“If they choose peace, then prisoners will be repatriated,” the queen said. “Matelon goes home.”
Julianna and the queen must have worked all this out between them before they came, Lyss thought, with a flicker of irritation.
Julianna was good at this, she was so damned good at it, and yet . . .
“And if it’s war . . . ?”
“If everyone’s in the war party, then we don’t want to send young Matelon back to them,” the queen said. “Not only is he a capable military strategist and commander, but we would lose whatever leverage he gives us.”
“You heard what he said about his father,” Lyss said. “That he wouldn’t—”
“I know what he said. From what I know of Matelon Senior, the captain may be right. But sometimes, when the money’s on the table, we make a different choice.”
When the money’s on the table? What the hell did that mean? Lyss’s temper flared. “What happens if they refuse to deal?” she said. “Do we cut off his head and send it to his father in a box?”
This was met with shocked silence.
“No, Alyssa, we do not,” her mother said, her voice thick with disapproval. “Nor do we throw him into a dungeon. You should know better than that. He’ll be kept in comfortable quarters, suitable to his rank. He is a prisoner of war, after all.”
“What if he doesn’t go along with your plan?” Lyss said, looking from Julianna to her mother. “What if he tries to escape?” She gestured at their surroundings. “This was never intended to be a prison. It’s right on the border, and it’s not very secure.”
“We know that,” her mother said. “That is why we’re going to move him to a more secure location.” She paused. “I want you to take him with you to Chalk Cliffs.”
Lyss’s mind was already racing, divided between travel plans and the tactical conversation. Now it screeched to a halt. “Matelon? Why would I take him along?”
“I’d like to get him out of Delphi and into the Fells. As you pointed out, this location is not all that secure. There’s a keep at Chalk Cliffs that’s suitable.”
So I shot my own self in the foot, Lyss thought. She didn’t like any plan that used Matelon as a game piece, and now she would be helping to move it forward. Plus, the last thing she needed was to babysit a prisoner all the way to the coast.
Let Julianna escort Matelon to prison, if she’s so keen on the plan.
“That’s not a good idea,” Lyss said, after discarding That’s a terrible idea and That’s a stupid idea.
“Why not?”
“He’ll try to escape the first chance he gets, and that’s going to be even harder to prevent while we’re traveling. He’s going to be hot to get back to Arden and see what’s what with his family.”
Her mother rubbed the back of her neck. “We can hardly blame him for that.”
“If he tries to escape, do we shoot him?” Lyss’s voice was rising, and both her cousin and her mother were staring at her as if baffled.
“You must make sure that doesn’t happen,” the queen said.
Lyss was a little baffled herself. Why was she standing up so strongly for Matelon? What, exactly, did she want done with him? Did she have a sense of ownership because she had been the one to spare his life in the first place?
Does it mean that you’re actually growing fond of him?
No. You’re just trying to make sure he gets a fair deal.
Lyss disliked the whole notion of interfering in Arden’s affairs or using Matelon to gather information or make their case. It smacked too much of southern tactics in the past. What makes us different from them?
The queen leaned forward. “Try to win him over, Alyssa. It seems to me that you have a lot in common. I’m hoping that once he understands that we’re not all witches and demons, he’ll be an ambassador for us once he goes home.”
“If he goes home,” Lyss said. “If you’re going to take him hostage, it seems to me that it would be better to take him back to Fellsmarch, where there’s a stronger keep.”
“If we make a deal with the thanes, it will be easier to send him back to his father by ship,” Julianna said. “It’s too risky to send him overland through Arden.”
Matelon’s a soldier, Lyss thought. A good soldier. He’s done nothing wrong. Leave him be.
“I know this doesn’t sit well with you, Alyssa,” the queen said, twisting her wolf ring, “but the stakes are very high. This is war, and we have to fight it on every battlefield. As you know, we’ve been struggling. Your capture of Delphi and Montaigne’s death are the first bits of good news we’ve had in a long time. If we play our cards right in Arden, we could end this bloody war and have an ally to the south for the first time in my lifetime. We might even regain some influence over the other realms. If we back the losing horse, we could be paying for it for years.” She paused, and when Lyss said nothing, added, “This is not a negotiation. These are my terms. Otherwise, you can stay here or return to Fellsmarch with me.”
“If those are my choices, then I accept your terms,” Lyss said, looking her in the eye.
“Good. Now,” the queen said, raising her glass, “I would like to raise a toast to the brightest winter solstice in a very long time. The sun has come again, thank the Maker. It may be that our Solstice curse has finally broken.”
They all drank deeply and Byrne poured more. But Lyss couldn’t help worrying that the fates were listening. And making their own plans.
32
ON THE ROAD TO CHALK CLIFFS
Just a day after the queen of the Fells arrived, Hal was playing nicks and bones by the fire with Bernard and Littlefield. They’d set up a regular game in the afternoons when the weather was bad, which was nearly all the time.
Bernard was one of the survivors of the Ardenine garrison. Littlefield commanded one of the Fellsian squadrons, and reported directly to Captain Gray. Others sat in as they came available. Hal had made a point of getting to know as many northerners as possible. He reasoned that he could use all the friends he could get.
Captain Gray appeared at the guardhouse door wearing a scowl. “Matelon. Pack your things and be ready to ride out early in the morning.”
There wouldn’t be much packing up to do. All he had was the clothes on his back, his cold-weather gear, and two changes of smallclothes.
“Where am I going?” he asked.
“You’ll find out.”
When Gray went to turn away, Matelon said, “Ma’am?” When she turned back, he said, “Shall I tell my men to get ready as well?”
“No,” she said. “Just you.” And she was gone.
Hal turned back to his companions. “Does either of you know what this is about?” He was mainly directing this at Littlefield, who was, after all, Captain Gray’s direct report.
Littlefield shook his head. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
That evening Littlefield found Hal in the practice yard. “It’s all hush-hush, but I heard that one of Captain Barnes’s squadrons is riding out tomorrow, too.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t see the harm in telling you that much.”
Was this good news or bad news?
“Thank you, Littlefield,” he said lightly. “I appreciate it. And if I never see you again, I’ll forgive you the five crowns you owe me.”
“And I’ll forget the seventeen crowns you owe me,” Littlefield said. Growing serious, he clasped Hal’s hand. “Good luck to you, Matelon.”
After Littlefield left, Hal leaned against the palisade, thinking. He didn’t like the idea of being separated from what remained of his command. It wasn’t that he had illusions that he could protect them against whatever harm might come their way, but at least he would have been there as their advocate. It was one of the reasons he’d stalled on planning an escape from the compound. And now it might be too late.
Whatever the plan was, Captain Gray didn’t seem happy with it.
What did that mean? Did it mean that the queen and her party would be escorting h
im back to Fellsmarch for safekeeping? Would Captain Gray be riding along? He found himself hoping that she would be. In the time they’d spent together, he’d become convinced that she was not a witch—only a soldier like himself. They’d come to an understanding, a relationship of mutual respect. He’d learned a lot, and had realized that she had a lot more to teach him. He hoped that she was learning something, too.
She fascinated him, challenged him, sometimes enraged him—but she was never boring.
Don’t lose your head, Matelon. Don’t let her distract you from your mission.
It didn’t matter where they were taking him. He had his own plans.
It turned out that Captain Gray was in the party that left the Delphian army headquarters before dawn the next morning. To Hal’s dismay, Lieutenant Bosley was, too. It seemed that he was the commander of the squadron of Highlanders Littlefield had mentioned. There was also a swarm of bluejackets, who seemed to be assigned to watch over Hal. He saw their colors peeking out from under their white woolen cloaks.
Hal’s mount was one of the shaggy mountain ponies his captors favored, which was just one more sign they were heading north. He was grateful for the thick wool cloak, tent, and bedroll the quartermaster gave him. Those would be helpful when he struck out on his own.
He was less grateful for the shackles Bosley brought.
“What’s this?” Hal said, eyeing them unhappily. That would complicate things.
“Captain’s orders,” Bosley said, with a smirk. “Give me your wrists, flatlander.”
Hal thrust them toward Bosley. “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to try to escape into the mountains in the winter?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Bosley said. “It’s what Captain Gray thinks that matters.”
Bosley always said “Captain Gray” like it was some kind of secret joke. What the hell, Hal thought. Does he think it’s amusing to be using such a formal term for his lover? I wonder what he calls her when they’re alone?
Not your business, Matelon.
At least the little pony was easy for Hal to mount, even with his hands bound, but he felt a little foolish sitting atop her.
As Hal had expected, they put their backs to Arden and rode into the mountains. After studying the map he’d taken from a drawer in the duty room, he’d guessed they might take the main road north through two clan camps to the capital of Fellsmarch. Instead, they took a path that was little more than a hunting trail that seemed to be heading north and east.
In places, the snow was drifted so high that a horse and rider might completely disappear if he made a misstep. Vast portions of the country they were traveling into appeared completely empty of roads or trails. He was beginning to question his ability to find his way back. If he planned to escape, it made sense to do it sooner rather than later, so there would be less chance of getting lost and less distance to cover on his way back south.
As they climbed, Hal began to appreciate the merits of these shaggy, stocky ponies. They were strong and sure-footed, with no delicate long legs to slide and break in this icy terrain. They had incredible stamina, seeming unfazed by a daylong, uphill climb.
Maybe he should introduce a breeding line of ponies into the empire horse lines. Though it would be a job to persuade any of his fellow officers to climb aboard one.
He’d hoped to talk to Gray during the day and see if he could tease more information out of her, but he never had the chance. The trail was so narrow that there was little movement up and down the line. He was surrounded by bluejackets, while she must have been riding in the rear with the Highlanders. With Bosley. He tried to put that thought from his mind, but it remained there, like a burr in his boot.
They stopped for the night on the lee side of a massive rock formation that provided some shelter from the wind. Once Hal had dismounted, Bosley came and removed the chains from his hands so he could tend to his horse. “Best behave,” the lieutenant said, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword and smirking at him.
He’s hoping I make a break for it, Hal thought. Which means I need to get away clean.
His bluejacket nannies chose his campsite for him, well within the perimeter, then set up their tents all around him. Hal methodically pitched his tent and arranged his bedroll to his liking. He saw Bosley pitching a large, rather more elaborate tent nearby—was it Captain Gray’s?—and a smaller, plainer one next to it.
To Hal’s disappointment, his escorts picketed all of the horses together and set a guard on them. Hal took his supper of hard bread and cheese surrounded by bluejackets—none of whom he’d met before. When he tried to start a conversation, they had little to say. The witch queen was taking no chances that her prize would slip away.
The Highlanders were bunched around several other campfires, and Gray was with them. He could hear them talking and laughing and showing off the way men—and women, apparently—will do around the fire. Now and then he heard Bosley’s voice above the rest. That did not improve his mood.
It was almost as if Gray was avoiding him.
What’s wrong with me? Hal thought crossly. I’m the prisoner of the upland queen. Gray has no reason to avoid me or spend time with me or think about me at all.
He couldn’t help himself. She was unlike any woman he’d met before. Granted, he’d never spent much time with women other than family, because he’d been a soldier in his father’s command since he was eleven years old, and, as the captain relentlessly pointed out, there were no women in the Ardenine army.
During the winter social season, he dutifully attended the parties he was invited to and danced with the girls who were matched up with him and kissed the ones who were willing. He enjoyed dancing and kissing well enough, but when it came to talking to them, he had little to say. They were not interested in the same things as he was, and he’d find himself fleeing to the billiards room or the cards room as soon as politeness would allow. Just like his father before him.
He’d never worried about wooing, because he knew he’d have little say in a final match, anyway. That would be dictated by family, and politics, and dowries, and holdings. When it happened, he would make it work.
Even if the job you’re assigned is not to your liking, a Matelon will see it done.
Gray was different. She was interested in all of the same things as he was, even though they agreed on practically nothing. She would debate any point into the dust, allowing no compromise—not even an agreement to disagree. Truth be told, he’d rather argue with Gray than make small talk with anyone else.
Was he drawn to her because she was more like a man than other women he’d known? Was it because he was more comfortable with his own kind?
No. She made him uncomfortable in all kinds of ways.
Hal crawled into his tent, weighed down by the realization that he wasn’t going anywhere—not tonight, anyway.
Sometime during the night, he awoke to loud voices nearby, some kind of an argument. Lifting his tent flap, he peered out and saw that it was Gray and Bosley, standing in front of the two tents Bosley had pitched earlier. Gray was in Bosley’s face, flinging her hands around in that way she had. Bosley had both hands up, as if to ward her off, and he was talking fast and persuasively. The next thing Hal knew, Gray was waving a dagger under Bosley’s nose.
With that, she turned and crawled into the smaller tent. Bosley stood glaring at the tent, hands fisted. After taking a quick look around, he crawled into the larger tent.
Lovers’ quarrel? It’s not your business, Matelon. Still, he went to sleep smiling.
33
IN THE RUINS
Two days later, they were still traveling northeast, and Hal still hadn’t made his move. When the weather was clear enough, he could see the massive peak of the Harlot to his right, so he knew they had traveled quite a distance to the east. Toward midday, they entered a broad, flat valley, and he realized they were at the western end of Queen Court, the scene of his late-summer humiliation at the han
ds of Captain Gray.
Look on the bright side, Halston. At least this way, he would get to see the vale that had been his target. He’d never made it that far on his earlier visit.
Though they were walled in by mountains, and the fields were snow-covered, the fertile valley reminded Hal of home, with its farmsteads and hedgerows. Here and there, plumes of steam signaled where the hot blood of the uplands broke through a thin skin of rock and soil. This is what we were supposed to burn and destroy, had we made it through the pass, he thought. Now, I’m just as glad we didn’t.
Unfortunately, he was seeing a lot more of Bosley than he was of Captain Gray. Each day, before they mounted up, Bosley shackled his hands, taking his time, enjoying the moment. Each night, when they stopped, Bosley removed the bonds, taunting him, daring him to try to escape. Hal envisioned himself wrapping the chain around Bosley’s neck until his smirk disappeared. And then escaping.
What could Captain Gray possibly see in him? Bosley’s speech and attitude said that he was highborn. But Gray didn’t strike him as a soldier of fortune, someone who would marry for money.
How do you know that? What do you really know about her, anyway? Where was she born? Did she always know she wanted to be a soldier? What did she like to do when she wasn’t in the field? Does she share your aversion to smoked snails?
It’s not your business, Matelon. That was becoming his new motto. He needed to leave, and leave soon.
They camped for the night beside the remains of the Queen Court keep. Hal had always been fascinated by castle architecture as it related to defense and offense. Before the winter dark came down, he walked around the outer perimeter, assessing strengths and weaknesses.
His guard didn’t even bother to follow him. Without a horse, he wouldn’t get far with mountains all around.
This keep lacked the thick stone skin Hal associated with northern castles. Even when newly built, this would not have been hard to crack.