Blaze ignored them, but Bell burst out, “They are the ones who have harmed our queen. It’s their fault.”
“I’m not entirely sure that’s the case,” McKay said. “I mean, how do you figure that? They weren’t even there when your queen got sick, right?”
Blaze’s eyes flickered. “So they say.”
“It is true,” Everlasting said.
“And I,” Forge said, “was on Alabaster’s hive. I had just returned when you spoke to our queen — as you well know.”
“That’s what she told me,” Blaze said, his voice remote.
“And you doubt her word?” Everlasting flexed his feeding hand in spite of himself, and Blaze showed teeth in answer.
“Wait a minute,” Sheppard said. “Wait just a minute here. Let’s nobody make any unfortunate choices.”
“This is not your concern,” Blaze said.
“Yeah, actually, it is,” Sheppard said. “You’re here under our protection, like it or not, and we intend to send you back to your hives unharmed, because we don’t want to be blamed for anything that happens to you. Any of you.”
“I am sure Alabaster would absolve you,” Blaze said.
“I don’t really care what Alabaster thinks,” Sheppard said.
The Young Queen said, “I am still entirely unsure what happened to your queen.”
Blaze blinked, and when he answered, his tone was more conciliatory. “Nor am I.”
“She was poisoned on their hive,” Bell said, stubbornly. “She must have been; she fell ill as soon as she came back aboard. We thought we could make it back to our hive, but she was too ill — we were all too ill. When we crashed —” He stopped, shaking his head. “I am sure we culled so that she could feed. But you tell me we did not?”
“There were no bodies,” Blaze said. “The villagers left of their own will.”
“Then — I don’t know. I was ill, too, fevered.” Bell shook his head. “But we carried our queen into the hills so that she could heal. And she was healed. Or she will be.”
“What happened to the other blades?” Salt asked. It was the first time he’d spoken in this argument, and Everlasting twitched in spite of himself.
“What concern is it of yours?” Bell said.
“He is as much of our hive as theirs,” Blaze said. “Answer the question.”
Bell dipped his head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I — our queen planned to feed on them, on all of us, so that she could survive the iratus queen’s cure, and then she would restore us.”
It was possible, Everlasting thought. Everything in Bell’s story was possible, and yet none of it could be proved.
“I will point out,” Salt said mildly, “that this is Light Breaking’s consort and her chief cleverman. She would not risk them lightly.”
“To kill a queen is not a light thing,” Blaze answered.
Everlasting took a step forward. “My queen sent me in good faith.” He conjured up the memory of a crashed Dart and a mob of humans armed with Genii weapons, the pain of a dozen wounds and the certainty that he had made one mistake too many. Blaze had come for him then, a flight of Darts swooping past to drive back the human mob, and then a culling beam to rescue him and the only other survivor. That had been in Edge’s day, and Blaze had even spoken up for him before the queen. He laid that memory like an offering between them, his failure as much of an exposure as a bared chest. *I am in your debt, and you know it. I give you my word, on my own honor, and the debt between us, my queen has no wish to see your queen dead. And I will prove it to you, if you wish, by heart-and-hand.*
He heard Forge hiss at that, but did not look back. Heart-and-hand was an old ritual, left over from the wars with the Ancients, when there had been enough different battles on different fronts that blades negotiated for their queens. Two blades laid their feeding hands against each other’s hearts and set claws, skin to skin and life forces mingling, a terrible and dangerous intimacy of blood and mind. It did not preclude lying — a strong-minded blade could make a weaker see what he wished — but it was punishingly hard. And Blaze knew him well enough that Everlasting wasn’t sure he could have fooled him if he had wanted to.
Blaze slowly shook his head. *No. I will not risk your life, not when we may need all of us to protect our queen from the Lanteans. But — I am honored by the offer.*
*What now?* Bell asked, and sounded genuinely bewildered. *What do we do, Consort?*
“We will keep the queen safe, you and I,” Blaze said aloud, “and wait for her to wake. Her story will clarify — many things.”
Everlasting dipped his head in acknowledgement. “And I and mine will — leave you to it. Until you need us.”
“Very well,” Blaze answered, and ducked into the shelter to settle himself beside his queen.
Forge eased closer to the fire, careful to position himself so that he could keep both Bell and Blaze in sight. The sun was setting, the shadows thick under the trees and the air already touched with night’s chill. The Lanteans were gathered in a huddle on the far side of the fire: they had already announced that their jumper would not be arriving until morning — a palpable lie, Forge considered, but one they could not argue with. Which meant that they were trapped with a hostile consort and the Lanteans for another night, a circumstance he hoped they would not regret.
He poured himself a cup of water, and drank carefully. The air in the mountains was uncomfortably dry, leaving his lips cracked and the tender skin of his handmouth sore and raw. He cupped his hands around his mouth, breathing new moisture into them, then poured another cup of water and crossed to Moonwhite’s shelter. Blaze blocked his way, his expression unreadable, and Forge held out the cup.
*Your queen should drink.*
*If she can.* Blaze took the cup and sniffed it, lips parted to help his sensor pits work.
*I will taste it if you like,* Forge said, wearily, and Blaze handed the cup to him.
*Drink, then.*
*Will you let me see her?* Forge took a long drink of the water, lifting his chin so that Blaze could see his throat working as he swallowed. *I may be able to help her.*
Blaze accepted the cup again. *Perhaps later.*
At least it was not complete refusal. Forge said carefully, *Is there any change?*
For a moment, he thought Blaze would ignore him, but then the consort sighed. *Not much. And what there is — it’s so small I’m afraid it’s wishful thinking.*
I could tell you that, Forge thought, but he understood well enough why Blaze might not want to know. *We will return to our ships tomorrow.*
*Unless the Lanteans delay further.* Blaze’s mouth twitched in a wry, unwilling smile. *Bell thinks we should take them now and steal their ship. Or summon our own, and fight the Lanteans for it. And when I pointed out that folly, he said perhaps we should sneak away to signal them, though I’m not sure how he thinks we’d do that, given that Nimble’s systems are dead and it’s the Mothers only know how far back to the Stargate.*
The Lantean ships could only be crewed by descendants of the Ancestors who bore their particular genetic signature: every Wraith knew that, and nobody here wanted to fight the Lanteans and their rapid-fire weapons. As for stealth —Bell should know best of any of them how far they were from the Stargate. Did he expect them to walk back, carrying the queen? *He is… volatile,* Forge said, and surprised a flash of amusement from the consort.
*Undeniable.* Blaze sobered instantly. *We will wait,* he said, and ducked back into the shelter.
Forge sighed and turned back to the fire. He had done the best he could — he would ask again later, in the morning, perhaps, when the dark didn’t loom ahead of them. Salt prodded the fire with a branch stripped from one of the smaller trees, turning it until the resin-filled nubs that tipped each branch popped and burst into spark and sudden flame, gone as quickly as it flared.
*No luck?* he asked, not taking his eyes from the burning branch.
*Not yet.* Forge softened his th
oughts, not wanting to share them with Bell, still crouching outside the shelter. *Though perhaps tomorrow, if she’s no better.*
*I am worried that she doesn’t wake.*
*So am I.* Forge swallowed his anger, knowing it was born of fear, said, more moderately, *I don’t know what’s wrong. She seems free of the fever — she shows no symptoms, and none of us are sick, nor the Lanteans; it’s a rough measure, but accurate enough. That argues that the iratus cure worked, but she should have awakened as soon as the iratus queen was removed.*
*Suppose the cure wasn’t complete when we killed the queen?* Everlasting had come up on them so silently that Forge started, and Salt bared teeth in a reflexive hiss.
*It’s possible,* Forge said. *In which case presumably she will wake when her own systems have finished healing her, but — I would be happier if she was on her own hive, with her own clevermen to tend her.*
*Is there anything else it could be?* The last of the resinous nubs had burned out; Salt pulled the branch from the fire, stubbed out the last ember, and began idly tracing a six by six grid in the dirt.
*Too many things,* Forge said. *And, while I understand it — I can’t help if I can’t examine her.*
*You examined her before,* Everlasting said. *When she was brought out of the cave. Surely that gives you some idea.*
Forge shook his head. *What I felt then was mostly the iratus taint.* He closed his eyes, remembering. *The touch of fever beneath that, but it was almost gone. She was almost entirely well then. And that only makes it more confusing.*
*Figure out something, if you can.* In the fire, a pile of branches collapsed into sparks and ash, and Everlasting kicked a stray chunk back into the safety of the ring.
*I’ll do what I can,* Forge said.
Everlasting hunched one shoulder and moved away.
*The situation is troubling,* Salt offered, after a moment. He reached into his pocket and produced a handful of dice and counters. Forge considered him for a moment — was this really the time? — but seated himself cross-legged opposite the storymaker.
*It is that.*
Salt divided the counters into two sets of six, and handed one across. *If you’d like, I’ll speak to Blaze, see if I can’t persuade him to let you examine his queen.*
*It couldn’t hurt,* Forge said, and set his opening counters in position, clustered in the corners on his side of the board. *There’s another thing you could do, possibly.*
*Oh?* Salt massed his pieces in the center of his board, the standard countermove.
*You’re a storymaker,* Forge said. *And a son of Osprey. You can touch our minds — can’t you see the truth of what happened?* Salt was already shaking his head, and Forge stopped, his first move half finished. *You can’t or you won’t?*
*Can’t,* Salt said, and nodded to the improvised board. *Go on.*
Forge sighed, and moved the second marker. A conventional opening, but his mind wasn’t really on the game. *I’m not sure I — understand.* He deliberately did not say ‘believe,’ but thought Salt understood his intent well enough.
Salt moved a piece in answer. *I am a storymaker,* he said, *and a son of Osprey — most storymakers have Osprey strongly in their line. My gift is to make you see, not to see what you would hide. It is all illusion, whether I tell a tale of ages past or wreathe iratus bugs in a dream of winter fog. It is the sons of Night who can bend minds to their will, though I will admit that skill has grown weaker over the years.*
Forge scowled. This was old history; he wasn’t sure he shouldn’t be offended to have it recited to him. And yet Salt was not one to indulge in gratuitous offense. He glanced at the board to hide his confusion, and blinked as he recognized the configuration. They had fallen — no, Salt had deliberately played the move that brought the pieces into the Doubled-Knife, where either of the usual responses would lead to a convoluted endgame that would leave Salt with no worse than a stalemate. And if that was a message… *The only blade of Night here is Bell.*
Salt dipped his head.
It took all Forge’s willpower not to reach across the makeshift board and shake the answer out of the storymaker. *What is it you’ve found?*
*Nothing. Which is why I have said nothing until now.* Salt shrugged. *He feels honest enough, what I’ve touched of his mind. But he is a blade of Night, and his story makes no sense. Your move.*
Forge shifted counters without thinking. If Bell lied — if he had made the rest of his party believe in illness — no, it was unlikely any blade would be stronger than a queen of Night’s line. Moonwhite would surely have realized what was happening if Bell had tried to influence her that way. Of course, his fellow blades were more susceptible, and all the more so if they were concentrating on their queen. And certainly Bell had done his best to convince the rest of them that he had culled, though he had not managed to convince anyone. *I didn’t — I don’t believe he’s tried to shape our thoughts. That we would have noticed.*
Salt moved a counter, locking an entire quadrant of the board. *Yes. I think so. And yet.*
Forge stared at the pieces, doubly frustrated. Bell’s story made no sense as it stood, and yet a version in which he coerced — not Moonwhite, he wouldn’t be strong enough even if he dared, and there was no cause to oppose her, but perhaps his fellow blades — that made only a little more sense. And it all faltered on the lack of motive. *It makes no sense,* he said again, and Salt nodded.
*No. But if this were my story, and I were locked —* He gestured at the board with his off hand. *That is where I would look to solve it.*
*This is no one’s tale,* Forge said, and hoped that was true.
CHAPTER FIVE
EVERLASTING deliberately turned his back on the other Wraith, walking as far away from them as he could without encroaching on the Lanteans’ side of the fire. Nothing made sense, neither Bell’s story nor his own queen’s orders, or at least not unless one of them was lying. He didn’t believe it was Light Breaking, and yet he could see no reason for Bell to lie. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Forge and Salt moving counters in a quick game of blades, and it took all his willpower not to snarl at them to do something more useful. On the far side of the fire, Ronon and Hernandez were threading fist-sized vegetables on sticks and setting them to roast in the coals, sending up puffs of aromatic steam as the husks began to char.
Sheppard moved toward him, came to stand just out of reach. “Got a minute?”
Everlasting tipped his head to one side. “Yes?”
“I —” Sheppard glanced over his shoulder, including the Young Queen in his gaze. “We were wondering what you made of this.”
“You’ve seen what I’ve seen,” Everlasting answered.
“Yeah, but I don’t know what you know. I’m asking what you think happened.”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve got to have some idea.” Sheppard squinted at him as though the smoke from the fire hurt his eyes. The Young Queen took a step closer, though she was careful not to touch him.
“We are concerned that your queen has not yet awakened. Is it possible that there is more wrong than the effects of blood fever?”
Sheppard gave her a look as though he hadn’t expected her to join the conversation, but said nothing.
Everlasting shrugged. “It’s possible. My fellow consort is unwilling to let our cleverman examine her more closely.”
“He does not trust you,” the Young Queen said.
“I don’t trust him,” Everlasting answered. “Not entirely. Though I do not see what advantage this brings them.”
“I had wondered that as well,” the Young Queen said, with a smile that softened the strong lines of her face and did not reassure him at all.
“What I was wondering was what happened to the guy you rescued,” Sheppard said. “How he got hurt in the first place — you can’t miss that his coat’s cut to ribbons.”
“He says he doesn’t remember,” Everlasting said.
“Yeah,�
�� Sheppard said, with a lifted eyebrow, and Everlasting grinned in spite of himself.
“But I can’t force him to tell the truth, he’s not my man. And it’s possible that he truly doesn’t remember, or doesn’t remember clearly —”
“He says his queen was sick, and they landed here to cull, right?” Sheppard said. “And then that all went wrong and she had to go to the iratus bugs to see if the queen would cure her.”
“Yes.” Everlasting nodded, but his eyes were on the Young Queen, still at Sheppard’s side.
“That does not explain what happened to the other blades,” she said. “Or to Bell himself. Or indeed how your queen was exposed to the fever.”
“No, it doesn’t. Though my queen was not behind it.” This time Everlasting couldn’t quite conceal his anger, but the Young Queen merely smiled.
“I propose a different interpretation,” she said. “A simpler one. Suppose Bell were the culprit.”
“Impossible!” Everlasting drew himself up, shocked. “He is a loyal blade —” He stopped then, unable to continue. He didn’t know Bell, didn’t know his history; Blaze would know, but this was an awkward question to ask of any consort, and he wasn’t willing to lose all good will over something so unlikely.
“Is it?” The Young Queen tipped her head in turn. “Many impossible things have been done lately.”
“It makes more sense that way,” Sheppard said. “Your guy infects the queen, and probably everyone else on the ship, and that forces them to put down here. And I’d bet he was the guy to suggest the iratus bugs, because my understanding is, that doesn’t work all the time.”
“It does not.” Everlasting listened in horrified fascination, unable to deny that the pieces fit.
“So he talks them into going up into the hills, the queen and the rest of the blades, and then — there’s a fight. Maybe something he does tips them off, I don’t know, but that’s how he gets hurt, and how those other guys get fed on. Only he’s hurt too bad himself, and passes out by the cave entrance. And we found him before he could finish the job.”
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