I am no less stubborn than Eneas, she thought to herself. I don’t want him coming with me if he is to resent it, even though I am desperate for his soldiers… and happy with his company as well, if I am honest with myself.
But each day spent with Eneas Karallios, the heir to the throne of Syan, was also a sort of lie, or at least so it often seemed. The prince cared for her, he had made that obvious. He would marry her, or at least that was what he seemed to be saying. And there was much to admire about him, as well. Even to hesitate about accepting his affection seemed nearly an act of madness—certainly almost every other woman on the continent of Eion would deem it so. But Briony did not know what she wanted, or even what exactly she thought, and was just stubborn enough not to let good sense rush her into anything.
The sun was tangled in the branches of the trees lining the hillcrest. The dew was almost gone from the grass and the camp below was up and in full preparation for another day on the road—but which direction would they be going? What would the prince decide? And what would she do if he did decide to turn back to Tessis, as she had all but begged him to do?
What I have done all along. I will keep going, she told herself—and half-believed it. I will follow my heart. And, with the help of Zoria’s mercy, I will hope not to be too much of a fool.
Still, there was a small part of her that hoped she hadn’t been too forceful in making her points to Eneas.
Thinking about the prince made her think of Guard Captain Vansen, as it usually did. How strange that these two, who did not know each other and likely would never meet, should be so twinned in her mind! She could hardly think of two men less alike except in common kindness and decency. In all other ways, in looks, importance, wealth, power, Eneas of Syan was Ferras Vansen’s clear superior. And Eneas had made his feelings known, whereas Briony had to admit her notion that Vansen cared for her was based on the flimsiest of interpretations, a few looks, a few mumbled words, none of which could not equally be said to represent the ordinary awkwardness of a common soldier in the presence of his monarch. And he was a common soldier, which made it all the greater an idiocy even to think about him in that way. Even were Vansen to throw himself down at her feet and beg her to marry him, Briony could no more do that than she could marry one of her horse-grooms or a merchant in Market Square.
Not without giving up my throne.…
Briony could not even entertain such a mad idea. With her father and brother gone, who would look after her people? Who would make certain that Hendon Tolly received his due and dreadful reward?
She sighed, plucked up a handful of damp grass, and flung it high into the air. The wind lifted and carried the grass for a moment and then, like a bored child, let it fall.
“You sent for me, Highness?” she asked.
Eneas frowned. “Please, Briony. Princess. Do not speak to me as though we have not been friends.”
She realized he was right. There was a stiffness in her manner. “I… I’m sorry, Eneas. I meant nothing by it. I did not sleep well.”
He showed a rueful smile. “You are not the only one. But now I have decided what I must do—what common sense demands as much as honor.” He nodded. “I will stay with you, Briony Eddon. We will continue to Southmarch.”
Briony had already begun to tell him she had expected it, and to thank him for all he had done for her; she was even pondering what she could decently ask of him besides the horse and armor he had already given her when she realized what he had said. “What? Stay… with me?”
“I gave my word. And I realized that, with Jino and other friends at Broadhall, I am not so cut off as I might think. Even should something… the Brothers prevent it, the gods all forswear it… should something happen to my father, the kingdom is sound… and the throne is safe.” He smiled, although it did not come easily. “If Ananka had given my sire an heir, things might be different.”
As Anissa did with my father, Briony thought but did not say. The thought echoed in her head unpleasantly, but she pushed it away for later consideration. “Your Highness… Eneas… I don’t know what to say!”
“Then say nothing. And don’t assume it is only because of obligation, either. Your company means much to me, Briony—your happiness, too. And I have my own curiosity about what is happening in the north. Now go and make yourself ready, I beg you. We ride out within the hour and I must prepare a letter to be sent back to good Erasmias Jino.”
She left him scratching away at a sheet of parchment and walked back to her tent with the feeling that she had stepped unexpectedly from one road to another, and that because of that much had changed and much more would change in days ahead.
3. Seal of War
“His parents named him Adis, and when he was old enough they sent him out to watch over the flocks. He was pious and good, and he loved his parents nearly as much as he loved the gods themselves ...”
Both Chaven and Antimony carried torches, although the young Funderling monk was only carrying his as a favor to the physician. Only a few brands glowed in the whole of the great chamber called Sandsilver’s Dancing Room, since the Qar had little more need for light than the Funderlings themselves… or at least that was true for many of them: Chaven had already seen examples of some who needed no light at all because they seemed to have no eyes, as well as huge-eyed folk who blinked and winced at even the dimmest glow. Chaven could not help marveling at the variety.
“How can such things be?” Brother Antimony asked quietly. “The Great God has made men in many shapes and sizes, we know—look at you and me!—but why should he make one kind of creature with so many different shapes?”
Chaven couldn’t answer. He would have loved to study every single Qar with a strong lamp and seeing-glass, calipers and folding rule, but at the moment he and Antimony had a more important task, which was seeing to the comfort (and covertly examining the mood) of these new allies. Vansen had asked him to do it, so Chaven had chosen Antimony, the most open-minded of the Metamorphic Brothers, as his companion.
“I was thinking only a moment ago how much we could learn from these folk,” Chaven told the Funderling. “Even Phayallos admits that when they lived beside us centuries ago very little proper study was done. Most of the works that purport to describe the Qar from detailed studies sadly turn out to be filled with hearsay and superstition.”
“It is not superstitious to fear something whose ways and looks are so different,” Antimony said, his voice still low, “and I will be frank, Physician Chaven—I fear these creatures.” The cavern seemed filled with roiling shadow, a single moving thing with many parts like something crawling in a tidal pool. “Even if they are sincere in their desire to fight the autarch, who’s to say what will happen if we live through it? Even if we somehow beat the southern king and all his thousands and thousands and thousands of men, what if these Qar decide afterward to return to what they were doing—which was killing us?”
Chaven was pleased to see the young man exercising his wits so clearly. He had been right—this one had the makings of a scholar. Pardstone Jasper, the last Funderling who had regularly contributed to the wide conversation of scholars, had died when Chaven was still a young boy. “You ask a good question, Brother Antimony, and Captain Vansen and your Magister Cinnabar are already thinking on it as well. I expect that is all we can do at the moment… think on it. Because even to reach the point of having to deal with that problem will be an astounding and unexpected triumph.” He shook his head. “Forgive me—I do not mean to be gloomy.”