by Sam Hawke
Tain’s face was very still. “To be clear—other Silastian residents have come to the hospital, or been brought, after having been beaten. And those patients have all been Darfri. Do they tell you that?”
The physic scoffed. “No, Honored Chancellor. They won’t tell us a thing. The first one or two, we thought were drunken fights. The third was a woman and she was conscious enough to say a group of men attacked her on her way home from her shift at the wall. Didn’t seem likely she’d been in a fight at a bar. Nice lass, well spoken.” He turned back to the boy on the pallet, continuing his examination. “Then we got more, and more. They stopped talking to us. Started hiding their necklaces, if they were wearing them. Look at this.” He indicated a thin red line of abrasion at the back of the boy’s neck. “Oftentimes the attackers tear it off.”
“How is it I don’t know about this?” Tain’s question seemed aimed as much at the rest of us as the physic.
“Like I said, I went to the nearest guard tower on my way home earlier this week and reported the whole thing to the Order Guard there. But no one ever came to ask us about it.”
Right under our noses, our own citizens were being attacked, and no one had told the Chancellor about it. Servants failing to turn up to their posts, all my troubles finding any Darfri to talk to … perhaps even missing street people. We’d guessed they’d been frightened to admit their beliefs, but perhaps they were hiding from a much more immediate danger. I remembered the moppet I’d found, with its frayed little skirts and shawl, its face worn off. Lying alone in an abandoned house. Had the family fled, or been forced from their home?
Tain’s face had darkened, his jaw ticking with a tiny vein. “No one brought this to me,” he said, his voice taut as a drawn bowstring.
The physic looked him over, heedless of his casual discourtesy as only physics seemed capable. “I suppose they didn’t,” he agreed. “Perhaps there has been a gap in your reporting system, Honored Chancellor?”
Tain nodded, stiff. “Perhaps. Something I’ll be remedying. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll leave him in your care.”
The physic nodded, turning back to his patient. Before we left, I looked back down at the injured boy. I could smell his blood and sweat—or perhaps it was the smell of the hospital in general. What is going on in our city? I knew Tain well enough to leave him to his own thoughts, but watched him as we walked, storm brewing.
* * *
That storm erupted in the Council meeting in the morning.
“Do you know what the physic treating him told me?” Tain asked the assembled room of Councilors—some more disheveled than usual. He had relayed the story with a deceptively calm tone, but the faces of the Councilors below me suggested most detected the emotion simmering under that facade. Tain had always wanted to be liked more than he wanted to be respected. Perhaps only Jov and I truly knew what he was like when he stopped caring about making people happy. “He said this was the fourth victim of a beating he’d treated, and there had been at least a dozen similar incidents this week.”
I scanned the room, stiffening. Too many signs flashed before me. Lazar, to Jov’s right, squirmed in his seat. A weak man, buckling under the pressure, unable to even look up from the table. Pedrag’s fingers paled around his rings as he clenched his hands together, and Bradomir smoothed his moustache with more vigor than usual. Marjeta and Budua looked neither nervous nor surprised; both regarded Tain with calm scrutiny. Javesto leaned forward, mouth tight as though straining to hold his desired words in. Varina scowled, though of course that wasn’t unusual, her eyes bloodshot and nose red. I wondered if she was ill. Eliska, though she had acted quickly enough to help the boy yesterday, was pressed back in her seat and hunched as small as possible, as if hoping to be overlooked.
“And the most interesting part was that the physics reported these incidents,” Tain continued. One of his hands made a fist. “They reported it to the Order Guards. Now, what I’d like to know is, are the Order Guards for some reason not reporting properly to each of you in your sectors? Or”—and here he paused, his gaze sweeping the table like two hot coals burning a path around the room—“did someone receive this report but not see fit to bring it to the Council?”
I could have told him, then and there, from the body language around the table—it wasn’t someone. It was most of the Council.
“Well?” Tain demanded. His tone was no longer level, and the tic in his neck had returned. “Who’s going to say what’s going on? I haven’t had time to talk to the Order Guards yet, but presumably they’re going to tell me who they passed it on to, so you might as well talk right now.”
The room stayed silent and brittle. Javesto, never one to control his tongue, was the first to break. “I didn’t get the report,” he said, “but I’ve heard rumors that Darfri in the city were being terrorized. Threatened, beaten, scared half to death. Why do you think they all scarpered?” Javesto pointed a finger around the room. “I’m not the only one who’s noticed, am I though?”
“What are you accusing us of, Credo Javesto?” Bradomir asked. “No one made any report of beatings to me.”
“Nor me,” Pedrag agreed, wringing his hands.
“But you knew something was going on, didn’t you?”
The room descended into bickering and accusations, the volume rising all the while.
“And why didn’t any of you say something?” Tain shouted. He pushed back from the table and stood. “We’ve sat in this room every few days, sometimes even more regularly, for almost two weeks. You’ve got information about our citizens being targeted and attacked and you say nothing? Why?”
“Well, I tried,” Javesto said, his face dark. “But I wasn’t exactly popular when I dared say something about Darfri that wasn’t a call to arms, so do you blame me for not bringing it to the Council?”
“What about the rest of you?” Jov asked, diverting that confrontation. “Who got the report?”
Credola Nara sat back and folded her arms. “I did.” The old spider curled her lip, chin thrust out, as she surveyed the room. “So what? These earthers are outside trying to kill us all, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Darfri,” Tain corrected. “Don’t use that word again, please.”
“You can understand, Honored Chancellor, that tempers and fears are running high within the city,” Bradomir said. He spread his hands. “We are under siege by an army chanting curses at us. People are terrified. Of course it’s silliness, but not a day goes past without someone reporting some supernatural nonsense or another. Faces in the side of the mountain, or plants reaching for them as they walk home at night. Ghostly figures in the canals and invisible hands on their backs. You can see why the sight of some boy praying to the spirits they think are trying to destroy us would enflame that. It’s not to be encouraged, of course—violence is always unsavory. But surely you can see how our citizens might feel—”
“It was ‘our citizens’ being brutalized,” Tain snapped. “Inside our walls. By all the fortunes, what is wrong with you all? We’re fighting a war here, trying to defend our city, and our own people are turning on one another?”
He thumped both fists on the table, causing a few people to jump. “Well, I have at least one of these thugs locked up by now, and I’ve a mind to send a message to the rest of them out there. You know what I call it when people are attacking our own citizens instead of our enemy? I call it without honor, and I call it treason.”
The room hushed. Even I suppressed a gasp at Tain’s choice of word. While I understood his frustrations, if he wasn’t careful he’d make enemies out of everyone around this table.
“Honored Chancellor, you cannot—” Bradomir began, but Tain ignored him, turning instead to Marco.
“Warrior-Guilder, how do we treat treason in a time of war?” he asked, his tone dropping back to normal speaking volume.
Marco cleared his throat. “Treason is generally punishable by death, Honored Chancellor.”
No one sp
oke. The entire Council stared at Tain, mouths open, eyes wide. Even the ever-composed Bradomir seemed at a complete loss. Only Marco, though clearly uncomfortable, didn’t look shocked—in Perest-Avana, I supposed it was quite normal to talk of executing people. But in Silasta, that sort of barbarity didn’t happen. Tain, what are you doing? The Chancellor leaned over the table, his face hard as he surveyed the room. The Councilors stared back as though looking at a stranger.
Lazar was the first to break the silence. His fat lips quivered. “But … Honored Chancellor, surely we wouldn’t consider … I mean, we’re not savages!”
Marco raised his eyebrows, and I admired again his ability to ignore insults. “There is no greater discouragement for such violence than a punishment so severe none dare risk it,” he said. “The Honored Chancellor makes sense.”
“Well, the Honored Chancellor isn’t a dictator, or an emperor,” Nara said. “This is a Council of equals. And I will not be party to executing Silastians for succumbing to frustration and desperation in a time like this!”
“Nor will I,” Varina said, sniffing angrily. “This is absurd.”
“Absurd would be letting our people destroy themselves before the army out there can do it!” Tain pointed across the table. “Well? What do the rest of you say? As my colleague has pointed out, this is a Council. So let’s hear it. Budua, your Guild is responsible for justice. What say you?”
The Scribe-Guilder pursed her lips, pearl-black gaze calmly meeting Tain’s. “I agree any culprits found guilty should be punished,” she said. “This is a new kind of crime, one for which we have no precedent. But our founders built Silasta with the intention that our government not succumb to the military rule of their ancestors. I consider a severe punishment is warranted, but not execution. Not for assault and intimidation.”
Tain raised an eyebrow. “And if this continues to escalate, and we end up with murders?”
She shrugged. “There is an argument that, in a time of war, such actions must be punished as strictly as the law permits.”
Bradomir shook his head. “I think it hasty to talk of such things. This is a civilized city. Certainly we are under siege, but our citizens are not in the Warrior Guild, and should not be treated as if they were. It is regrettable, but understandable, that some people may have made mistakes in the heat of the moment.”
“I agree,” Varina said. “We can save our killing for the people outside the city.”
“I agree with the Chancellor,” Pedrag said, puffing out his chest. “If we are seen to take a strong stance we can stamp this out right now.”
Around the room, everyone gave their opinion. Marjeta, Lazar, and Eliska favored imprisonment and financial reparation; Varina, Bradomir, and Nara urged leniency. Marco, Pedrag, and Javesto endorsed execution. It had come to Jovan’s turn to speak. Instead, though, he was staring around the room in his usual fashion as observer. The room quieted again and people began staring back at him; he visibly started.
He looked at Tain, his face troubled. My heart pounded. Jovan, I entreated silently. When he spoke, his voice sounded croaky, as though it had rusted through lack of use. “I…” He shook his head, mouth dry, and looked away from his friend. “I’m sorry, Honored Chancellor. But I can’t support execution.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, relieved. Tain crossed his arms and settled back in his chair. “Very well,” he said. “The Council has spoken. No execution. But I will be tossing these bastards in our jail until after the siege, and authorizing the Order Guards to use whatever force necessary to stop anyone caught terrorizing Darfri.”
Tension was palpable the rest of the meeting. Tain barely looked at Jovan for the remainder of the discussion, and I could feel his distress from my hiding place. Jovan’s hands flexed in rhythm and the furrow in his brow suggested he was counting internally, trying to manage the tic.
I felt strange inside, anxious but something else, too. By the end of the meeting I realized what it was. I had just watched Tain stop trying to please the Council and stand up for something more important. And suddenly I knew it was time to stop hiding myself from my brother in order not to worry him. Yesterday had been a day of revelations; he might as well get used to another one. The feeling in my chest was release. Even elation.
Though I was exhausted and slow, I still caught up with him; he was trailing a circuitous route through the Manor, presumably to avoid the rest of the Councilors, or even Tain.
“What are you doing?” His tone was weary.
“I was watching the Council meeting,” I said, my confidence from a moment ago shaken.
“Yes, I know,” he said, somehow sounding both disappointed and amused. He kept walking, but crinkles formed around the corners of his eyes. “I’m surprised you don’t get a cramp up there.”
“You knew?”
“Of course. I didn’t think you were doing any harm. You’re very quiet.”
It didn’t matter, and it was easier than explaining it, so I should have been relieved. Instead, the condescension in his manner rubbed the small, irritated core inside me. Honor-down, why did he have to diminish this? “Well, if you—”
Tain stepped out of a doorway, sending the hanging beads swinging into me and cutting off my rising voice.
“Sorry,” he said. “Oh! Lini. Jov. I was looking for you.” He called back over his shoulder, “Guards? I’ll be in the meeting room. Can you stay in the hall, please?” There was a murmur of ascent, then we were alone.
We stared at each other a moment. The feverish anger had burned away from his face, leaving him wan and drained, but he smiled at us as though the awkwardness wasn’t there, and, just like that, it wasn’t. My anger drained away as quickly as his.
“I’m sorry about before,” he said, clasping Jov’s forearm. “I was … angry.”
“You hid it perfectly,” Jov said.
A beat, then we all laughed. The fortunes knew there’d been little enough to laugh about today. Tain steered us back down the hall toward his favorite sitting room, his smile fading.
“I assume Jov filled you in, Lini? I’ve no intention of executing anyone,” he said earnestly. “But I figured if I pushed the treason point, no one would suggest letting them all off with just a warning. I can’t believe this has been going on.”
“It makes sense, though, doesn’t it,” Jov said, following him in and sitting. I slumped into a corner and rested my head on one hand. Though I had slept deeply last night, my body still hadn’t forgiven me for yesterday. “They’ve been driven from their homes, or they’ve fled. Their shrines are being destroyed so they can’t even observe rituals that comfort them. It’s apparently not safe for them to walk around the streets. No wonder they’re hiding in the caves.”
“And from what we’ve found in all the records, the countryfolk have no reason to think the Council would treat them fairly. They aren’t to know you’re not like your uncle.”
“Except you are.”
We all startled. The hanging beads jangled as someone stepped through the doorway, and we rose, turning, as a diminutive figure stepped into the room.
“Marjeta?” Tain’s eyebrows rose as the Artist-Guilder approached us. Her birdlike frame reached no taller than his shoulders, but she could have been a giant for the presence she commanded at that moment.
“I’m sorry,” she said, perching on the edge of a footstool so she shrank down even smaller. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” She had a peculiar way of talking, with a slight lisp and a light, girlish voice belying her years. “But I said, you are like your uncle, Honored Chancellor; you probably don’t know how much. I didn’t think you were, not in the way that counts … not until today, at least.” She met Tain’s gaze with quiet confidence. “I saw how angry you were that your people were being victimized, and I saw you thought they were your people, worth as much as anyone else. That’s how Caslav thought of it, too.” She glanced at Jov and then me. “And Etan as well, though he hid it, just like he hid their true
relationship.”
I’d always liked Marjeta. She was a brilliant painter and a kindly Guilder, with never a harsh word for anyone. I stared at her now, feeling as though I didn’t know her at all.
Tain’s face twitched between caution and hope. “What relationship?” he asked her, tentative.
She smiled. “They were friends, of course, as you two are, but they were so much more. They were bound together by honor and tradition, and by all the times Etan must have saved Caslav’s life.”
Jov’s skin seemed to gray. My stomach rose to my throat. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out; Tain was equally mute, staring back at the Artist-Guilder. Marjeta regarded us calmly. She spread her lovely, long-fingered hands. “I didn’t come here to shock you,” she said. “But you should know I’m not the only one who knows who you are, Jovan, because I wasn’t the only one who knew who your Tashi was.”
“Who else?”
She shrugged. “Budua and I have known for years. And there will be others. Oh, Etan was good, but Caslav was always that bit too cautious whenever food or drink was involved, and once you’d seen that he didn’t ever take something directly from you, you started to notice how Etan was always there near him, so quick to try anything.” She reached out and touched Tain’s hand. “Honored Chancellor, I would have kept that secret forever. I have no interest in the intrigues of the Families, but I understand the dangers and the power shuffles, and I wouldn’t begrudge you this protection. But things are different now. There are people on the Council you shouldn’t trust.”
“Who?” I asked, at the same time as Tain said, “Why now?”