The Beauty of Darkness Read online

  Sven was snoring, and Orrin lay on his side with his mouth wide open, a thin line of drool trickling from the corner. Tavish was curled in a ball, his blanket pulled over his head, only a rope of his thick black hair peeking out from beneath it. All of them peaceful, getting the rest they very much deserved, their bodies healing from their wounds too.

  I had started to ease back onto my bedroll when the chill hit me again, stronger this time. It pressed on my chest, making it harder to breathe. The shadows grew darker, and dread snaked through me like a viper waiting to strike. I waited. Knowing. Fearing. Something was—

  Don’t tarry Miz, don’t tarry, or they will all die.

  I sat upright, gasping for breath.

  “Can’t sleep?” Jeb asked.

  I stared at him, my eyes prickling with fear.

  Jeb yawned. “Sun won’t be up for another hour or so,” he said. “Try to get some more rest.”

  “We need to go,” I said. “Now.”

  Jeb motioned to quiet me. “Shhh. The others are sleeping. We don’t need to—”

  “Everyone up!” I yelled. “Now! We’re leaving!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KADEN

  Find her. Don’t come back without her. Alive or dead, I don’t care. Kill them all. But bring her back.

  There wasn’t much else to occupy my thoughts but what may have very well been the Komizar’s last words. He needed her head as evidence. A way to quell the unrest once and for all. The random slaughter of cheering clans in the square hadn’t been enough for him.

  I looked back at the perilous footbridge we had just led our horses over. “I’ll do it,” I told Griz, grabbing his ax from him. He started to protest but knew it was no use. He couldn’t lift his left arm without paling. What would have taken him a dozen swings when he wasn’t injured took me more than twice that, but finally the stakes toppled free and the chains jangled into the water below. I stowed the ax and helped Griz back onto his horse. The trail ahead was thick with snow, and we had no tracks to follow. All we had to go on was a hunch of Griz’s and a faded memory.

  I pulled my cloak tight against the cold. Conniving, all of them. I should have known Governor Obraun was part of her plotting. He gave in too easily during our Council negotiations because he knew he would never have to follow through with giving tithes at all. And the prince. Damned liars, he was the prince. My fingers were stiff in my gloves as they gripped the reins. It all added up now. Every detail added up, all the way back to the beginning in Terravin. He was a trained soldier just as I had suspected—probably with the very best training Dalbreck could offer. When Griz confessed to having known his identity all along, I wanted to kill him for his treachery. In turn, he reminded me of my own treasonous ways. I couldn’t argue with him. I had betrayed my oath months ago when I hadn’t slit her throat as she slept in her cottage.

  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 Mika
el 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.

  “We’re regrouping, Tavish,” Rafe said with finality. “We have new information.”

  Regrouping. I could almost see the word blazing in Tavish’s head. Still avoiding my gaze, he nodded. “West it is.”

  We rode in twos, wearing makeshift cloaks that they’d made from the Vendan saddle blankets to protect us from the cold. Sven and Tavish led, with Jeb and Orrin and the extra horse following behind us. I felt Rafe watching me, as if I might topple from the saddle. In truth, when I first sat on the horse, I thought my thigh was splitting open. The initial pain had subsided but was replaced with a burning ache. I hardly needed the cloak, because with every hoof fall, another bead of sweat formed on my brow. Whenever the horse stumbled on the snow-covered terrain, I clenched my teeth to mask the pain because the words don’t tarry, or they will all die haunted my thoughts. I didn’t want anything, including a painful moan, to slow us down.

  “Keep riding,” Rafe told me. “I’ll be right back.” He turned his horse around and called for Sven to fall back into his place.

  Sven stopped, waiting for my horse to catch up to his. “How are you holding up?” he asked.

  I didn’t want to admit that my back and leg screamed with pain. “Well enough. I’m in far better shape than I was before Tavish removed the arrows.”

  “Good to hear. It’s a long way yet to the safety of the outpost.”

  Tavish rode ahead, never glancing back. I watched him navigate the terrain, every step uncertain in snow that swallowed our horses’ legs up to their fetlocks.

  “He wasn’t happy about our sudden departure,” I said.

  “Perhaps just the circumstances of it,” Sven answered. “Tavish is a well-regarded tactician in his unit. Yesterday he had argued for a quick departure.”

  “And Rafe said no.”

  “But one word from you…” The way Sven left the sentence hanging in the air made me wonder if he questioned Rafe’s decision too.

  “It wasn’t just any word. It wasn’t my opinion. It was something else.”

  “Yes, I know. But Tavish doesn’t believe in magic either.”

  Magic?

  I stared at Sven until he felt my gaze and turned my way. “Then we have something in common. Neither do I.”

  Rafe signaled for everyone to stop and caught up to us with Orrin by his side. He said he’d looked the horses over and that Orrin’s horse had longer, sloping pasterns, a looser back, and smoother gait. “You’ll trade. It will give you an easier ride.”

  I was grateful for the switch and especially grateful it wasn’t Tavish who’d had to trade with me. I had already bruised his ego. I didn’t want to bruise his backside too.

  The next several hours went by in considerably more comfort. Rafe knew his horses—and riders. He still watched me out of the corner of his eye.

  Once he was sure I was more comfortable, he rode ahead to speak with Tavish. He knew his men too, and I was sure Tavish’s terse remark this morning hadn’t been forgotten. Sven fell back with me again, and we watched them riding together. Tavish actually threw his head back once and laughed. His long black ropes of hair dangled down his back. Sven told me that Rafe and Tavish had been close friends since they were pledges and often got into mischief together. Around the palace and city, one was rarely seen without the other. It made me think of my brothers and the troubles we would stir, and a dull pang swelled within me. My last vision in Sanctum Hall had showed me that the news of Walther’s death had reached Civica. Had the Komizar’s lies of my betrayal reached there already too? Did I even have a home to return to anymore? It was likely that the only kingdom that didn’t have a price on my head now was Dalbreck.

  We stopped well before sunset when we came upon a shelter on the leeward side of a mountain that would give us some protection from the weather. I was grateful for making camp early because I was well and truly spent. It angered me that I couldn’t force the weakness away by sheer will. It was a new and humbling feeling for me, having to rely on someone for the smallest of favors. It made me think of Aster and so many others who had walked this fragile line their entire lives, trading on favor and mercy. True power was always just beyond their reach, held in the tight grip of a few.

  I insisted on hobbling inside on my own, then looked over tonight’s lodging while Rafe left to gather firewood. Once the horses were taken care of, Tavish said he’d go help Rafe gather firewood. “We’re going to need a lot.”

  It was obvious the comment was directed at me, but I ignored it and began to untie my bedroll.

  “Better move as far to the back as you can, Princess,” he added. “This cave is shallow and won’t be as warm as the last one.”

  I spun to face him. “I’m well aware of that, Tavish. But at least we’ll all be alive.”

  I heard the scuff of boots behind me, the others turning at the remark, then silence. The air was taut with expectation.

  Tavish immediately backed down. “I meant nothing by it.”

  “Of course you did.” I took a step closer. “You have strengths, Tavish, that I greatly admire. Your skills helped save Rafe’s and my lives, for which I’ll always be indebted to you. But there are other kinds of strengths too. Quiet, gentle ones that are just as valuable, even if you don’t entirely understand them.”

  “Then help him understand.”

  I turned toward the mouth of the cave. Rafe had returned with a load of firewood in his arms.

  He set it down and walked over with the rest of us. “Help us all to understand.”

  They waited for me to say something. I braced myself for that familiar feeling of failure that always came with the mention of the gift, but instead, a new feeling settled over me, a feeling that was firm and solid. For the first time in my life,
I didn’t feel something shrink back within me. The shame that had plagued me in the Morrighese court had vanished. I wasn’t compelled to offer apologies for what they couldn’t—or refused to—grasp. That was their burden to bear, not mine.

  I hobbled over to Rafe’s sword, sheathed in its scabbard on the cave floor. I drew it out in a swift motion and held it high. “This is your strength, Rafe. Tell me, is it is loud or quiet?”

  He looked at me, confused. “It is a sword, Lia.”

  “It’s loud,” Jeb offered. “In battle, at least. And deadly.”

  Sven reached out and gently pressed the tip downward out of his face range. “A quiet warning too, when hanging at your side.”

  “It’s well-honed metal,” Tavish added pragmatically.

  “Which one is it?” I demanded. “Metal? Loud? Quiet? Deadly? A warning? Even you can’t decide.”

  “A sword can be many things, but—”

  “You define a sword by terms and a world that is familiar to you in all the ways you can see, feel, and touch, but what if there was a world that spoke in other ways? What if there was another way of seeing, hearing, and feeling? Haven’t you ever sensed something deep inside? Saw a glimpse of it play out behind your eyes? Heard a voice somewhere in your head? Even if you weren’t sure, this knowing made your heart beat a little faster? Now increase that tenfold. Maybe some of us know more deeply than others.”

  “See without eyes? Hear without ears? You’re talking magic.” Tavish made no effort to keep the cynicism from his tone.

  Strangely, it reminded me of myself the first time I spoke with Dihara. I thought about what she had said to me: What is magic but what we don’t yet understand? I shook my head. “No. Not magic,” I answered. “It’s something deep inside, as much a part of us as our blood and skin. It was how the Ancients survived. When they’d lost everything else, they had to return to this language of knowing buried deep within them in order to survive. Some were stronger in this knowing than others, and they helped others survive.”