by Alex Raizman
“No, we didn’t,” Eupheme said. “Tythel…do you get why I was angry?”
Tythel tilted her head to think. Eupheme pulled Tythel’s head back into place, firmly and gently. “I can see two reason, and I think it was probably a little bit of both?”
“Go on,” Eupheme said.
“Well…part of it is because you – I mean, from what you said – you were trained to protect a royal family that you didn’t think existed anymore. Then you finally do find one, but she’s stubborn and doesn’t care much about the royal thing and keeps sticking her head into an aeromane’s maw without your input. Shoving you down the tunnel and sealing you off was a bridge too far – it wasn’t just putting myself in danger, it was putting myself in danger and protecting you, when you feel like you’re supposed to protect me.”
Eupheme continued to work on Tythel’s hair. “Yes,” she said. “That’s part of it.”
Tythel fought the urge to nod as her membranes opened, bringing the room back into focus. “And the other thing is…we’re friends, and I didn’t treat you like a friend. I treated you like someone I was supposed to protect, the same way I had anyone else. I didn’t tell you my plan, I didn’t give you a chance to agree with it or disagree. Light, you didn’t even need to be shoved, you could have just stepped past the barrier once it was up. I…I treated you like you were just someone else.”
“That’s the bigger one.” Eupheme stuck some things into Tythel’s hair, the long pins she’d pulled out of her bag. When she let go, Tythel’s head felt odd with the weight of her hair shifted. “I’m not anyone else, Tythel. I’m your friend. That means I’ll back you on whatever shadow-forsaken fool idea you have in your head to everyone else, and I’ll call you a fool for it in private.”
Tythel nodded. “I promise…” then she bit her lip and held up a hand as she thought through the wording. “I promise as long as it’s not something spur of the moment, I’ll tell you what’s I’m thinking, and give you a chance to tell me I’m being foolish, and I promise I’ll only act to protect you if there’s no doubt I’ll be safe doing it. I can’t promise more than that, not and still be honest.”
She turned around to face Eupheme. She considered Tythel for a long moment, then smiled. “I’ll take that. I’m still a bit raw about the whole thing, but I can live with those promises.”
Tythel didn’t bother to fight the tears now as relief flooded her, her nictitating membranes flashing to keep up with the surge. She hugged Eupheme, and the other woman returned the embrace.
After a bit, they broke the hug, and Eupheme helped Tythel secure the veil in place so she could join them in exploring the city.
Chapter 23
It was the first time Tythel had been able to walk in a city freely since Hillsdale. No great plan, no hidden agenda, no battle waiting at the end of it. At least, not that you know of, Tythel reminded herself. The veil was a thick, black affair that covered her head and hung back down over her neck. A circlet rested over her eyebrows, and the cloth attached to it in three places – between the nose, and on either side of her eye, leaving them free to see.
At least, it did in theory. Having only one eye remaining made Tythel more aware of the barrier around her eyes than she thought she would have been had she still had both.
It was said that the warrior maidens of Xhaod wore these masks so that when they sent their foes to the Shadow, it would not see their face and take offense at their violence. Others believed that they wore it so their faces were, in fact, covered in Shadow as a sign of respect for where they would send their foes. The Maidens, for their part, would never speak of the veil’s significance.
At least they don’t mind outsiders wearing it, Tythel thought. The last thing she needed was a cult of warrior assassins coming after her – and it allowed her to walk through the streets of Emerita unmolested. More than just that, in fact – people gave her a wide berth, as if she was walking with drawn steel.
Eupheme seemed less impressed. “It’s absurd, the way they announce themselves wherever they go. A truly dangerous person shouldn’t need to advertise their presence,” she groused, her voice low enough for only Tythel’s ears to hear it.
Tythel had to fight the urge to blink in amusement. It would give her away in an instant. “So where are we going?”
“We need to get a few more things for the road, and I thought it would be best to bring you along with us when we purchased them,” Eupheme said. Her voice was full of careful innocence. Too much of it.
“You have heavy things you want me to carry,” Tythel said.
“I’m appalled you would suggest such a thing!” Eupheme said, her eyes sparkling with mock outrage. “I’ll have you know, I have extremely heavy things I want you to carry.”
“Flath a cactus,” Tythel said, getting a strangled, shocked laugh out of Eupheme.
“I’m impressed,” Eupheme said. “I didn’t think you knew what flath meant.”
“Um…well…I don’t. Not really, that is.” Tythel said, glad the veil hid her blush. “I just heard one of the soldiers say it, and then he turned red when he saw me, so I figured it was very offensive.”
Eupheme needed a few more blocks to get her laughter under control, her face quietly scrunched up to contain it. Every time she opened her mouth to say…whatever she wanted to say, the giggles would start up again and she’d have to clamp her mouth shut to contain it. Under the embarrassment, Tythel was overjoyed. It had been too long since Eupheme laughed at her being hopelessly naïve, and Tythel welcomed the return to what passed for normalcy in her life these days.
It also gave her a chance to look around the city beyond the scope of that one window. At midday in the hottest month of summer, Tythel would have expected most people to have remained in the shade offered by their houses, with the rich even using arclight powered heat extractors to stay cool. Instead, Emerita bustled with activity. Merchants from the three nearby cities stood on street corners. “Fresh meat! Fresh meat! Untouched by Heat Extraction! Get your fresh meat!” one shouted. He was a portly man with a neatly trimmed beard that came down to his chest, with tiny mirrors woven into its braids. “All its humors still intact!” The man’s gaze passed over to Tythel and Eupheme, and’s grin widened. “You lovely ladies want some fresh meat? Freshest meat in the city.”
Tythel strode over to the man, feeling the coins clinking in her pocket. Eupheme hadn’t mentioned anything about eating yet, and Tythel’s stomach growled to remind her she’d only had cold porridge and leftovers brought up from the kitchen for the last two days. “What kind of meat?” she asked.
“Why, the freshest kind, of course!” the man said proudly, giving her a bow. “And not a trace of horse in it, I can assure you of that.”
Tythel opened her mouth to ask why the horse qualifier was so important, then caught Eupheme’s glance. It took her a moment to think before she remembered – the people of Xhaod thought horse was unclean and refused to eat it. “That is well, then. Yet I still do not know what kind of meat it contains.”
The merchant began to tense up. “As I’ve said, fresh meat.”
Tythel shrugged. It not like it matters much. “I’ll take one fresh meat, then,” she said, handing over a silver lock. The merchant obliged quickly, giving her a suitably unidentifiable hunk of meat on a stick.
As they left the merchant, Eupheme made a face. “I can’t believe you’re eating it when he wouldn’t even tell you what it was.”
Tythel rolled her eye. “I never knew my father to eat anything and get ill from it. As long as it’s meat, I can eat.” Tythel bit into the hunk of meat. It was hot, and it was filling, with enough spices to disguise whatever the underlying meat was.
Eupheme made a gagging sound. “We’re out of danger right now. You have the establishments of an entire city to choose from. And you went with ‘fresh meat.’ I bet the vendor doesn’t even know what the meat is from.”
Tythel clenched her lips shut and filled her mouth with d
ragonflame, then swallowed the charred remains. She remembered eating food Karjon had over-flamed when a child, and how the taste had always bothered her. Now? It was sweeter than any spice. “You aren’t bothered when Lorathor eats insects,” Tythel said.
“Lorathor’s a Sylvani. They eat bugs. You, on the other hand? You are…” Eupheme trailed off and frowned. “Okay, didn’t think that one all the way through.”
Tythel blinked in amusement for a moment before catching herself and stopping the motion. “So where are these heavy things you need me to lift.”
Eupheme motioned to an alley ahead. “Right through here. And…let me do the talking? The people we’re meeting with frighten easily at anything new.”
Tythel nodded, although she couldn’t imagine what kind of people would be frightened by her voice.
After all, in all her books, weapons were simple swords and spears. She’d never even thought to consider how illegal weapons deals happened before.
Tellias was waiting for them at the end of the alley, dressed in a laborer’s simple white tunic that was slightly damp with sweat from the heat. Three other men were with him. Two were also dressed in simple clothing, large and well-muscled, and had a hard look to their eyes Tythel had seen in the most veteran resistance fighters. The remaining man was dressed nicer, with a black shirt that gleamed with the sheen of silk. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his face was turning red. Probably shouldn’t wear black in this weather, Tythel thought, glad that heat didn’t touch her.
“Ahhh,” the man said, “the lovely Grendella returns, and brings her mythical Warrior Maiden companion – not so mythical, though. Tell me, Warrior Maiden, what do you call yourself? Grendella didn’t deign to share your name.”
Eupheme – or ‘Grendella,’ Tythel supposed – barely even flinched. She needn’t have worried. “I am called Zimiri,” Tythel said, her voice casual. “If you wish my true name, you can taste my steel.”
The man studied her for a moment, then nodded to himself. “Sounds enough like what I’ve heard. I don’t like working with people who cover their faces, Ulmar.”
That last comment seemed directed at Tellias, who gave the silk-clad man a casual shrug. “And I don’t like trusting my security to hired thugs. Zimiri’s honor means my wallet stays secure.”
After a moment, the man sighed. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. Or, to be more accurate, I could, but I’d rather be done with the lot of you.” He turned and gave Tythel a low bow. “I may be called Eliert and mean no offense. These are dangerous times for men such as me, and every caution must be taken.”
Tythel gave Eliert a faint nod of her head. From the look in Eliert’s eyes, she’d passed that test too – the warrior maidens only bowed before initiating combat. Thank you, father, for all your lessons. “And do you have what we need?” Eupheme asked, taking back control of the conversation.
Eliert gave her a broad grin. Tythel wasn’t sure exactly how to read it – was he amused? Frustrated? Something about this man was throwing off her ability to read people. Probably because he’s a liar, Tythel reasoned. “Grendella. In all the times we’ve worked together, have I ever not had what you needed?”
“There was the time in Queensfall,” Eupheme said with a roll of her eyes.
“Hey, that wasn’t on me, that was on-”
“And the time in Oxhaven,” Eupheme said, crossing her arms.
Eliert held up his hands. “What was I supposed to do, there were a dozen-”
“And then there was-”
Eliert threw up his hands. “All right, all right, fine, I see your point. Yes, I have what you need. Do you have the keys for it?”
Eupheme motioned to Tythel, who held up a bag and jingled its contents. “I let the deadly assassin carry the money,” Eupheme said, and Tythel thought she was used to Eupheme’s expressions well enough to see a sparkle of amusement in her eyes.
“Probably a good call.” Eliert held out his hand. Tythel glanced at Eupheme, who’s eyes narrowed.
“The goods, Eliert?” she said.
Eliert sighed and glanced at Tellias. “Your ladies aren’t particularly trusting, Ulmar, are they?”
Tellias gave Eliert a flat look. “I told Zimiri to slit your throat the first time you started to act suspect, Eliert. They’re every bit as trusting, and twice as patient.”
The two men on either side of Eliert tensed and gave Tythel appraising gazes. She met their gaze, wondering what they saw there. Certainly not fear. These two brutes couldn’t threaten Tythel without weapons more advanced than the crude clubs on their sides, and that was if she was alone. With Eupheme at her back, the only thing she had to worry about was getting Tellias to safety before someone crushed his skull.
Whatever they saw, they didn’t like. They tensed up further, and the air grew tense. Tythel readied herself to spring, Eupheme’s hands went to her daggers, Tellias reached for his long, thin blade, and the brutes reached for their clubs.
Then Eliert started laughing. “I should have known anyone who could run with Grendella would have the sense of humor of a flathing aeromane that’s been kicked between the legs. I have the goods, no worries.” He stepped back into the doorway behind him.
The tension faded from the air, and the two guards gave Tythel a sheepish grin. “Don’t like the idea of fighting one of you,” he said.
Tythel just gave him a slight nod, remembering Eupheme’s interdiction against speaking too much. Instead, she strained her ears to listen to Eliert as he moved boxes around. “Too damn hot to hold on to anyway. Need to get out of this flathing town for a bit after this, yes I do.”
Eliert dragged a crate out from the room he was in. “Hey, you two!” he barked. “Put those bulging sinews to good use and help me with this.”
The thugs glanced at each other. The one that had spoken shrugged and stepped in to help Eliert with the crate. They came out, struggling to carry the crate between them. “As promised,” Eliert said, putting it down into the dirt where it settled in with a hard thunk. Eliert glanced down the alley to make sure no one was coming, then kicked the lid slightly to slide it, revealing the contents. “Ten weapon arccells – fully charged, so a hundred shots each – two long range arcwands, a close range ringwand, and one Skitter arccell and lattice mind. Don’t know why you want the last two and don’t care. Now, my keys?”
Eupheme gave Tythel a slight nod, and Tythel tossed the bag of coins to Eliert. He opened it up and shook it a few times next to his ear, listening to the clinks. He then took one of the coins out and bit down on the soft gold. “Alright. Guess our business is-”
Tythel’s eye widened, and she missed the rest of what Eliert had to say. A sound had reached her ears – distant but growing stronger. A low roar, like a fast-moving flame. “Skimmers,” she hissed. “We have to get inside.”
Eliert’s eyes widened. “What? Here? No, no, you are not going-”
Tythel bent down and with a smooth motion, picked up the crate that two men had struggled to carry and brought it to rest on her shoulder. Eliert and his men both gaped at her. “Move!” Eupheme barked, snapping them out of their trance.
They dove into the entrance way just as the Skimmers streaked overhead, Tythel’s heart pounding. Light, please say they didn’t see us.
She listened to the roar of their flames and waited to hear them turning back.
Chapter 24
The sound of the Skimmers reversing course never reached Tythel’s ears. The Skimmers carried on, flying off to wherever they had been heading in the first place. Tythel’s heart still pounded in her chest. They might have sent a song to some soldiers in the area, they might have…
Might have said what? All they would have seen is a group of people, gathered in an alley. The crate could have just been closed with the warning she had given. Even without it though, a group of people lunging into a building is hardly something worth dispatching a squad of soldiers to investigate. Probably, at least, Tythel rem
inded herself. She didn’t want to second guess the Alohym too hard – they’d surprised her before, and it could easily happen again.
