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  Nitzane grinned. ‘I knew you were on a secret mission for the king. Didn’t I say so, when I ran into you in Navarone?’

  That was when Sorne had overheard Nitzane fail to convince his brother, the king of Navarone, to help him unseat King Charald. Nitzane believed Charald was behind the accident that killed his wife.

  Now that Nitzane got a good look at Sorne, his eyes widened. ‘Last time I saw you, the left side of your face was a mess of burn scars. Now it’s smooth as the rest of your face. When they said you’d come back from the dead, I wondered how you managed to convince them, but I see you’ve been up to your old tricks.’

  ‘I made a bargain with the Warrior.’ Sorne didn’t like lying to Nitzane, who was one of the few True-men he considered a friend. ‘I gather you weren’t at the sacrifice two nights ago?’

  ‘Just got here. Arrived home to find a couple of barons had attacked the Wyrd winery next to one of my estates. Killed everyone and burned the building to the ground.’

  This was news to Sorne, but he wasn’t surprised. Charald would have wanted to test Zabier’s advice.

  Today, he’d heard the king raving; Charald did not trust Nitzane. ‘You need to watch your back, the king–’

  ‘I have Ballendin with me. And I have more men-at-arms than any other baron.’

  ‘All the more reason to be on your guard. Find out which barons you can trust–’

  ‘Why? Is the king going to assassinate me?’ Nitzane leant close. ‘Marantza’s death was no accident.’

  ‘She was attacked?’

  ‘No, the bridge collapsed.’

  ‘And you had someone inspect it for sabotage?’

  ‘What? No, I–’ Nitzane hesitated. ‘Marantza was the king’s heir. Our son is next in line to the throne after Charald’s son. The king had her killed.’

  ‘You could be right. But you’ve no proof.’ Sorne shrugged. ‘Come on.’

  He glanced around the corner of the tent. Luckily their departure hadn’t been noted. Zabier was distributing malachite pendants and giving the Father’s blessing.

  Sorne looked east, across the lake to the Wyrd city. Its white walls, towers, domes and minarets glowed in the light of the setting sun, reflecting in the lake’s still waters. From this distance the city looked pristine. You could not tell that a battle had just taken place here.

  The T’Enatuath were his people. Sorne had been raised to hate them and groomed to destroy them. It had taken him this long to undo Oskane’s lies.

  He hadn’t been able to save the city from the first onslaught, but perhaps he could save his people from King Charald.

  ‘WE’RE LATE.’ EGRAYNE was not happy, but when they entered the empowerment dome, they found that everyone else was late, too.

  Good, Imoshen needed time to face her ghosts. To the others this was the dome where Egrayne helped young T’En uncover their gifts, but to Imoshen it would always be the place where she had been forced to execute her father.

  She’d done what she had to, to keep her choice-son and devotee safe, but it had killed something in her and it had been many years before that part of her recovered.

  As for the all-fathers, they had never forgiven her for killing one of them and the gift-warriors who tried to ambush her. She didn’t see how they would ever accept her as causare.

  ‘Good news,’ Egrayne said, taking the seat beside her.

  Imoshen blinked.

  ‘Two all-fathers have nominated themselves for causare. The brotherhood vote will be split.’ Egrayne grinned. ‘With the six all-mother votes, you’ll be elected.’

  Imoshen’s heart sank. ‘In recorded history there’s only been one causare, and she only held the position long enough to negotiate the accord with King Charald the Peace-maker. I’m a bit confused as to what exactly a causare does. If I’m elected, I’ll be authorised to work out terms with King Charald?’

  ‘No. The all-council will tell you what the terms should be. You take those terms to the king. If he refuses and the brotherhoods think you’ve failed, they can say they have no confidence in you as causare and nominate someone else. Then we vote again.’

  Imoshen frowned. ‘But the brotherhood and sisterhood leaders have to obey the causare.’

  ‘Not if they don’t agree. The causare represents us, she doesn’t rule us. We’re not Mieren, to blindly follow a king.’

  ‘You mean I’d have all the responsibility and none of the power?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Why would anyone want to be causare?’

  ‘Because someone has to do it. You’re the best person for the job. You’re a raedan and the brotherhoods fear you.’ She leant closer, lowering her voice. ‘Power is held by the powerful.’

  Imoshen looked down. She wasn’t as powerful as the all-mothers believed. She’d killed the brotherhood gift-warriors, but it had been a matter of guile and trickery, not power.

  If it came down to a confrontation between herself and one or more of the all-fathers, then her people were lost. The brotherhoods would rise against the sisterhoods and the division would destroy the T’Enatuath. They needed to be united against King Charald. Which brought her back to this all-council.

  ‘So, in the role of causare I wield as much power as I can get away with, without driving the brotherhoods to unite against me?’ she asked Egrayne.

  Her hand of force nodded. ‘You’re a raedan, you’ll know how far to push them. And they’ll know...’ She glanced to the far side of the dome. ‘And here they come.’

  Egrayne led Imoshen down to the stage directly under the dome. As the powerful T’En males poured in and took their places on the tiered seats opposite them, Imoshen glanced over her shoulder to the sisterhood leaders.

  They were decked in silks and brocades, with jewelled pins in their long silver hair. They wore their torcs of office on their shoulders and formal robes, but they looked strained and tired. If they were anything like her, they’d been awake since yesterday morning, had spent the night fighting and the day cleaning up after the attack.

  All-mother Reoden looked particularly exhausted. Being a healer meant she had the added responsibility of deciding who was most in need of her gift. Imoshen felt for her.

  The healer came down to the last row of seats and took Imoshen’s chin in her hand to study her swollen lip. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘The same as what happened to so many of us, but I was lucky. Arodyti came to my rescue.’ She felt Reoden gather her gift and caught her wrist. ‘No, you’ve exhausted yourself.’

  ‘And you’re about to meet King Charald. You can’t go looking beaten.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Egrayne said.

  ‘But we haven’t voted yet,’ Imoshen protested.

  They both ignored her.

  She felt the caress of Reoden’s gift as her lip was healed. Before Imoshen could thank her, one of the brotherhood leaders declared the all-council open. The three candidates were called forward and presented.

  All-father Paragian; she remembered his warriors claiming all the other brotherhoods’ banners one spring festival. How everyone had cheered. She’d heard his people were devoted to him.

  All-father Hueryx, on the other hand, was shorter and slighter of build. He’d been a scholar. He had one of those clever, sharp faces and a mouth that was inclined to mock.

  Their voices-of-reason stepped forward and delivered short speeches listing why their all-fathers should be voted causare. She thought they made good points. Then Egrayne put forward Imoshen’s case – her gift would give her a unique insight into the Mieren king.

  Not that this would do any good, if Sorne was right about the king.

  Imoshen hated being the centre of attention. She looked straight ahead, concentrating on the patterns of light glimmering on the golden tiles scattered through the dome’s mosaics.

  Then they put it to the vote. Each brotherhood or sisterhood had one vote. Two of the leaders were missing as they’d been out on estates when the attack h
appened, but a high-ranking brother and sister would give their leaders’ votes. It was done with a show of hands. The two brotherhoods went first: Hueryx four votes, Paragian five.

  She had the six sisterhood votes.

  Egrayne stepped forward. ‘It’s official. Imoshen will be causare of the T’Enatuath, until the emergency is over or until another causare is appointed.’ She drew Imoshen forward to stand beside her. ‘I give you T’Imoshen.’

  There was no applause. Imoshen was not welcome.

  ‘We need to work out the terms,’ Egrayne whispered in her ear. ‘Start the discussion.’

  But the council had begun late and it was almost time to meet King Charald. ‘I suggest we go down to the causeway gate now,’ Imoshen said. ‘Walk with me. We can discuss terms on the way.’

  So they left the dome, going out onto the broad causeway road. The all-fathers and all-mothers crowded around her. Each had an opinion, each believed he or she was right and each set out to convince her and everyone else of this.

  By the time they reached the gate, she’d heard enough.

  ‘Light the lanterns,’ Imoshen ordered. Dusk had turned to night. She faced the leaders of the T’Enatuath. Paragian’s brotherhood had drawn gate duty tonight and his warriors looked down from the wall-walk above. ‘This is what you want. The sisterhoods believe King Charald should honour the agreement made with his ancestor. They believe we have both T’En and Mieren law on our side.’ The females nodded. ‘The brotherhoods believe the king is without honour because he attacked unprovoked and without making a declaration of war. His attack failed. They believe we can fight off another attack.’

  ‘We were unprepared, feasting,’ young All-father Saskeyne said. ‘Next time they wouldn’t even get into the free quarter.’

  ‘Do I have the right of it?’ Imoshen asked and the brotherhood leaders agreed she did.

  Frustration made her gift rise. Sisterhood and brotherhood alike, they believed they were negotiating terms. She believed Charald was expecting their surrender. Help was not going to come. Their city was alone, surrounded by their ancestral enemy. If she went out there to talk terms and came back with an offer of surrender, the brotherhoods would revolt and confront King Charald, precipitating the destruction of their people. Maybe they were happy to die a glorious death, but she had children to think of.

  ‘I see...’ And they had to see, too. ‘I want All-fathers Paragian and Hueryx to come with me to witness this.’

  They were surprised and pleased. Egrayne was not.

  ‘You must not show weakness,’ Egrayne whispered, as the warrior escort lined up.

  ‘I have my reasons.’

  Chapter Four

  THEY MADE SORNE wear a hood, and it infuriated him. At least today they had a good reason. The True-men didn’t want the Wyrds knowing they had a half-blood in their ranks. They were afraid the malachite pendant he wore would not be strong enough to protect him from the full-bloods. They didn’t know that Oskane’s daily scourgings had been good for one thing. They’d armoured him; he’d even been able to bear the pain of an empyrean stomach wound for four years, until the T’En had healed him.

  As the short winter day ended, King Charald, his priests and twelve barons stepped onto the causeway. It was wide enough for two carts to pass. The king’s party advanced in a pool of golden lantern light.

  The causeway stretched to the white stone walls of the city, which seemed to have retained some of the daylight so that they shone with a soft radiance. From this angle, the city appeared tall and narrow, stretching up to the sisterhood palaces on the peak. Lamps glowed in many windows and on the streets. He heard the barons mutter at this profligate waste of oil.

  By the time they reached the halfway point, no Wyrds had come through the city gate.

  ‘Where are they?’ Charald complained. ‘The evening star has risen. Are they going to insult me by not appearing?’

  Sorne recognised the signs. The king was working himself into a lather.

  ‘The gate is opening, sire.’ Zabier stood at Charald’s side.

  Sorne was behind them in the next rank, standing with the barons. Behind them, the king’s banner swayed, suspended between two poles. From each corner hung several long, silver trophy braids, collected from dead Wyrds on the battlefield three hundred years ago. During the Secluded Sea campaign, those silver braids had impressed their enemies.

  It had taken Charald eight years to conquer the kingdoms of the Secluded Sea, and Sorne had worked himself into a position of trust. Each time the king conquered a city, town, or port, he would meet with the defeated officials. Towards the end, many had capitulated without a fight. It was better to pay a ransom and survive than to have their city sacked.

  From what Sorne had overheard today, he gathered Charald had promised his people a kingdom free of Wyrds and his barons the spoils of the city. This did not leave much room for negotiation.

  ‘No more foreigners suckling at the Wyrds’ tit,’ one of the barons muttered, gesturing to the foreign quarter.

  Set out from the wall, and to the left of the causeway, was a cluster of two- and three-storey buildings. They had been built on stilts over the lake by merchant princes from distant kingdoms. Right now the foreign quarter looked empty and Sorne suspected Charald’s men had sacked it.

  ‘Here they come,’ someone said.

  A glow filled the tunnel under the causeway gate, and a shiver of fear passed through the gathering.

  ‘Let’s see how arrogant they are, now that we’ve called their bluff,’ Charald said and the barons muttered approvingly.

  The True-men’s bravado amused Sorne. It was the first time he’d seen Charald’s party afraid of the inhabitants of a besieged city. When the Wyrds stepped out onto the causeway, their lanterns cast light up the wall to the defenders on the walkway above them. Sorne caught the glint of armour, pale faces and helmets.

  The first three T’En who approached wore shimmering silk breeches, sandals and knee-length robes of rich brocade. On their shoulders they wore wide, jewel-encrusted torcs, revealing their ranks and affiliations. Their long silver hair was dressed in elaborate styles, held in place with jewelled pins. The men’s chests were bare, displaying old duelling scars. The woman...

  Was Imoshen.

  He’d had no idea she ranked so high amongst her people.

  As the warrior escort took up position, Sorne saw them look to the banner’s trophy braids and their mouths grow tight with anger. The two males remained one step behind Imoshen, who came to a stop when there was still a body length between her and the king.

  ‘A woman?’ one of the barons muttered. ‘Their causare is a woman? I thought it was an elected position, not inherited.’

  ‘One of the males will be the causare,’ Charald said softly over his shoulder. ‘They’ve put a beautiful woman out front to distract us.’

  Zabier said nothing. Sorne glanced to the back of his head. If Zabier knew as much as he claimed, he’d know the T’En women’s gifts were more powerful than the men’s.

  ‘I am Causare T’Imoshen, of the T’Enatuath,’ she introduced herself, speaking Chalcedonian with a slight accent.

  ‘High King Charald, conqueror of the five kingdoms of the Secluded Sea, ruler of Chalcedonia,’ Zabier introduced the king.

  Charald rested his hand on his sword hilt and waited, drawing out the T’En’s discomfort. Whoever spoke first revealed weakness.

  Imoshen took a step forward. ‘King–’

  ‘That’s near enough.’ Zabier held up his hand before she could come close enough to touch the king.

  ‘King Charald,’ Imoshen began again, ‘your ancestor signed an agreement, giving our people this island. Why have you broken the accord?’

  ‘The accord is nothing but scribbles on parchment.’

  Both the males behind her stiffened, and Sorne guessed their gifts would be rising. He was glad he was too far away to sense their power; he did not want his gift addiction to surface agai
n. While Oskane’s scourgings had given him the strength to fight it, repeated exposure to power had made his hair go white by the time he was twenty-five, and the craving for power had slipped under his guard. The pain of the empyrean wound had completed his downfall. He was as addicted as any devotee, just not to one specific T’En. As long as he avoided their power, he could keep the craving under control.

  ‘Do you want to renegotiate the accord?’ Imoshen asked, as if Charald was a reasonable person. Didn’t she remember Sorne’s insight into the king?

  ‘What I want is a Chalcedonia free of Wyrds. I want all your kind to pack what you can carry and leave this city, leave this kingdom.’

  Behind her, the two males went utterly still, and exchanged quick looks. The warrior escort looked stunned. Only Imoshen was not surprised.

  ‘This is our home,’ she said. ‘We have enough food for years and plenty of fresh water. We can shut the gates and go about our lives, while you sit out here in the winter snows, and the dust and flies, while your men die of the flux and their fields lie fallow, while their women sleep alone and their children forget them–’

  One of the barons cursed, but Charald laughed.

  ‘Shut the gate. See if I care. While you sit on your arses behind your walls, my barons will be riding for your estates. They’ll pull down the gates, march in, put everyone to the sword and burn their bodies.’

  ‘Barbarian,’ the taller of the two males gasped.

  ‘There’s no negotiating with him,’ the other agreed. They both spoke T’En, unaware that Sorne understood.

  King Charald glanced over his shoulder to the barons as if to say, See, one of them is the true causare.

  ‘We have wealth,’ Imoshen said. ‘We can pay a tithe to the crown for the use of this island.’

  ‘Pay him?’ the tall one muttered in T’En, clearly not impressed. ‘Why should we pay for what we already own?’

  Hadn’t anyone ever told him you only own what you can stop others from taking? Charald had proven that repeatedly.

  ‘Why should I accept scraps when I can have it all?’ As Charald addressed the tall male behind Imoshen, she tilted her head to study the king and his barons. Sorne felt the brush of her gift on his senses, subtle and alluring. Female gift power rolled over him, over all the barons. Several of the men fidgeted, responding to the sensation. But none objected, and Sorne suspected they were too focused on the interplay between their king and the T’En male to notice it.