“You feeling well? Should I send for Taeria?” Hagan asked.
Ryne shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“Well, you were just staring off into the air and talking to yourself,” Bertram said, but avoided Ryne’s eyes.
“Just thinking aloud.” Ryne ignored the men’s skeptical glances. “What were you saying before I became caught up with my thoughts?”
“I be telling Bertram when I seen her, she spoke every bit like a priestess or a Granadian noble. You know the sort. They expect to be heard and obeyed,” the innkeeper said. He pursed his lips while looking at the mayor from the corner of his eyes. “He still wants us to run her off or worse.”
“We all know running her off won’t work,” Ryne said.
“Which leaves the worse,” Hagan concluded. “Do you really want to do something that might make them dispatch soldiers looking for her? If she be who she says she be, what will the Granadian Tribunal think if them eagles she sends every morning stop delivering messages?”
“And what if it isn’t Granadia she’s delivering messages to? What then?” Bertram shifted his head so the ruined side of his face turned to Hagan then Ryne.
“We know your opinion of the Devout. But suggesting she be sending messages to Amuni’s Children, wherever they are, be foolish. And blasphemous.”
Ryne almost told Hagan it could be a possibility. But Bertram would only feed on such a suggestion.
“In Humelen’s name, Hagan,” Bertram said, his already black skin growing so black it shone with his rage as his aura gave an almost imperceptible quaver. “Open your eyes. The Tribunal has always wanted to conquer Ostania. Ever since Nerian rebelled, and they lost their hold on us. I tell you, the War of Remnants was their doing. It was their way to get a toehold back into Ostania.”
Hagan chuckled. “You and your plots. I know the reason you wish to harm her. We all do. Maybe you have the right of it, but-”
“You’re damned right I do,” Bertram blurted out.
“Bertram, your son’s death be-”
“You think this is just about my son?” Bertram’s face twisted with the question. “I forgave Ryne long ago for my son’s death. It wasn’t by his hand. The Alzari assassins hired by your precious Tribunal were the ones responsible. The same Tribunal that’s responsible for everything else me and the rest of Ostania has suffered. I’ll be damned if I let someone else get hurt or grovel at their feet. I’m sick of it.”
Ryne kept silent. He’d apologized many times for the loss of the mayor’s last family member. Sometimes, he felt as if he had never been in Carnas the boy would be alive today. However, if he’d not been here, the village would have fallen to raiders years ago. That had never made him feel any better about what the Alzari had done to the boy. He knew no words to console Bertram.
“This be foolishness,” Hagan said, his lip curled in disgust. “Blame the Tribunal for sending them Alzari back then, fine. But harm Mariel for the sake of vengeance, and the Tribunal’s attention will turn on us. You wish to condemn us all? Killing their assassins be one thing, but to kill a Devout?”
“A Devout? Ha,” Bertram scoffed, the angry scar from his burn twitching, “If you’re so blind as to believe she’s just out here to teach us ‘savages’ about the purity of the Lord of light, then you’re more fool than I thought, Hagan. Ilumni…Amuni, they’re all Streamean in case you forgot. The Tribunal use the Devout to preach justice and spiritual harmony and meanwhile conquer all who don’t convert. Same shit, different chamber pot. Next, you’ll tell me you believe she’s really interested in how we survive, and why we risk settling this far into the wilds. Tell me this, since you do believe she’s just a Devout. Would you be satisfied with the offer she has made to take those who wish to follow her to Granadia?”
Hagan poured himself a cup of wine. “Of course not, but if they no longer wish to be here, who be we to stop them?”
“We’re a free people, that’s who. Beholden to no one. Free to worship which gods we please, when we please. Free to fight whoever threatens us. Free to live out here away from the grip and poison of other peoples.”
“Funny thing this freedom of yours be,” Hagan said, knocking the contents of his pipe into an ashtray. “It seems to ignore our choice to come and go as we please.” When Bertram only glowered in response Hagan added, “That be what I thought,” and took a sip from his cup.
Bertram snatched up the flagon of wine. His jaw clenched while he filled the last remaining cup, and the flesh from his burn scar tugged at his lips as he muttered to himself. With another glare at Hagan, who raised his own cup as a toast, Bertram downed the drink. He glanced at Ryne and took a deep breath. “We may be doomed anyway. If those Alzari in the woods were sent for you then the Tribunal knows you’re still alive. And that means Mariel already sent word.”
Ryne scowled. He’d known this was coming. “And yet I haven’t killed her or suggested you do. Concern yourself with your people, Bertram. Convene your elders as you will. I’ve had my say. Tell them what I found. Then decide what’s best.” He stood, picked up his sword, and headed toward the door.
“Where will you be? It may be best if you tell them yourself.” Hagan’s voice pleaded for Ryne to accept the offer.
Pulling the door open, Ryne paused and turned to meet Hagan’s gaze. “I have a summons to prepare for. It cannot be avoided if I’m to help you regardless of what decision the elders make.” He stepped out into the night.
CHAPTER 9
Irmina’s hand fidgeted close to her sword. Cloudless, dark skies sprinkled with stars stretched as far as she could see beyond Silvereyes. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her shirt clung to her back as she fixed her gaze on the Ostanian who was watching her from atop a small slope, not making any attempt to hide himself.
Rolling her shoulders, she stretched her neck to one side to work out the tightness from maintaining her vigilance. The throbbing pain along her shoulders eased ever so slightly, but the unbidden urge to nod off gnawed at her. Occasionally, she pricked herself with her Devout pin, the carving of the moons and sun etched into its shiny surface reflecting what little light existed.
She needed to stay awake. The one moment since coming to Carnas that she’d allowed her attention to lapse, she’d almost paid the price. That time, Silvereyes snuck close in the minutes her concentration wavered, and forced her to use every trick she knew to escape him. Since then, she made certain to keep her campsites out in the open on the Orchid Plains. The events in the woods when he’d touched her mind, changed his eye color, and somehow repaired his armor without the use of any materials, only made her more wary.
The humid night stoked her anxiety. Shadows stretched across the sparse trees and layered fescue, making Silvereyes become little more than a silhouette. A flash of memory brought those obsidian eyes screaming back, and she shivered. She touched her sword hilt for its reassuring comfort. Even home in Eldanhill, she’d kept her sword close at all times. Ancel used to say her sword received more love than he did. She squeezed the hilt with the thought.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the commotion still bubbling within Carnas. They must be in an uproar over the boy. She blew out a breath, still wishing she could have helped Kahkon. But at least the giant man had found him. Whatever he had done, she knew he used Mater. She hadn’t needed to open herself to her Matersense to be able to tell. The sheer power he used resonated to her core. A feeling she’d never experienced before. Not even in her master’s presence.
Jerem’s words and his grave expression returned to her.
“Irmina,” Jerem said. “This man is the deadliest person you will ever meet. If he discovers you are a Matus, he will become hostile. If he learns you are a Matus powerful enough to be an Ashishin, he will most certainly kill you without hesitation. Until you learn a way to approach him, you must maintain a distance where he cannot read your aura. Under no circumstances must you use Mater in his presence.”