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  Clearly her fighting skills had improved, too. She snared the last jousting ring, completing the line, then bore down on the ground targets just ahead. Most riders slowed their horses for this part, the tent pegging, as it was called, but Kate kept the horse at full gallop. With easy effort, she lowered the tip of the lance just in time to stab the wooden peg sticking up from the ground. She yanked up, pulling the target free with a mighty heave. Raising the lance once more, she launched it over her shoulder and into the straw dummy crouched at the end of the lane.

  They were moving so fast, the horse looked ready to crash into the fence. Kate sat back, pulling on the reins, and the crowd let out a collective gasp as the compact animal set his haunches and slid to a stop mere inches from collision. Then Kate spun the chestnut around once more, drawing the sword from the scabbard at her waist at the same time. She headed down the last lane, this one rimmed with burlap sacks shaped like men posed in attack stances. She slew the first one easily.

  Dal whistled through his teeth. “Is the Relay training riders or soldiers?”

  “A little of both, I suppose,” Corwin replied. “The Relay has ancient military roots. It was formed during the War of Three.”

  “It’s as old as the nightdrakes?”

  Corwin nodded. “During the war, the cities needed a way to communicate with their allies quickly and without risk of exposing secrets. One fast horse with a skilled warrior proved the most effective way.” He wondered what Rime would be like now if that war had never been fought. Its official name made it seem like some minor conflict, when in truth every city in Rime had been involved, all of them aligned in opposition on three fronts—eastern, western, and northern. The fighting nearly destroyed Rime. Ironically it was the unleashing of the nightdrakes that eventually wrought peace. The cities couldn’t afford to fight one another when faced with this greater, more devastating enemy.

  Leaning forward in his seat, Corwin focused on the final leg of Kate’s trial. The targets were spaced so close together that she barely had time to pull back from one swing before launching another. They were set high, low, and in between, and she managed to hit each one, demonstrating a flexibility Corwin felt certain neither he nor Dal could’ve managed. Corwin watched her with his mouth hanging open in awe. She rode and fought with her whole body, her face a hard mask, eyes blazing.

  Kate crossed the finish line a moment later. Corwin and Dal both raised their hands in applause, but their claps were met with silence from everyone sitting around them. All except for the only woman rider in the stands.

  “I don’t understand,” Dal said, speaking loud enough that everyone could hear. “Why wouldn’t you applaud a performance like that?”

  “Because silence is the coward’s favorite tool,” the woman said, in the accent of an Esh Islander. She cast a glower over the crowd, but most refused to look at her.

  It’s because of who she is, Corwin thought. Traitor Kate. The truth struck him hard. It wasn’t his fault—Hale had attacked his father—and yet he felt the blame as if it were his own.

  The Eshian shook her golden-haired head, then stepped off the stands and disappeared around the corner.

  Corwin clasped a stunned and speechless Dal on the shoulder. “Come on. We better find Kate now before she has a chance to run away.”

  They hurried off the stands and headed toward the gate. Kate was leading the horse, having dismounted the moment the trial was over. She walked fast, her head down in a bid for a quick escape, but before she could make it, the judge with the pocket watch called out to her.

  She stopped and faced the man as he approached. A wary but respectful expression rose to her face. From the sigil on the man’s tunic, Corwin guessed he was the Relay foreman. He and Dal hung back, not wanting to intrude.

  “Well done, Kate,” the man said. “That was your best time yet, and you had only one error.”

  Kate scowled at the compliment. “Does this mean I’m finally ungrounded then?”

  The foreman rubbed his fingers over a line of pale, twisted scars on his forearm, vivid against his brown skin. “We’ll discuss it later.” The finality in his tone told Corwin that Kate’s chances of riding again were slim. What a waste, he thought, although secretly he didn’t mind the idea of her not being outside the city walls again anytime soon.

  The foreman retreated to his post, and reluctantly, Kate turned her gaze onto them at last. “Your highness,” she said, giving him a stiff bow.

  “Nice to see you again, Miss Brighton.” Corwin smiled, wishing he had some way to set her at ease.

  “What are you doing here?” She glanced over her shoulder, as if afraid someone would notice them talking. Her worry was pointless—everyone had noticed.

  Corwin cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened on the road to Andreas.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze fell to the ground. “Can it wait? I need to take care of Trooper.” As if in emphasis, the horse sucked in a breath, then blew it out in a loud snort.

  “We’ll come with you,” Dal said before Corwin could respond.

  Kate’s lips formed a thin line, but she didn’t argue. Leading the way, she headed into one of the stables. Fortunately, few people lingered about. As good a battleground as any, Corwin thought, then chided himself for it. This wasn’t a battle. He refused to let it become one.

  Kate led the horse into a wash stall in the back and pulled off the bridle, trading it for a halter. Then she snapped the crossties into place before stepping past the gelding’s shoulder to the saddle, her hands raised to undo the girth.

  “That was a fantastic ride, Miss Kate,” Dal said, patting the horse’s neck. “I was just telling Corwin that you’re even better at cavalry games than he is. However do you manage to be so accurate with the targets?”

  A smile ghosted across Kate’s face. “It’s not so hard. I just imagine I’m slaying my enemies.”

  Although she didn’t look at Corwin as she spoke, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was among those enemies. Then again, perhaps it was best not to know. He clasped his hands in front of him to keep from fidgeting. Gods, this was hard.

  Dal cleared his throat, not quite concealing the sound of suppressed laughter. “Speaking of slaying things, his highness is here to thank you for saving him.”

  Corwin inwardly groaned, feeling like a fool. I should be doing the saving. He pushed the thought aside, letting his gratitude come to the forefront. He bowed his head toward Kate.

  “Yes, thank you. I would be dead if not for you. I am in your debt.”

  “You’re welcome.” She glanced at him with her large, large eyes. Then she added in a low breath, “If only I had earned such before now.”

  Corwin winced at the blow. Save him. He’s my father, he heard her beg again. Stop the execution, give us exile! And he hadn’t. At the time, he’d believed there was no alternative, that such an offense must be paid by death, lest someone else believe they should attempt the same and perhaps succeed. But in the years that followed, he’d begun to wonder if he’d been wrong. The time he’d spent away from Rime had taught him that the world was rarely so black and white. He wrapped his fingers around the vambrace on his right wrist, hiding the tattoo beneath.

  “Well now,” Dal said with a nervous laugh. “We’re also here to find out more about that marvelous revolver your friend made.”

  Pulling the saddle from the horse’s back, Kate glanced at them both, her expression guarded. “Why?”

  “You used it to kill three of those four daydrakes,” Corwin said, holding out his hands to take the saddle from her.

  Ignoring the offer, she stepped past him and slid the saddle onto a rack just out front of the wash stall. “I . . . I didn’t think you would remember any of what happened.”

  Dropping his hands back to his sides, Corwin hid a wince at his blunder. Of course she would hope he hadn’t remembered. Especially after all the intimate things he said to her in his delirium. If only he could take it ba
ck—but somehow he doubted telling her he’d been crazed out of his mind and hadn’t meant a word of it would go over very well. Denial then.

  “I remember very little aside from that. But seeing a weapon kill so many drakes so easily is impossible to forget.”

  “There was nothing easy about it.” Kate picked up an empty bucket at the front of the stall and crossed the aisle to the water trough, where she dipped out a bucketful. “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, to start,” Dal said, stepping forward to take the bucket from her. To Corwin’s chagrin, she allowed the help this time. “Are there any more?”

  “I . . .” Kate bit her lip, then seemed to realize she was doing it and schooled her expression into a neutral mask. “There is only the one. My friend Tom Bonner made it special for me. To keep me safe on my rides.”

  Corwin’s fingers clenched, halfway toward making fists. Who was this Bonner? Was he the one who gave her the moonbelt? For a second, the image of another man with his hands at her waist, pulling her into a kiss, flashed in Corwin’s mind. It wasn’t one his imagination needed to conjure. Memory of her and Edwin would suffice.

  “That’s very nice,” Dal said, shooting Corwin a wary glance. “But surely if he made the one, he can make others.”

  Corwin nodded his agreement while he wrestled the jealousy beast back into its cage. Kate’s life was not his business anymore. Who she was friends with, who she loved . . . who loved her.

  Fetching a dry rag off the front of the wash stall, Kate dipped it into the bucket and doused the horse’s neck with it. The gelding snorted a protest, raising his head in a vain attempt to avoid the water.

  “Oh, stop it, you big baby,” she chided. “This should feel nice.” The horse shook his neck, spraying them all with water. Kate bent toward the bucket once more. “Yes, I suppose he could make more.”

  “Excellent.” Dal clapped his hands once. “When can we meet this Tom Bonner?”

  Kate rolled her eyes as she ran the wet rag along the horse’s back. “Seeing how I’ve no real work to do anymore, I suppose I can arrange a meeting.” She made a point of addressing the offer to Dal.

  He grinned. “Perfect. Should we come back later today?”

  She shook her head. “Bonner will want time to prepare. Tomorrow would be better. Meet me here at seven o’clock.”

  “The moment the bell tolls.” Dal placed a palm over his heart and stooped into a theatrical bow.

  That sideways smile appeared on Kate’s face then, stealing Corwin’s breath away for a moment. It always made her look like she had some secret, one you would give your right eye to possess, if only she would tell you.

  Emboldened by the smile and the warm memories it provoked, Corwin said, “Thank you again, Kate.”

  The smile vanished, and she fixed a cold stare at him. He wished he could know what she was thinking at that moment.

  Then again, maybe not, he thought, imagining his face on one of her targets.

  After a few seconds, she asked, “Is that all you wanted from me then, your highness?”

  It was a dangerous question, a multi-edged sword forged to cut no matter which way he answered. “Yes,” he finally said, guessing it was the answer she wanted to hear.

  11

  Kate

  WHEN THE BELL TOWER TOLLED the seven-o’clock hour the next evening, Kate stepped through the Relay house main gate and onto the street. She’d been waiting just inside for more than ten minutes now, worried Corwin would turn up early. The riders and workers in the house kept giving her strange glances, but they were easier to ignore than the people on the street would’ve been. Out there, she would’ve felt like a beggar, despite wearing her nicest clothes and with her hair in a tidy braid. In here, she just felt like an outsider, same as always.

  And a traitor. She couldn’t forget that. Only it wasn’t a title she inherited from her father this time. She had betrayed Bonner, even if he insisted otherwise—as he’d said over and over again when she went to confess her guilt not long after her meeting with Corwin yesterday.

  “It’s not your fault, Kate. You couldn’t just let him die. If you hadn’t used the revolver, you’d be dead too, and believe me, that would be worse. Besides, I made the gun hoping there’d be interest in them.”

  “You are a fool, Tom Bonner,” Kate said before she could stop herself. “You used wild magic to make that gun, and now the high prince of Rime wants one for himself.”

  “You worry too much, Kate,” Signe said, from where she sat reclining in a chair with her legs propped up on one of the worktables in the Bonner shop. “As I’m always telling you.”

  “Worry too much?” Kate folded her arms over her chest. “Wilder magic is outlawed. If they find out he’s a wilder, the gold robes will imprison him, purge him of magic, kill him, then bury his body where no one can find it.”

  “Why do they hide the body?” Signe cocked her head in a charmingly fragile gesture that belied her fierceness.

  Kate huffed, annoyed at Signe’s disconcerting habit of always focusing on the wrong point. “So that it can never be burned with holy fire.”

  “I don’t understand this need to burn flesh.” Signe pinched her nose. “It smells awful.”

  Yes, it did, Kate had to agree, even with all the scented oils the priests applied to the corpse, but the stench didn’t outweigh the purpose. “The holy fire is needed to free the spirit, allowing the deceased to cross the barrier from this world to the next. The buried remain dead forever.” Some believed they became Shades, their spirits bound in slavery to serve the whimsy of the gods.

  Signe scoffed. “That’s not what my people believe. We bury our dead. The spirits of our ancestors don’t depart. They are Aslar. They remain with us, watching over us, guiding us. Anything else is barbaric.”

  No, Kate thought, what was barbaric was how the nightdrakes dug up the dead and consumed them.

  She waved her hand impatiently. “The burial or burning is beside the point. Death is the point, Sig.”

  “I’m not going to die,” Bonner said, his tone annoyingly carefree. “I’m not going to work magic right in front of him. Prince Corwin just wants to see the revolver I’ve already made.”

  “No, he wants you to make more,” Kate said, hand on hips.

  “But I want to make more.” Excitement lit Bonner’s boyish features, and he stood up from the workbench. “And here’s my chance. The high king might commission hundreds of them. Thousands.”

  Kate glowered, her eyes narrowed so much it blurred her vision. “Are you listening to yourself? How are you going to manage that alone? You can’t work magic at night, and it’ll take you forever trying to sneak it in during the day. Not to mention the risk of getting caught by the magists.” That risk would be greater than ever here in Farhold if the rumor that the Rising was behind the attack on the Gregors was true. Even if it wasn’t, there were bound to be more golds on principle alone. She wondered how bad it would have to get before the Rising realized their folly.

  “I’ll figure it out.” Bonner shrugged. “Now that I know copper is the key, I might be able to find a way to create the bullets without using magic, and I’ll make molds of the revolver parts that any blacksmith could use.”

  Kate pressed her lips together to hold back a curse. She’d been around Bonner enough to know that his optimism about such accomplishments rarely played out.

  “Don’t forget me.” Signe slid her legs off the table and stood up. “Only I can make the special black-powder mixture that will work with your revolver, and nothing will change that.”

  Bonner smirked. “How could I forget when you remind me every day?” He waved his hand in front of her ear, transforming the gold hoop she wore so that it dangled in a straight line, blending in with her golden hair. She laughed, flicking it back and forth with her finger like a cat at a ball of yarn.

  “And you wonder why I worry.” Kate cupped her forehead.

  “Aw, poor Kate,” Signe purred. “
We must have something for her to do, too, when all these kings and princes come seeking our genius.”

  “Don’t worry, Sig,” Bonner said, fixing her gold hoop with a flick of his hand. “We’ll put Kate in charge of demonstrations. She’s already done such a good job of it.”

  Bonner reached out and tickled her side. Kate slapped his hand away, but that only encouraged him. In seconds he had her pinned and tickled her until she laughed and begged him to stop.

  But when the laughter died down, Kate begged him once again. “Please don’t agree to make these revolvers for him. It’s not worth the risk it’ll place you in.”

  A battle played out in Bonner’s expression. Then he finally gave a reluctant nod. “If it’s that important to you, Kate, I’ll find some way to say no.” He paused and smiled. “All I really want is you happy and safe.”

  Now, as she waited for Dal and Corwin, Kate clung to his promise, but she couldn’t keep her doubt at bay. Letting anyone examine the revolver risked discovery of his magic. Corwin was no fool about weaponry, and given Dal’s battle scars, she doubted he was either.

  Despite Dal’s promise that they would be here promptly at seven, he and Corwin didn’t appear until some twenty minutes later. They dismounted when they reached her, and Kate was dismayed to see the crowd following them. Rumors were already swirling in the Relay house about his visit yesterday. If she wasn’t careful, the newspapers would start printing about it. That was the last thing she wanted.

  Bowing, Kate listened with only half an ear to Dal’s explanation for their late arrival.

  “We need to hurry,” she said, cutting him off. “Bonner’s father has been ill for some time now. He will want to close the shop before dark.”

  The walk to the blacksmith’s shop took less than ten minutes. Corwin ordered the guards to stay outside while Kate led him and Dal inside. As always, the place felt like an oven, warm air smothering them when they stepped through the door. Bonner looked up from where he stood in the back of the room near the forge, a low railing separating the work area from the small reception up front. Bonner wore his outer tunic for once, and his face was clean, if not his hands. The place looked tidier than she’d ever seen it.