by Stina Leicht
Caius thanked Cornelius and continued on his way.
The ground floor of the Hall of Records was the only level accessible to the public. With the exception of the receiving area, it occupied the entire width and length of the building. Rows upon rows of shelves containing leather-bound ledgers formed a majority of the library. For the most part, the records stored on the ground floor were family genealogies—births, deaths, and marriages. Glass-enclosed lamps hung from iron chains above the central aisle. At night, they were the only light allowed other than the fireplaces. Buckets of sand were stationed near any fire source, and individual lanterns or candles were strictly forbidden lest they destroy the precious contents of the building. Of course, due to the curfew, no one but Wardens would have access at night.
He walked past the hulking wooden cabinets with their rows of drawers containing the Regnum’s most recent, more mutable records. These were handprinted on individual cards by members of the Brotherhood, arranged by date and filed. The records had been kept in this manner for centuries. Only the quality of the paper, ink, and cabinets had changed over time.
He reached the exit, exchanged salutes with the Warden guarding access to the upper levels. Again, he went through the ritual of signing in. His steps echoed up the stairwell. The smell of bound paper and leather was comforting.
It was said that the Hall of Records was a triumph of Gens Fortis design. It had stood for three hundred years and withstood two floods. Only one fire had ever violated the building, and that had been fifty years after the library had been built. The second floor had been created with vaulted ceilings and open aisles. The walls reverberated with each step and sliding page. Narrow windows at the tops of all four walls fed grey dawn light into the mirrors and glass lenses suspended from the ceiling. Each filigree-framed mirror redirected sunlight downward. Caius couldn’t help a sense of awe every time he visited.
Every cadet was required to recite the rules for the Hall of Records from memory before they were permitted inside. Infractions were taken seriously. Nodding to a uniformed librarian wearing steel-framed spectacles at the checkout desk, Caius removed his soggy greatcoat. He sat on the bench beside the main fireplace and waited for the fire’s warmth to penetrate his damp clothes. Loosening his hair from its queue, he took a drying cloth from the neatly stacked pile on the floor and used it. He left the used cloth on the bench to dry along with his greatcoat. After rebraiding his hair and assuring himself that his shirt was dry, he approached the pine cabinets containing the hunting records. He decided to begin with April of the current year and then work his way to the present. It was possible that the rogue hunter’s license had expired—supposing the rogue had ever had one in the first place.
Caius pulled the first wooden card file and carried it to a nearby table. Then he retrieved his journal and graphite stick from his coat, drawing the attention of the spectacled librarian. Caius held up the graphite. The librarian nodded but continued his vigilance. Caius got as comfortable as the hard wooden chair would allow, pinched the bridge of his nose, and began flipping through records. When he proved himself worthy of at least limited trust, the librarian busied himself with putting out lanterns.
The morning sun cast bright patches on the table’s surface. The light had crept halfway across the table’s length before Caius discovered anything useful. The first possibility was a respected baron connected with Gens Lucrosa, the second a titled Retainer of lesser status who had recently acquired membership in Gens Tolerans. Both preferred young targets, and a search might determine whether either of them were cheating on their kill accounts. Caius jotted down names and addresses in his journal, and continued flipping through the records cards. When he glanced at the record card between his fingertips, he stopped automatically. Trained as a tracker, he sensed patterns without conscious thought. Therefore, at first he didn’t understand why. Then he did, and he found he couldn’t breathe.
The entry isn’t consistent across the card. The ink doesn’t match.
Public records such as those stored on the ground floor were easily altered, provided the client produced enough sterling. However, once a record was stored in the Brotherhood’s main catalogs on the second floor, it was never altered. The information the Brotherhood maintained in the upper levels of the Hall of Records was inviolate. If a correction or change became necessary, procedure dictated that a second card be filed with the first. The policy represented stability in a tumultuous sea of bureaucracy.
He read the name: Baron Munitoris Arion. According to the card, Arion had renewed his license four months earlier. Exactly one month before the rogue hunter had begun illegally dumping his kills on the streets. The date was written in darker ink. Examining it more closely, he found abrasions on the paper and saw that the ink had bled. He could almost read what might have been written before. July? He set the card on the table and frowned. It was possible a lazy officer had forgone creating a new record for the catalog, but he didn’t know anyone who would risk a court martial to avoid filling out two cards—one to be filed with the original and the other to be filed with the Record Adjuster. It was also possible that he wasn’t correctly interpreting what he was seeing. He knew nothing of inks or documents.
Perhaps it is time I learned.
New to Inspections, he didn’t know who he could trust, or even if the rumors of corruption were true. He wished he could consult with someone before going to his supervising officer. Once, he would’ve discussed the situation with his friend, Severus, and be confident that none of his suspicions would reach other ears. But Severus had been reassigned. Whatever Severus’s duties were now, they were secret. Caius had received no word since the transfer and had been forbidden to attempt a search.
He made a carefully worded note and stretched. His belly reminded him it was past time for dinner. He was exhausted. His head ached from lack of sleep, and his eyes were dry. Finished with the August records, Caius returned the drawer to the catalog cabinet. To be certain, he made a cursory check for Baron Munitoris Arion in September and October.
Caius found nothing.
NELS
ONE
THE HOLD
GRANDMOTHER MOUNTAIN
NEW ELEDORE
TWENTY-EIGHTH OF VERIKUU, 1783
War and weather had taken their toll on roads that hadn’t been all that well maintained in Eledore’s prime. The route up Grandmother Mountain was dangerous enough in the warmer months. During the winter, it was downright impassable. Of course, Nels believed that these qualities were also what made the Hold an ideal hiding place. Traveling the waterways was safer, easier, and, until the King’s locks had begun to fall apart due to neglect, faster. It was why historically so much trade within Eledore had been conducted via the rivers and lakes. However, now the rivers were more likely to be patrolled by Acrasians for the same reason. Therefore, Nels had chosen the overland route.
A light snow muffled the happy chatter of the troops. Everyone began unloading supplies, unpacking, and greeting loved ones and friends.
We made it. He began unloading his horse. Glancing back at his troops, he discovered a feeling of pride that warmed the numbing cold. They’d been pursued by the Acrasians as far as the northern banks of the Kristallilasi. After that, the weather had begun to turn against them. Still, they’d managed to complete the journey with six of the ten stolen cattle and the valuables from Merta that he’d dared take with them. Were it not for Master Sergeant Jarvi’s pyrotechnics, Captain Sebastian Moller’s affinity with livestock, Private Hanski’s powerful sense of direction, and a bit of good luck regarding the weather, Nels knew they wouldn’t have made it.
Once again, he’d gambled with all their lives and won. He’d have been happy but for one thing.
Where’s Ilta? Why isn’t she here? She usually met him at the last checkpoint and walked with him for a couple of miles.
“You seem less than enthusiastic about being home,” Viktor said. “Would the reason why have to do wi
th a certain blonde of our mutual acquaintance?”
Nels glanced over his shoulder to where the Holders were greeting their loved ones. His heart sank.
Viktor kept his voice low. “Maybe she had an emergency at the infirmary?”
“We both know why she isn’t here,” Nels whispered.
“No, we don’t,” Viktor said. “And if you’re thinking about Captain Julia, you did the right thing.”
“What do you mean by that?” Nels asked.
“Ilta told you that you should see someone else,” Viktor said. “Correct?”
Nels shrugged. “What if she didn’t mean it?”
“And if she changes her mind, you two can discuss the situation then,” Viktor said. “You had to stop waiting for her. You were ready. She wasn’t. You understand that. Right?”
“I could’ve—”
“No, you couldn’t,” Viktor said. “The simple act of your waiting has put pressure on her—”
“I never intended to—”
“—Pressure she didn’t deserve. Your intent doesn’t factor into it. The pressure was there. You did the right thing,” Viktor said.
If that’s the case, why do I feel so awful? Nels thought.
“Are you all right?” Viktor asked.
“I’m fine,” Nels said. You have far more important things to do. His leg muscles throbbed with exertion, and his fingers and toes were numb. They’d walked the last stretch to save the horses, and his clothes were soaked through where his all-weather coat didn’t reach. “Sebastian, get the recruits settled and the cattle to shelter.”
“You heard the colonel,” Sebastian said, projecting his deep growl over happy chatter. “Lieutenant Eld, you’re in charge of the cattle. Lieutenant Wiberg, you’ve got the recruits. Get to it.”
Lieutenant Eld groaned. Her red hair fell into her face. “Wouldn’t Moller be a better choice?”
“Are you arguing with me about an order, Lieutenant?” Sebastian asked.
“Ah, no, Captain.”
“Then get to it,” Sebastian said.
Nels called out to his troops. “When you’re done, grab some sleep. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow, sir?” Private Hanski asked.
A smile stretched across Viktor’s face. “The welcome-home party.”
Laughter and whoops of joy renewed their flagging energy. Nels couldn’t help thinking of those who weren’t there. He missed Major Lindström and Field Marshal Elzbet Kauranen the most. Both had been leaders Nels had admired. Although he wasn’t sure their guidance would’ve proven helpful, given his defects. They’d each had the magic to back up their command, even if they hadn’t used it. He did not, and while the troops had adjusted to his unorthodox methods, questions remained.
Unbuckling his pack, he dropped it to the snow-dusted ground. Then he handed Loimuta’s reins to the private offering to take him. Loimuta would be stabled with the few horses the Hold maintained year-round. Extra mounts were sold off and replaced in the spring. Horses required upkeep and exercise, activities that left traces. Large numbers of horses were a giveaway that an army was near, and Warden Units patrolled the new border with alarming frequency, but Loimuta had been his companion since he was fourteen. Even if Nels could give him up, he had a feeling the gelding would only stubbornly make his way back to Grandmother Mountain.
Three blindfolded recruits stumbled to a halt at the entrance. The fourth turned to openly stare at him. Nels wondered how long each would survive under his leadership. Looking away, he set his jaw. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. The troops are watching.
Annikki in particular.
Natalia Annikki was the only recruit who hadn’t been blindfolded. She was a veteran korva, and there wasn’t much point. She was middle-aged, healthy, and strong, if a bit thin due to hiding alone in the Selkäranka Mountains for a year. She’d passed Viktor’s tests, and Nels trusted her enough to bring her to the Hold. Still, there was something off about her. Most volunteers quickly relaxed into the familiar social order, letting the presence of others like them provide a sense of security and belonging. Such emotions were powerful. He understood why. It was intensely reassuring to see that everything wasn’t lost. Recruits formed tight bonds fast. But not Annikki. She’d kept herself apart, with her eyes to the shadows. She gazed at him now as if he were the one under probation and not she. Feeling her hard gaze, Nels wished they’d opted to blindfold her anyway. She got on his nerves.
Does she know about my defect?
Imposter.
You’ve more important things to do than to worry about that same old horse shit. Swiving hells, stop it. “Viktor.”
“Yes, sir?”
“The Merta chests are to be taken to my apartments,” Nels said. “I’ll secure them myself.” His concerns regarding theft were minor. However, the haul was significant temptation, and their community was pushing the limits of one knowing every member on sight, if not by name. Trouble would come, one day. He hoped prudence might put off that eventuality.
Nodding, Viktor briefly left to take care of the matter.
Retrieving his pack, Nels had staggered a couple of steps toward the door when his twin sister appeared. He was brought up short. “Suvi? What are—”
“I see you’ve managed to avoid killing yourself again,” Suvi said. Her voice was tight and flat. Her mouth was set in a firm line, and the irises of her eyes flickered from black to an angry red-tinged brown and back to black. She wore a plain light blue wool gown, and a heavy green cloak that protected most of her dress from the snow. Her hood had been pulled up over her mouse-brown curls.
He had known he’d have to face Suvi sooner or later, but he’d counted on it being later rather than sooner. She wasn’t alone. First Ilta and then Dylan followed in short order. Ilta, clearly aware of Suvi’s displeasure, held herself back. Dylan’s face was haggard. Exhaustion traced circles under the Waterborne weathermaster’s eyes, and his dark skin harbored a touch of grey. He and Ilta both smiled but glanced at Suvi with unease. The wordless message was easy to read: I’m glad to see you. But take care what you say.
“Hello, Suvi. It’s nice that you’re here,” Nels said, mustering a light tone. “But you didn’t have to travel so far to—”
“You’re right,” Suvi said. Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t have to. Or I wouldn’t have had to, if you hadn’t gone off on your own. Against my wishes.”
Nels stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Must we discuss this here? It’s cold. My feet are numb, and I’m hungry.”
Glaring, Suvi seemed to consider a more emphatic response. Instead, she nodded once and left. Ilta waited before enveloping him in a warm hug.
He held her close and breathed in the scent of her—all winter roses, mint, and whatever herb concoction she’d been brewing.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she said, and then she surprised him with an open kiss.
And with that, he forgot all about his sister’s rage for a while and lost himself in the one thing he’d been dreaming of. Her lips were warm and soft. Her tongue brushed his.
“Can’t you two wait to do that in private?” Dylan asked.
With a laugh, Ilta broke the kiss and wrapped her arm around his waist.
Nels cleared his throat and tried very hard not to think of Captain Julia. “Why is Suvi here?” He kept his arms loosely wrapped around Ilta. “Isn’t she supposed to be wintering on Treaty Island?”
Dylan kept his voice low and switched to Acrasian. “She came here right after Kaledan instead. Sent a message requesting that I meet her at the Hold to negotiate a new contract.”
“She’s the Queen. She can do what she wants,” Nels said, answering in the same language. Although the Hold was technically what remained of Eledore, Acrasian was swiftly becoming the default language. It was a hard-fought battle he’d so far lost to Slate, not that he’d entirely given up.
Dylan shrugged.
“She would say you can
’t afford recklessness, either,” Ilta said. “And she’d have a point, you know.”
Nels sighed. He released her and then hefted his pack.
Viktor came back. “What did I miss?”
“Want me to take that for you?” Dylan asked.
“Thanks, but no,” Nels said. He stared up into the sky for a moment and then spoke to Viktor in Eledorean. “Nothing important. I’ll see you tonight. We’ll start the rituals at midnight. I should be done talking to Suvi by then.”
“Yes, sir.” Viktor saluted. “I’ll bring the whiskey. I’ve a feeling you’ll need something for the pain.”
Nels returned the salute. “Grab some sleep in the meantime. Someone should.”
“Taina might have other ideas,” Viktor said. “At least, I hope she will.”
“It’s been three months,” Nels said. “Who is to say she hasn’t found someone else to warm her bed?”
“I don’t mind,” Viktor said. “As long as he isn’t sharing it now.”
Dylan said, “You’re assuming it’s a he.”
“In that case,” Viktor said, “I wouldn’t mind the extra company.”
“Oh, sure,” Dylan said. “But will they?”
Nels turned to Ilta and whispered, “Are you free?”
She smiled. “Before or after your chat with Suvi?”
“After? I should have an hour or two.” He considered adding that they needed to talk, but she was in good spirits, and he didn’t want to destroy her mood.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not there’s enough left of you to be entertaining once she’s done with you,” Ilta said. “I believe the word ‘keelhaul’ featured strongly in her agenda.”
“Ouch,” Nels said.
“She invited me to watch. Don’t worry. I turned her down.”
“Whose side are you on?” Nels asked.
Ilta got up on her toes to give him another quick scorcher of a kiss. Then she slipped free of his arms and stepped back. “Gran taught me to stay far away from royal family arguments. They tend to be hazardous to one’s health.” She wiggled her fingers in a playful goodbye.
