by Kate Elliott
Gargaron looks at me, awaiting an imprudent response, but I am in the game. This is trivial, meant to distract me. Instead I carefully check out the retiring hall to confirm my avenues of escape. There are two ways out, and the main staircase is heavily guarded by soldiers wearing Garon livery.
Realizing I don’t intend to answer, Gargaron turns back to Kal.
“This painted mask of righteousness you have assumed is nothing but show, Kalliarkos. You have angered the priestly establishment. I assure you, the royal family and the temples work together, not in opposition.”
“Yes, I think we know how you have worked with the priests, Uncle Gar.”
I nudge Kal’s leg as a warning. To my relief he presses a hand to my arm to reassure me. He’s not going to do anything stupid like announcing Gargaron’s blasphemous crime to an unwilling audience trapped in the retiring hall who might be killed for hearing it.
These Rings are still turning. I step up beside him and make a show of giving Kal a boastful kiss, as if I’m the kind of person who likes to rub my victories into the face of my adversaries. And because I am, Gargaron will believe in it.
Kal is surprised but he doesn’t push me away. Lips by his ear, I whisper, “If you believe the Efean rebellion is the right and just path for Efea, then in five days’ time hold a victory game in the Royal Fives Court. Require all the noble clans to be in attendance. Let a rumor spread that you’re doing it to reintroduce me as your favorite.”
He presses a finger to my palm, then touches his forehead against mine and kisses my lips a final time.
Pulling away, I say to Gargaron, “You haven’t won this trial yet, my lord. You claimed a victory when in fact we are still racing through Rings. I have a new stable I’m training in, one where you can’t touch me. I will win the favor of the crowd, and they will exalt me and give me whatever I want. Even the king.”
“Helias, kill her.”
I’m fast enough that I don’t need an opening but Kal kicks his uncle in the groin anyway. As Gargaron doubles over with a satisfying screech of pain I dart toward the exit, then cut back immediately. Helias chases me; at first he doesn’t see me double back because he’s so sure I’m headed for the stairs that are my only path outside. Instead I race for the ladder back onto the court and I climb.
Behind I hear Kal speak in his most royal tone. “Lord Gargaron, do you really think we came unattended? The Royal Army is loyal to the king of Efea, and they are here with us.”
At the top of the ladder I glance back into the cavernous hall. Among those dressed as attendants, many converge on Kal to protect him. I recognize firebird veteran faces among them.
Helias spots me on the ladder and races after, shoving aside anyone who gets in his way. I pop up onto the Fives court.
The fourth trial is still under way. No one has reached Rings so the crowd’s attention remains focused elsewhere as I roll under the scaffolding of the victory tower. There’s a trapdoor here that leads into the machinery. We all know it’s here. An adversary who descends into the hidden area of the undercourt where the mechanisms turn will be banned forever.
Forever.
But I am running the most consequential Fives trial of my life. I will give up my future as an adversary if I must, so Efea can win.
I hook the latch with my uninjured hand and drag the trapdoor open just as Helias appears on the court. A roil of heat rushes up out of the opening, drenched in the stench of hot oil and rancid sweat.
Seeing me, Helias draws his sword. I slide down the ladder, letting the trapdoor flip shut over my head. It’s dark and hot down here. A single glass-caged flame burns on the other side of the giant horizontal escapement that keeps the Rings spinning on the court. A steady clap clap clap sets the time by which workers push the main wheel that turns the well-oiled gears. Timing is everything. During a trial the Rings cannot falter, nor their rhythm skip, slow, or speed up. I listen, gauging the speed of the giant escapement.
Feet scuff on the rungs behind me. Helias jumps the last distance and lands with a thump. His sword tastes of death as it slashes past my head in a wild cut.
Clap clap.
I leap backward into a gap that opens as a metal bar swings past and fades into shadow. “You’ll never be the soldier my father is. You don’t have it in you.”
It’s a cheap insult but he bites. Insecure adversaries always do.
A gear clicks. The metal arm swings back just as he steps forward to strike me. It slams him sideways, into the teeth of a gear. He screams. Just in time I duck, the arm swiping over my hair like the hand of death. I roll sideways out of the way. He gets dragged into the next circle of gears with a shriek of such agony that it shocks tears from my eyes.
The scream cuts off. The machinery grinds to a squealing halt. Men begin shouting. I crawl through the frozen mechanism to its other side and crouch beneath a wheel’s shadow as the engineers on duty unlock the door. The captain has started screaming again. An engineer grabs the glass lantern and starts around the escapement, leaving a momentary gap at the exit. I dart into the warren of the undercourt’s passages, running past winches and capstans and ropes, the undergirding of the obstacles we race through. I can tell which quarter of the court I’m under by the arrangement of its walls, posts, and pulleys. Sweat pours off me from the heat. Fortunately it’s easy to hide beneath folded nets and stacks of beams neatly placed along walls for another day’s trial. Bells are ringing. The crowd roars.
An unlocked door allows me to sneak into the attiring hall, which is in chaos, everyone talking. I steal a cat mask. Behind this disguise I whisper that a highborn conspiracy is trying to eliminate the new king because he is too popular among the lowborn and the Commoners. By the time the lord engineer in charge calls off the games for the day, the entire attiring hall is buzzing with the rumor I’ve started. I ascend the steps amid the others and slide into the masses of spectators streaming out of the huge building. Everyone is chattering. As I push through the crowd I drop my rumor every few steps. Words are weapons too, as the honored poet would love to remind me. Even small ripples spread.
The crowds give me cover as I walk downhill from the City Fives Court into the Queen’s Garden that lies at the foot of the Queen’s Hill. In the day and a half since the raising of the siege, people have had better things to do than walk through the overgrown sections of the public garden. The spider sits crouched where I left it amid a screen of bushes. The shield hinges open smoothly but I taste the problem before I even climb in.
The spark that powers the spider has finally faded. The metal creature is dead, useless to me or to anyone.
I had thought to walk out of the city disguised as a spider scout so I could personally speak to Inarsis about how the new information I’ve learned can be used in the plan. And maybe I would also have had a chance to infiltrate the Royal Army on its first day of march and personally warn my father about the plot to kill him rather than leave it up to a note. But now, leaning against my spider’s metal carapace in the humid shade, I consider my options and the Rings I have already set spinning.
The East and West Saroese armies have left Saryenia, although the West Saroese will come back in about ten days. Mis and the other spiders have delivered my first message to Inarsis, and Anise can get further messages out to him and to Maraya, who will understand and even anticipate what I need to make this reckless undertaking work.
So maybe the sparkless spider is the excuse I need to stay in the city for the next five days, close to Kal, even though I can’t see him or influence him. It’s probably a bad idea, and yet in a way I’m glad of it.
But when I return to Anise’s stable she tells me I can’t stay there, that’s she arranged a different place for me to sleep. I’m allowed to practice on the Fives court until an Efean man appears at dusk to take me away. The trowel of the masons’ guild is inked on his shoulder.
“Are we acquainted, Honored Sir?” I ask.
“You’re that spider who rescued
the women from the tombs. I was one of the masons who assisted you that day. My name’s Dedu. Come along.”
“Where are we going? To the Heart Tavern?”
“No. That’s where the dame council and the Honored Custodian preside. I’m taking you to where the war council meets.”
“A war council meets in Saryenia?”
He gives me a side-eyed look. “Do you think we haven’t been preparing for this day for many years, Spider? Anyway, you’ve been to the Jasmine Inn before.”
I remember the compound where we met Thynos and Inarsis after the masons led us out of the buried ruins beneath the City of the Dead. Somehow it seems appropriate that I will end up there, where beneath a trellis of night-blooming jasmine I almost kissed Kal for the first time.
We stride along less traveled side streets to the East Harbor District, whose boisterous taverns and boardinghouses are frequented by stevedores and dockworkers. Like the markets, it’s one of the places in the city where Saroese and Efean mix. In some crews the men work side by side as sailors do out on the perilous sea. I have vague memories of coming down here when I was little but those expeditions ended the day Father gained a captain’s rank.
There’s a festive air in the city tonight. Singing and laughter float on the breeze. Beer and wine flow freely. Maybe it’s my imagination but it seems there are more Efeans in the streets than there were yesterday.
A group of Saroese laborers jostle past us, talking in loud voices. “Not only did the king win the trial today but he foiled a plot to depose him.” “I heard he threw a traitorous bodyguard into the undercourt to be crushed to death.”
They all laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world but Helias’s screams echo in my mind. Did I actually hear his bones break as the gears crushed him? A memory of the battle on the Royal Road flashes: blood on the pavement, a man’s guts spilling out while his eyes were still open, one of my forelegs crashing down on a prone body.
I stagger. Dedu grabs my arm and hauls me through a gate. When I begin to retch he hurries me to a latrine but I don’t have anything in my stomach to heave up. After a while the nausea subsides. I bury the ugly images beneath a mask of calm and take a deep breath, centering my focus.
“Are you well?” Dedu asks more gently than I expect.
“Yes. Thank you, Honored Sir.”
He leads me through a crowded courtyard of revelers and into a shadow-washed space behind it. The scent of jasmine floods me with the physical memory of Kal hooking his little finger around mine, a gesture of such intimacy that I have to stop and catch my breath again. But that’s not the only thing that takes me aback.
In a dim garden, people are pacing through menageries. Beyond them rises an open-air dining hall, its roof raised on brick pillars. Six people are seated at a round table with a lamp set in the middle. Light softens their features, which is a good thing because none are smiling.
I’m so startled to see Inarsis that I put on a burst of speed, but am yanked to a halt by Dedu before I can charge in. The Honored Protector looks over and recognizes me. But he’s an Efean man, so I have to speak first, and of course I make a hash of it.
“General, what you doing here already?”
“I came into Saryenia with the vanguard.” He doesn’t invite me to sit. To his left sits an elderly Efean man and to his right an honored dame. The other three people at the table are Saroese. “Honored Dames and Sirs, this is Spider. She is General Esladas’s daughter.”
The first to speak is a Saroese man with a military bearing, a firebird badge, and a vaguely familiar face. “The general’s daughter and I have met.”
I make a polite reply in Saroese as I frantically try to remember him.
He takes pity on me. “I am Sergeant Leukos. You helped me negotiate for oil and naphtha during the retreat from Port Selene. Do you not recall it?”
“Oh. Of course! Are you here…” It’s hard to speak. What if I hear the answer I dread? “…on behalf of my father?”
“Yes.”
I sway, catching myself on one of the pillars. Relief hits me like weakness.
“He gathered his trusted firebird veterans and explained the situation to us. We voted to join him. The sergeants of the Firebird Guard elected me to act as our representative in negotiations because your father can’t risk coming here himself.”
I blink back tears, too choked up to do anything but nod in gratitude.
Next to him sits a haughty young man wearing the sun insignia of a priest who serves Seon, the Sun of Justice. I’m afraid to ask him any questions, and a holy Saroese priest doesn’t feel the need to speak to such as me.
But the Saroese woman has leaned forward to study me with lively interest. She is expensively dressed and carries herself with the effortless confidence of a person who has lived all her life with the expectation of wealth and privilege. Yet in the lineaments of her face I see she resembles Amaya in having skin a little too dark and hair a little too curly for a Patron woman. She smiles.
“So you are Doma Jessamy. My cousin Lady Petreia wrote to me about meeting you at Port Selene, with your father. I am Clan Petros’s representative here in Saryenia.”
“Clan Petros owns a merchant fleet,” I say, recalling how Father arranged for ships to transport the wounded out of Port Selene.
She nods at Inarsis. “We look forward to being given the monopoly on shipping grain to West Saro for the next five years. Do we not, General Inarsis? Honored Dame?”
“Indeed. Now if you will excuse me, Honored Dames and Sirs, I must briefly speak with Spider.”
He beckons me to a corner bench. We sit beneath the stars.
“Aren’t you putting yourself at risk to enter the city while we still could lose? Did you even get Mis’s message?”
“I did get it. But unless Lord Gargaron or one of Princess Berenise’s stewards sees me, I don’t fear being recognized. To most Saroese I’m not the infamous king-killer. I’m just another Commoner man.” His smile cuts with a wry humor. “It’s an impressive plan, Spider. But it needs some additional elements that you haven’t considered. Which is why I entered the city early, despite the risk.”
“I have new information for you too. But can you trust the Saroese you’re negotiating with?”
“The firebird veterans are loyal to the commander they trust, and we have made a particularly generous offer to Clan Petros, which they can’t benefit from unless we win.”
“A monopoly on shipping grain to West Saro?”
“Yes. And ownership of half of Princess Berenise’s merchant fleet.”
I whistle. “That will make them the most powerful shipping clan in Efea. And if you’re looking for Saroese who have skills we need and reason to be angry with the royal clan, then I suggest we speak to Lord Perikos, the Fives administrator. His son was killed for his spark to keep Prince Temnos alive. But I don’t understand why you have a priest here. Why would you even negotiate with those men?”
“There are Efeans who worship Seon and Hayiyin. Who are we to forbid them a sanctuary, as was done to our ancestors? There is no reason the temples of Seon and Hayiyin cannot bide quietly beside the rebuilt temples of the Mother of All.”
“Is it not an insult to the Mother?”
“If their belief is sincere, then why is it an insult?”
“Because the Saroese tore down our temples and built their own on top of them. Our people had no choice but to worship Saroese gods.”
“Shall we do the same in return? Is that how we should wield power? We cannot speak only with the tongue of vengefulness. We must also speak with the tongue of righteousness. Anyway, no one survives a trial like this without compromise. We benefit if we can convince some among the Saroese priestly establishment to support us. The young priest in question is of lowborn Patron stock, fiercely devoted to the ideal of justice, and well aware that his efforts for reform will always be blocked by his highborn superiors. We have offered to name him as High Priest, if we win.”
“You never lack confidence, Spider. But can you trust Kalliarkos? Can you really, honestly trust him? Your plan relies on the cooperation of a young man who will lose everything when we win.”
28
Inarsis instructs me to stay in seclusion at the Jasmine Inn until we find out what choice the king has made, but of course I don’t. After I finish morning training, a girl at the inn helps me use cosmetics to paint my face, and I get my hair braided in a village style of old-fashioned knots. The result is spectacular: When I go down to look at the Clan Petros merchant ships being secured at the wharfs, a pair of Garon stewards escorted by soldiers emerge unexpectedly from a warehouse right in front of me. But they glance at my hair and walk past without recognition.
Moments later I hear the shout of a royal herald proclaiming from horseback that the king and queen have called for a five-day citywide festival that will culminate in victory games to honor their ascension to the throne. I actually have to turn aside and hide my face because I don’t know whether to shout with triumph or weep with relief.
Kal has done as I asked.
The citizens of Saryenia throng the streets in a celebratory mood. Plays run twice a day in the Lantern District, and night performances are lit by oil donated at the order of the new king and queen. Rations are still in effect because regular shipments from the interior aren’t yet restored, but people wait in orderly lines at the Grain Market, confident they will get a share at a fair price. Efean workmen toil day and night to spruce up the awnings and balconies of the Royal Fives Court so they will be fitting for the highborn audience, since everyone is talking about how all the highborn clans must be in attendance lest they be seen as disloyal to the new regime.
On the third day of the festival, amid ribbons being waved for good fortune, I watch from the walls as part of the Royal Army marches out under the command of the much-lauded General Esladas to put down the rumored skirmishes in the north. The hero of the Eastern Reach and Maldine will sort out any unpleasantness, say the people around me, and yet they’re also happy that his firebird veterans have stayed behind to protect the city just in case there’s trouble. They don’t realize the rebellion is already here, that day by day more Efeans filter in through the gates in groups. It’s so easy for Commoners to arrive pushing carts filled with produce, hauling oysters and fish, in work gangs to repair roofs and walls damaged by the East Saroese catapults during the months-long siege. The ill-equipped Efean army meant to meet a battered enemy in battle has hidden its weapons and flooded the city.