by Ann Aguirre
Ferith eyed her. “Want me to cut it off?”
Thalia couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken a blade to her hair, but she stifled the instinctive protest, a quiver of affronted vanity that she couldn’t afford. “Do it.”
“Wish we could’ve put together a better disguise before we left Daruvar,” the other woman said, as she started hacking.
She shared that sentiment. “I had no supplies laid in. This…” Thalia stopped talking, aware that Ferith probably knew what she was about to say anyway.
“Isn’t how you pictured things playing out,” she finished.
No scissors, so the assassin sawed her hair off in a ragged, chin-length bob. Ridiculous to be upset, but as the other woman stuffed her shorn locks into a trash bag that she found in the back of the Rambler, it was hard not to snuffle like a child. Thalia gritted her teeth and turned toward town.
“We can’t leave this here. It’s evidence.”
Ferith hefted the sack with a nod. “Agreed. I’ll find somewhere in Outwater to dispose of this.”
They were lucky that House Gilbraith hadn’t set up checkpoints yet, but then, Ruark must be scrambling for a new plan, since Tirael had failed, and he’d lost his grip on Daruvar. He wouldn’t expect a frontal assault—he must know she couldn’t field that many soldiers—but Thalia didn’t imagine he would expect such a daring strike, either. Unexpected boldness might carry the day.
Coming over the next rise, she spotted the lights of town, bright and beautiful against the backdrop of night. If she didn’t know they’d already passed the border, this might have been one of her settlements, similar in layout and design. There were no walls, nothing to stop the Golgoth brutes, should they push this far, but before she could worry about an outside enemy, she had to vanquish her internal foes first. She pulled a dark knit cap over the ruins of her hair and set her shoulders.
“This way,” she said.
Ferith followed her, surefooted and silent, making Thalia uncomfortably aware that she was the weaker link in this partnership. Yet she couldn’t simply assign the Noxblade to Ruark’s death and wait for results. No, to prove her worth, she had to take Ruark’s head as she had Tirael’s. Only then would the challenges stop, and she could focus on unifying the people and moving forward with progressive policies that would pull their provinces into the modern world.
At the outskirts of town, a ramshackle wooden hostel flashed a VACANCY sign. This wasn’t the sort of place that cared if you came on foot, only if you had local currency. While Thalia hovered outside in the shadows, Ferith took care of the rental. On her return, she sighed and shook her head at the sight of Thalia stamping her feet.
“It’s cold,” she said.
“I’m aware. Here’s the room key, wait for me inside. I’m going shopping.”
Thalia intended to follow instructions, but half a block away, she glimpsed a fire barrel with several thin and sickly people clustered around it. More proof that Ruark doesn’t care about his people. Her father hadn’t either. Thalia intended to change all of this for the better, implement infrastructure to protect the impoverished and infirm. Nobody said anything when she eased into their circle, though they did complain when she dropped the sack into the fire.
The nearest male grabbed at the edge of her jacket. “Are you dimwitted, child? Don’t you know how much burning hair reeks?”
“Sorry,” she whispered.
An older woman slapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, leave her be. It’s fuel anyway, and we all smell a bit already.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Thalia had studied etiquette for all kinds of occasions; none of them covered a situation like this. It might seem suspicious if she dumped the bag and immediately ran away so she lingered, pretending to warm her hands, and soon the conversation she’d interrupted resumed its course.
“Anyway, be careful of the gray tar coming out of House Manwaring. It’s not safe,” the homeless man said.
Gray tar? What’s that?
“It’s not even a decent head rush. Heard it’s supposed to make you stronger, more resilient, but the people who take it, they get fearsome strange after a while.”
As Thalia parsed that information, she recalled Raff saying that the soldiers from House Manwaring that attacked them after the hunt smelled strange. Off. Maybe they were using this gray tar? Perhaps it was developed to make her people better able to stand up to the Animari and Golgoth in combat. That meant the other houses intended to go to war, following Ruark to potential annihilation. A cold chill suffused her.
Deciding she had warmed herself long enough to seem casual, Thalia returned to the hostel, still thinking about what she’d learned. Nobody seemed to be paying attention when she slipped into the grungy closet of a room. She made a point not to look in the mirror or she would have had to face the pale, frightened woman in the mirror.
Not a queen, just a terrified nobody.
By the time Ferith came back, she had herself in hand, calm and stoic once more. The Noxblade dumped her purchases on the bed. “Here’s what I could find. Hope it’s enough.”
Russet hair dye, disposable brown contacts, varied cosmetics, cheap, thick trousers and a heavy sweater. “I can work with this. I’ve got an idea.”
“That’s good, because once you’re geared up, I have a lead on someone who supplies provisions to Braithwaite.”
There were no Noxblades left in Daruvar.
And Raff’s wife had gone to personally assassinate her political rival. What the fuck was wrong with the Eldritch anyway? He leashed a snarl, chained up his rage, when all he wanted to do was shift and track Thalia in wolf form. Fighting his instincts had never been so fucking tough.
He had only a rudimentary idea about the chain of command since he was supposed to be a damned consort, no actual power, but now suddenly, command of Daruvar’s forces had fallen into his lap. Questions about supplies, costs, and when to reorder, well, he knew even less about that shit, and there was a goddamned queue of people outside the strategy room waiting for his word.
Raff cast a helpless glance at Sky. “Can’t you help me out? I don’t even manage the minutiae at Pine Ridge.”
She leveled a sharp look at him. “Maybe it’s time you did. Don’t look at me, anyway. I scheduled a call with Bibi to try and get a handle on why your wife’s former head of the assassin guild might suddenly murder you.” Saying that, she got up, opened the door, and sauntered out, which seemed to send the signal that he was available.
Damn it all.
An Eldritch male he recognized as a soldier stepped in as Sky left, executed a deep bow, and remained standing until Raff waved an impatient hand at the seat opposite. “I don’t suppose I can stop you from telling me what you want.”
“First, I should introduce myself. I’m Commander Olwyn. We met briefly at the wedding, but…well.”
Yeah, best not to linger on that memory, Raff thought. He also figured he could be forgiven not remembering names when the event turned into such a horror show.
Olwyn went on, “The princess left instructions that all our forces answer to you in her absence, so I’ll be taking my orders from you, sir.”
“And what would those be?”
“Sir?”
“What orders do you imagine I have?”
“I’m not paid to imagine things, sir, but I’ve got a list of issues in hand that demand your immediate attention.”
What the hell.
It was the height of poor judgment to leave him in charge of a demesne that he barely understood. Hell, he didn’t even know the patrol assignments in Daruvar, and this pasty Eldritch fool had a roster of fires he was supposed to put out? His first impulse was to scramble, just as he had when he was a pup and the teachers produced a complex assignment that made his head hurt. He imagined how sweet the woods would smell and how good it would feel to run, the wind blowing through his fur—
But the stakes were much higher now. Thalia’s people woul
d suffer if he refused to take up the slack in her absence, and for whatever reason, she’d trusted him to keep the home fires burning. Raff didn’t let himself think about anything else; she was coming back, and he’d absolutely have a chance to make things right when she did. If Raff went to the woods, it would only be to gather intel from Titus’s people, and after he dealt with Commander Olwyn’s emergencies.
“I’m listening,” he said, finally quashing the urge to flee.
“First, let’s talk about Daruvar. We need to vary our patrol routes, and then we should talk about drone deployment…”
At first, the questions weren’t too bad, but then the commander started asking stuff about places Raff had never even been. “Let’s discuss options for increasing protection on our settlements. The threat level has risen, and we’ve skirmished with soldiers from Houses Gilbraith and—”
“Hold up, has this escalated to a full-out civil war?”
Commander Olwyn wore a grave look. “We’re at the cusp, sir. If not now, soon, and if we don’t have measures in place, civilian casualties could be catastrophic.”
“You’re telling me that the rest of the houses…” Except for Gilbraith, Raff was blanking on the other names. “Wouldn’t hesitate to strike at Thalia like hyenas, nipping away at her, until they take her down?”
“If that’s possible,” Olwyn said, “if she can’t hold what’s hers, then she’s not fit to rule.”
“Fuck. And you call us animals,” he muttered.
“I don’t,” Olwyn said.
“Fine, come on. Let’s map it out.”
He spent a full two hours discussing strategy, while well-aware that he wasn’t Korin’s equal when it came to planning and tactics, but Olwyn nodded with satisfaction once he saw what Raff had in mind. “That should mitigate our lack of walls, though we’ll need to dig the mines up once we settle things with House Gilbraith.”
“You don’t doubt the princess? Even though she’s gone off without telling you shit about her schemes and left you with me?”
Olwyn shook his head. “I wasn’t even a soldier originally, sir. I started with her from the very beginning, when I worked in the kitchens at Riverwind. She asked me to enlist and to train, to prepare myself for the struggle to come, because she needed loyal men.”
“And you did all of that, rose through the ranks, just because she asked?”
The other man raised a brow. “Aren’t you doing all of this, just because she asked? Besides, it’s rather special that she did. How often does a princess take note of someone from the kitchen? I wasn’t all that attached to the pot-scrubbing anyway, if you must know the truth.”
Raff laughed. “I guess not. If we’re done for now, send the next petitioner in.”
“Understood. Thanks for your time.”
It was nothing short of miraculous what Thalia had accomplished; under house arrest, she’d built a loyal retinue who would fight for her to the last. He could do no less.
A plump woman came in next, her pale hair twisted up in a complicated do, but he could tell by her somber attire that she must be staff. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but since they all had pasty skin, fair hair, and light eyes, it was damned hard for Raff to tell most of these Eldritch apart. The fact that they didn’t show age in the Animari way only made his life more complicated, and shit was already tough enough.
“How can I help you?” he said in what he hoped was a pleasant tone.
“Well, I’m Madam Isoline, the chatelaine, a fancy way of saying housekeeper, I suppose. I keep Daruvar running, keep the fortress relatively clean and the soldiers fed.”
“Gotcha. And…?”
“Funds are running low, sir. We need to tighten our belts, or the princess must sell something to keep the fortress going as it has been, but with tensions as they are right now, finding a buyer for jewelry or property could be…challenging.”
“Right, which leaves us cutting expenses. What are my options?”
He wouldn’t ask his wolves to come to their aid again. Soldiers were one thing, and the need was dire at the time, but no way in hell would he let Animari civilians deliver provisions in the middle of the Eldritch civil war. Not only would that be dangerous for his people, he also didn’t want to give their enemies the chance to hijack the supplies.
“Food,” she said softly. “I hate to make this recommendation, sir, but I believe it’s time for us to go on rations. The soldiers need the best of what we have left, and the rest of us will…make do.”
Raff could picture the kitchen staff eating porridge for days and the severity of the situation registered all over again. “I appreciate your dedication and your sacrifice. Princess Thalia does as well.”
“We know, sir, we all do. That’s why we’re with her—and you—until the end.”
27.
Thalia gazed at her reflection in awe.
Lileth probably wouldn’t even recognize her. The change in coloring made all the difference, and the cheap, bulky clothes added volume to her figure, lending the impression that she could be Animari. Which was vital to their plan.
“What do you think?” Ferith asked.
“It’s an impressive transformation. I don’t think anyone will look closely at me.” She checked the time then. “Too late to make contact with the vendor?”
Ferith nodded. “We should snatch a few hours of sleep and then go to the warehouse near dawn. From what I hear, they deliver supplies early.”
“Understood.” The room had one bed, and the other woman started to settle on the rickety chair near the window. “We can share,” Thalia added.
“I appreciate the offer, but I can keep watch more effectively from here. The security in this place is terrible, or rather should I say, nonexistent.”
“It’ll keep us out of the cold, so we’re better off than many in Outwater.”
Ferith cast her a quizzical look, so she elaborated on her brief encounter at the fire barrel, disposing of her hair and the revelation about the gray tar. When she finished, the Noxblade sighed.
“That was unwise. I agree that those people need our help, but we’re in no position to deliver it right now. You risked our mission…for what?”
Thalia almost said, to destroy evidence of who I am, but that answer didn’t feel quite right or completely true. In her disbelief that even Ruark Gilbraith could be so cruel, she’d wanted a closer look at those people, hoping they had some reason other than desperation for huddling around that fire. Closer inspection hadn’t comforted her at all. They had all been cold and hungry, lines of pain and deprivation carved into their faces, Eldritch faces that normally showed no age.
“I understand your anger, and I won’t take such a foolish risk again. But if anything, I’m more determined to win now. I have to, so that I can redistribute wealth and implement long-needed social programs.”
Ferith snorted. “You don’t need to convince me. This isn’t a campaign stop.”
“If an election would work, I’d ask Ruark to let the people decide, but that’s never been our way.”
“No, such things have always been decided in shadows and blood.”
“It’s ironic, when you consider it.”
“What is?”
“That I’m trying to usher in a kinder, gentler future through the most brutal means.”
“Stop waxing philosophical and go to sleep,” Ferith snapped.
On a creaky bed with questionably clean linens, Thalia shouldn’t have been able to sleep at all, but she did. Maybe it was Ferith’s presence on watch that let her snatch a few hours of rest. Whatever the reason, she woke full of grim resolve. She washed up in cold water and popped in the brown contacts. It was like looking at a stranger’s face.
“Ready?” Ferith called softly.
“I am. Is it far to the warehouse?”
“About a kilometer. Do you have something for the necessary bribe?”
Thalia twirled the flower pin in her fingers. Small and pretty, the broach was just va
luable enough to tempt someone but not make them question where such a treasure had come from. “Right here. Let’s go.”
They left the hostel in the hazy predawn light. Mist rose up from the ground, which was still cold, but it was already warmer than it had been, creating pockets of fog. The haze gave the town an eerie, ghostly air, as if they crept along the rim of reality, skating up against other worlds. Ferith’s footsteps were supernaturally silent, and Thalia tried to match the assassin’s stealth, but she lacked the same years of dedicated training.
None of the businesses they passed were open, and maybe it was strange to be so hungry when all she needed to do was focus on killing Ruark Gilbraith, but she imagined piping hot pastries stuffed with roast vegetables and cheese, hot bowls of soup thick with barley and—
Stop, she scolded herself. You can eat whatever you want once he’s dead.
“Do you regret marrying the wolf?” Ferith asked suddenly.
“What?” She couldn’t be more surprised if the Noxblade had slapped her.
“I just wondered. You left in secret with only a note. It seemed to me you would have included him in your plan, if you truly valued him.”
“Regret isn’t the right word,” she said. “I still think the move was right for our people. We wouldn’t have come this far without wolf tech and their martial support.”
“But he’s not your partner.”
Thalia sighed. “Let’s stop. I can’t believe I have to say this but stay on task.”
“Understood, Your Highness. But you’re not thinking about your empty stomach anymore, are you?” Ferith grinned.
“That…is true. How did you know?”
“I heard it growling. More than once. But it’s a good detail to sell our story. How likely is it that the heir to a great house would starve herself?”
“You make a good point. Is that the warehouse?”
A squat, corrugated metal building sprawled across broken pavement. From the overall look of Outwater, Ruark Gilbraith had given nothing back to the town that supported his estate. Taxes were set by the province ruler, and Thalia suspected he had been robbing these people for years. The roads were a mess, the people were hungry, some were homeless, and almost everyone wore threadbare clothing. Fury raged through her like wildfire.
