"It allows a man or woman to live as vi'zrith. We have ways of bringing airbreathers beneath the waves -- sapphires, like Katka'ran here, or amoebite sheaths -- but those are temporary solutions for temporary visitors. A ring like this is more... long term."
"Like an engagement ring?" she asked instinctively, her eyes watering slightly at the romance of it all.
"Exactly like that, actually," Harker affirmed. "Of course, even this is a temporary measure. The wearer of this ring would eventually become vi'zrith, so the bauble is no longer be needed."
Delana considered the ring a moment longer, then forced the smile from her face. "That still doesn't answer my question. Why the secrecy? Why the witness?"
Harker sighed. "Because that bauble bears the marks of Scilla Pod. You'd consider them a ruling House. They're a very influential family in the Noni Trench, with councilors in the Sentinel and senators in the Pearline Congress in Schel Finix. The last thing I'd want is to be seen as inhospitable to a guest of theirs. But I'm not entirely sure that you are a guest of theirs. I don't know how you came by the bauble, so you can understand my concern." He paused uncertainly, then asked, "How did you come by it?"
Delana felt a thrill, as one standing on a plank, readying themselves to dive into the brine. No turning back now, she thought, drawing a deep, stilling breath. "I found it at an inn in Stormhold, years ago. I was looking for my husband's sister, Anika."
* * *
Delana and Harker talked long into the evening, with Katka'ran contributing little more than a grunt here and a chuckle there.
Well, to be honest, Delana did most of the talking. The vi'zrith captain was content to just listen. He showed considerable skill in that area, in fact.
Delana was hesitant at first, but the more she talked, the more she found the floodgates opening, allowing the lives and times of House du'Nograh to spill out in a torrent. She tried to keep her conversation strictly about Anika, but the full story, once acknowledged, refused to be contained.
She told him of Eram and Ana du'Nograh, barely escaping the slaughter of King Titus' court with their children. She told of the kindly old sailor who took the family in, eventually adopting the children as his own when the forces of the Highest caught up with the parents. She told of Anika's ascension to Sapphire at twelve, and her appointment to the Academy in Bastion at seventeen. She told of Anika's disappearance a few weeks later, and how it pushed Retzu toward the assassin's guild and Reit to claim his father's estate -- both in nobility and in rebellion.
She even told him about how she met Reit, shortly after Anika's disappearance, and had the privilege of watching, first hand, his transformation from orphaned noble to el'Yatza. Of course Delana had to tell Harker -- that was the most important part!
But then she went further, telling Harker things that she never had the courage to talk to Reit about in life. She told him of her search for Anika, first in Deitrich and then in Bastion. She told of the love letters that she found in Anika's old footlocker at the Academy, containing many blush-inducing details about her love life but very few regarding the young man she shared it with. She told him of Anika's plan to meet her lover in Stormhold, and of her following in Anika's footsteps. She told him of the days spent canvasing the inns, hostels, and hovels, with nothing more than what Reit had told Delana about her -- pretty but not beautiful, rugged but not masculine, having a noble bearing but a tavern brawler's temper. It had seemed an impossible task, but Delana finally found the inn where Anika had stayed... and vacated, leaving no personal effects to speak of, save a few scraps of clothing and the ring -- the vi'zrithi bauble.
Finally, with her tale told up to that point, Delana added the latest clue -- the nature of the bauble itself, fashioned by an artisan of Scilla Pod in Noni Trench, suggesting not only that Anika's lover was a vi'zrith of that family, but that she had married him and become vi'zrith herself, leaving behind the now pointless artifact.
"So now I have a family name, and a place to start asking," she concluded, sipping from her now warm tin cup. The mulled wine did little to slake the thirst she had built up with her tale, but at least her voice wasn't cracking. "I'm sure men and women don't become vi'zrith everyday, so maybe somebody there knows something."
Harker had been leaning over the table, chin on doubled fists, nodding with her tale noncommittally. But now that she'd finished, his brows furrowed, as if trying to decide how to voice what was on his mind. Finally, he asked, "Why are you doing this?"
The question caught Delana off guard. "Excuse me?"
"Why now?" he clarified. "Why, after all this time, are you searching for your dead husband's lost sister?"
"Well... because Retzu needs her," she said roughly, nearly stammering to get the words out. "He's always had a problem with respon---"
"Of course, I understand that, but that doesn't answer my question," Harker countered, waving off the rest of her excuse. Because an excuse it was. And Delana could see that Harker knew it. He repeated his query, "Why now?"
Delana opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, willing words to form of their own accord, but they would not. What could she say? How could she tell him that Reit was stuck between this world and the next, and that she was likely the reason why? How could she tell him that Anika represented her last hope for laying Reit's spirit to rest? That she hoped his finding out that Anika was alive would give him a measure of peace? That maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to pull him free of Delana's chains of amethyst, and allow him to finally shelter in the Crafter's arms?
Harker waited a moment more, then made a shooing motion. "None of my business. I'm sorry for intruding. You have your reasons. That you've come this far, and put yourself into my hands, tells me just how important those reasons are. You don't have to share them with me."
"Thank you," Delana breathed gratefully.
"Still, we're at least two days out from the Maw," Harker hedged, offering a conspiratorial wink. "Three, if the winds don't turn as they should. More than enough time to reconsider your silence."
Delana grinned. "I'll keep that in mind."
Chapter 20
Retzu winced in sympathy as he pulled the bandage around Trista's right hand, each wrap punctuated by a sharp intake of the silver-hilt's breath.
No, not silver, Retzu reminded himself. Not anymore.
"I've got an emerald artifact, ya know," he commented. "The Old Man didn't say you couldn't---"
"No," she said firmly. Eyeing him, she switched tactics. "I would understand if you hated me."
"I don't hate you, Trista-ma--- ummm... Trista," he countered lamely. No hilt. No honorific either. He lifted his eyes to meet Trista's. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to find there, but he was pretty sure it wasn't sympathy.
"I wouldn't blame you if you did," she insisted gently. "You couldn't hate me any more than I hate myself. I deserve it."
Retzu looked away. "The debt is paid," he recited. "For me to hate you would mean that the debt remains. Even your husband doesn't think that is so. I mean, you're still drawing breath," he added, forcing a playful smirk.
The older woman, now looking elderly, offered a bittersweet smile in return. "You're a sweet boy. You always have been. I could wish that Fila had waited for you. Then maybe..."
"Nah, mate. I'da treated her like I treat any other woman, then it'd be you hating me. Or worse, the Old Man."
"Not hardly," she chuckled. "You're already the son he never had. Fila would've only made it more so. Between him and Mik and Ka---"
With the near-mention of Kaleb's name, Trista clamped her lips shut and threw her ruined left hand up to cover them. Her eyes remained dry, though they did take on a shine that they didn't have before.
It seemed odd to Retzu that Trista would have a harder time with Kaleb's passing than that of her daughter -- even if her daughter deserved it. The only thing that made sense was that Fila had chosen her fate, where Kaleb had not.
For all that Kaleb was a
n assassin, he was innocent, a man with a pure heart. More than anything else, he brought honor and humility to the Triad. His demeanor was regal -- far more noble than Retzu's own, and Retzu was a noble -- and his integrity without question. Some were coming to consider Retzu as the best sword in the Fellowship, but Kaleb was indisputably the best man.
Trista sniffed roughly, and her eyes took on a faraway look. "I remember the day when Mik brought you to us. Snot-nosed wretch, more trouble than you were worth," she smiled fondly. "It was about this time of year. Your sister had disappeared in the spring, and Reit had decided to reclaim your father's title a month or so later. Mik wouldn't let him go alone, but you wanted none of it. Something about the road to Aitaxen being too... 'boring'."
"Politics," Retzu muttered, tugging on the bandage as he wrapped. "The art of making somebody want to do things your way. It's all head games -- underhanded, sneaky, the most dishonest you can be while telling the truth."
"You were smart enough for it. You just didn't want to sit still long enough to out-think your opponent," she countered. "You didn't like committing to some long, drawn out strategy. You just wanted to fight. Instantly gratifying. Decisive. You were enamored with it. Mik had been teaching the three of you the shol'tuk arts for years -- all but the sword, of course -- but you were the only one to show any real interest or aptitude."
"Reit reached iron, in skill if not in rank. Anika reached silk. I'd hardly call that inept."
"Yes, but you reached gold," Trista said. "And you're still reaching."
The unspoken suggestion struck Retzu, and he froze. Could she really mean...? His blood ran cold at the thought, and his anger burned colder. Abruptly, he knotted the bandage and jerked it tight, and she yelped. "We haven't even had a proper service for Kaleb," he said, his words feeling hot in his throat. "Don't go strapping his hilt to my back like his death was a good thing," he spat quietly, pushing himself to his feet.
"I'd never suggest that it was," Trista hissed through her teeth. "His death cost me my daughter. Twice over -- first to the Shadow Mage, then to your blade. If I had done something, he would still be here. So would Fila -- and not just here, but ours again."
She signed and flexed her remaining fingers painfully, settling the bandage as best she could. "But Mik is a crafty old minta'hk. He was an old man when he took you in. He was an old man when I first met him as a sprout, when my Granddad was Triad with him, the year before he found D'prox and Kaleb in a gutter in Soleis. He's been at this a long time, and it don't take an Academy scholar to see that he and D'prox have been grooming you. Fila's... Fila only made it happen sooner."
Retzu sat there on his hunkers, silently parsing her words. His first thought was to whip out a snappy retort, or a scathing insult, or anything that might shut her up. But what purpose would it serve? It didn't change the fact that it made sense. Between Mik's maneuvering and D'prox's mentorship -- and even Kaleb's occasional encouragement -- Trista's revelation made all the sense in the world.
But Retzu didn't have to like it.
Reaching up, he touched the spot behind his ear. "Mik, can you talk?"
There was a long pause, and then Mik replied breathlessly, laying on his effected accent more thickly than usual. Yessir, yer Generalship, sir.
He was with someone. Retzu cursed inwardly. There was so much that needed to be said, so many questions he needed answered, that Mik's coded yes and no responses would likely make the whole ordeal more frustrating than it was worth, but there was no help for it. The young assassin had a bone to pick with his uncle, and he would not be denied.
"D'prox didn't kill Kaleb," he said. "Fila did, and Trista covered it up. D'prox took Trista's thumbs and ponytail."
Mik paused again. A fine choice, sir. I've had similar many times meself.
Retzu sighed. So Mik was in agreement with D'prox's decision to let Trista live and regain her honor. He had hoped as much. Bad enough to lose one adopted uncle over this. He'd hate to see Mik and D'prox at odds.
"That's not all," he said, eyes locked with Trista's, who looked on with one eyebrow crooked up expectantly. "Trista says that you and D'prox have been grooming me for Triad."
A long pause this time. It'll take a mite, sir. Braised boar is a tricky dish. 'At's why ye cook it a'fore ye cook it, if'n ye get me meaning, sir. It could be 'til the cock-a crows a'fore it's fit'n ta eat in its full glory, but ye gotta eat when yer hungry, e'en if'n th' apples an' taters ye add t' it ain't quite done.
Retzu was stunned. Not only was Mik grooming him for Triad, he had been grooming him all along -- since he was a kid, since before bringing him to D'prox. Meeting Trista's eyes again, he saw her lips stretch wide in a sly grin.
"No," he said adamantly. "I didn't want to take up Reit's mantle, but I didn't have much choice in that. This..."
O' course, sir, Mik said, and fell silent for a moment, before adding, Ye really are an insufferable cuss, ain'tcha?
"Did you...?"
Stepped outside, he answered Retzu's unspoken query. His Generalship's takin' his meal, so I come out here t' speak wi' ye proper. D' you realize how hard it is fer me t' find killers that I can trust t' kill only when's called for?
"Not my problem," Retzu snapped. "You know I want no part of leadership. Never have. That's why I joined the Fellowship in the first place -- to be invisible. Reit wanted me to head up his rebellion, and he woulda sucked me in had I gone along with him to Aitaxen."
Sure'n ye showed him, didn' ye? Mik replied, the sapphire connection doing little to hide him chuckling at the irony.
"It ain't for life. Soon as the Cause is won, or I find a way to make it safe, I'm done. No more rebellion. No more sending soldiers to die at my command. Triad is totally different."
Lemme tell ye somethin', me boy. Lemme give ye a clue. No matter where ye run, no matter what life ye live, people will follow ye. It's who y'are. It's in yer nature. Y' draw folks t' yerself, just as yer brother did, an' yer word moves people t' action. You inspire, son, an' ye canna just turn that off.
"Watch me," Retzu challenged.
Mik sighed. Look, I ain't forcin' ye t' do nothin', boy. I was lookin' fer somebody when I found D'prox and Kaleb. I was lookin' fer somebody when I found Brint D'Gasto and Lazy Tad. Stifler and Fes. Eylo and Voster. I want ye fer the steel hiltset, boy, but I don't need ye. If'n ye don't want it, ye don't want it. I can make do."
"Thank---"
But I do need ye t' care for the steel, boy, Mik said, cleanly cutting Retzu off. Least till I can come fer 'em. They're unique an' powerful weapons. I canna risk them fallin' into th' wrong hands again, son, not with everything what's comin'.
Retzu didn't like where this was headed. "But D'prox's vault---"
---is only as safe as th' Earthen Rank army comin' yer way, leavin' any day now if they ain't left already. Or had ye fergotten them?
Crafter take it! Retzu saw what his uncle was doing, but he was powerless to stop it. Mik's argument made perfect sense. The weapons were special, even for shol'tuk armament, and he knew it. They did need to be kept safe, and Retzu was a safer hold for them than D'prox's vault.
He was trapped.
Take th' hilts, boy, Mik insisted. D'prox will present 'em to ye right an' proper, so ye can use 'em as Kaleb did. Use 'em in yer fight wi' th' Ranks, an' maybe after that, maybe we can talk again about th' Triad.
Retzu knelt silently, unable to speak even if he had something left to say. He could only imagine how defeated he looked, judging by the sympathy in Trista's eyes. She couldn't hear the full exchange between Retzu and Mik, but he was sure the entire conversation played out on his face.
"Okay..." he said finally.
* * *
Patrys shifted on the uncomfortable door stoop across from the Fellowship guildhouse, sighing her boredom. At least, she gave what passed for a sigh these days, her stoma cover puffing out gently against the hand that cupped her chin.
She'd seen Retzu leaving camp with that strange sword strapped t
o his back. She wasn't shol'tuk, but she knew enough to know that steel wasn't a common hilt, and Retzu wasn't carrying himself in a common manner. And since her disappointment with du'Cyphem, she'd been in the mood for something uncommon. She reached out to touch his mind with Sapphire as he passed, not to Whisper to him but to listen in on his thoughts. But she found nothing, likely owing to his amethyst ring. Whatever he aimed to do, he intended to do it without any magical interruption.
That was more than enough to pique her interest.
She followed him north out of the camp and along the highroad, far enough back that her inability to hide herself from him wouldn't be a problem. Eventually, they reached the city gates, and the highroad became the Mainway. Once inside the city walls, Retzu ducked into the first westward alley he came to. Just a few weeks ago, this would've given Patrys a moment's pause -- the Commons wasn't a very forgiving place -- but now she just extended the bubble of her sapphire influence, cloaking herself in invisibility, and dove into the warren of backstreets after him.
Retzu led Patrys through a number of twists and turns, many which seemed unnecessary. She almost lost him in one of the many bazaars, but finally she caught sight of him again, just in time to see him enter the shol'tuk guildhouse a few buildings down from her.
She raced to catch up, but the door closed before she even got close. She cursed silently, and toyed with the idea of just opening the door herself, but she thought better of it. Likely as not, the door only opened from the inside, but even if she were able to open the door, she didn't want to test the limits of her camouflage. Making herself invisible was one thing. Making a door invisible to the man tasked to watch it was something else entirely.
So she found herself on the far side of the alley, sitting on the disused stoop, eyeballing the guildhouse with chin in hand and sighing her boredom.
She'd been there for almost twenty minutes, and had taken to sifting through the mind of the man standing guard -- one Atrius Chibalfel, formerly of an unnamed farm about a day's right from Ivytree Grove. Oh, he was a wealth of information of course, revealing to her many secrets of the secret society, up to and including the members of the Hidden Triad -- one of which had been the owner, or former owner, of the steel hilt that Retzu had brought to present to his guildmaster. Patrys had even uncovered the passwords and gestures that would grant her entrance to the guildhouse. If she weren't a mage, of course. For all that she learned from the guard, she couldn't learn enough to make her welcome among the shol'tuk. No, without Retzu standing surety for her, it would be suicide for her to try and gain entrance.
Fractures (Facets of Reality Book 2) Page 32