‘I’m not sure,’ Zander said miserably. ‘People can be blinded by love.’
Ree nodded. ‘But it can also help them see more clearly.’
I don’t think I’d stay, if it weren’t for my love for you. So does that mean I’m seeing more clearly, or that I’m blinded by you? Unable to look her in the eyes any longer, Zander turned away again. They lay side by side, gazing into the unimaginable future.
‘I don’t want to go,’ he said softly.
‘Then don’t.’
‘But I think I have to.’
‘Then do.’
‘Ree …’
She propped herself up on her elbows to look down into his face. Unshed tears gleamed in her eyes.
‘It has to be your decision, Zander,’ she said. ‘It’s what you believe that’s important, not me or your father or anyone else. I could try and convince you to stay, but if your heart tells you Ayla is guilty, you’d only resent me for it. And besides … I’d be afraid for you, if you stay. I remember what was said about you, back when we first started here and the other trainees found out about the Kardise assassination threat. How much worse do you think it’ll get if our countries go to war?’
Zander had thought of that already. He had, he realised, been hoping that Ree would talk him so decisively into staying that he wouldn’t have to worry about it any more. It was the knowledge of his own unfairness, as much as anything, that drove him to say with a certain amount of petulance, ‘Then you don’t want me to stay?’
‘I didn’t say that, and you know it,’ she retorted. ‘I’m saying you don’t get to use me as an excuse either way.’
‘If I stay, my father will disown me.’
‘You’d be in good company. Penn’s family have already cast him off, and once I talk Lewis Tarran out of wanting to marry me, I daresay I’ll be heading the same way.’
‘I’d find it difficult,’ Zander said softly. ‘I don’t want him to control my life, but … I still want him to be my father. You know?’
‘I know.’
They were silent. Then Ree added, ‘Even if you do stay, it might be more difficult than you think. Many of the warriors in the fifth ring will be called to battle. Training might continue, but it will be training for war against your country. Will you be comfortable teaching your pupils the skills they require to kill the people you grew up with? And even if you are, will the weaponmasters believe it?’
‘You’re saying I might lose my job.’
She nodded. ‘And if you do, you won’t be able to stay in the fourth ring any more. They’re strict on the requirements, you know that. If you’re not related to someone here and you don’t have a decent job, you get kicked out. That’s what happened to Caraway before he became captain.’ She gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘Your life in Arkannen would change completely.’
‘I could get another job.’ But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. If the people who knew him best, the warriors of the fifth ring, were willing to mistrust him because of where he came from, why should the citizens of the lower rings have any problem doing the same? They’d look at him and see the enemy. Soon enough, he’d be reduced to nothing: no job, no money, nowhere to live. Faced with that, how long would it take before he ran back to Sol Kardis after all?
Of course, all this was no more than hypothetical – and just like that, he had a hypothetical answer.
‘I could change my nationality,’ he said, half joking. ‘Secure my place in the fourth ring for good.’
Ree frowned at him. ‘How?’
‘It would solve your problem as well. Quite ingenious, really.’
‘Zander –’
‘I mean, think about it. Your parents wouldn’t be able to marry you off to someone else, and I –’
‘Zander. We are not getting married.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because that’s not who we are.’
‘I love you.’
‘And I love you. What does that have to do with it?’
He was silent, and she added, ‘It wouldn’t help, anyway. Sure, you could live here with me –’ her gesture took in her tiny bedroom – ‘but having a Mirrorvalese wife wouldn’t get you a job. How long do you think you’d be able to stick it out, with nothing to do, knowing your birth country and your adopted country were tearing each other apart?’
‘But I’d be able to stay in Arkannen,’ he said softly.
‘Why does that matter so much to you?’
‘Because it’s my home, now. Because you’re here, and Penn. Because I’m more myself here than I ever was in my father’s house …’ He paused, then added slowly, ‘And because, whatever the evidence says, I don’t believe Ayla is a murderer.’
He looked at Ree. She was smiling.
‘Well, then,’ she said. ‘I guess you’re staying.’
TWELVE
Caraway had called a halt to the current Helm assessment period as soon as he’d found out the cause of Don Tolino’s death; with the Kardise allowing him only a week to investigate, he couldn’t spare much time for anything else. Yet nor could he stay out of the fifth ring entirely. As well as uncovering a murderer, he had to prepare for a war he hoped would never come. Ayla had already arranged for reinforcements to be sent to the border – not enough to be an obvious threat, but certainly enough to be a first line of defence – and Caraway was busy building an army. He’d spoken to the weaponmasters, asked them to send out word across Mirrorvale for anyone who had trained in the fifth ring to be ready to return to the city. That way, if she needed to, Ayla could call up a host of fully prepared warriors within the space of a day. Many of the weaponmasters themselves would take command positions, while the rest stayed behind to train the reserves.
He and Ayla had briefly considered requesting help from elsewhere, if it came to it. The long civil war in the Ingal States had left the lords of the demesnes with no capacity to involve themselves in the affairs of other countries, but Parovia was another matter. It had been the bitter enemy of Sol Kardis for centuries, so there was no chance it would take the Kardise side in any war – thankfully, given that if the two large countries ever combined forces, they would crush Mirrorvale between them like a nut. The obvious question, therefore, was whether Parovia would be willing to stand alongside Mirrorvale if it meant standing against Sol Kardis.
Unfortunately, Ayla and Caraway had soon reached the conclusion that the price would be too high. Mirrorvale and Parovia might currently be at peace, but that didn’t make them allies. Too great a weight of history lay behind them: centuries in which Parovia and Sol Kardis had eyed each other across Mirrorvale like two dogs coveting the same bone. Any aid that came from Parovia would be accompanied by demands: concessions here, information there, a hundred little things that moved Mirrorvale closer to being a vassal state rather than a country in its own right. Not only that, but asking for help would give the impression of weakness – and Mirrorvale had always to appear strong if it were to survive. Which meant, if war did come, it would have to stand alone.
Caraway hoped desperately that matters would never reach that stage. Even if he couldn’t unmask Tolino’s murderer in the time allowed, he’d keep working to find the culprit before the war progressed too far. But if he failed, and the casualties started mounting, it would be his job to call up the reserves. Anyone between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five. Anyone between the ages of fourteen and forty. Anyone old enough to carry a sword and young enough to run with it. Anyone at all. He knew how it went, the relentless culling of the population in wartime, an expanding net that dragged everyone in. He’d have to watch them arrive at the fifth ring, go through a hasty few weeks’ training and be sent out to die. Until, finally, the Kardise army reached the walls of Arkannen, and he and the Helmsmen who hadn’t gone with Ayla to the border made their last, desperate stand to protect Darkhaven. To protect Ayla’s children, and the future of Mirrorvale itself.
That was the worst-case scenario. Sometimes he found himself losing si
ght of the best.
And through it all, a little voice whispered to him that he was doing a terrible job. That it had been a mistake for him ever to take up the role of Captain of the Helm, and that if he’d thought about what was best for Ayla then he never would have done it. Because the truth was, he had very little idea of how to plan for a war. He’d been trained primarily in defence; the Helm weren’t meant to be an attacking force. If Ayla had appointed an experienced soldier, the man might have stood a chance. But what did Caraway have? A year or so as a young Helmsman. Five as an outcast. And six years as captain, during which time he’d almost convinced himself he was doing well. Easy enough to believe he was good at the job when in reality, he simply hadn’t been challenged hard enough to show otherwise.
Of course, he wouldn’t have to lead the army. Ayla would. He wouldn’t even see the battlefield. But that made it even more important that he get everything right.
He was in the middle of another long discussion with the weaponmasters when a message arrived that the Captain of the Watch needed to speak to him with some urgency. No doubt there had been a firearms-related incident. The problem of illegal weapons in the city seemed far less significant to him now than it had even a week ago, but nevertheless, it was part of his job. He couldn’t have Arkannen breaking out in self-inflicted violence as well as everything else. So half a bell later, when his conversation with the weaponmasters concluded, he went in search of Larson – finally running her to ground in one of the older watch houses, down in the first ring’s leisure quarter.
‘You wanted to see me,’ he said, ducking under the lintel to enter the small holding cell that was currently acting as a makeshift office. The Captain of the Watch looked up from the report she was frowning over.
‘Ah, Caraway. Thank you for coming.’
‘Is it another shooting?’ He’d been relieved to find that his dire predictions regarding the number of firearm-related deaths in the city had not entirely come to pass. Though the collection of confiscated firearms in Darkhaven’s safe had grown steadily, it hadn’t been as rapid as he’d expected. And though in his more doubtful moments he wondered if that was because people had simply become better at hiding their illegal weaponry, rather than because the Helm and the Watch between them had succeeded in greatly reducing the flow from Sol Kardis, there was no denying that the number of shootings in Arkannen had plateaued. There were still more of them every year than he’d have liked, but not as many as he’d feared. Maybe a few gory deaths had taught people caution. Or maybe arming the Helm with pistols had helped. He and Larson had discussed that last point a few times over the past year, when she’d tried to convince him that the Watch should carry firearms too.
How are we supposed to defend ourselves, otherwise? she’d asked him, quite heatedly. We’re the ones who have to deal with every damn fool who thinks waving a gun around makes him invincible.
I understand, he’d replied. I really do. But overall, I think it would only escalate the situation. If you demand firearms to protect yourselves from our citizens, next thing we know, the citizens will be demanding firearms to protect themselves from you. Giving pistols to the Watch would legitimise them as a weapon.
She’d skewered him with a sceptical glance. And giving them to the Helm doesn’t?
Not in the same way, no. We’ve always been separate. We’re meant to be separate. Our job is to protect our overlords, and we do whatever it takes to achieve that. The Watch, on the other hand … you belong to the people. And that means there can’t be one law for you, and another for them.
That’s Lady Ayla’s opinion, is it?
Only mine.
She’d snorted. Comes to the same thing.
That’s what you think, Caraway had said. I assure you, Captain Larson, our overlord disagrees with me at least half the time. So don’t let me dissuade you from taking your case to her.
Despite that, Larson hadn’t yet approached Ayla. Perhaps she still hoped to convince Caraway first; perhaps she was more frightened of Changers than she let on; perhaps she’d even been swayed by his argument. Stranger things had happened. Whatever the truth of it, he’d come here fully expecting a firearm-related death and all the debates that went with it – but to his surprise, Larson shook her head.
‘Nothing to do with pistols, for once. I need you to identify a body.’
‘I’m sorry?’
Setting the report aside, she got to her feet. ‘We’ve a dead girl in the chiller, and I need you to identify her for me. Got a few moments?’
‘Of course. But who –’
‘I’ll explain as we go.’
They left the watch house and walked in the direction of the mortuary. Caraway waited patiently for the promised explanation, but Larson wore a preoccupied frown and seemed lost in her own thoughts. They were already more than halfway to their destination when she shook her head briskly, shot a sideways glance at Caraway as though she’d forgotten he was there, and said, ‘Right, then.’
‘You were going to tell me about your victim?’ he prompted.
‘Yes. She was found in an alley, the night before last. Stabbed. Missing coin-purse. No sign of any sexual motive for the crime. Looked like a simple mugging.’
‘I see,’ Caraway said, although he didn’t. ‘So …’
‘There was nothing on her to show who she was. Her dress was pretty but inexpensive, the kind of thing half the girls in the city wear on a night out. We drew up a sketch yesterday morning, took it around, asked questions – nothing. No-one in the lower rings recognised her as an employee. No-one in the fourth ring identified her as lover, relative, friend. But then …’
By now they had reached the mortuary, an underground room built with thick stone walls and no windows. Larson descended the steps and swung open the door, releasing a wintry draught. Responding to the impatient glance she cast over her shoulder, Caraway followed.
‘Then, we came across a woman who thought the sketch looked like a friend of her sister’s. She said both girls worked in Darkhaven.’ While she talked, Larson was leading him past benches and rows of tools to a table at the far end of the dimly lit room, where the unmistakable shape of a body lay beneath a sheet. ‘And of course, your maids live in the tower, don’t they? So that would explain why we couldn’t trace her down in the city.’
She twitched back the sheet, and Caraway found himself looking into the face of a girl. Her skin held the greyish tinge of the dead, but her blonde hair and small, regular features were undeniably familiar. After a few desperate, blank moments, he was able to put a name to her.
‘Hana,’ he said softly.
‘You do recognise her, then? She’s one of yours?’
‘Yes. She is – was – a maid in Darkhaven, just as you said.’ To himself, he added, ‘Most mornings, she brought us breakfast.’
‘Good.’ Larson lifted the sheet to draw it back into place. Caraway rounded on her almost savagely.
‘I wouldn’t put it that way!’
The Captain of the Watch looked steadily at him, but said nothing. Because he’d been unfair. He’d been aware of it even as he made his response. Both of them had known perfectly well what Larson meant. He took a deep breath, running a hand over his face as if he could wipe away the fruitless anger.
‘I’m sorry. Really. I just – she was very young.’
Larson nodded. Her job was far more difficult than his, Caraway thought dully. It was rare that he had to deal with the aftermath of murder. But he kept seeing Hana’s face in his mind’s eye – both the way it was now, and the way it had been last time he saw her – and so he said nothing as Larson finished covering the dead girl and led him away down the room.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, when they were back in the smoky air of the street. She waved a dismissive hand at him.
‘Forget it.’
‘Do you have any idea who did it?’
‘Not yet.’ Larson sighed. ‘To be honest, Caraway, it’s not likely we’ll fin
d out. Whoever it was disposed of her very neatly: the maximum amount of damage with the minimum amount of mess. Probably didn’t even get blood on his clothes.’ She shook her head. ‘And all for the sake of a few coins.’
The preoccupied frown had already settled back on her face, Caraway noticed.
‘Is something worrying you, Captain Larson?’ he asked. ‘More than this, I mean.’
She shrugged. ‘Trouble brewing in the city. Nothing I can’t handle. But Caraway …’ She gave him a level look. ‘Sort out this Kardise business, will you?’
He nodded, feeling suddenly tired. ‘I’m trying.’
‘I didn’t know what to make of you, in the beginning,’ Larson said. ‘Too young for it. There for all the wrong reasons. You’ve done well enough, as it happens. But war …’ She shook her head. ‘That’s another beast entirely.’
‘I know.’ He had nothing better to offer than to say again, ‘I’m trying.’
She clapped him on the shoulder – as stoic as ever, but her eyes held a hint of sympathy. ‘I know.’
After they’d parted, Caraway walked slowly back up through the rings towards Darkhaven. He couldn’t stop thinking about the murdered girl, and he knew it was partly because he felt responsible. Not that the Helm had any official duty to protect anyone who wasn’t a Nightshade, of course. But as their captain, his protective instinct extended to his men, too; and naturally, over time, that instinct had widened to encompass everyone who lived and worked in the tower, whether warrior or servant, physician or alchemist. A girl who fell under his care had been killed, and he hadn’t prevented it. He hadn’t even known about it.
Worse than that, he had the terrible, guilty feeling that he could have done something, if he’d only put a little thought into it.
Because this wasn’t a random crime, or at least, he didn’t think it was. Talk to Hana had been on his long list of tasks that needed doing ever since Ree and Penn had returned from interviewing the other maid, Sia. Hana had gone with Sia to fetch the taransey; she might have been the one to ensure the correct bottle was picked. But they’d been unable to ask her about it, because it was her day off.
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