Sanctuary (18 page)

‘Fire isn’t blue,’ he told her kindly.

There was a snort of laughter and Imoshen looked up to find her sisterhood’s voice-of-reason had joined them.

‘Fire isn’t blue,’ Deyne repeated. ‘Fire’s yellow and red.’

‘This fire is blue.’ Imoshen knelt and put Umaleni down. Then she opened her gift senses and called the foretaste of lightning to her. It was a trick she used to perform for Iraayel. Back when they had lived on the island, they would stand at the top of the lighthouse and she would make the blue flames dance on her fingertips.

Now she smiled as Deyne and Umaleni gasped and laughed with delight.

‘You didn’t tell us you had control of fire.’ Egrayne sounded annoyed.

‘It’s not real fire. It can’t burn,’ Imoshen said, transferring the flames from one hand to the other. ‘It’s what’s in the air before a storm. There’s a lot of it around tonight. Can’t you sense it?’

Tiasarone and Egrayne glanced to each other, then shook their heads.

‘It’s nothing.’ Imoshen shrugged. ‘A harmless child’s game.’

‘If you can call this, can you call lightning and thunder?’ Tiasarone asked.

‘No.’

‘Maybe even a storm?’ Egrayne pressed.

‘I’m no weather-worker. I can’t call up the slightest breeze. Believe me, I’ve tried.’ Thirteen years ago this mid-winter, they’d fled the lighthouse island. If she could have called a fog to hide their flight, she would have. ‘All I can do is call this useless blue fire.’

‘Pretty.’ Deyne reached out to touch it.

Tiasarone pulled his hand back.

‘Don’t worry. It won’t burn,’ Imoshen said.

‘It’s the sea god’s sign,’ a man whispered.

They all turned to see the Malaunje ship’s master. He was a dour veteran of many voyages, but right now he looked stunned and more than a little fearful. He backed up a step, eyeing Imoshen warily.

‘It’s harmless,’ she told him.

He shook his head. ‘The Mieren say the sea god manifests as blue fire. He blesses a ship by dancing on the masts. Sometimes he warns if a storm is coming. And sometimes, he appears in a ball of light that can burst and claim a sailor’s life.’ He swallowed. It was more than Imoshen had ever heard him say. ‘I’ve always wondered...’

‘Well, now you know it has nothing to do with gods,’ Egrayne snapped. She turned back to the others, muttering. ‘Really. Malaunje are as bad as Mieren, sometimes!’

The ship’s master stiffened and retreated.

Imoshen felt for him. She’d grown up surrounded by Malaunje, with regular visits from her covenant-breaking father and his seconds, and she knew how much the half-bloods resented the T’En.

‘I’m sorry.’ She rose, brushing her hands to disperse the flames. ‘I thought all T’En could call blue fire. It was a game I played for Iraayel back on Lighthouse Isle.’

Egrayne and Tiasarone exchanged looks.

Imoshen’s raeden gift read their silence. She’d reminded them of her unorthodox upbringing and made them uncomfortable. Surely they trusted her after all she’d done: executing her own father, birthing a sacrare daughter, accepting leadership of the sisterhood and then taking on the causareship.

‘Up!’ Umaleni tugged on her hand.

Eager to hide her true feelings, Imoshen bent down, lifted her daughter and buried her face in the toddler’s chubby neck. Umaleni wriggled with pleasure, then gave a wide yawn, revealing her brand new baby teeth.

‘The children should have their wash and their dinner,’ Tiasarone announced.

Imoshen smiled down at little Deyne. ‘Let’s go.’

He beamed and, with all the dignity of a great all-father, offered Imoshen his arm. She accepted it, sure no one could resist his grave courtesy, and headed for the steps.

‘What a pity you’re not a weather-worker,’ Egrayne said, falling in with her. ‘We could use a good wind when we set off for Ivernia.’

‘Oh, if I could summon the wind things would have been very different.’ She would not have lost her first bond-partner, Reothe, and her sacrare son the night they ran away. A fog would have hidden them all and Reothe would not have had to fight off their pursuers, so she could escape with their son, four-year-old Iraayel and Frayvia.

If Reothe had escaped with her, they would have run to one of the islands and made a home for themselves, free of brotherhood and sisterhood interference. Together and free. They’d been so young and so much in love...

Tears stung her eyes. Thirteen years this midwinter and she could still weep for them and their ill-fated dreams.

Imoshen hoped she never forgot.

J
ARAILE HAD THOUGHT
the brotherhood palace luxurious, but the sisterhood palace surpassed it. Naturally, Eskarnor had claimed the biggest and best palace for himself then selected chambers for her. She had her own balcony looking west across the city to the lakeside town. It was so high above the city, it gave her vertigo.

She had a suite of bedrooms, her own private bathing chamber and a reception room, every possible luxury, but it was a gilded cage.

Now it was dusk and she wandered along the balcony, wrapped in furs. She was naked underneath, having just come from the bathing chamber and, before that, Eskarnor’s bed. It did not matter how often she washed, she could not wash the smell of him from her skin. She hated the way he made her feel.

She consoled herself with the fact that her kinsman, Baron Kerminzto, had escaped. In a way, this was what had saved her life. The first night up here, her second in the city, the thought of her little boy dying alone without her and been more than she could bear. She’d been prepared to jump off the balcony when Eskarnor was called from the bed and Captain Pataxo reported that they had closed the gates and searched the city, but Kerminzto had eluded them. How Eskarnor had raged.

Now she spotted people coming up the stairwell from the grand hall: Pataxo and one of the barons. She thought it might be Aingeru. She slipped inside to where Eskarnor lay sprawled on the bed, his big hairy chest rising and falling as he slept. The moment she knelt on the bed his eyes sprang open.

He slept like a warrior, always alert. She’d learnt that the first night.

‘Someone comes,’ she said.

A moment later there was a knock on the door.

Eskarnor swung his legs off the bed, found his breeches, pulled them up and laced them closed. He drew her close, sliding his hands under the fur.

‘Your skin’s so soft,’ he muttered, calloused hands running over her thighs and belly. ‘Look what you do to me.’ He took her hand and cupped himself. ‘Don’t get dressed. I’ll be right back.’

Waiting a few moments, she went to the adjoining bathing chamber; she had discovered that the air vent here carried sound from the passage. She stretched out on the floor to listen.

‘...taken my wife and children to the palace,’ Aingeru was saying. ‘He’s holding them hostage. She managed to get a message to me. Here it is.’

‘A pox on that half-blood. I don’t know why he’s loyal to Charald,’ Eskarnor said. There was a pause as he read the message. ‘Sorne’s gathering an army. He’s calling up the men the barons sent home to bring in the harvest, calling them in the king’s name, the devious, conniving...’

‘They’re to meet him at Riverbend Stronghold. If you send me and my men, I can lie in wait for him, pretend to go over to his side and murder him in his bed. Wipe out the nest of rebels,’ Aingeru offered.

‘So you can... Prepare your men and ride out tomorrow.’

She heard the sound of footsteps going down the long passage.

‘Aingeru is mad for that wife of his,’ Pataxo said. ‘I can’t see him risking her life. And there’s the children, three fine sons. A man needs... What if the half-blood has kidnapped all the barons’ families?’

‘Good riddance to mine,’ Eskarnor muttered. ‘All she’s given me is a daughter. I need a son and heir. If the half-blood kills her, he’ll be freeing me to marry the queen.’

‘But the other barons –’

‘Don’t you say a word about this to them.’

‘Aingeru’s men will know. They’ll talk.’

‘So they will. But the half-blood is only one man. He can’t have ridden the length and breadth of Chalcedonia in five days. Tomorrow we leave for port. Once we have the king and the prince under siege...’

Jaraile’s head buzzed as her heart raced. Did he just say what she thought he’d said? Her son lived?

‘...cut off from his commander. The half-blood’ll be too busy trying to work out how to break the siege and save Charald and Cedon to take any more of the barons’ families hostage. Send Ikor to me.’

‘Why?’

‘He can prove he really is my man. I’ll send him and his men with Aingeru. If Aingeru lets his cock decide his loyalty, Ikor can bring me his head.’

‘Ikor’s estate lies to the east on the coast just south of the port, won’t he be tempted –’

‘I’ll tell Aingeru to watch over him and at the first sign of disloyalty to bring me his head. They’ll both be so busy watching each other, they’ll stay loyal!’ Eskarnor laughed, pleased with himself.

Booted feet strode off.

‘Oh, and Pataxo?’ Eskarnor called. The boots stopped. ‘I’m leaving you with two hundred men to hold the Wyrd city.’

‘But –’

‘But nothing. I’m trusting you with the queen. She carries my child. She legitimises my claim to the throne. The people love her. Hold onto this city and hold onto her, or you won’t hold onto your head.’

Jaraile sprang to her feet, mind racing.

Her son lived.

The Wyrds had not killed him. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks.

‘Raila?’ Eskarnor called.

She dropped her fur and stepped into the sunken bath, running more hot water.

She ducked under the water, coming up just as he entered the bathing chamber.

‘Washing again?’ he asked, then his expression grew hungry as he took in her wet, rosy skin. ‘There’s something to be said for bathing.’

He dropped his breeches, climbed into the tub and reached for her.

Her mind went away as she planned how to escape. She had to reach Sorne and warn him that Aingeru was going to betray him.

If Eskarnor was leaving tomorrow then she would be left here with Pataxo and his men in the palace. They could not watch her all the time.

T
HAT EVENING,
R
ONNYN
saw one of the T’En women slide a tray through a flap into the secret chamber, when she thought no one was looking. What kind of life was that? Why would they keep a T’En girl hidden? Why be so cruel when they were so kind to the rest of the children? True, they were all boys. As well as his three brothers, there were another four boys, ranging in age from two to six.

The T’En women sang the boys to sleep and All-mother Reoden fed baby Ashmyr. As she settled him in his cot, her Malaunje servant came over to Ronnyn.

‘The healer’s going to work on your bad arm,’ Meleya said. ‘Go wait in the bathing chamber.’

He did as he was told and, a moment later, the healer joined him. She took a seat at the marble table. ‘Roll up your sleeve.’

He did this, leaned forward and placed his bad arm on the cool, slick marble. Looking at his forearm, with its misshapen muscle and scar tissue, he felt a pang of shame. It hurt, too. Sometimes, when he moved it without thinking or tried to carry something heavy, bolts of pain would shoot down his arm, making the muscles lock up.

The healer sat opposite him and turned up the lamp. He could feel her gathering her gift. The power was pure and clean, and it made his heart race and his body sing.

‘Both arms,’ Healer Reoden said. She studied his arms, then placed her hands on his forearms and closed her eyes as her fingers pressed into the muscles down the length of his forearms, driving her gift into his body.

‘What are you doing?’ he whispered, fascinated.

A smile tugged at her lips. ‘I’m working out how your good arm is made and comparing it to how your bad arm has been injured and healed imperfectly. That way I can urge your bad arm to grow in the right direction.’

‘Could you have healed it completely, if I’d come to you when it happened?’

‘Yes.’

But he’d been living on the island then. His mother and his sister had done the best they could for him. Aravelle had massaged his arm every day, trying to make the knotted, twisted muscles straighten, pulling, twisting, forcing his arm to work.

‘Your Malaunje sister did well.’

He stiffened. ‘Can you sense my thoughts?’

‘With touch, sometimes. It’s something we can all do, but it’s considered rude and intrusive, if we do it without consent. I wasn’t sensing your thoughts. I was focusing on the healing and thinking how much worse this would have been if not for your sister’s dedication. Were you thinking of her?’

Only all the time. But he didn’t say that.

‘Without her massages, your arm would have curled up, pulling tight until it was useless.’

He flushed, remembering how Aravelle would massage his arm and how he had used the opportunity to call his power and try to breach her defences. Back then, his gift had raged to be used.

On board the ship, his gift had not risen once. The way the healer’s power pulsed through his body should have roused it.

Now that he thought about it, his power hadn’t risen properly since the night the Mieren had raped his mother and sister. He’d been so furious then that his gift had broken free, leaving him exhausted and drained.

He should have protected them...

‘You’re tensing up. I need you to relax.’ Reoden gave a little huff of annoyance. ‘It’s a pity your gift isn’t manifesting. I could have tapped into it, to help the healing.’

‘It isn’t?’

She shook her head, eyes still closed in concentration. ‘I feel no hint of power in you.’

But it had been moving.

His gift’s drive to be used had once been so powerful it had shaped the way he thought, making him resent Aravelle because she wouldn’t let him test his power on her. Looking back, he found it hard to believe he’d behaved like that.

‘What I’m going to do next will hurt. I have to reform some of the worst muscle damage. Try to think of something else. Ready?’