Besieged (31 page)

‘They cheered in triumph, my king,’ Oskane confirmed. ‘They cheered you, while the port and the harbour burned.’

Charald rubbed the scar on his chin. ‘I wish I knew which kingdom–’

‘It’s not much of a drawing,’ Cedon sneered. ‘In the palace, the paintings look so real, you could walk into them.’

Sorne bristled.

‘This is a simple ink illustration, my prince. It was not drawn by a trained artist,’ Oskane said.

‘What, the half-blood drew it?’ Nitzel asked.

I’m right here.
But Sorne did not speak.

‘The Warrior’s-voice,’ Oskane said, applying enough emphasis to make it a title.

‘How do you know the half-blood didn’t draw something he’d already seen?’ Nitzel continued.

Oskane stiffened. ‘He has never left this retreat.’

‘You could have described it to him.’

‘Enough.’ The king sounded bored. ‘We’ll know tomorrow evening, one way or the other.’ He turned to Oskane. ‘I could do with some wine, and bread and cheese, to hold me until dinner.’

‘This way.’

Oskane led them past Sorne without acknowledging him.

Not one of them looked at him. Not even Cedon, who only came up to his chin. Sorne’s top lip curled in contempt. If Nitzel was anything to go by, Cedon would not grow any bigger. Not that it mattered; his opinion of himself was big enough.

Sorne waited until they had entered the dining room, then went down the stairs and across the empty courtyard to the stable.

The travellers’ horses filled all the available stalls. He and Izteben would be sleeping in the hayloft. He could smell Hiruna’s delicious potato and leek soup but, when he entered the kitchen, he saw that it was Izteben serving up yesterday’s soup and bread to Valendia.

‘Where’s...’ Even as he asked, Sorne knew. Hiruna and Zabier would be serving the visitors’ food. Franto had taught her to make some fancy dishes for this occasion.

Silently, Izteben put a bowl on the table in front of Sorne.

Izteben sat opposite, mulberry eyes stormy in the candle light. ‘I can’t believe you’ve known all along.’

‘I didn’t. I found out the day we went down the mine but, with everything that happened...’ he shrugged.

‘So you’ve been laughing at me all this time? Slumming it with the wood-worker’s son!’

‘Izteben...’

‘Izteben...’ Valendia echoed. She looked from him to Sorne and her bottom lip trembled.

Sorne pulled her onto his lap and pretended to eat her dinner. She protested and took the spoon, feeding herself.

He looked up to Izteben, who gave him a reluctant smile.

‘I always wondered why Oskane was so hard on you,’ he said. ‘It never seemed fair.’

‘I don’t think much of life is fair. I think the deck has been stacked against us half-bloods, and we have to make our own luck.’ Sorne felt his face grow hot. ‘I was there as they looked at the drawing of my vision. Not one of them spoke to me. It was like I didn’t exist.’

‘If you’re the king’s eldest son, Nitzel must wish you didn’t exist.’

‘A half-blood? I’m no threat.’ Sorne dipped his bread in the soup. Plain fare but hearty, unlike what would be served in the dining room tonight. ‘They’re trying to come between us and Zabier. Oskane and Franto, I mean.’

‘I know.’

‘They’re grooming him to serve the church.’

Izteben shrugged. ‘What does it matter? We won’t be staying here. Oskane will be powerful again and Zabier will be coming with us. He could have stayed in the village with father’s brother, but he chose to come back, so now he has to make his way in the world. According to Oskane, the church is powerful and independent of the king.’

Izteben stood and made up a plate of food for the she-Wyrd. ‘Do you want to go, or...’

‘I’ll go.’ Sorne slid off the seat, setting Valendia in his place.

He crossed the courtyard under the maple tree. Through the windows he could see the king and his barons eating and drinking, while Hiruna and Zabier ran about, bringing more wine and taking away plates.

Watching the high table, Sorne felt sick with jealousy. He should have been there. He was the king’s son, and Oskane’s relative by blood.

Instead, he went down the dark steps to the cellars.

The she-Wyrd was waiting for him at the bars of her cell. ‘So the king is dancing to the priest’s tune now?’

He slid the tray under her door.

‘Do you have my button?’

‘I didn’t get a chance to make the swap. Besides, I think the gift residue is fading.’

‘Depends how the artefact is kept.’ She pulled the tray closer and dipped the bread in the soup. ‘A lead-lined chest will keep it fresh for years. Silver’s good at absorbing power.’

He watched her eat, meticulous, tidy. How could she bear being imprisoned?

She looked up. ‘So, you’re going to perform for this True-man king, summon a god and have a vision?’

‘I’m going to be powerful.’ He leaned one shoulder against the wall, arms folded across his chest. ‘I’m never going to be a prisoner.’

‘You’ve been a prisoner since the day you were born.’

‘We’ve been through this before. Am I a prisoner if I know they’re lying to me? Who imprisons who, if I use the lies for my own ends?’

A chair scraped overhead and a man shouted something, followed by rowdy laughter; the she-Wyrd flinched.

‘Are you done?’

She slid the tray towards him. As he reached under the bars, she caught his hand. ‘Find the key. Let me out tonight.’

He broke free, annoyed at himself for letting her touch him. ‘I can’t. They’d know who did it.’

‘Free me tonight and I’ll take you, your brother and your sister to the T’En. These True-men are using you.’

He turned to go.

‘It isn’t safe,’ she called after him. ‘Don’t risk your life for nothing.’

But it wasn’t nothing. It was a chance to win the king’s trust and respect; it was a chance to impress his father.

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘F
INALLY, SOME FOOD,
’ Imoshen said, as several Malaunje entered bearing trays. The day seemed to have gone on forever. She was tired, weary beyond belief and worried. The longer the all-mothers debated, the less likely it seemed that they would offer sanctuary.

The Malaunje placed the food on the low table. When Imoshen thanked them, they gave her an odd look and backed out.

‘I don’t think I was supposed to thank them,’ Imoshen said, as she prodded some pretty tarts. She nibbled one before deciding it was safe to give to Iraayel.

‘In the brotherhood, the T’En rarely thanked the Malaunje. It was as if we were invisible,’ Frayvia said. ‘I think they’re just curious about you. Everyone will have heard by now. Even the brotherhoods.’

‘I thought there was a state of armed truce between the males and females.’

‘There is, but the Malaunje mingle. Things are overheard at festivals and ceremonies. And in the free quarter, there are sisterhood shops just around the corner from brotherhood businesses. Messages are passed.’

Imoshen could hardly eat, but she made sure Iraayel had a good meal. They were used to going to bed with the sun, and Iraayel was tired, so they curled up in front of the fire and sang him to sleep.

‘Do you think the all-mother council is finished yet?’ Imoshen whispered. ‘That gift-tutor doesn’t like me. She’s afraid of me, and I don’t know why.’

‘You mustn’t use your raedan gift on her. If you do and she senses it, she could challenge you to a duel.’

‘They duel?’

Frayvia nodded. ‘If one T’En insults another’s stature, the one who was insulted will challenge the other to a duel.’

‘What kind of duel?’

‘Either on the empyrean plane or on this plane. You’ve no gift training and you’ve never been taught to defend yourself with long-knives. You mustn’t do anything to insult the gift-tutor, or anyone else, for that matter. Promise me?’

‘I wouldn’t set out to insult anyone. But how do I know what they’ll find insulting? Even you don’t know how they do things in the sisterhoods. I’ll keep my head down and observe them.’

More time passed and no one sent for them. Warmed by the fire, Imoshen fought sleep. ‘Do you think All-mother Aayelora will give us sanctuary?’

‘Not if the gift-tutor has anything to say about it.’

Imoshen hugged Frayvia. ‘I’m so glad I didn’t lose you.’

‘I beg your pardon. The all-mother...’

They came out of the embrace to find a Malaunje behind them. He looked away as though embarrassed.

Frayvia shrugged off Imoshen’s arm, whispering, ‘We must maintain proper distance.’

Imoshen wanted to argue, but she came to her feet. ‘My apologies. You were saying?’

‘You have been summoned to the all-mother council.’

Imoshen swallowed and glanced to Frayvia. ‘Stay with Iraayel. He’ll be frightened if he wakes and I’m not here. Hopefully, I’ll be back soon with good news.’

The council chamber was so beautiful it stole her breath. A row of arched windows looked out onto a terraced garden, where lights flickered in fanciful topiary trees.

Inside the long chamber, scented candles and mirrors lit the assembled women. At a quick count, there were around thirty of them, all beautifully dressed in silks and brocades. Gleaming stones flashed when they gestured. Their hair was piled in elaborate styles, fixed with jewelled combs.

With so many powerful gifted women present, the room was filled with tension: Imoshen’s own gift stirred. Focusing, she forced down her power, just as she had been doing ever since they arrived in the city.

‘So many all-mothers–’

‘There are six sisterhoods. The all-mothers have come with their seconds,’ Egrayne told her, ‘and their gift-tutors, since the matters under discussion included your addiction to the male gift. Some brought their sisterhood historians, too.’

Imoshen didn’t like being described as an addict, but she kept quiet. She looked up at the tall T’En. ‘I remember you from Aayelora’s inner circle. You aren’t the gift-tutor, or her voice-of-reason, or hand-of-force. Are you a historian?’

‘No. I’m the T’Enatuath’s empowerer.’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

‘It means I can reach into a child of thirteen or fourteen and identify their gift and help focus it, so that they can begin studying right away, instead of wasting years while they try to work out what kind of gift they have. You say you are a raedan?’

‘That’s what Reothe and Frayvia said.’

‘Then be prepared, they may ask me to confirm it. Or they may ask you to prove it.’

‘Imoshen of no sisterhood, step forward,’ Gift-tutor Vittoryxe said.

Imoshen walked across the marble floor, all too aware of the ragged state of her clothes.

The women whispered and pointed, and she could feel them judging her, feel their gifts battering against her defences.

‘Stand here,’ Egrayne said, before stepping behind her.

Imoshen faced the gathering of powerful all-mothers and their sisters. These were the women Rohaayel had planned to defeat, using her sacrare son. She had to impress them enough to offer her sanctuary, but not so much that they found her dangerous.

‘Your presence here means the covenant that has stood for four hundred years has been broken,’ All-mother Aayelora said. ‘You come asking for sanctuary. You come after escaping brotherhood warriors sent to kill you. You come claiming to be a raedan. You come claiming to have birthed a healthy sacrare. Do you deny any of this?’

Imoshen shook her head, then in the interests of honesty, she added. ‘I don’t claim the last two things. Others described me as a raedan. And I had a sacrare boy – that is a fact. I had him for less than a day, but he was p–perfect.’ Tears blurred her vision.

The women whispered. Imoshen blinked and studied their faces. The instinct to draw on her gift was overpowering. Her gift rose and she saw fear, disbelief and jealousy. Mostly, she saw fear. Fear of change, she guessed.

‘No respect...’

‘What do you expect of a brotherhood-raised...’

‘She has no idea.’

In one woman’s face she saw sympathy, and Imoshen held her eyes as she spoke in her own defence. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. The wrong was done to me.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Gift-tutor Vittoryxe said. ‘She–’

Aayelora held up her hand for silence. ‘We have our doubts about you, Imoshen. Not that you were wronged, but that it would be safe to take you into our sisterhoods. We cannot turn you out, but we do not know if we can accept you.’

Imoshen blinked. Was the all-mother saying they would rather kill her than let her go? Her gift leapt to defend her. A rush of power made her heart race and skin itch. She heard Egrayne’s soft intake of breath behind her.

‘Is she truly a raedan?’ one of the women asked. ‘Have the T’Enatuath’s empowerer test her claim.’

Was her raedan gift the only thing that stood between her and execution?

Imoshen felt Egrayne approach her from behind. ‘Do you agree to this?’

‘What choice do I have?’

‘Then kneel and lower your defences.’

Imoshen knelt. The only person she had ever lowered her defences for was Reothe, and she struggled to do it now, with so many hostile women judging her. Egrayne placed large, warm hands on her neck. Fingers slipped up her cheeks to her temples. The gathering looked on in silence.

Imoshen felt trapped.

‘Drop your walls,’ Egrayne urged.

‘I can’t.’

Egrayne raised her voice. ‘Her shields are too powerful. She must prove her raedan ability by reading some of us.’

Imoshen’s knees felt weak as she tried to stand. Egrayne hauled her to her feet.

‘That’s no test,’ Gift-tutor Vittoryxe said. ‘I could guess how we are all feeling. Worried, angry–’

‘Frightened of change,’ Imoshen said. It was so much easier not to fight her instincts. She saw Vittoryxe flinch. ‘Why do you feel guilty? I don’t understand.’

‘I don’t. That’s nonsense.’

She was lying. Imoshen searched the faces of the sisterhoods’ most powerful T’En women and came back to the one who felt sympathy for her. This sister wanted to...

‘Heal me. You think I have been injured by the brotherhood, and you want to heal me.’