“Will you tell us what you saw?” he asked. “Share your story with us and others who believe as we do?”
My story was being shared quite enough already. “Sorry, I didn’t see anything.”
The woman and the scarred man frowned but nodded. “Truth is a hard stone to swallow,” he said. “If you want to share, you can find us in the east camp. Look for a red carriage with gold stars.”
Carriage? Maybe they weren’t merchants if they could afford a carriage. But they didn’t look like aristocrats.
“Thanks, we’ll keep that in mind,” said Danello. We backed away, ready to run if they so much as stepped towards us, but they left and headed deeper into the garden. I heard the woman speak again, probably to the other couple we’d seen earlier.
“What in Saea’s name was that all about?” I kept my voice low until we passed through the gate and into the safety of the open courtyard. If we needed them, three guards were within shouting distance.
“I’m not sure it was in Saea’s name at all. They sounded like those sainters who hassle people in the park by the Sanctuary.”
“The ones who think the stars are going to go out?” I’d seen them too, shouting to all who’d listen that the stars would go black and the dark would fall, but one light would shine bright enough to, oh, I don’t know, chase away the shadows or something. I never listened for long. Their rants always brought soldiers, and soldiers brought trouble.
“Yeah. Maybe Baseer has its own sainters,” Danello said.
“Who are ranting about me.” It was worse than the gossip and the whispers. What I’d done wasn’t a sign from the Saints. It had been an accident. I’d only been trying to stop the Duke’s weapon and keep it from killing half of Baseer.
“It’s not you personally. They’re just trying to fit their crazy beliefs on to what happened. They did the same thing with that lightning storm last summer, remember? The one that set all those villas on fire?”
“True. Fingers of the Saints or something.” No one had listened to them, and some had even laughed. It was a pretty silly name.
We reached the farmhouse and pushed open the kitchen door. Ouea, Jeatar’s housemistress, sat at the table, peeling mangoes. Two girls sat on either side of her, smaller baskets of gold peppers in front of them. They twisted off the stems one by one.
Ouea looked up. “Nya, what happened? You’re white as salt.”
“A bunch of refugees think I’m the eighth saint.”
“They think what?”
Danello smiled. “Nya’s exaggerating, but there are some sainters out there talking about the flash in Baseer like it’s a sign from the Saints.”
Ouea tucked a greying strand of hair behind an ear. “People turn to faith when they’re frightened. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Probably not.” Especially when there was enough in my worry bowl already. “Maybe Jeatar knows where they came from.”
“Could be.” Ouea nodded.
“Can you ask him tomorrow?” Danello said. “I was hoping we could spend the day together. Fun, remember? You’ve been working so hard lately.”
With nothing to show for it. Three times we’d sneaked out to Baseer – or as close as we could get – to search for Tali. But the rumours had been false, and the leads had led nowhere.
Ouea cleared her throat. “Danello? Where’s my picnic basket?”
“Um.” He winced. “In the garden.”
“You weren’t going to leave it there, were you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then go get it.”
Danello looked at me, then at the door. Ouea kept staring at him over the basket of mangoes. Her two young helpers kept their eyes on the peppers, but both girls were trying hard not to giggle.
“Wait for me in the kitchen garden?” he asked. “We still have a picnic to finish.”
I smiled. “Definitely.”
Danello dashed out, and Ouea went back to peeling mangoes. “He’s a good boy, that one is. Even if he is a bit forgetful at times.”
“Yeah, he’s great.” I glanced towards the door to the rest of the farmhouse. It would take Danello a while to run all the way out to the pond and back. Surely I had time to see if there was any news about Tali or those sainters. I’d be in the kitchen garden before him. “Jeatar in the library?”
“Last I checked.”
Hope and dread tugged at my heart. Maybe today I’d find out where Tali was. Or maybe I’d learn there was no reason to look for her any more.
And Saints help me, I wasn’t sure which would be worse.
The library door was open but I knocked anyway. Onderaan and Jeatar looked up in unison. One smiled, one didn’t.
I frowned. “What happened?”
“Forget about going to Baseer,” Jeatar said, stone-faced as always.
“Why?” Please don’t say Tali’s dead. Please don’t.
“There’s massive troop movement along the river, and transport ships are being moved into the harbour. Looks like the Duke is mobilising his army.”
“Do you know where?”
“Not yet, but from the number of ships, it looks like an invasion.”
My chest tightened. “Geveg?”
“Or Verlatta, the mining towns, any of the river provinces.”
“If not all of them.” Onderaan shook his head and sighed deeply, for a moment looking so much like Papa I had to look away. It was still hard to believe he was my uncle. That I even had an uncle, let alone a Baseeri one. “This could be the start of a major campaign.”
I’d seen one of those before, five years ago when the Duke invaded Geveg and killed my parents. My Grannyma. When he burned the city of Sorille to the ground to kill his brothers – rivals for the throne.
“Any news from Geveg?” Last we’d heard, there were still riots, though it hadn’t turned into a full uprising yet. Information was sparse, since Jeatar had sent most of his spies and scouts to Baseer, but he had a few Gevegian contacts left.
Jeatar hesitated, glancing at Onderaan. Not a good sign.
