by Hannah King
Hard as it was at first, it was not impossible. The night that I first successfully stole a binding from him, I wanted to shout and wake up the whole citadel. Tate was mildly impressed, but insisted I repeat the process again. I stole his binding twenty-five times in a row that night, and he finally gave up out of exhaustion and sent me back to bed. I was deathly tired, but as he returned me to my hallway I smiled at him triumphantly. I’d become his match, at last.
“Good news!” Tratis was standing at my door the next morning. I was dressed and ready for the day, hiding my exhaustion behind a weak smile. I’d been unable to sleep once I’d returned from the Hull.
“What?” I asked sleepily.
“I met with the Paraphrant and Master Tate this morning. They’re optimistic after his report. He said you showed real promise last night. Said that you were able to steal a binding from him!”
I nodded wearily.
“I think you may have scared him a little,” Tratis teased. “No one’s successfully stolen a binding from him in years,” he paused. “Either way, the Paraphrant like what they’re hearing. They’re seriously considering declaring war on the Parters and joining forces with us, and believe me, it’s a miracle. It won’t be long before all your hard work pays off.”
“That’s wonderful,” I breathed, my weary heart lifting. If anything good could come out the taxing days and nights, I couldn’t be happier.
“You look exhausted,” he noted. “I’ll leave you be.”
He shut the door and I collapsed into a puddle of exhaustion at the foot of my bed.
I fell asleep on the floor, not caring or even feeling how hard the stone was beneath me.
WYATT
Wyatt frowned and pushed a pile of dry legal papers aside. He’d almost forgotten his daily obligation to escort the young woman to Tate for her afternoon lessons. He groaned and stood up quickly, remembering Tate’s enthusiasm that morning at the breakfast council. He had waved his hands wildly, been so excited, jabbering on and on about how this girl had taken everything he’d thrown at her, that she was amazing him with her focus and with the strength of her mind and code.
“And think!” Tate had rattled on, “If she can steal away control of the shazod, the Parters will have to run away with their tails between their legs! We could ensure the safety of Leida forever!”
Hmmm, forever, Wyatt had thought. He doubted that was true. In fact, all of it seemed too good to be true. The whole thing made him nervous. Secrets, ancient warfare, it all seemed so dangerous. The rumors and legends he had heard about the shazod had always made his skin crawl.
He thought of Pierceheart, the affectionately named shazod that had been captured earlier in the season, on one of the Leiden trade ships. It had snuck on board with a slave shipment and begun attacking their men. They’d managed to restrain it, and thankfully there had only been one. They’d locked it up in a cage, to bring it back as proof to the Paraphrant that the Parters were starting to encroach, even on Leiden property.
The decision had been made to not declare war on Faldir, not yet. It was, after all, only one devilish creature, and it could have been a mistake, but it had made them nervous to no end. Many of the council members had reasonably agreed that the creature should be killed, but there were a few that had stood up and suggested it be kept for observation. Locked up and controlled, they hoped they might learn something that could later help them should the Parters declare war on the city of Leida.
First, in the learning of the creature’s movements and attack patterns. Slaves had been offered sums of money if they could enter the cage and survive the creature for a record time. Leiden soldiers learned techniques by observing these horrific, often-deadly fights. Several slaves met their end in that cage, but the few victorious that escaped were peppered with questions about method.
The unseen creature soon became a training tool for their new recruits, in case they should ever have to battle with such creatures. It was kept in the filthiest part of the cellars, fed awful things to keep it alive and quiet. Only there, far beneath the earth, could they be sure it wouldn’t curse their city by existing.
A man named Grudge cared for it. He was the keeper of the slaves’ prison and the interrogation room, both infamously unclean places that were visited by Leidens only rarely. When Grudge desired to come up to see the sunlight, he was required to bathe over and over in a special bath house.
What if this girl can’t overtake the horrible creatures? Wyatt wondered. Where will we be then? Surely they woul-dn’t go to war unless she succeeded, but what if Faldir heard about the girl’s attempt and decided to march on Leida in retaliation? It won’t get out, he reassured himself. They’d been so careful. No one outside of the citadel except the Sustainer leaders knew what was going on.
But was Faldir the sort of man who needed to hear things from a messenger to know them? Or could he sense Leida’s betrayal with his dark magic? Would he feel the girl’s attack?
Walking swiftly, he climbed the staircases to Talitha’s room. She was ready this time when he knocked, almost as if she’d been waiting for him. Her soft brown hair was pulled back with cords. Clearly she’d taken more time with it than she had the morning before, maybe in an attempt to distract from her weary features. She’s exhausted, he noted with a pang of sympathy. And who wouldn’t be, with all that was required of her?
“Good morning,” he greeted her as he always did, then offered her his arm. She took it stiffly. He noticed that her hands were rough and calloused. She was so different from the women in Leida.
“How are you?” he asked, not wishing to fall into their stale conversation habits again but wanting to say something. It was a lengthy walk down to the Hull. This time, she actually spoke a sentence to him.
“I’m all right,” she replied. “But I never know what’s waiting for me down here.”
“Tate can be eccentric,” he said mildly.
“How long has he been here?” she asked.
“Since as long as I can remember. Long before Prince Tratis left,” but he flinched as he said it. Her eyes had lit up. He shouldn’t have mentioned that title.
“Tratis was a prince?” she asked. The old wall they usually kept up during their walks was being torn down by her curiosity.
“Yes, of course” he said very simply, hoping the conversation would end there. What does Tratis pretend to be to these people? He wondered. There was a pause, and almost like clockwork, she spoke up again.
“Why did he leave?” she asked boldly. Wyatt hesitated, wondering if he should evade her questions or just tell her the truth.
He was good at spinning tales. He’d learned how by watching the talented and the sly, those who were so good at telling lies that the Paraphrant had needed Wyatt’s skill to judge the truth. But he didn’t feel like lying. Enough time spent judging the truth made the practice feel old and grimy. He had always preferred and valued the truth, and to people that he liked, he had decided he would do his best to offer it.
“I only know a little of the story,” he began in a low voice. She looked up sharply, obviously having decided he wasn't going to answer her after his long pause. “But I know he ran away at fourteen, forfeiting the kingdom to his younger sister. He had quarrels with the Paraphrant and his father, Lavalt rest him, so he left Leida and the Leiden way behind him.”
“I see,” she pondered.
They’d arrived at the door.
“Thanks,” she said curtly.
“Of course,” he nodded and left, pondering as he made his way back. Maybe he was wrong to doubt her. Her stance was confident enough, her mind seemed sharp and her arms were strong. She’d seen battle, after all. That was more than he could say for himself, he realized grimly, and went back to his duties.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TALITHA
“HAVE YOU GUESSED the function of your new skills yet?” Tate asked me one night in the middle of an exercise. I opened my eyes and broke out of my concentrati
on.
“I…”
“Come now, you’re cleverer than you admit, I’m going to assume you’ve put two and two together.”
He was right. I’d pieced a few ideas together, but I was still full of questions.
“Well?” Yet again, he wanted me to answer, not the oth-er way around.
“I guess that you mean for me to use this, to bind the shazod.”
“What do you think of that prospect?”
“I think, I think I can try.”
“You think rightly. If you have the sense of the creature, it’s likely you will be able to bind it as well, much like Faldir has.”
I stared at him.
“That’s right. Of course, you have most likely been told that Faldir controlled the shazod with dark magic. That is not true. He controls them with the same, simple tactics that I have trained you in. Come now, you needn’t be squeamish. You are a soldier, aren’t you? If a man comes at you with a sword, what do you come at him with? A stick? You come at him with a sword, because it is a weapon strong enough to combat your attacker’s. Do you ever feel guilty using the same weapon that your enemies use?”
I shook my head.
“Then in the same way I forbid you to become superstitious about the weapon I have given you in Nurandism, simply because one man has used it for evil.”
“But…”
“Nurandism can be used to save lives as easily as it can be used to take them,” he interrupted. “The trick is to use it for the right reasons.”
It was half past seven as I made my way to the common room at the end of the draining week. I was greatly anticipating a hot meal and hoping for Tratis’ company. When I entered however, there was no food on the table. Tratis was standing near the fireplace, his cloak around his shoulders. He looked up when I came in.
“Do you know what today is?” he asked.
I blinked hard and shook my aching head.
“We’re going to the Turaphelin tonight.”
“We are?” I questioned doubtfully. He’d always made it sound as though visiting the Cronin camp was an impossibility now that we were both staying in the citadel.
“Splash some water on your face and freshen up,” he said. “And be quick about it,” he ordered with a devilish grin.
I returned to my room, puzzling. The cold water felt so good on my flushed and tired face. I brushed my hair out as quickly as I could and returned.
“Very nice,” he praised my appearance. He offered me his arm and I took it, growing more accustomed to such manners every day. We walked gracefully down the corridors and into the courtyard, the guards paying us no mind. The moment we were in the streets, Tratis picked up the pace. He was grinning and it was contagious.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I can’t believe you don’t remember what today is,” he shook his head in mock disappointment. “Tate’s been working you too hard.”
I racked my brain, but it was the smells that gave it away. The cool, rainy air, on the cusp of freezing into temper. The wood smoke from the household fires, and then just above that, the scent of spices; cloves, cinnamon, glaxonberry and apples. They mixed and mingled with the fragrances of roasted beef, sweet pork, and freshly baked bread.
“The Festival of Many,” I murmured in realization. Tratis grinned wider.
“But, why? How?” I stammered.
As we approached the Turaphelin a glow of lamps and a huge cheery bonfire met my eyes.
“The queen is allowing us to celebrate here tonight, so long as we cause no trouble. It’s her gift to us. And of course, you’re in good standing with the Paraphrant now. Leiden’s are always kinder when they believe they can get a favor out of you. And they feed you better too,” he winked.
I laughed. The wonderful smells and sights were already calming my weary mind. My stomach rumbled and I began to smile, the excitement and nostalgia taking over as we passed through the gates. Sustainers gathered around the bonfire in the courtyard, some eating and drinking, others talking, laughing, or singing.
To the left of the courtyard, a small group was be-ginning dances. A couple of Crafters had taken out their whittled pipes to accompany, and more and more couples were wandering that way. Old tunes and songs from long ago tugged at my heartstrings.
I couldn’t believe how beautiful the horrible old place looked now that it was filled with good smells and happy people.
Tratis was right. This was the Leiden’s way of accepting us. This is a step toward an alliance, I thought excitedly. I’d been part of it. All of the long nights and puzzling lessons were counting toward something.
“Captain Amlai!” A cheer rose up as I stepped into the firelight. I shrunk back, but my friends rushed toward me.
“Tali!” Ayla jumped up, surprising me with her strong embrace. Cora wasn’t far behind, her face lit up at the sight of me.
“You came!” she exclaimed. “We weren’t sure if they would let you!”
I wasn’t sure what to say so I only nodded and grinned.
“This is really nice,” I managed at last.
Wes came up behind me, his plate full, his eyes a little brighter than they’d been when I’d last seen him.
“Hey, they let you come,” he echoed Cora’s comment. “Have you ever seen this much food?” he asked, pointing to his own generous portion. “Tratis ordered as many things from the old days as they had here in Leida. I think these people are warming up to us a little.”
I gave Wes a hug, simply grateful to see him eating again, to see a hint of color in his cheeks.
“Tell us, what is it that you’re doing in the citadel, Tali?” Ayla asked suddenly. Her dark hair was expertly braided for the special occasion, and somewhere she’d procured a few ribbons to intertwine with her hair. “There’s all sorts of rumors going around.”
“Oh?” I asked nervously. Tratis had told me that the camp should not know the particulars of what I was doing. “I’m not allowed to say…” I said, biting my lip. She frowned.
“Not anything at all?” Camphraz pushed. “Someone overheard the leads talking about an alliance with Leida,” he relayed in a loud voice.
I blinked in surprise and shrugged, trying to look clueless.
Reylard shook his head at me, the circle of people around me growing every second. “Come on Tali, you can’t deny it,” he smirked. “These ruins are awful for keeping dry, but word sure does get around better with all the cracks in the walls. I even heard somebody saying that you can sense the shazod.”
“Is it true?” Ayla asked with wide eyes.
I felt myself shaking my head.
Camphraz rolled his eyes, “Well there has to be some reason you’re at the citadel.”
“Please Tali, we’ve gone so long without news, just give us a little,” Ayla pleaded.
“She doesn’t have to tell you,” Cora defended, her arms crossed. “Besides, she outranks you. Captains can keep their secrets if they want.”
I wished she hadn’t said that. The backlash hit me im-mediately. They would never see me as a captain.
“How come you’re a captain, anyways?” Reylard piped up boldly.
“I don’t know,” was all I said, and found myself squinting. The lamplight and shadows were starting to make my head hurt.
“Let’s go dance, Ayla. She’s not going to part with her secrets,” Camphraz suggested.
Ayla looked at him skeptically. “You sure you’re up to it?”
He nodded, frustrated. “I’m feeling fine,” he insisted grumpily. She shrugged and took his hand. With their absence, I’d hoped the subject would be dropped, but somehow, I was still the center of attention. Fielders I’d barely ever spoken to were suddenly speculating, dreaming of what could be happening.
“If there’s to be an alliance, think of the damage we could do to the Parters,” one of them went on excitedly. “With our forces combined, we might even defeat Faldir!”
They were jumping so far ahead with the li
ttle information they had.
“Imagine if we really won,” someone said excitedly. “We could take back Cronin, see our families again!”
“We could live normal lives,” Cora added. “Like these Leidens do. Can you even remember a time when we weren’t on the run?”
“Just barely,” I admitted with a grimace.
She grinned at me, then sniffed the air. “Smell that! I’m starved. Let’s get in line. We’re missing out with all this chit-chat.” I agreed wholeheartedly and we made our way toward the vats of food, eager to fill our stomachs.
The Leiden servants ladled out roasted beef, sugared pork, soft buttered bread (to sop up the savory juices,) roasted beets, carrots, and a boiled pudding, chock full of burgundy pullberries and honey. I piled my plate high and filled my cup with the steaming spiced cider. Cora and I found seats and began to dig into our steaming mounds.
Now that the attention was off me at last, I was able to see how well everyone looked. Their faces were bright, full of that rare quality, hope. There was laughter, joking, easy conversation. They looked at home.
A warning shot up in my gut. How much hope was safe? Suddenly, everyone’s minds were not only on surviving or even returning to Brawl, but on winning. Winning the war? It had been ages since I’d heard that phrase uttered. Was all of this optimism my fault? Even if the Leidens did go to war with us, how could we be sure it would go well? Did they see me as a secret weapon? An edge? If so, was I sharp enough? Sharp enough to rest everything on?
I stopped myself. This was a rare time, a celebration time. I was going to enjoy it. It would be foolish to waste that when I had so little time with them.
The Festival of Many had long been a custom in Cronin. Ever since I was a little girl I’d celebrated it in some way, even on journeys. I wondered if Leida knew the story behind the festival night. Had Tratis told Queen Eithne the reason for this annual custom? That we were celebrating the day that the practice of slavery had been overturned in Cronin?
When King Lardox had declared freedom to the slaves, he’d marked it with a huge feast, hoping to appease any anger from his people regarding the decree.