“Do you think so? Or is her spirit still lingering? Sometimes I feel as if she is watching—haunting me. I’m paying the price for her weakness, her cowardice.”
“Your mother was young, poor, and ignorant. She witnessed the death of dozens of men, the butchery of a mother and child, and narrowly escaped. She lived in constant fear that someday, someone would discover there were twins and she rescued one of them.”
“But,” Miranda said bitterly, “what she did was wrong and unconscionable. And the worst part is she couldn’t let the sin die with her. She had to tell me. Make it my responsibility to correct her mistakes. She should—”
Mercy came to an abrupt halt, tugging on Miranda’s arm.
“Honey, we need to…” She stopped upon seeing the girl’s face. The faint light of an early dawn revealed fear as Mercy stared ahead to where the road dipped toward a large stone bridge.
“There’s a light up ahead,” Arcadius said.
“Is it…?” Miranda asked.
The old teacher shook his head. “It’s a campfire—several, it looks like. More refugees, I suspect. We can join with them and the going will be easier. If I’m not mistaken, they are camped on the far bank of the Galewyr. I had no idea we’d come so far. No wonder I’m puffing.”
“There now,” Miranda said to the girl as they once more started forward. “See? Our troubles are already over. Maybe they will even have a wagon that an old man can ride in.”
Arcadius gave her a smirk but allowed himself a smile. “Things may be looking up at that.”
“We’ll be—”
The girl squeezed Miranda’s hand and stopped once more. Up the road, figures on horseback trotted toward them. The animals snorted white fog as their hooves drove through the iced tracks. The riders sat enveloped in dark cloaks. With hoods drawn up and scarves wrapped, it was difficult to determine much, but one thing was certain—they were just men. Miranda counted three. They came from the south but not from the direction of the campfires. These were not refugees.
“Who do you think?” Miranda asked. “Highwaymen?”
The professor shook his head.
“What do we do?”
“Hopefully nothing. With luck they are just good men coming to our aid. If not…” He patted his satchel grimly. “Get to those campfires and ask for shelter and protection. Then see to it that Mercy reaches Aquesta. Avoid the regents and try to tell the empress Mercy’s story. Tell her the truth.”
“But what if—”
The horses approached and slowed.
“What do we have here?” one rider asked.
Miranda could not tell who spoke, but guessed it was the foremost. He studied them while they stood still, listening to the deep throaty pant of the horses.
“Isn’t this convenient?” he said, and dismounted. “Of all the people in the world—I was just coming to see you, old man.”
The leader was tall and held his side gingerly, moving stiffly. His piercing eyes glared out from under his hood, his nose and mouth shrouded by a crimson scarf.
“Out for an early stroll in a snowstorm?” he asked, closing the distance between them.
“Hardly,” Arcadius replied. “We’re in flight.”
“I’m sure you are. Clearly if I had waited even a day, I would have missed you, and you might have slipped away. Coming to the palace was a foolish mistake. You exposed too much. And for what? You should have known better. But age must bring with it a degree of desperation.” He looked at Mercy. “Is this the girl?”
“Guy,” Arcadius said, “Sheridan is burning. The elves have crossed the Nidwalden. The elves have attacked!”
Guy! Miranda knew him, or at least his reputation. Arcadius had taught her the names of all the church sentinels. From the professor’s viewpoint, Luis Guy was the most dangerous. All sentinels were obsessed, all chosen for their rabid orthodoxy, but Guy had a legacy. His mother’s maiden name was Evone. She had been a pious girl who had married Lord Jarred Seret, a direct descendant of the original Lord Darius Seret, who had been charged by Patriarch Venlin to find the heir of the Old Empire. In the realm of heir hunters, Luis Guy was a fanatic among fanatics.
“Don’t play me for a fool. This is the girl-child you spoke to Saldur and Ethelred about, isn’t it? The one you wanted to groom as the next empress. Why would you do that, old man? Why pick this girl? Is this another ruse? Or were you actually trying to slip her past us? To atone for your mistake.” Guy crouched down to get a better look at Mercy’s face. “Come here, child.”
“No!” Miranda snapped, pulling Mercy close.
Guy stood up slowly. “Let go of the child,” he ordered.
“No.”
“Sentinel Guy!” Arcadius shouted. “She’s just a peasant girl. An orphan I took in.”
“Is she?” He drew his sword.
“Be reasonable. You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Oh, I think I do. Everyone was so focused on Esrahaddon that you went by unnoticed. Who could have imagined that you would point the way to the heir not just once, but twice?”
“The heir? The Heir of Novron? Are you insane? Is that why you think I spoke to the regents?”