Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

FINN

Rumours were circulating among the men by dawn. It had probably spread all through the night. One of the squires approached Finn tentatively, as he packed his remaining gear, and seemed in awe of him, shuffling his feet and unable to meet Finn's gaze.

‘The Grandmaster took care of them, didn't he?'

He was a boy from one of the outer provinces. Finn glanced at his face, stalwart bravery and sheer undying belief in Roland vying with the fear of nightmares and stories. The shadow kin had been here, in the citadel, in one of the most warded parts of the palace. And if they could get in there, into Roland's own study, where else could they infiltrate? Who else would they try to kill?

Everyone was scared. This boy was actually hiding it better than most.

‘The Grandmaster did,' Finn replied, trying to make his voice comforting. ‘And the princess called on the light of the Aurum to aid him. We fight the Nox, remember?'

‘With flame and sword.'

The boy nodded, swallowing hard and echoed the vow of the knights that Finn had begun for him. ‘Is she really the princess?'

‘I believe so.' What else could he say? He knew she was. He had seen what Wren could do. The balance of light and dark was wavering inside her, the Nox and the Aurum vying for control. But all the same, she kept reaching for the light.

He prayed she always would. Because if Wren faltered and failed…if the temptation became too great for any reason…the Nox incarnate in her body, with her power, would be beyond terrible.

And he would still love her.

He would give up everything to protect her. Including the chance to be with her. He had no choice.

To his surprise Anselm met him by the main gates to the palace complex. He was dressed in plain leathers and carried his sword but no armour.

‘Shouldn't you be guarding Wren?' Finn asked bluntly. It was early still. And Wren was asleep in her bed. He wasn't about to tell Anselm this, or how he knew. Anselm was probably aware of it anyway. The last thing anyone would say about Anselm Tarryn was that he didn't see everything that went on around him.

‘Olivier is on it. He volunteered.'

Well, almost everything. Anselm didn't see what was in front of his own nose when it came to Olivier but that wasn't Finn's secret to tell. He'd seen the way Olivier looked at Anselm for years, the way they sought each other out, even if Anselm at least didn't appear to know why. And Olivier would never broach the subject himself. His family were strict and religious. He was sworn to the Aurum and nothing could come before that. Not even his own feelings. He always said he had given up everything to serve the Aurum.

‘Anselm, you don't have to come with me.'

‘Someone should. Just in case.'

‘Wren will need you here.'

Anselm cast him an indulgent look. ‘And I'm not planning on staying with you, Finn. But…' he shrugged. ‘It seems wrong to make you slink off in the dawn like you've never been here.'

Finn shouldn't have felt quite as relieved as he did. He didn't have many friends. But Anselm was one.

The city beyond the palace gates pressed together, buildings on top of buildings, houses and towers of shared rooms, narrow streets which ran down in a steep spiral, like unspooling thread. The harbour to the east hugged the cliffs but towards the western gate, the richer inhabitants had spread out, taking up space, filling the lower city with gardens and plazas.

Castel Sassone had always been a huge, oppressive structure. The Earl of Sassone had charge of the city's watch and the gates. Though he was more usually found in the palace, the compound which loomed over Finn now was an ugly block of stone.

‘Not so pretty, is it?' asked Anselm. ‘Try growing up in there. He has dungeons of his own, you know. And he can call on an army to man the walls if we come under attack, to hold the city until the knights can be summoned. I've tried to warn Roland but…' He sighed. ‘I guess they need him. Rich, powerful, a leader of men…My mother died just up there.' He pointed to a circular turret jutting out of the walls above them. ‘Threw herself off the bartizan and died on the lower walls.'

He said it so casually that Finn wasn't quite sure he'd heard him at first.

‘I didn't…I didn't know.'

‘Why should you?' Anselm gave an unusually cold smile. ‘No one talks about it. My father wouldn't have that. So we all packed it away and moved on. I haven't been back in years. I'd rather keep it that way. Why don't you show me your embassy instead?'

He was here for a reason then. Of course he was. Scope out the Ilanthian embassy. Roland probably sent him. Find out who had already arrived, who was expected and what sort of welcome they gave Finn.

‘You are going back, aren't you?'

His friend laughed softly. ‘Of course I am. I certainly don't want to waste any more time in the vicinity of that monstrosity than I have to. I spent far too long escaping from it. I was sneaky even as a child, you know. I had to be.'

‘Escaping?'

Anselm tapped his nose. ‘Secret tunnels, Finn. Riddled with them. He'd have a fit if anyone ever found out though, so keep it between you and me. My father always has another way out. So did his grandfather before him. Once upon a time we were no more than robber barons, before the Aurum and the royal family. They built this city around my family home, swallowing it up. That's why Castel Sassone looks the way it does and why he keeps his own men. Can the Ilanthian embassy say the same?'

Possibly. Finn wouldn't know. He avoided the place even more studiously than Anselm avoided his family seat.

It was strange to walk up to an enemy stronghold in the city, turning their backs on a structure so fortified to find the building they sought to be delicate and beautiful. Finn hadn't thought he would ever see it as such. Sidon itself was like this, elegant and bright. It was a city of luxury and decadence and the embassy reflected that here, where it seemed wildly out of place. No wonder the people of the lower city hated it. It probably had little to do with living memory either.

The walls were made of shining stone, polished to a mirror-like sheen. It was decorated with touches of gold. Gold paint, no doubt, or the denizens of Pelias would have stripped it away in the night. But that hadn't stopped the Ilanthians putting it there in the first place. Almost as if they wanted to rub their enemies' faces in it.

The walls were faded now, run-down, but someone had already made a start on repairs. Which meant that someone must have already arrived, as Finn had been warned might be the case. The full diplomatic delegation would arrive over the next few days, he knew that. But some brave fool had to be first.

Finn hammered on the heavy oak gates, carved in the Ilanthian style with images of night flowers and birds in flight. Objectively beautiful again. Everything was beautiful in Sidonia, artful, skilfully wrought. He always forgot that. Seeing it here made it more of a shock. But the beauty of Ilanthus only skimmed the surface like shimmering oil. Danger lurked beneath it. He had to remember that.

A guard opened the gate, stared open-mouthed and almost slammed it shut again. At the last moment, he caught himself and tried to bow.

He looked about fourteen and the armour was far too big. He rattled.

‘What on earth…?' Anselm murmured to himself.

‘Your highness,' the boy stammered. ‘We weren't expecting…that is…we thought you'd send word first and…'

Your highness…Finn was never going to get used to that.

He glanced at Anselm who betrayed nothing. His friend knew who he was of course. But Finn liked to think he was just Finn Ward and forget about the whole thing as much as he could. Anselm had always accepted that and played along. But he knew. They all knew.

Finn didn't respond and the poor boy looked lost, then terrified. He took a step back and opened the gate wider for him to enter. And well he might look terrified. If he behaved like this with Leander for example, he'd probably lose his head. And in an especially messy way.

‘Please, your highness,' he said, his voice shaking. ‘Come inside. I'll send for my— I mean, the ambassador and?—'

The inner courtyard was deserted. There were boxes and cases still strewn about the place. They must have only arrived last night which might explain a few things, Finn thought. He was aware that Anselm was taking all this in as well and felt a wash of…was it embarrassment? This would never happen in the palace so far above them. It would probably never happen in Castel Sassone either. And it would definitely never happen in Sidonia, where for all its decadence, protocol was everything.

What was going on?

Thank the light Roland wasn't here to see it. Finn had often felt ashamed of his birthplace, but never…never whatever this was.

A woman's voice came from somewhere inside.

‘Laurence, when you've finished playing around out there, I need you and Ferdinand to take word to the encampment to tell them to hurry up. We need the rest of the servants here at once. Not to mention my staff. This is ridiculous. There are so many bills and requests and…I don't even know what this is…' She appeared in the doorway, carrying a sheaf of papers she seemed in the process of sorting through, a frown creasing her brow. She was wearing an Ilanthian gown, sleek and neat, which did little to hide her figure beneath the fall of silk. When the boy – Laurence – cleared his throat meaningfully, she looked up.

Her eyes were silver, her hair as pale as corn. She held herself like a queen and Finn could only stare.

‘Hestia?' he said. ‘What are you?—?'

‘Finnian!'

Of all the people they could have sent, of all the court of Ilanthus! His cousin swept across the courtyard and flung her arms around his neck. She only came up to his chest but that didn't stop her. She was a force of nature and always had been. The years hadn't dimmed her. How could they? Magic sparked along her veins, a higher member of the Sisterhood of the Nox, and she was the king's niece, with all the breeding and privilege that offered.

His cousin. His older cousin. The only member of his family who had ever cared what happened to him, who had hidden him from his brothers, tried to save him from his father, and had brokered the deal that had brought him here to Pelias all those years ago with Roland.

‘What are you doing here?' Finn gasped.

‘What I do best, my love,' she told him, stepping back and dusting herself down. She handed the papers to the boy Laurence and smiled up at Finn proudly. ‘Brokering peace. And look at you. You've grown so tall. A Paladin.' She held out her hands to him and began to pull him inside after her. ‘I asked for you specifically, did they tell you?'

‘Your name never came up.'

‘Well,' she said, a smug smile blossoming on her face. ‘That was for good reason. These are delicate times and we are engaged in delicate matters. The household isn't up and running yet, but it will be soon. Once the rest of our party arrive. I only have a skeleton staff. Serves me right for riding ahead but they were taking so bloody long. Have you met Laurence? My son. This is your cousin, Prince Finnian.'

The boy bowed, a little more gracefully this time, and struggled to take off the pieces of armour. Anselm took pity on him and helped.

‘Anselm, Lord Tarryn,' said Finnian by way of an introduction.

Hestia curtsied as Anselm bowed and there was the usual exchange of courtesy which seemed to stabilise the mood. But Finn wasn't fooled. The formality masked two experts sizing each other up. Finally she turned back to Finn with a smile.

‘We weren't expecting you yet, Finnian. I thought they'd argue more, rather than just send you like this. After what happened when you left Sidonia last…'

After Leander had hunted him and tried to kill him on Asterothian soil. He wondered how much she knew. Clearly enough, from the dark expression that crossed her luminous eyes. Or perhaps she meant Wren and that was even more of a worry. He glanced at Anselm, who was giving nothing away.

‘I should let you reconnect with your family,' his friend said. And trot back up the many hills of Pelias to report on all this, no doubt. Light knew, Finn loved Anselm like a brother – more so, though that wasn't hard – but he was under no illusions as to Anselm's devotion to Roland. ‘We look forward to word from you, Prince Finnian, at the first available opportunity.'

And there it was. Prince Finnian. Not Finn, not his friend and comrade-in-arms. He was a prince of Ilanthus again, and the thought of that sent a chill through him.

‘Anselm,' Finn called before he could vanish completely. He followed him to the gate and pulled him in close. ‘Look after Wren for me,' he said softly, once he was sure Hestia couldn't hear. ‘There's more going on here than meets the eye.'

‘With Lady Hestia here?' Anselm would be a fool not to know who she was and of what she was capable. Hestia Rayden was a legend in the history of the war with Ilanthus. She had brokered the Pact. Finn had heard seasoned courtiers lower their voices in hushed tones of respect when mentioning her name in both royal courts. ‘You are absolutely right. Be careful, my friend. You're walking on the edge of a blade here. You know that, don't you?'

In all things concerning his home and his family. Yes, Finn knew that.

Hestia was waiting for him, eyeing Anselm's retreat with a keen eye. ‘Now we're alone, there's something I must show you.'

He didn't have any choice but to follow her. Once they had reached the small office she had claimed as her own, she took out a small wooden case, intricately carved with Ilanthian craftsmanship, and set it on the table.

‘Close the door, please, Finn.'

He didn't want to, but there wasn't much else he could do. When he turned back to face her she was holding out the case with a look of triumph and pride on her face.

‘Here,' she said when he didn't come closer. ‘It's a gift. From your father.' He still didn't move and Hestia sighed. ‘Finn, it's a peace offering.'

‘A what?'

‘I mean it.'

Finn could think of nothing less likely. ‘From Alessander?'

Hestia laughed. ‘Of course. Who else? Look, it has the royal seal on the box and everything. The sisterhood was most insistent. There were signs and portents, Finn. Matters have changed and you're at the centre of it. So, your father sends this as a token of his love and he begs your forgiveness.'

Love? Forgiveness?

‘No, absolutely not.' The words came out with a vehemence that surprised even him.

Hestia gave a growl of irritation. ‘At least look at it. It's true. I promise. You have my word.'

‘Or,' he countered, ‘it's some kind of trap and I'll be killed. Or worse. I know my family well, Hestia.'

‘So stubborn. Just like him.' She opened the box anyway and thrust it towards him. Finn couldn't help but look, which was her intention.

Nestled in the black velvet interior was a handblown glass pendant in black, shot with blue and green swirls, delicate and beautiful. Magic came off it in waves. Even he could feel that.

But it wasn't hostile or dangerous. If anything it soothed him, calmed him. It sang of home and safety, like the song he half remembered from his childhood, the one his mother used to sing to him.

Finn stared at it and before he knew what he was doing he had lifted his hand to touch it. The surface was smooth and cold.

‘What…what is it?' he asked.

Hestia smiled more gently now. ‘It's magic, Finn. My finest work, blessed by all the sisterhood and wreathed with protection for you alone. As I said, a peace offering. You are lost here among our enemies. They could turn on you at any moment. So, if you ever have need of it, all you have to do is break this, and it will bring you home.'

Finn snatched back his hand. ‘Home?'

‘Sidonia. The royal palace,' she told him. ‘Where you belong, my lord prince. Where you have always belonged.'