by Sam Hawke
“And what are they saying about me?”
“That you’re dead. Or that you found a secret way out of the city, and fled.” I saw his expression, and shook my head. “Unless we’ve found a way to neutralize Marco before the night’s out, you can’t do anything about it. You’d be the biggest target in the world if you went out there in this state. The only reason we’re managing to keep you safe now is that he thinks he already killed you.”
“I thi—” He looked up suddenly. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
Tain’s head jerked to me and then back to the doorway, lost in darkness outside the range of the small bedside lamp. “I heard something.”
I stood. “It must be Salvea. Salvea? Is everything all right?”
The rustle of wooden beads marked passage into the bedroom. Then, “Everything’s just fine, Credo Jovan, Honored Chancellor,” Marco said.
Petra venom
DESCRIPTION: Toxin extracted from the poison sacs of the venomous armored petra spider.
SYMPTOMS: When stung directly or poison is injected, intense pain and burning around sting site, followed by spread of stiffening and convulsing muscles, fits, breathing difficulties, coma, death. When ingested, immediate breathing difficulties, convulsions, and rapid seizures, death.
PROOFING CUES: None. Extracted venom is odorless and tasteless.
28
Kalina
Outside the tent, Garan was whistling again. The cheerful tune rankled, stuck as I was inside, hearing the sounds of the troops in the distance. We had pulled off the boats well north of the city, setting up a base camp out of sight of the rebels. A small contingent had been sent to the east bank to deal with the remaining rebel army guarding the south section of the old city; the rest were marching with Aven toward the main rebel army. I was stuck here.
“Don’t worry,” Garan had told me earlier. “We’ll take the breach in the wall and trap the rebels between it and the lake. The day’ll be ours in no time at all, and you’ll be going home.”
But he didn’t seem to understand my distress at the idea. “They attacked the capital,” he said, shrugging, as I tried to explain. “Whatever the reason, you can’t expect there to be no consequences.”
“They were forced into it,” I argued. “What will it do to the country if we kill one another?”
My guard had simply shrugged and ushered me back into my tent.
Now I gnawed at my lower lip and wrung my hands, frustration eating at me. Stuck here in a dark, floorless tent, well behind the battle, I hated not knowing what was happening. Would the rebels surrender? Something about the tune Garan whistled irritated me more and more. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place the song.
“Garan?” I tried. “Any word?”
He stuck his face into the tent, his expression a cross between exasperation and sympathy. “You’ll know more when I do. Can’t you just relax?”
I gave him a flat stare, and he grinned. “All right, you probably can’t relax.” He scratched his head with a sigh. “I know how you feel. Sometimes it’s hard doing what I do, and being out of contact with everyone.”
“Why’re you stuck here with me? Is it because Aven didn’t want to let anyone else know about me?”
“Partly. But guard duty’s pretty common for me.” He stuck one skinny arm through the tent door. “I’m not exactly first choice for the front line.”
“You’re a scout usually?”
He nodded. “I’m quick and I’m quiet, and I can track better than anyone else I know.” As if embarrassed to be caught bragging, he ducked his head and added, “Least, that’s what some people say. I’m not that great with a weapon, though.”
“Do you get bored, guarding?”
He paused, then looked me over and grinned. “Guarding’s not so bad, sometimes.” As if he regretted saying it, Garan ducked back outside. Moments later, I heard the whistling again and smiled despite myself. Nothing could keep his mood down.
But I couldn’t sit still for long. The song nagged at me. I hummed along, but no words came to mind. It was like picking at a scab. “Garan?” I called again.
“Yes?” He stuck his head in again.
“What’s that tune? I know it but I can’t remember from where.”
“Oh.” He frowned, then shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s been in my head for days.”
I smiled. “Yes, I’d noticed.”
“Sorry.”
I settled back down on the single cushion, the only pretense of comfort in this plain little tent. Probably it wouldn’t bother me so much if the situation weren’t so frustrating. I picked at the grass, tearing the blades into pieces, and tried to think about something positive. Surely the rebels, if trapped in the lower city, would have to surrender rather than attempting to defend against a superior foe on two fronts. Aven’s force was well trained and well equipped, and its members were motivated to save their home. The rebels couldn’t hope to survive against them. And if they surrendered, Tain—no, not Tain, I reminded myself with a pang—the Council would hopefully work with them to fix what had gone so horribly wrong in our country. Maybe we could all look forward to a better future.
Garan stuck his head back into the tent. “I remembered,” he said. “But you wouldn’t know it. I was guarding the Doranite spy, weeks ago. The blasted fellow kept singing it.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “It just sounded so…” Suddenly, lyrics popped into my head. “Something about … seeing clearer…”
“Yeah!” Garan agreed. “Grant me just a moment’s time, something-something … lips on mine?” He shook his head. “He was a traitor, but the song was catchy.”
My heart beat faster and my mouth went dry. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
“Had a beautiful voice. I didn’t talk to him, of course,” he said hastily, giving me a sidelong embarrassed look. “We put him down in a section of the mine, for safety. Don’t think he even knew I was there. But he sang a lot. I didn’t know the song, but it’s a good one.”
I found myself on my feet, clutching Garan’s arm, breath catching in my throat. “You said he was a Doranite spy, but you called him a traitor. Was he from Doran or Sjona? Garan, what did he look like?”
He stared down at my hand on his arm as if not quite sure what to do about it. The possible impropriety of our conversation visibly dawned on him. Before he could pull away, I tightened my grip and leaned in closer. “It’s important,” I said. “I’m begging you. Tell me what he looked like.”
“He was working for Doran, but he was Sjon,” Garan said. “I don’t know. Ordinary? Handsome, I suppose. Tall, sort of longish hair.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. My chest hurt. “He was Sjon. Why did you think he was working for Doran?”
He stared at me, voice stiffening. “Warrior-Guilder Aven interrogated him. She concluded he was in Doran’s pay.”
“What happened to him? You were guarding him in the mine.… Where is he now?”
Garan tugged his arm free. “What do you want to know about a spy for?”
“He wasn’t a spy,” I said. The tightness in my chest made it hard to get the words out. “Honor-down, he was the last thing from a spy. What happened to him?”
The guard frowned, but when he saw the tears dripping down my face, he softened. “He was a traitor caught by the army. What do you think?” he said gently. “After the Warrior-Guilder finished questioning him, they hanged him, of course.”
A half cough, half sob spasmed through my throat. Part of me knew what that meant, but surely, surely, it couldn’t be true.
It couldn’t have been Edric.
Because if it had been … I let go of Garan’s arm and sank back onto the cushions. If Edric had made it through the rebel army after all, if his head hadn’t been one of those in the sacks—then who was that in the sacks?—and if he had made it here, he would have gone straight to Aven as instructed. He’d have told no one else who he was; we had told the messengers
not to risk the news to anyone else.
But Aven had treated him as a traitor. She’d “questioned” him, hanged him. And done nothing about the city. Did she not believe him? Why not? She’d acted like the news was a shock when I told her what had happened to the city.
“What’s wrong?” Garan asked, after a long hesitation. “Why would you care what happened to some spy? Why would you think you knew him?”
I knew what it meant—what it had to mean—that Edric had been hanged and his story suppressed. “You have to get me out of here, Garan,” I said. “Please.”
The guard folded his arms, sympathy retreating. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what you know about this spy.”
I pushed down my panic and studied him, evaluating his honest face with ruthless precision. Garan mightn’t be the brightest man in the army, but he liked me. He’d talked to me even though he knew he shouldn’t. His inclination was to sympathize, to help. Honor-down, I wouldn’t get out of this camp without someone’s help. I wiped my tears with the back of a hand and stood, trying to stay calm. “I can tell you his name was Edric Korantash Ash,” I said. “He was Credola Nara’s second cousin. A rising musician in the Performers’ Guild, and a competitive runner. And he came from the city for exactly the same reason I did: to warn the Warrior-Guilder what was happening to our city, and summon the army home.”
Garan snorted. “He was nothing of the sort. He was found skulking around in the hills, spying on the camp. And I told you, Warrior-Guilder Aven herself questioned him. He wasn’t a Credo. I saw his arms—no Guild tattoos, let alone Family ones. I doubt he was even from the city; probably just some estate worker who got tempted over the border.” He tightened his folded arms, but said more kindly, “You’re just mistaken. The man they hanged wasn’t your friend Edric. I barely even told you what he looked like. Why are you so sure?”
“The song,” I said. Calm, stay calm. You can’t look crazy. “That song he was singing. You’d never heard it before because Edric only wrote it after the army left the city. I know, because he wrote it for me.” I met Garan’s gaze, pleased to see it troubled. “The only person who could have known that song at all—let alone known it well enough to sing it—was someone who was in the city right before the siege.”
“Maybe I got the tune wrong. Maybe you don’t remember it that well.”
“It’s called ‘Kalina, Kalina’,” I said. “Isn’t that what he was singing? My name.”
He opened his mouth, his reaction betraying his doubt.
“And he did have tattoos; we just disguised them with cosmetics so that if he got captured they wouldn’t know he was from Silasta. He must have told you that. He must have said all of this.”
“I told you, I didn’t talk to him.” He shook his head. “Look, it doesn’t matter. The Warrior-Guilder questioned him, I told you. If he was some messenger with word from the city, he’d have told her everything and we’d have been back weeks ago and none of this would have happened.” He patted my shoulder. “You’re tired and worried. You’re not thinking straight.”
I caught his hand. “Listen to me, Garan,” I said. “Listen to me. Edric made it here, against the odds. You’re right, he’d have told all of this to the Warrior-Guilder, because that’s what the Chancellor told him to do. And the only reason Aven wouldn’t have taken the army straight back after he told her was if she already knew.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said. Now he looked afraid, and he tried to pull his hand away, as if I might be contagious.
“It doesn’t make sense, you’re right. Except if she’s working with the rebels.” My mind raced. Why would Aven have been lured to the rebel cause? She already held a position of great power, privilege, and wealth. But she didn’t fit the mold of a Credola, either; perhaps her impatience and disdain for the city had indeed given her sympathy for the country folk. The army did spend more time out in broader Sjona than any of the other Guilds, guarding roads, dealing with bandits, and conducting training exercises. And perhaps Aven’s betrayal of the city and Council wasn’t so unexpected. Undeniably, hers was the least honorable, the least respected, of the Guilds. No one aspired for their child or Tash to end up there. Though Aven was on the Council, she was more tolerated than admired, and even Aven’s own family considered her a vulgar necessity rather than a true equal.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he said. “Can you hear yourself? You told the Warrior-Guilder the same story, and she didn’t throw you in a mine, did she? We’re going back to save the city right now!”
True. Was she really planning to attack the rebels, though, or join them? The whole army couldn’t be traitors or they’d never have needed a rebel army at all, and no matter how beloved Aven was as a commander, she could hardly just instruct the army to destroy their own city and hope for obedience. So what was her plan? What had changed? “Tain’s dead,” I murmured, more to myself than the horrified guard before me. “When Edric came, Tain was still alive. But when I came, he was dead.” That didn’t explain the why, but it might be significant. “Garan, you have to help me get out of here. I need to be able to warn the Council.”
But the last trace of sympathy had disappeared, and now he looked at me with a mixture of revulsion and anger. “Credola,” he said stiffly. “You’re talking about the Warrior-Guilder. Your words are treason.”
“I’m not talking against the country or the Chancellor,” I snapped, desperation surging through me. “So it can’t be treason.”
“It is treason to me,” he said. “I think the Warrior-Guilder needs to know you’re throwing these accusations around. She can decide what to do.”
The anger turned to icy fear so quickly I struggled to catch my breath. “No, please!” By the fortunes, what would Aven do to me if she knew I had guessed her secret? She hadn’t hesitated to kill Edric. “Garan, please. I … perhaps you were right before. I’m confused. I’m so tired.” I widened my eyes, spreading my hands. Every part of myself I’d thought of as weak and pathetic, I summoned now. “You’re right, of course you’re right. Please don’t tell the Warrior-Guilder I thought such stupid things, even for just a moment.”
He frowned, looking me over. “Sit down and be quiet,” he said at last. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you.” He stepped outside the tent and shut the flap behind him with a snap of fabric.
I swallowed, heart pounding. Aven was with the army, near the city. Even if Garan decided to tell her, he couldn’t until she came back to camp. That gave me one brief opportunity. One last chance to save my city.
I dropped to my knees at the back of the tent, the farthest point from the door, and began to dig.
Graybore
DESCRIPTION: Crumbly mineral deposit found in veins of hard rock, generally deep underground. Dust caused by disturbing deposits is poisonous in large quantities (usually breathed in over time).
SYMPTOMS: Breathing difficulties, bloody cough, hair loss (from exposure over time).
PROOFING CUES: Insoluble, and dominating earthy flavor makes it difficult to include in toxic quantities in food, but has been used in perfumes to gradually poison the wearer. Visible as fine gray powder on release or cloudy residue in perfume bottle.
29
Jovan
We froze.
“I did wonder,” Marco continued, voice lighter than usual, absent some layer of false humility, “why you would be running back to the Manor in a time of crisis, Credo, if there was no one here to report to.” Behind my back, my fingers searched around for something, anything, to use as a weapon. My damn pouch of poisons was still in the outer room, utterly useless to me here. “And here you are, Tain Caslavtash Iliri, hiding away, breathing as ever.”
I glanced around. There were daggers on the wall, mostly decorative. Hanging by the doorway—behind Marco—was Tain’s armor and sword.
“Nothing to say, Honored Chancellor?” Marco asked. His voice grew closer until he stepped into our circle
of light. He wore a breastplate and carried his great sword, which he hadn’t yet bothered to draw; it swung by his side, menacing.
Tain’s voice was calm and clear, but behind him his hands clenched into the bedding and I felt him pulling himself backward, just a fraction. “What are you doing here, Marco? You have responsibilities down at the bridge.”
“Well,” the Warrior-Guilder said, stepping closer, “I just found out a job I thought completed was unfinished. And you know how I like the satisfaction of work well done. I came to fix that mistake.”
Keep talking, I willed Tain, edging one foot off the end of the bed, getting ready to spring.
“You’re really here to do this?” Tain asked, managing to sound cool and disappointed. “You’re going to cut down the Chancellor in his bed? That’s who you are?”
Marco smiled, a cold baring of teeth that made him look a different man. “I suppose it is,” he said. “But be reasonable, please. I made every attempt to be subtle first. This is … messy. It is lucky most of the city already thinks you have fled Silasta.” He glanced at me. “I didn’t want to have to kill you, Jovan, or Eliska, but here we are.”
“What’s Eliska got to do with anything?” Tain asked, and this time his voice wavered.
“Do not think me a fool,” Marco said. “You know the Stone-Guilder did not poison anyone. So chances are you told her the truth.” He shrugged. “I will not enjoy killing her, but you know the dangers of battle. Anything can happen.”