“She is not a creature, Your Highness.” Vansen knew it was foolish to argue with a prince, but something more primal was going on beneath the words and he could not easily let go of it, either. “But we will agree that she is singular.”
“Fairly spoken!” Oddly, the prince did not seem to take offense. “I meant only that her… determination is such a pure thing. Like a bird’s need to fly ...”
A great cheer went up, although it faded quickly beside the open, windy road. Several of the Temple Dogs were waving their swords and standards in the air, crowding around Briony to call their farewells, all semblance of military order gone. But men are so few and the world is so big, thought Vansen, looking from the knot of soldiers and mounted men to the empty hills. How will we live without the gods?
Fool, he chided himself a moment later. We have exactly as much of the gods as we have always had.
When Prince Eneas and the others had at last turned south toward their homeland, Briony rode with her retinue back through the mainland city, as empty and haunted as the places Vansen had seen on Northmarch Road that day so long ago, when he rode with Collum Dyer and the poor merchant lad, Raemon Beck.
“I go to meet my brother now,” Briony told him. “There is much for you to do back home and Sergeant Dawley can look after me.”
Young Dab Dawley, Vansen knew, was nearly as enthralled with the princess as was Ferras Vansen himself, and had no love for the Qar. Vansen had no doubt he would look after her carefully, but that was not his only concern. “No,” he said. “You may dismiss me, of course, Highness, but if you will permit me, I would like to see your brother once more. We traveled together for a long time.”
“What happened to him behind the Shadowline, dear Captain?”
He shook his head in frustration. “I cannot tell you, not truly. When I saw him last in Greatdeeps he had not changed much from what you knew. A little harder, perhaps. A little quieter. Becoming a man, I would say, because he wouldn’t have survived that terrible place any other way.” The sun was dropping down toward the tops of the western hills as they rode up Market Road toward the Coast Road crossing just outside the city. “Then Gyir, the fairy I’ve told you about, gave him a commission to take a mirror from Yasammez to the king of the Qar. I am still not entirely certain why, but it was meant to wake Saqri the queen, so he must have succeeded.” He shrugged. “The next time I saw him was a few hours before you did. It was like meeting another person.”
“Not entirely.” She shielded her eyes against the sun as she looked up the road. “He was always full of secrets. It is just like him to wish to meet me out here, away from everyone else. When we were young we used to hide from our family and servants—or at least Barrick would. But I always found him.” She looked so sad that Ferras Vansen almost pulled her to him and kissed her, despite the presence of all her guards and grooms and pages. “We would hide from the world together. I suppose that is what most galls me. Again, he runs away to hide, but this time I cannot go. Someone has to stay. Someone has to play the ruler.”
The sun was very low, but the crossroad was still empty. At Vansen’s insistence a tent had been erected so that the princess could rest out of the sun and the wind while she waited for her brother, and she was there taking a cup of wine and thinking her own silent thoughts when the scouts brought the news that someone was approaching. It was not the army of fairies Vansen had expected, but a single two-horse carriage that was rattling toward them along the rutted road.
If Vansen was surprised by the vehicle, which bore the crest of the late Duke Daman, King Olin’s brother, and a coachman in full livery, he was even more surprised by the passengers who clambered down its narrow folding steps when it stopped—the Funderlings, Chert and Opal, followed by their adoptive child Flint.
“Master Blue Quartz!” Vansen said in astonishment. “What are you doing here, so far from Funderling Town?”
Chert did not speak until he was certain Opal’s feet were safely on the ground. “I am not certain myself, Captain Vansen. It is all our son’s idea—our son and Duchess Merolanna, whose cart this is.”
“Good excuse to take it out of the stable, sir,” said the coachman cheerfully.
“Did you come to see the princess?” Vansen asked. “Or to say farewell to Prince Barrick?”
Chert shook his head and pointed to Flint, who was already leading Opal toward Briony’s tent. “You’ll have to speak to the boy. I know it sounds foolish, but I promised I would ask no more questions until he was ready to explain.”
Vansen knew the boy’s history, so he was not surprised that Chert had been forced to come along, if only because Opal would have insisted. But why the strange child wanted to bring them here of all places, and just at this time, he couldn’t understand.
By the time Vansen led Chert into the tent, Opal and Flint were sitting on cushions at Briony’s feet. Chert reluctantly allowed himself to be convinced to sit beside them, but Vansen chose to stand beside the door flap so he could hear what was going on outside. He had no fear of Chert and his Funderling family, but he did not much like the notion of more unexpected arrivals.
“Well, Mistress Opal,” Briony said, “we have not met before, but you must know that your husband means much to me. He likely saved my life.”
Opal colored a little. “Well, he’s always up to something, my Chert. It’s a bit much for me to keep up with it all, sometimes.”
“It has been difficult for all of us lately,” Briony said. “These have been confusing, sorrowful times. But if I am not mistaken, we may learn a little more today about some of the mysteries that have plagued us.”
“Not from me!” Opal said breathlessly. “Goodness, no, I don’t think so ...!”
Briony turned toward the boy. “You have flitted in and out through many of the tales I have been told in the last few days, young Master Flint. Is it time now to talk about you? It is plain enough that whatever your relationship with Chert and Opal, you are not a Funderling by birth.”
“That is true, Briony Eddon,” the boy said gravely.
Vansen was a little shocked. “Lad, it is polite to address the princess as ‘Highness’ or ‘Your Royal Highness ...’”
Briony lifted her hand. “Generally that is true, Captain. But I suspect we are facing something a bit different than the ordinary here.”
The boy nodded. “I’m not Chert and Opal’s child, that is commonly known.” Watching the boy speak, Vansen felt the hackles lift on his neck and arms. He did not act like any child Vansen had ever known. Flint was not even acting much like himself—surely the child never spoke this formally when Vansen had seen him before.
“Where were you born, then?” Briony asked.
“Here in Southmarch… but it was a long time ago, as you measure it. Fifty years and more.” The boy nodded. “Merolanna is my mother. My father is Avin Brone, count of Landsend.”
Through everything that had happened, Vansen had never seen Briony truly astonished… until now.
“Avin Brone?” she cried. “Avin Brone was your father? He was Merolanna’s secret lover? But she said the child’s father was dead!” Her eyes narrowed. “And whatever else you may be, you are no comfortable old man of fifty years… !”
“The Qar took me when I was small. A childless Qar woman stole me from the house of my nursemaid, but they were disturbed in the doing and did not leave a changeling child to hide their deed. They took me to Qul-na-Qar and raised me. Although I aged but little, many years passed here during the time I was behind the Shadowline. At last Ynnir the blind king sent me here as part of his pact with Lady Yasammez—if I could bring out the essence of the god Kupilas to wake Queen Saqri, then the castle and its inhabitants would be spared.