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  ‘Doesn’t matter what they said to you, Rillirin. Doesn’t matter what they did to you. You are cleansed. They are a bad memory and a series of scars on your skin.’ Gilda met Dom’s eyes. ‘Many of us carry scars we wish we did not, memories we would like to forget. Each of us has to decide whether those scars and memories will control us, or whether we can be free of them.’

  Dom’s mouth turned down and he blinked, breaking eye contact. Rillirin looked up at Gilda, sensing the words weren’t just for her. ‘I want to be free,’ she whispered, ‘but I don’t know how.’

  ‘You’ll remember soon enough, child, and if you don’t, then we’ll teach you. For now, let’s get you dry and dressed and warm, Rillirin Fisher, child of Light.’

  Dom reached out to pull the blanket higher around her shoulders, but Rillirin gasped and jerked away, pulling Gilda in front of her. ‘Blood oath. T-t-traitor,’ she stuttered, pointing over Gilda’s shoulder. Dom had rolled up his sleeves for the cleansing and the circle of scars around his right forearm were clearly visible above the wolf head inked into the inside of his wrist.

  ‘Let us explain,’ Gilda said soothingly. ‘Hush now and listen. It’s not what you think.’

  Rillirin retreated. ‘He wears the mark of the Dark Path. I’ve seen men make those marks on their arms, swearing blood oaths of vengeance. He worships the Blood, is bound to the Dark Lady Herself. He can’t be trusted, can’t be here in this temple.’ Her face was a mask of horror and betrayal. ‘You said you’d cleansed me—’

  ‘We have,’ Dom interrupted softly, ‘and the marks on my arm need not concern you. They were made a long time ago in a moment of grief, of madness and youth. I do not walk the Dark Path and I never will. These are … a reminder of something I must never forget. But I stand in the Light, I swear it.’

  ‘But you swore to Them too,’ Rillirin whispered. ‘You cannot undo an oath sworn in blood.’

  Pain flashed across Dom’s face, but he said nothing else and even Gilda didn’t know how much truth he was telling. She never had, not from the moment they’d found him with the cuts fresh in his arm and his wife dead in his lap. But as high priestess of the Dancer and Fox God, she trusted utterly that Dom was safe in Their grace. The Red Gods hadn’t touched her boy and she would swear on her own soul that he was clean.

  Her hand found an amulet and she squeezed it hard, then slipped it from around her neck and put it over Rillirin’s head. ‘Here, child, a blessing from the gods now you are cleansed. Dom wears one the same – show her, Dom. See? An amulet of the gods pressed against his skin. He stands in the Light, not in the Blood.’ She squinted at him in the gloom, trying to see through the layers of protection he wove around himself, to see the truth through the shadows and the secrets. ‘He stands in the Light,’ she repeated, her voice firm.

  Rillirin sniffed and looked at the amulet, at its twin shining on Dom’s chest. There was a line between her brows, but she didn’t say any more.

  He’s the calestar – who can guess all the things he sees and knows? I don’t know why he did it, but I trust him. I do. Gilda watched Dom stand up from the side of the pool and roll down his sleeve, covering the bracelet of scars. His fingers were clumsy as he tied the vambrace on over the material and slung his coat on. Rillirin’s hand held hers and she squeezed it; she led her away from the pool towards the exit, Dom following. Gilda glanced over her shoulder at him. He’s my boy. I do trust him.

  I do.

  MACE

  Twelfth moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

  West Rank headquarters, Cattle Lands, Rilporian border

  ‘Your Highnesses, it has been an honour and a privilege to host you at the West Forts.’ Mace steepled his fingertips and pressed them to his lips. Oh, gods. ‘Before you leave us, there is a, ah, a delicate matter I feel bound to discuss with you.’

  Rivil let out a peal of laughter. ‘Galtas and Captain Carter?’ he asked. ‘He didn’t, did he? I was sure she’d knock him back. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he claims any bastard she ends up with.’

  ‘Rivil,’ Janis snapped, ‘this isn’t a laughing matter.’

  ‘Er, no, Your Highness, this has nothing to do with Tara, though the matter does concern the lord.’ Mace hesitated, awkward, and Rivil’s humour became suspicion. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, Your Highnesses. A concern has been raised about the … loyalty of Lord Morellis. He was overheard making what sounded very much like threats against you, Prince Janis. It is my duty as a soldier to make you aware of this, should you wish to take any action.’

  Janis and Rivil exchanged glances, and Mace could see anger in Rivil’s eyes.

  ‘And who has been telling tales about Galtas?’ Rivil asked in icy tones.

  ‘Someone I trust,’ Mace said. Damn you, Crys Tailorson, you’d better be right about this.

  ‘Someone who doesn’t have the courage to make such outrageous claims in person?’ Rivil demanded. Mace spread his hands helplessly. ‘This is disgusting. I would trust Galtas with my life. I have trusted him with my life, with my safety. He’s been nothing but loyal for years.’

  ‘What do you propose, General?’ Janis asked.

  ‘That depends on you, Sire. You are the one he has spoken unwisely about. I am happy to host him here for as long as you wish, or to escort him to the West Rank harbour and see him safely onboard ship back to Rilporin.’

  Rivil exploded out of his chair. ‘This is outrageous and I will not listen to any more of it. Galtas is my friend.’ He rounded on Janis. ‘If you want to send him home, then you’ll have to send me home, too.’

  Janis stood and so Mace did too, more uncomfortable than ever. He mentally directed some colourful curses at Crys and schooled his face to blandness.

  ‘Calm down, Rivil, you’re behaving like a child. General, thank you for bringing this to our attention, but Rivil trusts Galtas.’ He looked at Rivil, who had bristled at Janis’s first words and now subsided. ‘And I trust my brother. If Rivil vouches for him, then that is good enough for me.’

  Mace inclined his head. ‘Of course, Your Highness. Prince Rivil, I apologise if this has caused any distress.’

  Rivil forced a smile. ‘I understand, General. Your dedication to duty is what has made you such a force to be reckoned with. The Mireces no doubt fear your name, let alone your presence.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far,’ Mace murmured, ‘but thank you for the kind words. I trust your journey will be as pleasant as we can hope for out here in the west. Again, it has been my honour. Dancer’s grace upon you.’

  Janis reached out and shook his hand. ‘And upon you, General. Your hospitality has been most welcome.’

  Thank the gods for that, Mace thought as he led them down to their horses as far from each other as they could get. Hope blazed on Crys’s face and Mace gave a tiny shake of his head. Crys’s expression solidified and he stared without blinking at Galtas.

  He really believes this, Mace thought as the princes mounted. He saluted. ‘Protect Their Highnesses with your life,’ he said.

  ‘I will, General,’ Crys said before anyone else could speak. ‘I swear.’

  CORVUS

  Twelfth moon, year 994 since the Exile of the Red Gods

  Blood Pass Valley, Mount Gil foothills, Rilporian border

  Corvus hadn’t realised just how close they were to the valley before they walked out of a stand of birch and were in it.

  ‘And you’re sure we can trust him?’ he asked Lanta for the third time.

  The repetition did nothing to disturb her tranquillity. ‘I am sure, Sire. Gull’s report is clear, and he doesn’t trust lightly. The Rilporian’s kept his promises and done all that has been asked of him.’

  ‘The Lady’s will,’ Corvus acknowledged, but there was still a flutter of nerves in his gut. The risk was great, but he’d never heard that Mace Koridam of the West had enough guile for so elaborate or long-running a subterfuge. Their Rilporian ally was genuine. He had to be genui
ne. My feet are on the Path. And if this is a trap, I’m taking them all with me.

  Lanta touched his arm and pointed. Mata was labouring up the slope, waving as though he was drowning. ‘Riders,’ he panted, ‘around twenty. Armed.’

  ‘Shit,’ Corvus swore. ‘Under cover, now, all of you.’

  ‘No. Of course he brings guards. He’s a man of position, nobility. He will have ensured the men are loyal. And three dozen? That’s not so many more than we have.’

  Corvus pressed his lips together. Not so many more? It’s twice our number, even if we do have the high ground. ‘Can we be sure they’re who we’re here to meet?’ he demanded.

  Mata wiped sweat from his face. ‘There’s a man in black with an eye patch,’ he said, ‘as you specified. The rest are soldiers and nobles.’

  ‘Soldiers and princes, not nobles,’ Lanta said with a small smile. Corvus saw her fingers skate over the hilt of her knife. ‘Exactly as promised.’

  ‘Then let us greet our … guests,’ Corvus said. He gestured and his men fell in behind him. He held out a hand and Lanta took it, and they began walking down the slope towards the valley floor.

  ‘My feet are on the Path,’ Lanta murmured and Corvus suppressed both a smile and a huff of relief.

  Not as confident as you’d have us all believe, are you, Blessed One? He looked at the group again and pushed away the smugness. As war chief of Crow Crag, he’d been privy to the broad plans cooked up by Lanta and the priesthood, but it was only as king that he’d learnt their scope and audacity, the careful years of nurturing, the agents secreted throughout Rilpor. Lanta’s ambition took his breath away.

  ‘If this works,’ he whispered and glanced at her.

  Lanta’s eyes were alive with excitement and for once she made no effort to conceal her emotions behind cool detachment. ‘If this works,’ she replied, ‘they will give us Rilpor.’ Her hand tightened on his. ‘And we will give it back to the gods. Blood rises, my king.’

  And I shall rise with it, Corvus thought.

  CRYS

  Twelfth moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

  Blood Pass Valley, Mount Gil foothills, Rilporian border

  ‘Form up around the princes. Your Highnesses, those are Mireces and we are a day’s ride from the West Forts. Mount up; we’re leaving.’

  Janis was already kicking snow over the fire and Crys looked away from them and up the slope of the valley. A dozen men and one woman, the blue of their shirts and her dress startling against the snow, swords and spearheads glinting in the low sun.

  Gods, this can’t be happening. I should’ve argued harder; I should’ve insisted we didn’t come. I should never have agreed to this mad idea.

  Blood Pass Valley was wide open, a half-mile between its gently sloping sides and the trees that covered them, and the princes and their guards were too far into it, too far from the regular patrol routes or fort lookout posts. And who knew how many more Mireces were in those trees? Hundreds, thousands even.

  If I survive this Durdil’ll demote me down to private and have me cleaning out shit pits for the rest of my life. And I’ll deserve it.

  If I survive this.

  Crys had backed three steps towards the line of horses before all hell broke out behind him. His stomach lurched and he spun, dragging out his sword and expecting to see Mireces pouring from the trees flanking them. Instead, the majority of his men turned on the rest and cut them down, swords winking silver and then red. Galtas had a dagger at Janis’s throat and the heir was on his knees in the snow.

  ‘Fuck me, I was right,’ Crys breathed and charged, not needing to see any more. He ducked a swing from Joe and punched his sword into the man’s flank, ripped it free and kept running, weaving and dodging, focusing on one thing only: protect the princes.

  ‘I’d stop there if I was you,’ Galtas called and Crys skidded to a halt in a spray of snow, Janis’s sudden flinch and the trickle of red into his collar all the evidence Crys needed that Galtas meant what he said.

  Crys dropped his sword and raised both hands. ‘My lord Morellis – Galtas, please. You can’t do this. You mustn’t. It’s treason.’ He chanced a glance at Rivil, frozen at Janis’s side, his eyes wide. Close enough to reach Galtas before I can. Look at me, Rivil. Look at me. You can do this. Come on, come on, look at me. Look!

  ‘Treason?’ Galtas said and brayed a laugh. Janis twitched.

  Crys felt men approaching his back and prayed to the Fox God his chainmail would hold when they stabbed him in it. His guts were turning to water and adrenaline pumped through him so hard his hands were shaking, vision blurring.

  Janis and Rivil are decent swordsmen. Get them to their horses and we can get out of this mess while Galtas and his traitors are being torn to pieces by the Mireces. Gods, I never thought I’d be grateful to see those blue-clad heathens, but they might just save our skins. Enough of a head start and we’ll be back at the forts by midnight.

  Crys felt himself steady a little. The wind cut at the sweat on his face, but his heartbeat was slowing now, the world coming into focus so sharp it hurt.

  ‘This isn’t treason,’ Galtas went on, ‘this is a return to the old ways, where might is right. And here and now, I have all the might, so to speak.’ He grinned. ‘Look around you, Captain. Look at who these men are answering to. Not you. Certainly not Janis here.’ He shook the heir by his collar.

  ‘What is it you want, milord?’ Crys asked, stepping closer. A hand on his shoulder from behind pulled him to a halt and he stopped. Let them think they’re in control and they might let me close enough. ‘Why now? Why here?’

  Galtas laughed again and clubbed Janis across the back of the head. As the heir fell forward with a shout Crys lunged, hand reaching for his own knife. Close quarters, stay on his blind side. Kill him and get them to the horses. Easy.

  But men on either side tripped Crys and forced him on to his knees and Rivil still wasn’t moving. Crys grunted as his arms were twisted up behind his back, but the pain didn’t matter when Galtas ripped open his coat and the shirt he wore beneath it was as blue as a summer’s afternoon.

  ‘Here’s why, you snivelling little shit-fuck,’ Galtas crowed and clubbed Janis again as he got to his hands and knees, sending him back into the snow.

  Galtas walks the Dark Path. He worships the Red Gods.

  The corpses of the men loyal to Janis and Rivil were cooling in the snow, and Crys could hear the crump of feet as the Mireces got closer. He was out of options.

  Cold, Rivil. Be cold as ice. He’s not your friend. He was never your friend.

  ‘Sire? Rivil,’ Crys hissed, ‘get his knife. Rivil, get the bastard’s knife now.’ He jerked his head at Galtas, who looked between them and chuckled, waving the knife in Rivil’s face as though daring him to make a grab for it. It was back at Janis’s throat before Rivil could react.

  Crys struggled, but the hands and the rope around his wrists held him tight. ‘Fucking do something,’ Crys yelled in desperation, trying to jerk Rivil from his paralysis. ‘Rivil, you cunt, do something!’

  It worked. Rivil looked at him, took a step back to give himself space and then kicked Janis hard in the face.

  There was a moment of frozen stillness as Janis arced back into the snow and lay still.

  ‘No!’ Crys shouted, horror sluicing his gut. ‘What are you—’

  ‘My feet are on the Path,’ Rivil said. There was nothing in his expression that Crys recognised from the man he’d come to know and trust, and then Rivil walked past him towards the Mireces. ‘Welcome to Rilpor, my friends.’

  GALTAS

  Twelfth moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

  Blood Pass Valley, Mount Gil foothills, Rilporian border

  There’ll be no turning back after this.

  But there had never been any turning back, not for Galtas. His future was indelibly tied to Rivil’s, and that meant Rivil needed to be king if Galtas was to have everything he wanted. And
I will. Especially now that Crys is proven as disloyal to his prince as I always knew him to be. Rivil’s chief adviser? I think not.

  Galtas knelt in the snow next to Rivil and Corvus. Rilporians and Mireces mingled in the semi-circle around the scaffold. Mac had his knife poking into Crys’s kidney, and Galtas knew it was the only thing keeping him still and even that might not be enough. Not once the ritual began. He said a brief prayer that Crys would resist and they could string him up next to Janis.

  ‘My high priest Gull, your tutor in Rilporin, has spoken highly of your devotion over the last few years, Prince Rivil. He was particularly proud of the way your mother met her end. That first step on to the Dark Path was taken well, but now it is time to further your journey and deepen your connection to the gods.’ The Blessed One studied Rivil’s face and eyes, then turned her attention to Galtas, seeking, calculating. ‘Once we have done this, there is no revoking your oath. Your souls will belong to the Dark Lady and Gosfath, God of Blood. Your feet will walk the Path forever.’

  ‘I long for it,’ Rivil said and Galtas echoed him. Most of the honour guard made the same pledge, and of those who didn’t, their loyalty to Rivil was absolute; they wouldn’t betray him.

  Crys, though, was grey with shock, slumped on his knees with his arms bound behind him and bleeding from the nose and mouth. His dual-coloured eyes, which had always fascinated Rivil and disturbed Galtas, were blank with incomprehension and iced with fear.

  Janis was babbling again, and his voice went up an octave when the Mireces hauled him up the scaffold feet first and tied his ankles to the cross beam, his wrists to the post. He hung there, upside down and naked, the wind off the mountains whipping his skin into blue goose bumps.

  ‘It took us years to perfect the sacrifice to please the gods,’ Lanta said as she undid the buttons holding her sleeves to the shoulders of her dress, peeling them off to expose slender, muscular arms. ‘The Dark Lady and Gosfath, God of Blood, deal in death and mutilation. Their coin is pain and fear. When do you pray most fervently? In battle, no? Or when the knife slips and you’re suddenly looking at the inside of your own body? Fear and pain bring our minds into alignment with the Afterworld, and so our gods demand fear and pain during worship. If you aren’t shitting yourself at a sacrifice, you don’t know the gods.’