Exile (40 page)

Charald nodded once and Sorne wrote Nitzane’s name on the top of the list.

‘If you are looking for someone who is a good judge of men and has the political acumen, you could not go past High Priest Faryx.’

‘Of the Father’s church?’ Charald looked doubtful.

‘Like High Priest Oskane,’ Sorne said.

‘Very well, one man of heart, one man of learning.’

Sorne added the priest’s name. ‘And one man of war. But who? You need someone who is a good strategist, but places loyalty ahead of personal ambition. Why not appoint the commander of the king’s guard? It would be in his best interest to ensure the prince reaches his majority.’

‘Do it. And I want Jaraile’s cousin, Baron Kerminzto, too. He’s good with men and he’s related to the boy.’

‘That’s four advisors,’ Sorne said, writing their names. ‘You need a fifth to have the deciding vote. How about the queen?’

Charald blinked. ‘A woman?’

‘She has the prince’s best interests at heart.’

‘Can’t hurt.’

Sorne added the queen to the list, then showed the king. ‘So you are agreed?’

Charald nodded and Sorne offered him the quill. The tremor showed in his signature, but all his decrees looked like this now.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

A
RAVELLE HUNG THE
last smock on the line. She was tired, bone tired. She’d felt tired since the run-in with Trader Kolbik five days ago. Between them, she and Ronnyn had brought their father home, but he’d been feverish on and off and their poor mother was run ragged, what with nursing their father, being heavily pregnant and looking after the little ones.

The rest of the workload fell to Aravelle and Ronnyn. Cooking, cleaning, washing, chopping firewood, repairs, preparation for winter... They lived like the poorest of Mieren.

Today Father had woken clear-headed and had managed to walk as far as the kitchen table.

Itania shrieked with joy as Tamaron chased her. At least the little ones were not worried. Even six-year-old Vittor wasn’t old enough to realise how serious things had become.

Feeling lighter of heart, Aravelle headed back to the cottage. The shutters were open and her mother’s voice carried clearly.

‘Do you regret running away?’ Sasoria asked.

There was silence. Aravelle imagined her father holding out his hand as he sat by the fire. She imagined her mother going to him and cradling his head.

After a moment her father said, ‘You know I don’t regret our time together. You are my world.’

His voice was raw, and Aravelle’s throat grew tight with emotion. She desperately wanted to be someone’s world.

‘But we have to face facts. The trader could come after us.’

‘You said the islands are like a maze.’

‘They are. But eventually, he’ll find his way through the maze. More pressing is Ronnyn. He’s twelve, and his gift will start manifesting in a year or two. Once that happens, he should be empowered and begin his training. We should go before his gift starts driving him.’

‘The sisterhoods will take him, and Tam and Vittor, too. It’ll tear my heart out. And now there’s–’

‘There’s a reason the T’En keep their distance from Malaunje. When Ronnyn’s gift comes to him, it will affect all of us–’

‘I’ll teach Vella how to maintain her gift shields.’

‘Yes, you do that. After all, the defences worked so well for you,’ he said, and his tone made Aravelle’s cheeks burn.

‘My defences held,’ her mother insisted. ‘He never made a devotee of me.’

‘No, but you liked playing with fire. Don’t deny it.’

Aravelle’s heart raced. The term ‘devotee’ was new to her, but she had her suspicions.

‘We have to think of Ronnyn,’ Asher said. ‘His arm is as good as it’s going to get. Healer Reoden could help him.’

‘I know... She could help you, too.’

‘Don’t fool yourself, Sasoria. The brotherhood won’t petition her to heal me. They’re more likely to punish me.’

‘I was selfish to ask you to run away with me,’ Sasoria said, voice tight with emotion.

‘No, I was selfish. I wanted you all to myself, and now we have to face the consequences. There’s something else we have to face. You’ve already defied the odds and birthed three beautiful, healthy T’En boys. This new baby...’

Aravelle backed away, her hand covering her mouth. She’d forgotten. They’d been lucky with the three boys, but so much more could go wrong with a T’En baby. What if the new baby was stillborn?

She ran past the chickens and the little-ones, past the smoke-house. She ran to the clotheslines and stepped between the lines. The wind blew the sheet against her body, hiding her from prying eyes.

There she wept angry, bitter tears. It wasn’t fair. Because of the gifts, they had no control over their lives.

‘Vella, what’s wrong?’

She looked up to see Ronnyn standing at the end of the washing line, visible between the flapping sheets. He’d been out cutting the trees for timber to reinforce their chicken coop and goat pen, and sweat made his much-washed shirt cling to his body. When had his shoulders grown so broad?

‘You’re crying.’ Concerned, he tucked the axe in his belt and came down between the washing lines. As he drew nearer, the wind picked up tendrils of his white hair, swirling it around his face. She stared up at him. Her eyes were level with his nose now, and his hair was darker at the temples. It was only the slightest difference in tone, but it was evidence of his gift starting to manifest.

‘Is Da all right?’ he asked.

She nodded, wiping her cheeks, furious with herself.

He laughed and hugged her.

That did it. She couldn’t stop the tears. Sobs shook her shoulders. He hugged her tighter, and she felt his gift stir. It was intoxicating. As her senses sharpened, everything became more intense.

She craved the sensation.

Furious with herself, she pulled away, flipped the washing over her head, ducked under the line and headed for the cottage.

She hadn’t moved three steps when he caught up with her, grabbed her arm and swung her around easily. Gone were the days when she could outwrestle him.

‘Vella? I don’t–’

Signalling him to keep his voice down, she glanced over to where the little ones were still playing. There was no sign of their parents. ‘I overheard Ma and Da talking about going back to the city.’

‘I can look after us.’

‘I know. This isn’t about you providing for us.’ She didn’t want to say it, but she knew she should. ‘It’s about your gift. You need training.’

His forehead crinkled earnestly.‘I’d never hurt–’

‘Not on purpose.’

‘What did they decide to do?’

‘They think we have another year or two. If we go back, there’s a T’En healer who might be able to fix your arm, but the brotherhood will punish Da and our family will be torn apart.’ She felt the tears threaten again. ‘It’s not fair.’

T
OBAZIM HAD NEVER
been particularly fond of horses, and they weren’t fond of him; but the T’En were expected to ride. So he ended up riding through the causeway gate with Ardonyx beside him at the head of their party. Back at the exile-council, when they’d volunteered to be the first to go to port and organise the exile, it had seemed so far away.

Now it was almost full small moon and they were leaving the Celestial City. Only one more small moon and it would be winter cusp and time to leave their home forever.

Looking over his shoulder, Tobazim saw people waving from the wall and the brotherhood palace roofs. There were even people on the sisterhood palaces.

‘So many,’ Tobazim said.

Ardonyx shrugged. ‘We’re the first to leave the city. Our departure makes it real.’

‘I’ve only ever lived in the sisterhood’s estate, the winery and the city. I’ve never been outside of Chalcedonia. I’ve no idea what to expect.’

‘You have more idea than most. The majority of them have never left the city. Exile is going to be a shock.’

‘It doesn’t worry you?’

‘The whole reason I went to sea was because I couldn’t stand being confined.’

His tone made Tobazim glance to him. There was so much he did not know about Ardonyx, and now they were riding to port together. Behind them rode around twenty T’En warriors. Haromyr, Eryx, Athlyn and the rest, plus Ionnyn and the few T’En survivors of Chariode’s brotherhood. About three dozen Malaunje crowded onto four wagons, most of them women and children. If he’d had a choice, he would not have brought so many non-combatants but, when they started putting the party together, people just kept coming up to him, asking to join in. He’d tried to explain they were the advance party and he didn’t know what conditions they would find in port, but they were adamant.

Athlyn caught up with them. ‘I’m surprised Kyredeon let us bring such a large party.’

Ardonyx glanced to Tobazim, a half-smile on his lips. ‘Will you tell him, or will I?’

Tobazim grinned. ‘Kyredeon thinks good riddance to us. He hopes we’ll be attacked en route by Mieren brigands–’

‘I thought we had safe passage to the sea.’

‘In theory, we have safe passage,’ Tobazim said.

‘In theory, my ships were safe in port,’ Ardonyx added.

Tobazim felt the tug of like to like. In many ways he had more in common with Ardonyx than he’d ever had with anyone, even his choice-brother.

They reached the end of the causeway and the chatter. The barons and their men had lined up to watch them go.

As Tobazim looked up the hill, he saw heavy black storm clouds. They were going into danger, into the unknown, yet he embraced the challenge.

S
ORNE WELCOMED THE
high priest. ‘Take a seat.’

Nitzane, Jaraile and Halargon, commander of the king’s palace guards, were already seated on the far side of the table. Sorne hadn’t sent for Baron Kerminzto; he wanted to get the decree signed without delay.

Also present were two law scholars to act as witnesses. Sorne could not witness a legally-binding document thanks to his tainted blood, and Jaraile’s signature was not legally binding as a woman.

Of course, a legal document was binding only as far as you had power to enforce it. But in this case, the most powerful church, the most powerful baron, the prince’s kinsman, the queen and the commander of the king’s guard had a vested interest in seeing it honoured.

‘This undertaking will ensure the stability of the kingdom until Prince Cedon turns fifteen,’ Sorne said. ‘Then he can choose his own advisors, but if you do your jobs well, I’m sure he will continue to turn to you. I’ve sent for the king... Ah, here he comes now.’

Charald strode in, took a look around the table and turned to Sorne, glowering with suspicion. ‘What’s this?’

‘Everyone’s ready to witness you sign the decree, sire. Remember how we discussed Prince Cedon’s future?’ Sorne spoke quickly, before Charald could say something that revealed how much his mind was slipping. ‘In this very room, six days ago, you spoke of how your father died and left you with Nitzel and Oskane to advise you. You told me you were worried about...’

Charald took a step back, shaking his head.

Sorne’s heart sank. ‘You asked me to draft the decree.’

He eyed them all. ‘You’re conspiring against me.’

‘Perhaps this will help.’ Aware of the high priest and two law scholars regarding him with distrust, Sorne shuffled through his papers. ‘Here. This is the list we made together. You signed it, sire.’

He placed it on the table and everyone peered down at it.

‘I don’t remember signing that,’ the king said.

Aware that Charald’s sight was not what it had been, Sorne picked up the paper to bring it closer. ‘Take a good look, sire. It’s your signature. This is why you had the discussion with me. You were worried about your memory.’

The king’s eyed narrowed. ‘Eskarnor warned me you were up to something, but I didn’t believe him. You’re trying to steal my throne. I–’

‘What of Prince Cedon?’ Jaraile pleaded. ‘Who will look after our son when you’re dead?’

Sorne winced.

‘Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you could marry your lover.’ Charald stabbed a finger at Nitzane.

The high priest and law scholars looked shocked.

‘Hold on.’ Nitzane sprang to his feet. ‘You can’t cast aspersions on the queen’s honour. If you weren’t an old man, I’d–’

Charald bristled. ‘This old man could best you–’

‘Think of our son, not yourself, for once!’ Jaraile rounded on the king, colour high, eyes blazing. ‘He’s only a boy. It’s your duty to protect him.’

‘Duty?’ The king spluttered. His skin reddened with fury, and he burst into a tirade, shouting a string of bitter accusations at the queen, about duty, and her lack of it.

High Priest Faryx had never witnessed one of Charald’s rages, and he made the mistake of trying to talk sense. The more they confronted the king, the more adamant Charald became, and the less rational. In the past, his rages had terrified staff and courtiers. Now, it became clear to Sorne, the king’s anger sprang from fear; his voice became querulous. His tremors became worse and, when he started calling for Oskane, everyone fell silent.

‘Where is he?’ Charald demanded, tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘How dare he go off when I need him? Where’s Oskane?’

Jaraile sank into a chair, hand to her mouth, stricken. Nitzane blinked in dismay, went to say something, then stopped.

They all turned to Sorne, who approached the king. ‘Oskane sent me, sire. He told me you needed to rest. Let me fetch your manservant.’

‘What?’ Charald looked at him, blinked, then the fragile belligerence left him. ‘Yes, get Bidern.’

Relieved, Sorne sat the king down opposite Jaraile and summoned a servant to fetch the manservant. Then he went to the sideboard, poured a cup of wine and slipped in two of the soothing powders.

‘Drink this, sire.’

Charald accepted the cup, took a mouthful and stared across the table. ‘All you had to do was give me a suitable heir.’

‘But he will be healthy,’ Jaraile protested.

His gaze shifted to her. ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’