“Look, even today she forces me to sit in this… this cupboard while she speaks with the First. I am her daughter and heir, and one day I will inherit her lands and very likely her title. How can she expect me to do those things if she does not give me the authority I need to prepare my station? Does the First treat you the same way? Surely you must know what I mean.”
“I…” Jem paused, uncertain of how he should characterize himself. Everything she had said… the bard? What bard? Gods, had someone threatened Elyse?
The herald did not wait for him, instead, taking his pause for affirmation. “Of course he does. Whether soldier or daughter, we are all subordinates to them, not only in position, but in our thoughts as well, because if we are not at their level, it must be because they’re better, right? Wrong, and you want to know why?”
“I suppose so…” Jem said cautiously.
The young woman lowered her voice, pointing to the thick, padded cushion underneath her rump. “Because they think themselves in private and act accordingly, but of course they failed to check.” The deacon’s daughter lifted the cushion to reveal a stiff frame of parallel boards. Thin, flat rays of light, as of light through a paneled wall, streaked the dark crevice beneath the cushion.
“They have soundproofed the walls,” she explained in a whisper. “But of course, they forgot to pad the walls before they built this bench, so there is no proofing here except the cushion.”
A voice drifted from the hole she had revealed. Both soft and deep at once, he knew it for Taehrn’s.
She dropped her ear to the bench and waved Jem closer. Gods, maybe he should marry this one. At the least, she was making things easier for him.
The deacon’s daughter must have taken his hesitation as a sign of apprehension.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked. “He trusts you with his letters, does he not? So clearly, he must trust you with all his words. Is there truly harm in hearing that to which you are already privileged?”
Stifling a laugh, Jem pressed his ear to the booth. Never reject information that was freely given, right? Besides, he’d always wondered if Lissahn was worth killing, too.
“You still have not told me why you are here,” a woman’s voice said. He’d never heard her voice, but he knew it must be Deacon Lissahn.
“Ivy, my dear friend, I have already told you the truth of it. There is a war and thus am I here.”
“I realize that, Taehrn, but it is the excuses I have heard which give me pause. The border is mine, I know that the Vandu raiding has been lighter this year than most, so why are you here?”
Jem heard the creaking squeal of a body shifting on a wicker seat. “The Magistrate deemed it wise,” Taehrn answered.
“Why?”
“To restore order to the land, my dear deacon.”
“Oh, do not give me your vagaries, Taehrn. Just tell me what the Magistrate intends so that I might prepare for the coming months.”
Taehrn released a drawn out and contemptuous sigh. “Must I map the whole scheme for you, Ivy? With all these demands, one might think the Magistrate’s promises are not enough for you.”
“It is difficult to place faith in empty promises, Taehrn. I am no closer to reclaiming what the High Cleric has stolen from my family than my father was fifty years ago. What will I have to pass on to my children if you and Godahn give me nothing but promises? What will I have to pass on to my daughter if merchants own the fish, and the grain, and the copper mines?”
“You think the Writ can be reinstated overnight, Ivy? The Cleric acts the fool, but he blocks Godahn’s efforts at every turn, which is precisely why he must be replaced.”
“You speak treason,” Lissahn gasped.
Taehrn’s response was heightened by anger. “Oh, don’t play naïve, Ivy. We have always spoken of treason, and if I remember correctly, it has always been you who has spoken loudest, or must I remind you of Liv?”
“You would blame Trask’s failure on me?”
“It was you who encouraged him.”
There was a tense pause. “And I would still,” Lissahn said, “if he still lived.”
“Still lived? What do you mean, still lived?”
“You don’t know?” Lissahn sounded disappointed, her voice cautious and low. “He is dead now more than a month, Taehrn. Burned in his bed, and you are to blame.”
Jem’s breathing slowed. The herald’s earlier words had given him pause, but now he was certain. They were speaking of him.
“Hold on.” Taehrn’s fury had given way to unease. “I don’t understand… He sent his boy to Lane, just as I asked. How could Trask be dead?”
“You have seen the boy?”
“Yes, but… when he told the others that his father had died… I assumed he was lying. I assumed it was part of his cover.”
“Well, of course he led you to believe that, Taehrn. The boy is the very culprit.”
“What?” Taehrn’s voice rasped.
“I do not know what you had the bard say to the girl, Taehrn, but it appears her words turned the boy against his father. He tied Indaht to his bed then burned the cottage while he slept.”
“No. The boy could not have.”
“What makes you so certain?”
“Well I… We had a deal. I’ve had the boy strung around my finger. He thinks I’m going to give him the deaconship without his father’s oversight.”
“You told him that?”
“Of course I did. I had to give him a reason to think I was his friend.”
“Well, apparently, he took it upon himself to deal with his father already. The damned boy must have realized all along that he didn’t need Indaht… Gods, how are we going to deal with this? Where is the boy?”
“I… I sent him back to Trel,” Taehrn lied. “To Godahn.”
Jem nearly puked on the herald’s shoes. It was too much to believe. So, Elyse had lied to him, but it was not about the rape. There had been no rape, there had not even been sex, she had been threatened. And at Taehrn’s suggestion.
Jem pressed his ear closer.
“Well,” Lissahn said, “your plan has made a mess of things.”
“Oh, it was you who insisted you must have the boy.”
“Because of his father,” Lissahn hissed. “The point was to bring the boy into my own home, as leverage over Trask. The man may have been a monster, but the South still loves him. Do you truly believe Gable will support Godahn’s efforts without the hero of the Riots? Without the man who killed the Tyrant of Ternobahl? We need Trask to rally the Gablemen to the Magistrate’s cause. Without Indaht, we will not have the army we need.”
“I…” Taehrn’s composure was shattered. “It doesn’t matter,” Taehrn finally managed. “By now Godahn has the boy, and that will be better for us. We can use his suffering at Liv to rally the North and his heritage to rally the South.”
“But how do you mean to control him? You need to warn Godahn. If he’s already killed Indaht, then who’s to say we don’t factor into his plans? What if he means to get rid of us as well?”
Taehrn laughed. “And why would he do that, Ivy? The boy needs us. He is no fighter like his father. No great statesman like Godahn. If we do not place the deaconship into his hands, then he will never have it. He needs us.”
“But… you know how ruthless Trask was. What if his boy is the same type of creature? Perhaps he doesn’t want to be Deacon of the North. What if it’s my seat he’s after? What if the moment we wed him to my daughter, he kills me and her?”
“We won’t let that happen.”
“How?”
“We’ll delay the wedding for now. At least until we can figure out a way to control him. I already know him well enough. I already know one way to keep him in check.”
Jem tensed. Somehow, he didn’t doubt that ‘way’ was Trin.
“And if that doesn’t work?” Lissahn asked.
“And if that does not work, it will not matter. Before month’s end I shall be G
rand Legionnaire, and then it will be only a short step toward the removal of the Cleric. None will oppose us then, for through me we shall have the army we require. Between Godahn’s authority and mine, those who oppose us will be the ones called traitors.” Taehrn did not sound wholly convinced. Indeed, he sounded as if he were selling the idea to himself more than pitching it to Lissahn.
“But what of the other deacons? Surely they will see our treachery.”
“The Grand will die at war and the Cleric will appear to have been killed by a madwoman. Godahn assures me that Scryer Fate has guaranteed it. And besides, no one can say that the Cleric’s death has not been anticipated for the last fifty years.”
“But…” Clearing her throat, Lissahn hesitated. “But what of the rumors?”
“Which rumors?” Taehrn dismissed. “There are always rumors.”
“Of what the bard says. And your assassin… They say that the Cleric is a god. And so too is Godahn’s woman, Fate.”
“Oh, come now. You sound like Cyleste. Next you shall tell me that you hear Just speaking in your head. It is lunacy.”
“The tallow mage seems to believe such things, as does my bard. My bard claims to be a god.”
“They are fools.”
“Then how do you explain their… skills?”
“Ivy,” Taehrn made the name into a plea for reason. “Such cretins are common in Atherahn. They are freaks, but they are not gods. Even Fate herself is but a scryer with a penchant for fortune telling.”
“And how do you know? They are certainly something, and gods make perfect sense.”
“Those brutes?” Taehrn said. “The tallow mage is a mercenary. If he were a god, do you not think his aims would be higher? Besides, if there were gods, do you not think they would have come to us instead of Cyleste? It was Dydal, the Whore’s prophet and consort, who enacted the Writ, after all. Our aims are in line with the gods’ will.”
“You sound like Godahn. I would have thought you more pragmatic.”
“More pragmatic? It is only reason. The gods are an invention, devised by an age-old tyrant as justification for his rule.”
“That is precisely what I mean,” Lissahn said. “A more pragmatic man would treat the idea as a possibility instead of dismissing it.”
Taehrn scoffed. “Gods, Ivy, I could swear I was speaking to my once-fiancée.”
Trin? Jem wondered.
“She believes in the gods?” Lissahn asked.
“She obsesses over them, believing them to control every aspect of her life, to the point she fears her entire existence to be preordained. And all because Godahn’s scryer put a little fear into her when Trin was a child. It is pathetic.”
Jem nearly choked. Trin… Religious? It didn’t sound like her. But the fear… the fear Jem had experienced upon first meeting her, perhaps that was the root of it.
Jem leapt away from the booth and onto his feet. He couldn’t listen anymore. Any longer and he would be sick.
“Hey!” the herald whispered. “What are you doing?”
Jem turned for the exit. “Leaving,” he said. At the door, he paused. “Do not tell anyone that I was here.”
“You dare order me around? Do you know who I am?”
“I know exactly who you are, and that is your weakness. If you were wiser you would know it for a liability.” It was a sentiment Jem knew intimately. He had lived that lesson for five years, lying about his name and his father. “You see,” Jem continued, hoping to drive the threat home. “The problem for you is that you have no idea who I am. Tell Taehrn I was here – or anyone for that matter – and I promise you, the revelation will be unpleasant.”
“You…” her face twisted into an angry sneer. “You’re him, aren’t you? I know exactly who you are. You’re not with Godahn at all.”
“Exactly. So, you know what will happen to you if you open your mouth.”
His threat was only a half truth. He didn’t care who she told so long as he could escape this room. Jem’s hand found the parchment at his breast. At this moment, a letter outlining Taehrn’s treason sounded like the perfect antidote for all that ailed him. Elyse lied… but it was from fear of Taehrn and his allies, not her guilt. The Butcher could take Taehrn and all the others. Jem had been right all along.
Jem didn’t make it back to his room in the keep, or even out of the building; his legs gave out long before then. He had found another room instead, an empty parlor on the opposite end of the building.
That feeling stirred. That feeling Jem had loved, that feeling of just retribution he’d had from killing his father. Taehrn had meddled in his life, ruined it for some half-baked scheme. He had made Jem a killer. Or maybe that’s what I’ve always been. But if it must be so, then I will choose my victims. Retrieving the letter from his pocket, Jem glanced at the letter’s final warning. The Legion must stay in Derlin, or the Guard will catch it in the rot, and the Guard will crush it. He considered giving the letter to someone important, and then decided not to. Why should the Grand have this letter? No doubt she was as bad as Lissahn and Taehrn. No need for evidence of Taehrn’s treason. Let him fall beneath the weight of his own schemes. Trin had been wrong all along. The Legion deserved no kind of mercy. Not any part of it. It was the same lesson he’d learned as a child. Its members seemed like good people, right up until the day they proved they weren’t. Jem would let the Legion continue to Dekahn, let it fall to the Guard, let Taehrn fail because he had trusted someone he shouldn’t have. Besides, the Magistrate and Lissahn needed an army for their coup to work. They needed the Legion to overthrow the Cleric.
If they believe the Legion will turncoat upon their whims, then Butcher take the Legion. It’s too corrupt to let it live.
Once the Guard had done enough damage to the Legion, once it had shocked Taehrn’s troops so badly that his network of spies and assassins would have no way to recover, then Jem would kill the man. Once they had been crippled by the Guard, even if Taehrn had given the order for Jem to be killed if the man should die himself, then Taehrn’s agents would have no strength or will to carry it out. No one would suspect what Jem had done, and once it was all over, then he’d find out who else needed killing.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
“Tin, my girl. This world is a beautiful place, you will see wonders here that you could never have imagined, but you must be patient.” Sybil pulled open the door to a shower of dust. She was quick – and tall enough – to cover herself before the up swell brought the cloud to her face.
Poor Iri was not so lucky as the swirling dust swept into her eyes and throat. Her girls did not breathe, but the dust must have gotten into Iri’s lungs, for she was suddenly overtaken by a hacking cough.
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” Sybil apologized, though she spoke under the weight of stifled laughter. The dust could not harm the girl, after all, and it was rather funny considering that all three of them should have expected it.
Leaning over the wheelbarrow she had insisted on pushing, Iri drew a deep, clean breath before glancing up at Sybil with a smile, as if to say there was no harm done. Despite the tear-filled eyes, the taught dimples on her cheeks suggested she too was on the verge of laughter. To her, this mission to excavate Sybil’s old apartments was as much of an adventure as if they were about to dig up a fossilized beast. Unfortunately, her other daughter was not as excited.
“But if there is so much to see, then why can’t we go now?” Tin asked, wiping away a thin sheen of dust to reveal her disgruntled scowl. Tin had never been one to shy away from dirt and grime, but when given a task she did not like, any slight misfortune became an affront to her very nature.
“We must have a comfortable place to live first,” Sybil said. “A little delay is all it will cost us, and then I promise to show you everything there is to see. I might even teach you to skip so we might see it all faster.”
The answer didn’t appear to satisfy Tin as her mouth pursed into an ‘O’ and her eyebrows scrunched inward. On her
lips, the pout seemed as false as it ever was; Tin never pouted in earnest, it was simply not her personality. Sybil suspected it might be a defense strategy, copied from Iri, a way for both of them to manipulate their mother. The strange thing however, was that for some reason Tin still believed the look might work, even though that pout had always evoked more irritation in Sybil than it did sympathy.
Today however, the pout made her smile. “I promise you, Tin, it will be worth the wait. And each night when we finish our tour of Trel, we will have a warm home and comfortable beds to return to.” Not to mention that she would finally have the chance to see what had become of her old possessions. There was some self-indulgence in making her children wait.
Raising her lantern, Sybil pushed the door aside, entered her old bedroom, and then stopped and stared. There were no buttons, all her furniture was in its proper place, as if the room had not been touched since her disappearance, except that her furniture was no longer furniture. Dust coated everything, and where there wasn’t dust, there were cobwebs or rat droppings. The heavy black drapes, which blocked out the light, looked to be the only thing in the room which had been replaced, while all the rest lay in shambles. Her four-post bed was now post-less, its wooden frame rotted to patchy, hair-fibered boards, and its mattress turned to strands and mildew.
She had known her absence was long, but she hadn’t thought… Her possessions should not have been in such poor shape. She had seen Dydal, after all, and he was mortal. She could not have been gone longer than a few decades… But she had to have been. How long must it have taken to create the things she had made? She had designed an entire ecosystem, but only after she had built the chemical foundations for it. It must have been centuries, perhaps even millennia.
“Is something wrong, Mother?” Iri asked.
Sybil handed her the lantern. “Take this, child. You two stay here, I will be back.” She had to find Dydal, and if not him, Ivan. Gods, anyone will do.
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 93