by Patty Jansen
“It’s true!” Loriane said, her eyes blazing with anger, and then she added something to Myra.
Dara snapped back at Loriane, and Ontane said some soothing words.
Myra rose. “Have to do work now. Make the house safe. Tandor is crazy. Bad.”
When Sady came in, they had been working on the bathroom, which Farius had determined to be the safest part of the house, and supplies and beds were being moved in.
Everyone left, except for Loriane. Sady now understood the argument he’d sensed the morning after the killings. Mercy, if even the southerners were unsure of Tandor’s words, then how much hope did he have? A small part of him had wanted Tandor’s story to be true, because he wanted to be able to do something.
And Tandor said that this creature, if it existed, could be used to reduce sonorics, but he had no control over it, and neither did anyone else, and Sady could not see what else he could do to stop the sonorics cloud reaching Tiverius, with or without people made of fire—that detail hardly mattered anymore. Thousands of innocent citizens would die, and he could do nothing to stop it.
He let his shoulders slump. They’d go into the bathroom when the storm came. He’d put on his suit, and accept any family whose house did not have a safe place, and hoped they would survive, and if they survived, hope that they’d still be able to grow food, and that the farm animals had survived. If they survived, and that was a big question.
He blew out a heavy breath.
A hand moved into the field of his vision, and closed over his.
He met Loriane’s eyes, their strange colour mesmerising. She didn’t look away and didn’t smile, but continued to meet his eyes with a steady expression. “Sorry,” she said.
“You can’t help it,” he said. He shrugged. He hated being powerless. He had done all the right things, prepared the people as best as the situation allowed, re-opened the shelters, he had settled the refugees and given them food. He had settled the Ensar people, and ordered the army to be ready for an attack. Except this wasn’t the kind of attack that could be fought.
“What do you want me to do? Just sit here and wait until we can die?”
He was unsure Loriane understood.
“Chances are that when this storm has passed, you will be the only ones alive in Tiverius.”
Maybe that was what this Brotherhood had wanted all along, and gullible Chevakian businessmen had bought into the dream of free energy while being told lies about the side effects.
“You will live,” Loriane said in the oddly disjointed way of a foreign speaker. “You are a good man.”
“This is not about good or bad.”
“You are good.”
Her hand slid up his arm. That must be a southern thing, because Chevakians didn’t touch there, unless . . .
Her steady gaze did not waver from his.
Sady’s heart was thudding. When had the atmosphere changed from one of comfort to something overwhelmingly suggestive?
He lifted his hand to cover hers, feeling her skin, soft, but with bumps and calluses on the fingers, under his hand.
How long had it been since he had last touched a woman like this?
“Loriane, I . . . don’t want you to think that you have to do anything to stay in my house. I require no payment of this kind.”
She didn’t react, but continued to meet his eyes, and smiled. Her lips curved and her lips drew back to make little hollows at the corners of her mouth. Her cheeks dimpled.
Woman, don’t do that or I’ll . . .
Do what?
It hardly mattered if they were all going to die.
Would he go to his death regretting not having shown his affection to three amazing, brave and beautiful women in his life?
He reached out and touched the soft skin of her neck, threading his fingers through her hair. It was lush and bushy and smelled of flowers.
“I won’t do this if you don’t want me to.”
Who was he kidding? Who was the most scared here? Twenty years, thirty years, since he had last kissed a woman.
He was scared to death that she would get up and walk out. That she would slap him in the face. He was waiting for it.
But nothing happened.
And then slowly, he closed the remaining handwidth distance between them and kissed her, fleetingly, on the lips. Giving her the opportunity to back out.
She didn’t. Still meeting his eyes in that intense look, she slid her hand up his arm, to his shoulder, and pulled him closer.
He kissed her properly, and she kissed him back, unleashing a flood of feelings deep inside him. Relief, regret, desire. She was an amazing woman, strong in the face of incredible hardship, and if he had only night left to live, he was going to spend it with her.
For a blissful time, he forgot about the problems. He wanted to hold her and never let her go. He wanted to take her by the hand and shout Look, I found the best woman in the world and she’s mine.
He had never, ever, been in love. Oh, he’d liked Suri, and had dreams about her. He’d liked Lana, as companion, but there was a reason why he’d never taken any intimate steps with either of them: because he hadn’t wanted to.
The kitchen door opened, and someone said, “Sady—oh!”
Sady let go of Loriane, his heart still thudding.
It was Orsan at the door, dressed in a cloak dripping rain, his eyes wide.
“Uhm—I’m sorry for interrupting your—uhm . . .” His cheeks had gone red.
“You have interrupted. Tell me.” Sady was surprised at how unapologetic he felt.
Orsan pushed down the hood of his cloak, still watching Loriane. Oh, yes, he disapproved.
“There is fighting in the refugee camp. The camp commander confirms that his men were overwhelmed by Eagle Knights.”
Sady’s first though was Fuck the camp and fuck the Eagle Knights, but managed not to say that. He took a deep breath, still tasting and smelling Loriane and wanting, oh so badly, to take her upstairs. His second thought was and Finnisius said they had everything under control, but he didn’t say that, either. His third thought was very different. “Orsan, tell me what the fuck are Eagle Knights doing in Chevakia?”
“Uhm—General Finnisius sent me to report. I don’t know the details.”
“What is General Finnisius doing?”
“He asks for advice.”
Sady pushed himself up from his seat and grabbed his suit. “Well, I’ll give him some advice. He’s been giving me nonsense about these camps for days. Withdrawing from his job. We don’t fight civilians. I bet my life that there is someone, or several someones, inside that camp who attracts this kind of weird behaviour.” Likely the Brotherhood had infiltrated the army. “Come.” He grabbed Loriane’s hand. “Get a cloak. It’s raining.”
And as he followed Orsan out of the kitchen, another thought came to him: supposing this mythical creature existed, and supposing it roamed wild in the Tiverian skies, turning from a little girl into a flying monster at will, the only place they could find someone to tame it was amongst the southern refugees, and maybe that someone was a person with experience in dealing with large flying creatures and they had none such people in Tiverius.
Chapter 26
* * *
CARRO DID NOT want to go out. By the skylights, the weather was awful. Rain lashed the metal sheets of the shed, which creaked and rattled with gusts of wind. Carro stood at the central bar, fussing with his eagle’s reins. The bird snorted and shook its head, scattering bits of down, and gave Carro the evil eye. It had been asleep, beak tucked in its feathers, when the order to fly out came.
It looked like it wanted to do this just as much as Carro did. No piece of clothing
would keep him dry in weather like this. The eagles hated it, and hated it even more because it was dark.
All around him, Knights were saddling up their birds to go out, part of the second wave of attacks, as Rider Cornatan had ordered. They had word that the trucks were in the camp, now it was the Eagle Knights’ turn to fly in under the cover of darkness and flush out Brotherhood leaders and find the Queen. She was to be brought back to farmhouse. Alive. Rider Cornatan had vacated and prepared a room for her, a store room, without a window, with a heavy lock on the door, and a large luxurious bed with satin sheets.
Anyone defending her was to be killed, and the Queen brought back to this prison, where she would again be paraded out to the people as mascot, and where the Junior Knights would again talk about her puppies. Except this time, Rider Cornatan would waste no time in getting her pregnant.
And when the Brotherhood was defeated and its members killed, and the Queen safely imprisoned, the Knights could go on being just as dishonourable, disrespectful and disobedient as they wanted. Nothing would change unless someone changed it.
As Carro stood there, surrounded by eagles, unnecessarily fiddling with the harness, he was struggling to hold visions at bay. Icefire was strong tonight, and it made him alternately shiver or feel hot.
Jeito glanced at him. She had been doing this ever since they had started preparing, as if looking for an opportunity to do something unexpected, like stick a knife in his back. Since their conversation at Rider Barton’s hideout, she had not spoken to him.
Farey had told him that Jeito’s mother and sister were likely to be in the camp.
Carro thought, My family could be there, too until he remembered that the merchant was no longer family, and that the scornful dumpy girl wasn’t really his sister, and never cared about him . . . except he remembered walking through the streets holding her hand. And he remembered her walking up the stairs to his sleeping shelf carrying broth. He’d been sick for days, and the soup was the best thing he’d ever tasted, even though he would never tell her. He remembered her wanting to dress him up in some garishly-coloured thing she had made with offcuts from her father’s fabrics. He remembered screaming at her, and his mother telling him to be nice to her. He remembered yelling, I hate her! And his mother boxing him around the ears for being horrible to his sister, after which he had screamed that he hated his mother as well. He enjoyed looking at the hurt expression on her face.
At one point, his family had cared about him.
In later years, they had given up caring, because he had never given them a reason to care for him. He liked it when people hated him, because he could stay angry.
The world had hated him, because he had expected the world to hate him. By hating himself, he had made himself be hated. Except for Isandor who had, in some way, seen through the hate.
Whatever had possessed him to tell on his friend? Why had he cared about Rider Cornatan’s approval?
Rider Cornatan didn’t care for him. Perhaps his real father cared for him less than the merchant had. Rider Cornatan didn’t care for the any of the people of the City of Glass. Rider Cornatan didn’t care for the Eagle Knights’ mantra, or their task: to keep the order and protect the Queen.
And he did not want to go into the camp and fight other people from the Outer City. But everyone around him was getting ready with grim determination.
Knights were already taking their eagles out into the rain. The birds made protesting noises.
Farey jerked his head in a let’s go kind of way.
Carro nodded. Several pale-faced Knights under his command looked scared. They didn’t want to fight either.
He turned around to needlessly adjust the saddle on his eagle’s back—and met Rider Barton’s eyes, intense.
Why were they all staring at him? But he knew why. If there was ever someone who could stop this, he was that person. Rider Cornatan would not listen to anyone else.
With trembling hands, he re-tied the eagle’s reins and crossed the stable. At the open doors, groups of birds were taking off into the stormy night.
Rider Barton met his eyes in silence. His face was exceedingly blank, as if he was afraid to show any of his thoughts.
Carro said, “I noticed at the meeting that you were reluctant about sending the men into the camp.”
“My excuses. I didn’t mean to question the Supreme Rider. I was merely voicing the feelings of my men.”
“Loyalty and Honesty.” Carro forced a smile.
Rider Barton nodded and returned an equally forced smile.
“You backed off because you didn’t want to push the Supreme Rider for what you feel is right.”
Rider Barton flicked his eyebrows. “I don’t know what that is supposed to mean.”
Carro met his eyes, and felt like screaming, Come on, give me some help, I know that you don’t like this either, but he said nothing, and Rider Barton said nothing, and Carro couldn’t be completely sure that Rider Barton’s remark about his men expecting to go back to the City of Glass in order to rescue people meant that he disagreed with Rider Cornatan’s order. He was trembling so much that he couldn’t think of anything safe to say.
Rider Barton nodded. “I’m sorry. I have a unit to lead.” He clipped the loops of his riding harness together.
“Yes, sure. Let’s go.”
Trembling, Carro went back to his eagle. Now what did that mean? That Rider Barton distrusted him? That he didn’t agree? That he was scared of being found out as dissenter?
He led his bird out the stable, feeling that an opportunity had just passed him. By the skylights, if he wanted to reinstate the Knights’ honour, if he wanted to lead a movement, a rebellion, a mutiny against the upper command, he would have to be more bold than this. Yet, he needed numbers. Jeito and Farey might support him, and some of their friends, but he needed Rider Barton. Rider Barton’s men might support him . . . but he couldn’t see who they were in the dark and chaos of the shed where half the men had already left for battle. He had no way of reaching them.
So he grabbed the eagle’s reins and followed Rider Barton outside. Rain pelted down, freezing and biting his skin. Not even his thick cloak was going to be enough to keep him warm in weather like this. He was already shivering.
They took off over the forest. Driving rain cut into the skin of Carro’s face and hands and he could barely see.
First was the darkness of the forest that separated the farmhouse from Tiverius, and then some fields and dotted lights of farms.
He was nervous, shivering. Worried that Jeito or Rider Barton had been told to act as they did in order to test his loyalty and that either of them would run a dagger through his heart as soon as they landed.
Worried that they might think that he was a spy for Rider Cornatan.
He could already see the glow of fire on the horizon, and palls of smoke rising into the night air. He didn’t have long to think about what to do.
* * *
Carro stands in the emerald room where he first met his father. The door rumbles open and three men come in. They stop a few paces inside the door and stare at him. They’re Knights, of a fashion, but their standard of uniform would never be approved inside the eyrie. One wears a faded shirt, the other non-standard trousers. They wear shorthair cloaks, and are just recognisable as Knights, but clearly not ordinary Knights. One of the men he recognises. It’s the tall and skinny Farey who he met in his father’s bathroom, the one with the Aranian face. A second man is quite young, with a head of honey-coloured curls. His eyes are light brown. The other is slight of build, with sleek black hair and piercing eyes.
Uhm—I’m Carro, he says, and the small man glares at him in a way that says, See if I care.
The men must obey you, his father had said
. If they do not, punish them until they do.
Punish these men? Rider Cornatan has to be kidding.
* * *
The camp was closer now, and Carro could make out burning piles of wood and people running. Shouts and screams. The first Knights had gone into the camp in trucks, to despatch the Chevakian soldiers. There were the trucks of the Chevakians which people had said were in the camp. There were the trucks that had held the first wave of Knights. He peered into the stinging wind. Where were all the camp’s inhabitants? Where were Isandor and Jevaithi? What if they had already been captured?
The eagles landed on a field uphill from the tents. Knights jumped off and formed groups according to orders, while the stable boys looked after the birds. Everyone with their unit. Carro found Jeito, Nolan and Farey in the dark. He was cold, wet and his muscles were stiff, so his steps were awkward. Men shouted orders. Someone lit a torch, which almost flapped out in a strong gust of wind. Carro pulled the sides of his cloak closer against the rain and shouted to his command to follow him.
The Senior Knight walked back and forth in front of the lined-up men. “At the moment, most of the fighting is on the other side of the camp. We are going to come in from this side. We will get everyone out of the tents and line them up. We search the tents to make sure no one hides. First pick of beds tonight for the unit that finds the Queen. Go, go, go.”
* * *
Kick him, the boy says.
Carro looks up from the boy who crouches, sobbing in the snow to the bully standing next to him. The bully is older than him, a head taller and almost twice his width.
Come on, kick him, he says.
Carro wants to ask, Where? Or, How?
He doesn’t need to ask why; he knows. Because if he doesn’t, the older boys will hit him. Not that he really wants to kick the boy, but it’s easy because he’s younger and smaller than Carro, and he’s too scared to fight back.
Carro glances at the door to Isandor’s house. Isandor would tell the big boys to go away, but Carro hasn’t seen his friend all day.