“Calm yourself,” Rafyon said, and set her down. “Stay with the group, miss. It’s safer together.”
“But Gravell’s not in the group; he’s in the cells. I’m going to get him out.”
She squirmed free and hared off through the smoke and swirling sparks. Rafyon shouted some orders and Geratan and Baranon followed her as she ran down the steps.
There was no sign of the jailer—bloody coward would have fled at the first sign of trouble—but the keys to the cells hung on a wooden peg in his room.
“Come back, Tash!” Geratan shouted. But Tash had already snatched up the keys and run to Gravell’s cell. He was at the door as she opened it. Tash grabbed his hand and pulled him into the corridor. She threw the keys to Geratan and said, “You can deal with the others. We’ll see you outside.”
She ran back to the courtyard, Gravell behind her.
“Shits!” Gravell said as they got outside.
The fire had gotten worse. Ambrose and Rafyon were standing over bodies at the entrance to the castle. Tash and Gravell joined the princess in a group of white-haired men and among them she saw Edyon and March, who seemed completely recovered from his injuries.
“Rossarb is lost,” gasped Ambrose as he ran up to them. “The Brigantines have broken through the western barricade. We’re cut off from the prince. We have to find a way out ourselves.”
“What do we do?” Tash asked Gravell.
“Stay with everyone else until we’re safely out of this mess,” Gravell replied. “Then find our way up to the plateau. The Brigantines won’t follow us there.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” muttered Tash.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, they’ve come for the demon smoke. That’s why they’re here.”
Gravell shook his head. “That makes no sense.”
“Sense or not, that’s what’s happening.”
And then they were off and running, out of the castle and into the streets. Tash and Gravell stayed near the front, close to Rafyon, who seemed to know the side roads well. They headed southeast and had almost reached the town wall when they spotted a group of Brigantine soldiers ahead. Rafyon drew his sword but turned his head and shouted, “Not this way. Go back. Go back!”
The Brigantines moved toward them slowly, one man throwing a spear that sailed over Tash’s head. There was a scream from behind her. More spears were launched, landing in the people behind her. The screams and shouts were frantic and Tash was pushed forward to the Brigantines. “No,” she yelled. “Go back. Go back!”
But there were too many people in the narrow alley. Tash looked for another way out, or even up, but there was nothing. One of the Brigantines ran forward, his spear leveled at her throat. Tash had nowhere to go. She was trapped between soldiers on either side. Everyone was trapped. Then she felt Gravell’s hands on her shoulders, turning her, and somehow she knew what he was doing.
She screamed, “No!” but he was too strong, curling his body round her like a shield as the spear point pierced his side.
Gravell grunted and staggered. The spear was embedded deep in his chest. With one pawlike hand, he grabbed the Brigantine soldier by the neck and snapped it with a wrenching twist, hurling the body back and scattering the rest of the Brigantines. Now the crowd behind him began to move, but too late.
Gravell fell to his knees and Tash put her hands to his face. “No, no, no!”
He looked at Tash and said, “Run, missy. Run!”
“No!” screamed Tash. “Get up!” And she tried to pull him to his feet.
“You can’t move me, missy. You go.”
There was fighting all around her now, but Tash didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything but Gravell. But what could she do? She clung on to his jacket and put her mouth to his ear, telling him, “I’m not going without you. I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“Just don’t go back to that fat pie seller in Dornan. You’re better than that.”
Tash shook her head, tears pouring down her cheeks. “I’m working with you. Always.”
“Good girl,” said Gravell, and he closed his eyes and his body slumped sideways.
Tash stood, disbelieving. And then arms grabbed her again and lifted her up and away from Gravell, and all her kicking and screaming was no use at all.
CATHERINE
ROSSARB, PITORIA
War is often seen as the end, but often it is a new beginning.
War: The Art of Winning, M. Tatcher
THE SMOKE was choking, tears stung Catherine’s eyes, and she coughed and spluttered. All she could do was keep hold of Ambrose with one hand as Tanya clung to her other.
Catherine was afraid, not of the Brigantines but of what Ambrose might do. Ever since he’d seen Tarquin’s body, he’d been different. Distant. Hurt beyond words. He’d not spoken to her, but something about him had changed. And yet he was here, pulling her through the alleyways of Rossarb. She glimpsed others, some of her men, Edyon and March, Rafyon carrying Tash, who had stopped kicking and was now just sobbing quietly.
Finally the smoke cleared. They were at the eastern edge of the town, then through the last barricade, through the walls, and leaving Rossarb behind. The night was dark and the road quickly became no more than a stony path. The only sounds were their labored breathing and the river roaring to her left.
They were climbing, Catherine realized, the slope becoming steadily steeper and steeper. This path had to lead up to the Northern Plateau, to demon territory.
They carried on up the slope, Ambrose gripping her hand tightly, almost too tightly. At one point she stumbled and, like lightning, he turned to catch her but then carried on as fast as before. Finally, in a hollow in the hillside, they stopped.
Behind, there were dark silhouettes of people straggling up the hill, and beyond them, through the trees, Catherine could make out a bright orange glow.
Tanya said, “The whole town must be in flames.”
“My father’s legacy. Destruction.”
Catherine shook her head and felt tears fill her eyes.
“Will they come after us?” Tanya asked. “Or will they think we’re with Prince Tzsayn?”
“They’ll come, sooner or later.”
Her father would never stop. He’d never forgive. For those he deemed traitors, he would give no quarter, not even to Catherine. Especially not to her.
Catherine pulled her shoulders back. Her father could try to do to her what he’d done to Lady Anne, but she would fight back. She knew what he wanted now, and she would do everything she needed to stop him getting the purple demon smoke and leading his boy army against his peaceful neighbors.
And yet, in her heart, Catherine wanted to do more than that. She recognized now her own ambition, and for a brief moment she had a vision:
Her own army, white-haired, well-armed, and strong as demons.
Marching to war against her father.
PLACES AND CHARACTERS
BRIGANT
A war-hawkish country.
BRIGANE: the capital
FIELDING: a small village on the northwest coast, where Lady Anne was captured by Noyes NORWEND: a region in the north of Brigant
TARASENTH: the home of the Marquess of Norwend Aloysius: King of Brigant Isabella: Queen of Brigant Boris: Aloysius’s first-born son Catherine: Aloysius’s daughter; betrothed to Prince Tzsayn of Pitoria; sixteen years old Harold: Aloysius’s second-born son
Noyes: the court inquisitor Sarah, Jane, and Tanya: Catherine’s maids Peter, Viscount Lang, Dirk Hodgson, Sir Evan Walcott: members of the Royal Guard The Marquess of Norwend: nobleman from the north of Brigant Tarquin: the Marquess of Norwend’s first-born son Ambrose: the Marquess of Norwend’s second-born son; member of the Royal Guard; twenty-one years old Lady Anne: the Marquess of Norwend’s daughter; executed as a traitor Sir Oswald Pence: Lady Anne’s friend; now deceased CALIDOR
A small country to the south of Brigant.