The Nightborn

by Isabel Cooper

  Zelen toyed with the embroidery on the chair’s arm, tracing the outline of a bluebird.

  Lady Rognozi added softly, “And there’s always after the war. Four grant that it be soon.”

  “She’s raised the subject with you then?” Zelen looked up.

  “More so with Petrus, but a trifle, as much as was in good taste over dinner. That was sufficient.” Lady Rognozi closed her lips tightly.

  “I’m probably risking the same sort of conversation,” Zelen said, “though I’d be in for it regardless, since I’m on the council. Do you think we should throw in with them?”

  “My dear, I wish I knew,” she replied. “Petrus wants to help, I know, but he fears that we’re all falling for a ruse—not that Madam Alanive or even Criwath is deceiving us, necessarily, but that they’re being deceived. Or all might be as Madam Alanive says, but sending our army may still be unwise tactically.”

  “In which case, he wants us to wait and see what happens?”

  It was the most neutral way he could phrase the question.

  Lady Rognozi had been in the city’s highest circles nearly as long as her husband, though, and her understanding was obvious. “He might. Or—there may not be a wise path. War is very much beyond me, and I am very glad these decisions aren’t mine to make.”

  “I don’t know if I’d want them,” Zelen said.

  For once, Lady Rognozi didn’t even try the polite reassurance: oh, his family certainly listened to him, and clearly he had their trust, and so forth. She was paler than usual that day, Zelen noticed, and the lines on her face lay very lightly. Behind them, she looked young and frightened.

  Zelen thought he more than likely did too.

  They were still staring at each other when Branwyn walked in.

  * * *

  So they have sense enough to be afraid, Yathana observed. Speaks well of them.

  Branwyn couldn’t respond to the sword, which Yathana knew very well and took shameless advantage of, but she agreed on both counts. The subject Lady Rognozi and Zelen had been talking about was obvious, unless there was another dire threat Branwyn hadn’t heard of or an assassin was after them both. The older woman was fully as grave as she’d been at the dinner when Branwyn had explained a little of her mission, and Zelen’s jaw was set.

  It was to both of their credit. Fear had shadowed all who’d been at Oakford ever since Amris and Darya had come with the news of Thyran’s return. Branwyn couldn’t remember a day since that she’d gone without feeling that twist in her stomach. Often it came in ambush from nowhere, when she’d managed to distract herself for a while from the matters she couldn’t yet change.

  She’d had a couple months to accustom herself. The blisters, so to speak, had burst and healed and calluses had mostly formed in their place. To everyone in Heliodar, Branwyn knew, her news would be a fresh wound.

  “My apologies,” she said. “I was told—”

  Both of the room’s occupants turned toward her with undisguised relief. Zelen bowed, though with far fewer flourishes than he’d done on their first meeting, and Lady Rognozi forced a smile. “No, no, you’re quite welcome. It’s I who should… I fear I’m in a bit of a brown study today.”

  “I’d be surprised if any of you weren’t,” said Branwyn, “and I’m sorry for that.”

  “Please,” said the lady, “come and have a seat, and think nothing of it. In the end, it’s likely better to know.” She did a better job of smiling the second time.

  Branwyn perched on the edge of an extensively cushioned yellow chair, mate to the one Zelen was sitting back down in. She met his eyes and was pleased to find them steady and clear.

  “And,” he said, with enough cheer to further increase Branwyn’s opinion of him, even if it obviously took him some effort, “you’ve sent the fellow packing once already, haven’t you? Army and all.”

  Branwyn spotted an opening. She struck, balancing her words carefully. “We did, yes.” See, you’d be allying yourself with a competent force. “But we still need help. We used a few maneuvers he wasn’t prepared for, and he’ll be more wary in the future. My superiors believe we should strike as hard as we can as soon as we can, so that we give him no chance to recover, or to…acquire…more troops.”

  The process by which Thyran’s greater creatures, mortals transformed by hosting demons within them, created the twistedmen and the other foot soldiers of his army was singularly unpleasant. Branwyn thought she’d disturbed Lady Rognozi’s life enough for a few days.

  Zelen appeared curious but, perhaps for the same reason, didn’t inquire. “Of course, he could be expecting you to do just that.”

  “That’s possible,” said Branwyn, “though I wish I could say otherwise. But surprise isn’t the only element in war. I’m given to understand that there are circumstances when the most obvious move is still the correct one.”

  “You’re more versed in the subject than I am,” Zelen said. “And I fear we’re in grave danger of boring our hostess.”

  “Not at all,” said Lady Rognozi, who’d regained some of her composure while Zelen and Branwyn talked. “But I’m given to understand that Zelen came on a considerably less serious mission. Are you free tomorrow, or must you meet with that tedious Marton?”

  “Not until eight,” Branwyn said, “and thank you for the warning, my lady.”

  “Oh, he means well, I’m certain.”

  “I’m not,” said Zelen. “Would you care to join me at the sort of play he’ll most definitely not approve of?”

  “Yes—but would that affect my chances of convincing him?”

  Lady Rognozi and Zelen laughed. “He’ll only think I’m a bad influence,” said Zelen.

  “And it will delight him to try and save you,” the lady added. “Particularly as it’s overly late for Petrus and me to lend an air of respectability, I fear.”

  Zelen narrowed his eyes at her, and she looked completely innocent in return. Once again they shared a mannered world of safety and scandal, a world Branwyn could only half grasp: a tune where half the instruments were strange. If it was hard to play, it was easy to listen and admire.

  Promising, said Yathana.

  The sword wasn’t wrong. Even if Zelen was, from what he’d said, unlikely to know vast diplomatic or military secrets, he might be able to tell her about a scandal or two. Advantage was advantage, and all knowledge was useful in the end.

  “That sounds wonderful,” Branwyn replied.

  “Then, by your leave,” Zelen said, standing up, “I’ll take mine, and call for you at four. My lady, a pleasure as always, and please give my best to your husband.”

  He did better with the bowing that time. Branwyn and Lady Rognozi both watched as he left. It didn’t seem entirely likely that the lady paid as much attention to his taut backside as Branwyn did, but then again, maybe so. She was elderly, not dead or blind.

  “He’s a charming young man,” said Lady Rognozi, which could have been evidence either for or against Branwyn’s assumptions. “I’m glad that you’ve caught his eye. Petrus and I are beyond the age when we can entertain you as you deserve, I fear.”

  “Oh, surely not,” said Branwyn.

  Now there’s a line with a few meanings, said Yathana. Pity we didn’t come here twenty years ago.

  Branwyn would have had to be ten years older, too, she thought, and tried not to imagine the possibilities, particularly when Lady Rognozi spoke again. “You’re very kind, and I know you’re not here for pleasure, but I would hope that you can find the liberty to enjoy yourself. I certainly would argue that you’ve earned it.”

  This is where she puts a hand on your knee.

  The lady did no such thing. “And I believe it does Zelen good to hear perspectives from outside the city,” she added, while Branwyn thought profanities at her sword.

  “His family has him here mos
t of the time, don’t they?”

  “Oh, yes. The older ones keep to themselves, out in the country. There was a bit of a tragedy when Zelen was a child, and some credit that for their reclusiveness, but they weren’t fond of the city even then.” Lady Rognozi shrugged, clearly mystified by any such preference. “There are a few of the best families who feel that way. The joys of hunting and riding and so forth.”

  “That view is common in Criwath,” said Branwyn, amused, “though I’ve found Heliodar delightful so far, and I’ve never been overly fond of hunting.” Having to survive that way had taken much of the charm off the experience, though she knew plenty of Sentinels for whom that wasn’t true. “I’m sorry to hear he’s known loss.”

  “I wouldn’t think Zelen himself remembers—he couldn’t have been more than three—but I’m sure the family was affected.”

  “If I may ask, what happened? I wouldn’t want to step on any sore spots unknowingly.”

  “There was a fire, and five or six of the family were killed. Lord Verengir’s sister had just given birth, and neither she nor the babe… Well, it was all very sad.” The lady sighed. “I remember one of their most trusted servants ran off with valuables afterward too. Adding insult to injury, we all thought, and what a horrible man to take advantage of those circumstances.”

  Silver will get you gold he played a part in them. I’d like to know what these valuables were too.

  Branwyn wouldn’t have objected to knowing that either. The man could really have just been opportunistic, as Lady Rognozi said, but Lady Rognozi hadn’t spent twenty-odd years dealing with monsters and sorcerers, or lived her life fighting Gizath and his followers. She also hadn’t heard Yathana talk about sensing corruption. “I’ll tread carefully,” she said aloud.

  “Do,” said Lady Rognozi, and Branwyn knew she was earnest. “I’m certain he feels more deeply than he lets on, you know.”

  You could say that about most people with rank or money in this city, Yathana weighed in, and probably half without either. The place is a maze of knives. You don’t get through it without armor.

  Chapter 9

  “I considered hiring a carriage,” Zelen said, “but then I recalled you saying you’d spent too much time sitting, and you hadn’t even begun talking with my fellow councillors at length. Still, if you’d like—”

  “No,” Branwyn said. “Thank you. You’re entirely right.”

  She smiled as she took his arm and they walked down the steps together. When her liaisons had been longer than a drunken night or two, they’d been smooth, businesslike affairs, where all parties knew the score well in advance. Men rarely tried to impress her—she had no influence over their rank or pay, and Sentinels were uncanny enough that their admiration didn’t give most people any particular pride. Having one try to do so romantically sent a bit of fresh energy through a mind weary from negotiation.

  So did the way Zelen had regarded her when she’d come to meet him. On Lady Rognozi’s guidance, she hadn’t dressed as elaborately as she’d done at court—no skirts or jewelry, and she bore Yathana on a silver-buckled belt—but the white doublet and hose of doeskin clung to her figure in a way Branwyn knew was flattering, and the dark-purple shirt set both off to good contrast. She knew the light in Zelen’s whiskey-brown eyes when she’d appeared, and enjoyed it.

  He was worth admiring, too, in dark blue-green, black, and white. His arms were bare again, a convention that Branwyn was coming to appreciate more and more, and his head was unornamented, as it had been when he’d come to call the day before, but large pearl buttons floated on the winter sea of his doublet. A ring on one hand shone with blue fire in the sunset, and a topaz winked from the opposite ear.

  “I constantly feel,” Branwyn said, “as though I’m walking through a jewel box.”

  “I can’t imagine that’s a complaint.”

  “Only envy, I suppose, and feeling a little like a country cousin. Which I am, in most respects.”

  “Don’t let the shine overawe you too much. Jewels are cheap here. We still deal with the waterfolk and the stonekin, and there are some advantages to that. This”—he gestured to the topaz in his ear—“might bring as much as a good set of boots, if I found a dealer who felt generous.”

  “You sound as though you’ve tried.”

  “Oh, well. A man gets in over his head now and again.”

  Even if his family could buy and sell armies? I don’t believe it, said Yathana.

  Branwyn might not have either, except that there was the clinic. She’d recognized washed and reused bandages and well-scrubbed walls with paint starting to peel. The furniture in the office had been sturdy and cushioned but scuffed, and there’d been a yellowish tinge to the lighting there, not the pure white of the palace or the Rognozis’ house.

  “I hope you found a way back to shallower water,” she said.

  “I excel at finding the shallows. A lecture or two from my father isn’t so much of a price in the end.”

  They were heading away from the palace and the mansions that Branwyn had visited, but in a different direction than that which led to the Porpoise and the city gates. The buildings were large and bright, but the gardens had disappeared. People passed in groups, often laughing, often at least tipsy.

  “Have you been to many plays?”

  “A few,” said Branwyn, “but never in a theater. We had traveling players through a few times a year when I was a girl, and the temples put on the religious ones now and again.” She recognized the change of topic, but let it go and gave him an impish look. “I was Jyllan for the midsummer festival when I was eight. I’m told I changed into a very credible hawk, though I think most of that credit goes to the man working the curtains. And the hawk.”

  Zelen laughed. “Trained?”

  “Stuffed and on a stick. But a marvel of taxidermy.”

  “An honor for any girl to transform into, I’m sure.”

  “Oh yes.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t go on the stage for life.”

  Branwyn supposed she could have, technically: at thirteen, the children that the Sentinels raised and trained could leave the order and take up other lives, though always standing ready to assist in other ways if needed. She’d never even considered it. “It’s not as much of a living in the Northern Kingdoms,” she said, “and besides, I have other talents.”

  The Falcon loomed up ahead of them, a round stone building that took up the whole street, with its insignia not just on a sign but on banners outside the front doors. Every window shone with magical light, and voices within rose and fell in a vast hubbub.

  Inside, she got to sit next to Zelen on the cushioned bench, his thigh hard and warm against hers and his nearness turning her skin extraordinarily sensate, so that each brush of their shoulders made her heart leap. A few times she heard a hitch in his breathing, too, and once or twice he shifted his weight in a way that made Branwyn sure he wasn’t a stranger to her feelings.

  It was a mark of the play’s quality that she remembered any of it.

  The story was a lighthearted one. A merchant’s three identical daughters kept getting mistaken for one another. One was secretly marrying the gardener, another was joining the army against her father’s wishes, and a third was studying magic. There was another pair of wizards, rivals, one of whom was in love with the merchant, and their familiar spirits who kept bungling matters through not understanding mortals.

  Branwyn laughed a good deal, as, silently, so did Yathana, and the end came almost too soon for her.

  “I don’t know much about wizards in private employment,” she said as they walked back. “How much of that was exaggeration?”

  “Not very much, given the right wizards—and the right employers,” said Zelen. “Plenty of people compete through them, you see, like they do with tailors or cooks.”

  “Do you have one?”r />
  “No,” he said. Their steps against the stone blended, and his arm was firm in her grasp. “My family was never much for luxury, and I have other ways of getting in over my head, as I mentioned.”

  That might have led to an advantage, except that Branwyn suspected he didn’t mean gambling, women, or intoxicants. She tried another path, one likely to be more fruitful. “They don’t strike me as much use in, say, combat.”

  Zelen blinked. “No, they rather aren’t, not that I’ve gone to any effort to test the matter. I suppose the guard does employ some, but most private magicians are there for heat, light, amusing illusions, and all that sort of thing. You’ve mostly known them in the army?”

  “Yes. A few of them were extremely valuable at Oakford.” One, Tebengri, had been her lover for a few nights, before they’d gone back to Criwath to study the ramifications of what they’d seen and done in the battle. “They had to adjust fast—but all of us did.”

  “One hears rumors,” said Zelen. “But I never knew how much to believe. Creatures that would make you their puppets if you looked in their eyes, for instance—”

  “Their mouths,” said Branwyn. “But yes, they exist. A mage I know said that Gizath not only governs treachery, but can turn any bond against the things it joins. Slavery, or turning your will against itself…could have been either in that case. I don’t know how far they’ve gotten in studying it.”

  The brown hedges of Rognozi’s garden hulked up around them, strange shapes in the twilight. Branwyn looked away from them and from her memories and up at Zelen, who was grimacing. “Forgive me,” he said. “Not much of a subject for a pleasant night out.”

  “It won’t be one it’s easy to avoid in the days to come,” Branwyn said, “and I brought it up as much as you did.” She took a long breath, smelling the night air, rich with woodsmoke, and the warmer, smokier scent of Zelen. They were here, at this moment, and alive, without any immediate threat to either status. If it was important to remember the war, it was also vital not to forget that.