by Erin Beaty
“And you pieced all of this together on your own?” he asked slowly.
“Yes.” Sage suddenly doubted herself. She lowered the page, embarrassed. Ash took the paper and scanned it silently. When she dared to look up again, she found him staring at her with what she could only identify as fear.
“Tell me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Tell me right now that you were always on our side, that this isn’t switching of loyalties.”
Her eyes burned with tears. “You still doubt me?”
“Say it, Sage.”
“I swear it!” she nearly shouted. “And you can go to hell if you don’t believe me!” She turned to leave, but he caught her arm.
“I’m sorry, Sage. Don’t go, please.” He pulled her closer by her elbows, but not as close as he had that morning—she’d ruined that. “It’s just … Sweet Spirit, this changes everything.”
“So I’m right?”
“We’ll discuss it tonight, but, yes, I think you’re right.”
“What can you do?”
“I don’t know, but this is worse than we ever imagined.” The seriousness of his voice frightened her, and she began to tremble. His hands slid up to her shoulders. “Thanks to you, however, we may be able to even the odds a bit.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” he said. “We have your weapon, and if it works, there will be a lot fewer enemies able to fight. We’ll need time, though. It takes about three days for the sickness to take effect.”
“Please let me help,” she begged. “I’ll go mad if you don’t give me something to do.”
Ash sighed. “Sage, you aren’t a lady. Don’t you understand what that means? If the duke finds out, you’re worthless to him, except for information. He’s already planning treason; do you think he’d hesitate to torture you? We haven’t kept you in the dark because we don’t trust you or think you capable, but to protect you. In that respect, I wish to the Spirit you were a lady. It would be easier to keep you safe.”
She dropped her eyes. “I feel foolish now.”
“Don’t. We’d be both blind and helpless without you. That is truth.” He chucked her chin gently. “Your ability to figure things out on your own is unparalleled, but also aggravating. You know too much.”
Sage took a deep breath and let it out, resigned. “I will accept you cannot tell me everything now, if you promise to tell me what you can, and everything else later.”
“I swear it.”
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Now what? Play the lady? Flirt and keep my ears open?”
Ash nodded. “Yes. Casseck already told me how good you are.” His smile was a little shaky. “And I have a real job for you, if you’re interested.”
44
THE ROOM WAS silent as they stared at Starling’s parchment.
“It’s useless to question what we would’ve done if we’d known,” Quinn said to himself as much as everyone else. “Focus on what we can do now.”
“Our list of options is pretty short,” Rob said bitterly. “We’ll be outnumbered seven to one, and that doesn’t count the Kimisar. I’m the only one worth keeping. You’re all dead and you know it.”
Quinn folded up the paper and tucked it into his jacket. Where the army came from wasn’t as relevant as how to stop it. “Look here,” he said, sweeping a finger over the map. “We’ve been tracking these squads, thinking they were scattered randomly as they traveled east, but as more have been added, it’s started to look like a circle.”
With a charcoal pencil he traced every day’s summary of positions relative to their own progress along the Tegann Road.
“It’s a wheel,” said Cass, “with us at the center. It’s to isolate us from communication and keep us from escaping.”
Quinn nodded. “Right. But since we were headed to Tegann, there was no reason to act unless we deviated. We were already doing what they wanted.”
Rob grunted. “I feel so much better.”
“But.” Quinn raised a finger. “There’s a hole.” He pointed to a spot on the north side of the circle. “There was never anyone here.”
Rob brightened. “That squad we eliminated last month was probably supposed to be there.”
“That’s my thought, too,” said Quinn. “So we might have a way out.” He stood up straight. “Who’s getting the sketch from our forward picket in the morning?” Gramwell raised his hand. “Let him know we’ll keep up patrols at the fortress as long as it’s practical, but we can’t count on being able to talk to our scouts after tomorrow.”
“What should he tell the other scouts?” asked Gramwell, bending down to write notes.
Quinn considered. “Send the north and west pickets to watch that gap. Have them signal if it closes. South can join east at the pass.” Gramwell nodded and made more notes.
“When do we use our bottled weapon?” asked Robert.
“I want it in Tegann’s cistern by the second night. There’s a banquet planned then, and that’ll be a good diversion.”
“So who’ll scout it?” said Casseck. “The quartermaster? It’s logical for him to be concerned with where the water comes from.”
“We’re sending Starling.”
Cass exchanged glances with Rob. “Is that wise?”
“It makes perfect sense,” said Quinn. “She can take a tour and ask lots of foolish and innocent questions, and if she bats her eyelashes, all of them will be answered.”
Rob frowned. “I think you’re overestimating her charms.”
“You didn’t see her tonight,” said Cass. “She had two young men wrapped around her finger in a matter of minutes, and I don’t even think she was trying.”
Quinn bristled. “Is that supposed to be a comment on something else?”
“Not at all,” said Casseck mildly. “Just supporting your decision.”
Quinn almost wished Cass had tried to talk him out of it, but it was too late anyway; she’d already told Mouse she’d do it. “Let’s move on to other ways to make a stand. Whether or not the sickness works, and whether or not it works in time, we have to find ways to take out as many of D’Amiran’s people as possible.”
“Poison?” suggested Gramwell.
“I doubt we can get anything before tomorrow,” said Quinn. “We’ll have to watch for it in our own food, however. Make sure everyone knows.”
“How about a fire?” said Casseck. “Tegann Fortress is almost entirely granite, which will give us safe places to hide. At the very least it causes panic and burns supplies.”
Quinn nodded. “I like it. How much oil do we have?”
Cass shook his head. “Unfortunately, not much. We can pinch some at Tegann.”
“Alcohol,” suggested Rob.
“All we have is wine and ale,” said Gramwell. “They aren’t strong enough to burn.”
“No,” replied Rob with a grin. “But we do have the Stiller brothers.”
The prince ducked out of the meeting a few seconds later and returned shortly with Privates Gregory and Tim Stiller, who came from a large family of Brewers and Stillers in northern Crescera. They drove equipment wagons and were steady, reliable soldiers, despite having been disciplined several times for distilling their own liquor in camp. The captain’s sudden interest in their skill startled them.
“How much pure alcohol can you get from, say, a barrel of wine?” he asked.
The brothers exchanged nervous glances before Tim answered. “Maybe a fourth of a barrel, sir, but much of that is useless.”
“Useless?”
“Poisonous, sir,” clarified Gregory. “Not good for drinking and highly flammable.”
“More flammable than drinkin’ spirits?”
“Yes, sir.” Gregory nodded. “Burns real sneaky, too. The flames are damn near invisible. Drinkable spirits burn much brighter. It’s how we test it.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Quinn said, tapping his fingers on the table. “Starting fires is exactly what I want it for. How long does it take
to distill?”
“A barrel’s worth, sir? Six hours, minimum.”
“Excellent. What would you need to build a distiller tonight?”
The brothers looked at each other again, reluctant to speak. “We, ah, don’t need anythin’ we don’t already have on hand, sir,” Tim finally answered.
Quinn eyed them. “All right, then. Get on it.”
45
SAGE TOOK CARE with her appearance the next morning, making a true effort to blend in with the ladies. Ash watched from his seat on the wagon as one of the young men from the night before, Bartholomew, came to see her off. Casseck walked past and punched Ash on the foot, and the sergeant scowled and kicked back at his friend. Remembering what Ash had said last night, Sage turned a dazzling smile on the young man holding her hand. He helped her into the wagon, and she gave her traveling companions a smug look. Talk about that, she thought.
Had it not been for the gray curtain of fog wrapping the landscape, Sage might have enjoyed the scenery. But the hours dragged on as the wagon bounced and sloshed through the mud. Her dress became spattered and damp from choosing the seat closest to the rear gate, but she could see Ash driving the wagon behind her. A few times he caught her eye and smiled.
The weapons were out again, and the tension in the soldiers was worse than the day they reached Underwood. Sage twisted her hands in her lap until the raw spots from holding reins began to bleed. If she’d realized what was happening sooner, would they have had time to make a plan to escape? She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was her fault they were now walking—willingly—into the snare because there was no alternative. She looked back to Ash, feeling guilty, and he shook his head a little as though he knew what she was thinking.
Whether or not it was her fault, she would do anything now to help him—them.
The weather made for slow going, and they arrived at Tegann at sunset—over two hours later than they’d hoped. Sconces set around the fortress spread their light in wide, hazy orbs. Their host, Duke D’Amiran, approached the matchmaker in the rapidly fading light and offered to have supper trays and hot water brought to the ladies’ rooms so they wouldn’t have to dress up and wait to eat. Sage allowed Lieutenant Gramwell to help her down from the wagon and looked around, hoping to observe something, anything, that might be useful. But she could barely make out the shapes of the walls or buildings. Only the inner gate could be distinguished, looking like the mouth of a creature ready to devour them whole. She shuddered.
As befitted her rank among the women, Sage waited until all were ahead of her before following on to the guest wing off the main keep. Ash walked behind her, carrying her trunk. When he set it down in her room, she moved to help him scoot it against the foot of the bed. He leaned close to whisper, “The cistern is in the southwest quadrant if you want to get lost there tomorrow.”
Sage glanced back to the open door behind them. “Can you do me a favor and wash my clothes?” He looked at her in confusion, and she clarified, “My breeches and such. They’re all muddy from riding.”
He nodded, and she quickly opened the trunk and pulled out a bundle from near the bottom. Ash took it and winked. “They won’t smell nearly as nice, though.”
“That’s just as well,” she said, relieved he seemed to have forgiven yesterday’s slight.
Clare entered as he left, followed by a servant carrying a basin of hot water. Sage’s friend wore a dreamy expression, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the shape of a folded square of parchment could be seen tucked under her bodice. Sage turned away with a smile and set about fixing them a pot of tea.
Once they were alone, sharing another cup after dinner, Clare confessed to Sage how she felt about Lieutenant Gramwell, how he returned her affections, and showed Sage a letter he’d written. None of it surprised Sage, of course, but she counseled caution and discretion.
“I know I promised I’d stop your matching—and I fully intend to do so—but you need to be careful. You don’t know him very well, and doing things to get to know him better isn’t good for your reputation. Honestly, I think you suit each other well, but he can’t marry for another three years.”
“Why does the army have that rule?” asked Clare.
“Life as a young officer is difficult and dangerous, and marriage and children are distractions they can’t afford. By twenty-four, they’ve advanced to captain or are flushed out of the army.” Sage shrugged. “It’s been the law for over a hundred years, and no one remembers why it started. Personally, I think it was designed to keep nobles, especially younger sons who would only join to increase their match appeal, out of the ranks. Genuine commitment to the army is critical.”
Clare pondered for a few moments. “I’ll be eighteen then, but that doesn’t seem so bad.”
“And it would be a man of your choice, rather than being sold off like a cow.”
Her friend eyed her curiously. “You don’t like matchmaking very much. Why are you Mistress Rodelle’s apprentice?”
“It’s a long story, but no one would ever want to marry me—so I must make my own way. Darnessa offered me a job, and I took it.”
That surprised Clare. “Why would no one marry you? Did the matchmaker tell you that?”
“I spent my childhood climbing trees and catching birds and wearing breeches,” said Sage. “If there’s a time when ladylike behavior can be instilled in a girl, it must have passed me by long ago, because my aunt tried for almost four years and got nowhere.”
“You never lack for dance partners or dinner conversation,” Clare said.
“Yes, but that’s an act,” Sage insisted. “I’m really just collecting information for future matches.”
Clare looked doubtful. “I’ve noticed how some of the soldiers look at you. Especially that darker one you spend time with.”
Sage dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “For most I’m a curiosity, just as you would stare at a boy in a dress. I’ve been riding and talking with them because they asked for my assistance.”
“In what?” asked Clare.
Sage searched for a vague but believable reason. “They like to know the layout of the places we stay, mostly. They can’t go into the ladies’ quarters, but if they’re to protect us, they ought to know if there are back doors and windows, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, I guess that makes sense.”
“Speaking of,” said Sage. “Would you like to take a tour of the fortress with me tomorrow?”
* * *
The next morning, Sage and Clare dressed for weekly chapel services with an eye toward catching the attention of someone who could be helpful. The duke’s steward’s son presented the perfect opportunity when he poured their tea at breakfast and asked if there was anything he could do to make their stay more comfortable. Sage was caught with her mouth full of toast and missed her chance to get his immediate attention, but Clare quickly claimed it.
With her fingers lightly touching his arm, the girl turned the full force of her large brown eyes on the young man and asked if there was anyone who could show them around after breakfast. “My friend and I have never seen a place so … magnificent.”
Her victim nodded as though hypnotized and offered his humble services. Clare drew her lips back in a smile that glowed across her creamy cheeks, and slowly blinked her long lashes. “I look forward to it, sir.”
He bowed and stumbled the rest of the way around the table, filling teacups in a daze. Sage blinked in admiration of her friend, feeling like an amateur in the presence of a master. Lieutenant Gramwell never had a chance.
Fortunately for them, Thomas Stewart was particularly proud of the fortress’s water supply and led them straight to it when asked. There was no simple access, though. The cistern was two levels below ground and was enclosed on top and drained from valves in the bottom.
“It’s naturally replenished by rain, so Tegann is impervious to siege,” he bragged. “It’s a little low right now, but the spring rains will arrive very soo
n. They’ll also clear the pass for your journey.”
But how to get in? They couldn’t just pour the bottled water down a drain on the bailey wall.
“How do you maintain it?” Sage asked.
“Every summer we drain and clean the cistern.” He pointed to a grate in the floor. “Boys climb inside and scrub the walls, and Tegann uses the river for water during that time.”
Clare made a horrified face. “There must be months’ worth of dirt and leaves and perhaps animals inside!”
“Oh, but my lady, we have a way to prevent that.” He led them to a servants’ passageway and a wooden hatch over a raised stone rectangle. “Anything that goes down the drains passes through this shaft.”
Thomas opened the lid and pulled up the rope leading down. After a few feet, a mesh basket appeared. A couple small stones and dead leaves lay in the bottom. “This sits at the bottom by a screen and catches anything that can’t pass through. We clean the basket and screen regularly.”
Clare gushed over the clever design while Sage mused. It would be difficult to get in, but maybe not impossible. “How far are we from the top of the cistern?” Sage asked.
He lowered the basket back down the void. “It’s about twenty-five feet from here. There’s also an overflow drain into the sewer.”
Clare peered down the black hole. “This is wider than I would’ve thought. Is the drain this wide, too?”
“It has to be, my lady. When we clean the cistern, one unlucky boy climbs through and scrubs this last section.”
Clare shuddered. “It sounds dark and slimy and cramped.”
“So it is, but it must be done on occasion for the safety and comfort of ladies such as yourself.”
46
SAGE SHOOED CLARE off to walk in the garden with Lieutenant Gramwell while she drew diagrams of the cistern and the ways to get to the maintenance shaft. Darnessa knocked on the door, and Sage hid her work from the matchmaker and prepared to make excuses, but Darnessa didn’t ask what she was doing.
“We need to talk about Clare,” the matchmaker said.