8

On the day she turned twenty-two, Isolde chose the clean shirt for the fire exercise.

Kaoran raised his eyebrows as he watched her adjust damp padding beneath the sleeve.

“There’s another in the chest.”

“That one already has holes. I wouldn’t much care if I lost it.”

He left a wet blanket within reach and checked the padding’s fastening. Isolde took the knife. Her task was to cut a rope and respond to the flame he would bring close at some point. They had practiced with empty cloth, then with a sack tied to her forearm. Today they would try it on her sleeve.

“Ready,” she said.

She felt the heat as she finished the first cut. She released the knife, struck her forearm against the damp ground, and rolled over her shoulder. The flame went out. Kaoran withdrew the wick and waited for her to check the skin beneath the padding.

“Four heartbeats,” he said.

Isolde ran a finger over the burn in the cloth.

“Doven can mend it.”

“Doven will charge us for the whole sleeve.”

“Then you could have burned it on both sides.”

Kaoran let out a laugh. Over the past year, they had broken fire down into small tasks: extinguishing cloth with water, covering oil with sand, cutting off air beneath a blanket.

Isolde kept a notebook of failed attempts.

Flame still arrived before choice when the shock was strong.

That morning, she had released a blade she wanted to keep.

“Four heartbeats are still too many,” she said.

“For a sleeve, perhaps. To choose, they may be few.”

Kaoran set a box on the stump. Inside lay a pair of new gloves. The left had a flexible strap and reinforcement around her damaged fingers. Doven had sewn small leather plates into the palm to support the knife without blocking the fastening.

“Enna says a birthday present ought to be useless,” Kaoran said. “Doven considers that a waste of material.”

Isolde put on the glove. The strap followed her hand’s movement and distributed the pressure toward her wrist.

“What did you put in the other one?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s suspicious.”

Kaoran showed his empty hands.

“Try it.”

Isolde took the pale-handled knife and closed her hand around the grip. The glove held her fingers in place without making her strain the nerve. She moved the weapon to her right hand and used her left to deflect the staff Kaoran sent toward her head.

The palm plate absorbed the blow.

“It works,” she said.

“Doven expects eight sharpened knives.”

“It’s beginning to look less like a gift.”

“He calls it economics.”

Isolde put the weapon away. The morning was clear.

Summer was beginning, and the last high snows still filled the streams. A year and a half had passed since Cendral; on the hillside, shoots once again covered the ground she had burned.

From Nydel came the pounding of the new machines.

The sound traveled through stone and reached the house at certain hours.

Ydrael answered some nights.

Rheskan had not opened the bond in four months.

Isolde watched the sky as she gathered the rope.

“Today we go up to the northern post,” Kaoran said. “Enna is expecting us at noon.”

“Why isn’t she coming by the usual path?”

“The Guard has set up a checkpoint beside the oak.”

“It was clear yesterday.”

“I found a mark this morning.”

Kaoran showed her a piece of bark. Someone had carved a broken circle, the signal Doven used when collectors watched the roads. Beneath it were three dots. Enna was bringing other people.

Isolde packed water, bandages, and two parcels of food. The northern post was an abandoned watchtower hidden among pines. From there, they could see the Nydel road, the bridge, and part of the mines.

They climbed a rocky slope. Isolde now walked without a stick.

Her left leg still lost strength at the end of the day, and cold made it stiff, though she could travel several leagues if she paced herself.

Kaoran walked ahead with a heavier load and the irritating patience of someone who never seemed to tire.

“Horses,” he said as they reached the ridge.

Isolde crouched. She counted the ones emerging from the bend and waited until the whole column appeared.

Six riders and two men on foot advanced along the lower road. They led a dog on a rope. Their blue coats bore Varek’s circle. A small cart followed with search tools.

“They’re heading for the house,” Isolde said.

“They could still continue to the upper mine.”

The dog stopped at the junction. It sniffed the ground and pulled toward the hillside path.

Kaoran extended the spyglass. The officer at the front had a new scar on his cheek and a leather bandage around his forehead.

“The man from the aqueduct,” he said.

“A year and a half looking for us.”

“And this time he’s brought help with a better nose.”

The patrol entered the woods.

Isolde calculated the distance. They could reach the house in less than an hour. The stable was empty; Bruma grazed in a hidden valley. The important documents lay inside the well chamber. They had prepared two escape routes and a false ceiling. The house could withstand another search.

“We let them look,” Kaoran said.

“Enna is coming up with three people.”

“She’ll change course when she sees the signal.”

“If she comes by the streambed, she’ll cross in front of the dog.”

Kaoran looked at the sun. Noon was close.

“We intercept her at the beech pass.”

They descended the western face. Isolde knew every root, stone, and slope. During her first thaw at the house, the journey would have taken her a day. She reached the pass in twenty minutes with her breathing under control.

They heard voices before they saw Enna.

The healer came with Teren and two miners. One leaned on a staff. His companion carried a heavy box in her arms. Behind them, less than a hundred steps away, the dog barked.

“They saw us in the streambed,” Enna said. “The bridge guard had a list.”

“What’s in the box?” Isolde asked.

Teren opened the lid. Inside lay pieces of blue chain, three red stone nails, and a stained ledger.

“We took it from the third gallery,” he said. “The machines broke an old wall. We found this behind it.”

The links gave off a dry cold. Isolde felt Ydrael through the metal.

The dog barked closer.

“The miner can’t run,” Kaoran said.

The man with the staff wore a bandage around his knee. Isolde recognized Teren, but the others were new.

“Do they know who I am?” she asked.

Enna shook her head.

“They’ve come to see the woman who reads the orders.”

“Then Iria stays alive for an hour.”

Isolde pointed to a fern-covered hollow.

“Teren, take them to the water hollow. Wait for two knocks on the pipe. Enna goes with them.”

“I can help you,” the healer said.

“You can keep that knee from opening.”

“I can also hit a guard with my staff.”

“Save it for the patient.”

Enna agreed with an unkind gesture. Teren took the box. Kaoran stopped him.

“The dog is following your trail. Give me the rag over the box.”

Teren removed the dirty cloth he had used to protect the load. Isolde took out the documents and one small link. Kaoran took another, wrapped it in the rag, and tied the bundle to a rope. Teren closed the box with the remaining pieces inside.

“Drag it toward the eastern crag,” Isolde said.

“That takes the dog away,” he said. “It also separates us.”

“You can get down by the rope. I’ll close the beech pass.”

“There are eight men.”

“The pass takes two.”

Kaoran looked at the hand holding the knife, the ground, and Enna’s route. The decision affected both of them. Isolde knew the objections before hearing them.

“I need to draw their attention until the others reach the hollow,” she said.

“If the officer recognizes you, the house is lost.”

“He’s already looking for it.”

“Your face adds certainty.”

Isolde covered her hair with the hood and smeared wet ash on her cheeks.

“The reports about Iria have already changed even her hair color.”

Kaoran checked the knot on the bundle he would drag.

“Three knocks if you have to get out.”

“Two when they’re inside.”

He left toward the crag. The dog changed direction almost immediately. Two soldiers followed it among the pines. The rest advanced through the pass.

Isolde had minutes.

She tied a low rope between two roots, loosened a stone on the slope, and poured oil over a stretch of ground. Then she lit a line of leaves away from the path. Smoke drifted through the beeches and hid the fork. The flame was small, contained by wet earth.

The officer appeared with his sword drawn.

“Halt!”

Isolde stayed behind the smoke.

“The road is closed,” she said.

“By order of the regent, we’re looking for stolen property and a fugitive.”

“You’ve found smoke.”

“Iria Thennar.”

The name no longer had a house. Isolde let the woods take its place.

“That woman left last summer.”

“The dog followed her trail from Nydel.”

“Dogs follow food, blood, and fear. Your road offers all three.”

The first soldier crossed the smoke. He stepped on the rope and fell onto his hands. The second tripped over him. Isolde released the stone. It rolled down the slope and stopped against a trunk, blocking part of the pass without striking anyone.

“Go around her,” the officer ordered.

Two men climbed the right side. Isolde threw the remaining oil on a rock and lit a barrier between them. The flame reached knee height. The soldiers retreated.

The officer advanced alone.

A blue stone hung from his wrist. As he crossed the smoke, he raised it. The device absorbed the barrier’s fire and turned it into a hard light around his sword.

Isolde felt the pull in her core.

She had felt that same pull in the ravine. The officer’s device now had a metal ring around the stone. Isolde didn’t know what it changed; she knew she had to withdraw her fire before the man raised his wrist again.

“I knew you’d return,” the man said.

“You’re confusing me with your shame.”

The sword came down. Isolde deflected it with the knife and slipped out to the right. The officer’s reach forced her to keep her distance. The narrow ground kept her from circling him. Three soldiers followed behind.

Isolde retreated toward a marked root.