Finnikin of the Rock (27 page)

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"They are your Guard," Finnikin corrected. "There to protect you and your children."

"Our children are protected," she said. "We keep them fed."

Finnikin saw the rage in the eyes of some of the younger men. Where would it all go? he wondered. The man took a threatening step toward him.

"Turn around and don't look back," he said, his voice ugly. "I suggest you take care of your own and leave us to take care of ours, or there will be a reckoning."

"You have many suggestions, sir." Evanjalin's voice rang out through the night air. "Well, here are mine. I
suggest
you give your people words, not silence. I suggest you all turn to your wife, to your husband, to your children, and you speak of those days. Of the little you did when your neighbors were taken from their houses and slaughtered. Of the sorrow you have felt all these years. And I suggest you forgive yourself. But more than anything, I suggest you beg the one true goddess to forgive the legacy that you have passed on to your children. For they wear your coat of dissatisfaction and grief tightly over their bodies, and this bloodless patch of grass you have chosen to live on will be where they die with nothing but rage in their hearts. I
suggest,
sir, that you find no joy in being an exile. Do not make it a badge to wear with honor."

She turned and walked toward the priest-king. "You belong with us, blessed Barakah," she said firmly. "You must travel with us to your people. Now."

The holy man began to shed tears. Finnikin could not help wondering what felt worse for him. Watching his people die, or feeling as if he had abandoned them? But when Evanjalin held out her hand, the priest-king did not hesitate to take it.

They walked away, and the tiny kingdom of three carts and nameless children was swallowed by the sounds of the night

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bazaar. Finnikin watched Evanjalin turn back once. Twice. Three times.

Later, as they traveled along the coastal road in the dead of night, the priest-king riding ahead with Trevanion, Finnikin thought he heard Evanjalin whisper the same words over and over again.

"Take me home, Finnikin. I beg of you, take me home."

237

***

CHaPteR 18

Can I trust you, Lord August?" Lord August of the Lumateran Flatlands woke to find a hand covering his mouth and a dagger to his throat. The face that appeared above him looked half-wild, with none of the softness that once gave Finnikin of the Rock a youthful innocence. With regret, he knew that if Trevanion's son dared lay a finger on his family, he would kill him in an instant. But then he realized he wasn't just at the mercy of Finnikin's dagger. In the pale moonlight that shone into the adjoining chamber, he could distinguish the outline of at least three more men. Beside him, his wife slept, unaware.

"Ah, Finnikin," he muttered. "What have you done?"

"Nothing yet. Answer my question."

Lord August grabbed Finnikin by the knotted wildness of his hair, forcing him close. "You bring these animals into my house," he said through clenched teeth, "and place a dagger at my throat as I lie beside my wife, while my beloved children sleep in the next room, and you ask me to trust you?"

"Can I take that as a yes?" Finnikin asked, shrugging free.

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Lord August climbed out of bed, trying to keep an eye on the men in the adjoining chamber. "I curse myself for failing your father and not taking you into my own home. If the captain were to see you now, it would be a blunt dagger carving him up."

Lord August was a small man, but he did not let that get in his way. He would take these men down, any way he could. Images raced through his mind of what they would do to his family if he were to die first. He had always believed that if harm came to them, it would be from the Charynites or Belegonians. Not from a son of Lumatere.

"What have you done to Sir Topher?" he asked, seeing new scars and an older spirit in the boy's gray eyes.

"Aged him slightly," Finnikin murmured, walking to the window and peering out into the night. "We need a place to stay for a night or two. And food. That means you'll have to send your servants and people away. When we leave, we'll need more horses, and, if we could be so bold, a few silver coins would not go astray."

"Anything else?" Lord August said, glancing again at the three men in the next chamber. "My firstborn?"

There was a noise outside, and then a hand appeared over the rail of the balcony. Lord August watched as Finnikin stepped outside and came to the fourth man's assistance. As soon as he saw the man's face, Lord August relaxed.

"Good evening, Lord Augie," Sir Topher wheezed, looking up for a moment before doubling over with pain. Finnikin kept a hand on the older man's shoulder until he recovered. "Did you ask him about weapons?" Sir Topher managed between gasps.

"No. He offered me his firstborn and it distracted me slightly," Finnikin said. "Now that you have seen that Sir Topher is safe, can we trust you? We need to be sure. Be honest and send us away if you cannot help us."

239

"Is my family's life in danger?" the duke asked, with another sideways glance at the giants in the next chamber.

Finnikin stepped in front of him, blocking his vision. Lord August saw a look of vague apology on the lad's face, as if he considered using his height a sign of disrespect.

"If they are, Finnikin, I will kill you."

"Stop threatening my son, Augie," he heard a voice behind Finnikin say, as one of the men stepped out from the shadows. "Or I will have to kill you, and Lumatere cannot afford to have any more fatherless children."

"Sweet Lagrami," August swore under his breath. His eyes moved from Trevanion to Perri and Moss, who had also stepped forward, and back to Trevanion. Astounded, he burst into quiet laughter. He grabbed Trevanion in a bear hug, pounding his back and steering them all into the adjoining chamber. He pointed to Finnikin, grinning. "I knew you would listen to reason last time we spoke."

"Try not to take credit for it," Finnikin replied.

"There will be hell to pay when it is discovered that a political prisoner of the land is missing."

"Are we safe here, sir?" Finnikin asked.

"The last thing we want to do is place you and your family's lives in danger," Trevanion said quietly.

"The fewer people who know, the better it will be," Sir Topher advised.

"Augie?"

The five men swung around. Lady Abian stood at the door, clutching her night shawl, a look of terror on her face. When she saw Trevanion, she swallowed a scream, the next moment throwing herself into his arms.

"Abie," her husband chided gently. "Remember your place. You're going to make a cuckold out of me."

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When she saw Finnikin, she burst into tears, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Do I look that frightening?" he asked.

She shook her head, overwhelmed by her emotion, and then she took him into her arms. "Apart from my own, I never held a prettier babe."

"A flattering compliment for any man," Trevanion said with a laugh.

"Where are you all bound for?" she asked. No one responded, and Lady Abian looked from Trevanion to her husband. "We're going home," she whispered. "Oh sweet goddess, we're going home."

"Lady Abian, there may be nothing to go back to," Finnikin said gently.

A scream, high and piercing, echoed through the house, and Lord August sped to the door, followed closely by the others. They ran down the stairs and into what at first appeared to be a closet, but instead was a tiny bedroom. Finnikin saw Evanjalin instantly. At her side Lady Celie screamed again, the sight of Trevanion and Perri causing her fear this time. In the small confines of the room, she pushed Evanjalin behind her.

Lady Abian was last in the room, and she took her daughter in her arms, her body growing still when she saw Evanjalin. "Augie," she ordered quietly, "go wake the rest of the children and our people, if they aren't already awake, and take everyone down to the parlor."

She stepped forward and cupped Evanjalin's face in the palm of her hand, as if mesmerized by the filth and scruffiness that stood before her. "Celie, go wake Sebastina and ask her to run a bath."

"Abie," Trevanion said, "we cannot have your Belegonian servants knowing we're here."

241

"Sebastina's one of ours. Everyone in this compound belongs to Lumatere."

Finnikin's eyes were on Evanjalin, remembering Lady Celie's reaction to her when they had first visited the house. But Evanjalin's gaze was fixed on both mother and daughter. Outside of the exile camps, he had rarely seen her in the presence of women, and at this moment he knew she would not have cared if he and the other men disappeared forever.

Lord August was staring at the two who stood half-concealed in the corner. "Blessed Barakah?" he asked, stunned, walking toward him, then kneeling on one knee.

Lady Abian seemed mortified and sent the men a scathing look. "How could you leave the priest-king to climb the trellis outside our home?" She kissed the holy man. "Blessings later," she said gently. "You look well worn and I want you all comfortable. Everyone down in the parlor, please. I will take care of the girls."

As they walked down the stairs, Lord August hammered on every door he passed. They reached the parlor, and the duke motioned for them to sit down. A few moments later, Lord August's sister and family and at least fifty others entered, filling the room to capacity. Finnikin stared around in shock. Suddenly he understood why Lady Celie's bedroom was so tiny. It was indeed a closet, as he had first thought. Every room in the house, including the storerooms, cellars, and even the pantry, must have to be used as living quarters to accommodate so many people.

"Who are these people?" Finnikin asked.

"Why, it's my village of Sayles, Finnikin," Lord August replied. "A duke is afforded the wealth of a city, and his home the right of sanctuary."

Finnikin's eyes met the duke's. It shamed him to think of all the times he had expressed his disdain for the luxuries enjoyed by the Lumateran nobility in exile, especially Lord August.

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Fear and excitement lit the faces of those around him. There was a hushed celebration when the people of Sayles recognized the newcomers, the women sobbing, the men brushing quick tears from their eyes and muffling their emotions in handshakes that trembled.

When Lady Abian and the girls joined them, Evanjalin was scrubbed clean and dressed in a crisp white gown identical to Lady Celie's. Finnikin could smell sandalwood, and Evanjalin's olive complexion was as smooth and clear as honey. There was little room in the parlor, and Lady Abian sat on her husband's lap.

"Abian," her sister-in-law chided, "remember your place!"

"I am a fishmonger's daughter," Lady Abian said. "What do you expect?"

There was much joy that night. Finnikin loved watching them all. Here was a generation of men and women who had suffered greatly; the loss of their world had happened in the prime of their lives.

In the corner, Froi sat with the younger boys engaged in a competition of knuckle thumping. He who drew blood first was declared the winner. Finnikin noticed the viciousness of Froi's play and saw the younger boys wince even as they tried not to react. He reached over and boxed Froi's ears as a warning.

They spent the night arguing passionately about all things Lumateran, opinions flying, voices hushed and angry, others wavering with emotion.

"Could it have been avoided? Should the king have forbidden anyone entering Lumatere? Should he have cut off ties with the Charynites?"

"No one knew such a thing would happen, Matin," Trevanion said firmly. "No one could predict that the assassins would enter the palace. Every entrance was guarded."

243

"Then it was one of the Guard. A traitor working for Charyn," Lord August said.

Finnikin watched for the reaction. He had waited all week for one of Trevanion's men to make such a suggestion.

"Never," Perri said flatly.
"Never."

"Then how?" Lord August pressed.

"The men guarding the palace drawbridge were attacked from behind. We could tell by the location of the wounds on their bodies. There had to be another entrance that not even the king knew about," Trevanion said.

"How could there be an entrance the assassins knew about when the king did not?" Lord August's brother-in-law asked.

"Perhaps because the impostor king was the former captain of the Guard and cousin to the king. He may have found it," Finnikin suggested.

His father shook his head. "I knew every inch of that palace. Unless a tunnel was built from inside, I would have known."

The most bitter arguments centered around the circumstances leading up to the slaughter of the Forest Dwellers.

"The king should have provided more protection for the worshippers of Sagrami. They were a minority," Lady Abian said firmly.

"Abie!" a chorus of voices reprimanded her. "It is wrong to speak ill of the dead."

"I loved our king as much as the rest of you, but he used poor judgment when it came to the Forest Dwellers. If the king had been more open in his approval of the ways and practices of those who worshipped Sagrami, our part in the days of the unspeakable would never have occurred."

"The king was not to know his people would turn on the Forest Dwellers the moment he died. As far as he was concerned, Lumaterans were living in peace," one of the women said.