Songs of Love & Death

Later, both. I had to trust my nose.

And I learned; day by day, week by week, month by month. All the while lying to Rolande and feeling sick in my belly about it; but I learned.

Come spring, Maestro Gonzago revealed the scope of the puzzle and the final price to me.

The Unseen Guild.

HOW MUCH OF what I was told was truth, and how much lies? That is another thing I will never know.

All these long years, I saw no evidence of the Unseen Guild’s hand in Terre d’Ange, no sign that their reach extended as far as they claimed, was as dire as they claimed.

But someone is behind the plot that took my life.

I may have made a terrible mistake.

IF ROLANDE HAD not been recalled to Terre d’Ange, things might have fallen out differently. I was there when he received the official missive from a royal courier clad in the dark blue livery of House Courcel, a silver swan on the insignia on his breast. I watched Rolande read the letter, his face turning pale.

He raised his head and met my eyes. “Father orders me to return forthwith. The Skaldi are raiding along the border of Camlach, and the realm takes it amiss that the Dauphin gallivants in Tiberium while D’Angelines die. I’m to take command of the border patrol.”

“Then you must go,” I said promptly, knowing his sense of honor would permit nothing less. “And I with you.”

Rolande hesitated. “You would be safer—”

“Don’t even suggest it!” My voice was fierce. “Would you dishonor me? I’m a lord’s son, trained to the sword. My place is at your side.”

He looked relieved. “I’ll have word sent to the University.”

Guilt pricked me. “I’ll tell Maestro Gonzago myself. I owe him that much.”

“Ah, your research project.” Rolande gave me a curt nod. “Go, but be swift about it, Anafiel. We’re meant to leave in a day’s time.”

Maestro Gonzago winced at the news. “So soon!” he said in dismay. “I knew it was a possibility, but I prayed we’d have more time.” With unwonted urgency, he clutched my hands. “You’ve a choice facing you, young Antinous. All that I’ve taught you is in the service of an organization committed to gathering and sharing information that might alter the paths of history. Do you swear loyalty to the Unseen Guild, its resources will be at your disposal.”

“And if I don’t?” I asked softly.

“You can walk away from this. As ever, silence is the price.” His grip tightened. “If you break it, death.”

I’d come to love the lessons, to love the insight into human nature I’d gained; but I hated living a lie. Hated lying to Rolande.

With sorrow, I withdrew my hands from his grasp. “I’m sorry, Maestro. I did not mean to waste your time. But I think… I think if I swear this oath, I will come to regret it one day. One day, it will pit my oath against my love for Rolande, and there will be no winners in that battle. So… I choose silence.”

There are a multitude of fleeting expressions that cross our faces unaware, manifesting in the eye blink between reaction and thought; I knew, because Maestro Gonzago had taught me to see them. And in that instance, I saw the faintest hint of relief flit across his features.

“So be it,” he said with apparent regret. “I will report your decision. For my part, my door will never be closed to you, my dear Antinous. I hope you will remain in contact with me.”

I bent my head and kissed his cheek. “I shall.”

YOU KEPT YOUR word, Maestro; better than I did.

You were a good teacher, and a good friend, too. I have valued our enduring relationship. You tried to warn me.

The Skaldi have found a leader who thinks.

Mayhap that is why I am dying.

The memories come faster now. Faster and faster. I am awash in their current. I cannot stop them.

DURING THE YEAR I spent patrolling the Camaeline border with Rolande, the Skaldi had not yet found a leader who thought, but they were tenacious and doughty warriors, pouring through the high mountain passes to stage raids on vulnerable villages, looting them and taking female captives.

Rolande was a natural leader skilled at commanding men, always willing to hurl himself into the forefront of a battle. Where he went, we followed. Not a man who fought under him begrudged him his status.

As good-natured as he was, he kept strict discipline. When word reached him that one of his men had gotten a young widow with child and abandoned her, he dismissed the fellow in disgrace and took personal responsibility for the woman and her infant son, promising they would never again lack for aught. As ever, his sense of honor demanded nothing less.

It was a difficult time, but it was an exhilarating time, too. After my first battle, I felt sick and strange to myself. That never changed, although I grew accustomed to the feeling. In a sense, I was glad not to lose it, for it meant I had not become inured to the horrors of warfare.

But the fighting itself… there was a certain terrible glory in it. Anyone who has lived on the dagger’s edge between life and death will know what I mean; to those who have not, I cannot explain it.

It brought us closer together, all of us; and especially Rolande and I.

Until I confessed the truth to him.

It came after a hard-fought battle in the narrow, winding passes above the village of Liselet, where horses were no use. We’d routed the raiders, and I lost sight of Rolande as he raced after them on foot around a hairpin turn. Ahead, I heard a chorus of defiant roars and the sound of blades clashing.

Three of the Skaldi had made a stand, safeguarding their fellows’ retreat, and Rolande was nigh overwhelmed. My heart in my throat, I threw myself at the nearest man, raising my buckler, hacking at his wooden shield, driving him backward. Still, it wasn’t enough. For the space of a few heartbeats, our fates hung in the balance…

… and then more of our own men arrived, turning the tide. We killed two of the Skaldi, and the third fled.

“Shall we go after them, my lord?” Gaspar Trevalion inquired.

“No.” Rolande grimaced, one hand pressed to his neck. “We’re too close to the border.” Blood welled between his fingers. “And I fear I’ve need of attention.”

It scared me.

The wound wasn’t serious, requiring only a few stitches to close, but it could have been. An inch or two higher, and it could have severed the big vein in his throat. The thought of coming so close to losing him made me dizzy, and the lingering guilt of my deception was leaden in my belly. I had to disgorge it.

That night, in our shared tent, I told Rolande the truth about Tiberium and the Unseen Guild, speaking in a low whisper.

He rose and walked out into the starlit night without a word. I followed him in anguish past the outskirts of our camp, past the startled sentries, along the verge of a dense pine forest.

Well out of earshot of the camp, he halted. I did, too. He spoke without turning around. “You.” His voice was strained. “I don’t even know what to say to you, Anafiel. I trusted you with everything I am, and you lied to me.” He gave a harsh, ragged laugh. “Is this how you honor what we are to one another?”

“No!” Beneath the stars, I dropped to my knees. “No!” I struggled to draw breath, feeling as though my chest might crack open. “I thought… it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, so very sorry. More than anything, I love you.”

He was silent.

“Can you doubt it?” I was desperate and crazed, the words from an ancient oath spilling from my lips, unstoppable. “I swear on the blood of Blessed Elua himself that I love you, and you alone. By the blood that Blessed