Well of Sorrows (39 page)

Aeren frowned. “Colin is not a spy. He aided Lord Barak and myself in Portstown and was wounded in the process. The honor of my House demanded that I care for him. He has since agreed to remain with my party.”

The commander’s eyes darkened, his mouth turning down in a frown, but Aeren had already shifted his attention back to Stephan. “If what you say regarding the Evant is true, then your presence here is meaningless. The Evant and Tamaell Fedorem,” Stephan’s face twisted into a sneer, “will not recognize any agreement we reach here. You have no official authority.”

“I have no official authority, but that does not mean I have no power,” Aeren said. And Colin heard a subtle change in the Alvritshai’s voice, a smooth modulation that deepened it, made it throb. Aeren took a small step closer to the King’s desk, one hand reaching out to touch the finely crafted, polished oak. “I am a member of the Evant, King Stephan. My House has been a member for more than four generations, and we Alvritshai live a long time. I did not come here to draft a peace treaty. I did not come to discuss terms and make concessions and seek compromises. I came because it is my opinion that neither one of us—the Alvritshai nor the Provinces— can afford to continue waging this petty war. Too many resources are being wasted. Too many lives are being lost. It is my hope that, like your father, you will agree with me. If that is the case,” Aeren said, cutting off the King’s response without raising his voice, doing the opposite in fact, speaking softer, slower, “if that is the case, then I will return to the Evant, to Tamaell Fedorem, and I will walk every path before me, offer everything I have to Aielan’s Light, to convince the Tamaell and the other Houses to come to you with a formal offer of peace and
I will force them to honor it.”

Aeren’s voice shook, fury buried deep beneath the words themselves. A fury aimed at the Evant and the Houses, at Tamaell Fedorem. The room fell silent beneath the force of that fury, beneath the raw emotion that it exposed. Colin felt it like a hard knot in his chest; he realized he did not dare breathe for fear of breaking the silence.

In that silence, he noticed that Eraeth had turned to his lord, a troubled frown on his face.

Then Stephan chuckled, the sound killing the silence with a shudder. Colin felt the hard knot in his chest give and exhaled with relief, the sound harsh.

“I see now why my father fell for your Alvritshai tricks,” Stephan said, his voice bitter. “Do all of the Lords of the Evant have such powers of persuasion?” He paused for a moment, then waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter. I am not my father. I will not be swayed by the smooth words of liars. And I will not be lured onto a field of battle so that I can be murdered by your hand.”

No one spoke for a long moment until Aeren stirred.

“Not all of the Lords of the Evant on the field of battle that day at the Escarpment knew of the betrayal the others intended,” he said.

It took a moment for Aeren’s words to register, but when they did, Stephan’s face blackened with fury, as if actually naming the battle had brought all of the emotions from that fateful day that they had both been skirting to the forefront.

“Get out,” he spat, shoving away from the desk, barely in control of himself, his hands shaking, his face livid. “Get out of Corsair, now, before I have you escorted out on the point of a sword.”

The Legion commander had already stalked forward before Stephan had finished, the other guards in the room on his heels. Aeren wasn’t inclined to linger, turning to where his own guardsmen had tensed to give a small shake of his head. They were herded to the door, the officious man closing it behind them with a murderous look. Just before the door closed, Colin saw the King standing with his back to the desk, staring up at the yellow and black banner on the wall behind him.

“Move!” the commander ordered harshly. He motioned them down the corridor, back toward their rooms in the eastern wing of the castle. His guards flanked them, servants and aides already in the hall pressing themselves up against the wall or dodging into open doorways to get out of their way, even though Aeren moved at a casual pace.

As soon as they reached the door to their assigned chambers, the Legion commander said, “You have twenty minutes to pack. We’ll escort you to the port after that.”

Aeren turned. “That won’t be necessary. Only Lord Barak and his retinue will be using the courier to depart. I’ve made arrangements to travel back north by land.”

The Legionnaire’s brow creased with suspicion. “Then we’ll escort you to the edge of the city. Twenty minutes.”

Aeren nodded. “Very well. We’ll be ready in ten.” He swung the door closed in the commander’s face.

He immediately barked orders in Alvritshai, and Dharel and the guards scattered, pulling clothes and supplies—papers, ink bottles, various odds and ends—and putting them into trunks and cases, hurried but not rushed.

Eraeth said something terse, and Aeren gave him a nasty look. “No, it did not go as I expected.”

“How did you expect it to go?” Colin asked. When Aeren gave him the same look, he added, “I heard about what happened at the Escarpment while I was in Portstown. At least, the Province version of what happened.”

“I know what the humans believe happened. I didn’t expect Stephan to simply agree out of hand.”

Colin frowned. “What did happen at the Escarpment?”

Aeren sighed, shook his head, and moved to the table in the corner he’d been using as a desk, beginning to sort and stack papers, placing them in a leather satchel. “I don’t know. I wasn’t at the forefront of the battle at the time of the betrayal. I was . . . elsewhere.” He paused and stared down at his hands a long moment, then shuddered and looked up. “From what I’ve gathered through the Evant, there was a betrayal at the Escarpment, one that has set the Alvritshai and the Provinces against each other for decades. I’d hoped that enough time had passed for the grief over his father’s death to have abated. Obviously, I was mistaken.”

“It didn’t help that you came immediately after the Andovans arrived and made their own demands,” Eraeth said.

The door to their chambers opened. The Legion commander stepped into the room. A small detachment of Legion stood behind him in the hall, at least three times their original escort from the King’s chambers.

Aeren ignored both him and the Legion guardsman. “Dharel, send someone down to the courier, along with whatever supplies we won’t need, and tell them to take Lord Barak to Caercaern. We’ll meet up with them there.”

Dharel nodded, motioning to the rest of the Alvritshai Phalanx. The guardsmen began toting the small trunks and cases out into the hall under the Legionnaires’ careful watch. One of them handed Colin his staff and satchel.

Aeren turned his attention on Colin. “Will you come with us, Rhyssal-aein?”

Colin hesitated, catching Eraeth’s eye. But while the Alvritshai Protector still scowled, it wasn’t as heartfelt as it had been before on the ship and the docks.

“Of course,” he said.

Aeren’s shoulders sagged in relief before he turned toward the Legion commander, his voice darkening. “Then it’s time to leave Corsair behind.”

Colin looked back as Aeren’s entourage—all on horseback, the White Phalanx riding to the front, the sides, and slightly behind— clopped down the flagstone-paved eastern road out of Corsair. The waters of the inlet glittered with the late evening sunlight, a turgid deep blue, cut by the activity of the boats and ships from both sides of the city. Birds wheeled and shrieked in the air over the water, gulls and terns and cormorants. Smoke rose from numerous chimneys, settling in a thin layer at a uniform height. On the promontory, the Needle pierced the pale clouds that scudded across the sky, just beginning to show the pink-orange accents of the setting sun.

But it wasn’t the city or the palace that caught Colin’s attention. It was the Legion commander and the rest of the Legion he’d gathered, standing at the edge of the city, watching them depart. As he watched, the Legionnaire barked commands to those around him and cast one last baleful glance back, his eyes meeting Colin’s. A shock ran through Colin, tingling in his fingers, causing him to catch his breath—

And then the Legion commander cantered back into the city, lost among the buildings within the space of a heartbeat.

Most of the Legion remained behind.

Ahead, one of the Alvritshai removed a white banner from a satchel and unfolded it so that the black bundle of wheat could be seen, raising it on a standard whose base rested in a cup on the saddle. It declared that they were traveling under the King’s protection, and in theory it would keep the Legion and other Province citizens from attacking them on sight.

“He’ll send scouts to follow us,” Eraeth said, bringing his mount up close to Colin’s. His tone carried a sneer. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he followed us himself.”

Colin shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He hadn’t ridden since the wagon train, over sixty years before; he could already feel aches in muscles he’d long forgotten. Frowning more at the saddle than at Eraeth, Colin said, “Wouldn’t you?” Eraeth looked toward him, straightening as if affronted. “Of course.”

Colin expected Eraeth to retreat with a backward scowl. Instead, he glanced back toward Corsair, toward the Needle, then cast a troubled frown toward Aeren.

The lord of the Rhyssal House rode near the front, his back stiff, head held high, looking straight ahead. He hadn’t spoken to Eraeth or any of his own Phalanx since the palace Colin suddenly realized.

Colin looked at Eraeth out of the corner of his eye, saw the wrinkles of concern near his eyes, the tightening of the skin in the Alvritshai’s pale face.

“What does Rhyssal-aein mean?” he asked suddenly.

Eraeth broke off the scrutiny of his lord. He hesitated, then said shortly, “Friend of Rhyssal.”

“What does that mean?”

Eraeth’s mouth twisted with derision, but then he seemed to reconsider, focusing on Colin as he settled back into his saddle. His tone was clipped, but serious. “To the Alvritshai, it means that you are under the protection of the Rhyssal House, that those of the House are to protect you from harm, that Aeren has taken responsibility for you and has extended that responsibility to everyone in the House.” He paused, then added, “It also means that you are a representative of the Rhyssal House. Everything that you do, everything that you say, every gesture and emotion, will reflect on the House.”

Colin thought back to the wharf, when they’d arrived in Corsair. “That’s why the guards changed their stance on the docks then, when we first arrived?”

“Yes.” Eraeth glared at Aeren’s back. “The Phalanx is bound to protect you now.” And under his breath, “At least until he comes to his senses.”

Colin ignored him even though he knew it had been meant to be heard. Instead, he glanced around at the surrounding land. Fields lined the roadway to either side, interspersed with farmhouses, barns, storage sheds for grain, and the earthen mounds of potato cellars. The ground appeared rocky, which accounted for the paved road, now made out of carefully fitted granite rather than the flagstone used near the city. The rough, low walls separating the fields were made of the same stone, as were the buildings. Everywhere he looked, workers halted their harvesting and watched the Alvritshai group pass, dogs barking in wild abandon. A pack of children followed them for a long stretch, until one of the mothers called them back with a few harsh words, taking her own son by the ear when he got close enough. Colin smiled.

“And what does shaeveran mean?” he asked. “I’ve heard the Phalanx calling me that since we were on the courier ship.”

Eraeth regarded him a long moment. His face was set, probably the first serious look the Protector had given him that wasn’t twisted with a slight scowl or sneer.

Then he turned away and said, “It means shadow. You’ve been touched by the sukrael, marked by them. They call you Shadow because of it.”

Colin’s gaze dropped to his arm, to where the black mark lay hidden beneath the sleeve of his silk shirt, and his stomach clenched. A tremor passed through his arms, and for a brief moment, the scent of earth, leaves, and snow nearly overpowered him. He could feel the vial of Lifeblood in the satchel strapped to his horse’s side, but he resisted reaching for it.

The effort sent a shudder through his body. He’d thought it would get easier the farther away from the Well he traveled, but it was worse. And Osserin had been right: The presence of the Lifeblood made it worse. Yet he couldn’t force himself to pour the Lifeblood out.

Up ahead, Aeren had slowed, the Phalanx at point drawing to a halt. Colin glanced around, saw that the farmland had given way to low hills dotted with patches of trees and grass. The road had become a hard-packed gravel track with low walls on either side, striking out hard toward the north and the city of Rendell in the next Province. But it looked as though Aeren intended to cut away to the east.

“Where are we going?” Colin asked.

Eraeth grunted and shot him a dark look, back to his usual disapproving glare, then nudged his horse forward to speak to Aeren.