If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Good, let’s go.”
Deinol scowled. “No one said you were—”
“Not now,” the woman snapped, but as she passed the archway, she came to an abrupt stop. “Oh, you’re joking.”
“Afraid not,” Morgan said from the darkness—had even she come to rescue him? “Lucius, what should we do with her?”
Lucius shrugged. “Seth likes her well enough. She’ll come with us.”
“Are you sure that—”
“There’s no time,” Lucius said. “I think I hear them.”
The woman cocked her head, her eyes fluttering slightly as she listened. “You’re right. I’ll follow you.”
In answer, Lucius brushed past the woman and down the darkened corridor, leaving her to fall in behind him. Deinol nodded to Seth, and as they drew abreast with Morgan, Braddock appeared, hefting an ax in one hand. Seth couldn’t believe his eyes—had they all come in after him? That had to be why they were here, didn’t it?
“Roger’s playing the coward back in Sheath, as he’s wont to do,” Lucius said, as if reading his thoughts. “But he showed us the way.”
“How did Roger know how to get inside a prison? I thought he was so proud of never having been in one.”
“Let him tell you himself,” Lucius said. “Come on—we’re close.”
They made it up the stairs, and around one more turn. On the other side, a wall of swords met them, before even Lucius had time to draw his blade.
The man who looked to be in charge of the soldiers scratched his side-whiskers almost sheepishly. “I did think I heard a disturbance from down below, but I can safely say this is not what I was expecting.”
At Seth’s elbow, Braddock’s fingers knuckled white around the shaft of his ax, but he kept it hanging limply at his side. “Well, shit.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“There was a girl,” Shinsei said—again? Yes, he could remember saying it before. “In the snow. I saw her. She had golden hair. I saw her.”
His master’s voice came out of the dark beside him, measured and calm as always, but it did not soothe Shinsei as it usually did. “That’s true enough. You did see her.”
“But she’s gone now,” Shinsei said, “and I wanted—I wanted—I want to ask her something, I just can’t—”
“You cannot ask her,” his master said. “That’s true as well, I’m afraid.”
“No, I meant—” He meant to say that he couldn’t remember the question. But what his master had said was true too; there was a reason Shinsei could not ask her, and it wasn’t just that she wasn’t here.
Coward, she had said; he remembered that. She had called him that. He understood, in a purely definitional way, what a coward was, but it was as if a sheet of glass separated him from the word; he could not put his hands on it, to grasp its meaning. He could not say what it was about a coward that set him apart from other men.
“I think there is something wrong with my mind,” he said to his master.
His master smiled wearily. “It is true you are different, Shinsei, but that does not mean something is wrong with you.”
He didn’t want there to be something wrong with him, but there it was. He sensed the way others could move from thought to thought, in a strong, unbroken chain, but Shinsei would reach a conclusion only to realize he could not recall the thoughts that had led to it. It was like walking through snow, and turning back to see your footsteps erased behind you. That could not be permissible—could it? That was … a dangerous way to be.
Wasn’t it? Or hadn’t he loved it, once?
“I want to remember,” he said to his master. “Or … this time I do, anyway. But I can’t seem to hold on to it. I keep remembering there’s something I want to ask her, but never what.”
His master sighed. “Does it truly matter, Shinsei? It was years ago. You remember that, don’t you?”
Had it really been years? But yes, that was right. Years. She had been so young when he saw her—was she older now? No, he reminded himself: she wasn’t any older. She would never be any older than she was, because … something had happened. He remembered his head hurting, and … yes, that was the first time his head had hurt like that. Is that what he wanted to ask her? Why his head kept hurting? No, that wasn’t it. Was it?
“She had golden hair,” he said again, and then wondered why. Was that important? Not in itself, he was fairly certain, but only because the color of her hair had reminded him of something else. Of someone else. But it hadn’t reminded him until afterward, when his head started hurting. That was right, wasn’t it? That was right. “She had golden hair, and she said that I was…” A coward. “Wrong. She said that I was wrong.” He cocked his head, looking at his master. “But I wasn’t, was I?”
“No,” his master said.
“No,” Shinsei agreed. “So then she must have been wrong, and why would I want to look for guidance from someone I knew was wrong? Yet I’m sure it was important. There was something I—”
“Shinsei,” his master said, very quietly, very patiently. “We have discussed this before. We have discussed this girl, and what happened to her. Do you remember?”
He remembered that they had discussed it, yes. His master was always having to discuss things with him over and over, and for that Shinsei was sorry. But try as he might, he could not seem to remember anything they had said about the girl. His master knew that Shinsei wanted to ask her something, yes, and—
“The girl was from Lanvaldis, Shinsei,” his master said. “From Araveil, the old capital, before we conquered it. She got caught up in the civilian resistance. Do you remember that?”
She’d had a sword. He remembered that. She’d been armed. “Did we … fight?” he asked.
“Did you and the girl fight? I’m afraid so.”
That was right—he remembered seeing her naked sword, the way it had gleamed under the moon. He remembered the look of determination on her face. He remembered how he had watched her, how he had judged her—he remembered how he had shifted his grip on his sword, and—
“She should not have fought me,” he said; it tasted like an excuse. “My swordsmanship is perfect. I’m supposed to be perfect, I—” He reached for the hilt of his sword, brushing his fingertips across it. The others always drew back in alarm when he did that, and he never knew what to say to them. But his master never looked frightened. “I was only doing what I was supposed to do,” he whispered.
“I know,” his master said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I know, Shinsei. And it’s all right. I don’t mean to cause you any more pain. But you keep asking me what happened, and the answer’s never going to change. It was years ago.” He took a deep breath. “You meant no harm, Shinsei, but what’s done is done. She got in your way, and you had your orders, and she is no longer in any pain.”
He remembered blood against golden hair. He shut his eyes, but nothing changed.
His master leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “I know you never intended for it to happen that way, but that’s how it happened. It’s all right. You can let it go. Torturing yourself like this accomplishes nothing.”
Was this torturing himself? It was another concept Shinsei couldn’t fully understand. Sometimes the memory of her was like that, was a weight that wanted to crush him, but sometimes it seemed as if he held on to it because he needed to, as if letting go of it completely would only ensure he was lost forever.
He met his master’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I frightened the guards. I’m sorry if I—if I frightened you.”
His master smiled. “You never frighten me, Shinsei.” And that was true. His master never looked frightened, no matter what Shinsei did.
“Why?” he asked.
“I know your heart is true,” his master said.
Was his heart true? It had to be. His master had never lied to him.
* * *
The man the guards called L
ord Oswhent was of average height, about as physically imposing as Roger, with brown hair that fell to his shoulders and a clean-shaven face. He was not yet old, thirty or a bit over, though at the moment he looked very tired indeed. “You must be having me on,” he said to the guardsman, passing a hand over his face. “Why would anyone want to break into the dungeons?”
All six of them had been unceremoniously shoved back into a cell—a bigger one, on the highest floor, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t cramped. It was true they could all stand up in it, but that wasn’t much of a comfort to Seth at the moment, and he doubted the others were cheered by it either. The sheepish captain with the side-whiskers had been called away, leaving in his place a pale, slightly hunched man with a pockmarked face, and it was he who answered Lord Oswhent’s question. “Sad to say, milord, it’s true. These two here were in the cells right enough, but the rest of ’em…” He shrugged. “We’ve no idea how they even got in, but it’s clear they meant to spring their friends.”
“It’s clear, is it?” Lord Oswhent asked, but the irony in his voice seemed to breeze right by the guardsman. Then he turned to the cell. “Well?” he asked, mouth quirking in what might even have been amusement. “You’ve got nothing to say for yourselves, I assume.”
When their silence bore him out, he stepped closer, peering through the bars. Braddock and Deinol stared him down readily enough, though Lucius hung slightly back, looking at him sideways. Morgan barely bothered looking at all; the woman from the cell didn’t even acknowledge she’d been spoken to. At last, Lord Oswhent sighed. “I may live to regret this, but I’ve an idea.” Before Seth could figure out whom he’d been talking to, Lord Oswhent turned back to the guard. “Fetch Elgar. He’ll want to be part of this.” When the man gaped at him, Lord Oswhent waved a hand at him impatiently. “Oh, Imperator Elgar, His Eminence, whatever you like, just go get him, will you? And be quick about it.”
The guardsman fidgeted, scratching the side of his face. “I don’t think it’s wise to leave you alone with ’em, milord.”
“And why is that?” Lord Oswhent asked. “Did you fail to secure the chains properly?”
“Er … no, milord.”
“Is the cell door unlocked?”
“No, milord.”
“Well, then I should be fine, shouldn’t I?” He smiled dryly. “I assure you that if I find myself being attacked, I shall yell at my very loudest; you won’t possibly be able to miss it. Now fetch me your master.”
The guardsman frowned, but he left quickly enough, throwing half a glance over his shoulder as he went. When they were alone, Lord Oswhent started pacing back and forth in front of the cell, flicking his gaze to each of them in turn. “I assume you used some rather impressive tricks to get in here, but I wouldn’t try any of them just yet. I will call the guards back, and I assure you that you don’t want that—not until I’ve said my piece.”
Braddock spat between the bars, but Seth was fairly certain that was his way of assenting.
Lord Oswhent let it pass with another of his dry smiles. “Excellent. Now. First things first. My name is Varalen Oswhent, and no matter what any of these half-wits tell you, I’m not a lord. They just have to take orders from me, so it confuses them if I don’t have some title or other. Wouldn’t want you to misunderstand.”
Seth looked at Morgan, but she just shrugged.
“So now it’s your turn,” Lord Oswhent continued—or rather, he’d said he wasn’t a lord, so Seth supposed he was just Oswhent, then. “Names?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Braddock said. Morgan smiled as if in spite of herself, but she said nothing.
Seth didn’t see the point in saying anything—they already knew who he was, didn’t they? But just when he thought no one else was going to speak, Deinol swung a fist through the air in irritation. “Shit, what’s it matter? He knows Seth, and it’s not as if the rest of us are so very hard to find. Deinol. There you go.”
“Deinol what?” Oswhent asked.
“Deinol what? Deinol’s all there is. Deinol son of who knows, and a very illustrious man he was.”
“Fair enough,” Oswhent replied. “I happened to know my father, but that’s about all I can say of him.”
Seth thought Lucius was going to stay quiet too, but finally he moved slightly, lips twitching as if he would smile, then pressing flat just before he spoke. “Lucius Aquila.”
“Hmm,” Oswhent said. “I’d half expected an Aurnian name.”
“Half is about right,” Lucius said, but offered nothing more on the subject. Then he did smile. “What’s the point of all these niceties?”
“I’m trying to build trust,” Oswhent said nonchalantly. “Is it working?”
“No,” everyone except Seth answered, at more or less the same time.
Oswhent seemed to have expected that; his sigh smacked of the theatrical. “Either way, you will have to answer some of my questions, I’m afraid. There’s nothing I can do for you otherwise.”
“What is it you can do for us?” Lucius asked.
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” He pressed his hands together, and his gaze drifted to Seth and the woman. “Is it really true you broke in here just to spring those two? Palla was convinced they knew each other, but I have to admit, I didn’t lend much credence to her theory.”
It took Seth only an instant to have the idea, and he was speaking before he’d even had time to consider what he was going to say. “That’s the truth of it, milor—ah, sir.” He nodded at the woman. “It was only chance we got put together—”
“It wasn’t,” Oswhent said. “It was Palla’s plotting.”
“Oh,” Seth said, but that was fine—it didn’t change the story he could tell. “Well, I didn’t know that. But either way, it worked out, because it meant they could spring both of us at once.” He looked around him. “I mean, it would’ve worked out. It almost did.”
He’d been praying Deinol would just keep his mouth shut, but when had that ever happened? “Seth, what’re you—”
“Don’t bother, Deinol,” Lucius interrupted, and Seth held back his sigh of relief. “What are we going to gain from lying now? It’s not as if we can tell him we all got lost on a walk.” He faced Oswhent. “The boy’s told you true, but neither of them knew we were coming for them. We planned it all ourselves.” Deinol, thankfully, was long used to the fact that Lucius both fought and thought faster than he did, and he didn’t object again. Seth looked over at the woman, but her face hadn’t so much as twitched.
Oswhent just smiled again. “So they’re innocent, is that it? If it turns out you are all in the resistance … well, this little escapade is nothing compared to treason.”
Deinol’s blank stare probably did them more good than the most eloquent denials could have. “The resistance? Who the hell said that?”
Oswhent nodded at the woman. “She and the boy were both seen in conversation with … well, I still don’t know why they call him Six-Fingered Peck, but he seems to have offered the supposed rebels aid in the past.”
The woman finally spoke up. “Merchants at the Night Market offer a lot of things to a lot of people; that’s why so many people go there. From what I know of Peck—which is admittedly little—he’s a good sight too cowardly to resist anything, but even if he is with your resistance, I’m surely not.”
“Then what did you have to see him for?”
She scowled. “Scavengers like him pick up all the gossip. I needed to find someone.”
“You’ll have to give me a name.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really,” Oswhent said. “On my honor, I am trying to secure leniency for you, but you’re not making it easy for me.”
Her scowl etched itself deeper into her face, but she finally spat out a name. “Whit Norse. He’s a soldier in your bloody army. Don’t tell me he’s a member of the resistance too.”
Oswhent frowned. “Whitford Norse, isn’t it? That sounds familiar.” He tapped his chin. “I’m fairl
y certain he’s one of our recent deserters.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I haven’t seen him in weeks. And I don’t know if Peck saw him either, because your bloody guards had their hands on me before I’d gotten three words out.”
Oswhent thought that over, still smoothing his thumb over his chin absently. It must have satisfied him in the end, however, because he turned to Seth instead. “And you? Were you looking for Whitford Norse as well?”
“No,” Seth said. “I wasn’t looking for anyone.”
“Then why talk to Peck?”
Seth blushed. “It’s like she said—he knows things. He knows things people pay for, usually, but I never have much coin to speak of. So sometimes he’ll tell me things that aren’t worth paying for. Stories and things, what happened to people in Goldhalls or the Glassway or somewhere else in the city where I could never go. That’s all.”
Oswhent pinched the bridge of his nose. “This just gets more and more embarrassing on our part. And this trinket or whatever it is you stole? What of that?”
Seth set his jaw as stubbornly as he could. “I already told them, I sold it. Years ago, when I first came to Valyanrend. I haven’t even thought about it since then. How was I supposed to know it was special?”
“I can’t say it was, to be honest,” Oswhent said. “Sometimes the imperator fixates on the strangest—” He shut his mouth when a soldier appeared, but this one was the captain with the side-whiskers again. “Yes, Quentin, what is it? Is he coming?”
The captain inclined his head, looking even more sheepish than Seth remembered. “He’ll have you come up, my lord.”
Oswhent raised an eyebrow. “Come up? What for? I need him here.”
“Yes, my lord, I understand, but…” He shrugged helplessly. “He won’t come down. He said to fetch you up.”
“Gods’ sakes, I swear he’s doing this just to spite me,” Oswhent muttered, but he turned on his heel and started back down the hall. “Stay with them,” he said over his shoulder before he left, and the captain nodded.
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