1 #4

“Aelyn will count the names,” she said at last.

“Then make sure she can add yours to the list of the living one day.”

“She already has.”

The fever gained ground. Isolde began talking to people who were not there. She asked Rheskan to stay high. Gave Morna an order about a bridge. Repeated Aelyn’s name three times. Then she argued with Darian.

“Open the door,” she said.

Kaoran dampened a cloth and laid it on the back of her neck.

“You open it,” Isolde insisted.

“My door opens inward. You’ll have to wait.”

She gave a faint laugh that ended in a cough.

At noon they reached a pass overlooking Nydel. The village lay in a sheltered hollow; from that height they could make out a dozen stone roofs and gray smoke from the chimneys. Higher up, half hidden by the forest, stood the old guardians’ house.

A white column was coming up the eastern road.

The Stability Guard.

Kaoran stopped Bruma behind a rock. He counted eleven riders and a cart. The men carried sheets nailed to posts. The wind brought the proclamation closer.

“By decree of the Emergency Council,” the herald cried, “Princess Isolde Valarys has died in defense of the realm. Darian Rhyne assumes the regency until King Ardan’s recovery and the selection of a stable succession.”

Isolde opened her eyes.

For an instant, the fever vanished from her gaze.

“Darian is regent.”

Kaoran steadied her before she could try to climb down.

“There are eleven men,” he said. “You’d have to ride up to them on Bruma with your wound open.”

“Nydel needs to know the truth.”

“Nydel needs to survive until the thaw.”

The herald continued. He spoke of order, sacrifice, and vigilance. He announced a grain tax to repair Cendral. Each family would hand over a tenth of its harvest. New permits would govern the roads. Any information about survivors, deserters, or dragons had to be reported to the Guard.

Isolde’s hand began to burn.

Kaoran covered her fingers with the damp cloth.

“Look at me.”

She kept her eyes on the road.

“Isolde.”

Her name made her turn.

“They think I’m dead.”

“Yes.”

“Aelyn will be alone.”

“She’ll be doing something that would surprise us both.”

“You hardly know her.”

“I’ve heard of a woman who opened storehouses while the councilors guarded keys. I can work out the rest.”

The Guard entered Nydel. Some people came out to listen. Others closed their doors. The herald nailed a copy of the decree beside the well.

Kaoran waited until the column continued north.

“We’re going to my house,” he said.

“Then I’m going to Caleryon.”

“Then you’ll decide how far you can walk.”

Isolde pressed her lips together. The argument ended when she lost consciousness.

Kaoran led Bruma along a narrow trail between the trees. The house appeared at the far end of a clearing: stone walls, a slate roof, a low shed, and a wind-battered vegetable garden. The symbol of the old guardians remained carved into the door, a circle broken by three lines.

The Guard might recognize it.

Kaoran dismounted, took oil from the shed, and poured it over the carved wood. He lit a splinter.

The symbol burned.

He had kept that mark since turning the house into a refuge.

His old companions looked for it as they crossed the clearing: beneath the circle they could always ask for water, a bed, or a night of silence.

Kaoran brought the splinter to the last stroke.

Smoke stung his eyes, and he had to step aside to breathe.

When he was done, he moved three stones in the wall beside the trail. Anyone who knew the place could still find a way in. Varek’s men would see charred wood and a repair waiting to be made.

Once the wood was black, he opened the door and carried Isolde inside.

The main room smelled of dried herbs, wool, and cold ash. Kaoran lit the hearth. Heated water. Set a needle, thread, grain alcohol, and every bandage he had on the table.

Isolde woke as she felt the warmth.

“Where am I?”

“In my house, above Nydel. I’ll take you upstairs as soon as the water is ready.”

Isolde looked at the needle.

“Are you going to stitch me up?”

“I have to check the wound. It bleeds every time we move you.”

The cup of water with salt and honey sat beside her right hand. Kaoran knelt to pull the damp blankets away from her feet. When he looked up, she was holding the cup against her chest without drinking.

“Darian will send people to look for me.”

“I’ve closed two routes. That has bought us time.”

“How much?”

Kaoran looked at the light in the doorway. He would have to erase Bruma’s tracks, watch the trail, and tend the wound with his aching shoulder. He set the needle on the cloth.

“This afternoon I can stay here with you.”

Isolde took a sip. Then she set down the cup and brought her hand toward the bandage. The movement stopped before she touched it.

“Tell me what you’re going to do before you do it.”

Kaoran nodded and waited for her to move her shirt aside. Outside, the proclamation of the regency receded. Isolde kept her eyes open as he picked up the first bandage.

The blood had soaked through that cloth too.