Sword

by Amy Bai

  Taireasa.

  All the air seemed to have left the tent. Devin tilted, and then slid slowly to his knees, because his legs weren't going to hold him for much longer.

  "Who?" he whispered.

  "I don't know. There were no names, my lord, forgive me. It was a conversation, one I'd have lost my head for overhearing if I'd been caught. I tried, I swear to you, but I could learn no more and I was afraid to stay longer, knowing what I knew. I'm sorry. I must ride back today, now, and see my captain. The Clan Leader insisted I see you first."

  "Dear gods," Devin said, and then shoved all the horror and outrage aside, because he had to think. "You're in no shape to ride, Waylen. I need you to tell me the rest right now, all of it."

  Waylen wrapped his long arms about his middle, looking miserable and cold and worn to the bone. "My lord, I wish there were more to tell. I heard two men speaking: I was certain one was Tuan's master of the guard, and the other might have been Tuan himself, or possibly an advisor. They spoke of the fighting on the mountain, the witch and her troops—and then their man inside, who had sent word with the numbers of the army here, the placement of the Lady Captain's bands around the mountain." Waylen met his eyes and the fierce worry in the man’s gaze made Devin's hands curl into fists. "The numbers were accurate, Lord Corwynall," the spy said. "Accurate from when I left. Someone among us who knows a great deal is Tuan's man, and is sending messages. Time is crucial in such things. I can ride if I have to. I need to report."

  "You already have," Devin said, and shut his eyes, ignoring everything and everyone.

  Taireasa, he sent, reaching for the sense of her with all the strength in him. In an instant she was with him, a moil of surprise, pleasure, loneliness, and an exhaustion so great it wore at the edges of her presence like sand on stone.

  "Gods!" he gasped aloud, because she was so strong it was like stepping into what he'd expected to be a lake and finding it was a river in full flood. He was almost swept away by the force of her. All the guards he'd ever set against her keen perception were demolished, and for a terrifying second he was completely exposed, every impulse and resentment and silly, sad wish bared.

  She pulled back, horrified at what she'd done to him, and he felt her mute apology as he tried to catch his breath.

  Devin, I'm so sorry, I've been learning—Saraid taught me—

  Not now, Taireasa. Listen.

  He gave her everything he knew, spilling it out without any attempt to organize it. Taireasa's presence grew stronger and then weaker as she understood, and he could feel her distress at the thought that anyone she had trusted with so much—anyone who had lost the same kingdom she had, who had struggled and suffered as she had—would be willing to betray them all in this way.

  I have the spy with me. We'll leave tomorrow. I'm coming home.

  You should stay, Devin, you have things to learn still.

  Don't argue with me now. You want me there and I can stand to be nowhere else.

  She was both irritated and grateful almost to the point of tears. She was so lonely. It scraped at the scabs over his own wounds.

  You're in danger, Taireasa, Devin had to add, as if she hadn't already gotten there on her own. In intrigue and politics, as in magic, she could run rings around him. But he couldn't help it. Tell Annan, and tell my sister. Kyali will keep you safe.

  What that got him was another kind of loneliness entirely, something shadowy and wounded and full of secretive guilt. Devin opened his eyes on three staring faces, not knowing what to do with that or how to take it.

  Yes, Taireasa said briskly, and vanished, shutting him out as thoroughly as she ever had.

  "She knows," Devin said, because Waylen and Aileana and Measail were still staring at him, looking increasingly confused. "Taireasa knows. I told her. She'll tell Annan, and… and everyone else that needs to know."

  In that moment, he couldn't even make himself say Kyali's name.

  What had she and Taireasa done to one another? What were they hiding? Because it was very clear now that they were both hiding something, something Taireasa was terrified he'd discover.

  "That's… amazing," the spy was saying, his voice beginning to roughen with weariness and relief. "You can speak to her? You just spoke to her now?"

  "Surely you've heard the rumors," Devin said, not at all comfortable with the way Waylen was staring at him. "We can—ever since the night the kingdom was taken, we've been able to—"

  Gods, there was no explaining it. He just shook his head, going mute.

  "I didn't believe it," Waylen said frankly. "People make up all sorts of strange things about noble-borns, and about you three in particular. But this… this is…"

  "Magic," Devin sighed. "And prophecy."

  Stupid, blind, vicious prophecy.

  "Can you tell the Lady Captain, too?" Waylen asked, having no idea how many wounds he rubbed salt into with that simple question. Devin bit his lip as the Cassdall spy went silent and chagrined, which meant there was far too much of his heart on his face just now.

  "Not so far," Devin said, trying for a light tone and failing miserably. "I don't think she—"

  He stopped. He didn't need to see the frown on Waylen's scarred face to know that made no sense at all. The prophecy named three, and three of them had felt the pull of it. Geas, Arlen and Saraid had called it—fate at work, reshaping the world. It had drawn Kyali down from this mountain as surely as it had drawn him home from Caerwyssis, as surely as it had pushed both of them to renounce the throne that day.

  And he had felt his sister's presence, hadn't he? That terrible night when the whole world had come crashing down around their ears, he had known Kyali wasn't well. And then days later, riding into a messy and unequal battle between Sevassis and the newly formed Exile's Army, he had been sure he felt her nearby, and just as sure something was very, very wrong with her.

  Your sister needs you now, boy.

  Their father had known it, too.

  Taireasa knew more—that was very clear. Taireasa, being so much stronger than he was in matters of their hearts, probably knew a great deal more. And whatever it was she knew, it hurt and haunted her, and she was hiding it from him. She was even, he suspected, hiding it from Kyali.

  For Kyali's sake, or for his?

  Or for her own?

  What happened to my sister? he sent, angry and increasingly panicked, and got back only that sense of a door shut and bolted between them. It was enough to make him want to scream. But the edges of the mystery were in his grasp now. He had a feeling they were sharp enough to draw blood, but by the gods, he wasn't about to let go of them.

  "I don't think she's willing," Devin said, finishing the thought several minutes after he'd started it. Beside him, Measail made a soft, satisfied sound.

  Gods damn these Clans and their secrets! And gods damn him for not pushing harder for answers. He'd known the night of the uprising that Arlen and Saraid had more information than he did about Kyali, and he'd let that go in favor of more urgent things. And he'd let Kyali push him away; let Taireasa shield him from.... from whatever it was; let himself sink into his grief and his hurt and forget that he had responsibilities, whether or not anyone wanted him prying.

  Your sister needs you now.

  Did she? Did Taireasa?

  Every word spoken between them lately said not, but perhaps it was time to stop listening to what those two said, and start listening to what they didn't say instead.

  They didn't say how his little sister had found it in herself to slay four barons in their sleep—or why Taireasa, who could barely countenance the killing of rats, had deemed what amounted to four executions without trial—four assassinations, hard as it was for him to believe that word applied to his little sister, or to Lardan—justice. They didn't say why they could barely stand the sight of one another lately, but still protected each other fiercely from challenge, harm, and even the curiosity of friends. They didn't say why Kyali hid her heart and smothered her
Gift; most of all, they didn't say why Taireasa was allowing that to happen.

  "I'm going home," Devin said abruptly, mind on the problem, barely hearing himself, feeling awake for the first time since his father had died. "Tomorrow morning."

  There were people there who had been in Faestan the night the barons of the West had taken the castle, and it was time to start asking questions.

  CHAPTER 20

  The war council had become a stifled, miserable affair full of awkward silences and distrust. There was no one who didn't feel it, no one who didn't resent it. Taireasa walked back to her apartments in slump-shouldered exhaustion, trying not to be irritated by the endless grating of armor that now followed her everywhere. The six bodyguards Kyali had assigned to her didn't deserve the glare she wanted to aim at them. They were just tired and worried men doing the job they knew how to do, willing to lay down their lives to keep her safe.

  That was the problem, right there.

  She was so everlastingly sick of people risking themselves for her.

  Kyali paced soft-footed behind her, several steps back—presumably so as not to get in the way of the bodyguard, but Taireasa suspected it had more to do with not wanting to be within speaking range. Neither of them was in good temper tonight. She thought she had far more reason to be angry than her Lady Captain did, though—mainly because she was angry at her Lady Captain.

  The guards left them at the door, and Taireasa shut her eyes and massaged her temples. Exhaustion left her wide open to the thoughts and feelings of everyone else in the castle. Saraid had taught her how to shield herself, but lack of sleep made even simple things impossible, and blocking out the endless cacophony of thoughts was… not simple.

  Taireasa sank wordlessly into the chair by the fire, leaving Kyali to stew, or stare out the window, or think about ways to escape the people who loved her, or whatever it was she did with herself. She thought of walls, high and impenetrable: walls that swallowed wish and want and will. Walls that shielded her from the minds around her, that wrapped her in merciful peace.

  After several long moments, Taireasa was able to breathe evenly, to know she was alone in her own head. That head was throbbing, but it was no longer ringing with the silent voices of several thousand others.

  There was a mug of tea steaming next to her hand.

  She looked up, but Kyali was standing by the windows, reading some report or another. And it didn't change anything between them.

  She could forgive a great deal. But finding out in the middle of a council of war that the captain of her army had sent bands of soldiers to take contested ground more than a fortnight ago—that was not something she could take quietly. It touched her pride. It woke something in her she'd begun to doubt she owned, truth be told: some silent but fierce queen hiding in the far reaches of herself.

  "When were you going to tell me?" Taireasa asked. She could hear her anger in the words and she drew one breath, then another as Kyali turned to face her, as calm as always, because Kyali had never backed down from confrontations even before she stopped caring who she hurt.

  "When it bore fruit, Your Majesty," she said.

  "Ah, of course. And I take it you don't consider the loss of some fifteen soldiers or the battleground the Maurynim foothills have now become to be fruit worth mentioning. I suppose I can understand that, Ky, as it's fruit only our enemies would find safe to eat."

  She could see the flicker of gold that rose in Kyali's eyes, and gods help them both, she wasn't sorry to have caused it.

  What have we come to? some part of her mourned, but it wasn't a voice Taireasa was willing to listen to at the moment.

  "You'd rather we let the West take our supply lines?" Kyali asked, dry as bone. "Or perhaps you think we've enough mouths to feed, Majesty, and holding the paths open for refugees is no longer in our interest?"

  Taireasa was on her feet before she knew she was going to stand, fury singing in her veins. She could hear the high hum her mug was making and didn't care at all. She took three quick steps, bringing her within inches of Kyali's clenched fists and set face.

  So that was what it took to get a reaction out of her.

  "Am I queen?" she hissed, and watched Kyali's chin come up and her eyebrows knit together. "Is this not where you think I ought to be?"

  "It is exactly where you ought to be," Kyali replied, low and fierce.

  "Then I'd be much obliged, Lady Captain, if you'd credit me with some measure of intelligence and bloody well consult me before you hare off risking men's lives and provoking a war! Do you plan to inform me when you've decided to take back Faestan, or shall I learn it only after the first charge?"

  Kyali's eyes flared bright gold. Taireasa wanted so badly to stop everything, shut them both up, and simply enjoy the sight, regardless of how it had been achieved.

  "Should I come to you with every decision I make?" Kyali asked. "Every rumor? Is that what you intended when you named me captain—a mascot for your troops? If so, please tell me now, Majesty, before I make any more choices."

  "That's not what I mean and you know it," Taireasa snarled.

  "Maybe you ought to stop assuming what I do and don't know. Your Majesty."

  "I stopped assuming anything about you some time ago, Kyali Corwynall. Everything I thought I knew has turned out to be wrong."

  Oh gods.

  All her anger vanished. Taireasa spun before the anguished horror she felt could spread across her face—but not before she saw a flash of genuine shock and then bleak acceptance on Kyali's. Dear gods, what were they doing to one other?

  "I didn't mean that," she whispered.

  "Yes, you did," Kyali said, almost as quietly.

  "I didn't—I didn't mean it like that."

  "Yes," Kyali said again, her voice growing cooler, firmer. "You did."

  Gods damn it, was Kyali trying to make her angry? Taireasa flung her a furious look, met a pair of eyes like candles in a desolate face.

  "Ky," she said. "Don't."

  "You should. Mean that." Kyali seemed to be having trouble speaking. She frowned, coughed once. Her face lost the desolate look—lost all expression, turned wooden and serene. "Stop," she finished. "Assuming. Waiting. You should stop now, Taireasa. My Lady Queen."

  And while Taireasa was still trying to form a reply, to get her mind around the fact that Kyali was throwing off the long-held pretense that there was nothing between them only to end what little was left, the Lady Captain bowed deeply and walked out of the room.

  * * *

  Outside, the snow fell, swallowing the world in white. Inside, Taireasa curled as close to the fire as she could get without risking her skirts or the stuffed chair, and still it felt like she was encased in ice, slowing everything to a crawl, muffling thought and feeling and sense.

  She should probably be grateful for that.

  She leaned closer to the lantern by her chair to read Kyali's cramped scrawl. The handwriting was so poor it might almost have been some kind of cipher, but she had long experience with this particular code and she picked out the words one by one, piecing together a list of spies, incursions, defenses, places her Lady Captain wished taken, or yielded and taken back later.

  It was the strategy of a brilliant, methodical mind, something meant to wear down a larger enemy over time, to claim supply lines and eventually the whole mountain all the way to the foothills. It was a long game, and Taireasa suspected she wasn't seeing half of it.

  The report had appeared half an hour ago, carried by a young lieutenant. At the bottom, squashed into the margin in nearly indecipherable writing, was a postscript.

  You were right in what you said, Majesty. I should have consulted.

  So.

  It didn't take away the ache in her chest. That Majesty wasn't a temporary thing, she began to understand: it was Kyali's insistence on separation. On a new order in the world, one where they might as well never have been friends. She had never in her life felt so alone.

  Was this
what it meant, being a queen? It was a fate harsh beyond belief. But it might be a fair penalty for letting her best friend sacrifice her life for the life of a queen.

  Taireasa leaned closer still, slid the paper and all the secrets it held into the hearth, watched flame flare and ash drift down. She had an appointment with Curran in an hour, and she needed to find in herself the will to deal with that. But it felt like half the stone of this keep had landed on her shoulders.

  "Ah," said Saraid from behind her, and she started. "I'd about lost the use of my fingers."

  Taireasa twisted around, took the cloak Saraid shed, and gave up her chair for the old woman, who was indeed blue-lipped. "Gods," she muttered, finding she did still have enough room in her heart for worry. "Sit, Saraid, you're frozen through."

  "I am and I will," the old woman groaned, reaching out to snag a cushion and set it on the floor. "Now you sit, young queen. Right here. Pretend you're a hound and lean your head on my knee."

  Taireasa stared, then uttered a short, sharp laugh. Why not? It wasn't like there was anyone to witness, and she didn't really want to leave the meager comfort of the fire's heat. Saraid's knobby fingers settled, gentle and comfortable, in her braids.

  "You're in a state," she remarked after several minutes had passed.

  Taireasa watched a stick collapse into coals. The walls in her mind held firm, but she could feel her teacher just outside them, curious and patient.

  "I'm all right," she said finally.

  The fingers in her hair shifted. "Does it ever work?" Saraid asked.

  "Does what work?"

  "Telling yourself that. Being ancient and unable, at this late point in my life, to remember precisely what it felt like to present the world with the thing I wished to be true instead of the thing that is true, I confess I have no idea. Do you feel all right, Taireasa Marsadron, just because you say so?"

  "No," Taireasa replied. The word leapt out of her throat all wobbly. She bit her lip and dug her nails into the palms of her hands.

  "I could never teach my other student this, either. I think it must be youth, curable only by time. Either that, or I am a far poorer tutor than I hoped to be."