THE MOMENT THEY ARRIVED IN Andreas, Kate was ready to leave. She despised this city, crammed full of people both day and night. The two days they ended up spending there were nearly unbearable, even though she understood the need for it. The attack on the Gregors unnerved her, especially learning for certain that wilders were indeed behind it. With the violence escalating all around, she could almost feel the collar around her neck. Even if she never used her magic again, the magists had ways of knowing what she was. And death by the golds’ hands wouldn’t be quick, but long and torturous. The Purging.
At least Corwin had quickly identified the miner involved, although he’d needed another day to track down his family—only to discover Ralph Marcel had left behind no kin.
“But he did seem to have some gift with animals,” Signe reported back to Kate and Bonner the night before their departure. Signe had accompanied Corwin and Dal on every visit they made, insisting she be included.
She could insist the sun not set, and it would probably listen, Kate thought, bemused at the idea of her best friend spending so much time with Corwin.
“That’s what got him into trouble,” Signe continued. “We found the man who reported him to the golds, and he told us how Marcel could always predict when one of the canaries they use down in the mines was soon to die.”
Bonner’s brow furrowed. He was leaning near the window of the room Signe and Kate were sharing, a far larger one than they’d rented back in the Crook and Cup. Even still, he seemed too big for it, his head lurking near the ceiling. “And the man told on him for that?”
“It makes no sense,” Signe said. “I thought when those birds die, it means the air is poisoned. They should’ve been grateful for the warning.”
Kate shook her head, wishing the room were a mess so that she could put it right again, just to relax. Instead she sat on the bed, legs tucked to her chin. Occupying the bed across from hers, Signe had already pulled out her knife to juggle, her own relaxation exercise. Maybe I should get her to teach me how, Kate thought.
Aloud she said, “People are raised to fear wilders, no matter how harmless or useful. It’s always been so.”
“Yes, well, I suppose they might have a little reason to fear us, after the attack on the Gregors. Not to mention what that woman did outside the Boarbelly,” Bonner said, running a hand through his long hair, still wet and hanging loose after his bath. Neither he nor Kate had been there to see the hydrist use her magic, but everyone in the city was discussing it, in all its gruesome detail.
Fear us. The implication in Bonner’s words didn’t sit well with Kate, the idea that she and Bonner were like that woman in the square. As if being a wilder was the extent of who they were instead of one aspect of themselves. Other than Bonner and her father, she’d known no other wilders, and certainly none who had used their power to kill. She certainly couldn’t kill someone directly with her magic, and she’d never been tempted to compel some animal to do it for her.
Signe fixed a scowl at them both. “They were taking her son to be executed. If I were her, I would have fought back with whatever weapons were at hand.”
Her hands were the weapon—that’s the problem, Kate thought. A sword could be taken away. Magic is a part of us. But neither Bonner nor Kate bothered to argue. Not when Signe had that look in her eyes, the one that spoke of how her understanding of the world was the only right one. Kate envied her the ability to see things in such clear shades of black and white. For her, there was always so much gray.
“This Ralph Marcel might’ve been like you, Kate,” Bonner said, bringing the conversation back to its point.
“Yes, a wilder who can control animals,” Signe said with a bob of her head. “Corwin thinks the Rising might be controlling the daydrakes. That this is what Marcel was doing.” She turned a questioning look on Kate. “Is that possible? Could you control a drake with your power, like you do horses?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I’ve never thought of trying.” Kate rolled the idea through her mind, both intrigued and alarmed at the possibility. Could she have stopped those daydrakes attacking that day with her magic? If so, then Corwin would never have seen the revolver, and they wouldn’t be here now. Still, the idea of touching the mind of something so foul made her cringe. “It might be possible, though. I used to use my magic on all sorts of animals when I was little. Before my father made me swear to only use it on horses and only when necessary.”
“So Corwin may be right.” Signe caught the knife and returned it to its sheath. “I wish we could tell him.”
Kate sucked in a breath. “Are you mad? He would hand me over to the golds before you could blink.”
Signe wrinkled her nose. “I don’t believe Corwin would do such a thing. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. All the time.”
Heat filled Kate’s cheeks. For a second she wanted to ask for more, to ply Signe with questions about those looks as if she were some silly girl in a romantic tale. But no, this was Corwin. “He doesn’t feel that way about me. Not anymore.”
Bonner made a noise of dissent, but didn’t comment after Kate threatened him with a glare.
She turned back to Signe. “You can never tell Corwin or anyone else about me and Bonner, Sig. You understand that, right? You must promise not to.”
Signe managed a haughty scowl, the sort of look only she could pull off. “Of course I won’t. But if you ask my opinion, you should.”
“No,” Kate said, “what we should do is turn around and head straight back to Farhold before we all end up collared.”
“Why would they collar me?” Signe asked, cocking her head.
“For being insane,” Kate replied.
But joking or not, there was no going back, and they all knew it. We might be as good as caught already.
The closer they drew to Norgard, the tenser Kate became. The days were long and tedious as they journeyed from Andreas to Thace, where they met up with the soldiers and wagon, then headed on to Carden. They spent only a single night in each city, barely long enough to appreciate the unique flavor of each.
In Thace, a city built on a marsh where many of the streets were water instead of road, Signe and Dal sacrificed an entire night’s rest to roam the city in a rented boat. They’d come back wet and exhausted, but full of adventurous tales involving a capsized boat, a daring underwater escape from the city guardsmen, and a run-in with either a mermaid, a seafairy, or some other such mythical creature. Kate knew not to believe the half of it, although she found it amusing that Dal was so willing to play Signe’s tall-tale game.
In Carden, a city renowned across Rime for its distilleries, Corwin and Dal overindulged so badly that neither could sit a horse the next day.
“We didn’t know there was bourbon in the chocolates and whiskey in the apple pie,” Dal insisted.
“Oh, you knew,” Signe replied, smirking. “You just thought yourselves strong enough to take it.”
Kate felt sorry for them, even if their suffering was self-inflicted. Corwin always did have a sweet tooth.
Still, despite the pace, every minute felt more like ten, the miles endless. If only she could ride at a Relay pace; then she could outrun these nerves plaguing her at every step. She almost wished for a daydrake sighting, just to distract her. But there’d been no sign or rumor of them since they left Andreas.
When they finally entered Jade Forest, some several weeks after their journey began, her anxiety grew to a fever pitch. The forest bordered Norgard from the west, close enough that its thick, towering trees were visible from the city itself. Kate supposed even more than the worry about Bonner being discovered, it was this sense of homecoming that bothered her so much. Her heart ached at the sights and smells, at once so familiar and yet so long forgotten. The three years she’d been away felt like both an eternity and no time at all. She feared Norgard. Feared the past even as she hoped to uncover it, and she feared the present, too. In Norgard, she would be Traitor Kate to everyone, the wound of her father’s crime so much deeper here.
When they stopped for the night more than halfway through the forest, Kate busied herself making camp as best she could. But the activity didn’t last long. They had reached one of the caravan campsites, the kind with permanent shelters carved into the bases of the massive trees that formed Jade Forest. There were even wardstone barriers carved into trees as well. This was the same site she’d stayed in the first night after her voluntary exile from Norgard. The straw covering the ground inside the trees made for comfortable bedding, but she doubted she would be able to sleep much, any more than she had that night long ago.
Kate looked up from unrolling her bedroll, her eyes finding Corwin easily. She always seemed to know where he was. He’d selected the tree across the way from hers, his bedroll already spread out inside it. As if he sensed her gaze, he glanced up, and for a moment their eyes met before they both looked away. Kate’s heart skipped inside her chest. For just a second, he’d looked like the Corwin she used to know, the boy who could make her pulse race at just a glance, his eyes full of mischief and his mouth curved into a sensual promise.
Her reaction unnerved her, and she scrambled to her feet. “I’m going for a walk,” she said to Signe, who’d just come in, carrying her own bedroll. “I’ll be back before dark.” There was enough light still in the forest to see by, and she had her revolver holstered to one hip if there was trouble.
Signe waved her away. “Go off and make yourself tired so you finally sleep still tonight.”
Kate sighed, wishing it were that simple. “You could always sleep somewhere else, you know. Then I won’t keep you up with my restlessness.”
Signe flashed a suggestive grin. “I would if only you would do the same. That moonbelt is going to waste.”
Kate didn’t dignify the comment with a response, but slipped out the back side of the tree and into the forest. The magists had already set the barrier around the camp, but she wasn’t worried about nightdrakes just yet. There’d been a rumor of daydrakes spotted not far from Marared, but no official word of an attack. Kate doubted the creatures had migrated so far as Norgard. Unless Corwin is right and the Rising are controlling them. She prayed it wasn’t so. If only the other wilders were more like her and Bonner—careful in using their magic and never doing harm—then maybe the League would stop hunting them, the people stop fearing.
She followed a narrow path through the trees. They grew so tall here that little brush survived, making it easy for her to move without making noise. It was a game she used to play as a child—trying to be as silent as a wild animal. The existence of such creatures had always been a wonder to her—that they could live and thrive outside the city walls despite the threat of drakes. She’d asked her father why the drakes didn’t kill all the deer and other woodland creatures, and he’d told her that the drakes hungered for human flesh.
“Then why do we bring our horses and cattle inside the city at night?” she’d asked him.
“Because the drakes are drawn to the human scent we leave on our domesticated animals. They will always hunt those touched by humans first. Anything else does not satisfy their hunger.”
“But why?”
“That is their nature, Katie girl. It is mankind’s punishment from the gods.”
What they’d supposedly done to deserve it, she’d never asked.
The farther Kate walked from the campsite, the more she wanted to reach out with her magic and touch the minds of the animals she sensed around her. She’d barely used her gift at all these last few weeks, not daring to with Master Raith and his blue robes always about. The abstinence was getting to her. It was like not being able to take a full breath for hours on end. Still, she resisted the temptation, as much for Bonner as for herself. If she were ever caught, it would risk exposing him—just because he would doubtless fight to protect her, like that woman in Andreas. She wondered how many of these Rising attacks were actually that—a loved one defending another.
The path ended in a wide clearing dotted with everweeps and wildflowers. She walked several steps into it, then stopped and breathed in, savoring the sweet smell. She chose a seat in front of a log on the edge of the clearing. Dozens of white daisies grew there, and before she knew it, she had picked a handful and begin weaving them together in a garland. This too was a game she hadn’t played since childhood. It took her several tries before she remembered the trick of threading the stems together. As she worked, the wind began to pick up, the storm that had been threatening all day finally drawing close. But Kate liked the song it played through the trees, the leaves rustling, and the creak and murmur of shifting branches.
She became so engrossed that she failed to realize when she was no longer alone.
“I didn’t know you could still do that.”
Giving a start, she dropped the garland and looked up to see Corwin standing at the head of the same path she had followed. She sucked in a breath, willing her heart to settle.
“I’m sorely out of practice.”
“Doesn’t look that way to me.” He stepped toward her, then stooped to pick up the garland. He held it out to her. “Will you wear it like you used to?”
“No,” Kate said at once, and Corwin flinched at her harsh tone. His reaction made her soften, and she took the garland from his hands, adding in a gentler voice, “I would feel too foolish.”
Corwin stared down at her, unspeaking.
“Is there something wrong at camp?” Kate said into his silence.
“No, I’ve just come to fetch you back. It’s getting dark and a storm is coming.”
“Right.” Kate moved to get up, but stopped when Corwin sat down on the log next to her.
“But it’s not night yet, and this place is lovely.”
Uncomfortable with sitting beneath him, Kate joined him on top of the log, brushing the petals and twigs from her breeches.
Corwin stared up at the sky, swollen with gray clouds. “Do you remember that time when we convinced the master of that traveling circus that we were orphans needing work?”
Kate blinked, taken by surprise. “Of course,” she said, tentative toward the subject as she was toward all things from the past. She would never forget it. That night was the first time they’d fantasized about running away together, both of them knowing that the life they dreamed of could never be. He was the high prince, destined to marry someone politically advantageous for Rime—the choice wasn’t any more his than hers. And I was so in love with you, she thought, the admission more painful than she could’ve imagined after so long.
She cleared her throat. “He hired us on the spot. You to lunge the horses and me to perform the acrobatics. I always thought he’d gotten that backward.”
Corwin smiled. “Me too. You were the best with the horses.”
“Yes, and you would’ve looked better in those tight outfits the acrobats wore.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” His gaze slid down the outline of her legs visible in the breeches. After much badgering from Signe, she’d stopped wearing the overskirt outside of the cities. A blush crept up Kate’s neck, and she focused her gaze on the garland, turning it over in her hands.
Corwin sighed and leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “I sometimes wish we’d gone through with it. Our lives would be very different now.”
“Yes, I suppose they would,” Kate said, but without any conviction. It wouldn’t have lasted even if they had been brave enough to run away. Look at us now. Barely able to talk to one another.
“Signe would be good in a circus,” Corwin added, breaking the sudden tension with a grin.
Kate returned it. “I think she was part of one. At least for a little while. But you never know with her. She tells so many stories, then contradicts them by turns.”
“She might be the most interesting person I’ve ever met. Though to tell the truth, her never-ending questions can be a bit tiresome. That’s half the reason I came out here, just to get away from them.”
Kate rolled her eyes, understanding the sentiment perfectly, despite her undying affection for her. “What is she on about now?”
Corwin ran a palm down his face. “The Inquisition. She can’t seem to grasp why it is we let the golds take children from their mothers.”
“She doesn’t understand. Or maybe she chooses not to.” Kate kicked at a rough patch on the ground, uncomfortable with the topic. “Although I can sympathize with her struggle, on that point at least.”
Corwin shifted toward her. “How do you mean?”
Tread carefully, Kate told herself. “The League holds a lot of power over people, more than I think they ever had before. Now they can come and go as they please, invading homes, destroying families. I was surprised when your father sanctioned the Inquisition.”
“My father didn’t.” Corwin kicked at the ground too, unearthing an everweep, this one with blue petals, glistening with the constant moisture that gave them their name. “Edwin did. He’s responsible for all the changes of late. Even the bridge over the Redrush was his idea.”
Kate gaped, feeling a stab of anger. Edwin had always been arrogant, but she couldn’t believe he would attempt to rule with his father still alive. That stupid bridge had gotten Eliza Caine killed. He had no business making such decisions from the lofty towers of Norgard.
“It’s my father, you see.” Corwin swallowed, the cords in his throat flexing. “The rumors about him are true. He’s sick. Something festers inside him that the magists can’t heal. It affects both his body and his mind. They don’t know what it is, but it came on after the attack.”
But that was years ago, Kate thought. A sickness festering this long sounded unnatural, like magic. Her old tutor once told her that during the Sevan Invasion, the green robes had applied their healing arts to create spells that could cause sickness—fever, boils, watery bowels. That was magist magic, though, nothing like what her father could do. Not that she could explain this to Corwin.
“He goes weeks without speaking sometimes,” Corwin continued. “And when he does speak, it makes little sense. We’ve hidden the truth as much as we can, but someone has to make decisions in his stead. Someone has to rule.”
Why not you? Kate wanted to say, but she already knew the answer. There’d been no sign of uror. Surely by now, odds were there never would be.
“You sound uncertain,” she gently pressed.
Corwin sighed. “That was the first time I’d seen the golds arrest a child. What his mother did was horrible, make no mistake, but Signe has a point. The woman was provoked. My mother would’ve reacted much the same if it had been Edwin or me. I probably would too, with my own son.”
His admission surprised Kate. The first few months after his mother’s death, his grief and rage had been so great he couldn’t even hear the term wilder without needing to hit something. His knuckles still bore the scars. But now he seemed sympathetic to one.
“But then again,” Corwin went on, “it really wasn’t Edwin’s decision to support the Inquisition. It was my father’s plan to sanction it before he . . . fell ill.” Corwin paused and looked at Kate, his expression suddenly guarded. “I overheard them fighting about it the night before, my father and yours.”
Kate stared back at him, not daring to speak or react at all. Of course her father would’ve objected to the Inquisition if he’d known about it. But if he’d been worried about it, why didn’t he tell her? Even afterward, when he’d been imprisoned, he’d refused to see her. He could’ve given her warning. Maybe she would’ve gone to Esh instead of Farhold. Then again, maybe he’d tried to tell her, but Corwin never delivered the message.
Go to Fenmore.
“You’re so quiet, Kate,” Corwin said. “Are you all right?”
She slowly nodded. “It’s just I know so little about what happened that night.”
Corwin scratched at the stubble darkening his cheek. He’d started shaving again since they’d left Andreas, but not every day. “You know more than you did before.” At her sharp look, he made an apologetic face. “Yes, I remember you asking me about it. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I had the chance. You had a right to know sooner.”
“Yes, I did,” Kate said, flustered that he remembered more about that night in the Relay tower than he’d let on. She stood, and in a too-harsh voice she said, “Is there anything else you haven’t told me about that night?”
He leaned away from her, brows drawn over his eyes. “No, you know everything now.”
Not everything. She stared down at him. “How can I believe you when you held back so much?”
Anger flashed in Corwin’s eyes. “How dare you make me feel guilty when it was your father who tried to assassinate mine? Especially when whatever he did left my father a shell of a man.”
“Are you accusing my father of sorcery now?” Glaring, Kate raked a hand across her face to push the hair out of her eyes where the wind had begun whipping it about.
“No, of course not.” Corwin stood, his superior height giving him an unfair advantage in any argument. “But . . . when I confronted Hale after the attack, he told me he was sorry. That if he’d only known what would happen to my father, he never would have done it.”
“Done what? Attack him with a dagger? Like he wouldn’t know what would happen if he did that? It makes no sense, Corwin.”
“I know. I’ve thought the same a hundred times, but it’s what he said, Kate. I was there.”
“And you didn’t ask him for an explanation? For more?” She balled her hands into fists, angrier than ever that she’d been kept from her father.
Corwin rubbed a thumb over his chin. “I did, but he refused to tell me. He refused to tell anyone why he did it. We don’t know if he was an assassin working for some rival to my father, or whether it was a personal grudge, or something else entirely.”
She clenched her teeth. Her father, an assassin? It was absurd. But—“I want to know why he did it,” she said, the words coming out of her in a rush. “That’s the only reason I agreed to come back to Norgard. I need the truth. Can you understand that?”
A strange look passed through Corwin’s eyes, and the anger drained from his face. “Yes. It must’ve been torture not knowing all these years.” He touched her arm and held her gaze, unblinking. “And I promise, Kate, I’ll do whatever I can to help you learn the truth.”
She examined his expression, probing it for any insincerity but finding none. Then she understood, and immediately, her own anger subsided. This was the Corwin she’d known before. This was a peace offering, his way of calling a truce. They hadn’t fought often when they were younger, but when they had, the battles had been epic. Stubbornness was a trait they shared, neither of them willing to admit defeat or wrongdoing, to compromise. For some reason this echo of the past didn’t frighten her like the others. Instead she felt her nerves grow calm for the first time in days. Once upon a time, she had trusted Corwin more than any other person, save her father. She hoped he was someone she could trust again.
With a smile curling one half of her face, she said, “Do you swear with both hands?” This was yet another game they used to play.
With a glint in his eyes, he raised his hands and made a cutting gesture over both palms, following their old ritual with ease. But before offering his palms to her, he stopped and said, “On one condition.”
“What?”
He stooped to pick up the garland. “That you wear this.” He reached toward her and dropped the garland over her brow. His warm fingers brushed the sides of her face, sending a shiver down her neck. He leaned back to examine the effect. “There now. Not foolish at all, but enchanting.”
Finally, he held his palms out to her, waiting for her to complete the ritual.
With her sideways smile, she made the slashing gesture against her own palms, then pressed her hands against his, their fingers entwining automatically. More shivers slid through her, and these had nothing to do with the chill in the wind and the raindrops starting to bead her face.
They lingered that way for a moment, hand to hand, but then a loud crack of lightning echoed around them.
“Time to get back to camp.” Corwin turned and pulled her toward the path. In seconds they were running through the trees while the thunder rolled and the clouds overturned barrels of rain on them. It plastered Kate’s hair to her head, destroying the garland in an instant. Now more than ever she was glad not to be encumbered with a skirt.
Something was wrong at the camp. Kate sensed it even before the sound of the horses’ screams reached her. Drakes? With her hand on the revolver, she burst through the trees into the campsite after Corwin.
The horses were in a panic. Lightning had struck one of the trees nearby, setting it on fire. All the horses were tied to the same picket line, making the situation even more perilous. One horse was already down, thrashing to regain his feet while the ground turned to mud. Two others were tangled in each other’s ropes, legs threatening to break and necks to snap.
Dal and the others were trying to free the horses, but no one could get close enough to get them undone, and they couldn’t just cut the rope either. Not with the horses so panicked and straining to run. They would be food for the drakes if they got away.
With the horses’ fear invading her mind, Kate acted on instinct. She reached out to the entire herd with her magic. It was easy, her neglected ability hungry for the use and nightfall still far enough away not to impede the magic. She’d only rarely compelled so many horses at once, but it wasn’t any harder than shouting to a crowd, a matter of projection. With a single thought she calmed them enough to get them free of the ropes.
The whole thing took no longer than a moment, and so it was only later, once things had settled, that Kate noticed the strange way Master Raith kept looking at her, the expression obvious without his mask to conceal it. With a jolt of fear she understood her mistake. A single lapse, made on instinct, and yet it was enough to condemn her.
For Raith’s penetrating look, so sinister in the flashes of lightning, could only mean the magist had seen what she was.