ARC: Sunstone Page 17

  But Horada couldn’t reply, knowing none of what she said would make any sense. Had it all been a figment of her imagination, a dream born out of tiredness and exhaustion? Or had Cinereo really been there? There was no way of knowing, and because of that she couldn’t afford to stay there any longer and put herself – and all these people – in jeopardy.

  “I have to leave,” she said, turning to pick up her bag. “Please, let me give you some money in compensation for the mess.”

  The innkeeper’s wife waved a hand, concerned. “It is my fault the fire was not well tended – I should have placed a guard around it. Please, stay a little longer.”

  Horada took out some coins and shoved them into the woman’s hand. “No, I have to go.” Too upset to talk further, she walked out of the inn and round to the stable to collect Mara, led her to the road, mounted and set off at a fast trot, aware of the innkeeper’s wife’s anxious face watching her as she left.

  Tears poured down her cheeks, joining with the rain, which had grown heavier since she had arrived at the hamlet. What was happening to her? Had Cinereo spoken the truth? Were these Incendi really hunting her down?

  And what had he meant by calling her the Timekeeper?

  II

  Catena’s uneasiness grew the more miles they put between themselves and Harlton.

  She had thought she would enjoy the adventure of travelling all the way to Heartwood, seeing the changing countryside, meeting new people, new places. But instead she found the whole process unsettling. The food – even in the cities – tasted different: bland and without the usual spices she was accustomed to. The air, absent of the tang of metal from the forges and the dust from the mines, smelled strangely sweet, reminding her of the cloying odour of rotting meat. Her joints ached from too many hours in the saddle, and the water in the bathhouses was never hot enough to relieve it. The wine was sour. Even the beds were uncomfortable.

  She had thought the experience of meeting people from other lands would be exciting, but ultimately she discovered the inhabitants of all cities had the same old prejudices – the same bad attitudes, the same grumpy moods and irritations with life – as anyone else in her home country. The sense of humour was different, and they made jokes about things that left her staring blankly. The men seemed lewd, the women interested only in what other women were wearing and which members of the opposite sex were available for marriage. She could find nothing to connect with them at all, and longed to return home. She had thought her life in Harlton dull at times, but now she ached for her rooms in the castle, for the peace and quiet of daily life, for the nights she would spend patrolling the castle walls, letting her thoughts trail off into the star-scattered sky.

  Part of her unease was due to the strange story that Demitto had told her, and the events of a few nights before. When they had reached the safety of the city of Realberg, Demitto had sat down with them both to tell Tahir what he knew. As the story had unravelled, it had become very clear that he had not told her everything. He revealed that the Incendi elementals were able to manifest by entering people – that anyone around them could in fact be an Incendi, and the only way they could tell was the eyes, which always lit with the fire that raged within them.

  Catena had exploded with rage, demanding to know why he hadn’t told her this essential piece of information. The emissary had just shrugged in his usual inimitable fashion and said he had told her what he thought she could deal with at the time.

  Catena had told him icily that she would decide what she could and couldn’t deal with and, as she was the one in charge of escorting the Prince until they got to Heartwood, Demitto was not to withhold information from her any longer. He had nodded, straight-faced, but she knew he would not impart anything further unless he decided it was time.

  Since then, she had hardly spoken two words to him, spending her time instead focussing on Tahir, who had been badly shaken by the assault outside Realberg’s walls and by the revelations that Demitto had given him. The four Heartwood knights accompanying them had died in the skirmish outside Realberg, and she could see that Tahir thought himself responsible because of the way he had connected with the Arbor.

  The Prince – who was still pretty much a boy even though his fourteenth birthday loomed – was facing an immense moment of his life; after all, not many people had the knowledge of exactly what day they were due to die on. Being Selected was not his choice, and it wasn’t even as if he could approach being sacrificed in privacy or with only herself to accompany him. Instead, he had to do it all in public so everyone could see the fear that would no doubt show itself at the moment of his death.

  Everything else was irrelevant, she decided. Tahir’s peace of mind in the days leading to the Veriditas was all that mattered, and the only thing for which she was responsible. And she wasn’t even responsible for that, really – her only task was to ensure that he arrived at Heartwood in one piece. His emotional state did not rest in her hands. And yet she was the closest thing to a friend he had, and she found she could not abandon the boy or ignore his well-being just because she was impatient to return home.

  After their argument, Demitto had left her alone, and he travelled mostly in silence. Most of the time he seemed lost in thought, his mood seemingly darkening the closer they got to Heartwood.

  Catena pretended to ignore him, but she made sure to watch him carefully. At the time of his little revelation on the night she’d caught him communicating with Cinereo, she had believed him wholeheartedly, caught up in his spell the same way she knew Tahir had been. But she could see Demitto was a skilled manipulator, and therefore she was aware he must also be affecting the way she thought, too.

  Was it purely through the power of words that he had been able to convince her? She wasn’t sure. There was no doubt he had a strange… quality she couldn’t put her finger on. It was more than a charming personality or a knack for turning conversation. The Prince was besotted with the emissary – she could see it in his eyes – and she had watched Demitto play on his emotions and use them to get what he wanted. And she was certain he had done the same to her, to convince her that he was the hero in all this.

  There was something about the mysterious ambassador she did not trust. It was only after the attack outside Realberg that she remembered the way his eyes had been filled with flame when she had interrupted his strange ritual. And even though his story made a kind of strange, surreal sense, and he had joined in with the fight against their attackers, she could not be convinced that everything he said was the truth. There was no doubt he hadn’t told her everything. What other important information was he withholding?

  With every mile and every minute that passed, her concerns grew. They played on a lifetime’s worth of suspicion of Heartwood and the holy tree, of stories told by travelling merchants of the way the city had fallen to depravity. She wanted to believe in the Arbor and its power, but how could she when young, innocent children were picked without choice as its sacrifices simply because their father offered more money than anyone else? How was that religious or holy or dignified? How was it something that she – as a follower of Animus – should believe in?

  And why should she deliver Tahir to Heartwood only to have him offered for sacrifice like some kind of crude entertainment for a king who did not deserve the title? Demitto had admitted to her the chicanery of the celebrations, and however much he insisted the meaning beneath them was true and noble, she began to find it more and more difficult to think of handing Tahir over to dance for his supper like a bear in chains.

  The boy had withdrawn into himself, going a little crazy, she thought, as the event to come played on his mind. His previous arrogance had faded away like mist, and she began to realise how much of it had been a result of his loneliness and isolation in the castle, his haughtiness a by-product of his efforts to show everyone he didn’t care that he had few – if any – friends of his own age to play with. She began to wish she had taken more time to get to know him, and
now, as she rode beside him and thought about how his mother had not shed even one tear when he left, her heart went out to him.

  By the time they reached Lornberg, Catena had made up her mind. Tahir was bleary-eyed and in a half-trance most of the time, and she was sure fear was the main cause. The boy did not deserve to die, and certainly not for a cause that she wasn’t sure she believed in any longer. What use would he be to the Arbor, other than to act as manure? There was nothing spiritual about his sacrifice, and therefore surely they could find somebody else to fulfil the role.

  Gairovald, Tahir’s father, would be furious if the ceremony didn’t go ahead and would see it as a public humiliation. If she decided to take this action, she would not be able to return to Harlton. She would have to take Tahir away somewhere, find a job in another city or maybe even working on a farm, and live in relative obscurity. Much as she knew she would miss her old rooms and job, the idea appealed to her, and she was certain the thought of escaping would be a relief to him.

  She dwelt briefly on Demitto and wondered how far he would pursue them before deciding it would be easier to find another sacrifice. He could talk until he was blue in the face about destiny and fate and what was meant to be, but ultimately if Tahir vanished, the emissary would have to find a replacement. Let someone else give up their life for others’ entertainment.

  That night, they found lodgings in a hamlet just north of Lornberg, two small rooms in an inn. Demitto kept the Prince with him at all times now, ostensibly to protect him from the Incendi, but Catena thought secretly that he was afraid the boy would try to escape at the last minute once he realised how little his sacrifice actually meant. She would not be able to get him out of the room without Demitto waking.

  So she slipped a little packet of herbs into his ale.

  The enigmatic emissary snored louder than Atavus, she discovered. When she crept into the room late in the night, Demitto didn’t even twitch, although Tahir woke as soon as she laid a hand on his arm. He looked younger, she thought, without his fine clothes, his face untouched by the frown lines he had gained when awake.

  “What is the matter?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. His hand automatically strayed to Atavus’s fur as the dog came over to see what all the fuss was about, tail wagging.

  “Dress and come with me,” she whispered. “Quietly now.”

  He stared at her, puzzled, but did as she bid and slipped on his tunic and breeches while she stuffed the remainder of his belongings in his bag. She wrapped his cloak around his shoulders and held out her hand, and he blinked and took it, following her out of the inn into the cool night air, Atavus at his side.

  “Where are we going?” he asked when they were outside.

  She stopped and turned him to face her. “Tahir, do you want to go to Heartwood?”

  He stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, for the first time in your life, someone is asking you: do you want to be a Selected?”

  He said nothing for a moment. The Light Moon hung low in the sky, three quarters full, and the Dark Moon was just rising in the west. The clear sky glittered with stars, but the night was warm, unusually so. The thought of the Incendi flickered through Catena’s mind, but she pushed it away impatiently.

  “It is my destiny,” Tahir said eventually.

  “It has been decided it is your destiny by your father and the King of Heartwood who is accepting your sacrifice in exchange for gold,” she said flatly. “That is not destiny. It is a transaction.”

  She took his hands and looked earnestly into his golden eyes, which shone almost silver in the moonlight. “You are just a boy teetering on the edge of adulthood. You deserve to have a life, to fall in love, to have children if that is your wish, to have adventures, see the world. To live until old age. Not to be public entertainment in a pointless ritual. I know the ambassador tried to convince you that ultimately what you are doing has meaning, and that you have some affection for him. It is your choice. So I ask you once again. Do you want to be a Selected?”

  The Prince blinked and looked across at the Light Moon for a moment. Then he looked back at her.

  “No,” he said simply.

  Catena smiled. “Then come. We shall leave Demitto behind, and find ourselves another life to live.”

  III

  Sarra stood naked before Comminor and rested her hands on her swollen belly as if she could protect her unborn child, an instinctive gesture as she knew that ultimately, when he chose to unleash his wrath on her, there would be nothing she could do to stop him. She shivered, although whether it was from the cold or from fear, she wasn’t sure.

  He saw the shiver, and to her surprise he removed one of the thick blankets from the bed and wrapped it around her. She clutched it, shocked at his reaction, having expected anything but sympathy.

  “Come and sit down,” he said, gesturing to the bed.

  Instinct told her to flee, but he would just send for his guard to find her, and she could not hide forever – the Embers was not that big a place, not when the Chief Select was after you. Instead, she climbed onto the mattress, which was thick and soft, the grasses fresh rather than the ones in her own bed which were a month old and squashed flat. The herbs in them lent the air a flowery perfume.

  She continued to clutch the blanket around her, wondering what he was going to say, unable to believe he was reacting so calmly. There were numerous stories of him breaking into rage at discovering women with unplanned pregnancies, and ordering his Select to drag these women to the palace apothecary, who strapped them down and removed their babies dispassionately. She hadn’t questioned the validity of these stories, but now she wondered whether they were rumours spread by the Select to ensure the people of the Embers remained afraid of him. Usually there was no light without a lantern, though. Which meant the stories probably had a foundation in truth, and that meant his mood could change on a whim. The thought of him having the ability to be kind one moment and cruel the next sent a ripple of unease through her.

  Comminor sat down, his arm brushing her drawn-up knees. His face was expressionless so she could not guess what he was thinking, but the cloak around her shoulders told her that maybe he wasn’t angry, or not angry enough at that moment to do her harm anyway.

  “Can I get you anything?” he said.

  She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  He glanced down at her abdomen. “It is Rauf’s, I presume?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. Then, for a while, he said nothing. He sat with head bowed, his silver hair painted orange from the lantern’s glow.

  “Are you very angry with me?” she whispered, wishing that if he were going to turn on her, he would do it and get it over with.

  He looked up then. A smile touched his lips. “Angry? No.” His brow furrowed, and he reached out and stroked her cheek. “No wonder you looked so shocked last time. And now I understand why you were so wary about beginning a new relationship.”

  Relief overwhelmed her, the rush of emotion catching her by surprise. She pressed her hand to her mouth as a tear tipped over her lashes. Spirited by nature, she would never normally have let her vulnerability show, but she supposed the baby had changed things about her other than her appearance.

  Comminor moved her hand away. He leaned forward and touched his lips to the tear on her cheek. Then he moved his mouth to hers.

  Stunned at his reaction, she sat unmoving and let him kiss her. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo beneath her ribs and the baby fluttered, no doubt responding to the emotions coursing through her.

  When he eventually lifted his head, she said, “I do not understand. Why are you not angry with me?”

  “I have tried to ignore my feelings for you, but they will not go away. I wish you were not carrying another man’s child. But he was a Select, one of my own, and because of that I am prepared to look after the babe as if it were my own. It changes nothing. I want you, Sarra. Say you will be mine.”

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nbsp; She caught her breath. His golden eyes warmed her, and his deep voice rang through her like the hourly bell. Was he speaking the truth? Did he truly want her so much that he was prepared to take on another man’s child? Or was this all a ruse – was he hiding his anger because he wanted to find out about the Veris?

  Ultimately, she realised, it didn’t matter. If she refused him because she was afraid of being found out, he would become suspicious and that would make things difficult for her and ultimately the Veris too. What woman – especially one in her situation: poor and single and with a child on the way – would turn down a chance to be the Chief Select’s mate? He would provide for her and her baby, and she would never know hunger or poverty again. She would have new clothes, a comfortable home and the respect of the other citizens. She did not love him, but love and pride were not luxuries people in her situation could afford.

  That was what he and others who knew nothing about the Veris would think, anyway.

  She looked up at him, a shiver passing down her spine at his intense look of desire. Rauf had loved her and had been affectionate, but he had never looked at her like this, as a thirsty man looks at a cup of clear water. Comminor was a handsome man, his arrogance and power making him strangely magnetic. It scared her and aroused her at the same time.

  “Let me love you,” he said hoarsely, his hand dropping to her breast.

  Sarra nodded and let the blanket slip from her shoulders, her blood heating as his eyes flamed.

  Later, she lay there and listened to him breathing in the semi-darkness. His arm was heavy across her ribcage, just above the bump where the baby lay, and his head rested near her shoulder.

  His lovemaking had been as she had expected – skilled, passionate, with the strange touch of tenderness she was beginning to realise lay beneath his outer harshness like the flesh of a berry lay beneath its tough skin. He had kissed her belly and spoken to the child within her, which had touched and disturbed her at the same time.