by Megan Derr
"I know school children with more knowledge than that," Chass said.
Jac winced inwardly because she hadn't even known that much. School for people like her amounted to whatever the person being made to teach the orphans that week felt like telling them. Usually it was easily memorized facts and basics like counting. Nobody bothered to teach them things like reading or world history. Mostly they were encouraged to find jobs as quickly as possible, so they could move out and make space for more orphans.
Before Charlaine could voice the scathing reply written on his expressive face, Chass continued, "The three parts are each a crucial mechanism in running the whole; that's partly how it came to be called the Triumvirate. It was a deliberate change on the part of Benta, to force the three to rely on each other for the survival of the whole, making it that much more difficult to rebel. If one part fails, the whole will collapse." Chass sounded shockingly like a patient teacher, suddenly, rather than the ruthless bastard Jac knew. "They've not truly been three separate countries for a long time, whatever they let the rest of the world think.
"Odon is where the governing forces reside, a court of seven, two for each country and one to represent the whole. They command all the ruling bodies on the islands—the chiefs, the governors, and so forth—as well as the tax offices, the courts, and the rest of the infrastructure. Odon also provides the bulk of the artisans and laymen, all of whom must go there to be certified and licensed to practice their craft or skill at all. The only international port is there as well; anyone leaving or entering the country must go there before going anywhere else.
"Jithinir is the backbone, where the vast majority of food and goods come from, and they control the Heart Lake. They're also in charge of the ships, though they dock primarily in Odon. Soltorin is the fighting arm, providing both the military and mercenaries that the rest of the world sees, and the assassins that only a scant few of us know about. The assassin clans are few in number but powerful. They're little better than cults. If you leave, you're never heard from again. If you try to rebel, you are dragged home and put before a village tribunal. I've never known so-called traitors to be found anything but guilty; the tribunals are formalities, not fair trials. Traitors of Myra's…caliber, shall we say, generally die one of two ways: they are stoned to death, or they are tied to a stake in an open field and left there until dead."
"I'm not letting that happen!" Jac snarled, increasingly tempted to punch his stupid face. She'd give him a broken nose to match hers. "I don't fucking care who tries to stop me, I'm not letting—"
"Shut up, you ridiculous child," Chass snapped.
Jac bristled but shut up.
"Why are you here, Chass?"
"Because I don't have much choice," Chass said. "I cannot go myself, and if I leave the matter to the rest of them they will be too little, too late. So you pair of fools will have to suffice. If you want to rescue Myra, you are going to have to go to Soltorin and fetch him. We're scouring the docks and rattling the smugglers, but Soltorin probably used their damnable gliders to cut over land."
"If they're that far ahead of us, he'll be dead long before we can catch up," Charlaine said.
Chass gave him a contemptuous look. "If that were true, do you think I would be here helping a couple of bodyguards to do work they are barely fit for—"
Jac lunged at Chass, snarling several colorful words when Charlaine yanked her back and held her tightly. Chass looked genuinely amused for a minute. Well, he would.
"Chass, please, it's been a long fucking day and you're not helping." Charlaine flinched and added, "I'm sorry, that was out of line."
Chass ignored him, only saying, "They might be able to travel faster than you, little flittas, but they will not simply be able to go straight home once they reach Soltorin. They answer to bureaucracy the same as the rest of us. That will slow them down enough for you to catch up, assuming of course you're competent enough to do so and the weather doesn't work against you."
Jac glared. "Why the Realms do you care? I know what you did—"
"What I did to Allen?" Chass cut in. Jac snapped her mouth shut. "I'm not discussing that matter with you. I will see my brother happy, even if that means sending the two of you to save Myra when I should be going myself. Passage has been arranged for you. Riker will give you the details. Equipment is waiting outside. Try not to get yourselves killed. I'm damned tired of cleaning up the messes of incompetent fools. If you do something to further distress my brother, I will go into the Penance Realms and drag you out into the light so I can kill you again myself." He bared his teeth in something that probably counted as a smile amongst monsters. "Get out of my sight. Don't let me see you again unless it's to tell me of your success." He turned away from them. "Aria, get people in here to start cleaning up these corpses. Pay off the owner and shut this refuse pile down. If it accidentally burns, all the better."
"Yes, Captain." Aria spun neatly on her heel and strode off, barking orders before she was even out the door, her long, heavy, beaded dreadlocks snapping in time with her sharp movements.
Jac stared at Chass a moment longer, angry and confused, but when Charlaine tugged at her wrist she finally went.
Outside, it felt like she could breathe again.
And she was also abruptly reminded that Allen wasn't the only one who had lost a brother. However much a bastard Chass might be, he was still probably feeling the same grief. Pulling free of Charlaine's grip, she bolted back inside.
Chass turned around, vivid blue eyes striking her like lightning. "What now?"
"I'm sorry," Jac said. "I'm sorry about Prince Larren."
For a moment Chass looked like he'd been slapped, and Jac got a whisper of the pain he must be hiding. Then he was only the stony, sharp-edged Captain of Penance Gate again. "I told you to get out of my sight."
"Yes, Captain."
Back outside, another realization belated struck her. "Oh, Pantheon."
"What?" Charlaine asked, scowling up at the rain that had started to fall, sharp and chilly and briny.
"Crown Prince Larren is dead. That means Captain Chass…"
Charlaine froze, his eyes shooting to hers, wide with comprehension and horror. "Chass is next in line. Holy Pantheon, he's now the Crown Prince of Gaulden."
Jac shook her head. "Thank the gods that's not our problem."
Three Penance Gate mercenaries approached them, one leading horses, the other bearing bags and satchels of supplies. Once they'd taken them, she also handed over purses of coin. "Don't fail."
"Stop acting like you're the only ones who can get anything done, Penance Menace," Jac snapped. "I'll knock your fucking lights out if you don't quit with the smarmy behavior."
The woman who'd handed them the supplies and money just smirked. "Pleasure in pain, little wyrm. Now go away and get on with it so we can finish our duties and go home."
Jac didn't punch her, but only because time was of the essence. Stomping off, Charlaine close on her heels, she waited until they were clear of Penance Gate before finally looking at the piece of paper they'd handed her with the information for the ship. Unfortunately, even having better light would not have helped. Handwriting was still completely beyond her capabilities, unless it was something as neat and easy to read as Allen's.
Hunching with embarrassment and shame, she held the slip of paper out. "I can't read it."
"That bad? Why am I surprised those fools—"
"No," Jac said, the tension in her shoulders worsening. "The problem is me. I wasn't taught as a child, and the military doesn't care. Thanks to Allen, I've learned a lot, but…"
"Oh." Charlaine smiled. "Can't have a better teacher than the Golden Tongue. I probably wouldn't have learned either, except I grew up in the theatre."
"You were a stage boy?" Jac asked. The mind boggled. Quiet, unobtrusive Charlaine prancing about on stage. "I need to hear about that later."
Charlaine snorted. "We've been booked passage on a merchant vessel, The Fallin
g Star. Leaves at dawn. I know the location it's docked, and there's actually a good pub there. We can grab a decent meal before we head out, maybe take some food with us before we're forced to make do with ship food."
"I know the Falling Star, or at least of it. Rene's used it before for some of our more discreet missions, though whenever I was along we used a different ship. The captain of the Falling Star and he are old friends. Do you think Captain Chass knew that and arranged passage on that ship on purpose?"
"The only thing I know about Captain Chass is that trying to predict him guarantees failure and a sore head. Let's go." Charlaine rode off, and Jac kneed her horse to hasten after him.
They traveled in silence, for which she was grateful. Every stitch of her body felt battered and bruised, especially her face, but nothing hurt more than the twisting, knotting ache in her chest. Myra was gone, and no matter how hard they tried, they were probably on a fool's quest.
That, however, had never stopped her before. The most dangerous thing she'd ever done was abandon the High Consort Presumptive and ride loudly through enemy territory to deliver vital information to the High King. If that bit of madness had worked, why couldn't a reckless, foolish rescue attempt?
"You should probably know," Charlaine said once they'd reached the pub, ordered food, and taken seats, "that Myra and I—and Riker—defied direct orders from the High King to come get you. He wanted to save you a different way. Myra said it wouldn't work, and Riker and I believed him. If I hadn't before, I certainly do now. We're still acting in defiance of the High Throne. If you go home now, you'll be fine. I can go after Myra on my own; he obviously would understand, that Pantheon-damned fool."
"I'm not going to sit here on my ass after he gave up so much for me. I'm a bodyguard; it's my job to die if it comes to that, and it most definitely came to that." Jac drank down her beer and signaled for another. "Not that I want to die, but I wouldn't have resented anyone for leaving me fit only for a pyre." She groaned as the food was set in front of them: chowder heavy with lentils and vegetables, fragrant with tamarind, cumin, and other spices. Fresh, warm bread that steamed as she broke it in half. There was also more of the remarkably good beer of Harken style, made from millet. Thanking the man who'd brought it, Jac gave up talking in favor of filling her mouth with as much food as possible.
She didn't slow until the second round and a third beer. Across from her, Charlaine was looking to make it round three and already on his fourth beer. "I don't suppose you speak Soltorish?"
"Ten words, only half of them polite," Charlaine replied. "We'll sort out that problem when we get there." He finished eating and shoved his empty dishes away, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I feel there is more we need to talk about, but honestly, I'm too sore and exhausted to think of it right now. I'm going to speak with the ship, get our belongings stowed. There's a decent inn about three buildings down. It's simply called Hanna's. Get us a room, order a bath, and just an extra bucket of hot water for me."
"I can come help—"
Charlaine shook his head. "No, it's fine. I need to walk off all this anger, and it's best I do that alone. I'll see you in an hour or so."
Jac reached out and lightly touched the back of his hand, and Charlaine smiled wanly before pushing away from the table and walking off, steps calm but somehow angry all the same.
Stifling a sigh, Jac finished her own food and then headed for the inn.
Hanna's proved to be run by a nice person named Cali. Though Jac didn't flash her medallion stating she worked for the High King, the torn and bloody Dragon tunic seemed enough to excite the woman and guarantee a good room and plenty of hot water. There was even hot tea to ward off the chill of night on the waterfront.
Someone had also mustered up the healing supplies she'd asked for. Clean and bandaged, with a face that was sore but no longer unbearable, Jac rifled through the pack she'd kept with her for something to sleep in. She wasn't thrilled to think about some Penance Menace cretin going through her belongings, but she was ecstatic to have clean clothes—especially since the ones she'd been wearing were fit only for the fire. At least she seemed to have escaped that foul pub without a vermin infestation.
Pouring a cup of tea, she settled on the far side of the large bed and groaned to finally be off her feet and no longer moving.
She'd just returned from the piss room and poured herself more tea when the door opened and Charlaine strode in, looking tired and haggard and as fed up with the world as Jac felt. Her stomach gave a funny, wholly unwelcome flip as he offered her another of those wan smiles. "You look ready to sleep for a month."
"That would be marvelous," Charlaine said around a yawn. "Can I have a cup of that?"
Jac poured him one. "Plenty of water left. Might not be boiling hot anymore, but the fire has kept it warm enough."
Charlaine gulped down the tea, then started removing all the bits and pieces that came with being a soldier, finally tossing his clothes, as ruined as hers, in the fire to be certain any lice, fleas and other vermin were definitely gone.
He slipped into the tub, which looked tiny with him in it, and set to scrubbing. Jac put her eyes very firmly on the table, not at all amused she now knew exactly how nice a backside Charlaine had. But hey, she'd just won the pot on one of the longest running bets amongst the soldiers and mercenaries. She almost smiled, thinking of how outraged Charlaine would be to learn that people loved to speculate on whether or not his ass looked as good out of clothes as it did in them.
Pantheon, it must be exhaustion, or a need for distraction, because she wasn't normally so easily moved by the sight of a naked person. She'd certainly never noticed Charlaine before, minus that ass, save to note that if Myra was interested in Charlaine, he would never be interested in her. No one could compete with Charlaine if he chose to engage. Not with an ass like that. The kind of ass that made her want to get her favorite toy from her locked chest, buckle it on and have a grand time.
Jac set her tea down and scrubbed a hand through her hair. Definitely trying to distract herself. If she thought too hard about Myra, all that faced them, all that they would endure and lose when—if—they returned home…
She was so close to crying or screaming or laughing in panic, she'd probably ogle old man Timo's backside just for the distraction. Ugh. Nevermind. She wasn't quite that desperate yet.
Pointedly keeping her eyes on the floor as Charlaine stood to rinse off, Jac crossed the small space to the bed and once more took the side closest to the wall. She preferred to sleep where she couldn't be trapped, but she also didn't feel like arguing and Charlaine would probably argue.
Several minutes later, the bed shifted and creaked as Charlaine climbed in and settled. It didn't take more than a few minutes more for his body heat to turn the bed from tolerable to wonderfully warm. Jac buried her face in her pillow and tried to sleep, but exhausted as she was, she was still too tightly strung to manage it.
"Did you know he used to be an assassin?" Charlaine asked quietly.
Jac rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. "I had my suspicions, but he seemed to not want to talk about it. There wasn't really any other way for him to know some of the things he did, though. Too many details only someone who does that sort of thing could know. I think he forgets we see details like that. That being said, I didn't guess the full extent of his past. Even when I thought that prisoner we took looked like him, I only thought that maybe he was just one of the few who decided to settle here, like maybe he was from a Triumvirate merchant family or something."
"I always assumed it was something like that. He never talked about his past much, but so many of us don't, I didn't linger on it." Charlaine sighed and shifted restlessly. "The minute he's safe, I'm going to kill him."
"Not if I get to him first," Jac muttered. "Why did he give himself up so easily?"
"To be fair, we both got our asses soundly trounced. He probably thought he didn't have any choice, although he already thought that, so I gu
ess getting our asses kicked just solidified it." Charlaine sighed again. "I'm too old for this. I'm supposed to be a bodyguard now, not doing all this theatrical, hero-running-off nonsense."
"Whatever, theatre boy." Jac elbowed him lightly in the side. "Blame Myra. Make him pay for it, lots and lots, once we get him back home."
Charlaine laughed. "Oh, I fully intend to. For costing me my job, my retirement fund, my sanity… and I believe he has abandoned the tea he promised you."
Jac's levity faded. Thinking about tea, and the questions she still couldn't work up the nerve to ask about Charlaine and Myra, was the last thing she wanted. "As long as we bring Myra home, I'll probably forgive him. Eventually," Jac said. Was it stupid to be so dead set on rescuing a man she didn't actually know all that well? The occasional conversation while they were both working wasn't much to go on, and they'd never spoken outside of the offices until recently—and even then, it had been because of work, even if Myra had kissed her.
"We will." Something about Charlaine's tone compelled her to look at him, and Jac's breath lodged in her throat like a too-big piece of meat as she met his gaze. His filmy white eye had always reminded her of the kindly baker woman who'd given her buns filled with sweet paste made from dried fruit, cinnamon, and honey. Her eye had been exactly the same, the good one a beautiful jewel green. Charlaine's good eye was a warm brown with gold specs. Myra's were a cool gray, vivid against his dark hair. They were beautiful contrasts of each other and thinking that made Jac miss Myra more than ever.
"I wish I felt as confident as you."
"This from the woman who tore through Cartha with half the mountain on her heels? I've known soldiers with three times your experience who couldn't have made that run. Never mind the breathtaking stupidity of you Dragons going off with an untried royal silver tongue. This should be easy for you."
Jac laughed. "We have barely sufficient supplies, the High Throne is going to kill us, and we're hunting assassins who have kicked our asses at least two times now, possibly three. I'm a little hazy on whether the pub counts as one fight or two."