Reoden looked down at Sardeon, and Imoshen read her. The healer struggled with the realisation that she had done wrong by Sardeon when she had shut him away.
‘You boys must have had a cold night,’ Imoshen said.
‘Oh, we had the blanket,’ Ronnyn said. ‘And a fire.’
‘And we explored the ruin. It was fascinating. We discovered frescoes!’ Sardeon announced. Imoshen glanced to Reoden, who was trying not to smile. The boy rushed on. ‘It used to belong to the T’En, and by their clothing, I’d say it predated the schism of the covenant. Do you think we could go back? I’d love to make drawings of the frescoes. I’m sure our sisterhood’s historian will want to study it.’
‘I’ll send Alynar,’ Reoden said, then added sternly, ‘But you will have to be punished.’
‘Of course, choice-mother,’ Sardeon said.
Ronnyn echoed him.
‘You can go with the Malaunje to look for the missing rowboat. When you find it, you will have to row it all the way back on your own.’
‘Really?’ Ronnyn sprang to his feet, face bright and eager.
‘Today?’ Sardeon asked.
Egrayne muttered in surprise. Imoshen had to turn away to hide her laughter.
‘I think the tide will be safe by mid-afternoon,’ Reoden said. ‘The ship’s master will tell you.’
‘Can I go, too?’ Vittor asked. ‘Please?’
As boys from both sisterhoods clamoured to go with them, Imoshen caught Reoden’s eye and they shared a smile.
Egrayne gestured to Ronnyn and Sardeon. ‘Your hand-of-force should be drilling these two every day with the older lads. Then they won’t have any energy left to get into trouble.’
‘Could we?’ Ronnyn pleaded.
Sardeon glanced from Ronnyn to his choice-mother, almost as if he couldn’t bring himself to hope.
‘I’m used to working hard all day,’ Ronnyn said. ‘We’ll both work hard. I promise you won’t regret it.’
‘Very well.’ Reoden smiled. ‘Nerazime, time for the boys’ lessons. As for you two, I imagine you’re starving. Go have some breakfast, then report to the ship’s master.’
Ronnyn grinned but Sardeon hesitated.
‘Does this mean I don’t have to be shut away anymore, choice-mother?’ he asked.
Reoden nodded.
He hugged her. ‘Thank you!’
As he walked off with Ronnyn, the healer wiped her cheeks.
Ronnyn said something, and Sardeon laughed. Ronnyn slung an arm around his shoulder. Vittor and Tamaron ran back to hug their brother and ask about their adventure. And they were not the only ones. A sea of small boys surrounded Ronnyn and Sardeon. Imoshen’s gift surged. Ronnyn, the son of runaways, was a natural leader.
‘I think you have a potential all-father in Ronnyn,’ Imoshen said.
Reoden nodded. ‘I had one in Sardeon, too. Now what will become of him?’
‘Paragian needs to know. You can’t hide his son’s state any longer.’
‘You’re right.’ The healer turned to Imoshen. ‘I’m not looking forward to it.’
T
HE NEXT DAY
the sisterhood’s hand-of-force stood Ronnyn and Sardeon in front of the empowered lads. The smallest was taller than them and the biggest was a head taller than her. ‘From now on, these two will be joining you for armed and unarmed combat practice.’
‘But they’re not empowered,’ a lad with a gap between his front teeth protested.
‘Are you telling a hand-of-force how to run her training sessions, Toryx?’ Cerafeoni asked. ‘Perhaps you’d like to run today’s class?’
The rest of the lads laughed and he glowered.
She clapped her hands. ‘Now line up.’
The empowered lads fell into position, laughing and jostling, the hum of the male gift a constant undertone like distant music that could, at any moment, surge up to drown all sound.
‘We’re going to start with the warrior’s exercises to promote balance in mind, gift and body,’ Cerafeoni told Ronnyn and Sardeon. ‘Stand at the back, follow the moves. We begin with the same basic moves every time, so that when you are attacked, you won’t have to think. Your body will take over without conscious thought.’
Ronnyn worked with total concentration, committing every move to memory. He looked over at Sardeon and saw him working with the same intensity.
The elegance that had made him think Sar was a girl expressed itself in the precise, fluid way he performed the exercises. Ronnyn realised he would have to work hard to keep up with his new choice-brother.
Cerafeoni kept them at it until they were sweating and trembling from exertion. Then she called them up in pairs, matching them by size and skill. Under her watchful eye, the lads went through sparring sequences, pulling their punches and kicks.
By the time the hand-of-force dismissed them, Ronnyn was happy, but exhausted. In the jostle to return to the cabin and use the bathing chamber, he and Sardeon held back.
‘You might have gained stature by discovering the ruin,’ Toryx said as he came up behind them. ‘You might be the all-mother’s choice-sons and her favourites, but once you’re in with the empowered lads, you have to earn your stature among us.’ He let his gift rise with a hint of violence. ‘So watch out.’
I
MOSHEN WATCHED THE
sun set beyond the headlands, thinking that Sorne and Iraayel would be camped near the Celestial City soon: tonight or tomorrow at the latest. She understood why Iraayel had volunteered, even admired him for it, but she just wished he was not with Kyredeon’s warriors. Almost any other brotherhood would have been preferable.
Yet if Tobazim were to become all-father, as she so fervently hoped, then he was the one her choice-son had to impress.
Her sisterhood’s historian passed by, debating hotly with the Mieren scholar Sorne had brought aboard. Igotzon was just as fascinated by the ruin’s frescoes as the two sisterhood historians.
Someone hailed the ship and Imoshen went to the side to see several rowboats drawing near, filled with bedraggled Malaunje.
‘Is this the causare’s ship?’ an old Malaunje woman asked.
‘Yes,’ Imoshen called down. ‘Who are you?’
‘Survivors from All-mother Parazime’s party.’
‘Survivors?’ Imoshen’s heart sank.
‘We were attacked on the road...’ The old woman broke off as a rope ladder was unrolled and they began the climb aboard.
‘So Parazime’s dead,’ Egrayne said, surprising Imoshen, who hadn’t heard her approach. ‘I remember when she won the sisterhood... This is not good. That means one less sisterhood vote.’
‘And half a sisterhood lost.’ Imoshen had given the rest of the sisterhood shelter on her ship.
Egrayne watched the survivors climb aboard searching for someone. ‘Parazime’s daughter’s not amongst them. Such a waste.’
As news of their arrival spread, the other half of Parazime’s sisterhood came running. There was weeping for those lost, but also joy over those who had survived.
Egrayne frowned. ‘Looks like there won’t be enough high-ranking T’En to reform the sisterhood. Hers was always the smallest.’
‘Athazi or Melisarone will have to take in her people,’ Imoshen said.
‘Make it Mel, she needs some new blood. Most of her T’En are over eighty.’
‘I’ll call an all-mother council.’
Imoshen headed down the steps to the mid-deck, where she sent messages to the other ships. Then she found the old Malaunje woman and drew her aside. ‘What happened?’
‘The all-mother waited until we’d brought the harvest in, and we loaded up the wagons. The roads were bad, little more than churned mud for the most part. I don’t know what it’s been like here, but up north we’ve had nothing but rain. We’d been travelling for eight days in the rain and everyone and everything was wet. The first fine day the all-mother said we should try to get our clothing and blankets dry before the little ones took a chill. I had my people strip the carts and lay everything out to dry.
‘That night, a dozen armed men attacked. Parazime and her inner circle fought them off, but they paid a heavy price. Her hand-of-force died in the attack. Parazime was injured. When she learned her daughter was missing, she segued to the higher plane. I think she went looking for her. Our voice-of-reason only lived for another day. After that we abandoned everything heavy, and travelled as fast as we could. We would have been here sooner, but we had to detour around the army besieging Port Mirror-on-Sea.’
‘The port is besieged?’
The old woman nodded. ‘There’s a sea of tents surrounding it. What will happen to us?’
The same question was echoed by the eldest of the T’En survivors. That night All-mother Melisarone welcomed them onto her ship and, the very next day, Imoshen sent a message to Riverbend Stronghold, telling Sorne that King Charald was under siege.
A
RAVELLE BRUSHED HER
little sister’s hair then separated it into lengths and wound the sections around her finger to form ringlets.
Asher, the man she’d thought was her father, had such a head of curls they’d been near impossible to tame. Thinking of him made her chest ache and her eyes blur with tears.
‘Vella sad?’ Itania’s bottom lip trembled.
Aravelle summoned a smile and kissed her nose. ‘All done.’
‘Where’s the tortoise-shell hair comb?’ Hariorta demanded. Itania flinched.
‘It was right there in the chest.’ Charsoria pointed. ‘Nariska, did you take it?’
‘No, no I never.’ The girl ducked her head, shoulders hunched as if she expected a blow.
‘Well, don’t just stand there, you stupid girl. Find it,’ Hariorta snapped. ‘Charsoria makes her report to All-father Hueryx tonight. She needs to look her best.’
While Nariska darted about the cabin frantically searching, Aravelle unrolled Itania’s bed-mat.
‘Hurry, girl. I’m nearly ready for it!’ Hariorta’s hands flew, as she pulled and twisted long strands of Charsoria’s hair to create an ornate style.
‘I’m done,’ Hariorta announced. ‘Now, where is that comb, Nariska?’
Charsoria studied herself in a polished silver mirror. She had painted her face to accentuate her eyes, reddened her lips and powdered her cheeks until they were pale as the moon. Aravelle didn’t consider the all-father’s-voice to be as pretty as her mother, who had never worn face paint. Taken individually, there was nothing wrong with Charsoria’s features. It was her expression... the line of her mouth expressed displeasure and her eyebrows drew together in a habitual frown.
Why did she have to find fault with everything?
As Aravelle knelt next to Itania to sing her to sleep, she noticed the tortoise-shell comb in the corner. And she remembered how Charsoria had been in a temper that morning and had sent the chest flying, scattering clasps and necklaces across the floor.
Before anyone could notice, Aravelle picked up the comb. Keeping it hidden in her hand, she edged over to Nariska, and slipped it into the girl’s hand.
The girl looked down, then up into Aravelle’s eyes in amazement. Aravelle gave her a nod of encouragement.
‘Here it is,’ Nariska said, hurrying over to Hariorta.
‘Finally.’ The woman snatched it from her and went to use it, only to discover that one of the teeth was broken.
‘You stupid girl, I can’t use this.’ She flung it across the room. ‘Fetch me the mother-of-pearl clasp, instead.’
As Nariska hastened to obey, Aravelle had to bite her tongue. If Charsoria hadn’t been in a temper and knocked the chest to the floor, the comb would not have been broken. And Hariorta was just as bad, always looking for an excuse to take offence.
According to Redravia, if Aravelle’s mother hadn’t run away, she would have been the next all-father’s-voice, and Aravelle was sure her mother would never have ruled with spite and sly pinches. She would have organised things efficiently, with a laugh and a smile, and everyone would have run to do her bidding to please her, not because they feared her.
Hariorta stepped back to survey her sister, putting her heel on a dinner tray. In a flash of temper, she kicked the tray aside, shattering the bowls.
‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Hariorta pointed. ‘You should have taken this back to the kitchen, Nariska.’
She should have, but she hadn’t been able to, because she’d been running around the cabin looking for the tortoise-shell comb.
Hariorta snapped her fingers at Aravelle and Nariska. ‘You two, clean up now.’
They gathered the broken crockery, stacked it on the tray and went down to the galley, where the cook’s army of helpers were cleaning up after dinner.
On the way back, Nariska turned to Aravelle. ‘Why did you give me the comb?’
Aravelle didn’t know what to say. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘You could have pointed out my fault and won favour with them.’
Aravelle stiffened. ‘I don’t want anything from them.’
Nariska nodded. ‘Charsoria says you’re proud, too proud.’ The girl glanced up and down the passage. ‘She told Redravia to teach you how to block the brothers’ gifts, but once you were out of the room, she told Redravia not to show you the best techniques. She wants you to suffer.’
Aravelle was not in the least surprised. ‘Charsoria is petty and mean-spirited. She’s nothing like my mother.’
‘Don’t talk about your mother. Both the sisters hated her.’ She glanced down the passage to make sure they were alone. ‘Charsoria should protect us, but she only looks out for herself and her sister. You must be careful of them.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Aravelle was not going to drop her guard. ‘But thank you.’
Nariska smiled, and for a heartbeat, she was beautiful. Then the pinched, frightened look returned. ‘We should hurry back.’
Chapter Nineteen
J
ARAILE LISTENED AT
the air vent. The same two guards were on duty again, and their talk made her smile.
‘...searched the city and we’re the only ones here,’ the unlucky guard said. ‘Your roll.’
‘I heard a woman weeping. And I’m not the only one.’
‘If there was a silverhead hiding in this palace, we’d have found her.’
‘We won’t find her because she’s the shade of someone killed in the battle for the city. I bet she’s a beautiful young virgin.’