Finnikin of the Rock

that it became the blanket Finnikin placed over his face for years to come. Even as he knelt, Trevanion of the River had looked like a giant. His hair, black and cropped to his skull, his skin the color of bronzed oil, every bone in his face perfectly placed.

The man before him now was a total stranger. Hair covered his face, dark and tangled in knots, spliced with gray. Trevanion's eyes had no light or warmth. Finnikin had to remind himself that this was the same man who had carried him as a child, high and safe, on his broad shoulders. The same man who had lain beside Lady Beatriss, gently kneading her tired fingers, whispering words in her ear that softened her face.

'Father?' It felt strange to speak the word.

Trevanion nodded. 'Can you stand?'

Their prison cell was a cave, cold and damp. There was little room for one body, let alone two.

'Tell me about the girl,' Trevanion said.

'The girl?'

'Spawn of the devil.'

The cell was dark and the flickering torch outside gave only minimal light. Finnikin moved closer to Trevanion. 'How do you know about her?'

'Visited the night you arrived.' There was urgency in the way Trevanion spoke, as if wary of the sudden appearance of a guard.

'Here?' Finnikin said. 'In the prison?'

'Is she friend or foe?' Trevanion asked.

'Who can tell? We inherited her from the cloister of Lagrami in Sendecane.'

'You went to the end of the earth,' his father muttered.

'She claims to walk through the sleep of those inside.'

'Lumatere?'

Finnikin nodded. 'And that she has made contact with the heir. With Balthazar.'

'Sweet goddess,' Trevanion said. 'What wickedness is she planning with such a lie?'

'And you say she visited?'

'She has horses waiting for us in a ravine beyond the shrine of Sagrami.'

'Horses!' Finnikin snorted, and Trevanion quickly covered Finnikin's mouth with his hand.

'Quiet!'

'We have one horse,' Finnikin hissed. 'What does she think we will do? Walk out of here with the blessing of the prison guards?'

'I need to get you out of here. I can't look after us both.'

Finnikin was already shaking his head as his father spoke. 'We both need to get out of here, and I don't need looking after.'

'In here you do!' Trevanion snapped.

'Don't expect me to go without you.'

Trevanion did not respond.

'It's either both of us, or I stay here and you—'

Trevanion grabbed him by the cloth of his prison garb, his expression furious. 'You do what I tell you to do. You never question me again, do you hear?'

Finnikin pulled away, shaking his head emphatically. 'I go nowhere without you, sir.'

Trevanion sucked in air. 'I've seen them drag out the dead bodies of boys your age, and you do not want to hear what they've done to them.'

Finnikin wanted something more from his father than this.

More for the ten years of longing. He stared at this stranger, his father, straight in the eye. 'I. Go. Nowhere. Without. You.'

Then he turned and curled up as far away as possible, understanding with bitterness that he had walked straight into Evanjalin's plan.

From the window of the stable loft, Sir Topher watched. The novice stood at the gate outside the dilapidated cottage. He knew she would stay there until the moon rose, as she had done each day since Finnikin's imprisonment.

'They will come,' she said firmly when he joined her.

'And if they don't?' he asked. 'I understand what you are trying to do, but your methods could get him killed.'

'The captain will not let any harm come to his son.'

'Sometimes fathers can't protect their children, Evanjalin. Did yours save you from harm?' Sir Topher asked, knowing the question was cruel.

'No,' she responded fiercely. 'But my father would warn, 'Be prepared for the worst, my love, for it lives next door to the best.' And for that I thank him each day of my life.'

Finnikin spent his first days in prison adjusting to his surroundings. He knew that to survive, he had to think rather than just react. The inmates stared in the same way they had the day he arrived, but they kept their distance and he understood why. Trevanion was like an unleashed animal, and those around him, including the guards, feared the consequences of coming too close.

'You work outside this week,' the guard told Trevanion as they were taken back to their cage. Trevanion grabbed Finnikin and pushed him in front of the guard's nose.

'He stays behind,' the guard said flatly. He was the least sadistic of the guards, which made him one-quarter human.

But Trevanion refused to move or to relax his grip on his son. He shook him in front of the guard again, and Finnikin felt like a rag doll, like some kind of toy at the mercy of everyone around him.

'Not taking the chance,' the guard spat. 'The Osterian prisoner cut out the throat of the Belegonian translator. No interpreter. Can't afford surprises.'

'I speak five tongues,' Finnikin said calmly in Sorelian, though he felt anything but calm. 'I can be your translator.' Trevanion pulled him away, but Finnikin broke free, his face an inch away from the guard. 'I speak five tongues,' he said, and then repeated the statement. Five times in five different languages.

The guard stared from him to Trevanion and then pushed them along. 'Make sure you keep him on a leash,' he warned through gritted teeth.

When they were alone in their cell, Trevanion looked at him questioningly. 'Five languages?'

Finnikin shrugged, cracking his knuckles. 'I lied. It's seven. If you count the grunting of the common Yut and those ridiculous sounds made by the Sendecanese.'

'Who taught you?' Trevanion asked.

'Sir Topher insisted I learn about the culture of each kingdom we visited. He said it was the only way they would begin to accept us and offer us assistance.'

'What else did he teach you?'

Finnikin was confused by the force of the question. 'You have nothing to fear,' he assured his father. 'Sir Topher made sure he always honored your profession. I have trained with the royal Guard of almost every kingdom in the land.'

'No one in my Guard speaks seven languages.'

Finnikin did not respond.

'Do you know where the priest-king is?' Trevanion asked after a moment.

Finnikin shook his head. 'He does not want to be found, but rumor has it that he's on this side of the land.'

'The dukes?'

'Five are in exile. Two we believe were left behind. Three are dead.'

Trevanion stiffened. 'Is Lord Augie ...'

'Alive. Still works for Belegonia. Has some ridiculous obsession with breaking you out of prison so you can lead us back to Lumatere. Why didn't Ambassador Corden tell him you were here?'

'Probably because he knew that Augie had some ridiculous obsession with breaking me out,' Trevanion said dryly. 'And if anything frightens Corden, it's not following correct protocol.'

'Sir Topher calls him the monster of propriety,' Finnikin said. 'I call him a painful boil on the arse. But he does