But R’shiel cared no more for how she looked than she did about anything else, at present. She ate only if the priests stood over her, and then it was mechanically, as if she didn’t taste a bite. She said nothing unless directly addressed and then answered in a monotone. She washed when they told her, ate when they ordered her, and when she was alone she simply sat where they left her, staring blindly into the distance.
Two days after Loclon’s attack some of the blisters under the collar began to fester. She did not even flinch when the priests held back her head, lanced the sores and poured saltwater onto the open cuts. They did not remove the collar, simply worked around it, but even that rough handling got no reaction from her. He remembered how vague she had been after he rescued her from the Grimfield, the night she had tried to kill Loclon. She had been animated then, compared to her present state.
And there was not a damned thing he could do about it.
Two weeks after R’shiel’s capture at the Gathering, Lord Terbolt finally announced his intention to leave the Citadel and return to Karien. Brak had been certain he was waiting for something, but could not work out what it was. The arrival of a tall, dour-looking Karien who introduced himself as Squire Mathen was apparently what the duke had been expecting. The two of them remained closeted for hours. When they emerged, Terbolt announced his plans to leave.
Loclon had been fairly panting in anticipation for that moment, and his chance at unfettered power as First Sister. Brak had wondered if Terbolt would be so foolish as to leave Loclon in charge. The Karien Duke was not stupid and Loclon’s loss of the demon and his attack on R’shiel had done nothing to foster any trust between them. Brak thought it would be better for everyone if he simply slit the throat of Loclon’s senseless body and let his soul wither and die.
They kept Loclon’s body in a room in the First Sister’s apartments. The priests tended it with businesslike efficiency. Transferring the mind of one person into the body of another was not such a difficult feat to arrange, by Harshini standards. It was just one of those things that was only done if there was a good reason for it – and that was rare. Had they thought about it, they could have done the same to Joyhinia themselves, although considering the way things had turned out, it probably would not have made a difference, given that Zegarnald actually
There were risks, though. If the host body died, then the mind automatically returned to its own body with little more than a nasty shock. But if the vacant body died, the soul had nowhere to go. It would survive a day or two, no longer, before joining its physical counterpart in death. Loclon’s transfer was nothing like the subtle removal of wit that Dacendaran had performed on Joyhinia. This was the working of a clutch of Karien priests who lacked the finesse of a god. They had simply taken Loclon’s mind – lock, stock and barrel – and dumped it into Joyhinia’s unresisting body.
Squire Mathen would remain behind to “assist” the First Sister. Loclon was furious, and could do nothing but agree. Two priests would remain behind also, Terbolt declared, then made a great show of handing Mathen the key to the room where Loclon’s body lay. The message was clear, even to Loclon.
Terbolt’s announcement of their imminent departure drew no visible reaction from R’shiel. She barely even glanced at him. Loclon waited outside the door, fidgeting with Joyhinia’s long skirts. As soon as Terbolt emerged, he began demanding to know exactly who Squire Mathen was. Brak made to follow them, until he spied Garet Warner entering the apartment. He said something to guards on R’shiel’s door that Brak didn’t catch then went inside. On impulse, Brak followed Garet.
The commandant seemed shocked at R’shiel’s condition, but she was as unresponsive to his arrival as she had been to anything else in the past week. Garet knelt down beside her chair and gently shook her shoulder.
“R’shiel?”
She ignored him, or perhaps she was so far inside herself, she really didn’t know he was there.
“R’shiel?”
Finally she turned to him, her eyes blank. “What?”
“You’re leaving today. With Lord Terbolt.”
“I know.”
“They’ve ordered the troops on the border to surrender.”
“I know.”
Garet muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse.
“Do you understand me, R’shiel? Do you even know who I am?”
“I know you,” she replied tonelessly. “You betrayed me.”
He nodded, satisfied with her answer for some reason. “I didn’t betray you, R’shiel. I just can’t help anyone from a prison cell. Do you understand? Do you know why I did what I did?”
She turned to him, showing some real interest for the first time. “You did what you said you would do. Brak called you an honest man.”
“Not a description I’d use myself, but I think I know what he means.” He reached into his boot-top and withdrew a thin sheathed blade. “Can you hide this somewhere?”
She stared at the knife incomprehensibly. “What for?”
“To escape, maybe? Or do you want to go to Karien?”
“I have to face the Overlord. He wants me to join him.”
Garet sighed and pushed the knife into the top of her boot. “You do what you have to, R’shiel. The only thing I’m concerned about is Medalon. I’ve done all I can for you.”
The commandant left after that and the guards came in to escort R’shiel downstairs. She let them drape a plain woollen cloak over her shoulders and lead her away without resistance. Brak followed her and the Karien party as they descended the stairs, wanting to scream with frustration. Once they left the Citadel, she would be entirely out of reach.
Garanus handed her into the carriage and then climbed in beside her. As soon as the door snicked shut the carriage moved off toward the Main Gate where Terbolt and nearly a thousand Defenders awaited the order to move out. Brak had never felt more helpless in his entire life.
“
The grey limbo in which he was trapped seemed to quiver with the strength of his cry.
“
The silence he received in reply was absolute.
Chapter 55
Adrina had just finished packing, if throwing her few meagre possessions into a sack could be called that, when the door flew open and Tarja appeared.
“If you’re leaving, your Highness, you’d better do it now,” he warned. “The Kariens are on their way.”
“How can that be? Damin said Jenga had agreed not to surrender until we’d gone.”
“I don’t know. Perhaps they know about the order from the Citadel. They may even have had a hand in it somehow. All I know is that there’s a whole troop of knights riding this way under a flag of truce.”
Adrina cursed in a most unladylike fashion. “Tam, go and find... no, on second thoughts, you’d better stay with me. Someone might recognise you. Are you certain they’re heading this way?”
“Yes.”
“How long do we have?”
“Not long at all, I’m afraid.”
“We’d best get moving then.” Adrina snatched up her sack and slung it over her shoulder. Tarja led them onto the landing. The guards were gone now. Lord Jenga had dismissed them days ago, when it became apparent she was no longer using the quarters over the main hall often enough to warrant placing a guard on them.
She followed Tarja cautiously, Tam close on her heels. They were halfway down the stairs when he stopped suddenly and held his arm out to bar her progress. The Hall doors rattled as they were pushed open.
“Back! Now!” Tarja hissed.
