Lightfall, p.9
Lightfall, page 9
“Or he’s biding his time to muster an army powerful enough to defeat us.”
Cyril leaned back, frowning. “If you’re right, then both sides are playing for time, not peace. And that is a dangerous game.”
The door swung open and Dorminger and Maleck strode in, the ruddy Lord with an arm around Maleck’s shoulders and a sheepish yet mollified smile lighting the depths of Maleck’s eyes. Ashe stomped her heart flat when it lurched at the sight.
“Ah, there she is! Asheila Kovar!” Dorminger rushed forward to embrace her. “Lucie and Alena still speak highly of the time you taught them knife-throwing. Such fond memories!”
Ashe couldn’t help a smile of her own. “Where are those two mischief-makers, anyway?”
The Lord released her, sterner when he stepped back. “I sent them away with their mother to our lands in the north. Just a precaution.”
“Dorm, these two are my honored guests,” Cyril said. “See to it they have accommodations in the estate.”
“You need a few less influential friends, Cyril. Between all the Lords you’ve invited, the Cadre, and my own servants, I only have one room left.”
Ashe stiffened and Maleck paled.
“I’m jesting, of course,” Dorminger cackled after a vicious beat. “There’s a room in the east wing and one in the west, find a servant and they’ll escort you there. In the meantime, Your Majesty, if I might have your ear?”
“If you’ll have the rest of me, too. I’m afraid it doesn’t detach easily. Ashe?” Two steps nearer to the door, she looked back, meeting Cyril’s warm gaze. “Welcome back.”
Melancholy washed over her. Until that moment, she didn’t realize how badly she wanted him to say welcome home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WORD REACHED MIDDLETON the day after Ashe and Maleck did, by way of a Mahasari messenger at the pike gate: Talheimic autumn with its hard rains and bouts of chill disagreed with King Jad’s body. He would be delayed for some time at Camere.
Agitation drove Ashe to Middleton’s well-stocked training rooms before dawn each day, one of a dozen people pummeling grainsacks with knives and fists, imagining each one was a Mahasari Enforcer or Jad himself. Every session was another reminder that she was here, in some ways, under false pretenses, and the camaraderie she shared with these Wardens over waterskins and well-aimed blows a charade. They welcomed her now, but if they knew what she felt toward Valgard, toward the former augur whom they avoided in the halls, they’d treat her no better than Rion did.
Frustrated with herself and with them, she forewent practice one morning and sought out Maleck instead. At least the strangeness with him was navigable, a melody she knew her piece in.
She found him bent over a newly-purchased journal at one of the long tables in the dining hall, the only one sitting there despite the crowded room. Whispered orders had trickled down from Cyril through Dorminger that he was not to be harmed, but no one offered a hand of friendship, either. He was always alone if he wasn’t with her.
She banged down her bowl of porridge and slid onto the bench across from him. “What are you writing?”
He hastily flipped the journal shut over his wrist. “I’m not.”
“Then Valgard must have some interesting uses for fountain pens no one’s taught me yet.” To her surprise, his cheekbones colored. She studied that interesting splash of red across his skin, smiling. “Maleck, are you drawing again?”
“Possibly.”
“Let me see.” She fluttered her fingers. “Please?”
“No.”
“Maleck, really, what’s the worst I could see?” She wiggled her brows. “Is it naughty?”
He groaned. “Asheila.”
“Show me your scandalous sketches!” She rose from the bench, balancing on one knee and reaching for the journal. Maleck slid it away from her, then hefted it high out of her grasp, and she paused with her hands braced on the table. “Do you really think holding that above my head will stop me from taking it?”
“Consider if you really want to do this, here, in front of these people.”
It hit her like a battering ram—where they were, and with whom. Not in the forest anymore, not on rooftops in Astoria where no other eyes could see the ease with which she teased him; and though the Wardens and kitchen staff kept to their own meals at separate tables, her well-trained senses told her they were watching, too, gathering gossip to turn more and more hearts against her.
Slowly, she slid back into her seat. “Fine, keep your secrets.”
Maleck flipped the journal shut and changed the subject. “Rumor has it Jad’s been seen moving about the Caves of Camere and some of the lands beyond in fit physical condition.”
Ashe didn’t bother asking how he heard. “But no word yet when he plans to grace us with his esteemed presence.” They both bent over their porridge, arms curled around the bowls, heads close together. “The Wardens are restless.”
“And the townspeople have begun boarding their windows. Whatever the cause for this delay, nothing like it has happened since Jad first made camp in Camere weeks ago.”
“Why do I have the feeling it has something to do with us?”
Maleck’s frown bored against hers. “The signal fires?”
“It could be. We’re the aberration. We arrive, Jad delays.” She stirred her chunky porridge, pondering the safer points of that night in the mountains. “Maybe we should investigate after all.”
The dining hall doors hammered open so loudly half the room jumped. “Asheila Kovar!”
Anger ripped down Ashe’s spine, digging jagged claws into her hips and lifting her from her seat. “Well, he got here faster than I expected.”
What surprised her more than the sight of Rion Bartos storming toward them was the simmering disgust it evoked. Had her opinion of him truly changed so much in so little time? Or was this merely the rebellion of spirit before she fell to her knees and begged him to take her back, to give her a sense of belonging and purpose again?
It was almost exhilarating not knowing; nearly as exhilarating as the adrenaline singing in her veins when the Commander halted before her, flanked by Rozalie Dohnal and Viktor Pollack, his best below what Ashe once was. Judging by Viktor’s gloating smile and Rozalie’s scowl, things might have changed on their long journey back from Valgard.
What hadn’t changed was Rion’s fury. Arms crossed, nostrils flaring, he filled up every hollow inch of Ashe with his fire. “I want to know how you reached her first.”
Ashe raised a brow. “By her, I assume you mean the Queen. As for the how, I’ll let you speculate.”
Viktor inclined toward Rozalie, hands in his pockets, whispering in her ear; she shrugged him off, gaze fixed on Ashe. It was impossible to interpret that look, but there didn’t seem to be any resentment behind it.
Unfortunately, Rion had enough for all three of them. “You undermined me, spat in my face, and lied to the royal family. I’ll have you in the stocks for that.”
“She told no lie,” Maleck cut in. “Only preempted yours.”
Viktor’s hand fell to his sword as if he just now noticed Maleck was there. Rion’s broad shoulders tensed, eyes narrowing with hate. “You again.”
“Meszaros.” Maleck bent his chin without taking his eyes from Rion.
“What is this Valgardan filth doing in the halls where our King resides?”
“Strange how that proximity didn’t matter as much to you when you abandoned Cyril on the snowy tundra to take a piss and left me to save his life twenty years ago,” Ashe snapped.
Cursing, Rion lunged for her. Maleck’s boot cracked against the table’s edge, slamming it into the Commander’s hip. He stumbled sideways, and Viktor’s steel ripped from its sheath as he leaped across the table at Maleck. Ashe hurtled after him, kicking him onto his seat mid-leap and bloodying his nose with a blow.
“That was for Pippet.” She drove her boot into his ribs. “And that was for Aden.”
Clutching his hip, Rion straightened and drew his sword. “Get that thing out of the King’s dwelling, or so help me, I will remove it in pieces.”
“You couldn’t kill a boy of fourteen with that blade,” Maleck said. “I doubt you’ll survive the humiliation of trying again.”
Ashe swung an incredulous look at him; his posture hadn’t altered, his gaze still fixed on Rion, yet the faintest cruel smile turned his mouth.
He was taunting him. Maleck, who always drove in like a shadowed blade, not one wicked gleam on his edge before he struck…he was toying with Meszaros. Ashe couldn’t reconcile the shift, couldn’t imagine why Maleck, alone and friendless except for her, would choose now to goad an enemy. And this enemy, of all people.
“What is going on here?”
The thunder of King Cyril’s voice choked any hint of a fight from the air, setting Rion, Viktor, and Ashe crashing back on their heels and loosening Maleck into his full height.
The King strode to join them, no less imposing even with a porridge bowl in his hand. He halted beside Rozalie, gaze snapping between them all. “Rion, I didn’t know you’d returned. Welcome home. Since when don’t you come to me first after a mission?”
Rion grimaced. “I was made aware Asheila Kovar arrived ahead of me.”
“You say that like it’s anything new.”
Ashe winced, but to his credit, Rion merely angled his blade toward her. “I was going to remove the infestation before I came to see you.”
“Infestation.” Cyril’s eyes flicked to Maleck. “I take it no one bothered to tell you this man is under my protection.”
Viktor’s eyes widened. Rion’s jaw clenched. “And I take it no one bothered to inform you what escapades Asheila was involved in back in the North. How she holds their interests over ours now.”
“That’s not true.”
The soft rebuttal came not from Ashe, not even from Maleck, but from Rozalie. Rion fixed her with an icy stare. “Are you contradicting your Commander’s report?”
“I’m telling His Majesty that Asheila Kovar never holds anyone’s interests above Cistine’s,” Rozalie said. “If she sent Ashe, then they’re working together like they always have, because they love Talheim with everything they are. If they think we need a Valgardan here to save our kingdom, I’m willing to have a bit of faith.”
“If you’re so inclined to faith, go serve in a temple,” Viktor snapped. “This isn’t a matter of gods, it’s a matter of swords.”
“You would know, Viktor, your sword is your god.”
“Enough,” Cyril ordered. “Ashe and Maleck told me why they’re here and what they hope to accomplish. It’s a risk, I know, but I agree with Rozalie…it’s one I’m also willing to put faith in.”
“I see.” Rion’s voice smoothed, but there was a subtle shift in his bearing, the planting and posing that always preceded his hardest blows. “And did Asheila also bother to tell you I stripped her of her title for misconduct? That she no longer has a Warden’s commission serving the royal family?” The indifference in his tone, like the loss of her was no more cutting than the dismissal of a trainee after a fortnight, bladed straight to Ashe’s core.
She was nothing to him now, if she’d ever been anything more than a prop to his hate.
Cyril’s gaze landed sharply on her. “She didn’t mention as much, no.” Another beat of silence, too heavy. “But Warden title or none, if we can convince Mahasar of an existing alliance between our kingdoms, we may save thousands of Talheimic lives. It’s worth the risk.”
“This is madness,” Rion snarled. “This whole plot, it’s a joke.”
Cyril’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t forget whose idea it was to entreat the North for help, Brother.” Rion looked away, and Cyril beckoned to Ashe and Maleck. “Both of you, with me. Pollack and Dohnal, report to Dorminger. Rion, wait for me here.”
Ashe slid over the table to walk behind her King, shooting a glance at Rozalie, who tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder to hide her face from Rion and mouthed, Dinner?
Ashe nodded, then escaped the dining hall.
Cyril led them to the nearest bench down the corridor and sat, porridge bowl on his knees, looking up at Ashe and Maleck. “Which of you wants the privilege of being honest with me first?”
Ashe opened her mouth, but Maleck was swifter. “I tried to kill you as a child.”
Cyril’s brows vaulted. Ashe ripped her hands through her hair, staring at Maleck, but he didn’t spare her a glance.
“I was…not myself,” he went on. “Forced to become something I couldn’t bear, something I will never be again. But Asheila saved you from me. I’m not certain Rion ever told you that. When nothing and no one else stood in my way, she did. And she woke me from the place I’d gone. I fled rather than finishing you, and Rion followed.”
Cyril frowned. “Into Cerne Mosiar. I remember…he was gone for so long, I feared him dead.”
“Not dead, hunting. He butchered his way through the swamplands, killing every Valgardan he met on his way to me. My…friend’s father found me and helped me escape. I had not seen Rion Bartos in twenty years, but our paths crossed again when he came to Valgard.”
“I understand how painful that history is. But you’re not to antagonize my Commander in these halls, is that clear? We present a unified front, Talheim and Valgard…that goes both ways, regardless of how you feel toward each other.” When Maleck nodded, Cyril’s gaze flicked back to Ashe. “What about your title?”
“I wouldn’t let Rion use a Valgardan child as bait against their Chancellors,” she muttered. “Not that it ever would’ve worked, anyway. He was spoiling for a fight, and it wasn’t one I was willing to let him have.”
“He is your Commander.”
“Apparently not anymore.” She rubbed a chill from her arms. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
“While I wish you’d been honest with me, what I told Rion is true: titles don’t matter to Jad, only the face we present. And it will be unity.” Cyril finished his porridge in three swift bites and climbed to his feet. “I’ll speak to Rion. He’s going to keep his prejudices to himself from now on, and we’ll have peace in this house. We won’t give Jad a single crack to slither into. Understood?”
Ashe and Maleck snapped their heels together and nodded.
“I have a question,” Maleck said when the King turned away. “Can you restore Asheila’s title?”
Cyril pivoted back, looking at Maleck long and steady. “It’s within my power, yes. But I won’t do it.”
Ashe’s heart plummeted. “Why not?”
“Because I officially made Rion my Commander again the moment I joined him here in Middleton. It’s his right to declare who is Cadre and who isn’t, and if I undermine him it will only fissure our ranks more.”
“Then I’m not Cistine’s Warden.”
“In title, no. But in deed, I doubt you’re capable of being anything else.”
His words stung as badly as his refusal to give her any place in his household. He didn’t know how badly she hurt Cistine from Siralek, how her princess might not even want her anymore. Without the King or Queen’s blessing, she had nowhere to go.
She bowed and turned away before they could see the emotion threatening to break loose across her face.
“Ashe,” Cyril said to her retreating back, “I don’t do this only for the sake of unity or these peace talks, but for yours.”
Of course he saw how Rion looked at her, and surmised the torture her life would be if he instated her back into the ranks against the Commander’s wishes. She’d be made to suffer day and night for what she did.
Suffering there or suffering with no place to belong; either way, Asheila Kovar was doomed to pain.
She managed to avoid Viktor and Rion all afternoon, escaped Maleck’s undisguised attempts to find her at her chamber door, the training room, and on the grounds, and dodged whispers and glances in the corridors until nightfall when scents of beef and lentil stew drove her back to the dining hall. Rozalie waited there, perched in the same place Ashe and Maleck ate breakfast, her feet on the bench and her seat on the tabletop. She’d dressed down in a tunic and trousers—a small gesture of kindness that she didn’t flaunt her rank and title.
She leaped to her feet the moment Ashe entered. “Why don’t we go to a vendor for supper?”
Rion and Viktor would arrive soon, then. Ashe spanned an arm to the door. “After you.”
They passed through the estate grounds in silence, offering nods to Arnost and his men. Ashe tried to count it as nothing when their eyes and whispers followed her and Rozalie up the broad stone steps out of sight.
Under dusk’s cool light, they ducked into the first shop they found still open and purchased bowls of pork, dumplings, and pickled cabbage. Rozalie broke the silence while they waited, leaning against the serving counter with arms crossed and eyes averted. “I tried to delay us as much as I could, but I think Rion was growing suspicious at the end. There’s only so many times you can feign a headcold or a lame horse before it becomes a pattern.”
Ashe snorted. “I appreciate what you did. Not just biding time for us, but today in the dining hall.”
Rozalie took her bowl from the vendor and handed Ashe hers. “I was surprised not to see Aden with you.”
A pang of missing pierced Ashe’s stomach. “He’s in Stornhaz with Thorne and the others.”
“Then those rumors, about you two—you know—”
“Not true.”
“Ah.” Rozalie followed her down a short slope to sit beside the pond at the city’s center, where ducks paddled and children skipped stones. “Then that man today…”
“Also not true,” Ashe lied.
“I didn’t say there were any rumors.”
“But we both know there will be.”
“That’s the least of your problems now.” Rozalie speared a chunk of pickled cabbage and gestured to Ashe with it. “Rion promoted Viktor as his second the moment we left Keltei Temple. He’s telling everyone he gained the rank by exposing you for the rat-rutting traitor you are.”
