“And so you think we should do away with that anachronistic honorable behavior?” Vara asked sharply.
“Alaric didn’t have formal spies,” Terian said with a ghostly smile, “but he certainly had ears all over the place. Sanctuary never had a need for formal spies because between Curatio and Alaric’s considerable sources, the friends they had all across Arkaria, they were apprised of most threats without a need to become excessively deceitful. You two, being unable to go insubstantial at a moment’s notice or having the benefit of ages of sowing the seeds of friendship or using the power of heretical magics—well, incredibly strong heretic magics, sorry, Cyrus—are somewhat lacking in the area of covertly gathering knowledge.” He stood stiffly. “Also … Alaric trusted people, perhaps too much. That is one of the reasons your house is replete with spies.”
“Wonderful,” Cyrus said, leaning his head back. “Everyone has spies watching us, and we have none. They are well versed; we are ignorant. You’re laying out a compelling case for formation of a network of some sort, and yet I feel perhaps the time for that might have passed some time ago, as the gold we have to spread around for such work is running thinner every day—”
“I’m not expecting you to come out four-square in favor of everything I’m telling you right now,” Terian said, “I’m merely letting you know that in this place, in this way, you are blind.”
“Blindness,” Cattrine said, adding her own dagger to Cyrus’s heart, “is not an advisable state.”
“I ask again,” Vara looked at each of the three of the intruders in turn, “what are your suggestions, then? To put ourselves in this harlot’s capable and well-traveled hands? This is what you bring us in our hour of dire need?”
Terian looked reassuringly at Aisling and nodded. “This is what I bring you. The most capable assassin in Arkaria.”
“Wait,” Cyrus said, coming to his feet, “you mean—”
“Calm yourself,” Aisling said, looking perhaps as glum as he’d ever seen her, “that’s not the only reason I’m here.”
“I don’t see how we can assassinate our way out of this conundrum,” Vara said after a moment, seemingly less bothered by the possibility of assassination than she had been to Aisling’s involvement minutes earlier. Cyrus cast a scandalized look at his wife. “Nor am I saying that we should,” she added once she saw his look.
“You say that because you don’t see Arkaria the way she does,” Terian said, inclining his head toward Aisling.
“That’s correct,” Vara said, “I see it on my feet, she sees it on her back, or bent over a strong table, perhaps—”
“You don’t see Arkaria,” Terian said, ignoring the jibe. Aisling, for her part, merely rolled her eyes. “You see a homogenous whole—a Confederation of humans, a Kingdom of elves, large armies ready to march against you. You see an impassible wall.”
“On my feet, yes,” Vara agreed. “I suppose on my back I would see the night sky—”
“You would see the divisions in the Confederation,” Aisling hissed. “You would see the resentments in the Riverlands, in the Northlands, in the Southern Reaches, and the Western District for having to bear the cost of a war begun by the Council of Twelve to expand their territory, a war which left those territories stripped of troops and in the case of the Riverlands and the Reaches, invaded. You would hear the griping in the public houses and in the fields about how Pretnam Urides and his Twelve are the head of the Confederation in Reikonos and treat everyone outside of it like the rump.” Her expression of irritable contempt settled into a frown. “Also, I suspect you spend a great deal more time on your back or bent over a table than me these days.”
“With my husband, yes,” Vara snapped back.
“Funnily enough, when I did it, it was with your husband, too—”
“Not helpful,” Cyrus said, then looked to Terian, who wore a small smile. “What are you suggesting here?”
“Vara,” Terian said, looking right at her, “how does the kingdom feel about Danay after the last war?”
She blinked at him, cheeks red, still steaming. “I don’t live in the kingdom, how would I know?”
“You’re the Lady of Nalikh’akur,” Terian said. “You are the authority of the northernmost province. You don’t have an assemblage of other Lords and Ladies of the Kingdom once per year?”
“I have not gone in the past several years,” Vara said. “Anyway, I don’t imagine I’m going to be Lady of Nalikh’akur much longer, as I’m surely about to be declared heretic on my own merits shortly.”
“You are the shelas’akur,” Cattrine said, interjecting, threading her way in a circular path past Terian. “The nominal governor of a province, at least in name.” She’s putting on a show here, Cyrus thought, warming us up for something. “How many other provinces are there?”
“Many,” Vara said, shaking her head. “Why—”
“How do you think the Lord of Termina views King Danay at this moment?” Terian asked.
Vara’s brow furrowed into deep lines. “How should I bloody know what Oliaryn Iraid thinks of the King? I only know the man in passing, and I haven’t seen him in years.”
“You should stop into Termina and pay your respects,” Cattrine said, smiling. “He’d welcome a visit from you.”
Vara narrowed her eyes at Cattrine. “Know that, do you?”
“I do,” Cattrine said, eyes glittering in the torchlight with something beyond amusement. “As two of the most economically liberal parts of the Elven Kingdom, we have frequent discussions about trade … and other matters. The Lady Voryn of the Emerald Coast has also been a frequent attendee of our conferences of late, as well representatives of the poor, begotten protectorate of Amti—”
“My gods,” Cyrus said, burying his face in his hands, “you’re fomenting rebellion within the Kingdom.”
“You’re damned right we are,” Terian said, burning with self-righteousness. “You saw what Danay tried to do last year, to you, when his heir died on your expedition. You know what he did to Odellan after Termina—”
“Gods damn you for bringing up either one of them,” Cyrus said weakly, casting aside his gauntlet and rubbing at his own face. The stubble on his cheeks felt rough, like cactus quills sprouting from his skin, a perfect representation of how prickly he felt right now. Cornered like a porcupine, all I want to do is spike everyone in sight. He glanced sidelong at Vara, who looked stricken but listened intently.
“This is not a time for delicacy,” Terian said with rising fury, “because they are not going to be delicate with us. Danay would have smashed the Emerald Fields last year because you led his daughter willingly into a battle where she got killed. This is a man who is about to put the bulk of his broken kingdom, which he has jeopardized for years by ignoring threats at his very gates, into direct opposition against you. He is capricious and cruel, and I have no qualms about bringing him low.” He drew himself up, a shadowed knight in paladin armor. “Do you?”
“I …” Cyrus looked to Vara, who returned his gaze, stricken. “I …”
A knock sounded at the door, thundering and loud, echoing through the tower. Everyone froze, Terian with a look upon his face that seemed as trapped as Cyrus’s had been a moment earlier. “No one can know we’re here,” Terian hissed.
“Why not?” Vara asked, eyes darting back to Cattrine and Aisling, who were moving to hide themselves in the toileting room built into one of the Tower’s walls.
“Because you’re thick with spies,” Terian said under his breath, moving to join the other two. “Just … keep it quiet.”
“Fine,” Cyrus said, tossing back the Battle Axe of Darkness. He noted as he made for the stairs that Vara did not return Aisling’s dagger, that she merely swept it behind her back, and that a look of utter antagonism was exchanged between the two of them before Aisling disappeared behind the door.
“Who is it?” Cyrus called, coming down the steps tentatively, as though Goliath assassins were lurking behind the
door, waiting to smash it in and kill them both the moment he answered.
The pounding came once again, even more insistent this time, and Cyrus looked up at Vara, who stared back with her eyebrows knitted low. He watched her reposition the dagger held behind her, readying it for use. She followed behind him, invisible to the naked eye, shadowing his movements, ready to attack any would-be attacker.
“Who’s there?” Cyrus called once more and waited for an answer. None came, and with a last glance at Vara, who nodded, he was decided. With utmost caution, he reached for the knob, clicked open the lock, and began to slowly open the door.
12.
“Hihi!” Vaste chirped, his green face grinning at Cyrus from the crack opened in the door. “Can we come in?”
Cyrus blanched, the still quiet of the Tower of the Guildmaster hanging above him like a blade, reminding him of what he was hiding above. “I … no. You can’t.”
“Why ever not?” Vaste asked, teeth bared in an enormous grin.
Cyrus glanced furtively back at Vara, who was still invisible behind Aisling’s dagger’s effect, and she gave him a look of great significance. “Because we’re … having sex right now.” Vara let her head fall back, rolling her eyes.
“That’s not really a no,” Vaste said, still lurking behind the door.
Cyrus pressed against the barely open door. “What, are you Erith now?”
“Hardly,” Vaste said and shoved once against the door, knocking it open to reveal J’anda standing beside him. The enchanter carried his staff, with its glowing purple orb, and Vaste held his newly improved spear his hand. Vaste nodded at Vara. “You’re wearing a surprising number of layers to be having sex,” Vaste said, shoving gracefully past Cyrus and squeezing past Vara with little difficulty, avoiding her well enough that Cyrus knew he could see her clearly. “Also, I doubt you would bring the dagger of your husband’s former lover to bed, no matter how randy you both got.” He glanced over his shoulder at Vara, who looked alarmed. “You’re not thinking clearly. You’re invisible but you’re hiding the dagger behind your back. Pointless since no one can see you.”
“I can see you,” J’anda said, still formally waiting outside the door. He bowed. “Do you mind if I come in, now that Vaste has made himself welcome in your abode?”
“Sure, why not?” Cyrus asked, a tense feeling pooling down his throat and into his belly. J’anda nodded politely as he came inside and Cyrus closed the door behind him.
“Aisling’s dagger casts a lovely light upon you,” J’anda said, nodding at Vara, who pulled the blade from behind her back and stared at it in frustration. “But then, my dear, you always look good, no matter the light.”
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here—” Cyrus began.
“We’re interrupting your meeting with Terian, Cattrine Tiernan, and Aisling,” Vaste said from the top of the stairs. “Terian! You old dog! Come out of the toilet!”
Terian appeared as Cyrus and Vara climbed the stairs with J’anda a few steps ahead of them. Cyrus exchanged a look with his wife, and her discomfort was obvious. “It’s all right,” Terian reassured them as he emerged, axe slung behind him and his helm under his arms, “these two probably aren’t traitors.”
“‘Probably’?” J’anda asked, plainly affronted.
“Why, I never,” Vaste said, nodding to Cattrine and Aisling as they came out of the bathroom behind Terian, a little more reticently than the Sovereign of Saekaj had.
“How did you know we were up here?” Terian asked, a look of wary resignation on his face.
“I was just lying in my bed, dreaming of warm, fresh-baked pie,” Vaste said, “when suddenly the spirits around me began to whisper so excitedly that they woke me up. And oh, the tales they told—of how several of Cyrus’s lovers, past and present, were currently having a grand meeting in the tower. At first, I thought, Orgy, best stay away, but then they mentioned Terian, and I realized that there probably wasn’t any harm in at least looking in on things—”
“Very nice,” Terian said, lips puckered in amusement. “How much did these spirits tell you?”
“You are forming a shadow council,” J’anda said, looking very formal still, leaning upon his staff. “You’re going to deal with the dangers we face in a way that we don’t traditionally deal with them.”
Cyrus felt a pang of guilt. “I hadn’t decided yet. I was just listening to—”
“I think you had better decide,” J’anda said, cutting him off. “I think you had better agree.”
“You, too, J’anda?” Vara asked quietly.
“This may sound peculiar,” J’anda said, “but I have no illusions about the type of people we are dealing with. Our armies are insufficient to the task, so other means must be found, unless you wish us to surrender to the coming death.” He brandished his staff before him. “Why would you think that I, of all people, would have some objection to employing trickery? It is my mushrooms and suet, as we say in Saekaj and Sovar, my very reason for being.”
“And you?” Cyrus asked, looking at Vaste. “I can’t remember a stauncher critic against what we tried to do to draw the dragons into war last year. Why would you even consider this? I mean, it’s going to be … potentially so much worse.”
“Your great bugbear last year was the titans,” Vaste said. “They made you blind because you knew what creatures of the God of War could do. For you, it was personal and it blinded you to all other considerations.” He sniffed the air and looked at Terian. “For me … the enemy that produces that same effect is Goliath.”
“Hear, hear,” Terian said quietly in agreement.
“I would do almost anything to rid myself of those jackals,” Vaste said, his onyx eyes flashing in the torchlight. “You feared the grand assault of those monstrosities in the south. I fear the silent, whispering steps of those assassins among our old allies. They are liars and cheats, and as I told you once before, they do not come cleanly at you once they’ve decided to kill you. It’s a dagger in the back, a drowning in the night. They’ve got two of the largest powers in Arkaria already on their side and one of the Big Three guilds.” Vaste’s face tightened. “In this case, I’m utterly fine with giving Malpravus a bitter dose of his own hemlock. To me, that would feel like justice.”
“Still,” Cyrus said, looking at the few of them lined up around his quarters—Vaste hugging his spear-staff close; J’anda, leaning on his; Cattrine holding her thin hands one over top of the other; Aisling lurking near the western balcony door as though she wished she could disappear into its curtains; Terian, regal and observant, and finally—
Vara.
Cyrus’s wife stood in stoic silence, staring straight ahead into one of the torches on the wall. “What are you thinking?” he asked her, jarring her out of her reverie.
“I think the man who once asked me to marry him, the one who stole my sword, cursed me, killed all my friends and left me for dead has joined with declared enemies against us,” Vara said, her eyes shifting, becoming calculated and cunning. “For all these years I have denied myself revenge, thinking … thinking it a foolish pastime, thinking myself a better person for swearing it off. But here he comes again, once more trying to take everything from me …” Her voice went low, harsh, and the emotion poured out; for the first time Cyrus realized how much his being ambushed in Reikonos had affected her. “There are weaknesses in the Elven Kingdom,” Vara said, nodding once, her decision plainly made. “Cracks that can be made larger. Rifts that we can exploit to either push them into dissension or cause Danay to topple entirely. Either way, they will be … off our list of adversaries for a time.” Her face twitched with rage.
“I don’t know about this,” Cyrus whispered, almost to himself. “The Sanctuary Council—”
“Cyrus,” Terian said, shaking his head. “Your Council is compromised. Remember when Goliath turned Arkaria against us years ago? Malpravus had someone on the inside then.”
“I don’t believe it,” Cyr
us said, shaking his head. “He could be spying on us with the dead, like Vaste just did.”
“Mmmm, no,” Vaste said. When Cyrus looked to him for elaboration, the troll merely shook his head. “Trust me. The dead in this place are not on speaking terms with Malpravus.”
“Consider this,” Aisling said, breaking her long silence at last. “It may not even be an actual council member. One of them may have taken a lover, for example, and simply have a loose tongue in the bed.” It took Cyrus a moment to realize that the strange sound he heard was Vara grinding her teeth. Aisling watched her for a moment in mild alarm before continuing. “In the world of information gathering, this is an ancient practice.”
“To scheme in this way is dangerous,” Cattrine said, returning to the conversation once more. “The people of power in these governments would undoubtedly love to know what we’re planning here now, which is why it is imperative that it be kept secret. Even if all goes well, no one in Arkaria outside these walls may ever even know what we have done here. Not only because of reputation, but because the legitimacy of the outcome in some of these cases … well, the secret must be kept.” She looked at Vara. “Surely you agree?”
“I agree that whoring is an ancient practice, yes,” Vara said, her jaw still in a tight line, her eyes locked on Aisling. “And … yes, if we have a leaking Council … perhaps putting this before them would not be the wisest course if our plan relies on our enemies not knowing what is coming.”
“Try and imagine displacing King Danay or Pretnam Urides if they had full awareness we were plotting to do so,” Terian said. “They would counter immediately. They are not stupid. They are surely cognizant of the more restless elements within their own houses, but they probably don’t see those factions descending to the levels we’d like to drag them to.”
“So what do we do, then?” Cyrus asked, frowning. “Stand back and … play dead?”
“We plan,” Terian said.
“We scheme,” Cattrine agreed.
Heretic (The Sanctuary Series Book 7) Page 8
