Fold Thunder

Chapter Thirty-four

  Irwa stared at the other woman. How did she find me? Where do we stand?

  “I didn’t think you’d survived,” Maribah said, climbing down from the window. The wind still howled past the window, the city invisible in the darkness outside. “I’m sorry; I would have come looking for you if I’d known.”

  “Yes,” Irwa said, struggling to find words. “I survived.” And so did you—as I suspected. But where have you been all this time? Have you killed Brech? And what do you want from me?

  “I found your horse,” Maribah continued, her voice neutral. Not friendly. “Later, when I had recovered enough to go back. Dead. I assumed they had killed you as well.”

  “They didn’t,” Irwa said. “They . . . they took me back to their camp.” There. She had said it. Not the words themselves, of course, but enough. Not as hard as I’d thought. Hard enough.

  The look in Maribah’s eyes said she understood; for the first time, her voice softened slightly. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “If I’d known . . .”

  “You didn’t know,” Irwa said, trying to be brusque. The faster they moved past this part, the easier it would be for both of them. “You didn’t know. There was no way you could know.” Still, a small voice inside Irwa screamed, I trusted you; I needed you to protect me. Irwa tried to crush the voice down, but she could not.

  Maribah’s expression did not change, but she nodded. One hand moved to rest over her stomach. Where the bolt hit, Irwa remembered. “I ran,” Maribah said. “After they hit me, I knew I couldn’t stay up in the air much longer; it takes too much concentration. So I ran, and when I could stand, I came back, but the horse was dead, and I was alone—”

  “It’s ok,” Irwa said. She moved across the room, seeing tears in the other woman’s eyes, and sat down next to her. Why am I comforting her? She had forgotten how young Maribah was. Perhaps none of this has been as easy for her as I’ve imagined. I know what it is like to be a talented, young, female practitioner—the power, the seduction of that sense of self. The loneliness that lies at the heart of both. As Irwa put an arm around the younger woman, Maribah let out a single sob, wiping tears from her eyes. “It’s ok.” The sudden reversal of roles left Irwa feeling dazed.

  Maribah drew in a deep breath and wiped her eyes one last time. “I’m all right,” she said. “I just . . . It’s just been hard. Lots of things have changed since that day—too much for you to understand all of this.”

  “Tell me about it,” Irwa said. “What has changed?”

  “Well,” Maribah said. “For one thing, I’ve entered into Lord Brech’s service.”

  Irwa struggled to understand. Brech, she thought. The man we were supposed to kill. Ruler of Greve Sindal, satrap under the Jaecan government, but a Sinian. And she’s taken service with him, breaking her oath to the Fourth Corner. She’s taken service with the man we were supposed to kill.

  The thoughts flashed through her head in a matter of heartbeats. “Well,” Irwa said. “That changes everything. What will the Fourth Corner do?”

  Maribah smiled. “Oh, people have failed them before, but it’s always been followed by a rather permanent form of silence. No, the Fourth Corner will not look kindly on my defection.”

  “Have you prayed about this?” Irwa asked. “I’m serious, Maribah. Have you prayed to Ishahb? He watches over all of us; He will tell you what you should do.” Ishahb bless us, I hope He will. I still don’t even know what I’m going to do.

  “Do you still believe that?” Maribah asked. “Do you still prattle all that nonsense, about Ishahb, about His love for His chosen people? Do you believe, Irwa, after spending that time with those bandits, that Ishahb cares about anyone? That He, if He even exists, even knows who we are? If He does, then He is cruel and terrible.”

  “That’s not true,” Irwa protested, angry now, angrier than she had been in a long time. “Just because something bad happens, you can’t turn away from Him. That’s not how faith works.”

  “Faith,” Maribah said. “I left that behind a long time ago, Irwa. I’m surprised you haven’t too, after what you’ve been through. To be frank, I can’t understand how you can still believe.”

  She looked ready to go on, but Irwa interrupted her. “I believe,” Irwa said, “because I can feel Him there, watching me, helping me. Even when I had turned my back on Him.” She could feel Ishahb now, the warmth of His fire within her, telling her she was right.

  “Fine,” Maribah said. “Believe that, if you will. I won’t argue with you, although I will disagree. Join me with Lord Brech, though. He’s fair, and he pays well; he’ll keep you safe, treat you the way you deserve to be treated. You can even continue being a priestess, I’d imagine—after all, the Fourth Corner doesn’t know who you are, so you’d just have to find a congregation here. Think of what we could do together, Irwa, especially once you really begin to use your gift again.”

  “What do you mean?” Irwa asked. Her mouth felt dry all of the sudden. She knows.

  “There’s no reason for this charade any more, Irwa,” Maribah said, her face lighting up. “I can understand why you kept it a secret, at first, but I know now—Lord Brech told me, although I’ll never know how he found out.”

  “What?” Irwa thought she was going to be sick. Almost without realizing it, she had drawn her arm back from the other woman and was leaning forward, hands on her knees.

  “Ir-waibah,” Maribah said. The name was like a physical blow. “The most promising student in Khaman sorcery in the last hundred years. The woman who cast the Thousand Labyrinths on a thousand tiles, who turned night into day on the Emperor’s birthday—fiancée to the emperor’s youngest son.” Did he ever love me? I still wonder, all these years later, Irwa thought. “I heard that before your fifteenth birthday you led a band of Tell rebels along the banks of the Quar River for a week, so wrapped up in illusions that they died of thirst, some of them inches from water, and every one with a smile on his face.” They were so young, as young as I was, and so sure they were right. “You made the first practitioner to oppose you—a Fourth Corner sheik—scream in madness, until the emperor begged you to kill the man.” He screamed for a month; I hear him still. “I never even thought about the name you chose—a clever change.” My mother named me Irwa; I named myself Ir-waibah, Queen of Night.

  Maribah’s words lost all meaning as Irwa struggled to make sense of the revelation. How could anyone know? I worked so hard; no one should have been able to break that enchantment. After all these years, how could it fail me now? Why would anyone even be looking for me? The questions rattled around in her head, drowning out almost everything else. It did not make any sense to Irwa. How?

  “—and developed a parakein that could change memories—”

  “Stop,” Irwa screamed. “Stop, just stop.” She struggled to calm her breathing, to slow her racing pulse. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you don’t know what you’re saying. You list all these things as though they were something to be proud of, as though they were accomplishments, something I should want to remember.”

  “They are,” Maribah said. The noise from the common room below continued, a murmured counterpoint to the intensity of her voice. “You did things that even Khaman masters couldn’t do. Can’t do. You surpassed men and women two and three times your age. If you hadn’t disappeared, you would be a part of the imperial family, you would be important.”

  Irwa said, “I did horrible things, Maribah, things that no one should do to anyone, ever. Why would I be proud of that?”

  “You saved people’s lives,” Maribah countered. “Those rebels didn’t care whom they hurt or killed, that’s why they rebelled. You were a soldier for the empire, protecting people.”

  “Perhaps,” Irwa said. “I believed that once, I did. I still believe, part of it, or I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. But that kind of power, Maribah, the power to take lives, to decide who lives and who dies, that is a terrible responsibility. It
changed me; it made me worse, something proud and cruel and arrogant. Something not human.” And that’s what you’ll become, Irwa wanted to say. You too.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Maribah said, her voice confident, her dark eyes flashing with certainty. “Think of what we could do together, Irwa. Brech has plans, great plans; he’s going to change everything. Once you start practicing again, it will come back, you’ll see. Or, if you don’t want to work for Brech after a while, then you can just open a gateway and go away, disappear like you did before and never come back. But at least listen to him.”

  The offering was tempting; to do great things again, to be important. To have power. Never again to know that feeling of helplessness. If I’d been prepared, then, if I’d not been afraid and weak . . . She could not finish the thought. She had known the taste of power before, and it was sweet and dark and deep.

  Maribah saw her weakening. “Come listen to him,” she pleaded. “This could be what we’ve both been looking for. Power, and the ability to use that power to help people, to make the world better.”

  “Whose world, though?” Irwa asked. “That’s the burden of power, Maribah, as you’ll find out soon enough. Everyone has a different vision of the perfect world, or of how to reach that perfect world, and eventually you will have to decide whom to support, and that will mean using power against someone else, and then it begins—a cycle of death and blood that never ends, except with death.” Or disappearing.

  “Maybe that’s true,” Maribah said, “but I’m not willing to give up this chance so easily. I’ve been manipulated by the Fourth Corner for too long; I’ve done things for them that made me hate myself. This is a chance to undo that, to do something better, to help people.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Irwa said. She felt tired, incredibly tired, as though all the years of hiding had suddenly caught up to her. The old chains of power, that she had thought broken and gone for good, were around her as tightly as ever. They were never gone, she realized. I just refused to see them, refused to take responsibility for them. And now I’m doing the same thing, turning my back on this girl, on what she will do, on what Brech will do. Can I let him start a war, even if, as Maribah says, it really is for the best? Does anyone have the right to choose, one life for many?

  “Promise me you’ll come and listen,” Maribah said. The wind shrieked, rattling the pane of glass in its casing. “At least that. Then, if you really don’t want anything to do with him, you can leave.”

  “And what about our original purpose for coming here? To stop a war? Who were we supposed to kill, here, Maribah?”

  The girl hesitated, her dark eyes shifting to the corner of the room for just a moment. ”Don’t worry about it. You can go home, without any blood on your hands, if you don’t like what Brech has to say.”

  I am soaked in blood, Irwa thought. “I will come listen to him,” Irwa said. “If only for your sake. I’m not making any promises, though.”

  Maribah smiled and pulled back her dark hair. “Come to the palace tomorrow; that’s where he saw you today, so I know you know where it is. In the morning. That’s when Brech is usually free.”

  “Who saw me?”

  “Brech. He’s a practitioner.”

  Without another word, Maribah opened the window. The wind rushed in, carrying with it the smell of wood smoke. Fire, Irwa thought instinctively, and the dream rushed back to her. Fire, purifying everything in its path. Sacrifice. Maribah slipped her legs through the opening and sat on the ledge. She traced a cheiron in the darkness, the unnatural heat flooding the small room. Maribah pushed off from the sill and disappeared into the darkness.

  Irwa shut the window behind her; for a moment, she caught a glimpse of the girl flitting away through the air, buoyed up by magic. Is it possible? Irwa wondered. For once, can someone truly want to do what is right? How can war be right? How can I allow this to happen? The questions had no answer. She laid wards around the room, tracing parakein into the dust of the sill, the frame of the door. Then she lay down and stared into the fire, thinking dreams and ashes.

 

  The palace loomed over Irwa, its towers lost in the thick fog that had rolled over the city the night before. The howling wind had vanished, plunging the city into an almost unnatural silence, every sound muffled by the fog. The air tasted wet in Irwa’s mouth, and her clothes, even her smallclothes, felt damp and cold. She did not like it. The weather was like this in Ghiynmar, in the winter, she remembered. And it’s barely even autumn here.

  The mist blanketed the castle, smoothing out the gouges in the stone, masking the new sections, so that for a moment Irwa thought she had an idea of what it must have looked like years ago, before the Jaecan invasion. It was beautiful, in a grim, austere way, its harsh line softened by the haze in the air.

  Irwa approached the gate, eager to meet this Lord Brech and find out what he wanted. The outer gate, which led into the courtyard, stood open, and the guards did not glance twice at Irwa as she passed through. Inside, men and women moved back and forth between the outbuildings that stood along the outer walls of the castle and the keep itself, busy with the daily activities involved in maintaining the massive building and the people who lived within it. Thirty years ago, Irwa imagined the courtyard must have been filled with men-at-arms, with Skallid priests chanting the death-prayers, practitioners weaving hepisteis to counter the Jaecan sorcery that assailed the last holdout of the Sinian duchy. Today, the fog hid whatever marks the stone might bear from the savage butchery that had followed the fall of the castle walls.

  The guards at the doors of the keep allowed her in when they heard her name, and they sent a servant to find Maribah. Irwa waited inside, trying not to panic as the iron-banded doors swung shut behind her. The entrance hall was tall, open three stories up, with a narrow staircase winding up the walls. Arrow slits studded the three inner walls, evidence that, even here, the Sinians had planned on how to sell their lives most dearly. Or to eliminate a practitioner who refuses to accept the satrap’s offer, Irwa thought. I’d never even see the archer; I’d be walking to the door, and the next thing I’d know, I’d have a dozen arrows in the back. Not a bad way to deal with practitioners, really.

  Maribah appeared, coming through the double doors on the ground floor. Her dark hair was pulled back under a cap of gold thread and gemstones—rubies and amethysts, dark as blood. Her dress, a deep crimson, matched the stones, and though it did not bare the younger woman’s bosom, it still came lower than Irwa would have expected. Irwa brushed the wrinkles from her brown wool dress, forcing herself to keep from running a hand across her own short hair. Ishahb bless me to make the right decision today, Irwa thought as she saw the other woman smile.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Maribah said, slipping one of her arms through Irwa’s. “Even after you said you would, I wondered. Not that I’d blame you, not after what you’ve been through.” As she spoke, she led Irwa up the stairs, barely wide enough for the two slender women to walk abreast.

  “I said I’d come and listen,” Irwa said. “But I still don’t know about this, Maribah. We both came here for a reason. A sacred purpose. And then we go home.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, Irwa,” Maribah said. “You have a home to go back to—people who care for you, a life that you’ve built up. What do I have? The Fourth Corner? A collection of old men and a few bitter women who spend their lives fighting each other as much as they do fighting the enemies of the church. I can’t go back to my family, not anymore. No, I’m afraid that in almost every sense, this place is as much home to me as anywhere.”

  “Did you pray about this?” Irwa asked. “That is the blessing of Pa-shatan, Maribah. Ishahb answers our prayers, He speaks to us. The Apsians mock us for that, you know? They say that their Three speak only through oracles, hidden deep in forgotten forests and trackless caves. But Ishahb speaks to each of us.”

  The other woman’s mouth tightened. “For the last time, Irwa, I do
not believe that any more. There is only power, power to help, power to hurt. Removing all of that to the hands of some invisible god is the worst form of cowardice. I won’t hide behind Ishahb any more.”

  The woman’s words cut Irwa like knives. Is that what I’ve been doing for all these years? Irwa wondered as they rounded the steps at the next landing, continuing up. Hiding? Leaving everything in Ishahb’s hands? I suppose it is; what else can you call abandoning so much power to help people? I could have done so much, helped so many. Ishahb knows I wouldn’t be here now, broken and battered, missing something inside me, so that every morning I wonder if my heart is still beating.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Maribah said, “I’m sorry for the way I just spoke, it’s just, well, I want to do something good. I’m tired of being used. You’ll see—we’re almost to his study.”

  They followed a long hallway. Fewer torches lit the passage, and with the outside world blanketed under the fog, the watery light from the arrow slits did little to help. Maribah stopped at a door along the inner wall of the castle and knocked once.

  A deep voice answered in Sinian. Maribah pushed the door open and entered, pulling Irwa after her. In contrast to the hallway, the study was brightly lit—almost too brightly, with ornate glass lamps hanging along the walls, and with more sitting on the simple, white wood desk and the bookstands around the room. Irwa had only a moment to take in her surroundings before she saw the man who awaited them. She barely noticed as Maribah slipped her arm free, so that Irwa stood alone.

  Lord Brech of House Ordin, once duke of the Grand Duchy of Greve Sindal and, since its conquest, satrap of the imperial province of Greve Sindal, was surprisingly young. Almost as young as Maribah, Irwa thought. He stood a good head taller than Irwa, although nowhere near as tall as Hynnar or some of the other Sinians she had seen in the city. His blond hair, done in the same loose plaits that all the Sinian men wore, came almost to his shoulders, and was held back by a band of white silk, almost invisible against his hair itself. His skin was pale, although nothing about the man suggested sickliness or bookishness; he looked robust, muscular under the white silk shirt and crimson coat. Aside from the coat, which stood out against the gray stone and white furnishings like an open wound, the only other color Irwa could see were the man’s intense, sea-green eyes, which seemed to fix her in place, like Hynnar’s had.

  “Lady Irwa,” he said, stepping out from behind the bone-white desk and making his way over to her. He bowed, slightly, and took her hand familiarly. “You honor my province and my household with your presence. I must be honest, I never thought that I would meet the Queen of Night, not myself; you had already disappeared by the time I was born, but your legend lived on, especially among the nobility of the empire.”

  Irwa tried to repress a start at his words. There was no reason not to expect him to know the meaning of the ancient name she had chosen for herself, a name that went back to the pagan gods of Old Jaegal, before the revelation of Pa-shatan. The translation of the name would have been simple enough to learn—Maribah herself may have told him. Still, Irwa could not keep from starting, however slightly, at the shock of hearing this man, with his perfect Jaecan, speak those words.

  Brech seemed to notice; he let go of her hand, smoothly but quickly, and said, “Forgive me, lady, if I was presumptuous. Such familiarity is common among the people of Greve Sindal; I meant no disrespect to your station.”

  Irwa found herself still at a loss for words, caught in the handsome blond man’s gaze.

  The silence stretched out. Maribah laughed and said, “Please, Lord Brech, you’re too kind. Irwa is a generous woman; she would not be offended by sincere intentions, of course. I should have made introductions, I realize, and now I’m afraid I’ve let my opportunity slip. Irwa, this is Lord Brech, the satrap of Greve Sindal.”

  They’re waiting on me. “Lord Brech,” Irwa said, forcing herself to smile, aware of how dowdy she looked next to Maribah and the Sinian lord. “Please, forgive me. I’m unused to hearing that name, and I’m afraid you took me by surprise. Thank you for your kind welcome; your study is beautiful.”

  “Irwa is modest, my lord,” Maribah said.

  Brech eyed both of them, his gazing moving from Maribah to Irwa. Irwa suppressed another shiver, more successfully this time. I wonder if Maribah knows exactly how dangerous this man is, she thought. Any man who can look at two practitioners and see nothing more than players on a board either has a gift of his own, or an inordinate amount of confidence.

  “Thank you, Lady Irwa,” Brech said, his pale lips tugging up in a smile. “I spend much of my time here, so I’ve made it as comfortable as I can. One of the luxuries of birth, I think. Aside from these books, my sister is my only real companion in this city.” His face turned more serious. “Will you sit?”

  He motioned them to three chairs surrounding a low, polished table, the white wood shining in the lantern light. When they were seated, he rang a small bell, and a beautiful young woman in white silk entered with a tea service. Only after the tea had been poured and served did the woman retire, her eyes on the ground the entire time.

  “My sister, Corian,” Brech said. “She is not one for company.” He sipped at his tea and added, “I will not waste your time, Lady Irwa. Maribah has told me that you are interested in an opportunity to put your talents to good use, to helping people. I have such an opportunity to offer you, if you are interested.”

  “I’m interested in hearing your offer, my lord,” Irwa said. She sipped the tea, surprised by the flavor of the strong, maca tea, a blend from Khisan, in eastern Nilgaz. More surprises, she thought. Is he trying to throw me off balance? Or simply impress me? Either way she did not like it.

  “Then here it is,” Brech said. “I am seeking war, war with Apsia.” He paused, then said, “You are not surprised?”

  “I suspected as much, my lord,” Irwa said. To her surprise, Irwa saw Maribah tense in her chair. It took Irwa a moment to understand. She’s afraid I’m still going to try to kill him, Irwa thought. And she’s going to defend him if I do. The thought upset her stomach. Irwa set down the tea.

  Brech simply nodded and said, “Yes, my family and I have a gift for causing trouble, it seems. My father managed to have six Jaecan generals executed for failing to secure the province before he was finally betrayed and executed. I seem to have inherited his bloodier habits.”

  Why so honest? Irwa thought. Is it a lure, a bid to win me over with sincerity?

  “Not a very good cause for starting a war, my lord,” Irwa said. “Do you anticipate that you will receive the governorship of Apsia when the war ends? What is the ultimate end of your intended war?”

  Brech leaned back in his seat, another smile coming across his lips. “You are as bold as Maribah,” he said. “We do not have many female practitioners in Greve Sindal; are all women as bold as you two in Jaegal? Or are you the exception?”

  Irwa flushed. “Answer the question, my lord,” she said. “You sit here calmly, talking about sending men and women to their deaths, as though you were sending them to market, but you will not tell me why? What does Apsia have for you?”

  “Not to their deaths,” Brech said, his voice even. “You have unfairly judged me, lady. Let me explain. The city will fall with only a few deaths, utmost precision and expediency; no one will suffer except the fat, rich merchants who have crushed the rest of the city under their heels.”

  “And their deaths mean nothing?” Irwa asked.

  “You ask that, Queen of Night? You, of all people, should know the way that lives are balanced in the great scheme. What are a few men and women who have grown fat off of the suffering of others? With their leaders gone, their great general missing, the city will fall like a ripe apple. Our troops will simply march to the walls and take them; their city guard is nothing more than the spoiled sons of nobles, lacking any sort of organization or leadership, and the watch is even worse—retired sailors who can be bribed for p
ennies. No, without their Six Fathers to hire Manc and Lesh mercenaries and practitioners, the city will fall with almost no life lost.”

  Irwa realized she was being manipulated; the man had angered her in order to make her ask that question, to hear his perfect response. She could feel herself doing exactly what he wanted—she could see the satisfaction in his eyes. Irwa could not resist the next question. “And what does Apsia offer, then, that is worth all this trouble? Isn’t Greve Sindal enough?”

  “Apsia is not for me, lady,” Brech said. “It is for my sister. No proper Jaecan lord will have a barbarian for wife without an outrageous dowry, and the empire’s punitive taxes have left my resources . . . scarce. Apsia is also for the empire, though, and for holy Ishahb. It is our sacred destiny to grow.”

  “For the empire?” Irwa asked. “You expect me to believe that? Why should I care if the empire has Apsia or not?”

  “You cared enough about the empire to come here, to kill a man you did not know, because you believed it was best for the empire,” Brech said. “I think you have shown where your loyalty lies, Irwa.”

  Another question he wanted, another answer that forced her back. His use of her name made the last words more intimate. Irwa wanted to draw back, but she could not move any further without tipping back in her chair. His answers made sense; Ishahb’s glory was the empire, his chosen people, spreading across the continents until everyone was united in faith and blood. Why do I resist this? she wondered. It makes sense; bring one of the richest cities in the world into the empire, expanding Ishahb’s reach, His opportunity to bless more lives. What feels wrong about this?

  “Even if the war were as easy as you claim it will be,” Irwa said. “Even if everything goes according to plan, it will still upset the Return. How can we make the Return to Mane if our armies are tied up occupying one of the largest cities in the world?”

  Brech actually smiled. “Lady Irwa,” he said. “I respect your faith, even if I do not share it. How can men interfere with Ishahb’s will? If He wills the Return to happen, then it will happen—perhaps even more easily with the maritime and economic power of Apsia joined to the empire. Do you really believe that Ishahb will allow one of His prophecies to be overturned by my efforts?”

  The words sounded perfectly reasonable. Irwa had said them herself, to dozens of men and women, assuring them that Ishahb’s will would be done. He was not like the gods of Skallid, or like the Three of Apsia, with whom one could barter and plead. His will moved across the world, an all-consuming fire that purified instead of consumed. Everything Brech said made sense. Why do I fight it, then? What makes me mistrust this man?

  “And what would my part be in all of this?” Irwa asked. “You have everything so neatly planned; what do Maribah and I bring to this?”

  “There are other guardians of Apsia,” Brech said. “You have heard the stories.”

  “The Brilliant Flame?” Maribah said, her voice strained. “And the Bloodless? Men who turned back some demon from a children’s story?”

  “Those are stories,” Irwa agreed. “If they are real, why did they not help Apsia the last time the empire attacked?”

  Brech frowned. “I’m surprised by your disbelief,” he said. “Let me assure you, though, they are most real, and for whatever reason, they are tied to Apsia. I do not know why. I need you two to keep them from interfering; I doubt they will care once the city is under Jaecan rule, but until then, they could still decide to favor the Apsian resistance.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about them,” Irwa said. “How’s that?”

  “Ah, Lady Irwa, you have your secrets, don’t you? Allow me to have this one. Let me say that I have been keeping track of them for some time, at first out of interest, but more recently out of my concern that they could upset my plan. They are most real and terribly dangerous, but I have no fear that you two will be more than a match for them.”

  Brech stood, looming over her even with the low table between them. “Lady Irwa, I need to know if you will help me bring Apsia into the empire. What do you say to all of this?”

  I don’t trust you, Irwa thought. That’s what I should say—that there is no such thing as an altruistic war. He lies about what he wants, but perhaps some of it is true. “I will think about it,” Irwa said. “I need time to consider what you have said; you ask me to betray the trust of people important to me.” You ask me to betray myself. “I can’t make that kind of decision immediately.”

  “Of course, lady,” Brech said, but his voice was less than gracious. “Maribah will see you out; please come to me when you’ve made your decision. Thank you for your time.”

  He returned to the white wood desk and began leafing through papers. Maribah motioned for Irwa to follow her, and Irwa joined her in the hall. Maribah shut the door behind her and led her back to the staircase. When they reached the massive doors of the entry hall, Maribah stopped.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game,” Maribah said, breaking the silence between them. “This is your chance to do something good for a chance, and you’re angering the man who will make it possible for you.”

  “I did not say no,” Irwa said. “I need to think about all of this. It’s not easy for me to accept what he says, Maribah. Not everything is as simple as he makes it sound over tea in a well-lit study. People die in war—every war.”

  “It is simple,” Maribah said. “I will make it as simple as you need it to be. This is it: decide, soon, because Brech will not wait for you, and you do not want to wind up on the wrong side of this man.”

  Irwa left through the iron-banded doors, the threat ringing in her ears as she crossed the courtyard.

 

  The conversation with Brech still roiled in Irwa’s mind as she took the great stone steps down into the lower quadrants. The late morning sun had burned off much of the mist, although thin patches still hung between buildings, motionless in the still air. The immediate swell of people as she reached the bottom of the steps almost suffocated her. Blond men and women rushed past her through the broad plaza. Irwa pressed forward, trying to avoid being caught up in one of the currents of people that swirled across the wide flagstones.

  Anxiety pressed in on Irwa; she could feel the pressure behind Maribah’s spoken threat, and even more so, the threat hidden in Brech’s casual dismissal. What do I do? she thought. He promises that the war will be bloodless, or almost bloodless. A powerful city brought into the empire, without a real war, magnifying Jaegal, spreading Ishahb’s reach. If the war is as bloodless as he says, the Return will not be delayed; Ishahb bless us, it might be faster than I ever thought possible. And yet I do not trust him.

  The rumble of the Sinian language around her was comforting, the smooth, effortless sound of an avalanche that allowed her to listen without the burden of comprehending. Irwa let the noise wash over and obliterate, for a moment, her analysis of the encounter with Brech as she headed to the Mezine quarter. So lost in the empty sound of the language, in hiding from her thoughts, was Irwa that it took her a moment to recognize the voice speaking Jaecan.

  “Lady,” a man’s voice cried. Familiar. “Lady.”

  Through a gap in the crowd, Irwa saw the gap-toothed smile and long, white eyebrows of Isol. He stood next to his fruit cart at the mouth of a short lane, much less crowded than the Blade of Truth.

  “Lady,” he said again, catching her eye and motioning for her.

  By the time Irwa had crossed the stream of people, a short Jaecan man was standing at the cart, haggling with Isol in Sinian. Irwa continued into the short lane, not wanting the Jaecan to see her; if he were anything like the Jaecan she had seen in the upper quadrants, he would be too eager for her liking to meet a compatriot. The man wore a coat of white wool with black brocade, and his boots had silver buckles. He looks too rich to be out buying his own produce, Irwa thought. Probably a spy, but working for whom? She made a circuit of the lane, and by the time she had returned to Isol, the Jaecan was gone.
br />   “Who was that?” she asked.

  Isol grinned and said, “Who was who, lady? In my trade, one must be very good at forgetting names and faces.”

  “People buying fruit want their anonymity?” Irwa asked.

  “Of course, lady,” Isol said. “But it was not for that that I called you over, of course. I have good news, from my good boy, my only son. He has found your friend, the one you’re looking for. He would have come to your inn tonight, but I saw you first. He will be so very upset, lady, because he is taken with you, if you must know. Perhaps I will not tell him—you will let him explain everything to you, no? That way he will feel important.”

  “There’s no need,” Irwa said. “My friend found me last night, after I talked with Orn in my room. Of course, I know he’s been searching all day, so I will be happy to give him some coin.” She pulled out her purse and opened it.

  “Lady,” Isol said, “that’s impossible. Your friend only arrived today; how could you have seen him already?”

  Irwa’s fingertips went numb. “Him?” she asked.

  “The man you described to my son,” Isol said. “Ornen saw him today, while he was cleaning the streets on the south edge of the Mezine quarter. Your description was not good, lady, not good at all, but my son found him, of course. He overheard another man say the name Hynnar, and then he followed, and he has found him, of course.”

  Irwa fished out a silver azan and gave it to him. “Thank you, Isol,” she said. “I will need to find him; where is he exactly?”

  “Lady, you should wait for Ornen to accompany you—I told you the Mezine quarter was not safe below Heartsblood Blade. Wait at your inn, a few hours, and I will send my son to guide you.”

  “No,” Irwa said. “No, I can’t wait. Where is Ornen? I will find him myself.”

  “Impossible, lady, the boy moves like the wind, cleaning here and there, all to earn a few pennies. If you must go yourself, you must go, but do not say that I did not warn you. Everyone has skal, but you seem determined to find your fate early, rather than letting it find you. Your friend is in a private home, in an alley off of Short Blade, almost at the south wall of the city. My son described the house well, lady—there is a burned-out building across the street with purple amaranth growing in the yard.”

  “Thank you,” Irwa said. “I need to find him, now. Please excuse me; give my thanks to your son, of course. You have helped me so much.”

  She did not hear his response. Hynnar. Here, in the city. What is he doing here? she wondered. Are Brech’s men hunting him? Is there anyone else left to hunt? For the moment, her conversation with Brech, Maribah’s threats, they were all forgotten. She hurried down the Blade of Truth, so lost in her own thoughts that she barely noticed the crush of people that filled the street.

  What do I say to him? she thought. Will he even want to see me? Irwa did not know what she would do if he turned her away, but she had to admit that it was a possibility. He had seen the worst side of her, after all. She was not even fully sure why she was going to see him, except that she needed him, right then, needed someone solid, who would make the world make sense again. The way he did when he freed me from the camp.

  Irwa found Short Blade more quickly than she had expected. Isol was right; the southern wall of the city rose up a few blocks from the street. From where she stood, Irwa could make out the guards at the gate, even through the city’s traffic. She turned down the street, eyes searching for the burned building. Men and women lounged in small yards enclosed by low wooden fences. Most of the people she saw wore patched and faded woolens, and only a few of the women had their hair adorned.

  She found the burned building quickly enough; the purple amaranths had grown above the fence, their dark flowers standing out on the drab street. The house across from it was plain, its timbers bleached and peeling, but it looked no worse than the other houses on the street. Irwa stood there for a long moment, trying to see through the closed shutters. Then, taking a deep breath, Irwa walked over to the house, pushed open the gate, and knocked on the door.

  A young woman answered the door, thin and pretty, in spite of the dark circles under her eyes. “Yeah?” she said in passable Jaecan.

  “I’m looking for someone,” Irwa said. “A man named Hynnar.”

  “I don’t know anyone with that name,” the girl said and slammed the door shut.

  Irwa stared at the splintered wood in astonishment. The girl’s face had revealed nothing, but Irwa wondered if she was Hynnar’s lover. Or else he is in hiding, she thought. Still, there was nothing to do for it but wait for Ornen at the inn and have him take her back to where he had seen Hynnar. Maybe I can find Isol, too, just to make sure Ornen comes tonight.

  Irwa turned to leave the yard. One of the shutters opened, just a crack, and she saw movement within the dark house. Then the shutter jerked shut and the door swung open. The same young woman stood there, a frown on her face. “Come on,” she said in a low voice, motioning with her head.

  The house was dark inside, lit only by the faint bands of sunlight that snuck under the door and the shutters. It smelled of dust and sweat and long-closed spaces. Irwa wrinkled her nose; she did not want to spend any more time there than necessary. The young woman’s face was almost lost in the shadows, but Irwa could still make out the frown, even more severe now.

  “Well?” Irwa asked. “What changed?”

  A husky voice answered, “I told her to let you in.” The slightest accent to the Jaecan words—not quite Sinian, but close.

  She turned toward the voice. In the room next to the narrow hallway where she stood, Irwa saw a large shadow. “Hynnar?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, laughing that nervous laugh. “Bring a candle, Fina.”

  The young woman disappeared. Irwa trembled, suddenly terrified by her proximity to this man. Why did I come here? she thought. He has no interest in me; I was just someone he helped while he was trapped by his skal; I don’t mean anything to him. Irwa wanted nothing more than to turn and leave and never come back, never see this man again. I’ve made a fool of myself coming here.

  Neither spoke until Fina returned, carrying the stub of a tallow candle. The light illuminated his features, showing the familiar, permanent smirk, and the scar that caused it, the deep blue eyes, the new scar on his nose, from the beating he had taken in the camp. He blinked once, as though coming back to himself, and said, “Thank you, Fina. I need a few moments alone with Irwa.”

  Fina nodded and pressed past him into the darkened front room. Hynnar reached down and took Irwa’s hand; his grip was strong, and rough, but Irwa did not mind. Her heart was pounding, the walls leaned in over her as she followed the big man deeper into the house. The darkness seemed to suck all the air out of the building, so that Irwa found herself almost panting for breath as Hynnar led her through a door.

  Four beds crowded the small room, covered with stained and rumpled bedclothes. A large window, its shutters closed and latched, let bands of light into the room, but Irwa was glad of the candle nonetheless. Hynnar sat down on one of the beds, the wooden frame creaking beneath his weight, and gently sat Irwa next to him. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Why did you disappear that night? Do you know how long I looked for you? The dar-molk’s guards were out in force once they managed to get organized, and they almost caught me while I was looking for you.”

  Irwa shifted on the hard bed. He still held her hand; she could feel her pulse pounding through that hand and wondered if he could feel it as well. “I—” She stopped. “What I did, that night—” She could not seem to speak, to think. Stop this, she told herself. You’re acting like a silly girl. “I needed to get away from there. I only went to make sure you were safe; the way Kjell and Eyo were going on about you, I thought Brech’s men would have hunted you down for sure, so I thought I could get there ahead of you. I was too late.”

  “Kjell and Eyo?” he asked. That’s all. Not a word about her concern for him, no acknowledgment o
f what she had just revealed for him. “I imagine they were arguing about it, too, weren’t they?”

  His apparent indifference to her was like a bucket of cold water. “Yes,” Irwa said faintly.

  “Well, you were right about one thing—Brech’s men did hunt us down. Meik’s dead, along with most of the rest of his group. Once we no longer had Split to keep us hidden, it was fairly easy for Brech’s troops to run us down. It’s almost a pity how easily they died.”

  “Yes,” Irwa said. “They didn’t deserve a quick death.”

  Hynnar gave her a calm glance. “No,” he said. “They didn’t. Those men were monsters, plain and simple, and you know that better than anyone. The problem, though, is that those men were able to keep Brech’s attention away from other things, and that distraction has ended now.”

  “Other things?”

  Hynnar grimaced. “There are rebel groups in the mountains who want nothing more than to rid themselves of Jaegal and the empire’s pet satrap. All of this would have been easier with Brech distracted, but for now, it will just have to be what it is.”

  “He’ll be distracted enough,” Irwa said. She struggled to push down disappointment in their reunion; she had not imagined talking politics. “Brech’s starting a war in Apsia; he’ll have his eye turned south for the next while, I imagine, although I can’t figure out why.”

  “It’s bloody skal all over again,” Hynnar said to himself. To her, he added, “That is worse, in a way, you see. If Jaecan armies start rolling through here to Apsia, then we’ll be overrun with troops; Brech will have an immediate recourse to help, if he needs it. The gods of stone take me, everything is falling apart.” He gripped his shaggy hair with both hands.

  Without realizing what she was doing, Irwa grabbed his big hands and pulled them down to her lap. “It’s ok,” she said, trying to encourage him as she struggled with her own frustrated expectations. “I spoke with Brech today, no,” she stopped him as he started to say something, “I’m not working with him, although he asked me to. I talked to him, though, and he explained his whole plan. It’s going to be surprisingly bloodless; the Apsians are going to fall without the need for troops, without any fighting, really.”

  Hynnar’s hands tightened painfully around hers. “Irwa,” he said, “that man is lying, or a fool. The Apsians have the stiffest necks of anyone I’ve ever met, and even if he assassinates or abducts their leaders, every single merchant prince, shipper, dockworker, and slum-rat will fight Jaecan rule. The Apsians kill their own leaders with surprising frequency, and they’ve learned how to work remarkably well together without a need for direct supervision. Oh, they’ll fight and bicker every day, and half of them will plan to betray the other half, but not until every single invader is dead and gone. It’s bred into them, they take it in with their religion—Bel and the Sisters, now there’s a story of treachery and betrayal that will make your head spin, but it also teaches that those Three defend Apsia against other gods—united.”

  “He’s sure of this,” Irwa said. “He’s planned everything out, the way he explained it, it’s going to be fine—just the right amount of pressure.”

  “You don’t know him the way I do,” Hynnar said. “The right amount of pressure for him could be slaughtering an entire quadrant of the city, or stringing up every man past puberty, or burning the city to the ground if necessary. He’s a man who stops at nothing to achieve his goals. Trust me.”

  “Why should I trust you, Hynnar?” Irwa asked, almost shouting, her frustration cresting. “What do I know about you? Yes, you saved me, and for that I’ll always be grateful. From what I’ve seen, you are a decent man. But I know nothing about you—nothing! You stayed with that pack of rapists and murderers, laughed with them, helped them—Ishahb bless you, you most likely killed with them, didn’t you?” When he nodded his head, once, it broke her heart. “So tell me why I should trust you any more than Brech, who at least has been honest with me?”

  Red circles appeared in Hynnar’s cheeks, but he held her hands still. “You are mistaken if you think Brech has been honest with you,” he said. “But I won’t try to convince you otherwise. There are parts of my life that I’m ashamed of, Irwa, and things I’ve done that will always haunt me. I killed a young man in my village—oh, yes, by accident Kjell and Eyo will tell you, and it’s true; I had no intention of harming him, but I’m still guilty of his death. We wrestled, near a cliff, and we both fell. I could not hold onto his arm long enough. He fell.” Hynnar spoke the words easily, but his blue eyes were shadowed, and Irwa could feel the faintest tremble in his hands. “He died. I took responsibility for it, as I needed to, no matter what Kjell said. Kjell almost killed me himself, he was so angry when I went before the council. Still, skal is skal. I believe that now. I also believe in taking responsibility for what I have done.

  “So I won’t lie to you and say that what Meik and his thugs did to people, did to you, was not my responsibility—at least in part. But I did those things, I allowed those things to happen, because I knew that it gave my people a better chance of living free some day, free from Brech and his kind. You think that I conjecture about what Brech will do to achieve his goals, but let me assure you that I know first-hand. Do you wonder why there are so few old men in our villages? Brech’s father, the grand duke, made it his great goal to unify Greve Sindal. That meant crushing the outlying Loyri tribes—permanently. Kjell was a year old when our father was killed.

  “That’s why I stayed with Meik and his band, all those years, because every time we assaulted a caravan, every time we ransomed a group of Jaecan nobles or diplomats, it turned Brech’s attention away from the mountains and the valleys and the resistance gathering there. I know that things I did, the things I allowed to happen, were terrible, but I can live with that, Irwa, because I did them so that my people could live. That is the kind of person I am—a monster, but one who knows it.”

  Irwa tried to take in the information. Pieces in the puzzle—Kjell’s reluctance to speak of him, Eyo’s sorrow, Hynnar’s silence—fell together. “If you’re a monster,” she said. “Then what am I, after what I did to those men that night? You saw, Hynnar. You know what I did—butchery. Oh, sure, Split was able to put up a fight, but the rest of them died like hogs, without ever realizing what was happening. What kind of a person can do that?”

  Hynnar pulled her into a crushing hug, and suddenly Irwa found herself sobbing, deep, racking sobs that made her shake against him. He did not move—like a rock, he absorbed the suffering that spilled out of her. She cried for a long time, until her chest ached. Her sobs slowed. Irwa pulled back, stifling the last cries, and wiped her eyes and nose.

  “You are not a monster,” Hynnar said. “What you did to those men was justice, not only for what they did to you, but for everything else they did. They deserved death and worse than death a hundred times over.”

  Irwa leaned up and kissed him. He resisted for a moment, his mouth and body like steel. Then, suddenly, he was kissing her in return. Pulling back, Irwa pressed one hand to his face.

  “I’m sorry,” he said nervously, sliding back on the bed. “I shouldn’t have . . .”

  “I kissed you, you stupid man,” Irwa said.

  “I just,” Hynnar said. “After everything—”

  “This has nothing to do with that,” Irwa said. She hoped it was true. “Thank you for what you said.”

  “It’s the truth,” Hynnar said. “Those men were monsters.”

  “Not that,” Irwa said. “Although I appreciate that, too. No, about responsibility. It’s time I began taking responsibility.”

  Hynnar frowned. “Irwa, I may not have known you that long, but you expect too much of yourself. By the gods of stone, you were worried about killing Meik’s men. That seems pretty responsible to me.”

  “I don’t mean responsibility for what I’ve done,” Irwa said. “I mean responsibility for power, for all the choices I’ve allowed myself to ignore, or to let others make for me. It?
??s time for me to take responsibility for that, now.”

  Hynnar still looked confused. At that moment, Fina’s head poked into the cramped bedroom. Irwa blushed, sure that some trace of the kiss remained on her face, and her hands ran rapidly through her short hair. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the same nervous grin plastered across Hynnar’s face. She caught herself smiling in turn.

  “There’s a boy here,” Fina said. “Looking for the woman.”

  “A boy?” Irwa asked. Orn?

  “Didn’t give a name, just described you, short hair and all.” Fina left without another word, disappearing into the dark hallway.

  “I need to gather some stuff up,” Hynnar said. “I’m leaving again tonight. Go find out what he wants.”

  Irwa headed back down the hallway alone, following the bright outline of the doorway. She unbarred the door and pulled it open. The yard was empty. Confused, Irwa stepped outside glancing around first for Orn, then for anyone. Movement caught her eye at the corner of the next house. Blond hair. Thin, sickly legs.

  “Orn?” she called. The boy sprinted away.

  A shout rang through the house. A man’s voice. Fear clamped around Irwa’s heart. She ran down the hallway and into the bedroom.

  Light flooded through the open window, so bright that Irwa blinked to make out the shadowed figure on the sill. “Maribah?” she said, confused. Then her eyes found Hynnar. Crumpled at the base of the wall. He lay with his eyes closed. Motionless.

  “What did you do? What’s going on here?”

  “The price for dealing with traitors,” Maribah said, her dark eyes flat and empty. She raised one hand, shaping a cheiron as she did, and flames billowed out in great waves.