Page 2

CHAPTER TWO

Cat

C at keeps his head down as the prince pleads his case to Lord Anslian, Second Son of Soleb and high general of the Soleben army.

Lio had escorted the esteemed lord to the bank of the Bask River with no other guard or soldier accompanying them. It makes no sense – he should have a guard. Instead, despite the fierce scowl that slashes across Anslian’s face, he had come at Lio’s request and allowed himself to be brought before an enemy Reaper. My Queen would never have permitted such a thing, Cat thinks. She values her safety too much for that.

But Anslian had come. And now he stands within striking distance as Prince Elician makes a very impassioned case designed to save Cat’s life.

Cat does not listen to Elician’s diatribe. He had for a few minutes, puzzling over what the prince hoped to gain by bringing him to Kreuzfurt, but Anslian’s presence is more distracting than the prince’s precise Soleben pronunciation.

There has never been a shortage of stories about Anslian in Alelune. Even when Cat had been living in the Reaper cells, news of the man had flowed like water. Anslian was both a great commander and an opportunistic villain . He secured the west bank of the Bask River for Soleb twenty years ago only because he managed to take Alelune’s prince consort, Marias, hostage. Legends of Anslian’s military victories have always been told with an infuriating mix of scathing contempt and grudging respect. He may have been a dishonourable fiend for how he ended that war, but he’s managed to hold Altas and the Bask ever since. No one could deny that the man is a brilliant tactician. In truth, from all the stories Cat has heard, Anslian should have been a giant. Easily the size of mountains. But he stands before them now as nothing more than human. It is more disappointing than Cat had anticipated.

Anslian shares a few features with the crown prince. They are both dark-haired, though Elician’s curls are more pronounced than Anslian’s. Their beards are similar, groomed to a careful neatness. Elician’s skin is darker, with a particularly unique tan line on his cheeks from where his helmet curves over his face. Anslian’s skin, by contrast, seems to burn rather than darken, and it flakes along his brow over a particularly bright red patch.

The crown prince lists his reasons for not sending Cat back to Alelune as if he is giving a governmental address. He seems to be putting a lot of effort into the attempt, though Cat cannot work out why Anslian would bother to listen in the first place. Cat’s queen would have punished someone arguing with her like this a long time ago.

‘Has he said anything?’ Anslian asks.

‘No,’ the prince replies. ‘But that doesn’t really matter at this point. What we do with him is the problem.’

‘I think it matters quite a lot what he does or doesn’t know,’ Anslian argues. Cat tugs at his wrists, testing the leather strap wrapped around them. It does not budge. ‘For Queen Alenée to send an actual Reaper into battle is an escalation. What if there are more?’

‘Are there more?’ Lio asks Cat directly. He repeats the question a moment later in heavily accented Lunae. Cat tilts his head back to look at the soldier. Blond but dark-eyed, skin deeply tanned from long hours in the sun, Lio is slightly taller than the prince. Broader too. He stands with a more grounded stance, one hand resting on his sword in warning. It has been many years since someone has stabbed Cat. He is not interested in experiencing it again.

He shakes his head. No more Reapers were sent.

‘And we should trust him?’ Anslian sneers. Cat almost sneers back, but there is no point. Their decision, whatever it is, is not one that is going to take his opinion into account. He failed his mission. What happens from here is out of his control.

‘I want to bring him to Kreuzfurt,’ Elician says. ‘To Marina and the House of the Unwanting. She’ll find out if he does have anything to hide, and they’ll be better equipped at handling him.’

‘The House of the Unwanting is not a jail cell. He is an assassin, an Alelunen assassin. You are rewarding your attempted murderer with a comfortable room and a garden to walk through. Do not use mercy as an excuse for stupidity.’

‘I won’t torture a man just because I don’t know what else to do with him. Kreuzfurt is designed to maintain our kind – Givers and Reapers both. Shy of burying him alive or tossing him into the Bask with weights around his ankles, there is no convenient way to maintain him here in camp – and it is too great a risk for everyone involved to keep him locked away in Altas.’

Cat freezes at the mention of drowning. He glances to the left. The Bask River had stalled his panicked flight earlier. Probably for the best, all things considered. He had not been thinking straight. But the sight of the water had not helped ease the anxiety the battle had caused. All it had done was make him remember the last time he had tried swimming anywhere. The water filling his lungs, reaching desperately for something that had seemed so worth it at the time, a question being asked—

He really does not want to drown again.

Elician’s hand touches his shoulder. It rests there, heavy and secure. ‘And since I am not planning to torture any prisoner in our care, Kreuzfurt is the only logical choice.’

Cat drags his attention away from the river. He meets Lord Anslian’s eyes. Not unlike the main disciplinarian in the cells, his eyes are sharply focused, narrowed with distrust and disgust in equal measure.

‘You were his intended target, yes?’ Anslian asks slowly. If the stories about him are to be believed, Anslian has never had a problem with torture. Cat tugs again at the bindings around his wrists. They do not move.

‘He . . . hasn’t admitted to such a thing.’

‘Do we need him to admit that?’ Lio spits out. ‘He still tried it.’

‘I’m not going to blame him for a crime of opportunity,’ Elician replies shortly.

‘And yet,’ his uncle says, ‘if he had succeeded in killing you, then you would have been removed from the battlefield and the line of succession. And now, if you take him to Kreuzfurt, you are still removed from the battlefield.’

‘But at least not the line of succession,’ Elician teases. His hand tightens around Cat’s shoulder. ‘I’m not throwing him into the Bask.’

‘I am not asking you to torture the thing. But he is an Alelunen Reaper, and the only way he would have got here is if their damn queen allowed it. So, I want to know exactly what Queen Alenée hoped to gain by sending a Reaper into the melee when the gods themselves have forbidden such things. And if it was just to get a chance at killing you, then why ?’

To be fair, Cat had never intended to end up on the battlefield. He sighs, curling forward as the three Solebens argue over him. His queen will be furious when she finds out; her commanders were supposed to release him after the melee. It is easier to cross into Soleb under the cover of darkness. He could have found the prince . . . Anslian . . . and all the rest far easier from that point onwards. She had given the troop commander specific instructions, and those instructions had been spectacularly ignored. The barrel Cat had been in had been confused for a supply barrel, and he had been kicked and rolled and tossed into the fight long before anyone realized the mistake they had made. The Alelunen general, Leferge, had been screaming obscenities at the chaos on the field, and the rest of the disaster had unfurled simply because Cat had been trying desperately not to touch anyone.

The noise and sudden bright light of the sun had overwhelmed every sensation he had. And there had been so much death . He had never been surrounded by that many people dying all at once before, each life snuffing out like a snapped thread in the back of his mind.

Lord Anslian walks closer. Elician shifts somewhat, preventing Cat from trying to take advantage of the proximity. All it would take is pitching forward. A brush of skin. The slightest bit of contact. Not even that , Cat thinks as the man continues to draw near. But . . . it doesn’t matter. Elician can raise the dead. Even if Cat could take down the general, Elician would simply revive him. Cat had thought it was illegal to do such a thing in Soleb, but that must have been wrong. Another lie he had been told.

A lie that came with its own kind of curiosity, though. Cat had never felt someone coming back before.

He knows what it feels like when someone dies. He has seen Death herself more times than he would care to count, taking souls with her to be remade and reformed. It had never occurred to him that he would feel something when the inverse occurred. When someone used their god-given power to force a soul back into the body it had left behind.

In the brief moments when Elician had touched Lio, Cat’s senses had come alive. He had felt the resurrection taking place, even before he understood what was happening. It had coursed through his body, a hand reaching down his throat, pulling the air from his lungs, choking him and emptying him, leaving him raw and open, ready to inhale once more. The sensation had grated, and it had soothed, a reminder that whenever breath is gone, something will always strain to fill in the empty spaces left behind. Lio had returned from the dead, and Cat had stared in stunned wonder, half expecting the god of life to appear right at his side. But there had been no one else, only Elician and the dear friend he had refused to let die.

‘Tell me the real reason you want to take him to the House of the Unwanting,’ Anslian beseeches quietly, as if he intends for Elician to be the only one capable of hearing him. But Cat has spent more than half his life listening to whispers. He can hear perfectly fine.

He can even hear Elician’s whispered reply, words recited like a quote. ‘All life is sacred, Uncle. That’s what we learn at temple, isn’t it? That all lives deserve to be protected and saved whenever possible?’ Elician’s hand tightens on Cat’s shoulder again, as if to share an understanding over something. Cat, however, is too unused to such things to grasp the meaning.

‘Elician—’

‘I don’t have a choice when it comes to fighting this war. I’m here because I’m my father’s heir. I fight those soldiers because that’s what you and Father have decided is best for our country. But I do have a choice in this .’

‘He is an enemy. He tried to kill you,’ the general protests.

Elician shrugs, impossibly calm. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ he states. ‘ All life is sacred, even his.’

He is a fool, Cat thinks. It cannot be that simple. His life ceased to truly matter the day he had died and become a Reaper. He knows what he is worth, and sacred does not come close.

‘I don’t care if he was sent to kill me,’ the prince continues. ‘There are a thousand soldiers in the Grünewald who try to kill me every other day. The only thing I care about is that he is a Reaper. As you said before: the gods forbid our kind on the battlefield. He was never supposed to be there to begin with.’

And neither was I – four words left utterly unsaid, but words Cat hears within the silence as Elician abruptly seals his lips. Cat does not know the prince well enough to know if those words were his intention, but they echo as loud as the armies’ war horns.

‘He should be someplace else,’ Elician finishes.

Lord Anslian cups Elician’s cheek. He angles the prince’s head down and kisses his brow. ‘Take Lio with you,’ he says, no longer bothering to be quiet.

‘Uncle?’

He pats Elician’s cheek, smiling sadly. ‘You’re tired. Both of you are. As my daughter consistently reminds me, neither of you have taken any leave since you arrived. Three years is a long time without reprieve. So, take it. Go to Kreuzfurt. Deliver this . . . thing to Marina and then return.’ His eyes crinkle at the corners, forming lines that reach out to his hair. ‘There is no time for you to go to the capital, but you could take the Long Road back. And you could write to your loved ones from Kreuzfurt . . . or help each other write letters to loved ones, if that’s what you need to earn their affections.’

Both Elician and Lio sputter at that last comment. They talk over themselves, offering excuses and protests.

‘I never once—’

‘That’s not—’

Anslian laughs. It does not quite sound happy. ‘I’m sure.’ He pats Elician’s cheek once more, then steps away. ‘Go. If anyone asks what you’re doing, tell them you’re taking the list of the dead to read into remembrance. Marina can plan the ceremony for you once you get to Kreuzfurt. Be back in three months at the latest . . . and find some clothes for your pet Cat before you go. Gloves, too. Otherwise, it will kill anything it touches regardless of intent, including your horse.’ Cat frowns, not understanding.

What horse?

It is on the tip of his tongue to ask, but he holds it back. Waiting, watching, bound. It does not matter if he says anything out loud: they will do what they want regardless of whether he speaks or not.

Lord Anslian returns to camp. Lio leaves to get supplies. Cat shifts about to sit more comfortably as Elician paces. Impatient , Cat thinks derisively. Soleb is the Sun Kingdom, filled with golden imagery and great idolatrous affection for Life in all his glittering glory. Their people are fast-paced, quick-thinking and bad at foreseeing consequences.

Very bad indeed, it seems. Elician’s pretty speech about all life being sacred had been almost too idealistic to bear.

‘The place we’re going,’ Elician says suddenly in Lunae, turning on his heel and running a hand over his curls. Something must snag in his first pass because he grimaces and starts retying the short mess of curls at the base of his neck. ‘Have you heard of it? Kreuzfurt?’

Yes. He has heard many stories about Kreuzfurt, some too wonderful to believe. Always spoken furtively and hushed, like a secret.

Elician clears his throat, then hurries on, not waiting or expecting Cat to reply. ‘There are two Houses, one for Givers and one for Reapers: the House of the Wanting and the House of the Unwanting. Marina is the head of the House of the Unwanting, where all the Reapers of Soleb live. She’s from Alelune, just like you. Though she came here a long time ago. She’s . . . she serves as a cleric at the Kingsclave when it’s in session.’

For the first time, Elician’s knowledge of Cat’s tongue shows its weakness. Kingsclave is a distinctly Soleben word, one he had directly translated rather than using the Lunae equivalent. It is a word their people would never use, for Alelune has no king, only a queen. Always a queen. One whose own title translates better as Moon Blessed , as she serves as their god’s chosen speaker. No Alelunen would ever call the summit where Alelune and Soleb meet to discuss treaties under the banner of truce a Kingsclave . Not when their own word, Blessedsafe , holds far more meaning. But Soleb enjoys their insults.

The last time the two countries had met on the neutral grounds of the Kingsclave to discuss terms had been to sign the Marias Compromise and return the hostage prince consort to Alelune. Twenty years later, that night still weighs heavily on his people. They have never forgiven Soleb for that either.

‘Marina is sworn to neutrality,’ Elician continues. ‘She’ll be good to you.’

Marina. The name is an echo of a promise half forgotten. Ranio Ragden had told him about Marina. About Kreuzfurt. About Elician, even. A sweet boy, too kind for his own good, and shy. But he’ll grow out of that one day, I’m sure. Ranio’s description, nearly eight years out of date, still seems accurate. But whatever shyness Elician once had, there is a self-confidence in him that is now undeniable. Even with his linguistic missteps, he continues to speak in Lunae. More than that, though, Cat cannot understand why Elician has made the choices he has made tonight. There is no reason Soleb’s crown prince could not toss him in a box, or a pit, or a prison cell. This trip to Kreuzfurt is beyond what rationally needs to be done. And yet the prince has convinced himself of the need for it anyway. Because of his lessons in temple. And apparently that had been enough to convince Anslian of it too.

Elician asks him, ‘Do you have a family? Loved ones? People who will miss you?’

He does. He has never truly been alone. He waits for the prince to make up his own mind, to say what he needs to say to clear whatever part of his conscience is aching over the decision of sending Cat to . . . live comfortably in a religious commune. ‘When the war is over, truly over, or when I’m king – I’ll ensure you can go wherever you need to go. I swear it.’

You can’t make that promise , Cat thinks, well used to broken promises and pretty lies. But Elician seems truly earnest in his intention. Cat nods his understanding, and Elician grins. He sits down at Cat’s side, leaning back to stare up at the sky. The moon is bright and full tonight. Gorgeous. Cat has no idea how long it will take before he ends up back in Alelune. Someone will likely come fetch him sooner or later if he takes too long to finish his task. His queen will be disappointed that he did not manage to kill the prince, but at least he tried. He tilts his head up towards the sky. At least I saw the moon.

Elician’s arm is warm against his and the silence that settles between them is surprisingly comfortable. Elician stops trying to fill it with meaningless prattle, and Cat leans into the excess heat coming off the Sun Kingdom’s prince.

Lio returns eventually. He brings with him two massive horses, fully kitted out with saddles, saddlebags and accoutrements. They tower over Lio like hulking monsters, limbs thick and menacing. Their bodies are dark brown, almost black, but their manes and tails are as pale as marble.

‘Those are not our horses,’ Elician says in Soleben, eyeing the beasts trailing behind Lio by their reins.

‘No, they aren’t,’ Lio agrees, patting the largest of the pair. ‘I’m not trusting him on his own, which means he needs to ride double. With you – since I don’t fancy dying again, thanks.’ He unloops a satchel from around his neck and shoulders, tossing it to the ground by their feet. ‘It’ll be too much strain on the horses to ride double for too long though, so we’ll have to switch off. Which means our usual mounts just earned a nice long stay out at pasture while we’re riding these all the way to Kreuzfurt.’

‘You couldn’t have found a cart to go with them? It would have been so much more convenient.’

‘Sure, but we’re still banned from taking a cart, and everyone at camp knows it.’

‘Seriously?’ Exasperation drains off Elician’s tongue. ‘Even now?’

‘Pretty sure it’s a lifetime ban written into law at this point. I doubt your father is ever going to forgive us for the embarrassment we caused him. This was the best I could do.’

‘Did you bribe someone?’

‘Fredian. You owe him dinner – a proper dinner – when we get back.’ The prince sputters, making a sound Cat has never heard before as he devolves into Soleben so rapid that Cat cannot keep up. Lio is not paying attention. Instead, he turns to Cat properly and says, in rather broken Lunae, ‘Sorry, you much small than other man.’ Lio opens the satchel and reveals a set of clothes. ‘Did that I could. Good luck.’

‘I’m not having dinner with Fredian,’ Elician says in Soleben as he unbinds Cat’s wrists. In Lunae, he commands, ‘Get dressed.’ Then he goes back to arguing with his friend in their native tongue. Something about carts and racing and how it was all in good fun .

Cat dresses. The clothes fastenings are simple enough to figure out, but he understands Lio’s broken warning far better as he begins slipping them on. The off-white braies should only reach his knees but instead kiss his ankles. The trousers need to be rolled up. A pair of strings secure them around his hips, but the fabric bunches unpleasantly at his waist as a result. The linen undershirt and tunic both sag. The neckline on his tunic nearly slips off one shoulder. He puts his feet into the boots Lio has found for him, but they slide backwards and forwards, his toes not even close to touching the ends. The gloves he has are perhaps the only items that fit him well. They are still too big, but only slightly.

It is not the worst he has ever worn.

But it comes close.

He imagines, suddenly, what his queen would think if she saw him like this. He flushes with embarrassment, tugging awkwardly at the sleeves. The movement catches attention, interrupting the pair from their heated debate. Lio snorts indelicately behind his hand, but Elician clears his throat. He tries lying again, saying, ‘We’ll . . . see what we can do on the way to make it better,’ and Cat hisses beneath his breath in frustration.

But there is no response to his ire. They do not recognize the sound.

‘We’ll cross the river tonight and find a place beyond the east bank,’ Elician says. He sighs and curses while looking at the towering monster of a horse. ‘This is going to be exceptionally uncomfortable, Lio.’

‘Deal with it,’ Lio mutters. ‘You’re the one who wants to take a Reaper assassin all the way across the country.’

‘Do you have a better idea?’ Elician snaps.

‘You mean morally better. Do I have a morally better plan? And the answer is no. But I still don’t like it.’

‘Noted.’ Elician holds out his hand towards Cat. ‘Do you need a boost?’

Cat does not move. Gently, Elician wraps his fingers around Cat’s bare wrist and tries to guide him towards the grotesque beast of a creature. Cat digs his heels in. He yanks his arm back. Ranio had put him on a horse once. It will be all right, he’d said, don’t worry.

‘It will be all right,’ Elician promises him too, daring to smile like he means it. ‘There truly are worse places to stay than in Kreuzfurt.’

No.

Cat hisses rather than speaking the refusal, the noise sharp and fast. Elician hesitates. Frowns. Cat hisses again. Even opens his mouth to speak the refutation outright, the first words he would have uttered here, but then the horse moves. Its head sways, ears flick. Cat stumbles backwards and Elician tugs him forward. It is useless to fight. Cat has never won at anything when he’s fought back, but he scratches and kicks anyway. He yanks himself free and – trips in the stupid boots .

He hits the ground. Rolls. He tries to get up; his feet slither from the boots and that is fine. He can run without them if he has to. But an arm wraps around his waist and his hands are getting tied again. He thrashes and tries to break free. Someone hoists him up and over, tossing him like a sack of grain onto the horse’s rump. He pitches forward, gravity yanking him down. Cat closes his eyes before the contact, hissing an apology no one understands, and his chin bounces off the poor thing’s rear.

The world gives way beneath him. The horse collapses. Someone curses and starts shouting. Cat cannot understand the words, too busy trying to find a way to sit up. Hands grab at his shoulders, and he throws his head back. Another curse. ‘Wait! Wait, Cat, I’m trying to—’ He’s rearranged on the ground away from the horse. ‘That was my fault,’ the stupidest prince in the world says, kneeling before him. ‘I didn’t think that . . . It was an accident.’ Lio says something in the background, but Cat is not listening. ‘You’re afraid of killing her, is that it?’ Elician asks.

Cat hisses his incredulity into the air. He did kill her. She was a hideous, unnecessary thing, but now she lies dead on her side, saddle still attached just like Ranio’s. He glances off to the left, half expecting Ranio’s corpse to be lying there in brutal refrain. But it’s only Lio, standing awkwardly by the dead horse, and Elician, looking far too sad indeed.

The prince holds up his palm. ‘Look, look, Cat. Watch.’ He presses one hand against the horse’s flank and – it happens again. A pull of air, a yanking of attention, a shiver shaking the far corner of Cat’s mind, and then: the horse is alive. She huffs. Stands. Shakes her head and her braided mane. She extends one leg and rubs her face against it. Lifts her tail and farts.

Elician turns back towards Cat. His hand, that magic touch, capable of undoing every horror Cat could contemplate, reaches for him. ‘When was the last time you touched something and it didn’t die?’ he asks. He cups the back of Cat’s head. Pulls him close. Cat’s brow rests against Elician’s neck. He closes his eyes and breathes in. Lavender and lemongrass. Like the perfume his father used to wear.

‘I won’t let anything happen to you,’ Elician swears. ‘I will not allow anything you do to permanently hurt anyone, or any thing , that travels with us.’ His fingers stroke through Cat’s hair. Soft, soothing. Unreal. ‘If you get on that horse, I promise you, it will be all right.’

Trust me, Ranio had whispered, reaching through the bars of Cat’s cage. The prince in Soleb . . . he’s not much older than you, but he’s a lot like you in many ways. I’ll bring you to him, if you want. You could have a different life there. But you have to trust me to help you escape.

‘If you climb onto that saddle appropriately ,’ Elician says, ‘you won’t risk touching her. I’ll sit right behind you.’ He keeps hold of Cat’s head, but he leans back far enough to meet his eyes. ‘Trust me,’ he beseeches one final time.

Cat nods.

Then, carefully, with the prince’s help, he gets on the horse.