“I need to think. All my life I’ve known that I’ll marry the man my father chose for me. Now suddenly I’m free to choose for myself. It’s a strange feeling. And in truth I’m not sure I feel free at all. There is a war. I’m running from Lord Farrow.” She paused. “But if I was truly free to choose”—she blushed and looked down, then back up again, her eyes meeting Ambrose’s—“there is no one more honorable and true than you, Ambrose.”
“You’d . . . choose me?”
“There is no one that . . . I mean, being with you these few days has been . . . Oh dear, speaking of love is difficult.”
“Love?”
Ambrose was lost for words. Without thinking, he lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. He kissed each one, wanting to kiss her hand and arm and more.
Catherine pulled her hand away. “Please, Ambrose.”
He gazed at her. “Speaking of love is difficult, I agree. Kisses are easier.”
“Really?” And Catherine lifted his hand and kissed the back of it. And then each finger and his thumb.
And Ambrose leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “There is no one that I love but you, nor will there ever be.”
CATHERINE
ROSSARB, PITORIA
Honor and Fidelity
Motto of the Prince’s Troop
THE CLOSER they got to Rossarb, the more people they encountered fleeing south, each providing increasingly alarming news. The best was that Prince Tzsayn had reached Rossarb and was fortifying it; the worst was that Aloysius’s army was established on Pitorian soil, advancing on Rossarb and burning and killing all in its path.
Catherine wondered again why her father was doing this. The land she was now riding through was poor: a few scattered houses and villages, small fields with stubby crops. Was he truly coming because of the demons? Or was her father himself some sort of demon, bent on killing and destruction for its own sake?
Rafyon came to ride beside Catherine. “We’ll reach the coast soon, Your Highness, and then you’ll be able to see Rossarb. It’s a fishing port, really. There’s a small castle and an old walled town round it. If the town is under attack, the troops will barricade the streets and remain within the walls. If they can’t hold the town, they’ll fall back into the castle. I was stationed there once. Not one of my most exciting deployments.”
Catherine gave a mirthless smile. “Unfortunately this visit is likely to make up for that.”
As the road approached the coast, the thin sea mist that hung in the air thickened into a fog. Soon Catherine couldn’t see more than twenty paces ahead. The air was still and silent, but she was sure she’d glimpsed a dark figure run across the road ahead of her, then another, and then a few more. Catherine tried to tell who they were from the color of their hair, then realized they were wearing helmets.
Brigantine helmets.
For a moment the fog parted and Catherine made out many small boats pulled up on the beach, with tens, maybe hundreds, of soldiers spilling out of them.
“Brigantines!” she cried, pointing.
Ambrose swore. “They’re taking advantage of the fog to get a foothold on this beach and cut off the town. The soldiers in Rossarb may not even know they’re landing. We have to warn them.”
The gap in the fog had revealed the soldiers, but it had also revealed Catherine’s small group. Some of the Brigantines were already running toward them.
Ambrose drew his sword. “Whatever happens, Your Highness, ride as hard as you can to Rossarb. Don’t look back.”
Catherine urged her horse on, but more Brigantine soldiers were already pouring on to the road ahead. Ambrose galloped forward, slashing at them and forcing a passage through, but then his horse squealed and fell, a spear jutting from its neck.
Ambrose rolled free, shouting, “Keep going! Don’t stop!”
And Catherine galloped through the gap he had forged, Jane and Tanya on either side of her, Rafyon and Geratan behind. She glanced back and saw another man running at Ambrose before they were lost in the thickening mist.
She kicked her horse on, fear choking her. Ahead she saw the dark gray outline of a stone building. Where was she? Was this Rossarb? Surely it had to be. Her horse stumbled and slowed with exhaustion and Catherine looked around, but the mist was thick behind her and she could see no one, not her maids or her guard or Ambrose.
Her horse came to a halt at the wall and shuddered. It wouldn’t even turn, so she dismounted and ran forward, shouting for help.
A blue-haired head appeared over the top of a stone parapet.
“Raise the alarm!” she shouted. “There are Brigantines on the beach! They’re coming!”
A stream of profanities was her answer, but then came the sound of a great gate creaking open and farther along the wall a stream of soldiers emerged and ran toward the beach. Surely there were enough to repel the Brigantines?
But where were her men? Ambrose? Tanya and Jane?
The sounds of fighting were distant and grew fainter, but she wasn’t sure if that was a trick of the fog. For what seemed an eternity Catherine stood, heart hammering in her chest, as slowly the mist thinned and the scene before her was revealed.
There were horses standing and a few men, but the ground was covered with bodies. The first person she recognized, stumbling toward her, was Tanya, who was carrying a sword covered in blood. Then she saw some of Rafyon’s men. All had blood on them. One approached Tanya and took the sword from her, and she leaned into his shoulder, weeping. Then Rafyon appeared, leading his horse and limping. And behind the horse was another figure that Catherine recognized immediately.
She started to run to Ambrose, then checked herself. He looked weary but unhurt. She went to Rafyon.
“Is this all that’s left of us?” Catherine didn’t want to ask but had to. “Where’s Jane?”
One of the men said, “I’m sorry, Your Highness. She was hit by an arrow and fell from her horse.”
“Might she be alive?”
“I went to her.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
Catherine was in a daze. First Sarah, now Jane. Gentle, kind Jane. Catherine had brought them both to this country and now they were dead. There was just her and Tanya left. Tanya came to stand by Catherine, but she didn’t speak and Catherine couldn’t think of what to say. She wanted to crumple to the ground, but she had to stay strong. She took Tanya’s hand and held it tightly.
Rafyon said, “The Brigantines have fallen back to the beach. We need to check for the wounded, quickly, and we’ll find Jane, bring her body. You should go to the castle, Your Highness. If it’s any comfort, we made a difference today. Had we not been here, the Brigantines may have taken the town by surprise.”
Was that a comfort? Some. But Catherine wanted everyone safe.
“I’m going nowhere until everyone is accounted for.”
There were just fourteen standing with her, so six men were missing.
Rafyon nodded. He gave instructions for his men to search the battlefield quickly. They all looked exhausted but moved away, bending over bodies.
Ambrose and Geratan stayed with Catherine and Tanya.
“My first battle,” Catherine said numbly.
Geratan said, “And mine.”
“Mine too,” said Tanya. “And my last, I hope.”
But Catherine suspected there would be more.
The men returned, one carrying Jane’s body. Another of Catherine’s men was alive but would probably not survive the day. The rest were dead.
“We should go and find Tzsayn,” said Ambrose quietly. “It isn’t safe here.”
Catherine gave a nod and Rafyon led the way through the open gates of Rossarb toward the castle. The cobbled streets were damp and cool, though the sun was now shining brightly. Soon she’d see Tzsayn again, which meant not seeing Ambrose. Or did it? Catherine
didn’t know. She couldn’t think about that now. Her mind felt numb still, her thoughts whirling in an unformed mess that she couldn’t put in order.
They passed through a barricade made of doors and tables, makeshift but high, deep, and strong. Beyond it, Catherine was surprised to see a few townspeople carrying bundles of belongings toward the small gray-stone castle that stood at the center of the town.
“I thought most people had left,” Catherine said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Some have fled south,” replied Ambrose, “but not all will be willing or able to leave. They’ll take refuge inside the castle, where it’s safer.”
The castle gates were open but guarded by several blue-haired men.
They saluted Rafyon and one asked, “Who’s that with the white-hairs?”
“Princess Catherine—Prince Tzsayn’s betrothed.”
“Here?” The soldier sounded surprised. He stepped out of the way to allow them to enter.
They passed through into a courtyard where they waited while Rafyon spoke to the guard. Tanya sat down and so did some of the soldiers. Catherine wanted to sit too, but princesses don’t sit on the ground. Eventually another blue-haired man appeared. Catherine recognized him as one of Tzsayn’s bodyguards.
“Your Royal Highness.” He bowed deeply. “We were not expecting to see you here. Your father’s army will arrive at any moment to lay siege to the town. This is not a safe place for you.”
“There are no safe places for me,” replied Catherine, exhaustion threatening to swamp her. “This is as good as any. I have news for my . . .” Catherine caught sight of Ambrose in the corner of her eye. “For Prince Tzsayn.”
The guard blinked. “The prince is out viewing the town defenses. I will send word to him that you are here. Until he returns, may I show you and your maid to somewhere you can rest? Your men can wait here. I’ll see that they are well looked after.”
Catherine and Tanya followed the guard through a doorway and up a set of narrow stone stairs to a simple wooden door. He opened it and stood back, saying, “I will bring the prince as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.” Catherine and Tanya entered and closed the door behind them. Tanya immediately turned the key. That was a new habit.
Catherine lay on the bed. She wanted to sleep, but her mind still seemed to be galloping through mist. Whenever she closed her eyes, she felt the cold of the fog slipping round her. The stab of terror at the moment she lost sight of Ambrose. And what must Jane have felt, alone, abandoned . . . ?
“Jane was alone. I said we’d stay together,” Catherine murmured.
“It’s not your fault, Your Highness. Col was with her. He’s another that died. They were ahead of me and got the worst of it. Legion was with me. He didn’t leave me. Col didn’t leave Jane.”
“You’ve gotten to know the men well these last few days,” said Catherine with a weak smile. She had been too busy with Ambrose and thinking of her father’s plans to pay much heed to the men. They’d been charged to protect her—to die for her—and some of them had.
“They’re all good men.” Tanya’s face crumpled then and she cried. “Were good men.”
Catherine went to embrace Tanya, but still her own tears didn’t come. She thought instead of her father and her brother. They were not good men. They were mad. They had chosen to start a war—they, who knew better than she the full horror and pain of it. They’d lived through one and yet they wanted more. But it was Jane who’d died. Sarah and Jane, Sir Rowland and Col and the others, nameless to her, who had given their lives on the beach.
And because of what? Catherine was determined to find out.
EDYON
NORTHERN PLATEAU, PITORIA
EDYON AND March had been following Gravell and Tash’s tracks for three days. It wasn’t as hard as Edyon had feared. Mostly there was snow, and Gravell’s giant footprints were easy to spot. They took it in turns, one looking for tracks while the other led the pony and collected wood, though they had agreed never to stray far from each other and, if anything felt strange, be it warm ground or whatever, they would abandon the pony and run together.
On the morning of the first day after the demon attack March was following the tracks when he shouted, “Look what’s here!” He held up Holywell’s daggers. “But why have they left them?”
Edyon smiled and shrugged. “I’ve no idea. But perhaps we can sell them. Money from them and the pony will pay for food, and a boat to Calidor, wouldn’t you think?”
Edyon remembered Madame Eruth’s words about the path to riches, but then there were warnings about death being all around, and that was certainly true when the demon attacked. But perhaps he was through that now. Death was behind him, and ahead lay foreign lands and a happier future.
March nodded and put the daggers inside his jacket, just as Holywell had done. It made Edyon shudder and he remembered something else Madame Eruth had said, about the handsome foreign man: he lies too.
So much of what Eruth had foretold had come true, but that part had not. Had March lied about something? He resolved to ask, maybe tonight. Maybe . . .
Suddenly March turned round and smiled. It wasn’t often that March showed emotion in his face, but he was beaming.
“Please tell me you’re smiling because you can see the end of the plateau.”
March’s grin widened. “I’m smiling because I can see the end of the plateau.”
Edyon noted that March hadn’t called him “Your Highness” and was sure it wasn’t because he was being rude but because they had become friends at last. He came forward to stand by March. Then his smile faded.
“They went down there?”
Ahead of them, the land dropped away abruptly down a steep and stony slope. In places, the slope gave way to a sheer cliff. A network of paths so narrow Edyon could barely see them zigzagged among the scree.
“Mountain goats,” said March knowledgeably.
“Will the pony make it, do you think?” asked Edyon anxiously.
“Will we make it? That’s the question. I’ll lead the pony. You find the way down.”
Edyon set off and found to his relief that it wasn’t as hard as it looked. The footing was loose but dry. Some of the paths led to dead ends, cut off by landslides or rockfalls, but Edyon only had to retrace his steps a few times, and with each step down he was feeling more positive and a lot warmer.
The map placed Rossarb just at the edge of the plateau. They could be there for lunch . . . and have a bath . . . a proper bed for the night. Edyon picked up speed. But, as his mind wandered, he lost his footing and slid, only saving himself by flipping onto his stomach and digging his toes in. He looked up to find March peering down at him, his usually unreadable face creased with laughter.
Edyon smiled back. How come he always managed to make a mess of things? Always when March was watching. Since Holywell’s death, March seemed to have brightened, as if freed from some unseen burden. Edyon had hoped it might make March more receptive to his flirtatious remarks, but the Abask still seemed embarrassed by every compliment. Well, perhaps tonight, in a real room—with a real bed—things would be different . . .
At the bottom of the slope they reached a narrow, fast-flowing river. The ground was flat and grassy and a thick mist made it difficult to see, but Edyon could smell the tang of salt in the air and could just make out the walls of a town ahead.
“Rossarb!” he cried, turning to March. “We made it! Never had a doubt.”
March grinned at him. “Nor I.”
“What do we do first?”
“Sell the pony.”
“Oh yes. Sell the pony. Then a meal, then a bath. A hot, hot bath. And then bed and sleep for a full day.”
As they carried on walking, past several small farmsteads, March said, “It’s very quiet. Where is everyone?”
“Perhaps t
here’s a festival on and everyone’s gone into town.”
“Perhaps,” agreed March, but he didn’t sound convinced.
As they got closer they joined a road that led to a small gate set into the stone town wall. Four blue-haired soldiers were manning it.
They both slowed. March asked, “What does the blue hair mean? Are they sheriff’s men? Are they looking for us even here?”
“Blue is Prince Tzsayn’s color. They’re his soldiers. Though I don’t know what they’re doing this far north.”
“Shall we go back?”
But it was too late for that. The soldiers were rushing forward, spears out. Edyon put his hands up and the soldiers dragged him and March through the gate and thrust them roughly against the inner wall.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Edyon’s mind worked quickly. He could hardly admit they’d come from the forbidden territory of the Northern Plateau, but then he remembered the map and Rossarb’s proximity to Brigant. He smiled brightly.
“We’ve just arrived from Brigant. We’re traders but we were robbed on the main road. Hence our rather shabby state. We were afraid we’d meet more villains, so we skirted round to the east to come into town this way.”
Edyon glanced up at the soldier’s face. He looked incredulous.
“Just come over the border today?”
“This morning, yes.”
The soldier stared at them both, then peered closer at March’s ice-blue eyes. “You came over the border too then?”
March replied, “My friend just explained where we’ve come from.”
“What? I can hardly understand you. Where’s that accent from?”
“Look,” Edyon interrupted, “what does it matter what his accent is? He’s with me. We’re here on business.”
The soldier turned to Edyon and poked him in the chest. “I wasn’t talking to you.” He swung back to March and poked him in the chest as he asked, “So? Where exactly are you from?”
March knocked the man’s hand away. “Abask.”