* * *
The entourage gathered in the large foyer of the inn. Just before we emerged onto the street for the procession to the plaza, I was pushed forward to walk with Banques and two soldiers, while the king hung back. More soldiers filled the space between us, but I glimpsed Lydia and Nash being brought to him. Nash ran happily into the king’s arms. The king lifted him up, holding him on his hip with one arm and grabbing Lydia’s hand with the other. Lydia’s smile was more reserved, but it was there, and somehow it stabbed me with stinging jealousy. She should be smiling at Jase. Oleez stood off to the side. She smiled at the king, and they shared a few whispered words. She avoided my burning gaze, though I know she felt it.
Banques called for the entourage to move forward, and we proceeded out the front door of the Ballenger Inn. I eyed Banques as we walked—the king’s tutor for years? What else had he been teaching him besides swordsmanship? But mostly I wondered who was really in charge, the king or Banques?
I thought I had known what to expect, a town confused by the sudden change in power. A town wondering where their Patrei was. A town waiting for something to happen. Anything.
But it already had.
The first thing I saw was the damage. The remains of a building that once housed a pub and apartments stood abandoned, splintered timbers poking out of the rubble like broken bones. A little farther down, an eight-foot crater gouged out half the cobbled street. Wagons maneuvered around, pretending it wasn’t there.
But the damage was the least of it. When I looked up, I saw soldiers stationed overhead. Everywhere. They manned the skywalks and roofs like birds of prey, their dark cloaks waving in the wind. How many mercenaries did he hire? Where did he get the money? The power astounded me.
The soldiers on the ground carried the usual types of weapons, swords, halberds, and such, but the ones on rooftops or skywalks were equipped differently. Slung over their shoulders were shiny metallic weapons, each about four feet long. I had never seen anything like them before, but I was certain these were the launchers that Jase had described to me. From their vantage points, they saw everything—and they were strategically out of reach of anyone who might try to overcome them and seize their formidable weapons. This wasn’t a town that was being protected. Rybart and his men were dead and gone. Now it was a town that had been invaded, and these soldiers were there to squelch any opposition.
A pervading grimness hung in the air. The sky was gray with winter. Frost dulled the windows and cobbles. Even the people were gray, their cloaks pulled tightly about them against the cold, their faces shadowed by scarves, hoods, and hats as they went about their business. A few heads turned as I passed, curious, but unable to get a good glimpse of me beneath my hood.
A bell rang out. Last bell. The clang shivered through my teeth. People stopped what they were doing and headed toward the plaza. By order of the king? Or from genuine hunger for news? Some sort of hope? The hope I could not give them.
I turned the corner and was stopped by the sight of the temple, another gaping hole in the city. Only the bell tower and the altar remained standing—the rest was rubble. The broken statues of saints stared heavenward. The air was punched from me, and I stared, not quite believing it. It had been the beautiful focal point of the entire plaza, its white marble walls casting an ethereal glow over everything. Now, instead of a sanctuary, it looked like a passage into hell. Jase had told me what his launcher was capable of—and it was not this. Unless Beaufort hadn’t been honest about what it could do. And of course, Beaufort was not honest about anything.
“The temple was a rat’s nest for loyalists. It had to go,” Banques explained. “It will be rebuilt when the last of them are gone.”
I had been so consumed with the temple I didn’t see what was above me—not until Banques glanced up. I followed the line of his sight and immediately turned my head and gagged. He grabbed my arm.
“Steady now,” he whispered. “Remember, you’re being watched, and you are the messenger who brings news of justice.” He lowered his voice. “Most important, remember who walks not far behind you. Take a deep breath now, and walk up those stairs with your head held high. Play your role respectably, as you should have done in the first place.”
My stomach churned as I climbed the steps to a platform overlooking the plaza. When I reached the top, I was surprised to find Garvin standing there. His eyes combed the streets and the approaching citizens.
“You’re working for them?”
His head dipped in acknowledgment. “Nothing personal. Someone else is meeting payroll now.”
“And that’s all it takes? A weekly wage?”
He shrugged. “It’s all business.”
“I suppose I should expect as much from someone who sells starving tigers to butchers.”
He grinned. “So you did recognize me after all those years.” He nodded like he was pleased that he wasn’t so forgettable after all.
“I mentioned your name to the queen. She said it was a pity I didn’t haul you back too. Something about trying to slit her throat?”
He shook his head. “That was only business too. A hired job. She took it too personally.”
He turned back to the streets he was eyeing. Looking for whom? Ballengers who had once employed him? I had to resist the urge to throw him over the rail.
Banques nudged me forward, and when I turned, I found I was now eye level with at least a dozen bodies that hung from the high branches of the tembris. I tried to force back the bile rising in my throat. The body closest to me was gray, his face covered with frost, small icicles hanging from his chin. I didn’t recognize him and began to avert my eyes from the rest, but not soon enough. A sick saltiness swelled inside my mouth. Hanging just past him was a body I recognized. Drake. One of Jase’s straza. Of course he was a loyalist. It was his job to be loyal!
I skimmed the other faces, afraid of who else I might find hanging, but more afraid not to look. Three bodies over from Drake I recognized another one. It was the dressmaker who had measured me for clothes. Her eyes were still open, sightless. My nails dug into my palms.
“She was hiding agitators,” Banques explained, as if that justified it. “We give every citizen a chance to cooperate and do what’s right. She chose not to, which made her a Ballenger accomplice and a danger to other citizens. Our job is to restore order and to make everyone feel safe again.”
I turned and looked at him. His voice again, familiar. Each syllable made the hairs on my neck rise. I knew him, but I didn’t. He went on, giving all the justifications. His story was almost word for word like the king’s, a repeated narrative, like an awl working wood, deepening a groove until it became a truth of their own making. We are keeping the town safe.
If they repeated it often enough, did they think that would make it true? That I would be fooled? That it would wash the blood from their hands?
“This is no way to protect a city,” I said. “You’re nothing but opportunists here to seize its wealth.”
He waved his hand, dismissing my accusation. “Let’s hurry this along, shall we? It’s cold and it’s getting late. The people want to go home. Let’s not keep our good citizens waiting.”
The king walked up the platform steps behind us with Nash still in his arms and Lydia at his side. Nash and Lydia didn’t seem to even notice the hanging bodies, or maybe they had become numb to them. What horrors had they already endured? Neither looked my way, as if they had been instructed not to, or perhaps before the city was seized, the family had made it known to them who had taken Jase away. Maybe they didn’t look at me because they couldn’t stand the sight of me.
The three of them moved to the opposite end of the platform, and the king set Nash down just in front of him, resting one hand on Lydia’s shoulder. He addressed the crowd, telling them that a premier soldier of the Queen of Venda had arrived with news that would help them to move forward, news that would close the door on the troublesome times they had been through. Better t
imes lay ahead. His voice was assured, the timbre promising, his expression genuine, a small crease of concern deepening between his brows, and then with a motion of his hand, he deferred to me, inviting me to step forward.
Banques indicated that I should go out onto the skywalk where the citizens could get a better view of me. The wood planks creaked beneath my feet. When I got to the center, I turned and pushed back my hood so they could see me. A low murmur rippled through the crowd. That soldier. The one who took the Patrei. Maybe the last time they saw me I was juggling oranges outside the mercantile, or I was kissing the Patrei in front of the apothecary. Or maybe they saw me slugging him at the arena. I was a mystery to them.
The wind whipped at my hair, and the air fogged with my breath. This was hardly the same city it had been just months ago when it had been full of color, and noise, and light, and warmth. Now it was a dreary sea of long woolen cloaks. Scarves covered noses and mouths, and only bare slivers of eyes looked up at me. Was it because of the harsh weather, or did they want to hide their identities? I wondered how many loyalists stood among them, still waiting for the Patrei to return. I saw the tired slump of their shoulders, and the gloom in their downcast faces. The paper the king had given me shook in my hands. How could I do this? Tell lies about Jase? Tell them in front of Lydia and Nash?
I gave the king one last pleading look. Don’t do this to them. His head angled slightly to the side, unrelenting. He placed a hand on Nash’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Was it a gesture to comfort Nash, or was it a warning to me?
I looked back at the crowd. I read the words. “Citizens of Hell’s Mouth, I bring you news of Jase Ballenger.” Each word floated in the air, unreal, untrue, impossible, and yet they came from my mouth. Jase, I need you. This couldn’t be happening, but it was. “The former Patrei of your city will not be returning,” I went on. “He was arrested and delivered to the Queen of Venda and a tribunal court of law to be tried for crimes against the Alliance of Kingdoms. He was found guilty by that court and sentenced to hang by a rope until dead. I witnessed his confession, his prayers to the gods for forgiveness for his crimes, and his subsequent execution. Jase Ballenger is dead.”
A low, muffled moan, impossible to pinpoint, rolled upward, and then a cry and someone fell to their knees. Soldiers on skywalks and roofs lifted the launchers, ready. Soldiers on the ground moved in closer.
Banques motioned for me to continue.
I spoke louder, trying to rise above the murmur. “The rightful and true ruler of Hell’s Mouth, King Montegue, is restoring order and working to make Hell’s Mouth greater than it ever was. The Alliance and I both urge you to help him keep your city safe by turning in traitors. As you can see, innocents do not suffer under his rule.”
I paused and looked over at Nash and Lydia, and the armed guards standing so close to them. The king nodded for me to go on. “Only the guilty who have put you all at risk will suffer a penalty,” I said. “If you know of any other Ballengers or sympathizers in hiding, you are called to turn them in or risk being charged with crimes against the kingdoms yourself. It is time for Hell’s Mouth to move forward and embrace a promising new future.”
There was a noticeable lull, a stillness settling over the plaza, and then a voice screamed out, “Murderer!”
Almost at the same time, something struck me and my head exploded with pain. I fell back, catching myself on the rail. A rock tumbled over the planks.
There were more shouts and then a resounding hush as the crowd shifted, absorbing whoever had called out. Soldiers moved in, trying to find the perpetrators, but in a fluid sea of gray, they were lost as the crowd dispersed.
I reached up and felt my head, and when I pulled my hand away, there was blood on my fingers. I looked back at Lydia and Nash. Their faces were blank. Any emotion about the news I had delivered was buried deep beneath some new hardened armor they had never worn before. The king lifted Nash again and pulled Lydia close, saying it was time to go. Nash nestled his head on the king’s shoulder, but his gaze turned toward me. The intense hunger in his eyes carved a hole in my gut. Was it hunger for revenge that I saw? The fire in them made him look just like Jase. I watched them all depart down the stairs in a tight knot. Lydia never looked my way, but I knew she missed nothing. She heard what I had said about her brother.
Banques handed me a handkerchief for my head. “Well done. Believe it or not, it went surprisingly well. There might be a place in this kingdom for you, after all. The Patrei and his whole lawbreaking family will soon be forgotten.”
I stared at him as I pressed the cloth to my temple and imagined how I would kill him. There were slow ways. Eben had described them to us on dark nights around a campfire. Ways the Rahtan were no longer authorized to use. Ways he had learned from the Komizar that were far slower than a pickle fork. Ways I had never dreamed of using before, thinking them depraved. They didn’t seem so anymore.
I stare at the spears. We have pulled apart bed frames and sharpened the ends. I threw one today, past the gate at a screaming scavenger. I felt strong and powerful. I missed him and he picked it up and ran away. Now he has a spear to use against me. I think his aim is better than mine.
—Greyson, 15
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JASE
I sat on the edge of my pallet, ready to stand for the first time. It was a milestone.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Kerry scolded. “Stop grimacing. You want to get up and pee on your own, or not?”
I did. I forced the grimace from my face. “That better?”
He grunted. Kerry had become my nursemaid, sitting with me, washing me, feeding me—and regularly berating me. He showed me no mercy. Sometimes I wondered if it was his revenge for the post holes I had made him dig. Four days ago, he started giving me weights to lift so I would regain my strength. The sacks of potatoes he handed me couldn’t have weighed more than five pounds each, but the strain of lifting them burned all the way down to my thigh, where one of the arrows had struck. My arms shook as I lifted them. You’re turning to flab, he had chided as he squeezed my upper arm. If Caemus was within earshot, he would counter, Leave him be. He’s doing just fine, much more sympathetic than my warden. But I was frustrated with my progress, and in some ways, I appreciated my relentless taskmaster. I had to get out of here and find Kazi. If they were holding her—
It was something I couldn’t allow myself to think about for too long, but there was still no word. Caemus had finally taken a chance and gone into town—maybe just to keep me from crawling there myself. With soldiers on every corner, he had to keep the hood of his cloak up, his head down, and his words few, but there was still no word or sign of her. Or of my family. I asked him what he did see, and he said nothing but grim-faced soldiers, and as far as news went, it seemed that everyone was tight-lipped and afraid to talk. The town had gone unusually quiet. He was afraid to pry for fear of drawing attention, but he did overhear a shopkeeper grumbling that Paxton and Truko were running the arena now.
It was like being hit with another arrow. I shouldn’t have been surprised. We knew someone was challenging us, and I had always suspected one of the leagues was behind the fires and raids. But now they had names. I never seriously thought they could pull something like this off—or even that they would try. Yes, they grumbled. We grumbled. But we all made money and we had fallen into a comfortable—if rocky—routine in our dealings, until they began working with Beaufort. The Ballengers themselves had financed this takeover. Zane must have been their go-between. How long had they been planning this? I would kill both Paxton and Truko if they had harmed Kazi. And I wouldn’t make it quick. I didn’t need a powerful weapon to—
Caemus’s description stopped me. I remembered him saying one shot brought down the nave of the temple. Was he mistaken? One? The launcher I tested was powerful. It could take down a man with accuracy at two hundred yards, probably three men if they were standing close together, but one shot couldn’t take down a temple. I remem
bered the destruction in Sentinel Valley and Beaufort’s boasting about dominion over the kingdoms. Was Hell’s Mouth the starting point for his campaign? The Ballenger histories described in detail the rubble the town had been made from. Centuries of rebuilding transformed the wreckage into the wonder it was today, but now someone like Beaufort and his conspirators could hold it hostage and return it to the rubble it had once been? And there was an army to carry out his plans. That part still didn’t add up.
“Ready?” Kerry asked, handing me a crutch he had fashioned for me.
It had taken me over a week just to get to the point of sitting up. I had no shirt on, but had bandages wrapped around half of my upper body. Paxton and his crew had been determined to kill me.
“Hold your breath, and I’ll help you to your feet.” I used the crutch as leverage, and Kerry tucked his fingers beneath a bandage and pulled. The pressure felt like a bull sitting on my chest. I clenched my teeth.
“Kerry! What do you think you’re doing?” Jurga yelled. She was frozen halfway down the cellar steps. We were both in trouble.
“He’s got to get up sooner or later.”
“He’s right,” I said, coming to his defense. “I have to get my strength back.” Words poured out of me then, desperate words I didn’t even know were there. “Kazi is alone, maybe hurt, they’re holding her against her will, my family’s in hiding, the town’s overrun, and when they all need me the most, I’m here helpless. I have to get stronger, I have to go.”
Jurga listened to me, wide-eyed. I felt like a child begging for the impossible, even though I knew it was not something that either Jurga or Kerry could give me.
I blinked, trying to clear my vision. “I have to find her.”
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