Chapter 16 #3
Two weeks after Renn and his troops left, the first crafters arrived at the castle.
Three healers from two villages. Eden went straight to work, taking down their information and cataloging it, giving them a tour of the keep and their barracks.
More crafters trickled in, some as young as thirteen, one as old as seventy.
Predominantly men, and all healers. Healers, who had been legal for two decades.
Who felt comfortable exposing themselves.
In Princess Azra’s walks around the bailey, I noted she brought more guards with her and always had her fan in hand.
It was not until she demanded the new recruits be clearly marked as crafters that Eden relented and had them wear sashes like Physician Addsmuch’s, in whatever fabric we could spare, for there wasn’t much.
Which made Eden’s gifting me a second dress that much more meaningful.
The healers were a blessed distraction. We shared what we knew with one another, and I instructed them in all the ways I had learned to heal, including that of rebuilding parts of a lumis with pure magic—tying them off and letting them stand on their own, how to feed them to keep them strong, and so forth.
I did not speak of offensive strategies, not yet.
I explained what to expect with castle life and prepared the infirmary and bailey to receive injured men upon the army’s return, as Physician Addsmuch had left with the soldiers.
I worked with the recruits from dawn until dusk, letting them practice on one another.
Never on me, not with the darkness left from my death, nor with the small basalt dome masking the golden threading thickly woven to one of my merlons.
There would be no witnesses. Nothing that could connect me to their king.
Even apart, I was his weakness, and I feared I always would be.
The first nonhealing crafter arrived two weeks after the first healer: a mindreader.
She was a woman of about forty, haggard from the journey, asking about payment and requesting promises of amnesty.
I worried Eden might shy from her, since our only experience with mindreaders came from Adoel Nicosia, but she dove into the work with as much vigor as I did.
I thought of Dan back home in Fount and wondered how long it would be before the missive reached him, and whether or not he would answer it.
He would have finished his apprenticeship while I was in Sesta.
He might have started a tannery of his own or was sharing the workload—and pay—with Pern Fursmade.
As a young man, he needed to serve his country, but joining the army would hurt his sprouting career and leave Lissel with less money in our coffers and one less helping hand at the house.
Perhaps it was selfish of me, but I hoped he did not come, however much his presence would balm my aching soul.
I missed my family.
I thought of my siblings as I lay awake in Eden’s bed four weeks after the army left, painting their faces in my mind’s eye, drafting letters to them with my thoughts, wishing I could send the two I’d physically penned without taxing the war effort.
Should I forgo my final farewell to Renn and promise to Eden and return home sooner?
Had the gifts Renn provided them in January been enough to keep everyone afloat?
Did Lissel worry over what had happened to me after the sacking of Rove?
With healers coming to Derren Castle, my skill set was no longer unique or necessary, and Lissel had been running things so long on her own.
I truly did not want to travel by myself.
I managed it in Sesta, focused on one solemn goal, pushed ever forward by the need to survive.
And though I’d made the journey from Fount to Rove on my own, I feared I’d crumble from the isolation.
And I did not trust . . . I did not trust the strangers I’d surely meet along the way.
Simply put, I was afraid.
Forgive me, Lissel, for thrusting onto you what was thrust onto me. For making you a mother too soon.
As for Brien . . . I had not seen my brother Brien, my sibling closest to me in age, in over a year. I brought up pointed memories of him, detailing his features, ensuring I painted them with exactness for fear I might forget. To forget felt like the greatest crime I could commit against him.
I wondered if I would have forgotten Ursa’s face if I did not see it in my reflection. I thought of my dear twin, of the vision of her dead at Adoel Nicosia’s feet, and I feared another Sestan dragon might have done the same to my brother. That night, I wept anew.
It seemed the gods would never run out of reasons for me to mourn.
The following day I instructed a few healers in what I considered to be the basics of our craft.
It went well; as far as healing went, I felt much of the magic intuitive.
I excused myself to the privy. Exiting, I’d barely gotten outside the reach of its smell when Princess Azra came from my left and seized my arm, forcing me to turn toward her.
I only just pulled back the instinct to physically defend myself.
Jonras, ever loyal, hovered some distance away.
“When you are called, you answer, Miss Tallowax,” she commanded hotly, melodic dialect discordant.
Had she called me? The woman didn’t give me a chance to ask.
“I know about you, and I mean to make myself clear as to my and the king’s expectations.”
I narrowed my eyes at her but held my tongue. A feat I had to thank Queen Winvrin for, I supposed.
“Your being His Majesty’s second hand so long has made you act above your station,” she ground out quietly, like a pot just starting to boil. “I will remind you that his healing was your duty, nothing more, and certainly not a task to be perpetually rewarded.”
I held up a hand to stall her, to speak, but she barreled over me.
“You will not interrupt me.” Her pale skin reddened. “I know about you, Nym Tallowax. I’ve heard every rumor—”
“You’ve dug for every rumor,” I offered, but it went unheard.
“—and I know everything. I know the queen loathed you and you were a frequent bar-licker.”
That one must have been an Antsan idiom. I missed part of what she said trying to figure it out, and determined it must refer to the bars in the castle dungeon. My stomach tightened.
“—heard not using his title, and your own soldiers confirm you have shared his tent, which is wholly unnecessary for a crafter”—she spat the word like an insult—“whose services are no longer required. Unless, of course, you’re offering a new set of services.”
That rankled me. “Your assumptions make you look daft, Your Highness.”
She raised a hand, I thought to strike me, but lowered it again. I almost offered an explanation . . . but what good would that do but to confirm her anxieties?
I was already losing him. I didn’t need this woman to pour salt onto my bleeding heart.
Through gritted teeth, I asked, “May I be excused?”
She sniffed and lifted her chin. “Do not humiliate yourself further, and you will not humiliate me, is that understood? Abandon your ideas of grandeur and remember your place.” She looked me up and down.
“You may still play sycophant to Eden—for whatever reason, she seems to tolerate you. I will not, and do not.”
Ursa save me. Anger rolled in my shoulders and singed my fingertips, but I managed a simple nod. It did not appease her, but she didn’t batter me further with her obtuse sentiments. She nodded toward Jonras, who approached and did not make eye contact with me. They left together.
I very badly wanted a rug to beat. Instead, I went to the kitchen and kneaded dough, seeking exhaustion as medicine for my anger and everything that was tied to it.
I said nothing to Eden of the exchange and went to bed early, but it took hours to finally fall asleep.
At the first light of dawn, a surge of energy poured through my basalt armor, Renn’s emotions high and quick.
I woke with my heart racing, fear stoking it, while excitement laced the edges of my awareness.
I dared to crack open the wall. Hugging myself, I forced my breathing to stay even as courage and patriotism steamed into my throat and nose.
And beneath all of it, hot coals of anger.
I knew then, without a doubt, that the army had reached Serravia.
The battle had started.
That morning, I experimented with different patterns for buttressing the basalt wall.
Techniques I’d used against Nicosia, reinforcing it with magicked blocks or ethereal inventions of granite, ice, and steel.
None seemed to hinder my connection to Re—the king better than before, so I refueled my heart and sealed it in basalt.
I kissed the magic-glistening stones and whispered down the connection everything I wished I could say to him.
Things I could no longer say to him. Things no one but me would ever hear.
I noted Jonras near the east tower when I descended and asked Quinn, Eden’s guard, how long the Antsan man had been there. Apparently on and off, since shortly before dawn.
Frowning, I ignored Princess Azra’s spy and got to work.
More crafters came. Eden and I learned their skill sets, their training, ages, occupations, and fighting abilities, if relevant.
We checked their citizenship records, turning away only one, who did not have his papers, for we could not risk admitting potential spies into our fold.
The majority remained healers, predominantly men, and fell under my jurisdiction.
Princess Azra complained to the steward about the increasing traffic and demanded they be camped outside in tents.
However, as all our tents had gone with the army, her solution was moot, so she took to taking her walks both earlier and later in the day, often atop the bailey wall instead of within it.
More than once I thought I felt eyes watching me.
Sometimes, when I searched, I saw her glaring at me from the rampart, unabashed.
Other times, it was Jonras doing it for her.
I felt certain that was his mission; he was a loyal soldier who did as his mistress bade, even if he disagreed with it.
Yet I didn’t know what Princess Azra expected to find.
Renn—the king—was not here. I could do nothing to foil her.
When the first soulbinder reported, I flinched when she told me her craft.
Flinched, and in that fraction of a second my eyes were closed, I saw the Egroran behind my eyelids, the beautiful, ancient tree that had been my prison, and I felt Nicosia’s leash around my spirit, pinning me to its rough bark.
Her name was Phin. She was twenty-five years old—equal in age to me, her hair as dark as the Sestan king’s.
Eden, to her credit, showed no emotion when she recorded Phin’s ability; she welcomed her and gave her directions to the women’s barracks.
Eden had rarely been soulbound in Sesta.
Phin later confirmed that a soulbinder could only form one binding at a time, just as a mindreader could only delve into one mind, and a healer could only heal one body.
Since I’d been perpetually bound to that tree, I had occupied the entirety of Nicosia’s binding magic.
Unless the Allmaster of legend did not possess the same limitations as the rest of us, but I’d experienced his magic firsthand. I did not think that to be true.
He’d been so enraged, to know I had power he didn’t.
I miss you, Ursa, I thought, then comforted myself with a vision of her with my parents, running through rolling hills of white flowers and white aspens. A place of peace, so unlike the mortal world.
That night, as we scrambled together enough food for our craftlock troops in the bailey, the Antsan princess watching from the wall, Eden stood on an overturned crate and announced, “We are grateful for the miles you have traveled to come here and serve your country, and your king.
We admire your bravery, both in coming forward as the ban against craftlock is lifted, and to defend your families and your homes.
Here is an army unlike any Cansere has ever boasted, an army blessed by the gods. An army with true power.
“But I will make one thing clear.” Her voice took on a hard edge.
“Though our enemy has taken Rove, the law still stands. Though Sesta beats down our door, the law still stands. Though you wield magic, the law still stands. Our king, Renn Reshua Noblewight, has embraced craftlock for the good of his people, but crafters are not immune to the law. There will be no use of craftlock against one another or others without express permission from commanding officers, myself, and your mentor, Nym Tallowax. Power does not equal immunity, and the misuse of it will be dealt with swiftly and harshly.”
Several of the men and women exchanged stiff glances. They were still so new to this—to magic, and to war. I feared Eden’s words would frighten them, and yet I was exceptionally glad she had shared them.
“I believe I am understood.” She nodded with the regality of a princess, of a woman used to getting what she wanted. Of a person doing an impeccable job of hiding how broken she was, and how terrified she must have been of the mindreaders and soulbinders around her.
I did notice her exchanging a glance with her future sister-in-law and wondered if Azra Vitsoph had met with Eden personally. If she’d disparaged me to Eden the way she’d disparaged me to my face. If she had, Eden had said nothing of it, and her behavior toward me hadn’t changed.
There were some things only Eden would ever understand about me, and some things only I could understand about her. That bond was unbreakable. If given the chance, I would erase all of Rodsfell from our lives. But I was grateful for her.
Most of the craftlock troops nodded back, not that Eden lingered to ensure their consent. She did not ask it, she demanded it.
But I watched, and I knew not every head had yielded to the princess’s warning.