Chapter 12

“The Empress visits now and then, and requires a suite.” The burg-meister of Temitte, one Kend Throsm, led us himself to the third floor of his manor. The first two were given over to record-keeping, meeting-rooms, and other official functions. He and his family lived in the garden-hedged wing adjoining. “It’s kept ready for her. Would m’lord consider it?”

My report on our new Suevi prisoners and our dukes — I had brought Vysokov back with me, left Seagrace in command — had been part of a long afternoon’s assembling of our status. I had witnessed it all for my saint, spending much of it trying not to think of Anders. The subject of living arrangements had come up after concerns about feeding our men entirely through the supply train from home, or on what we could reasonably glean here in Temitte. There were provisions stockpiled here for supplying Arceal armies but they’d been drained by the invasion of Wodenberg. Burg-meister Throsm was concerned about the spring planting and whether we’d seize the seed stock for food.

Kiefan would order no such thing, of course, but it touched a sore spot.

“I won’t have the people thinking I mean to replace the Empress,” Kiefan told Throsm as the man pressed the bright brass latch on a tall, dark-cherry door.

He looked up at Kiefan, brows raised over his watery old eyes. “If you end the tithe, fear nothing. Dress in purple if you wish and you will still be loved.”

That had needed some explaining, how the empire put all its children through examinations to sift out the gifted and the skilled. Those with kir talent were skimmed off and claimed as a tithe for training in Arcea. One in ten children, the mayor had told us. Taken. Returned with all the habits of Arceal citizens and on their way to earning full citizenship — if they returned at all. Life in a provincial backwater like Suevia had few charms in comparison to the rest of the empire.

Mayor Throsm pushed the door open. Tall windows looked onto the city square and Castle Willefreá, and the afternoon sun glowed on the gauzy linen drapes. Two silk-covered couches made a corner before the fireplace and a dark table with matched chairs stood by the windows. Racks of antlers hung over the mantle, as did a torn and stained Suevi banner, and two tapestries filled the gaps between the bookshelves.

My eyes caught on their bindings. I missed my own bookshelves, back home.

Kiefan turned to the Guards behind him. “Tell Gregor to bring up my kit.” Then he turned to the burg-meister. “Thank you, this looks to be the best place for me.”

He smiled, pleased. “I shall send up a man to attend you, m’lord.”

I ventured toward the bookshelves. Kiefan strode past me, looking up at the high shelves, and put his hand on the bindings. “Perhaps she’s our enemy, but she cares for books.”

They smelled of dust and old leather. When I drew one out, a few strands of spider silk glinted. “She may not have touched these much.”

Kiefan took a fat book from higher up. “I’ll gladly relieve her of them, then. The jewels in the treasury were fine, but…” He trailed off, leafing through the heavy pages. “This is on military engineering,” he said.

“Herbs in this one.” On the pages of my book were fine sketches of leaves, flowers, roots, seeds, all labeled with their uses.

“This is the plan Arcea uses for its trebuchets.” Kiefan tapped one diagram and turned the book to show me. “Thank the Father they’ve abandoned those half-built across the Neva. With both bridges out, we’d need our own to stop their bombardment.”

That had been the report, that the ten thousand Arceal across the river had withdrawn. “Qadeem said we could destroy them, so they retreated,” I said. I thought of the Shepherd’s knife Woden had mown down the prisoners with.

“Without an elect of their own — or perhaps they have orders. The next bridge across the Neva is at Singréne. They’ll return. We must be ready.” Kiefan put the book back and selected another, but he paused. “We’ve ten thousand we can trust. Engls, Alemanni, and Russe. Scyfe, trust so long as he’s paid. Elect Teleri’s loyalty…”

Hers was less certain, true. “The Tadhlon Guard paid for those bridges. Do you doubt the knights, the archers?” They’d lost hundreds, which was a good number of their company.

“Why send them to die?” Kiefan asked, holding up the book. “Caercoed was to seal its passes when the Crown returned. Their saints mean to make a fortress of their land. In itself, that’s dangerous but they’re no saints of war, as Teleri said.”

It still felt true, so I said it again. “Elect Tannait would not send two thousand to die without knowing.”

“She wouldn’t,” Kiefan agreed. “And if Caercoed sealed its passes, Suevia would know. That would’ve been the word, rather than all’s quiet in the north.”

I looked down at a portrait of an arrowroot plant. “The Tadhlon Guard might go home, then.”

“You saw how both Crowns embraced m’lady Leix. They loved her. But Ciara ordered Leix’s knights to ride with me, knowing she’d not send reinforcements as she pledged — sent them to die, surely, open passes or not.” Kiefan frowned, put the book down, leaned on the shelf with a huff.

It made little sense to me as well. “They’re passionate, deSvello said,” I reminded him.

He snorted. His voice fell to a mutter. “Fey-touched. Fools. She thinks she collared me?”

Collared? I closed the herb book and took the one beside it. Anatomy diagrams greeted me, so familiar as to be soothing.

Kiefan straightened. His voice sharpened. “She sent them to be sure I’d march on Temitte.”

My brows rose. We were in Temitte, yes, despite the lack of her aid. And thus not in Ansehen, or… in Wodenberg…

“Rukharbor.”

Fear stabbed me, thinking of Elect Pirra and Elect Terekhov. When I looked to Kiefan, he stared at the distance, tapped into his saint’s bond. I touched my own.

/ brother elect / safe? /

Qadeem paused a moment. / yes / trouble? /

/ lured here? /

I felt questioning alarm in reply.

“Woden says Elect Pirra is well. He’s in Rukharbor now, at the fount,” Kiefan told me. I relayed that to Qadeem. “Ciara knows how long a march it is from Ansehen to Rukharbor,” Kiefan said, still chewing on the riddle. “Even on the Southbound Road. If she broke the reserves there, our army wouldn’t arrive for a week or more.”

“But she wanted you to attack Temitte,” I said. “She wanted you believing you could take it.” My stomach shifted, uneasy. “She sent you here to die, not Teleri.”

Fire in his grey eyes. My heart shivered at the anger there; may it never be meant for me. He pushed off the bookshelf, strode across the room. “When the Empress strikes back and crushes me,” he said, edged with a growl. At the door, he snapped to the two Guard posted there. “Fetch Vysokov. Seagrace. Teleri and Captain Eith. Scyfe. And the Rangers.”

Gregor had just reached the top of the grand staircase, the largest of Kiefan’s gear-bags in his hands. He stopped before the door to catch his breath as one of the Guards thundered down the wooden steps. Kiefan grabbed the bags from his hands.

“I’ll need a mail tunic from the armory. We’ll be under attack before mine’s repaired. Go, see what they have.” Kiefan carried the bags in, tossed them to one side. My mind was full of the wounded lying in Brauer’s infirmary when he turned back to me. “If the Empress is here to kill me, where is she not? This wasn’t to distract me from defending Rukharbor. It was to distract her from defending Reowan, where there’s a fount right on the beach. And much as I love you Kate, Englia’s a cold, miserable marshland. Suevia’s a far finer prize.”

I frowned at that part and didn’t notice that he’d taken my hands in his. “We prepare for a siege, then?”

His eyes narrowed. “Ciara will not have Reowan.”

I blinked, stunned. “But —”

“No rewards for betrayal. And not one more fount to fight us with,” he said. Striding past me, he added, “We strike now and take it first.”

I must’ve misheard all his worrying about how small our army was. I trotted after him, to the railing that looked down on the grand sweep of the staircase past the second floor, down to the great welcoming hall and the scurrying men there.

“How?” I put my hands on the rail and risked a glance at him.

“Vysokov,” Kiefan called down to the duke, who looked up from the ground floor. “We ready to march. Scyfe, tell that stiff-necked ass he can swear fealty or see if his captains would rather string him up and double their pay under my command. I need Bídon here, too, and Theo Kaufmann.”

Kiefan leaned against the railing to answer me. “Arcea has ten thousand who withdrew from the camp across the river. Ten thousand in Reowan. The smallest number of them we’ve faced since…” He shrugged. “We strike before she can call for more. And before Caercoed claims the fount.”

“How many saints might she call, though?” I had to ask it. And, “Why not let Caercoed face the Empress at Reowan?”

His brows lowered. “Ciara will not profit on her betrayal.”

This couldn’t be a matter of six thousand soldiers, or of a night’s dallying and disappointment. There must be far more, far deeper. My stomach shifted again, in dread. I didn’t hope for much, but I asked, “Does Saint Woden agree with you?”

“On striking before Arcea reinforces her, yes. And letting Caercoed weaken her first.” Kiefan considered that. “It’s still the better part of six days’ march to Reowan. Equinox is twelve days past now. Were there an army marching from Caercoed, there’d be word of it — it must be a small force. Or perhaps coming by sea. The ten thousand who withdrew from here —”

He let that hang but I had nothing to aid him with. I only hoped there wasn’t an outbreak of sickness among the men, as there’d been after Ansehen. Dysentery still lingered in some of our squads. Whenever wounded took precedence for kir, the sickness gained ground.

“We must press to the sea, looking for an army to break before it falls back to the city there. My father did the same in Englia.” Kiefan looked to me. “By any luck, did you bring Elect Parselev’s war-journal along?”

I had, in fact. It was in my trunk.

“’Twas Margrave Leix I did swear to,” Captain Eith told Kiefan, leaning back against the sofa’s padded arm and setting her boots on the creamy silk. “’Twas the margrave that did give my orders and the margrave who did pull broken glass from my scalp after that night in Finn’s Tap. The Crown sent me south on a goose chase.”

Gregor poured us all mint tea on the low table nestled in the crook of the two sofas and set the kettle back on its trivet by the fire. I thought Kiefan would prod Eith for a clearer answer about where her loyalty lay, but he only waited.

She took a swallow of tea. “Don’t ask us to fight our own.”

“Never,” Kiefan said. “I would ask you to guard the baggage and the supply line.”

The captain looked at him across her mug. “You’ll release us from the Crown’s order to aid you?”

“If we take Reowan, yes. If not, you won’t need my word on it.”

Her mouth twisted, at that. The scar on her cheek caught the light. “I do not mock you,” she said, raising one hand. He did the same, in agreement. “’Tis stern stuff you’re made of, southlander. The baggage, then, and the supply line.” The captain stood and saluted him.

“Be ready to cross the Dúnforst-éa tomorrow,” Kiefan told her, standing as well. “You’ll get your mustering orders.”

Eith turned crisply and took her leave. Gregor saw her out past the door guards and asked the next guest into the imperial suite. This was why I’d stayed through a flurry of messengers and leafed through more of the books to pass the time.

Elect Teleri crossed the room with ease, hand on her hip where her sword should be. The guard had taken it from her when he checked her pattern. She wore no mail, today, only her dark blue Crown’s Blades tunic and black hose.

Kiefan did not ask her to sit; he went to stand opposite her before the fire. I lingered on the sofa with my tea.

“The Crown marches on Reowan,” he said.

Teleri folded her arms to match his.

“I will take it first.”

She eyed him, for a couple heartbeats. “What has this to do with me?”

“You chose Caercoed over your saint, you said. Your life for the kingdom and your love for its Crown.”

She said nothing, but her eyes slipped to me.

“Will you fight the Empress with us, to keep those oaths?”

“I’ll do nothing to harm Caercoed.”

“You don’t deny the attack on Reowan.”

Teleri’s eyes narrowed. “Little sense in lying to an augur. I did deliver two ruined bridges as you asked. What more, now?”

“Your loyalty, so long as we fight Arcea.”

“I’ll take no oath to you.”

“Woden would have you bound.”

“He’ll not touch me.”

“We’re not such fools as to turn our backs on a rogue elect.”

Neither raised their voices but the threats were plain enough. I kept a firm grip on my kir, not wanting to set either of them off.

“Perhaps Qadeem?” I said it softly as I could.

Both chins jerked toward me. I put my mug of tea down.

“He’ll not force a bond on you. He’ll not ask you to harm your own. He only demands the truth.”

Teleri shifted back, shoulders easing a little. Kiefan added, “It seems he doesn’t even use stringence.”

That got a disbelieving frown. Teleri set her hands on her hips. “Might I speak with Elect Kate in confidence? And Saint Qadeem?”

Kiefan’s turn to frown. But he nodded and withdrew, crossed the room to the bedroom door in the far wall and leaned against the sill. I took his place opposite Elect Teleri, not sure what I could say that would convince her to join us. I opened my bond to Qadeem, to hear her questions.

“’Tis much I cannot say, that is truth,” she said. “Caercoed has its secrets.”

Qadeem sent a nod and more. “There’s much we would not tell you of Wodenberg’s secrets.”

“Fair enough. Mayhaps you don’t use stringence, m’lord, but you know its uses. We might swear on the Mother and the Father, but they’ve a poor record of stopping oath-breakers.”

It took me a moment to piece out his answer to that. “When we met, I mended the harm done to Elect Tannait. Let that stand as a mark of my honor.”

Teleri’s head tipped, considering that. She was near as tall as Kiefan; I had to look up to meet her hazel eyes. After a moment, she nodded. “You do give your word to release me, when all’s done? I would go home, Mother willing.”

I nodded.

“Let it be done, then.” Teleri looked down at me, cocking one hip. “’Twas a fearsome thing you did to Tannait. Near made our healer ill to look upon.”

I grimaced. “And I’m sorry I struck in haste. She only meant to protect my son from the fire.”

“’Twas the heat of battle. You’re a fierce thing, far more than you seem.” Her eyes turned shrewd. “Have they trained you? In proper arms?”

“Woden gave me some lessons in shielding,” I admitted. On the chance it might help, I went on. “Perhaps you could show me more.”

“Did forget your shield, that day. Your… king does not teach you that?”

Her pause struck me as a hint. I looked to Kiefan, who feigned taking no interest in us. Surely Teleri knew something, as the captain-general of the Crown’s Blades, and if she loved the Crown, of what angered Kiefan so.

“What happened to him, in Knapptal?”

She drew back a bit further, her brows rising. But that passed quickly. “’Tisn’t for me to tell your king’s secrets. Nor my Crown’s. M’lord.” Her voice rose. “I do accept Saint Qadeem’s bond on the terms we’ve laid. What’s your plan for the Empress, then?”

It needed a day to extract us from Temitte.

The captain-general of the defeated Suevi camp was loyal to his Empress. His six captains, less so. They dispatched him and chose from among themselves a man named Glyman to lead. He agreed to fight alongside Scyfe so long as we would pay them well. That was another seven thousand able armsmen in our tally.

Temitte’s main avenues were broad and accustomed to seeing armies march through. Moving so many men, horses, and wagons was still no small thing. It took much of the day.

I spent what time I could with my saint at the fount. Back to its full strength, it glowed now, the rising bubbles from the deep twinkling in the sunlight. Qadeem had pitched a tent for himself inside the guardian sphere. There was a lush room at the top of one castle tower, for a saint, but he meant to stay close to the fount.

He couldn’t leave it undefended to come with us. I spent the morning learning Qadeem’s grounding charm.

“It may be that the guardian sphere at Reowan is different,” he cautioned, “but they were both made by Saint Seaxneat. Taken from him by Seraphine. That fount is stronger than this one. It will take longer to drain and may well strike harder. Should the fire catch, on you —” Qadeem grimaced, but continued. “Keep your pattern fixed in your mind. Your memory will aid you in that. Your Blessing,” he corrected himself. “My memory.”

I spun out the grounding-line from my palm to my elbow, quick as I could. Trying to bring that memory of the speed Blessing to bear — “Your memory. As you said earlier.”

A nod. “You are Blessed with my memory and held to a higher standard.” He’d said it at my binding, in the Pool. “Most saints must work out their own memory charms, but the Shepherd gave me mine. Yours will hold through pain and terror, regardless of your will. Trust it. Kate.” Qadeem’s voice turned soft. “Let the Caer face Seraphine and her saints. Three elect against one saint — perhaps, with luck. A long shot. But we know Saint Musaad is with her, if none else.”

“Do you know him?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Only that he’s Rasilai. It’s a common enough name in my homeland.” With a squeeze of my hand, he told me, “Be prudent. Let them exhaust themselves on the Caer if you can. I will be first to aid you, from below, when you attack the fount.”

I rode over the Dúnforst bridge in the afternoon, among the rearguard. We left two thousand and Duke Vysokov to hold Temitte. Captain Eith and the Tadhlon Guard would follow, escorting the baggage and our supply wagons.

Elect Teleri rode with Kiefan and sat at that night’s meeting after we’d marched a few miles past Temitte. I came, bringing my teacher’s war journal — with a moment’s hesitation, remembering when Kiefan and I had last read it in Vorspitz.

My bed felt all the colder, since the news of Anders. Now that I knew how far away he was.

But Kiefan and I read several pages after dinner and the nightly meeting. Gregor kept our mugs full of fresh tea and saw to honing Kiefan’s sword otherwise. A Ranger sergeant interrupted us with a report.

I left the journal with Kiefan and went to my chilly bed alone. I smiled enough to warm it, though; it had been far too long since we’d shared a book.

Suevia, south of Temitte, gentled into low, rolling hills covered by oat-fields. Many had been partly plowed before the farmers snatched their families and fled from the word of us. That needled me with guilt; I knew there were only so many days for plowing and then the seed must be planted. Else-wise it couldn’t be harvested before the autumn rains kept the men from the fields long enough for the grain to spoil.

Young leaves greened all the trees now, looking like mid-Spring Moon already. A few brave patches of violets were out with the dandelions. There’d been a trace of frost last night, when we’d gone some days without any.

I rode in the main body of our men. Kiefan went with the vanguard, which was mainly knights, and Teleri the rearguard of armsmen. Duke Seagrace rode with me and we managed bits of conversation about Englia in the morning. Came the afternoon flurry of reports, and there was little time for talking.

Our scouting Rangers met with camps of enemy men — clutches of armsmen and archers, a squad of knights — lying in wait on roads and in farmhouses. Clashes forced them to turn back; such a cache of men was too strong for a squad of light-armed Rangers. Attempts to slip around them fell afoul of quick-footed snipers in blinds, undoubtably local men who knew this land well.

Kiefan sent companies of armsmen to pin these camps down. Some camps numbered a hundred men and more, big enough to harry a column like ours. It began with one company, soon after our noontime rest. More and more were sent as the afternoon turned cloudy, drizzled a bit, and cleared.

Wounded Rangers were carried in by their companions; I stopped one who had two arrows in him and wouldn’t have survived the ride down the line to the infirmary wagons. His brown Ranger tabard with its black border reminded me of Anders’, with a pang. I put that aside; he needed blood to strengthen his heart, so I gave him enough to steady its racing beat. Then I cut the arrows free of the man’s ribs and shoulder, stitched and cleansed my work, and sent him on for further wound-dressing.

“Mother bless you, Elect,” his companion said, before he rode off.

That evening, the trouble was made clear on Kiefan’s map table. The enemy made a hedge of men and kept our scouts from reporting on what lay beyond. Largely, that line lay ahead of us, east of Singréne, but there were some worrisome spots not far away. Those had the officers fretting over what might lie in wait for tomorrow’s march. Ambushes? A larger force in hiding?

We’d gotten a good day’s walking in. Singréne was only a few miles ahead.

“Likely that the ten thousand from Temitte have crossed the bridge already,” Kiefan said. Singréne was a large city, straddling the Neva River — the Ildra-éa, on this Suevi map — where it met a river called Benn-éa. “The line is meant to shield them, clearly; they’ve not turned south for Reowan. Neither have they stayed in Singréne, from the Rangers’ reports.” Kiefan tapped an area of wide fields on the north side of Singréne, off the Southbound Road. “We’ll see the lie of things when we reach here. Before we’re in the city’s trebuchet range.”

I listened, but lingered around the edge of the officers clustered at the map table. Elect Teleri joined me there, which struck me odd. “Little in common ‘twixt body-guarding and battle-field tactics,” she said. “Saint Conbarre did trust that to the field marshals.”

She and I ate much of the warm ham, pan-cooked cabbage, and biscuits put out for dinner; the men were too absorbed in their theories and fretting. After gnawing over the most likely plans, Kiefan dismissed them.

“Set your watches and get what rest you can.” He had to order it, pointing at the door flaps. It was a light camp, out there, only bedrolls and small campfires. We’d all wake sore and chilly.

I might get in a turn through the infirmary, though, to check on those Rangers.

“Kate?”

I turned. Kiefan caught my hand, kissed my knuckles. Our old signal. I turned my palm to his cheek, called his pattern and found headache-knots. “May I, this time?” I asked it to tease him a little.

A smile. “Please.”

His eyes closed as I picked at the knots — stubborn as ever — and his face eased. That drew a bit of a smile to me. Kiefan’s braided knight’s crest needed freshening. It wisped, even under his golden band. He could do that himself; I’d seen him braiding it once, during our long-ago mission. But of course he had other worries.

Only one knot remained when he murmured again. “Wear your mail, tomorrow. Promise me you’ll be safe.”

I set my teeth on my lip for a moment. “Only if you promise the same.”

He sighed, opened his eyes. His arms slipped around me and pulled me close. My breath caught but then I hugged him back. His cheek lay against my temple; my forehead nestled against his neck. The scent of his mail’s oil drowned out the lavender soap he’d shaved with. I could faintly feel his pulse. The simple comfort of it ached in my throat. Warm. Safe. For the first time since —

“Kaufmann told me the news of Anders,” he said, voice still low.

My hands, at the small of Kiefan’s back, gripped each other. I tried to swallow, dreading that he wanted me to answer — something. I had no answers. Why Anders had crawled away to die… why he’d let the Empress take him… what I could do to seek him out in faraway Arcea…

“I will never leave you, Kate.” Kiefan’s voice nearly caught. His arms twitched but he kept himself to a gentle hug. “I would make you queen of Wodenberg if you’ll let me. Let Woden rage. I know what I can endure. I’ve been a jealous fool. I let Father Duty own me. That must end, I know, if I’m to have any hope of earning you back. On my life, I swear I mean to change. I will marry you or I will die alone.”

That knife-pain between my ribs, spearing my heart, throbbed again. An old wound, now. I tightened my grip on him and he obliged until my ribs creaked, both of us breathing harsh from the pain of his words.

Without his jealousy, just the easy comfort of shared books and expecting no duty of each other — a queen or a farmer’s wife, it mattered nothing to me. So long as it was Kiefan.

And so long as I was widowed, free of the wife-fealty I’d sworn to Anders. If he were truly gone, a traitor to our saints — but I still doubted that. Wanted to, despite that I’d turned to heal him and he’d been gone.

“If Anders is gone to Arcea, if there’s no sign of him in Reowan,” I said, my words tumbling out on their own. “If he chose the Empress and her binding…”

“She acclaimed him before her court — you believe it a lie?” Kiefan gave me enough space to meet his gaze.

My voice fell to a whisper. “I don’t want to believe it’s true.”

He nodded. “And bindings can be broken, if she forced it on him.”

“But if he’s gone, then…” I had to swallow. “Ask me in Reowan and I will say yes.”

Kiefan put his forehead to mine, kissed me. Just a gentle touch that lingered and then he let out an easier breath. I sighed, harder, and we both smiled in relief.

“Good night,” he whispered and let me go.