Chapter 5 #2
Only then did I manage to stagger away, aside, bracing myself for the first sign of a bloodthirsty crowd about to pour from the inn.
But there was no crowd, not a single howl for my fingers rising from the eerily quiet building …
and there in the doorway, leaning with crossed arms against the sturdy wooden frame, was Durlain Averre.
There was nothing Ancelet-like about him anymore.
Gone was the rueful grin, the spark of light in his eye.
The man on the threshold looked every inch the arrogant Averre prince, so used to immediate obedience it was hard to even imagine giving him anything else – dark horns gleaming with menace, lips twisted into their familiar graveyard smile.
By night, I’d thought his hair a simple black.
Now, in the sunlight, those same curls revealed a shimmer of the deepest, darkest purple …
and it was that utterly alien colour, more than even the sharp-edged, unnaturally beautiful features it framed, that shattered the last illusion of humanity about him.
Impending doom, I’d thought in our cell.
Here, a sleek black shadow surrounded by earth and moss and weathered wood, the prince of many faces had donned the mask of Death himself.
‘Uh,’ the guard stammered on the path, releasing his sword and inching backward ever so slightly. ‘My lord?’
‘Ancelet Averre,’ Durlain informed him, almost absently, voice threaded with frost. ‘I believe I heard someone howl something about witches. I do assume that didn’t in any way refer to my dear friend here?’
Friend.
I would have laughed if I’d still been capable of breathing.
‘Um,’ the guard sputtered again.
Durlain raised a slow, scathing eyebrow.
‘Um.’ The man cleared his throat, then straightened himself to as soldier-like a posture as his dishevelled appearance allowed.
‘Yes. My lord. I ride under the banner of the provost of Svein’s Creek, my lord.
A prisoner has escaped her cell last night, and I’m one of the men tasked with finding her. ’
A prisoner. Not two of them. Better to go after a lone woman than to risk pissing off a powerful fireborn mage; the provost may have hoped one would lead to the other.
And the inn’s clients would know now, wouldn’t they?
They’d seen me come in last night. They knew very damn well what I’d looked like, my hay-covered clothes and bloodied wrists, and even if they thought themselves friends of the man who called himself Ancelet Averre …
what reason did they have to risk their necks for a witch’s health?
But not a sound escaped from inside, and Durlain didn’t blink.
‘I see.’ He didn’t even sound defensive. More than anything, he sounded bored. ‘You must have been misinformed, in that case. Both of us have spent the past two days in Horn’s End, as every soul inside will be able to tell you – would you like to ask any of them?’
Hedda appeared in the doorway before the guard had time to open his mouth, her tanned face set into a grim mask, her hand tight around a large wooden spoon. ‘What’s all this hassle about, Lord Ancelet?’
‘Ah, Hedda.’ An idle, haughty drawl. ‘Be a dear and answer this man’s questions, will you? He has a rather wild story of prison breaks or some such nonsense.’
She threw the guard a withering glare. ‘I don’t know about any prison breaks, sergeant, but Lord Ancelet and his friend have been staying with us since Tyr’s day. Would you like to ask any of my other patrons?’
The guard blinked and again said, ‘Um.’
‘I trust that was all?’ Durlain added, an unmistakable warning in his voice.
The man parted his lips, then shut them again.
Looked at me, something almost like a plea in his eyes – those same eyes that had locked on mine in the ratty dusk of my death cell, that knew without a shred of doubt that the both of them were lying through their teeth, and that he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
The provost himself, fireborn and appointed by Aranc in person, may have been able to call a fellow mage out on these flimsy lies. A simple soldier, and a human one to boot, didn’t stand a shred of a chance.
I forced myself to smile and say, ‘I don’t have anything to add.’
‘I … I see.’ The guard seemed to shrink half an inch as he bowed his head, turning back to the doorway with sagging shoulders. ‘I apologise, Lord Ancelet. I must have been mistaken, indeed.’
‘See that it doesn’t happen again.’ Durlain’s cold smile left no room for responses. ‘Come inside, everyone. Good day to you, sergeant.’
Inside?
Where the other patrons were waiting for us – having heard that all-revealing accusation?
But Hedda had already vanished back into the inn, and Durlain turned without granting me another glance, showing no intention of waiting for me or my decisions.
Inside was the better of my options, I concluded in the span of a heartbeat.
At least it took me out of the guard’s sight; at least it kept me by my fireborn ally’s side.
I snuck back into the breakfast room, the taste of fear sour in the back of my throat.
The other guests hadn’t moved, some two dozen broad silhouettes in leathers and furs around the tables.
Not a single knife or sword gleamed in the dull morning light.
No one pointed fingers, no one cried for blood …
and it was Durlain they stared at, not me, when he stepped in last and calmly, meticulously closed the door behind him.
Outside, the clatter of hooves suggested the guardsman had bolted. No telling when he would be back with help.
‘Well,’ Hedda said darkly.
‘Yes.’ Durlain showed no sign of hurry or distress as his gaze slid around the room, pausing on every single face before turning back to hers.
That rueful Ancelet smile broke through, seemingly out of nowhere – an almost mischievous expression, as if Durlain had been an act, as if this was the true character rising back to the surface.
‘That was under duress, of course. When they return, please tell them I would have burned your inn to the ground if you’d given him any other answer. ’
Hedda snorted, slammed her spoon down on the nearest table, and began clearing out bowls with impatient, snappish motions. ‘Threats wouldn’t have stopped me if I’d wanted you behind bars, you little rat.’
‘And perhaps don’t tell them that.’ He gave her a wry grin, then bent over to pick up his bags and swing them over his shoulders.
To the rest of the room, he added, ‘You’ve heard me talking about my plans to return to Mount Averre.
Feel free to remember that when asked. In fact, feel free to tell them whatever you know – being helpful will save you a hell of a lot of trouble, and it won’t hurt me much. ’
There were some grumbles from around the tables – indignance, it seemed, at the very notion any of Ash and Elm’s guests would strive to be even minimally helpful to anyone carrying Aranc’s antler crest on their uniform.
Durlain gave them another sheepish grin, this one looking faintly grateful, then turned on his heel and waved at the exit in a clear signal for me to go first.
Even then I still expected that inevitable cry behind my back. Witch!
It didn’t come.
He didn’t meet my eyes until we stood outside again, until the door had fallen shut behind him and there was no one but the breeze and the water to hear us.
Only then did the disarming cheer abruptly flee from his expression.
The tightness it left behind on his narrow, otherworldly face was nothing short of alarming.
‘Need to be quick.’ No questions, no reassurances.
His cloak snapped around his ankles as he strode to the stables, twigs snapping under his boots.
‘I have no idea how close the other guards are, and I have no desire to draw any more attention from the Estien authorities. This might get messy enough as it is.’
Aranc.
Fuck. He thought this might get Aranc involved.
‘I … I’m sorry,’ I breathed, because I wasn’t sure what to respond but quite sure this ought to be part of it – that he needed to know that I knew how much trouble I’d caused with my moment of inattentiveness.
Hell, why had I been such a reckless fool at breakfast?
If he’d held any goodwill for me before, surely I’d squandered it now that I needed it most. ‘I didn’t mean to cause a stir.
It was stupid of me to run into him, and I’m sorry I—’
Durlain whipped around in the broad stable gate, eye narrowing on my face. ‘Are you suggesting you’re able to magically predict the whereabouts of all Estien soldiers at any given time, Thraga?’
‘Am I— What?’
‘If yes,’ he continued in that same biting tone, giving no sign he’d heard me at all, ‘that’s a damn useful skill to have, and I look forward to making good use of it. If no, then what clever strategies, exactly, would you have deployed to avoid a man showing up right on our very doorstep?’
I stared at him, lost for words.
‘As I thought.’ An irritable sigh; he wheeled around again and vanished into the stables. ‘If you’re trying to win any sympathy, your first step is to get rid of this useless snivelling. Making yourself useful would be a good second.’
Oh, fuck him.
It’s alright, Thraga – how hard would it be to say it, to show just a minimum of kindness in the face of looming catastrophe? We’ll get out of here, I promise. I’m a fireborn mage so powerful my brothers had to kill me; I’ll keep you safe.
Instead—
Make yourself useful.
Conditional forgiveness, coming with blunt expectations I might not be able to meet at all.
Had he told Pol to make herself useful too, in the days before their planned wedding?
Was that why he’d poisoned her in the bed they should have shared – because she’d failed to prove herself the sort of wife he considered a helpful asset?
I didn’t even want to know.
I needed Lark so much it ached.
Durlain reemerged from the broad stable doors before a minute had passed, reins in hand, bags bound to the black horse’s back.
A single horse, a single saddle, and the pit in my stomach opened wider – because I’d have to spend hell knew how many hours pressed against that tall, wiry body, and worse …
Worse, we’d be too heavy.
That desperate sprint through the woods had been bad enough. The horse wouldn’t have fully recovered from that effort yet, and a full day of riding would be worse – so how were we going to run from the guards on our trail, if—
Wait.
Wait.
‘Get in the saddle,’ Durlain was saying, his voice sharp and miles away. ‘I’ll take the seat behind you.’
I didn’t move. Useful, he’d said. Death’s fucking arse, I’d show him useful. ‘There are a few runes I’d like to try before we—’
‘Thraga,’ he snapped.
I jammed my mouth shut.
And only then did I hear what he must have noticed moments before – the faint but distinctive blare of a battle horn in the distance. The sound of soldiers gathering, calling for help.
Oh.
Shit.
‘Use your runes while we’re riding,’ Durlain added, the razor-edge of his jaw disconcertingly tight. ‘We’re getting the hell out of here first.’