Page 57 of Queen Demon
Kai wished very much that Arnsterath would just vanish, but returning to the underearth was just as impossible for her now as it was for him. “She took a different host while the passage to the underearth was sealed by the Hierarchs, so she lost her connection to it. Her original body there would have died, like mine did. The other surviving demons from the Cageling Court did manage to return, because they hid and waited the war out, until the passage reopened enough for them to get through. Arnsterath didn’t wait. At least not long enough.” She had said she had been attacked by Hierarch legionaries and had to abandon Nefa’s body. Maybe Arn-Nefa—Arnsterath had panicked. Kai realized that she hadn’t said anything about the other demons who left the Summer Halls with her; he had always thought that they had all fled together. She had given no indication of why she had left them. Or why they had left her. Her story was filled with gaps.
But then she had spent something like fifty years imprisoned in a Witch Cell; maybe her memory had been affected. Kai had never spoken to any of those other Cageling Court survivors because he had never wanted to see any of them again. Now he might have to, just to get his questions answered.
He didn’t know what Arnsterath wanted, if she had hated him or was just doing as the mortals who had rescued her wanted, for lack of any other purpose in life. If she hadn’t before, she might hate him now that he had freed her expositor familiar and put her mortal patrons in disarray. But whatever she felt, he didn’t want her near the Witches and mortals and Lesser Blessed in Avagantrum. Or anywhere, actually, but mostly in Avagantrum. “Maybe it’s safer now that I know where she is.”
The Tescai-lin was unhappy, something it was easier to see on this younger face, a face that had never spent years concealing feelings from Hierarchs and their servants. “You and the others must take care on this journey. The Well itself will be dangerous enough.” They watched Kai with concern in their dark eyes. “Come, I will speak to Domtellan and persuade her that you must be allowed to make the trip.”
“You go ahead,” Kai told them. “I need to take care of something first.”
The Past: the Testament
The Immortal Marshalls of the Blessed were in an unusual position during the surrender to the Hierarchs. They were sworn to uphold the faith of Thosaren, and advance the cause of justice in the Well’s name. In practice, they were subject to the Patriarchs’ whims, though perhaps not as much as the Lesser Blessed, since martial prowess, strength, and power to access the Well were required to be made a Marshall. A few objected openly to the capitulation and were made examples of…
—The History of the Hierarch War: Volume Two: An Introduction to the Civilizations of the North and Eastby An Interested Yet Unbiased Party
Their late afternoon arrival in the encampment was quiet, and they slipped through the ruined paddock gate and into the shelter of the tumbled walls. Kai sent the weary vanguarders back to their tents, keeping only Nirana and Telare with him to help their exhausted guests stay on their horses. Ziede said, “We’ll take them to the physicians, you go report.”
Kai gestured an acknowledgment in Witchspeak and started to break off. Before his horse could get more than a pace away, Raihar stretched to grab Kai’s coat sleeve. She had one of the children bundled against her, and her expression was panicked. He signed in Witchspeak,It’s all right. They’re taking you all to food and medicine. I have to report to my captain, then I’ll find you again.
She blinked, as if coming back to herself, then released himwith an embarrassed nod. She followed the others, and Kai headed for the horselines.
Bashasa was there as he expected, sitting in a circle of camp stools with one of the older drovers from the supply train, next to a wallwalker’s palanquin. The harness that normally attached it to the beast lay in coiled piles beside it, in the process of being cleaned and repaired.
Kai handed his horse off to another drover and walked over. Apparently the two were trying to figure out if they were related, because Bashasa was saying, “My second great-uncle married an Ileshar, and it isn’t a common name.”
“Was this in Benais-arik proper?” the drover asked. “Because my grand-aunt Ileshar—” She looked up at Kai’s approach. “Here’s your Grass King now.”
Bashasa jumped up. “We will continue this later!” He turned to Kai. “Fourth Prince! All was well?”
“We got them out,” Kai said as they started to walk. Bashasa led the way to the shortcut path through the outguard camp. “Two Witches held prisoner, with five hostages, probably mortals.”
“Good, good.” Bashasa nodded. “Your speculation was correct. Did you encounter the Doyen?”
“Yes, and that was as odd as you thought it would be.” Kai described the encounter, the strange controlling effect the Doyen had exerted, apparently through her voice alone.
“Concerning,” Bashasa commented, his brow furrowed in thought.
That was putting it mildly. Kai’s skin itched from the dust, and without the pins his hair was a tangled mess, sweat-plastered to his forehead. He shoved it back and shook it out.
“We will have to see what—” Bashasa glanced at him, then stopped abruptly and faced him. “You’re bleeding.”
Kai stopped too, and realized Bashasa had seen the blood stain on his shirt. The wound had closed before the ride back to the encampment, but the blood had soaked the light-brown cotton fromjust above his hip halfway across his midsection. He pulled the fabric tight to see the extent, and he had to admit, it did look bad. “It’s not bleeding anymore.”
Bashasa was not reassured. “You’re injured. You should have gone to the physicians too.” His eyes widened as he took in the size of the blood stain. He reached for Kai, as if to support him. “Kai, this is a stab wound!”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Kai tried to elbow Bashasa off without hurting him.
“It is not fine. You’ve lost a great deal of blood—” He was distressed, confused. “Doesn’t it hurt? Is it gone numb?” He touched the back of his hand to Kai’s forehead. “You aren’t feverish—”
“Bashasa.” Kai lowered his voice. They were still in the outguard camp, on a path wide enough to walk fractious horses between the lines and the supply train. Most of the soldiers were on watch or patrol or sleeping, but a few scattered groups sat outside cleaning weapons and gear. “It’s how I use intentions.”
“What?” Bashasa’s quick mind answered his own question before Kai could. Fortunately he lowered his voice too. “The expositors, the intentions that you take from them. The ones you make.” Alarm gave way to consternation. “They need blood?”
“No.” Kai hesitated. But having started this explanation, there was no stopping now. “They need pain.”
Bashasa stared at him for a taut moment that stretched almost long enough to make Kai fidget. Then Bashasa turned to the soldiers sitting outside the nearest tent, who were uncomfortably pretending not to watch the altercation. “Is anyone in your tent? May I borrow it for a moment?”
The soldiers assented readily, jumping up to move packs out of the way and shifting some drying laundry and scrambling to find something to do to make them look busy and totally uninvolved in whatever was happening. Bashasa put an arm around Kai’s shoulders and walked him into the tent.
