath?’ Leo said, looking between them. ‘Tell me Loethar’s slit his throat,’ he added, putting his cake down and swallowing. Then he glared. ‘But then he’ll have stolen more from me. I want to be the one to spill that traitor’s—’

Both men shook their heads. ‘He’s not dead,’ Kilt replied, cutting off Leo’s words. ‘He’s made contact.’

Leo leaned forward. ‘What?’ he whispered, shocked.

‘Well, not contact, exactly. But there’s word out. We’ve just received it.’

‘What do you mean?’

Faris left it to Jewd, who took up the thread of conversation. ‘A few days ago Tern picked up snippets of information that money was greasing palms all over the north’s “network”.’ Leo nodded with understanding. ‘Word was moving in certain circles that an influential man was seeking an audience with the infamous highwayman of Penraven.’

Leo’s expression darkened and he scratched softly at the close beard he was growing, his syrupcakes forgotten.

Jewd continued, ‘We paid attention, of course, but we’ve had this happen before.’ He shrugged. ‘Lots of influential men want to speak with Kilt.’

‘Usually to claim the bounty on my head,’ Kilt grumbled.

Leo looked at him. ‘You’re safe, though, aren’t you?’

‘Not safe enough it seems. The barbarians came too close recently. We got sloppy.’

‘You didn’t,’ Jewd admitted. ‘That was my fault.’

Leo shook his head. ‘Jewd, it was no one’s fault.’

Kilt sighed. ‘Attributing blame is pointless. The fact is, they nearly stumbled across you, Leo. We must never be off our guard. As for me, no one outside of our band even knows what I look like. Most people in this town, don’t know who we are. And this town might keep its secrets quiet but it also knows everyone and everything passing through it.’

‘Aren’t you two rather easily identifiable?’

‘Not when I wear women’s clothing,’ Kilt offered indignantly. Leo smiled.

‘He’s not jesting,’ Jewd said, sounding slightly exasperated. ‘He’s done it many times. I’ve walked alongside him when he’s been an old man, an old woman, a blind beggar, a noble.’

‘Ah, but my leper was the best, wasn’t it?’ Kilt said.

‘He was a triumph,’ Jewd agreed.

‘People gave me such a wide berth. It was wonderful. I shall have to find that old pair of clappers we’ve got somewhere and roll him out again.’

Leo frowned. ‘I’m sure Lily would appreciate the humour.’

‘No, well, that’s right,’ Kilt said, his theatrics dampened. ‘It’s why I haven’t used him for a while. And anyway, it’s not just me.’ He lightly slapped his big friend’s chest. ‘Jewd loves all the get-ups too. He came into this very town not so long ago as a drunken friar.’

Leo looked over at Jewd and broke into laughter. ‘And that definitely wasn’t drawing attention to yourself, was it?’

‘Aha,’ Kilt said, waggling a finger. ‘Sometimes you can deflect the scrutiny by giving people something else to focus on.’

‘Is that why you’re wearing that ridiculous twirled moustache, then?’

‘Well, I’m glad you finally mentioned my ingenious disguise,’ Kilt said, feigning offence.

‘And I’m glad you’re having fun,’ Leo grumbled. ‘My disguise is real.’

Both men glanced at the crutch balanced against the table. ‘The arrow-wound is healing well. Give it time,’ Jewd reassured. ‘It will be as good as new as long as you trust Lily’s herbals and the chirosurgeon’s advice.’

‘If only they knew,’ Kilt mused. Then he smiled encouragingly at his young king. ‘At least you’ll have a warrior’s wound to show for your time with us.’

‘How long before I’m ready?’ Leo griped.

‘Not yet,’ Jewd replied.

Leo glanced at Kilt, who shook his head. ‘You’re only just a man now, Leo. We have lots to plan before you can start plotting an overthrow. You can’t ignore the fact that Loethar has been very subtle.’

Leo grimaced. ‘He’s a better ruler than I would have ever given him credit for.’

‘I think the mere fact that you do credit him with this is a sign of your maturity. As few as three anni ago you wouldn’t have been able to see that.’

The king became thoughtful. ‘Perhaps he is all that the Set ever needed.’

Both men gave sounds of disgust. ‘No, majesty,’ Kilt murmured firmly. ‘He stole your crown, he usurped your throne, he effectively murdered your parents and a lot of other good people. He wrote his imperial title in blood. And yet the true heir lives—he’s a man now. One day soon he’ll be ready to claim what is his. A Valisar has been on that throne for five centuries. It is your duty to return that regal line.’

Leo sighed. ‘I know all the rhetoric, Kilt. I just keep thinking that there’s peace now. It’s been a decade. Everyone has settled down to living harmoniously. I can’t forgive what he’s done but I am only one person…with a grudge. I keep wondering whether it’s better for the good of the Set, but especially for Penraven, that I suffer my family history and its sorrows in silence.’

Faris sat back, glad that they’d taken the precaution of seating themselves so well away from others. He could not have risked anyone hearing this conversation. He shrugged. ‘Well, before we start any discourse with Freath, you’d better seriously consider your position. I gave your father my word about several things, and one of them was to do everything in my power to return the Valisar throne to you. But there’s no point to that if you don’t want it.’

Leo glared at him. ‘Are you really going to meet with Freath? Is he mad, Jewd?’ he asked, turning to their companion.

‘I think so, is the answer to both those questions.’

‘Kilt,’ Leo spluttered. ‘Freath is a snake. No, he’s less. He’s vermin. And he’ll be up to something, mark my words. The man betrayed my parents. I watched him. I heard him. He laughed at both of their grisly deaths. He helped Loethar keep my brother on a leash, in a dirty shirt that carried the blood of my father. He would give you up to Loethar without a second’s hesitation.’

‘Which is why he won’t get the chance,’ Faris said jauntily.

‘Kilt, don’t. He’s not someone to allow into your life. He cannot be trusted, I tell you. I’ll kill him as soon as I see him.’

Faris looked pained by the younger man’s bravado. ‘Who said anything about trust? I want to know what his game is. If he’s up to something—or if Loethar is, and I know the emperor wants my head staring sightlessly from a spike at Brighthelm—then it’s in my interest to find out everything I can.’

‘It’s a trap, I tell you,’ Leo said vehemently.

Ciara returned. ‘Fresh dinch,’ she said, laying down the pot and mug. ‘You’ve got enough honey, I see,’ she said, opening the pot on the table but looking at Leo.

Kilt grinned. ‘Yes, I’m sweet enough, but this young man here needs something to wipe that scowl from his face. Can I offer you a silver piece to add some sugar in his life?’

Leo’s elbow slipped off the table in shock.

Ciara gave Kilt a puzzled smile. ‘Your young friend thinks you’re staining my honour.’

‘I apologise without reservation,’ Kilt replied, lifting his pot of strong but milky dinch.

Ciara turned to Leo. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

‘Er, Liam,’ he replied, sitting up straighter.

‘Well, Liam, I shall see you this evening at the bordello.’

The king nodded.

‘And you, Henk?’ she said to Kilt.

‘Ah, Ciara. I have a woman in my life now, and she would cut off my bordellos and feed them to me if she thought I was taking my pleasures with you.’

Jewd nodded. ‘That she would. But I’m free, Ciara. Is that lovely buxom Jenny still working?’

‘She is. I’ll tell her you may stop by.’ And with that she left them to it.

‘Henk?’ Leo repeated, reaching over and stealing the mug of dinch that his friend was about to pick up and savour.

‘Hey! Oh, that’s just not fair,’ Kilt grumbled. ‘Go and pay, Jewd. I’m heading off. I promised Lily some supplies.’

‘She’ll certainly have those “bordellos” off in a blink if you let her down,’ Leo said between gulps.

They all stood.

‘Get word through the right channels,’ Faris said to his longtime friend. ‘I’ll see Freath. Let’s find out exactly what he’s up to, shall we?’

Leo scowled as Jewd nodded. The big man handed Leo the single crutch. ‘Hope that wound won’t slow you up tonight.’

The grimace left the younger man’s face, replaced by a smile. ‘Not a chance,’ Leo said, limping to catch up with Faris. ‘It will take more than a barbarian arrow-wound to keep me from Ciara.’

Faris had left Jewd and Leo to their pleasures, and was watching Lily pack up the stores they’d bought. He had never been happier and Jewd assured him frequently that this was due entirely to Lily’s presence. Faris had dismissed the comment but now he wondered if there was something to it after all. Up until Lily, the only person he’d permitted intimacy with his thoughts was Jewd. No girl had ever come between them and Lily was secure enough emotionally to see that no girl should. She hadn’t once created any bad feeling between the two great companions and, above and beyond that, she had been a blessing in terms of playing a big sister role to the young king over the years since his arrival into the camp.

Faris watched as Lily worked, seemingly oblivious of his scrutiny. He liked watching her move; loved the way she’d flick back her hair when it fell forward, how in that second he’d catch a glimpse of her lovely long neck. He wanted to kiss it now. In fact, he would. Getting up from his seat by the window of the inn, he walked over, put his arms around her waist from behind and kissed the exact spot on her neck he’d been watching. He snuggled into its warmth; could feel her pulse against his lips.

She laughed and squirmed. ‘I’m busy, Kilt.’

‘Never too busy for me, I hope?’ he asked.

Lily turned in his arms. ‘No, never.’ She kissed him tenderly and it turned into a long, passionate embrace. When they parted, she looked breathless. ‘What was that about?’

‘Am I not allowed to show my love?’

‘Your love?’ She looked surprised by his use of the word, but quickly collected herself. She kissed him once again, softly and swiftly. ‘Don’t ever hesitate. It’s just not like you to be so demonstrative.’

He sighed and let her go. He sat himself down on the bed. ‘I’m very aware that you’re one woman among a group of men. I don’t want to rub it in that you’re all mine.’

It was her turn to sigh. ‘Well, I want you to rub it in. I’d quite enjoy the attention.’

‘Oh?’ It was Kilt’s turn to look surprised. ‘Do you feel ignored?’

She stared at him with a scornful expression. ‘Kilt, how could I? You spend so much time with me, and you share your innermost thoughts with me to the point where I want to cover my ears and yell, “no more!”.’

His gaze narrowed. ‘Less of the sarcasm, please. We were enjoying a nice moment.’

‘We could enjoy so many more if you’d only let me in.’ Lily turned away and continued carefully packing goods into sacks and saddlebags. She inhaled a bunch of fleshy leaves. ‘Ah, I love the smell of fresh borrega. We’ll have some deliciously flavoured stews through Leaf-fall as this dries.’

Kilt wasn’t ready to let their discussion go. ‘Let you in? Where?’

Now she looked at him with exasperation, before moving across to where he sat. Tapping his head, she said, ‘In here, you fool. That is the place I want to be permitted to glimpse.’

Ignoring her plea, he pulled her small, voluptuous body closer. ‘Well, I know where I want to be in,’ he said, his tone lascivious now.

She pushed away gently, slightly wearily. ‘I’m busy and you’re not taking me seriously.’

‘I am,’ he replied, his own exasperation matching hers. ‘Now come here, one of your bodice’s strings has loosened. I’ll tighten it,’ he offered, the tone in his voice and glint in his eye suggesting otherwise.

Lily deliberately moved further from him. ‘Besides, it’s not worth trying to be serious when you’re in this mood.’

‘What mood?’

‘The one that is hoping for a tumble in the bed without talking.’

‘Oh, Lily, isn’t that what every man is hoping for?’ he asked, frustration spilling over. ‘You’re ruining what could have been some precious time alone together.’

She didn’t answer him; she gave him an arch glance instead as she packed away some threads and new needles, ticking them off her list.

‘What do you want from me?’ he asked, feeling injured.

‘Is that a genuine question?’ she commented, looking up from her list.

‘Of course it is.’

‘Because I’m not sure you want the honest answer.’ Lily’s hands were on her hips now, the list momentarily forgotten.

‘Don’t I?’

‘No. Because honesty would require you to confront who you are, Kilt Faris. I’ve been with you for a decade now. I’ve healed your aches and stitched your wounds, I’ve washed your clothes and cooked for you. I’ve been your loyal companion and I’ve made love to you throughout that time and never tired of you. I’ve—’

‘You’re a perfect woman, Lily.’ He cut across her words with a triumphant grin.

She looked sadly back at him. ‘Everything’s a jest to you, Kilt.’ She turned away. ‘Even us.’

‘That’s not true,’ he said, scrambling forward across the bed. ‘Don’t be like this, Lily. I really don’t know how to make you happy. Frankly, I didn’t know you were unhappy.’

‘I’m not,’ she said, returning to her packing.

‘You sound it.’

‘No, I’m disappointed, that’s all. I feel as though I’m always on the outside, Kilt. You only let me get so close and then you seem to draw curtains around yourself.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You have secrets. They shut me out.’

‘Me?’ he asked, sounding astonished. ‘No! How can you accuse me of that after so long together?’

‘You’re lying. There’s something restless inside you that only you control, only you know about, only you glimpse. I can only get so far with you and it’s because of that invisible line you’ve drawn around yourself that I know you can never fully love me the way I want to be loved. You take me and my affections for granted, Kilt. And the saddest part is, I’m a little trapped by how much you all need me. I’m not being a martyr, I’m simply stating a fact.’

He stared at her, genuinely hurt. ‘How can you say that?’

She looked back at him, sad and resigned. ‘When did you last tell me you loved me?’

‘A moment ago, I think!’

‘Did you? Did you actually come in here with the full intention of looking into my eyes and telling me you love me? No. You came in here to enjoy some lovemaking. I don’t mean to complain, Kilt. But the fact is, you don’t show you love me, and never, not once have you ever uttered the words, I love you, Lily.’ She held up her hand. ‘I know what you’re going to say. The thing is you probably do love me in your own curious way. You are good to me and you keep me safe and you’ve been a strong figurehead for Leo. I’ve been a part of your life over these years, and that has been wonderful. But—’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what else to do for you. I share every ounce of myself physically and emotionally. You don’t or perhaps can’t reciprocate in the same manner.’

Kilt looked pained. He sighed. ‘But how do you know you love me? You’ve hardly lived, Lily. You could meet any handsome fellow tomorrow and fall head over heels.’

‘Don’t turn this on me. I’m not looking for anyone else and I’d love to know how you imagine someone handsome and available is going to stumble across me when I choose to spend my life in the forest with you. I only come into town twice an anni! Besides, we’re talking about you and how you treat me. And by the way, your suggestion is ridiculous.’

‘Don’t be angry,’ he said, reaching for her. ‘I’m so sorry, Lily. Truly, I am.’

She allowed him to draw her into his arms, relaxing into them, and he could tell she didn’t want to prolong this conversation. ‘I’m not angry.’ Her expression became more wistful. ‘I suppose I am as happy as you permit, Kilt.’ Her careful words were not lost on him.

‘How can I make this better between us?’

‘Let down your guard with me. I’m hardly a stranger and I would never do anything to hurt you or be disloyal to you.’ She stroked his hair, touching the first silvering at his temple. ‘Our relationship is a decade old, or do you forget?’

He shook his head and kissed her softly. ‘No, you’ve saved me a fortune in brothel fees.’

Lily’s eyes widened in horror and she mock-swiped at him. ‘That is really going to cost you, Master Faris!’

He laughed, inwardly sighing with relief that she was keen to lighten the moment. He hugged her more tightly, knowing something profound needed to be said now to secure her faith in him. ‘I’ll have to marry you soon, Lily.’

That caught her attention. She didn’t speak immediately, but stared at him silently, searching his eyes. ‘Do you mean that?’ she said, her eyes glistening, her voice soft, unsure.

‘I’ve never meant anything more deeply. We’re as good as husband and wife now. Let’s make it official as soon as we can.’

Lily embraced him tightly. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

He laughed, twirled her around. ‘This is going to make all the boys happy.’

‘Are you sure? Jewd won’t mind?’

He made a dismissive gesture.‘He told me only last moon that if I didn’t hurry up, he’d ask you and steal you from beneath my nose.’

She smiled. ‘Well, it’s tempting. I’m sure Jewd shares more with me than you ever could!’ She didn’t say it unkindly, though. Then she laughed. ‘And Leo? You think he’ll be happy?’

‘Don’t be vain. Leo got over you years ago.’

‘Says the great father figure!’

‘Well, in a way that’s been my role.’

‘You could have fooled me,’ she said but her voice was light.

Kilt frowned. ‘What makes you say that?’

She smiled, and again it was gentle. ‘Kilt,’ she began, her voice affectionate, ‘you have left all the rearing to myself and Jewd. I’ve played the maternal role and Jewd has been at his side in everything. I’m sure I’m not being unkind when I say that if you do see yourself as a father figure, then you’ve been the most remote father I can imagine. Surely you can’t deny that you keep him at arm’s length?’ She frowned. ‘I don’t mean that unkindly either, my love. I understand that being a kingmaker is hard enough without playing father to him. In fact, I’ve told Leo time and again that it’s not that you don’t like him, but that you have to keep a distance in order to keep what we’re trying to achieve in perspective. He knows that you will likely have to make hard decisions and they can’t be clouded by your affection for him.’

‘He thinks I don’t like him?’

‘He used to. But he’s older now.’ She shrugged. ‘He accepts that this is how you are with him.’

‘And how am I with him?’

She regarded him quizzically now. ‘Distant is how I’d describe it. I’ve watched you. You never sit near him. You certainly never touch him. You always cast off duties that might involve Leo to Jewd. You disappear for long periods when all of us are together. And it’s got worse, rather than better. You spent more time with him as a youngster but you seem to have pulled back as he’s grown and matured. Leo is perceptive, Kilt. Surely you can see how he might interpret this as a lack of love?’

Kilt felt sick, and angry with himself. ‘I’ve just spent the last couple of hours with Leo,’ he bleated. ‘I can’t believe—’

‘Yes, I know you have. But this is how you behave. You go for weeks avoiding any sort of close contact and then, whoosh!’ she said, making a sweep of her hand. ‘You do something like this morning, as though you’ve come out of some stupor or you can bear to be near him for a short burst. Then you’re gone again.’

‘I wanted to see you,’ he explained, sounding injured, but his mind was racing across all of Lily’s observations. He hadn’t realised it was so obvious.

‘I know you did, and I’m glad you came to see me,’ she said, kissing him gently. ‘But once again you’ve left Leo with Jewd.’

‘Not exactly. As we stand here I suspect he is getting a taste of all that he’s been missing.’

She caught on immediately. ‘Oh, Kilt, not The Velvet Curtain?’

‘It’s part of his education. We’ve been raising a sovereign, my love. He has to experience all that we can give him and The Velvet Curtain is integral to growing up. It’s a rite of passage for all the young men in my band.’

‘Led loudly by yourself and Jewd, no doubt.’

‘Not anymore. I am a one-woman man. So let me prove it. I’ll buy a ring next time we’re in town, I promise, and I will talk to the preacher about a wedding in the next few moons.’

Lily gave a soft squeal of delight before adding: ‘I can’t believe the lengths I’ll go to in order to get a new dress!’

Faris grinned, taking pleasure in Lily’s obvious joy. Lily asked so little of him and yet had brought so much to the outlaws. It was true that he’d taken her support and constant presence for granted. ‘You may have whatever you want, my love. But there is a favour I need.’

‘Oh?’

He nodded. ‘A man called Freath will be making contact soon. He’s from the palace.’

‘Freath? Why do I know that name?’

‘He’s the one Leo has declared his favourite enemy alongside you-know-who.’

Comprehension spread across Lily’s face. ‘Of course, the treacherous manservant.’

Faris nodded. ‘The very one.’

‘And he’s contacted you?’ she asked, incredulous.

Faris hesitated. ‘Not directly. But in a roundabout way he has. It’s certainly me he’s after but he’s being deliberately coy, as if protecting me. It doesn’t add up. I want to know what he knows.’

‘Isn’t that dangerous?’

‘Not if I take the right precautions—and you know me.’

‘This isn’t just a chance for you to wear one of my skirts, is it?’

‘Lily, how unkind,’ he said, feigning indignation. ‘No,’ he began again, turning more serious. ‘There’s more to this than meets the eye. Freath is coming to me and he’s coming with stealth and care, it seems. He’s found me in the same way that if I wanted to find me I would. Does that make sense?’

‘You mean, he’s not screaming your name from the rooftops.’

‘Yes. Word has got through he is bringing only a small party. He plans to slip his soldier escort.’

‘All right, so how does this involve me?’

‘He has a companion. Just keep an eye on him for me, that’s all.’

‘One of the men can’t?’

‘You’re far less obvious. I don’t want you to do anything dangerous; I just want Freath alone and feeling vulnerable. I have no intention of talking to him in front of his companion.’

‘How far do I take my spying duties?’

Faris shrugged. ‘Well, don’t sleep with him, my love,’ he laughed, avoiding her determined slap, ‘but stick close enough.’

‘Don’t let him out of my sight, you mean.’

‘Exactly. We are going to separate them somehow and I want someone inconspicuous watching the friend to know if there is anything sinister about Freath’s intentions.’

She sighed. ‘Fine. When?’

‘In the next couple of days. Now, forget that packing. Let me show you how much I care about you.’ He arched an eyebrow.

Lily fell back into his arms and they toppled together onto the bed. Faris tried desperately to lose himself in their affections but at the back of his mind his demon, his ever-present companion, began to gnaw more urgently. He was shocked by Lily’s observation; the fact that Leo had noticed as well meant that Jewd had long been aware of the deliberate distance Kilt had created between himself and the king. Jewd was too shrewd to make his queries as pointed as Lily; no, his friend would watch and make up his own mind. Kilt would have to be very, very careful from here on. He’d given his word to Brennus and would not break it, but in order to keep it he was going to have to exercise still more control while making a greater effort to close that gap between himself and Leo.

3

On the other side of the realm, in a sparsely populated hamlet not far from Minton Woodlet, a dark-eyed youth with hair the colour of damp soil broke his fast with a bowl of creamed oats. He sat quietly at a plain scrubbed table and stared out of a small window into the overcast, drizzly day that the south was experiencing. From time to time he’d trickle a small amount of thick milk into his bowl to cool and liquefy the steaming, delicious glug.

There were only three small rooms to the tiny cottage and a man bustled in from one of the others now. ‘Nearly done?’ he asked brightly. ‘Did I get it right?’

The youngster turned and nodded. ‘Delicious,’ he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

‘Good. Hurry up and finish. I’d like us to get going early,’ the man continued conversationally, leaning to look out of a window as he poured himself some dinch from the pot simmering at the fire. ‘It’s not too cold but the wet weather means you should be able to find us some saramac. I have to go out for a short while. Just to Minton Woodlet.’

The youth kept ladling the oats into his mouth, eating precisely, swallowing carefully.

‘Oh, and excellent news, my boy. I don’t know what you did but the hens are laying again and Bonny’s leg is healed fully. She’s going to be just fine. I’d like to think it was my herbals,’ the man said, turning to stare affectionately as the boy scraped the last of the oats from his bowl, ‘but I know it was you.’

The youth put his spoon into the bowl with a soft clang and looked up. ‘Not all me.’ He shrugged, self-consciously. ‘I like to use it for good.’

‘I know. Just remember, we must keep those skills between us. Never show them off. Never.’

The boy nodded. ‘I know that. I’m finished,’ he said, standing. He lifted the bowl and jug to take them outside to rinse.

‘All right, then. You leave that. I can clear things up. Let’s get you on your way. You know what to look for. I need as many of the fungi as you can find.’

‘You won’t be long, will you?’

‘No, Piven.’

Piven nodded. ‘Be safe, Greven,’ he said, slinging a small sack around his body and reaching for his hat from the hook behind the door.

‘You too, my boy.’ Greven smoothed away the flopping dark waves of hair and kissed Piven’s forehead, as he always did when they said goodbye.

Piven regarded him gravely. ‘The sores have almost gone.’

Greven nodded. ‘I can hardly believe it. All that’s left to remind me I’ve had leprosy is this tremor,’ he said, holding out a hand.

‘I’m sure I can heal that too,’ Piven said. ‘If you’ll let me,’ he added.

Greven watched the orphaned adopted son of the Valisars leave the cottage quietly. He frowned. He’d never questioned that he’d done the right thing in stealing the boy away from the barbarian. That big black bird of omen had led him to Brighthelm and to the child in need—he was sure of it. He’d fought the inclination to follow the bird but he had especially fought getting so close to city folk, and particularly folk of the palace. But the raven had been persistent, staring at him for days, then when Greven finally agreed to follow, returning time and again, swooping and demanding that he continue on the pathway. And though Greven knew where the bird was leading him, he didn’t know why and he feared what he might discover.

He found a helpless, invalid child. And the bird had somehow called to that child, for Piven had looked up and looked straight at them, even though they had been hidden in the tree line on the edge of the forest. The boy had risen and without any hesitation had moved towards them. Greven had felt the irresistible pull towards the young boy, and in spite of every screaming reservation, he had held out a hand and welcomed the child.

Their life had been quiet and uneventful, each of them deriving security from the other. And while Greven offered Piven a life, the boy—fast becoming a young man—had offered Greven hope.

He’d been running from the threat of his pursuer all of his life, so why now, when he was more free, more isolated than he’d been in a long time, did he feel so anxious?

People knew him as Jon Lark, the herbalist who lived with his son, Petor. Once again he was raising a child alone. He’d known about this adopted son of the Valisars who had been mute, indeed lost in his mind—everyone in Penraven knew of the beloved Piven. But within days of their first clasping hands Piven had shocked him by talking. At first it had been halting and of course childish. He had, after all, only been five. Now he was a gangly youth of fifteen anni.

Greven had hoped the boy would forget his past but Piven had forgotten nothing; his recall in fact was daunting. He could describe Brighthelm in detail, walking Greven mentally through the various chambers. He spoke lovingly of his parents especially his mother, whose face he remembered so well that he had drawn her for Greven, and he could see that Piven caught her likeness with uncanny skill. Most of all he talked about his brother, Leo, and had talked a great deal about reuniting with his sibling. He never spoke of Leo as his half-brother, nor did he speak of the years he had been trapped in his silence, his own world.

Greven had tried to discover why Piven had been unable to communicate and, more to the point, how he could suddenly speak so well and so easily for a person who had not used his voice. When he asked Piven the boy would shrug and become introverted and Greven had long ago decided that he was fortunate to have the child at all—and animated besides. The whys and wherefores of his life before they shared it were of no relevance—or so Greven told himself. He himself never spoke of the life he’d had before Piven, and when word had filtered down through the folk who lived amongst and around the forest that Lily had looked for him, he had resisted the deep urge to answer those enquiries.

But what did puzzle, and to some extent unnerve Greven, was the youngster’s ability with magic. The extent of that skill remained untapped, and if Greven had his way, that was how it would remain. But Piven was still a very young man, with all the foibles of youth. There had been occasions on which Piven had shown off, hoping to impress Greven with what he could do. And there were other times, when he was angry, that Greven feared for what havoc the child might wreak. He mostly contented himself with healing magics but Greven was worried that Piven was simply biding his time with his skills. More recently he had begun to catch his adopted son deep in thought, a darkness haunting the youngster’s face, giving it shadows that shouldn’t be there at his age. But Piven refused to discuss those haunted moments.

To be fair, as he matured he also refused to take credit for all the brightness that his skills did bring. Curing the leprosy had been an astonishing feat that Greven still struggled to comprehend. How had Piven done that? He had simply passed his hands once over the afflicted areas and the eruptions that had once so plagued Greven’s life had instantly begun to recede until only the lightest of scarring could attest to the fact that he had ever suffered the disease. And the scars continued to lighten. The tremor alone told the truth of what he had been…what he still was.

In the last few moons, though, the moments of shadow had increased. Not so noticeably that it had become an issue but sometimes he would catch Piven standing alone outside, as if caught in a trance. And when Greven would call out to Piven, and the boy would turn and look at him…there was something odd about it. It wasn’t frightening so much as unnerving; he couldn’t fathom what the boy was thinking. He sometimes wondered if Piven knew the truth when he looked at him like that.

The most recent of these events had occurred six days previous, when he had risen to give Piven the news that Bonny, their donkey, had gone lame. Piven always rose first, curiously enough, and had set the oats on to cook, stirring dutifully to release all their gluey starch. After Greven had told him about the donkey Piven had gone outside, saying he would milk Belle, their cow. Greven had let him go, thinking the boy was upset about Bonny, but not long after he’d walked up to the hearth and found Piven in one of his dark trances, his face pinched in a frown. Greven had said his name loudly but Piven had not reacted, or even given the impression he’d heard. But moments after that the boy had returned, beaming a smile that looked full of the warmth of a thousand suns. ‘You don’t have to destroy Bonny. I believe she will recover,’ Piven had said.

Right enough, the swelling around the beast’s leg had begun to dissipate when Greven went out to check. He’d shaken his head. He had thought he would be slitting the animal’s throat. Instead, he was giving it a fresh nosebag of feed. Now the leg had healed.

Yes, life with Piven was good.

However, as if Lo himself had decided to intervene, word had arrived from Master Junes at Minton Woodlet that there was a nice couple looking to speak to him—an older couple from Medhaven who seem to know you from your youth, Junes had added and for some reason Greven’s internal alarms had begun to sound. He didn’t know why but he found it worrying that these people were interested in his child. In Piven. Did they know? He felt anxious and fearful.

‘But it must not show!’ he admonished himself. And it wouldn’t. His grey-peppered hair was tied neatly back into a pigtail. He had clipped his beard this morning and he had on his best shirt. He looked tidy, clean, respectable…not at all like the once-wandering leper who had crept through the forest with a five-anni-old boy and a strange black raven for company.

He left the cottage. It was time to face them. If worst came to worst, he and Piven could go on the run again, but he needed to know what they were up against. He needed to know if Emperor Loethar had discovered his secret.

Piven disappeared into the shadows of the forest but once he knew he was no longer visible he turned and watched the cottage. He may be young in summers, he thought, but no one realised, perhaps least of all Greven, how much older in his mind he truly was. In fact, Piven was keenly aware of his own curious maturity and he deliberately tried to keep it hidden as best he could. Initially he had been embarrassed by his own perceptive ability but now he realised it wasn’t a gift. No, to him, the new knowledge, the increasing sense of purpose that was still tinged with confusion but nevertheless gnawed at him relentlessly, had a far darker feeling to it…and was part of the magic he had discovered within himself. His maturity had become his curse and now he hated where his thoughts ran.

As his self-consciousness had increased, he had become cagey about his awareness, hiding it by acting far more naive than he was, hoping his contrived innocence might appear acceptable for a youth of his age. But while he and Greven did lead a closeted existence, well removed from others, naturally their paths crossed regularly with the villagers of Minton Woodlet. During these times he interacted with his peers, and in their company he felt like a stranger. Not because he didn’t know them—some he knew well—but because the trivia that occupied their conversation or their play seemed so juvenile.

The raven arrived, swooping to land on a branch just above his head to interrupt his thoughts.

‘Hello, Vyk,’ he said softly. ‘Your timing is perfect as always.’

The great black bird stared at him from above and Piven read query in the look even though his companion’s expression never changed. He explained about Greven’s urgency to get him out of the cottage. ‘He says he’s got an appointment but Greven doesn’t have appointments.’ He loaded the last word with irony. ‘He’s up to something. He was nervous this morning, very anxious to get me gone.’ He glanced at the bird and continued as though it had spoken to him. ‘No, I don’t know why but I can sense that it’s connected to me; something he’s frightened about. But he can’t have guessed.’

Piven sighed. ‘It’s hard to imagine that I spent the first five anni as a halfwit. Now I wish I wasn’t so aware of life around me. Why can’t I be like other boys my age and fret about whether a girl likes me, or why I can’t kick the pigskin around as skilfully as John Daw, or jump a horse over the nine-mile gate as fearlessly as Doon Fowler? Instead, I’m having thoughts about the politics of our land, or I’m considering the undercurrent in a conversation between Greven and the widow, Evelyn; or I’m constantly ten steps ahead in every discussion I share with Greven, trying to prepare the way so he doesn’t discover that I understand so much more than he thinks…and that I know so much more than he does.’

Piven broke a small twig from a branch in frustration. ‘Why is this happening, Vyk? I’m fifteen, not fifty. I want to be like the boys I know. Instead, I’m terrified by my own dreams. I’m dreaming regularly about a woman. I don’t recognise her but I know she’s special. She’s so real in my mind that I often try and reach out to touch her but she’s just a vision, nothing more. And yet,’ he glanced up at the bird, who appeared to be paying close attention, ‘there are moments when I think she’s aware of me.’ He shook his head. ‘I know that sounds ridiculous. She’s a dream. But she’s so different from my other dreams—the ones that scare me, the ones that are dark and filled with anger. They urge me to allow my true self to come through, but I’m too scared to find out who I am.’

Ravan flapped down and sat on the boy’s shoulder. Piven smiled. ‘You are a comfort to me, Vyk. You always have been. I know you go back to Loethar whenever you’re not here. I like that you listen—I couldn’t let anyone else hear these thoughts. Look,’ he said, pointing. ‘There goes Greven. Why would he be so dressed up? His meetings are usually with farmers and he only wears that jacket and shirt if he’s attending a wedding or a funeral. And I know he’s going to neither.’

Piven watched in silence as Greven disappeared down the incline. Then he continued. ‘Whoever he’s meeting, I know it’s not good news for us. I know it’s going to affect me and this is not a good time.’ He banged the tree. ‘Not a good time at all! Something’s happening to me. Do you know I soured the milk yesterday? Greven made me cross because he didn’t like my mending a squirrel with a broken leg, and my bad humour curdled the entire pail I’d just milked from Belle. I’m sure he knew it too because he hasn’t said too much about Bonny’s lameness that is now miraculously cured.

‘I thought curing her would make me feel happy; I try to use my skills wisely but for all the good they can do, I’m paying a price. I’m sure of it. My heart is filling with hate, Vyk; I feel increasingly angry at my situation and yet just a few months ago I couldn’t have been happier. And nothing’s changed. I’m leading the same life, which I love, and yet I feel such rage. I can control it—my anger—but when I exercise that control, quelling the power inside, quietening my fury, something bad happens, like the soured milk. And it’s going to get worse. I sense it. I’m frightened by it. I just want everything to remain the same but I think Greven’s meeting today will change everything.’ He knew he was rambling; words were tumbling out of his mouth furiously, crowding together and turning into a tirade.

The bird shifted on his shoulder, making a clacking sound near his ear. It sounded like a question.

‘I don’t know. That’s just it, I don’t know, but this darkness, this growing up so fast and this new awareness about myself is driving me towards something, or someone, and I’m not sure I can control my urge any longer. Besides, Greven thinks he’s got me fooled. I admire his cunning and I especially admire his courage because this life of his must require a will of iron, but he underestimates me. And soon I won’t be able to shield him from the truth any longer.’

He shrugged and the raven leapt to another branch. ‘It’s the magic, Vyk, it’s not me. Promise me we’ll always be friends, no matter what. I sense you understand me, even if you can’t tell me as much. Don’t desert me, even if I disappoint you—or frighten you. The magic controls me now and I need to understand it more. Someone somewhere must know what it wants.’

Piven turned sadly and trudged deeper into the forest in search of the fungi he knew they would never use.

Pulsuz fraqment bitdi.