Chapter 28
‘Do you think we should all go together?’ Ruben questions as we head out into the hallway. ‘I think Loch should be here for this.’
As though he has been summoned, Loch rounds the corner.
‘I heard,’ he says simply.
‘Well then, let’s go find Magnus,’ I declare authoritatively. ‘I suspect Ylva will know where he is.’
My idea is sound, but the housekeeper’s chair is currently empty, and even when we reach the ground floor of the palace, there’s no one in sight.
No Ylva, no guards, no one. Clearly it’s got around that the princess doesn’t want a twenty-four-hour chaperone, and they’re content with that. It’s gratifying to see.
‘Is it weird that there are no guards?’ Ruben comments. ‘I’m willing to bet Korvane has guards everywhere.’
‘You have to have guards when you’re a megalomaniac arsehole,’ Benny mutters, not quite under his breath.
All eyes turn to Kyor, waiting for him to respond, but he sighs. ‘When it’s true, it’s true. Come on. There will be a throne room somewhere,’ Kyor suggests. ‘Probably near the centre of the palace.’
‘Our throne room is on the south side of the building to make the most of the light,’ Benny counters.
‘You have a throne room in the Eastern Isles?’ Kyor questions in surprise.
‘Of course we do. Remember how we were independent for centuries?’ Tension fixes in Benny’s shoulders, and all hint of joviality has gone.
‘We joined with the mainland only a few centuries ago because we thought it would help our people and make us more prosperous, remember? Can’t say it went quite as planned. ’
Kyor grimaces. ‘Right.’
The conversation has quickly slid from warm and friendly to painfully uncomfortable, but thankfully, I see a way to change the subject, since I spot a familiar face, albeit not a welcome one.
Ranveeg.
‘General Ranveeg.’ I use the most amiable tone I can muster as I cross the hallway towards her.
‘I’m looking for my grandfather.’ I keep my tone polite, not just out of respect for her title, but also because I’m suddenly reminded that Stefan told me that she has one of the rarest magics of all: the ability to pull your breath from your body.
Her eyes narrow. ‘I heard you had to be carried back from the sacred lands on your wolf today. The Veil a little too much for you? Or is it the diet of riverweed? Does your delicate constitution require more?’
The tension in my muscles that bloomed at the mere sight of her kicks up another notch.
‘You think I’m delicate?’ I question, my temper flaring.
‘I wonder why that is. Is it because I haven’t shared with you the litany of deaths caused by my hands?
Or because you have no idea what it’s like to eke out a life in the slums?
Because trust me’ – my voice hardens – ‘no one comes out of a life like that delicate. Or…’ I pause, tilting my head ever so slightly. ‘Or is that just what you’re hoping?’
I take a step closer to her, invading her personal space. ‘Are you hoping that I’m delicate, Ranveeg? Hoping that you can manipulate me? Intimidate me? Because if so, you’re going to be very, very disappointed.’
Her nostrils flare, but I don’t give her the chance to respond before I continue. ‘Now, General Ranveeg, I assume you’re done with your pathetic attempts at insulting me? Because if you’re not, my dire wolf is hungry and not feeling inclined to walk beyond the pyrrhic…’
Fen releases a perfectly timed growl, pulling back his lips and flashing his truly terrifying teeth.
The general’s expression does not falter, her skin neither flushing nor paling, but there is the slightest dilation of her pupils. Does she believe Fen will attack her? Not entirely. Is it a risk she’s willing to take? No.
‘Toren!’ she calls out. ‘Take the princess and her regrettable choice of companions to the king,’ she says before swivelling on the ball of her foot and striding away.
Toren is a much, much more welcome sight. ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better, Princess. And just so you know, you are far from the first person to have fainted after the stress of the Veil. My own brother did the same.’
‘Oh, thank you, but I—’ I stop myself. Sometimes the truth isn’t the easiest option. Not even close. ‘Thank you,’ I say again instead.
‘The king is in the throne room,’ Toren tells us, confirming Kyor’s suspicion.
‘I still don’t understand why he has so few guards in the palace,’ Kyor remarks as we follow Toren through one turn and then the next.
‘I still don’t understand why a king would need guards in his own kingdom,’ Toren responds. ‘Surely he does not fear his own people? They are the ones who have the most reason to honour him.’
A silence whirls around us. Korvane is feared by his people, not honoured.
Benny’s sidelong glance to Kyor is pointed, and the prince doesn’t miss it.
At some point, Kyor and Benny are going to have to address the situation with the rebels and their opposing sides, and as their friendship deepens, I know it’s becoming harder and harder for the pair to face their opposition.
‘Just in here,’ Toren says, stopping in front of a wide set of double doors. ‘I’ll wait outside in case you need a hand finding your way back.’
‘It’s fine. I know the way back from here,’ Thessa comments, causing us to look at her in surprise.
‘You do?’ I question her.
‘I have excellent recall,’ she says. ‘And I have wandered here before, though I did not know this was his throne room. It does not look like much.’
Thankfully, Toren looks amused by her comments rather than offended.
I rap my knuckles loudly on the door before opening it.
‘Rose,’ Magnus says, standing up when he sees me. Like Thessa said, the space does not appear to be a grandiose throne room, and as far as I can see, there’s not even a throne.
Like so much in Isthyr, the space is sparsely decorated, with wide windows overlooking the library favoured over paintings and art.
A central fireplace is, unusually, stone-built, and three large cerulean sofas are angled around it.
Even more unusual is the fact that the fireplace is lit, the dancing orange flames radiating heat.
I learn why the fire already roars when Magnus speaks.
‘I was about to ask you to come and see me here. After what happened…’ He stops himself. ‘You have recovered?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
He looks at my friends and raises an eyebrow in question at the grouping. It’s rare for us all to gather together.
‘Come, sit.’ He gestures to the comfy-looking sofas.
I sit on one with Kyor, next to Magnus. Caz, Thessa, and Loch take the one opposite us, leaving Benny and Ruben to share the one that faces the fire itself, though Ruben shuffles over a little, making a notable effort to put some distance between them.
Elska and Fen lie down before the fire, basking in the heat crackling over their fur.
Caz begins. ‘Your Majesty,’ she says, leaning forward with the heavy tome still clutched in her arms. ‘I found some records in your library that I would like to discuss with you. I’m sure there are further details, but there is quite a lot to go through, and as you know, we are limited in time.
Rose’s survival hangs in the balance, and we will all do everything we can to stack the odds in her favour. ’
All eyes fall instinctively on my arms – to the black lines flowing with poison. Slowly killing me. We all feel the noose tightening.
‘If I can be of help, of course I will. And please, my name is Magnus. You have been a great friend to my granddaughter, and I believe that makes us family of sorts too, for it is clear Rose sees you as such.’
As he looks at me, a smile rises on his lips, not one of the restrained smiles I have seen time and time before, but a true smile, accompanied by a glint in his eyes, though it’s gone almost as quickly as it formed.
He gestures to the tome that Caz still holds carefully. ‘What is it you wish to ask me about?’
The rest of our group looks at Caz expectantly, making it clear that she’s going to be the one who does the talking.
‘This book, it mentions the first Retterheld,’ she says. ‘The very first one.’
‘I believe we have a book with such information in it, yes,’ Magnus replies. ‘But that is not a question.’
‘No.’ Caz moves over to the table and places the book upon it.
‘This book says that as well as Morathkians, Sannings, Issen, and Torailians all entered the tournament in pursuit of a gifting from the Goddess Etta. But … I don’t understand how that could work.
It’s a centuries-old Morathkian tradition.
I have never, ever heard of other peoples taking part. ’
Magnus presses his lips tightly together as he considers his answer. ‘Well, now, it is as I said. We are family now, so some tales may be told.’ His eyes linger on Thessa. ‘Though perhaps we will need a drink for the revelations to come. Some secrets are not so easily unfolded.’
He moves over to a cabinet and opens the door, pulling out a large bottle of amber liquid.
‘You see?’ Benny groans in relief. ‘I told you they had to have more to drink.’
‘We do not drink often,’ Magnus says mildly, as if we hadn’t already figured as much, ‘but there are things we learned from the days when borders were open that we still appreciate. A good mead is one of them. I must confess that our riverweed brews never quite work out. The amount of sugar you have to add to make them palatable quite ruins their nutritional value.’
He pours the drink slowly, like he hasn’t just said something extraordinary, like he didn’t just casually mention open borders.
‘Wait,’ Kyor says incredulously, focusing on the same thing that caught my interest. ‘You’re saying the borders were open? People flowing from one kingdom to the next without fear of attack?’
‘Yes. For many, many centuries. That was the way the Gods intended it. Different people, different ways of life, but at peace with one another.’ His gaze returns to Thessa yet again. ‘Do they know what you are? Your role? Have you shared it with them?’
‘Your role?’ Caz turns to the Sanning, confused. ‘What does he mean by your role?’
Thessa’s nostrils flatten as she draws in a long breath. ‘I am only allowed to speak of it to my own people,’ she says slowly.
‘Yet your stole clearly marks you out,’ Magnus replies gently.
‘Only if you know our ways.’ She is looking at him with narrowed eyes now. ‘Where did you get that bursta?’
He smiles. ‘From a Sanning, of course. One very dear to me. If you cannot speak of the histories you hold, do I have your permission to share them on your behalf? I am not bound by your vows.’
More vows! Fen huffs into my mind. You humans would do better to trust rather than wrap each other in spells and blood.
It’s hard to disagree.
Across from me, Thessa gives a jerk of her head. It’s barely a nod, yet her consent is undeniable.
‘Thessa is a sentinel,’ Magnus confirms.
‘A sentinel?’ Caz repeats, shifting away from Thessa a little, hurt glimmering in her eyes.
‘It is not something I can speak of.’ Thessa speaks generally, but her eyes are on Caz, pleading for some understanding.
Magnus continues. ‘Sentinels are charged with remembering the Sannings’ past and passing it down by word of mouth. As I understand it, it’s a familial role, the lore passed down from grandmother to mother to daughter.’
‘The whole maternal family is designated as such,’ Thessa explains. ‘All my female relatives, not just the eldest woman. My great-grandmothers, my aunts, my children – if I am so blessed – will all be sentinels. The entire family tree takes on the knowledge.’
‘So what does that mean?’ I question. ‘You have to keep records?’
‘Records in my mind, The Rose. I told you I have a good memory. It is not through accident, but by design. By training. Through the careful memorisation of words shared with me by my kin.’
Thessa’s words add a weight to the air, which I see pressing down on Caz’s shoulders far more than on the rest of us.
‘You never told me,’ she whispers.
‘I could not. Even now, I cannot speak my history to outsiders.’
Magnus shoots her a hard look then. ‘You have seen that Rose has Raven Sight. That she is kin.’
Thessa licks her lips. ‘Raven Sight exists just in old stories,’ she says, but she swallows hard.
‘How, then, do I know your stories?’ Magnus asks pointedly.
Thessa’s eyes narrow. ‘You can only know our histories if you are a Sanning, which you are not, or—’ She cuts herself off, and for the first time that I can recall, she gapes.
‘Or,’ Magnus finishes for her, ‘if you marry a Sanning.’
My brain stutters, trying to keep up. Magnus married a Sanning? But as far as I’m aware, the only person he was ever married to was my grandmother … which means what? I know the answer even if my thoughts refuse to admit it.
And so does Thessa from the way she’s gawking at me.
Great Mother. I am a quarter Sanning.
‘Child of Four,’ Caz whispers.
She’s right. I am truly a child of four heritages. That’s where the name has come from. That’s one mystery figured out.
My heart races as I try to assimilate this new knowledge and everything that goes with it. ‘I get my Raven Sight from my grandmother?’ I ask.
‘No,’ Thessa responds immediately. ‘It cannot be possible. Raven Sight is a story. A story of our magic … before.’
‘Before what?’ Benny asks.
But Kyor is frowning, ready to speak before Thessa has a chance to explain herself.
‘This whole time, we’ve been stumbling in the dark, not knowing what Rose’s visions were, and you didn’t once think to say, “Hey, it sounds like it’s Raven Sight”?
And what of the Myrkr? He turned Sanning when Rose killed him. We all saw it.’
My grandfather turns to me, eyes wide. ‘You killed a Myrkr?’
‘It was a team effort,’ I say modestly. ‘He was attacking us,’ I explain. ‘Attacking us with Rottings.’
‘Rottings? I don’t believe I know this term.’ Magnus frowns.
‘People who were once living but are now dead. Or sort of dead,’ I say unhelpfully.
Thessa thrusts her shoulders back and looks at the Issen king. ‘So you’re saying The Rose is definitely part Sanning?’ she asks.
He nods firmly. ‘She is.’
The Sanning swallows before she gestures towards Magnus’s mead, now poured into a series of glasses.
‘May I?’ she asks.
‘Of course.’ He hands her a glass and then offers the rest of us one too, but while I merely sniff and cradle mine, Thessa downs her drink in one.
She exhales a gasp as the drink burns the back of her throat.
Thessa stands. ‘It would be best if I start at the beginning…’
Anticipatory silence settles over the room.
‘The beginning of time.’