The Sentinel Mage (40 page)

Karel took his place in the salon: shoulders back, feet twelve inches apart, staring straight ahead.

T
HE DAY PROCEEDED
on its course. Duke Rikard left. Yasma checked on the sleeping Princess. Karel paced the salon, too tense to stand still. Outside, clouds darkened the sky. The room didn’t glitter today; the gilt seemed dull, the crimson upholstery as dark as dried blood. He felt a sense of impending doom. The princess’s head was in a noose, and they all waited for the rope to jerk tight.

He swung around at the sound of a door opening.

Yasma exited the bedchamber. She looked as weary as he felt. She smiled at him briefly and walked into the formal dining room. After a moment, Karel followed.

Yasma sat at the long table, several large sheets of parchment in front of her. As he watched, she dipped a quill in ink and leaned over the parchment.

Does the duke suspect anything?
he wanted to ask. Instead, he said, “What are you doing?”

The maid glanced up. “Drawing pictures.” She yawned and rubbed her face. “Britta wants to visit her brothers, but she says she has to draw them pictures first. I thought I’d do one for her.”

Karel strolled across to the table, trying to look relaxed. “What’s that? A dog?”

Yasma looked down at the drawing. “A horse.”

Karel reached across and took the quill from her fingers. “Here. Let me.” It would give him something to do other than stand and worry.

“But—”

“Lie down,” he told her firmly. “Rest.”

B
RITTA WOKE TO
the sound of someone moving in the bedchamber. The noises were too quiet for the duke. She opened her eyes. Yasma stood beside the bed.

“I have a drawing for you to take to your brothers.”

Britta bathed quickly, washing the duke off her skin, and then dressed. She knew she should be worried, but it was impossible when serenity cloaked her.

“The drawing, princess.”

She unrolled the sheet of parchment and blinked. Her mouth fell open. “Oh...”

Soldiers rode on horseback through a forest. Hidden among the trees, watching, were archers. In the sky above, a bird with a curved beak and outspread wings flew. Other animals roamed the forest. She saw long-tailed monkeys swinging between the branches, a huge serpent slithering up the trunk of a tree, a wolf with its head raised to howl. Stalking the wolf, axe raised, was a burly woodsman. Her eyes skimmed the drawing, noting the details: the feathers on the bird’s wings, the diamond pattern on the serpent’s skin. The animals almost seemed to move. Wasn’t that the flick of a monkey’s tail? The blink of a bird’s eye?

“Yasma, this is marvelous!”

“Karel did it.”

Her serenity faltered. Britta looked up, her fingers tightening on the parchment. “Karel?”

“I’m not very good at drawing.”

Britta looked at the picture again, but the spell was broken. She saw black ink on white parchment—trees, soldiers, horses. Nothing moved.

Slowly, she rolled up the sheet of parchment. Why had the armsman drawn it? “Do you talk with Karel?”

“Sometimes. He’s my friend.”

Friend. A harmless word. And yet...

“What do you talk with him about?”

Yasma blinked, looking confused. “Things.”

“About me?”

The maid flushed. “Sometimes.”

Britta stared at her, feeling suddenly afraid. “Does he know?”

“Know?” Yasma blinked again, and then understanding dawned on her face. “Of course not, princess! I swore never to tell anyone.” She took the roll of parchment from Britta, hesitated, and then said: “But he’s guessed that something’s happening.”

The room seemed to lurch slightly, and then steady again. “He’s what?”

Yasma twisted the roll between her hands, anxiety creasing her brow. “He could see that you were different. He...he asked me if you were planning something.”

Fear clenched in Britta’s throat. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t tell him.”

But he suspects.
Britta tried to swallow, but fear was too tight in her throat. She turned away from the maid.

Yasma came after her, clutching the roll of parchment. “Princess, you can trust Karel. He won’t betray you.”

“He’s an armsman, Yasma.” Her voice sounded harsh. “He’s sworn allegiance to Osgaard’s crown. His loyalty is to my father, not me.”

“When you taught me to read, you did it in front of Karel! You trusted him not to betray us!”

Britta closed her eyes, trying to think past the haze of fear and poppy juice. “I trusted him not to betray
you.
Because he’s an islander.”

“He would never betray you either,” Yasma said. “I know he wouldn’t!”

W
HEN SHE EMERGED
from her bedchamber, the armsman was standing at parade rest on the other side of the salon. The scarlet and gold uniform was the first thing she saw, then his brown skin and black hair, his hawk-like features and expressionless face.

Britta crossed the room slowly. She halted in front of the armsman, holding the roll of parchment. “You drew this for my brothers, Karel?”

“Yes, princess.” His voice was as impassive as his face.

“Thank you,” Britta said. “The children will love it.”

He dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement, and opened the door for her.

Britta gripped the roll of parchment more tightly. Three years, he’d been assigned to her. Three years. And yet she had no idea who he really was. He was simply her armsman.

He’s Yasma’s friend. She trusts him.

Britta walked through into the antechamber. Karel passed her and opened the far door. The white marble corridors of the palace loomed on the other side.

Her gaze fastened on the armsman as he stood to attention, on the Osgaardan crest stamped into the gleaming breastplate. He looked dangerous: the hard muscles beneath his skin, the sword belted at his hip, the dark eyes.

What was he thinking as he watched her?

CHAPTER FIFTY

T
HEY REACHED THE
top of the pass not long before dusk. The miller halted. It had taken them two days to reach this point, the road winding its way along the flanks of the hills, through fir forest, past farms and one half-empty village. Jaumé had learned that the family was from Andín and that the man was a miller. He learned the boys names were Luc and Gerrey. Luc was the same age Rosa had been: five. Gerrey was three.

“There you are, lad.” The miller pointed. “The sea.”

They ate while the sun set. The miller and his wife shared their food with him: bread, cheese, cured meat.

The world was spread before them. A plain stretched north, south, west. It looked like a quilt, a patchwork of fields and villages. In the distance, the dark blue of the sea blended into the paler sky. “Are we safe now?” Jaumé asked.

The miller shook his head. “We won’t be safe until we’re on the other side of the sea.”

“Where’s the other side?” Jaumé asked.

“Lundegaard,” the miller said. “Or Osgaard. But the curse will reach there in time. To be truly safe, we need to get to the Allied Kingdoms, up over the equator.”

Jaumé stored the names carefully in his memory. Lundegaard. Osgaard. The Allied Kingdoms.

T
HEY SLEPT UNDER
the wagon. In the middle of the night, Jaumé woke. The miller and his wife were arguing in quiet voices.

“—only eight years old,” the miller said.

“We’ll run out of food.”

“But—”

“You must think of your sons!”

I
N THE MORNING
the miller said, “We’ll part ways with you here, lad.”

Jaumé hugged his blanket more tightly around him and nodded.

“Just follow this road,” the miller said. “When you reach Cornas, find a ship that will take you away from here.”

Jaumé nodded again. Lundegaard. Osgaard. The Allied Kingdoms. The names were engraved in his memory.

He watched the miller harness the horses and attach them to the shaft. The children scrambled into the wagon. The miller climbed up on the driver’s seat. At the last moment, the miller’s wife thrust half a loaf of bread at him. “Here,” she said, and then she bundled her skirts in one hand and clambered up alongside her husband.

The miller looked down at him. “Be careful, lad. It’s every man for himself.”

Jaumé nodded, clutching the bread.

The wagon started forward. The children waved at him.

Jaumé lifted a hand in farewell. He watched the wagon until it was out of sight.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

T
HEY COVERED MORE
than ten leagues, pushing the horses to their limits, before stopping for the day. Tomas chose a defensive position: a low, rocky mound beneath an overhang of sandstone. Nothing could surprise them from behind.

Petrus changed places with Innis and ate his dinner alongside the princes, Justen’s amulet warm and smooth against his breastbone.

It was a tense, silent meal. Petrus didn’t lay aside his weapons to eat. The baldric was tight across his chest, the sword a comforting weight against his back.

Gerit circled down as daylight faded from the sky. Wind gusted fitfully, producing deep moaning notes, and above them, one shriek.

“Anything?” Tomas asked, once Gerit had shifted into human form.

Gerit shook his head. “No one and nothing. We’re alone.” Cora handed him his clothes. He pulled them on.

Prince Tomas nodded. He stood and raised his voice: “Tonight we’ll have double sentries. If we’re attacked, don’t panic. We have advantages Captain Ditmer didn’t have.” Tomas looked around the circle of soldiers, meeting each man’s eyes. “There are more of us. We’re prepared. And we have the witches to fight with us.”

Petrus glanced at Innis. She was watching Prince Tomas, her face grave.

“Remember: nothing is more important than Harkeld’s life. He
must
survive. Lundegaard dies if he dies.”

Petrus glanced at Prince Harkeld. The prince was staring at the ground. His mouth was tight.

He found himself unexpectedly sorry for the man.
Poor sod.

Tomas turned to Prince Harkeld. “If we’re attacked, I want you back there.” He pointed at the overhang of rock.

The prince looked up. His mouth tightened still further, but he nodded.

Tomas turned back to his soldiers. “You heard what Gerit said. There’s nothing out there. The only thing disturbing your sleep will be the man next to you farting.” The joke garnered a burst of loud, nervous laughter. “First sentries on duty now.” Tomas nodded at his sergeant. “Be extra vigilant.” The directive was unnecessary. Memory of what they’d seen must be as vivid for the soldiers as it was for him. Petrus could still see it if he closed his eyes.