She edged toward the darkness and then crab-walked in and waited for her vision to adjust.
The walls were narrow and tilted to one side. Water oozed down their face. The ceiling of the cave trailed up and was lost in the darkness.
Sugar moved farther in, away from the sound of the water outside and listened. She thought she heard voices, but then decided it was only the breeze or water. Rocks fell in the distance, the sound echoing along the cave walls. Moments later something splashed through the water. And then she realized it was moving, not away from her, but back toward her and the mouth of the cave.
She could not judge the distance well, but it sounded close.
Fear rose in her. She turned and scrabbled back, trying to keep a low profile. When she reached the mouth of the cave, whatever it was began to run.
34
Argoth held Serenity, his youngest daughter, in a great hug, her legs dangling loose. She growled like a bear, bit him on the neck, and then giggled.
He growled and bit her back. “Little beast, you go help your sisters outside. Your mother and I need to talk.” He set her down.
Serenity ran out the back door of the kitchen, and Argoth shut the door behind her. He turned to Serah.
She leaned back on the dry sink, one long dark tress curling across the sweat on her neck, and stretched. Before her on the table lay the carcasses of five pheasants along with the celery, raisins, and cut onions she’d been stuffing them with. The giblets from the birds soaked in a bowl of brine. Serah’s eyes brimmed with onion tears.
It could not be easy being pregnant as she was and carrying the workload she did. And he wasn’t going to make it any easier.
“The servants are all outside?” he asked.
“You could have sent someone ahead to give me warning. We have so little time to pack. I can’t show up in Mokad in rags. And I’m not going to leave my sisters in these lands to face the Bone Face attacks that will surely come.”
Argoth shook his head and spoke in a low voice. “I’m not taking you with me on the ship. In fact, from this day forth, Mokad will be your death.”
Confusion clouded Serah’s expression.
“Listen to me. You and the children must disappear tomorrow before noon. Go into the wilderness, book passage on a ship under another name to another nation-I don’t care. In fact, I must not know how you do it.”
“Why would we need to-”
“Do not contact your sisters. In three days I will either return whole, or your world will begin to fray like a cheap rope. I am sorry, Serah. I never wanted this. But it has come upon us. Do not wait. You will not be able to flee in the moment of your crisis.”
Serah’s face turned from confusion to disbelief. “Mokad has made some treaty with those blackheart Bone Faces, haven’t they? Giving these lands away like Koram did when they lost the wars with Mokad.”
Argoth shook his head. “No. Nothing to do with the Bone Faces. I cannot explain it to you now.” He held his hand out to her. “Trust me. As soon as the Lions depart with me, you must go. Pack light. You will have only a short time.”
Serah did not take his hand. “This isn’t just another battle you’re riding off to, is it? You’ve plunged into some idiot’s plot.”
“My love,” he said and reached out for her again.
She took his hand this time, but did not embrace him.
“You will come back to me,” said Serah.
He hoped that would indeed be the case.
He thought of his children, of his girls begging him to take them on his hunting trips. Of Serenity’s growls and bites and Grace’s affinity for dogs, training his proud coursers to jump through hoops and wear bright ribbons in their collars. He thought of Joy leaving messy clay puppets in his pockets and Nettle who wanted so much to be a man. He thought of Serah’s contagious laughter.
But he always knew his joys in this life might suddenly end. Any man of war knew that. If that happened, he was prepared, and he’d wait for them in the world of souls.
“Husband,” said Serah, more tears brimming in her eyes. “I am weary of worry.”
“I would rather you eat that bitter bread than feast on the bleakness that comes with oppression and slavery.”
She looked down, and he stepped toward her, enfolding her in his embrace. Her hair smelled of the lager she used to bring forth its brilliance.
This time she yielded to him. “I know you must go. But sometimes I wonder if you love war more than flesh and blood.”
“My capable and sweet wife. I love our life so much I cannot see it ruined or stolen by wicket men.”
She sighed. “If you were a little less noble, I think we’d find a little more peace.”
He did not respond. How could he?
“Come back to us,” she said. “Come back and put down the sword.”
“And what would I do?”
“Grow vegetables, race your dogs, and sit in the sun. When our children are grown, you can dote upon your grandchildren with figs and cakes. And when you die, you will be old, shriveled, and happy.”
The vision of it tugged at his heart. “Will you be shriveled by my side?”
She looked up at him, her smile full of weariness, pain, and love. “Women do not shrivel.”
Argoth laughed. And in that moment he realized he’d made a huge mistake. He should have never kept the Grove from her despite the risk her blabbermouth sisters posed. If he survived, he would never keep another thing from her.
“When I return,” he said, “I’m going to tell you a story about a man who held too many secrets and the woman he loved. And then you will tell me what the woman did when she found out she married a monster.”
It was well past midnight. Argoth stood outside the house in the dark, his chances of ever returning to his wife and children slipping between his fingers like sand.
There had been no word from Matiga. He wondered if perhaps the Skir Master had killed the messenger. Had he killed Matiga?
No, the Skir Master wouldn’t be so foolish. He wanted to only give them a scare so they would run and he could follow.
Perhaps the messenger delivered the coded requests, but Matiga felt it too risky to send him the weave he needed so desperately. Or perhaps she had already gone to the Grove’s refuge to prepare to bear the Grove off and the messenger found her house empty. Whatever the reason, dinner had come and gone. And now it was late, exceedingly late.
Argoth did not have the Fire to battle a Divine. And even if the weave arrived this very minute, he suspected it was too late. Fire could be poured out in great quantities. But to swallow such a flood would be the death of any man. Fire could only be accepted in a trickle. It took time. And time had slipped away.
Half of the Lions patrolled the border of his yard. One stood just a stone’s throw away, his bright helm gleaming in the moonlight.
Argoth thought of Shim. He could send word to him. And what? Have him arrive here only to be slaughtered by this troop of dreadmen?
No. This was his burden. His mind raced for other options. But all of them ended in death. And then he heard the Lion below him call out for someone to identify themselves. Nettle’s voice came in reply.
Argoth’s hopes soared. Perhaps Matiga was sending the weave with Nettle.
Argoth left the side of the house and went to greet his handsome boy. He found the dreadman holding him at the point of a spear. Nettle’s face was anxious. And there was no sign of his horse. Something was wrong.
“He’s mine,” said Argoth.
“Yes, Zu,” said the dreadman, raising his spear out of the way.
Argoth put his arm around Nettle and began walking him back to the house.
Nettle looked up at his father with urgency. “Da,” he said.