ISANDOR RAISED his head enough to see over the back of the front seat.
Outside the truck, Milleus faced the Knights across at least ten paces of muddy ground. Only a few drops of rain were still falling down. The wind chased wisps of mist and smoke past him.
The Knights stood quiet, holding crossbows. They had all the time in the world. They had the refugees surrounded and wouldn’t do anything that would risk their advantage.
Jevaithi looked at him with wide eyes, her face a pale oval in the sparse light.
The other refugees were still under or behind the truck, forming a living wall between the Knights and their queen. Isandor could hear their voices. Even so, Isandor didn’t think their presence would be enough to stop the Knights if they set their mind to reaching the truck—which they would if they knew who was aboard.
Lightning flashed, showing the fence line where, a few days ago, the Chevakians had cut through into the camp, desperate for something to happen. Milleus was right; Isandor should have told him who Jevaithi was before entering the camp.
Now that fence, and freedom, might as well be miles away. They could never reach it.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a bell rang, a thin and high sound carried by the wind. Milleus had explained about the bell and what it meant to Chevakians. Milleus should be inside. If he stayed out here, he would be exposed to icefire levels high enough to do both short-term and long-term damage.
But Milleus didn’t move. He stood straight-backed, with his hands in his pockets just like he did when looking at the goats. In fact, the truck rocked with the jumping of the goats. They had been inside for most of the day and Milleus’ smell probably made them think that he was about to let them graze.
The Knights didn’t move either.
Milleus said, projecting his voice so the Knights would hear, “We ask to be let out of the camp. I am Chevakian. These people are ordinary citizens who do not support your conflict. Let them go so they don’t get hurt.”
The Knights said nothing and showed no sign of having heard Milleus’ words.
“They don’t know Chevakian,” Jevaithi whispered. “He’s wasting his breath.”
“Some will understand.” Knights came usually from the upper class families. They had tutors. More than a few would have a basic knowledge of the language.
Milleus was still talking. “. . . If you use any violence towards us or anyone else in the camp, the Chevakian doga will see this as an invasion of their territory. If Chevakians are killed, they will declare war. So, if you let me go, I will take this matter to the Chevakian doga and we will negotiate—”
A voice shouted a harsh order.
One of the Knights marched up to Milleus. The man was almost a head taller, but Milleus faced him defiantly.
“He’s so brave,” Jevaithi whispered.
She was right. Through all of their trip, and before that, Milleus had faced any risk. He might be old, but Isandor felt a twinge of jealousy. Why couldn’t he stand out there and tell the Knights to go away?
Because they wouldn’t listen to him. Respect had to be earned. He was an exiled junior apprentice who had run off with the queen.
A Knight gave an order and a number of men marched forward. Milleus took up position between them and the truck, but there were too many of them and they simply walked around him.
“Why doesn’t he shoot?” Jevaithi asked.
But Isandor knew that would make matters worse. If Milleus did, the Knights would kill him instantly.
The refugees tried to bar the way, but they had no weapons. The Knights pulled people out from underneath the truck or trailer.
“They’re coming for us,” Jevaithi whispered. “They know we’re here.”
“We’re not giving up that easily.” He grabbed Milleus’ walking stick and pressed it into her hand. “Here. Mind the door on that side.”
She took the stick from him, and then pulled him close. Her breath came fast and her skin felt sweaty. It was so good to feel her against him, to feel their hearts beat in unison. It felt like coming home. Then he thought of his mother stirring concoctions on the stove in the limpet that was his home, her warm hug. He could smell the faint scent of herb extracts that always hung around her. Those feelings made him so angry. Yes, he would fight for Jevaithi and his mother.
Jevaithi stroked his hair. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I don’t care that you’re my brother.” She pressed her lips on his for a fleeting kiss. The smell of her was intoxicating.
“Don’t give up,” he said. “Whatever happens, we never give up.”
She nodded, her face pale. “My mother always said that. Our mother.”
That hit him harder than expected. He’d never thought of Queen Maraithe as his mother before, but she was, and she had withered away in the luxurious prison the Knights had created for her.
“We owe it to our mother to fight. To our mothers.”
Jevaithi settled in next to the door holding the walking stick aloft, ready to strike at anyone who came in.
Isandor took Milleus’ shovel and waited by the other door.
Voices yelled outside. Something hard struck the side door with a thunk. A squall of rain lashed the window.
Then the door opened on Isandor’s side. A blast of icy wind came in. Isandor swung the shovel at the dark silhouette. It hit a hard object with a clang. The handle jarred in his hands and he almost dropped the shovel. The Knight went down without a sound. Immediately, a lot of people ran to the truck, shouting. It was too dark to see who they were and who was fighting who. He could only guess that refugees pulled the unconscious Knight away. More Knights ran onto the scene and fistfights fights broke out everywhere. Refugees crammed around the truck.
Two Knights dragged a woman away. They dumped her on the ground, and then one Knight stabbed her. She did not move again. The Knights now had hold of a smaller person. Several other people were screaming.
By the skylights, the Knights were going to kill everyone just to get him. Where was Milleus?
Isandor shouted for him.
His voice was lost in the tumult. Behind him, people were trying to open the door to Jevaithi’s side of the cabin. She hung onto the door handle with all her might.
“Wait.” Isandor slammed and locked the door on his side and scrambled over to help her. “Lock it.”
“I have.” Her voice spilled over with fear. “They’ll break the door.” The truck rocked with the efforts of the Knights yanking at the door handle. Hard objects hit the window. There was already a big crack in the glass.
Then the door burst open and a Knight climbed into the cabin
Jevaithi screamed and flung herself in Isandor’s arms, but the man pulled the back of her shirt.
“No, no, Isandor, help me!” She grabbed his arms.
Isandor put his arms around her and wedged his feet at the back of the driver’s seat. The Knight half-climbed into the cabin and pulled on her legs.
She screamed, “Keep your hands off me!”
The door on Isandor’s side sprang open. A cold breeze went through the cabin. Large hands grabbed Isandor’s shoulders and yanked. He tumbled backwards out of the truck. Jevaithi slipped from his grip. The Knight dragged her out the other side of the cabin.
He could hear her scream, “Isandor! Isandor!”
People jostled him. He managed to get upright, and yanked his cloak out of the Knight’s hands. People were attacking the man from all sides.
Milleus’ gruff voice came from somewhere Isandor couldn’t see. “Mercy, let go of them. It’s a disgrace. How do you dare act against a couple of children?”
Isandor shouted, “Milleus! Milleus, where are you?” It was so dark, and there were so many people fighting, and the rain was running into his eyes.
“Over here!”
Isandor spotted Milleus standing on the beam that connected the trailer to the truck. He wrestled through the crowd. Milleus stuck out a hand and hauled Isandor up.
“You hurt?” Milleus asked.
“Jevaithi. They took Jevaithi.” Panic clawed at his insides. All around, people were fighting hand to hand. He stuck his head out to look at the other side of the truck, but it was too dark to see who was who. Too dark to see any trace of Jevaithi.
Isandor screamed, as loud as he could, “Jevaithi!”
A couple of people took up the chant. “Jevaithi, Jevaithi.”
“Shut up, everyone. She’s missing! The Knights took her.”
More voices now chanted, Jevaithi, Jevaithi. Peria, Peria!
Isandor climbed on top of the trailer. “Shut up everyone.”
Several people made shushing noises.
“Hey, who are you?” a man asked.
There was nothing left to say except the truth. “I’m Isandor, Jevaithi’s twin brother. The Knights just took her. They’ll kill her if they get the chance. They’ve been trying to kill us ever since we escaped from the palace.”
There were gasps.
A man shouted, “Revenge! Revenge!”
“Glory to the queen and king!” someone else yelled. Other people repeated those words. Isandor cringed. He was no king, and the south definitely didn’t need another king. He only wanted Jevaithi to be safe. He had failed her.
When he saw the Knight behind him, it was too late to run.