ARC: Sunstone (25 page)

“Cinereo?”

“Playing games, Procella?” He sounded amused.

“I cannot…” She pushed at Hunfrith, tried to heave him off, but couldn’t.

“Where is your fight? Your passion?”

She punched the big man furiously in the shoulder, angry at the cloaked man’s words. And yet… Was he right? Was she fighting as hard as she could? Or had she half given up, too tired and demoralised to fight on?

“Your children need you,” Cinereo said.

Her children? In her mind, scenes flashed by. Horada, chained and kept in the dark. Julen, surrounded by flaming elementals. Orsin, tempted and tormented, about to give up everything he believed in because he felt so unloved.

Her chest tightened. “Help me,” she whispered.

“Help yourself.” His voice hardened.

She stared at him, then back at Hunfrith. He was in the process of undoing the ties on his breeches, his fingers moving a tenth of their normal speed.

Help yourself…

She gritted her teeth. Had she ever done anything but? She had never needed a man to rescue her, and she wasn’t going to start now.

She spat blood, shifted beneath the hulk and brought up a knee. At the same time, the glittering dust faded, and Hunfrith’s movements returned to normal.

With every ounce of strength in her body, she connected her knee to the precious part of his body he was just trying to release.

His eyes popped, he let out a low groan and stumbled back. Procella leapt up, launched herself at him and pushed him onto the floor. Straddling him, letting her full fury flood her, she hit him several times across the face, giving a satisfied yell as teeth loosened and something snapped. Then, grabbing the hilt of the dagger on her hip, she ripped it out and pressed the point into the flesh of his neck.

Hunfrith’s eyes met hers. To her delight, fear sparked in them.

Keeping her eyes locked on his, she pushed the blade up into his throat, and deep into his brain, leaning all her weight on it until the hilt met his neck.

When he was dead, she got to her feet and looked around, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Half a dozen of his followers had come through the doorway, but they stopped as they saw Hunfrith on the floor, unmoving.

Victory flooded her veins, made her swell. “Do you want to join him?” she demanded of the men, gesturing to the body. “Anyone?”

The men looked at each other, unsure. One turned and fled. The others gradually lowered their swords.

She raised her blade high. “I am Procella, Dux of the Exercitus!” She glared at them and let her triumph radiate through her. Nobody was going to stop her when her children needed saving. “Never forget it!”

II

The journey out of the mountains was fast and furious, and it passed by mostly in a blur for Tahir. Still in need of food and drink, hazy with confusion about what had just happened, he let Demitto half-carry him through the passageways. Catena walked in front, her hands brushing the walls on either side, guiding their way out. Atavus trotted by their side, inseparable now from the master he had missed so much.

They met Incendi-possessed guards more than once, but each time Demitto and Catena despatched them with speedy ruthlessness, Atavus snarling and biting; then they picked Tahir up and moved on. They wove through the maze of corridors, and at some point exited the pyramid and plunged deep into the heart of the mountain. Tahir lost track of time, of distance, of everything but the sound of feet scuffling on loose stone, the smell of rock dust, the heat and the stifling, oppressive air. At some point, Demitto picked him up completely and carried him, and he lay limp in the emissary’s arms, barely lucid.

And he began to dream. He was back at Harlton, nine years old, and, as usual, he was alone. The other children in the castle had gone down to the river to fish, and they had not asked him to go with them. Perhaps they thought he was busy with princely duties, or maybe they just didn’t know how to speak to the boy whose life was doomed to end on his fourteenth birthday. But at the time he had watched them walk into town with a heavy heart, lonely resentful tears he refused to shed pricking his eyes.

He walked to an oak tree in the castle grounds and lay beneath it, the grass soft like velvet under his back. The sun was high in the sky, and filtered through the tree’s lobed leaves to cast warm patches like drops of melted butter across him, while at the same time a refreshing zephyr brushed his skin. The air smelled clean, of loam and growth, and he could hear birdsong from the branches, the hum of people talking in the distance.

He knew he should be happy. He was privileged – he didn’t want for food, shelter or clothing. He had seen some of the children dressed in rags as he rode through the town, so thin their bones seemed to protrude through their flesh. Catena had once snapped at him when he complained that he didn’t like the venison they had served for dinner, saying at least he had venison, and that as a child, meat for her had been a rarity, with the same bit of bacon boiled umpteen times in a stew to give the vegetables flavour. He hadn’t talked to her for a week after she told him off, but as usual her words had struck home and for some reason played on his mind. The children in the town may have looked thin and scruffy, but they had also looked happy, running away from the royal party to play hopscotch together. He had craned his neck to watch them as his horse plodded towards the castle, and at that moment he would have given anything to have been one of those poor children.

He closed his eyes, trying to let the dappled sunlight soothe him. He was destined to be alone – he just had to come to terms with it.

Someone called his name, and he cursed at this interruption of his peace and sat upright, his irritation fading as he realised it was Catena. She carried a large wooden box, and she was smiling.

“Hey, young prince.” She knelt beside him. “I have something for you.”

He looked at the box with interest. Although he rarely wanted for anything, he rarely received personal presents. “What is it?”

“I am not going to spoil it for you. Open it and see.”

His fingers fumbled on the lid and he looked up at her, startled as he felt movement in the box. He lifted the lid, and stared with delight.

It was a puppy. One of the castle guard dogs had recently given birth to a litter, and he recognised the light grey fur.

“Go on,” Catena said. “Pick it up.”

Tahir stared at her. “Is it… mine?”

She smiled. “All yours.”

He looked down at the puppy, which sat and scratched its ear then jumped up and put its front paws on the edge of the box. It scrabbled to get its hind leg up, but couldn’t quite make it, and gave a short, annoyed yap.

“Father would not like it,” he said, careful to keep the emotion from his voice.

For a moment, Catena said nothing. Then she rested a hand on his shoulder. The rare contact brought tears to his eyes. “I have discussed it with your father,” she said. “I suggested to him that now you have been named the Selected, it is imperative we keep you safe. And he agreed it would be a good idea for you to have a guard dog.” Her words were matter-of-fact, but her eyes showed a softness the statement didn’t convey. That was not why she had given him the puppy – even he in his immaturity recognised that. She had recognised his loneliness and was hoping to remedy it.

He reached out a hand to the puppy, and it licked and nibbled his fingers with tiny teeth. “He is really mine?”

“All yours, my prince.”

He lifted the puppy out. It was a boy, with ears too big for his head and paws too big for his legs. It scrambled over him, turned around and around in his lap, plonked its bottom down at an uneven angle and fell off Tahir’s leg onto the ground.

Tahir laughed and picked him up again. “He is like a court jester.”

“It is good to see you smile,” Catena observed.

Tahir clasped the puppy close and buried his nose behind a velvet ear. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” She pushed herself to her feet and gave the puppy’s head a parting ruffle. “Now you must give him a name.”

“Atavus,” he whispered, realising as she walked away that he would never be alone again. “I shall call him Atavus.”

He opened his eyes. He lay on his side. It was dark, but he could feel a body pressed alongside his stomach, warming him in the cool night. He didn’t realise until that moment how much he had missed the dog.

He buried a hand in Atavus’s fur, and the dog raised his head and nuzzled his hand before lying back down again. Where were they? The light breeze playing across his face suggested they had left the mountains. A light glow from behind him told him he was lying with his back to a fire. He was about to lift himself and turn over, but then he heard murmured words, and he lay still, trying to hear what they were saying.

Demitto and Catena were talking.

“…Cinereo that brought it to a close,” Catena was saying. “I do not know how that happened.”

“Somehow we contacted the Arbor by placing those pendants together,” Demitto murmured. “I had not thought it would work in the mountains as I was told the pendant had to be pushed into the earth to access the Arbor’s channels, but maybe we all just made such a strong connection it did not matter.”

“I cannot believe we actually saw Horada and Julen,” Catena said. “And those people from the future. Who was the man with the silver hair?”

“I do not know. The
Quercetum
carries some information from the third phase of the Apex – that which was recorded in Horada’s time – but as far as I am aware, it is very limited.”

“What happens when the Apex occurs?”

“Catena…”

“It is just the two of us here, Dem. Does Tahir truly have to die? Is there no way we can save him?”

Demitto was silent for a while. Then he said simply, “No.”

Tahir lay as still as he could, but his hand fisted in Atavus’s fur.

“I wish there was something I could do,” Catena said softly. “He has had such a difficult time, living under the shadow of his fate. He is only a boy – he does not deserve it.”

“He is more than a boy,” Demitto said, and his deep voice seemed to ring in the young prince’s ears. “He holds the fate of the whole world in his hands. Why do you think we went to such trouble to rescue him?”

“I know,” she said. “But Tahir will think you did it because you like him, and you must not take that away from him, not now, with Heartwood only days away.”

“I do like him.”

“Not in the way that Tahir would wish it.”

The Prince closed his eyes, shame and embarrassment washing over him.

“He is very… fond of you,” Catena continued.

Tahir waited for the emissary to exclaim in disgust. But instead Demitto said, “I know. You think I am not aware?”

“It does not bother you?”

“Why would it? Love is love, Catena, a precious jewel, and it should be treasured, whatever the source.” The emissary’s words wove around Tahir’s heart and tempered his shame.

Catena gave a soft laugh. “I never thought to hear you speak thus.”

“You thought I did not understand love?” Demitto sounded amused.

“I thought it was very low priority for you.”

“I have been in love,” he protested.

It was Catena’s turn to sound amused. “With your reflection?”

“You mock me. A Hanairean princess broke my heart several years ago and I have never recovered.”

“Was she very beautiful?” Catena sounded wistful.

“Like a princess should be. Blonde hair in long braids, fair skin.”

“What happened?”

“I escorted her to her new husband’s home. And left her there.”

“There has got to be more to the story than that,” Catena scoffed.

He chuckled. “That would be telling.”

“I envy you.”

“You have never been in love?”

“No.” The fire hissed as Catena obviously threw a twig or clump of grass on it. “Never.”

“Catena, now you are breaking my heart.”

“I do not need your pity.”

“It is not pity. Well, all right, maybe a little. Everyone deserves to have some love in their life.”

“I am not saying I am a virgin.” She sounded indignant.

And now he was amused again. “I see.”

Tahir stroked Atavus’s flank, hardly breathing, caught up in what he realised was a courtship ritual, something he had never witnessed before. He had seen the castle guards creep under the kitchen maids’ blanket at night where they slept in the hall, and he thought he knew how babies were made. But he had never seen his father touch his mother other than to hold her hand as they descended from the dais. He had never even seen him kiss her. He had never been party to the rite of seduction, and it made his heart pound and his eyes sting at the same time, as he realised he would never undertake the ritual himself.

“If I wanted a man, I could have him,” Catena said.

Demitto was laughing. “I am certain of that. You are a very determined woman.”

“You are mocking me.”

“No.” Someone shifted on the grass, presumably Demitto. “I would not do that. You fascinate me. You are so strong and self-assured, and yet vulnerable at the same time.”

“I am not weak–”

“Not weak, vulnerable. It is a compliment, Catena. You have the heart of a warrior and the gentleness of a lady. It is a very alluring combination.”

She went quiet for a moment. “Nobody has ever called me alluring before.”

“I am shocked. It was the first word that came to my mind when I saw you.”

She gave a girlish giggle Tahir had never heard her give before. “Stop flattering me.”

“I like flattering you.”

“Demitto… the boy!”

“He is asleep. Do as you are told for once and come here.”

The two of them went quiet, and soon the sounds of lovemaking filled the evening: rustling clothing, hushed whispers, sighs and appreciative murmurs.

Tahir buried his nose in Atavus’s fur, inhaling his deep, doggy scent, taking comfort in his warmth. He wanted to hate Catena for accepting Demitto’s affection, but found he could not. The end of the world was coming, and he was glad they had each other.

Love is love… a precious jewel, and it should be treasured.

He closed eyes, and went back to sleep.