On the grassy knoll, Trevanion stood with his men, holding his breath. And then the queen and Finnikin disappeared beyond the tempest and suddenly there was a gasp in unison across the Valley of Tranquillity.
Finnikin stared at the gate in front of them. At the intricate beauty of the inscriptions around the edges, written in the language of the ancients. When he turned, the queen took a step back, trembling.
'I should be brave like the gods,' she said quietly.
He held out his hand. 'Each time the gods have whispered your name to me, their voices have trembled.'
Her eyes were fixed on the gate. 'We would sneak out each night because I wanted to see the unicorn.'
Finnikin remembered the lies they would tell Isaboe, of the unicorn in the forest that would appear only to a princess.
'How did you get past my father's guard at this gate?'
'One morning Balthazar and I were playing in the garden, along that narrow stretch where the walls of the kingdom and the outer walls of the palace merge into one. Balthazar decided we would scrape our names on one of the stones of the wall so that one day another young prince or princess might know that Balthazar and Isaboe had lived there. As we carved our names, we found that a stone in the wall had become dislodged. Perhaps it happened during the tremor of years before. For months after, deep in the night, we would sneak out of the palace through the cook's chamber and crawl through the wall into the forest.' She looked at him with sorrow. 'Because I wanted to see the unicorn. And all that time the enemy was watching us and that's how they came into my home and slaughtered my family. Because I wanted to see the unicorn.'
'No,' he said gently. 'Balthazar wanted to trap the silver wolf. It's all we spoke about.'
He held both hands out to her, to fulfill the words of the curse. She took his hands and he heaved against the gate, hoping it might miraculously fall open. Nothing.
'The blood on your hands that night? Do you remember where it came from?' he asked.
'Here and here,' she said, touching her knuckles and palms. 'From knocking at the ...'
They both realized at the same moment and he took one of her hands and led her along the wall, his fingers tracing any mark. And then he saw them. So tiny and faded with years. The bloody imprint of Isaboe's hand.
She slowly reached out and measured her hand over the imprint, her palm against the cold stone. With shaking hands he removed his knife from its scabbard.
'I'm going to have to cut you here,' he said, kissing her palm gently. 'Did the blood come from any other wound?'
She shook her head. 'I had little blood on me until I returned to bury Balthazar. What kind of a person leaves behind their beloved brother to be mauled by an animal?'
'A smart one, my queen.'
She took his face in her hands. 'Do you know what Balthazar's last words were? Find Finnikin of the Rock. He'll know what to do. But I couldn't find you, Finnikin. For so long I couldn't find you.'
He wiped her tears tenderly. 'When it begins, don't look away from me. Keep your eyes fixed on mine. Remember my face when you lie between neither here nor there. Let it be your guide to come back from wherever the goddess chooses to take us.'
She nodded. 'Let me hear you say my name,' she said softly.
'Isaboe.' He whispered it, his mouth close to hers. 'Isaboe.'
'Do not despair in the darkness, Finnikin. It will be my despair you sense, but I have never allowed it to overtake me, so do not let yourself be consumed.'
As gently as he could, he pressed the tip of his dagger across both her palms and then his.
'Tell me about the farm,' she pleaded as drops of blood began to appear on her hands.
'The farm?'
'The farm that Finnikin the peasant would have lived on with his bride.'
'Evanjalin. That was her name. Did I mention that?'
She laughed through a sob. 'No, you didn't.'
'They would plant rows upon rows of wheat and barley, and each night they would sit under the stars to admire what they owned. Oh, and they would argue. She believes the money made would be better spent on a horse, and he believes they need a new barn. But then later they would forget all their anger and he would hold her fiercely and never let her go.'
'And he'd place marigolds in her hair?' she asked.
He clasped her hands against his and watched her blood seep through the lines of his skin. 'And he would love her until the day he died,' he said. He placed his other bloody hand against those imprinted for eternity on the kingdom walls.
They had never spoken about what would happen at this point. Whether the gate would open and Lumatere would be revealed. If the darkness would disappear in front of their eyes and the bluest of skies welcome them home. But Finnikin only had a moment for such imaginings before the ground began to shake beneath their feet, and the tempest became one with him, its murky cloud entering his body. Polluting him. And so he heard every cry of those who had lost their lives during the five days of the unspeakable and those slaughtered in Sarnak and those who died in the camps. And he walked every one of the sleeps the novice Evanjalin had taken. Not just of the innocent, but of their enemies within the gates: the assassins, the rapists, and the torturers. Until her memories shattered the fragments of his mind, filled it with rage, and when he thought he could bear it no longer, she was there. He felt her. Inside him. Soaking up his darkness until it consumed her and she fell at his feet.
And then the earth stopped moving and the gate lay open and he heard the war cries from the Guard as their horses pounded past him. But Lumatere was already awash with flames. The silence Finnikin had imagined from within was a roar that blasted his senses as he stumbled with her in his arms into a blazing hell.
Chapter 25
Finnikin staggered away from the road that led to the palace, carrying the queen toward the bridge that would take them to a meadow in the Flatlands. He needed to lay her down so he could breathe life back into her. He needed to rid himself of the murky images of horror that were now part of his own memory. But like the rest of Lumatere, the meadow was ablaze.
Falling to his knees, he clutched her, covering her body with his own. The thick smoke smothered and blinded him, and he sobbed with fury at the futility of dying in this meadow in their homeland. If he could have found words, he would have opened his mouth and roared his anger to the gods. His only consolation was that Isaboe was unable to see the ruins of her beloved kingdom, a kingdom that had soaked up too much of her family's blood. Cursed land, Sir Topher had once said. Cursed people.
His head spun as everything turned to white, and the emptiness was so soul-chilling that he almost prayed for the rot inside him to return. If this was death, where was the light he had been promised? Where was his mother, Bartolina of the Rock? From the moment he could understand words he had been promised by Trevanion that his mother would be there at his death. And where was Balthazar, the mightiest of warriors, who hid beloved Isaboe in a burrow and leaped into the mouth of a wolf to save their future queen?
He closed his eyes, wanting to see something that made sense. But he knew Isaboe would have scolded him for doing such a thing, so he stopped waiting for what made sense and instead turned to what brought hope. He staggered to his feet with the queen in his arms and walked forward blindly.
He heard it before he saw it, and prayed it did not belong to the impostor king and his men. And then it was before him, a horse and cart, steered by a white-haired creature. Ghost or witch?
'Lay the queen on the ground and step back!' she screeched, jumping from the cart, holding a double-edged sword above her head.
She was a tiny woman, but there was wildness in her eyes. Up close, he saw a face the age of Lady Abian, yet the woman's hair was prematurely white. Slowly his senses returned and he heard men roar and the sound of arrows flying in the distance, but he refused to let go of the queen, a snarl escaping his lips when the witch stepped closer.
