Chapter 17
Three days later, the King's Guard separated for the first time in ten years. Trevanion ordered that along with Perri the original party would stay together until Belegonia. They had acquired more horses, which would ensure that the journey along the coastal road was swift. As he mounted his horse, Finnikin sensed the mood of excitement and uncertainty among the Guard. He saw the look of hope on their faces. And doubt. But they had enough faith in their captain to trust his decision. And his decision was to allow this strange girl to lead them home to Lumatere.
They rode for the better part of the day, until they reached the coastal road, where the gulf divided Belegonia from Sorel. As the ill-fated captain of the
Late in the afternoon, they rested their horses and sat on the dunes, watching the ocean. Nothing reminded Finnikin so much of the insignificance of humans as when he stood before the ocean's pounding waves. For a moment, he caught his father's eye. They both knew there was no turning back from the path they were about to take. Although they were gathering their fragmented people together, Finnikin could not help thinking they were also leading them to war. Taking back Lumatere would not be easy. And if they succeeded, they had no idea to what they would return. Would their land of five peoples become a kingdom split in two: those who were exiled and those trapped inside? Suddenly he missed the life they had left behind in Pietrodore. There, he had everyone he wanted in one place. Going back to Lumatere could mean the loss of them all.
Back on the road, Finnikin swung onto his horse and then turned to help Evanjalin up behind him. But Perri was already there, his hands cupped to assist her. Evanjalin leaned over and traced the scar on Perri's face, and he flinched at her touch.
'It was you,' she said in wonder. 'You wear a permanent crown. She placed it there.' Evanjalin kept her fingers on Perri's forehead. 'She doesn't regret what she did to you that day when you were children, Perri. The savagery your kin showed toward her will never be forgotten. But regardless of what you believe, I think Tesadora is forever grateful that you kept Sagrami's novices hidden that night.'
Perri looked stunned. His eyes met Finnikin's, and Finnikin saw a myriad of emotions on the guard's face. But only for an instant. What had his father's second-in-command done during the five days of the unspeakable to make him feel such love and pride, but also shame? How many stories were missing from Finnikin's
Early that evening they came to a signpost for Lastaria, a half-day's ride from the capital of Belegonia. Moss was sitting there astride his horse, waiting for them.
'We have a problem,' he said soberly as his mount danced around Trevanion's.
'The priest-king?' Evanjalin asked.
'He is safe,' Moss assured them. 'But the journey was harrowing and they lost at least ten people to fever along the way.'
Finnikin felt Evanjalin shudder as she held on to his waist.
'It gets worse. When they arrived here last week, they came across a small camp of exiles.'
'How could we not have known?' Sir Topher said.
'They did not want to be found. There are at least thirty of them, and they refuse to journey with us to the Valley.'
'Then we go without them,' Trevanion said bluntly.
'That's where we have our problem. The priest-king will not leave them.'
'And the rest?' Evanjalin asked. 'The exiles from Sorel?'
'With Aldron, on their way to the Valley.'
Trevanion cursed and exchanged looks with Perri. The sun was beginning to set and Finnikin knew their plan was to reach the capital before midnight.
'We cannot leave him behind, Captain,' Evanjalin argued.
Trevanion turned his horse around reluctantly. 'No, but we will have to convince him to leave the others.'
They rode into Lastaria under the light of a half moon. Moss paid a stable boy a piece of silver to take care of their horses, with the promise of another when they returned. Then he led them down sloping, cobbled streets toward the town center. Finnikin could hear the sounds of the night bazaar before they saw it. The air was full of raised voices and music, the streets strung with lanterns.
Lastaria seemed to lack the intellect and culture of the Belegonian capital, but there was an unleashed gaiety about the town that assaulted their senses.
In the square, the minstrels played their fiddles and pipes, delighting the audience, who danced with abandon. Lovers embraced. A vendor juggled fruit. But there was heaviness in Finnikin's heart as they followed Moss to a paddock beyond the square, at the edge of town. On the way, they passed a cluster of tents selling decorated daggers and swords. Froi's eyes lit up at the sight of them, but he was pulled along by Perri.
The camp was made up of three large carts. At least thirty men, women, and children stood by a campfire. Finnikin could see the distress in the faces of the exiles at the sight of Trevanion and his party, but his eyes searched for the priest-king. The holy man looked thinner and frailer than when they had last seen him. Perri knelt before him, and the priest-king's hands trembled as he held a thumb to Perri's forehead.
'I can't leave them behind,' he whispered when the blessings were complete. 'They have no goddess, no kingdom, no people but their own.'
'Perhaps that is enough for them,' Finnikin said.
The priest-king shook his head. 'Have you seen their eyes?' He looked past Finnikin to Evanjalin. 'There is nothing there.'
'Blessed Barakah, our people are waiting for us in the Valley,' Evanjalin argued. 'Waiting for you to lead them with the captain and Sir Topher and Prince Balthazar.'
'What are their reasons for staying?' Finnikin asked.
The priest-king followed his gaze to where the exiles stood. 'They once lived in the village of Ignatoe, close to the east gate of Lumatere. During the five days of the unspeakable, when the Forest Dwellers began to pour into their village, the people of Ignatoe turned them away, forcing them back outside the kingdom walls.' The priest-king sighed. 'These people listened as the Forest Dwellers burned to death in their cottages. It's their guilt that holds them back, and no amount of pleading will move them.'
Finnikin stayed with Evanjalin as she walked toward the fire, where a young girl stood holding a skillet, her expression frozen with fear. Finnikin guessed she would have been no older than five when the days of the unspeakable took place. As Evanjalin approached, her path was blocked by an older man and woman, a child clutching the woman's skirt. Up close they looked younger than Finnikin had first thought, and he realized that life rather than years had aged these people.
Evanjalin stooped to hold out her hand to the child. She looked about two or three, with brown skin and pale blond hair. 'What's your name, little one?' Evanjalin asked, her voice husky. She spoke in Lumateran, but the child stared back at her blankly. She was as vacant as the children they had seen in the fever camp, yet there was no hint of malnutrition or illness. Evanjalin tried to take the little girl into her arms, but she was pushed away by the man, causing her to stumble.
Finnikin drew his sword as a warning. He was not quick enough to stop Froi from spitting in the man's face, but Perri stepped forward and dragged the thief back by his hair. In the next instant the man grabbed the child and Finnikin found himself holding his weapon an inch away from the little girl's face. Evanjalin reached out and gently lowered the sword in his hand.
'We mean no harm,' Finnikin said quietly in Lumateran. He watched the exiles flinch at the sound of their mother tongue.
Evanjalin took a step toward the campfire and then another. When she stood before the young girl with the
