Stormcaster

  Evan looked down at his hands and considered what to say. “Being the target of someone like Celestine is a lonely business,” he said finally. “There’s nobody I can really trust, and no source of information that I can access without risking my life. I hoped that Jenna was ahead of me, that she knew more about this magic than I do. I hoped that we could share information and find a way to fight back.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  Evan nodded. “Eventually. But not until we met again, on the coast near Chalk Cliffs. I couldn’t risk telling her while we were in Ardenscourt.”

  “How did she respond?”

  Evan laughed. “Not well. I’m the last person she wants for a partner. The way she sees it, I ruined her life.”

  “I don’t think it’s a matter of perspective,” the healer said. “You did ruin her life.”

  “Her life would have been ruined with or without my involvement. You may not believe me, but I was trying to help. I told her the truth—about the magemark, all of it. I tried to persuade Jenna that we are natural allies, that we share the same blood.”

  “What do you mean, you share the same blood?” sul’Han said, leaping on that like a trout on a fly.

  “Celestine claims that the magemarked are related to her, that we have Nazari blood, which is why we belong together. Remember, it was Jenna who drew Celestine to the wetlands.”

  “Jenna and the busker,” sul’Han said, half to himself.

  Evan’s mind was racing along, and now it skidded to a stop. “Busker? What do you mean?”

  The healer sighed. “Back at Solstice, when I was still in Arden, a street performer—a musician—led my sister into an ambush.”

  “Oh!” Evan said, unsure where this was going. “Did it—? Was she—?”

  “She was unhurt, but one of her personal guards was killed. The Queen’s Guard tracked the busker down in Chalk Cliffs, and he turned out to have a magemark, too.”

  Evan was stunned. He’d been living alone with this secret for most of his life, but now the magemarked seemed to be surfacing at every turn, flushed out of hiding by Celestine.

  “Did you ask him about the mark?” Evan leaned forward. “What did he tell you?”

  The healer shook his head. “He claimed he didn’t know much about it, either. He’d been working with a gang out of Baston Bay when he was recruited to do a street concert, supposedly to try to woo my sister on behalf of a suitor.”

  “So . . . this person . . . used his gift to try to murder the heir to the throne?” Evan felt as if he were standing on a sandbar that was being washed out from under him.

  Sul’Han nodded. “Now, bear in mind, most of this is secondhand, because I just arrived home after . . . after a long time away.”

  “In Ardenscourt.”

  “In the south, yes.”

  “So . . . the busker . . . What is his name?”

  “Breon d’Tarvos, he calls himself.” The healer was watching Evan closely.

  Evan made no attempt to hide his surprise. “Tarvos! But that’s where—”

  “That’s where your stronghold is,” sul’Han said, nodding.

  Evan was beginning to see why the wetlanders might be wary of him. How could he possibly win their trust with that history on the books?

  “The busker has the gift of . . . ensnarement? Enticement?”

  “Something like that. My sister—she wouldn’t—anyway.” The healer fumbled his way to the end of that sentence as if changing his mind several times on the way. “So you can see why we’re trying to jam all these pieces into the same puzzle. One theory is that Arden’s behind it, because we’ve been enemies for so long. That assumes that Carthis is here as a proxy for the Montaignes, hired as mercenaries to fight their battle for them, since the thanes are in rebellion.”

  “Celestine is nobody’s proxy,” Evan said. “If the young king thinks she’s biddable, he will learn to his sorrow that she is not.”

  The healer nodded. “I agree. Given what happened in Ardenscourt, and the fact that the busker was in Chalk Cliffs when it came under attack, I’m inclined to think that the empress came north on her own, and she was after the busker.”

  Evan didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. “You mentioned that the busker was in Chalk Cliffs. Where is he now?”

  “We don’t know,” sul’Han said. “He was in the city when it fell. We believe that he might be among the prisoners the empress took back to her capital.” Again, it seemed like he had more to say, but didn’t.

  Evan tried not to surrender to despair. Despite everything he’d done, all the plans he’d laid with Destin, another of the magemarked was in the empress’s hands.

  So, now what? Maybe Brody was right. These wetlanders might decide to trade him to the empress in an effort to make her go away. They might believe they had no other skin in the game. Evan had to convince them otherwise.

  “Once Celestine realizes that Jenna is still alive, she will conquer the wetlands, realm by realm, until she finds her. If you want to defeat the empress, you are going to have to join together. If you don’t, she will win. Ask the survivors of Chalk Cliffs.” He paused. “Do you think there’s any chance of that—joining together?”

  “It won’t be easy,” the healer said. “There’s too much blood on the ground already.”

  “And there will be more—you can count on that,” Evan said. “What about you? Why are we having this meeting? What are you hoping for?”

  The healer held his gaze for a long moment. And then, somehow, chose to trust him. “You’ve heard people speak of a Captain Gray,” he said.

  Evan nodded. “He was at Chalk Cliffs,” he said. “Everyone seemed to be worried about him.”

  “She was at Chalk Cliffs,” the healer corrected him. “Captain Gray is my sister Alyssa, the heir to the Gray Wolf throne. We believe that the empress took her captive, and that she is now somewhere in Carthis. I intend to go after her, and I’m going to need your help.”

  27

  SETTING THE TRAP

  When it came to political intrigue, Hal Matelon had one thing going for him: by now he had a network of men he could trust with his life—men he’d fought alongside on multiple battlegrounds in this never-ending war. He was counting on that now to help him find his brother.

  On the downside, his was a well-known face in Ardenscourt, even after a year away, since he’d spent most of his winters at court. So he sat in the corner of the tavern, collar turned up, face turned away from the lamp, hoping that he wouldn’t be recognized. The last thing they needed was another Matelon held hostage by the boy king.

  He was all but positive that Robert would have come here to Ardenscourt to hunt for their mother and sister before the thanes marched on the capital.

  Hal heard the door bang open and shut as someone new came into the tavern. The newcomer, dressed in military garb, stopped at the bar to make inquiries. Now he walked purposefully toward Hal’s table, bringing with him the scent of the spring evening. Hal tensed momentarily, then relaxed when he recognized him.

  It was Eric Bellamy, the son of the master of horse at Ardenscourt. Though Bellamy was a year or two older than Hal, he’d served under him for several years in the field. Only now, Hal noted, he wore a captain’s braid on his shoulders.

  “Sir? I’m told you have a message for— Saints and martyrs!” Bellamy stared at Hal as if he’d been raised from the dead, then made the sign of Malthus.

  “Shhh. Sit down,” Hal said, waving him to a seat.

  Bellamy sat, nearly stumbling over the table leg. He seemed to be afraid to take his eyes off Hal, as if he might lunge at him and suck out his soul if he did.

  “But . . . Captain . . . I heard you were dead—that you died at Delphi!” Bellamy hissed.

  “No, not dead yet,” Hal said.

  Bellamy looked around, to see if anyone was close enough to have heard. “You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered. “What if someone sees you?”

  “I’m hop
ing it will help that nobody will be looking for a dead man,” Hal said. He signaled for the server. “What’ll you have?”

  “Small beer,” Bellamy said. “I’m on duty in a little while.” He paused. “On second thought, I’ll have bingo. A double.”

  Hal put in the order and turned back to Bellamy, who was studying him with narrowed eyes. “You look like you’ve put on some hard miles since I saw you last, sir,” he said. “When’s the last time you had a good meal?”

  “I just ate an entire lamb pie,” Hal said, pushing his empty plate back, “and I’m seriously considering having another. I’ve been in a northern prison, where food is hard to come by.”

  “How’d you get away?”

  “The guards got tired of losing to me at nicks and bones,” Hal said. “So they let me go.”

  “Right,” Bellamy said skeptically. He paused, as if groping for something to say. “I’ve never seen you with a beard before.”

  Hal fingered his chin, still thickly forested with a black stubble. “Enjoy it while you can. What are you up to these days?”

  Bellamy rolled his eyes. “I’ve been working with my da over the winter, trying to teach new recruits from the down-realms which end of a horse is the front. When I’m not doing that, my mother is trotting me around to parties, hoping I’ll meet some rich widow. There’s a shortage of dance partners at court, since so many of the thanes have taken the field against the king. Those that haven’t are staying away, for fear of being here when the thanes sack the city.”

  “Could be your golden ticket,” Hal said drily.

  “Ha,” Bellamy said. “The widows I fall for are always penniless.”

  “To penniless widows,” Hal said, raising his glass in a toast.

  Bellamy laughed, but quickly sobered. “If fortune finds me, it’ll be because I’ve been a good soldier.”

  Hal nodded toward Bellamy’s new signia. “You’ve done well, Captain.”

  “I’m up for colonel now,” Bellamy said, then colored. “You’re the one who’s earned it. I just don’t get why—”

  Hal raised his hand. “Congratulations, Colonel. Guess I’ll have to get used to calling you ‘sir.’”

  “I may have reason to regret this promotion,” Bellamy said. “Now that it’s looking to be a two-front war, they’re in need of more sacrificial officers. Rumor has it that I may lead our forces in the north while General Karn deals with the thanes.” He stopped, then, as if realizing that he might be giving away tactics to the enemy. “Everybody says the rebels are going to march on the city any day now. But maybe they won’t, since you’re here.” He looked sideways at Hal, as if hoping he’d confirm or deny.

  “I haven’t seen my father since I came back,” Hal lied. “I leave the politics to him.”

  Bellamy sighed. “I hate this, sir. I’m glad to go north, so I don’t have to take the field against my friends.”

  “We’re soldiers, Bellamy,” Hal said, shrugging. “We follow orders. Listen, the reason I asked to meet with you is that I’m looking for my brother, Robert. We were together at Delphi, but he left for Temple Church before the city fell. I’m hoping he’s all right. Have you seen him? Do you know where he’s posted?”

  “Robert? Haven’t seen him,” Bellamy said, shifting his eyes away, staring down into his glass. “You sure he’s not with your father?”

  “He’s not at White Oaks,” Hal said. “I know that for a fact.” He waited one heartbeat, then two, for Bellamy to speak up; then he planted his hands on the table. “Now—be straight with me. What have you heard?”

  Bellamy began picking at a scab on his wrist. “I told the truth when I said I haven’t seen him. But I’ve heard he’s been in and out of taverns and barracks houses for the past few days, asking a lot of questions about where the king might be holding prisoners. I went looking for him—I was going to sit him down and tell him to quit that foolishness and go home. But it always seems like I’m a few steps behind. One thing I’ll say for him, he moves quick and he doesn’t lay his head down in the same place twice.”

  Hal swore. Robert was as subtle and stealthy as any charging bull. It wouldn’t take long for the blackbirds to catch wind of this. But if Robert found out Hal was here looking for him, he’d go deeper underground than ever. The city was too big and the situation too dangerous to be playing hounds and hares.

  But he had to try.

  “Tell me he’s using a fake name, at least?”

  Bellamy laughed. “He’s calling himself Cordray.”

  That was the name of their old tutor.

  “Could I ask for a favor?”

  “You can ask,” Bellamy said, with a sigh. “Just remember, I’m not the hero you are. King Gerard was a cold, ruthless bastard, but at least there was a purpose to most of what he did. King Jarat—he’s a monster.”

  Great, Hal thought. My mother and sister are held prisoner by a monster, and my brother seems determined to join them.

  Hal ripped a page from his journal and scribbled a note on it.

  Mr. Cordray—

  I may have the information you are looking for. I’ll be at the Golden Horn each evening between six and nine.

  —A friend

  It was a laughably transparent ruse, but it might make Robert curious enough to show up.

  He handed it to Bellamy. “If you could leave this with the duty officer at the garrison house, I’d appreciate it. I’ll cover some of the taverns around here and we’ll see if I can lure him out of hiding.”

  Bellamy nodded, tucking the note away. “I’ll do that, Captain. I just want to say—I’m glad you’re not dead.”

  Hal laughed. “Not yet.”

  “Be careful, all right? I hope we both live to see the day that I can fight under your command again.”

  “Or I can fight under your command.” Hal stood and embraced his friend. “I hope there will come a day that we can quit fighting and share a beer without looking over our shoulders.”

  28

  TAKING THE BAIT

  For the next two nights, Hal had his dinner in the common room of the Golden Horn, watching the comings and goings through the door. He’d chosen that place because it was a busy taproom, the food was good, and it wasn’t where he was staying. The only downside was that it did seem to attract a lot of blackbirds, who dined and drank in noisy flocks all evening long. It was hard to sit there nursing a drink when his father was at White Oaks preparing to march on the capital, Alyssa Gray was on her way across the Indio, and who knew how far the enemy had advanced in the north. He couldn’t even distract himself by reading because he had to keep his eye out for his quarry.

  He was about to call it a night for the second time when he saw a familiar figure shoulder his way into the tavern, glance around the room, and saunter up to the bar. Robert ordered a cider, sipped it, then scanned the room once more. He leaned in and exchanged a few words with the tapsman, who nodded toward Hal in his corner. Robert slipped him some coin, took a long pull on his cider, flirted with the serving girl, then strolled over to Hal’s table.

  “Is this seat ta— What are you doing here?” he hissed.

  “Have a seat,” Hal said, shoving the chair out with his foot, “and tell me how you managed to misplace the good sense you were born with.”

  For a moment, he thought his little brother might refuse, but Robert finally slumped into the chair and banged his tankard down on the table.

  “I don’t need your help,” he growled. “Go on back to White Oaks.”

  “Oh, I’m going back there tomorrow, and you’re going with me. If I can find you, the King’s Guard can, too. Every thane on the council has spies and operatives here in town trying to get to the king’s hostages. Why do you think you’ll succeed when they haven’t in three months of trying?”

  “Because nobody’d expect me to come looking.”

  “Right. They wouldn’t expect it, because they know you spring from a long line of smart people.” Hal leaned toward him. “Lo
ok, nobody wants to free our mother and sister more than me, but this is not the right way to do it.”

  “King Jarat said that if Father’s armies lay siege to the city, he’ll hang the families from the parapets.” Despite his bravado, Robert’s voice quivered a little.

  That thought, Hal had to admit, was a punch to the gut. It was one more reminder of how impossible it would be to forge an alliance with the north to fight back against the empress.

  “Doesn’t sound like the new king is much of an improvement over the old one,” he said.

  “Father won’t listen to me. He’s going to attack anyway. He says we can’t give way to that kind of pressure. And he won’t lift a hand to save them.”

  “Do you think he wants to see Mother and Harper hurt?” Hal waited, and Robert finally shook his head. “Giving in won’t help them. Even if the thanes flat-out surrender, Jarat will execute Father and the others, and probably us, too, because he knows we’ll come back for revenge. He’ll confiscate the estates and fill his treasuries. And he still won’t free the hostages.”

  Robert scowled down at the table. “So, that’s it? We give up?”

  “No. Matelons never give up. But we don’t get drawn into a battle we can’t win.” As he said this, Hal was a little amazed to hear his father’s words coming out of his own mouth. And it seemed a bit hypocritical after his boneheaded moves in Fortress Rocks and Delphi.

  Well, he thought, maybe my brother can benefit from my bad experience. Somebody ought to.

  After another minute or two of sulking, Robert nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’ll come with you. Nobody’s responded to my inquiries but you, anyway.”

  “Fortunately for you.”

  Robert drew a deep breath, then blew it out. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  “We can hope that King Jarat is smart enough to know that if he takes action against the hostages, there can be no reconciliation, ever. This civil war won’t end until he’s dead, or we are.”

  Hal stood. “Now. Where are you staying? We should go get your things and both move somewhere else. We’ll leave in the morning. Our luck can’t last forever.”