Marith nodded. He mounted eagerly, smoothing his cloak back behind him in a great streak of deep red. Deneth Relast and Aris did likewise; the groom helped Thalia up and arranged her skirts. Ten men around them, also mounted, armed and helmeted, their horses caparisoned with leather around their heads to make them look almost like skulls. Ten men on foot, with long spears. In front, standard bearers with a green and gold banner that must be Lord Relast’s, and the dark red of the Altrersyr.
They moved forward slowly, at walking pace. A sudden cry, sharp as the gulls’ screams, caught Thalia. She looked up and saw Landra and her mother and sister standing on the wall. Lady Jora was weeping: it must have been she who had screamed. Landra’s face curled with hatred. Savane, still barely more than a child, clapped her hands to her mouth in awe.
They came out through the great gates of Malth Salene, onto the road that led down into the town, bordered in brown heather and the last of the gorse. The sea roared below them, churned white. The sun shone brilliant in a sky clear as liquid. The shadows rose up before them as they went.
Men came forward to meet them, beneath the same dark red banner, armed and mounted in the same style. A tall man in their midst, dark-haired and dark-eyed with skin as white as the foam. A young man beside him, dark-haired and dark-eyed also, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The two groups stopped, regarded each other in silence. Horses nickered and shifted. The waves roared. The seabirds screamed.
Marith rode forward, right up to them, drawing his horse up almost nose to nose with the king’s.
‘Father. Ti.’
Illyn Altrersyr regarded him. Tiothlyn started to speak, but his father’s hand raised and the boy fell silent. A cold, sullen look on his face. So like and unlike Marith’s face.
‘Marith.’ Illyn Altrersyr’s voice was bitter, grating like metal on stone. Weariness and love and despair underneath it. A man who knew as clear as the rising sun that he had lost something precious, and that there was nothing he could have done to avoid it, but that he should still at least have tried. He studied his son’s face a long time, while the banners snapped and creaked in the wind and the horses stirred.
‘You failed to kill the Asekemlene Emperor, then?’ King Illyn said at last. ‘Dragonlord, I hear you are, and a killer of babies.’ His eyes flicked to Thalia. ‘This is the woman, of course. The Priestess.’
‘Dragonlord and dragon killer, Father. Mage killer, too. And, yes, killer of babies. Women. Old men.’
Tiothlyn stirred again, trying to speak. Again, his father silenced him with a motion of his hand.
‘Why?’ Illyn asked. For a moment, Thalia thought he was referring to the Emperor, or the dragon, or herself, then she saw where his face looked. She turned in the saddle. Saw the body of a man, richly dressed in silks and furs, raised up on spears above the carved wood of the gates.
‘Because he bloody deserved it,’ said Marith. ‘Bloody stupid bastard that he was.’
‘He was my mother’s brother and a loyal servant of the crown,’ Tiothlyn shouted. The horses snorted and twisted their heads, stamped their hooves. Men shifted in the drawn-up columns, awaiting something. The look on Illyn Altrersyr’s face was unreadable. His eyes moved from Marith’s face to the man’s body and back again. He would have forgiven him, Thalia thought then. He would have taken him in again. He was proud, to hear of the dragon and the things done in Sorlost. Really, as drinking boasts go, it’s pretty impressive, you know. He loves him. Of course he does. He’s his father.
But it’s all done and over now, and neither can go back.
Marith perhaps sensed something, also. He raised his hand and rubbed at his face, weak and weary.
Then he drew his sword.
There was a sudden shouting, metal flashing in the light. Screams in the air loud as thunder. Shadows vast in the low sun. Thalia cried out in panic as the men around her began fighting, swords out, blood spurting up. Her horse tried to back away, the groom at the lead rein shouting something and then the groom was cut down. Thalia clutched at the reins, trying to make the horse turn around, get away. All there was was blood and dark and screaming, so loud it drowned out her vision, horses screaming, men screaming, the world screaming like a dying child.
Marith swerved his horse towards her. His face was rapturous. Ecstatic. So beautiful her heart leapt. He raised his sword and for a moment she thought he would kill her, and for a moment she thought that she would welcome it if he did. So beautiful and perfect his face. So joyous and radiant his smile.
‘Get back to the gates,’ he said shortly. Not loud, but his voice was clear over the roaring, screaming dark. For a moment they were alone in the world, and then he wheeled away and Thalia found her horse galloping towards Malth Salene, through the gates and beneath the dead body that hung there, against a tide of men running out with swords in their hands.
In the courtyard, Thalia almost fell from her horse, her hands shaking. A young groom came to help her, tried to quieten the horse. It gnashed its teeth at him, shrieked and kicked out its hind legs. Its body was lathered with sweat as though it had run a race. Blood dripped from its mouth where it had torn itself on the bit. Thalia staggered away from it. Hands caught her, holding her up.
‘You’re not hurt? Help her to her chambers.’ Landra’s voice, shaking like Thalia’s body and mind.
‘No … I want … to see.’ Thalia gestured weakly to the walls where the other women still stood looking out. ‘I need to see.’
Landra looked at her. Nodded. Her eyes too were filled with tears. They climbed the steps of the wall, Thalia holding Landra’s arm. Don’t let go. Hold on to something. Grief and fear. Shame. The absolute certainty of what was to come. Lady Jora turned briefly as they joined her. Her hands gripped the stone so hard they were bleeding. Savane’s face was rapt.