“Yes,” said Esvar. “I told you, Tevin watched it. Through a spyhole. The Citadel is full of them. Goran put a pillow over the boy’s face until he died.”
Sparrow’s eyes were deadly behind the mask. This mattered someplace deep, beyond words, beyond explanation. She said, “Does his wife know?”
Esvar said, “Not unless Goran told her himself. Tevin kept it from me until very recently. It’s a secret he did not intend to use until the best moment. I’m afraid now that he might have held it too long.”
“Tell her.”
Esvar’s eyebrows went up. “Even if she believed me, and even if she didn’t report the accusation to her husband, it would serve no purpose but to pain her.”
“You don’t protect a woman from pain where her children are concerned. She deserves to know everything.” Another twist. Anger shifting to anguish.
“Do you have children?” Esvar asked, challenging.
You fool, Anza thought. She wanted to shove something into his mouth to silence him. The question was indecent. Almost obscene. She had never thought Sparrow would show pain. Her past was being exposed, an old wound torn open.
“They died.”
The utter lack of feeling with which she said it was worse than sobs would have been. Esvar shifted. That had got through to him, then, echoing off the walls he had built up to foreclose loss.
He said, “I hear you. I can’t risk telling her now.”
“She could be your ally,” Sparrow said.
“Keeping silent wouldn’t be the first mistake I’ve made. But we’re only discussing the chancellor by way of my other limitations, namely my lack of power.”
“Don’t tell me you’re powerless!” said Miloscz. He had been waiting for the chance. “That’s a self-indulgent fantasy. If you have no power, why should we stay here at the table?”
“Miloscz,” Sparrow said.
“It’s absurd for him to say he has no power when one word from him could get our heads cut off. This is a farce.”
Esvar said, “But I haven’t ordered that, and I won’t. I don’t give a damn whether you attribute that to my own self-interest or to cowardice or to some other better reason. Regardless, I’m circumscribed. I could arrange to kill my enemies and become the king, and how would that profit me if you keep burning buildings and killing lords?”
“The Crown would profit you exactly as it profits your father!”
“That’s the rub, isn’t it?” said Esvar. “You burn and kill and it’s had no effect on Karolje’s power. Perhaps you’re going about this in the wrong way.”
Sparrow said, half rising, “We haven’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it.”
“Tell that to the people Karolje hanged.”
“I can’t take responsibility for what he does, only for myself.”
“Have you no conscience at all?”
Anza thought Esvar spoke out of anger and not deliberate cruelty, but the words struck Sparrow as she had never seen. The woman dropped back into her seat, her face white. Even Miloscz noticed and stayed quiet.
Her voice softened, Sparrow said, “Vetia has suffered too much under Karolje. I will do whatever I must, even if it is a terrible thing, to end it. He has to pay.”
“I agree. So what do we do?”
She locked her fingers together, thinking. It was not an argument anymore. “You want backing,” she said. “I think you’re right that you need it. I don’t see how we can help.”
“You have supporters in the Citadel.”
“Not ones with the power to make you the king. Servants see things and hear things because they’re overlooked. As soon as they come to anyone’s attention, they lose their advantage. And they’re worn to the bone with fear of discovery.”
Esvar half smiled. “Rumor can be potent. The chancellor’s power is built on rich merchants who expect him to favor them in matters of trade and taxation. They have no personal faith in him, most of them—sow doubts, and it won’t take much for them to begin to crumble. You can sweeten things by spreading vague promises about what a different chancellor under a different king would do.”
“And the spymaster?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Competence. If the Tazekhs are such a threat, why hasn’t he been watching? How come he could not prevent the explosion in the square? How did he allow Ruslan to be murdered? Why hasn’t he found my brother?”
“Most people in Karegg have no idea who Doru Kanakili is.”
“Everyone knows that someone like him exists. You don’t have to name him to cast aspersions on him. He hates being thought wrong.”
“Rot,” said Miloscz. “Rumor won’t bring down a throne.”
Esvar tipped his head back. Anza realized he knew how to deal with Miloscz. Angry, blustering men must have been part of his life since he could walk. It was the people like herself and Sparrow who were unfamiliar.
He said, “You’re not going to bring down a throne. Not this way. You can shove everyone of Karolje’s lineage off it, can try to rule without a king for a while, and you’ll crown someone a dozen years later. The people who lead bloody revolutions want power for themselves. And the people who follow, the artisans and traders and booksellers, they aren’t fighting about principles of rule. They’re fighting about their taxes and their comforts and their safety. They’ll accede to any ruler who treats them well.”
“You’re talking about ruling,” said Miloscz. “I’m talking about governance.”
“The king is dead,” said Esvar, snapping his fingers. “The lords are dead, all of them. You’re in charge. What do you do now?”
“Oh no. I know this game, and I’m not playing it.”
“You’ll concede that I have more than a scholarly interest in the outcome.”
“Gentlemen,” said Sparrow. “We’re straying.”
“Are we?” said Esvar. “When Karolje dies, however he dies, there’s going to be a reckoning for all of us. If my brother is dead, I’m the heir, and I have no intention of handing the Citadel over to the two of you.”
Miloscz shoved his chair back. “Enough. There’s nothing we both want. And nothing you can give us.”
Sparrow said, “If you leave, Miloscz, you’re leaving me too. Prince, we can spread rumors. It would be helpful if you have truths to include with them, especially in regard to Kanakili. In return, we want your word not to punish us or anyone we vouch for after Karolje dies. Even if Tevin succeeds him, not you. We want our jailed members freed and blood price paid for the ones who have been executed. We want laws and taxes restored to what they were when Karolje was crowned. We want him publicly denounced instead of being buried with honor.”
“I can’t promise all of that. Not now.”
Miloscz said, “Everything we demand is within your power. There’s no balance. What we ask for will even things some.”
“Those are things a king can give you. I’m not a king.”
That won’t convince him, Esvar, Anza thought. She could see the chance of an agreement slipping away.
“You’re asking us to do your work for you without any promises.”
“I’m committing treason with you,” he said, staring at Miloscz until the man looked away. “If you want to continue as you are without me, you can. Get up and leave. But I swear to you that I will do everything I can to prevent the king from using you to start another Tazekh war. Anything you do, I will have to expose to the entire city. If a war starts, I’ll have to bring the Milayans in. Is that what you want?”
“Don’t threaten us.”
Sparrow said, “It’s not a threat, Miloscz. It’s a possible consequence. We might still choose to decide we’d rather have the Milayans than Karolje. He’s right about the Tazekhs. You’ve been silent, Harpy. What do you think?”
Anza’s mind went blank with surprise. She recovered herself. It was not so long since she had been in this room being asked sudden questions by the masters.
“The king killed his own soldiers and blamed th
e Tazekhs. I think he will twist anything we do to his own purposes. I think Esvar is who we have, and we take what we can get, even if it’s not everything we would want. And I think he knows Karolje much better than we do. The king is evil. Evil. We can’t lose sight of that.”
Miloscz said, “You’re rather conciliatory for someone trained by a lawyer.”
“It’s sound strategy not to let your enemy divide you,” she snapped.
Sparrow said, “Rumor has it that the king is dying. We could just wait.”
Esvar said, “He’s been ill for months. But he’s still on his feet. He might last until winter.” He leaned forward. “The longer he lives, the more time I have to consolidate my own power. The more time there is to weaken Goran and the spymaster. I have to balance that against the damage that will be done while he still gives commands. If you help me, he can be got rid of sooner.”
Anza found him convincing. Judging by the expression on his face, Miloscz did not. He opened his mouth.
Her temper was high. Miloscz was being stubborn for the sake of listening to his own voice, not to anyone else. She said, “Why are you here, Miloscz? You’re rich. Why do you want to overthrow the king?”
Sparrow said nothing. Esvar said, “Answer her.”
Miloscz glared at all of them. “No man should have that much power, especially when he only acquired it through birth.”
“That’s a principle,” said Esvar. “A fair one. But not one people risk their lives for unless something else is driving them. What is in your heart?”
“You have no right to ask that, or to get an answer.”
Something had hurt him, still hurt him. A father killed, a lover killed, a loyalty broken. Even if it had been a dozen years ago, it still stabbed.
I don’t want to be like that, Anza thought. That path lay ahead for her if she was not careful, quiescent rage that smoldered and destroyed. She could hold on to her father’s death forever. Sparrow held that rage too, but Sparrow had managed not to be consumed by it. She wanted Karolje dead, wanted her revenge or justice or whatever she hoped to gain, but if she gave up her anger, something of her self would be left. Rage was powerful, but all power needed to be reckoned with.
“Very well,” said Esvar. “Just tell me this. Are you with me or against me?”
“I will never in a hundred lifetimes trust you,” Miloscz said.
“Will you betray me to the king?”
In the fraught silence Anza clasped her hands together under the table. She wondered how much of this Jance was able to hear. If Sparrow and Esvar could not agree, who was she to go with? She hoped she would not be forced to choose. It would have to be Sparrow, if Sparrow would still have her. The resistance mattered more. Gods.
Miloscz said, “No. No, I won’t betray you.” He rose. “But I can’t side with you either.”
Esvar rose too, pushing his chair away from the table with controlled force. He was closer to the door. He said, “If the resistance splinters, none of us win. You have the power right now. If you walk out, it’s over for all of us. What will it take to keep you here?”
“I want an insurrection.”
“Bloody hell,” said Esvar. “You don’t demand much, do you.”
“This is a war, and the other side holds all the ground. Half measures are useless, and you can’t convince me you don’t know that. Your father won’t hold back.”
The room was too small for all of them, the anger between the two men almost visible. Please, Anza thought, please. Esvar’s face twitched. He had one hand around a bar on the back of his chair, and the tops of his fingers and his knuckles were white.
Then Miloscz broke his gaze and strode past Esvar to the open doorway. As he went through, he paused. His back moved as he breathed in. He spun and looked at Sparrow.
“Don’t come back to my house,” he said. “Not you, not any of your people.” He grabbed the door and slammed it shut behind himself.
Slowly, Esvar sat back down. He kept his hands flat on the table in front of him, braced. He looked at Sparrow. “Will he change his mind?”
“No.”
“How deeply will the schism go?”
“He’ll bleed off people. The fanatics. Not enough to revolt on his own, but enough to cause mischief.”
“Will the loss be enough to damage the resistance?”
“No. He doesn’t know how to find the threads that matter. But he’s right about one thing: this isn’t going to be settled without bloodshed, Prince.”
Anza heard the door to the building slam. The sun had shifted, and no light slanted onto the table now. The negotiations were going to fail. Esvar’s goals and Sparrow’s goals were too different. A common enemy was not enough to plan a future.
Esvar said, “An insurrection must meet two conditions to be successful. There have to be enough people for it to be a true threat, and there have to be leaders who can keep it from becoming a mob. Do you have the people? Do you have the leaders?”
“Yes to both,” Sparrow said. “We aren’t an army, and if we go directly up against the Citadel, we’ll face too many experienced soldiers. But we have enough people to take the docks, the watch posts, the banks. The lords’ fine houses. Not all at once, of course, but once the resistance begins to act, other people will follow. What we don’t have are the arms.”
“How do you intend to get them?”
She shook her head. “I can’t divulge those plans to you.”
“I might be able to help,” Esvar said. “I don’t want to do it this way. I would far rather have a few successful assassinations than see the city run with blood. If there’s an insurrection, many people will die. But if an insurrection is the only way to get rid of Karolje, I will support it. Provided that I am at the head. Or my brother, if he is still alive.”
Things were suddenly going much too quickly for Anza. How had Esvar leaped from wanting the resistance to stop killing to planning a revolt? She had not thought he desired the throne. If he was willing to support insurrection, why had he waited until Miloscz left to make the offer?
Because he did not trust Miloscz, and because he knew Miloscz would not agree to his terms. Sparrow might reject them too, but she would do so in good faith.
Sparrow said, “How do we know you will be better than Karolje?”
“You don’t. If you consider the things I’ve done, you don’t have much reason to think I will be better. I can’t make you believe me.”
Sparrow tipped her head upward, staring at the ceiling to think. Her hands were in her lap, out of sight. It was a vulnerable posture. A harpy croaked in the distance. Anza wished she could touch Esvar. To do so now would be to align herself with him against Sparrow. She was glad he seemed to have forgotten she was in the room. If he made any movement toward her, she would break.
At last Sparrow looked back at Esvar and said, “What do you want for yourself?”
He laughed, a short bitter sound. “Not to be king, I assure you. It is a poor substitute for what I want, which is impossible. I want to have clean hands again.”
No, Anza thought. He was better than that. She ached for him.
Sparrow said, “Sovereignty belongs to the people. We don’t need a king.”
“I almost agree. But if people like you and Miloscz take power by force, that is no different from how Kazdjan did it nine hundred years ago. And I have a duty.”
“A duty to what?”
“A duty to justice.”
The silence was much longer than any yet. Finally Sparrow said, “For now, I accept that. If we win, we will have this conversation again.”
“I accept that.” He removed his ring and placed it on the table. “If there is something you need authority for to overthrow Karolje, I will place my seal on it.”
Anza shivered. There was a desperate bravery in the act that seemed almost suicidal. He was his mother’s son. The time had come to give him the journal.
IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON when they left the College. In the s
hade of the arching gateway to the grounds, Esvar touched Anza’s shoulder. She stopped walking. He was sending Mirovian with her. They might not see each other again, and he was too wrung and exhausted not to give in to the desire for one more moment of closeness. She looked as he felt. He had thrown himself into the resistance’s hands entirely. He had passed everything he knew about the defense of Karegg and the Citadel to Sparrow, and he was a traitor.
“I have something for you,” Anza said. “It’s at home. You have to promise not to look at it until you are alone and safe and have time.”
“What is it?”
“It’s better if I don’t tell you,” she said. “Please. You’ll see.”
“Give it to Mirovian, and he can bring it to me,” he said. Coyness was unlike her, which meant whatever she wanted him to see might go off like an Asp’s explosive.
“All right,” she said. Her hand came up as if against her will and touched his arm. He wanted to gather her up and bring her to his bed with no one to disturb them for days. If circumstances were different, he could love her. He could not stop himself from lightly touching her shoulder, so that he could feel the softness of her hair against his skin.
“Stay safe,” he said. It was a nonsensical admonishment after what they had done this day, but it was all he had.
“Esvar.” His name in her mouth was a summons, an intimacy, an affirmation. No one had ever said it quite like that.
He kissed her forehead, then wheeled and walked to his waiting horse. He mounted, lifted the reins. Looking back at her was too hard. She would understand.
* * *
He wanted to see the city, the city he now pushed to rise against the king. The people who might die for his ambition. The places where his brother might lie in wait.
Through the streets around the College then, past stately houses that had once been homes for masters. Now they were owned by rich men and were let by the room to shopkeepers’ assistants and clerks and young people just beginning in their trade. Each room was taxed, which benefitted the Crown.
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