The Silvered

by Tanya Huff

  Both of them to, he amended, looking at Kirstin. He’d have brought both Tomas and Mirian to this.

  Kirstin’s eyes were locked on the wolf, and her mouth was moving. Not begging, nor pleading. She looked determined. He couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  The wolf could.

  His ears went up. Down. He shook his head and whined.

  Kirstin kept talking, convincing him to do…what?

  He shook his head again, and his lips drew back exposing impossibly large, white teeth. His head swung slowly back and forth as he sniffed the air. Then he stilled, nose pointed directly at the mage. He growled and saliva splattered on the floor.

  Nothing about his reaction looked sexual.

  “Majesty, how long since he was fed?”

  “He ate recently. Probably not as much as he would have liked, given his size, but the food is divided evenly among them.”

  What did he eat? Reiter wanted to ask. Didn’t have the courage to ask. Was afraid the question wasn’t what, but who.

  “And when he last ate makes no difference, Captain. The mages both attract and control the wolves with their power.”

  Reiter closed a hand around the bars, his knuckles white. “She has no power, Majesty. The tangle has suppressed it!”

  “Suppressed it. Not removed it.”

  Kirstin raised her head and looked directly at Danika, ignoring the two men so completely, Reiter felt invisible. Under the cap of dark hair, she had a pair of gold hoops in her ears. “It would have happened anyway,” she said. “Better fast than slow, yes? This is my choice, Danika. I cannot suffer as you can, and suffering is all the future holds. We are none of us getting out of here.”

  She unfastened her dress and let it drop to the ground, a puddle of blue cloth around her feet.

  “My choice.”

  “Good girl,” the emperor murmured.

  Reiter had barely enough time to notice the smear of blood, dark against the pale skin of an inner thigh before toenails skittered against tile.

  Blood.

  And a starving wolf.

  Kirstin raised her chin. “I wish I could have said good-bye to my boys.”

  Red spattered against white. It sounded like rain. And branches breaking in a storm.

  “No!” The emperor actually sounded surprised.

  As the wolf bent his head to feed, ripping the belly open for the organs, Reiter shuddered, clenched his teeth, and looked to Danika who watched…no, witnessed, silently. As though aware of his gaze, she turned her head, tears running down her cheeks, and said, “He didn’t want to. She convinced him to do it, to take her strength, to survive.”

  Then she closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and threw up. Half-digested porridge and biscuit spattered out through the bars.

  Reiter looked at a slender leg and a pale foot against the blue fabric of the discarded robe and remembered that he’d once believed science could do anything mage-craft could do. Science couldn’t have done this.

  Down below, the door opened and two guards charged in, boots slamming against the tile. They wore packs and carried metal staffs, thick rubber handles gripped in heavy leather gloves. Wires ran from the staffs to the packs and sparks jumped from the staffs’ blackened upper ends.

  Two steps.

  Three.

  They stopped in tandem.

  Apparently, guards who were able to torture a man who looked like an animal drew the line at approaching while he tore bloody chunks of meat off a woman’s body. They hesitated long enough for him rip off an arm and gulp it back, fingers fluttering as her hand disappeared between his jaws, larger bones cracking, smaller crunching. One guard took a step back, the other jackknifed forward and spewed vomit all over the tile. The end of his staff hit the wall.

  A tile smashed, and a drift of smoke that smelled almost like gunpowder momentarily covered the scent of blood and guts and puke.

  Perhaps these guards had never handed out the wolves’ food. Perhaps Cobb had only been removed from the palace. Perhaps the old man sent to the north wing back on Reiter’s first day in the palace had been sent to scrub tiles. Those tiles were going to need scrubbing.

  I should do something. I need to do something. He couldn’t save the dead mage. He couldn’t even save the live one.

  Neither of them had screamed.

  “Just a reminder, Captain…”

  Reiter looked down to see the emperor staring up at him.

  “…that what happens in the north wing is not spoken of. My privacy is very important to me.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” Who could he tell?

  Reiter had hoped he’d be dismissed when they returned to the palace, but the emperor kept him close for the rest of the day. He stood behind the emperor’s chair—behind Tavert and the distant cousins and whoever the flame else those people were—and wore the expression officers wore when they knew a battle had gone to shit but they didn’t have the rank to stop it, and all they could do was send more solders out to die.

  Fortunately, those officers allowed into the emperor’s presence had been trapped in the palace for so long it wasn’t an expression they recognized.

  At supper, Reiter found he’d been moved to a higher status table. His new companions were more obsequious, but better at it. He pushed his food around on his plate and drank more than he should have. It didn’t help.

  As the platters emptied of fruit and nuts were cleared away, it was announced there would be dancing in one of the smaller ballrooms. The appropriate pleased response ran through the crowd.

  “Her Imperial Majesty loves to dance,” the woman seated next to Reiter gushed. “I’m sure tonight’s affair is to welcome back the Talatian ambassador, whom she adores and missed greatly while he was gone.”

  A quick glance at the head table showed Her Imperial Majesty laughing with a dark-skinned man in a deep green uniform.

  “The ambassador always seems to enjoy these small family gatherings.”

  “Family?” Whatever he was now, Reiter wasn’t family.

  She smiled, hand over her mouth to cover a bad tooth. “All of us, of course.”

  Those who ate with the emperor, regardless of how far away they sat, were expected…required to attend.

  Waiting with the others in the anteroom outside Their Imperial Majesties’ apartments while the emperor changed into evening wear, Reiter wondered if he’d been looking forward to dancing with his wife while watching a young woman torn apart by a starved wolf.

  Reiter didn’t dance. He stood. He stared at nothing. He kept his thoughts from showing on his face.

  “Walk with me, Captain.”

  It took a moment to pull himself out of his thoughts and focus on the man beside him. Reiter blinked at Major Halyss’ father, realized that hadn’t been a request, and unlocked his knees. Given that he’d taken Major Halyss’ rather specific position at the emperor’s side, it had been a moment’s work to discover the major’s father was Lord Coving, Duke of Barryns, and one of the ten most powerful politicians in the empire.

  “His Imperial Majesty prefers you to circulate so Her Imperial Majesty doesn’t ask him later why you weren’t having a good time.” Lord Coving’s mouth curved into an approximation of a smile as they began to make their way around the edges of the room. “Her Imperial Majesty would prefer you to dance, but realizes not everyone is as skilled as she is.”

  “Her Imperial Majesty is a very accomplished dancer.”

  “Yes, she is.” He waved off a clump of approaching courtiers, and they continued uninterrupted. “If you’re going to remain at court, you’ll have to learn.”

  “I’d rather be returned to the front. I’m a soldier, sir. This isn’t for me.”

  “Dancing?”

  “Court.”

  “Ah.”

  It was a simple, noncommittal sound that managed to express solidarity while admitting nothing. It was so noncommittal, Lord Coving had to be aware of what was happening in the north wing. Mayb
e not the exact particulars but enough. After all, the wing had to be built and equipped. Guards and scientists paid. Reiter had no idea where the money came from, but the emperor definitely didn’t dole it out himself. Coving knew and had arranged to have his son sent away before the mages arrived. Before something like today happened and the major, who was a gentleman and not just a soldier, protested too vehemently and got himself killed.

  The small orchestra at the end of the room played loudly and enthusiastically. Those not currently dancing talked and laughed. Lord Coving commanded enough space around them to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard.

  “How can you?”

  To his credit, and right now that and getting his son out might be the only thing to his credit, Coving didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “We give him this and, for the most part, he lets us run the empire.”

  “For the most part?” The wine that had been nearly too much at dinner suddenly wasn’t nearly enough.

  Again, the approximation of a smile. “For the most part.”

  “Would one of his parts be declaring an entire people abomination?”

  Lord Coving nodded genially, as though they weren’t talking about genocide. “He has the right as the head of the church to appoint a new Prelate more sympathetic to his beliefs.”

  “And attacking Aydori?”

  “No, the Prelate had…”

  “Was attacking Aydori another of his parts?”

  “Yes. And it would have been significantly more cost-effective to have placed an army on their border and made treaties for the contents of their mines and their forests rather than spend the silver to kill enough of them to allow us to take the country. Of course, you and I both know the attack was as much to cover the Soothsayers’ requirements and your activities as it was to attempt to acquire resources, but we don’t spread that information around. Still, the Prelate and Aydori aside, for the most part, His Majesty doesn’t interfere and things get done. Trade is negotiated. Borders are secured. Roads are built. Children are educated. There are hospitals and poor laws. You could travel from Karis to the border in only three days should you need to. Well, it might take slightly longer now that the border has shifted, but life in the empire is good and every day we work at making it better. And safer. It’s a small price to pay.”

  Fingernails pressed into his palms again, Reiter growled, “You’re not paying the price.”

  “They’re not like us.”

  He remembered gray eyes and a wide mouth pressed into a thin, disapproving line. He remembered a stubborn glare. Blood. Bruises. Tears. A boy who cried out for his brother. A woman who gave her strength to a starving…man. To a starving man. He stepped forward enough that he could turn and see Lord Coving’s face. “When he’s done with them, what differences will he want to study next?”

  The orchestra started a new piece, and the emperor laughed as he led the ambassador’s wife out onto the floor.

  “I don’t…” There were shadows under the old man’s eyes. In his eyes. “He won’t be done with them for a long time.”

  Coving had agreed to ignore the emperor’s insanity in order to be one of those few who ran the empire. To Reiter, that seemed unnecessarily complicated. “Why can’t you run things without him?”

  “Don’t be naive, Captain. Someone has to be at the top. If not him, who? His Imperial Highness? Then who guides the prince until he’s old enough to take the throne? And who chooses who guides the prince? No, the emperor is essential to the smooth running of the empire.” Before Reiter could speak again, Lord Coving caught the attention of a woman about his age who sat wrapped in at least three layers of brilliantly colored shawls, tapping her foot to the music. “Lady Clarin, have you met Captain Reiter? He served with my son and we were just catching up. The captain is on the emperor’s staff now and a trusted confidant.”

  And that was the end of the conversation. Reiter had been told in no uncertain terms that the north wing was part of how it was in the empire and he would just have to accept that.

  Finally dismissed at nearly midnight, he returned to his room and stripped. Walked to the wet room through empty halls, past rooms of sleeping soldiers who didn’t know how it was in the empire, and stood under the shower until the water ran cold. Then he lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, water from his hair soaking into his pillow. When he finally slept, he dreamed of white tiles and red blood.

  And screaming.

  * * *

  Danika lay curled on the floor, face pressed to the crack under the door, layering Kirstin’s story onto the air. She didn’t know if the others would hear or if it would just circle their prison endlessly, but she didn’t stop talking until her voice had gone rough and hoarse.

  There was no second meal.

  No chance to see, to touch, to know that the others were alive.

  No chance to find out how much more time Stina needed to destroy her door.

  * * *

  They could see the lights of Karis painting the night sky even though they were still some distance away. The contrast was distinct enough that even Mirian could make out the yellow glow against the black.

  Tomas paced, finally settling close enough she could feel the air warming between them. “Do we sleep or do we keep moving?”

  “The sensible thing to do would be to sleep. If we keep going, we’ll be tired and careless when we arrive. We’ll still have to find where the Mage-pack are being held, and we don’t have a lot of luck with cities.”

  “We should definitely avoid markets,” he muttered. Then, a little louder, “So I should find us a safe place to sleep.”

  “No.”

  “But you said the sensible thing…”

  “I know.” Mirian pushed one bare foot forward, feeling the path to Karis. “I don’t think we have time to be sensible. You’ll have to be my eyes tonight.” Air currents shifted and without looking, she put her hand down to stroke the fur between Tomas’ ears. “I can feel when I go off the path, but I can’t see to stay on it.”

  She slipped the belt he wore in skin out of the bedroll then shortened up the ropes so the roll pressed snug against her back, too tight to bounce when she ran. The belt was made of braided straw and as she buckled it around Tomas’ neck, she thought of the collar they’d lost in Abyek, suddenly wanting the more formal touch of leather, but not really sure why. “I’m trusting you not to run me through puddles or gorse bushes.”

  He gave a soft woof, and she shoved at him with her leg.

  “Oh, sure, you say that now.” She could tell him she trusted him, but he knew that so all she said was, “Jake was right.” She closed her fingers around the loose loop of belt, then closed her eyes so as not to be distracted by things she couldn’t quite see. “We need to hurry.”

  * * *

  The emperor beckoned Reiter up to walk beside him as they made their way to…actually Reiter had paid no attention at Tavert’s morning briefing and had no idea where they were going. He only knew that wherever it was—north wing, west wing—he didn’t want to be there.

  He particularly didn’t want to be alone with the emperor, but Tavert and the rest had been instructed to fall back, so clearly it didn’t matter what he wanted.

  “The mage who escaped from you,” the emperor murmured, grinning broadly, “my sixth mage. I have word that she’s on her way to Karis.”

  It took Reiter a moment to find his voice and at that he only managed a neutral, “Majesty?”

  “Half of Lower Tardford was put to sleep by a nondescript young woman of about twenty with brown hair, accompanied by a young man of about the same age with black hair. They were wearing country clothing. Sound familiar?”

  He thought about lying. He thought about strangling the emperor and dying a moment later. “Yes, Majesty.”

  “That’s what I thought. Given what happened in Abyek, it’s obviously her.”

  “It could be another…”

  “No, no, the prophecy is pulling at her, Captai
n. Remember what the Soothsayer Saw: The sixth mage in the room with the others. She can no more resist fulfilling the prophecy than I can resist those sugar cookies with the jam centers. I am curious, though, what could she possibly have against markets?”

  “Markets are where people are, Majesty.”

  The emperor beamed up at him. “That was remarkably insightful, Captain. Well done.”

  His skin crawled under the emperor’s approval.

  * * *

  “I can’t weaken the door any further until we’re ready to go, or it’ll fall off its hinges the next time the guards open or close it.”

  Danika clutched Stina’s hand below the edge of the table. Their quiet conversation hopefully looked as much like comfort as the words Jesine murmured into Annalyse’ hair, arms around her, rocking her back and forth. There had already been weeping and wailing enough to satisfy their captors, and Stina had spoken only for Danika to hear.

  Only Danika remained to hear.

  Kirstin was dead.

  She winced as Stina tightened her grip. Nodded, although she wasn’t sure at what. “Can you finish tonight?” Would Kirstin still be alive if she’d asked that two days ago? Should she have pushed harder?

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I couldn’t have gotten through the door before Kirstin died. The question was all over your face, Danika. This wasn’t your fault. Or mine, although we’ll both blame ourselves. If I work the night through, I can have the door in pieces before morning. But I can’t guarantee how much time we’ll have to get clear of the palace after that.”

  “Then we’ll have to use the time we have.”

  “The nets…”

  “Our mage-craft isn’t all we are.” Danika drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It never has been. We get out of this prison, we disappear into the city. It’s a very large city. We worry about the nets later.”

  “The Pack?”

  The Pack locked in small dark cells, howling, starved, tortured.

  “With the nets on, with them nearly mad with pain and unable to change, none of us are strong enough to control them. It’d be a massacre. Which I’m not against,” she added as Stina’s gaze darkened, “provided the right people die, but wearing the nets we can’t ensure that. We’ll come back for them.”