wasn’t how he’d imagined one of his first political meetings with his father would go.
Thelonius turned from Edyon and addressed the chancellor, his voice still stiff with anger. “We will accept a small delegation of nonfighting men from Pitoria, and we’ll send our own small delegation to them. We will share information. You are correct that we must be sure of our friends. We must never be too trusting. I was hoping that that was a lesson my son had recently learned, but it appears he has already forgotten it.”
Edyon knew his father was referring to March. March, who had been involved in the attempted murder of Lord Regan. March, who would have sold out Edyon to the Brigantines. March, who was now banished. Edyon had loved, trusted, and respected March, only to find that he had been lying all along. “No, Father, I haven’t forgotten it. Nor will I ever,” he replied sincerely.
Thelonius turned back to Edyon. “Then trust me, and trust the lords for their support.” He added more quietly, so that only Edyon could hear, “Our lords are more vital to you than Tzsayn or Catherine or any other foreign power. You must be seen to be loyal to Calidor above all else.”
Edyon nodded and bowed his head. “Of course, Father.”
MARCH
CALIDOR–BRIGANT BORDER
“KEEP GOING. Your new home is straight ahead.”
March barely had the energy to take another step. It had taken three days to walk from Calia to the border of Calidor, and the only food he’d had were scraps the guards had thrown on the ground. Ahead, all he could see was an impossibly high wall of stone with a lookout tower on it. The guard put the butt of his spear into March’s back and shoved him forward. As March got nearer to the wall, he saw there were stone steps built into it. Toward the top was a narrow ledge that led to the lookout tower where four soldiers stood, staring down at him.
The wall had been built by Thelonius after the last war. It was made of solid stone, with forts and lookout points to keep watch and protect Calidor. There were gates too, one in the east and one in the west, though clearly March wasn’t going to be allowed to use either. He was a traitor. He’d been part of a plot to kill Regan and then Edyon. The gates were not for him.
He started to climb. The stone steps were narrow, and he was dizzy with hunger and thirst.
“Get a move on, shithead,” the guard below shouted.
The wonderful thing about being this exhausted was that March really didn’t care about the guards. He didn’t care about much anymore. He almost didn’t care about falling; he just kept putting one foot in front of the other.
And then he was there, at the top of the wall and looking over to the other side, to Brigant. It didn’t seem too bad—green with lush grass, bushes, and trees. Though getting there was not going to be straightforward. There were no steps on that side of the wall. Looking directly down, March saw the long drop ended in a tangle of brambles. On the far side of that was another, smaller wall that he’d have to scale to enter Brigant. He would have to try to find a way to climb down this large wall first, or he could just throw himself off and put an end to the torment. But for the moment, he didn’t go with either option; he looked back to Calidor . . . to Edyon.
He’d traveled a huge distance over the last few months—across Pitoria to Dornan to find Edyon, then fleeing with Edyon to Rossarb across the Northern Plateau, and then back again, pursued by Brigantine soldiers. And now he realized how much Edyon’s company, Edyon’s soul and spirit, had kept him going. He missed Edyon’s presence more than he’d ever imagined possible. He was leaving Calidor and would never return. He’d never see Edyon again. If only he’d told Edyon the truth earlier, perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps Edyon would have listened; perhaps he’d have understood.
“Are you having a final tearful good-bye, White Eyes?” a guard hollered. “Well, your time’s up. You’re on our wall, and if you don’t get off it yourself, we’ll throw you off.” The guard began to climb.
March had a feeling the guard’s words weren’t an empty threat. He took a final look to Calidor—Edyon’s country, Edyon’s home now. Then, as the