Wilfrid lowered her head again and said, “We are aware you are much occupied with ridding our lands of enemies. I have come here as well with my weapon to join you in the fight.” The staff at her side, no doubt. “But this woman’s crime is very clear, and if you would delay for only a moment for the sake of justice for our village…”
Loran sighed.
“I am not on my way to fight. I am on my way to surrender. By killing the prefect and the legionaries, I have placed Arland in peril.”
“What?” Wilfrid shouted, her eyes wide. A murmur rose among the gathered people. “How can this be! If you go, they will kill you. And the Empire will return!”
“The Empire will return whether I am here or not. The Twenty-Fifth Legion’s main body is arriving as we speak. As long as I am alive, Arland will be in danger.”
Some slumped their shoulders in disappointment, others burst into tears. Still others made fists, anger in their eyes.
Metela, from the ground, looked up at the others and slowly got to her feet. Proving her shivering before was from fear and not cold, her manner was now calm.
“Look here. I have done wrong. But the Empire is returning, and should an Imperial heartlander such as I be harmed, what would come of all of you? I will compensate Esmund’s family well. Let us return to the village now and we shall consider the past few days forgotten.”
Her words were careful, but there was a note of confidence in her voice. Even scum who would murder another for their wealth held their heads high when they expected power and authority to be on their side. Loran’s anger made her head spin, but there was no other way. She nodded.
The man holding Metela’s rope reluctantly untied her. Metela patted the man on the shoulder and began walking back to the village with two others. But the rest of the villagers did not turn away.
Not wanting to see the back of Metela, Loran turned toward her destination once more.
“The day is cold. Please go back home.”
“No!” shouted Wilfrid.
“There is nothing to be done,” said Loran, calmly.
“I shall at least remain to see you on your way.” Wilfrid’s tone was equal parts stubbornness and disappointment. Loran was not cruel enough to drive the people away from her. They did not seem like they would go, regardless.
She turned to Wilfrid and said, “Then do so.”
Wilfrid got to her feet, and four people came forward to stand with her. They held their farming implements like spears.
“We shall also see you on your way.”
Two others standing behind them holding rakes gave each other a look, bowed deeply to Loran, and headed off in the opposite direction from the other leaving villagers, crossing the stepping stones of the stream.
“Where are they going?”
“They are from a different village,” said Wilfrid, “and they were the ones who came to us saying the princess was passing through. They are returning to their village now.”
And once they did, no doubt they would spread the word that the self-styled princess who had killed the prefect was now on her way to surrender to the Empire. That it had all been a pointless mess, from beginning to end. How disappointed they would be, and everyone in Kingsworth… Loran gritted her teeth.
The five who had not gone back stood by, their faces immobile and serious. The fortress was two more days away. Loran began to walk once more. Heavy footsteps followed her.
23CAIN
Gladdis’s house was huge compared to most residences in the Capital, but the halls were empty and dark. The light of the city seeped in from outside, but Cain could see only the faint outlines of the doors lined up on either side of him.
The floor was of expensive marble, so there was no need to worry about creaking. Cain stuck close to the wall, his every sense on high alert. He hoped that one of the identical doors before him led into Gladdis’s bedroom.
Every time he passed a door, he checked to see whether there was light in the cracks before placing his ear to it. Halfway through the long corridor, he had not heard a single sound from behind any door, not even breathing. Cain took his new dagger out of his inner pocket and held it in his left hand, the blade pointing downward, its double edges longer than a man’s hand. A copper wire was wound decoratively around the hilt that fit into Cain’s hand perfectly.
The dagger was for threatening Gladdis. Cain had no chance of winning a fight against Safani, or the ex-legionary woman that had presided over his beating in the alley. The best thing he could hope for in this situation was to find Gladdis and hold her hostage. He briefly thought of what he might do if “the best thing” became impossible, but nothing came to mind.
At the sixth door, he heard something—the sound of liquid flowing. Taking care to keep his spectacles from knocking against the door, he brought his ear to it. Another pouring sound, like wine filling a goblet. There were at least two people in the room. He tried to breathe as silently as possible.
“… unsure if he’s trustworthy. I could do it…”
