After being stuck in a dungeon cell for months, his legs ached with the sudden effort of traveling the length of the tunnel at a fast pace, and Matt could only assume Moira felt the same. But a silent determination kept them walking, neither one of them voicing the fear that the other end of the tunnel might be blocked.
"Matt," Moira called, "I think this is it." She broke into a run, torchlight flickering across rough stone walls.
He caught up to his sister as she pressed a pale hand to the wall that ended the tunnel.
She started to despair, "There's nothing . . ."
He touched her shoulder. "Up there."
She followed his gaze to a wooden hatch in the ceiling. Standing on the tip of his toes, his fingers reached it. After a brief struggle he managed to unfasten the latch, then pushed.
Save for some gravel and dirt falling on top of their heads, it didn't budge. Matt yanked off his ragged shirt and gestured for Moira to hand him the torch. Tossing it to the floor, he threw the shirt on the flame and tapped with his foot until it waned off, plunging them in blackness.
He gathered up the torch and knocked it up against the hatch. There was a creak of hinges. He whacking the torch against the wood again and more dirt tumbled down. Coughing, Moira shifted away. Tightening his grip on the torch, Matt thrust it upward once more with a groan.
The hatch flew upward, bathing them in moonlight as Moira gave a little cry of joy.
Matt jumped and caught the edge of the opening. A shiver ran through him at the touch of the cold, slippery ground but he held on strong and pulled himself out. Pressing himself against the ground, he extended a hand which Moira hurriedly grasped. She heaved and struggled while Matt pulled, until she managed to bring one knee to the ground. Panting, she got to her feet as Matt closed the hatch. He tossed dirt and dried leaves on top with hands that still trembled from the effort.
As he got up Moira slung herself in his arms and held him tight. Allowing himself a smile, he hugged back, pressing a hand into tangled red hair. They found themselves in a patch of woods, the tree branches mostly bare in the moonlight. An acute reminder that they'd lost an entire summer of their lives.
"It's so incredible to be outside," Moira whispered. Matt just nodded, peering at the luminous stars, breathing in a crisp air that made him wonder how he'd survived so long in the staleness of the dungeons.
He slowly let go of Moira so he could analyze his surroundings, his breath coming out in white puffs of air. Treading carefully, wary of the slightest crunch of leaves, he surveyed the quiet road beyond the trees. There was a small square building with light spilling from its window and a banner bearing the seven-tipped star attached to a pole, flapping in the wind. A guard post. One could be awake inside, keeping watch.
They'd been so anxious to get out that they didn't actually have a plan for the aftermath. Attempting to sneak past the guard post was too risky. Running the other way was just suicidal in this cold, with no shoes and rags for clothes, and no village for miles. Squinting at the city wall, Matt wondered if they could climb it, to find a temporary hideout. Maybe if she stood on his shoulders . . .
He jumped at the snap of a twig. He exchanged an alarmed glance with Moira, who stood very still. Matt's hand flew up to his sword hilt as a broad-shouldered man in a soldier's uniform approached, with light brown hair that curled at the tips.
"Kemon Clay," Matt breathed, sword hissing from the scabbard as he stepped in front of his sister.
Lowering himself on top of Moira, holding her down as she sobbed, pinning her arms to the floor, bruising her hips, as they forced Matt to watch . . .
"Matt, wait," said Kemon, but Matt was already dashing towards him.
Kemon's sword glinted in moonlight as it arced up to parry the blow, the force of the impact rippling through Matt. With a groan he pulled back and brought his blade around in a horizontal slash, Kemon jumping back to dodge.
"I don't want to hurt you!" Kemon said.
"Just to put us back in a cage!" Matt charged him with an upward thrust.
As Kemon twisted and the blade missed, Kemon grabbed Matt's arm and hurtled him over his shoulder. Matt wasn't as quick to recover as he would've liked. The months of malnourishment cost him. Still, he leapt to his feet in time to block Kemon's next blow. But Matt had trained with Kemon enough times in the past to know he was holding back.
"Please listen to me," Kemon said as metal rasped against metal.
Matt shoved harder, forcing Kemon to step back until he collided against a tree. Matt stared him down over their crisscrossed blades.
"I want to help," Kemon said.
"Liar!"
"Why else would I come alone?" Kemon asked.
Before Matt could answer that, Moira called out, "Matt! They're coming!"
Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, Matt saw two officers striding into the woods, garbed in the mottled grey of the Veicira militia. One hefted a crossbow, the other a serrated short sword.
"They're not with me, I swear! They must've heard our fighting," Kemon said.
Sparing him a disgusted glance, Matt yanked himself away and rushed back to Moira.
"Duck!" Matt took her shoulders and they lowered themselves. A crossbow bolt hissed overhead. "Stay there."
Matt went for the one with the crossbow first, dodging another bolt that twanged into a tree.
"Who are you?" the militia man asked but Matt was already lunging forward with a jab that sliced into the man's arm. He dropped the crossbow with a curse.
The one with the serrated blade had rushed over, and cold panic seized Matt as he realized he didn't have time to bring up his parry—
Then Kemon stepped in between them, his sword blocking the shorter blade with a dizzying clash. Matt stepped wearily back as Kemon kicked then stabbed the militia man in the chest, then spun to slice across the other man's throat. Letting out a faint scream, he fell face down.
"We can't have witnesses," Kemon said as he wiped his blade clean on the dead man's clothes.
Not knowing what to think of Kemon anymore, Matt hurried back to Moira to make sure she was all right. She nodded and stood by his side. She shivered and hugged herself as they stared at the man who had hurt her.
"All right," Matt said. "Talk."
"First let me take you to my carriage." Kemon sheathed his sword and glanced, very briefly, at Moira. "She's freezing."
"You're not taking us anywhere," Matt said.
Moira stepped forward and crossed her arms. "My brother asked you to talk, so talk. Why are you here?"
Kemon still avoided her gaze. "The queen . . . what she made me do . . ."
"No," Matt snapped. "It was you. There's always a choice, and you made yours."
"It isn't that simple," Kemon said. "If not me, it would've been someone else."
"So you feel guilty, then?" Moira asked.
Kemon kept his gaze lowered. "I could never expect you to forgive me." Matt's right arm ached with the need to punch his dumb face. He clenched his fist instead. Right now, it was better to let his sister handle this the way she wanted to.
"You say you have a carriage?" Moira asked, her chin raised.
Kemon straightened. "Yes, my lady. With warm clothes, boots, and blankets. As well as food and water. "
"Then what are we waiting for?" Moira said. "Lest we all freeze to death out here."
***
Lulled by the clopping of the horses' hooves and the wobble of the carriage, Moira soon fell asleep huddled in warm blankets. After dropping a light kiss on her forehead, Matt stepped out and joined Kemon on the front seat, from which he held the reins to four beautiful piebalds. Moonlight shone on the empty road ahead. Matt's thawing toes itched inside his new boots.
"Shall we head for the Bayou?" Kemon asked.
"No. We're going to Sashay Hills," Matt replied firmly as he recalled Arthur's words.
Unusual activity . . . possible coming protests . . . supporters of Matt . . .
Kemon just nodded.
Matt cut to the chase, "So how does one go from being the queen's dog to betraying her by helping fugitives?"
"You know, I've come to think she might actually treat her dogs better."
Matt gazed stubbornly ahead as the horses plodded along, tightening his cloak against the cold wind.
Kemon sighed. "I'm sorry for reporting your dark magic scar. Gods be damned, I only thought you'd get reprimanded. A bloody slap on the wrist, I don't know. I never meant for it to go this far."
Matt clenched his fists at his sides. Too little, too late. He didn't give a shit if Kemon was sorry.
"Do you still love Tessa?" he had to ask. Everyone from their year at the barracks knew about that.
Kemon made a self-conscious chuckle. "I've been in love with her for such a long time, I can't even remember a time when I wasn't. Feelings like that don't simply vanish overnight, but . . ."
"But what?"
Kemon's gloved hands tightened on the reins. "She asked me to murder the woman carrying my child."
"So you know," Matt said.
"I only found out earlier tonight, after you escaped. It was something one of the guards said. Dawnson and his pregnant sister got out." Kemon hesitated before asking, "The child really is mine then?"
"My sister had never been with a man before."
Kemon swallowed. "You probably want to kill me."
"You don't know the half of it."
". . . Is she all right?"
"She's sleeping."
For some time, Matt gazed quietly at the dark hills in the distance. Then he broke the silence again, "I'm going to tell you something. I don't know if it's because I want to hurt you, or because I think you deserve to know. Probably the first one. Tessa had an affair with your father. Seems over now, with her engagement to the Azurian heir. But it lasted for many years, right under your nose."
"How would you know that?" Kemon burst out.
"Arthur's demon," Matt said. "He could basically hear everything that was going on in the castle while we were down there."
Kemon frowned. "I see. What else do you know?"
"I know enough."
"What does that mean?" Kemon asked.
And it turned out that Matt did feel like telling him something else. Mainly because he'd been dying to tell someone – anyone. After all, Matt wanted everyone to know the truth about this. He planned on taking care of that tomorrow in Sashay Hills, if he could get a crowd together. He might as well get a bit of practice first.
"All right, you'd better listen carefully. Now this, I've known since the spring. After the assault on Treon's wall, the dying king sent for Jaden. Right, so Jaden rushed to his tent. Once they were alone, the king told Jaden that he'd spoken with Kristine Fairlocks before leaving for the war. In a rare moment of clarity, his wife finally told him the truth. Jaden is legitimate."
Matt paused and studied Kemon's frowning profile, wondering if he was thinking back on their time at the barracks, when they were all no older than fourteen or fifteen. Kemon and his clique never missed a chance to utter the cruel words to bully Jaden. The mad queen's bastard.
"The mad queen," Matt said, "was not unfaithful. She was just mad, making up some imaginary lover so everyone would think Jaden was a bastard. You know how she famously ignored Tessa and let the king take care of raising her? It's as if she wanted a second chance. To make sure she'd get to raise Jaden alone – which she did. And Jaden paid the price."
There was a long silence, during which only the clip-clopping of the horses was heard. Then Kemon said, "If that's true, then why didn't Jaden tell people?"
"The king asked him not to. It was his dying wish. To protect his daughter, I reckon. He made Jaden promise to care for Tessa and to support her." Matt let out a wry laugh. "Anyway. I'm the only one Jaden told. But now I know something else too."
Kemon gave him a sidelong glance. "What?"
"Tessa knows," Matt said. "She had a spy listening outside the king's tent that night. She knows Jaden is her brother, not half-brother."
"A spy in her own army?" Kemon exclaimed.
Matt laughed. "You still don't get it, do you? Tessa Nightvale has spies everywhere. She met with him early this summer. Arthur's demon was listening. Tessa thanked him for his outstanding work, even gave him a hefty reward. I remember thinking I should've gone into spying instead of becoming a soldier."
Kemon shook his head. "Where are you going with this?"
"Isn't it obvious? When we got back from the war, the queen mother was already dead. Never to confess the truth to another soul . . ."
"They said she hanged herself." Kemon's voice had gone weak.
"An easy death to stage," Matt said.
"Her own mother . . . No, I don't believe it."
Matt shrugged and leaned back in the seat, adjusting his cloak around his shoulders.
"After the war," Kemon said. "Tessa sent Jaden back to Treon for a spying mission."
Matt's chest tightened. "I know."
"Did you know he got back?"
"What? When?"
"About a week ago."
It didn't make sense. How could Arthur and Fang have missed that entirely?
What Kemon said next explained it, "But not for long. And he was very sick. I didn't get a chance to speak with him. No one did, except the queen."
"Well, is he all right?" Matt resented that he was dependent on a man he hated to get news about the man he loved.
"I believe so," Kemon said. "It was all rather awkward. The queen placed him in a servant's room and sent me to fetch a healer. I returned with a strange fellow who claimed he could be of assistance. It seems he was telling the truth because the very next day, Jaden was apparently well enough to be sent on another mission. I don't know anything else."
Matt cursed Tessa under his breath. Everything the queen did hurt him or the people he cared about in some way. She needed to be stopped.
"Thanks for telling me," Matt said. Though he swore to himself that he would never trust Kemon Clay, no matter how guilty he claimed to feel or how much time would pass.