The man’s smile grew broader. “Magic requires give and take, and different minerals hold different properties. For example, the stone I just held was topaz, which is used in the conjuring of foodstuffs. It was one of the earliest tricks my teacher showed me, and the first that I taught to my own students. We’ve been mining the mountains for nearly as long as your husband has been mining the Isles of Gold, Miss Gemcroft. We have enough topaz within these walls to feed all of us for years.”
“Oh” was all Rachida could muster.
“Now,” Turock said, serious once more, “you obviously didn’t come here to talk about food. What brings you to Drake?”
She swallowed, still tasting the quail on her tongue. “I need you, Turock Escheton. The gods are at war, and my sellswords wish to join it. However, we came here not to fight with Karak, but against him.”
“And why would you do something like that?” asked Turock, looking curious.
“Because Karak does not have our best interests in mind. He has turned his back on his own principles and has lost the love of his children as a result.”
“That’s all well and good, but why seek me out?”
“Because Karak fears you and your students. Why else would he send a quarter of his army up the Gihon to do nothing but keep you busy?”
“That may be true,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. “But the same faction you just spoke of still lurks beyond the empty grazing fields, as they have been for months. As I told the Master Warden before he left with half my students, I will not discard all I’ve built. This is my home, my life’s work. I won’t see it destroyed because Ashhur and Karak can’t get along; the rest of Paradise be damned.”
The statement was absurdly selfish, but Rachida did her best not to react. “You won’t have to abandon it, Turock. Those soldiers out there are destitute and miserable. They’ve been abandoned by their god. If you were to open your arms to them, if you were to give them the means to travel back to their homes, this siege would end. You would be left alone.”
“Is that so?” he asked with a chuckle.
“It is. I can broker a meeting between you and their leaders. You say you have enough gems to feed yourselves for years? Prove it. Prove your generosity. There is no love for Karak out there in the cold, Turock. Of that you have my word.”
The spellcaster picked up another gemstone from the heap and bounced it in his palm. He seemed to be thinking long and hard, his lips puckered. Finally, he snatched the hat off his head and twisted it in his hands.
“Absolutely not,” he said.
Rachida stepped back, her neck flushing. “No?”
“No. Why should I? Those people have tormented me and mine for two years. They’re freezing? They’re dying? Good. Let them. I’ll use their corpses for kindling later.”
A knock came at the door, and Rachida jumped. Turock let out a deep breath.
“Come in, Abby,” he said, sounding irritated.
The door opened, and a short woman with curly hair colored a deep crimson breezed into the study. There was something eerily familiar about her. She was an attractive woman, in a cutesy sort of way, with dainty features and eyes the color of seaglass. She had an air of poise about her that made the simple blue dress she wore, rimmed with fur on the hem and neckline, look like a queen’s gown.
“Turock, why must you make me come find you?” the woman asked. “Who are those men in the dining hall? You know I hate surprises, especially on a day when I had a special-”
The woman’s voice stilled as her eyes found Rachida. She tilted her head to the side and frowned. “What is this?” she asked, almost growling. “Who is she?”
“That’s Rachida Gemcroft, darling,” said Turock.
“The merchant’s wife?” the woman said, eyes wide.
“The same,” answered Turock. “And Rachida, this is my wife, Abigail, daughter of House DuTaureau.” The man smiled, but Rachida could see a hint of contempt behind his eyes. “It seems you two have something in common, being daughters of First Families and all.”
That explained why she looked familiar. Rachida had spent many months with the woman’s brother and sister when Patrick brought Nessa to Haven. For a moment, she pined over the son DuTaureau had given her.
Abigail turned her narrowed eyes to her husband. “What are you doing in your study, all alone?”
At that, Turock laughed. “The lovely lady wishes for me to offer food and supplies to the soldiers who’ve been plaguing us.”
“Is that so?”
Rachida inclined her head. “It is, Lady Escheton,” she said.
“For what purpose?”
“To end the siege.”
“Is that possible?”
“It is.”
Abigail again turned to her husband. “And you said yes, correct?”
“Um. . no,” the odd man replied. “I told her to piss off.”
The crimson-haired sprite shook her head. She then shrugged her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and walked confidently up to Rachida, placing both hands on her shoulders and looking her right in the eye.
“He’ll do as you ask,” Abigail said.
“I will not.” He very nearly whined.
His wife turned to him. “You will, and you’ll do it soon. You’d turn aside an opportunity for a normal life all to hoard a few gems and satisfy petty revenge? How selfish are you?”
Quite, Rachida thought, but remained silent.
“It’s not a normal life she wants,” Turock said, face darkening. “She wants us to go to war.”
Abigail’s mouth drew into a thin line.
“My family is in Mordeina,” she said. “Byron, Jarak, Pendet-our children-are there. You swore to me the only reason we did not aid them was because of the siege. We had to protect our people, you said. But if the siege breaks. . ”
Her voice trailed off, the silence full of questions and threats. Turock dropped his arms to his sides, head drooping.
“If the siege breaks, to Mordeina we go,” he said.
“I thought so,” said Abigail before looking back at Rachida. “I’m sorry if he was being difficult. Men can be stubborn and stupid. You’re a wife. I’m sure you understand.”
Rachida grinned but did not reply.
The next day, after the first solid night’s sleep since she’d left Port Lancaster a lifetime ago, Rachida brokered peace between Drake and the soldiers of Karak. For a full day they held a massive feast outside the township’s earthen walls as the weary soldiers ate and drank and even cried. Harsh times make for strange bedfellows, thought Rachida. Her words to Turock were proven true the day after, when the majority of the two thousand men departed across the roaring Gihon, filled to the brim with supplies the Drake spellcasters conjured for them. They had the look of hope on their faces, even though they were a long way from home, and she was certain many wouldn’t survive such a harrowing journey in the dead of winter.
Talon also stayed true to his word, as the captain and two hundred others vowed themselves to Rachida’s cause. Three days after that, when all the supply wagons were packed once more, this time including a hefty pile of topaz for the spellcasters to use to create food, they began the march south. Her six hundred soldiers had swelled to nearly eight hundred with the defectors added, and a glum Turock joined her along with twenty-two of his remaining spellcasters. He had pledged a promise to Abigail that he would return with their children. His wife, the rest of the townspeople, and most of the civilians, stayed behind in Drake, protected by their earthen walls and with enough men of magic to feed and protect them.
“To Mordeina?” Quester asked, trotting alongside her on his horse.
“To Mordeina,” she answered.
“I’ll be honest with you. I’m more than a little eager. Haven’t had a good scuffle in weeks. My sword arm is itching.”
The sun overhead was bright, and the air was warm for the first time in quite a while. For a moment she was reminded of Haven and the home she and Moira had built, but that thought led to another about Peytr and his deception.