The Demon World, page 27
Penny said, “We all know you have the brains to do it, but it’s having the guts to do it that counts.”
And now Catherine was having the guts to do something else, though she knew this was a lot less laudable.
She stood at her window, looking out at the courtyard. Catherine breathed on the pane of glass, then rubbed it with her finger. That was her signal. The signal told Ambrose that she was alone in her rooms. She was alone because Lady Donnell had given her a present of a length of heavy silk and Tanya had started making a dress, but Catherine had criticized the color of the thread, saying, “It has to match precisely. The silk is ruined if it doesn’t match.” And Tanya had left in a huff, saying, “I’ll ask Lady Donnell if she has some. If she hasn’t got the right color, then I’ll walk to Tornia for it.” Catherine felt only slightly guilty. She’d built the argument to get rid of Tanya. And now she smoothed her skirt and waited for Ambrose.
Catherine had come up with a number of ruses such as this in the last week to contrive to be alone with Ambrose for various lengths of time. It helped that Ambrose was pretending to Tanya that he didn’t know Catherine’s marriage was a lie and was acting miserable in Tanya’s presence, sighing ridiculously and snapping at her himself on one occasion.
In reality, though, Catherine and Ambrose were happy. Catherine felt guilty about Tzsayn, but somehow felt he’d understand, and for the moment she was trying to enjoy her brief times with Ambrose and be a little less calculating and a little more wild.
Catherine heard the door open and close. “I thought you’d never get rid of her,” Ambrose said as his hands circled her waist and his lips pressed against her neck, slowly making their way down to her scarred collarbone. Catherine leaned her head to the side, her eyes half closed, her hands feeling for Ambrose’s hips and, as she smiled and rolled her head back, her gaze roamed across the courtyard below and met the eyes of the man watching her.
Zach.
She pushed back out of sight.
“What’s wrong?” Ambrose asked.
“Someone is watching.” She felt sick with fear.
“Who?”
“Zach . . . the armorer. He saw us.” Catherine pushed Ambrose even farther back from the window. “We should have been more careful. If he’s seen us together . . . No, he did see us.”
“Whether he’s seen us together or not, it’s nothing more than what people gossip about anyway. He can’t prove anything.”
Catherine wasn’t sure. “I’ve seen him around here a lot recently. I thought it was because of his enthusiasm for his business, but . . . do you think he could be watching me? Spying?”
“No. He’s just . . .” Ambrose stopped, then muttered, “I’ve just realized, at Farrow’s camp, when I went to see Edyon before the trial, I saw a boy come out of Farrow’s tent. I thought I recognized him but couldn’t place his face. It was Zach’s assistant.”
“He would have no reason to be in Farrow’s camp, would he?”
Ambrose shook his head. “Not unless Zach is selling his armor there too.”
Catherine wanted to believe that but doubted it. “So Zach is a spy for Farrow.” She dreaded to think what Zach had told him and felt unclean at the thought of Zach and Farrow talking about her. “What shall we do?”
“It changes nothing except that we must be more careful.”
“And we mustn’t be found alone together.”
There was a shout from downstairs and Catherine nearly jumped out of her skin.
Ambrose held her. “Calm down. I’m here. You’re safe.” But there were more shouts and then the sound of running along the corridor.
Catherine backed away, her heart going through her chest. “You should go. If someone finds you here alone with me . . .”
But it was too late—and Ambrose had his hand on his sword and drew it as the door burst open.
Tanya stood there, a broad smile on her face that left as soon as she saw Ambrose alone with Catherine, but she called out with glee, “It’s Geratan. Geratan is here.”
“Geratan? He’s alive!” And then Catherine thought of Tash. “Is he alone? Is Tash here too?”
Tanya didn’t know but Catherine didn’t have to wait long for a reply. Geratan entered and bowed low. “I’m alone, Your Highness. But please take comfort that Tash was alive and well when I left her a few days ago. She is still in the demon tunnels, learning what she can.”
Ambrose embraced him. “It’s wonderful to see you, Geratan. Though you look half dead, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Dust clung to Geratan’s sweating skin. His white hair had grown out to show dark roots, but his smile was genuine.
Tanya arranged for food and drink to be sent up and Geratan sat with them and told his story, going slowly over all that he’d seen and done since leaving Catherine’s group in the tunnels. He concluded by saying, “Your father is farming the smoke. Collecting as much as he likes. At the moment there is no one to stop him.”
Ambrose looked grim as he said, “With all that smoke he can build a huge boy army. They’ll be invincible. He’ll take over Calidor. Then Pitoria.”
Catherine said, “He’ll not stop there. He’ll want the whole world.”
“We need an army to fight the Brigantines. We need to get the Brigantines out of the demon tunnels.”
“I have an army, but if we move against my father now he will kill Prince Tzsayn.” She looked at Ambrose. “We need to push for Tzsayn’s release. Then we must mount an attack into the demon world.”
Ambrose asked, “Do you want to tell Farrow this information? Will he care?”
“He won’t care a jot about Aloysius killing demons or attacking Calidor, but he has to understand the power of the demon smoke—we have to show him and all the lords and generals, so they can see it with their own eyes and have no doubts about it. We must set up a demonstration as soon as possible.”
Ambrose frowned. “A demonstration?”
Catherine thought for a moment. She didn’t want to show it herself; Farrow would call it a trick and unwomanly. She hated to bring children into this, as that was exactly what her father would do—exactly what he was doing, in fact. But she saw no alternative.
“We ask some boys to take the smoke. Just once, just for the demonstration, and only if they are willing.”
EDYON
ROAD TO THE COAST, NORTHERN PITORIA
EDYON LEFT Donnafon early in the morning a few days after the trial. Catherine grasped his hands as she saw him off in the courtyard of Donnell castle. “Please take care, cousin. And please ensure that Thelonius understands how serious we see this threat to him and to all of us. He knows my father as well as anyone, but the danger my father poses is not just to Calidor or Pitoria but to all the world.”
Edyon assured her, “I understand and will deliver the message with the greatest speed.” He was proud to be given the responsibility and to be taken seriously himself, but most of all he wanted to see his father.
And then he and March were on the horses and heading to the coast. There were a few checkpoints along the road, manned by men with hair colored from pink to red and yellow to turquoise. But their escort of blue-haired soldiers ensured they weren’t delayed long. There was ample food and water, and the captain guiding them knew the way.
All Edyon had to do was sit on his horse and look ahead. And ahead the future looked golden. Finally he seemed to be putting the “death is all around you” he’d been foretold behind him. Death no longer seemed to be around him. Around him now were only green meadows and sunlight.
He looked across to March, who was riding beside him. “Did I ever tell you about the fortune teller I went to at the Dornan fair?”
March shook his head.
“She foretold I’d meet you.”
March glanced at him.
“Well, she said I’d meet a handsome foreign man.”
March snorted. “You traveled with the fair. That doesn’t seem like the most amazing of predictions.”
“Rather skeptical of you, my foreign handsome man. But I admit you are correct.” Edyon remembered the other things Madame Eruth had foretold. “She said you were troubled.”
March frowned. “Again a rather common condition. Aren’t most people troubled by something? Surely it would be more unusual to say someone was untroubled.”
“I get the feeling you don’t believe in fortune telling.”
“I believe it’s an easy way to part people from their money. Tell people obvious things that they want to hear, and they’ve paid for them so they’ll believe them.”
Edyon laughed. “I admit I was never sure whether to believe her or not. But she was right—I did meet you, you are troubled. She had predicted I’d meet men before, I admit that, and she was correct then too. In fact, she was never wrong.”
March shrugged. “She told you what you wanted to hear.”
“I can assure you that I didn’t want to hear that death was all around me.”
March glanced at him, and Edyon explained. “In the last prediction, that was what she said. In fact she refused to even see me again after that. And she was correct—suddenly there were dead bodies everywhere I turned.”
“One lucky guess then.”
“A huge guess. A life-changing guess. Actually, the more you argue with me, the more I’m convinced of how good she was. I shall ignore your sneers.”
“She didn’t predict them?”
“Most importantly, she said this about you”—and now he imitated Madame Eruth’s deep voice—“‘But beware: he lies too.’”
Edyon smiled and glanced over at March, who had gone pale and shrugged stiffly before saying, “Doesn’t everyone lie at some time?”
“Doesn’t everyone evade answering questions at some time? Though it seems you are doing it more and more.”
March turned to Edyon. “She said I lied, not that I evaded things. Though maybe I do both. Maybe she was right. She was right about death being all around you. But when did she say that would end? Does it mean we are doomed? Should I leave you now?”
“Why are you being so grumpy?” Edyon asked. “Do you hate fortune tellers so much?”
March looked down, then over to Edyon. His face seemed pale and tired. “My apologies. I don’t mean to be irritable.”
“Are you concerned that we’ll be attacked again?”
“No. Though there is still a war on.”
“I want to enjoy my last days in Pitoria. We’ll be with my father in less than a week. The sea crossing should take only a few days. We may have to wait a day or two for a ship.” He glanced at March but his face still looked grim. He tried to lighten the mood: “Perhaps I should use the time before we set sail to get some more clothes. And gifts. Do I need gifts? I’ve no money, though perhaps I can borrow.”
“Just don’t steal,” said March.
“I would never . . . Well, what I mean is, I am a reformed man.” Edyon smiled at March. “I’ve not had the urge to take anything since I heard who my father was and since I got to know you. I don’t think I’ll ever steal again. I’m far, far too happy.”
March looked at him, as if checking his sincerity, before nodding. “Good. I should hate to hear of any missing trews, shirt, and jacket from a bathhouse if we visit one.”
Edyon smiled. “You will hear nothing but the gentle splash of water.” And in his head he added, And feel nothing but my kisses on your neck.
That evening they arrived at the coast and Edyon had a bath, but March was not with him. He disappeared and came to the inn later, saying he’d found a ship that was sailing in two days.
Edyon had been disappointed at having to bathe alone and said, “I had a bath. Do I smell wonderful?”
March nodded, but then went to the window and looked out.
“What’s bothering you, March? Look,” he added breezily, “I didn’t steal any clothes. See, I’m still in the shirt Lord Donnell gave me. And it rather suits me.”
March glanced at him but didn’t reply.
“Well, as you aren’t impressed, will you help me out of it?” Edyon held his arms out.
March hesitated but then began to undo the shirt ties, his fingers working fast, as if he wanted to get it over with.
Edyon took March’s hand. “What’s wrong? Tell me. I can see you’re not happy. What is it?”
March glanced up at Edyon’s eyes, but then down again, and he forced a weak smile. “Nothing is wrong. I’m tired. I’m sorry. My job is to assist you.”
“No, that is not your job.” Edyon gripped March’s hand harder. “We’ve been through more together in the last few weeks than most friends ever do in a lifetime. We’ve been through the hardest things, the toughest trials, and we’ve overcome them together. We now have a golden future ahead. And I can never thank you enough, but I most certainly can reward you. You won’t be a servant anymore. Not to me, not to my father. You are my friend, my companion. I want you to take off my shirt as my lover, not my servant.”
March looked down and muttered something in Abask.
“Is that the problem, March? That I want you as my lover? I want to kiss you like I did that night in the forest. And I want you to kiss me back, to hold me like you did that night, your arms warm and strong round me.”
March looked into his eyes, and Edyon was struck again by their beauty. “If you don’t want me to do this, then stop me.” And he leaned forward to kiss March.
March didn’t stop him, didn’t resist. Instead he leaned forward and kissed Edyon back, pushing into him harder, his arms round Edyon and his hands sliding up his shirt and pulling it over Edyon’s head, their lips parting for only a moment before finding each other again. And March pushed Edyon to the bed and they were on it, March over Edyon, legs tangled. Edyon took March’s face in his hands. “Calm down. This isn’t wrong. I love you.”
March’s eyes were white-blue, almost glittering with silver glints.
“Your eyes are beautiful, March. You are beautiful. I do love you.”
March went still and Edyon kissed his lips gently. March closed his eyes, muttering something in Abask that sounded wonderful.
“Say that again,” murmured Edyon. “It sounds so good. It makes my skin tingle.”
And March said more and Edyon kissed down his throat as he spoke.
MARCH
THE PITORIAN SEA
MARCH LAY in Edyon’s arms as the ship rose and fell in the waves. It was the third day of the crossing, the wind was favorable, and they’d made good speed to Calidor. March wanted the winds to stop; he wanted everything to stop. He turned to look at Edyon in the dawn light. Edyon was so still, his breathing so relaxed and gentle that he was hardly moving. His hair waved gently down his neck, his cheek smooth, though some hairs were growing dark above his lip.
March went over what he was going to tell Edyon. He’d gone through it so many times and each time he’d been too cowardly to say the words aloud. Well, he had said them aloud once. He’d said it in Abask. He’d confessed everything in Abask. But Edyon hadn’t understood a word of it. He’d thought March was being romantic, telling him of love and passion, not of lies and betrayal.
But March was running out of time. He’d have to tell Edyon the truth soon. He’d planned to tell him in Donnafon once the trial was over, but Edyon was so happy thinking about his future in Calidor. And then, when they got to the port, March really was going to tell Edyon the truth, but Edyon started kissing him. And then Edyon needed a companion on the voyage to ensure that he did actually get to Calia and Prince Thelonius’s castle. Who knew what might happen to Edyon if March wasn’t there to help him—this was Edyon after all. Anything could happen!
But nothing had happened. The ship had made good progress and they’d arrive in Calidor later that day.
March was a coward, but only because he didn’t want to hurt Edyon—well, perhaps there was another reason too. Edyon’s kisses had swept him away. The pleasure of them, the joy of Edyon’s hands touching his skin, the softness of Edyon’s lips on his body. March had had so little pleasure in life and this was bliss. And Edyon too had suffered so much in the last few weeks, nearly died so many times—wasn’t it right that he should have some pleasure?
March eased himself carefully out of Edyon’s arms, pulled on his clothes, and went on deck.
It was worse than he’d imagined. The coastline of Calidor was ahead, rising green and beautiful before him. The city of Calia was visible too and the castle a small gray square. Soon Edyon would be there and March would have to leave.
“Good morning.”
March felt Edyon’s arm slide round his waist. “My first sight of Calidor is with you standing before it. That’s a good omen, I think.”
March nodded and called himself a coward again.
“I need to look my best, though. And you’ll have to remind me of all the people’s names. There’s so much to think about, and I’ve got to make the right first impression.”
“Yes, of course I’ll help.”
Edyon leaned on the ship’s railing. “You look so worried, March. Do you think there are going to be more people who are against me, more people like Lord Regan who don’t want me to be legitimized?”
March felt sick at the mention of Regan’s name. That was the man Thelonius had really sent to find Edyon, the man Holywell had killed—the man March had helped to kill. “You’ll have the prince to support you. But you’re right—we can’t be too careful. We’ve made it this far; I think it would be sensible to take our time.” And here were more lies, more excuses for delay.
