Maximilian spent the morning with Axis and Ezekiel, inspecting some of the Isembaardian units and talking with the soldiers. He had a brief lunch, then, feeling restless, he waved away Serge and Doyle, took his cloak, and walked out into the countryside.
There was a hill about three or four hundred paces from the northern border of the camp, and he made for it at a brisk rate, enjoying the exercise.
The hill was perhaps fifty paces high and he climbed it easily. By the time he reached the summit he was sweating gently, thoroughly warmed by the exercise. He circled about the summit, taking deep breaths of the chilly air, enjoying its invigoration.
His breath steamed, and he clapped and rubbed his hands together as he took in the view. It was still late winter, but spring could not be far away, and on the summit, where the rocks were warmed by the sun, the snow had melted away.
The great Isembaardian army, swelled now by Georgdi’s and Malat’s ragged column and a few Icarii, stretched away to the south and east almost as far as Maximilian could see.
What was he going to do with such a mass? And how was he going to keep it together?
He did not fool himself that the shout of loyalty in that instant after Isaiah had so stunningly handed command to Maximilian, meant much at all. The men had done as they were told, but their hearts had not been behind their voices. Maximilian was not surprised at what Axis had told him, that the men murmured about their families and worried.
He, too, would worry and murmur.
He turned slightly, catching sight of Ishbel’s blue tent with the pennant fluttering in the breeze.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
She amazed Maximilian, almost as much as she disconcerted him. He had been so sure that he had devastated her world with his coldness and denial two nights ago in the snow. But instead Ishbel had straightened her back, tossed her head, and emerged from it the stronger.
So much stronger.
Maximilian was not entirely sure why he’d gone to talk to her earlier in the day. Yes, he had needed to sound her out about Ravenna’s vision, because it worried him. But Maximilian thought also he had gone to make sure she hadn’t been pretending when she’d said, so calmly and assuredly, that what had once been between them was now past.
His smile faded as he remembered how he’d rushed after her, and made himself look like a foolish youth by telling her that he’d now moved into the command tent.
Without Ravenna.
Well, it had left Ishbel unmoved. He had truly destroyed whatever had once been between them with his ill-thought guilt over Ravenna’s pregnancy.
A movement below caught his eye.
It was Ishbel, leaving her tent. She stopped outside to talk with the Isembaardian soldier—Madarin, Maximilian thought his name was—who guarded it, then Madarin was turning to the hill and pointing.
Ishbel turned to look, her hands shading her eyes in the bright sunlight, and then she started for the hill.
Maximilian felt a flutter of nerves in his stomach.
He sat down on a patch of exposed, dry rock, his eyes following Ishbel’s progress toward the hill. She walked and then climbed smoothly, without any hint of breathlessness.
All the months in the saddle had strengthened her, Maximilian thought, and then had to fight to stop himself wondering just how strong and supple her body—always slender and lithe—might be now.
“I thought you would have seen enough of me for the day,” he said as she reached the summit and sat herself down beside him.
“You just happen to be occupying the top of the hill,” she said, “where I thought to sit and digest my lunch.”
He smiled. “Who is that soldier—Madarin? He seems devoted to you.”
“You haven’t heard of him?”
Maximilian shook his head.
“Well, you’ll need to ask Axis for the details,” Ishbel said, “but he is devoted to me because many, many months ago, when he was part of the detail accompanying Axis to bring me to Isaiah, I healed him of a twisted bowel. My skills as the Archpriestess of the Coil did not only encompass death.”
“I keep finding ever more hidden depths within you, Ishbel.”
She made a noncommittal movement of her shoulders, and they sat in silence for a little while.
Maximilian’s attention was eventually caught by a movement to the west. There was something in the sky…
“Icarii,” Ishbel said, who had caught his look and frown of concern. “Can you see? One of them has such pink feathers!”
Maximilian smiled, relaxing. “Yes. I can see. There must be fifteen or sixteen of them. Where have they come from, do you think?”
“Perhaps they have heard that they have a new Talon, and that he travels with you.”
Maximilian nodded slowly. “Word must be filtering out into the eastern lands.”
“StarDrifter will be happy to gather his people about him.”
Maximilian nodded again.
Ishbel drew a deep breath. “I came up here because I wanted to apologize for the way I spoke to you this morning.”
“I deserved it.”
Another small silence.
“Surely we must be done apologizing to each other now,” Ishbel said, and Maximilian laughed softly.
“If you say so.”
Now the silence was a little more awkward.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Maxel,” Ishbel said. “If Ravenna has shown you a vision where I—”
“Don’t…” Maximilian said. “Come with me to Elcho Falling. You are a Persimius, and it is your home as much as mine. Whatever happens, happens.”
He picked up a small fragment of rock where the frost had splintered it from the greater one, and turned it over and over in his hand. It struck him, once more, just how different were Ravenna and Ishbel. Ravenna had not once stopped trying to persuade him that Ishbel was a nightmare just waiting to wake, while, contrariwise, Ishbel had not once, in all the months she’d had the opportunity, said a single thing against a woman she had every cause to loathe.
Ravenna would hate it that Ishbel had offered to stay behind, and he had refused.
“All Persimians must be true fatalists,” Ishbel said, and Maximilian laughed out loud.
“Grim fatalists,” he agreed, still smiling.
“I wish our baby had lived,” Ishbel said.
Maximilian hesitated, wondering where this would lead. “So do I,” he said.
Ishbel didn’t take it any further, and Maximilian thought that somehow they had, in those two simple statements, probably encompassed as much—and as well—as if they’d spent hours beating their breasts about the tragedy.
Ishbel took a deep breath. “Are you looking forward to Elcho Falling?”
“Yes,” Maximilian said. “How long have I been on the road now? Eighteen months? Longer? You almost as long. I left Escator to find a bride…and here I still am, on the road. So, yes, I am longing for Elcho Falling—longing for a home. Longing for an end to this journeying.”
“And Elcho Falling is home, not Escator?”
“I think so. Escator seems so far behind me. I don’t think I could go back there and be happy. I would always be restless. I was always restless there, I think, perhaps knowing that it would not be where I ended my days.”
“You should not talk so about ending your days.”
He shrugged.
Ishbel chewed her lip, looking over the vast encampment. “Do you worry about this army?”
“Yes. I have no idea what I can do to hold it together. Isaiah could barely do it, and I am not Isaiah.”
“Perhaps you need to allow it to fracture apart.”
He looked at her, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“Look at us, Maxel. Here we sit, talking comfortably, and when have we ever done that? Neither of us keeping any secrets…and when before have we had such truth between us? What did it take, Maxel, for us to reach this moment where we could trust each other and be friends?”
She rose, and Maximilian had to squint into the sun in order to look up at her. He thought she smiled at him just before she turned to walk down the hill, but was not sure.
He watched her all the way back to her tent, thinking about what she had said.
Perhaps you need to allow it to fracture apart.
What did it take, Maxel, for us to reach this moment where we could trust each other and be friends?
The frown smoothed from Maximilian’s face, and he smiled, tossing the fragment of rock high into the air before catching it again.
Suddenly he could see the road ahead to Elcho Falling clear and straight.
“Thank you, Ishbel,” he murmured, then rose and made his own way down the hill.