City of Betrayal

by Claudie Arseneault

  “I know. You said that before, but—”

  “Stop.” Jilssan set the two cups on the ground. Hot cocoa could wait; this discussion couldn’t. “You are not responsible for others’ safety. You thought Varden was selling us out, and you did what you had to. No one here can reasonably ask you to risk your life for him—not when the source of punishment is Master Avenazar. Varden’s fate is horrible, but if you’d hidden what you knew from Avenazar, it might have become yours. Don’t blame yourself.”

  Isra pulled the blankets tighter around her until she could hold them with one hand. Jilssan suspected the other had gone to the amber amulet at her neck. “So you think I should always tell these things.”

  “At least to me. You can always tell me.”

  Informing Avenazar directly would be risky. Too unpredictable, and she didn’t want Isra ever facing him alone. Silence stretched between them. Isra stared past Jilssan at the flames, her lips moving. While she let the last exchange sink in, Jilssan returned her attention to the cups of milk. She whispered a few words, dipped her fingers in, and smiled as white turned to brown and a soothing chocolate smell wafted out. She grabbed both and scooted closer to her apprentice, staying on the ground but leaning her back against the bed.

  “I saw him,” Isra said. “Varden, I mean. I went down to his cell with bread and water.”

  Her tone made it sound like it was a big secret. Jilssan handed Isra her hot cocoa and smiled. “I hope he appreciated it.”

  “He called me obnoxious.”

  No need to turn around to see the offended pout on Isra’s thin face: it was all over her tone. Jilssan used every ounce of willpower not to snort in laughter. Since his imprisonment, Varden shared his opinions more willingly. She actually liked this side of him, but she knew voicing them before would have sped his downfall.

  “He said a lot worse to me, Isra, and I’ve been treating his burns. Don’t pay it any heed.” He had several reasons to despise them and lash out. Jilssan let it slide, aware she deserved most of the scathing comments he dared to make. She didn’t mind—she knew and loved herself as she was. “Why did you go? Guilt?”

  “I like girls.”

  Isra’s answer sprang out on its own, and Jilssan turned around to get a good look at her expression. Her skin grew several shades of red deeper, and she brought the hot cocoa to her lips to hide part of her face. Relief flooded briefly through Jilssan—the fewer secrets there were between them, the better she could protect her apprentice—but when she worked out the link between Varden and Isra’s answer, however, her heart squeezed.

  “You told him?”

  Isra lowered the mug and stared into it. “No, but I think he guessed. I wasn’t … I didn’t know how to ask him anything without saying too much.”

  “Ask him what?”

  “How to hide it.”

  Asking anyone amounted to taking an enormous risk, but this went double for a man under constant assault by a mind reader. Now her secret was well within Avenazar’s reach. Jilssan hoped Varden didn’t have a vengeful fibre in him. Letting even a sliver of information slip might earn him respite from Avenazar by redirecting his energy to Isra, and the possibility sent a shudder down Jilssan’s spine. She doubted it. Varden would do his best to hide it, but that might not be enough.

  She sipped at her hot cocoa, trying to decide what to tell her apprentice now. Nothing they could do about Varden. The safest way to get Isra to trust her involved sharing her own secret—a risk she rarely took. But if she couldn’t rely on Isra’s discretion, how could she ask for her trust?

  “Isra, the next time you need advice about this, come to me. I have years of experience, and it’s not the same for women and men.”

  “You have …” She trailed off, staring at Jilssan with wide eyes, her lips parted. Jilssan almost snapped her fingers in front of Isra’s face, uncomfortable with her surprise, but she remembered how miserable it was to believe you were alone. She drank down her mug instead, waiting for her apprentice to get over the shock. Isra tried to clear her throat, yet only managed a squeak. “So you like girls too?”

  “Not just girls. I have a wide array of tastes.” Including Varden, despite her most pragmatic inclinations. Nothing would come out of it, and Jilssan considered her sporadic help with the burns acknowledgment enough of that crush. “Once we’re back in Myria, I’ll show you how it’s done—where you can meet others, how to recognize them, what you have to be careful about. Everything. Until then, you need to keep very quiet about this, and don’t get attached to others. It’s not like we’re staying forever.”

  She hoped not, anyway. There had been no formal duration for their mission here. Jilssan assumed that once they’d established a dominating presence in Isandor and taken control of their political caste through trades, she’d be allowed to return with Isra. Avenazar’s increasingly violent and erratic behaviour worried her, however. The Circle had demanded an aggressive but mostly peaceful takeover, and Jilssan doubted Avenazar would meet the Dathirii’s continued resistance with bloodless tactics. The longer they lasted, the more crushing he’d make their defeat to prove the cost of defying him. Jilssan would stand by and watch, ready to contact Isra’s father should the danger become too immediate. Master Enezi’s political pull would get them back safely to Myria if need be, but her reputation would take a hit.

  Isra downed the rest of her chocolate, then untangled herself from the blankets and laid flat on her bed. Her grin had returned, and her legs swung above her in unrestrained excitement. She’d buried her guilt and fear once again, eager to hear more.

  “I won’t say another word about it! Except tonight.” She grabbed a pillow and put it under her chin, wrapping her arms around it. “This is girl-to-girl talk, isn’t it? You need to tell me everything!”

  “You got it.”

  Jilssan’s smile came more naturally now. This wasn’t a safe conversation to have, but it was obviously one Isra needed. She made a quick trip to the door, put her palms flat against it, and transformed it into a stone wall. Guards, acolytes, or servants passing in the corridor wouldn’t hear them, and without magic, no one could enter. They could kill their conversation long before such a visitor arrived. Her precautions taken, Jilssan climbed on the bed with her apprentice, her back against the wall.

  “So what do you want to hear? My first girl crush or my first kiss?”

  Judging from Isra’s unhelpful but very enthusiastic “yes!”, they would still be there late into the evening. Jilssan glanced at the roaring fire, snatched a pillow to settle against comfortably, then launched into her story. It didn’t matter how long it took, or that neither of them would be doing any work. Some things were more important than magic.

  Never before had stress prevented Nevian from concentrating on his work. Exhaustion might overtake him, but looming deadlines or dangers pushed him to better heights, his fear sustaining him through long nights of learning. Yet the words in his tome now turned into confused scribbles, and he jumped at every loud noise from the common room. It had started after meeting Isra, and it wouldn’t stop. Nevian wished he still had Varden’s rekhemal. The holy bandana had heightened his senses, sharpening his concentration and clearing the fog of exhaustion. Perhaps it would have countered his stress, too, kept him present and aware.

  Guilt snuck through the haze of fear at thoughts of Varden. Would a simple warning have saved him? Shouldn’t Nevian have tried? But no, there had been no point. They would have fled together, and they would have been caught by Avenazar. No one escaped the vengeful wizard. And now that Isra knew Nevian was alive … He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Sooner or later, the news would spread, and he would share Varden’s fate.

  Nevian didn’t have a lot left to protect, but his gaze went to the children’s book immediately. He picked it up again, staring at the cover. Efua was smart, discreet, stubborn—the perfect study companion. He’d grown accustomed to her small form on his nearby bed, mouthing out words, and her absence s
addened him.

  He had a problem.

  When Avenazar came, Nevian wanted the girl to be as far from his mind as possible. Avenazar’s initial interest in Nevian had emerged because of his position as Master Sauria’s apprentice. She had slighted him, and after a violent and deadly retort, he’d carried his vengeance over to Nevian. He would take Nevian’s betrayal and attempts to flee as insults, and if Avenazar discovered how attached he’d grown to Efua … Why wouldn’t he repeat the cycle? Nevian should not have allowed anyone close. Too late now. The best he could do was to impress on her how important it was that she carried on without him.

  She would arrive with dinner any time now. Nevian pressed his shaking hands to the desk and made one last attempt to learn from his magic book. He needed to focus and understand as much as he could before Avenazar found him again. Yet no matter how hard he tried, his concentration slipped away. His eyes slid over words without a hint of comprehension, and his mind returned to Efua without permission. When she finally arrived, he hadn’t flipped a single page, and panic wound his stomach tight once more.

  Her characteristic knock grounded him and slowed his frantic heart. Calm and perseverance would see him through. They always had before. Nevian called for her to enter as he picked up the book and sat on the bed, hiding his gift behind his back. Efua walked in with his plate—flatbread wrapped around beef, lettuce, and other vegetables Nevian couldn’t quite identify, including a bright fuchsia one. Before tasting Larryn’s delicious food, he had never paid attention to what he ate. Now he waited for meals with as much eagerness as he did Efua’s arrival.

  “You’re on the bed,” she said.

  “Astute observation. You can leave the plate on the desk.”

  Efua frowned but did as she was told before climbing next to Nevian. Her small legs dangled over the side. “What does ‘astute’ mean?”

  “It’s when you’re very perceptive.” She lit up at perceptive, but still seemed uncertain. “Like when you notice a lot of things and draw the right conclusions from them.”

  “But … you were sitting on the bed. It was obvious.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Oh, I know that word!” She laughed and clapped her hands. “Larryn and Hasryan are sarcastic all the time!”

  Nevian didn’t doubt that. His rare interactions with Larryn led him to believe he was fuelled by indignation and coated his anger under thick layers of sarcasm. “It’s a good word to know,” he said. “I have a gift. Cal dragged me outside earlier, and I found something for you.”

  Efua’s back straightened immediately, and she stared at him with wide eyes. “You did?” She leaned forward, opening her arms for a hug. Nevian recoiled, and her smile stiffened, her last attempt fresh in their minds. Instead, she touched his hand with her smaller fingers, very lightly. “Larryn and Cal are the only ones who ever offer me gifts.”

  The soft awe in Efua’s voice slammed into Nevian’s guts. Master Sauria had given him the occasional notebook or quill—another thread in this cycle he was repeating, and another proof of the danger it put Efua in. Yet she clearly thought his attention was marvellous, and how was he supposed to push her away now? She wouldn’t want him to, and neither did he.

  “It’s nothing. I just saw it, and well …” He withdrew the little book from behind his back, and Efua squealed in delighted surprise. “You might lack the skills for it now, but I know that won’t last.”

  Her dark brown eyes had become even wider and brighter. She wrapped her hands around the gift and stared at it, slowly deciphering the title. Nevian’s insides tightened as she opened the cover and looked through the pages. “So I am learning fast!”

  He laughed—a short, throaty sound. “Again, very astute observation. Yes, you are.”

  Efua radiated pride. He slid a finger under her upraised chin, then snatched his hand back, surprised at his own movement. Nevian cleared his throat. Now came the delicate part.

  “There’s something else we need to talk about,” he said. Her shoulders slumped as she picked up the change in his mood. Nevian rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants, fixing his gaze on the door. “A promise must accompany this book. No, two. One from me, and one from you.” What was he saying? He shouldn’t make promises he couldn’t hold, especially not when he had to burn bridges. Yet after a glance at Efua, who stared at him with fascination, the words flowed out. “Being around me isn’t safe, and I don’t want you to get hurt. There’s a bad man after me, and I can’t fight him. No one can. So you need to promise me you will … hide. Visit less, if ever. And when he comes, run.” He closed his eyes, struggling against visions of Avenazar appearing in this room and destroying everything. He had almost stopped reliving the assaults with Vellien’s help, but one unlucky meeting with Isra had brought it all back. “That’s your promise. And in exchange, I swear that once all of this is over, I’ll teach you magic.”

  “Magic.”

  Her voice fell to a whisper, as if she feared saying the word too loud would make it disappear. Nevian forced himself to meet her gaze, fighting against his guilt. He’d never live to fulfill that vow. In a way, he was baiting her to make sure she didn’t die alongside him.

  “I’m serious, Efua, you can’t—”

  “I know.” Her determined pout had grown familiar by now. “You’re always serious. I understand, and I promise. I’ll stop coming.” Her voice faltered. “Even if you’re not there, I’ll keep going. And I’ll learn magic one day. For you instead of from you, if I must.”

  A sudden surge of warmth made Nevian dizzy. His fingers curled into the bed’s blanket as he fought the tears flooding up. If only Avenazar could stay away, just this once! He wanted time to regain his skills and rebuild his life. He might never return to Myria to sharpen his magic, but he liked it here. Everyone cared about him, one way or another. Cal had saved him and dragged him out for some fresh air, Larryn made sure he didn’t skip any meals, Vellien worked with him to repair his mind, and now Efua was vowing her life to magic on his account.

  “I hope I’ll be there. You’ll become better than I could ever be.” He wiped his eyes, then put a hand on her bony shoulder. “I think I could use a hug. Just … slowly.”

  With a slight nod, Efua wrapped one arm around his back, then another across his chest. He inhaled deeply as her small hands squeezed his skinny body. The contact had sent a shiver up his spine, but he focused on the feeling of her head against him and returned the embrace for a brief second before clearing his throat. Efua backed away at his signal, and smiled.

  “You should eat,” she said. “I’ll start reading this.”

  Nevian glanced at the dinner, uncertain any of it could make it past the lump in his throat, but he reached for the plate anyway. He’d said everything he needed to, and more. Now they waited, studied, and hoped for the best.

  ✵

  Larryn had always been a light sleeper, but he didn’t need more than a handful of minutes grabbed here and there to function. Since Hasryan had escaped execution and vanished, however, even so little became hard to find. What if he missed Hasryan’s knocks on the window because of it? Larryn hesitated to light the fire in his kitchens, afraid his friend would need to crawl down the chimney. Irrational or not, guilt needled at his heart every time he fed the flames. What if? He had already betrayed Hasryan once. He couldn’t bear the idea of doing it again. But the Shelter’s patrons depended on him for food. That much never changed.

  Larryn set one of his countless wooden plates to the side, satisfied by its cleanliness. He barely paid attention to his movements, nodding off where he stood. Maybe he should talk to Vellien about this. Find a way to sleep, or to sharpen his senses. He didn’t trust himself around the young healer, however. The two of them had reached a delicate balance, acknowledging each other’s presence without engaging in conversation, and Larryn feared breaking it. Once, Vellien had asked if Larryn needed help with any ailment, and it had taken every ounce of willpower to keep his respo
nse calm. One day, perhaps … Larryn wondered if Vellien could heal old wounds, too, but discarded the idea. Poverty had taken its toll on his body, leaving him with crooked fingers and partial deafness, but he had adapted to both. They were his battle scars, and the idea of asking a noble to remove them left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  A single knock broke through his daze, and he wondered briefly how long he’d been staring at the wall. He had a new plate in hand, one he’d picked up and cleaned without realizing. Larryn set it down with a groan. Efua ran in, brandishing a book, words spilling out of her at astonishing speed. Nevian had finally ventured outside the Shelter, and he’d brought back reading material. Larryn smiled at Efua’s pride despite his exhaustion. She said that Nevian had admitted she learned fast and could tackle this more advanced story. And that he had promised to teach her magic one day. Efua wrapped her arms around his waist as she told him about Nevian’s bad man. She leaned on his right, knowing it helped him hear, and he rubbed her back, waiting for the torrent to end.

  “Listen to Nevian,” Larryn said. “It’s always best not to challenge people with too much power.”

  Disbelief spread across her face. “But Larryn, you don’t—”

  “I know.” He provoked them regardless of what was best. What had that gotten him, though? Defying Drake Allastam had led to Jim’s death. He and Efua had both lost a father that day, and his unwillingness to back down and swallow his pride had brought that upon them. “I’m careless, and not a good example to follow. Please.”

  “He made me promise,” she answered, as if nothing else needed to be said.

  Larryn forced himself to smile. He’d yet to unravel his mixed feelings about Nevian teaching Efua. Rude and stubborn teenagers didn’t make for great role models, but really, had Efua ever known anything else? She wanted to learn, and Larryn couldn’t even read simple sentences. He stomped down his protective instincts and kissed Efua’s forehead. “Then this is fantastic news. You never told me magic interested you.”