Chapter 16
Ivy
Filip’s head swivels around as he takes in the landscape on either side of the small country road. Then he squints up at the sky. “We’re a little off course for Kevarsi, aren’t we?”
A couple of horse-lengths ahead of us, Tinom catches the question and glances back. The magic advisor keeps his voice carefully even. “We’ve had a slight change in plans. I sent some people ahead to scout out our options, and there’s a better place for us to continue building our resistance.”
Filip looks as if he’s bitten back a protest. From Toast’s back, I study his expression as well as I can without being blatant about it.
Has his face paled a little?
In discussions amongst Petra’s innermost circle after we first regrouped outside Florian, we all agreed that the supposed Order of the Wild defector was the most likely traitor among us. Casimir said he gave every appearance of wanting our help but acknowledged that he might have been desperate not to get away from Lothar but to fulfill whatever plan he’s been sent to carry out.
So we’ve created a test. One of Tinom’s people mentioned to him as if in passing that we were going to head to Kevarsi to try to gather forces farther from Lothar’s current center of power. Since then, we’ve been watching to see if he’s had some way of passing on information back to his former colleagues.
Over the past three days on the less-traveled roads that seem safest, we’ve also been veering gradually more north on our actual course. This is the first time he’s noticed that we can’t possibly be heading to the city.
He doesn’t say anything else, though, simply keeps trotting along on his mare. After a few moments, his gaze darts briefly toward me with a slight tensing of his shoulders.
That’s nothing new. I’ve caught many similar glances over the days since he joined us. Having me anywhere near him obviously sets his nerves jangling.
He knows about my magic, I assume, since Lothar would have spread the word among his followers to beware of me. The first thing he did when he saw me was jerk his hand through the gesture of the divinities, like the noble heir on the summer estate where Lothar held me prisoner.
I can’t hold that against him when Tinom is nearly as wary. I think word might have spread to the soldiers by now, because I’ve noticed them drawing closer around Petra when I go to speak to her in their company.
This morning, one of them partly unsheathed his knife when I walked by.
The memory leaves a hole in my gut. I understand the reactions; I know how everyone thinks about the riven. But the ongoing paranoia is starting to wear on me.
Gods above, will I ever be able to live my life honestly if most people see me as a villain even when I’m helping them?
I don’t let on that I’ve noticed Filip’s anxious glance, just watch him surreptitiously for a few minutes longer. Then I draw Toast to a walk so we fall back to where my men have been bringing up the rear of our procession.
Stavros meets my gaze with a questioning lift of his eyebrows. I offer a noncommittal shrug in return.
When I’m close enough that I’m sure our voices won’t carry to the man we’re monitoring, I guide Toast into the midst of their group and speak under my breath. “I still can’t tell if he’s working against us. He hasn’t used any magic that I’ve sensed.”
Filip has admitted to having a small talent, one he got in exchange for a few toes, but only for encouraging crops to grow. It seems he’s a farmer’s son. Of course, there’s no way to be sure he’s telling the truth about the size of his talent or its purpose.
“He did warn us about the patrols,” Rheave murmurs. “If he wanted us to get caught, wouldn’t he have kept quiet?”
Stavros grimaces. “It could have been a ploy to earn our trust, knowing he’d find out other ways for Lothar to catch us. But if he passed on information about our plans, he didn’t tell them everything. Lothar didn’t realize that there’d be three of us, and he didn’t arrive soon enough to confront us before we broke into the guardhouse.”
My lips twist in a wry smile. “It’d certainly have been easier to overwhelm us with dozens of his people right there.”
Casimir looks toward the younger man and back at us. “I still think that even if he’s acted as an informant to some extent, that doesn’t mean he’s against our cause. We don’t know what pressure Lothar might have put on him, what threats he might have faced if he didn’t comply.”
“We’ll know soon enough if he’s continued to inform,” Alek puts in. “The men Tinom sent to Kevarsi will catch up with us at the temple within a day or two. If they saw the Order of the Wild increasing their patrols and watching for our arrival, that’s all we’ll need to know.”
I adjust my grip on the reins, unable to shed the tightness in my stomach. “If they don’t see that, we’re not in the clear. He simply might not have had the means to pass on the information once we left Florian.”
Stavros gives a soft grunt. “Well, he won’t have much opportunity at the temple either, if the devouts there are as loyal as Tinom believes. We’ll stay alert to any sign of sabotage—from any source.”
“It might not have been a purposeful betrayal in the first place,” Casimir reminds us in his optimistic way. “If anyone in the know made a stray comment within hearing of the wrong person, Lothar could have put the rest of the pieces together on his own.”
I cast my gaze over the two dozen figures traveling with us: three royal guards in their plain clothes at the front, Petra and her siblings behind them flanked by Tinom and one of the clerics, and the rest of our motley assortment of soldiers, devouts, and other miscellaneous allies all the way back to us five.
I can’t help feeling a little glad that we left Baroness Sibille and a few other more prominent citizens back in Florian to continue the resistance there alongside the Black Talons. Her attitude always rubbed me the wrong way.
But any of the supporters still with us stand to gain a lot by being instrumental in putting Petra on the throne… or by preventing her and gaining Lothar’s favor.
I swallow thickly. “We just have to be careful.”
Rheave cranes his neck to the side to look past the riders in front of us. “What’s that up ahead?”
A thick wooden post juts out of the terrain along the side of the road. As we come up on it, uneasiness creeps over my skin.
Tattered bits of what could be ruddy fabric or dried flesh cling to the splintered sides. And a rough symbol is carved into the wood near the top of the post—the All-Giver’s sigil, but inverted the way the scourge sorcerers like to draw it.
I restrain a shiver and yank my gaze away.
Filip is averting his eyes too. Is that a good sign or an attempt at obscuring his true allegiances?
Our procession continues on past the post with the steady clomping of our horses’ hooves. I peer at the open fields around us that stretch to distant patches of forest.
A few figures move around the farms set back from the road, but none of them glance our way. The illusion Tinom cast around us, not having enough charms to conceal us all individually, is still doing its job.
When I asked him how it works, it sounded like he’s using a similar technique to one I adopted on the road with my men before. He’s conjured a vague impression that there’s nothing of interest right where we are and that more compelling sights lie elsewhere.
My magic twitches in my chest, reminding me that I could draw a thicker shield of invisibility around us. I have before with a small group.
Even as my power wriggles against my ribs, a flicker of movement at the edge of my vision makes my head jerk around.
There’s nothing there. I haven’t called on my magic in days now, but my nerves haven’t stopped jumping.
When I return my attention to our group, Casimir is watching me with concern in his dark blue eyes. He’s always the most alert to my mental state.
I offer him a quick smile that I hope will reassure him. What’s happening to me is what it is. There’s nothing he can do to heal the damage my own power has inflicted on my mind.
I’m just stretching in the saddle, wondering if it’ll be time to take a brief rest stop soon, when one of the guards at the front of the procession lets out an urgent sound.
A small squad of four riders is trotting toward the crossroad we’re just minutes away from, coming from our right. They wear the uniforms of royal soldiers, but one of them is flying a banner with the downward All-Giver sigil.
Order of the Wild devotees. The enemy.
Tinom motions for us all to get off the road. “Gather as closely together as you can. I’ll thicken the illusion as much as I have the strength for.”
Rheave shifts restlessly, eyeing the approaching soldiers. “We could overpower them.”
“If they try to fight us,” I say. “More likely, they’d see they’re outnumbered and ride off for reinforcements.”
Alek nods. “Our main advantage on this journey has been that no one knows where in the country we’ve gone.”
We nudge the horses across the field and bunch together in as tight a cluster as they’ll tolerate. Keeping an eye on Filip, I position myself near Petra and her siblings under the dour stares of her guards. Stavros follows suit, helping the guards form an inner ring around our most precious companions.
We can’t let enemies beyond our ranks or within them have a chance to strike at what remains of the royal family.
To my dismay, the Order squadron turns left at the crossroads, bringing them on a course straight past us. All of us hold terribly still, our mouths clamped shut.
As they approach, my magic flares sharper, prickling all the way up to my throat. It squirms through my chest and tugs at my heart.
Why am I just sitting here? I could be blasting them to bits or cloaking us so there’s no chance they’d ever notice us.
What if Tinom’s abilities aren’t enough?
Sweat breaks out on my skin beneath my cloak. My fingers clench around the reins, and I summon the imagery that’s helped me contain my power in the past: a thick vine winding around my body.
The four riders carry on by without more than a distracted glance in our direction. The pressure in my chest gradually eases, though not without a few final pokes at my innards.
Then a small, sharp jab of retaliation sears between my ribs.
It’s little more than a needle prick, there and then gone, easy to ignore. Nothing like the vicious fits that came over me in the past after years of restraining my magic.
All the same, a chill collects in my belly. Is my power already that impatient to be used again?
I can’t let myself be distracted by those kinds of worries.
Suppressing a shiver, I scan the faces around me for any concerning signs—and find Petra looking back at me with a pensive expression.
Her lips curl in a brief, muted smile, but her attention doesn’t feel entirely friendly. Was she thinking that I should have contributed my vast if chaotic magic to protecting her? Questioning my loyalty for not offering to?
A deeper discomfort seeps through me down to my gut. All the things she must have heard about the riven, all the attempts we’ve made to convince her family that I’m not a threat… What must she make of my hesitation to trust myself?
The Order’s riders dwindle from view and finally vanish down the road. Without a word, Tinom beckons us back onto our course.
I nudge Toast to keep pace with Petra’s steed: a black mare that’s not quite as elegant as a typical queenly mount. We’ll have to get the royal stables back for our future queen too.
Once we’re well on our way again, I pitch my voice low so as not to draw anyone else into this particular conversation. “I hope you know that if you were in immediate danger and the only way I could protect you was with my magic, I would. I just… don’t want to risk the consequences unless it’s necessary. Since my going mad wouldn’t be particularly good for your safety either.”
Petra blinks as if startled that I brought up the subject. Maybe I misread her expression earlier.
“Of course you should moderate yourself,” she says, matching my tone. “From what you’ve said, it’s understandable both for your well-being and for our security in general. I know my father was hard on you, but I trust you to know your limits.”
The thought of King Konram, of how instrumental I was in getting Lothar into a position to murder him—how close I came to murdering him myself—sends a fresh pang of guilt down the middle of me. “Thank you. You should never doubt that if I could save your life, I’ll do whatever’s in my power to accomplish it.”
Petra glances at me again with a similar thoughtfulness in her dark eyes. “But not to save your own life?”
My throat constricts. It takes me a moment to pull together my words. “What good would it do me to save myself only to lose my sanity at the same time? At least if I protect you in the process, I’ll have contributed something worthwhile. Balanced out the harm I’ve done a little.”
A furrow forms in Petra’s brow. “You know that I honestly don’t blame you for what happened in Regica, don’t you? That was all Lothar’s doing. I’ve told you I understand that.”
I can’t keep holding her gaze. My eyes dip so I’m staring vaguely at Toast’s mane. “It was still me there. My power opened the doors for him. My magic murdered loyal guards. But I won’t let anything like that happen again. And whatever you need from me, you’ll have it.”
Petra is silent for long enough that I start to think the conversation is over. Then she speaks even more quietly than before. “It’s a difficult balance, isn’t it? Knowing how to act and how far to go in any direction… I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought back to that night when my first instinct was to pull Klaudia and Jacos away from the violence. Maybe if I’d tried, I could have stopped the bleeding…”
Her voice peters out.
I barely manage to stop myself from gaping at her. “Lothar and his sorcerer would have slaughtered all of you.”
“I tell myself that. That must be why I acted as I did in the moment. But none of us can know for sure what the alternate outcomes could have been, can we?”
The faintest tremor ripples through her words. For the first time, I see a glimpse of the frightened girl behind the queenly fa?ade. The nineteen-year-old who hasn’t seen half as much of the world’s perils as I have, who never expected to be ruling so soon, let alone in the face of a massive rebellion.
How much of her confidence does she feel, and how much is a front to maintain the authority that could so quickly slip through her fingers?
How much have my past remarks about her father’s methods of ruling shaken her confidence?
I had to tell her why the people weren’t leaping to support another Melchiorek—that she needed to regain their trust. It wouldn’t have helped her to feign ignorance.
But in this moment, the future we’re working toward feels unnervingly fragile. Petra’s life isn’t the only aspect of her existence we need to preserve.
As I grope for the right response, a relieved call carries back from the front of the procession. “I can see the temple! We’re almost there.”
Peering past the heads in front of me, I make out a pale white spire against the blue-gray sky.
Only a thin flicker of relief passes through me.
It’s time to find out what reception we’ll receive from this place we mean to make a sanctuary.