Gate to Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) (22 page)

“He was lucid when I first came in,” Julen said. “I wonder at what point he became delirious?”

Sara shook her head. “No, what he said fits.” She struggled to make sense of what she’d learned. Lance had sacrificed his good health for the ability to heal. The Watcher had been blind. Obviously, he’d sacrificed his sight—to see blue devils instead?

“He told you the truth,” Valda said scornfully.

Sara looked up; she hadn’t noticed the other woman come in. “I’m not a blue servant, but I’m the Republican Child of Peace and have blue eyes,” Sara told her directly. “Do you wish me to leave your household?” Not that she had anywhere else to go, but Sara would sleep outside rather than stay where she was despised.

Valda sniffed. “As if a blue servant would have stayed up half the night tending an invalid!”

Julen’s eyebrows shot up at this piece of information.

“As for your blue eyes…I never did hold to that notion,” Valda said. “I’ve a grandson with blue eyes, precious little mite. It’s not his fault his father was a rapist, and I’ll spit in the face of anyone who says different.” Valda’s black eyebrows drew together in a fierce line. “I’ll have a talk with Rowena’s folk. I’ll let it be known you’re the Child of Peace and have been judged by the Watcher. I’ll remind them that the Blue Purges are no more, by word of the Kandrith.”

Sara got a sudden sick feeling. “Blue Purges?”

“Used to be,” Valda said sadly, “any child born with blue eyes was abandoned across the border or killed outright.”

* * *

“I’ve decided to send you back to the Republic,” Sara said abruptly. She and Julen were in Valda’s small backyard sitting beneath a large pear tree. At first, Sara assumed that Valda’s late husband had built the bench circling the trunk, but then she noticed that it grew straight out of the trunk—magic again. In any case, it made a secluded and shady place to sit in the afternoon heat. Her refetti hunted through the grass at her feet.

Julen’s whole body seemed to seize—with hope? Then he smiled with thick charm. “The lady teases me. I am, of course, your humble servant, here to obey your every whim, but how could I leave your glorious presence? The dilemma is too cruel.”

Sara scowled at this sudden return of court gallantry. “What do you mean?”

“Even if we’d discovered the secret of slave magic, I can’t leave. You need me here—this morning’s stoning proves that,” Julen said bitterly.

Sara stared at him in surprise. She would have thought Julen would leap at the chance to go home, no matter what her status. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just stay closer to Lance in the future.”

From the expression on Julen’s face, he thought she’d already become too close to Lance.

Sara refused to blush. “No arguing.” She took a deep breath. “And as for the other, I learned the secret of Kandrithan magic last night.” She laid out the bare bones of the Rule of Paradox. “A Kandrithan prays to Loma for magic. In return the Goddess of Mercy asks that he or she sacrifice something of equal—and similar—value to what is gained.” She cited Lance and the Watcher as examples.

“God of Small Favors,” Julen swore. “I should have seen it! Do you remember Lord Giles’s riddle?”

Sara shook her head, perplexed.

“How does a slave learn to see better? He blinds himself.” Julen then altered it slightly. “How does a Kandrithan gain the ability to heal? He gets sick.” He started to pace. “There could be dozens of different powers, depending on what the sacrifice is.”

“Yes,” Sara agreed, “but the Rule of Paradox is the key. It’s vital that you get that information to my father.” No matter who’d caused the massacre, Qiph or Kandrithan or some unknown third party, magic would be needed to fight it. “I’ll tell Lance I quarreled with you. With luck, he won’t find out you’ve left town until he’s back on his feet.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Julen said.

“My letter of praise, recommending you be granted a title?” Sara asked. “I haven’t forgotten. If you’ll lend me ink and paper, I’ll write it now. But in return I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

Caution clouded Julen’s eyes. “I’ll be happy to tell your father you were of assistance, but—”

“It’s not that.” Sara brushed away such petty concerns. She couldn’t remember why she’d cared who got credit for the discovery. “I want you to tell my father that I do not believe the Kandrithans are responsible for the massacre at Lord Favonius’s.”

“I will relay your opinion,” Julen said, bowing smoothly.

Was he humoring her? “I cannot see the Goddess of Mercy allowing a massacre,” Sara said sharply. “And we’ve already had proof that the Qiph are involved.”

Julen shook his head. “We don’t have enough information to come to a conclusion. Yes, it might be the Qiph, and it’s true Loma would not allow such a slaughter, but is the Goddess of Mercy the only one Kandrithans sacrifice to?”

Sara stubbornly shook her head. “Her fountain is the only shrine we’ve seen and Lance calls her the Goddess of Slaves.”

“Then perhaps all those massacred had blue eyes,” Julen said.

Sara winced and didn’t argue anymore.

Julen waited a beat, then cleared his throat. “Lance will be off his feet for days. You could come with me back to Temboria and convince your father yourself.”

“No,” Sara said, with a calm she didn’t feel. “I’m the Child of Peace. Leaving is tantamount to a declaration of war. They’ll move heaven and earth to stop me from crossing the border. You’ll be safer going alone.” She frowned. “You’ll avoid Dyl?”

“Child’s play,” Julen assured her. “The Gate is designed to keep people from getting in, not out.”

“Then…I suppose this is goodbye,” Sara said, surprised to find herself a little regretful. Julen had been a thorn in her side at times, but he was also her last link to the Republic.

Julen bowed over her hand. “I’ll leave as soon as I can procure a horse.” A gleam lit his eyes.

Sara prudently didn’t inquire as to his planned methods.

* * *

Lance finally woke again in late afternoon. After he’d had a little bread and broth, he sagged back against the cushions, but, to Sara’s relief, showed no inclination to drop back off to sleep.

If his wan face was any indication, he felt miserably sick and weak, but as usual he didn’t complain.

“How long before you get well?” Sara asked.
How long before the Goddess stops punishing you?
But she couldn’t ask that outright without betraying that she’d learned the secret.

“If you mean the fever, it should pass in another day or two,” Lance evaded.

Feeling helpless, Sara cleared her throat. “Is there anything I can get you?”

He seemed to understand, his face was full of compassion. “There’s nothing you can do, Sara.”

Yet she couldn’t bear to just walk away and leave him to suffer. “What would Wenda do if she were here? Or your mother?”

“Nothing,” Lance said firmly.

Sara disagreed. “I wager they would talk to you. Make the time pass a little faster.”

“Yes,” Lance admitted. “But you don’t have to.”

“Time is running slow for me too. Shall I tell you about my wild childhood?” she asked lightly.

“I’d like that.” He sounded sincere.

“Very well.” Sara crossed her legs and settled herself more comfortably on the floor. After a moment’s thought, she told him about the first time she saw a calf being butchered. “I shouted at the servant to stop. He kindly explained that this was where veal and beef came from. I was quite horrified and swore I’d never eat meat again.”

“Wenda said something similar once about lamb.”

“Ah, but I went a step further. I forbade everyone on the estate to eat meat. My policy lasted for about two weeks, as I recall, when I got tired of porridge and bread. After that, I graciously allowed older animals to be slaughtered, but no cute little calves or lambs. Don’t look at me like that,” Sara said, swatting him. “I was only ten.”

“You were ten, and they listened to you?”

She shrugged. “Father was away, and Mother didn’t care so long as she got her medicines.”

“Was there no other adult to contradict you? No aunts? No teachers?”

“No one of a rank equal to mine or who could stand up to my will.” Sara huffed a small laugh. “I ran wild.”

He shook his head is disbelief.

“Oh, yes, it’s true. I think Father made Felicia my maid to steady me, but pretty soon I corrupted her.” Sara related some more tales—the time she climbed onto the roof and fell off, the time she decided to ride her father’s prize stallion and took him too close to a mare that was in season—and the afternoon passed reasonably swiftly.

“And now it’s your turn to tell me something,” Sara said. In the main room, she could hear Valda bustling about, making supper, but the drawn curtain shut them in their own little world.

“Fair enough.” Lance inclined his head. “What do you want to hear? How the first time Wenda got on a horse she rode it backward?”

“Actually,” Sara flushed, “if you don’t mind, there’s another tale I’d like to hear.”

Lance lifted his brows.

“How did ‘Prince Lance’ get that?” She pointed to the slave brand on his wrist. “Were you captured in battle? How long were you…in the Republic before your father ransomed you?”

Lance shook his head. “I wasn’t ransomed. My father, and my whole family, were captured at the same time.”

“But—” Sara had never heard that the King of Slaves had been captured.

“We lived in Gotia before you conquered it. The battle happened somewhere to the west of us. Father went to fight, but he lamed his horse, and the battle was lost by the time he arrived. A week later a company of legionnaires enslaved my whole village.” Lance’s face could have been carved in stone.

His words were terse, but she could see it all happening in her mind. Everyone Lance had ever known humbled and put in chains, beaten if they resisted. Babies crying, families split apart…

Her lips felt numb. This was not the story Sara had wanted to hear. “So your father wasn’t yet king,” she said inanely.

“No.” Lance gave a short laugh. “That came much later, after we’d escaped. I think we were in Kandrith for four years before my father became the Kandrith.”

“Was he a nephew of the previous king?” Sara asked, still trying to understand. “A counselor the king appointed?”

Another headshake. “We never met the previous Kandrith. Which was probably a good thing,” he added cryptically.

“So how did your father become the Kandrith?” She wondered if Lance got his physique from his father. “Is he a great warrior?”

Lance threw back his head and laughed. “What does physical strength have to do with being a good Kandrith? The Seer chose my father. He foresaw that my father would make the best Kandrith.”

“A Seer?” Sara asked. She wondered what someone would need to sacrifice in order to foresee the future.

“Cadwallader is…a bit strange.” Lance smiled nostalgically. “The first time I met him, he asked me where my father the Kandrith was. I told him my father was in the barn, but he wasn’t the Kandrith.

“Cadwallader looked surprised, then said, ‘He isn’t? Well, we’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?’ and marched off to the barn.”

“Your father was in a
barn
?”

Lance nodded. “Yes, he was up to his armpits in blood and muck, helping a ewe give birth. Cadwallader ignored both the sheep and the stink and told my father he was the next Kandrith.

“My father went very still. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘Of course, I’m sure,’ Cadwallader said. ‘I remember the future better than you remember your name. Now swear the oath so we can go eat some of that delicious bread your Protector’s baking.’

“My father said the bread could wait, but the lamb couldn’t. He delivered it, and then he said the oath.”

“Right there? Without washing? No ceremony, no celebration?” Sara was appalled. A barn was no fit place to receive kingship.

“Wenda was the only one who wanted to celebrate. She was eleven and thought it was exciting and wonderful. She didn’t understand why Father looked so grim and Mother so sick. Even I didn’t truly understand.” Lance’s eyes had a faraway look.

“I must confess, I’m not sure I understand either.”

“Only a fool wants to be Kandrith, and no fool is ever chosen,” Lance said. “The Kandrith
is
his country. He must care for it and suffer for it at the expense of all else.”

Sara frowned, unsure what Lance meant by ‘suffer for it.’ “If it’s so dreadful, why didn’t he refuse?”

“He couldn’t. Cadwallader wouldn’t have chosen a man who evaded responsibility.”

* * *

That night Sara couldn’t sleep.

In Temborium, just after sunset would have been ludicrously early to be abed, but there had only been three lighted houses in the village when Valda had announced she would be spending the night at her friend’s. “My old bones dislike sleeping on the floor, and Madge has a feather bed that’s big enough for two.”

Lance had fallen asleep directly after supper, and Sara had gone to bed soon after. But it wasn’t the early hour or the faint sound of laughter drifting in through the window that was keeping Sara awake.

The swelling on her forehead had given her a fierce headache. The near darkness should have been soothing, but in the absence of distractions her head seemed to throb more.

For two hours, she tossed and turned on her rug. The pain and the denied need to sleep had her near tears.

“Sara?” Lance’s voice came softly from the alcove.

“Yes?” She tried not to sniff.

In the banked glow of the fire, she saw him pull back the curtain. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s my headache.” She felt like a baby complaining about a paltry headache when Lance still had a fever and was lying in bed weak as a kitten. “It’s keeping me awake.”

Lance made an exasperated sound. “Come here then and I’ll cure it.”

Sara struggled to resist the temptation. “But won’t doing magic make your fever worse?”

Silence. “You know then.”

Vez’s Malice
. Heart thumping, Sara pretended not to understand. “Know what?”

Instead of getting angry as she’d feared, Lance only sighed, a soft sound in the dark. “You were bound to find out sooner or later. So tell me, now that you know how our magic works, what do you plan to sacrifice to the Goddess?”