<She’s supposed to be dead.>
<All right, let’s talk.> Eofar looked slowly around at his three sisters. <I’m not forgetting the past, but we should talk about what happens now. Mother is gone, and now Father is, too. It’s just us.>
<Not her> Frea countered instantly. <She’s not one of us.>
<You can’t say that> he protested.
<No, she’s right> Isa said simply. He looked over at his baby sister in surprise and found her still fixated on Lahlil. Isa confused him. She had both aged and regressed in the same moment: she was both grown woman and five-year-old child all at once. <She’s not one of us. She is ‘us’. Everything we are, all that we’ve become – it’s all because of her.>
Frea charged, just as he had expected. He knew Lahlil was unarmed and that he should intervene, but still Strife’s Bane never twitched in his hand – not that it mattered, because Isa was there. She stepped in front of Lahlil as if she too had anticipated Frea’s lunge.
His bones shook with the impact of Isa’s sword against Blood’s Pride. She and Frea circled and he stepped back out of the way, but Lahlil stayed behind Isa like a shadow, hovering dangerously close to her back swing.
<Isa> said Lahlil softly, <can I ask you something?>
Isa’s eyes flicked back to her for a fleeting moment. <What?>
<Where was Mother taking you that day? You remember, don’t you?>
Eofar could feel Lahlil’s intensity snaking out towards his little sister, like vines. <Stop> he begged her as Frea aimed a thrust at Isa’s heart. Isa parried neatly and slid out of the way. Frea lost her balance for a moment and Isa charged, scraping sparks from the two swords as she pressed Frea backwards.
<Do you remember?> Lahlil asked again, ignoring him completely.
<I remember.>
<Do you remember looking down and seeing someone below? Someone looking up at you?>
Frea lunged with a soundless snarl, but again Isa stepped fluidly out of range. Lahlil moved in tandem with her and now, when Isa’s arm came up to block the blow, it was as if Lahlil had pulled it on a string.
<Isa, don’t—> he began, but she was already answering.
<Yes, I do remember: we all looked down. There was a girl there, down in the desert, and she was waiting for us. Mother was happy.> Isa paused and then in that same calm way she said with certainty, <It was you. Mother was looking for you. That’s why we had gone out, to find you.>
Eofar shut his eyes, as if by doing so he could block out the image of his mother and sisters on the back of that triffon, flying away from him.
<The sun was coming up.>
<Yes.>
<And there was a flash. I saw something flash.>
<I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!> Frea screamed, and she threw herself forward like a rabid animal. She hacked at Isa with all of her strength, all technique abandoned in her rush of frantic rage.
Strife’s Bane trembled in Eofar’s hand and he tightened his grip sympathetically on the hilt, that same desperate urgency to stop what was happening shooting through his veins. He didn’t want to know – he had never wanted to know.
<I remember the flash> said Isa. Her arms and legs were quaking with the force of Frea’s blows, and her shoulders were beginning to sag with the effort. Still, she held her ground. Frea, her strength squandered, changed to a two-handed grip and fell back, and Isa immediately went on the offensive. Eofar watched her blade slicing and darting. <I remember it.>
<What was it? What was it that flashed?> Lahlil pressed.
<It was a knife.>
Blood’s Pride fell to the ground with a clang.
Eofar watched numbly as Frea – invulnerable Frea – clutched her bleeding abdomen and doubled over. Isa stood over her and ended the story with the finality of an executioner’s axe.
<Frea cut the harness.>
Eofar’s thudding pulse went suddenly quiet. It was all so obvious: of course Frea had cut the harness. With the harness broken, Mother would have had to turn back; there was no room on the back of that triffon for another little girl. And if Lahlil had come back, she would have shoved the rest of them out of Mother’s life, just as she had always done. He would have done the same – no, he admitted to himself; he would have wanted to – only he would never have had the courage.
Blue blood welled through Frea’s fingers and spattered the dirty floor. With her other hand, she reached into her jacket and brought out the letter.
<Congratulations, Isa. You win.> Frea was frothing with bitter triumph as she tossed the letter down at Isa’s feet. <Happy Naming Day.>
<No!> Eofar cried, diving forward. He scooped the letter up from the ground, scraping his knuckles bloody with cuts that he never felt. Clutching the letter to his chest, he backed away from all of them towards the door until his heel caught the bottom of the portico step and tripped him up.
<Eofar, what is that paper?> asked Isa.
<It’s nothing, it’s not—>
<Eofar.> Isa advanced with her sword pointed at him. The blade was still slick with Frea’s blood.
He could feel Frea’s fervid anticipation as she sat on the ground, bleeding. She had won before she’d even drawn her sword.
<Tell me> Isa insisted.
<It’s a letter> he said wretchedly. <A letter Mother wrote to Father before she left.>
<Give it to me. I want to read it.> She started to sheath her sword before remembering the blood still sliding down the blade. She looked around and found a cleaning cloth on a table nearby, but as she wiped down the blade, Lahlil swept by and plucked the letter out of his hand.
She sat down on the step and unfolded it with her long grey fingers.
<What does it say?> Isa asked, still addressing herself to Eofar. <How did you know about it before now?>
He forced himself to look at her. <Father showed it to me a few years ago. It— It’s about our family.> Frea’s maliciousness swirled around him. He had no choice but to tell her the truth. <It says that our family’s bloodline is tainted, something to do with our great-grandfather. The Shadar was never just a posting for Father; it was the emperor’s way of banishing him without causing a scandal. That’s why we’ve never been recalled. The emperor himself told Mother, and she was the only one who knew, until she wrote Father this letter.> He forced himself to come to the point. <We’re all impure. We can never return to Norland – not any of us. Not ever.>
A curious sound rumbled through the room. He turned in alarm and saw Lahlil, still sprawled on the step, waving the letter gently in her hand. Her shoulders were shaking and the sound was coming from somewhere deep in her throat.
She was laughing.
<That’s why he didn’t want you to fight me> Frea trumpeted, climbing awkwardly to her feet. <He knew it didn’t matter. You see how he lied to us?>
<Shut up, Frea> Isa said evenly.
<Maybe I should have told you> he said, <but you were still so young when I found out, and I thought that—>
<You shut up, too> Isa commanded, and he did. Her sword was clean now, gleaming in the firelight, reflecting fragments of the room and the people in it. <I know why you didn’t tell me – it’s the same reason Mother never told, isn’t it? You wanted to keep pretending that nothing was wrong. You thought if you acted as if everything was all right, somehow you’d be able to believe it.>
<Isa> he beseeched her, knowing full well that he was losing her, <it doesn’t matter now. Father is dead. We don’t need to worry about the colony, or Norland, any more. We’ll figure out what to do together.> He seized on the one positive thing he could find. <And now you know about Mother: it wasn’t your fault. The accident had nothing to do
with you. You don’t need to blame yourself. You don’t need to be afraid. We can leave. We can go somewhere else.>
Isa sheathed her sword and looked around at her siblings incredulously. <Bloody Onfar, are you all really that stupid? Did you really think that I just suddenly remembered, just now, what happened that day?> To Eofar, she said, <I always knew that Frea had lied about how Mother died. I let her. She was right to blame me, even if she didn’t know it. It was my fault.>
Her eyes were glittering as she walked over to Lahlil. <I’m the one who told Father about you. It was me.>
Eofar recoiled in shock. <No, it couldn’t have been you – you were only – what, five years old? It had to have been—>
<It wasn’t Frea> said Isa, whirling back to him. <You always assumed she was the one, I know. Did you know that Mother and Frea both thought that you did it? I think that’s why Mother left you behind. Well, it wasn’t either of you. It was me.>
<All right, then> he interjected quickly, trying to rationalise it for himself, <but you can’t blame yourself for that. You were just a kid – hardly more than a baby. It was too much to ask you to keep a secret like that. You couldn’t have known what—>
<I knew exactly what I was doing.> She was firm and immovable, but the icy veneer she’d had earlier had burned away, revealing something very different underneath. He felt like he was seeing the real Isa for the first time. <I’ve spent every moment since that day living with the shame of it. But you’re right, Eofar. It doesn’t matter, not any more.>
His own buried truths churned inside of him. <I understand, really I do. I know that Mother thought she was doing the right thing, but she should never have put us in that situation. It wasn’t fair—>
Isa didn’t have to tell him to shut up this time: her wordless contempt for his ignorance was more than enough to stifle him.
<I wasn’t trying to get rid of Lahlil. That’s what a real Norlander would have done – that’s what you and Frea wanted to do. I needn’t have been ashamed of that. I thought Mother was wrong – not because she saved Lahlil, but because she lied about it. She kept Lahlil shut up in that awful room, even though she didn’t seem to be different from us in any way that was important. I told Father the truth because I wanted Lahlil to come and live with us. I wanted us all to be together.>
Lahlil stood up, still holding Eleana’s letter in her hand.
<That is what I’m ashamed of. No real Norlander would ever want such a thing. I knew it meant that I’m not what I’m supposed to – that there’s something wrong with me. I didn’t need an old letter to tell me that. I’ve known it all my life.> She turned and walked to the steps.
<Wait!> Eofar and Lahlil called to her simultaneously.
She turned to Eofar first, but he found he had nothing to say.
Lahlil held out the letter. <You should read this.>
Isa’s reply throbbed with pain. <I know what it says.>
<No, you don’t> said Lahlil, still holding the paper out to her. <You know what they told you it says. That’s not the same thing.>
Isa took the letter and left the room.
Eofar felt a chill as Frea walked in front of him, her hand pressed against the still-bleeding wound. He felt closer to her than he ever had before, even as she turned her wrath and disdain on him.
<So you just swallowed that story about our tainted bloodline without question?> Frea asked incredulously. <Rumours – tricks. That’s what they do at court. Don’t you know anything about Norland? It’s all politics. I don’t believe a word of it.>
<It doesn’t matter whether you believe it or not> he answered sharply. <You can’t go back.>
<The emperor won’t send for me> Frea told him softly. <That doesn’t mean I can’t go back.>
<What are you—?> Eofar began, but suddenly the room went black and he could no longer feel the floor beneath his feet. His first thought was another earthquake, but then the nightmarish visions grabbed hold of him again. He heard the crash of Strife’s Bane striking the floor, but now the images of Daryan returned, sharper this time: again he saw him wrestling with a Norlander, and someone else was lying on the ground beside him. It was Isa, wearing the same clothes she had been wearing a moment ago; bloodied, perhaps even dead. Eofar couldn’t feel himself falling; he could only feel the blackness pulling him in, until his head hit the stone floor with a crack and splintered the vision into a thousand bloody shards.
He opened his eyes to find Frea gone and a sticky trail of blue blood leading out of the door.
Lahlil was still sitting on the step, her chin in her hands, watching him. <You should have left that stuff alone> she told him. <It won’t do you any good. You can’t change anything.>
He clawed his way to his feet. His head spun dreadfully and he felt like he was going to be sick again. At least he finally understood one thing. <You took it yourself – the elixir. That’s how you knew that Father was already dead.> He looked towards the door. <Frea’s gone?>
<She went to announce to her men that the rest of us are traitors, to be killed on sight.> Even now, she showed no sign of any emotion.
<How long was I out?>
<Long enough for some to obey it.>
It wasn’t until one of them moaned that he noticed the two soldiers tumbled together in a heap near the doorway. The other one moved his legs weakly, trying to get up; she had left them alive, at any rate. He had more urgent matters to worry about. <The last time I got sick like that was right before my vision came true. We have to find Isa – I need to get her away from here before something terrible happens. She always goes to Mother’s tomb when she’s upset. We’ll start there.>
<I told you – whatever you saw is going to happen. You can’t change any of it.>
He staggered over to her, grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. The tight compartment of resentment he had banked down inside him for so many years had finally burst open and his anger overpowered his fear of her, at least for the moment. <I’m going to find Isa and keep her safe, and you’re going to help me.> He gave her arm a shake. <Do you want to know why? Because somehow, in spite of everything, Isa cared about you enough to want to help you. I’m betting that she’s the only one who ever did. And I think you owe her for that.>
Eofar felt a crack zigzag through Lahlil’s emotions and hastily dropped her arm just as a searing flash of red burned into him. He was sucked into a nightmare landscape, an endless battlefield in a chasm lit only by the flash of bloody blades. She hadn’t meant to let him in – she didn’t want him there – but she was too late. Though her will slammed into him, pushing him out, he had seen what churned behind her disconcerting blankness, and the strength of will it required to maintain her façade staggered him.
<All right> Lahlil said, <let’s go.>
Chapter Twenty-One
Rho rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. <Daem, douse that lamp, will you? Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?>
<You’ve got no blood in you> his friend commented lightly. <How can you even think about sleeping? We haven’t had this much excitement in years.>
<You’ve been in this dump too long> Rho informed him irritably, jamming his face into the limp cushion. Sleep was the refuge he wanted. Asleep, he could dream up a better ending to the evening’s débâcle. He let his bruised body sink into the mattress, and his racing thoughts drifted into a pleasant fantasy: Isa stabbing Frea through the heart; Isa coming to thank him for helping her; Isa taking his hand, leading him some place dark and private. She looked so much like Frea, gazing up at him coolly as he undid the clasps on her jacket—
<Hey! Have any of you been watching the slaves?> Kharl poked his square-jawed head in through the doorway just as Rho reluctantly opened his eyes.
<That’s all we do around here, Kharl – watch slaves> Ingeld replied, smacking his lips loudly and throwing a chewed bone down onto the table.
Rho shut his eyes again. <You’re drunk. Go to bed.>
<Slaves acting
strangely, you assholes> Kharl elaborated impatiently. <I saw a few of them poking around down by the armoury. One of them had a limp – I’m sure I’ve never seen him before. You don’t think they’re getting ideas, do you? After what happened at the mines? You don’t think they have some way of getting into the temple?>
<Do you know where Frea is?> Rho asked without sitting up.
<Yeah, in her room – she kicked me out the moment she came back> Kharl answered, expecting him to commiserate. He walked over to the table and helped himself to the heel of a loaf of bread. <I know the kid was there and she was bleeding, but I still thought—>
<Bleeding?> He sat up quickly, and then wished he had not. His stomach fluttered and his mouth felt as it had been stuffed with sand. The wine had been a mistake.
<Didn’t you hear? Isa finally got to her – after we all left. Can you believe that? I would have let Ingeld here kick me in the balls to have seen it—> Kharl cast a quick glance towards the door and then added, <Don’t tell anyone I said so.>
<Well, that is interesting> Daem remarked mischievously. He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his bare chest. <Lord Eonar’s dead. Little Isa fights Lady Frea and wins. Things change, as my mother was fond of saying. We may even get to go home one of these days. I’ll wager Lord Eofar won’t make us wait five years for a transfer like his father.>
<Lord Eofar? Please> Ingeld interjected, jamming the point of his knife into the table.
<What was that, Ingeld?> Daem asked sharply.
<Wise up, Daem; you know exactly what I mean> he sneered, wiping grease from his mouth with the back of his hand.
<No, I’m sure I don’t> said Daem slowly, <because even though I know how much you like the taste of Frea’s boots, I know you would never question the rightful transition of leadership as set out by our Great Lord Onfar and inscribed in The Book of the Hall. Hmm?>
Rho poked his head out of his shirt and found his friend staring at him.