Medalon

boots, he glanced up at the men.

“You’ll hang if they catch us,” he warned.

The lieutenant shrugged. “Can’t be any worse than being a Defender these days.”

Both saddened and heartened by the man’s reply, Tarja stood up and accepted the sword Davydd handed him.

“Thanks.” How can I hold a sword? They broke my fingers! I must be dreaming.

“All clear,” the lieutenant announced, looking out into the yard.

Tarja followed him into the yard and stopped dead as he realized who was holding the waiting horses. R’shiel turned as she heard them. She studied him for a moment, surprised perhaps that he could even stand, then did no more than acknowledge him with a nod.

“They’ll be opening the gate soon,” she said. “We’d better hurry.”

“R’shiel—”

“You take the bay,” she said, handing him the reins. Her expression was unreadable. “I heard they were torturing you. I’m glad to see you’ve not suffered too much.”

Tarja stared at her in astonishment. She was angry with him because he was whole! How could he explain to her what had happened, when he couldn’t even explain it to himself?

“Come on!” Davydd urged.

Tarja took the reins and leaped into the saddle, following the others out of the yard and into the streets of the Citadel. He rode with R’shiel on his left and the other two close behind. She did not look at him. He could not understand her anger or how she had come to be involved in his escape. I don’t understand how I could go to sleep a broken man and wake whole, either, he thought.

As they neared the main gate, Tarja pushed aside the question of his astounding recovery. He had to live through the next few hours before he could indulge in trying to solve such an inexplicable riddle. The buildings closest to the main gate were clustered close together, built by human hands, not Harshini. Three stories tall and roofed with gray slate tiles, many were boarding houses, offering accommodation to officers who preferred not to live in the Officers’ Quarters near the center of the city. They were popular because they were away from the watchful eye of the Lord Defender. There were no snap inspections here. Tarja rode past them with his head down and shoulders hunched. Chances were good that if they got to the gate, they would be allowed to leave unchallenged. The guards held the gate against incoming traffic. They would not bother with officers heading out.

They rode at a walk past the last house before the open plaza in front of the gate. A door opened on Tarja’s left and a captain stepped out into the street. The movement caught his eye. The shock of seeing such a livid scar momentarily distracted him, and he stared openly at the man. The young captain gasped as he recognized Tarja.

“Guards!” Loclon yelled toward the gate.

“Damn!” R’shiel muttered, kicking her horse into a canter. They followed her lead without hesitation. Loclon ran after them, calling to the guards on the gate who were embroiled in an argument with a burly wagon driver. A large oxen-drawn wagon was blocking the way, as the driver disputed his right to enter. Tarja glanced over his shoulder at Loclon, who had almost caught up to them, even though he was on foot.

The distance between the boarding house and the blocked gate allowed little room for speed. Loclon’s cries finally caught the attention of the officer in charge, who glanced at Tarja, shock replacing confusion as he recognized him. Davydd drew alongside him, unsheathing his sword.

“There’s only one way out of this now!”

Tarja nodded and drew his own weapon. He looked for R’shiel who had ridden ahead and seemed determined to ride down anyone foolish enough to stand in her way. He didn’t know if she was armed, but she could not hope to fight off the Defenders, even on horseback. The wagon driver was ignored as red coats streamed toward them, and he lost sight of her as his attention was drawn to his own survival. He swung his sword in a wide arc as he pushed forward, and the Defenders drew back from the deadly blade. He heard a cry and looked up as Davydd toppled from his horse, a red-fletched arrow protruding from his chest. Tarja looked up with despair at the archers lining the wall walk, their arrows aimed directly at him and his companions. He looked for R’shiel and was relieved to discover she had also seen the archers. She held up her hands in surrender as she was pulled from her mount. The young lieutenant was slumped in his saddle, arrow-pierced through the neck.

“Drop your weapon!” a voice called from the wall walk. Tarja looked up at the bows aimed squarely at his heart and knew refusal would result in death. For a fleeting moment, the idea seemed attractive. But they would kill R’shiel, too. He hurled the blade to the ground and did not resist as the Defenders overwhelmed him.

chapter 28

Joyhinia was waiting in the First Sister’s office, along with Jacomina, Lord Draco, Louhina Farcron, the Mistress of the Interior who had replaced Joyhinia, Francil, Lord Jenga, and two Defenders she did not know, flanking a young woman. R’shiel was surprised to discover it was the court’esa from the Blue Bull who had been flirting with Davydd. Harith escorted her into the office, ordering the two Defenders to remain outside.

The First Sister barely glanced at her as R’shiel stopped in front of the heavily carved desk. Joyhinia’s hands were laid flat on the desk before her, her expression bleak as she turned to the court’esa.

“Is this the girl you saw in the Blue Bull last night?”

On closer inspection, R’shiel was a little surprised to discover the court’esa was not much older than herself. The young woman nodded, sparing R’shiel an apologetic look. “Yes, your Grace.”

Joyhinia showed no obvious reaction to the news. “Have the court’esa taken to the cells, Jenga,” she ordered. It was a sign of her fury that she did not bother with his title. “I trust you can root out the rest of your traitors without my assistance?”

The insult was clear. Joyhinia was blaming the Defenders, and therefore Jenga, for the escape attempt. R’shiel waited in silence as Jenga, Lord Draco, the court’esa, and the Defenders left the office.

As the door closed behind the men, Joyhinia rose from behind her desk and walked around to face R’shiel. She studied her for a moment, then turned to face the Sisters of the Quorum.

“I have a confession to make, Sisters,” she began, with a sigh that was filled with remorse. “I have made a dreadful mistake. I fear I did something that seemed right at the time but that I now regret.”

“Surely if your actions seemed right at the time,” the ever faithful Jacomina said comfortingly, “you cannot blame yourself.”

Harith was less than sympathetic. “Just exactly what have you done, Joyhinia?”

“I gave birth to a child,” she said, taking a seat beside Jacomina, who placed a comforting hand over Joyhinia’s clasped fingers, “who should have been an icon. His upbringing was exemplary, his pedigree faultless, yet I suspected the bad blood in him. I had him placed in the Defenders at the youngest age they would take him, in the hope that the discipline of the Corps would somehow triumph over his character. We all know now how idle that hope was.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Joyhinia,” Louhina added, right on cue. The Mistress of the Interior was her mother’s creature to the core, just like Jacomina.

“And the mistake?” Harith asked. “Get to the point, Sister.”

“My mistake was wanting a child of whom I could be proud. When I left for Testra nearly twenty-one years ago, I volunteered to visit the outlying settlements in the mountains. I wintered in a village called Haven,” Joyhinia said, her eyes downcast. “It was a small, backward hamlet. While I was there, a young woman gave birth to a child, but refused to name the father. The poor girl died within hours of giving birth, leaving a child that nobody would claim. I took pity on the babe and offered to take it, to raise it as my own, to give it every chance to have a decent life. The villagers were glad to be rid of it. They must have known something about the mother that I did