"The novices would have been put to death with the rest' Moss insisted.
Evanjalin's gaze returned to Perri. "The other who walks the sleep with us is very strong in her power. The child is drawn to her as she is drawn to her own mother. I believe she has both light and dark in her."
"Tesadora," Perri said under his breath.
"You seem certain that Tesadora and the novices lived, sir," Evanjalin said.
Perri did not respond.
"Is that good or bad?" another of the guards asked. "That this Tesadora takes charge within Lumatere?"
"Her mother was Seranonna," Trevanion said.
Finnikin saw the looks pass among the guards at the mention of Seranonna's name.
"Tesadora was as mistrusted among her own people as she was by the rest of Lumatere, so let's just say that she was not raised in the bosom of her people. She is cunning and has a very dark soul," Perri said.
"Just the person we need to break the very dark spell cast by her mother," Evanjalin said.
"But you must be wrong about Lady Beatriss aiding her," Perri argued. "One would have been a novice of Lagrami, the other Sagrami. There is no way that Tesadora of the Forest Dwellers and Beatriss of the Flatlands would be acquainted. No possible way that Beatriss would trust her child with someone so dark of spirit. Do not underestimate Tesadora's hatred of the world."
"You trust your children with those who have the power to protect them," Trevanion said.
"The other... I mean, Tesadora walks the sleep with us only sometimes," Evanjalin said. "But I do not sense her evil. Just a forceful will. I know she is there for the child. It is when the sleep
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is dark and fearful that she is there. Last night we walked the sleep and there was much grief, but Tesadora's powers ensure the child sees or hears nothing that will damage her. The child has been kept innocent. I cannot begin to think of the effect that has on Tesadora."
"And you?" Finnikin asked. "Who protects you?"
"Faith in my goddess, of course."
There was a mixture of intrigue and skepticism on the faces of the guards around her.
Perri turned to Trevanion. "So what is our plan?"
"We split up, each group traveling to a different kingdom to collect our exiles. We meet in the Valley of Tranquillity as soon as possible. Moss and Aldron, I want you to leave for Lastaria tonight. The priest-king is there."
There was an intake of breath from the guards. "Blessed Barakah?" one said in a hushed tone.
Trevanion nodded. "He travels with a large number of exiles. Take them to the Valley of Tranquillity. The rest of you will travel in groups of four or five. If you come across any exiles, do your best to convince them to join you, but under no circumstances do you stay with them in their camps or tent cities. Too many of them are plagued by fever or fear. The moment you reach the Valley, I want every strong man and woman trained to use a longbow. The attack on the impostor and his men needs to be fast and accurate, or else we will never take the palace."
There were murmurs among the Guard.
"How many of them do you believe there are?"
"The impostor king rode into Lumatere with six hundred men. Our own people could have been recruited as part of his army. Who can say?"
"But how do we get in?" one of the guards asked. They were all looking at Evanjalin.
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"We need to find the Monts," Trevanion said. "They may hold the key."
Perri shook his head. "Not a sighting in ten years. I return to the Valley with Moss each year at the time of the harvest moon, and we have not seen hide nor hair of them."
Evanjalin stood, and the men instantly rose with her. She acknowledged them with a nod. "Our king will get us through the main gate," she said. "That has been promised in the curse."
And then she left and all Finnikin could hear was the name Balthazar whispered around the room.
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***
CHaPteR 17
Three days later, the King's Guard separated for the first time in ten years. Trevanion ordered that along with Perri the original party would stay together until Belegonia. They had acquired more horses, which would ensure that the journey along the coastal road was swift. As he mounted his horse, Finnikin sensed the mood of excitement and uncertainty among the Guard. He saw the look of hope on their faces. And doubt. But they had enough faith in their captain to trust his decision. And his decision was to allow this strange girl to lead them home to Lumatere.
They rode for the better part of the day, until they reached the coastal road, where the gulf divided Belegonia from Sorel. As the ill-fated captain of the Myrinhall had suggested, it would have been the quicker route between Sorel and Yutlind. Yet piracy in the Gulf of Skuldenore had claimed many lives, and despite their perilous journey up the Yack, Finnikin knew they had taken the right course.
Late in the afternoon, they rested their horses and sat on the
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dunes, watching the ocean. Nothing reminded Finnikin so much of the insignificance of humans as when he stood before the ocean's pounding waves. For a moment, he caught his father's eye. They both knew there was no turning back from the path they were about to take. Although they were gathering their fragmented people together, Finnikin could not help thinking they were also leading them to war. Taking back Lumatere would not be easy. And if they succeeded, they had no idea to what they would return. Would their land of five peoples become a kingdom split in two: those who were exiled and those trapped inside? Suddenly he missed the life they had left behind in Pietrodore. There, he had everyone he wanted in one place. Going back to Lumatere could mean the loss of them all.
Back on the road, Finnikin swung onto his horse and then turned to help Evanjalin up behind him. But Perri was already there, his hands cupped to assist her. Evanjalin leaned over and traced the scar on Perri's face, and he flinched at her touch.
"It was you," she said in wonder. "You wear a permanent crown. She placed it there." Evanjalin kept her fingers on Perri's forehead. "She doesn't regret what she did to you that day when you were children, Perri. The savagery your kin showed toward her will never be forgotten. But regardless of what you believe, I think Tesadora is forever grateful that you kept Sagrami's novices hidden that night."
Perri looked stunned. His eyes met Finnikin's, and Finnikin saw a myriad of emotions on the guard's face. But only for an instant. What had his father's second-in-command done during the five days of the unspeakable to make him feel such love and pride, but also shame? How many stories were missing from Finnikin's Book of Lumatere?
***
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Early that evening they came to a signpost for Lastaria, a half-day's ride from the capital of Belegonia. Moss was sitting there astride his horse, waiting for them.
"We have a problem," he said soberly as his mount danced around Trevanion's.
"The priest-king?" Evanjalin asked.
"He is safe," Moss assured them. "But the journey was harrowing and they lost at least ten people to fever along the way."
Finnikin felt Evanjalin shudder as she held on to his waist.
"It gets worse. When they arrived here last week, they came across a small camp of exiles."
"How could we not have known?" Sir Topher said.
"They did not want to be found. There are at least thirty of them, and they refuse to journey with us to the Valley."
"Then we go without them," Trevanion said bluntly.
"That's where we have our problem. The priest-king will not leave them."
"And the rest?" Evanjalin asked. "The exiles from Sorel?"
"With Aldron, on their way to the Valley."
Trevanion cursed and exchanged looks with Perri. The sun was beginning to set and Finnikin knew their plan was to reach the capital before midnight.
"We cannot leave him behind, Captain," Evanjalin argued.
Trevanion turned his horse around reluctantly. "No, but we will have to convince
him to leave the others."
They rode into Lastaria under the light of a half moon. Moss paid a stable boy a piece of silver to take care of their horses, with the promise of another when they returned. Then he led them down sloping, cobbled streets toward the town center. Finnikin could hear the sounds of the night bazaar before they saw it. The air was full of raised voices and music, the streets strung with lanterns.
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Lastaria seemed to lack the intellect and culture of the Belegonian capital, but there was an unleashed gaiety about the town that assaulted their senses.
In the square, the minstrels played their fiddles and pipes, delighting the audience, who danced with abandon. Lovers embraced. A vendor juggled fruit. But there was heaviness in Finnikin's heart as they followed Moss to a paddock beyond the square, at the edge of town. On the way, they passed a cluster of tents selling decorated daggers and swords. Froi's eyes lit up at the sight of them, but he was pulled along by Perri.
The camp was made up of three large carts. At least thirty men, women, and children stood by a campfire. Finnikin could see the distress in the faces of the exiles at the sight of Trevanion and his party, but his eyes searched for the priest-king. The holy man looked thinner and frailer than when they had last seen him. Perri knelt before him, and the priest-king's hands trembled as he held a thumb to Perri's forehead.
"I can't leave them behind," he whispered when the blessings were complete. "They have no goddess, no kingdom, no people but their own."
"Perhaps that is enough for them," Finnikin said.
The priest-king shook his head. "Have you seen their eyes?" He looked past Finnikin to Evanjalin. "There is nothing there."
"Blessed Barakah, our people are waiting for us in the Valley," Evanjalin argued. "Waiting for you to lead them with the captain and Sir Topher and Prince Balthazar."
"What are their reasons for staying?" Finnikin asked.
The priest-king followed his gaze to where the exiles stood. "They once lived in the village of Ignatoe, close to the east gate of Lumatere. During the five days of the unspeakable, when the Forest Dwellers began to pour into their village, the people of Ignatoe turned them away, forcing them back outside the
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kingdom walls." The priest-king sighed. "These people listened as the Forest Dwellers burned to death in their cottages. It's their guilt that holds them back, and no amount of pleading will move them."
Finnikin stayed with Evanjalin as she walked toward the fire, where a young girl stood holding a skillet, her expression frozen with fear. Finnikin guessed she would have been no older than five when the days of the unspeakable took place. As Evanjalin approached, her path was blocked by an older man and woman, a child clutching the woman's skirt. Up close they looked younger than Finnikin had first thought, and he realized that life rather than years had aged these people.
Evanjalin stooped to hold out her hand to the child. She looked about two or three, with brown skin and pale blond hair. "What's your name, little one?" Evanjalin asked, her voice husky. She spoke in Lumateran, but the child stared back at her blankly. She was as vacant as the children they had seen in the fever camp, yet there was no hint of malnutrition or illness. Evanjalin tried to take the little girl into her arms, but she was pushed away by the man, causing her to stumble.
Finnikin drew his sword as a warning. He was not quick enough to stop Froi from spitting in the man's face, but Perri stepped forward and dragged the thief back by his hair. In the next instant the man grabbed the child and Finnikin found himself holding his weapon an inch away from the little girl's face. Evanjalin reached out and gently lowered the sword in his hand.
"We mean no harm," Finnikin said quietly in Lumateran. He watched the exiles flinch at the sound of their mother tongue.
Evanjalin took a step toward the campfire and then another. When she stood before the young girl with the skillet, she extended a hand.
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"May I?" she asked, reaching over to take one of the small pieces of meat that sat on the skillet. Before the girl could respond, Evanjalin put the meat in her mouth as if it were the most natural thing, grunting with approval as she swallowed. The girl seemed to soften slightly.
"What is your name?" Evanjalin asked.
The girl looked past them to where her father stood, then looked down again. "My name doesn't matter," she said, speaking in broken Belegonian.
"Oh, but it does," Evanjalin said quietly.
Finnikin saw the girl tremble. After a life of exile with these people, the hope shining from Evanjalin's eyes must have been mesmerizing.
"We're on our way home," Finnikin said, looking around at the rest of the group. "To Lumatere. Hoping that all our people will return with us."
There was no response.
"All we suggest is that you travel with us to the Valley of Tranquillity. With the King's Guard. The captain. Our blessed Barakah. The king's First Man," Finnikin continued.
"And what will you offer us if we return?" the man asked. "A prison cell? A life of persecution?"
"There will be no arrests," Trevanion called out. "Have we not all suffered enough?"
"We offer what is owed to your children. Our kingdom," Finnikin said.
"This is enough for them," the man said bitterly.
"This is a stretch of muddy grass," Finnikin snapped. "That," he said, pointing to one of the carts, "was built to transport cattle and horses, not to shelter humans."
"We will do what we always do," the woman said. "Send your Guard away, we beg of you."
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"They are your Guard," Finnikin corrected. "There to protect you and your children."
"Our children are protected," she said. "We keep them fed."
Finnikin saw the rage in the eyes of some of the younger men. Where would it all go? he wondered. The man took a threatening step toward him.
"Turn around and don't look back," he said, his voice ugly. "I suggest you take care of your own and leave us to take care of ours, or there will be a reckoning."
"You have many suggestions, sir." Evanjalin's voice rang out through the night air. "Well, here are mine. I suggest you give your people words, not silence. I suggest you all turn to your wife, to your husband, to your children, and you speak of those days. Of the little you did when your neighbors were taken from their houses and slaughtered. Of the sorrow you have felt all these years. And I suggest you forgive yourself. But more than anything, I suggest you beg the one true goddess to forgive the legacy that you have passed on to your children. For they wear your coat of dissatisfaction and grief tightly over their bodies, and this bloodless patch of grass you have chosen to live on will be where they die with nothing but rage in their hearts. I suggest, sir, that you find no joy in being an exile. Do not make it a badge to wear with honor."
She turned and walked toward the priest-king. "You belong with us, blessed Barakah," she said firmly. "You must travel with us to your people. Now."
The holy man began to shed tears. Finnikin could not help wondering what felt worse for him. Watching his people die, or feeling as if he had abandoned them? But when Evanjalin held out her hand, the priest-king did not hesitate to take it.
They walked away, and the tiny kingdom of three carts and nameless children was swallowed by the sounds of the night
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bazaar. Finnikin watched Evanjalin turn back once. Twice. Three times.
Later, as they traveled along the coastal road in the dead of night, the priest-king riding ahead with Trevanion, Finnikin thought he heard Evanjalin whisper the same words over and over again.
"Take me home, Finnikin. I beg of you, take me home."
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***
CHaPteR 18
Can I trust you, Lord August?" Lord August of the Lumateran Flatlands woke to find a hand covering his mouth and a dagger to his throat. The face that appeared above him looked half-wild, with none of the softness that once gave Finnikin of the Rock a youthful innoce
nce. With regret, he knew that if Trevanion's son dared lay a finger on his family, he would kill him in an instant. But then he realized he wasn't just at the mercy of Finnikin's dagger. In the pale moonlight that shone into the adjoining chamber, he could distinguish the outline of at least three more men. Beside him, his wife slept, unaware.
"Ah, Finnikin," he muttered. "What have you done?"
"Nothing yet. Answer my question."
Lord August grabbed Finnikin by the knotted wildness of his hair, forcing him close. "You bring these animals into my house," he said through clenched teeth, "and place a dagger at my throat as I lie beside my wife, while my beloved children sleep in the next room, and you ask me to trust you?"
"Can I take that as a yes?" Finnikin asked, shrugging free.
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Lord August climbed out of bed, trying to keep an eye on the men in the adjoining chamber. "I curse myself for failing your father and not taking you into my own home. If the captain were to see you now, it would be a blunt dagger carving him up."
Lord August was a small man, but he did not let that get in his way. He would take these men down, any way he could. Images raced through his mind of what they would do to his family if he were to die first. He had always believed that if harm came to them, it would be from the Charynites or Belegonians. Not from a son of Lumatere.
"What have you done to Sir Topher?" he asked, seeing new scars and an older spirit in the boy's gray eyes.
"Aged him slightly," Finnikin murmured, walking to the window and peering out into the night. "We need a place to stay for a night or two. And food. That means you'll have to send your servants and people away. When we leave, we'll need more horses, and, if we could be so bold, a few silver coins would not go astray."
"Anything else?" Lord August said, glancing again at the three men in the next chamber. "My firstborn?"