Shadow Queen - By Deborah Kalin Page 0,92

it wouldn’t be decided today – but it would be soon.

THIRTY-SEVEN

I PASSED THE LONG afternoon in my tent with Roshi and Sepp for company. Sepp had barely opened his mouth to speak since arriving in the Ilthean camp, as if he feared drawing attention to himself. It was Roshi who solved the mystery of his behaviour.

‘They recognised him as Helena’s son, when he and the men of House Vestenn first encountered the army,’ She explained in a murmur.

I cursed myself for not realising sooner what the Ilthean army would mean to Sepp’s fate. As Helena’s son, the Ilthean would count him as one of her husband’s household. Sepp’s lack of Ilthean heritage would not concern the white serpents – they considered everyone and everything the rightful property of their empire.

In allying with the emperor’s favoured general, I had as good as handed Sepp over into true slavery.

In contrast to Sepp’s silence, Roshi chafed at our enforced isolation and the lack of news. Every noise drifting back to us, from the slam of the ballistae against their stops to the distant whine of arrows, brought from her fresh speculation as to what might be occurring on the field of battle. She demanded news from our Ilthean guards, but their task was to ensure I did not slip away unnoticed or otherwise create strife, and they told us nothing.

The day waned and passed into night with little change. To my surprise, the battle did not cease with the failing light. Cries still came from afar – perhaps, under cover of darkness, the Iltheans were at work on their ramp again. We had long since worn ourselves to silence, speaking only when anxiety or restlessness burst through our restraint. Now we huddled, swathed in blankets to fight the settling chill, and waited as best we could.

Some hours after true dark fell, a boy slipped into the tent, his gaze seeking me. ‘The general calls for you,’ He said.

I squinted up at him, seized by a cold spike of dread. ‘What for?’

‘You’re needed,’ he answered, truculent. ‘With some urgency, lady.’

‘All right, I’m coming.’

I looked at Roshi and Sepp, who both nodded and stepped up to accompany me – regardless of anything the boy might say.

We stepped out into the moon-frosted night together and the boy led us across the field, its surface rutted and potholed by Ilthean cleated sandals. He walked without misstep, and Roshi glided behind him as if she had the eyes of an owl.

Lantern and torchlight dotted the top of the Turholm’s nearest wall, shedding dim shadows over the swarm of bodies on the earthen ramp.

Sidonius waited before the ramp’s base, out of arrowshot.

‘I don’t know what he thinks I can do,’ I muttered.

Achim was by the general’s side, his gaze cast downwards. A slight hunch of his shoulders betrayed his tension. Now I understood how the earthen ramp had been constructed so quickly. The soldiers fought only to distract the Turasi and protect the Amaeri shadow-worker while he used his power to build the ramp, or at least they had. By the melee on the causeway something had changed. Something Achim couldn’t – or wouldn’t – counter.

‘The Turasi will hardly listen to anything I have to say,’ I forestalled Sidonius.

‘It’s not your oratorical powers which interest me,’ he replied, pointing at the ramp.

Squinting through the darkness, the figures on the ramp I had at first taken for soldiers were in fact dark-skinned, and I didn’t need light to know they were hairless and marked as Dieter had marked Clay, as he had marked me. Golem. Dieter could lose any number of them without significant harm, but every Ilthean who fell sapped Sidonius’s strength.

‘Get rid of them,’ Sidonius ordered me.

I opened my mouth to protest, but his look forestalled any protest.

‘My men saw what you did to the other. Buried him to his knees in solid earth, they tell me.’

My stomach squeezed tight around a flutter of anxiety. ‘Your men have sharp eyes. Sharp enough to know precisely how little impact that had on the creature.’

Sidonius grabbed me by the arm and pulled me close, sending a jolt of pain up my spine. ‘I don’t care how you do it, just kill them,’ he hissed, releasing me.

Roshi’s hand on my shoulder steadied me as I stumbled back. I dared a glance at Achim.

‘He’ll not help you,’ said Sidonius. ‘He won’t lift a hand to stop them.’

‘Dieter is their mechaiah,’ Said Achim without lifting his head. ‘For any other to extinguish the