Prisoner (10 page)

Rescinded by both men, the title had passed to her. Esta didn't want it either, but it only made sense for her to have it. Not once had she ever doubted Iah knew that, though they'd never discussed it.

Esta closed her eyes to ward off tears. Would he come home? Safe and whole?

What's wrong, Monkey?

Everything, Esta thought.

You're being a silly Monkey. Come on, let's go into town. I'll play a song, and you can dance like a good little Monkey—then you'll be happy, I'll be rich and all will be well!

Esta smiled, and opened her eyes. "Trul, do I have any of the lavender perfume left?"

Trul snorted. "I wasn't aware, my lady, that you ever let it run out."

"Shush and fetch it."

You smell pretty, mama.

Come close, Essie, and mama will make you smell pretty too and then papa can admire both his ladies. How do you like that?

"Here you are, my lady." Trul dabbed the perfume on her, then began on the jewelry: the gold and silver necklace, a matching bracelet on her left wrist, a black ribbon for the war on her right, and a small tiara set on her head.

The gold and silver shone, the last perfect touch to her dress. Esta touched the necklace.

Iah, what's that?

This? I found it one day. After a battle.

You mean you lifted it off someone.

I did not! Anyway, don't you think it's pretty?

It has gems.

Diamonds are what the white ones are called, and the red one is a... ruby, I think.

You can't have that. It's against the rules.

It wasn't always. And I only kept it because I knew you'd like it.

I don't want it. Gems aren't allowed.

But they will be again someday. When we finally find the Breaker.

If, Iah.

When. Here, hold on to it for me, at least, if you don't want it. Maybe I'll give it to my wife instead someday.

You! With a wife! Don't make me laugh.

Stranger things have happened
.

"You're all set, my lady. Best get a move on."

"Thank you, Trul. Take the night off, won't you? I shouldn't need any help undoing all this. But don't drink too much."

Trul winked at her in the mirror. "I only ever drink just enough, my lady."

"Enough to what?" Esta asked.

"To get into trouble."

Esta sighed. "Get on then. I will see you tomorrow. See that I'm awake for breakfast."

"Yes, my lady. Don't think too much, hear? All that brooding scares the men away, and if you keep scaring them away you won't have a way to refuse your prince!"

"Oh, yes I will." Esta shooed Trul out the door, then locked it and wandered over to the window. The sky was pitch black—no moon, no stars. Perhaps there would be snow as early as the next day. Esta made a note to double check that Trul has pulled all her winter wear from storage.

Was it cold where Iah was? Did he have a jacket? Somewhere warm to rest? A horse? What was he doing? Thinking? She was going to
kill
him when he returned. Then she was going to hold him and never let go. Stupid brothers. Her eyes burned, and Esta forced her thoughts to the people waiting downstairs. She had duties to attend. There would be time for sentiment and fear later.

Duty before all else.

Stars above he hated snow.

At least, he hated snow in Kria. It was nothing like the snow he knew back home. Snow usually only fell in the northern section of Salhara, so he had seen it only when winter was particularly bad. It was soft and fell only briefly. It dusted everything, but usually was gone by the following morning. At worst, it was ankle-deep and lasted a few days. Beraht recalled an ice-storm from when he was a child, but even that had melted away quickly.

Kria was something else entirely. The snow fell thick and heavy; he swore some of the flakes were nearly as large as the tip of his finger. It was a mystery to him how anyone survived in this weather. He shivered, wishing desperately for a fire and a vast quantity of blankets.

Of course, he seemed to be the only one so affected by the weather. He'd swear the bastard and his horse were
enjoying
themselves. That probably shouldn't have surprised him. Was von Adolwulf even feeling the cold? It certainly didn't seem as if he were. Beraht refused to relax against his captor, even though the heat that seemed to pour from him was all that kept Beraht from freezing entirely.

Well, that and his cloak. Beraht had secured one of his own—and a great deal more in winter wear besides—from the strange temple they'd rested in for two days. However, his cloak, though warm, was nothing like von Adolwulf's. Where had he obtained it? It was heavy and made from at least two layers of thick wool, and the end and shoulders were trimmed with what Beraht had realized were at least two or three overlapping rows of wolf fur. It had been made with no small amount of skill. Beraht swore the snow just fell from it.

Maybe it was melting away. Von Adolwulf was certainly enough of a bastard that Beraht could see even the snow hating him. Beraht hunched his shoulders and glared at the road ahead. Not that he could see it, but he knew it was there.

Or hoped it was, anyway. It was a mystery to him how von Adolwulf knew where they were going. The logical thing would have been to take shelter until the weather cleared, as Krians
and
the Illussor were pretty adamant about doing once the snow started. Though it had been suggested, Salhara had never taken advantage of that opportunity to take the Disputed Lands.

The Regenbogen, the Krians called it. Not that they ever did anything with it, just hoarded the miles and miles of field, relished in destroying the arcen that grew there whenever the fighting stopped long enough. Stars forbid the Krians do something so crass as negotiate. What did they need the land for? They already had more than they knew what to do with.

He turned his thoughts away from the question that had plagued him for years, for dwelling on it never did any good.
What had started the war?
Because the Disputed Lands had come later. Arcen was hard to grow, for the ground had to be rich and the season just right. The last few seasons had been hard; arcen was not as readily available. The Disputed Lands, even after being ravaged each year, somehow managed to recover over the course of the long Krian winter. If they could drive the Krians out once and for all, the fields would provide them with a reliable place to harvest arcen for years. Whatever was in the soil there, arcen loved it.

Which reminded him quite forcefully that he was
still feeling the pangs of withdrawal from arcen. The headaches were not as bad as they had been, and those he could tolerate. No, it was the crawling sense of needing, wanting, and aching for the tingling burn of arcen in his blood that was slowly driving him mad. Beraht snorted—hardly slowly. Between the withdrawal and his intolerable captor, insanity must surely be just a day or so away.

The snow was definitely not helping. He muttered a few curses under his breath—in Krian, so that von Adolwulf would know exactly how he felt. Let the man beat him, throw him around, and continue to force him on in this abominable weather. The last laugh would be Beraht's.

Laughter startled him from his grousing. "Salharans are soft," von Adolwulf said. "If you think this is bad wait until winter arrives."

"This
is
winter," Beraht snapped. His voice was eerily loud, because, for all that the snow fell in mass quantities around them, there was little noise. Not even a strong wind; just the relentless fall of soft, thick snow. It muffled their words, but they still seemed loud.

Von Adolwulf laughed again. "Nonsense. This is merely the end of autumn. True winter does not begin for nearly another month. We should, in fact, be returning just in time for the festivities."

"Festivities? To celebrate foul weather? How typically Krian."

"Think as you like."

Beraht subsided into silence. On the one hand, an end would mean he would no longer have to endure day after day of von Adolwulf's company. On the other, what would happen to him once they reached their destination? Would he be back in chains? Locked in a dungeon? Tortured for information?

He couldn't repress a shudder and hoped von Adolwulf attributed it to the cold. They'd existed in a sort of stalemate for the past few days. Though he'd said nothing, it was clear that von Adolwulf was more interested in making good time than in torturing his prisoner.

Though he never missed a chance to torment Beraht, either. Just hearing the bastard say his name set Beraht's teeth on edge, and von Adolwulf knew it. Patience was all it took. One day he'd have the satisfaction of hearing his name rescinded, never to be spoken again. Then von Adolwulf would die, and he would return home to be given a proper name by the Brotherhood of the Seven Star.

A name and a place—and more besides—for all the information on the Krians that he would be able to provide. Those thoughts alone made the enduring of the thrice-cursed snow more than bearable.

Well, almost. He'd give a lot for fire and blankets and something hot to drink.

Ahead of them was a steadily growing darkness, peeking between the flurries of snow, indistinct and looming. As they drew closer, Beraht realized they were approaching a forest. Only the second one he'd seen since their journey had begun. Unlike before, however, these trees were the kind with which he was familiar. Naked, their leaves dead and buried in a white grave. Here, the branches were large enough that the snow was not quite so bad—he could actually see more than unrelenting white. Not much more, but it was a welcome change.

The silence was worse than ever. They well and truly seemed to be the only living things in the forest. How boring. Perhaps that was von Adolwulf's goal: to torture him with sheer and abject boredom. Even fear of what lay ahead of him could not diminish the boredom. Better to be doing something than nothing.

Von Adolwulf's arm tightened around his waist and pulled him close. "What—" Beraht's furiously hissed words were cut off by a gloved hand placed firmly over his mouth.

"Silence," von Adolwulf hissed in his ear. Beraht obeyed reflexively. It was the tone of a commanding officer, and there was no room for argument. He cursed at himself when he realized what he was doing, but when the hand withdrew, he stayed silent. "Don't fall off the horse," von Adolwulf added.

Beraht grit his teeth against a reply, though only because he heard von Adolwulf draw his sword. None too soon, as shadows emerged from the snow. Steel sang against steel, breaking the silence of the forest. Then the world erupted into a flurry of movement, and Beraht heard more than saw the sickening sounds of men silenced by a sword. The profusion of snow simply made it impossible for him to see anything clearly.

The heat of von Adolwulf disappeared when he dismounted, and Beraht realized with a hiss just how warm he had really been. Stars above, what he would give to be out of the godforsaken cold! He hunched down on the horse's back and watched as von Adolwulf dealt with what remained of their six attackers.

The last he didn't kill. Beraht felt sorry for the man as von Adolwulf yelled at him, and though the man tried to yell back, Beraht could see he was far too frightened. The words were nothing like the stiff, correct Krian Beraht had been speaking. That, he realized suddenly, von Adolwulf had been speaking as well. Whatever he was speaking to the bandit was completely different. It wasn't even like the words used by the soldiers he used to listen to. They'd spoken roughly, but clearly. Trained soldiers, coming from all walks of life, who had settled on a dialect all could understand.

This—this was guttural and liquid at the same time. Like melting snow or an ice-cold stream. It was completely different from anything Beraht had ever heard. He couldn't understand what was being said,  although he knew von Adolwulf's tone well enough by now to know that he was glad it wasn't him being yelled at.

He looked on, unmoving, as von Adolwulf finally killed the man, painting the ground red as he threw the body aside and cleaned his sword. Beraht eyed the sword. It seemed longer than most, though he couldn't be sure. The one thing he was sure of was that the sword was of exceptional quality—something about it just seemed to declare that. It also shimmered strangely at times, but most likely that was merely a combination of melted snow and sunlight. Von Adolwulf sheathed his sword and mounted, and in seconds they were continuing as though nothing had happened.

"Bandits?" He was suddenly glaringly aware of how wretched his Krian truly was. He'd learned from the battlefield, from those few comrades who had been fluent and willing to teach and from listening to Krian soldiers as he had sneaked around their camps committing sabotage and murder. He'd been proud of it, even knowing he was far from skilled. Now he felt the sting of knowing exactly how awful he was. It shouldn't have mattered, but was one more slap in the face. Worse still was the realization that von Adolwulf had been speaking at his level the entire time. A sly mockery he had not bothered to pick up on until now. The bastard had probably been laughing at him the whole time.

"Yes," von Adolwulf replied. His Krian was what Beraht was familiar with, nothing like what he'd spoken to the dead men. "They thought us traveling nobles."