Trevn

In those days the root of Arman will be destroyed and usher in the end of all things. There will be mourning and weeping throughout the land. Brother will turn against brother, and their swords will dash each other to pieces. There will be earthquakes, floods, mountain fires, sinksand, and rocks that fall from the sky. And Armania, glory of the Five Realms, beauty of the gods’ eyes, will no longer be the head of all things.

Out of Magon will come one who prospers by deceit. He will crush the heads of those who stand against him. Therefore the gods will raise up for you many prophets. Their words will save the obedient and deliver peace throughout the realms.

—Rôb prophecy from the prophet Greela, House Hadar 468

This prophecy is partly responsible for the duration of the Centenary War,” Father Tomek said. “Can you tell me why?”

Easily. “My forefathers were afraid that compromise with the mother realms might bring about the fall of Armania,” Trevn said.

“Correct. Now read me the Kabaran prophecy and look for differences.”

Trevn read from the second tablet.

Behold, I say to you, though the root of Arman will be destroyed, peace shall come between mother and father, and the two will be reconciled. And you, Magonia, though you are small among the five clans, from you will come a deliverer who will rule over all. He will crush the skulls of his enemies, turn their citadels to dust, and Magonia will become the ruler of nations.

—Kabaran prophecy from the prophet Theria, Magonia 4

“What do you notice?” Father Tomek asked.

Trevn pushed the tablets together and studied them. “They both talk of peace but in different ways. Rôb says a deceiver will come but prophets will bring peace. The Kabaran prophecy talks of a deliverer. Perhaps the same deceiver referenced in the Rôb prophecy?”

“Perhaps. Both are called the Root Prophecy. Why are they different?”

“They were spoken by different prophets,” Trevn said, which made him think of Filkin Yohthehreth. “Why are no new prophecies recorded by my father’s prophets?”

“They record them, but none have come to pass. There hasn’t been a true prophet born in Armania in over 120 years.”

A bold statement. “So, my father’s prophets are pretenders? Rogedoth’s as well?”

“It’s not a popular view, but it’s mine. That’s partly why I’ll never sit on the Wisean Council.”

“You should.” Father’s advisors were imbeciles.

“I’m not good at telling a man what he wants to hear. Have you finished your pages?”

“Yes. I finished early today. I have plans and didn’t want to have to hurry.”

“I praise you for your forethought,” Father Tomek said. “You are dismissed.”

Trevn left the classroom. Cadoc was waiting in the hallway, looking a bit pale.

“Are we still doing this, Your Highness?”

“Of course.” Trevn grinned and sprinted away. “Try to keep up!”

Trevn and Cadoc lay side by side on the roof of the carriage. Cadoc kept shifting, which made his scabbard scrape against the wood.

“Hold still,” Trevn said. “You’ll give us away.”

“Let it be known that I dislike this plan. I suspect Miss Mielle will too.”

“That shows how little you know Miss Mielle,” Trevn said.

The soft voices of Lady Zeroah and Miss Mielle drifted up to his ears. Trevn listened to them climb into the carriage. The doors clicked shut. He had already asked Hawley not to signal him today. The man climbed up beside the driver, winked at Trevn, and they were off.

A thrill flamed within Trevn’s chest. Today he would know whether or not Mielle Allard was a Renegade.

Trevn kept his head down until they passed the protestors at the gatehouse. Then he wasted no time. “I’m going in.”

Cadoc nodded and braced himself: one hand over the far edge of the carriage, the other held out to Trevn.

Trevn took hold and slipped over the side. He fell fast, legs flailing a bit before finding the open window. “Lower me!” he yelled, which Cadoc did, little by little.

The women screamed, which made Trevn grin. They were hitting his legs too, as if he were some kind of villain. Once his backside rested on the window ledge, he let go of Cadoc’s hand and slid inside, landing in a crouch on the floor of the carriage.

The screaming ceased.

Lady Zeroah and Miss Mielle were sitting across from one another against the far wall of the carriage, watching him, wide-eyed.

“Good midday, ladies,” Trevn said, quite pleased to have frightened them.

“Sâr Trevn.” Lady Zeroah inclined her head.

Miss Mielle slid down the bench and slapped his shoulder repeatedly. “You reckless madperson!”

Trevn slipped to his knees and grabbed her hands. “Miss Mielle, I promise you I have no intention of marrying or taking concubines or building a harem. Rest assured, my mother will continue to behave poorly and try to run my life, but I will make my own decisions. I realize friendship with me is a risk. I hope it is a risk you will consider taking.” He gazed up into her deep brown eyes and pinched his brows into the penitent expression that had always worked on his mother.

Miss Mielle said nothing. Merely stared. The carriage rattled around them, horses’ hooves clomping, tack jangling.

Then finally: “Kal says I should avoid you.”

Did he? Kalenek Veroth’s caution was to be applauded. “And you have! Just look what I had to do to get a word with you. Will you forgive me for my part in upsetting you?”

She glanced to Lady Zeroah and back, stiff posture wilting. “I forgive you, Your Highness.”

Trevn grinned and slid up to sit beside her. “Will you come with me? To the roofs?”

Her eyes doubled in size. “I mustn’t abandon Lady Zeroah. Besides, who would chaperone us?”

“Cadoc is with me. And Lady Zeroah has Hawley and the kitchen maids, isn’t that right, lady?”

“Indeed, Your Highness,” Lady Zeroah said. “Do go, if you like, Mielle. But be careful.”

Trevn pulled Miss Mielle to the window. “I will bring her to the almshouse in two hours, lady.”

Miss Mielle gripped the sides of the window, looked out and up. “How will we get up there?”

“Turn your back to the window and lean out. I will lift you, and Cadoc will pull you up.”

At this moment most women would have refused. Not Miss Mielle. She spun right around and nearly crawled out herself.

Sands, he liked her.

Unfortunately, when Hawley saw what was happening, he slowed the carriage to a crawl, which greatly minimized the risk and Trevn’s thrill. Once Miss Mielle lay on the roof between Trevn and Cadoc, the carriage resumed its regular speed.

“We are approaching the drop to the Sink,” Trevn said. “It will become quite bumpy.”

“Is that where we jump?” Miss Mielle asked.

“After the turn where the cobblestone ends.”

“Don’t be afraid, Miss Mielle,” Cadoc said.

“Oh, I’m not afraid,” she said, eyes wide and eager.

The carriage jolted as it hit the dirt road of the Sink and rattled over the pothole-filled road. Trevn pushed to his knees, eyeing the distance to the bakery. Miss Mielle mimicked his actions.

“See that long brown roof?” Trevn pointed ahead. “The road narrows there. The carriage will slow to avoid hitting the buildings. That’s where we jump.”

Trevn went first. The moment his feet made contact with the roof, he spun around to watch Miss Mielle, who was already hurtling toward him, her hindrance of a skirt clutched in one fist at her hip. He skipped aside to catch her, but she landed fine, skidding a bit on the soot. Cadoc landed hard, weapons jangling. He stumbled but quickly caught his balance.

Seeing them both safe, Trevn turned and ran. Over the inns, down the sloped roof of the chandler’s shop, up to the bathhouse, then to Mama’s Shelter, and down to the leatherworks. He bypassed the leap over the alley and went Hinck’s way, which was longer but safer. Roof to roof he ran until finally climbing onto the red-and-brown striped roof of Thalassa’s Temple, where he sat in the center.

Miss Mielle sank to her knees beside him, studying the view. Several tendrils of hair had escaped the knot of braids on her head and framed her face. “It’s wonderful up here.”

Trevn pointed. “That used to be Cape Waldemar. The earthquake pulled it under the sea.” He fished his grow lens from his hipsack and passed it to Miss Mielle.

She squinted through the lens and sighed. “I lived there as a child. When my parents died, Kal and Livy moved in to take care of us.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, wondering what had happened later that forced them to live in the Sink.

Miss Mielle shook off her sorrow with a flip of her hair. “I want to go there and get a closer look. Not today, but soon.”

So did Trevn. And now he had reason besides his own curiosity. “Next week perhaps? The rest of this week will be consumed with my ageday ball.” He paused. “Would you come?”

“To a sâr’s ball?” She shook her head. “That wouldn’t be proper.”

“It would if I invited Lady Zeroah.”

She gave him that slow smile that twisted his insides into a knot. “I will convey your invitation to Lady Zeroah. I’m sure she will accept.”

Trevn released a careful breath, not wanting her to know how much she intimidated him. “And will you dance with me there?”

She flushed, but her eyes lit with joy. “I won’t refuse, though won’t it upset your mother?”

Oh, it would. Trevn was counting on it.

Trevn had barely taken his seat in the great hall for dinner when his mother attacked. “You were seen walking with a woman in the Sink. Who was she?”

Just like that, his happiness over a perfect day with Miss Mielle vanished. “If your spies were unable to identify her, perhaps you should employ better ones.”

“Proud talk brings a rod of discipline. I know who she was.” Mother glanced pointedly to Wilek’s table where Miss Mielle and Lady Zeroah were sitting with Queen Brelenah and Grandmother. “Really, Trevn. After what happened with Shessy Wallington, how can you be so careless?”

Trevn picked at a wedge of cheese. “Do you know how rare it is to find a girl willing to run the roofs?” He doubted there was another in all of Armania who would.

“A sâr should not run the roofs at all. Now, about your ball, I invited two groups of young ladies and requested they dress appropriately. Potential brides will be dressed in Hadar blue. Potential concubines in pink.”

Of all the . . . “Father Tomek says a priest should avoid concubines.” Nor would a Renegade take one, curious or not.

“Concubines are the fashion for sârs,” his mother said. “I won’t have people mocking you for not following the trend. Your reputation is everything.”

Trevn agreed. But the core of a Renegade’s reputation was to oppose everything fashionable and conventional.

“The night of your ball you will choose your favorite for a wife. I will choose as well, and hopefully Mikreh will bless us with agreement. I care less about your choices of concubines. Pick ten. That should please your father.”

“Ten!” Trevn barely knew what to do with one woman. “Not even Janek has ten concubines.”

“Which is why you should have more. Listen to your mother. Now, remember, not everyone is able to attend.”

Trevn rested his elbows on the table and fisted his hands together over his mouth.

“For a wife, do seriously consider Princess Saria.”

“Saria is like a sister to me.” A pesky sister.

“And you must also think of your cousin Mihah for a concubine. She will be better trained than most. No realm instructs women in the art of lovemaking like Rurekau. It still shocks me that the rosâr has cast me aside.”

Trevn dropped his head into his hands. His day had gone from blissful to nightmarish in too short a time. His only comfort was imagining the look on his mother’s face when he chose Miss Mielle for the first dance at his ball.