The Court of Broken Knives

by Anna Smith Spark

  Though he hadn’t told Darath about that detail, for fear he’d reopen his wound with laughing.

  You are an Imperial functionary and a man of power, he thought to the image of Tolneurn’s pallid, thin face. I know about you: you rose from comparatively little and your father from even less. You’ve reached dizzy heights, for someone of your background. So there’s blood there under your nails somewhere, blood and betrayal and a blind eye. We both know this is grotesque. But that’s power. The best either of us can do is feel guilty about it. She’s a five-year-old girl. Yes. And how many five-year-old girls die of hunger? Sell themselves for a few coppers? Beg on the streets? What will happen to all these five-year-old girls if the Immish come? Great minds have debated for centuries whether one life ruined is worth half a hundred saved. Far greater minds than yours or mine.

  When he left the Temple the rainwater had all but evaporated, leaving dark lines in the cracks between flagstones, muddy detritus in the corners of the streets. The dust was coming back into the air. For a short brief while after a rainstorm everything was clear and brilliant with the sharp bright quality of fresh water. Then the dust came again and the world was softened again, like a woman looking through a gauze veil. I see you through silk and dreaming, some poet had written of Sorlost in the driest years. The dust of silk and dreaming, crumbled stone and dried shit. The dust blown in from the desert, golden as pollen, making the city glitter like a seam of quartz in dry rock. Abrading the skin and the heart.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Reneneth. The first and last town in Immish, clinging to the scraps of Imperial trade and the needs of those remaining travellers mad or money-crazed enough to risk the old road. Huge, ruined caravanserai lined its streets, the last remnants of its days as a part of the Sekemleth Empire, in the times long since past when Sorlost had been the centre of all things, Immish a grassland of barbarians desperate for its briefest glance. Its newer buildings clung to the ruins, short squat houses with sloping roofs and small windows, aping some of the old Sorlostian fashions in their courtyard gardens and broken fountains. But colder and damper, built against the cold and the damp, the stonework less elaborate, the colours more muted, the air heavier, dirtier, without the languid murmur of self-pleasuring decay. An empty place. Unkempt. Sorlost had its dreams of splendour, Alborn its new gaudy flush of power. Reneneth sat deaf and dumb and crippled, like a beggar punished for theft.

  Tobias left Rate and Thalia with the wagon, hidden in a knot of trees just outside the walls, and went off to investigate, taking the mage’s horse. Thalia sat quietly beside Rate, watching him sharpening his sword. He was tense. She was tense. Guilt burned in her heart.

  ‘You knew him for a few days. Fucked him a few times,’ said Rate again. ‘You’re better off without him, really you are. Really you are.’

  ‘He’s going to die,’ said Thalia. ‘Isn’t he?’

  Rate didn’t say anything.

  ‘He saved your life,’ said Thalia.

  Rate didn’t say anything. Carried on sharpening and sharpening his sword. Stinking of guilt.

  ‘What will happen to him?’ asked Thalia.

  Rate put down the sword. ‘Look, just stop thinking about him, girl.’

  They sat in silence.

  ‘We’re selling him to a woman called Landra,’ said Rate. ‘Lady Landra Relast, daughter of Denethlen Relast, Lord of Third. Third’s one of the Whites, girl. The White Isles? That place he said he’d make you queen of? Yeah? There. I can’t say I’m thrilled about it, in some ways, to be entirely honest with you. But … you know …’

  Relast … Marith’s friend, Thalia remembered, had been called Carin Relast. The friend he’d killed. She shivered. No, she thought. I don’t know. I hope I never do.

  ‘She’ll kill him,’ said Rate. ‘Seems, um, very keen on seeing him dead. Paying us a great deal for him. Awful lot of money, people keep paying us to see people dead. If only I had that much money I could waste it on paying people to kill people for me …’

  Silence.

  ‘I didn’t know about it,’ Rate said. Defensive. Raw with guilt. ‘Tobias didn’t tell me. Not until … Until it was done …’ He trailed off, started sharpening his sword again. ‘It’s better this way, girl. We all said at the time you were a fool. I should have warned you before you got tangled up with him. You’re worth twenty of him. Me and Tobias will look after you, yeah?’

  Thalia said nothing. Watched Rate sharpening the sword.

  ‘I’ll go and check on him,’ said Rate awkwardly. ‘See how he’s doing. Get him ready to go.’ He got up, stamped around to the back of the wagon. Thalia went with him. See him again one last time, she thought. Say goodbye.

  Marith was semi-conscious. He attempted to say something, blinking at them, when he saw Thalia she almost thought that his eyes lit up. But all that came out was an incoherent babble that trailed away into silence. His eyes left her, stared desperately at Rate.

  ‘I haven’t got any more,’ said Rate shortly.

  Marith blinked and closed his eyes.

  Thalia ducked her head back out of the wagon, shaking. Sick. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

  ‘As I said, better off without him,’ said Rate. He sat down again beside her. ‘Gods … Stupid boy! What I could have done, in his place … Looks! Wealth! Power! Women like you throwing yourselves at his feet! And he just pissed and puked it all away. Prince Ruin, that Lady Landra called him. Good name, hey?’

  ‘Tobias gave it to him,’ said Thalia.

  ‘He took it,’ Rate said.

  His face, frightened of her. His face, alight with laughter, bending to kiss her, whispering her name. His face, when the dragon spoke to him, and he had the power in him to rule the world. He had helped her. He had been kind to her. Loved her, even, perhaps.

  I know what he is, she thought. But he’s a better man, she thought, a better man than he knows. Beautiful. Kind. Powerful. My lover. A king.

  Thalia looked at Rate. Rate looked at her. Looked away. Looked back.

  Thalia stood up.

  The sunlight dimmed. Shadows. The air hissed. She could feel them, the shadows, crawling and calling around the wagon, in the cracks of things, around him.

  ‘Kneel,’ she said to Rate.

  Rate laughed uncertainly.

  ‘Kneel,’ she said.

  Rate laughed again. ‘I’m not … not …’

  ‘Kneel.’

  The horses snorted and nickered and stamped, frightened. Clouds over the sun. Something in the air screaming. The shadows, screaming. Triumphant. From the wagon, Marith made a choking weeping sound.

  Rate knelt on the ground before her. His face was white. ‘Don’t … Don’t … I’m not … Please, girl … Thalia … I didn’t want to do it … I didn’t know … You’re better off …’

  The abyss opening beneath him. Death. And life, as terrible. Futile. Darkness. Light. All fear. Fear of living. Fear of dying. Shadows. Death.

  Rate whimpered and shivered and buried his face in the ground.

  Thalia went round to the back of the wagon. Her lover sat where she had left him, his face lost.

  ‘Marith.’

  No answer. She fumbled at the rope binding him, got it untied.

  ‘Marith. Get up. Get up.’

  He raised his head. Blinked at her.

  ‘Get up!’

  ‘Thalia?’ His voice was heavy and slurred. ‘What’s … what’s happening? My head … hurts …’

  ‘Just get up.’ She pulled Marith awkwardly to his feet. He almost fell over again, clutching at her for support. ‘Come on.’

  ‘I can’t see,’ Marith said weakly. ‘I don’t … I can’t see.’

  ‘Just come on. Please.’ She pushed him violently down the steps of the cart. He fell face first into the grass, lay there mumbling something. Thalia climbed out after him.

  Rate was pulling himself to his feet. He saw Marith and shouted. Thalia turned to him, caught between the two. Get Marith upright. Rate’s han
ds went to his sword.

  ‘Get up!’ she screamed at Marith.

  Rate had his sword out. The blade flashed. He was going to kill them, she thought. Marith was crawling across the ground towards the sword.

  She screamed in rage.

  Rate froze, his eyes wide as the cartwheels. Terror in his face.

  ‘Kneel,’ Thalia said to Rate.

  He knelt.

  ‘Put the sword down.’

  He dropped it. Thalia picked it up. She looked at him a long moment.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Rate. She stuck the sword into him. He fell down dead in a heap.

  I’m sorry, she thought.

  She turned to Marith. ‘Get up.’

  Marith stared at her.

  Why? she thought. Why any of this? Why do they all have to do this to each other? Hurt each other? Fight? What is it they all think they need?

  So what to do now? she thought. Looking around. What to do? Get the horses. But Marith was hardly in a fit state to ride a horse. Just walk. Get somewhere. Find some cover. Rest. She began to search through the wagon. Water. Food. Blankets. Had to get going. Tobias could be back any minute. She gathered up a round loaf of dry bread, a water-skin, a blanket. Maybe she could lead a horse? No: Tobias would see. You couldn’t hide a horse. She hesitated, then carefully picked up the sword again. He’d need it, surely? If … if they met with trouble. If Tobias found them. If the dragon came back. She held it like a snake, far out in front of her, afraid of it. Its blade was filthy with Rate’s blood.

  ‘Come on, Marith.’ She looked at him, crawling feebly across the ground towards her. He barely knew who she was. Barely knew who he was. And she was going to give him a sword? Water. She should give him water. She knelt down beside him and offered him the water-skin. He drank it gratefully, then coughed and was almost sick. The water seemed to help a little: he managed to get to his feet, looked at her almost coherently, blinking and shaking his head. Looked at Rate’s body, then back at her.

  Is this really a good idea? she thought. Just leave him. Look at him! Worthless. Pitiful. Damaged. I knew him for a few days and slept with him a couple of times. That’s all. I’ve given him a chance. Now leave him and go.

  She could go into the town … Send someone to find him. She could tell people he was sick, needed help. There must be money, in the packs somewhere, she could sell the horses, the sword, get a room in an inn … Her hands were sticky with blood.

  Leave him. Go.

  Then the sound of horses in the road, coming towards them.

  ‘Run!’ Thalia cried out, and then the horsemen were on them. So quick. Everything so quick. So many. They could just be people passing, she thought desperately. Travellers. They might even help them. She could say Marith was sick, that they’d been attacked by bandits, that—

  The horses slowed and stopped. Seven. Big, heavy and dark, far larger than the horses they had bought outside Sorlost. Six dark, and one roan.

  A woman stared down at them. Elegant, authoritative. Cold. She was dressed in a long blue dress, her hair yellow, framing a square, plain face. She could only be a few years older than Thalia herself, but her face looked terribly weary, as though she had worn and wept herself older than she was. There was anger there, too. Deep, real anger. Hatred. Grief. A keen, bitter joy.

  ‘Prince Ruin,’ the woman said brightly. ‘Surround them. Swords.’ Five dark-coloured horses formed a circle, the men mounted on them drawing out long blades. Tobias sat on the roan horse watching it all. He might even look sad.

  Caught. Thalia slumped on her feet.

  ‘Landra?’ Marith was gazing at the woman, blinking heavily, swaying on his feet. ‘You were … you were in that city … the one … the one I was just in … or … Are we back home? This isn’t home, though …’ He rubbed his eyes. Giggled at her. ‘What are you doing here? You were in that city … that city … We’re not at home, are we? I saw you in that city. But we’re not in that city … not any more …’ He trailed off pathetically, still rubbing at his face. ‘You were in … that city …’

  The woman snorted. ‘Gods, you’re disgusting. Tie him up. And the woman.’

  One of the men moved to dismount, grinning. There was a shout from Tobias: ‘No! Not the girl! You said you’d let her go!’

  ‘I have five men at my back,’ Landra said smoothly. ‘I’ll pay you for them both, don’t worry.’

  ‘You said you’d let her go!’ Tobias shouted again. His hand was on the hilt of his sword. Thalia raised the sword she was holding, her hands trembling. She heard Marith laugh, very far off. The horses nickered and stamped, twisting backwards away from her.

  ‘I’ve already killed Rate,’ Thalia said, trying to make her voice firm.

  ‘Oh gods.’ The woman Landra let out a peal of laughter. ‘Let’s all just kill each other, shall we? Put down the sword, girl.’

  ‘I’ll kill you,’ Thalia cried out desperately.

  ‘Put it down, Thalia, girl,’ Tobias said with a sigh. ‘Five men on horseback. They’d cut you both to pieces before you could move. And I wouldn’t help you. Not for him.’

  Marith stumbled next to her, staring confusedly from one blade to another, trying to make sense of anything.

  Tobias was right. No point. No point at all.

  Thalia dropped the sword at the woman’s feet. A man stepped forward and bound her arms, then swung her up onto one of the horses. Thalia watched blankly as they did the same with Marith, draping him across the saddle like a sack. His head lolled horribly.

  ‘When he’s sober enough to walk,’ Landra said coldly, ‘he can be led behind.’ She spurred her horse and the men followed her, riding fast across the flat ground, hooves drumming up the dust. Tobias watched them go. Cold, hard-faced.

  She’d killed Rate. For this.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  We ride through into Reneneth. No one looks at us, even at the two of us bound as prisoners, Marith staggering behind Landra’s horse. The streets are filthy and full of rubbish. The air smells of rubbish. A hateful place. Sad and cold. We are taken through into a courtyard that smells of sewage. Taken upstairs to a room that smells the same. He lies on the floor unconscious. Moaning and itching at his face.

  I am the Chosen of the Lord of Living and Dying, Great Tanis Who Rules All Things. The holiest woman in the Sekemleth Empire. The holiest woman in all Irlast. I have strength and power and the light within me. I have killed men and women and children. I have seen eyes pure with fear and hope as they look at my face. I have watched them die. I know what death means. What it is. Thus I thought I understood the world. Life and death. The desire to live. Then I ran out into the city and found it was a cruel place. That life is a cruel thing. Then he took me into the world, and showed me it could be beautiful beyond anything I had imagined. Crueller. Sadder. Richer and more alive with hope.

  And now it is all taken away.

  Great Tanis, Lord of All Things, help me. Please.

  Why?

  Why must men do these things?

  Chapter Forty-Five

  ‘Wakey, wakey. Breakfast fit for a king. Don’t say Her Ladyship isn’t generous to you.’ A man. Holding a knife in one hand, a tray in the other. Marith sat up groggily. The smell of warm bread made his stomach roil. He bent forwards and was sick. At least his head didn’t seem to be hurting quite so much.

  ‘Charming,’ the man snarled at him. ‘Your woman can clean that up for you, Lord Prince. I’m bloody not.’ He slopped the tray down amusingly close to the pool of vomit. Liquid flashed over the sides of a small jug. Marith stared at it dully. Hopefully.

  ‘Water,’ the man said.

  Thirsty. Dry mouth. Nasty taste like blood. Marith reached over and poured himself a cup of water, gulped it down with shaking hands. The door slammed shut. Creak of a lock. The room was dark again. Closed shutters. Thin veins of gold light shining on the floor. He held out his hand and one shone onto his scabs. A thin crack of sunshine. He moved his hand away.
A gold crack on the floor. Dust motes. He moved his hand back.

  Your woman? he thought. Looked around him.

  The woman sat in the corner, watching him.

  ‘Thalia?’ That was her name. Yes. Thalia. She had put her hands on him once, and filled him with warmth and hope.

  She came over to him slowly, only a few steps but it seemed to take forever. She looked like a long-legged bird, a crane or a heron, taking slow awkward steps in an element that was not her own. Sat down beside him, regarded him gravely in the dark. Utter shame filled him. But I had to, he thought. Don’t you see? I had to. It’s better this way. I thought it would be better for you.

  ‘It’s too dark,’ he said. ‘I wish … I wish I could see you more clearly. Your face.’

  She laughed. The room grew darker, shapes looming, darkness pressing at his eyes. Then light flickered. A lamp, high up out of reach on a hook on the wall. Brilliant and alight.

  Her face shone in the light. So it had shone once when he first met her. Once? Only so little time ago. An eternity. He stared at her.

  ‘You … how did you do that?’ he asked. His voice felt strange from lack of use. His words were still slurred and echoing, as though coming from somewhere deep underground.

  A faint smile crossed her face. In the light she was drawn, broken, her eyes exhausted, red with pain. ‘I have some power of my own, you know.’

  Marith reached towards her and she drew back from him, her eyes wide as an untamed horse. Everything so awkward between them, the room heavy with tension. Ruined. Like Carin before her. Ruined.

  I feel disgusting, Marith thought. I probably look worse than I feel. We were better off in the dark.

  Thalia’s face shifted as she watched him; she clapped her hands over her mouth and a wild high-pitched laugh burst out of her. She reached out and stroked his matted hair.