David Coe - Shapers of Darkness

“Whyever not?”

He glanced at the prelate, who had paused in what he was doing. The man would know soon enough. Best to let him hear as well.

“Because there’s to be a siege.”

Ioanna raised a shaking hand to her mouth. “Ean guard us all! You know this? They’re coming already?”

“Not yet, no. But Villyd and I are quite certain. I expect they’ll come in the next few days. Certainly before the Night of Two Moons in Elined’s Turn.”

At least she didn’t ask him who would be coming. At that moment he wasn’t sure which force would arrive first: Kearney’s guard or the army of Mertesse.

“Perhaps I should bring only the blankets then.” She looked up at him, looking so frightened. “Or will we need those, too?”

They would, but he hadn’t the heart to say so. Planning for this night had done her so much good. “Tomorrow begins Elined’s Turn. We shouldn’t need the blankets. And I think we can also spare a bit of food. Just not as much as we might in other years.”

“All right.”

He took her hands, lifting one to his lips. “We’ll be all right. The gates will hold.”

She nodded.

“We’ll ride down to the city at twilight,” he said, knowing that he had to go, that she needed him to. Even as he spoke the words, though, he saw movement behind Ioanna, near the entrance to the hall. Looking past her, he saw Brienne again, watching him, nodding slightly.

“Aindreas? What is it?”

He shook his head, forcing himself to meet his wife’s gaze. “It’s nothing. I should join Villyd in the ward. He’s having trouble with some of the new men. I might be able to help.”

“Of course.”

The duke kissed her cheek, then hurried off, refusing to look at Brienne, though he could feel her eyes following him.

He found the swordmaster in the castle courtyard, just as he expected, and he spent much of what remained of the day alongside Villyd, working the men. Many of the younger soldiers did need a good deal more training, but they weren’t nearly as unskilled as he had feared they might be. He was glad to be out of his chamber, away from his wine and the smell of blood. No doubt his own swordwork needed polishing, though the swordmaster would never presume to say so. It felt good to feel the hilt of a blade in his hand, to work muscles that had been idle for so many turns.

As the day went on, the sky began to cloud over, and by the time Aindreas and Ioanna rode forth from the castle, followed by nearly a hundred men and several carts loaded high with blankets and provisions, the rain had started to fall, driven by a chill wind. Already, the streets of the city were filling with men, women, and children, a good number of them carrying what few possessions they had chosen to save from the rising waters. Most were making their way to the Sanctuary of Bian at the southern end of the city.

As if realizing this, Ioanna abruptly reined her mount to a halt.

“No,” she said. “I can’t.”

“Ioanna?”

“I can’t go there!” she said, turning terrified eyes on the duke. “I can’t. I don’t want to. . to see. .”

He saw Brienne again, standing in the rain, watching them, her golden hair soaked, water running down her cheeks like tears.

And at last he understood.

You ‘re not real , he had told her earlier that very day.

To which she had replied, I can be .

Ioanna was sobbing, her entire body convulsing.

“You don’t have to,” Aindreas said, as gently as he could. But I do . He reached out to her, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll go. You return to the castle.”

“But-”

“It’s all right. She’ll. . she’ll understand.”

Ioanna actually smiled, though an instant later she was sobbing again.

Aindreas waved one of his captains forward. “Take eight of your men, and escort the duchess back to the castle.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Go with him, loanna. I’ll be back before long.”

She seemed to hear him, but she did nothing. After several moments Aindreas nodded to the man, who took her reins in hand, turned her mount, and began to lead her back toward the tor. The duke watched her go, then rode back to another captain.

“See these people to the sanctuary. I have. . matters to discuss with the prioress.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Aindreas spurred his mount forward. He was shaking now, like a boy awaiting his Fating. But he didn’t slow his horse. He had put off this encounter for far too long.

The sanctuary gates were open when he reached them, and hundreds of people had already crowded into the courtyard outside the shrine. Seeing this, Aindreas hesitated.

“Lord Kentigern.”

The prioress strode toward him on long legs, her black robe billowing in the wind. She had a hood over her head, but wisps of red and silver hair framed her face.

“Good evening, Prioress. Men from the castle are on their way. They bear food and blankets.”

“You have our thanks, my lord.”

His eyes flitted toward the shrine. “I had hoped. .” He swallowed, unable to speak the words.

“I’ve wondered when you would come to speak with her, my lord. I expected you long ago.”

Aindreas glared at her. “You would presume-”

“I presume nothing, my lord. And I serve the god, not you.”

“You serve in my realm!”

“The great ones care nothing for realms and titles. You know that as well as I do, my lord.”

She was right, of course. The sanctuaries had always existed outside the jurisdiction of the noble courts. When Tavis escaped his dungeon, Aindreas knew that the boy took refuge in the sanctuary. Still, he didn’t dare try to take him back by force. Not from here. The cloisters might hold sway in the castles of the Forelands, but only a fool would invite Bian’s wrath by violating the Deceiver’s sanctuary.

“Do you wish to enter the shrine, my lord?” the prioress asked.

“I. . I had intended to. But with all these people here, I’m not sure anymore.”

“There are always people in the sanctuary on this night, my lord. We shelter them in the novitiate and the clerics’ refectory. The shrine is yours, if you so wish it.”

Despite the anger he had felt only moments before, he was grateful to her. “I do. Thank you, Mother Prioress.”

“Of course, my lord. One of the brothers will see to your mount.”

Aindreas swung himself off his horse, but then merely stood there, gazing toward the shrine, heedless of the rain and wind.

“She’ll be pleased to see you, my lord. It’s been so long since any came to speak with her.”

It took him a moment. “Others have come?” he demanded, whirling toward her.

She regarded him placidly, torchlight glittering in her dark eyes. “You know one has.”

“Tavis!” he whispered.

“Lord Curgh spoke to her just days after her murder.”

“Did you hear them? Do you know what she said to him?”

“The words of the dead are beyond my hearing.” She smiled for just a moment. “Except of course for the words of my dead. I could only hear what Lord Curgh said to your daughter.”

“And what was that?”

“It’s not my place to say. I will tell you, though, that he spoke to her of his love, of his grief at losing her. I didn’t think much of the boy when I met him, but I don’t believe that he killed Lady Brienne.”

He’d known this already. Yet hearing her say it made his stomach heave. He could only nod.

“Speak to her, my lord. Facing one’s dead is never easy, but there is some comfort to be found in the Deceiver’s shrine.”

“Yes,” he said dully. “Thank you, Mother Prioress.”

He turned once more, gazing up at the narrow spire atop the great building. Shuddering, he forced himself forward, crossing the courtyard to the shrine’s marble stairway. He hesitated at the base of the stairs, but then climbed them and entered the shrine. It was empty of people, just as the prioress had assured him it would be. Tapered candles stood at either end of the altar, and between them a stone bowl and knife for blood offerings. Dozens of candles also flickered along the walls, lighting the shrine and making shadows shift and dance like demons from the Underrealm. Behind the altar, looming over it like storm clouds above the tor, the stained-glass image of the Deceiver glimmered dimly, illuminated from without by torches in the sanctuary’s inner courtyard.