We are all killers now, she remembered. Bathed in blood with more to come. Her gaze lit upon a familiar figure at the end of the line, a wiry man, unlike the others in his willingness to meet her gaze, his visage oddly reverent. Shindall, she recalled. The innkeeper who had set her on the road to the High Keep. Seeing your face is the only thanks I’ll ever need.
Reva took the scroll tucked into her belt, holding it up so they could see the seal and the somewhat unsteady signature. “By order of the Holy Reader you are all named as ex-communicants from the Church of the World Father. You are forbidden from reading or reciting any of the Ten Books as you have proved yourselves unworthy of the Father’s love.” She looked once again at the broken-nosed priest. “And I know your name since the Father doesn’t want it, Master Jorent.”
She watched them close their eyes, heads bowing, some whispering prayers, one or two weeping with stains on their trews, much like the Volarian prisoners before being led to the block, though they hadn’t prayed, only begged.
“Lord Arentes,” Reva said. “Remove the shackles. Let them go.”
• • •
Veliss hadn’t voiced any rebuke, only puzzlement. “They plotted against your house once, what’s to stop them doing so again?”
“A plot requires concealment, hidden names, hidden faces. Now they are denied the shadows.”
“And you have denied yourself justice.”
“No, only revenge. The Father has ever been clear they are not the same thing.”
The various contingents of conscripts began arriving a month later, even though the rapidly descending winter did much to discourage marching. With the ever-deepening cold Reva ordered work on the walls stopped and all hands put to repairing the city proper, tents and oilskins to be replaced with walls and tiled roofs. Rationing was resumed as the snows blocked the passes through the mountains to Nilsael and halted further supply from the southern shore.
Reva began each day with Ellese’s lessons, starting with the knife, finding a long-bladed dirk that suited the girl’s small grip. For all her enthusiasm she was a clumsy student, given to frequent falls and scraped knees, though, unlike every other chore she was put to, her lessons with Reva never provoked tears, but her passion for questions remained unabated.
“Were you my age when you learned to do this?”
“I started younger. Don’t jump when you thrust, it’ll leave you unbalanced.”
“Who taught you?”
“A very bad man.”
“Why was he bad?”
“He wanted me to do bad things.”
“What bad things?”
“Too many to list. Watch me, not your feet.”
She left her to practice on the lawn and joined Veliss on the veranda, wrapped in furs against the frosty air and holding a sealed scroll. “It’s come then?”
Veliss nodded, handing her the scroll, though her gaze was still on Ellese, dancing her clumsy dance on the lawn. “She’s not really suited to this.”
“She’ll learn, from both of us.”
“Why did you take her in? You could have found a decent home for her elsewhere. Cumbrael is rich in bereaved mothers hungry for children.”
Reva glanced back at Ellese as she parried a thrust from an invisible enemy. “She didn’t run. When I went into her house she tried to stab me, and when I took her knife away she still didn’t run.” She turned back to Veliss. “I would appreciate it if you would see to the articles of adoption.”
“You’re sure? She’s so young.”
“She’s of noble birth and keen mind, with you to guide her she’ll do very well. And we need to secure the future.”
Veliss’s eyes went to the scroll, lingering on the queen’s seal. “I have never asked you for a promise. But I ask one now. Whatever awaits you across the ocean, promise you will stay alive and come back to me.”
Reva unfurled the scroll, finding it penned in the queen’s own hand, rich in warm regard and appreciation for her diligent enforcement of the edict, ending with a politely phrased order to bring her forces to South Tower by the last day of Illnasur. When winter will not have ended, Reva realised. She intends to sail before the onset of spring.
“Reva,” Veliss said in a choked whisper.
Reva took her hand and pressed a kiss to her cheek, voicing another lie. “I promise.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Vaelin
Vaelin had once spent a winter at the Skellan Pass attempting to combat an upsurge in Lonak raids. Then it had been busy with brothers and Wolfrunners, a stark contrast to the silent walls and turrets he saw now, bereft of brothers to greet them as they approached the squat tower at the mouth of the pass. He knew Sollis had abandoned it with good reason, the Lonak having agreed peace and the invasion requiring every hand he could muster, but still the emptiness of the Realm’s great northern shield was disconcerting, a measure of how much had changed in so short a time.
“My people would have rejoiced at such a sight once,” Kiral said, no doubt sensing his feelings. “Now even they find it a grim omen.”
Vaelin turned as Lord Marshal Orven reined to a halt at his side, his fifty men all that remained of the Queen’s Mounted Guard. “Post guards. We’ll rest here tonight.”
He spent the night in the tower with Kiral and the Gifted from Nehrin’s Point, all of whom had opted to accompany him rather than join the queen’s impending voyage across the Boraelin. The queen herself had blessed their endeavour with well-chosen words and a fine smile, both of which belied her reaction when he had related his intention in private.
“You want to go trekking across the northern ice floes in the middle of winter?” She had called him to her rooms at the palace and the hour was late. Although, judging by the laughter seeping through the door, some of the children were still awake. They had grown steadily in number since the city’s liberation until there were near two hundred orphans crowding this wing of the palace, all formally recognised as Wards of the Crown under the Queen’s Word. Lyrna’s rooms were mostly bare of finery, filled with books and a selection of Brother Harlick’s scrolls, her desk holding several neat piles of notes in her precise script. The space was dimly lit by a single lamp and the glow from the fire, leaving half her features in shadow as she fixed him with a frown of wary bemusement, as if waiting for him to conclude a poor joke.
“Kiral’s song will be our guide,” he replied. “She speaks with the Mahlessa’s blessing, I know you trust her word.”
“I trust the Mahlessa to act only in the interests of the Lonak. If it suited her purpose to set us on a fool’s errand, I’ve no doubt she would do so.” Her frown softened and she reached for a piece of parchment on the desk, holding it up to the light. He recognised it as Alornis’s work—the lines were too precise and perfect for another hand—but the subject was new, a semicircular design of some sort, the shape formed from an intricate pattern of straight lines.
“Your sister proposes a radical departure from traditional methods of ship construction,” Lyrna said. “An inner hull formed of interconnected short beams describing a curve, essentially a practical application of Lervial’s concept of tangential arcs, though she claims never to have read it. If we adopt her approach, unskilled hands can be put to work crafting thousands of straight beams, saving months of skilled labour.”
“Then why not do so?”
“Because it’s never been done before. No ship has ever been built along such lines. Just as, insofar as I can recall from any history I have ever read, no explorer has successfully journeyed across the ice floes, not even in the height of summer.”
“Kiral trusts her song, and I trust her.”
“This man Erlin is so important?”
“I believe so. One so long-lived will possess knowledge far more valuable than anything in Harlick’s scrolls. And the legend says he was denied the Beyond, which may mean he has glimpsed it, as I have. But perhaps he saw more than I did.”
Lyrna’s brow furrowed once more in remembrance. “Arendil once told me a story about Kerlis, claiming his uncle had met him years ago. He said he had been cursed to live forever for refusing to join with the Departed. So he spent his endless days circling the earth in search of one who has the means to kill him, one who would be born to the Gifted of this land.” She sighed a weary laugh. “All just tales, Vaelin. You can’t expect me to sanction this course, to send my Battle Lord to die in the frozen wastes, on the basis of legend.”
“To our cost, we have both learned not all legends are bereft of truth.” He straightened, drawing breath to speak in formal tones but she held up a hand to stop him.
“Spare me the offer of resignation, please. I may command every other soul in this Realm, but I’ll not pretend to do so with you.”
“My thanks, Highness. I propose Count Marven be appointed Battle Lord in my place.”
“Very well. How many troops will you take?”
“None. Just myself and Kiral.”
She shook her head. “That is unacceptable. The Gifted from the Reaches and Lord Orven’s company will escort you.”