by Kate Elliott
With my own clothing rolled atop my head and the caltrops rolled up in the spare vest so they don’t jab me, I descend into the pool and cross underneath the wall. The shush of ripples sloshing against the rim is the only sound as I ease out on the palace side. In total darkness I dress, then tiptoe onto the porch and hide behind the statue of Hayiyin exactly where I overheard Menoë’s and Nikonos’s whispers the first time I came here. Where I misunderstood everything. My wet hands might as well be coated in Temnos’s blood.
I have to let go of what I can’t change and concentrate on this trial.
Light burns in the public pavilions and storehouses, and that’s where most of the noise is coming from as the soldiers continue their looting. Lamps bob in the garden like fireflies, moving away up winding paths back toward the main gate. As they fade I glimpse lights through the foliage from the direction of Kal’s pavilion. I trace the memory of the path in my mind, then set out along the branching walkways until I find the tree that I spied from. After setting down the caltrops, I swing up.
The branch gives me the height to see across a bend in the path. Three private pavilions stand in a row, each raised on stilts and with a long balcony. Kal’s pavilion lies dark and abandoned but on the balcony of the pavilion next to it two soldiers bend over the railing, rigging up a hanging rope. Gargaron stands with shoulders square and chin high, arms bound behind his back. He’s not looking at Prince—now King—Nikonos or at the two soldiers guarding his back, one of whom is Sergeant Demos.
“I will give you one more chance,” says Nikonos. “Lead me to your niece and nephew, and I will allow you to live. Don’t you think that’s a bargain?”
“No.”
“Everyone knows you murdered your own relatives to elevate yourself to your current position as head of Garon Palace. Why show such loyalty to the niece and nephew who stand in your way?”
“I think it unlikely I can ever adequately explain loyalty to a man like you, my lord, to whom it is obviously an inexplicable concept.”
Nikonos laughs. “To what are you loyal, Gargaron? To your own ambition! Nothing more.”
“I am loyal to Efea. Your brother was a weak king, on that we are agreed, but you have handed us over to our worst enemies. You are nothing but a mule to be driven by them. As long as my niece and nephew are alive, they can restore legitimate rule.”
“With what soldiers? The dregs of the Royal Army are outnumbered and on the retreat. Not even your pet general can save them. We will box them between sea and land and annihilate them.”
“So his opponent believed at the battle of Maldine and yet Esladas prevailed.” Gargaron’s cool confidence is impressive in its own way.
I notice three shadowy shapes stretched along the pavilion’s roof, just as I hid months ago when I eavesdropped on Kal. Blades gleam softly where moonlight gilds their edges. They must mean to drop onto the balcony to cut Gargaron free.
Nikonos begins to pace, his tone peevish as if he’s just now realizing he can’t break his rival and it’s ruined his pleasure in the confrontation. “My agents are even now handing out ale in the West Harbor District and spreading the rumor that Garon Palace engineered the bread shortages to benefit your profit margin. The accusation that you personally murdered King Kliatemnos will send the good citizens of Saryenia rioting all the way up here, where they will find you trussed up by your arms. They will doubtless rip you limb from limb, uproot this lovely garden, smash these delightful pavilions, and burn your remains with the debris, a scene I’m terribly sorry I will have to miss because I would enjoy it so.”
Gargaron sighs as might a man grown bored of a yapping dog who won’t shut up.
Nikonos halts abruptly. “Unless you cooperate with me, it will be a painful and humiliating death worthy only of the jeers it will receive when I commission a play depicting the fall of the traitors of Garon Palace.”
He theatrically cups a hand to an ear. A burr of noise clings to the night, like the distant roar of a stormy sea against rocks. “Can you hear that? I do believe the mob is already climbing the King’s Hill. This is your last chance to spare yourself a gruesome death. Tell me where your niece and nephew are.”
“No.” Is Gargaron aware of Kal? Or does he think he is going to die and intends to go with honor and dignity intact?
“King Nikonos? We’ve finished our sweep of the compound. There’s no one here,” calls a man from inside the pavilion.
“Secure him over the edge.” Nikonos goes inside, his voice drifting faintly as he hurries away. “Is my carriage ready? We must be far clear when the mob arrives.”
The footfalls of the new king and his retinue fade.
We can’t wait any longer. I push backward off the branch, flip, and land on my feet with a thump that I hope Kal notices as he did last time. A caltrop in each hand, I dash around the bend. I’m not a soldier but that’s not my job. I’m here to create a distraction so the people with swords can do their work.
I throw the caltrops at the men setting the rope: the first bounces off the railing and the second glances off the shoulder of one of the men hard enough that he recoils with a cry. Of course the men on the balcony all look my way.
Kal and his companions drop from the roof, taking the guards by surprise from behind. A melee breaks out. Two more soldiers burst out of the pavilion onto the balcony.
I leap up to grab the lower edge of the balcony with one hand, clutch at the hanging rope with the other, and give it a flip that wraps it around the neck of a soldier. When I let go of the balcony’s rim my full weight on the rope drags the man over the railing, legs kicking. He smacks headfirst into the ground and sprawls unmoving. Kal has Demos pressed back against the railing but the sergeant is cutting with the speed and precision of an experienced soldier and Kal is barely able to block the blows. I grab a fallen caltrop and toss it. It just brushes Demos’s back but that’s enough to break his concentration. He flinches, and Kal slashes inside and cuts him down.
A shrill whistle from beyond the pavilion calls an alert. “Trouble! Over here!”
Neartos is one of Kal’s companions. He slices the rope binding back Gargaron’s arms, and the four men swing over the railing and drop. Kal of course hits the ground with a tuck and roll to absorb the shock, flowing right up onto his feet like any good adversary, but his uncle slams too hard and yelps in pain.
More guards swarm out onto the balcony. We run. As I pause to scoop up the remaining caltrops, a spear rattles through leaves and hits an arm’s length from me, followed by a second that kicks up dust at my heels.
“Jes! Hurry!” Kal shouts.
I sprint down the path, slide past the bathhouse curtain behind them, and in my haste accidentally kick over a bucket as we pass through the washroom. The clatter resounds like thunder in my ears, a signal to anyone searching for us.
“Jes, you go first,” says Kal.
Gargaron snaps, “No! Neartos goes first, to make sure the way is clear for you, Kalliarkos.”
“No,” I say. “Kal goes first because Ro is waiting and will trust only him. Then you three, and I’ll bring up the rear. Go!”
We wade in, and I drop the caltrops behind me in the watery tunnel. The twisted nails won’t stop anyone but they might draw blood.
We climb out the other side into darkness.
“Ro?” I whisper but I feel his absence in the chamber. Water drips to the floor from our wet clothes. I’m a little giddy, and I want to grab Kal and kiss him, just once, just quickly, but Gargaron’s presence hangs like a sword between us.
“This is all very well,” says Gargaron in the tone I imagine he uses when he’s been given a platter of unappetizing food, “but how are we to get out of the stable?”
“Uncle Gar, do you think for one moment Grandmama would have built a stable for me to practice in if there wasn’t a bolt-hole and a secret passage in case someone tried to assassinate me?”
I almost laugh at Kal’s unexpected bluntness, at the cool way he
throws Gargaron’s machinations back in his face. But of course it isn’t funny at all. Shouts and whistles, muted by the walls, remind us that we’re still in danger.
“Let’s go,” I say.
Fingers brush mine; he squeezes my hand.
The canvas at the entry scrapes.
“Jes? Do you have them?” Ro whispers.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. When I heard the commotion I ran out and set the wagon on fire to draw their attention down the lane. I’ve lined the closed gate entrance with the rest of the caltrops.”
Murky echoes rise from the pool. People are searching the bathhouse, and ripples stir along the rim, lapping as water is displaced on the other side. I nudge Kal.
“In the Fives court, under Traps,” he says.
Lamplight and alarms rise around us as we run across the courtyard and into the unlit Fives court. The stable gate creaks open. Men shout as they stumble over the caltrops. But Kal and I know the court intimately, and our pursuers do not. We lower ourselves through a hidden trapdoor into a stone-lined tunnel while soldiers are still blundering around trying to find the entry gate to each obstacle.
With the hatch closed firmly behind us Kal lights a lamp tucked into a niche in the wall.
“This will bring us out near the Grain Market,” he says. He commands Neartos to advance at the front and the other soldier to act as rear guard, then starts down a flight of stairs.
Gargaron gives Ro that thin smile meant to cow his opponents, and Ro stares flatly back at him, not giving way. Both men know they’ve been dropped into a tiny bubble in which, for once, their respective positions in life matter nothing. They’re like two hungry predators, circling as they study their opponent for a single hint of weakness.
I shove between them to break off the contest. “Move,” I order, as my father would. “My lord, if you will, follow Lord Kalliarkos.”
Gargaron gives me a long, measuring look, then starts after Kal, favoring his right leg.
“Why did you return to save me if you believe I’ve wronged you?” Gargaron asks his nephew.
“Because I’m not you.” Kal halts and holds up the lantern to fully illuminate his uncle’s face. “Did you kill my father and grandfather?”
“As it happens, I did not, and I am willing to swear in the temple to that effect. Mining accidents happen, and so does death in battle. It was the gods’ will.”
It’s the lie he could have told my father: I did not kill them. I sent them away and now no one can find them, but there’s no help for that. It was the gods’ will.
I’m sure he’s lying.
Kal nods as at an answer he expected. “We need each other, Uncle Gar. Efea needs us.”
“We need to keep moving,” I say more curtly than I intend.
Yet I can’t help but wonder: Is Kal still this naïve, or is he—as Ro predicted—slowly sliding into the role his position mandates for him, in which every brutal calculation he makes is devised to maintain and increase his power?
For a bit we trudge without speaking. Not a breath of sound disturbs the stuffy air of this long-sealed tunnel. I’m grateful for the silence as I stare at Gargaron’s back because Ro’s words ring in my head:
Why not leave Lord Gargaron to his fate? Let the Patrons murder each other.
I have a knife. I could plunge it into his flesh and end the power he holds over Kal, over me, over my family. But his soldiers would defend him. I can’t put Kal in that position.
Yet Ro’s accusations might as well be shouts: Who are you, Jessamy? Who are you loyal to, really?
I can’t see how these Rings will open, not for me. I can only see them unfolding for everyone else.
The passage lets out by a ladder through a secret door set into a fountain alcove behind a bank of public latrines. An alarm bell is ringing, and above us, on the King’s Hill, we hear the growling noise of a mob in full rampage.
Gargaron sags onto the ground to massage his right ankle. Kal sets the lamp down beside him, then orders Neartos to scout the nearby streets and report back.
“I’ll go too,” says Ro. “Some of my people have to be around here.” He vanishes down the dark lane.
Kal hasn’t yet closed the door, and he tugs me back inside. We are crammed so close I accidentally step on his foot.
“Ow!”
“Repayment for the splinter,” I whisper, hoping Gargaron and the other soldier are too far away and too preoccupied to overhear.
Kal brushes a finger along my palm in a way that makes me shiver. “I suppose I deserve that.”
“Exactly what is it you think you deserve?” I tease, but the moment I speak, the words seem too light, too joking, for this awful day. Hoarsely, I go on. “I was so afraid you were dead.”
I run my hands up his chest. He’s wearing coarsely woven laborer’s clothing but the pleasure of touching him is all silk, and he makes a soft sound in his throat as I lean in to kiss him.
Every complication falls away. There is only his mouth testing mine, my body pressing against his, the way his fingers slide up my bare skin under the loose cloth of my vest to trace the curve of my ribs like the brush of desire.…
A cough and soft words cause us to shove abruptly apart, like illicit lovers in a play caught by an untimely entrance, but it is only Gargaron and his guardsman conversing.
Kal raises my hand to his lips and kisses my damp, dirty knuckles. “Ask me again when we’re safe. Did the scheme with my sister and Temnos work?”
At first I can’t answer because my mouth goes dry but I have to tell him. I won’t hide my fatal miscalculation. “Your sister is safe, but Prince Temnos is dead.”
“What happened?”
He wraps his arms around me, and in the shelter of his embrace I find the courage to tell him the story, each step of that terrible journey a shard of glass I have to bleed on yet again.
“I was so sure Menoë was the villain when it was Nikonos and Serenissima all along. The queen sacrificed her own son to stay in power. I don’t even understand how a mother could do that. I led Temnos to his death because I wanted to think the worst of Menoë even when everyone told me I was wrong.”
“Jes, it’s not your fault. They killed him—not you.”
I shake my head. “I could have saved him if I’d just listened.”
“We’re not done yet, Jes. It’s not over. And it’s going to be ugly. It’s not like poor Temnos is the first or will be the last to die.”
“What did your grandmother intend to do with Temnos?”
“Nothing. He wasn’t a threat to anyone. She promised me he’d be exiled to a distant estate to live in peace.”
Lies are the air children growing up in palaces learn to breathe. But I can’t tell him that.
Ro whispers from the darkness outside, “Can you two cooing lovebirds leave off? We need to move now, while the street is clear.”
I step out of the passage first, and Kal closes the opening behind us. The light from the lamp seems so bright that I rub my eyes. Neartos has also returned, and he helps Gargaron to his feet.
“You have boats enough for everyone, as you promised?” Kal asks Ro.
“And a secret shoreline departure point so we won’t be caught leaving the city?” I add.
“We Efeans have a lot of things Patrons don’t know about. Just remember, once I’ve saved you and your people, Kal, you and I are quit of obligation. After this anything goes”—he looks at me, and holds my gaze just a little too long—“and nothing is off-limits.”
Kal slaps him on the shoulder like it’s a joke, and although Ro smiles in answer, the twist in his lips tells me they will never be friends.
But poets may not lie lest they lose their gift.
So it is that much later that night I sit in the prow of a rowboat out on the vast waters of Mist Lake. Stars shine in the cloudless heavens, mirrored in the still waters. Threads of mist wind like the ghosts of ancient mazes, dissipating as the wake of our passage rolls t
hrough them. Ro and Kal work the oars behind me, their backs to the shore we are approaching. Seated on a pile of fishing nets, I hold the lamp to light our way.
They’re talking, Kal in an expansive mood and Ro coaxing the words out.
“Nikonos acted too soon. The populace doesn’t want foreign soldiers on its streets.”
“No, indeed, the populace really doesn’t,” Ro agrees, like he’s speaking a language Kal can’t hear, and yet I say nothing.
“The coming battle will break apart old loyalties and force lords and generals to take sides,” Kal goes on. “We have General Esladas in command of the Royal Army, but Nikonos has the armies of old Saro. If Thynos can turn West Saro to our side with his marriage, then that will weaken Nikonos’s alliance. We know what a ruthless, power-hungry man he is. We have to depose him before he ruins Efea.”
“Deposing such men must always be a noble and righteous goal,” agrees Ro.
A little flotilla of boats precedes us, and although we left the city in total darkness so as not to be spotted from the walls, now lantern-light floats like spark-bugs on the water. Mother is in the boat right ahead of us, a scarf looped over her hair and draped to conceal her face. I wanted to be in the boat with her but dared not call Gargaron’s attention to her in such a way. She’s holding Wenru while Mis, seated beside her, carries Safarenwe.
The murky night slowly lightens to gray. Ahead a reed-choked shoreline rises out of the fading darkness. Figures appear, men and women holding spears and swords. I brace myself for trouble, but then I see they have Efean faces. We’ve reached the village we visited months ago, where Tana and Inarsis were born.
General Inarsis steps out of the ranks as Princess Berenise’s boat bumps first onto the land, for naturally she must be in the lead. Her regal self-possession has been restored now that she knows her grandchildren are safe. Temnos means nothing to her. Menoë sits beside her, head high but face pallid with exhaustion, and Gargaron sits upright and stony-faced in the stern. He has not made a single complaint about his badly swollen ankle.
Garon stewards splash onto the shore from the other boats and hustle forward to help their nobles disembark more elegantly. The Efeans stand in masklike silence as the highborn Patrons are escorted past their ranks to the wagon in which they will ride to the village.