The Traitor’s Ruin

by Erin Beaty

  “Just because women learn it does not mean it is only for them,” said a familiar voice.

  Sage turned to find Darit and the king joining them, dressed to spar. It had been only a few days since Sage had seen Darit, though it felt much longer, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed him. He smiled warmly as he clasped her right shoulder, and she returned the gesture.

  “It is well to see you again, Darit.”

  He smiled. “And you, Saizsch. Your language is much improved.” Darit gestured to the arena. “I have come to see what else you have learned.”

  Banneth had brought the sword he’d spoken of for Nicholas and worked mostly with him, keeping a respectful distance from Sage, but not avoiding her, either. She doubted he’d speak of last night unless she did, or until the Norsari were on his doorstep.

  “I did not know Demorans chopped so much wood,” Darit said with a wink to the king.

  The prince shot Sage a questioning look, and she couldn’t help but smile. “He’s not being literal, Nick,” she said in Demoran, using the short name that had crept into her use over the past few days. “You fight like you’re chopping wood.”

  He scowled back. “I fight as I was trained to fight. And I was quite good for my age, you might recall.”

  Banneth and Darit were watching with patient annoyance, and she switched to Casmuni. “You must unlearn Demoran swordplay to master this style.”

  Demoran swords were longer and heavier, used for hacking, blocking, and pounding more than slicing and deflecting. The Casmuni harish complemented the fighting style of tashaivar with its speed and smoothness, often striking and then retreating back to a starting point before advancing—if advancing at all. Many movements were designed to end a fight before it truly started.

  The king gave her a slight nod of thanks. Nicholas’s frown remained. “It works against the Kimisar. It has been many years since Casmuni battled them. Will their style defeat them?”

  Sage blushed at the prince’s rudeness, but Banneth only looked thoughtful. “You have a fair point,” he said. “And a good teacher is also a constant student, so I am not above learning what you may have to teach. Would you do me the honor of instruction?”

  He may have said that to please Sage, but Nicholas didn’t consider the request beneath its surface. He waved the harish to emphasize its light weight. “It has been several years since I forged a blade,” he said, referring to the blacksmith training all pages went through. “So I would need help, but I can design and make Demoran-style swords with your permission.”

  Banneth brightened a little. “That may not be necessary, if Kimisar weapons are as similar as you say. We have two taken from our prisoners in the desert.”

  Sage waited until Banneth had instructed a servant to fetch the captured weapons before speaking. “Two prisoners, Palandret? I was only aware of the one Darit brought with us.”

  The king smiled a little wryly. “A second came in with the last patrol. Given how Darit said you reacted to the first, I did not think it wise to inform you at the time. The first died on the journey, from his wound.”

  That second man, then, was who had been chained in the cramped room.

  Sage waited with Banneth for the servant to return, carrying two belts and swords obviously longer and heavier than he was accustomed to. He stopped before the king and held them up. Banneth gestured for Nicholas to choose, which the prince did eagerly, opting for the slightly smaller one.

  The king took the second and slid it from the scabbard, stretching his arm awkwardly with the straight blade.

  “This will do nicely,” Nicholas said as he whipped the sword around, displaying the competence and comfort he didn’t have with the harish.

  But Sage’s attention was focused on the weapon in Banneth’s hand.

  She knew that sword, knew the simple but elegant design of the hilt and crossguard, knew the way it felt pressed against her ribs in stolen moments.

  Banneth looked impressed. “Fine balance for the weight—” He broke off as he caught sight of her. “Are you well, Saizsch?”

  A dull roar began to build in her ears. “Where did you get that sword?” she whispered.

  Nicholas glanced to them and then the sword. His eyes widened.

  Banneth offered it to her. “Is it a design you recognize?”

  The roar was now deafening. Sage wrapped her fingers around the hilt and took the weight with hands that shook. The last time she’d seen this sword, Alex was holding it as he fell off his horse into a crowd of Kimisar.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked again, louder.

  She swayed a bit, and Banneth reached out, ready to catch her. “The Kimisar brought in with the last patrol carried it.”

  Even with an arrow in his chest, Alex wouldn’t have let it go easily. In her mind she saw a man holding Alex down with a foot to his chest, making it even harder for Alex to draw his last breaths, waiting until he had no strength, no resistance, no life.

  Sage tore her eyes away from the sword to meet Banneth’s concerned gaze. “You promised me anything I wanted, if I accepted your proposal.”

  His eyes widened. “I did.”

  The fire of emotion was suddenly stripped from her like she’d plunged into an icy river, leaving a hollow, brittle shell. Sage raised the blade between them, making him flinch.

  “I want this man’s head.”

  91

  GUARDS WERE COMING. Swiftly. With a purpose.

  Alex turned his head on the straw pallet. It had been three meals since the ringed man last visited—his only way of judging the passage of time—and after that interrogation he’d been moved to a different cell, though he was too battered to appreciate it much. He dared to hope the man was done with him. The footsteps stopped outside his door, torchlight streaming through cracks. Apparently not.

  The door opened, and he squinted against the brightness, eyes watering. Then the light was blocked by the guard who carried the keys. Alex’s arms and legs were unchained from the wall and reshackled to each other, and that’s when he knew what was happening. They were taking him to his execution.

  Adrenaline flooded through his veins, making him awake and alert. Though everything hurt, Alex didn’t think anything was broken except maybe a couple ribs. He let the guards pick him up and drag him out the door, all the while twisting and moving to loosen joints and muscles. The chains on his ankles were a hindrance, but he exaggerated their effect, hoping to lull the guards into a false sense of security.

  He wouldn’t go without a fight.

  “Where are you taking me?” Alex demanded of each guard in turn, using it as an excuse to look around in imitation of the wild fear he forced himself not to feel. None answered, and that fear threatened to break free when they turned away from the directions he knew led outside. A hood was yanked over his head, and Alex fought panic as the darkness closed around him.

  A minute later he felt the sun on his skin, and he couldn’t help thinking for a moment that he was going to die without ever having seen it again. Without seeing her. But sunshine meant he was outside, which meant the best and possibly only chance he had of escaping. He would not waste it.

  Alex braced his feet and rammed his shoulder into the man on his right, then spun around with his hands together, swinging the dangling chain in a circle. The metal vibrated to his wrists as it hit another guard in what sounded like his head. Alex yanked the hood away and reflexively shielded his eyes against the glaring light. He was outside and in a clear area. He had a chance.

  A guard came at him, and Alex opened his arms and leapt to grab the man around his neck and into a hold. Keeping him upright, Alex used the leverage to kick his chained legs up at another guard, but the man he held went down, and Alex was forced to release him. He lunged for the hilt of a sword, but when he pulled, the blade was too curved to come straight out of its scabbard. In that second of hesitation, the remaining guards were on him. He fought with every ounce of strength he had, bu
t there were too many.

  Something pressed on his neck, and Alex’s vision dimmed, then burst with colors as his mind fought the blackness creeping in from the edges. He stopped fighting. The only thing worse than dying was dying while unconscious.

  The pressure eased a second before Alex would have blacked out, and his head exploded in pain as the blood was allowed to flow again. All his fresh injuries rushed into his awareness, doubling the agony.

  “Sage,” he gasped, though he couldn’t put much force into his words at first. “Sage Fowler. I need to talk to the Demoran, Sage Fowler.”

  As his voice rose in pitch and volume, someone yanked his head back and pulled a gag across his mouth. Dizzy with pain, he felt a strange gratitude that her name was the last thing he’d ever be able to say.

  92

  BANNETH WATCHED HER with his characteristic silence. Lani had taken Sage’s side immediately and now stood with an arm around her waist. Nicholas, however, wouldn’t stop pleading for her to wait.

  “Sage, you don’t know why he had the captain’s sword. Maybe he found it.”

  Sage focused on the direction they expected the man to arrive from. “He had Alex’s belt, Nicholas. His belt and dagger. He stripped them from Alex’s body after he killed him or while he was dying.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “Sage, this isn’t you. Listen to me.” He grabbed her arm, and Sage shook him off.

  Commotion from nearby kept Nicholas from arguing further. Several guards appeared, half dragging a chained man with his head down. The only things clearly visible were his dirty prison breeches and the stubble of black hair on his head.

  Banneth frowned and moved to meet them. “What happened to him?”

  The Casmuni leading the way carried a wide executioner’s harish at his waist. He stopped before Banneth and bowed. “He attempted to escape, Palandret. We had to subdue him.”

  Four of the guards were visibly bruised and bleeding. The rest were disheveled and had obviously been in a fight. Banneth raised his eyebrows as they pushed the man forward and he slumped to his knees in the dirt. “Impressive. How close did he come to escaping?”

  “Closer than I would like to admit, Palandret.”

  Sage couldn’t get a good look through the guards around him. They maintained an alert and ready posture though the man swayed like he would pass out any minute. Her hands tightened on the hilt of Alex’s sword to steady their shaking. “Will we do it here?”

  He must have understood her because the prisoner’s body jerked and twisted at her words. The guards around him immediately moved to restrain him again, but he continued to thrash, grunts and muffled yells escaping from his gag. It took six men to pin him to the ground, and still he struggled. She wondered how he could breathe. “Let’s finish this,” she said.

  Banneth shook his head. “I will give you what you ask, Saizsch, but he has the right to know the reason for his death. He must also have a chance to speak his last words.”

  Lani rolled her eyes and made a noise of disgust. “I doubt this man gave Ah’lecks the same courtesy.”

  The king looked back at her sharply. “Then that is a difference between us and them I am happy to have.”

  Lani opened her mouth to argue, but Sage shook her head. “My king is right.”

  Alex would’ve approved. When it came to mercy, however, she doubted Alex would have shown any if he was now facing the man who had killed her.

  A guard went to fetch a bucket of water. Sage stared at a spot on the ground. Did she want to look him in the eyes? It felt cowardly not to face the man whose death she was demanding, but she didn’t want the image of this man to pollute Alex’s memory. She’d never be able to think of one without the other.

  “I hope he begs for mercy,” Lani murmured, her arm tightening around Sage.

  Sage glanced at the man through the bodies holding him down. Soon his blood would stain the sand, and his body would rot in the criminals’ graveyard outside the city. Wild dogs would dig up his bones and devour what the desert did not. He deserved it.

  Yet somehow the thought did not bring her peace.

  The water arrived, and the guards rolled the man over. He didn’t resist; Sage wondered if he was still conscious. Darit squatted next to the prisoner and poured a dipper over his blood-and-dirt-covered face.

  “Wait,” said Banneth, coming forward. “Why is this man so damaged?” The king pointed to the prisoner’s torso, which was visible where his shirt had come up. The exposed skin was almost completely covered in bruises.

  “He had attempted escape twice before, Palandret.”

  The men moved so Banneth could see better. “I have a hard time believing all this was necessary,” the king said, shaking his head.

  “What does it matter, brother? The man is about to die,” snapped Lani.

  “It matters a great deal if this happened in my prison.” Banneth crouched and lifted the shirt higher to trace a raw mark across the man’s rib cage. He stood, looking angry. “I must find out who has done this.”

  Darit used a wet scrap of cloth to wipe the man’s face. “We will have to ask him and investigate.”

  “More delay.” Lani stomped her foot. “Can’t you see how this hurts Saizsch?”

  Darit sat back suddenly. “Palandret, I know this man.” He looked up at Sage. “He was with you in the desert when I was taken. He is Demoran.”

  Nicholas knelt beside Darit to look. “Bleeding hell, Sage.”

  “Is Darit right?” Sage took a step toward them, trying to understand how that was possible. “Is he a Norsari? Do you know him?”

  “I can’t— I can’t—” The prince was shaking his head, unable to find words even in Demoran. “It’s not possible— It’s not—” He leapt to his feet and met her as she came closer. “Sage, oh my Spirit!” He grabbed her shirt and shook her.

  “Who is it, Nick?” Sage twisted around him to see.

  “It’s Captain Quinn.”

  93

  SHE COULDN’T STOP staring at him, even hours later.

  Alex’s head rested on a cushion at one end of the bath while the rest of him floated just below the surface. Rather than rub his bruises and lacerations with salves, the Casmuni healers had put the curatives in the water to soak into his wounds and skin. Sage cleaned dirt and blood from Alex’s face as gently as she could and treated what wasn’t underwater. Even heavily dosed with pain medicines, he’d flinched away when anyone but Sage touched him.

  Banneth watched from the opposite side of the bath. “I am more sorry than I can express, Saizsch,” he said.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “He did not tell us he was Demoran. Why would he not do that?”

  Sage had been mulling over that for the last three hours. “I think he was worried Darit would recognize him, and you would be angry for what he’d done.” She looked across the water at the king. “Though it’s difficult to imagine him being treated worse.”

  “Again, I am sorry.” The king sighed. “But you are right. And my anger and mistrust would have fallen on you as well, once I knew what he was to you.”

  “Perhaps he was afraid of that, too.” It was easy to imagine Alex enduring imprisonment to protect her from his association, especially if he’d been able to see that she was safe.

  Around midnight, the healers moved Alex to Sage’s bed, where they bandaged what they could. Once again, Sage was the only one who seemed to be able to touch him without causing pain. Fortunately, none of the cuts or abrasions were very deep, and other than the ones from his last-minute escape attempt, his injuries were a few days old and healing on their own. His shaved hair made the wounds easier to clean, as well. The bruising would be more difficult to recover from—almost his entire torso was mottled with blue and purple, including clusters of three round marks in a row. She’d have to force Alex to move around when he woke.

  Darit knocked and entered. “It is d
one,” he said. “Gispan Brazco is dead.”

  That was the name Alex had been listed under in the prison, and Banneth had decided everyone should believe he’d been killed in an escape attempt. Those who knew better—Lani, Nicholas, Darit, the healers, and the guards present at the time—had been sworn to secrecy until Alex’s torture could be investigated. Lani had grumbled that she couldn’t tell Minister Sinda, but the king insisted the perpetrator would be easier to find if he didn’t know he was being hunted.

  Banneth nodded his thanks to Darit. “We will start first thing in the morning.”

  “What about what he said?” asked Sage. When Alex had been unbound, he’d babbled about the king and an assassination. He’d only calmed down when Sage assured him Banneth was alive and well. Then the pain medicines had taken over, rendering Alex unconscious and leaving them to speculate over his words. “He said there were dolofan in the prison.”

  Darit shook his head. “The manifest has no such prisoners listed.”

  “But they are there,” Sage insisted. “I’ve seen them. Two men in an otherwise empty cell block. They’ve been there for weeks.” She didn’t want to think about how she hadn’t looked close enough to see the third Kimisar prisoner was Alex. It was her fault they hadn’t found him sooner.

  “I will look again in the morning, but if they are in the prison, that is the best place for them.”

  Banneth nodded. “And we cannot keep Ah’lecks in this state.” He stood and stretched, then addressed the healer in the corner of the room. “I will get some rest. You will send for me as soon as he wakes.”

  “Yes, Palandret.”

  Both Banneth and Darit left, and a few minutes later, the healer was dozing in the corner, effectively leaving Sage alone. She sat on the bed and took Alex’s hand in hers. After weeks of imagining him cold and lifeless, it was a miracle to feel his warmth now.

  He was alive.

  He’d come for her. After everything she’d done, he’d still come for her.

  She stroked his hand, wanting to kiss him more than anything, but too scared to touch his battered face. Pink tinged the eastern sky when Alex’s eyes suddenly opened.