CORWIN SURVEYED THE CARNAGE. FIFTY dead drakes. He should’ve been pleased, but disappointment plagued him. The drakes were dead, not a hint of them anywhere else in the pass. Their handler was dead as well, leaving few clues about who he had been and no hints at all about his service to the Rising.
“You’re sure he was from Penlocke?” Corwin asked Kate when she led them to the strange, circular gorge where the daydrakes had been caged.
“Yes,” she said, arms wrapped around her waist. Although dirty and bloodstained, she appeared otherwise unharmed.
Even now, Corwin could barely contain his relief. When he first heard those gunshots, he felt his heart seize in his chest, fearing the worst. He’d lain awake all last night, regretting the things that had come between them. That he’d let come between them. And wishing for some way to make it right. There had to be one, even though he still couldn’t see it. But at least she lived and there would be time. He clung to that hope.
Raith was stooped over the man, searching his body for distinguishing marks. They’d stripped him naked but found nothing so far. Not so much as a scar or an unusual mole. It seemed impossible that they would ever find out who he was among the vast citizenship of Penlocke.
A moment later though, Raith stood up, nodding. “This man has been treated by the green robes for an illness sometime within the last year.”
Corwin frowned. “How can you tell?”
Stooping over the body again, Raith motioned for Corwin to join him. “Do you see these fine white lines?”
Corwin focused his gaze where Raith pointed, but it took him a while to make out the blemishes on the man’s skin, as fine as a spider’s webbing. “Barely. What are they?”
“The result of a drawing spell, the kind used to purge the body of poison and certain diseases.”
“Interesting, I suppose, but I don’t see how it will help us.” Corwin stood again, hands on hips.
Raith rose as well. “The greens keep records of everyone they treat. It’s possible I might learn his name from them. Once we are done with our business at Thornewall, I will travel to Penlocke to find out more.”
Corwin thought about the golds’ denial of ever having caught Ralph Marcel. Perhaps Raith would have better luck with the greens. “Please leave as soon as you’re ready. We have more than enough magists with us now that the daydrakes are dead.”
“Thank you, your highness.” Raith glanced at Kate, and Corwin braced for him to say Kate would be coming with him. Corwin had accepted that there was nothing romantic between them, but there was still something between them. But Raith only said, “I will leave tomorrow, once you’ve settled at Thornewall.”
Beneath a gray, twilight-dim sky, they at last arrived at Thornewall Castle. To Corwin’s eyes, however, it was more of a fortress. Like the one at Andreas, the wall here was built into the surrounding cliffs. The stone edifice loomed high above them, impregnable and unwelcoming, while its lower surface bore the scars of claw marks. Several bodies of dead, decaying daydrakes surrounded it, those the freeholding had managed to fell from atop the wall.
The moment the guards on the bailey saw the royal banner, the people inside burst to life, welcoming them in with great pomp and excitement. Baron Thorne greeted Corwin with fumbling relief. He kept bowing and thanking him for their rescue, all the while ignoring his youngest son. Worse still was the way the baron hardly even reacted to the news that his second-youngest son had perished.
Seeing for himself that the rumors about Dal’s sordid family were true made Corwin feel ill. These people were undeserving of Dal, unworthy of his love and the risk he’d taken coming here to save them. Still, as distasteful as Dal’s parents turned out to be—his mother not much better, although she at least wept at the news of her son’s death—the rest of the people who lived at Thornewall mattered more. Their relief and joy at being rescued made the risk and all the expense worth it.
I should defy the high council more often. It was a dangerous thought, very much like one the Corwin who had once been a captain in the Shieldhawks would’ve had, and yet he couldn’t help smiling to himself.
True to his word, Master Raith left the morning after their arrival, taking two of his blues with him. Corwin and the rest stayed a week. The soldiers helped with the arduous process of burning the bodies of the dead drakes. They also ran sweeps through the pass and surrounding areas, searching for more of the creatures, but not finding a single one. It seemed the threat to Thornewall truly was over. Why the freeholding had been targeted in the first place remained a mystery. Corwin could only hope Raith would uncover answers in Penlocke.
On the sixth day of their stay, a caravan from Norgard arrived bearing Dal’s brother, his body already prepared for the holy burning by the priestesses of Noralah. That evening they held the death ceremony, but it was Lady Thorne who lit the pyre instead of her husband as was tradition.
Afterward, Corwin walked along the ramparts of the castle with Dal. Neither spoke for a long time, both lost in their own reflections while a chill, damp breeze blew in their faces.
When they reached the section of wall overlooking the Penlaurel River, they came to a stop and leaned against the edge, peering out at the dark water, the expanse so wide they couldn’t see the far shoreline.
“It’s strange, but Robert and I never got along,” Dal said, breaking the silence at last. “When we were children, we were always forced to do things together because of our closeness in age. I hated it. He used to steal my dessert and break my toys. Yet all I can think of now is how much I’ll miss his irritations.”
Corwin nodded, understanding the sense of loss completely. There were days he missed the way his mother used to scold him nearly as much as he missed the way she would hold him close and stroke his head when he was hurt or scared.
“Of course,” Dal continued, “none of us really got along except for Matthew and Lucas, the eldest brothers.” A bitter laugh escaped Dal’s throat, the wind doing its best to steal the sound away. “But I suppose that makes sense. Can’t have the purebreds mingling with the mongrels.”
Feeling an ache in his chest at his friend’s misery, Corwin searched for something to say but could think of nothing aside from empty platitudes.
Dal brushed hair back from his face, nodding to himself. “It’s the cruelest part of this life, I think, that we don’t get to choose the families and situations we’re born into.”
Corwin turned his gaze on the water lapping against the rocks below, his thoughts on Edwin and the rivalry of the uror that had divided them from the beginning. And on Kate, how he would’ve picked her over anyone. “You’re right about that. Gods know I would’ve chosen differently.” He hesitated, doubt nagging him. “Then again, who’s to say we would be happier if we did choose? I imagine most of us would get it wrong either way.”
“At least we would have chosen our own misery,” Dal said. “But some would do all right. I imagine most wilders would choose families from Endra or Rhoswen or even Esh if such were possible. Every time I feel sorry for myself, I remember that poor woman in Andreas trying to save her son. The gods are cruel to have given them such a fate.”
The memory rushed into Corwin’s mind unbidden. It wasn’t the first time Dal had mentioned it. The arrest of that child in Andreas seemed to haunt his friend—that and Signe’s continued criticism of the Inquisition. Then again, now that he’d met Dal’s mother, Corwin wondered if that might be part of it—the effect of witnessing the fierce love of a parent ready to do anything to save her child. It was something Dal never had. Lady Thorne was too self-absorbed to put anyone else’s needs above her own.
With thoughts of his own mother pressing on his mind, Corwin cleared his throat. “I’m surprised you’re still sympathetic, given it was a wilder controlling the drakes that threatened Thornewall and killed your brother.”
Dal cast Corwin a sharp look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Corwin. They’re two different people. As far we know that woman in Andreas never hurt anyone until they tried to take away her son. Who’s to say she wouldn’t have lived all her life in peace if her hand hadn’t been forced? Wilder or no, they’re still human. They make choices good and bad, same as the rest of us.”
“Yes, but for most of us those choices don’t result in people’s blood being drawn from their body.” Or raging fires that cause stampedes.
“No, the rest of us merely use swords and guns and call it justice.” Dal scowled into the distance, then turned a skeptical look onto Corwin. “And let’s not forget kings and high councilmembers. They often make decisions that result in the pain and suffering of others—usually without them having to witness it. They speak a word and their will is done.” He snapped his fingers, then paused. “Not unlike your brother refusing to send help.”
Corwin ran his tongue over his teeth, disliking the way he saw Dal’s point. Kings did wield the kind of power that affected hundreds of faceless people, like the peasant women in need of moonbelts or the sick and infirm forced to give themselves over in sacrifice to make room inside the city.
And the gods know how well I understand bad choices.
Dal leaned down, braced against the top of the ramparts as he rested his chin in his hands. “What’s more, people hate wilders even though they can’t help how they’re born any better than I can help being my mother’s bastard. My father despises me for something I had no part in, and there’s no changing his mind about it. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Dal sighed. “You know the worst of it though? I don’t even know who my real father is. None of us do. My mother refuses to tell so that we can never confirm the rumors to the rest of the world.”
Corwin blew out a breath, unable to fathom what that must’ve been like.
When Dal fell silent again, Corwin thumped him on the back. “Let’s look on the bright side. By not knowing, you can make him something special. He could be a great war hero.”
Standing up from the rampart, Dal snorted. “Or a court jester.” Then he laughed, the first real one Corwin had heard from him in days. “One thing is certain, though. I got my dashing good looks from him, thank the gods.”
Corwin laughed, too, picturing the balding, sagging Baron Thorne. “I believe you’re right about that.”
“Come to think of it,” Dal said, “maybe he was a pirate, like the men who built this fortress.”
“This place was built by pirates?” Corwin asked, delighted more by the lightness he sensed in Dal than the novelty of such a history.
“That’s the legend, although some of it is indeed fact. Do you see those rocks down there?” Dal pointed over the ledge.
Glancing down, Corwin noticed the rocks at once. They seemed out of place, too straight and even to have formed naturally. “What is that?”
“My ancestor built them there to block the smuggling caves. This place is full of them.” Dal pulled back from the wall with a sigh. “It’s a shame those caves aren’t open now. Everyone could’ve escaped that way, and Robert would still be alive.”
“I’m sorry,” Corwin said, crestfallen at how easily Dal had slipped back into his melancholy mood. “If I had the power to change it, I would.”
Dal didn’t respond, not for several long moments. “No one can change the past.” He hesitated, running a hand over the stubble on his chin. “But you might be able to change the future.”
Corwin shifted his weight, unsure he liked this sudden turn in the conversation.
Dal narrowed his eyes at him, expression earnest. “Do you remember what I said back in Norgard about wishing things could go back to the way they were before we left on the tour?”
“Yes. . . .”
“Well, I was wrong. I don’t wish that.”
A confused smile turned up the edges of Corwin’s mouth. “Why do you say so?”
Dal drew a deep breath. “Because you should be king. There’s no one better suited.”
“We both know that isn’t true. No matter how many times you say otherwise.” Unconsciously, Corwin’s eyes shifted to the unnaturally smooth side of Dal’s face. Underneath lay a visceral reminder of all the reasons why he wasn’t fit to wield such power.
“Why, because of this?” Reaching up, Dal pulled the magestone out of his ear. His features blurred for a moment before settling once more into Dal’s true face—the left side a scarred, craterous ruin. Even now, nearly a year later, Corwin could still feel the explosion responsible. One that had killed half his men in a single blow.
Corwin looked away, his stomach a hard knot in his center.
“Don’t turn away, Corwin,” Dal said, scolding him like a child. “What happened to me, to our shield brothers, was unavoidable. You led us true. You stayed to fight and defend those of us who fell, even when others would’ve run away. You saved me.”
“Yes, but we never should’ve approached from that direction in the first place. If I’d just followed orders, we wouldn’t have found that boy. And if we’d never found him, I’d never have let him go, and we never would’ve been ambushed.” Corwin’s fingers curled into fists, the memory of the soldier boy’s face fresh in his mind after the first uror trial.
Dal shook his head, the slight movement exaggerated by the way the shadows splayed across the ruined side of his face. “You don’t know the boy betrayed us. We never saw him again, remember? It’s only your guilt assuming so. But I know better. I saw the look in that kid’s eyes when you told him to go home. It was the same way I felt when I learned you decided to come here to rescue my family despite the high council’s wishes. Your willingness to act quickly—to do what must be done despite the risk, the cost—that makes you the king Rime needs. We need someone who puts the people first and not the position. Someone who leads with his heart. A good heart.”
Corwin opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again at the fierce look in Dal’s eyes. There was no getting past that.
Forcing a smile to his lips, Corwin put an arm around Dal’s shoulder and squeezed. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.” Then, wanting to change the subject, he added, “And now I think it best we head for home. We’ve stayed in this miserable place long enough.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Dal replied, sliding the magestone back into his ear. “Norgard is truly my home now.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Corwin said. You will always have a place there, my friend, he thought. But he didn’t say it aloud. Some things just didn’t need to be said.