Faces (26 page)

Mara stared after his retreating back for a long moment, the heart Hyram denied she had aching in her chest. She wanted to believe Keltan; wanted to live up to his unwavering love. But there was a dark worm of doubt within her. What if Hyram was right? What if she had already become the ruthless sorceress she'd sworn she'd never become, the Lady of Pain and Fire all over again, and she was just refusing to admit it?

She could not deny the facts. She had killed. She would kill again. She had, on more than one occasion,
enjoyed
killing. Did the fact she occasionally felt guilty about it absolve her of all the bloodshed she had caused?

Absolve me in whose eyes?
she thought then, a cold thought that rose from some strange quarter of her mind to drive away her doubt.
Who can judge me? There are only two other people with my Gift. I killed one in the magic mine. And now I will kill the other.

I
am the only one whose judgment matters.
I
am the only one who can make me feel guilty.
I
am the only one who can punish myself.

Her lips thinned.
And I don't choose to
.
Not yet. Destroy the Autarch. Then feel guilty. But not until then.

Who was she to upbraid Keltan and Hyram for shooting the Watchers? True, she wouldn't have killed them—probably—but she would have violated their minds, as she violated Ginther's, as the Lady had violated so many minds over the decades, as the Autarch did on a daily basis.

She had faced the threat of rape more than once in her young life. She had first discovered how deadly her Gift could be when she had slain Grute as he tried to assault her in the magic-collection hut where they had taken shelter en route from the Secret City to the mine of magic. Yet she had already raped one mind, and had been prepared to rape two more. Wasn't violating an individual's mind even worse than violating his or her body?

She thought it must be. But she resolved not to feel guilty about that, either.

No more guilt
, she thought again.
No more guilt until the Autarch is overthrown. And then I can wallow in it.

If I survive.

She dug her heels into her horse's flanks and trotted past the boys as they mounted. “Catch up,” she snapped at them. “Time's wasting.” Then, with Whiteblaze trotting ahead of her, she rode on into the forest without another glance at them. And she didn't feel guilty about it.

I don't,
she assured herself. Several times.

Apparently abolishing guilt was harder than she thought.

All the same, she did her best to ride into camp with all the imperiousness of the Lady of Pain and Fire. Edrik waited outside her tent: she dismounted right in front of him with as much authority as she could, which wasn't all that much, because she was still only a mediocre rider at best. Still, at least she didn't catch her foot in the stirrup and sprawl at his feet.

“Done,” she said, before he even spoke. “The Masks are in my saddlebags.”

“Took you long enough,” Edrik growled. “Considering that right about now an army of Watchers in the northwest is probably decamping to chase us down.”

“It took as long as it had to take,” Mara said. “We can move out at first light.”

“We will,” Edrik said. “But we'll be slower than our pursuers. We'll have to ride in the wilder valleys to the west of the Heartsblood to avoid detection. Though I think it's a fool's hope to believe the Autarch will not know we are coming long before we come anywhere within sight of Tamita.”

“He sent the bulk of his forces north,” Mara said. “There should not be a force strong enough to challenge us between here and Tamita, even if we
are
detected.”

“He could send one out from the city,” Edrik said.

“He could, but he won't,” Mara said, wondering again as she did so where her sense of authority and knowledge on matters military came from, yet not doubting that what she said was true. The words spilled out of her as though she had been planning campaigns all her life. “The Autarch is cautious to a fault when it comes to his own safety. His walls have been breached recently—by me—and cannot yet have been repaired, because the massive stones required could neither be quarried in the mountains nor transported to the Heartsblood valley during the winter. He will keep his remaining forces within Tamita to defend it—and his own august personage—and simply wait for you to arrive, confident he can hold Tamita even with its damaged wall long enough for the returning army from the northwest to crush your tiny force.”

“Which it assuredly will if you fail in your attempt to eliminate the Autarch,” Edrik said.

“If I fail,” Mara said, “the Autarch will rule in perpetuity—and tyranny—for another century. Better dead than that, don't you think?”

Edrik gave her an odd look. “Do
you
?” he said. “Are you done with life before you even turn sixteen?”

“No,” Mara said. “But I hope the Autarch will be.”

Edrik sighed. “Well, there's certainly no going back now. The Watchers would catch us before we could reach the pass. We might as well play this out to the end, and trust to this ‘Gift' of yours.” He smiled, surprising her. “And here I thought it might be useful mostly as a way of mending torn cloaks, when you first revealed you still had it. Remember?”

Mara couldn't help but smile back. “I remember.”

Edrik glanced past her at Hyram. “All clear on her trail?”

“For now,” Hyram said. “She was accompanied by two Watchers. We shot them.”

Mara felt another surge of anger at his casual tone, but said nothing.

Edrik gave her a sharp look. “You didn't mention them.”

“They're dead. They didn't seem important anymore.”
No guilt
, she told herself fiercely. “The head Watcher in Silverthorne sent them to keep me safe from bandits as I rode back to my supposed ranch.”

“Then the Head Watcher in Silverthorne will be coming to look for them,” Edrik pointed out.

“He won't find a trace of them,” Mara said. “I made sure of that.”

“Maybe,” Edrik said. He shrugged. “Well, I don't suppose it matters. A few small-town Watchers don't pose much of a threat. Very well. We'll head south in the morning. You're in command. It seems
you
are the Lady of Pain and Fire now.”

Don't say that
. “I suppose so.”

“Her pavilion is yours,” Edrik said. “If you want it.”

“No,” Mara said vehemently. “Tear it apart. I just want a regular tent.”

Edrik's eyebrow raised. “Very well.” He glanced at Keltan and Hyram. “Will you two find a spare for her and set it up?”

Hyram shot Keltan a glance. There had been a time when that had meant they were vying for her attention. Now she suspected Hyram was wondering how to get out of the task. He'd made it clear he hated and mistrusted her, and anyway, he and Alita had been inseparable during the trek to the Lady's fortress and after.

I don't care,
she thought.

“There's space near ours,” Keltan said.

Hyram opened his mouth in what Mara was sure would be a protest, but closed it again without speaking. He nodded.

“Go on, then,” Edrik said.

With Whiteblaze trotting at her side, Mara followed Keltan and Hyram into the camp. The unMasked Army and Chell's men still segregated themselves, she saw: the sailors' camp was a little ways off among the trees, while the unMasked Army's tents were on a flat space next to the bubbling little stream she now knew reached all the way back to the waterfall that poured down the cliff above Silverthorne.

There were a lot of bundles of one sort or another piled up on a shelf of rock a good distance back from the stream, including a handful of the two-man tents the unMasked Army favored. Hyram and Keltan grabbed one of the long white bundles and, in silence, hauled it down to the far end of the camp. “Our tent,” Keltan said, pointing to it. He and Hyram went to work erecting Mara's tent a few feet away from it. Mara sat down on a rock to watch. It took them no time at all; she would never have managed it. She'd never watched one of them being set up—hadn't even been inside one, spending all her time on the trek in the Lady's luxurious pavilion, easily five times the size.

By the time they were done, the sun, touching the western hills, had turned the thin clouds high above into long ranks of feathery gold. The smell of roasting venison drifted from the center of the camp. “Food,” Keltan said. “Then you'd better grab some blankets from the pavilion . . . unless you change your mind about leaving it.”

“I won't,” Mara said. She trailed the boys to the fires.

The unMasked Army and Chell's men ate together, at least. Hunting parties had been at work and there was plenty of meat for everyone, plus some kind of savory vegetable stew and even flatbread, baked in pans over the fires. Nothing to drink but water, but the stream provided plenty of that.

Heads turned as she walked up to the fire, men and the handful of women among the unMasked Army nudging each other and pointing her out. A general silence fell. She forced herself to walk right up to the main fire and warm her hands, ignoring everyone. Gradually, ordinary conversation resumed, though in the murmurs she caught snatches of words that told her much of it concerned her.

Keltan brought her meat, stew, and two pieces of flatbread. “I'm glad you decided to join us,” he said in a low voice. “The others have started to think of you as . . . not quite human.”

Mara took the food and sat next to him on a log that had been pulled up close to the fire. Whiteblaze dropped down on the grass next to her. She gave him a piece of her meat and he wolfed it down. She'd see about feeding him more later.

She dipped a piece of flatbread into the stew. “And you haven't?” she said as she took a bite.

Keltan chewed his own food silently for a moment, swallowed, and said, “No. But I do think you've changed.”

“Of course I've changed,” Mara said. “So have you.”

He shot her a startled look. She snorted. “You're about six inches taller than you were when I met you in the basement, you've got muscles on your muscles, and when did you become such a good shot with a crossbow?”

“Practice,” he said. “All winter long.”

“And killing people . . . doesn't bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me!” he snapped. “But it has to be done.” His face hardened. “They're Watchers. What they did on the beach . . . at the Secret City . . .”

“See,” Mara said softly. “You've changed.”

“But not as much as you,” Keltan said. “You were so concerned about your Gift turning you into a monster like the Lady of Pain and Fire. And what I've seen you do . . . the wall destroyed at the new mine, the collapse of the old one, the way you just . . . dissolved . . . those two Watchers . . . your power has grown so much, Mara, that it's frightening. And if it's frightening to
me
,” he gestured at the others around the fire, some of whom continued to glance in their direction from time to time, “imagine how frightening it is to
them
.”

Mara ate silently for a few minutes. “I know I've changed,” she said at last. “Every time I've killed someone, or been around someone who is killed, and taken their magic unfiltered by this,” she touched the amulet at her neck, “I've felt what the Lady called their ‘soulprints' in my head. That's where my nightmares came from. Those are better now, thanks to this,” she squeezed the amulet, “and Whiteblaze. I think . . . I
think
, I don't
know
 . . . that the nightmares are my way of fighting off those ‘soulprints' . . . like a fever fighting off infection. But all the same, I think every soulprint has changed me, just a little. And now . . .” She looked down at her bowl. “The Lady,” she said softly. “She had so much power, and so much magic in her when she died, and it all roared through me. I had to get rid of it, so I cast it into the mine, but I still think she . . . left an imprint. In a way, she's still with us.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “With me.”

“I don't think,” Keltan said after a moment, “you should tell that to anyone else.” He paused, then whispered, “But I'm glad you told it to me.”

His hand slid over and covered hers, and she almost wept at the touch . . . and at the proof, from her reaction, that she was still human, still Mara, still fifteen, still capable of reacting to the touch of a boy who loved her . . . and whom she loved.

She wanted to hug Keltan, wanted even more to kiss him, but mindful of the eyes on her and uncertain how that would impact Keltan's standing among his fellows, contented herself with his hand on hers as she finished her meal.

Her bedroll on the ground that night was far harder and less comfortable than her bedroll on a bed of branches in the Lady's pavilion would have been, but with Whiteblaze stretched out beside her, and knowing Keltan was only a few feet away, she slept soundly and contentedly until the morning light glowed through the tent walls.

Through the next day, Keltan rode beside her, just behind Edrik, who led the column south down a long valley, parallel, Mara knew, to the Heartsblood River, somewhere off to their right, which wound down its own broad, fertile valley to Tamita. How far away the Heartsblood was she had no clue. One thing, at least, hadn't changed since her first journey led by Edrik, after he had rescued her from the wagon taking her to the mining camp; she still didn't understand how he managed to navigate the rough, wooded terrain without getting lost.

Their only hope was secrecy and subterfuge. She had to get to Tamita undetected and infiltrate the Palace. She and she alone could defeat the Autarch, now that the Lady was dead . . .
if not exactly gone
, she thought, rubbing her temple. She'd had no nightmares through the night, but as the day had passed she'd developed a slight headache. She didn't
think
that was a sign of the Lady's soulprint still clinging to the inside of her head, but she didn't know for a fact that it wasn't, either.