“We fought for power,” Konner said. “We must fight to keep that power.”
“And that means no one else can fight unless we approve it?”
“Precisely.” Konner stood, tugged down his jacket, and stepped off the platform, suddenly calm. “If we are to stand up against those who have received unapproved gray awakenings, we need more guards and officers with gray magic.”
Camalyn barely prevented herself from laughing again; Remina Birge had always said they should arrange for more gray awakenings. Now she was getting her way, from her jail cell. “Very wise,” she said.
“How do we choose who gets gray magic?” Relin asked. “And who will they kill?” Camalyn nodded at him; they were good questions, even if the second had been stated a little bluntly.
“We’ll choose a couple of trusted guards and let them take care of Remina and the stupid tailor’s apprentice,” Konner said. “Beyond that, I have two brilliant ideas.”
Tavi held up the paper and examined it.
“REWARD,” it read in large letters at the top.
Below that was a drawing of her. It was a good likeness. Her eyes were, she thought, too big, and her lips too narrow, but the artist had captured something that identified the picture as, unquestionably, Tavi Malin.
Beneath her picture was a ridiculous description of her supposed crimes. She would have laughed if she hadn’t been so frightened. Murder. Theft. Treason.
Well, maybe that last one was true. Or at least she hoped it would be eventually.
“I can’t believe they remembered that freckle on my ear.” Wrey leaned down, examining her own picture.
Sall squinted at his poster. “I just don’t get it.”
Tavi allowed herself a laugh as she looked at the supposed picture of Sall. The boy in the drawing had a round face and two dimples. Sall’s face was lean, with no dimples in sight. “Lucky you,” she said. “You’re still anonymous.”
Ash and Tavi were the only ones who got their own posters. Wrey, Reba, and Narre were on another poster, with Tullen, Sall, and Jenevy on the last. Four posters in all, each of them offering substantial rewards. That part was new. The old posters had just said “WANTED” on top.
Konner’s determination to find them had obviously intensified. A stack of three hundred posters sat on the dining room table of the midwife house. According to Officer Andisis, who’d brought them over, thousands more had been printed. His friend in the office of safety had managed to steal these, but it was a fruitless gesture. The king and queen (or, more likely, Konner) had ordered that the posters be placed in every public building or private business in the city. It didn’t matter how many Officer Andisis’ friend stole; more could always be printed.
“I need to tell you something else,” Officer Andisis said.
Tavi and the other Golds looked at him with wary eyes.
“The king and queen have made a new law,” he said. “If a gifted guard or safety officer wants gray magic, they can get it. They don’t need special permission.”
The room fell silent until Tullen asked, “They can kill another Blessed? Without fear of punishment?”
“There are specific guidelines,” Officer Andisis answered. “If they find someone who has unapproved gray magic, they can kill that person. Or they can kill a Blessed who hasn’t registered. And also . . .” He hesitated and gestured to the posters. “They’re allowed—encouraged, really—to get gray awakenings from any of you who are on the posters. Except Tavi. Konner still wants her alive.”
“But I’m on the posters, and I’m not even gifted!” Jenevy cried.
“They don’t know that,” Tullen said.
Tavi wanted to be angry at someone. She glared at Officer Andisis; all these things had started happening when he’d arrived in town. But he was just the messenger; she knew that. He was helping them, not getting them into this mess.
But she didn’t know how to feel. Should she be relieved that no one could kill her or frightened that Konner was again stepping up his efforts to find her? One thing she did know: She was scared. As she looked around the room, she saw the same fear on every face. Some of them were crying; others, like her, were too shocked for tears.
“At least it’s still winter, and we can wear our scarves without attracting any attention,” Narre said softly.
“That’s the other thing,” Officer Andisis said. “Safety officers are being required to work extra shifts and step up patrols around the city. They’re to examine as many faces as they can to find you all. They even have permission to pull Karites’ veils off their faces. They won’t have a problem taking your scarves off, either.”
The next morning, Andisis’ friend Jarles came to find him again.
“There were more Blessed murders last night,” he said.
Andisis’ eyes widened. “How many?”
“Four. Only one was caught. He claimed not to know about any of the others, and we think he’s telling the truth.”
“It’s not an organized group?”
“Apparently not.” Jarles sighed. “I almost wish it were. Then we could catch the person in charge and put a stop to it. As it is now, we’re looking at every person we encounter with a leather bracelet, wondering who’s planning their own gray awakening.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Years ago, Oren was hit by a blizzard like no other. Just as the storm began, I was called to a home for a birth. It was a tiny house, full of cracks that let in the cold. That brave mother gave birth on the floor in front of the fireplace, the only spot in the home warm enough for such a task.
Her other children spent the entire labor filling gaps in the walls with rags and sweeping out the snow that sneaked in under the front door.
At the moment when the storm was strongest and loudest, the child emerged from his mother’s body. Despite the cacophony outside, the moment of birth was one of the most peaceful I have experienced. The babe looked at his mother with wide, wise eyes and did not cry a bit.
We were all snowed in for two days with very little food. The baby was the only one in that tiny shack who ate well. But those days were remarkably, inexplicably happy.
-From Midwife Memoirs by Ellea Kariana
Evitt cringed as magic filled his head. It’s worth it, he told himself. It was what he told himself when he used his magic nearly every night to prowl around the camp, seeking information. He placed his hand on his stomach. Due to the army’s sorely depleted food supplies, it hurt almost as much as his head. It better be worth it.
He left the building he’d been hiding behind and approached the fence, keeping an eye on the nearest two soldiers standing guard. In the light of hanging lanterns, they both looked bored. They probably hated night shifts as much as Evitt did. He tried to stay far enough away that they wouldn’t hear his boots crunching on the snow.
Suddenly, one of them turned, and it was like she was looking directly at him, though he knew she couldn’t see him. He froze in place and waited until she gazed in another direction.
He kept going. When he reached the fence, he realized it was a little taller than he’d expected. There weren’t any footholds, and there was no way he’d make it over unless he got a running start. He didn’t dare make that much noise.
So he walked along the fence line at a painstakingly slow pace, looking for some way over. When he was close enough to the first guard to count the man’s freckles, Evitt turned and walked the other direction. He looked behind him. It was one thing to minimize the noise he was making, but there was no way to prevent his boots from leaving prints. The lantern light illuminated the visual proof of his presence. He just hoped nobody looked that close.
He was perhaps ten feet from the guard who’d looked his direction earlier when he saw just what he needed: a missing fence picket, exposing the horizontal rails on the other side. It was perfect. Or it would be if the guard wasn’t so close. He’d have to change that.
Evitt reached in his pocket, an action that produced
enough noise to make him grimace, and pulled out a few rocks. He threw one, but it landed in the snow without a sound. So he backed up and aimed the second at the fence, on the other side of the guard. He missed. Finally, the third rock hit its mark, striking the fence with a crack. The guard’s ears perked up, and she walked toward the sound.
No time to delay. Evitt placed a boot on the bottom rail and his hand on the top one. There was even a middle rail; it made a perfect ladder. He started pulling himself over, but his knee hit the fence hard enough for the second guard to hear it. The man hurried toward the noise.
Evitt scrambled over the fence and dropped to the ground, his boots and knees crunching on the snow. The guards yelled at each other, trying to figure out what animal or person was in the area. Evitt stood as close to the fence as he could manage and hastily smoothed over the footprints from where he’d landed. The male guard came in through the gate, holding a lantern, and walked over the entire property, coming within inches of Evitt at one point. Then he repeated the whole process. This took a good quarter hour, enough time for Evitt to get nervous. His magic was still active, but it wouldn’t last forever.
The man left, closing and locking the gate behind him and assuring his partner that all was well. Evitt let out a relieved breath, stood, and approached the one building in the large yard.
Evitt had assumed the building, where officers held meetings, was bigger than it looked from the front. On the contrary, it looked smaller than the little house his mother and stepfather rented in Savala.
As he approached, however, he noticed something odd. There were hinges along the whole corner where one side wall met the rear wall. He walked along the back of the building, examining it in the light of hanging lanterns. On the other corner were several simple latches, one of them secured with a large padlock. Evitt’s jaw dropped; did the entire back of the building open?
He still didn’t know why the officers would meet in such a small building; they wouldn’t want to open it up in the winter. But in warmer weather, it might be nice to be able to open not just a window, but an entire wall. And maybe they liked the privacy and security in this location.
Evitt mentally checked himself. As fascinating as the wall-door was, he needed to stay focused and find a way inside the building. Thankfully, he had keys. He just hoped they fit. He’d swiped them from an officer and had already tried them in the front door with no luck. After pulling them from his pocket, he began testing them on the back door. He had to try six keys before one finally fit in the lock and turned. Evitt grinned.
Inside, he closed the door and released his gift, relieved to be dealing with only his hunger pangs and not the gray magic headache. He looked around, grateful for the lamplight that streamed in the windows, and examined the floor. He’d heard there was a little cellar under this building, accessed by a trapdoor. Oh, how he hoped that was true. And how he hoped the cellar wasn’t empty.
The trapdoor was easily visible next to the rest of the flooring. It had a lock, but it had been broken, apparently by blunt force. Evitt gripped the splintered edge of the trapdoor and pulled it open.
What he saw there nearly made him cry. The cellar was tiny, but it contained seven jars of preserved food and—oh, thank Sava!—a small ham. Evitt pulled all the food out and somehow fit every bit of it in the bag he’d brought with him.
He couldn’t make his escape immediately. His magic needed more time to recharge. So he sat on the cold, wooden floor and pulled one jar out of his bag. He twisted the lid open, reached in with two fingers, and pulled out . . . something. It reminded him of a mushroom, but the shape was all wrong. It was cream-colored with little brown dots and had little growths all over it, like small horns or something. He shrugged and took a bite. Whatever it was, it was pickled, with the sugar-and-vinegar taste he loved. The underlying flavor was bitter. Right then, however, having eaten nothing in two days and little in the last two weeks, Evitt thought it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
He ate everything in the jar. His stomach was aching again by the end, but it was worth it, because he was full. He let out a belch that was much louder than he’d expected, and then he laughed.
Half an hour later, Evitt figured he’d given his magic long enough to partially recharge. He reactivated his mind gift and left the way he’d entered. He made too much racket going over the fence and had to run from two very confused guards who saw his footprints but didn’t see him. But as he held his bag of food close to his chest and sprinted with all his strength, he didn’t even mind the danger. He laughed quietly all the way back to the little cottage he shared with four other men. Then he released his magic and went inside.
“Wake up!” he called, knocking on the doors of both bedrooms. “I’ve got a surprise for you all!”
By the next morning, the food Evitt had stolen was nearly gone. He looked at what was left: a full jar of the same somethings he’d eaten the night before and half a jar of traditional pickles, made of cucumbers.
Hadn’t Tavi once said she liked pickles? He wondered, as he did every day, how she and the other Golds were doing. Were they any closer to bringing the monarchy to its knees? Evitt was still looking for a way to do his part. But the army was in such bad shape, and he was losing hope that one seventeen-year-old youth could make a difference.
He spied on officers most nights. Unlike most of the soldiers, he knew General Talger’s plans. The army would invade Pellagi in the spring. Yet Evitt couldn’t get word to Tavi and the other Golds; the army hadn’t had mail service all winter. And from what he heard, it had been unreliable even before the snow started. Not that he knew where Tavi was, anyway. His only hope was to somehow sabotage the invasion, and he had no idea how to do that.
He stood. It was almost time to leave for duty at one of the guard towers, and he wasn’t even dressed yet. He pulled back a curtain, looked out the kitchen window, and groaned. Fresh snow was piled almost up to the sill, and the vicious white flakes still swirled through the air. A full-on blizzard.
Evitt put on all his clothes: his non-military ones, his uniform, a coat, warm gloves, two hats, and three pairs of thick socks with boots. They were short on so many things; at least the army still had plenty of clothes. This winter, warm clothing was literally saving their lives. Evitt opened the door and headed out into the storm.
Colonel Stemming marched to the front porch of the house next to his. Two soldiers stood on either side of the door, blinking against the snow that blew past the porch overhang. They saluted as he arrived.
“I need to talk to the general,” Stemming said.
“One moment,” one of the men said. He rushed inside, looking eminently grateful to leave the frigid porch. Several minutes later, he returned and escorted Stemming inside.
By then, Stemming was fuming. He opened and closed his hands to keep them from getting too numb. It was too late for his nose; he couldn’t feel it, and for all he knew it had turned black and fallen off.
The soldier led him to a large dining room, then saluted and left.
“Stemming, have a seat,” General Talger said.
But Stemming wasn’t just frozen from the storm; he was also frozen from shock. Talger was eating breakfast, unlike every other soldier. She’d instituted a camp-wide, three-day fast due to their ration situation. But she sat before a plate full of eggs, potatoes, and ham. On a separate plate, two thick pieces of toast glistened with butter. Butter! She also had a pot of tea with both cream and sugar and an untouched bowl of dried apricots.
“I said sit.”
Stemming complied. He looked at his superior officer, but then his eyes wandered back to the food.
Talger sighed loudly. “Oh for Sava’s sake, have some.” She put one of her pieces of toast on top of the apricots and scooted the bowl in front of him. He didn’t touch it. “What do you need, Stemming?” she asked. “I have a lot going on today.”
“There’s a blizzard,” he stated.
“Is that why you have
snow all over your coat, hat, and eyebrows?” She smiled at him in a way that was either sarcastic or good-natured; he couldn’t decide which.
“Uh, yes, ma’am, I apologize for bringing it into your house.”
Talger gave him a look that made it clear she didn’t care. And she shouldn’t; it wasn’t her house. They wouldn’t be at the Meadow forever. In fact, they’d never have come here if it had been up to Stemming. He’d have ordered them to travel to the far south of Cormina before the winter started. They could’ve settled in a place where it hardly snowed. A place with plenty of towns nearby where they could purchase supplies and food.
“You didn’t come to give me a weather report, did you?” Talger asked.
“Of course not.” Stemming glanced down at the food in front of him but resisted temptation, raising his eyes back up to Talger. “We need to choose another team. The one we sent out yesterday morning, well . . .” He gestured toward the front of the house. “I doubt they’ll return, General. They’ll either desert and stay in whatever town they encounter, or they’ll all freeze to death on the roads.”
“Pity,” Talger said.
Stemming nodded once. “General, after the weather clears, I’d like to personally lead the next foraging party.”
“Impossible; I need you to train the troops for our spring invasion.”
Stemming ground his teeth together, then responded, “There will be no invasion if our soldiers have all starved to death.”
“It would be patently ridiculous for me to allow our only colonel to leave on a dangerous mission that could easily be led by a sergeant!” She ate another bite of eggs, then added, “You’re supposed to be such a good leader, Stemming. You should know all this.”
Facing the Fire Page 27
