Joshen swallowed. He didn’t see how a Boor who could barely feed his family could afford a musket to fight with. Let alone what Nefalie had to do with anything. But that wasn’t his problem. Senna was his problem. “I need my horse back.”
Kaen said something to his son. The boy and Tren disappeared through the door. “What else?”
Joshen tore a hunk of spoon bread and topped it with mashed fruit and the other hunk of meat and headed for the door. “Some travel food and some more balls and powder if you’ve got any.”
Kaen nodded and prattled something off to his wife, who was at her feet in a moment, throwing up the door to the cellar and shouting at her children, who scurried about in response.
“What are you two going to do?” Joshen asked before stuffing half the bread in his mouth.
“We’re going to lead the resistance.” He said it like he really thought he might pull it off. Joshen had to give him credit for his determination, at least.
A fully saddled Stretch emerged from the barn. Joshen’s eyes swept over the animal. He looked healthy enough, not fat or weak. His coat gleamed. Obviously, Kaen had put the animal to work, but fed him well.
Good, Joshen thought, ’cause you’re gonna need your wind.
Jumping into the saddle, he lifted his half-eaten meal in farewell and dug his heels into the horse’s sides. With the horse, things went much faster. Joshen only hoped he could remember the way and Parknel had neither left nor was too far out from leaving. Witches or no, Tarten or no, he was getting Senna out of here.
32. KEEPERS
Woodenly, Senna put one foot in front of the other. She had a feeling Reden had put her at the front of the line so he could keep an eye on her. She couldn’t fathom why. She was filthy, hungry and had needed to empty her bladder for hours. But after two days of marching with the Tarten army, she’d learned there would be no stopping until the evening meal. It was hard to judge in the rain, but she was sure supper had come and gone and Reden showed no signs of stopping. Yet.
It had taken less than an hour for Reden’s soldiers to round up the fleeing Witches. Other than bruises and one turned ankle, all of them had returned intact. Even Arianis. At least Joshen and Desni hadn’t been among them. More soldiers had set off in search of them. Senna missed Joshen fiercely. She hoped he wasn’t caught.
Senna glanced back and saw Tiena stumble and nearly go down. She looked pale and weak. Some of the other Witches didn’t look much better. Apparently, recovery from their imprisonment wouldn’t come all at once. “Weden!” she shouted through the damp gag. Either he didn’t hear her, or he chose not to respond.
Her anger flaring, Senna planted both her feet. Chavis plowed into her from behind and then grunted as Coyel ran into her. With grunts and scrambling, the whole line of Witches came to a shuddering stop. Immediately, her guards trained their muskets on her. Giving both men an angry glare, she mumbled, “I’ll not go ’anover wep until I weap to Weden.”
“General!” one of her guards shouted.
Reden surveyed the situation before pivoting his horse and coming back to them. “What is it, Paner?”
“This prisoner refuses to go any farther,” he said with a heavy accent.
Reden cocked a single eyebrow. “Is this true?” “Wake out the wag,” Senna managed.
Amused, he nodded to Paner. After the gag was out, Senna worked her jaw, enjoying the ability to close her mouth and have wet cloth away from her skin. “Well?” he prodded.
“We’re hungry, tired and desperately need to relieve ourselves.”
Reden flipped his reins in irritation. “We’re an army. Not a caravan. I want to reach Carpel in two days. That means we have to push ourselves. You’ll survive until I say we stop.” He began to turn his horse around.
“Reden!” Senna shouted. “You promised us fair treatment—we are women! Some of us old! Where’s your honor?”
He whirled around and fixed her with a fierce stare. Senna knew she’d gone too far. But she refused to take any of it back, or cower in fear—by the Creators, she was done cowering! She raised her head higher and squared her shoulders. Something in Reden changed at the sight. The harsh lines around his mouth and eyes melted away and a chuckle surfaced. “Very well, Witch. Go relieve yourself. It means another night sleeping on the ground for all of us, but we’ll make camp here.” He brought a stern finger to bear on her, “But in exchange, you must give me something.”
Senna stiffened with sudden dread. “And what is that?”
He tipped his head to the side. “Answers.”
She remembered Coyel’s warning at the circle. “There are many things I’ll not tell you.”
Reden leaned forward. “I promise, your craft secrets are safe.”
Senna looked back at the other Witches. Directly behind her, all the Heads but Prenny nodded. Prenny’s shoulders were drooped, but she still managed to look fierce. “I ’an mar’ all nigh’.”
Senna shook her head; she was past finding Prenny’s stubbornness annoying. The woman was like a hive of angry bees. To Reden, she said, “All right, but we want to bathe as well. And a chance to wash our clothes,” she added as an afterthought.
Reden held up his hands. “It’s raining.”
“That’s not the same.”
Reden roared with laughter. “Bathing will depend upon your answers!”
The meal Reden delivered was little more than filling, but it was a stark improvement from an hour ago, so Senna didn’t complain. She wanted desperately to converse with the Heads about her upcoming meeting with Reden, but they weren’t allowed to speak. When Paner came for her, she could only shoot an apprehensive glance at her mother and the others before following him.
He led her to Reden’s massive tent, which wasn’t far away. Holding back the flap, Paner gestured for her to enter. It was a sparse affair; Reden had obviously chosen functional over grand, lightweight over sturdy.
He rose when she entered, dagger in hand. Eyes wide, Senna backed away. He laughed. “If I wanted you dead, it would’ve happened long ago.” Behind her, he jerked the dagger through the cords at her wrist and gestured to a chair in front of his battered desk.
Rubbing her wrists, Senna thought perhaps under better, friendlier circumstances, she might actually like this Reden.
“Now,” he said as he sat in his own chair opposite Senna. “I know you won’t try anything, simply because it would be fruitless and all of your fellow Witches would die. But I’d like your word.”
Senna nodded once—what choice did she have? “You have it.”
“Good. Well then, about this bathing thing. In order to do a proper job, you’d have to have your hands free, which would render your gags useless. I might be willing to allow it if, like mealtimes, my guards were allowed to point primed weapons at you. But I doubt you, or any of the other women, would find those terms agreeable. And even if you did, my guards are men and some of your Witches are rather fair to look upon. The whole thing is a bad idea.”
Senna shrugged. “One at a time, allow us to use a tent. You can line the front with all the primed weapons you want.”
Reden stroked his chin. “Not a bad idea. But I want your word that none of the Witches will try anything.”
Senna grunted. “I think you misunderstand my role. I’m not a Head. By the Creators, I’m not even a full Keeper—just an Apprentice. I don’t have any authority.”
His eyebrows rose. “Then why do they listen to you?”
For a moment, words escaped her. “They don’t.”
“Mmm.” He steepled his hands under his chin.
He obviously didn’t believe her and she didn’t know how to change his mind. “If you want the Witches’ word, you’ll have to ask them individually.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. “Seems like a waste of time to me. They should fall in line with their leaders.”
She felt her hands begin to tingle with anger. “Like the Boors should fall in line be
hind the Class?”
“Don’t get bigheaded with me. Every nation has Boors. Including Nefalie.” He arched a brow, obviously enjoying this exchange, much to Senna’s increasing frustration.
Senna shook her head. “Not like here. Nefalie has different problems. Mostly involving squabbles between the city-states. Civil wars, that sort of thing.”
He grunted. “And what role do the Witches play in all this?”
She shrugged. “Ask Coyel. She’s our diplomat.”
“So, you condemn us for our treatment of the Boors and yet not many years ago, the Witches sold their songs for money.”
Senna sighed and sat back in her chair. She knew the history well. After all, she’d scoured the libraries at Haven looking for any clues history might give her to defeating Espen. “All of that was before my time, but Espen came up with the idea. It led to a faction among the Witches and hate and mistrust by the people.”
“And the man? The one with you?”
Afraid her feelings would show, Senna looked away. “Have you found him?”
“No.”
Senna tried to tell if he was lying, but she couldn’t read his blank face. “And if you do?”
“That all depends on whether he fights us.” He paused. “You didn’t answer my original question.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Why don’t you ask me the questions you referred to earlier?”
He smiled in open amusement. “I’m getting there.”
“You’re a strange man.”
“And you are an honest woman,” he shot back. “Now, who was the man?”
Senna crossed her arms over her chest and sat back farther in her chair. “Are we done?”
“Not yet.” He leaned forward. “How did you defeat her? All of Tarten is afraid of Espen and a young, untrained Witch defeats her when all others failed. How?”
So he’d finally asked his real question. Senna looked away. She couldn’t talk about it. Especially not with Reden.
“Even if I deny your baths?”
Clenching her jaw, she twisted her skirts in her hands and refused to answer.
He studied her for a long time before he called for Paner. “Have the cooks set out the pots to boil. Station men at the front of my tent, muskets loaded. I have promised the witches a bath.”
Though it was an uncomfortable thing, to bathe inside a tent with men pointing primed weapons at her, it was worth it. After she’d washed herself, she plunged her dress and cloak in as well. When she’d wrung them out as best she could, she draped them back over herself and went outside to shiver herself dry.
With a great deal of discomfort, she noted Reden watching her with a mixture of curiosity and respect. His attention didn’t escape her mother, or the other witches. Senna saw sparks of distrust in more than one pair of eyes. She bit her lip and tried to pretend she was somewhere far away.
As Reden had said, they didn’t reach Carpel until early morning on the third day. As the sun peaked over the city’s domed mountain, it cast the mountain in stark shadow—like someone had upended a bucket of pitch over the city. Her eyes smarting, Senna squinted at it until she came under its shadow. Then, amid the smells of fire, fish and filth that came with the Boorish part of town, she saw the precision and prestige of the Class atop the mountain like a lofty nest. All traces of green jungle had been snuffed out, replaced by cold, dead stone. Cobblestone streets ran down the mountain like white rivers. Encased by stone walls, marble homes seemed to say, “Here, where no eye can avoid, see us in our glory and loath our success, but do not think to touch. Our walls and our wealth will keep you out.”
Her lips were cracked and her cheeks chafed from the gag. Even with all the care Reden took to see they were not bound too tightly, her wrists were raw. She was beginning to comprehend what a lifetime as a prisoner would feel like—silence, pain, boredom and hate building every day until she’d eventually burst from it.
With a sigh, she watched as the city grew ever larger and the smell of sea foam and fish became stronger. Long before they reached the mountain, Tarten’s Class appeared among the Boors, throwing curses as they came. For once, Senna was glad she couldn’t understand their words.
By midday, they reached the bottom of the mountain and began their ascent. At the pinnacle, a square building sat like a pompous aristocrat. Senna climbed the harsh stone steps that led past the pillared entrance. The scraping of their feet echoed off the stone walls of a great hall. Senna took in the room. From their high perches, enormous windows let in shafts of light. The walls were white and crisp, adding to the hollow feeling. The angles were harsh, unnatural. The room was a dichotomy against the soft curves and flowing sinews of nature.
She understood at once. This was the Class’ way of flaunting its perfection, its control. There were little adornments, save four stone chairs lined with cushions. Upon these chairs sat three men and one woman. All wore a grim expression, the kind of look Senna received when, as a child, she disobeyed her mother.
The Witches entered the building one at a time and they stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a line. Unbeknownst to anyone in the room, the connection allowed them to move and act as one. Senna instinctively felt that Coyel was in the lead. Their steps perfectly matched, like a dance, they stopped at the same moment.
The woman was picturesque in her statue-like stillness as she said in perfect Nefalien, “Unstop their mouths.”
“Chancellor Grendi, I would strongly advise against removing their gags. Their mouths are their weapons,” Reden said.
She fixed him with a cold stare. “Did I ask for your advice, General?”
If Reden was affronted, he showed no sign. “The safety of Tarten is my charge, Chancellor Grendi. I would be shirking my post had I not spoken.”
“There is no soil or seed here,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I shall consider myself warned.”
One soldier went along the line, cutting the cloth that had kept them silent for so long. When Senna was free, she worked her jaw, wishing she could rub her cracked lips. She looked over the four Chancellors as they, in turn, studied the Witches. Of the four, Senna was quite sure they had the most to fear from Grendi.
“We are unstopping your mouths because we know you will not try anything here, for that would bring a sentence of death.” The woman said it kindly enough, but the harshness in her eyes couldn’t be denied—almost like she wished they would sing.
“I’m Chancellor Grendi,” she said before she gestured to the others. “These are Chancellors Argun, Netis and Serben. You have been accused of Witchcraft, lawlessness, resisting arrest, trespassing, theft, treason, insubordination,” the woman went on until Senna’s tired mind drifted. She snapped back into focus when Grendi ended with, “What have you to say for yourselves?”
As one voice, the Witches answered, “Witches we are.”
The other Chancellors all leaned back and exchanged nervous glances. “As for the rest?” Grendi asked.
“The rest was thrust upon us,” Coyel answered.
A slow smile spread across Grendi’s face, followed by a dangerous chuckle. “Well, then. The rest doesn’t matter. I confer upon each of you the life sentence required for witchcraft.”
“Yet Espen roamed unchecked across your lands. Why did you not seek her?” Coyel said it like she was speaking to a small child.
Grendi leaned back in her chair. “Because we paid her to catch the rest of you. I’m really quite disappointed she failed. I’d hoped to rid the world of Witches once and for all.” She snapped her fingers and a small goblet was brought to her. She took a slow sip. “Still, it worked out for the best.”
Senna stared in open amazement. So Espen hadn’t worked alone. Suddenly things began to fall into place. Espen had been telling the truth. But Senna had been too angry to listen. Oh, Joshen, she thought. Everything’s my fault!
Senna felt the Witches at her side bristle, felt the question from Chavis. Shall we attack now?
Senna weig
hed the consequences. The army surrounded them. They couldn’t escape. Cautiously, she pushed her consciousness toward the others. Could we wait for a better opportunity? she asked.
Other thoughts flooded her mind.
Grendi’s right. There are no seeds or soil here.
If we fail, she’ll kill us.
That’s her plan. Look at her. She wants all of us dead.
There’s nothing we can do.
“No. There is something,” Chavis’ whisper halted the thoughts. Immediately, the song came to the front of Senna’s mind so horrible, no Witch, not even Espen, had the animosity to deliver it.
Coyel bent her head to send words from her mind to the other Witches’ minds.Can we even release it? This room is no circle and our hands are bound.
Drenelle answered with her mind, Chavis knows as well as I that we can. It’s in the War Histories. Both of us have access.
Chavis nodded. The location will diminish the song’s strength, but there are enough of us to compensate.
Senna squared her shoulders and narrowed her focus on Grendi. It had to be done. Yes.
The answer echoed up and down the line.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
No. Prenny’s thoughts sounded just as demanding as her voice. By nature, we’re healers, growers, protectors. Keepers! If we unleash our bindings in Tarten, how many will die? How many will hate us all the more?
Coyel squared her shoulders. I’ll give them one warning, one chance, but no more. She faced the Chancellors. “Would you make war upon all Witches until they are eradicated?”
Grendi’s eyes shone with a luster of malice. “Witches are an abomination on the land and its people. None should have more power or grace than another.”
Senna cocked her eyebrow. “Yet you sit atop your throne, while thousands of Boors suffer.” More than one of the Witches glared at her for overstepping her boundaries, but she didn’t care.