The Sentinel Mage (5 page)

“We must guard you,” Dareus said. “There’s a bounty on your head. Every man in Osgaard will be trying to kill you.”

“I will
not
sleep in the same tent as a witch.” Harkeld articulated each word carefully, cutting them off with his teeth.

“You have no choice, prince.” The old man’s voice was faintly apologetic.

Harkeld laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Try it, and you’ll be one witch short.”

There was silence for a moment, except for the faint crackle of the fire and a soft sigh from one of the horses.

“Very well,” Dareus said finally, without inflection.

Harkeld nodded. He turned on his heel.

CHAPTER FIVE

“I
DON’T LIKE
him,” Gerit said.

“We could kill him while he sleeps,” Petrus suggested, his tone only half-joking. His pale hair gleamed like silver in the firelight. “And claim the bounty for ourselves.”

Gerit grunted a laugh. “And the curse?”

“We only need his blood,” Petrus said. “And his hands.”

“He’s afraid of us,” Innis said, reaching for her mug. “He’s afraid of magic. When I healed him, he fought it the whole time.” She’d been aware of the prince’s fear, aware of how much effort it had taken him to sit still, to let her heal him.

“Afraid?” Gerit said sourly. “Seems to me he hates us.”

“Of course he does,” Cora said. “Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms does. They think we’re monsters.” She flicked her plait over her shoulder and shrugged. “You know the stories they tell about us.”

Dareus leaned forward and stirred the fire. “The prince needs a guard. We need to make sure he’s never alone.” He jabbed at the logs, making sparks rise into the sky. “That cursed bounty!”

“He needs a personal armsman,” Cora said. “One who won’t try to kill him.”

Gerit exhaled through his nose, a sound that was almost a laugh.

Innis didn’t laugh. She remembered the prince’s armsman raising his sword, murderous determination on his face.

“He needs an armsman who’s a mage,” Dareus said. “And that’s what we’ll give him.”

“One of us?” Ebril said. “But you heard what he said. He’ll kill—”

Dareus shook his head. “We’ll give him someone he doesn’t know is a mage.”

“But he’s seen us all,” Petrus protested.

“We’ll give him a shapeshifter.”

Ebril whistled between his teeth. “Take the shape of another human? That’s forbidden.”

“We’re Sentinel mages. We can do whatever needs doing.” Gerit leaned forward, his gaze on Dareus. The shadows accentuated the bristling eyebrows, the bristling beard. “But what I want to know is whether this prince is worth breaking a Primary Law for.”

“For the sake of so many lives? Yes.”

Gerit shrugged and sat back.

“Who’ll do it?” Petrus asked. “Me or—”

“Innis,” Dareus said. “She’s the only one who can hold a shift long enough.”

Innis’s mouth fell open.
Me?
But the word remained unuttered on her tongue. All she could do was stare at Dareus. What he suggested was doubly forbidden: to take the form of another person; to change gender.

“She’s too young for something that demanding!” Petrus said. “She’s not yet twenty.”

“Innis’s strength as a shapeshifter is why she was chosen to join us,” Dareus said. “Her age isn’t an issue.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Petrus persisted. “She’ll lose her sense of self. She could go mad!”

“You and Gerit and Ebril can relieve her for a few hours each day,” Dareus said. “So she may be herself.” He looked across the campfire at her. “Innis?”

Innis wanted to say no. Petrus was right—it was a dangerous undertaking. She’d be living as another person. It would be easy to lose herself and go mad.

She looked down at her hands. She’d sworn the oath of a Sentinel: to protect the innocent, to place the welfare of others ahead of her own. Tens of thousands of lives depended on Prince Harkeld. He was the single most important person in the Seven Kingdoms.

“I’ll do it.”

As soon as the words were out, she wanted to take them back. Dismay surged inside her.

“Are you certain you can do it, girl?”

She looked at Gerit.

“I don’t question your ability to take male form, or to hold it—you’re the strongest shapeshifter I’ve ever seen. What I want to know is, can you act like a man?” Gerit pinned her with his gaze, his eyes dark pits beneath shaggy eyebrows. “An armsman would be assertive, girl. He’d be confident.” She heard the unspoken words:
And you’re not.

“I have faith in Innis,” Dareus said.

Gerit ignored the comment. “Can you do it, girl?”

Could she? Innis glanced at Petrus. He was staring at her, a fierce frown on his face. He shook his head.
Don’t do it.

Innis studied him. She’d trained alongside Petrus for years. She knew him inside out—how he talked, how he ate, how he cleared his throat and spat when he thought she wasn’t looking.
I’ll pretend to be him.
She’d mimic his maleness, his easy confidence. She turned to Gerit. “Yes, I can do it.”

“I hope you’re right, girl,” Gerit said. “Because if the prince suspects the truth, he’s likely to kill you.”

“He’ll never know,” Dareus said.

“But won’t he notice we’re a mage short?” Cora asked.

“Not if we’re careful. He’ll see Innis for a few hours each day; the rest of the time he’ll think she’s in animal form.” Dareus scratched his jaw, his brow furrowed in thought. “Tomorrow I’ll ride back to the port. Petrus, you come with me. The rest of you head for the mountains.”

“The port?” Gerit said. “Is that necessary?”

“The armsman will need his own horse and weapons, if he’s to be believable.”

Gerit grunted. “True.”

“Innis, let the prince see you as a hawk, then come after me.”

“And tonight?” Ebril asked. His red hair glinted in the firelight. “How do we guard the prince?”

“I could be a mouse,” Innis said. “Or a—”

“Too dangerous,” Gerit said. “The mood he’s in, he finds a mouse in his tent he’ll chop it into pieces.”

“Tonight we’ll guard from the outside,” Dareus said. He stood. Innis saw how tired he was. “Ebril, take the first watch. Gerit, the second.”

Innis stayed seated while the others rose, while bowls and mugs were collected. She stared at the fire, at the leaping flames, at the bark curling up, shriveling, blackening as the logs burned.
Taking the form of a man isn’t something to fear. It’s a challenge. A chance to prove my advancement to Sentinel wasn’t a mistake.

“Innis?”

She glanced up. Petrus stood there.

He sat down alongside her, the log shifting slightly with his weight. “Are you certain you can do this? Because if you don’t want to—”

“I have to. This is why they made me a Sentinel. For tasks like this.” Fear tightened in her belly. “Petrus, will you watch me? You know me better than anyone else. You’ll see if...if I start—”

“I won’t let you go mad.” His voice held utter conviction. He reached out and took one of her hands. “You’re strong, Innis. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Innis smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re here.” He was her anchor, her friend, the closest thing she had to a brother.

“I’ll always be here.” Petrus’s grip tightened. He had a swordsman’s callused fingers. “You did well today, at the palace.”

The praise made her flush. Innis touched the log lightly with her other hand. Her parents were buried in the soil an ocean away, but the All-Mother connected them—wood, soil, water.
Are you proud?
she asked.
I’m a Sentinel now, like you were.

Petrus stood, pulling her to her feet. “Come on sleepyhead, bed-time.” He turned her towards the tents, giving her a little push. “Go. Sleep. You’ll need all your strength tomorrow.”

CHAPTER SIX

J
AUMÉ WOKE TO
rain on his face. For a moment he lay blinking, and then memory flooded back: Rosa’s scream, the smell of Mam’s blood. He sat up and rubbed his face, knuckling his eyes, trying to push the memory out of his head. But no matter how hard he rubbed, he couldn’t erase the memory of Rosa swinging from Da’s grip. He heard her scream above the rain.

Rain.

Thirst kicked in. He lifted his face to the sky, opening his mouth.

Once the gulping thirst had eased, Jaumé started walking, staying in the fir forest, paralleling the road. His pace was slow. Hunger cramped his belly.

Soon he’d reach Neuly, and in Neuly there’d be food.

But what if the curse had passed him while he slept? What if Neuly’s water was already poisoned? What if—?

Jaumé froze as a man on horseback came around a bend in the road ahead of him. He crouched low behind a tree trunk, scarcely daring to breathe.

Horse and rider drew closer. The horse was ambling, its hooves splashing in the puddles. The man sat relaxed, the hood of his brown woolen cape pulled over his head.

Should I warn him?

Fear kept Jaumé hidden as horse and rider came abreast of him. What if the man was like Da? What if the curse had already taken him?

The traveler began to whistle despite the rain, a cheerful, jaunty tune.

It was the whistling that decided him. Jaumé stepped out from behind the tree. “Wait!”

The rider halted. He turned in his saddle, pushing the hood back. He had a farmer’s face, tanned and weather-beaten, jovial.

“Girond has the curse,” Jaumé said. “Don’t go there.”

The farmer laughed. “Away with you, boy. Find someone else to frighten.”

“It’s true.”

The man shook his head. “The curse is a tale, boy.”

“It’s
true
,” Jaumé insisted, an edge of desperation in his voice. “They’re killing each other.”

The farmer’s face lost its joviality. For a long moment he did nothing but stare at Jaumé, then he hauled on the reins, turning his horse around. He dug his heels into its flanks.

The horse reared forward.

“Wait!” Jaumé shouted. He began to run. “Take me with you!”

But the farmer didn’t slow down.