They journeyed west, keeping well back from the High Road. The way ran from the forts of Eastwatch to Westwatch. In single file now, they ran over grassy hills. A gusty wind raced in from the sea, chapping their faces and tugging at their clothing as they travelled.
Lilia had never journeyed this far west before. Port Needle was the farthest she’d ever ventured from her village. The Isle of Orin was small enough that you could cover one end of the High Road from east to west in a day. Yet the distance seemed enormous to her. After a short while, her thigh muscles ached and her lungs were on fire.
By the time they reached the northern turn off that took them inland, Lilia was limping from blisters. She’d slowed to a hobbling walk, forcing the others to slow their pace as well. There was no conversation between them, just an uneasy silence that grew tenser as the day progressed. Lilia noted that Saul constantly glanced over his shoulder, his dark gaze scanning the eastern horizon for signs of pursuit.
The inland route was in poor condition: badly rutted and potholed. Deep green carpeted the hills around them, lush with spring growth. There were few trees, just windswept clumps of heather, brambles or gorse.
Leaving the coast behind, they travelled north through a shallow cleft in the hills. More ruins of the ancient huts carpeted the hillsides here, their remains scattered as if by a giant’s hand. Sheep and goats grazed among the stones. Their shepherds—men wrapped in rabbit-furs—stood watch nearby.
The shadows were lengthening when they reached Woody End. A pretty hamlet of stone cottages with straw thatch, it sat on the edge of a glassy mere, with a wood of yew trees at its back. As they walked in past well-tended fields, Lilia spied bluebells carpeting the ground under the mossy trees.
They stopped briefly in the center of the village to pick up food. Saul and Ryana were the only ones carrying coin so Dain and Lilia refilled water bladders from the well in the market square, while the others bought bread, cheese and boiled eggs.
“We should reach Moss Hollow by dusk,” Saul informed them. “The closer we get to Wellwash the better. The Brotherhood will have widened their search by now.”
They followed the road out of Woody End, alongside the banks of the still, dark mere and climbed the hill. The air grew cool as dusk settled.
Darkness was drawing in by the time they reached their destination; it was time to get inside. Long shadows stretched across the soft hills in elongated, spidery fingers. A bloody sunset stained the sky, and a crimson sun slid behind the sea to the west.
True to its name, Moss Hollow sat in a shallow valley between two mossy hillsides. A brook trickled through the center of it—a cluster of no more than twenty shabby-looking stone cottages.
They found lodging in the village’s only tavern—a low-slung building of stacked stone with a sod roof. There were few folk staying here, and the elderly man who ran the tavern welcomed them with enthusiasm.
“A chamber each?”
“We’ll share one room,” Saul replied, digging into the purse at his waist for coins. “How much?”
The man’s face fell. “A bronze talent each.”
They ate a simple supper of mutton stew in the tavern’s common room—a smoky space lined with wooden booths and with a large hearth up one end. For a while none of them spoke, the sound of their wooden spoons scraping against clay bowls the only noise at the table. Apart from two men playing at dice on the other side of the room, they were the only patrons that evening.
Ryana was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. She stared at Saul as he mopped up the last of his stew with a hunk of coarse bread, her gaze boring into him until he eventually looked up and met her eye.
“Who are you really?” she asked.
Saul smiled. “Didn’t Lilia tell you?”
“She said you follow the King of Anthor—but I get the feeling there’s more to you than that.”
Saul leaned back, regarding her, his smirk still lingering. “And I have the feeling you’re not just a scop. How about you tell me who you are first?”
Ryana’s gaze narrowed, her mouth thinning. Wordlessly, she put down her spoon and stripped the fingerless glove off her right hand, turning it over so he could see the palm. The ink-black star leaped out at them.
Saul stiffened, his amusement fading. Watching him, Lilia sensed his alarm, although he struggled to hide it.
“That explains a lot,” he said finally, his expression wary. “So, what’s an Enchanter of the Dark doing here?”
Ryana gave him a hard stare. “It’s your turn now,” she replied, ignoring his question. “Who are you?”
Saul regarded her a moment, weighing his options. “My father is Reoul of Anthor.”
A stunned silence settled upon the table before Dain snorted. “So you’re a prince?”
Saul frowned. “Aye—and you’re the son of an inn-keeper, what of it?”
Dain’s gaze narrowed, however Ryana forestalled whatever response he was about to make. “How did you find The King Breaker?”
“My father sent me to fetch it,” Saul replied. He lifted his tankard of ale to his lips and took a long draft. “From the Gordi Isles.” When no one at the table commented on this, Saul continued. “A few months ago, a traveler came to our city. The man was a mercenary who had tired of killing and had lived among the monks of the Gordi Isles for a while. He discovered they kept a powerful secret. He then sold the information to my father.”
Saul dug into a deep pocket inside his cloak and withdrew a flat rectangular case made of iron, which he then placed on the table. Lilia stared at the casing, taking in its pitted, mildewed surface. Her last mouthful of stew rose in her throat.
“Does your father want to release The Shadow King?” she asked quietly, horrified at the thought anyone would do such a thing.
Saul shook his head. “He has his own plans for it.”
“Reoul of Anthor is playing with things he knows nothing about,” Ryana growled from across the table. Lilia noticed that the woman’s face had drained of color and a muscle ticked in her jaw.
Saul watched her, frowning. “And you do?”
“Enough to know that The King Breaker was forged for one purpose only—your father is a fool if he thinks that he can use it for his own political gain.”
Saul laughed, although there was little humor in it. “The King of Anthor is no fool, enchanter. As others have discovered to their cost.”
Lilia’s gaze flicked from Saul to Ryana. Unlike Saul, she knew some of Ryana’s background—of how she was responsible for the other half ending up in the hands of The Shade Brotherhood. It was best Saul didn’t learn that secret.
“And The Brotherhood?” Dain spoke up. He was toying with the remains of his stew, his face more serious than Lilia had seen it. “How did they know you have it?”
Saul’s mouth compressed. “The mercenary probably got greedy. I’d say he didn’t just sell his secret to my father. I arrived at the monastery just before The Brotherhood did, and barely escaped with the prize.”
Ryana leaned across the table then, her attention upon Lilia. “We can’t let them have it. We need to take the stone to the Royal City of Rithmar, to my Order.”
Saul’s face turned hard. “The stone’s mine—and I’m taking it back to Mirrar Rock.”
“The stone belongs with those who’ll protect it,” she shot back.
His lip curled. “Bring it to the people who lost the first half? That’s clever.”
“One of their own betrayed them,” Ryana replied, her face stony. “They won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“The stone doesn’t belong to you,” Saul replied, his gaze shifting to Lilia. He now focused entirely upon her. “You’re now its bearer. You should decide what happens next.”
Three sets of eyes rested on Lilia. She sat in the corner beside Ryana and felt hemmed in, trapped. The way she saw it, she had three choices. The first was to remain on Orin and try to evade capture, nearly impossible on an island this size. The second was to do as Ryana suggested, and take the stone somewhere safe. And the third was to let Saul take her with him back to Anthor.
None of the three remotely appealed. She was terrified of being caught by The Brotherhood and she didn’t trust Saul. Nor, if she was honest, did she trust Ryana. She knew the woman’s history; she had betrayed her Order once, perhaps she could do so again. Yet Lilia’s desire to protect the stone made her weigh up her choices. She could not let any harm come to it. After a lengthy silence, her gaze swiveled to Ryana. “We take it to Rithmar.”
Ryana nodded, her shoulders visibly sagging in relief, while Saul leaned forward, meeting Lilia’s eye. For the first time since meeting again, she felt a pull of attraction toward him. “Are you sure about this, Lilia?” he asked, his voice low and intimate. “How well do you know this woman?”
“How well does she know you?” Dain pointed out.
Saul ignored him as he continued to watch Lilia.
Lilia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Dain’s right,” she murmured. “You’ve given me no reason to trust you.”
Saul held her gaze for a few moments longer. Across the room, one of the dice-players muttered an oath as he pushed a pile of bronze talents across the table to his friend, and the fire popped and sizzled in the hearth.
“Maybe not yet,” Saul replied with a melting smile, “but that can change.”
His comment brought another snort from Dain. Saul drew back from Lilia and inclined his head toward the man seated next to him. “Your part is done,” he said, his tone dismissive. “You should go home tomorrow.”
Dain met Saul’s eye. His expression was neutral although Lilia saw his blue eyes harden. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Dain …” Lilia leaned forward. “Your parents, they’ll be worrying about you. We left without even saying goodbye.”
Dain shifted his attention to her. The intensity of his gaze made her catch her breath; gone was the teasing, flirtatious young man she’d spent the last few months with at The Grey Anchor. For the first time she saw the other side to him; the side he’d struggled with as an inn-keeper’s son. In that gaze she caught a glimpse of his strength, and a streak of ruthlessness.
Suddenly she realized how patronizing her words must have sounded. He wasn’t an untried lad, tied to his mother’s apron springs. He was a man, who’d long been living a life too small for him.
“My parents will have to cope on their own,” he said, his voice low and firm. “My path leads me elsewhere now. At dawn, I’m going with you.”