March shrugged. “I’d guess they live alone. For all his strength and prowess with a harpoon, even Gravell wouldn’t want to take on more than one demon at once.”
“I didn’t really believe in demons,” Edyon said. “Even when I used their smoke I didn’t believe in them. They’re too incredible. And even after seeing one, nearly being killed by one, I’m still not sure what to think.”
“It’s because they’re from another place. From in there.” March pointed at the ground.
They collected the wood and set off at a steady pace. March’s head was swollen and the cold was as biting as ever, but he was sure that if they followed Gravell’s tracks they’d reach Rossarb. They might get cold and hungry along the way, but they’d cope with that.
But then what?
He could take Edyon to Brigant and try to deliver him to Aloysius himself, but . . . how could he do that to Edyon now? He had saved March’s life. March’s thirst for revenge on Thelonius had never wavered, but betraying a man who’d risked his own life to save yours wasn’t right. No, he couldn’t take Edyon to Aloysius.
So then what?
Perhaps letting Edyon return to his father was the best revenge on Thelonius—the great warrior would get a son who couldn’t fight. But March knew he was doing a disservice to Edyon. He was braver and more principled than most of the lords he’d come across.
March was not like Holywell. He didn’t know the world—he had never left Calidor. He had no friends, no one to turn to for help. Now even Holywell was gone. March felt the chain with its crescent moon inside his glove and made a promise to Holywell.
I’m sorry, brother, I can’t betray Edyon. But I will get our revenge on Thelonius, for you and all of Abask. I will not fail our people.
CATHERINE
TORNIA, PITORIA
In summary, avoid being captured at all costs.
War: The Art of Winning, M. Tatcher
“GATHER YOUR things. We’re leaving,” Catherine told her maids as she entered her chambers.
Ambrose and Catherine had left King Arell’s rooms, marching quickly through the castle, which was in uproar, though no one hindered them. Sir Rowland went to arrange for horses to be prepared.
Tanya and Jane had locked the door, forcing Ambrose to knock three times before they would open it. Now they stood in the sitting room, faces pale.
“But where to, Your Highness?” Jane asked. “Not back to Brigant?”
“No, never back there,” Catherine replied. “Boris and his men have attacked King Arell and many other lords. Some are dead. The king is badly injured. We are in danger here. Ambrose is going to take us north to Prince Tzsayn. He will protect us.”
But will he? His own father, stabbed by my brother’s men . . .
Catherine forced her doubts away, only to be confronted with the question she had been dreading.
“Where’s Sarah?”
For an instant, Catherine couldn’t find the words. Then she forced them out, her voice cracking.
“Boris’s men killed her.”
Jane’s hands flew to her mouth. “But . . . why would they do that?”
Ambrose shook his head. “Because they care nothing for others.”
“Because they’re Boris’s men,” Tanya said furiously. “And Noyes’s men too, no doubt.”
“They’re all my father’s men; he is the source of all this death,” Catherine said. “But we are no longer with my father, nor with Brigant. We’re with Pitoria, King Arell, and Prince Tzsayn, and the better for it.” She did believe that—she had to believe it. “And so we must go to the prince. There’s no time for us to grieve; we must be strong. Sarah would want that.”
Tanya and Jane got straight to work and made small packs of clothes for Catherine and themselves. Catherine made sure she had her jewelry. With no coin to speak of, she knew they might need it to trade with on the journey.
A short time later Sir Rowland returned with a man with white hair and one of the blue-haired guards the prince had allocated to her before he left.
Sir Rowland introduced the men, saying, “Geratan and Rafyon will help us leave the city and make our way north to join Prince Tzsayn.”
Rafyon bowed and reassured Catherine by saying, “We will go with you wherever you go, Your Highness. Prince Tzsayn said that we were to protect you, and it’s not safe here for you now. There’s myself and my nine men, and Geratan and his troop.”
At this, the white-haired man stepped forward. He was tall and slim and powerfully built, and Catherine recognized him as one of the dancers that had accompanied her on her progress to the city. He bowed elegantly.
“We dyed our hair to show our allegiance, Your Highness. We still have white hair; we are still your men.”
Catherine could hardly believe it. “You know that Boris, my brother, has killed many Pitorians?”
Geratan nodded. “We know, Your Highness. And we all know Prince Boris for a cruel and proud man. We saw his behavior on our journey here. And we saw yours. Your kindness to the people, your interest in our ways. We know you are not like your brother. Prince Tzsayn wishes you to be safe and so do we.”
Catherine again felt tears fill her eyes, but this time they were tears of gratitude.
“However,” Sir Rowland said, “everyone knows that Boris is responsible for the attack, and some of the lords are saying that you must be involved. In the prince’s absence, Lord Farrow has taken charge. For the moment all he has done is to forbid you, your maids, and myself from leaving the city. But if the king dies, Farrow will take the law into his own hands before Tzsayn can return.”
“Farrow hates me. He’s always seen me as a Brigantine warmonger.” It was as she had feared, but at least she could now be certain she was making the right choice in leaving. “We’re ready to go.”
Rafyon nodded. “Good. I have horses waiting outside the castle. There is a tunnel, known only to a few people. It’s used by the prince on occasion to escape the court undetected when His Highness is . . . unwell.”
Catherine smiled. “When he’s bored, you mean? It sounds perfect.”
“We must be swift. I will lead. Geratan will stay at the rear.”
Tanya put Catherine’s cloak over her shoulders, then she and Jane picked up their bags. Catherine took one last look at her room, wondering if she’d ever return. Even in their haste, the irony did not escape her. For so long she had dreaded the journey to meet Tzsayn. Now she was flying to him. It was the only way she and her maids would be safe now.
They set off, not creeping along as Catherine had imagined, but walking swiftly and boldly, cutting through rooms and side doors, keeping to the quieter corridors, meeting only two servants who stepped smartly to the side.
They went to the terrace where Catherine had first spoken to Tzsayn. That was only two days ago but felt like years. Once outside, Rafyon went ahead to check the route was clear. They waited in silence. Ambrose stood close to Catherine, protecting her, she realized, with his body. She wasn’t sure it was necessary, but she couldn’t deny it felt good to be close to him. Tanya and Jane were holding hands. They both looked pale and terrified. Catherine signed Strong and Tanya forced a smile.
Rafyon appeared at the far side of the terrace and beckoned them, and once again they were moving, but faster now, almost running through the paths of the rose garden to the water garden, then down steep stone steps to a wooden door hidden behind the branches of a large bush. Sir Rowland went ahead and Ambrose grasped Catherine’s hand as the darkness of the tunnel hid them. Rafyon lit a lantern, but apart from a faint glow showing how low the stone roof was, it didn’t much help them find their way. Luckily the floor was smooth and even, paved it seemed, but also descending more and more steeply.