96. Ships

My resentment having dissipated, I returned to the room and dressed for the day with my belt, apron and sagaris over my teal dress, my hair in a braid crown, ready for the workday.

I sat at breakfast with my friends, my attention now free to observe the frantic energy of the keep.

The dining hall seemed fuller than it had ever been of men in Tintarian black, their polished armor all clustered together like a snake’s skin.

Keep staff in black cotton raced to and fro, delivering messages, organizing accommodations, room and board for the young men who continued to seek out enlistment.

Noble families were thinning out from the tables at the ranked end of the hall, returning to their estates.

War was upon us and though it might be over quickly with a brutal blow of Tintarian troops raining down on Sealmouth, there were Ruskar’s and Eccleston’s betrayals with which to contend and the Helmsmen’s unexpected acquirement of Ruskarian saltwater oak to build ships.

The world was at a tilt and spinning.

And that morning, through all of the furor and racket of a community’s contending with war, Yro, archpriest of Brother Air, strode through the middle of the hall, his pale green robes aflutter around his skeletal frame, his unseeing eyes not hindering him from an approach to the very center of the hall.

He had gained some attention by his not being seated with his staff at their table, but he earned the entire hall’s eyes and ears when he spoke.

For he spoke not with the natural volume of a man trying to be loud, but with the echo of a god’s thunderclap.

He made no visible effort to raise his voice, but it sounded like it came from every table, as if he sat with everyone who broke their fast.

“Ships come on the horizon.

An entire fleet.

They fly the Perpatanian red.”

Oh, girl, said my goddess.

I told you they came.

Oh, little one.

The overwhelming noise of hundreds of fearful reactions to his words was cut through by Yro’s speaking again, his voice coming from everywhere.

“There are no troops in Sealmouth.

They left to Ruskar to come here.

Their numbers are doubled.”

Someone gave a shrill cry and the dining hall erupted in panic.

Next to me, Catrin and Maureen were clutching at each other.

Helena was saying something to Mischa, who was talking over her, saying we should get to the stables and take seven mounts and make for the farmlands before others took the horses.

River was looking at a dismayed Quinn, asking what they should do.

Was this it? Was this what my Knelling had been? A warning of all our deaths? And I had selfishly assumed it could only be a warning of mine.

Hinnom, Peregrine and a handful of their generals were now next to Yro standing in a circle, Alric and other Procurers among the group.

And then Hinnom, with Yro’s same supernatural volume said, “Ruskar has built Perpatane its own navy.

And ours is north of us fighting Helmsman.

Perpatane has bought this continent with gold.

Civilians, evacuate Pikestully.

If you are a man in service to Tintar, report to your commanding officers.

You will stay and you will fight.”

The king, taller than any of his men, even Perch, held up his arms, hands splayed, black eyes blazing, his hair spilling over his shoulders onto his simple cotton garb, dressed much like my husband and his men.

It occurred to me that, though he was mad, he was a good king.

Though he was a seducer who had broken Gareth Pope’s heart, he had never married or forced his brother to do so for the sake of alliances.

Perhaps his own heart had been broken too.

While there was rage and secrecy in his eyes, there was pride and courage there with the all of the manias.

And then he spoke, his volume even more pronounced, “The might of Tintar will prevail! If Pikestully falls, remaining citizens of our homeland must rebuild.

We will always return to this coast.

We are the children of the Farthest Four.

Tintar must live on.

If you are not in service, I ask that you run for your lives.”

The hysteria escalated, men shouting and women speaking in hushed tones to each other and their children.

Someone knocked over a stack of tin plates and the jangling disturbance seemed to unleash any suppression on horror.

Now the entire keep seemed to be contained within the dining hall, all unraveled and yelling, running, grabbing.

A baby wailed on a mother’s hip as she whipped past me.

“Edith,”

said Alric, appearing next to our table, hand on my shoulder.

He pulled me to standing and cupped my face in his hands.

“Edith.

Listen to me!”

I tried to focus on him, on his words, but I was numb.

“Please.

I need you to hear me.”

He put his forehead to mine.

“I need you to leave the city.

Take Maggie.

Take any of the Procurer grays.”

“Come with me,”

I blurted.

“You cannot ask me to abandon my country and my duty, Edith,”

he said, but his tone was more sad than correcting.

“But I treasure your asking it.”

I spoke again, pleading.

“Please, Alric.

I cannot live without you.”

He kissed me on the forehead and said, “And I cannot live if you perish.

And I asked first.

Leave the city.

Listen to whatever Zinnia and her staff say about evacuation.”

Around me, I heard similar conversations, but they were blending together like rain, all drops on stone, becoming a resounding patter.

“But I love you,”

I begged.

“I love you."

He closed his eyes, saying, “And if you have love of me, you will listen to Zinnia.”

He opened his eyes and kissed me, this time on my mouth, with heat and heartache.

“You survived one invasion already.

You must survive another.

What a gift you have been to me, wife.”

And without another word, he was gone.

Beside me, Helena wept, a hand on her stomach, her other on Maureen’s back.

I felt a body lean into me and looked down to see Catrin.

I had a passing thought that she was still just past her girlhood in many ways and must have longed for a parent herself.

I put my arm around her and my other around Mischa.

River and Quinn held each other.

We all stood now, a huddle that reminded me of us, with Bronwyn and Eefa, in the priest’s office, then too, afraid of dying.

“Go to the dormitory,”

I said, my stupefaction dispelled by their woe.

“Alric says we can take the Procurer grays.

No one else will dare take those horses, so there is time.

Collect only what you can carry.

Ride out to the farmlands on the dust road furthest inland.

I will catch up with you on Alric’s steed by end of day.”

“Where are you going? What is it you do, Edie?”

fired Mischa, pulling away from me.

I withdrew my arm from around Catrin.

“To the earth temple.

Trust me in this.”

Mischa shook her head.

“That is not a reply to my question.

Must you always be so bossy and evasive? You are forever a one-woman army.

Do you not think we can help you—”

“Do not argue!”

cried Helena, her face wet.

“Listen to Edie, Mischa.

We are alive because of her.

You know this.”

Mischa, ignoring Helena, did not take her eyes from me.

“You are a foolish woman, Edie.

I know you are about something we would not want you doing.

I know you.

Just come with us.”

“The way you tell me you care is so moving, Mischa.”

“Well.

You are foolish.”

We glowered at each other and then nodded, a half-smile for each other on our lips.

I knew that between Quinn’s intelligence, Mischa’s stubbornness and Helena’s care, they and the unborn babe had a chance.

I left them to their escape.