by Carol A Park
Driskell starred Gan Beatha’s name and drew a line to a new note: Potential allies?
Mezzo tented his fingers on the table, but not in a triangle. No, they were tented in a square, like a flat roof.
Of course they were.
Driskell was noticing a trend. He wrote it down, this time not because he thought it was important, but because it was interesting.
“Not only can we read books,” Mezzo continued, “we can also read signs. If I may presume once more, Your Excellency—your Empire is in chaos. Your Conclave”—the word turned into a guttural growl on the last syllable—“has wrested control of what little centralized government you had, controlling your magicians and controlling your army.”
“They don’t control Banebringers,” Nahua said, voice even. “They’ve merely squirreled them away beneath Weylyn City.”
Mezzo lifted his index fingers from his tent and then put them back. “Ah, yes. Your most wasted resource. A shame.” He shook his head.
Driskell eyed Mezzo. He knew other countries had other methods of controlling their Banebringers, but he didn’t know all the details. Up until now, the Conclave’s most effective weapon had been controlling what people knew.
“The way we see it in Xambria,” Mezzo continued, “there is both a threat and an opportunity in this chaos. The threat, of course, is that the Conclave will manage to extend its reach beyond Weylyn, beyond the three provinces, and achieve what is most likely its goal: complete subjugation of the entire Setanan Empire—and perhaps beyond.”
Under its thumb.
“Indeed, if they are not stopped, that is almost certainly what they will do.” Mezzo leaned back in his chair. “Xambria means to stop them.”
“You are bold,” Tanuac said softly, “coming here to declare your plans for open war against the Empire.”
Xambria and the Setanan Empire were not allies. They were not even friendly. Setana had made two bids to conquer the neighboring country in their history, and the Xambrians had retaliated, both times, but the physical geography separating the two countries had made the task of either subjugation or revenge incredibly difficult. In recent history, the relationship had settled into an uneasy truce.
Mezzo didn’t respond to Tanuac’s comment directly. “What do you think will happen, Your Excellency, when Xambria marches on Cadmyr? Will the Conclave simply let our troops pour through the pass, secure a base position, and sweep through Setana? I daresay they won’t. No, they will rally their army and meet us, as they have done in the past. And what will Donia do when Setana calls on the United Setanan army to meet the new northern threat? Will Donian troops respond to the call?” Mezzo leaned forward. “Will Venetian? Fuilynian? Fereharian? Will a common enemy unite you? Or separate you once and for all?”
A tingle traveled down Driskell’s spine. If all four outer regions refused to fight, and yet the Conclave was forced to meet the Xambrian threat rather than quell rebellions within their own borders…
They might have a chance.
Tanuac’s eyes were narrowed. “You need our withdrawal to succeed.”
Mezzo tapped the table. “Not only yours, of course. Which is why three of my comrades are making similar offers to Venetia, Ferehar, and Fuilyn. If all four of you agree, we will graciously extend our offer.”
Nahua gestured impatiently. “You’ve spoken much and made no actual offer. Indeed, from a certain perspective, your words could be taken as a threat.”
To Driskell’s surprise, Mezzo clapped, seeming dreadfully pleased all of a sudden. “Ah! And they say Setanans have no stomach for this sort of negotiation. You have the right of the situation, my lady. It could be perceived that way. But you are also correct: I have made no offer yet. I will now. If we succeed in our bid, we will leave you alone to rule in peace.”
Tanuac leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Or we could refuse, and you would fail to conquer Setana, as you have twice before.”
“And our loss would also be yours, for the opportunity to so easily throw off their yoke may not come again.”
Driskell had to admit, Mezzo had a point. But no one was asking his opinion at present, so he simply made a note of it.
Nahua and her father exchanged glances again, and then Nahua leaned forward. “And what is to stop you from turning your eyes toward any one of us once you’ve subjugated the three inner regions?”
“So untrusting!” Mezzo declared. “Your daughter is shrewd, Your Excellency, and I would ask the same. We would not because if you take our offer, you would not only throw off the yoke of the Conclave, but their false religion, and consider then returning to your roots. The Conclave is a plague on the land; their destruction is all we want.”
Driskell’s eyes grew wide. They wanted them to start worshipping the heretic gods again? That’s what this was all about?
“But know this: Should you refuse our offer, and we should nonetheless win, with or without the aid of the others…” Mezzo smiled, and this time, it was slightly more sinister. “You are correct. There is nothing that would bar our way.” He stood. “I will leave you now to consider. I’m sure you have many advisors to consult. I’m told Setanans enjoy that sort of thing.” He bowed. “May your swords ever be bloody, Your Excellency, my lady”
Driskell blinked. He’d never heard that one before.
He wrote it down.
Mezzo showed himself out, and after a jerk of Tanuac’s head, the guards followed.
There was silence in the room until Nahua finally spoke. “Off the record, Driskell,” she said.
Driskell set down his pencil.
Only then did Nahua turn to her father. “All of his posturing aside, surely you’re not going to officially recognize this man?”
“Xambrian,” Tanuac mussed.
Nahua didn’t often disagree with her father in front of Driskell—or anyone else, for that matter. Driskell tried to pretend he wasn’t listening, but, naturally, he was.
She waved a hand. “I can’t imagine the Conclave would be happy to hear about that.”
“No, I suppose not.” The corners of Tanuac’s eyes creased. “They could lodge an official protest. Driskell has all the paperwork, I’m sure.”
“Father,” she said, a touch of reproof in her voice. There was a moment of silence, and then Nahua spoke more softly. “Are you truly considering it?”
“It would be an interesting test, wouldn’t it? Just to see what they do?”
“If you call poking a sleeping bloodwolf with a stick ‘interesting.’”
At that, Tanuac was silent. He glanced at Driskell and said something he didn’t often say: “Driskell, thank you. You are dismissed.”
Driskell rose, snugged his notebook against his chest, and left the Ri and his daughter to private counsel.
Chapter Seven
Carradon
The capital of Cadmyr, Carradon, made its presence known long before they reached the city proper. The tiny villages that straddled the main road grew in size and number; the sprawl of urban life had long outgrown the city’s walls.
The city even stretched across the Tecolti River, which had once been a natural barrier to further expansion. This far north, before the numerous tributaries from the Fereharian Mountains to the west and the Mecatil River from the east joined it, the Tecolti was relatively narrow and swift; even so, the river was navigable, and a ferry now ran regularly from one side to another.
That had not been the case when Ivana had lived here.
Carradon was the first place she had settled after fleeing Ferehar, and though she had been by the city a few times in the years since she had left, she had never again ventured into the city proper.
It was the birthplace of Sweetblade, and she had always deemed it too dangerous to enter.
However, it was improbable that, almost a decade later, she would be recognized by anyone who had been caught up in that transformation, whether knowingly or not. So, for expediency, she and Vaughn wou
ld travel through the city the next day, but they wouldn’t cross the river tonight. Aleena was to meet them at an inn on this side of the river, where they could plan and prepare for the inevitable blood tests they all would face upon disembarking the ferry to the other side.
Ivana felt as though she might need the night to prepare herself as well.
Aleena stood up when they entered the tavern, a broad smile on her face.
Ivana was torn between wanting to embrace her old friend and feeling awkward about doing so.
Aleena, perceptive as always, solved the problem by meeting her with a firm grasp of both arms instead. “Ivana,” she said. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Ivana said, and it was.
Seeing Aleena again made her feel…herself again, whoever that was.
After she’d lost Sweetblade, she’d tried to move on. As much as she could, she’d seen to the future of her girls—the disparate group of young, single mothers she’d once cared for under the guise of an innkeeper—and then disappeared. Started over.
Tried to, anyway. She had made a conscious effort to abandon that persona, but the effort had always felt empty. Hollow. Fake.
Even before Vaughn had shown up, she had had the nagging suspicion—perhaps even the dread—that there was no setting aside that persona because it wasn’t one. It was who she was now. Anything else was the façade.
Except that wasn’t true, either, because Sweetblade would have never been so unsettled by finding her mother’s journal.
She also wouldn’t have felt that discomfort increasing the closer she drew to her past. And now that it had come to it—parting ways with Danton and Sanca and heading to Ferehar with Vaughn, she wondered if she had made the right decision.
Ivana turned toward Sanca. “Aleena, this is Sanca.”
Aleena inclined her head. “A pleasure.”
She left the two women—and Danton—to become acquainted and ordered herself a shot of lupque at the bar.
Vaughn joined her. “So,” he said.
“So what?”
“You ready?”
Ivana exchanged a half-setan for her drink, then downed the tiny glass of milky-white liquor in one draw. The lupque, a particularly strong liquor, burned going down and burned in her stomach as it settled there. She set the glass down with a clunk on the wooden bar. “Ready for what?”
“Ferehar.”
She shrugged. “Biggest challenge will be the plateau. But since we can essentially sneak across the entire thing invisible if we need to—”
“I didn’t mean that.”
She glanced at him and frowned. “Then I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?”
So he was going to play the concerned friend card, was he? Best to deal with him now. “As I have told you, we’re going in, we’re seeing if the woman is still there, and when she’s probably not, we’re leaving, and I’m done. I don’t know if there’s anything to be ready for.” She signaled for a refill.
Vaughn watched her as she downed the second shot. “You know, that stuff is pretty strong.”
“I’m aware.” She could already feel the burn spreading from her stomach and warming the rest of her body nicely. Too much. She knew better. This time, she ordered a bowl of whatever was on the menu that night. Some food to absorb the alcohol a little.
Vaughn’s eyes hadn’t left her, and it annoyed her.
Did he think she wanted to return to Ferehar, let alone anywhere near her hometown?
Ferehar was the last place in the world she wanted to go. In fact, it was possible she would have more gladly gone to the abyss itself.
Ferehar—and the memories it contained—was her own personal abyss.
She signaled for a third lupque, ignoring the steaming bowl of spiced chickpea stew in front of her.
What had she been thinking? Closure? What in the abyss did that even mean?
She shoved her coin across the table, and before she could down the third glass, she found it being taken gently from her fingers. She turned, a sharp retort on her lips at Vaughn’s interference, but instead, she found Aleena standing just behind them. She handed the lupque to Vaughn, who looked at it, shrugged, and downed it himself with a grimace and a shudder. Being a Banebringer, the alcohol wouldn’t affect him.
“Three shots of lupque is quite a bit,” Aleena said softly. “Perhaps the day before continuing a long journey isn’t the best time to give yourself a hangover.”
Aleena glanced at Vaughn, and through some unspoken communication, which further irritated Ivana, Vaughn left, and Aleena took his place. She ordered a drink herself, but only cider—her favorite.
They sat in silence until Ivana started picking at her stew.
“You know,” Aleena said, “I seem to remember that you used to avoid alcohol most of the time because of how it clouded the mind.”
That was when I didn’t want my mind clouded, Ivana thought. To Aleena, she offered no response.
That, apparently, was as good as if she had spoken it. Aleena sipped at her—by contrast, mild—drink, and regarded Ivana with those penetrating eyes.
She said nothing more. Just looked at her. Contemplating.
“You know, I was just thinking about how much I’ve missed you,” Ivana said. “I might take those thoughts back if you don’t stop looking at me like that.”
Aleena chuckled, stood up, and raised her glass to Ivana before walking away, leaving her alone at the bar.
Alone. A state of being she was intimately familiar with. A state of being she had become comfortable with. And yet, that night, it seeped into her in a way it hadn’t for a very long time. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was being surrounded by so many familiar faces after being away for so long. Or maybe it was a signal that she was about to descend into darkness once more. Had she come full circle, then? Had all of it been in vain?
Without a glance back at Vaughn or Aleena to see if they were looking, she ordered the third lupque she had been unable to have, downed it defiantly, and left to go to bed.
Vaughn sat at the table with Danton, Sanca, and Aleena, but he didn’t participate in their conversation. Instead, he watched Ivana as she sat alone at the bar for a few more minutes, drank a third lupque, and then abruptly stood up and disappeared upstairs—presumably, to her room.
Aleena dropped out of the conversation and nodded to Vaughn, and then toward the stairs. “She all right?”
Vaughn snorted. “As if she’d tell me.” He could count on one finger the times Ivana had consciously made herself vulnerable to him, and it hadn’t ended well.
“I’m a little concerned. I’ve never known her to drink much at all, let alone more than she could handle.”
And three shots of lupque was more than pretty much anyone could handle. “We all have a vice, don’t we?”
“Not Ivana,” Aleena said. “She never needed one.” She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip, and then spoke again, this time barely audible. “Well. Sweetblade never needed one.”
Words Ivana had spoken over a year and a half ago floated unbidden into Vaughn’s mind. “There is no solace for people like me.”
“Maybe Sweetblade was her vice,” he said, just as quietly.
Aleena’s lips pressed together. “Just…keep an eye on her. But don’t tell her I asked you that. She’d be furious.”
Vaughn saluted. “Yes, Da.”
Vaughn took a deep breath and then knocked on the door to Ivana’s room. He hoped she wouldn’t take this the wrong way.
There was no answer. That could mean she didn’t want to be disturbed—which was probably true, regardless—or it could be she was out cold.
He looked up and down the hallway, making sure no one was around, and then called quietly, “Ivana?”
Still nothing. He tried the door handle. Unlocked, which was all the evidence he needed that she wasn’t thinking clearly at present.
He hesitated and then, praying he
r reflexes were too slowed by alcohol to stab him before she knew who he was, gently cracked open the door.
Nothing.
He poked his head into the room.
She was lying on her back on the bed, one arm flung over her eyes, but her jaw was working. She wasn’t out.
He slipped into the room and closed the door behind him.
“Did I say you could come in?” Her words were slow and deliberate, as if she were trying too hard to control her diction.
“I just—”
“Wanted to see if you could take advantage of my current state?”
Ha. Not a chance. He’d learned that lesson well enough. “In fact, I wanted to see if you were all right.”
“That’s even worse.”
“Three lupques—” he began.
“Did Aleena tell you to check on me? Because if she did, you can tell her—”
Vaughn interrupted quickly. “No. I came on my own.”
“Then you can leave on your own.” Now there was a definite slur in her words.
“Look—I get it. I don’t want to go back to Ferehar, either.” Ferehar. Home. The place where he, too, had lost a former life. The place where he might have to start one again. He swallowed and pushed that thought away for tonight.
She lowered the arm from her eyes and looked at him. “Is that what this is? Some sort of attempt to empathize with me?” She laughed, short, cold, and teetering just over the edge of control. “You don’t know anything.”
He set his jaw. Was she the only one entitled to wallow in the grief of her past? As if she had any inkling of what he had been through, either. If there was a medal awarded to the person with the most tragic past, he would hardly quibble about which of them deserved it more—but he understood enough. “I know I’d be drinking too, if alcohol had any effect on me.”
“Then how about you go find some naïve barmaid to fuck and leave me alone?”
He flashed her a grin. “Tempting, but I’m trying to cut back.”
