by Patty Jansen
Sady grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from Tandor, shouting angry orders at the Chevakian guards. Before he dragged her to the door, she noticed between the bodies of the guards, two men pouncing on Tandor.
Loriane could only properly breathe when she had left the cell. Sady was looking at her with a concerned expression. “I’m fine,” she said in her best Chevakian, but she was still trembling. Sady shook his head, speaking soft words, and holding her.
She stood like that for a while, with his arms around her, feeling his comforting warmth and breathing the clean smell of his clothes. It struck her in a way she had not realised before, how much she hated everything to do with the royal family and the City of Glass. The secrecy, the fear of who was watching whom. All her life, she’d pretended to be unaffected, because she couldn’t see icefire, but icefire affected the lives of everyone. None of it had ever done anyone any good.
Sady let go of her and started moving again, leading her down the corridor and back up the stairs.
“I help you,” she said. Help him deal with Tandor, help him catch and kill the monster child. Help him guide the refugees from the south to a safe and better life.
He smiled. “Thank you.” His eyes were kind and honest. He would not betray her.
While she walked back to the truck with him and his guards, the warmth of his touch lingered on her shoulder. She accepted his hand in climbing in and sat opposite him in the cabin. He was finely-built, with close-cropped hair threaded with grey at the temples. His intelligent eyes were light brown, his skin several shades darker than hers with a smattering of freckles over his nose and forehead and a small black mole under his right eye.
Cute, both freckles and mole.
Then he looked up, noticed that she was looking at him, and she feigned interest in Tiverian architecture.
As the city buildings slid past the window, she berated herself. Men were no good, and only wanted to further their own aims. At the very best, they only wanted sex. At the worst, they wanted to destroy her and everything she loved. It had started with the Senior Knight when she was sixteen. She was innocent and naive. He had only been kind enough so that she, starry-eyed with his attentions, came willingly to his bed. She had hoped he would care for her as a lover and companion, but he didn’t. She had hoped he would love the child she suffered so much for, but she understood Knights never looked after their own children. She had hoped Tandor would care for her, but he didn’t, either.
Men didn’t care.
And she hated getting that warm feeling inside whenever she met Sady’s light brown eyes. She hated feeling giddy when he smiled.
Damn it, Loriane, you’re too old and grumpy to fall in love. She’d seen it all before. Love was for suckers. Not to mention that it was the wrong time and the wrong person and by the skylights, she couldn’t even talk to him.
But he liked her. And he seemed open and honest, everything Tandor was not.
Yeah, all right, she liked him. But that didn’t mean anything.
Chapter 20
* * *
CARRO SQUINTED,fighting an acute attack of yawning. He took up a stance with his legs slightly spread and his hands behind his back. Yes, he understood that it was a privilege to be allowed to listen in on the Knights’ Council meeting, but how much longer did he have to wait for this meeting to start? He’d been up since dusk last night and was struggling to stay upright, and the stuffy air in this room didn’t help.
The three Senior Knights in attendance sat in easy chairs in the large room that his father used for special occasions and had been able to keep free of beds or stored gear. Ever since Carro had arrived with the extra Knight Division, the farmhouse had been bursting with people. But the large previous formal room had remained solely Rider Cornatan’s domain, which he used for meetings.
Carro had been given the task of bringing the men drinks from his father’s drink cabinet. The men spoke in low voices. Silhouetted against the light was Rider Barton, who had led the unit into Tiverius. He had cleaned up, brushed his shorthair cloak and polished his buttons. The other two Senior Knights Carro knew only by name. Rider Barton was easily the youngest of the three.
Rider Heston was a wrinkled old man who used to look after maintenance at the eyrie, and whom Carro had never spotted going outside. Rider Ataro led the special service division: spies and hunters and other kinds of specialised groups. He had a sharp face and unsettling blue eyes that felt like they could do all the spying work his men did just by looking through people’s skulls.
Rider Cornatan was yet to arrive.
Carro had seen him briefly after returning to the farmhouse with Rider Barton and his unit, but after greeting Rider Barton, he had gone to some place from where he had not yet returned. The three members of the council did not seem to mind; they found plenty to talk about. Rider Heston complained about the state in which they had found the farm. Rider Ataro spoke about contacts in Chevakia and then the two of them marvelled over the fact that some of those contacts were still alive. Apparently it was a long time since anyone had used them.
Then they started discussing building styles. Chevakian city buildings and Chevakian rural architecture. By the skylights, it was boring.
Carro tried not to yawn too much.
Finally, there were quick footsteps in the hall, and the jingling of a riding harness and Rider Cornatan came into the room. He carried his cloak over his arm, his face looked red, his hair windblown, and Carro suspected that he had just flown in from that mysterious place where he’d been. He winked at Carro, and smiled, and said, “Shut the door, will you?”
Carro did, while Rider Cornatan took his place at the one remaining chair.
“Drink?” Carro asked him.
“Just some water, thanks.”
Carro took a glass, but there was no water in the room, only spirits, so he had to go to the fountain in the hallway to get some. When he returned, Rider Cornatan had maps spread out over the table. He took the glass without comment and without meeting Carro’s eyes.
Carro returned to his previous position and took up a wide-spread stance, his hands clasped behind his back. At least he felt a little bit more awake now.
“. . . We have this side covered,” Rider Ataro was saying, gesturing at the map.
“There are likely to be a lot of Chevakian troops on this side,” Heston said. “We are close to the main base of the Chevakian army, and they do have balloons.”
Rider Cornatan nodded. “Rather a lot more than we suspected. We’ll have to be quick. And we’ll have to take birds.”
“The Chevakians won’t care. They won’t use their army to defend a camp full of foreign citizens,” Ataro said, his voice scornful.
“You never know with Chevakians.” Heston said, taking his glass in a gnarled hand. “They jump in strange directions.”
Rider Cornatan said, “They will defend the camp because if it looks like we’re trying to occupy it, they will consider that as an invasion of their territory.” He gulped the water down and held the glass up for Carro to give him more.
“What is on your mind, Barton?” Rider Cornatan asked, when Carro had retreated. “You look like you have a better plan.”
Rider Barton folded his hands on his knees and sighed. “I’m wondering if a full-scale invasion of the camp is wise.”
Both Ataro and Heston stared at him.
“What do you mean—wise?” Ataro asked, his voice reserved.
“For all we know, most of the camp’s residents are citizens. Ordinary people. What do you think the men will feel about fighting our own people?”
Rider Cornatan raised his eyebrows.
Rider Barton continued, “Many of my men have lost family, or are uncertain of their fate. They wer
e expecting orders to go back to the City of Glass to see if we can find any further survivors—”
“That would be idiocy. Icefire is far too strong. There are no survivors. Any who survived are likely to be in the camp under the thumb of the Brotherhood.”
There was a small silence. “Do we know how many Brotherhood men are in the camp?”
“We can’t be certain, but they have support from within Chevakia. We have to break that link. We can fight the Brothers, but we cannot fight the Chevakian army.”
Rider Barton let a silence lapse that seemed rather long. He cast the briefest of glances at Carro, and nodded. Carro didn’t think he looked happy.
Rider Cornatan moved a glass out of the way so he could spread another map. Carro rushed to take the glass and returned it to the cabinet.
Behind him, Rider Cornatan continued, “Right, so let’s get this underway. We have the units at the farmhouse, and the ones to the east of here, a total of two thousand men and well over a thousand birds. When I give the order, we start on this side of the camp with Ataro’s unit. We’ll have half the unit push into the camp, over land, and the other half stationed out here with birds to ward off any curiosity from the Chevakians.”
“The Chevakians will view this as an attack on their country,” Rider Barton said.
“We can deal with that.” Rider Cornatan rose. “Do you mind if I open the door. I find it rather hot in here.”
Carro could see that Rider Ataro probably wanted to object, but Knights lived in much tougher conditions in the City of Glass, and complaining about the cold in Chevakia would not look good for him. So Rider Cornatan opened the window and a blast of cold air blew in.
Rider Ataro dived for the map which was about to blow from the table. “By the skylights, the weather is like the City of Glass.”
* * *
Carro stands in the cold hall, facing the Knight. He feels small and insignificant.
So, you want to serve our Queen? the Knight asks.
Carro nods. He’s nervous about this. No boy from the Outer City is accepted into the Knighthood. It’s a noble place for noble sons. Men of honour.
Serving the Queen is the highest thing he could do. The Queen is his goddess.
* * *
“Son, I could use that drink now.”
“Yes, sure.” Carro’s heart was still thudding. Was there a more awkward time for those visions to return? It was the open window, he realised, the air laced with icefire. Rider Barton met his eyes in a piercing way as if he knew what was going on. Carro’s cheeks felt hot.
Carro went to the drinks cabinet and took a fresh glass, his hands trembling. Where was that bottle of imported bloodwine? He rummaged between the empty bottles and found various bottles of spirits that were not his father’s. He also found a box of playing dice and a little slate with scores. At the top was written Queen’s Wolves. Much as he despised the wolves and what they stood for—honestly, were all men obsessed with sex?—those men still considered themselves loyal to the Queen. Did they know that their leaders in the council were discussing her death? Did they know that these men were discussing an attack on their families in the camp?
He shifted another empty bottle aside and came across the stoppered jar with the blue poison crystals tucked at the back of the shelf. By the skylights, what was that still doing out here?
A gust of wind made the curtains flap.
* * *
Carro stands at the back of the empty shed. He just saw the older boys go in there, with a younger boy who they always tease. It’s pitch dark inside the shed, but he can hear their voices.
Come on, do it, or I’ll beat you up.
Someone is crying. Carro assumes it’s the younger boy.
Come on, we made a bet. You said you can eat shit. Do it.
A silence, and then a wail.
I said I’d hit you.
Carro’s hands grow cold. He should come forward and tell the boys to get out of his father’s warehouse, but he’s afraid they will turn on him instead. They already call him names. Tattletale, they call him.
* * *
The bloodwine almost went over the rim of the glass. Carro stopped pouring just in time, but now he had a too-full glass and it wasn’t acceptable to fill the glasses up that much. He tried to pour some wine from the glass, but it ran down the side, making a mess on the top of the cabinet.
Not knowing what else to do, he sipped from the glass until the level of fluid was more acceptable and wiped the glass clean with the end of his sleeve. While he was doing this, he noticed the bottle with the poison crystals again. How careless to leave it here. He could so easily open that bottle and drop a few crystals in his father’s glass. How long would the poison take to kill him?
He returned to the table with the glass, feeling light-headed and sweaty.
“Come and sit here, son,” Rider Cornatan patted the armrest of his chair.
Carro sat, under the gazes of the three Senior Knights.
“I wanted to discuss how we will take control over the camp and weed out the Brotherhood element. It is very fortunate that we have all the refugees in one spot. There has been unrest in the camp, and if we move quickly, the Chevakians will thank us for getting them under control. Meanwhile, we take the opportunity to get rid of the dangerous elements.”
“How do we know who is dangerous?” Carro asked. Isandor and Jevaithi were in the camp, he knew that for sure.
“Some Brothers identify themselves clearly. Any others, we don’t know. Any Chevakians in the camp will be suspicious.”
Rider Barton said, “Any Chevakians in the camp should be removed and allowed to leave to avoid nasty situations with the army.”
The two met each other’s hard gazes across the table. Rider Ataro still tried to find something heavy to weigh down the map.
Another gust of wind came into the room.
* * *
Carro hears Isandor’s voice, sees Isandor’s blue eyes. Then fight back. Tell him what you think.
* * *
Rider Cornatan said, “You will take this unit, son, and come in from the east.”
Carro licked his lips. “Me?”
“Yes, you heard me. We have a shortage of commanders I can trust. I’ll give you the command of a hundred men and birds and you will lead the air attack.”
* * *
And Carro says to his merchant father, I’m not going to stand here all night. Tell me why you wanted to see me or I’ll go back to my study.
* * *
“We need to make sure the Chevakian army doesn’t have any balloons ready,” Rider Ataro said. “I’ll send some of my spies.”
Rider Cornatan nodded at Carro. “Those hunters of yours will be good.”
“I’ll tell them,” Carro said. He was nominally still in charge of the hunters. Whether they would listen to him . . . probably, if they wanted to live. The lives of so many, in his hands. Knights who had signed up for a job knowing that it might kill them, many more citizens, whose only crime it was to have survived the disaster.
* * *
And then Isandor asks again, What do you think, Carro?
* * *
Carro thought nothing, ever. Carro obeyed orders. His step-father’s, his father’s, his Tutor’s. Isandor’s even.
What did he think?
He thought nothing of Nolan’s affections at night.
He thought nothing of his father’s mindless praise that came regardless of whether he did well or badly.
He thought nothing of his father’s plan to force into the camp and fight miserable, unarmed refugees. He thought nothing of being given a division to lead. Rider Cornata
n made Carro nothing but a front for himself, someone to blame if things went bad. He put Carro in charge because he knew that things would go bad.
His father didn’t really care about him.
He thought nothing of the Knights’ insistence on discipline on the one hand and continuous breaking their own rules on the other. The Knight’s mantra was worth nothing.
It was all hypocrisy, and fake. No one really cared.
What did the Knights want? A world in which everyone would continuously be afraid of everyone else?
But he was powerless against the machine of war.
He had nowhere to turn. He had nowhere to flee. Not like this. Not alone. And he had no idea where to turn for help.
The penalty for treason was death. And he wasn’t even sure that what he felt amounted to treason. Mutiny, yes, the word was mutiny. The penalty for mutiny was death, too.
Rider Barton watched him, his eyes blinking. As if he could read the warring emotions in his mind.
Chapter 21
* * *
SADY DROPPED Loriane back home. She sat in the cabin opposite him, still pale after Tandor’s attack on her. She said she was fine, but a few diamond drops of sweat collected on her upper lip. He deeply regretted having called her into the prison. Deep inside, he’d known that Tandor was crazy and the incident with Loriane only proved it, and he felt terrible about having inflicted this on her; he had not learnt anything new from the exchange.
He made sure he escorted her into the kitchen, where Myra was feeding her baby.
Loriane told her that she’d seen Tandor, and some discussion ensued. Myra seemed cautious, and Loriane frustrated, but the long process of trying to get her to explain what she knew would have to wait until he came home. As it was, one of the prison guards had a rudimentary understanding of the southern language, and had made notes. The report was already on his desk when he returned to the office, but he had no time to look at it. He was already running late for a special doga session, and he ran in to the hall, poorly prepared, where all the senators had been waiting.