He sprang up the dais steps to attack Zachary, but in a blur of motion, two Weapons were on him and dragged him away. They pinned his arms behind him, his chest heaving. He spat at Zachary’s feet.
How could this be? Laren wondered. Her ability had indicated D’Ivary spoke truth when he promised the refugees would come to no harm.
False, her ability said, without her request.
What?
Her attention was then drawn to Zachary slowly descending the dais to stand before Atkins. His expression had turned from fury to sadness.
“Those were not my soldiers,” he said softly, “nor did I issue a proclamation to have your people marched to the border. Regardless, I am very, very sorry.”
Atkins was unconvinced. “Apologies won’t bring back the dead, will they? Apologies won’t bring back my daughter.”
“Ellen,” the king said, suddenly addressing one of the Weapons, “will you see to it that Master Atkins is made comfortable in one of the guest suites? Ask the steward to accommodate his wishes, and perhaps have a mender look in on him.”
“I don’t want your hospitality,” Atkins growled.
Zachary simply said, “We will talk more later.”
With that, the two Weapons escorted him from the throne room.
“It’s true what he says,” Lynx said in his harsh voice. “I’ve seen those soldiers, but I figured they were mercs dressed to look like ours. I tried to convince Durgan of it, but he wouldn’t hear me. I’ve seen the trail of bodies left behind from the march, and talked to other borderers, so I guess I can’t blame Durgan for his anger. He was the only one willing to come, and I think it’s because he wanted to see the face of the king that brought so much misery upon his people.”
Disbelief warred with anger in Zachary’s face. He tore off his royal mantle of heather, tossed it on the throne chair, and started pacing. “I had thought D’Ivary understood my wishes in this matter.”
He hadn’t directed the comment at Laren, but she felt the thrust of it into her gut.
“I will need to speak with you further, Rider,” Zachary said, “but go eat and rest. When Atkins is ready to talk again, we shall resume.”
Clearly dismissed, Lynx hesitated.
“Is there something else, Rider?”
“Yes, sire. Not having to do with the refugees, but I thought I should mention it. The forest, it’s restless. The wild creatures—well, they’re spooked. They know of some darkness passing through the woods, but are vague on exactly what it is.”
Zachary sighed. Lynx’s ability was to communicate with animals—not so much as speak with them directly, but to feel the currents of mood and emotion, and understand their meaning.
Lynx departed and Zachary said, “First a stone deer, and now spooked wildlife.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid that’ll have to wait. Our refugee situation is more urgent.” He called a runner of the Green Foot to him. “Find General Harborough and tell him to attend me immediately.”
“What are you going to do?” Colin asked.
“What needs to be done.” He didn’t pause before turning to Laren. “Captain, do you care to explain to me why you felt D’Ivary could be trusted?”
She grasped her brooch. False, her ability offered. Why was it doing this?
“I—”
True.
“Were you using your ability that day, or not?”
“Of course. I knew how important the truth was.”
False.
Laren’s fingers quavered at her neck scar. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Well, I do.” Zachary pivoted away from her and resumed his pacing. Then he halted and turned back to her. “Lord D’Ivary lied to us that day. He hired mercenaries to harass and hurt refugees, but he had them impersonate our Sacoridian troops. Not only has D’Ivary given those border people more reason to hate me, but they were beaten and raped. A nine-year-old, Captain. A nine-year-old taken by Lord Nester. How could you have read D’Ivary as honest?”
Laren backed away, hurt and astonished, and fighting for control, unable to explain herself. The reading she had taken of D’Ivary couldn’t have been more clear.
True.
She slammed her barriers down around the inner voice of her ability, but her control eluded her; slipped out of her hands like a wriggly fish.
Zachary walked away from her to speak with Sperren and Colin Dovekey, his body posture stiff as though he tried to contain intense rage.
Laren closed her eyes. She would never forget how he looked at her, and his words: A nine-year-old, Captain. How could you have read D’Ivary as honest?
It was her fault, the rapes, the beatings, the deaths. All of it on her shoulders.
True.
INNER VOICES
Alton surveyed the empty field that had once been a thriving, busy encampment. There were no longer colorful striped tents pitched here, no wandering minstrels plucking a tune, no merchants shouting out the virtues of their wares. Nor were there fine ladies gossiping beneath pavilions with servants scurrying about with refreshments.
The field was barren of life. Only the refuse that littered the ground, and the beaten paths made by feet and hooves, indicated there had once been tremendous activity here.
Beyond the field, precise rows of military tents remained, and among them, Landrew D’Yer’s. He had shifted his base of operations as far from the wall as possible.
After the avian’s attack on Lady Valia, all the nobles and common folk had hastily packed up and left—some that very day. Much to Alton’s relief, his little brother and cousin had been immediately sent home, too.