by Wren Handman
Distractedly, she drummed her fingernails against the wooden seat beneath her, and then quickly stopped. Decorum was all she had as armor; she would not let them see it crack. One had to defend oneself somehow.
The door swung open on silent hinges, and a cough from the page startled her. She narrowed her eyes at his impudence and stood in a smooth motion, watching the folds of her dress fall down perfectly around her. Only when the fabric had settled did she follow the young boy, her heels clicking lightly against the stone floors. He led her through a long stone passage and then through another door, into the king’s private audience chamber. It was a large room, far larger than a private room needed to be, and there was a moderate throne set at the far end. The king’s steward stood to his right, and a few guardsmen were at attention, their eyes fixed professionally on a spot just above her head. She curtsied smoothly, staying sunken until the king bade her rise. It took him longer than could ever be considered polite, and when she finally rose her knees were aching.
“Princess Nicola, step forward. I dislike yelling across the room,” King Octarion snapped, as if she had been tardy moving forward rather than politely awaiting his command.
She kept a neutral expression as she moved smoothly forward, giving another smaller bow when she reached the foot of the throne.
“You will forgive the wait. I was dealing with Lord Mendaci—you have heard of him, I’m sure?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Princess Nicola tried not to let her sudden spike of fear show. Lord Mendaci had been sent to assure that Darren never reached Sephria, and she had only been required to ride out in such haste because he had failed. She wished, more than anything, that she could go home. Living in the palace these past months was supposed to be a sign of King Octarion showing her father favor, but she felt more like a prisoner behind the heavy stone walls. She couldn’t breathe in Labaci. She missed the green rolling hills of home, missed the sound of her mother’s voice. She hated this place, hated politics, hated the way she had to keep her eyes cast discreetly on the floor. To pretend to be a mouse in front of this great tiger, lest he strike her head from her shoulders.
“His was a great failing, Your Majesty,” she said.
“You will perhaps wish to pay him your respects. We’ve hung the remains from one of the towers,” he said with a nonchalant wave of his hand, as if he couldn’t be bothered to remember which tower it had been.
Her heart froze in her chest. Poor Mik, was all she could think, though she knew she should be wary of her own flesh.
“O-Of course, Your Majesty,” she replied, cursing the faint stutter at the beginning of the sentence. Another man might have overlooked it, but King Octarion was shrewd.
“You will perhaps be aware, Princess Nicola, that my young nephew is still very much alive. I thought you were remedying that situation?”
He was alive? That couldn’t be true! She had done what they made her do, and she had done it faithfully! “I did!” she gasped, and cursed herself again. She was better at playing men than this. She sniffed, letting her fear show, hoping a whiff of weakness could soothe him. She was close in age to his eldest daughter; she could play on that. “I did exactly as you instructed, my liege. When they left me they were heading for the ambushed path, I swear it,” she breathed.
“I assure you, Princess, that were there any doubt of the veracity of that, you would not be standing here,” he said with an icy chill in his voice, and then he continued in a normal tone. “Unfortunately, the remnants of our force informed me that some woman appeared just as the ambush was about to take please, screaming warning at the top of her lungs.”
Princess Nicola’s head jerked up in surprise.
“What? It wasn’t me, Your Majesty!” she exclaimed, her composure truly shaken.
King Octarion laughed mightily. When he spoke again his tone was gentler.
“Sometimes, Nicola, I forget how young you are. You misunderstand me. I would not be wasting my time on an audience if I suspected you of treason. The reason I called you here is that it seems you have failed in the task your father set you. The rebels know an ambush was set, and therefore they know you set it. Your usefulness in this matter is at an end. I am sending you home—you are no longer necessary at court.” He waved a dismissal.
Nicola’s feet were rooted to the spot, held there by a terror greater than she had felt only moments before. Never mind what the king might do to her if he believed her a traitor—that was nothing to what her father would do if he believed her a failure. He wanted nothing but the king’s pleasure. If she failed him…She barely suppressed a shudder.
“Your Majesty, I beg your ear for only a small moment. I know who this girl is, who surely warned the rebels of the plan. And I know your naïve nephew, Your Majesty. He loves me with a passion, but more than that he relies on my love to assure him of his own nobility. If there is even a hope that I somehow did not play him false, he will grasp it. Please, Your Majesty, give me one last chance to prove myself. If you throw me before him in chains, I swear, his hope will distract him long enough to be his undoing. Please.”
He gave her a considering look. It seemed he was balancing his options. The steward took a step forward and whispered in his ear, and he chewed over the advice. “You know very little of the world, Nicola. What makes you think you know so much of men?”
“All women know the men who love them,” she said with a simple shrug. He seemed unconvinced, so she added, “It will cost you nothing to have another ace up your sleeve, Your Majesty. And it could mean everything.”
“Very well,” he agreed. “You remain. Guards? Take her to the dungeon.”
As they walked her away, Nicola reflected bitterly that her version of victory was strange indeed.
After two weeks they reached their destination, the city of Florentio. This town was the home of Baron Timothy, a vassal of House Night, and the entire population was quietly in support of the rebel cause. While they certainly didn’t bang drums and announce their presence, neither did they have to sneak through the gates. They came in at noon with neither bustle nor fanfare, just weary travelers this much closer to home. They didn’t go to the baron’s house, but instead to a small inn nestled in the shadow of the Wall, where an elderly woman greeted Jeremy with tears in her eyes, and the gaunt and hungry soldiers were filled with good, warm stew and clear, strong ale, and sent to warm, soft mattresses stuffed with clean, sweet hay. Taya was asleep within seconds of her head hitting the pillow.
After she had slept and washed and eaten again, she sought out Darren. He was in the common room, pouring over a map with David. There were a handful of unfamiliar men in the room, who looked better rested and better coifed than any of the ones she had come to know and love. When Darren saw her he smiled and disengaged, coming to wrap an arm around her shoulders.
“Some night that was, eh? I wouldn’t never have thought a thing simple as a bed could be feeling so good,” he told her with a grin.
She snorted. “You’ve been doing nothing but lazing in beds these past weeks, as I recall,” she teased, and he tweaked her nose in affectionate ire.
“Aye, s’true. All that healing were mighty lazy of me. I’d best get shot every month, good reason to fob the hard work off on other folk.”
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“The injured’ll stay here. Most ’a the rest are massin’ in the South—some well-known rebel sympathizers in those parts. All the dukes’ll send their armies against ours, down South, at least two weeks away by horse, slower when you’ve got hundreds ’a men. Meanwhile, me an’ some of the boys will slip through the palace walls, with the help of some on the inside, an’ take the fight right to me Uncle. Surprise attack—the whole armies are just a decoy. Whole war won’t last more’n a week.”
“That’s a good plan,” Taya admitted with surprise. “Did you come up with that?”
Darren looked ashamed. “Naw. S’David’s idea. Jer said it ain’t noble, but Dav
id said savin’ lives is always noble, an’ this’ll save thousands. I don’t know whose right about what’s more noble, but it seems a good plan to me. So that’s what we’re doing.” He shrugged.
“Is David staying because of his injury?”
“Naw, he says it’s fine. Don’t worry, though, ya won’t be lonely. Missy, what runs the inn, she’s a real nice lady, and it won’t be much longer now.”
“I beg your pardon?” Taya asked. There was something very dangerous in her voice, but Darren didn’t notice.
“Like I said, no more’n a week.”
“Are you under some false impression that you will be abandoning me here like a sack of grain?” she demanded, fury rising.
Darren realized what was happening, but still only rolled his eyes. “Ya didn’t think you were comin’?” he asked.
“I most certainly am!” she snapped.
“Don’t be daft,” he snapped back.
“Don’t be an ass!” she yelled.
“I say ya ain’t coming, Taya, and that means ya ain’t!”
“Look what happened the last time you left me behind! You all almost died in an ambush!”
“You ain’t a fighter!”
“Neither are you! And I can help you, Darren!”
“An’ how are ya plannin’ on helping the war effort, Taya? Screaming ‘Fire!’ or ‘Ambush!’? ’Cause that’s yer contribution so far, an I don’t see that helping!”
She slapped him in the face.
There was a stunned silence. Taya gulped and realized that every single eye in the room was on them, and she had just slapped the king in the face. Darren snarled and grabbed her arm, dragging her into a corner for privacy.
“I’m the bloody king, Taya,” he whispered. “Ya can’t go slappin’ me like when we was lovers.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered back, still quivering with anger. “I was stupid. But you were cruel, and you know it.”
He sighed and hung his head. “I know I owe ya me life, don’t think I don’t. But you’re mad to think you could be coming with us, Taya. You’re no soldier, never held a sword till two weeks ago. You come into that palace with us, you’ll die, and I’ll not have your blood on my hands.”
“So bring me to Labaci and leave me in your stronghold there. I’m not asking you to put a sword in my hand and have me guard your back. But you don’t know what will happen, or how I might be of use. Darren, you could never have foreseen how I’ve helped you so far. Could never have known that bringing me to that safe house would have let me see Nicola’s saddle, that it would have brought me to that pass in time to warn you. I know it sounds foolish, and I know it sounds like I’m full of myself, but it’s spitting in Ashua’s eye not to bring me, Darren, I swear it is.” She knew invoking the name of Ashua was playing dirty, but she also saw it working.
He bit his lip, ran a hand through his hair. He only did that when he was frustrated that she was making sense.
“My mother is in the city,” he admitted.
“She’s in Labaci?” Taya gaped.
“Aye. We have a stronghold there, and some of the resistance has gathered to wait for us. I could bring ya that far, at least.”
She threw her arms around his neck as if he’d already agreed—which, in a way, he had. “You ass,” she whispered. “Planning on leaving me in some inn like a wounded soldier while your darling mother is closer to danger than I am.”
“Taya,” he said warningly.
“Thank you,” she said with a sigh. “You won’t regret it.”
“I already do,” he muttered, but he returned the embrace.
It was another three weeks to Labaci. They moved slowly, giving their troops time to make it south, to meet with the amassing rebel forces. That group, she learned, was being led by David’s father, a decorated soldier and respected tactician. Four of the company sent South were picked only for their looks—cloaked, they were an excellent approximation of Darren, Jeremy, David, and Ryan. No one would believe the rebel army was without these leaders, but plenty would believe that they were staying in the tents and letting the older men run the day-to-day of the battles. They had no war experience between them.
The journey to Labaci was undertaken in groups of three: Taya was with David and Ryan, while Jeremy, Darren and Liam made up another trio. All told, they numbered only fifteen. The slow pace made the traveling seem idyllic and otherworldly, a gentle haze of walking, of inns and summer skies. She became much closer with David, who talked easily and often, and even Ryan, so quiet, opened up to her a little. She told them about her family, about the boys she had known, about the girls she had known, about her early days with Darren and life as a seamstress. In turn, Ryan spoke a little of his own childhood. He had grown up an orphan, on the streets of a city in Marabour, but had left early, traveling for a time with a group of players, and then again with a band of sell-swords. It explained his awkward accent and his low vocabulary, and she began to see him in a new light, as an interesting person on his own.
And as the days passed, and David and Ryan became more comfortable around Taya, she became more certain of what she had suspected for so long. It was nearly two weeks into the trip, and there was no convenient inn between where they were and where they were going; they had taken a shortcut to avoid a bridge with guards. They were setting up a camp, all cheerfully joking about how miserable it would be to sleep under the stars, and David and Ryan were setting out their bedrolls. They placed them a good ten feet apart, and as Taya put her own down on the other side of the fire, she gave them a significant look.
“There’s no need for that on my account,” she told them.
“For what?” David asked, truly puzzled.
She pointed. “The sleeping arrangements. I know things are quite strict in Sephria, but in Miranov it isn’t quite so dire. Frowned upon, certainly, but no risk to life or limb. You do what you like. I always have.”
David seemed, for once, at a loss for words.
It was Ryan who replied, “I thought you were a religious woman.”
“I am.”
“‘And Ashua says every seed is sacred, and let no one waste his seed upon the ground or in an empty hollow,’” Ryan quoted. There was no bitterness to his words, just an acceptance of the philosophy of his day.
“Love her true, worship her right, and she’ll always see you home.” She shrugged. “What kind of a hypocrite would I be, if I judged you when I’ve done the things I have? We just all have to believe that the gods love us whether the children say they do or not. We have to believe they’re more benevolent than that.”
David turned away. “That’s easy to say,” he whispered, “when no one will kill you for playing house.”
Taya bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to compare us, David. I’m sorry. I only meant…I only meant, I don’t tell secrets. That’s all.”
He picked up a piece of wood, threw it into the fire, but the easy camaraderie was broken. “I’ll fetch some more wood,” he said, and disappeared.
Ryan stood, hesitated, and then chose not to go after him, sinking down instead beside Taya at the fire.
“I’m sorry,” she said, miserable. “That was stupid, I didn’t think…”
“Do you know how David and I met?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head, surprised.
“I’m an assassin. Did you know that? Or I were.”
“I didn’t.”
“Does it change how ya see me?” he asked, and Taya couldn’t help but laugh.
“I hardly thought you were a sheep-herder, Ryan.”
He nodded, and though he didn’t smile she could sense the lightening of the tension in his shoulders, which was his approximation of the same. “My name were the Mask of Retribution, and I were the best money could buy. The king hired me now and again—not many what weren’t kings and nobles could afford it. I were hired to kill David, when them discovered he were the rebellion’s choice for king. I tracked him, but he heard I were c
oming and he ran. I chased. There’s a spot in Sephria, near the sea, nasty swamp with poison plants, rats big as your head. Death to go in there, but in he goes and I followed. While we was inside it rained, the paths swelled, and we was trapped. I figured how to escape, but I weren’t strong enough, needed to tear down some trees and lay them as bridges. So, we made a peace. Worked together. If he were smart he woulda killed me soon as I explained him the plan. He didn’t. We worked together, and then, so close to freedom we could taste it, I got sick as death. Some swamp fever took hold of me. He stayed. Stayed right beside me…”
There was something in his voice that Taya had difficulty comprehending, a depth of feeling that seemed alien to her.
After a pause, just long enough that it seemed he would speak no more, he murmured, “We ain’t been parted since.”
They never spoke of it again, but when David returned to camp, Ryan had placed their bedrolls side-by-side—not quite touching, but close enough that they would be able to feel each other’s warmth through the blankets.
Chapter Sixteen
WHEN LABACI FINALLY APPEARED on the horizon, Taya thought she had never seen anything so grand. Novosk had its walls, that was true enough, but they were rough-hewn things, designed for defense. This city…this city had been old when Novosk was still a glimmer of an idea. It took them two days to reach the walls after they first came into view. They were easily fifty feet high, and intricately carved with scenes so beautiful they brought tears to the eye. The stone was smooth and softly pink, giving the people startling life, and the things depicted were myriad: the maidies, lifting Yariel up to the Heavens; the great Conqueror Tilonius, who had created the kingdom of Sanitos; a huge battle that Taya didn’t recognize. She felt like a yokel, but was glad to see that she wasn’t the only one gawping as they approached. They joined a stream of farmers, merchants, and travelers entering the city, anonymous in the crowd.
