“This is twice today that you’ve done this. Who did you see?”
“Who?” Lucy looked Reigna in the eye. “Ahhh, no one. I just—” She bit her lip. “I guess that sometimes the gravity of this all just leaves me . . . Oh, I don’t know.”
Eden scowled. “Never mind, then. Come on, let’s go.”
Before them a granite staircase rose to the front door of the research center. Bits of graupel, hail-like snow pellets, rested in the corners of the steps, each of which nature had frosted with a thin layer of ice.
“Get some gravel on these right away,” Lucy ordered one of the attendants on duty, as she pointed at the steps and scowled at him. “We can’t afford unnecessary injuries.”
He bowed, acknowledging the order, then rushed off to attend to the matter.
While keeping their feet wide apart and moving slowly, deliberately, so as to maintain their balance, the twins and Lucy made their way to the door and then entered the building.
Crowds filled the hallway before them. Men and women dressed and armed for training, scurried about, making room for the on-duty healer, who just then ushered an injured man toward a nearby room designated as the infirmary.
“Oh, Salus!” Lucy cried on sight of the Oathtaker. “I’m glad I caught you. I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule.”
“Certainly,” he replied. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”
As Lucy and the twins continued on, the pack spread back, allowing room for them to pass. Thus, they marched through, to the end of the hall. Then they stepped into the conference room they’d reserved earlier as a meeting place.
“What is it, Dax?” Reigna asked, making her way forward, her footsteps clicking on the hardwood floor. Then she caught sight of two flits sitting on the table, on duty there for the day so as to rush communications about, should the need arise.
“Hello, Fugacious,” she said to the first of them, “and Mercurial,” she addressed the other as she slipped off her cloak and draped it over a chair. For whatever reason, she and her twin had taken to using the flits’ full names whenever they spoke to, or referred to, one of them.
The flits returned her greeting, then acknowledged both Lucy and Eden.
Dax, his face buried in a stack of papers on the table before him, looked up. “Please, sit down,” he said, “and grab some lunch.” He gestured toward the fare before them.
“I am hungry,” Reigna said as she grabbed a bowl and then scooped some rice into it. Atop it, she spooned some of the rich stew that she found. Thick with roasted chili and cumin-spiced chicken, corn, black beans, garlic, onions, and stewed tomato, its spicy, peppery aroma filled the air.
“Great Ehyeh, this smells amazing,” she muttered as she topped the fare with shredded cheese, after which she filled another bowl with some stone-ground corn chips.
She sat, then mixed the stew and rice. Once through, she scooped some up with a chip and ate it.
“Mmmm . . . so, so good,” she mumbled, her mouth full. “This almost puts Adele’s cooking to shame.”
Grinning, Eden got her lunch.
Lucy followed suit.
“I swear, Reigna, you’re always hungry,” her twin teased as she sat down.
“What? I can’t help it!” Reigna held her free hand out, palm up. “Ever since freezing and starving in The Tearless, I’ve been like a bottomless pit.”
She took another bite, then turned back to Dax, suddenly all business. “All right then, what’s happening?” she asked him.
The door opened and in walked Dixon with Aliza Kensey.
“Good, you’re here,” Dax acknowledged them. “So, here’s the situation,” he said, once again addressing the twins. “A report came in just this morning that a company of about a hundred men neared Oosa within the last days. We understand they’ve set up a camp not far from Ethanward.”
“We’d heard from Liam and Rafal that there were some Chiranian troops headed that way,” Eden said.
“Yes, but until now, we’d had no credible reports of their arrival in the area.”
“As you all know, we already sent Marshall and some of the others that way,” Dixon said. “Hopefully, they’ll be able to respond to an invasion, should one occur.”
“Yes,” Lucy said, “and for the record, I’ve intended to make sure that they have some good healers with them. I just ran into Salus, who I think is an excellent candidate to put in charge there. Do any of you know him?”
“I do,” Dax said. “He’s a good choice.” Then, sighing, he pushed his now empty bowl of lunch aside. “But you know, in truth,” he filled his teacup, “our greatest lack at this time, is of information from the Chiranian side of the border.”
“Have you a plan of some kind to address that?” Lucy asked.
He glanced Aliza’s way. “As a matter of fact, we do.”
“Oh?” Reigna spoke up. “What’s that?”
“I’d like permission to go there,” Aliza said.
“Inside Chiran?” Reigna pulled back. “But, Aliza, we need you here. Also, it cannot go unsaid that as much as you—as all we women for that matter—are preparing for this threat, we know what a terrible place that would be for any of us.”
“But I have an advantage.”
Eden tapped her spoon on the table. “What’s that?” she asked.
“My attendant magic.”
Dixon leaned in. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Aliza? That you want to mask yourself as one of them? That—”
“Liam and Rafal are already doing that—just as Marshall and Jerrett did in the past,” Lucy said. “From their reports, they’ve managed to dress themselves like the Chiranian guards and to infiltrate their troops. I see no reason to risk your safety, Aliza, or for us to lose the advantage of having you here with us, training. Besides—”
“Wait, Lucy,” Dax said, “I think you should hear her out.”
Aliza sat with her hands tented open, tapping her fingertips together. “Listen, with my magic, I can make the Chiranian soldiers see exactly what I want them to see. Perhaps in doing so, I could get more relevant information. You see, I could take on the form—”
“Of Zarek, himself, if necessary,” Lucy completed her sentence, her eyes wide.
Aliza bit the inside of her cheek. “It is possible. I could do that, although of course, my main goal would be to gather information. In fact, I’d prefer not to engage with anyone at all.”
“How long could you keep it up? Using your magic to trick Chiranians, I mean. Surely, you’d need to stop to rest from time to time.” Lucy shook her head. “Look, I haven’t time to create another means for you to communicate with us. You can’t use the compact I created because only a current or former Oathtaker to a seventh of the Select can use it. And the only other success I’ve had with such an item to date, was with the compass I provided Liam and Rafal when they left Oosa.” She paused, tapping on the table. “No, it’s too dangerous,” she finally concluded.
“Hold on, Lucy,” Reigna said, “we shouldn’t dismiss this idea out of hand.”
“I can keep my magic operating for long periods without needing a rest,” Aliza said. “And you, Dixon,” she continued, “could get me inside the border directly, so that I could get started right away.” She looked at each of the others, in turn. “Perhaps I can cause confusion with the Chiranian troops that I meet up with. But best of all, if I go, I can get a good look at what’s really happening in those parts.”
“In general, Aliza, I like your idea,” Reigna said, “but think about it. You say that what we lack, is information. However, even if you gathered some while there, you couldn’t get it back to us. Moreover, in truth, I don’t want to send you in alone.”
“I wouldn’t be alone.”
Dixon stared at her. “You want me to stay there, as well?”
“No. Thank you for the offer, though,” Aliza said, grinning. “Actually, I’ve already recruited a couple of willing assistants.” She turned to the flits.
“Fuggy? Merc?”
Fugacious spread his wings, then flew toward Reigna and Eden. Mercurial followed behind. Landing on the table before them, the flits bowed.
“With your permission, Merc and I would accompany Aliza,” Fuggy said.
“Yes, and then, should the need arise, one of us could get word back to you quickly,” his fellow flit added.
The twins shared a glance.
“Fugacious,” Reigna said, “we depend on you flits here to—to get messages around between us.”
He smiled at her halfheartedly. “Forgive me if I sound . . . presumptuous,” he said, “but in truth, that is not the best use of our abilities.”
She pulled back. “You don’t think so?”
“Look,” he said, “most of the time, around here,” he waved his hand to indicate his surroundings, “you can assign one of your own kind to carry a message—just as was done today to get word to you that Dax hoped to meet with you here.”
“So?”
“So you should take advantage of our real skills. They lie in our ability to go the distance—to make our way to and fro far more quickly than can one of your own kind.”
“You are absolutely correct,” Reigna said. She turned to Eden. “What do you think?”
“I guess the plan sounds good.”
“As I think on it,” Reigna added, “we’ve meant to get some flits to stay with Marshall and the troops stationed on this side of the border, as well. We should do that now.”
“We’ll let Effie and Fleet know that they should send some of our ranks off straight away,” Merc said.
“Good,” Lucy agreed.
“Well then, Aliza,” Eden said, “if you’re willing to go with Fugacious and Mercurial, I think we should allow for it.”
“We’re all agreed then,” Reigna said, standing, her lunch bowl in hand. “Now,” she grinned, “I need more of this . . . chili-soup, or whatever this is . . .”
Chapter Fifteen
Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself. Cold had descended in the last weeks, and although he kept a fire burning in his quarters at all times, Broden couldn’t seem to shake the chill, as he spent most of his hours in the unheated prison for women. From there, he oversaw the latest captures, and prepared caravans of the unlucky—those he’d have to send to the troops. It disgusted him. He forced down his bile, its acidity threatening its way up the back of his throat. The women’s cries sounded out, morning, midday, and into the wee hours of the night, day after merciless day. They left him sick at heart, and with a constant headache.
Sitting at the table he used for a desk, in the room he’d designated as an office, Broden dropped his head into his hands. This was madness. He simply couldn’t save them all.
But I can save some.
“What of this one, master?” Striver asked upon entering, his voice shaky.
Broden looked up. His heart sank. At Striver’s side was a bound prisoner, trembling with fear.
“She’s a child!” he cried, taking to his feet.
His tutor refused to look him in the eye. “You know your father, Zarek’s, orders. We must fill the wagon. And, there’s still room—”
Broden struggled to fight back a cry, then let it loose. “No. No!” He shoved the papers and files from the tabletop to the floor. “Not this one!” He clutched his middle, to suppress his visceral reaction. “There’s still some hope, albeit little, for the young.”
He approached the girl at Striver’s side. “How old are you?” he asked, his voice hard.
She spat, then charged at him.
Striver held out the staff he carried for precisely this purpose, blocking her forward movement. Not allowed to wield weapons, it was all he had to help Broden to maintain order in the prison.
She grabbed it, then struggled to escape.
“He’s trying to help you,” Striver cried. “Stop now!”
She leaned over and bit his hand, bearing down hard, growling all the while.
He cried out in pain and surprise.
Broden shoved his tutor aside, breaking her hold. “Listen to him,” he ordered. “I’m trying to save you.”
She glared at him, seething. “You took my mother!”
Striver stumbled to regain his balance. He brushed on his pant leg, blood that trickled down the back of his hand.
The girl sobbed. “You took my mother!” she repeated.
Broden stood before her. “I’m sorry. I’m doing what I can, but I have my orders.”
“Orders! Mother says you are all monsters.”
“She has it mostly right, I’m sorry to say. I cannot save you all. But I can save some. I can save you. Or at least I can try.”
He turned to address Striver. “Isn’t there something? Some . . . provisions they require where the cart is going that we can fill it with? Help me out here!”
Carlie stepped up. “There’s a trunk we could send,” she suggested.
“What’s in it?”
Tear pooled in her eyes. “Weapons.”
“Ohhhh!” Broden cried, wiping his hand across his forehead. “Weapons that ultimately will be used against our own kind! This is utter madness.”
He paced, rubbing the back of his neck, breathing heavily. Then he went suddenly still. His shoulders sagged.
“Great Ehyeh,” he moaned, “I cannot do this any longer.”
“You can do it for this one,” Carlie said, approaching him and resting her hand on his arm. “How old do you suppose she is? Ten? Maybe?” Her eyes held his. “It’s our only choice this time.”
Broden turned to the girl. “What’s your name, child?”
She stood mute, glaring.
Carlie stepped toward her and then knelt. “We’re doing everything we can to help you,” she said.
Her eyes flickered from her, to Striver, and then to Broden. “Clementine,” she muttered.
“Listen, Clementine,” Broden said, “I need your help if I’m to keep you from being sent off. What can you do? Do you have any special talents or skills? I need to find a job for you of such importance that—”
“You can’t promise her that,” Striver muttered.
“No, but I can promise to try!” Broden glared at him. Then he turned back to Clementine, willing himself to calm down. “Tell me,” he said, his voice softer now, “what can you do?”
“Wait!” Carlie exclaimed. “You said Zarek is using children for tasters. Why don’t you tell him that you’ve grown fearful, and have chosen to put one into service for yourself?”
“Just let them take me,” the girl said, holding her head high. “I’m strong. Save my mother instead. Please. She’s all my younger brothers and sisters have.”
Broden shook his head. “I’m sorry. I cannot.”
“But . . . she may die.”
Closing his eyes, he hung his head. “My dear, she’s already well on her way.”
Clementine fell to her knees. “Please. Please!”
Broden crouched down before her. He put his hand on her shoulder. When she looked up, he shook his head. “I cannot. But I will do everything I can to save you, Clementine. I promise.”
The table was laden with all good things—roasted wild boar bathed in a dried cherry, red wine, and shallot sauce; sweet potato hash, fragrant with cloves; and carrots, fire-roasted. To top off the refection, the cook had provided hot fresh bread for sopping up the juices. The fragrances from the various dishes rose into the air, tickling the diners’ noses.
Broden, as usual, sat next to Zarek, with Striver at his right. He hated leaving Carlie and the other slave women who assisted him alone with their guards, but he had no choice about attending this dinner meeting, as the emperor entertained a guest.
He looked at the woman who sat across from him. This was the first he’d ever seen Zarek with one of her kind. Although petite, she displayed boldness in her demeanor. Perhaps it was her raven hair streaked with gray, pulled up tight and held back, that gave her such an air of authority.
Or perhaps it’s that deep widow’s peak of hers, he thought.
Grimacing, he watched as the taster, another child, partook of a bite from each item on the table.
When a minute later, nothing had happened, a guard directed the boy toward a back door, through which he stepped out.
“I must say, Emperor Zarek,” the woman purred, watching the child, “your wherewithal never ceases to amaze me.”
“Oh?”
When she grinned in response, Broden feared her skin might crack. Clearly the expression was a most unusual one for her.
“The boy,” she said, gesturing with her fork in hand toward the door from whence the young taster had exited.
Zarek’s brow rose. “Yes, Tanith, but then I give you credit for that.” He laughed heartily. “Your plans all those years ago to raise some girls for sale here in Chiran was . . . brilliant! And to have initiated the venture with your own daughter . . .” He paused in thought. “Chaya was her name, if I remember correctly.”
“It was, indeed.”
Broden’s eyes narrowed as he watched the exchange.
Tanith tasted the roast boar. “This is nicely done,” she said.
“Hmmm, yes,” Zarek agreed. “The chef who made this was captured seeking to escape Chiran—with his family. When we learned of his skills, we put him to use.” Grinning, he leaned toward her. “The taster is one of his children, so you can trust me when I say that he is ever vigilant about anyone seeking to poison my food.”
Broden cleared his throat, struggling to remain silent.
“Am I to understand that you are not in agreement?” Tanith asked turning his way, her eyes boring into him.
He pulled back and pointed at his chest. “Me?”
“Yes, you. I sense some . . . dissent.”
“Oh, no, ma’am. In fact, I’ve my own taster now. A girl child of ten years or so.”
Striver leaned in and addressed her. “Broden oversees the women’s prison here.”
Glaring at him, she lifted her glass of wine, examined its deep raspberry color in the candlelight, swirled it in her glass, and then sniffed at it. “So I heard,” she said before tasting it. Then she turned to her host. “Really, Emperor Zarek, has it become the fashion to allow slaves at your table?”
Ephemeral and Fleeting Page 15
