The Cleaving

PRAISE FOR JULIET E MCKENNA“A writer to watch.”Vector on The Tales of Einarinn“Brimful of magic and adventure.”Starburst on The Tales of Einarinn“Her many characters are thoroughly engaging and her plots tight, well-paced and gripping.”Joanne Harris on The Aldabreshin Compass“When a talented writer makes fiction seem like history, the book becomes an event.”Morgan Llywelyn on The Aldabreshin Compass“Fully rounded characters, exceptional storytelling ability and quality writing make for a rich, entertaining read.”Stan Nicholls on The Aldabreshin Compass“Magically convincing and convincingly magical.”Dan Abnett on The Chronicles of the Lescari Revolution“At her best, combining politics, sudden, violent action, and a concern for the domestic.”Paul Cornell on The Chronicles of the Lescari Revolution“Compelling narratives, authentic combat and characters you care about.”Stan Nicholls on The Hadrumal Crisis BY THE SAME AUTHORTHE TALES OF EINARINNThe Thief’s GambleThe Swordsman’s OathThe Gambler’s FortuneThe Warrior’s BondThe Assassin’s EdgeTHE ALDABRESHIN COMPASSThe Southern FireNorthern StormWestern ShoreEastern TideTHE CHRONICLES OF THE LESCARI REVOLUTIONIrons in the FireBlood in the WaterBanners in The WindTHE HADRUMAL CRISISThe Wizard’s ComingDangerous WatersDarkening SkiesDefiant PeaksTHE GREEN MANThe Green Mans HeirThe Green Man’s FoeThe Green Man’s SilenceThe Green Man’s ChallengeThe Green Man’s Gift ANGRY ROBOTAn imprint of Watkins Media LtdUnit 11, Shepperton House89 Shepperton RoadLondon N1 3DFUKangryrobotbooks.comtwitter.com/angryrobotbooksDouble-edged StoryAn Angry Robot paperback original, 2023Copyright © Juliet E McKenna 2023Cover illustration by Chris PanatierEdited by Simon Spanton and Shona KinsellaSet in MeridienAll rights reserved. Juliet E McKenna asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.Sales of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.Angry Robot and the Angry Robot icon are registered trademarks of Watkins Media Ltd.ISBN 978 1 91520 222 2Ebook ISBN 978 1 91520 227 7Printed and bound in the United Kingdom by TJ Books Ltd.9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1d_r0 With sincere thanks to Simon, for starting such an interesting conversation, and to Max, for encouraging me to pursue this increasingly intriguing idea. TABLE OF CONTENTSBOOK ONECHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECHAPTER TENCHAPTER ELEVENCHAPTER TWELVEBOOK TWOCHAPTER THIRTEENCHAPTER FOURTEENCHAPTER FIFTEENCHAPTER SIXTEENCHAPTER SEVENTEENCHAPTER EIGHTEENCHAPTER NINETEENCHAPTER TWENTYBOOK THREECHAPTER TWENTY-ONECHAPTER TWENTY-TWOCHAPTER TWENTY-THREECHAPTER TWENTY-FOURCHAPTER TWENTY-FIVECHAPTER TWENTY-SIXCHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENCHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTCHAPTER TWENTY-NINECHAPTER THIRTYCHAPTER THIRTY-ONECHAPTER THIRTY-TWOCHAPTER THIRTY-THREECHAPTER THIRTY-FOURCHAPTER THIRTY-FIVEACKNOWLEDGEMENTS BOOK ONE CHAPTER ONEA ring of stone walls and gates should mean safety. Nimue couldn’t remember when she had last felt so uneasy walking through a town’s crowded streets. It wasn’t just that Winchester was unfamiliar territory, so very far from home. It wasn’t only that the steep wooded hills loomed over these buildings huddled by the river, when she was used to Cornwall’s wide unbounded skies. It wasn’t even hearing the rasp of English instead of the Cornish tongue.The looks she was getting from men she passed sent prickles of unease down her spine. She caught their leers in the corner of her eye, though she kept her gaze firmly on the beaten earth, sidestepping the garbage littering Market Street.Nothing marked her out as more than any other maidservant. She had begged the loan of a drab, sleeveless surcote from the housekeeper at their lodging, the better to go unnoticed. Few men would realise her rose-coloured gown was far too fine to be worn with such a garment. They only saw a slightly-built woman of middling height, with wisps of long dark hair escaping the kerchief that covered her looped and pinned braids. Nimue wondered if she had made a mistake. Clothes that indicated wealth and status would warn these men to keep their distance. Instead, they might see her as prey.These men were bored, turned out of the storehouses and workshops where they were billeted as soon as the working day started, and first light came early in late summer. The kings and princes they served were royally entertained at Uther Pendragon’s palace, but no thought had been given to the sizeable retinue that accompanied each noble. They loitered on street corners and outside taverns, finding their own amusement. More than that, these warriors were survivors of the recent wars. King Uther and his allies might be celebrating their victories, but these men had fought and bled for their liege lords. They had losses to mourn, and no one had considered what that would mean.Nimue saw a beggar sitting in the gutter. He had lost one arm at the elbow, and stained rags bound his weeping stump. Despite the cooler air of the early evening, he was sweating and breathing heavily. With the heightened senses of the hidden people, Nimue could smell the sickly-sweet hint of rot in his wound. She walked on and averted her eyes. Later, perhaps, she might be able to leave her duties and come back to help him. Though she would need a guard to escort her, and permission to leave the King of Cornwall’s lodgings after sunset. It would be hard to draw on her healing skills with some unsuspecting man-at-arms watching her every move.She noted she wasn’t the only one ignoring the suffering beggar. Visitors and townsfolk alike shunned reminders of the bloody battles. Merchants and farmers had watched sons and brothers answer their liege lord’s summons, never to be seen again. The warriors who returned wouldn’t want to remember friends killed and maimed on the battlefield. Too many would have seen the horrors inflicted on captives by the Picts. Idleness made it harder to keep such recollections at bay, so these men sought release from sleeping and waking nightmares in the brothels, and in flagons of ale, in dice and other games that too often turned violent. When their money ran out, they roamed further