"Powers that Divide Chapter 15" by Suzanne Collins

Chapter 15

Thursday morning dawned cold and grey. Della woke suddenly and remembered that today she was going home. She could not help but feel relieved; her evening sparring ambiguous words with the count’s wizard had put an edge on their visit and she had no desire to have further encounters of the same kind.

Jon was already up and dressed. “Come Della, we have an important engagement to attend. I wanted to let you sleep but now it is getting late. The count will be waiting.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead before moving quickly to the door.

“Do you need Fran? I’ll call her to help you.” Della, eyes still groggy, nodded and stiffly pulled the covers back. She had forgotten about the planned foray to Thulrind Castle. She hoped the weather managed to spoil the outing.

It turned out that a messenger had arrived from Hgendi during the night. Princess Grevenya had requested Della’s presence back in her court to celebrate her betrothal to Jered of Thulrind. Della leaped on the missive immediately and apologised profusely to the count, promising that they would go to see the castle the next time she was in Thulrind. Lord Grendian also appeared hugely relieved, and also forsook his part in the outing in favour of escorting the ladies back to Hgendi.

“A real shame, your Grace,” he intoned, bowing over the count’s outstretched hand. Della admired the sincerity he managed to invoke in his voice; she had barely been able to conceal her delight. “It has been a most pleasant and rewarding trip to your lovely city, and I thank you for all your hospitality.”

“Nonsense, my boy. Nonsense!” the count replied, preening under Grendian’s praise. “It is my pleasure to do business with King Roth, even more so now that we are to be family!” He smiled broadly, his eyes shining with triumph even through the milky films. “Give my humble regards to his majesty and tell him that I am his servant and friend always. For we are to be brothers! That will be a great union, mark my words boy. That son of mine will make a fine king under Roth’s watchful gaze. And what a stunner of a princess, eh?” he added mischievously. “What beautiful children they shall make!”

He probably would have said more, had Grendian not ushered Della and their companions to the door and their waiting horses. The count stood outside his great palace and waved as they made their way through the town.

“Kiftaro was not there to bid us goodbye,” remarked Della when they were far enough away and sufficiently apart from Fran and the two men to avoid being overheard.

“No, I imagine he was watching from somewhere though,” Grendian replied. He glanced involuntarily over his shoulder. “That man made me uncomfortable. Always probing. I am thankful to be free of that place, I don’t mind admitting.” He looked at Della, who nodded agreement.

Her own mind turned to the prematurely aged face of Ithinia, who she had managed to snatch a few moments with whilst she was packing her belongings. She recalled their last conversation.

* * * * * * * * * * *

“I am sorry, Ithinia,” Della had begun gently. “I know what transpired between you and Princess Grevenya, and… those men.” She had laid a hand on the other woman’s shoulder and saw the pain in her eyes. “I do not know if there is anything I can do to help, but I shall endeavour to speak to the princess regarding your situation.” Ithinia looked up sharply.

“That girl has no liking for me, nor any responsibility,” she said scathingly. A frown marred her forehead. “It was I who led her on that path and, although it was not my fault that we were discovered, she blamed me for her punishment. Pah! What punishment? She knows nothing of my suffering, foolish girl. She does not know what it is like to lose everything you hold dear.” Her voice had been filled with such bitterness that Della had recoiled slightly, as though all Ithinia’s anger were directed at her.

“Nevertheless,” Della continued softly, hoping to ease the girl’s distress, “she is to wed your brother. Whether she wills it or no.”

“Yes,” Ithinia interrupted, her voice changing suddenly. In it was something like glee. Della was beginning to see a side of the count’s daughter that she was not so sure she pitied.

“What a fine husband he will make!” Her words dripped with sarcasm. “Jered was right there along with the rest of us, his deeds just as foul, if not more so. He knows all about Grevenya. It’s the only reason King Roth is accepting the proposal – because he knows my father will reveal the truth about his precious daughter.” Grendian’s words had been along the same lines, Della had reflected. So it was blackmail.

“And because,” Ithinia continued (though she seemed to be mostly talking to herself now), “my brother and Grevenya have a secret child together.” This revelation had sent Della reeling. A child? Jon had mentioned Ithinia’s child but nothing about the princess. Perhaps even he did not know this damning secret?

“What happened to the child?” Della had asked cautiously, knowing the subject may tip Ithinia over the edge.

“It lives, somewhere.” Her voice had been devoid of emotion. “Very few people know of its existence. It cannot be more than a year old or so. I don’t even know if it is a boy or a girl. My own son…” she trailed off, gazing at the wall, unseeing. Tears shimmered in her eyes. Della had made to comfort her but her gently laid hand was shaken off immediately.

“Never mind, it is in the past,” Ithinia had insisted.

“I promise to speak to Grevenya. Ask her to plea her father to advise yours on your situation. Surely this punishment cannot last forever.” Her voice had sounded more confident that she had felt.

“Do what you feel is best. I hold no hope.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

Ithinia’s eyes had betrayed her words. More than anything she wanted to be back in her rightful station. Della could only hope that her assessment of Grevenya’s position was unfounded. Her thoughts were interrupted by a shout of laughter from Jon.

“What is it?” she asked, smiling at the happiness in his face.

“Just think, there will be more than one betrothal to celebrate when we return! We must look to more positive things, Della. We must look to our future!” Jon’s face was radiant, his voice and posture exuberant. She could not help but feel his excitement.

“Of course, we shall get the betrothal vows out of the way as soon as possible. We must wait a fortnight for the wedding ceremony. A stupid rule if you ask me,” he whispered, winking. His horse had moved very close to Della’s, so that her knee was touching Jon’s and he could lean close to her. She felt herself growing hot, and forced herself to inch her mount away. Looking back self-consciously, she saw Fran and the others watching them, knowing looks on all three faces. Della blushed, but Fran only winked at her and smiled.

They had been walking at a sedate pace, and Della knew they would have to spend the night at an inn. She voiced her thoughts and asked Jon if he knew of any. She did not recall passing one on the way to Thulrind.

“Alas, there are none,” he answered. “I must mention that to the king, for it is a fair point.” He glanced sidelong at her and she could see his neat profile and his long fair eyelashes. Her stomach fluttered. “I fear we must sleep under the stars tonight,” he continued. “Unless you wish to ride through?” Now he looked her full on and she shook her head.

“I am getting weary and with that wagon laden so heavily I doubt we will be able to go at more than a snail’s pace.” She indicated the cart at the rear of their line, full with their luggage and several heavy chests that the count had given as gifts to King Roth.

“I agree,” Jon replied. He looked up at the darkening sky. “Perhaps we should start looking for a place to rest.”

“I know of a clearing not far from here,” piped up the dark-haired friend, Cambrian. He pointed due north of the road. “It provides shelter from the weather.” As he said this, a large raindrop splashed on Della’s nose.

“Quickly then.” Grendian moved out of line in order to let Cambrian lead the way. “Before the heavens open!”

Sooner than she expected, Della found herself in a small but cosy clearing, surrounded by trees that covered them sufficiently so that only a smattering of raindrops broke through. They began to make preparations for the night. It was decided that the groom, who had been in charge of the wagon, would sit first watch.

Somehow they managed to find enough dry wood to build a small but cheerful fire, and they all sat around it talking about their various adventures in Thulrind and laughing at Fran’s impressions of the count’s brother, Jopson. Having eaten the lavish food the count had given them for the journey, the small company prepared their bedrolls and settled in for the night. The sound of the rain had ceased, apart from the larger drops that gathered and grew on the leaves above them.

At one point, a particularly large drop fell and hit Della smack in the ear. She woke up, alert. In the dim morning light she made out the shape of the wagon, and the still figure keeping watch beside it. A quick glance at the bare space beside her where Jon had been sleeping told her he had taken his turn at vigil. She got up and approached him silently. He jerked to attention as she came into his line of sight, then visibly relaxed as he recognised her. As she sat next to him, she noticed the silver ring he was playing with.

“I have taken the liberty of examining the count’s gifts more closely,” he said softly, not looking at her. “I thought this would be a fitting betrothal ring for you. Its beauty matches your own.” He took hold of her hand and placed upon her finger a ring of silver studded with tiny diamonds all the way around. Each one reflected the moon’s eerie light and the ring seemed to glow with a life of its own. Della caught her breath in wonder, then lifted Jon’s face to hers and kissed him passionately. It was the only way she could think to thank him. He grasped the back of her neck and lowered her gently backwards onto the ground.

Too soon, he released her. Looking in his eyes she could see he was considering. Do they take the risk of the others waking? He surprised her, however. In a firm, resolute voice he said, “Della, I want nothing more than to marry you. If we are to be wed I want these conditions in place.” His face was serious, his eyes searching. “You are never to speak to or be alone with the wizard. I will not have it, do you understand? I will not constantly watch over my shoulder in fear that you will go to him.” His voice was so full of determination that Della shrank from its intensity. “If I find that you have, I will make life very difficult for… that man.” Della noted that he could not stand to say his name.

“Do we have an understanding Della? I would do nothing to hurt you, believe that. But him…” There was a light in his eyes, something otherworldly that disturbed Della, as she recalled the same light on their journey to Thulrind. She nodded wordlessly, not fully comprehending what she was agreeing to. Never speak to Hamien? It would hurt, but it shouldn’t be that hard. Since their ill-fated embrace he had left her well alone. Also playing on her mind was Kiftaro’s veiled warning of his knowledge of Hamien’s activities.

They were brought out of their thoughts by the jingling of harnesses. Jon rolled off her and quickly got to his feet, sword drawn.

“Go to the others. Wake them and tell them quietly to be ready.” She did as he bid, shaking the three men first before putting a gentle hand over Fran’s mouth, warning her not to make a sound. Her eyes widened in fear, but Della pressed one of Jon’s short daggers into her palm and whispered to stay with her near the fire in the middle of the camp. Likely any brigands had been lured by the prospect of treasure.

Before long, shadowy figures could be made out at the edge of the trees. With a shout a small handful of armed men rushed at the wagon, which was surrounded by Jon, Cambrian and the stable hand. Their third companion, Kendrick, had been set to guard the women.

Della counted five in total in the raiding party. Their armour was mostly leather, and looked worn and pitted. They carried short swords and large sticks. Nevertheless they fought savagely, and their company sustained more than one wound. Della’s gaze was fixed on Jon, watching his lithe and practised movements as he took on the largest in the party. One of the men approached the two women and Kendrick, a lewd smile on his face.

“More treasure here, I see,” he drawled, eyeing Fran and Della. “Step aside my friend, or feel the cold of my steel.” Kendrick scowled and laughed. He lunged at the man, seeking to take him off guard, but he was more canny than he looked, and jumped wide of the thrust, knocking Kendrick on the back of the neck with the hilt of his sword as he went past him. Kendrick crumpled to the floor. Fran let out a squeal of terror and moved to stand behind Della.

Thinking quickly, Della’s eyes lit upon the large jewel-encrusted belt the brigand was wearing. Clearly a prize from a previous raid. As he moved slowly towards them, eyes greedily devouring, he did not notice one of his comrades fall to the ground, a short sword gone into his belly. Della glanced in that direction and for a split second she thought she saw a white fire glowing around Jon’s sword, but decided it must have been a reflection of the light from the fire. She smiled. Curious as to what she was smiling at, the man foolishly looked over his shoulder. Seeing his fallen comrade, and his other band members fighting desperately, he registered dismay and surprise. Della took advantage of his momentary lapse, grasped her dagger tightly and grabbing a tight hold of his belt, used it as leverage to get strength behind her thrust.

The man’s eyes widened in shock. Blood slowly leaked from his mouth as he saw the knife protruding from his chest. Della released him and let his body slump to the floor. Looking for Fran, she saw that the other woman had fainted.

Their numbers having dwindled alarmingly, the remaining raiders took stock of their situation and decided to abandon the wagon. They broke free of their opponents and ran back into the trees, one clutching his side, another with blood coursing down the side of his head. Breathing heavily, the three men at the wagon took notice of their injuries, whilst Della tended to the unconscious Kendrick. Blood had matted his hair at the base of his head but he was breathing. Fran soon came around, and was charged with taking care of the various wounds. Thankfully none were serious, merely flesh wounds. Eventually, groaning in pain, Kendrick awoke, and promptly vomited.

“Argh, my head!” he moaned.

“At least you’re not dead, man!” Jon answered practically. “I think we should get moving. Leave the dead here. Kendrick, you can ride in the wagon. We’ll redistribute some of the lighter boxes amongst the horses.” Soon they were ready to set out. All were quiet as they made their way home, apart from Kendrick’s muted groans from the rear.

Della had not once mentioned her observation in the clearing to Jon, even though her fears had been aroused once more when she had realised that the moon had been hidden by the clouds and the fire had been only a smouldering collection of twigs. Where had Jon called the white fire from? She was more relieved than the rest when they finally reached the main gate of Hgendi.