“Dear Prince, I doubt that you have ever been ‘plain and simple’ anything.” Balthaar smiled and kissed her hand. Sofy was relieved. Behind them, the Merciful Sister cleared her throat, loudly.
“Balthaar?” Sofy asked suddenly. “What would you have done with Lord Elen?”
Balthaar frowned. “It is not a prince’s role to interfere with matters of law and punishment in a lord’s own domain. Particularly not where those matters of law concern the faith. Lord Elen broke Lenay law within a Lenay camp, and I respect that your laws must be enforced. Prince Damon did what he must, and I hope that our fellow lords shall learn better from the lesson. But that is a separate matter from the first.”
“And the killing of village folk accused of witchcraft?”
Balthaar shrugged, in that airy manner that reminded Sofy of his aloof, intellectual father. “The common folk believe and indulge in all manner of folly. Should princes or kings attempt to put an end to all of it, the kingdom should see war from one end to the other.” Sofy thought that a somewhat hopeful answer.
“On the other hand,” he continued, “to the extent that such silly superstitions keep our lands free from serrin, it is perhaps a worthwhile price to pay. Those evil filth should be killed wherever they are found, and I look forward to the day that we can rid Rhodia of the last of them. Perhaps in our glorious reign together, as king and queen.” He smiled at her. “But come, let us continue, before the dragon lady at our backs orders us both beheaded for premarital indecency.”
THE CELL WAS DEEPER IN THE DUNGEONS than most had cause to venture. Rhillian followed her guard through the low doorway, into a wide stone cell lit with torches. There, a man was chained to a slab of wood, wrists and ankles in manacles. On a chair to one side sat Kiel, morose, flipping his knife in one hand. One look, and Rhillian knew the captive had not talked.
She walked over, and considered the captive.
“You were seen at Voscoraine Port,” she told him. “Reputable sailors swear so. Rhodaani vessels have been forbidden by the council from trading there during this time of war. Other honest sources have seen you in Lady Renine’s company. There is much interest in the intrigue of secret messengers in Tracato. You have been followed.”
“Ha!” was all the young man said, with great bravado. He gave the restraints a shake as though to break free with the sheer force of his disdain.
“He will not even tell his name,” Kiel said. “He does not fear our methods. He knows we are gentle. It makes him brave.”
Rhillian dismissed the guard, and waited for the door to close. “My patience runs thin,” she told the young man, coldly. She leaned close, for the effect of her emerald stare. The man tossed his hair and stared at the ceiling. “You plot the downfall of Rhodaan, you and your mistress. I know of what you corresponded with the Larosans, I have so many pieces of knowledge from so many sources, but it does not yet add up to proof. I know there is more correspondence, hidden in the residences we now occupy. I wish to know where it is. I wish in particular to find a token of good will—a Verenthane Star of the ancient Saint Selene, that was granted Lady Renine as a gift from the Regent Arosh himself. Such are the things I desire. I wish you to grant them to me.”
“You know what?” the man retorted. “I wish you to suck my cock!” He glared at her.
Rhillian placed her hands to either side of his restrained body, and leaned close. “My teeth are sharp,” she said softly.
“You fucking serrin, you waste my time!” he exclaimed. And something else, in Rhodaani, that Rhillian did not catch. She looked askance at Kiel.
“Even less polite than the last,” Kiel told her. “Something about your private parts.”
“I think he would truly find me frightening,” Rhillian observed to Kiel, still in Torovan, “if he truly believed I would hurt him.”
“Serrin have been gentle for too long,” Kiel said. “There is much at stake.”
The prisoner stared at her. “You don’t scare me with your talk!” he snarled. “It’s all you serrin ever do! Words and words and words! I grow sick of your words!”
“I have made the same argument myself, to the councils, on occasions,” Rhillian replied. She smiled. “So you see, my friend, we are in agreement. Kiel, show him.”
Kiel flipped his knife, grasped its handle, and got to his feet. For the first time, the prisoner looked alarmed.
“No! No, wait, you cannot…!”
Kiel grabbed the man’s left arm, and sliced off his thumb with a boney crunch. The man shrieked, and thrashed against the restraints, blood spurting over his hand. Rhillian stared in shock.
“That’s one,” Kiel observed. “There are nine more here. Serrin have little art for this kind of thing, so I’ll start with the most obvious. It shall be a learning experience.”
“Kiel!” Rhillian said sharply, barely hiding the shock from her voice. She beckoned him over, as the prisoner sobbed and wailed. Kiel, she was not surprised to note, appeared utterly calm. “I’d thought perhaps a cut, Kiel,” Rhillian said coldly, in Saalsi. “Something that would heal.”
“If he is as guilty as we seek to prove him, then more likely we’ll cut his head off. Why should it matter if he heals?”
“Kiel, I’m warning you, this is not a path down which I intend to—”
“Rhillian,” Kiel cut her short. “The fool is right. You talk words, but you do not mean what you say. This is the time for action. Let me show you something.”
He turned and strode back to the sobbing prisoner. Grabbed the young man’s other arm, and positioned the blade above the remaining thumb. “Are you now prepared to talk?”
“Yes, yes!” came the sobbing reply.
“I warn you,” Kiel said mildly, “if you give me cause to believe that you lie, I shall take the other thumb and begin working through your fingers. Do you understand?”
“Yes! I understand, please, don’t cut me again, please don’t…”
“Kiel!” Rhillian snapped in Saalsi. “You go too far! He’ll tell you anything he thinks you wish to hear!”
“We shall see,” Kiel replied, with a note of intrigue to his voice. The intrigue of a scholar presented with an interesting puzzle. “We shall see.”
The walk to the Ushal Fortress from the Justiciary was short and unsafe. Steel guarded the major buildings, and Rhillian and Kiel’s escort was six strong, shields ready to lock into formation in case of archers. Two days since the arrest of Lady Renine and most senior feudalists, and the streets remained unnaturally deserted.
Central Tracato was feudalist territory, and though most residents were not nobility themselves, many worked for them, or owed loyalty by other means. Money bought not only loyalty, Rhillian had found, but Blackboots too, many of whom had been removed from service, some temporarily, others for good. Many other Blackboots were refusing to work, for sympathy with those dismissed. Night curfews became a necessity, to keep the thieves off the streets, and though some tradesmen had resumed work today, rumours abounded of retribution against those by the noble families who determined that to stop work was to protest. Only the markets were turning a regular trade, partly as people needed to eat, and partly because the markets were run by country folk who cared little for the nobility’s problems.
Clashes had been frequent but isolated, with nothing large or coordinated as yet. Rhillian did not fool herself into thinking those would never come. The nobility had supporters and arms aplenty, they were merely biding their time, waiting until the Steel left for the western front. No, she needed to deal with the feudalists quickly, before the Steel departed. She needed to prove the leaders of this plot guilty, and dispose of them, with the consent of the Justiciary before the gods and all. Then, the nobility may well rise up, but they would have no moral weight. A countryside militia, led by the Civid Sein and perhaps the Nasi-Keth, and backed by her own talmaad back from Elisse, could account for any uprising then, even with the Steel away, and suffer no lasting enmity from anyone for it…
save of course the remaining nobility, but in that course of events, they would hardly matter any more.
Across a wall, Rhillian saw, in red paint, scrawling letters that even her poor Rhodaani could read. Kill the white witch.
“I think that means you,” Kiel said with amusement.
Rhodaan for humanity, read another. And, Rhodaan for Verenthanes.
“So the nobility claim to speak for all Verenthanes now,” Kiel observed. “The Civid Sein will be intrigued to hear it.”
Rhillian walked in silence, her expression grim.
The Ushal Fortress was as still as a tomb, save for wandering cats, Steel guards, and the occasional, furtive servant. Rhillian and Kiel left their guard downstairs, and climbed to the top floor of the Renines’ quarters. Once there, Kiel walked to one window and bent to pull aside the heavy rug.
“Now,” he said, “third stone from the wall.” Rhillian watched from the doorway, arms folded. Kiel used his knife, and wiggled the stone until it came free. He reached into the hole, grasped, then pulled on something. From a neighbouring bookshelf came a loud clank. “Good,” he said.
Rhillian watched him remove expensive vases from the shelf one at a time, and place them on the nearest table. She did not assist. “It proves nothing,” she said.
“It proves everything,” said Kiel, removing the last vase. The back of the bookshelf exposed, Kiel rapped on it, then pried one end up with his knife. The panel squeaked open and he peered inside. Rhillian found herself almost hoping that he found nothing within. Instead, Kiel reached inside and withdrew some light, cream squares of paper, fastened with a red wax seal and ribbon. “This seal looks very interesting. Ah the arrogant stupidity of nobles, having bought all the Blackboots and justiciars, and assuming no one would dare invade their sanctum.”
Rhillian let out a long breath, and stared at the wall. Kiel gathered the last of the papers, and looked at her, seeming almost cheerful.
“Well,” he ventured, “to borrow the human expression, this rather turns over a new leaf, wouldn’t you say?”
“It does indeed,” Rhillian said. “Let us hope that leaf does not become a forest.”
Sasha strode down the Tol’rhen hall, still damp from her wash following morning training. Her muscles ached from working too hard, as happened when she lost her temper. Passing students gave her wary looks, and kept their distance.
She reached the class chamber, where twelve students sat at tables and made markings on parchment, faces screwed up with concentration. Errollyn walked slowly among them, observing their work. His hair was also damp, though Sasha had not seen him at training.
He leaned down now to indicate with a finger the line a student’s quill should have been tracing on the parchment. The female student (more than half of them were) gazed up at him anxiously. Rapturously. Sasha’s temper boiled once more.
“Errollyn,” she snapped. All in the class looked up…save for Errollyn.
“It can wait,” he said, and redirected the girl’s attention to her quill work. It was o’rhen, the old serrin calligraphy that outdated most of their spoken tongues, yet remained the preferred style of writing for scholars and poets. Sasha had never known Errollyn to have a particular interest in the old penmanship, but the Tol’rhen had its way of bringing out a person’s scholarly side.
“It can’t fucking wait!” Sasha retorted in Lenay.
“I’ll be back shortly,” he informed the class, and walked to the door, grabbing Sasha none too gently along the way. Once in the hallway, she smacked his arm away.
“Where have you been?”
“In class,” he said. His green eyes narrowed at her.
“Last night!” Sasha pressed. “I hear you shared a room with Emisile!”
“After you kicked me out of my own bed, yes,” said Errollyn. “The alternative being to sleep in the hall.”
“In her bed?”
“On her large, comfortable rug with some cushions,” said Errollyn. “I should have fucked her. She wanted me to, it would have served you right.”
He grabbed her once more and hustled her toward an empty room. Sasha struggled, and Errollyn simply pinned her arms and picked her up. She forgot sometimes just how much bigger he was than her.
Inside, he put her down and pressed her hard against a wall. “What right do you have to kick me out of my own bed, and then complain where I choose to sleep?”
“My sister’s in a Justiciary dungeon because of you!” Sasha shouted.
“Your sister’s in a dungeon because she allied herself with traitors,” Errollyn said sharply. “I’m as sorry she’s there as you are, but—”
“You fucking liar!” Sasha shoved him hard away. He backed up. “What possessed you to go to Rhillian before me?”
“I did go to you, I told you all about what I found—”
“Horse shit! You told me you found evidence of Lady Renine’s treachery, you never told me the details! And I told you you’d be crazy to go to Rhillian, because she would overreact and turn Tracato upside down! And she has!”
“Who else then?” Errollyn demanded. “Kessligh’s hands are tied because half of the Nasi-Keth are in love with the Civid Sein, and think this is just the excuse to kill all the feudalists….”
“And they don’t now?”
“Rhillian can stop them! She’s the only balance in this city. Someone had to stop Lady Renine, and the only two forces that could were Rhillian backed by the Steel, or the Civid Sein! Which would you choose?”
Sasha stared at the ceiling, hands to her head.
“Sasha,” Errollyn persisted, “I’m sorry Alythia got caught up in this, but Lady Renine has forces that can’t be underestimated. What if she declared open rebellion when the Steel were at the front? A quarter of the Steel has feudalist loyalties, the army could split just on that declaration alone.”
“Damn it, you didn’t know that. You were guessing. If anything happens to Alythia because of this…”
She couldn’t complete the sentence. Errollyn stepped back. He looked remote, in that way he sometimes had, when he pulled back, and trusted no one. He’d always been an outsider among his own people. Could he have been reaching out to them, seeking to prove himself with this act? Surely they must trust him now. Sasha knew how much it had hurt him to be cast out after Petrodor.
He shook his head, and walked for the door.
“Wait! You’re just going to leave?”
He stopped. “I don’t like arguing as much as you do,” he said. “What else do you want?” Sasha stared at him. “Make up your mind. You can either be angry with me and thrust me away, or you can forgive me, and let me back in. You can’t have both. And I’m not going to go chasing after you to beg for forgiveness. Lenays aren’t the only ones with pride.”
“Good for you, finally a serrin who understands the term.”
She walked past him to leave. Errollyn grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She hit him in the chest, and he caught her and pulled her close. Suddenly they were kissing, frantically, hands grasping to burrow beneath each other’s clothes. It had been a while since they’d gone a day without sex, Sasha managed to think as she sought purchase with her back against the wall. Perhaps that was all it was. Or perhaps it was fear. They’d argued before, but rarely as heatedly as this.
There was a storage closet at the room’s end, which was cramped, but with the door pulled to, safe enough from immediate discovery. With no room to lie, and nothing to sit on, they stood, belts unfastening with fumbling hands as Sasha tried to think of something she could do to take charge, because she was still angry, and not about to just submit to his male attentions. But there was nothing but the obvious, and frantic lust compelled her to turn about, braced against a wall, and let Errollyn take her from behind until her legs threatened to give way from the shaking, and his fingers made bruise marks upon her waist and hip. Even now, he made sure she climaxed first. As she recovered, she found that funny, and nearly laughed.
There was a silence as they dressed. Sasha wondered what to say. It had never been a problem between them before. She still hadn’t forgiven him. Was their relationship nothing more than this? Mutual need? No. Of course not, she was just angry, and thinking crazy things. And she’d never fucked angry before. Everything was confusing, and she had no idea what to make of it. Neither, it seemed, did Errollyn.
Finally she buckled her belt, and left the closet. Errollyn followed. They walked the hall in silence. Errollyn turned back into his class, and Sasha kept walking.
The Tol’rhen hallways were filled with running students and crowds of Civid Sein. Many farmers held pitchforks and other tools, while students bundled large banners, scrawled with Rhodaani script. Others piled torches against a wall, and smeared them with oil from earthen jars, ready to burn.
Sasha waved down a girl she recognised.
“Hala, what’s going on?”
“Reynold is organising a march on the Tracato courthouse!” said Hala with enthusiasm, clutching a bundle of linen. “There should be several thousand people marching!”
“Marching for what?” Sasha asked. Hala shrugged. “What’s with all the linen?”
“For bandages, in case there is trouble.” Hala hurried on, apparently not worried by this prospect.
Frowning, Sasha pushed through the throng. The hall opened onto the grand courtyard, and there was indeed a great crowd gathering, some with makeshift weapons, others with banners or flags, or other symbols the significance of which Sasha did not know. Most of those gathered were Civid Sein from the courtyard encampment, but there were a lot of Nasi-Keth helping them.
She searched the confusion until she spotted Kessligh, arguing with Reynold, but she held back. She did not want to confront Reynold again, not in front of Kessligh. That would be awkward.
Then she realised what she was thinking, and what Reynold had reduced her to. Furious at herself, she thrust forward, pushing past bodies with determination.
Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three Page 25
