The Traitor's Bride

by Alix Nichols

  “Eia will try to bid for the Treasures of Xereill List again,” Mayka said.

  Etana slumped back with relief. “Didn’t we fail miserably last time, before the war?”

  “That’s because we’d bid with the jumping dance.” Mayka huffed with sarcasm. “Every realm under the stars has a jumping dance! But now we’re pitching the crawling dance. It’s unique. It’s authentic. It’s really, really old. When the jury sees it, they’ll fall off their chairs.” She paused. “And roll in the aisles.”

  As Etana and Rhori laughed, Mayka pointed at Etana’s watch, and then pressed her index finger to her mouth.

  Oh. Rhori had told her about the device. Of course, he had—thoughtful as ever.

  Lippin arrived a few minutes later, with a small case filled with tools. Mayka kept on talking about the crawling dance while Rhori’s friend removed the dial and the back, and poked at the mechanism.

  “See this chip?” He pointed his pincers at a tiny dotted plate. “It’s a position tracker.”

  “What does that mean?” Etana asked.

  “It means Chief Ultek knows where you are at all times.”

  Etana knitted her brows. “With what precision?”

  “Hmm.” Lippin looked past her, thinking. “I’d say they know in which town and which neighborhood you are. Maybe not in which house. But I can’t be sure.”

  Rhori studied the chip. “So this device can’t hear what we’re saying, right, seeing as you’re talking freely?”

  “It doesn’t look like a radio transmitter,” Lippin said. “Besides, I see no microphone, not even the tiniest one. It won’t be able to pick up sounds without a microphone of some kind.”

  Etana leaned forward. “Lippin, this is so helpful! I have no clue what a microphone is, but it’s such a relief to know I can talk freely with those I trust. Thank you!”

  “Why do you think Chief Ultek didn’t give her a watch with a tracker and a listening device?” Rhori asked.

  Lippin shrugged. “Hard to tell. He might’ve thought this was enough for his purposes. Or maybe he didn’t have enough funds or the right connections to acquire more sophisticated equipment on the black market.”

  “How ironic,” Etana said.

  Rhori smirked. “Yep, banning level-two tech does have its inconveniences.”

  When Lippin left, Rhori carried the yawning Mayka upstairs and then returned to the garden.

  Etana hadn’t budged, her eyes glued to Mount Crog.

  Planting himself next to the bench, he leaned back against the wall. “Want me to walk you to the Gokk House, or are you sleeping over?”

  “I’ll sleep here,” she said.

  “He’s alive.” Rhori gave her hand a squeeze. “You’ll see, he’ll be at the meeting place on Third-day night.”

  She kept silent.

  “That… trick you did in Town Hall Square,” Rhori spoke again. “Do you think you could do it again? It could come handy.”

  “Maybe… one day.” She sighed. “I hope.”

  “Have you tried since then?”

  “Many times.” She paused, recalling how frenzied—and hopeless—each of her attempts had been. “It’s like I’ve lost the gift, the very ability to do that kind of thing.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  Her head dropping to her chest, she confessed to Rhori what she’d been loath to admit to herself. “That connection I’ve always had with the universe… The way I always knew—felt—what time it was…” She drew in a breath. “It’s gone.”

  “It might come back.”

  She skewed a bitter smile. “Ultek’s watch—I actually use it these days to organize my work.”

  Rhori wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You can’t go with me to Mount Crog. You know that, don’t you?”

  She frowned. “Why not?”

  “Come on, Etana—it’s much too risky.”

  “Just because I’ve lost the ability to mesmerize—” she began.

  “It’s not just that.” He hesitated. “You’ve recovered physically, but you’re probably still too weak to climb a steep slope. Besides, what will you do with the watch?”

  “I’ll leave it at the Gokk House.”

  “Ultek will know something’s off on Fourth-day morning when he realizes the tracker hasn’t moved in hours.”

  Etana looked away.

  Rhori was right in advising caution… But how could she not go to Areg?

  As she pondered her options, a clear female voice came from the other side of the garden fence. “Hello?”

  “Who is it?” Rhori took off toward the fence.

  “Is this the Tidryn house?”

  “Yes, why? Who are—” Rhori shut up mid-sentence.

  Etana craned her neck and peered.

  The wonky garden gate squeaked as it opened. Etana could make out two faint silhouettes. Then she heard a dull thump. Rhori had dropped to his knees.

  “Your Royal Glory.” Rhori’s voice was deep and filled with subdued reverence, as he greeted the late visitor. “May Aheya bless your endeavors.”

  “May your deeds please her, sir,” the woman said in response.

  Your Royal Glory…

  There was only one vestal in Eia whose title included an honorary “royal.”

  The Royal Prioress Aynu Eckme.

  Areg’s childhood friend.

  “Will you honor us by coming in?” Rhori said.

  “Thank you. Do you mind if my steward waits here by the gate?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Long skirts rustled and a few moments later, a tall beauty in a dark-blue cloak—the “angel” who’d chanted on the scaffold in Town Hall Square—stood by the bench.

  Etana bowed deeply.

  “Dame Gokk said I’d find you here.” Prioress Eckme touched her brow and bowed.

  Etana pulled the string with Areg’s ouroboros over her head and offered it to the vestal. “Lord Sebi said to give it to you.”

  “Keep it.” Prioress Eckme closed Etana’s hand around it. “You’ll return it to its owner.”

  Grinning, Etana slipped the pendant around her neck and under the high cut of her dress. Her skin prickled when the smooth metal of the serpent coil slid down her throat and into the valley between her breasts.

  It felt as if Areg was touching her by proxy.

  With an unusual clumsiness in his gait, Rhori came to stand next to Etana. He kept his gaze down, stooping a little, as if he wanted to make himself smaller… so that Prioress Eckme wouldn’t have to look up at him.

  Oh dear. Rhori was the respectful kind, but Etana had never seen him act with this much respect around anyone. Then again, he’d never met anyone as venerated as Prioress Eckme.

  “Your Royal Glory,” Etana said, “may I ask how you knew to look for me?”

  She drew her brows. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m a laundry maid.” Etana shrugged. “A menial nobody.”

  “To Areg’s friends, and to his many supporters,” the vestal interrupted her, “you’re a hero. You’re Etana Tidryn, the laundry maid who found a legal loophole and tried to save Areg. I’m in awe of your ingenuity and courage.”

  Etana’s cheeks heated with pride.

  After Etana bundled up her watch and stuck it in a clay pot in the kitchen—just in case—she and Rhori recounted the events of the execution day to Prioress Eckme. Over the next half hour, the vestal asked many questions. Every now and then, she glanced at Etana in wonder. Then she asked if she and her steward could join Rhori on his ascent of Mount Crog.

  “How much do you trust your steward?” Rhori asked.

  “I’d trust him with my life.”

  He nodded. “Then I’ll trust him, too.”

  “We’ll be here on Third-day at dusk with money and a few useful items,” Prioress Eckme said.

  And then she bid Etana and Rhori goodbye and followed her steward into the night.

  17

  He was still a day’s walk from Moun
t Crog.

  What with Eia—and the entire Habitable Area—being a landlocked handkerchief, it would’ve been just a few hours’ trip on horseback. But a faster means of transportation would’ve required traveling by road.

  The roads were blocked. Consequently, Areg had to walk, ignoring the ache in his leg, mostly through woodlands and corn fields.

  He’d set out at dawn three days ago after spending two nights and a day in Atipoly’s cabin. With the old man’s supplies, he’d cleaned and bandaged the cut on his leg. He’d eaten, drunk, washed, and changed into clean clothes. The he’d slept.

  Through friends who had friends who had friends who had access to a commlet, Duko sent a word to Timm Itkis.

  When Areg told the farmers he couldn’t wait around for Timm’s response because he had an appointment in the Iltaqa region that he couldn’t miss, they refused to believe their ears.

  “You must be crazy to want to go back, right into Chief Ultek’s den,” Duko said.

  Atipoly agreed with his friend. “Lie low for a while, Lord Sebi. There’s a time for heroics, and there’s a time for prudence.” He gave Areg a funny look. “That is, if you hold your life dear.”

  Sharp old man.

  Areg promised he’d be careful and would leave the area as soon as his business there was done.

  Minutes before his departure, the two farmers knocked on the cabin door with good news. They’d received a transmission from Timm Itkis with a time and place. The legendary fixer had agreed to meet with Areg.

  “His services aren’t cheap,” Duko said. “If you can negotiate a payment plan, we’ll—”

  Areg held his hand up. “You’ve done enough for me. Truly. I don’t know how I’d ever be able to pay back your kindness, and the risks you took.”

  Duko waved the comment off.

  “We’ll do more,” Atipoly said, squeezing Areg’s wrist in farewell. “More people will do more. Mark my words.”

  Duko gave him a compass, a hunter’s knife, a loaf of bread, and some dried meat. “Just keep yourself alive, all right?”

  “I will.”

  Atipoly shrugged the roomy linen jacket off his shoulders. “Take this, too.”

  “It’s summer,” Areg said, stifling a smile. “I’m good. Your old bones need it more than I do.”

  Atipoly rolled his eyes. “I’ve got another one at home for my old bones. But you’ll want to conceal your blaster the best you can.”

  Areg took the jacket and put it on.

  Duko gave him a hug. “Some folks around here, and elsewhere, are coming together to form an association. That association is going to need you.”

  He didn’t elaborate.

  Areg didn’t insist.

  With the sun dipping behind the trees, Areg turned onto a dirt track close to the edge of the woodland. The air smelled wonderful, a mixture of pine trees, dokki bushes and gura. He tried to remember which of those was endemic to Hente and which had been brought from Via Lactea at the same time as the humans, but he couldn’t. Maybe they were all local. It didn’t matter. ERIGAT’s vast archives had all the records for those who wanted to check.

  A big, lopsided hill came into view to his right through a break in the trees.

  Its shape reminded him of something… something painful… A hill in the Frontier Zone.

  He’d climbed it with a squad of his men on that fateful day against the advice of his second-in-command, Lou Parrer. Nicknamed “the crow of doom,” Lou was a somber captain in his early fifties who always anticipated the worst. He’d been Areg’s crutch early in the war when the Eians were losing, and all of Areg’s heroics and luck couldn’t hide the fact that his military skills weren’t up to par.

  But those days were behind them. Eia had received level-two weapons and ammo from LOR, and the fortunes had turned. The Teteum Army was retreating. It had lost its arrogance and its drive to fight, while the Eians had found a second wind. As for Areg, he’d become much more competent and self-confident—overconfident—what with all the battles he’d won and towns he’d liberated.

  “We’ll be fine, Captain,” Areg said to Lou. “There aren’t any Teteum troops left in the area.”

  He signaled to two men to follow him before turning to Lou again. “We’ll return by lunchtime.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Lou said to his back.

  If only Areg had listened!

  A child’s sobbing broke Areg from his memories. He went toward the sound and soon spotted a boy, no more than six, sitting under a tree and crying his heart out.

  Was he lost?

  He shouldn’t stop, Areg told himself. The kid’s parents would find him if he stayed put. The forest was small.

  The question was, would he stay put? And if he did, would he get attacked by a wild beast? Wolves thrived in Eia’s forests. Not to mention the bearwolves.

  That last thought did it for Areg. He hunkered down next to the boy.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  The boy stopped sobbing and wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Tondi. Yours?”

  “Lou,” Areg gave him the first name that came to his mind. “Lou Parrer. What’s wrong, Tondi?”

  “I can’t find my way home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  The boy gave him an are-you-dumb look. “I don’t know.”

  “I mean, what’s the name of your burg or village?” Areg said, his lips quirking.

  “Heab.”

  Oh, yes. Areg knew Heab, seeing as he knew every single settlement in Eia. It was out of his way but it wasn’t far. Besides, he had a head start. He’d still be able to make it to mount Crog on time.

  “I’ll take you home,” he said to Tondi.

  The kid perked up and chattered happily for the next hour.

  When they climbed a small hill just before Heab, Tondi began to jump up and down, pointing to his burg. “Yay, that’s it! I’m home!”

  “Don’t move,” someone said from their left.

  Areg reached for the blaster inside his belt.

  “I said, don’t move or I’ll shoot.”

  There were footsteps. A second man ran closer.

  “On your knees!” the first man yelled. “Hands behind your head!”

  For a split second, Areg considered giving his marksman skills a final airing. Then Tondi dropped to his knees and stuck his little elbows in the air. He was weeping silently, scared out of his wits.

  Dammit! If Areg grabbed his blaster, the men would open fire, and Tondi might get hurt.

  He knelt next to the boy and clasped his hands behind his head. “Don’t be afraid, little one. They won’t shoot.”

  The men bounded around them, keeping Areg at gunpoint. They didn’t wear dark green police uniforms. Theirs was a blue uniform Areg had worn himself for four years. The men were soldiers—a sergeant and a private—two of many enlisted to help the police find him. A task they had just completed.

  “Your name?” the sergeant barked.

  “Lou Parrer.”

  “Lou, you say?” he smirked. “Problem is, Lou, you look exactly like Major Sebi.”

  Areg let out an exaggerated sigh. “I know, right?”

  “May I see your identification, Sir Parrer?” the sergeant said.

  Areg closed his eyes. “Damn! I left it at home.”

  “Who’s the boy?” the private asked.

  “Tondi. I found him lost in the woods and was taking him home.” Areg pointed to the burg downhill. “He lives in Heab.”

  The soldiers exchanged a hesitant look.

  “Why don’t you let Tondi go?” Areg said. “He’s only six, and he’s had too much drama for one day. His parents must be worried sick.”

  “Run and don’t look back,” the sergeant said to the boy, who took off immediately.

  He turned to Areg. “We’re going to search you and then take you to Chief Ultek. Don’t try anything funny.”

  He certainly planned to, but a little later, once he’d bid the
world a farewell.

  The men divested him of his blaster and then marched him down the country road. Still in possession of the knife they hadn’t found, Areg thought back to the last five years. They’d been terrible years, filled with destruction and death.

  A part of him—a big part—longed for the Eternal Garden.

  If Aheya was as merciful as the vestals claimed, perhaps he’d find his parents and his friend Nollan there, all of whom he suspected were assassinated on Boggond’s orders. If she was truly magnanimous, he might even cross paths with the men whose deaths were on his conscience. At last, he might find peace.

  Trouble was…

  If he died now, without having cleared his name, half of Eia would go on believing Ultek’s accusations. Boggond would make sure history cast him as a turncoat who became a Teteum agent for money. The Sebi name would become synonymous with ignominy.

  Those who didn’t buy that story would think he was a coward who confessed to a crime he hadn’t committed and chose dishonor to avoid another fifty lashes. Areg smirked realizing he hated being remembered as a wuss more than going down in History as a traitor.

  Oh vanity, you lodge deep in all hearts,

  and deepest of all in the hearts of the righteous!

  That verse from the Book of Xereill had always struck him as unfair and much too harsh. Now he knew it wasn’t meant to be either. It was merely stating a fact.

  18

  It’s been three weeks since the disappearance of Keyllie Zook, the daughter of farmhands Lonna and Murrey Zook. The seventeen-year-old was kidnapped on her way home from her place of employ. The police say they have no leads.

  Yet another disappearance of a menial woman in Iltaqa. Yet another unsolved case. Twelve young beauties have vanished since the beginning of the Teteum invasion, most of them in the last year alone. All of them have been taken in a similar fashion, leaving behind heartbroken parents, siblings, and—in four cases—husbands and children.