by Mike Truk
“I will only respond to ‘captain’ moving forward. Don’t use my name. I won’t answer to it, coming from you. Now, I’ll ask again. Are we fucking clear?”
“Yes,” said Hugh, heart hammering, eyes locked on her own.
Which, for a second, filmed over with tears again, but then she sniffed sharply, wiped them away one last time, and gave him a curt nod.
“Very well. I’m heading back into Erro for breakfast and clean up. Do you need an escort for the rest of your descent, my lord?” Her voice was mechanical now, without affect, crisp and professional, as if they’d never met.
“No,” said Hugh, voice hollow. “Thank you.”
Morwyn straightened, gave him a sharp salute, her posture impeccable, and then turned and resumed marching down the road.
Hugh watched her go.
Fuck.
He waited till she rounded the curve and was gone from sight, then pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced. He’d fucked up even worse than he’d thought. He moved to the side of the road and sat on a boulder, burying his face in his hands.
Thought of Anastasia so shook up she’d had to spend the night at Branka’s. Morwyn, sleeping - what - in a ditch or something?
How had he fucked up so hard so quickly? And thought all the while that he was doing it for their own good?
Hugh gave a hollow chuckle. What a disaster.
But.
He’d make it right. Somehow. With Zarja’s help. And there was no way he’d mess up this badly again. Not now that he’d had his eyes opened. But how to claw his way back from the precipice? How to get them to trust him once more? To even want to be around him?
He’d no idea.
But he was going to find out.
With a heavy sigh, he stood. Set his jaw and began marching back down into Erro. Whatever it took, he’d do it.
He’d repair the damage he’d done, no matter the cost.
* * *
The people of Erro were busy decorating the village in preparation for that evening’s Subrogation of the Fates. More than one nervous smile was flashed Hugh’s way, and an air of subdued cheer suffused River Street, clashing with Hugh’s own dour thoughts.
Ladders were propped up against the fronts of buildings so that streamers of one color or another could be laced back and forth across the street, while children raced back and forth, drawing straight lines across whichever surface presented itself, from walls to large rocks to the sides of carts. Family crests, no matter how simple, were being displayed publicly above front doors, usually indicating clearly the line of work in which that lineage historically dealt. A few stalls were being set up from visitors from out of town in the small square before the tavern, along with a miniature stage barely large enough for three or so men to stand on.
Bemused, Hugh stood off to one side, arms crossed, watching the meager preparations. The door to the tavern opened and Anastasia emerged, looking freshly washed, hair neatly done up in an elegant chignon, her slate blue and gold uniform spotless. She caught sight of Hugh, glanced away, then pushed her shoulders back and strode over to join him.
“Good morning, my lord.”
“Disciplus.” Laughter erupted from down the street, and they both turned to see an old man leaning out a window to shake his cane at a couple of children as they scampered off, sticky buns in hand. Try as he might, the old man couldn’t hide his smile. “Happy Subrogation Day.”
“And to you.” Such was her poise that you’d never have guessed she’d nearly fallen apart just the day before. “You’ll partake in the cleansing?”
“No,” said Hugh. “I’ve cast my lot with Fortuna. Folly as it may be, I’ll continue to trust in her patronage.”
“Folly indeed.” A slight smile curved her lips. “Since, by definition, she’ll only care for you half of the time. But I suppose it makes sense. Given your path.”
“Given my path,” repeated Hugh. They stood side by side, watching the preparations. “The Fate Maker’s to arrive today?”
“Correct. Branka says he’s not missed a Subrogation since taking over from the previous Maker.”
Hugh turned to her in surprise. “He doesn’t rotate through the villages?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Apparently not. Which is curious. I’m sure the salt tithe Branka pays him has nothing to do with it.”
“Fucking hell,” said Hugh. “Why am I surprised? How’ll he react, when he sees us here, and that we know?”
“Not well, I’d warrant. Depends on his nature as a man. There is the option of pretending not to know, however. Allow him to come, perform the ritual, and leave. Duke Annaro could deal with him in due time, saving us the bother.”
Hugh grimaced. “I’ve always found it hard to deal with hypocrites. He’ll read it in my face.”
“Then there’s not much to decide. Most like he’ll deny any wrongdoing and throw his office and church in our face. Given today’s import, I’d advise we not fluster him too badly. If he were to refuse to perform the ritual, the people of Erro would be…”
“Pissed,” he finished for her.
“Quite.”
“There you are!” Zarja in Elena’s guise walked up to them, a cloth-covered basket under one arm. “I bought these from a delightful old man down the street. They’re still warm! Hurry, here, one for each of you, before the syrup congeals.”
She peeled back the cloth and revealed several sticky buns, dusted with dark spices and oozing with semi-opaque glazing. She handed one to Anastasia, who smiled gratefully, and then extended one to Hugh. “Breakfast!”
The bun was warm, the exterior brittle, the insides hot and delicious. Hugh forced himself to not devour the bun in two bites, and leaned down to kiss Elena’s cheek after his first. “Thank you.”
“Eat as many as you want,” said Elena with a smile. “It’s Subrogation Day, after all.”
“You go for that?” Hugh asked, fishing a second bun out of her basket.
“Not really. But I welcome any excuse to be naughty.” Her grin was bright and transformative. How had he ever thought Elena anything but beautiful?
“Shocking,” said Anastasia, still smiling. “You? Welcoming a chance to break social norms?”
Elena bit deep into her own bun in response, eyes twinkling.
“Speaking of which,” said Hugh, speaking around the last of the second bun, “I saw something up in the mountains. At the ruined fort.”
“Of course you ran up to the ruined fort this morning,” said Elena. “You’ve no doubt already fixed every broken wall as a form of light exercise?”
“No.” Hugh licked icing off his fingers. “But the place is haunted. I saw a dead woman in one of the windows watching me. Her hatred was so strong it felt near physical. And then she vanished.”
“Well, there goes my happy Subrogation mood,” said Anastasia, drawing a handkerchief from her satchel with which to dry her fingers as she neatly sucked each clean.
“Describe her a little more,” said Elena. “Dead how?”
“Corpse-like. Body shriveled, bones and skull visible beneath her warped skin, hair like filthy straw… dressed in rags…” Hugh shrugged. “Dead. Or undead. Or something.”
“Hmm. Doesn’t sound like one of mine. Though there are fae like the phooka who can take on illusory aspects like my own. But I can’t imagine why one would choose such an awful appearance, unless they were motivated by pure spite? No. Something else, I’d warrant.”
“Anastasia?” asked Hugh.
She folded her handkerchief neatly. “Not exactly an arcane subject. This is outside my area of expertise, though I’ve no doubt heard all the same fairy tales and ghost stories that you did, growing up. But I know someone who would know all about such matters.”
“The Fate Maker,” said Hugh. “Great.”
“Such matters fall within his purview.”
Elena took out a third sticky bun and offered it to Hugh. “I bought ten, knowing your appetite. I thought Fate M
akers dealt with the righteousness of the burning road. What’s that got to do with ghosts or the dead?”
“A ghost or the like would have stepped off the road,” said Anastasia. “Badly. To have ended up as a ghost, that is. Every day the ghost lingers is another she’s denied her true fate. The Maker - if he’s of any worth - will definitely be interested in learning more.”
“Convenient, then,” said Elena, smiling impudently, “that he’s arriving today.”
“You could say it was Fated,” said Hugh dourly.
“Indeed.” Elena replaced the cloth over her basket. “The rest are for Morwyn. Any sign of her yet?”
“Yes.” Hugh looked away, not wanting to meet their eyes. “She’s still very upset.” He considered. “Very, very upset.”
“What happened?” asked Anastasia.
“I’ll let Hugh explain if he wants,” said Elena. “Has he already apologized to you?”
“No apology is necessary,” said Anastasia hastily.
“Of course it is. I’ll go find Morwyn and ply her with sticky buns. Hugh, you’d best apologize right away, and tell her about Katharzina. Very well?”
Hugh flushed. He felt like he should be annoyed, or resentful, but instead, after last night’s conversation, he simply nodded. “Of course.”
“Good. I’ll see you both soon. Behave.” And she walked off, up River Street, basket under her arm.
They both watched her go.
“She’s incredible,” said Anastasia, voice soft. “I’ve never met someone so…”
“Yeah,” said Hugh. “I know what you mean.”
They stood in silence for a spell. Then he quickly told her about Katharzina’s visit, and then coughed into his fist. “Anastasia. Disciplus. Um. I know you don’t want or expect an apology -”
“Lords do not apologize to discipluses,” said Anastasia, voice still low. “It’s simply not done. No more than you’d apologize to a spoon if you dropped it.”
“Well, maybe we should all start apologizing more to our spoons,” said Hugh, feeling as if he was clutching at straws. “At least, I will.”
A wry look from under her brows. “So you’re saying that I’m on the level of a spoon.”
“No. Just - look. I’m sorry. For yesterday. I was…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words. “Cruel, and abusive, and arrogant, and… a whole bunch of other such things. An ass.”
“A righteous ass,” said Anastasia.
Hugh blinked. Despite everything, hearing a disciplus call him that was shocking.
Her smile widened. “Oh, those are Zarja’s words, not mine. I’d never dare call you such a thing, my lord.”
“Oh.” He smiled and shook his head. “Sure you wouldn’t. She called me that? Never mind. She was right. I was and am a righteous ass. And - yes. I should never have forced you to admit those things yesterday.”
“But you did, and it’s done, and I - well - I feel strangely liberated by it.” Anastasia inhaled deeply and raised her chin, gazing out over the small market square. “Mostly, I’ll admit, due to the conversation I had with Zarja after. But that conversation might not have taken place without your… ‘intervention,’ or whatever we want to call it. So, in a way, I must thank you, my lord.”
“That’s like thanking an outlaw for stabbing you in the gut because it led to your meeting a lovely nurse.”
Anastasia’s smile turned sweet. “Precisely.”
Hugh snorted. “Very well. Then you’re welcome.”
“And Morwyn? What did you do to her?”
“About the same that I did to you. But worse.”
“Worse?” Anastasia raised an eyebrow. “You stab her in the gut or something?”
“I… something. Yes.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Suffice to say Zarja had some very strong words for me after, and I did my best to listen and learn.”
“Good,” said Anastasia, tone crisp. “Or this expedition won’t last much longer. I was in a bad place yesterday evening. Without her help, I don’t know if I’d be able to have this conversation with you today, much less attempt any humor.”
“Oh, that was humor? Where you called me a righteous ass?” Hugh tried for a grin. “I thought you were speaking from the heart.”
“Those were Zarja’s words,” said Anastasia, grinning right back. “But let us say they resonated strongly with me regardless. That and she said some nice things about you, things I couldn’t quite disagree with. So. Consider yourself forgiven, my lord.”
“Thank you.” There was some manner of commotion taking place at the very beginning of River Street. He turned to study it. “I aim to do better. To be less of an ass. I swear it.”
Anastasia turned as well. Excited shouts, and a boy came racing up, eyes wide with excitement.
“The Fate Maker’s here! The Fate Maker’s here!”
“Ready?” asked Anastasia.
“Why not.” Hugh strode down River Street, allowing the locals to stream past him and form a shifting crowd that gave way before the Fate Maker’s entourage as it progressed up the road.
And parted, at the very last, split by the awareness of Hugh’s presence at their back and the Fate Maker at their fore. Two rows formed, three deep, and Hugh saw the priest for the first time.
A severe, older man clothed in the purple traveling robes of his order, a white stole hanging about his neck near down to his knees, the golden circle stitched large on each end. Tall, with broad, bony shoulders, the Fate Maker had the appearance of a hard man, his nose large and beak-like, his eyes small, his receding blond hair cut short.
He was leading a mule, yet such was his stateliness that it might have been a magnificent charger. His watery blue eyes fell upon Hugh, and for a moment nobody spoke. The man studied him, his gaze acute, and then inclined his head.
“My Lord Hugh of Stasiek.” Words clipped and precise, expressing neither pleasure nor surprise. “I am Fate Maker Jarmoc. I was not told you were in residence. Had I known, I would have journeyed here sooner.”
“Fate Maker,” said Hugh. “I am but recently arrived on my brother’s business. Welcome to Erro.”
“You are most kind.” No warmth in those words. “It seems my information is stale. I was told last week that bandits had descended upon Erro. I hurried hence in force to assist.”
Hugh looked past the man at his entourage. A dozen men in mail, each leading his own mule, swords hanging from hips.
Tempting to tell the Fate Maker how his help would have been insufficient to the task, but a childhood at court curbed his impulse. “Thank you. My brother will be most appreciative of your intentions. I’m pleased to say that matter has been taken care of, and Erro restored to its state of feudal allegiance to the duke.”
“Good. I look forward to conversing with you further on these matters, my lord. For now, I shall continue to the market square and offer my conciliatory blessing.”
Not a request. A statement of fact. Ever did the Fate Makers exist outside feudal ties. An authority unto themselves, and answerable only to the emperor himself, if at all.
Hugh bowed his head and moved aside.
The Fate Maker passed him by, not glancing aside, mule hooves clip clopping neatly on the cobblestones, the crowd falling in behind his men. Hugh remained still, waiting till all had moved on, then looked to Anastasia.
“Charming,” he said. “He’ll be fun.”
Anastasia frowned. “He heard of the bandits a week ago. In that time he could have sent word to Lord Annaro.”
“Perhaps he did,” said Hugh. “They might have arrived just after we left. Perhaps even before, and been the impetus behind my brother sending us here.”
“Why wouldn’t he reveal it to us then?” Anastasia took her iron disciplus circle in one hand and rubbed its surface contemplatively with her thumb. “Why send us in blind?”
“I gave up trying to understand my brother’s machinations when I was eight years old,” said Hugh. “Hence why I turned out
a soldier and him a duke.”
“Or the Fate Maker didn’t send word,” said Anastasia. “I’d like to find out either way.”
“Should prove a delightful conversation, regardless. We’d best follow. Wouldn’t look good for me to miss the blessing.”
“I know you’re thrilled.” Anastasia fell in with him as they moved after the crowd. Hesitated, then glanced sidelong at him. “When did you renounce your burning path?”
“You can’t guess?”
“I suppose I can. But your coming here, doing what your brother asks - doesn’t that mean you’re treading it again?”
“Playing the part of a nobleman? On some level. But I’m not on the burning path. My heart belongs to Fortuna. To her I pray, and by her I curse. I’m here because my brother commanded me, and I owe him my life. Once this obligation is discharged, I aim to leave Mendev and not look back.”
“Oh,” said Anastasia. “So this is a temporary arrangement?”
“Of course,” said Hugh, surprised. “Though Annaro’s dragged it out long enough. Through the winter, he said. But after that, I’ll be quit of Erro and playing his envoy.”
“I see.”
They were drawing close to the market. The Fate Maker was climbing up onto the small stage. People were streaming out of their homes, opening second floor windows, filling out the crowd. Voices raised in excitement, edging in closer.
“What is it?” asked Hugh as they slowed and stopped at the crowd’s very rear. “You knew this was - oh.”
Anastasia looked straight ahead, tall enough to peer over most of the crowd’s heads.
“Right,” said Hugh, feeling the dunce once more. To press her yesterday on her independence, and then not consider her fate once their mission was accomplished. He’d been assuming all this time that she’d simply return to Annaro. While forcing her to declare herself heretical.
“Fortuna wept I’m an idiot,” he said quietly. “Look. Turn me down if you want, but once this is over, I’ll ask my brother to transfer you permanently into my service. What you do then will be up to you.”
She startled. “Your service?”
“If we survive all this, I’ll be owed a reward. I’ll ask for you, and then we can leave Mendev.” Hugh couldn’t meet her eyes. Was he making things even worse? “We’ll go somewhere they’ve not even heard of the Academy or the Fate Makers. Where you can just be yourself. Then you can go where you will, do what you want.” He gave an uncomfortable shrug. “If you want, of course.”
