Solace Arisen

by Anna Steffl

  “Lord Degarius told me to give them to her,” Mrs. Karlkin chimed. The good woman, who turned deep red from the impropriety of her interjection, curtsied to the chancellor.

  The ring was almost off, but his father held up his hand. “They weren’t Lina’s. They were my wife’s, my engagement gift to her.”

  “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have dreamed of...please, take them.” Arvana held out the ring. Mortification burned her eyes.

  He took the ring. “I gave these things to Myronan as keepsakes. They’re his to do with as he pleases.” He tilted the ring back and forth, making the jewels flash and a happy, yet nostalgic, expression waxed over him. He looked up, smiled kindly, and held it out to her.

  “I can’t.”

  “He gave them well.”

  Arvana took the ring. She had no choice. But his father was wrong. Degarius hadn’t given them to her. They were a necessity. That’s why he sent them via Mrs. Karlkin, so there’d be no mistaking his intention. But if just a necessity, why hadn’t he given her something less dear?

  “I’ll see you out,” his father said. “The coach is ready.”

  Degarius was waiting at the coach door. He didn’t even glance to the necklace or ring. How could they mean so little to him? He went straight to shaking his father’s hand.

  She put on the gloves.

  “Have a good journey,” his father said.

  “I will if it doesn’t snow. That’ll be my damned luck.”

  That was all they said in parting. That it might be the last time they would see each other was impossible to admit. Arvana knew the feeling. She’d never allowed herself to say good-bye to her father. Even at his last breath, she thought there would be one more.

  “Let’s go,” Degarius said and to her surprise, held out his gloved hand to assist her into the coach. Even through the leather of both their gloves, she felt his thumb find the ring. Why did her heart jump into her throat?

  As they turned the circular drive, Degarius looked back at his father, home, and land. No overt emotion showed on his face, but if he was anything like her, she knew he was certainly saying things in his mind to his father that he hadn’t said aloud. She pulled off her gloves, glanced at the ring and guessed he hadn’t looked at it because it meant nothing; he hadn’t looked at it because it meant so much. Sometimes the things closest to the heart were the hardest to acknowledge. He had loved Lina, despite her faults. It was why he couldn’t speak of what had happened their last winter together. He loved his mother, too. These beautiful jewels were the remembrances he was taking with him. That was why he made sure she wore them.

  What would she have liked to bring? The kithara? Her father’s coffee cup? Her mother’s coat? Her only mementos of the past were the Blue Eye and the man sitting across from her.

  Gheria, later that day

  Arvana turned the page of her book. They were both reading. Degarius had smartly stashed several volumes beneath the seats. It was difficult reading in the coach, but at least it was something to do. In Acadia, they had read almost every day. It was something they did to be together. Now, it was something they did to be apart.

  The coach slowed and came to a stop. She put the book down. They couldn’t be there yet. Degarius said it would be a full day of travel, and it was only midafternoon. He, too, had put down his book and was looking out the window.

  Regiment after regiment and their supply trains were on the march. The road, crawling with blue-coated men, looked like a brightly colored serpent slithering from one horizon to the other. The notion of impending war hadn’t seemed real until that point. They’d traveled all morning zigzagging country lanes, crossing into Gheria on a route so backwoods that it wasn’t guarded. Gheria seemed a peaceful place, empty place. Now she understood why. Every able man was being rallied to war.

  “That’s the main road to the front from the east,” Degarius said. “They’re sending nearly all their troops there so we’ll mass ours to counter. It’ll make short work for the draeden.”

  There were so many men. An endless number of men. Even if they did defeat The Scyon and the draeden, what was to stop the fighting? There would still be a war. The thought hadn’t occurred to her before. Killing The Scyon and the draeden averted one catastrophe, a far more widespread one. But not a war. “If we do stop them, will Sarapost hold?”

  “Many of these men look like new recruits. But so are ours.” Degarius didn’t sound optimistic.

  From the window, Arvana saw a Gherian riding up to the carriage. He began to dismount.

  Degarius saw, too. He scowled and opened the coach door.

  “The commander wishes to speak with you, sir,” the rider said, then added something that Arvana didn’t understand.

  In Gherian, Degarius said to her, “Stay here,” and closed the coach door.

  What could they want? Arvana edged to the door to watch. The soldier accompanied Degarius to a mounted weathered man, a veteran commander by the looks of his heavily decorated uniform. What if he recognized Degarius? Arvana removed her gloves and poised her thumb above the Blue Eye’s latch.

  The general gave Degarius a suspicious once-over, and as he spoke, his face grew animated and angry. Degarius opened his coat and rested a hand on his hip, ready to draw his sword.

  Suddenly the general looked to the coach—to her. Degarius shook his head. What was he telling the general no about her? The commander held up his hand and Degarius turned and began to walk toward the coach. Degarius waved to her. What did he mean by waving?

  The commander dismounted while his escort kept a keen watch on Degarius.

  Degarius opened the door, looked over his glasses at her, and said, “The general wants to ask my wife something.”

  “Well, you better go find her,” Arvana whispered. Was he out of his mind? She didn’t know Gherian well enough to speak like a native. And to a general!

  “Relax.” He took her hand from the Blue Eye and guided it to her thigh. He laid his own over it. “I told him you only speak a little Gherian.”

  Arvana began to rise from her seat to get out when the general motioned her to stay inside. Degarius elbowed the coach door open wider to make space for the general, but kept his hand firmly over hers.

  The general’s eyes were tired yet filled with earnestness as he spoke slowly and used simple words so Arvana would understand. She couldn’t catch everything, but the gist was, “Your husband says you are a good woman, a praying woman. You are going to the Solemnity. At the Worship Hall, pray for my son, Jan. He is ill, can’t fight.”

  Pray for the enemy. Arvana gave what she hoped was a sympathetic-looking smile. In Gherian she said, “I’m happy to pray for Jan.”

  The general nodded gratefully at hearing his son’s name.

  Degarius gripped her hand and squeezed it. She’d spoken well enough, perhaps looked pious enough to satisfy the commander that her prayers were worth the trouble of requesting them.

  “Pray in Gherian,” the general added. “The Eternal Master hears it better.”

  “I will.” Had that been her problem all along, praying in Anglish?

  The general gave Degarius an amiable slap to the back and said something about her. She caught heathen, what the Gherians called all non-clansmen, and the word war. Finally, the two exchanged salutes and Degarius climbed in and closed the door. The moment he saw the commander gallop away, he tore his hat off and flung it on the seat.

  “What’s wrong? Aren’t we free to go? He didn’t recognize you, did he?”

  “Recognize me? You know what he took me for? Without even a word from me, he took me for one of Sovereign Alenius’s cabinetmen going to the Forbidden Fortress for the meeting. They’re having a grand dinner. A damn courtier chasing after Alenius’s favors. I dared not disoblige him of that notion, so he ranted to me that Alenius is going to award every soldier a parcel of Sarapostan land and pressed me to promise to speak against it. Landowners, like the general, have first lent their tenants as foot so
ldiers and next will lose them if they get their own holdings in the south. Just the rumor of the reward has brought every man and boy out to fight. Whether or not it proves true makes no difference. They’re carrying their hoes to war, ready to break Sarapostan land. Their ranks are going to be twice as big as anyone in Sarapost imagined.”

  That was terrible news.

  “I was thinking, put that ring on the other hand,” Degarius said matter-of-factly.

  Arvana glanced at her hands. She’d been unconsciously wringing them.

  “I don’t want any entangling questions. No one would think you’re my sister. Your Gherian isn’t good enough. It’s just lucky the general assumed...”

  Her fingers cold, the ring came off without trouble. He blatantly turned to look out the window when she eased it on the other finger. What, did he think she wanted it on that finger? She sank into the seat. As she centered the emerald to her finger, she asked, “What did the general say before he left? Did he call me a heathen?”

  Still looking out the window, Degarius cracked a smile that Arvana saw in profile. “He congratulated me on bringing a heathen woman to the faith. He said if they were all good like you, we wouldn’t need to war. That’s rich on many levels.”

  “That I’m good?”

  His smile contracted. “I meant the notion that love trumps war and that anyone could think I brought you to faith.”

  She wanted to say that whatever faith she’d had must have been of poor quality. It seemed something separate from her, like a coat she wore when she was cold, or the habit she’d left behind at Solace. And to think she once aspired to be a shacra. That would have been yet another costume. Not the real Ari.

  The coach pitched forward as the driver sped through a gap in the troop line.

  She put back on her gloves. They were on the road north. Tonight they’d stop at an inn, and tomorrow, for the Solemnity, arrive at the Forbidden Fortress. None of this would matter anymore. “Perhaps no one will notice us, and we won’t have to pretend anything or even sneak through the tunnels. We can go to the cabinetmen’s dinner.”

  ONE ROOM

  Gherian Inn, that evening

  Degarius stopped a serving girl carrying a bowl of steaming potatoes that smelled of dill into the dining room crowded with bald-headed cabinetmen and old couples probably bound for the Winter Solemnity. “Where’s the innkeeper?”

  “Behind you, sir.”

  “Let me take your coat, madam,” the indicated man said to Miss Nazar. Though frazzled, he had the look of an incurably jovial man. To Degarius he said, “It’s your lucky night. I have one room left.”

  It was lucky. They’d tried two other inns already. The road to the Forbidden Fortress was teeming with travelers. Degarius couldn’t bear the thought of trying to sleep in the cramped coach. One room was enough. He’d sleep on the floor.

  “I can squeeze your coachman in the bunkroom. Dinner,” the innkeeper wagged his head apologetically as he took Miss Nazar’s coat, “is mutton stew and dilled potatoes. It’s all the soldiers have left me. And no wine. Well...” He glanced to Miss Nazar, to the jewels around her neck. “Let me see what I can do.” He flagged the serving girl. “Show them to a table.”

  The serving girl sat them at the end of a long, empty table and then returned with the stew and dilled potatoes. The innkeeper followed with two small pewter cups. He winked as he sat them down and motioned for her to try it.

  The drink looked like strong tea, but from the potent smell, Degarius guessed it Gherian corn liquor. Miss Nazar took a sip. Her face bloomed with simple warmth, but not with giddiness. The night before a big battle, many men were merry, as if they were sticking their tongues out at fate. She wasn’t like that. She was like the quiet men who made a knot of fear, pulling the threads tighter and tighter, hoping they wouldn’t come undone. The danger was they’d pull too hard and snap the strings. She’d said she wasn’t afraid of death, that she’d seen it many times. Lerouge and Kieran had died in front of her. But she sure as hell was afraid of failing. She had a tender conscience. How had he ever doubted her when she said she’d never loved Lerouge? Even if she had loved the prince, it shouldn’t have mattered to him. She ultimately denied Lerouge whatever affections he might have gained, denied herself a position of amazing wealth and power, and stayed bound to Solace. What inconceivable trial had loving him, Nan, been to her that she had to forsake her profession because of it? Well, she was a Maker-be-damned fool for imagining him a good man worth whatever tears her conscience had shed.

  Her thanks to the innkeeper, given in Gherian, recalled Degarius. At her gentle smile, the innkeeper’s fleshy neck turned redder at the collar. “The drinks weren’t for my benefit,” he said as soon as the innkeeper left.

  “You’ll like it.”

  Degarius tilted his cup. The liquid left a thin, glossy film behind. Its heat was just spreading down his throat when four swaggering bluecoats came in—a captain and his three lieutenants. By their exaggerated gestures and loud voices, they’d succeeded in finding drinks, ample drinks, somewhere. There was no place for them other than at their table. Damn. He thought about getting up and leaving, but that’d bring more questions than it avoided. Sure enough, the serving girl was bringing them their way. Degarius glanced to their insignias. None of them was in regiments he’d met. Good. He stood to acknowledge them. They all bowed to Miss Nazar before sitting.

  The captain, who had one sunken, closed eye, came beside Degarius and asked, “Cabinetman?”

  “Yes,” Degarius said and tried to disguise his dismay at being mistaken twice in one day for one of the soft-armed, paunchy-stomached breed of men who served as bureaucrats. He nodded to Miss Nazar. “She wants to attend the Solemnity.”

  The Gherian leaned to Degarius. His breath, reeking to Zadora of beer, was hot in Degarius’s ear. “Ah, the Solemnity. Our Alenius has a big surprise planned for sunset. I can’t wait until the Sarapostans see it.”

  The taste of the liquor went sour in Degarius’s mouth. “What kind of big surprise?”

  The captain seemed not to hear, and Degarius understood why. His beer-glazed single eye was narrowed on Miss Nazar, and he was stroking his straw-colored mustache. The bastard was undressing Ari with his eye. Degarius made a fist under the table, but forced himself to be calm. The captain might have information. “I’ve heard rumors about this surprise. It’s in the Forbidden Fortress?”

  The Gherian puffed his chest. “I’ve been to the Forbidden Fortress. Received my captaincy from the sovereign himself. I’ve seen what’s in his private garden. Didn’t get into the atrium. He has that shut up tighter...” The serving girl put a dish of stew before the Gherian. He speared a piece of mutton, and as if he’d completely forgotten his previous train of thought, said, “A fellow like you could get a good commission, have his own regiment. But I suppose not everyone hears the call to duty. You cabinetmen must tend to your own riches.”

  “One of my ears is half-deaf, but I hear the call of duty.” Degarius raised his glasses off his nose. “Alenius, however, doesn’t want blind men leading his troops.”

  The captain laughed. “I had but one eye when I was made captain. You’ve got two and aren’t blind enough to take an ugly wife.” He was looking at Miss Nazar again with an unmistakable glint in his eye—-and she’d seen it. Her cheeks flamed, and she was looking at her plate to avoid the Gherian captain’s scrutiny. The captain rapped once on the table to get her attention and asked, “Do you play cards?”

  She put her fork down. “I don’t speak much Gherian.”

  “Why doesn’t she speak Gherian?” he asked Degarius. “Is she a southerner?”

  Degarius nodded. “I’m from the borderlands.”

  “Then you better watch your wife. Heathens are heathens, you know. Does she cheat at cards?” The Gherian reached into his coat, pulled out a deck of cards, and arched his brows at Arvana. Because of his missing eye, the action looked particularly grotesque.

  Degarius br
istled, but said coolly, “My wife doesn’t play cards.” The old, stout innkeeper’s admiration was one thing. To him she was a rich guest. He’d charge them a small fortune for the drinks. This captain’s was another, and Degarius had had enough of it. He downed the last of the liquor, stood and said, “If you’ll pardon us.”

  Without hesitation, Miss Nazar rose from the table. How beautiful she was. The noble way she held her chin seemed meant to tell the Gherian that he was a sorry second to the man she was with. He laced his arm around her waist and raised his free hand to the soldiers. “Good luck on the campaign.”

  “Leave your wife upstairs and play a round of Waero,” the captain called to cover his defeat.

  As she walked, her hip swayed under Degarius’s firmly placed hand. Feeling in sudden generous humor, he called back, “Only when I have coin to lose.”

  When out of the dining room, Miss Nazar said, “I’m sorry you didn’t get to finish your dinner. Thank you. I’m not used to that kind of...men never...” She touched the low-cut neck of the gown and Degarius’s gaze went there. A bewildering mix of understanding and desire made his head swim, but then she twisted free of his hand. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. They can’t see us.”

  Arvana waited behind Degarius as he unlocked the room. The ribbon on his ponytail was coming untied. His broad shoulders hunched so he could get nearer the keyhole. Why couldn’t he have said one kind word when she told him he didn’t have to pretend anymore? She had given him the chance. But he’d said nothing, just asked the innkeeper for the room key. What had she expected?

  The door opened and she followed him in. The room was clean but small and sparsely furnished with a bed, washstand, and a bench before the lit fireplace, which Degarius went straight away to stoke. Their trunk, sitting under the window, had been delivered. Arvana uncrossed her arms. It was austere, but cozy. Maybe she could sleep tonight, on the eve of going to the Forbidden Fortress. It felt like the one safe place in Gheria, safe from the leering soldier, the impending war, the draeden and The Scyon.