It wasn’t much to look at. The Fortitude Mountains stood as impenetrable sentinels, free of flora of any kind. They parted for a narrow gap manned by a cluster of bored guards. A smattering of tents a ways off held more guards, one of whom roasted some sort of bird on a cooking spit over a small fire. About half a mile northeast was a single-story trading post and, beside it, a two-story inn with an attached immigration office. Directly ahead of them, to the side of the pass, was a small corral of mules and horses and a shed the size of Rone’s bedroom, with a large window cut into the door.
“See there.” The driver indicated two small carriages next to the corral. “Those will take you through. At least another day until you reach Godobia. Got your papers?”
Rone checked his jacket pocket, but he didn’t need to. He’d felt for those papers dozens of times since receiving them. He hadn’t taken the jacket off once, even to sleep.
He absently checked for the amarinth as well, then nodded.
The driver offered a close-lipped smile, an expression of well-wishing and envy at the same time. He patted Rone’s back, then returned to the carriage to tend to his horses.
Fingers slipped into his, and for half a heartbeat, he was sure they were Sandis’s.
“We’re here,” his mother said, a grin pulling up her lips. It was the happiest he’d seen her in a while. Maybe even since his father left. She squeezed his hand. “Or, we’re almost there.”
Rone offered her a smile and led her toward the corral. She was positively beaming, yet he couldn’t match her mood. He cursed God in his thoughts for preventing even this simple happiness. Cursed himself.
They didn’t get far up the road before two armored men wearing sail-less boats on their breastplates approached and asked them for documentation. He handed it over, looking past them to the small army guarding the pass.
The guards appeared content—impressed, even—and handed the paper back. A breath Rone had held deep in his gut rushed from his mouth. The paperwork had seemed legitimate, but until now a worry had wriggled in the back of his mind that Kazen had screwed him over.
The bastard had likely thought his goons would be successful in stealing them—and the amarinth—from Rone’s corpse. At least Rone had been able to thwart him there.
Handing back the paperwork, the guard said, “It will be inspected a second time at the pass, and stamped. If you want to return, you’ll have to do it in the next five weeks.”
“Why is that?” asked his mother.
The guard tapped his finger on the upper-left corner of the paper. An expiration date. Because nothing in Kolingrad could be absolute, could it?
His mother shook her head. “That’s all right. I don’t think we’ll be coming back.”
The guard nodded his understanding. “If you’re riding, you’ll need to see the stable master.” He gestured toward the corral. “Walking, come with me.”
“Riding, thanks.” Rone didn’t think his mother could walk the entire pass, and the sooner she got to Godobia, the better.
The sooner they got to Godobia.
He offered his mother his arm and helped her up the growing incline. Talked to the stable master, who owned the two small cabs they’d noticed earlier. Only two were needed, the man explained, since they didn’t get a lot of coming and going this way outside of exportation, and merchants always brought their own vehicles. Rone paid the rent for a cab and horses and waited impatiently as the animals were hooked up.
He glanced north, toward Dresberg.
“Here.” His mother offered him some crackers from her bag. “You look terrible. Maybe you should eat something. Or there’s a water pump over there.”
Rone folded his arms. “I’m fine.” The ball in his gut doubled in size, making him lean forward in pain.
She frowned. Tucked the crackers back into her bag. “You just need fresh air, I’ll bet.” She shivered at the sentiment. She hadn’t even gotten stale air while caged in her prison cell. Underground, where she had no hope of escape— Oh God, he thought. She’s never going to see the stars again.
The ball bit into his flesh. Rone leaned forward and groaned.
“Rone?” His mother pressed a hand to the back of his head. “Rone? What’s wrong? Excuse me!” she called to someone else. “Could I please get some water? For . . . yes, thank you.”
Rone shook his head. “I can’t do this.”
“What was that?”
Rone stood, his mother’s touch slowly pulling from him as he did so. “It’s my fault.”
Her brows pinched together. “What is?”
“You. Gerech.” He pushed his hands into his hair, nearly tearing it from his scalp. He turned away, then back. “I did it, Mom. The headpiece. I’m the one who stole it.”
He expected her eyes to widen or her face to pale, but she merely pressed her lips together and nodded. “I had wondered.”
She might as well have punched him in the gut.
Tears stung the back of his eyes. He gripped his mother’s shoulders. “Mom, I never blamed you. It was a setup. I didn’t know they knew my real name, and—”
“Oh, Rone.” She cupped his face in her hands. “I forgave you the moment the thought passed through my mind.”
He hung his head. He couldn’t handle this. Any of this. He might as well sink into the ground and never come up for air.
“What I don’t understand is the papers, and how you got me out. They told me I had no bail—”
Rone lifted his head. “It’s . . . a long story. Too long to tell you right now.” The stable master led the horses and cab up to them, oblivious to their conversation. Rone sucked in a deep breath to stoke his courage. “Needless to say I did something bad to get you in there, but I did something even worse to get you out.”
She finally gave him the expression he’d been waiting for. The whites of her eyes were bright against the tawny rings of her irises.
Rone pulled the documents out of his coat and counted them, twice, to make sure he hadn’t missed a single page. Handed his mother’s to her. “Go. Settle wherever you want.” He handed her half the contents of his bulging wallet. “And write to me. If you write to me, I’ll explain everything.”
She gaped at the money. “What? Rone.” She grabbed his shirtsleeve. “I don’t understand.”
He clasped her shoulders and pressed his forehead to hers. “There are sentries all along the path. No bandits. You have enough money to hire an assistant if you’d like. I have to go back. I can’t stall. She’s been there for too long already.”
Was he already too late?
Tears brimmed his mother’s eyes. “She? I don’t understand.”
“I know.” The ball trundled, but it was smaller now, and it sat higher in his stomach. “I know. I’m so sorry. But you’ll get your freedom, and you’ll write to me, and I’ll come to you. I am not leaving you, do you understand?” He pulled her into his embrace. “As long as I’m alive, I will never leave you. I’m so sorry. I should have . . .”
He didn’t know what he should have done. All he knew was that he hadn’t done it.
“Please trust me,” he whispered.
After a moment, his mother pulled back, examining his face like he was a stranger. The lines between her eyebrows softened. “You’ve been so different lately.” Yet she nodded. “I’ll go. I’ll write to the same address?”
“Write to yours,” he said.
She placed a hand over his heart, a glint of uncertainty still in her brown eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself, Rone.”
Slipping his hand into his pocket, Rone tangled his fingers with the loops of the amarinth. “I won’t.”
His mother boarded the cab and took up the reins. Squared her shoulders. Looked back at him one more time.
“Don’t make me come looking for you,” she said.
He nodded.
Flicking the reins, Adalia Comf drove the cab forward, toward the passage that led to her freedom.
The stable master looked between her and Rone, confounded.
Rone marched up to him and waved a crisp bill under his nose. “You have five minutes to teach me how to ride a horse.”
Horses were god-awful creatures. But a single horse was faster than a horse-pulled vehicle. Rone’s method of riding came down to strapping himself into a saddle, kicking the animal into a gallop, and hoping for the best. The horses stayed on the road, for the most part. He’d run the animals thin and gotten complaints from the exchangers along the way to Dresberg. Money silenced them well enough.
But black ashes, his legs, crotch, and butt hurt. Walking helped ease the pain. Had he known the ride back would be so debilitating, he would have taken a cab.