“Would you like to hear of the others?” Kindrel asked.
Sybil’s face brightened.
They spent the remainder of the afternoon sharing stories, Kindrel telling of the gods she knew and where they resided, Sybil of the place she had been the past five hundred years. It was a strange story. She spoke of this foreign world as both a paradise and a prison, even recounted her memories of the night she vanished, and the years spent in the Call’s embrace. As night fell, they shared a meal below deck with her children and Kindrel’s crew. It seemed to invigorate the woman to once more spend time amongst godkind, but throughout the evening, there was a sad glint in the corners of her eyes.
They discussed everything, from their children, to Lendal, to Kin’Ken, and more, but at the end of the night, Sybil declined the offer to stay aboard Minnerva. She insisted that she must return to the university, that it was her home whether it had been five centuries or not. When she left, Kindrel’s worry had been replaced by a sense of hope. Sybil spoke of rebuilding Trel, and the way she said it, Kindrel almost believed she could manage it. The world was indeed changing, and though Kindrel often struggled with such things, she wondered if this time, it might be for the better.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Bell couldn’t stop thinking about his conversation with the queen. It was too pertinent. There was a gap between his intent and the Grand’s perception. She saw an assassin, but all Bell saw was an honest man, doing his best to protect those around him. He didn’t believe bad deeds were justified by their result, and he did his best to do what he felt was right, but there was too much conflict between his definition of right and that of his peers. Even if Perval had been trying to kill Cyleste, Bell had not taken part in it. Had he known, he would have lain down his life to protect her, as was expected of him, but he had not known, and that ignorance was enough for the Grand to convict him.
It seemed too much to bear, for her to indict him based upon interpretation rather than facts – and not only him, but all of them – but what could he do? If he threw himself at her mercy, he suspected the effort would gain him nothing. She would see what she wanted to see and likely interpret his act of submission as proof of his guilt. An innocent man has no need for desperate pleas, she would say. You beg to weaken my guard. So, what could Bell do? And would it help him get back to Trin? He had no way to prove their innocence, and stubbornly, he did not want to. He was in the right here, so why should he have to prove himself? He was innocent.
But was he? Cyleste was the Grand Legionnaire. She had a god on her side. She had the god on her side, the one whose existence defined right and wrong. With Just at her ear, was she capable of injustice? Could she make a mistake, or was her determination correct by the divine authority of her god? In defying her supposition, have I failed in my moral duty? Have I sinned?
The logic seemed sound, but he could not accept it. How could he blame himself for her misinterpretation? Bell had done nothing wrong, nor did he intend to do anything wrong. And neither had she – at least so far. For now, they were both innocent; it was that gap between intent and interpretation that was suspect. She has misread my aims and that is why she sees me as the villain.
But is that her fault or mine? Who is wrong?
The strongest voice claimed that it was she who erred, but Bell could not reason if the instinct was truly correct or simply trying to excuse him from blame. As terrible as he felt, it didn’t seem to matter. It was all just a way of avoiding his real thoughts, anyway. It was all just a way of ignoring his worry for Trin. It had been a long time ago that he had promised to help her, and when he’d made that promise, he’d never believed her. Not really. But if Just was real… then Fate could be too. He didn’t want to believe that, still, a part of him said that he had no reason to believe it, he still had no proof, but he could not shake the feeling that he had betrayed her. In failing to trust her, he had given a half-assed effort. He had let her down, let her live with the fear without taking it seriously. He felt awful.
Bell wiped the sweat from his eyes before wrapping his hands underneath the brick at his feet. This was the third day of rubble removal, and so far, his band of Dekahnians had cleared six blocks. Combined, he estimated a good fifty workers. A city’s worth of labor was a powerful force, but it turned out that a barge full of grain was the stronger. The first day it had been Bell’s crew alone, but now there were six or seven more groups just like his, each led by a legionnaire who paid workers in vouchers redeemable for a meal. There were ill feelings between the Legion and Dekahn’s citizens, but food was food, and no matter their anger, it seemed that most of the Dekahnians would rather work than starve.
It seemed a miracle the Settish merchants had arrived with their cargo holds loaded with grain and meat, but Bell suspected it was well planned. The Grand hadn’t worried about their foodstuffs in the rot, and this was why. Settish intervention had been planned from the beginning, but that only made Bell feel worse. The Grand must have known the food would come, but that either meant she had predicted the fires, or that her god had mercy and compassion. If she knew of the fires, then the Legion was guilty of an atrocity worse than Liv. If the god had compassion, then Bell was defying a god who was kind enough to feed a city’s worth of refugees.
If only the Grand could believe Bell’s innocence, then he might have considered serving Just. As it was, he feared that it might be his only option, regardless. It was the only thing he could think of that might get him back to Trin; the only thing he could think of to put himself in a position to make everything up to her.
A tap on the shoulder drew Bell from his thoughts and his labor. Tel stood over him, wearing a fresh tabard and a worried grin. “I called your name three times,” she said.
Bell dropped the half-lifted chunk of brick and straightened from the rubble. His back clicked as it slid upright. His fingers pulsed and ached, both weary and strained, feeling rather like they’d not received enough blood.
“I was thinking,” Bell said. He glared down at his throbbing fingers. His hands were coated in a thick paste of soot and dirt. He rubbed them on his tabard.
Tel’s gaze flicked between the Dekahnian workers and Bell. With ash stained faces and tunics so worn they were little more than strips of fabric loosely held by their seams, they looked distracted. They labored, but they labored in the same fashion Bell did; devoid of attention, completely focused on other matters. He was certain that many of them had agreed to work in an effort to forget their problems, but that was the trouble with this type of work; too much routine and eventually the mind wandered anyway.
They looked haggard, and he was certain he must look the same. Despite having a room in the king’s palace, Bell hadn’t utilized its amenities aside from the bed, which he hadn’t used as much as he probably should have. He hadn’t washed, hadn’t changed his tabard or his leathers. He carried his sword, and a knife, but hadn’t set them aside while working, and by now the two scabbards were more ash than leather.
Though none of the Dekahnians watched them, Tel lowered her voice. “Working yourself like this won’t bring them back,” she said.
Bell frowned at her, closing his eyes in an effort to refocus. “Who?” he asked.
“Them,” Tel said. “Perval. Rise. Skibs. Killing yourself won’t do them any good.”
“Oh.” Bell hadn’t been thinking about them, in fact, they’d been the furthest thing from his mind. He’d been thinking about the Grand, and about the others; Tel and Bern, Halls and Rich, and even Trin. There had to be a way to save them all from the Grand and her god. There had to be a way to save Trin from Fate.
“Skibs and Rise aren’t dead,” he said.
Tel’s face darkened. “Better if they were,” she sniffed.
She was probably right. Bell couldn’t begrudge their choice, indeed, his joy at learning the two still lived had outweighed any other thought, but it didn’t make their decision correct. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand why t
hey had left, but he couldn’t pretend that it was moral either. They were deserters, and despite the Grand’s attempts to kill them, that still made them traitors.
It put him in a strange position. If he saw the two again, he would tell them that it was a choice too difficult to make, to decide between one’s life or the honor of shared sacrifice, but that would be a lie. Bell had made a choice. He was still here, willing to die at the side of his fellows rather than save his own life. Desertion was a despicable thing to do.
And yet, even though he knew they had done something appalling, he just didn’t see it as betrayal like Tel did. He knew that what Skibs and Rise had done was wrong, and that under normal circumstances, their desertion would make him and everyone else more vulnerable, but mostly he was relieved. For them and for himself. It was selfish, but knowing they were safe made him feel better, simply because it was two fewer lives he had to worry about, two fewer lives that would end because of Bell’s inability to convince the Grand of his innocence. Having them gone and safe was a burden lifted from his conscience.
There has to be a way to convince Cyleste… But how do you challenge a god?
Bell looked back at Tel. “Did you need something?” He didn’t want to argue about Skibs and Rise. It wasn’t a point he could argue.
Tel shook her head, likely disapproving of his tone, or perhaps his current lifestyle. “The queen is asking for you.”
“Rin Tepa?” He had been so preoccupied, he hadn’t spared the queen a moment’s thought.
Tel nodded. “She is disappointed that you have not called on her. And insulted that you have given over your guard duties.”
“I…” Bell paused with a sudden revelation. “Oh,” Bell sighed, “I am an idiot.”
It seemed obvious to him now. Just was real, therefore, Rin Tepa – or Atep Rin, rather – must have lied to him. She too, was a god, and who better to help him than one known as Planner? He just hoped her title was more accurate than Just’s seemed to be.
Tel had the grace not to say anything, though it might’ve been confusion rather than tact. She even kept a straight face.
Bell turned his head and found the cooper. She and her son were in what remained of the building’s back right corner, lifting a beam to carry it to the refuse pile while her daughter followed behind, playing more than sweeping with the tattered remnants of a hay-threaded broom.
“Nat,” Bell called. “I’m headed in.”
The cooper shifted the beam’s weight under an arm and then held her hand at her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. She glanced at Tel, her lips tightening, and nodded. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to, for likely she was as tired as Bell.
Bell motioned for Tel to follow as he set off for the palace. A Legion soldier, one of the legionnaires appointed to see to it the Dekahnian laborers were fed, tried to hand Bell a meal ticket on his way past. Bell frowned at the man then glanced down at his tabard. It was worse than he thought; there was no red left in the fabric, his entire uniform had been turned to pitch. Worn holes with frayed edges – not tears exactly, for they were much too round – had replaced the kneecaps of his trousers. Even his legionnaire’s insignia was gone, the patch simply missing, and the fabric beneath darkened as if the thing had never existed. Now when did I lose that? For all he knew, it could have been days ago.
“Perhaps you should wash first,” Tel suggested.
Bell waved the suggestion away. Let the queen see what he had done for her people, maybe it would help convince her to lend the assistance he so desperately needed. She had been friendly before, if not forthcoming, but hopefully she would not pretend ignorance after he presented the evidence. He only hoped this was not a worse mistake. Justice had invaded her city, and what he had seen of their conversation had not been exactly civil. By approaching Atep Rin, he might alienate himself further, but perhaps that was necessary. Besides, what did it matter when he was already a noted traitor? He only hoped that Atep would not ask for something illicit in return. He might look the traitor, but he would not become one.
“Bell, what’s wrong with you?” Tel asked. It wasn’t an angry demand. Her voice was soft, it almost sounded scared, as if she were terrified that she had lost another colleague.
“Nothing,” Bell said. “I’m better than ever.” It wasn’t true. At this moment he was excited, but he wasn’t doing well. He had been all nerves since the Grand had confronted him following Perval’s death. Ever since he had learned that Fate might be real.
“You’ve been out of it for days.” Tel rubbed her cheek with the tips of her fingers. “There’s been talk that…” She didn’t finish her sentence.
Bell glanced at her, thinking that perhaps she hadn’t thought him listening, but despite his attention, she didn’t continue. Talk that what? Bell wondered. That I’ve gone mad? That’s insane.
Well… it wasn’t unheard of. This had been his first real engagement, and in a way, he had lost four soldiers counting Acklin being reassigned – or rather, keeping his post while everyone else was reassigned. It was not a good record for an officer on his first assignment. Had he been in their position, madness wouldn’t be hard to believe.
Bell and Tel pushed into the courtyard, brushing shoulders with the Dekahnian workers awaiting their turn to be fed. Bell shook his head at Tel, smiling in the hopes it might ease her worries. “I am fine, Tel. I had to think, and work helps, but I think I’ve got it now.”
“Got what?”
“A way to keep us alive.” And a way to get him back to Trin.
Tel frowned. “Alive? It’s not so bad, is it? In assigning us to guard the queen, did the Grand not forgive us?”
“Gods no.” Bell was shocked. Not at Tel, but at himself. Had he not informed the others of what they faced? He had been so rattled… Bell’s gaze took in the crowded courtyard. “Best not to discuss it here,” he said. “I’ll fill everyone in after I speak with the queen. Hopefully, I’ll have some good news by then.”
Tel nodded, but she didn’t look happy about his plan. And how could she? Even if unintentional, he had left them in the dark, leaving them vulnerable had the Grand tried anything, and now he was asking Tel to wait even longer. For his first posting as an officer, he wasn’t doing very well.
Tel did not speak until they had entered the palace and reached its second level. “Are you sure you don’t want to clean up first?” she asked.
“There’s no time.” There probably was time, but he couldn’t bear the anxiety any longer. He wasn’t mad yet, but a few minutes alone in his bath when he could be saving their lives was likely to send him there.
His squad mates were seated around an end table playing cards when he and Tel reached the queen’s chamber. Bern sat in the farthest chair, with the door on his left. He was the first to see their approach. His eyes brightened when his gaze found Bell.
“Hey,” Bern said. “Look who it is.”
The others looked up from their cards, Rich craning his neck to see over his shoulder so he wouldn’t have to leave his chair.
“How are we this morning?” Rich asked with an amused grin.
This morning? Bell wondered. Did I not come back last night?
“Melodramatic,” Tel said. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, or even rude, if anything it sounded depressed.
Bell offered her a shocked glance. She didn’t look at him.
“And a bit of an ass,” she continued.
Grinning, Rich stood and offered his chair. “Well quit trying to save the world and play some damned cards with us. Those dust sifters can do a few hours without you.”
Halls gave an affronted scoff. “Those are my people,” he said.
“Then how come you ain’t been out there with Bell?” Rich asked, the amused smile widening.
“Out there?” The question had knocked away any fervor Halls had held. “But… there might be Atheists out there.”
Bell frowned thoughtfully. It was odd… but come to think of it, he hadn�
��t met any of Dekahn’s famed Atheists. Indeed, there had been very little talk of religion. He had heard the Atheists were outspoken and militant, but perhaps it was a sensitive subject to broach with a priest, especially one who carried a sword.
Kenneth grunted a condescending sigh and turned back to his cards. He rearranged his hand as though he were going to continue play with or without the others. The other three laughed.
“Come,” Bern said, waving his hand to Rich’s seat. “Sit and join us for a spell. That rubble’s not going anywhere, and if it does, all for the better, right?”
He knew he should spend time with them, if only to show that he was still sane. Now would be a bad time for them to lose confidence in him – if they had not done so already. Besides, they had lost a lot of friends, and although Halls and Rich appeared happy, he very much suspected it to be an act.
“After,” Bell said, motioning to the queen’s door.
Bern smiled, nodding without complaint. Surely, he knew that Bell had been summoned. “And Tel?” Bern asked. “How about you?”
She shook her head, her eyes watching the queen’s door. “No. I think I’ll rest for a bit.”
“Suit yourself,” Bern said, glancing back to his cards.
Bell nodded. As he stepped past their table, Halls broke into a choking laugh. Kenneth and Bern glared at him, their looks confused. Rich sighed.
“Get it?” Halls was saying, holding up his cards. “Suit yourself?”
Bell knocked on the queen’s door as the four discussed the finer points of puns – that is to say, berated Halls for finding humor in them.
The queen’s young ward answered the door, her face expressionless, her stance wary. She clutched the doorknob tentatively, with two fingers wrapped loosely about the rounded end, the rest of the hand hovering above it as though she was yet undecided on whether to let it go and step aside or to slam it in his face. The way she stared at him was not hostile exactly, indeed, it was far from it, but neither was it welcoming. If Bell could sum the expression in a single word, the word he would choose was ‘lost.’ The young woman seemed lost, but not as if she were uncertain about what to do or where to go, but as if she had never known the answers to those questions or even thought to ponder them.
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 96