“It would be my pleasure,” he said softly.
They tarried on the roof for a short time—side by side, but facing different directions.
Arlow Bowlerham stared at the bottom of his bowl, wondering when he had eaten his soup. Eaten it he had, for there was none left, but he couldn’t recall lifting spoon to mouth.
Tired.
He remembered times in his life when he’d believed himself tired: after a long night of drinking or cross-country travel, or a bout of sparring with Ko-Jin. Now, he would like to have words with his younger self. You don’t know the meaning of the word.
He’d survived months of running himself ragged, doing the work of three men, living in a state of constant readiness, constant fear—but a single day with his newborn son had finally knocked him on his ass. Arlow had just discovered the sub-basement that existed below tired.
The midwife, Old Lil, had deemed his son in possession of a ‘lusty cry.’ No surprise there. The Bowlerhams were a lusty bunch, and he could only imagine what manner of hellion a young Mae must have been.
Little Linton wasn’t crying just at that moment, however. Thank the Spirits. The quiet was blissful.
Currently, Chae-Na, Veldon, and Mae were discussing a matter of apparent import. They sat around the rough kitchen table of their soup shop, the queen gesticulating with her hands as she made a prolonged speech. Arlow should be listening, but he was having difficulty with concentration.
He found himself staring at his wife, watching her mouth as she spoke but not catching the words. Mae had compelling lips, Arlow thought, and her eyes were sparkling in a way that made him smile.
How is she so alert? She had given birth yesterday. Arlow had been only a bystander for that ordeal, and yet here he was with vanishing soup and a head full of fluff. He needed a nap. Maybe they could unload Linton on Ko-Jin for the afternoon, and he and his wife could collapse into a very sensual coma.
His gaze roved to his old friend, who sat in the corner, Linton cradled in his absurdly beefy arm. Arlow’s son squinted up at the general with uncertainty.
Ko-Jin flitted through a series of silly faces: he puffed out his cheeks, crossed his eyes, stuck out his tongue, and flared his nostrils. Linton gazed on, unimpressed.
“He looks like you, Ar,” Ko-Jin said.
He did, in fact. The boy had already turned a more human color, and though his eyes were still the indeterminate shade of all newborns, he had a way of squinting that made him look decidedly droll for a baby. Arlow could already imagine him as an older child, spouting pithy remarks in inappropriate situations. He’d be a menace, no doubt. Arlow couldn’t wait.
“Except the jaw line,” Arlow said. “The lad’s got the chin of a Pauper’s King.”
Ko-Jin grinned—a full, toothy smile that made his eyes crinkle. It warmed Arlow’s heart to see it. “So he does. Congratulations, brother. He’s beautiful.” The smile dimmed, turning bittersweet. “And I think Yarrow would be honored.”
If his throat pinched and his eyes burned, Arlow thought he might reasonably blame exhaustion. All his emotions had risen closer to the surface.
“Arlow?” Mae’s hand grasped his shoulder. When he turned to face her, he couldn’t understand the expression in her eyes. He was certain he’d never seen it before—she looked intense and proud and a little nervous. Plainly, he had missed something. “You have to sign too, as my consort.”
She proffered a quill pen with an odd degree of ceremony. Arlow’s gaze swiveled to the formal-looking document sprawled across the kitchen table.
“Pardon, my darling,” he said. If he were charming enough, perhaps she wouldn’t be annoyed with him for failing to attend. “But did you just say…consort?”
Mae’s brow quirked. “Were you honestly not listening? This whole time?”
“Well…” he said, with a vague gesture towards the baby and Ko-Jin. The latter appeared to be imitating a fish, cheeks sucked in and eyes bulging.
Mae crossed her arms and huffed, but she was too keyed up to be irritated long. Her eyes shone in her flushed face. “I’ve just signed a contract makin’ me an official queen, you dunce. You just missed my coronation!”
“We shall have a public one at some future time,” Chae-Na said. She sat, prim and serene, her hands laced on the scorched wood of a table that often doubled as a cutting board.
“Queen of…the paupers?” Arlow asked. He wondered if he was asleep. This conversation bore the hallmarks of dream-logic.
“Think ‘un-landed citizens’ is the official term we’re usin’, but yeah.”
Chae-Na bobbed her head. “We are merely making official what is already true.”
Arlow didn’t think there was any ‘merely’ about it. This was a monstrous alteration in governance. It would shape the future, change the nations, upend the status quo.
Queen Chae-Na Bellra was crafting quite a legacy for herself. In her first year on the throne, she’d waged war, drafted new laws to allow for elections, and halved the power of her own seat. For good or for ill, Trinitas would never be the same.
“Right…and what would that make me?”
“Prince,” Chae-Na said.
She seemed in earnest, but it had to be a joke. He burst out laughing. “Prince?”
Prince Arlow Bowlerham. It had a nice ring to it, actually. But still, he couldn’t stop shaking his head at the absurdity of his life. He’d married beneath him—taken a criminal for a wife. And now, somehow, he was becoming royalty?
“Yes,” Chae-Na said, composed in the face of his mirth. “And your son would be the prince heir.”
That sobered him up. They, all of them, looked over to where Ko-Jin was discreetly smelling Linton’s head.
Arlow wondered if his son would thank him or curse him for the events of this day. The boy was only one day old; a royal title seemed rather a lot to put upon him.
Mae snagged his hand and leaned in close. “Sorry, maybe we should’ve discussed it? Though, in my defense, I thought you were listening. Figured you’d have said something if you disagreed.”
He finally took the pen and pecked her cheek. “I don’t disagree. As the queen said, it’s already true. You became a ruler long before today.”
He ran fingers through his hair and straightened his jacket—it was a coronation, after all, soup-shop location aside—and then, with a great deal of flourish and gravity, Arlow signed his name. He glanced up at Chae-Na, his mouth hooking into a smile. “Do I get a crown?”
She pursed her lips and didn’t answer. Beside her, Veldon Gorberry glowered in distaste. It didn’t trouble him; Arlow had never gotten on with Veldon. The man was a sore loser at cards and a boring conversationalist. Though Arlow did rather admire his beard.
Their guests gathered their things and rose to leave. Ko-Jin reluctantly returned their now-sleeping baby to his crib.
“Won’t you stay for lunch?” Arlow said.
“We’ve all just eaten lunch, Ar,” Ko-Jin laughed. “You must be as tired as you look.”
“Telling someone they look tired is cowardly. Might as well say what you mean: ‘Arlow, you’re normally impeccable, but today you look like steaming garbage.’”
“Tepid garbage, I’d say,” Ko-Jin said.
“Wordplay really doesn’t suit you.”
Ko-Jin hauled Arlow into an embrace forceful enough to drive the air from his lungs.
“Mate, about yesterday…” Arlow began.
At those words, the light died in Ko-Jin’s eyes. In fact, until it had sputtered out, Arlow hadn’t noticed that light’s return. He’d been looking at the real Ko-Jin all this time and hadn’t realized. “Let’s not talk about yesterday.”
Arlow grimaced. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Ko-Jin answered in a soft voice, as if speaking to himself, “For what it’s worth, so am I.” Then he disappeared through the door.
Arlow stared at the place where his friend had been, his shoulders slumped.
“You’re worried ’bout him?” Mae asked. She hugged him from the side, pressing her forehead into his shoulder.
“Yes. I wonder how far down this road he can go and still come back.”
“People don’t come back, Ar,” Mae said. “They just change, for good and for bad. You ain’t the same man you were, and neither is he.”
He smiled down at her. “So wise, my wife.”
“Yeah, must be why they’ve made me queen.”
“Must be.”
“What now?” she asked. She slipped her arms around his waist. “Linnie’s sleeping.”
Arlow wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I propose a royal nap.”
“Spirits, yes,” Mae said, laughing.
Chapter Ten
Ko-Jin didn’t search long for Britt Penrose. He found her exactly where she should be: standing guard outside the queen’s office.
He lingered further down the hallway, in the shadow of a pillar, watching. Her freckled face was set in an unreadable expression.
His eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting into a frown. How could you, Britt?
Ko-Jin had known her since he was a boy. She was a sister Cosanta, for Spirits’ sake. Not a friend precisely, but so very familiar.
Never once had he suspected her. Given her gift, he should have at least considered the possibility of her involvement. But he hadn’t.
Unbidden, an image of the former king flashed through Ko-Jin’s mind: his face young and smiling, his eyes thoughtful.
A good man. A friend. Ko-Jin missed him.
During their last walk together, before his murder, Jo-Kwan had asked, “Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?”
In this case, the reason was simple enough. Jo-Kwan died because Ko-Jin trusted the wrong person. He had invited Britt into the palace. And then he had told her exactly where the king was hosting his secret meeting.
What Quade had done to Chae-Na, too, rested more firmly on Ko-Jin’s shoulders than he’d imagined. How easy it must have been, for Britt to dispose of the very guard she’d put in place.
Ko-Jin clenched his fists. Fury and self-loathing warred within his mind, each vying for emotional predominance. However, he needed to wipe these feelings from his face before he approached. Bray had talked him down from his first intention—to arrest and execute his sister Cosanta on the spot.
She’d cautioned him not to be hasty, and when a person as hotheaded as Bray advised discretion, it was best to listen.
She was right, much as it burned not to act on his anger. If, for whatever reason, they failed to catch Quade this day, they would need a second opportunity. So, Britt must continue to believe herself beyond suspicion. For now.
Ko-Jin drew a deep and determined breath, reminding himself that he was Cosanta and not a slave to his emotions. Then he stepped from his concealment.
Britt inclined her head upon his approach.
Liar, he thought. Betrayer. “Afternoon,” he said. “Anything to report?”
She crossed her arms. “Aside from the indignity of listening to newlyweds copulate like rabbits? No.”
That hit him full in the chest, and he was speechless for several seconds.
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding it.
He cleared his throat. “Right. Well. I’ll to be off working in the city for the rest of the day. If you need anything or have news, send Mearra.”
“What work?” she asked with unconcealed interest. Blight you, Britt.
“That hit the wall took is worse than it looks. We’re fortunate he didn’t target that section of the battlements again, or it might have crumbled. Malc and I are going to help with the heavy lifting.”
She quirked her fair brow. “You’re the general. You’re helping with construction?”
He shrugged. “It all comes down to the wall. I can help secure it more quickly. And besides, Yarrow isn’t predicting anything dreadful befalling us this week.”
Her eyes glinted with interest, and he withheld a sharp smile. It was a lie designed to explain his absence, and to ensure that she wouldn’t come looking for him—who would trek to the wall just to watch men haul rock? But it had the added benefit of giving Quade a false sense of accomplishment, should the message ever reach him. He had taken out a merlon, but the foundation of the wall was perfectly sound.
“Better you than me.”
“Keep a close eye on the queen,” he said. Walk into the sea, he thought, and be eaten by crabs.
She dipped her head, and he turned on his heel and marched back up the hallway. Some of the tension left his shoulders as he retreated, as if he’d been straining against a desire for violence and could only now relax.
He stepped into his own rooms to arm himself. Quade had taken Treeblade from him, which still stung, but his old sword would do just as well. He buckled his belt and scabbard around his hip, then slipped throwing daggers into the holsters hidden beneath the sleeves of his robes.
Ko-Jin glanced up at his reflection in the antique mirror. His eyes were shadowed and slitted with grim determination—a man prepared to kill and have done with it.
A quick knock sounded on the door.
“Come,” he said.
Tae-Young slipped into the room, his movements full of nervous energy. The young man had grown several inches in the past months, which only made him look younger, like he didn’t yet have command of his limbs.
“Ready?” Ko-Jin asked.
“No,” he said, but his tone was bright, and he smiled. “Think this might really be the end?”
Ko-Jin bobbled his head. “I’ve thought that before and been wrong. But, yes. I think this time we might really have him.”
He extended his hand, and Tae-Young smacked his own palm down with a resounding slap. Ko-Jin didn’t have time to brace himself. The young man teleported, and the room disappeared around them. They spun through darkness for an oppressive millisecond, and then a bright day exploded before him. Ko-Jin’s eyes watered.
Greystone.
By most measures, it was a large city, but compared to Accord it seemed provincial. The fact that the town wasn’t walled gave Ko-Jin an itchy sense of vulnerability. He hadn’t left Accord in so long, it was jarring to gaze out over these quieter streets.
The morning was warmer and brighter here than in the capital. Ko-Jin took a few moments to orient himself. He’d not spent much time in Greystone. Though, what time he had spent, he’d been with—
“Ko-Jin,” Bray hissed. “Over here.”
She and Peer had scoped out the best place to wait near the telegraphy office. Ko-Jin smiled at the sight of them.
He could feel the circle closing. It’d been a fire in this very city that had brought them all together, in a time that now felt quite distant. How unpleasant he’d found these two Chiona back then.
“Come on, man,” Peer called with an impatient gesture. Ko-Jin hurried to their side, Tae-Young jogging just ahead of him.
Whythe appeared around the corner, his hands fidgeting at his sides—hands that, for once, were not darkened with drawing charcoal. “Is being outside Accord making anyone else twitchy?”
Bray shook her head. “I feel like I can finally breathe, actually.”
“Same,” Peer said, stroking the pommel of the pistol at his hip. “Hey, after we kill Quade, maybe we can pop by the King’s Repose. Lorren always had the best meat pies.”
The King’s Repose. He’d forgotten the name of the inn, but he remembered the establishment well. Ko-Jin had sat at that bar, drinking ale with Yarrow. A pang of longing for his friend hit him squarely in the throat, and he swallowed against the sensation.
Bray snorted. “Think that’ll be our top priority?”
Whythe, with a fond look at his bevolder, shrugged. “Personally, potato-less cuisine is a pretty high priority.”
Bray chuckled, and Whythe looked rather pleased with himself. Well he should be: Bray didn’t laugh often these days.
They all turned to Ko-Jin, expect
ant. His heart felt suddenly lighter, though he knew the feeling wouldn’t last. He smirked. “I could go for an ale.”
Peer clapped his hands. “It’s settled, then. Kill Quade, then pie.”
Bray’s lips fought against a smile. “Let’s keep our focus on the first part of that agenda, shall we?”
As a unit, they turned their gazes to the front of the telegraphy office. They were early still, and they weren’t certain what time Quade would arrive. But he would be here, eventually.
It had been a long debate, deciding who to include in their party. Trevva had volunteered herself and Roldon, but Quade’s travel was instantaneous, so she could offer little forewarning. And Roldon didn’t always perform well under pressure.
Arlow had been considered, of course, because they could always use a dash of luck. But when Ko-Jin had cradled the baby Bowlerham, his shriveled heart expanding with new hope, he’d known he wouldn’t ask. Arlow should be with his family, and they didn’t need him.
Fernie, too, might have been invited. But his connection with Quade was still such an uncertain factor, and the boy was young.
No, in the end it was best that their party be small. Their collective absence would be less noticeable this way. And the five of them had all the skills required to see the job done.
Quade would teleport into sight, Whythe would steal his gifts, and then they would land a swift, killing blow.
There would be no speeches. No opportunity for Quade Asher to squirm from their grasp. Ko-Jin had finally learned his lesson. Perhaps the problem of Quade would outlive him and the siege would continue, but with Fernie’s help they could slowly decontaminate the populace. They could find solutions to every dilemma, as long as Quade was no longer in the picture.
Yes, there would be no hesitation this time. No mercy.
They would kill him. And then pie.
If Arlow had to watch the queen and Veldon bleeding Gorberry play chess for one more minute, he might go mad. He had spent the better part of the last hour curating a mental list of all the horrid things he’d rather be doing: balancing books, sparring with Ko-Jin, sprinting nude across the Nerran desert, et cetera.
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