Bring her back.
The Komizar would see her dead one way or another for what she had done. For what they had all done. But his preference was to get her back alive—and then make her suffer publicly in the worst possible way for her betrayal.
Find her.
And with my last Vendan breath, that was just what I would do.
The winds bore down, the heavens raged,
and the wilderness tested the Remnant
until the last of the darkness spilled into the earth,
and Morrighan charged the Holy Guardians
with telling the stories, for though the devastation
was behind them, it should not be forgotten,
because their hearts still beat with the blood of their forbears.
—Morrighan Book of Holy Text, Vol. II
CHAPTER SIX
RAFE
We startled awake, alarmed by her shouting, jumping to our feet, drawing swords, looking for imminent danger.
Jeb was saying it was a false alarm, that there was nothing wrong, but Lia had somehow gotten to her feet on her own, her eyes wild, telling us we had to leave. A relieved breath hissed between my teeth and I lowered my sword. She’d only had a nightmare. I stepped toward her. “Lia, it was just a bad dream. Let me help you lie back down.”
She hobbled backward, determined, sweat glistening on her face, and her arm stretched out to keep me at a distance. “No! Get ready. We leave this morning.”
“Look at you,” I said. “You’re tottering like a drunk. You can’t ride.”
“I can and I will.”
“What’s your hurry, Your Highness?” Sven asked.
She looked from me to my men. Their feet were firmly planted. They weren’t going anywhere based on her wild-eyed demands. Had she spiked another fever?
Her expression sobered. “Please, Rafe, you have to trust me on this.”
That was when I knew what she was saying. She was speaking of the gift, but I still hesitated. I had little knowledge of it and less understanding. Which could I trust more: my experience and training as a soldier or a gift that even she couldn’t fully explain to me?
“What did you see?” I asked.
“It’s not what I saw but what I heard—Aster’s voice telling me not to tarry.”
“Didn’t she say that to you a dozen times?”
“At least,” she answered, but her stance remained determined.
All this rush over don’t tarry?
Ever since I had gathered her into my arms on that riverbank, I had been looking over my shoulder for danger. I knew it was there. But I had to weigh that uncertainty against the benefits of healing too.
I looked away, trying to think. I wasn’t sure if I was making the right decision or not, but I turned back to my men. “Pack up.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
PAULINE
The city was draped in black, except for the widows. They wore the white silk mourning scarves that only a few months ago I had worn. The past days had been a nightmare, both for Civica and for me. Morrighan had not only lost a whole platoon of young soldiers, including the crown prince, but also its First Daughter, Princess Arabella, now branded the most vile of traitors and responsible for her own brother’s death. In taverns some of the gossip grew ugly, claiming the worst of the news wasn’t publicly announced—that Lia herself had plunged the sword into Walther’s chest.
The king had taken ill. Everyone whispered that he was sick at heart. Walther was his pride, but Lia—as much as they had butted heads, as much as she exasperated him—everyone always said she was more her father’s daughter than her mother’s. Her betrayal laid him low.
And what had she done to me?
I still hadn’t confronted Mikael. Instead, in these last several days, I’d dredged up every one of my conversations with him, sifting through them word for word, as if they were pebbles and I was searching for one stone that shone with truth.
Of course, Pauline, as soon as my final patrol is over, we’ll settle in Terravin. Wherever your home is, my heart is already there.
But, Mikael, if by some chance I should have to leave before you return, you’ll know where to find me. You’ll come?
Always, my love. Nothing could keep me from you. Let’s go now, one last time before my platoon leaves.
And then he kissed the knuckles of my hand one at a time and led me into the abandoned caretaker’s cottage at the edge of the millpond. He always said the right words, did the right things, so steady in his gaze I believed he looked into my soul. Even now my chest burned with the memory of his kiss. I still wanted him. I wanted his words to be true. I have his baby growing in my belly.
But I couldn’t deny there had always been worry behind those weeks in Terravin when I had waited for him to come. I had thought it was worry for his safety, worry that he’d been hurt on patrol, but now I wondered if my worry was of another kind. One I wouldn’t even admit to myself.
Somehow Lia had known. It had to have been Walther who had told her terrible things about Mikael, what he had thought was the truth. And yet she’d had so little faith in me and in Mikael that she wouldn’t tell me. Walther could have been wrong.
Then why hadn’t Mikael come for me in Terravin? Why wasn’t I going to him now? What kept me from revealing my presence to him and watching relief flood his eyes? I knitted more furiously.
“Planning for a baby with two heads?”
I pulled on the yarn, ripping out my stray stitches, and looked up at Gwyneth. She was dressed for the public service. It was time for us to go, and I welcomed a walk through the city to the abbey graveyard. The king and queen wouldn’t be there—the king was too ill, and the queen would stay by his side—but Bryn and Regan would attend. They had fallen silent, and I’d feared that they too had turned on their sister, but Bryn finally sent us a note. They wanted to talk. Though the rest of Morrighan may have turned against Lia, the brothers still had a shred of belief in their sister, and Bryn had other news he wanted to share—news he said wasn’t safe to put in a note.
I tucked my knitting away, and as we walked out the door, I wondered if it would ever again be safe for Lia to return home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As they saddled the horses and packed supplies, they conferred among themselves about the best route to take. The choices were to ride south, where the climb over the diminishing mountain range would be easier, or head due west for a pass through the range that was steeper and more difficult, but faster.
“We’ll go west,” I said.
Tavish stiffened and stopped loading his horse. He’d been pushing for riding south before we crossed the range. He stared at Rafe, refusing to look my way. “We aren’t familiar with that pass, and with the deep snow, it will be more dangerous to cross.”
Rafe strapped my saddlebag to the horse I would ride and rechecked the cinch as he answered. “But it does shave off some miles to the nearest outpost, plus it has the advantage of dumping us into the Valley of Giants, where there’s plenty of ruins for shelter—and hiding places.”
“You’re assuming we’ll need to hide,” Tavish countered. “Aren’t you the one who said we had a two-week lead?”
Everyone paused, including Rafe. Tavish’s tone held unmistakable challenge. It was clear that he had no regard for the gift, and I realized it was possible that none of them did.