Down the road and past a shabby wreck of a farm they ran, talking as they stumbled through dense bracken and gray trees. “How?” Ren said. “How did this happen—the chains, the soldiers. What happened when you left the Priory?”
“Well…” Adin nearly knocked into a blackthorn. “They caught me in the Hollows. Dagrun’s men surrounded me before I could leave the city, before my father’s loyal men could reach me. They put me in a cage, but my father’s men infiltrated their camp. One of his soldiers passed me a message. My father was dead, but men loyal to him were maintaining the tulou at Catal. There were loyalists in Rifka too. My uncle by marriage, a man named Gallach, worked in the caer and would help me if I could find him. My father’s soldier told me to seek out Gallach, but I had no opportunity, I saw nothing but the four walls of my cell, and spoke to no one.”
“Have you had word since then?”
“No, nothing. I can’t go back to the caer, so I need to find Catal.” Adin ducked into the shadowy gap between two trees. The city was long gone. Darkness covered all of the wood, the trees turning to stone once more. “Should we make camp?” Ren asked, but Adin shook his head. “I don’t want to stop.”
Reluctantly, Ren agreed. Even if he had wanted to he knew they would not sleep tonight. There were soldiers in the forest; he could hear their horses and laughter. “All right.” The shadow-drenched road lay ahead. “I suppose being lost in the woods is still preferable to Feren prison.”
The two boys walked, side by side, Adin talking softly of his life since they had last seen each other. Ren was glad for the companionship, for a familiar voice to keep him company, though sometimes Adin’s voice was like the sighing of a spirit coming in the night, the darkness so thick they could not see each other.
“I thought I had been there for months, Ren. I thought I had gone from one Priory to another. Aside from that first message, no one spoke to me—no guard said my name. Nothing.
“I thought they had left me to starve, then a pair of guards unlocked the door, bound my hands, and led me to the wedding platform. They tied me to the other slaves and left me. I was part of the bridal offering. I was to be a slave, a servant of the bride.”
The bride. Dagrun’s wife, my sister.
Ren shushed his friend: He thought he had heard something, a noise behind them—a twig snapping. But there was silence again, enveloping them in its cold comfort.
“I would have strangled Dagrun had he come close enough.”
“The soldiers would have slit your throat before you reached the platform,” Ren said.
“I don’t care. That prick who murdered my father and stole our kingdom. The bastard did not even bother to suffer the Waking Rite. He’s a thief—nothing more. I’ll kill him.”
“You will,” Ren said, trying to sound hopeful, “but you’re going to need help to manage that. Besides, what do you know of Feren? What do any of us know of our kingdoms? Perhaps your father was a tyrant and Dagrun did the Ferens a favor when he took the throne.” Ren recalled the woodsmen’s stories, how they had feared and reviled the old king.
“I’ll find help at Catal,” Adin told Ren. “You’ll see.”
“Catal?” Ren asked. “How can you be certain Dagrun hasn’t taken the fortress and killed your father’s men?”
“They live. My father’s men will be there. And they’ll help me, they’ll know what to do.”
Ren shook his head. “No, that’s the hunger talking. Dagrun would not allow your father’s men to live.”
“So what would you do?”
I’d go to Catal. They needed soldiers.
Ren shifted uneasily in the darkness. He was still getting used to the sound of Adin’s voice. He’d missed his friend. The tall boy was kin. Tye. Adin. They were the only ones who cared about him. He had no one else. It was why he had come back for Adin. If one did not have any family, what did one have? He thought of asking Adin to go with him to Solus, to wait for Tye’s release, but he put the notion aside. He had another week, maybe ten days, before the Thieves’ Moon. He could go to Catal, then Solus, and still arrive before the new moon. It seemed the best course. Adin’s family could provide weapons, provisions, and perhaps a few men. Ren did not want to return to Solus unarmed and alone, not unless he had no other choice.
He thought of his sister Merit, who had sent soldiers to hunt him down, her own husband to cut his throat. There was no family there. For ten years he had dreamed of his kingdom, he had known the path he would take outside the Priory. That path was no longer certain.
He stood up, brushing the needles from his tunic, offering his hand to Adin. “We head to Catal,” Ren said, ready for the journey. “Do you know how to get there?”
35
The wedding done and the dress removed, Kepi’s servants washed and perfumed her, dressed her in a silky frock, this one even smaller than the last, a slip of fine muslin that hung from two straps, open at the chest, the younger girls blushing and giggling as they went about their work, the elder looking grim. Kepi yawned. Her head was only now clearing from the opiate. The servant who had pitied her—the half-blind girl, Dalla—dressed Kepi’s hair with oil and said that she would check on her in the morning, that she would come at first light to see what her queen needed from her. The girls took their time and Kepi did not rush their preparations. They fussed and fretted. Dalla was the last to leave, her bony shoulders disappearing behind the blackthorn door as it closed.
Alone, the cold chamber brought back memories of her first wedding night. Kepi gnawed at her bitten-down nails. In the morning, Dalla, will you find me cowering in some closet? No.
In the hallway she overheard Dagrun’s voice, the sound of his footsteps. “I want Barrin’s heir found,” he said. “Bring me his head, or offer me yours,” he said, dismissing the other man. Footsteps thudded in the corridor. The door opened. She cast about for a sheet to cover herself, then realized she was being silly. He had already seen her. All of Feren had.
“My wife,” said Dagrun, not unkindly. His expression bore something strange in it, something she could not quite read. It was kindness—or at least it was trying to be.
Kepi was unmoved.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
No words formed on her lips.
He came nearer. He was so close now she could feel his warmth against her breasts, against her belly through the fabric of her dress. He picked up her small wrist in his large hand, encircling it completely.
She tried to calm herself, but she could not keep the servants’ gossip from her thoughts.
“There’s no need to be frightened of me. I hope you haven’t listened to the girls’ stories.” He cast her a doubtful glance. “And you were never so scared to meet me in the ring.”
“We were both wearing armor then,” Kepi said dryly.
Dagrun smiled. “Shall I fetch your sword? Will that bring you comfort?” he asked. “Don’t believe the servants’ chatter. Scandal is their currency—am I wrong?”