“An ignominious end to your venture.”
“Quite.”
“Will you give up on the godstone?”
“I never said that. But I will need to regroup.”
“Good to have contingency plans.”
“I’ll need a lot of those. I’m not completely confident that Etzi can get me out of the city, or save my men from Sedial’s goons, or even keep himself alive through the next few weeks. I’m going to keep my knife handy.”
Orz did not respond, but he gave the smallest of nods as if he agreed with Styke’s assessment. “You saved my life,” he said suddenly.
“It sounded like you’d rather I hadn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter what I want. The fact is you did save it, and for that I thank you.”
“Help me get out of the city and we’ll call it even.”
“Done. But I have another request, one I am loath to put upon you.”
Styke hesitated. Orz was no longer a stranger, but it was difficult to call him a friend. They shared an odd kinship, that was for sure, but he didn’t know how much more involved he wanted to become in the dragonman’s life. “What is it?”
“If I die,” Orz said, “and if it is within your power to do so, I want you to kill the dragonman who murdered my mother.”
Styke considered the request. He had enough experience now that he felt he could kill a dragonman. But he also knew he was taking his life in his hands every time he crossed paths with one of them. It was not something to take lightly. “I’ll consider it.”
“A smart man would say no without hesitation.”
“Have I ever struck you as a smart man?”
“Smarter than you’ll admit, Ben Styke.” Orz let his eyes fall closed and let his head fall back. His sweating had intensified again, his hands trembling. “How is Ka-poel?”
“Keeping her head down.”
“Etzi was not happy about you bringing a bone-eye into his Household.”
“He hasn’t said anything to me.”
“Because he’s considering.”
“Considering what?”
Orz did not answer. Several moments went by, and Styke leaned forward. “Orz?”
Nothing. The dragonman’s ragged breaths became slow and shallow, but steady. He was out. Styke stood up, tapping his ring against his thumb, and left the room quietly. “He’s asleep,” he told Maetle, who nodded in appreciation and headed inside.
Styke thrust his hands into his pockets and looked up to the cloudless sky, admiring the vibrant blue of it. He could hear Celine laughing somewhere nearby, and the happy shouts of her playmates. The sound boosted his mood, but he knew that this moment of comfort was an illusion. Everything he’d seen and done here had complicated his feelings about Dynize—complications he could not afford. Sedial’s agents would soon strike back, and he still had a job to do on this continent.
There was a storm on the horizon. The only question was who would unleash it first: him, or his enemies?
CHAPTER 39
Vlora listened as an aide finished giving a long, comprehensive briefing of the Dynize-Fatrastan situation to a tent jam-packed with senior officers and newly arrived dignitaries, but primarily, to Delia Snowbound and Provost Marshal Valeer, both sitting in the front row. The briefing had begun the moment the army stopped to make camp over an hour and a half ago, and everyone had been listening in complete silence for the entire duration.
Bo and Nila had chosen the presenter strategically—a young, clean-cut officer with a penchant for public speaking. He’d been with Vlora for these last two years in Fatrasta, so he could talk with personal passion and experience, but he had no personal ties to the Adran coup of a decade ago and would not, in theory, offend Delia and Valeer by his mere presence.
Vlora had half listened. She’d written the majority of the briefing, after all. Her real concern was watching the faces of the special envoys, hoping against hope that she might be able to get through their thick skulls and impress upon them the importance of everything that was going on across the continent.
Their expressionless absorption of the information did not give her a lot of optimism.
The young aide finished the briefing with an overview of the Midnight Massacre. Vlora had decided not to sugar-coat it, hoping that if she gave Delia the ammunition to humiliate her before the government back in Adro, the special envoy might not ruin everything now. It was a minor gamble as these things went—Delia would find out about the Midnight Massacre eventually, if she hadn’t already. But if there’s one thing Bo had taught her about politics, it was to play to the plans and prejudices of her enemies.
The aide cleared his throat, thanked the audience, and took a seat. Vlora waited a few beats and then climbed to her feet, leveraging herself with her sword, and limped to the center of the room. She swept her gaze across the stern visages of her general staff. They knew most of this already, of course, but she had wanted them here to solidify their loyalty. Delia would try to get to them over the next few weeks. She needed them all on board with her concerns—and her plans in dealing with those concerns.
“Taniel Two-shot is alive,” Delia said, breaking the silence.
It was not the first thing Vlora had expected to hear, and it threw her off guard. “That is correct,” she answered, swearing quietly to herself. She should have expected it. He would no doubt immediately rise to the top of Delia’s shitlist, making Vlora grateful that he’d left after the Crease.
“It sounds very much as if he’s gone native.” Delia paused, as if expecting an answer. When Vlora did not respond, she went on. “I will need to gather more information, but in the meantime I want him brought in for questioning. Take a note, Provost Marshal. Taniel Two-shot should be considered an enemy of the state of Adro. Nothing he says or does should be trusted until we are able to debrief him.”
Vlora’s stomach turned. An arrest warrant for Taniel. She wasn’t worried about him, of course. As far as she knew, he was on the other side of the continent by now. She exchanged a glance with Bo. “Lady Snowbound, I would recommend against taking an antagonistic stance with Taniel.”
“Would you?” Delia asked lightly.
Vlora could sense a trap, but she went on anyway. “Taniel helped save the lives of my mercenary company, and he’s a war hero back from the dead. If the men find out that he’s wanted for questioning, it might not go well for morale.”
“That’s not my problem, Lady Flint,” Delia said in a clipped, professional tone. “As long as you remain in command, I expect you to keep the discipline among your troops. My order stands.” She removed a pair of reading glasses from her breast pocket and put them on, gazing down at a stack of notes that she’d been adding to throughout the briefing. “Now, may I continue?”
“Go ahead,” Vlora said through clenched teeth.
“My first point of order is this: The moment at which you ceased being a common mercenary thug and began operating as an agent of the Adran government is the moment that you accepted command of this army. What was the date and time of that?”
Vlora glanced at Bo again, who just shrugged. “I’m not entirely certain. I’d have to check.”
“Do so. Now, as I mentioned before, we shall regard Taniel Two-shot as a foreign national. Any interaction with him or his agents is highly suspect. Fortunately for you, it appears that he left this camp before you became cognizant enough to take command of the army.” She swept her gaze across to Bo. “That is not the case, however, for Magus Borbador. Magus, you may have cowed many members of the governing council with threats and bribes, but you won’t find me nearly as lax with your blatant disregard of Adran law. Raising an army at the behest of a foreign national?” She scoffed. “You’ve broken dozens of laws.”
“I left my legal counsel in Adro,” Bo said lightly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait and take it up when you get back home.”
“Dozens of laws, I say! You’ve consorted with an enemy agent, smuggled an entire
field army out of Adro, and engaged the forces of a sovereign nation, all without proper authorization from your betters. As you yourself have reminded me in the past, this is no longer pre-coup Adro. Privileged cannot get away with doing whatever they want.”
Bo adopted a dismissive air, removing his pipe from his pocket and slowly, meticulously cleaning it before packing in new tobacco and lighting it with the flick of gloved fingers. Despite his presentation, Vlora could see in his eyes that he was fuming. He had to have known that Delia would throw all of this in his face. Had he been so confident in his own position that he hadn’t bothered preparing a rebuttal?
Delia continued, “We may be in a backwater, but I’m sure we can convene a perfectly legal tribunal to try the case. I have no interest in waiting to deal with your cabal lawyers back in Adro.”
A cloud of smoke rose from Bo’s puffing. He regarded her coldly. “Try it.”
“Are you threatening me, Magus Borbador?” Most people would sweat bullets dealing with a Privileged, even these days. But Delia didn’t blink.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Bo replied. “As Lady Flint tried to do a few minutes ago, I just want to remind you where you are.”
“Surrounded by war hawks,” Delia spat, looking around the room. “Don’t think I don’t know. And don’t think that if I disappear on this expedition, every single one of your careers won’t end the moment you return to Adro. There’s not a single one of you who won’t face charges for your complacency in this farce. How extensive those charges are will depend entirely on your cooperation.”
There was a general, uncomfortable shift in the audience. Several of the general staff clearly took the threat to heart—faces went pale, uneasy mutters were exchanged in the back row. Others hardened, as if this were some kind of challenge. Delia was known as a woman not to be trifled with, but those angry stares made Vlora wonder if she’d have to post an extra guard outside Delia’s tent just to make sure none of her officers took this into their own hands.
“‘Farce’?” Vlora’s voice cracked as she repeated the word.
Valeer leaned over and whispered in Delia’s ear. She inhaled sharply, her gaze returning to Vlora. “A poor choice of words,” she said, sorting through her notes for a few moments as if to gather her thoughts. She finally continued. “Despite our mutual antagonism, we are all Adrans, and this is, for better or worse, an Adran expedition. Your briefing was most thorough, and I’m not an idiot—we are clearly dealing with something that warrants the attention of not just the Adran government but likely the governments of the entire world.” She paused to whisper back to Valeer. They had a quick conversation, and she went on.
“In my authority as special envoy, I declare thusly: The organization and launch of this expedition is in question. However, I believe that question should be dealt with once we return to Adro. Furthermore…” She paused, sighed. “Furthermore, the expedition is here, regardless of legality. I agree that the situation warrants Lady Flint’s invocation of the Tamas Clause.”
A collective breath was released in the room, and Vlora’s added to it. She felt a knot between her shoulders loosen just a tiny amount. But she didn’t allow herself to grow too complacent. Delia clearly wasn’t done. “And?” Vlora asked.
The special envoy fixed Vlora with a long, thoughtful gaze. “The Tamas Clause requires that the head of the army in question engage in constant, good-faith negotiations with whatever force he or she has engaged. Have you done that?”
“I met with the Dynize general outside of New Adopest,” Vlora said, slightly confused. That part of the clause was wide open to interpretation. Not much Delia could do to pin her with treason.
“And before the Midnight Massacre?”
“Strategy necessitated that we not meet with the enemy directly before the battle.”
“I see.” Delia wrote something down. No doubt a note to make sure Vlora suffered for that mistake. But she still wasn’t done here, and Vlora found herself on edge. “Good.” Delia looked up. “Well, now that I’m here, I invoke my powers as special envoy to take over any and all negotiations on behalf of Adro with the Dynize and Fatrastan governments.”
Vlora felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. There it was. Delia had just established herself as the Adran authority in the region. Vlora was still, essentially, field marshal of this army. But Delia’s political authority—using Vlora’s own declaration of the Tamas Clause—now put her in position to second-guess all of Vlora’s decisions, all the while engaging in talks with the Dynize that could at any minute put a stop to all of Vlora’s plans.
She felt herself suddenly so weak and tired. All of her work, all of her anguish, now put in the balance. This could have happened with any special envoy, of course, and she knew deep down that Delia was right—the Adran government couldn’t afford to allow an entire field army to operate in a foreign war without any oversight. But the fact that it was Delia made it a thousand times worse. Vlora had every confidence that Delia would go to great lengths to undermine her at every turn.
“All right,” Vlora said weakly. “Is there more?”
“Much more, but it can wait until I’ve better mapped the lay of the political landscape.” Delia tapped her pencil against her chin. “The army needs to stop marching so that I can make contact with the Dynize and Fatrastans.”
“That’s not happening.” Vlora was done. She couldn’t even muster indignation. Just flat annoyance.
“Excuse me? Were you not paying attention to—”
Vlora cut her off. “You’re in charge of the politics. I’m still in charge of the army and I’m waging a goddamn war.”
“A war that I am charged with ending!”
“Independent of my actions,” Vlora replied. “Begin your negotiations. Make contact with Sedial—I imagine that the two of you will get on very well with your mutual loathing of me. But I will not give up strategic advantage so that you can make overtures to a blood-hungry warlord. If you have any other questions, feel free to put them to General Sabastenien or Magus Borbador. I’m going to get some rest.”
The last thing she heard when she left the tent was Delia’s indignant huffing, but the sound didn’t give Vlora any pleasure. She stood outside for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts, when she was joined by Bo. She held up a hand to forestall whatever it was he was about to say. “I’m too tired, Bo.”
“I know, but I have something you want to see.”
“Can it wait until the morning?”
Bo cleared his throat, glancing around to make sure no one would overhear him, and then said in a low voice, “If you’d like. I received a coded message from Taniel.”
The words sent a spark through Vlora, giving her just enough energy to react. “Give it to me.”
Bo produced a folded paper and slipped it to her. “Came by messenger a few hours ago. I spent the meeting translating it.”
Vlora opened the paper. It was a long letter, containing a great deal of mundane gibberish that a distant spouse might write to keep their other half informed. At the bottom was one short paragraph, written in Bo’s handwriting: the real message.
Third godstone is in Dynize. Styke has gone after it with Ka-poel. Problems with the crossing. Their position is fraught. Possible Dynize allies. On my way to join them as quickly as possible. When you reach Landfall, make contact with Michel Bravis. Fully trusted spy. This will be my last update before setting sail.
—T
“In Dynize.” She sighed. “Which means they probably already have it in their possession.” The idea made her stomach twist.
“Seems likely.”
Vlora read it again and looked at Bo. “His last update? Were there others?”
“No idea. It’s possible he sent us a couple of messages that we never got. Or he’s just warning us that we won’t hear from him again.”
The tension of sitting through that briefing after a hard day’s march had left Vlora dizzy. She gave the letter back to Bo. �
��We can’t expect any help from Taniel, except for the man he left in Landfall.”
“Could be useful. Interesting that Styke is in Dynize now.”
“Yeah, with several hundred of the cavalry I loaned him. That madman.” She rubbed her face. There was nothing she could do for Styke or Taniel but go ahead with her own plans. And to do that… well, she needed sleep. She bid good night to Bo and headed to her tent, forced to lean on Davd’s arm for the last few dozen paces to her own quarters. She went inside and collapsed onto her cot without removing her uniform.
A few hours of sleep, then she’d review the daily reports by candlelight. Not enough time to rest. Even more than before, speed was of the essence.
CHAPTER 40
Vlora sat on horseback in the center of an abandoned town just off the highway in east-central Fatrasta. The air was choked with the dust of her army marching past just over the next hill, and the oppressive afternoon sun made her want nothing more than to find a nearby tree and take a nap. But they’d ridden into the foothills and then back down onto the plains, which were chock-full with cotton and tobacco. Trees here were few and far between.
General Sabastenien sat beside her, examining the silent town with a frown. “We’ve come across a dozen towns like this in just the last twenty-four hours,” he said. “Completely abandoned. Stripped of all resources, signs of violence, no one to tell us what has happened.”
“Violence?” Vlora echoed. The town, she didn’t mind admitting, spooked her. Doors hung off their hinges; wind whistled through open windows. Livestock pens were empty. There wasn’t a soul in sight. She couldn’t even spot any dogs or cats anywhere. Out of sight, a lone crow called.
“Mass graves,” Sabastenien said solemnly.
“By Adom,” Vlora swore.
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