Chapter 25
twenty-five
Isahn is in a foreign land.
“What?” Isahn startled awake, dazed, and oddly adrift. He’d dozed off in a state of abject confusion; not much had changed on that front. An odd-looking lamp still burned on a side table, out of reach. He couldn’t have been out for too long.
Remain calm.
He was being held... somewhere... by someone. He definitely shouldn’t have spoken. But not much was in his control at the moment, aside from his voice and his magic, so he had talked—stupidly—to whoever woke him up.
Control emotions.
“Get up, we’re leaving.” The voice floated in from beyond his cell door. “I’m coming in. Don’t hit me with your insane magic. I’m on your side, I promise.”
Isahn scoffed as the door opened wide. A woman of medium build, with tan, olive-toned skin and short curly brown hair, waltzed into the cell.
“Stick out your leg.”
Formulate a plan.
He extended his shackled ankle, not sure how he felt about his person, but certain being unchained would give him the upper hand. “You move like a soldier. Why should I trust you?”
“I used to be one.” She squatted in front of Isahn and worked a key into the shackle’s lock.
Fair enough, so did he—albeit briefly. “Where’d you get the key?”
“Off the dead guard in the hall.”
Oh. Isahn followed the mystery woman from the cell, passing said guard in the corridor, dead, as promised.
A stocky, brown-skinned guard with black hair slumped against the wall.
A river of red slicked from his neck to pool around his still body.
The tang of fresh blood bit into Isahn’s nostrils and he grimaced.
When they emerged from the cellar, he wasn’t surprised to find it was night. The estate, or wherever he was, stood silent and all but devoid of life, as evidenced by the four other dead guards they passed on their way out. They didn’t make a fucking peep.
Remain calm, control emotions, formulate a plan.
Relief gathered in his chest with each step he took away from the prison. Whoever this mysterious woman was, she must’ve been sent by the fates themselves. The night was hot and dry, not spring weather. Where the fuck was he? And how long had he been away from home?
“Are you an assassin or something?” Isahn’s voice was barely a whisper as they clambered over scraggly grasses and dodged another gnarled olive tree, making their way from the mansion-prison without using the far-too-visible main drive.
She chuckled dryly. “Or something.”
Olive trees. Olives. Something clicked in Isahn’s muddled brain. “Are we in fucking Domos?”
“Yes. Did you not know?”
He shook his head, even though she wasn’t looking.
“Those fuckers. It was the jailors, I think. Must’ve mindmolded you to clear your memories. Why would they do that?”
“Fucking mindmages,” he cursed. The sentiment felt oddly familiar, like he’d thought it before. The woman was probably right; the guards had changed his memories. Arseholes. Right when he was on Peros’s tail. Fuck.
“You must be someone important,” the brunette mused. “They’d kill you otherwise. They only clear the memories of the important ones.”
A lake lay up ahead, and dim moonlight reflected off the water. To his right, a short distance away, a town stood cloaked by night. The distant streets were lit by a few lamps here and there, specks of light against shadow.
“I’m Lord Yaranbur, Earl of Midlake. From Selwas.”
“Ah, a foreign noble. That explains it. You only told me your first name before.”
“We’ve met?”
“Damn, they got you good.” She paused by yet another olive tree, sticking out her hand in greeting. “My name’s Hill, Mel Hill. Nice to meet you again.” The woman turned and continued walking. “Yes, we’ve met. Shared a cell together for three weeks, in fact.”
“What?” He jogged to catch up. “Really?”
“Absolutely. You’re lucky we talked so much, because I know what you overheard that got your memory wiped.
” She jumped topics without giving him the chance to respond.
“We’re going into town there. That’s Nowosmont.
Don’t worry, I’ve got connections, we’ll be safe.
Going to pick up some papers and get us out of here. ”
“Out of Domos?” He rubbed his throbbing temples.
“Exactly. You need to get back to Selwas, and I need a change of pace.”
“You won’t be able to get into Selwas if you’re Domossan. I had to sneak into Gramenia in the first place, and I’m a bloody earl.”
“Papers, my friend. Domos will let us Gramenians pass the border, and Selwas won’t turn us away either, not for a short visit.”
“Ah, I see.” The plan was good enough for him. At least he wasn’t shackled to the wall of a dingy prison cell.
He could’ve picked the lock with his magic, sure.
But where would that have gotten him except stranded in a strange land?
Even being stuck in the Newand Principality, where he thought he was, would’ve been bad enough without any coin.
This was worse. He still had his signet ring, which could help prove his identity if needed.
Those fucking guards must not have known what they were looking at.
But ring or not, there was no way Isahn would be able to get from northern-fucking-Domos to Selwas without additional support—and that support had arrived in the form of a not totally trustworthy kind-of-friend, with a sort-of-plan.
“What’s this lake called?”
“Dlongos,” Hill replied.
“Does that mean ‘long’ or something?”
“Sure does.”
Isahn’s world tilted for the briefest of moments as he stared down at the turquoise water far below. The bridge was impressively high, but he didn’t typically respond to heights in such a way.
It had been three days since they’d ridden out of Nowosmont on a pair of horses Mel Hill procured, carrying false papers she’d also managed to obtain on extremely short notice.
The whole thing reeked of suspicion, but she’d taken him east, as promised.
And if Isahn’s knowledge of the northern kingdom hadn’t been fucked with by whatever magic the damned sensory mages used on him, he was fairly certain they were no more than a day’s ride from Gramenia.
Worst-case scenario, he could make a break for it.
She’d given him his papers for safekeeping.
They proclaimed Isahn to be Einarr Strom from the Principality of Newand, which was fucking bizarre, seeing as that was the name he’d used while following his uncle into Gramenia before being captured by Domossan spies, or whatever the fates had occurred.
During their second night on the road, Isahn had confronted his companion on the matter.
.. with a knife of tempered ice held to her neck.
She’d produced one of her own, sharpened steel, and snuck it up to his throat before he could react.
Mel Hill, the former Domossan legionary, who went by her surname, reminded Isahn they’d spoken many times before his memory was erased.
He’d forgotten about the night she’d sent off a note to a friend through a sympathetic guard.
“You requested your own damn name,” she’d said.
It made enough sense.
“Do you have anyone you need to reach out to when we get to the next town? We’ll be in Nevellium soon.”
Isahn nodded as he followed Hill off the bridge and they turned south. “I have a sister.”
The woman’s shoulders relaxed minutely, probably happy to learn there was someone on the other side.
“I’ll send a letter letting her know I’ll be home in about a week and a half.”
Mel Hill nodded. “So, just the one sibling?”
“Yes, just Solaelia,” Isahn was happy to focus on a topic that was easy to remember, easy to discuss. He told Hill about how his parents had passed under suspicious circumstances, and why he was following his shifty Uncle Peros in the first place.
Hill confirmed Isahn had already told her that bit, a few weeks back.
A terrible idea struck. What if Peros had gotten one over on him, and this “savior” was an assassin who intended to kill him and his sister once she had them together? He’d need to stay on guard until he made a determination.
“What about you?” he asked lightly. “Any siblings?”
“None that I know of, but it’s possible. My father was a legionary; died before I was born. My parents weren’t wed, you know?”
Isahn bobbed his head. A bastard. Baseborn.
He understood. Life couldn’t have been easy for her if Domos was anything like Selwas.
Some antiquated ideals were tough to shake, even in a country as progressive as his.
Women could hold titles in their own right, and loving couples of the same gender were welcome to solidify unions through handfasting, but people still looked down on unwed mothers.
It was shameful. “Is that why you’re hitting the road? ”
“Precisely. No prospects here, so I thought I’d see if I can’t catch others outside of Nowosmont.”
“Prospects like eligible bachelors or bachelorettes? Or prospects like employment?”
“The former, mainly,” she laughed.
The town of Nevellium ushered them through with its low-lying homes and terra cotta roofs. Hill claimed she had friends on the south side of the city.
Friends in high places, he noted as they rode up the drive to a sprawling villa—that’s what they called estates in the north—larger than the one they’d escaped.
“You’re not having me thrown in another cell, are you?”
“No. I’m not. But, I do need you to wait here while I speak with them.” Hill dismounted. “Please?”
“Sure.” Isahn swung down from his mount and took both sets of reins as Mel Hill sauntered up to the door.
A man who was likely a servant chatted with her briefly.
Isahn was too far away to hear what they were saying, and it would be much too obvious if he shot out a cord of water to listen in, even in the waning light of day.
Surely, they’d see the shimmering, crystalline snake slinking across the grass.
The servant disappeared inside, leaving the large doors ajar.
It looked like his new friend wasn’t kidding when she said she had a place for them to stay.
A man and a heavily pregnant woman appeared to speak with Hill. Isahn wouldn’t typically assume a woman’s, um, state. But this one was about to burst. There was no confusing it, not with the way her husband eyed her lovingly and kept her belly cupped in his happy hands.
The man turned to speak with someone outside of Isahn’s line of sight, and the servant from earlier emerged, making his way over as Hill turned to beckon for Isahn.
“Come on, we’ve got a place to stay!” she shouted.
A tentative smile crept across his face. These didn’t seem like the type who would be friendly with an assassin.
“Isahn, meet Viceroy Elio Neninios and Domina Greta Neninios. And this is my new friend, Lord Yaranbur from Selwas.”
The woman, Domina Neninios, shuffled awkwardly to the side as Hill and Isahn entered the house. He offered a smile and a thank you, but the domina wouldn’t even meet his gaze.
“Please, this way.” The viceroy held out a hand, ushering them down the wide, tiled corridor. “We’ll show you to your rooms, and we’d love if you’d join us for cena,” Elio Neninios offered. “We haven’t eaten yet.”
“Do you need clothing?” Domina Neninios asked.
“We do, yes. Thanks, Greta. We traveled light,” Hill explained as they passed the doors to the caldarium.
What? He stumbled slightly, before grabbing a hold of composure and catching up to the group. How did he know that?