‘She’s your slave and you’re named as second,’ Lanta pointed out, but more from curiosity as to how he would overcome it, not to curtail his plan. It had a simple elegance that kept her name far removed from the whiff of suspicion.
Valan spread his hands. ‘I won’t be in the city,’ he said. ‘When we are ready to act, you will send me away on business. When that happens, I will lend Tara to Corvus and I will leave a knife lying in my quarters before she goes. I saw the look in her eye when she was fighting those men: savagery, yes, but joy too. She’s a killer and I don’t think she’ll waste the opportunity.’
He paused for her reaction. Lanta stared into the fire, thinking it through. ‘You cannot guarantee she’ll take the risk, though,’ she said eventually. ‘You said yourself she only fought because she had no choice. If she didn’t make an attempt on Corvus then, why would she this time?’
‘Tara’s husband is an officer in the Rank; he’s a prisoner in the south barracks and she’ll do anything to keep him safe. So we—’
‘Make her a willing accomplice,’ Lanta interrupted. ‘We tell her she has to kill the king and if she doesn’t we’ll kill her husband.’
‘Or we promise them both their freedom,’ Valan said. ‘Whichever one we think is more likely to make her comply. We give her motive and we give her opportunity and then we sit back and mourn the tragedy.’
A slow smile spread across Lanta’s face. ‘I like it,’ she said. ‘Where is she now?’
‘In the south barracks with her husband. I had … anticipated that our conversation this evening might turn in this direction. I thought an early reward for her could make her more amenable. It’ll be the last time they ever see each other, after all.’
Lanta laughed low in her throat and patted his knee, letting her fingers linger for a moment. Sentimental as well as ruthless, she thought approvingly. I like it.
‘All right, prime her for the act. The sooner it is done, the better.’
Valan bowed his head. ‘Your will, Blessed One.’
TARA
Ninth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
South barracks, Second Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
‘And he killed the third one for you? I don’t understand.’
‘I wouldn’t say for me. I was capable of doing that on my own, thank you,’ Tara said.
Vaunt growled. ‘You know what I mean. He took your side. He watched you slit a man’s neck and didn’t punish you. Didn’t kill you. Slaves die for less than that, they die for nothing. Yet not only does he know you can fight, he allows you to live and he allows you to come here.’
Tara felt a faint blush stain her cheeks. ‘He … likes me, I think. I remind him of his dead wife in a way. He’s warier around me, gets a bit jumpy if I’m carving meat or whatever, and he watches me a lot more but …’ She waved a hand helplessly. ‘It’s hard to explain. It’s as though now I’ve shown him who I am, he actually trusts me more. As if we don’t have secrets.’
‘I don’t like it,’ Vaunt said and anger washed through Tara’s chest.
‘Should I have let them rape me to maintain my cover then?’ she hissed, jerking out of his embrace and rolling to the edge of the bed, her back to him. The bruises were fading faster than the memories and it had taken an act of will to respond to his touch. Now she was regretting having made the effort.
Vaunt leant up on his elbow and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Absolutely not,’ he said with enough vehemence that she twisted back to face him. ‘You kill anyone who touches you without your permission and fuck the consequences. It’s all well and good you being sent here by a god, but not even He would expect you to make that sort of sacrifice. And I’ll fucking kill you myself if you let it happen.’
‘Because I’m your wife and your honour would be stained by my shame?’ she asked and the mockery had an edge to it sharper than any blade.
‘Because you’re a godsdamn soldier and you protect yourself by killing your enemies. With extreme fucking prejudice.’
Tara bit her lip at the surge of relief that he wasn’t a prideful, pompous cock after all and pulled him into a hug, hiding her face in his chest. She let him hold her, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear an unexpected comfort. His skin was salty against her lips, which she liked, but his ribs pressed into her cheekbone, which she didn’t. The Rank prisoners were on half-rations despite the hours of building work they carried out, and Vaunt and Colonel Dorcas next door were on even less, seeing as they weren’t allowed outside the barracks.
‘There’s more news,’ she said eventually and Vaunt groaned. ‘Rillirin’s here.’
‘The sister? Shit. What can we do?’
‘Get her out. What Valan told me – that they’re going to use her babe to somehow bring back the Dark Lady – well, I think they really are. I’ve heard Lanta and Corvus discussing it. It’s common knowledge. Crys – the Fox God – whoever, wanted me to ghost Corvus and Lanta, cut the head off the snake. Now I’m wondering whether killing Lanta and getting Rillirin out of here will be as effective. It’d be as likely to stall their consolidation of the country. She’s getting big, but she’s still got eleven weeks to go, she reckons. That said, she’ll run if she has to – and she’ll have to if we’re going to get away.’
Vaunt ran his fingers between her shoulder blades as he thought, raising goosebumps on her skin. ‘Can you get her alone?’
‘She spends all her time with Lanta or Corvus, from what I can tell, except for at night. She’s sleeping in the queen’s wing and there are half a dozen Mireces on guard when she’s there. But I might be able to use this new trust of Valan’s and kill Lanta when Rillirin’s with her in the temple.’
Tara tipped him a wink. ‘A slave rebellion would come in handy right around then, wouldn’t it? A rebellion that would require Corvus’s attention – and Valan’s – leaving me free to ghost the priestess and grab the girl.’
Vaunt’s grin turned feral. ‘Funny you should say that,’ he murmured and darted his head down for a kiss. ‘I think I might be able to help you.’
‘Then the faster we do this, the better. Rillirin’s only going to get slower and more tired as the days pass, and the Rankers are getting weaker by the day too.’
Vaunt’s face went hard. ‘I know. Mireces bastards are working them to death and don’t seem to care. But they’ll fight,’ he added when he saw Tara’s worry. ‘Believe me, they’ll fight.’
She hoped he was right. Whenever she was allowed to visit, she had to school her face to impassivity so as not to shame them by retching at their stench. They were chained in squalor when they weren’t working, movement limited to the small few steps their shackles permitted between their beds and their shared chamber pots. Hours of back-breaking labour followed by hours of stinking, flea-plagued hunger, broken by the screams of nightmare and the low, shame-filled weeping of men who’d long since run out of hope. Corpses were left where they fell, sometimes for days.
‘Do you think it’s like this in the north barracks?’ Tara asked.
‘Worse. They’ve had an outbreak of fever. Scores dead, the whole place in quarantine. Mireces are mighty pissed off about it, and scared, too. Your friendly mason told Salter a few of his lads were sent there to look at bricking up the doors. Might be they’re just going to seal them in and leave them to die.’
‘Gods,’ Tara muttered, sitting up and pulling the blanket up to cover her nakedness. ‘Those poor bastards. Is there anything we can do?’
Vaunt scratched at his beard. ‘Pray. Could be a strange sort of blessing. I don’t imagine whatever it is they have planned for the rest of us will be pleasant. A few days of fever and then drifting off into the Light seems like a pretty decent outcome these days.’
She shuddered and lay back down, pressing her length against him, warm and alive still, the circle of his arms a haven. His feelings for her were complicating matters. Or was it her feelings for him?
‘We’ll need a sign
al,’ she murmured, smiling as his hands began a leisurely exploration of her skin. ‘Some way for you to know when I’m going to make the attempt.’
‘Any slaves in the palace working with us?’ he asked, distracted, and she smiled again, shifting a little closer.
‘A few, but doing it in the temple would be wiser. Closer to the South Gate.’ She inhaled sharply. ‘Are you paying attention?’
‘Mm-hm, to every line and curve. And listening, definitely. Lots of listening.’
‘All right, I’ll send word when I know I’m going to the temple. It could take up to an hour to reach you, so that’s how long I’ll have to kill Lanta and get Rillirin hidden. Once you’ve got this city on its knees, we’ll slip out and away.’
‘Be careful,’ Vaunt whispered without warning. His hand came up to cup her cheek. ‘Promise me.’
Tara bit back the offhand comment that sprang to her lips. ‘I promise. You too. Don’t fucking die on me, Major.’
‘Not part of the plan, Major.’
She wrapped her arms around his neck, his beard scratching against her cheek. ‘I don’t know when they’ll let me visit again, probably not before we do this. So I guess I’ll see you on the other side. I’ll have a very pregnant woman in tow.’
Vaunt winked. ‘I’ll have a slave rebellion at my back,’ he said.
She managed a smile. ‘Show-off,’ she said, but he was distracted again. A long, low growl of pleasure eased between her teeth even as she told herself to focus on the mission, because despite their promises neither of them expected to see each other again.
Only it wasn’t that easy any more. She’d told Crys she didn’t expect to survive this, and she didn’t. She’d been at ease with that knowledge, before Vaunt, because she was a soldier and it was her duty. Not now, though. Now Tara wanted to live, and for Vaunt to live too.
She grabbed him around the waist and hauled him on to her, lifted her hips and drew him in, giving him – giving them both – a reason to cling to life. To keep on fighting.
It was all she had to give, so she gave it all, with reckless abandon.
‘Tara. Sit. Tell me, how is your husband?’
Danger prickled along Tara’s spine. Valan was sitting to one side of the fireplace; he gestured at the empty chair opposite, giving her no choice. The chair’s position put her back to the door and her palms began to sweat.
She sat. Valan raised an eyebrow. ‘Forgive me, honoured. H-he is well, thank you. As well as can be expected, that is. He hasn’t seen the sun in months.’
‘And what would you do to ensure he did see the sun again?’ Valan asked. He poured her a cup of ale, handing it over with a polite smile. She took it on reflex, but didn’t drink. The smell of the hops made her nauseous.
‘I don’t understand, honoured.’
Valan watched her over the rim of his cup. ‘It’s a simple question and you’re a clever woman,’ he said, wiping foam from his upper lip. ‘What would a woman of your unique talents do to ensure dear Tomaz’s survival?’
She sipped the ale, forced herself to swallow. ‘You told me that if I worked hard and did as I was told, I would be allowed to visit Tomaz. I have done as you asked and you have kept your word, for which I am grateful. What more would you have me do?’
Valan put his cup down, leant forward and took hers out of her unresisting hand. He laced his fingers together. ‘Tell me how you learnt to fight,’ he said instead of answering her.
Tara didn’t try to hide her confusion. ‘Three older brothers and a husband in the army,’ she said, sticking as close to the truth as she could manage. ‘My ma wanted me to be strong enough to look after myself instead of relying on the restraint of men. Tomaz … liked that about me and kept teaching me after we wed.’
‘Interesting,’ Valan said after a silence so long she nearly screamed. ‘Could actually be true.’ He slashed his hand through the air when she tried to protest. ‘I don’t care. Darling Tomaz is hostage to your good behaviour and, so far, it’s been effective. I need more than good behaviour now, Tara, and Vaunt’s life – more than that, Vaunt’s pain-free life – is dependent on you. Let me down and your husband will die screaming. Do you understand?’
Tara glanced behind her; the door was still closed, the room still empty. She wiped her palms on her skirt as Vaunt’s words came back to her: kill anyone who touches you without your permission and fuck the consequences.
The question, of course, was whether she’d give that permission to save another’s life. Vaunt’s life. The ale was bitter on her tongue. ‘I understand.’
‘At some time in the next few weeks, when I tell you the time is right and not before, I want you to kill the king.’
Every bell in the city could have been ringing and Tara wouldn’t have heard them over the roaring in her ears. Does he know? Is this a test?
He was calm, allowing her to process what he’d said. Tara wiped her palms again, licked cold sweat from her upper lip. ‘Forgive me, honoured,’ she said carefully. ‘I … don’t understand.’
‘Which part? That Corvus is going to die by your hand, or that your husband will be tortured to death if you refuse?’ She said nothing. ‘I watched you saw a man’s windpipe open with every sign of enjoyment. I would think the opportunity to do the same to our king would fill you with delight.’
‘If I have offended you, honoured, please allow me to apologise,’ she began.
‘Stop. This is a simple transaction. Corvus’s life for Vaunt’s. If the price is too steep, say so and this conversation is over.’
He’s handing me Corvus on a silver fucking platter, practically guaranteeing I get a shot at him and keeping his own hands clean at the same time. Of course he won’t free us afterwards, but he won’t need to, because Corvus’s death will be the spark that sets this city on fire and we’ll all be free by the time it burns itself out. I fucking guarantee it.
Tara inclined her head. ‘Your will, honoured.’
MACE
Mabon, first year of the reign of King Corvus
Outskirts of Sailtown, the Tears, Horse Lands
It was three hours before dawn on the autumn equinox, the date Mace had agreed with the Krikites for the offensive to begin. They were a mile from Sailtown and had moved into their final positions through the night.
They were all about ready to drop, and the battle hadn’t even begun. The forced march the long way round, through the foothills of the Gilgoras Mountains and past the ruins of the West Rank forts – a pang in his gut at their sad dereliction – and over the Cattle Lands to Sailtown had taken longer than anticipated, and by the time they reached the target, they were in danger of missing Mace’s own deadline.
He tapped his fingertips to his heart, commending his soul to the Light and adding an unspoken prayer that far across Rilpor, in the prosperous river town of Pine Lock, his allies were also moving, descending upon the occupying East Rank like a flood.
Under a sky too bright with stars, they began to move, shadows against the silver landscape. It was a straight run and sentries would see them soon enough. Mace had a thousand men with him, running swift and silent through the stubble of harvested crops. In the third rank from the rear was Hallos. During the course of the siege and the summer in the South Forts he’d found a hitherto unexplored physical strength and determination. He’d kept up with the forced march with minimal complaint despite his advancing years. Now he looked like an ageing bull, all hard planes and enormous shoulders, small black eyes and wild, grey-shot beard.
Mace couldn’t see the other wings of his army from this vantage, but he wasn’t supposed to be able to and he trusted them to have deployed in line with his orders. The eruption of violence as they stormed for the main gatehouse would be the signal to the rest to begin the count to three hundred before launching their own attacks.
Mace was in the front rank, of course, despite arguments to the contrary. He might be king-elect, he might even be Commander of the Ranks, but he was a soldier
first and foremost, and a leader of men. He knew Dalli would be leading her people too, future queen or not. It was who they were – what they were.
They were three hundred strides out when a scrim of cloud darkened the field and Mace dared to hope. Moments later it was gone and the starlight seemed brighter in comparison, and soon enough fires bloomed along Sailtown’s city walls and thin, distant shouts of alarm pierced the night. Mace sped up, his men with him, and they thundered across the fields, little point in stealth now. Over the pounding of feet came the humming whine of arrows, barely visible. Mace wrenched his shield high and kept running.
The first screams, the first tumbling men and those who fell over them, and then fifty paces on and more men falling – but not because of arrows this time. Cries of alarm and men vanishing into the ground at either end of the line. Leg-breakers: shallow pits dug and covered with wattles and dirt to disguise them, located on the edges of the field to bunch his men together, force them into one narrow channel, one churning mass that could be raked with sustained volleys.
And so it proved. Mace’s shoulder was aching from the weight of the shield, but he daren’t drop it; the arrows were relentless and his numbers were thinning as they slowed and filtered through the safe ground deliberately left for them. It’d open into a killing field soon enough.
He’d a few archers on his flanks loosing volleys of their own, and it kept the defenders’ heads down for a while, but still his losses were too big too early.
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