Besieged (46 page)

‘A beating?’

‘At the very least.’

‘Ask around. See what more you can learn.’

Harosel nodded and left him alone.

To think, he’d believed this trip would be a waste of time.

S
ORNE FELT LIGHT
as air as he told his holy-swords to wait and followed the priest. The Father’s church was beautifully designed, but the deeper he went into the labyrinth the older the buildings became, dating back hundreds of years.

Now that little Zabier was high priest of the Seven, he ranked alongside the king’s barons. In fact, Oskane would have said he ranked above them, since he was independent, with the vast power of the church behind him. Theoretically, as the Warrior’s-voice with the king’s trust, Sorne’s power rivalled Zabier’s. Perhaps they could finally realise Izteben’s dream for the half-bloods.

Right now, the priest was taking Sorne to see the Father’s-voice, but all Sorne could think of was his family. He wanted to hug Hiruna and laugh at her tears of joy. Would Valendia recognise him? He’d sailed just before she turned four, and all he could remember was red-gold curls, dimples and a little voice that repeated everything he said.

Now that he thought about it, he wanted time alone with Zabier, to ask how Izteben had died. Why had Izteben succumbed so easily, when he’d survived eight years of interactions with the higher plane?

At last they came to the high priest’s chambers. Zabier’s assistant, Utzen, looked up from his desk, and then gestured for Sorne to go into the next chamber.

Sorne was ready to confront Zabier about Izteben, but he didn’t see the Father’s-voice, he saw the boy who had crossed Chalcedonia to come home.

Zabier cleared his throat. ‘I take it you want to ask about Izteben’s death.’

‘You were only thirteen. Izteben knew what he was doing. I mourn our brother’s loss, but I don’t hold you responsible.’

Sorne wanted to grab him by the shoulders and hug him as if they were boys again, but the desk stood between them; that and eight years. He’d spent those years warring. He suspected Zabier had spent them politicking.

Zabier looked down. When he lifted his head again, he was the Father’s-voice. ‘Come.’

He led Sorne into the next chamber, to a sturdy wooden door, which he unlocked.

‘So they aren’t in the same apartment?’

‘That was eight years ago,’ Zabier said as he opened the door to reveal a narrow stair. ‘Valendia needed to be able to run around in the open air.’

Sorne followed his brother up a narrow staircase to another door, which Zabier opened.

The room ran along under the roof. Dormer windows looked out over a courtyard on his right. On his left, tall doors with many panes of glass opened onto a rooftop garden. One of the doors was open, and he could hear music; some sort of pipes. In the sunshine he caught a glimpse of an old woman in a chair with her feet up, her legs covered by a blanket, and a youth with long copper hair playing a small set of pipes.

Where were Hiruna and Valendia?

Zabier led him through the main room and onto the tiled balcony. There were raised flowerbeds and vegetable patches. Hiruna had clearly used her time in exile productively.

‘Sorne?’ Hiruna threw off the blanket and put her feet down. He’d known she was over forty, but seeing her like this stunned him. Her hair was nearly white and she’d lost several teeth, yet her blue eyes were as bright as ever, and brimming with tears.

He knelt beside her chair and she threw her arms around him.

He’d come home. In her embrace, everything he’d done or left undone was forgiven, and he felt he could still redeem himself. But she was so frail in his arms, her flesh soft over the bones, her skin fine as silk. He had a sense of her fragility, and an urge to protect her.

‘Back by winter,’ she chided, pulling away. ‘Eight years later...’ Then she hugged him again. ‘Oh, but it’s good to see you.’ As she drew away to study him, her gaze slipped to his hair. ‘So the white streaks overtook the copper?’

He nodded, unable to speak.

‘Ma?’ The voice sounded tentative.

Hiruna glanced behind him. ‘Say hello to your sister, Sorne. Dia’s been waiting all day to see you.’

He came to his feet and turned to the youth. Gone was the plump three year-old with red-gold curls. Valendia was almost as tall as Zabier now, and took his breath away. Had he and Izteben been like this, pale-skinned with such dark brows and lashes, such red lips and rich copper hair?

Valendia smiled, shy yet hopeful. ‘The song was for you. Did you like it?’ She showed him the pipes. ‘Zabier gave them to me.’

So innocent, so eager to please. He and Izteben had been five and almost six when the scourging had started. A flash of rage shot through Sorne. How could Oskane have done that to them? They’d trusted him, believed everything he told them, and all the while they’d just been his tools in his private feud with Nitzel.

Valendia’s eyes widened. She looked past him to Hiruna and Zabier.

Sorne found his voice. ‘It was wonderful.’

She beamed. ‘I made the music sound happy. But I can make sad music, too.’ She gestured to a larger, instrument that consisted of a pipe and a bag very like the ones the martial pipers carried. ‘Would you like to hear–’

‘That’s enough music for now,’ Zabier said. He came over to hug Valendia. His hand cupped her cheek fondly. ‘Now run and fetch the treats.’

She darted off, her ankles showing, and Sorne realised her breeches were about a hand’s span too short. She must have had a growth spurt.

‘She plays more than one instrument?’

‘She plays several. The music carries across the courtyards, but I don’t have the heart to take them away from her,’ Zabier said.

‘She’s a credit to her teacher.’

‘She doesn’t have a teacher. She’s self-taught.’

‘Amazing.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Hiruna agreed. ‘Neither Kolst nor I had any music in us.’

‘You used to sing all the time,’ Sorne told her fondly.

‘Yes, but I could never play an instrument.’

‘Dia grew up listening to the church choirs rehearse.’ Zabier gestured to the courtyard beyond, which was hidden behind a screen. As if on cue, Sorne heard voices rise in a three-part harmony. ‘She was always pestering me to let her join the singers, so I gave her the first set of pipes.’

Just then Valendia returned with a tray of custard tarts; they’d been his favourites. He glanced across to Hiruna and she nodded with a smile.

As Valendia darted off to get the watered wine, Zabier set the table and Sorne went over to Hiruna, moving her chair closer so she could join them.

‘Doesn’t Valendia have any friends?’ he whispered.

‘How could she?’ Hiruna’s mouth tightened. ‘She’s not allowed to show her face beyond these rooms.’

Sorne held her chair as she settled herself, then took a seat. Valendia offered drinks and served the food, always watching Zabier for approval.

‘Why does Valendia have no friends?’ Sorne asked. ‘She needs company. When we were growing up, we three had each other.’

And there it was between them, Izteben’s ghost.

‘It’s all very well for you. You’ve been away. You don’t know what it was like here,’ Zabier said. ‘I’ve done the best I can. Valendia can read and write. She knows her history and she’s safe, from Wyrds
and
True-men.’

‘But what’s going to happen to her? She can’t spend her whole life a prisoner.’

Hiruna covered her mouth and looked across the table to Zabier.

‘You weren’t here. You’ve got no right to criticise.’ Zabier put down his wine glass, restrained anger in his precise movements. Remembering the eager child Zabier had been, Sorne did not recognise the man he had become. ‘Chalcedonia is not a good place for half-bloods.’

‘It’s all right,’ Valendia said quickly, fixing on Sorne with desperate hope. ‘When you go away again, I’ll go with you.’

Into war? Into the path of assassins? Sorne put his glass down. ‘Out of the question. I –’

‘You can’t be bothered with me.’ Valendia sprang to her feet. ‘I’m a burden on Ma and Zabier. No one wants me.’ And she ran inside.

Sorne heard a distant door slam.

Zabier pushed his plate aside. ‘I knew it was a mistake to bring you here. We were getting along just fine until you turned up. You’ve got no right, no right at all!’

And Zabier stalked from the table.

Sorne looked across to Hiruna; tears slid down her cheeks. This wasn’t what he’d wanted.

‘Don’t...’ – he went to her, knelt and put his arms around her shoulders – ‘don’t cry, Ma. I didn’t mean to spoil things.’ He felt like he was twelve again. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You said what had to be said.’ She pulled back and patted his arm. ‘I don’t know what’s going to become of Valendia. I’m sick, Sorne. I have the wasting illness. There are lumps.’ She gestured to her breast.

He didn’t want to hear this.

‘Sorne, are you coming?’ Zabier called from the doorway.

‘Don’t tell Zabier or Dia,’ Hiruna whispered.

‘Don’t worry, Ma.’

‘She’s not your mother, Sorne.’ Zabier must have read his lips. ‘And Valendia is not your sister. Come, we’re keeping the king’s daughter waiting.’

Hiruna squeezed Sorne’s arm and sent him off with his head reeling.

He followed Zabier out of the secret apartment where his family was imprisoned and down to one of the church’s formal greeting chambers. There was no sign of Marantza.

‘Wait here,’ Zabier told him.

So much for keeping her waiting. Sorne looked out on a courtyard where penitents clipped hedges into a knee-high maze. It seemed to negate the whole purpose.

Nothing made sense today.

Aware that he was not in the right frame of mind to start the negotiations, he was about to request they reschedule when Marantza entered, escorted by the Father’s-voice.

‘I have been giving what you said a lot of thought,’ Marantza said. ‘And I see that I have three choices.’

‘Really, what’s the third?’

‘Set sail and never come back. But this is my home, and I don’t want to leave.’

‘So you’ll marry King Charald?’

‘Tell the king I cannot marry when our land is full of strife and war. When Chalcedonia is at peace he can court me.’

Sorne hid a smile. Had his little brother come up with this, or was it Marantza’s idea? Charald would hear what he wanted to hear in this answer. It wasn’t quite the response Sorne needed, but it would buy them all some time.

‘I will convey your words.’ He gave his bow and left.

Six of his holy-swords waited to escort him across the plaza back to the palace. He just wanted to make his report to Charald, find his chamber and think through what had happened today. There was an underlying hostility in Zabier that puzzled him. Hiruna’s illness saddened him, and as for Valendia... she had no experience of the world, or of people. She was a total innocent. How would she survive, in a world filled with ambitious, conniving men?

As he put his foot on the top of the broad sweep of stairs to the royal plaza, something made Sorne look up. A half-blood stood on the steps to the Warrior’s church, staring at him. Sorne was so surprised, he came to a sudden stop, and the holy-swords almost ran into him.

The man was a warrior, by the way he carried himself. His clothing was rich and there was pride in his stance, reminding Sorne of the she-Wyrd. Here, in the True-men’s port, the Wyrds might be amongst enemies, but some of them were clearly not afraid.

And they’d set someone to watch him.

He kept walking as though the Malaunje warrior’s presence meant nothing to him, but it had surprised him. Now that he thought about it, returning to Chalcedonia in service to the king as the Warrior’s-voice meant he was bound to attract the attention of the Wyrds. After all, he was a Malaunje walking amongst True-men, and he wielded power.

He’d proven the she-Wyrd wrong. A flash of memory came to him – the she-Wyrd lying dead on the floor, limbs splayed, eyes gouged out...

He almost staggered. He’d left the she-Wyrd to die.

She’d asked him to save her and he’d refused.

At seventeen, he hadn’t understood the consequences of leaving her in the cell. She’d been raped and murdered, and her body mutilated by the barons. And then he’d sailed off with the king and the barons, tacitly condoning her murder. Stunned and sickened by the memory, Sorne was hardly aware of his surroundings.

He had never even asked her name. It had been easier to think of her as
the she-Wyrd
than to acknowledge her humanity. He was a coward. And this came as a surprise to him.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

V
ITTORYXE COULDN’T UNDERSTAND
why the Sagoras had sent her the treatise. She’d never had anything to do with Venerable Felesoi, and she wasn’t interested in their thoughts on inheritable traits. She almost threw it out, but something caught her attention.

Why was there a whole section on her birds?

‘Imoshen!’ Her gift surged, and she let it.

She stalked into the all-mother’s greeting chamber to find Egrayne with Aayelora. The two were always together. It only confirmed her fear that Egrayne would be named the next all-mother.

‘Look at this!’ Vittoryxe thrust the treatise under the all-mother’s nose. ‘Look what that... that sorry excuse for a sister has done now. She’s taken my prize birds and fifty years of breeding and given everything I’ve learnt to the Sagoras!’

Aayelora looked sufficiently horrified. ‘Send for Imoshen.’

Egrayne took the treatise to examine it.

Vittoryxe paced. She didn’t know when she had last been so angry. There was a rushing in her head and she let her gift ride her body; she could feel it pulsing just below her skin.

Imoshen arrived, slightly out of breath. ‘Sorry, we were about to take the children out on the lake.’ She glanced to Vittoryxe, and the smile left her lips. ‘Is something wrong? Is someone hurt?’

‘You are what’s wrong.’ Vittoryxe stalked towards her. ‘How dare you pretend to befriend me to steal fifty years of knowledge and give it to the Sagoras!’