“Tell me about him. The man from before.”
“He was strong and worthy. That is all that matters to me.” Gorraxi sounded melancholy and bereft. In those rare situations in the past when he’d found the Vorga upset, Choss would make a joke or suggest they go out for a drink. Now he wasn’t sure how to respond, or even if he should be worrying about it. Male and female relationships in Vorga society were very different from how men and women treated each other.
“Your silence,” said Gorraxi, as Choss struggled to decide how he should respond. “This is another reason I never told you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” said Gorraxi, getting to her feet. She stared out at the water for a moment longer and then offered Choss a hand, which he accepted. Mindful of his injuries, the Vorga gently pulled him to his feet until they were stood face to face. He’d always found the Vorga’s stare impenetrable and had seen how it made people nervous, but this was the first time it had the same effect on him.
Strangers were scared of sudden outbursts of violence, their minds full of old folk stories about the Vorga. Choss knew his friend would never hurt him. She’d already saved his life many times in the last few weeks.
“It’s a shame you’re still injured,” said Gorraxi, breaking eye contact. “I would like to fight you again.”
“Perhaps when I’ve rested,” he suggested and Gorraxi smiled.
“Perhaps.”
They walked down the dock and settled at a table outside one of the slightly nicer waterfront taverns. Choss brought drinks back to the table and they sipped their ale in companionable silence. A few minutes later Gorraxi turned towards him.
“Munroe, she is your wife now?”
“No, not my wife. Maybe one day, but we’re just at the beginning.”
“I can smell her on you,” said Gorraxi.
“What will you do now?” asked Choss, keen to change the subject.
“I would ask you the same thing.”
“I’m not sure, but last night we agreed to leave Perizzi. We both want to try something new, not live in fear of trying in case we fail. Wherever we go, it will be together.”
“If she is the one, then it should be so,” said Gorraxi, a note of approval in her voice. “What of Vinny?”
Choss sighed. “I’ll speak to him today and tell him my plans. I feel guilty, for abandoning him, but I hope he’ll understand.”
“Is he a friend?” asked Gorraxi.
“Yes, a good friend.”
“Then he will want you to be happy. He will understand.”
Choss put down his drink and turned to face Gorraxi. “You’ve been a loyal and true friend to me. You saved my life last night. There was no way I could have beaten Daxx.”
Gorraxi shook her head. “It was not done for you. I told you this.”
“I know, but even so, I wanted to thank you. Earlier, when we raided Don Kal’s venthe farms, you risked your life just because I asked and you protected me.”
“Is this not what friends do for each other?”
Choss smiled and gripped one of Gorraxi’s hands in both of his. “The best of them. I owe you everything.”
Gorraxi regarded him in silence for a minute and all of Choss’s anxiety faded. “You are offering me something?” she finally asked.
Choss nodded and placed his right hand over his heart. “A blood debt. If you ever need me, for anything, you only need to ask. Lead and I will follow, to the last breath. This I swear.”
Over the years he’d learned many things about Vorga culture from Gorraxi. Blood debts existed in other societies, but to her kind they meant much more. Other people regarded them as favours to be called in when times were hard. To the Vorga a blood debt meant something else, something almost spiritual and binding. Some were passed from one generation to another before they were called in and ancestors would be expected to pay the debt in full without hesitation. They were not given as a matter of course.
“You honour me,” said Gorraxi, giving his hands a squeeze before sitting back. In that moment Choss saw an array of emotions in her eyes and he maintained eye contact until she looked away first.
“Where will you go?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” said Gorraxi. “Like you I have become small in here,” she said, touching her head and then her heart. “There are many places I have yet to see. Many lands where Vorga are not seen as monsters.”
“You’re not a monster.”
They watched the waves and the busy docks until their glasses were empty. “What are your plans for today?” asked Gorraxi.
“After the last few weeks I thought I might just sit here and drink. For today, that seems like enough.”
“I like this plan. It’s a good plan,” said Gorraxi with a grin. “I will buy the next round.”
This time when Munroe walked into the arena she and Don Jarrow were the last to arrive. The others were sat waiting for them around a large round table in what felt like a tense silence.
Elegant and gorgeous as ever, the Duchess wore a dark blue dress that was unusually demure for her with a high neck. Even so it still hugged her body in all of the right places, showing off her figure. Munroe noticed there were bags under the Duchess’s eyes and a couple of strands of red hair had escaped the artful tangle on top of her head.
Beside the Duchess sat the rumpled figure of Don Lowell, but there again Munroe noticed a few changes. He didn’t slouch and Don Lowell’s gaze was focused and sharper than she’d ever seen it. The charade of the kindly old grandfather was gone. His bodyguard scanned the room for signs of trouble, but most of her attention, and that of the other Naibs, was focused on the other person at the table.
The shaven head of the Butcher seemed to shine in the torchlight as if it had been oiled. Dressed in black trousers and a vest which showed off his thick arms, she saw they were criss-crossed with cuts and bruises. There was a bandage around his right wrist and another above one eye. Munroe thought about making a joke, but smothered it. The atmosphere became more tense as she and Don Jarrow mounted the stairs to the ring.
What followed proved to be routine and tedious for Munroe. In the wake of the deaths of Don Kal, Dońa Parvie and her sister, the city had to be reportioned among the surviving Families. The Butcher’s help against Don Kal’s people would not be overlooked, but equally the other Families were not willing to just hand over Dońa Parvie’s territory to him.
At the end of two hours a compromise was reached. The Butcher would take over a portion of what had previously been Dońa Parvie’s territory and merge it into his current operation. Any of Dońa Parvie’s people who had survived would be given sanctuary for a week. By the end of that time they would be presented with a choice. Leave the city and never return or swear loyalty to one of the other Families.
Almost to a man, Don Kal’s people were dead. Partly because they had been fighting wherever it was thickest, but also because of the tainted venthe. It had allowed them to fight longer and harder than normal, but once it wore off many had dropped dead from the severity of their wounds. His territory would be divided up among the remaining Families and that would be the end of it.
With that the meeting was adjourned, and as each person left Munroe noticed each gave her a funny look.
It had been two nights since they’d beaten the Flesh Mage. By now word had got around about what she’d done. Some of the details were wrong, as any eye-witnesses didn’t know the full story. But as neither she, nor any of the others had volunteered information, the half-truths persisted. She let that continue, as it was easier to understand and far less scary. Munroe knew her dreams would be haunted for years by what she’d seen. There was no need for everyone else to have nightmares about it.
It took her a while to work out what the look meant. It was only when she saw it in Don Lowell’s eyes that she understood. Her trick of manipulating the odds had previously earned her a certain amount of respect, but this was the first time people wer
e genuinely afraid of her. Her grin made Don Lowell twitch and hurry out of the arena.
“Do you have time for a short walk?” asked Don Jarrow. It sounded like a genuine request and it was the first he’d ever made.
“Of course.”
He’d been very quiet and more reflective than usual, which wasn’t surprising given everything that had happened. Dońa Jarrow’s betrayal had hurt him far worse than anything else.
Munroe wasn’t sure how much to tell him about what had happened to his wife. He knew she was dead but Munroe didn’t know if he would be pleased to know how she’d died and who was responsible.
They walked in silence for a few streets before he finally spoke.
“When will you be leaving?”
“In two days,” said Munroe. The morning after the death of the Flesh Mage, she’d told him that she’d wanted out. Whether it had been because he had a lot on his mind, or because he hadn’t really been listening, he’d said yes. Now that he had been given some time to think about it, she was expecting an argument. Instead Don Jarrow just grunted.
“You sound very certain. You have somewhere in mind?”
“I’m going back to school,” said Munroe, which had surprised her too when she’d agreed.
Don Jarrow raised an eyebrow. “School?”
“Choss and I are going to travel to Shael, to the Red Tower. I’m going to study my magic. Learn how to control it.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to say that,” admitted Don Jarrow.
“I’m going to be a fucking Battlemage!” shouted Munroe. A few people in the street stared at her outburst. Don Jarrow managed a brief grin but it soon faded.
“Whatever you need for the journey, horses, provisions, just let me know. I’ll take care of it.”
“That’s very kind,” she said, waiting to see the hook.
Don Jarrow glanced at her from his eye corner and shook his head. “I don’t expect anything in return. You’ve saved me several fortunes over the years. It’s the least I can do.”
“Oh well, since you’re feeling generous, any chance of a little travel money? I don’t fancy sleeping in hedges on the way there.”
Don Jarrow laughed. “Why not. You’ve earned it.” The Horse and Cart, one of many taverns run by Don Jarrow, came into view at the end of the street. “I’m meeting someone,” he announced.
“Will you be all right?” asked Munroe. It was disconcerting for Don Jarrow to be so quiet. It made her feel awkward and she almost felt sorry for him.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, but she didn’t believe him. He gave her a wave and walked away, a lonely figure on a busy street.
When Munroe pushed open Choss’s front door with the key he’d given her she had a big grin on her face. It drained away when she went into the front room and saw a familiar face waiting for her.
“Hello, Munroe,” said Ben.
“What do you want?” she asked. “Because you made it very clear what the Silent fucking Order thought of me. So why are you here?”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “Are you done?”
Munroe shook her head. “No. Whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m not interested. Get out, before I make you.”
“That’s why I’m here,” said Ben, holding out a sealed letter towards her. “My employer requests your presence.”
“Your employer?” said Munroe, taking the letter before she glanced at the wax seal. Even before she opened it she knew who the letter was from. Everyone in the country knew that person’s seal. It hung above the throne. “You work for the Queen?”
“I serve the Crown,” said Ben, as if there was a difference. “The Queen’s grandfather created the Silent Order. She inherited it from her mother.”
Munroe’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “But, I thought it was hundreds of years old?”
Ben shrugged. “Just read the note,” he said, gesturing at the letter in her hand.
As she read the brief message Munroe’s eyes widened and her jaw fell open.
“I have a carriage waiting,” said Ben. They went out the front door in silence, and Munroe had managed to regain her composure by the time they’d reached the palace. She noted a large number of heavily armed royal guards everywhere, but they merely glanced at Ben before waving them through the gate.
When the carriage stopped, the door was opened by a servant. Munroe stepped down but Ben didn’t follow. “I’ll wait for you here,” he said.
Another servant led her through the huge corridors of the palace and Munroe did her best not to gawp at the finery. She’d never seen so many paintings of battles and people she vaguely recognised, which meant they were probably the Queen’s ancestors. Eventually she was led into a rather plain sitting room where two women were sat waiting for her in front of the fireplace.
Munroe immediately recognised the older woman on the left as Queen Morganse and she guessed the younger tall woman on the right was the Queen of Seveldrom. The servant closed the door behind her without saying a word, leaving Munroe alone with the two Queens. She didn’t know if she should bow or curtsey to one or both of them and if etiquette meant she should wait for them to speak first before saying something. She settled for silence and inclined her head towards them both.
“Thank you for coming,” said Queen Morganse. “Please sit,” she said, gesturing at the chair.
“You’re probably wondering why you’re here,” said the Seve Queen.
“To put it mildly,” said Munroe, doing her best not to swear. Would she end up in a cell for swearing at the Queen? Was that a crime?
“We need your help with the Red Tower,” said Queen Morganse. “One of my agents tells me you’re going there soon and I’m worried.”
“About me?” said Munroe.
“No,” said Talandra. “About the children. Have you seen the masked Seekers?”
“No, but my friend told me about them,” said Munroe, being careful not to name Fray. She didn’t want to get him into any kind of trouble. “They help children. Stop them hurting people or themselves when their magic develops.”
“Do they really help the children?” asked Queen Morganse. “Because we only have their word. No one has seen what happens to the children once they reach the Red Tower. How do we know what they’re really doing?”
Munroe could see where this was going. “You want me to spy on the Red Tower for you. For both of you.”
Talandra sat forward. “Do you remember the Warlock?” she asked, barely waiting for Munroe to nod. “What if they’re teaching children to be like him? Can you imagine what an army of them could do?”
The mere thought of it made Munroe shiver. “It sounds like a fucking nightmare.” The words were out of her mouth before she realised. She clapped a hand to her mouth and started to babble an apology, but Talandra laughed and even Queen Morganse smiled.
“You’re right,” said Talandra. “It is a fucking nightmare. So we need to make sure it doesn’t happen. All we want you to do is keep your eyes and ears open.”
“And if you see anything that worries you, just send a letter home to your uncle Ben,” said Queen Morganse. “Would you be willing to do that for the children?”
Munroe’s head was spinning a little from turning towards one Queen and then the other over and over. She thought about their request for a minute and even though she knew there was more to it than they’d told her, she could see their reasoning. No one actually knew what happened inside the Red Tower, as outsiders were not allowed. For all they knew the new people in charge could be intent on training children to be like the Flesh Mage.
“I’ll do it,” said Munroe and the two Queens smiled with obvious relief.
Two days later Munroe and Choss rode south for an hour before stopping and turning their horses. They looked back at the distant city and she could see his feelings were mixed about leaving it behind.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked, not for the first time. They wanted to be together, but when she’d menti
oned leaving Perizzi for the Red Tower he’d said yes without hesitation. It was a lot to ask. More than she’d anticipated. She worried about things not working out between them. That he might hate her for taking him away from everything familiar.
“I’m worried as well,” said Choss, as if he could read her mind. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but whatever comes, we’ll face it together. But I’m sure that I want to be with you, more than anything. Good enough?”
“Pretty good,” said Munroe with a grin. “I’m convinced.”
Turning their backs to Perizzi they rode east towards the sun and their future together.
CHAPTER 47
Katja awoke to the sound of rain rattling on the window. Gradually she became aware of her surroundings. The comfy bed, the clean sheets, the plain white walls. Next she heard the faint wheezing in time with her own breath and there was a tight band across her chest.
She tried moving and her body was slow to respond at first, as if it had forgotten how to, which meant she’d been unconscious for a while. Her right hand twitched and then slowly moved up to her side where Teigan’s sword had pierced her.
“You’re very lucky to be alive,” said a familiar voice. “You lost a lot of blood.”
Katja turned her head towards the sound and saw Roza sat in a chair beside her bed. A book and a pot of tea sat beside her.
“How long?” asked Katja, her voice dry and croaky. Roza helped her sip some water before she answered. Katja felt incredibly weak and the pain in her chest was not receding, but at least she was alive.
“You’ve been asleep for four days. They nearly lost you a couple of times.”
“What have I missed?”
“Quite a lot,” said Roza, sipping at her tea. “While you were in the palace, parts of the city turned into a war zone. The rumoured war between the crime Families became a reality. We’re not sure how many died but when the sun rose there were a lot of bodies in the street. As a result it’s created a lot of opportunities. I’m placing new agents as we speak.”
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