Page 74

HER HEART WAS POUNDING AS SHE CAME TO, HEAD SPINNING. Her mouth tasted rank and dry and strange. Too sweet.

She was moving, her body shifting and tilting, and she could hear the sound of heavy rain hammering down above her. Not against tent cloth, but against wood and board.

Sleep had dragged her so strongly into its arms, down and down, quicker than she had wanted. Quicker than she had thought possible.

‘ I love you .’

She remembered her mother whispering as the darkness took her.

Inara sat up, throwing Skedi right off her chest with a squawk of indignance.

Finally , he said into her throbbing mind. She groaned, putting her hands to her temples. I was starting to worry.

She was in the back of a carriage, on a soft couch of feather cushions.

Sitting across, there was another girl whom she vaguely recognised, staring out of slitted windows, and two boys even younger who were gawping round-eyed at Skedi.

The woman with them was pressed back in the furthest corner, staring at the god as if he might bite.

‘Where are we?’ said Inara.

‘On our way to the coast,’ said Skedi.

‘But I said to Mama I would stay back,’ said Inara, massaging her eyes. Gods, even her eyeballs ached.

‘Seems like she didn’t believe you,’ said the girl in the window.

She wore finely woven cloth and her brown hair was tied back in a hunter’s tail.

Last Inara had seen her, she had been sitting on a throne of budding branches: Lady-heir Geralfi.

‘They must have fed you sless seeds for you to sleep like that.’

‘ Fuck, ’ Inara hissed. Of course they did.

‘Please!’ said the older woman. ‘Not in front of the children.’

Inara looked to Skedi, who was sitting small and guilty. ‘You don’t sleep,’ she said, accusing.

‘They … didn’t want you to watch,’ he said. ‘If it went wrong. And they knew you wouldn’t leave on your own.’ He looked up. ‘I’m not sorry Ina. I should have protected you better from fighting and war, from the gods and what they would want from you.’

Inara shook her head and staggered to her feet, too bleary to be angry with him.

In truth, many of the tactics they had discussed had gone over her head.

What would she have done, sitting back with the archers and watching them all fight, other than get in the way?

But didn’t they want her to see them win?

Didn’t they want her there to hold Hseth back, in case the god was too strong?

She braced herself against the ceiling and moved closer to the girl to peer out of the window. They were in cattle lands, and she could see a sliver of churning blue, dark through the gap in the hills.

They had already made it to the sea.

‘You’re Inara Craier,’ said the girl. ‘Aren’t you? I’m Freia Geralfi.’

Inara looked at her. Months ago, she had been seethingly jealous of the young Geralfi, at her father’s side, celebrated and given jobs, given respect. ‘I’ve seen you before,’ said Inara. ‘At Mutur.’

‘You’ve been …’ Freia’s throat moved, swallowing. ‘You’ve been to Gefyrton?’

Inara nodded. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

‘That’s how you pity someone who lost a relative, not a city.’

‘Then I’ll pity you later,’ said Inara, looking around at the padded doors. Tightly closed now, they would open straight onto the road. ‘How do I get out of this?’

‘You want to go back?’ she said.

The sun is high, Inara, said Skedi. It all began hours ago.

‘I just want a better look,’ Inara grumbled at both of them. Though it was in part to see how far they had truly gone from the battle.

‘You are both to stay put till Weild,’ said the woman, whom Inara suspected would be the wet-nurse for the younger boy, who could not be more than a year old.

Inara looked pleadingly at Skedi. Just for a look? he said.

Of course.

He sighed disbelievingly, and pushed his will towards the nurse’s colours. ‘No harm can come from a look.’ No harm. No harm can come.

‘You can get to the roof,’ said Freia, jerking her chin up at the hatch in the ceiling. ‘I’ll help.’

Inara cast around, but Skedi had already landed exactly where her new bow was, and its quiver. Osidisen’s knife was strapped to the outside. She grabbed it as Freia unbolted the hatch and opened it to a storm-bruised sky and a deluge of water.

‘You’re letting the rain in!’ said the older boy.

‘Quiet, Arren,’ said Freia, and the boy pouted. He was named for the king they’d all put their hope behind. Even Elo.

But Arren didn’t deserve Elo’s love. He didn’t deserve anyone’s. Fear of Hseth had blinded them all into accepting the past they could not change. But Inara would not forget it, not if Arren lived a hundred lives begging for forgiveness.

She made a jump for the hatch from the top of the bench and climbed on top of the sloped roof.

Rain flattened her hair in heavy, tender drops, but the world outside was bright with sunlight, gleaming across her skin, the number of other carriages in their caravan, the carts, the civilians, picking out glints of wet wood and leather, the shine of metal and wheel.

Behind them, east, the clouds were darker. Lightning raked across them like lace swept across velvet, but the rain that fell on them was blown from the south.

Inara turned. The summer storms were sweeping in from the sea, carried on the warm, southerly wind. The skies were all light and darkness, the next storm rising up to blot out the sun, casting them in shadow, while in the distance the waves were tipped with silver.

As Skedi fluttered up to land on her shoulder, Inara heard a distant boom. But this was not thunder; it didn’t crackle, it was short and sharp. Again it came, and she had known it recently enough to recognise the sound.

Cannonfire.

Across the radiant foam, Inara could see ships on the water: Middrenite, Irisian, sailing together to meet an array of Restish and Talician ships and prevent them from making land.

Then, orange flashes burst from their sides, soon after followed by the staccato booms. But it was not the Restish who were firing yet … it was the Middrenite ships striking at their own blockade, Irisian and Middrenite alike, while flying yellow flags.

Inara gasped as an Irisian ship’s sail caught flame.

‘ Lord Yether,’ said Skedi, understanding as well. ‘He has turned on Arren and the alliance. If they help the enemy make land …’ He dug his claws into her shoulder and shrank. ‘They could trap our army from behind.’

Inara set her jaw, crawling to the front of the roof.

‘Ho! Driver!’ she cried, down at the hunched body and its hat below. They looked up in surprise, blinking the water from their eyes.

‘Get back inside, you little menace!’ A woman. She pulled down her masking scarf. ‘You’ll get yourself killed.’

‘Look!’ Inara said, pointing to the sea battle. The effects of the sless were fading fast now: she felt alert, and scared. The driver followed her finger, seeing the shadows of the distant ships. ‘Does this train have a messenger? We need to warn the army if Talicia makes land.’

The driver paused, frowning at the sea. ‘The Yether messengers are prepared at the cliffs,’ she said. ‘Go back inside.’

‘Yether has defected!’ said Inara. ‘See the colours? We need another way!’

‘Ah, come, girl,’ said the driver, looking sceptical. ‘You don’t know one thing about sea battle, and Yether is as loyal to the king as they come.’

Her eyes landed on Skedi, and with a sneer of distaste, made a Sunbringer salute on her heart. ‘Get back inside, Craier-whelp,’ she said. turning back to the road. ‘For all I know you’d be as like to spread rebellious nonsense as give our Fireheart any help at all.’

Inara narrowed her eyes, and she felt Skedi sigh. I guess we’re going back then, he said.

Forward. If they don’t want me there, maybe I can help the Irisians.

Safely?

Safely. She looked at him. You don’t have to come, Skedi.

Oh, I’m coming. He looked down at the driver, gathering his power. Then he willed towards her one tiny lie: Attack?

The driver whirled around, looking for aggressors and giving Inara the chance to jump from the roof onto the seat beside her and shove the woman off it. She hit the ground with a screech, just as Freia Geralfi poked her head out of the roof hatch to see what was happening.

‘Left front mare!’ said Skedi.

‘Inara Craier!’ came Freia’s surprised cry, as the driver cursed in the mud of the road. Inara didn’t pause, she jumped from the seat onto the shaft that held the horses, then used it to launch herself onto the front left brown. She was unsaddled, but had a bit and a bridle with reins.

Head still pounding, Inara took out Kissen’s knife and used it to cut the reins loose from the cart and traces, freeing the mare. Skedi whispered to the animal, soft calming words that Inara could just hear breathing at the edge of her mind. It’s all right. It’s a game. This is fun.

He knew exactly what she needed.

The driver had found her feet and was livid with fury. ‘Oi! Stop, you—’

The mare was free. ‘Go!’ Inara cried, digging in her heels, and slapping down the reins. ‘Go!’

‘Craier!’ yelled the driver, and several others in the train looked out.

There’s no harm in letting her go. Skedi forced his power back to them. It’s not your job. It’s not your problem.

Inara spurred the horse on, heading seawards towards the storms and ships, the bright water and dark sky. She gritted her teeth, holding on to Osidisen’s dagger. She understood now why Kissen had given it to her. Why Lessa and Skedi had conspired to send her away.

They didn’t think they would all survive, and they hadn’t wanted her to see it again: the things she loved burning to ash.

She was close enough to the coast now that she could smell the salt of the sea, see dunes and white sands rolling away from her, the long grass waving like another body of water. No one made chase, but Skedi flew at her back.

She struck the dagger across her arm, hissing through her teeth as it hurt.

‘Inara!’ Skedi protested.

‘ OSIDISEN!’ she called.

Surely, he had to come. Surely, he had to help. He had sent Kissen here, had warned them about the Talicians. The rain came cascading down again, heavier, plastering her clothes to her skin. She hoped it rained Hseth to death. She hoped it bit her like a thousand needles.

Who is it that calls me now from so far away?

His voice came quiet as a hum, soft as the retreating tide. Inara reined in the horse and Skedi landed on its head as she held the dagger out before her. Its grey stone was not like this sea, deep and gleaming like a dark sapphire. It was the grey of the wild north.

I am Kissenna’s ward, said Inara. Her sister, her child.

Kis-sen-na … Osidisen whispered her name softly, like the hiss of waves between stone.

Born on the love of the sea. I loved her father deep, but he loved her more, his sea-born girl.

And so, I loved her too. In my own way. Inara felt his sigh in her bones …

She called me. I remember that. After all those years.

Inara’s heart fell. She had heard havering such as this before, from Scian, and the weaver-god of Blenraden, their minds broken with their shrines.

Inara thought she was summoning a great god, the god who had helped kill Hseth in Blenraden.

She was wrong.

Kissen’s in trouble, she tried, hoping that would rally him. She needs your help. She could feel his presence, like a droplet in her heart, a twist of salt and blood.

Alas, little fin, he said, his voice drifting into her mind, then away. I can help her no more. I am weak. I am … faded. The stone of the dagger gave the faintest glimmer. No one loves the sea any more . They do not love the water for what it is, only for what it can give them.

Inara breathed in, shuddering. Glanced back at the ships. She couldn’t tell who was winning; she couldn’t tell who was sinking.

I can give you power! she said. My blood that called you here, I can give you more.

‘Ina, please—’ hissed Skedi.

You have a totem from my most precious shrine, the one I used to watch her. Used it to cut your flesh and offered me pain. And it is barely enough to keep me present.

My blood is powerful!

Not powerful enough. Osidisen’s voice was so soft she could barely feel it. It’s not enough. His voice drifted away, then, a last, mournful whisper. I wish I could help her … I wish I could see her before I die.

He fell silent, and Inara was left with a bleeding arm and nothing to show for it. That wasn’t supposed to be how it went. Osidisen was supposed to come roaring in and smash the Talician and Restish ships to nothing.

‘He wanted to,’ said Skedi sadly, as if reading her mind.

‘He loved her,’ said Inara, and she looked at her other arm, wrapped as it was in her father’s demand. ‘She was not his, but he loved her.’

It angered her, the mark Yusef had made on her.

He was so powerful, but had offered her nothing without taking.

And now she had a power that she could not use, because everything worth taking from her had been stolen.

All she had was a promise to a father who would never claim her, and a mother who had gone to die.

She rubbed her hand over the mark, feeling for its colours. It was a manacle, a bond of desperation. She had been used. Kissen said the writing of gods took on the nature of their will. Yusef’s was sea and stone, soft and hard, and purple-rich.

‘I have to go and warn them,’ said Inara. ‘But Skedi, it’s time for you to be free. Go to him, or to your own shrines. You don’t need me any more.’

Skedi shook his head. ‘I choose you,’ he told her. ‘I chose you in Blenraden, in Lesscia, in Wsirin. And I will choose you again. Over and over.’

Inara felt tears rising in her eyes. He gave her love. Without expectation, without limits. He loved her.

‘I won’t be bound to him,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want his mark on me. I want to be my mother’s daughter, not my father’s mistake.’

‘Then take it off,’ said Skedi.

‘What if he comes for me? For us?’

‘My girl,’ said Skedi, and tipped his antlers forward, resting them against her brow. ‘I would fight the world for you.’

Inara swallowed, and nodded.

She dug her fingers into the colours of Yusef’s boon, the shining purples and golds, the wealth and riches, and pulled. She dragged it out of her own skin, and it hurt, but not like a knife wound, like a splinter, a poison, drawn out, out, out.

The colours came with it, stretching, snapping. Broken. She tossed them into the long grass where they fell apart like a tangle of threads. Fuck you.

She was not his to bind. She was her own, and she would choose her own path.