Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(42)
The sea had always offered him the illusion of freedom, but now it was dissipating like a wetland mist.
Some nights, despite his exhaustion, he played the game of Where is she now? Other nights, it was memories of Destin that kept him awake.
Evan had left Destin behind in Ardenscourt. The soldier had claimed that he could be of more use to Evan in the capital than at his side. How was he faring in that nest of vipers to the south? Had he made any headway in persuading the boy king that the empress in the east was a greater danger than the queen in the north?
I don’t want you to be of use to me, Evan thought, for the hundredth time. I want you to forget about me. I want you to kill that monster of a father, leave Arden, and find another house by the sea. I want you to be happy.
Yet he couldn’t help wishing they were facing these challenges together. It would be worth it, even for a short while.
It seemed that the fates had decreed that he go through life alone.
The heavily fortified border town of Delphi seethed with activity. Word had come that the northern passes had finally opened, and the traders, brokers, and travelers who had been bottled up there all winter prepared to journey on. The coal mines and foundries of the queendom had been producing all winter, and now wagon after wagon took the road north. Evan and his party joined a band of travelers on horseback with a weatherbeaten upland trader to serve as guide.
It was a good military road, when it wasn’t chin deep in snow, with stone and steel bridges where it crossed and recrossed the rivers and streams roaring with snowmelt. Every night, travelers packed into bare-bones lodges situated a day’s ride apart. First arrivals claimed the bunks that lined the walls. The less fortunate slept shoulder to shoulder on the floor. One night, a blinding snowstorm gave notice that winter wasn’t quite finished in these mountains. The next day, teams of ponies dragged huge blades over the road, scraping the deep snow away. The tracks of wolves were everywhere, and their howling sometimes woke Evan in the night. Even with so much company on the road, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he and his crew were being watched, every step of the way, by malevolent eyes.
As their journey neared its end, they encountered small bands of uplanders, men and women, hair done up in braids, and armed to the teeth. This, apparently, was how the north welcomed newcomers. After a long conversation with their guide, and a hostile look-over, they were allowed to move on.
At long last, one afternoon they rounded a shoulder of a massive peak to see the Vale spread out before them. The clouds they’d seen earlier had cleared somewhat as the day warmed, though steam rose from several large fissures in the near distance. Here, the air was noticeably warmer, and moist, with a faint scent of sulfur. The valley was amazingly green, for late winter. A river cut through the Vale, tumbling out of the mountains in a series of waterfalls. At the north end of the Vale, snuggled against the mountains, was the city of Fellsmarch. Their destination.
They descended into the Vale, striking north across the relatively flat terrain. As they drew closer to Fellsmarch, Evan could see that the builders had made good use of the materials all around them. It was a city built of stone—but a very different stone from what Evan was used to. At home, buildings were built of buff-colored sandstone and stucco. Here, there was more variety—sandstone, yes, but also granites and limestone. The town itself was a warren of steep, twisting cobbled streets, with scarcely a level place big enough to pitch a tent unless it was in the middle of the Way. The skyline boasted a number of pretty spires—temples, probably.
Evan had half-expected to see mages everywhere, but there were few abroad on the streets of the capital. On the positive side of the ledger, he saw no sign that the bloodsworn had infiltrated this far inland. As other travelers peeled off to individual destinations, Evan spurred ahead so that he could converse with their guide, a man of few words and fewer smiles.
“Where are all the mages?” Evan said as they turned onto a cobbled street that ran next to the river.
“They tend to stay on Gray Lady,” the trader said, motioning toward a peak to the north with its head in the clouds. “They only descend into the Vale for business and politics.”
Ahead, the graceful stone towers of a palace rose from high banks next to the river. Evan took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. The wolf queen within represented what might be his last hope for alliance and sanctuary.
Their guide directed them to an inn he knew, just outside the castle close, then took his leave.
Now that they were in the capital, Evan considered the best way to connect with the Fellsian authorities. He’d told everyone along the road that they were emissaries from Carthis, representing shipbuilders, merchants, and smugglers who hoped to do business with the queendom. But he worried whether that device would be enough to earn him a face-to-face with a queen grappling with the demands of an endless war. He needed to speak with her directly. It wouldn’t do to be handed off to a quartermaster or castle steward.
That evening, he was sitting in the common room of the inn with Teza and Brody, debating his next move, when a young woman entered, bringing with her a blast of snow and cold and the unmistakable blue-white glow of magery. She drew his attention for other reasons, too. She looked more like a pirate than anyone he’d seen in the wetlands. Her hair was dyed black streaked with blue, and her exposed skin was layered in tattoos and piercings. Her skin might have been fair underneath, but it was burnt by sun and wind.